War of Gods Box Set

by Ford, Lizzy

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Outside,” Jake said. “If you’re brave enough, you can see him when he’s back.”

  “And why should I be brave? What’s wrong with him?”

  “You’re right—she does ask a lot of questions,” Han said.

  “See?” Jake exclaimed. “I told you!”

  “New rule, Sofia. If you have questions, ask D. We’re not at liberty to discuss much with you.”

  Frustrated, Sofia stormed out of the library. Standing in the hall, she couldn’t stop the fear that slid through her. This world … their world … was nothing like what she knew. She felt like she stood at the door of a plane fifteen thousand feet in the air getting ready to skydive, only she didn’t remember packing a parachute. Her headache had been gone most of the morning for the first time in months, until the monster in her head started clawing at her mind.

  She put on her sunglasses and started toward the one part of the house Han had warned her away from: the patio that led into the gardens. God help her, she was going into the sunlight no matter how much it hurt!

  The light beyond the solid French doors made her flinch, but she forced herself to cross the doorway. The shaded patio was as wide as the mansion, with two small outdoor bars and groups of chairs around tables. Signs of the party the night before still remained, from the garbage bags awaiting pickup to one table with two wine glasses still present.

  She began to sweat before reaching the door leading from the patio to the green blur that was the gardens over which the patio overlooked. She couldn’t make out what was in the garden, but she heard the sounds of fountains and saw the dark green blur of a forest in the distance. By the time she reached the patio door, her skin was clammy, her heart racing.

  She emerged into the bright light of a warm December afternoon and began to melt. There was no denying the sensation of sweat dripping off her body. She closed her eyes against the sunlight and took another two steps into the garden. Grass tickled her toes.

  It was hot! She retreated to the patio and fled into the house, relieved when the sun was gone. Tears stung her eyes.

  “You okay?” Han asked, his form blurry in front of her.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she growled. “No, I’m not okay! What normal person can’t go outside? You all kidnapped me, drugged me, dragged me to Arizona—if I’m really in Arizona—and you won’t tell me why or what’s wrong with me! And you know what else? I hate peanut butter. Hate it, hate it, hate it, and I can’t stop eating it! I hate it!”

  Embarrassed by her words and the tears streaming down her face, she ran past him and up the stairs leading to the second floor, issuing a cry of frustration when she realized she didn’t know which of the three wings led to her room.

  “Turn right, three doors on the left,” Han called.

  She followed his directions, slammed her door closed, and locked it. She collapsed onto her bed and sobbed, the man in the corner sobbing with her.

  Outside her room, Han whipped out his phone to text Damian with an irritated sigh.

  Your Oracle’s a pain in the ass.

  Damian glanced at the new text message from Han before his gaze returned to the small base camp tucked between two ridges in the Tucson Mountains. He smiled faintly, knowing how hard it was to rile up his trusted Guardian. Unfortunately, none of them knew what to do with an Oracle.

  “Wish you had good news for me,” he said to the Guardian standing beside him.

  Rainy, a brooding Guardian with striking green eyes and a shock of dark hair, was his youngest station chief at a youthful two thousand years old. Damian followed him across the dusty landing pads to the helo-hangar. His phone dinged, and he looked down at one of the zillion text messages he received from any number of his Guardians every day.

  The base camp housed the emergency response helicopters for Tucson and neighboring sectors and was manned with a skeletal crew of Guardians and one on-duty pilot, a Natural who’d been trained to fly.

  On a good note: logistical arrangements for Quarterly completed, Han texted. Pleased that one thing was going right, Damian tucked the phone away.

  “The vamps have been conducting surveillance on us for weeks, but they just now started to act up,” Rainy continued. “We didn’t catch on until one of the new Naturals we just discovered was able to track them.”

  “A tracker?” Damian asked, impressed. “Impressive. Haven’t seen one in a few thousand years.”

  “That’s what Han said. Good timing. Had to be a woman, though.”

  Damian looked at him, touching his thoughts long enough to realize Rainy had volunteered to take on the bodyguard assignment to the beautiful woman in his thoughts. He hid a smile as Rainy turned to him.

  “Four safe houses in six days have been destroyed,” he said. “All in Tucson.”

  Damian sobered, troubled by the news. It was how the destruction of the European front started. The safe houses dropped like flies, then the spy network, then the sectors’ headquarters. He didn’t know where the leaks were coming from in Europe, and he definitely didn’t know where they were coming from in Arizona.

  “How many men you need?” he asked.

  “To maintain our operations, three more. To get ahead of the vamps …” Rainy shook his head. “At this rate, I don’t know. Trac—the Natural tracker was able to identify patterns in the attacks. Ikir, they’re using our tactics against us.”

  Damian crossed his arms. It was the worst news yet. One of his Guardians was training the enemy.

  “Traci’s found signs of the vamps’ surveillance around two more of our safe houses. None at your HQ yet or Sector HQ,” Rainy added.

  No one could find Damian’s HQ unless they were on the guest list, or one of his Guardians revealed its location. He maintained a shield around it that made it invisible to those who didn’t know where it was.

  “Burn the six safe houses. What’s the impact if we have to burn more?” Damian asked.

  Rainy rubbed the back of his neck, pensive. “It leaves us with two, plus Sector HQ. Ikir, I think Tucson Sector is going to be completely compromised by Christmas.”

  “The Quarterly is coming up in a week,” Damian said, coming to the same conclusion. “I relocate HQ after each one for security reasons. We’ll evac all Naturals and Guardian assets from Tucson Sector after the Quarterly and send in a clean-up crew.”

  Rainy nodded, a look of relief crossing his features, and Damian saw his mind was on his Natural ward, Traci.

  “I love clean-up duty,” he said with a cunning smile.

  Most Guardians did, including Dusty, who personally oversaw every one in his hemisphere. Damian issued few clean-up orders, for there was no way to maintain the discretion his Guardians needed to mask their shadow operations protecting humanity. It was loud and dirty, the type of work they’d ceased two centuries before when the human population exploded and globalized.

  Damian thought hard. First Europe, then Tucson Sector. His mind traveled to the sexy Oracle, and he wondered if she’d be anything like the Oracles from his father’s time. If so, he might have the key to crippling the cancer afflicting his operations. If she survived her transformation, that is.

  “Keep me updated, and alert the neighboring sectors,” he ordered. “How many Naturals you have in Tucson?”

  “Only two.”

  “If you need to send them to HQ or want to evac Sector HQ, go ahead. Don’t worry about knocking. I’ll let Han know you all may be in.”

  “Thank you, ikir.” Rainy’s voice was quiet, and Damian sensed his heartfelt gratitude.

  “Gods, she’s got you mewling already,” Damian couldn’t resist saying.

  Rainy tensed.

  “No disrespect, Rain-man. Happy for you.”

  “You’re not upset?” he asked warily. “Dustin says …”

  “… women are the true scourge of mankind. I know,” Damian replied. “He tells me all the time.”

  “Actua
lly, he said no relationships with Naturals,” Rainy said, giving him an odd look.

  “If there’s one thing that drives Dustin crazy, it’s being kept in the dark. Let him know now, before he accidentally finds out,” Damian advised with a chuckle.

  “Yes, ikir.”

  Even the younger Guardians referred to him by the ancient title that meant my king. Damian had long since lost any lofty delusions, but Dusty was a stickler for discipline and details. His phone dinged with a message from Han, and he pulled it from his pocket.

  I don’t know what to do with a crying woman, Han had typed.

  Damian snorted then glanced at Rainy. “Gotta go, Rain-man. Call Dustin. I’ll arrange for evacs and a clean-up crew.”

  “Yes, ikir.”

  He started to Travel to the Oracle’s room but thought better of it. She was scared enough. He opened his eyes to face Han outside her closed door. His normally stoic XO appeared irritated.

  “She won’t come out, won’t eat,” he said. “Gods, I forgot how difficult it is raising Naturals.”

  Damian clapped him on the arm and opened the door. Her curtains were down to seal away the sunlight, and she was curled up in a ball in the middle of her bed with her back to the door. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her blonde hair fanned out over a pillow. The unusual sense of tenderness unfurled again in his breast. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing one blonde lock from her face.

  Her eyes were swollen and red, the silver glowing in the dim light of the room. Fear and uncertainty crossed her features. The images in her mind were of a little boy dying in the street, of Jake’s death, of the deaths of many others. At his touch, her visions quieted.

  She closed her eyes and uncurled. He’d expected her original reaction to him to be born of shock, but she wrapped her arms around him once again. His body responded with a surge of desire he gritted his teeth against. The woman in his arms was too delicate, too vulnerable, to face the lusty beast within him. Instead, he shifted and wrapped an arm around her. He was beginning to like these peaceful encounters. He’d never known anything like them in his long existence.

  “You need to eat,” he told her.

  “No.”

  “If Han hasn’t told you, when I give an order, no one disobeys me,” he said firmly. “Even crying women.”

  “Do you make many women cry?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She withdrew her face from his chest and looked up at him, her silver-blue eyes filled with emotion. Her gaze was unusually steady and clear, as if she were already a legendary Oracle capable of seeing through whatever was before her. The air around her shimmered with subtle, calm power that thrilled him.

  No, this Oracle wasn’t another Claire, without potential or skill. This was an Oracle the world hadn’t seen since before the Schism, the type of Oracle that belonged at her king’s side.

  Darian.

  The woman in his arms ducked her head again and closed her eyes, missing the flash of darkness that crossed his mind and face. He pushed the thought of his slain brother away but couldn’t escape the lingering sense of unease. He’d seen from burying his brother that a king’s greatest weakness was the woman at his side. There were only two men in the world he’d entrust with his life.

  Something about the woman made him think of things he’d not thought about in ages. There was a reason he banned thoughts of Darian and Claire from his mind, an instinct he’d never been able to face in all the years since Darian’s death.

  I don’t know if I trust my wife, brother.

  Darian’s words haunted him again, and he quickly suppressed the memories.

  “Sleep,” he whispered, releasing a warm burst of power into Sofia.

  Her body obeyed. He held her another minute, resting his chin on her head. His new Oracle was dangerous. He’d almost forgotten that the word for Oracle in his native tongue also meant soul-reader, the dual nature of a woman whose talent allowed her to see a person’s soul and future with a simple touch. Her presence alone was already prodding free memories he’d thought he’d buried.

  His heart skipped a beat as he realized that the last great Oracle, his mother, appeared just before the Schism, when the Watchers went to war and the universe was almost destroyed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The clang of steel and sound of jeering drew Sofia from her sleep to her window. The distant sky showed signs of growing lighter. She checked the clock on the nightstand then the notepad listing the time of the flight she’d booked the afternoon before after exploring the mansion. To her relief, she still had a few hours to sneak out and make it to the airport.

  Several of the beefy men living in the house were in the grassy, well-lit courtyard, sparring with swords, knives, and other weaponry that looked like it came straight out of the Middle Ages.

  Her gaze swept over them, stopping to rest on Damian. D wore judo pants low enough on his hips that she blushed as her gaze followed the trail of hair that disappeared into his pants. His tapered waist and hips and washboard abs were on display, along with the wide chest and thick back. She watched him move, his swordplay as graceful and fluid as it was lethal. A sheen of sweat coated his body, and his white-blond hair was back in a braid.

  Even from a distance he drew her, and it was not just the chiseled body of a god. She could see him sitting on a golden throne or commanding legions of soldiers.

  In fact, she did see him in those positions, and in many more. The visions were less invasive than those from others, like background music at a department store. She closed her eyes, watching the disjointed, fuzzy home videos playing in her mind. She saw a time before the emergence of human civilization, when his people ruled, a time when he was a prince among kings who grew up in the shadow of a war she couldn’t see. Then there was the Schism and an era of disaster and grief, where his world collided with—then severed from—the human one, centuries where he was forced into the underground world as a prostitute, a beggar, a thief.

  As silence fell over the courtyard, she opened her eyes. The men were dispersing, and her heart leapt when she saw Damian’s gaze riveted to her window. His look was intense, much different than the warmth he’d displayed earlier that afternoon.

  By the look on Damian’s face, he wasn’t happy. She wondered if he knew what she saw. She snatched her jacket and pulled it on as she raced down the stairwell and down the hall to the front door. She jerked it open only to have it pushed shut by an olive hand planted above her head. She cringed at the thick forearm brushing her ear.

  “I’m sorry,” she said immediately.

  “For what?” His tone was measured. His scent drove her body wild, the mix of sweat, darkness, and man.

  “I don’t know.”

  His hand dropped, and she faced him. He stood before her as he had in the sparring ring, sans any clothing but judo pants. She felt dwarfed and delicate next to the mass of roped muscle and taut skin.

  Heat rose to her face as she stared openly. His chiseled features were unreadable and hard. The sword was still clenched in one hand. The honey eyes were intent, his face flushed from exertion. She’d had never felt overwhelmed by a man before, and she’d certainly never been a woman who felt weak-kneed! She leaned back against the door, mouth dry and legs shaky.

  “I’m not angry at you,” he said at last, taking a step back. “You have a rare ability among our kind. I didn’t realize you were as … capable as you are. No one has ever been able to see into my mind.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not going to eat you, so you can stop looking at me like that,” he said with a bitter edge that was lost on her. She looked down, near tears again. “That didn’t come out quite right.”

  “Han said you’re moody.”

  “He’s usually right. C’mon. We’ll talk.”

  She trailed him up the stairs, taking in every inch of his perfectly round butt to his slender hips and thick back. She’d never seen a man
so strong, and she couldn’t imagine talking to him without remembering how beautiful that body was. Thoughts of his sweaty body poised above hers made her want to swoon for the first time in her life, and her core ached so much from the vision that she gripped the handrail.

  He led her to his private suite, which took up half of one wing. She sat in the living room as masculine as he, surrounded by wood, wool, and leather in dark colors. The window to a balcony was open, allowing in a cool night breeze that made the fire in the hearth dance. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling small and vulnerable once more.

  When he rejoined her, he’d put on a T-shirt and sandals. He leaned back in a chair across from her with muscular, feline grace, managing to appear both at ease and ready to pounce. They gazed at each other until she felt red creep up her neck. She looked toward the fire.

  “Why can’t I touch anyone else but you without seeing … horrible things?” she asked as the silence grew uncomfortable.

  “In my world, you’d be called an Oracle, one who can see a person’s future by touching them.”

  She stared at him.

  “It’s a rare gift, trust me,” he said. “And a treasured one. You’ll eventually be able to see other things besides their deaths. Death is the only definite, and so it’s the first vision you see until you hone your skills.”

  “It’s awful,” she murmured.

  “As for me, well …” He trailed off. “That shit doesn’t work on me. We’ll leave it at that for now.”

  “I saw you … I saw …” She didn’t know how to say what she’d seen without seeming like the craziest person in the world.

  “That is what we have to talk about,” he said, leaning toward her. “You will see my past. You will say nothing to anyone about what you see about me.”

  “I’m not doing it on purpose,” she whispered, distraught. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

  “I know. However, there are boundaries to your gift that I must give you now. It’s better you learn them from the beginning. One, no matter what you See, you are forbidden from telling the person exactly what it is. If you are asked, you can give them insight into their future, so long as you do not reveal everything. Two, don’t fuck with fate.”