by Addison Fox
Emerson and her stubborn pride and her immediate willingness to push people away.
People she loved.
“Nice going, Ace. You waited until we pulled into the driveway to drop that little bomb.”
“Yes, I waited. I look someone in the eye when I dress them down.”
One eyebrow quirked over the gray storm clouds gathering in her eyes. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“I’m about to.” He got out of the car and slammed the door, then walked around to open hers. As expected, she beat him to the punch and was halfway to the porch before he caught up to her.
Her fingers shook as she shoved the key in the lock on the front door and he closed his hand over hers. “Why were you so hard on her?”
Shoulders slumping, she leaned her head against the door. “Because I can’t let it go.” Before he could say anything, she whirled on him. “Because I can’t let it go, Drake! She gave it up and now I’m supposed to sit back and let her put herself in danger? With our brother, no less?”
He refused to back off. Instead, he stood there and stared down at her. That small pixie frame quivered with anger and hurt and so many years of self-reliance she’d forgotten what it was to share herself with anyone.
And he’d allowed it to go on for long enough.
“Veronica’s decisions aren’t yours. And denying her the freedom to choose doesn’t make you a saint. She’s the one who’s lost out all these years.”
“I’m not a saint, Drake.”
“You sure? Because you have awfully high expectations for everyone.”
“I have a set of standards. There’s a difference.”
“Standards of your own making.”
She turned back to fiddle with the lock, but he didn’t miss the fact she needed to unclench those small fists before reaching for the key. “What the hell’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except you seem to think what you want is what everyone else wants. You take no one’s thoughts into the mix, save your own.”
“You know, this conversation is veering awfully close to a discussion about us. And here I thought you were berating me about my sister.”
“Same symptoms, same problem.”
“I hardly think what’s between my sister and me can be compared to what’s between us.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Take the sex out of the mix and it looks like the same fucking problem from where I stand. Lack of communication and an unwillingness to acknowledge the other person has any feelings or role in the relationship.”
She finally got the door unlocked and marched through the door. “You and I don’t have a relationship, Drake. We screw around on a regular basis. I believe the term is ‘friend with benefits.’”
Her words hit him so hard Drake was surprised he didn’t actually stagger.
Was that truly the way she saw what was between them?
Memories of their afternoon outside filled his mind’s eye. The easy laughter and comfortable camaraderie between them. Yes, the sex was spectacular, but it wasn’t all that was between them. In fact, the reason it was so amazing was because there was so much more they shared.
“Well, that proves my point right there. I thought we did have a relationship. I guess I was mistaken.”
Without waiting for a response, he headed toward the spare room he’d seen earlier on a tour of the farmhouse. He’d sleep alone tonight.
Eris stared at her phone for what felt like the nine hundredth time in the last hour. Probably because she had looked at it that many times.
Tossing the phone back on the counter, she turned to pace her small kitchen again.
Damn Rogan. She’d texted him hours ago and nothing. Complete and utter radio silence. They’d just been together in Vegas, so it was lunacy to want to meet up so soon. But once he caught wind of what she was planning with Magnus, she’d likely not see him for a while.
A loud pounding echoed from her front door, and she padded down the hall, glad there would be some reprieve from her maudlin thoughts. And was shocked as hell when the object of them was standing on the other side of the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.” Rogan barged in without waiting for a formal invitation.
“You got my text message?”
His gaze shot to where her phone lay on the counter. “I’m not here to fuck around, and you know it.”
“Then why are you here?”
Rogan turned on her, the vivid green of his eyes a hard emerald. “You were the one who turned Magnus.”
The diary. Of course.
Although she’d known the truth would inevitably come out, she had forbidden Magnus to talk of it or the deal they’d made. She’d reveal what she’d done at the proper time.
So why was it so hard to ever envision a proper time as she stood there staring at Rogan? Like a drunk who couldn’t keep her eyes off a bottle of vodka, she couldn’t stop looking at him.
Those immense shoulders covered in a black T-shirt. The jeans that molded to slender hips and powerful thighs. And those stunning green eyes.
They were eyes that told a story in vivid, living color.
“Why did you do it?”
“What makes you so sure it was me?” As bluffs went, it sucked. But she wasn’t willing to admit defeat quite yet.
“It wasn’t all that hard to figure out. Enyo’s not nearly that creative. Or that smart.”
She preened under the words, even as she knew they weren’t meant as a compliment. She’d spent her life in the shadow of her sister. The great goddess of war, revered by all.
Very few saw the crazy-ass bitch who bounced from project to project like a maniacal rabbit.
So Rogan was right. She’d seen an opportunity and taken it. Themis wasn’t the only one who could create Warriors. And thank the gods humans were so easy to rile up.
She’d seen report after report about the “Thirteenth Sign,” and known she had her answer.
Ophiuchus was real, his place in the heavens secure. But the world had forgotten about him as that nice, round number of twelve took root in the public’s conscience.
Twelve equal houses with twelve equal signs.
Themis and her balance.
Funny enough, for all her talk of balance, the goddess had been surprisingly forgetful in leaving the serpent bearer out.
So Eris had made a Warrior to her specifications.
She’d tried before, to varying degrees of success. But Magnus was different.
He was real. Not simply a physical embodiment of her powers. As projects go, Magnus wasn’t all bad. He was eager to please and seemingly had no regrets about his choice. It was the inherent connection to the Warriors through his sister that was the bad luck.
Rogan began to pace, running his fingers across the counter as he measured his words. “Look, Eris. Whatever you’ve done, I can help you. Magnus isn’t fully turned. He’s not fully empowered yet. Let me make it right.”
Her gaze never left his broad back as he moved, the elegant lines of his shoulders shifting as he reached to play with her cell where it lay on the counter. No matter how much time they spent together, she was fascinated by the hard strength of his body. “There’s nothing to make right.”
“Damn it, Eris. Turn him back.”
“There’s no turning him back!”
The words seemed to freeze in time, full of all the unspoken truths between them, and Rogan froze along with them.
“No, there is no turning back. There’s only moving forward.” Rogan turned from the counter and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“You’ve made your choice and I’ve made mine.”
She followed him to the door. “What do you mean?”
“We’re over.”
“Rogan.” She heard the edge of desperation that tinged her voice and tried to pull it back. Drawing on the nerves of steel she was known for, she modulated her voice, dragging it down a few
notches. “We both knew exactly what this was when it started. Exactly who the other was. And we agreed to keep all of that separate.”
“You changed that when you came after my family.”
“I didn’t—” She broke off, knowing his comment wasn’t true but wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d done her homework and she’d learned months ago that Magnus’s sister was involved with the Warriors.
“So you did purposely come after my family?”
“It’s a bad coincidence Magnus is related to a woman dating your friend. That’s all. That’s all this is.”
“If your goal wasn’t my family, then what was it?”
They didn’t share this. Didn’t open up about this part of their lives. “Rogan, you know the agreement. That’s off-limits. What we each do is off-limits.”
He whirled on her, grabbing her just below the shoulders and dragging her forward, the green of his eyes clouded with anger and…guilt? “Not when it involves my family.”
Gods damn it, how could she make him understand?
She placed her hands on his shoulders, tentatively stroking the soft cotton of his shirt. “Do you know the inherent power that lives in your skin? I need that. I can use that.”
“You can’t just take it.”
“Why not? You and your brothers aren’t totally aboveboard. And you’re not the only ones entitled to it. Neither is Themis.”
A completely irresponsible tug dragged at her belly as his hands slammed onto his hips, his biceps tightening underneath that stretch of black.
“You can’t just go making up Warriors, Eris. Adding to the pantheon. It’s not done.”
“It was fine for Themis and Zeus. Why should they be the ones to make the rules?”
“My brothers and I are the good guys.”
She couldn’t hold back the laughter at that one. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“Oh, come on. Look in the fucking mirror, Rogan. You think because you’re the good guys it means you can make the rules? Hello, Captain Vigilante.”
“We don’t kill for sport.”
She wasn’t a killer by nature. A pot stirrer, yes, and a goddess who reveled in creating chaos. But a killer? Only when someone got in her way. “And that’s what you think I am? What I do?”
“I think you bend the truth to gain your own ends. I think you’ve been doing that so long, you don’t even know what the truth is any longer.”
She dropped her hands and stepped back. “Oh hell, Rogan. If that’s the definition, do any of us know the truth any longer?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we’ve all been fighting this battle forever and the endgame never changes. The outcome never changes.”
The harsh set of his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Do you really feel that way?”
“Don’t you?”
“Then give it up.”
Eris had watched discord and discontentment grow for the endlessly long millennia of her life and she’d become quite adept at knowing when a conversation turned for the worse.
By her own estimation, this one just went off the rails.
“You want me to give up who I am? Give up my very identity?”
“Give it up for something better.”
“It’s who I am.”
“No, it’s who you choose to be. There’s a difference.”
Pain ripped through her with razor-sharp talons. When had his opinion come to mean so much? And now that she was faced with the realization that it wasn’t a very positive one, the urge to strike back—swiftly—reared up in response.
“Speaking of choices, you’ve conveniently forgotten you and your brothers have my apple. It belongs to me and I’m entitled to get it back.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It’s mine.”
“You can’t have it back.”
“Who the hell made you judge and jury?”
She’d never harbored the same sort of grudge against any of the Warriors that her sister did. Sure, they got in the way of her plans, but they weren’t enemies, per se.
They simply worked at cross-purposes.
But this?
She’d get what belonged to her and she’d continue with her plans. And Rogan Black wasn’t going to stand in the way.
She no longer had time for distractions.
Emerson stepped into the ceremonial circle and closed it behind her, anxious for the calming, soothing effects her magic brought her. She’d learned long ago that the power that lived within her skin had the beneficial side effect of calming her nerves and helping her find her center.
The grass was cold under her naked bottom, but she ignored it, absorbing the inherent power that lived latent in the earth. She allowed the evening breeze to float over her bare skin, coating her with its whispered secrets.
She knew she wouldn’t be out here long. The fall night had shed the warmth from the day, giving proof that winter was well on its way.
A few prayers wended their way through her mind, but she ignored them and instead focused farther inward. Into the core of herself and the secrets that lived in her heart.
Drake had accused her of unreasonable expectations and a harsh set of rules. Maybe that was true, but what else could she be?
What else could she expect of others?
She’d known what she was from the earliest age. Had reveled in that gift and hoped to use it for good. For the betterment of others.
So how was she supposed to respond to those who didn’t feel the same? To those who actively shunned their gifts and told her that she had to be different.
That she wasn’t good enough just as she was.
Wind whistled through the night sky and she abstractly felt the cold as she replayed the time at Veronica’s in her mind.
The instant warmth and acceptance. The reminder that they’d had something special once. A bond.
Sisterhood.
She’d had a long time to get over Veronica’s choices. To make herself into what she was. To hone the gifts she’d been given.
But Veronica hadn’t. What if she did go head-to-head with Magnus and lost?
“It’s awfully cold out here.”
Her eyes snapped open to see Drake holding a blanket.
“Come on. Get up and let me wrap you up in here.” She held up a hand, but before she could say anything, he added, “I know you’re inside a ceremonial circle. I won’t breach it. But I’d like you to dissolve it and come out.”
A small kernel of warmth pierced her heart as she nodded at his words.
He respected what she was doing. Respected the protection she’d created around herself.
With quick motions, she stood and dissolved the circle, offering her thanks to the goddess. Moving into the blanket Drake held up, she wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. “Thanks.”
“Why are you out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I probably have something to do with that.”
“A little bit, yes, but not all of it.” She shrugged, the blanket brushing the tops of her feet at the movement. “You were right to say something.” She padded over to the lawn chairs they’d sat on earlier, the vivid slash of memory taking her breath away as she thought about his hands on her.
His mouth.
The power in his body and the power that rose up between them when they made love.
He was right to say something. More than that, he was entitled.
When he was settled in the chair, she turned toward him, pulled her knees up to snuggle further under the blanket. “It’s more than judgment.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What if she can’t do it? What if she walks into a fight and can’t pull the trigger?” At the questions in his gaze, she added, “Metaphorically. Magnus is our brother. And despite all the things he may have done, nothing will change that. What if she can’t take him down when it’s necessary? And what if he takes
her first?”
“The same could happen to you.”
The moonlight played off the green and gold of his eyes as their gazes met, and she saw the fear behind his words. Felt it in the quiet way he reached for her hand where it gripped the wooden arm of the chair.
“You think I don’t know that? He’s my brother, Drake. No matter what he’s done, I can’t change that simple, immutable fact. What if I can’t do it when the moment’s right? What if I’m put to that test?”
When he reached up and cupped her cheek, she leaned into his warmth. “Can I really do what it takes?”
Chapter Seventeen
Drake followed Emerson into the house, the anger that had ridden them both when they’d arrived home from her sister’s nowhere in evidence. Instead, all he felt was a desperate need that coursed in time with the throb of his pulse.
Something had changed. Evolved, really.
He felt it in the gentle cadence of Emerson’s words and the softening of her gaze as she looked at him. Reaching for his hand, her words were quiet in the dark. “Come upstairs with me.”
He offered no response other than to take her hand and follow her.
They’d slept in the master bedroom the night before, but Drake looked on it with fresh eyes as they walked through the door. A large four-poster bed dominated the room, but instead of the expected old quilt to cover it, a heavy satin duvet lay across the top in a deep, rich purple. The color was a match for the bed and the room—rustic charm meets contemporary chic.
Oddly, the combination reminded him of Emerson.
She managed to straddle two universes—the magical history and power that coursed through her bloodstream and the contemporary world in which she lived. It was a heady combination.
The blanket she’d wrapped herself in outside floated to the floor and his little goddess stood naked in the moonlight. “Drake,” she whispered as she moved into the circle of his arms, “I want you.”
He wanted to question her—wanted to ask if the change he felt in her was real. If something had evolved between them and grown deeper. But he held back and focused on the moment, unwilling to risk ruining it for what the future held.
