by Addison Fox
She reached up, her fingers tracing a light pattern down his jawline. The look in her eyes—trust mingled with the smoky hints of desire—humbled him and turned him on all at the same time. “No one to call. ’Cept work.”
“Okay. We’ll call work.”
“No!” With sudden movements, her hand dropped from his face as her eyes widened and she struggled to sit up.
“Whoa! Okay. Stop. Slow down!” He held on to her, trying to keep her head from jostling as much as possible. She might not have a concussion, but she had to be working on the headache of the century. “I won’t call your work.”
She settled down again, her eyes going droopy as her head flopped against his shoulder. “Big project. Don’t want them to know about this.”
Well, this was interesting. “You mean your job at the museum?” He shifted their bodies, cradling her closer to minimize any jerky motions as he regained his feet.
“Mmm-hmmm. Big project. They won’t let me work on it if I don’t show up; if I show weakness. I have to be strong. Like you.”
“What weakness are you afraid of, sweetheart?”
Her eyes fluttered open again, going a wide, rich chocolate brown. “The stone.”
As in the Summoning Stones?
What could she be afraid of? And why? And if she was afraid of them, what the hell was she doing curating an exhibit full of them?
Damn it, he needed to talk to Quinn.
He carried her the short walk back to her apartment. At the front stoop of her building—an Upper West Side converted brownstone—he did a quick glance up and down the street for any potential witnesses. A few days prior, on his recon of her building, he’d confirmed the lack of a video camera, but a nosy neighbor could do a hell of a lot more damage than a grainy videotape.
“Shhh. Don’t worry about any of that. Close your eyes.” Her fluttering eyelids dropped closed as her already-limp body slackened further.
He took stock of his own energy level, the post-adrenaline burn of the fight still coursing through his veins. He visualized her apartment, the recognizance photos Quinn had pulled providing the image of her bright, yellow kitchen. Did he have enough energy to port into her apartment?
The answer was a resounding yes as his surroundings shimmered. Air rushed at him from all sides, a crushing weight wrapping around his body like a lead blanket. Willing as much soothing energy into her as he could, he hunched his body around her, hoping to take the brunt of the jump from the sidewalk to her apartment.
It was over barely before it had begun. A glance down at Ava’s sleeping form confirmed she’d missed the entire thing.
Other than wall-to-ceiling bookcases, the apartment was sparsely furnished, but neat as a pin. He transferred her to the couch and leaned over her, brushing the hair away from her face again.
Brody debated the wisdom of questioning her further. On one hand, he wanted the information she held and her memory was just fuzzy enough to forget their conversation, which would make their next few weeks a lot easier. But based on her mumbled answers so far, the likelihood of getting useful information was slim.
The fact that he wanted to talk to her and have those luscious brown eyes on his again had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
Decision made, he dropped a lingering kiss on her forehead and rose from her side. He’d get his answers soon enough.
“You’re a mystery, Dr. Harrison.”
With a last glance at her, he walked to the front of her apartment and took a seat on the floor on a pastel-colored rag rug, his back to the door. He pulled another bag of cashews out of his pocket and glanced at the box of graham crackers on the counter. She’d never know if he nicked a few.
When she did stir, he’d have enough energy to port himself away before she even realized he was there. He needed to find his Warrior brothers and get their take on what had happened.
In a little while.
After he made sure the apartment was secure and she didn’t need anything else.
In the meantime, he leaned his head back against the door as he worked his way through a sleeve of graham crackers. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while.
Brody felt the harsh thumping bass of Grey’s nightclub as his molecules reassembled. He ported into a private area of the basement used for just that purpose and marveled that the place didn’t actually crumble from the constant throb of ear-shattering music.
Equinox was humming tonight. And it was only a Tuesday. Course, Equinox hummed every night. Their Aries Warrior had the hottest spot in all of New York.
Hell, all the East Coast.
His gut still churned at the idea that he’d left Ava behind, alone, but he had to talk to his brothers—needed to get them the latest intel and get their take on the situation. He’d be in and out in fifteen minutes.
Brody walked into a private bar area reserved for the Warriors. Although its current iteration was Equinox, Grey had owned this plot of land since New York’s colonial days. He changed it up every few years, ensuring the good members of their growing metropolis had a place to go to let off steam or see and be seen. He’d even beaten prohibition.
And he’d managed to keep everyone blind to the fact that the place hadn’t changed ownership in more than two hundred years; nor had the proprietor aged a single day in all that time.
It was a tricky business, but Themis had been kind with her gifts, anticipating the challenges immortality might force, no matter how clever the Warrior or how glib his tongue.
A slight mind trick here or there; the ability to erase even the most deliberate thoughts—when used wisely, those gifts ensured all her Warriors could function in society with society being none the wiser about its protectors.
Grey occupied the corner seat at the small, sleek private bar in the back of the room, his white button-down shirt and pressed black slacks conveying more the after-hours suave businessman than bartender. “I don’t let ugly assholes into my club. Didn’t you get the memo?”
Brody took a seat across from his oldest friend. “Fuck you, Aries. Your club sucks.”
“Tell the DA that. He’s been entertaining his merry band of ADAs all evening. His office won the Pritchard case and they’re out celebrating.” Grey whistled. “And man, there is just nothing sexier than a prim little lawyer in one of those black pencil skirts.”
“And you wouldn’t have anything to do with the last arrest that tied up that case, now would you?” Brody reached for a handful of salted nuts. “And when did you start getting all hot and bothered for lawyers? Always thought you had a greater appreciation for the sort of women they were likely to throw the book at.”
Grey slapped him in the head as he walked around the back of the bar. As he reached for a bottle of Vox, the ram’s broad smile couldn’t be missed in the dim lighting of the bar. “The ADAs tied up the case, Leo. A whole little contingent of them. Young, nubile and smart.”
It didn’t escape Brody’s notice Grey avoided the direct question. What the Aries did with his free time, he’d made clear—on more than one occasion—didn’t affect the rest of them.
Yeah, right.
But Brody left it alone. As the jovial member of their little contingent, he worked to keep peace on this subject, not egg it on. Reaching for another handful of nuts, he aimed his gaze toward the back staircase. “Maybe I should go upstairs. Check out all those skirts, then.”
“Stick to what you can handle, Talbot. Besides, clearly you’re here to talk. Quinn’s on his way.” Grey handed him a glass of vodka and club soda, then poured one of his own. “Lay it on me.”
Brody glanced around the club. The area they were in was roped off and far enough away from anyone else to ensure privacy. It still bothered him, though, as he looked down the long length of the basement, that there were others close by.
Although the street level of the club entertained the city’s finest, the basement was reserved for any number of unusuals and immortals who made
Manhattan their home.
Or their workplace.
He recognized Themis’s daughters, the three Fates, at the end of the big bar that dominated the majority of the basement. A few seats away from them a buxom nymph and a clearly besotted incubus seemed to be getting acquainted with each other. In a small conversation alcove, a band of Argonauts were clearly letting off steam, their hollers for more pitchers echoing all the way down the room.
Brody jerked his head. “What has them so wound up?” Grey shrugged. “No idea. But they tip well—even better when they’re lit—so my waitresses are happy and keep bringing the rounds.”
Quinn walked out of the back office, with a puss on that would rival a two-year-old in a temper tantrum.
“Swallow something?”
“Fuck you, Talbot. I’ve had a shitty day and an even shittier night so far.”
“Join the club.”
Grey deposited a scotch in front of Quinn and gave him a pointed stare. “You’re scaring my customers.”
“The Fates love me.”
“Actually, they hate you since you fucked Clotho and then didn’t call,” Grey added, the soul of diplomacy.
“She wanted a bounce, nothing more.”
Brody tossed a glance over his shoulder to take a look at the offended sister. One look at the death mark in her eyes and Brody started to laugh as he turned back toward his brothers. “Oh yeah. You’d better be damn glad you’re an immortal, or her sister would be cutting the string of your life prematurely.”
Quinn didn’t even turn to look at the woman; he just downed his scotch and nodded at Grey behind the bar. “You summoned us here for something, Talbot. Get to it.”
“You first. Something has happened to get your panties all bunched up. What is it?”
Quinn pointed his empty at Grey for a refill. “Where’s the woman?”
“Safe at home.”
Quinn’s gaze was laser sharp. “She wasn’t safe earlier. Why’d you leave her?”
A distinct itch settled in the center of Brody’s back and it had nothing to do with his lion tattoo currently flicking its tail. “You want to watch that insulting tone?”
“Why’d you leave the woman alone and unattended?”
“So I could spend ten fucking minutes getting intel from you and then I’m heading back.”
Grey nodded his head in the direction of the offices.
“Let’s take this somewhere else. You two morons are drawing attention.”
In Grey’s office, leather couches took up the far side of the office, creating a conversation area. Highly polished chrome and glass took up the business end of the room, the Aries’s standard office furniture of desk, chair and credenza oozing command and control with panache.
Grey shut the door, turning on the two of them. “Whatever little lovers’ spat you two have going on can stop right here. Quinn—fill me in on whatever the hell’s got you in a mood worse than your usual congenial self.”
“Talbot’s got one job. Follow Ava Harrison, since the air around her apartment has suddenly become electricity central. Neighbors complaining about random power outages. Activity’s too concentrated. Too controlled. Enyo’s got Destroyers on her.”
The itch in the center of Brody’s back was quickly morphing into an irrepressible need to pick a fight, his laid-back, easygoing self nowhere in evidence tonight. “No. Enyo had Destroyers on her. Took care of two of them tonight.”
“And then you go and leave her alone to come here.”
Grey slammed his feet on an oversized coffee table. Whether the move was done out of annoyance or to serve as the bell at the end of round one, Brody couldn’t tell.
“What can possibly be so important about this that Enyo will risk going to war with us? She’s lost quite a few rounds lately.”
Brody gave Grey the Reader’s Digest version of the prophecy and its content. He had to give their Aries credit—the guy might have been absent lately, but his sharp mind missed nothing.
“So of course, Queen Bitch wants the stones. They’re her ticket to mass destruction and big wins on every remaining battle left to fight.”
Brody nodded, the itch to port back to Ava’s raging through him like a river in a flood. “Exactly.” Every time Enyo went up against them and lost, she lost some of her powers, too. ’Course, that little tidbit worked in reverse, but that’s why they trained the way they did and stayed as vigilant as they did. Even Quinn, with his nonstop, paranoid surveillance, did a huge service to their team by ensuring they had a constant stream of information.
They avoided surprises as often as possible and were always prepared. Hell, they were really just modern-day Boy Scouts—with immortality and weapons.
Always one to love giving a lecture, Quinn took over the conversation. “If the prophecy is to be accepted, the stones have a phenomenal amount of power. Until further notice, I suggest we consider it a real threat.”
Grey leaned forward as he continued probing to get up to speed. “And Harrison? Why’s that name familiar?”
“If you’d bother to come to a meeting every now and again, I wouldn’t have to explain it.”
Brody saw the fight brewing and jumped in. While he’d have loved nothing more than getting Grey’s help in pounding Quinn’s ass, he didn’t have the time. Every second spent arguing was another moment Ava spent alone. “Russell Harrison discovered the Summoning Stones more than two decades ago. His daughter is a museum curator at the Natural History Museum and is currently preparing an exhibit with the same stones—stones that haven’t been all together since they were discovered.”
Grey reached for his own glass, curiosity quickly replacing his scowl of annoyance. “So where are they now?”
“Scattered across the world at five different museums. The exhibit at the Natural History Museum is bringing them all back together.” An image of Ava’s reaction to the suggestion he call her work and tell them she couldn’t come in filled Brody’s mind. Even through the haze of fear and a Destroyer attack, panic had filled her at the thought he’d call her boss. “The museum is clearly banking a lot on this.”
Quinn took another sip of his scotch. “Of course they are. No one is immune to the lure of technology. Museums are as much a victim of that as any other old-school environment. A pile of old dinosaur bones just isn’t interesting anymore. Everyone needs a hook and an angle. The lure of these stones—and the potential curse they represent—has the museum’s brass salivating.”
Despite his having missed their last several team meetings, Grey caught on quickly. “What’s your angle, Quinn? And why’s Brody following her? You think Ava is being set up? The daughter of the cursed discoverer and all that.”
“It’s either that or she’s responsible,” Quinn added dryly.
Grey pressed on, his stubborn Aries nature forcing them back on point. “Regardless whether she is or she isn’t, what does any of this have to do with Enyo?”
“It all goes back to the dig I was on in Egypt and the explanation in the prophecy. How a ‘Chosen One’ can harness the stones.”
Grey leaned forward again as he continued to press his points. “So even if she gets the stones, where is Enyo going to find one of these Chosen Ones? ‘Chosen,’ by default, suggests there aren’t a hell of a lot of them.”
“Because calm and rational are her defining characteristics,” Quinn muttered.
“Doesn’t matter. Seems like she’s betting a hell of a lot on very little information and supposition. Does she even know about the prophecy?”
“Of course she does. I had to fight off Destroyers behind the tomb.”
“Yeah, but the prophecy was discovered on the dig. She’s not Cassandra. How’d she know in advance?”
Chapter Four
“What happened to you? And since when do you walk in an hour and a half late? You’ve got a meeting with Dr. Martin and his new security guy in less than thirty minutes and you have a ton of things to approve before you leave for London tonig
ht.”
Ava juggled an oversized latte, her purse, her workbag and a roll-aboard as she turned the fish eye on her assistant, Suzy. “Good morning to you, too.”
Suzy clamped a hand on her ample chest. “Praise the Lord, it’s finally happened. You went on a bender and had wild, monkey sex with a hot man you picked up at Crazy Eights.”
The urge to shake her head had almost traveled the sluggish path from thought to action when Ava caught herself at the last minute. The pounding in her head was threatening to actually jackhammer her face off. “While I recognize you are desperate for me to pick up the pool hall owner in that place so you can get free games for life, that’s not what happened.”
“What did happen? You look like you’ve been run over.”
The banter felt good. Human. Until a bucket of tears welled up, prickly wet heat at the back of her eyes. “A man followed me home last night.”
“Ava. Oh, Ava!” Suzy leaped up from her desk and had her in a warm embrace in less than it took to blink. “Are you okay?”
More tears at the show of sisterhood pricked the backs of Ava’s eyes. With a large sniff, she caught her breath. “No. No, I’m fine. It didn’t happen in my apartment. He didn’t even get near my apartment. It happened on the way home.”
“Oh, sweetie. Tell me about it.”
As Ava took a deep breath, the truth of the situation ran cold fingers of panic up and down her spine. A woman by herself in the city, alone and vulnerable. It happened all the time. People got mugged all the time and now it was her turn.
“How’d you get away?”
“What?”
Something at the edge of her consciousness hovered, like a name you couldn’t remember. How did I get away? And why was it so hard to remember? And then—triumph!—as another memory filtered through the ooze of her fuzzy head. “I hit him in the neck.”
“Oooh. Good one. Their Adam’s apple is almost as vulnerable as their balls.”
The bloodlust in her friend’s voice made her smile as she recounted the night before—or what she could remember of the night before.
