by Anna Argent
The selfish nature of the thought gave him pause, but not for long.
His prey was waiting.
As silently as he could, he eased the door open and slipped inside. He considered going for his Glock, but when it came to killing the bad guys, bare hands were so much more personal, and far more satisfying.
He hadn’t allowed himself to kill for a long time. Disabling, maiming and capturing? Definitely. But no killing. The risk was too high. He already had more voices of dead people in his head than he wanted. He wasn’t going to willingly invite any more in to add to the noise.
But the intruder was on Stygian’s territory. In his room, only feet from those he protected. Because of that, he could allow tonight to be an exception to his murder-free policy.
A voice he could barely hear whispered to him that there had been too many exceptions over the years.
He ignored it.
A slim, dark shadow glided past his open window. Lightweight curtains billowed against the cool breeze outside, drawing attention to their movement. The scent of spring flowed through the space and caressed his cheek as it passed. A faint, golden light filtered in from the exterior security lights and outlined the intruder.
Stygian stopped, going utterly still. Even his breath laid trapped inside his lungs as his shock settled to surprise, and then to curiosity.
The intruder was a woman, her femininity unmistakable, even in the shadows. She was almost waiflike in build, with her breasts pressed flat under her tight, black hoodie. Clinging black jeans hugged her hips and legs, highlighting every curve and hollow. A supple hood was pulled up over her hair, obscuring her face.
She moved without a sound, flowing like smoke, from his closet to his dresser as if looking for something.
Not just an intruder, but a thief.
Stygian had learned at a young age not to place much value on possessions. He had few, and those he did have weren’t worth stealing. He didn’t even bother locking the door to his quarters here at Asgard when he was out in the field hunting, because there was nothing inside to protect. All he had in his private quarters were a few sets of clothing—most off-season—some linens, and a handful of books he kept, hoping to find time to read them.
Why she’d come here to steal from him when he had nothing of value was a total mystery.
The woman slid his dresser drawer open, releasing a whispering rasp of wood on wood. She didn’t rifle through the contents. In fact, she barely glanced at them, as if what was inside held no interest.
She reached into the pocket on her hoodie and pulled out something flat and glossy. He couldn’t tell what it was, but she tucked it inside the drawer and then eased it shut again.
With that done, her task was apparently finished, because she headed straight for the open window to escape.
As his quarry began to flee, that thrill of excitement surged from deep in his belly. She might try to run, but he was going to give chase.
Stygian made his move.
Before she could make three steps, he slid from the shadowy doorway that hid him, raced past his bed and launched himself at her.
She didn’t see it coming until the last second, and when she did, she let out a barely audible squeak of fear.
Stygian had planned to slam her into the wall and use his greater bulk to pin her in front of the window, but she was too fast.
In his mind he saw her dodge an instant before she made the move. Unfortunately, he was already flying toward her, unable to correct his trajectory. So, instead of landing against the soft contours of her body, all the greeted him was a hard plane of drywall.
The wall caved in where his shoulder hit. Pain spiraled out from that point, widening as it moved over his torso. He didn’t take the time to absorb or study it, but rather accepted it as part of him and turned to follow his prey.
She’d scrambled out of his reach, then inched along the edge of his bed, feeling her way to freedom so she didn’t have to take her eyes off the threat he posed.
Smart.
Stygian could see her face now. She was young, pretty. Terrified.
That made his thoughts stumble, and the thrill of the chase died a small death.
He was used to facing off against Vires, but they were rarely afraid of anything. They were fanatical zealots controlled by the shards of evil souls that inhabited them. Fear had no place in their world. If anything happened to the host that housed those splintered souls, the shards would simply move on to a new body—something Stygian knew all too well.
Kill her, chanted the nastier shards he carried within him. Claim what is hers as our own.
Stygian growled in response, ignoring the urges that haunted him. He had years of practice tuning them out, but that was getting harder by the day—a warning sign that he was precariously close to a tipping point.
Take her shards, whispered a voice. Take her power.
Hunger rose in him. The craving for power burned in his guts. She was such a fragile thing, it wouldn’t take much effort to break her open and scoop out what was inside. One little twist of her neck was all he’d need. She wouldn’t feel a thing.
At least there was enough of himself left to care whether or not she suffered.
The thief stubbed her toe on the leg of the bed. She lost her balance, but even her tumbling fall had a kind of grace to it.
He pounced, using her moment of instability to drive her down onto the bed.
The mattress dipped and bounced under their combined weight. Her eyes went huge in fear, but that didn’t stop her from acting.
She slammed her fist into his temple.
His bell rang hard enough to tell him she was stronger than she looked, and that if he didn’t take control of the situation, she might get a lucky blow in on him and snuff out his lights.
He wouldn’t be worrying about keeping the nasty voices out of his head anymore if that happened. All those pesky shards would become her problem. Right after she killed him.
The roar of defiance from the freeloading souls he carried was deafening. They liked being in his big, strong body, and apparently had no desire to be trapped inside the little waif chick.
Stygian grabbed her fists and pinned them to the mattress. His abused shoulder whined at the motion, but he continued to ignore the pain.
As soon as she realized she was well and truly stuck, all the fight leaked out of her, leaving only the pale mask of fear behind.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said. Her voice wavered with terror, but there was a melodic quality to it that shocked him.
He stilled, as did the shards rioting inside of him.
It took him a second to gather his wits. He’d been expecting venom and anger from her. To hear a singsong plea for mercy instead was unsettling as hell, like a toddler wielding a loaded shotgun.
He needed to hear her voice again.
“Why are you here, thief?” he demanded.
“I wasn’t stealing anything. I swear.”
Again, the sound of her voice drew him in. His outrage at her intrusion fell away, leaving only curiosity behind.
He shifted his hold on her wrist to free one hand so he could tilt her face toward what little light there was to be had in his dark quarters.
Again, he was struck by how pretty she was. Glittering strands of golden-blond hair escaped her hood and tangled in her long, pale eyelashes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need it. Her eyes were already huge, her lips naturally full and pink. There was a faint flush in her cheeks, and her skin was so fine he couldn’t see a single flaw or pore.
Maybe that was her superpower. She could look flawless without effort.
Stygian idly wondered just how many people she’d had to kill—how many shards she’d had to absorb—to pull off such a useful feat.
If beauty was power, and power was dangerous, then this woman was deadly.
He had to work not to be swayed by the sight of her, had to work not to stare until all rational thought leaked
out of his ears.
He gave himself a mental slap across the face. “If you weren’t stealing, then what were you doing here, going through my drawers?”
“I left…a gift.”
“I don’t know you. Why would you sneak into my room and leave me a gift?”
“It’s not for you. I thought this room was vacant. I thought it was safe to slip in and out without being seen. If you let me up, I swear I’ll leave and never bother you again.”
Even Stygian had to admit that his room looked empty. There were no decorations, nothing personal lying about. His clothes and books were all put away in the closet or in drawers. He didn’t even leave his toothbrush sitting out. Everything he needed came with him. Anything he didn’t was discarded or put away, out of sight, just as he’d been trained.
“Who is this gift for?” he asked.
She shrugged, and the movement caused her small breasts to shift against his chest.
Instantly, his body went on high alert. His heart gave a kick and sped up, sending heated blood surging through his veins. The voices that had gone quiet seemed to wake up again and exert their will.
She is ours. Want. Need.
Take.
Stygian closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the chaos. He was used to a bit of chatter from the riffraff, but usually they were quieter than this. And far less demanding.
Something about the little thief agitated his shards, and there were only a few reasons why that would happen—none of them good.
“Who is the gift for?” he repeated, shoving more force into his words.
“I don’t know. Whoever can use it, I guess.”
He loved the sound of her voice. It was even sweeter with his eyes closed, with his sense of hearing heightened by his blindness. There was a slow, smooth, golden quality to it, like warm honey gliding over his thoughts and coating them with contentment.
Voices of warning were shouting in his head, but he couldn’t hear them over the sound of her, so clear and lyrical.
“What is it?” he asked, but the demand came out weak and gentle, rather than with the force he’d intended.
Something in her body shifted, growing tighter beneath him. He opened his eyes in time to see a flicker of confusion pass through her features. “All I know is what they told me.”
“They who?”
She shook her head slightly. “You wouldn’t believe me. Not that it matters. I’m not strong enough to break your hold. I’m stuck here until you let me go, or until you let your guard down enough that I can slip away.”
No!
The immediate, potent denial in his head went off like an explosion. The chorus of voices were all in agreement, shouting in unison. The mere thought of her slipping away made him tighten his grip and press his hips down harder against her to hold her in place.
His cock twitched, waking up from its long, celibate nap.
Definitely not good.
“You telling me you’re looking for a way to escape isn’t exactly the smartest way to make me let my guard down.”
Her eyes moved as she studied his face. They were a pale teal color that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. So pretty, he felt like he could stare for hours and not grow bored.
Maybe that was the power her shards gave her—and she definitely had them. His own resident fragments of souls wouldn’t be reacting so strongly if she didn’t have something they wanted.
“I know men like you,” she said, gaining his complete attention with her sweet voice. “You’re no less likely to let your guard down now than you were before I told you I was looking for an opening.”
He didn’t like the idea that she’d known men like him before. He didn’t want to be lumped into a bucket with a bunch of other guys. He wanted her to see him as different.
Special.
The ridiculous sentiment evaporated as fast as it appeared, leaving him feeling more solid, more like himself.
He slid his thumb along the inside of her wrist, enjoying the exquisitely fine texture of her skin. She was cool to the touch, and for some reason, that made him want to wrap his arms around her and give her his body’s warmth.
Clearly, she was working some kind of evil magic on him. It was the only thing that made any sense at all, because Stygian didn’t suffer from sentiment. He didn’t worry about his enemies feeling a little chill. He didn’t marvel over how soft or pretty they were, or anticipate the sound of their voice like a child did Christmas morning.
He hunted, stalked and overpowered his enemies. And when they left him no choice, he killed them.
But here he was, petting a Vires thief, rather than interrogating her the way he knew he should.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“What does it matter?”
“I like to know all the names of the people who break into my room.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
The idea was instantly appalling.
She is ours. We need her.
Stygian snarled inwardly, telling his shards to shut the fuck up.
His anger came out in his tone. “I haven’t decided yet. What is your name?”
“Echo,” she said, holding his gaze.
“What’s your real name?”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “That’s the only name you’re getting.”
“Who do you work for?”
Her perfect brow wrinkled in confusion. “No one.”
“You expect me to believe you were able to find our home base, sneak in without being seen, plant something in my drawer, and do it all without any help?”
Her teal gaze met his, unflinching. “I’m just that good.”
He had to admire her balls. He could break her in half with a harsh glance, and yet she was still defying him. “Did Starry send you?”
Her pale brows drew together. “I don’t know who or what that is.”
Stygian studied her face, searching for a hint of a lie, but found nothing. He was no human lie detector, but he hadn’t stayed alive this long without some pretty good instincts. Those instincts were telling him she had no idea who Starry was.
“Phoenix, then?” he asked.
“I don’t know any Phoenix.”
That was the exact right answer to give if someone wanted their enemy to believe they were on the same side. Because of that, Stygian didn’t trust it to be the truth.
At least not yet.
“What did you put in that drawer?” he asked again.
Echo held his gaze, and he felt the connection wing down into his stomach where it expanded and flitted around for a moment, warming him.
“I only did what they told me to do. I wasn’t here to hurt anyone. And I really need to go. The rat man will find me if I stay in one place too long.”
“Rat man?”
“If you don’t know who I’m talking about, then he’s never come after you. I barely got away the last time he found me. I don’t think I’d catch him off guard again.”
“Who told you to come here?” Stygian asked.
“The voices.”
That definitely got his attention. Many of his kind—the Riven—and their enemy the Vires heard voices. The shards of lost souls they carried often made their will known that way, whispering in the minds of their vessels. Which meant Echo was definitely one of them. He just didn't know which side she landed on.
“I’m going to ask you only one more time,” he said. “What did you put in my drawer?”
“I don’t know what it is. All I know is what the voices told me it was.”
“And what did they tell you it was?” he asked, trying desperately to hang onto what little patience he had left.
She uttered a single word, but it had the power to change everything.
“Prophecy.”
Chapter Three
Echo had no chance at all of escaping this man’s grasp, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that was a bad thing.
His big hand
s were like iron manacles around her wrists—manacles that stroked her skin and made fuzzy streamers of warmth streak down her arms. Heat pooled in her stomach and wiggled around like a happy puppy. His callused fingers grazed against her, making her acutely aware of every inch of her skin that touched his.
She squirmed in the wake of the odd feeling, but all it did was cause her body to rub against his and make the fuzzy streamers swell and multiply.
His body was heavy, driving her deep into the mattress. The earthy scent of his skin was all around her—on the blankets below her as well as on the man above. She couldn’t quite place the fragrance but it was part soap, part rainwater, part moonlit forest, and wholly intoxicating. It eased her fear and gave her room to breathe so she could suck in even more of his yummy scent.
His swarthy skin showed a shadow of heavy beard-stubble peeking through. His thick hair was inky black, falling away from his forehead in smooth waves. His eyelashes were so dense and long, he almost looked like he was wearing guyliner. She couldn’t quite tell what color his deeply-set eyes were in this dim light, but they were definitely dark. Brown, maybe black. If he turned his head just a little more toward the outside security light, she would have been able to solve the mystery.
But he didn’t turn. He didn’t shift his gaze. He stared into her eyes and gave her nowhere to look but directly at him.
Faint lines fanned out from his eyes, but whether they were caused from squinting or smiling she couldn’t tell. As she studied his mouth and saw no smile lines, she decided that a sense of humor was probably the less likely cause of the pale creases.
Dude was hard-core serious, and she idly wondered if he ever cracked a grin.
Trust him, the voices in her head whispered.
Yeah, right. Because trust was so her thing.
Not.
Her toes hit him mid-shin, putting him several inches taller than her. His shoulders were about twice as wide as hers, and as the seconds ticked by, she began to wonder if anyone would even see her hidden beneath him if they walked in.
For some reason, the idea of being able to hide behind his bulk eased some of the tension riding along her spine.
