Enraptured

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Who was she? What was she to him? And why the hell couldn’t he figure out how he knew her?

  She turned back toward the kitchen. “Take your time.”

  Why the hell was he so rattled around her?

  Skata. Maybe that last shift had been one too many. Maybe he’d finally suffered some serious brain damage in the process.

  Stepping into the bathroom, he shook off the thought, avoided the mirror. He didn’t need to see his reflection to know he looked like shit. He felt like it too. And not just from the change. Months of searching, only to be met with disappointment, were taking their toll. He needed food. A couple hours of shut-eye. And to find that damn dark-haired female before he lost the Orb for good.

  Steam filled the room as he let the water beat down on his battered body. He rubbed soap all over his skin, washed his hair with shampoo from a purple bottle that smelled way too girlie, then flipped off the water and dried with a towel from the rack. As he did, he caught sight of the ancient Greek text on his forearms that ran down to entwine his fingers.

  Man, if the Argonauts could see him now. No, nix that. He already knew exactly what they’d say or do if they’d seen the switcheroo he pulled in that clearing. Daemons weren’t just discriminated against in their world, they were the bitter enemy. If word got out he was half daemon, the Argonauts would be the first to crucify him, likely in Tiyrns Square, for all Argoleans to see. Forget the fact he was the last living descendant of the famed hero Perseus. And never mind that he’d helped their queen and all the Argonauts more times than he could count. He tossed the towel away in disgust, jerked on the fresh jeans. To them he’d forever be nothing more than a daemon. Useful one way: dead.

  He tugged on the dark blue T-shirt that barely fit, shoved his feet back into his boots, and finger-combed his hair. Screw what he thought he wanted. There was only one thing he needed right now. The Orb of Krónos. Once he had that…well, then the tide would finally turn.

  As for the blond…yeah, she was hot, but he didn’t have time for this. And the weird sensations pinging around in his chest when he looked at her weren’t just delaying him, they were distracting him. So he’d go out there, find out what she knew about his target, then be on his way.

  Decision made, he grabbed his weapon from the counter where he’d left it and opened the bathroom door. Steam preceded him into the hall, where the scent of bacon filled the air. His stomach growled, and he turned the corner to find the blond—shit, he should have asked for her name—standing at the stove, flipping bacon and scrambling eggs. She’d dressed in fresh clothes: another black shirt—this one, short-sleeved—a fresh pair of slim black pants, and the same kick-ass goth boots she’d worn earlier. But it wasn’t her outfit that made the room spin. It was the modern appliances fading into the background that tipped the world out from under him.

  Weathered stone, a baking hearth, and an old scarred table filled the space. And at the counter, the same female, stirring something in a ceramic bowl. Only this time she was barefoot, wearing a slip of a dress made of gauzy white and tied at her narrow waist with a woven gold braid.

  He reached out and gripped the hallway wall to steady himself.

  She looked up. Her hand stopped moving. The bowl sat cradled in the nook of her other arm. A streak of flour ran across her right cheek.

  A warm smile spread across her face. One filled with heat and mischief and knowledge. “Stop looking at me like that. Thou knowest that is playing with fire.”

  She went back to stirring. Looked back down at her work with a victorious grin. Turned to reach for something behind her.

  But Orpheus felt like he’d just been sucker punched in the gut.

  The air left his lungs on a gasp. The room spun again, flipped his stomach end over end. The scabbard fell from his hand as he reached for the wall with his other hand. He felt himself going down. Saw shadows barreling in from all sides. But was powerless to keep from fainting like a giant pussy.

  “Daemon? Can you hear me?” The voice was muffled. Distant. Something hard pressed down on his chest. “Come on, already. Wake up!”

  A crack echoed around him. His eyes flew open.

  “That’s it. Yeah, that’s right, keep looking at me.”

  He couldn’t do anything else. He stared up into amethyst eyes that sparkled like the Aegis Mountains in the early-morning sunshine. And felt that rush of familiarity all over again.

  “There you go. See? Not so bad after all.” Her voice wasn’t so muffled anymore. “Let’s get you up.”

  He didn’t fight her when she pulled on his shoulders, maneuvering him around to lean against the wall, his legs kicked out in front of him. While his head continued to spin like a top, she went back into the kitchen, flipped off the stove, reached for bandages and other supplies, then came back and knelt next to him.

  Honeysuckle wafted around him as she leaned close to look at the side of his head. But that vision of her in that old-time kitchen wouldn’t leave his head. That and the knowing smile she’d sent him that spoke of familiarity on a personal level. An intimate level.

  Shards of heat ricocheted everywhere she touched, sending a tingle down his spine that left him more off-kilter than before. “This looks like it’s finally scabbed over,” she said. “I know daemons heal quickly, but…well, you are not what I expected.”

  Neither was she. Whatever she was doing to him, though, he was about to put a stop to it.

  He grasped her wrist, ignored the heat that flared beneath his fingers. “I want…answers.”

  Another jolt of déjà vu rippled through him. She looked down where he held her, and something akin to shock washed over her face. Then she pulled her hand free with a quick snap of her wrist, a motion that told him she was stronger than she appeared, and pushed to her feet. “You need food. We’ll talk after you eat.”

  Screw that.

  He’d never fainted in his life. Couldn’t believe he’d done so now, especially in front of her. Whatever she was—witch, sorceress, immortal—she was playing some kind of mind fuck on him. Getting him to see and feel things that weren’t real. His mother had been Medean. He’d studied her craft, knew how to cast spells himself when the time was right, and was well aware of the power the dark arts could harness. He wasn’t about to be manipulated by this female, in any way.

  He pushed to his feet. Before she reached the end of the hall, he flashed in front of her, bringing her feet to a dead stop.

  Surprise lit her eyes. Confusion followed quickly on its tail. Argonauts could only flash in Argolea. In the human realm they were limited to the same laws of nature as humans. But not him.

  She dropped her supplies, eased back. “What…? How did you do that?”

  “I’m full of surprises.” He took a step toward her.

  She moved back more. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’ve had a shitty day and I’m tired of the head games.” Her back hit the wall. He knew his eyes were glowing green, illuminating the dark hallway around them, but he didn’t force his daemon back as he normally would. Right now he needed its strength. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

  He pressed a hand against the wall and leaned in close. Until the heat from her skin slid over his and the beat of her heart was all he could hear. “I want to know who the hell you really are. And I want to know what your being here has to do with me.”

  Chapter 4

  Skyla wasn’t one to back down from a fight. But she’d seen the damage Orpheus could do in his daemon form. And this close, if he changed, there’d be no time for her to reach her weapons.

  His hot breath washed over her ear, slithered down her neck, sent tingles racing along her spine. Tingles that warred with the danger she should be feeling. He smelled like the grapefruit shampoo she picked up a few days ago, and this close he was bigger than she’d realized, all muscle and sinew.

  From the moment he’d followed her back to the run-down apartment she’d taken while she’d searche
d for him, she’d been overly aware of him. Of his size, of his movements, of the raw masculinity he radiated every moment. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the power he’d wielded out there in the trees. Not just the way he’d decimated those daemons, but the way he’d put himself between her and danger. The way he’d tried to get her to leave. The way he’d told the other female to run.

  What kind of daemon did that? Not one she’d ever met.

  Her skin heated. That ache—the one she couldn’t explain—slid from her stomach to settle between her legs. She’d used sex in the past to get close to a target, but this was different. This was her reacting to him instead of the other way around.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  Good gods, what was wrong with her? He was manhandling her and she was getting turned on? This so wasn’t the way she worked.

  As she fought the strange reaction, she looked up into glowing green eyes. Eyes that slowly faded to gray as they stared down at her. Eyes not of a daemon, but of a man. Eyes that hypnotized her on a level she’d not experienced in over two thousand years.

  She knew right then that no matter what he said or how he used his size or daemon to try to intimidate her, he wouldn’t hurt her. If he’d wanted to, he’d have done it back in the woods. He wouldn’t have saved her.

  “Female, it’s time you tell me—”

  “Skyla.”

  “What?”

  Her gaze slid to his mouth—a mouth she was suddenly tempted to taste. “My name is Skyla.”

  “Your name isn’t what I want right now.”

  Heat thrummed in her veins. She stared at his lips. Firm and masculine. Licked her own. Kissing implied intimacy, and intimacy was something she’d learned long ago to avoid. But the need to touch him, to taste him, was right there, pulsing along her nerve endings, teasing her control. She followed the strong curve of his chin, and finally the delectable jawline. “What do you want, daemon?”

  “Answers. Where did you come from? And how did you know the female I was follow—”

  She rose on her toes, pressed her mouth to his jaw until the musky scent of him filled her senses and the salty taste of his skin exploded in her mouth. Then stilled because that was an action she hadn’t planned and now wasn’t sure how to finish.

  He pulled away. Stared hard into her eyes. And in the silence that followed, she rationalized this was what she was supposed to do: seduce, gain his trust, use him to find what Zeus so desperately wanted. But suddenly this wasn’t just about her job. That ache intensified until satiating it, with him, was all she could focus on.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “The same thing you want me to do.”

  “I never said I wanted you to—”

  She closed the gap he’d created before she could stop herself, pressed her body along his and her lips to the soft skin of his throat.

  “Skata, female. I’m starting to think you’re the one who has brain damage.”

  “Possibly. Is that a problem for you?” She kissed the pulse of his throat, found another, more delectable spot to taste and sample. Waited for him to drag her closer. Waited for a hint of that heat she’d seen earlier in his eyes.

  When he didn’t, she decided to pull out all the stops. “What’s wrong, daemon? Am I too much for you to handle? Maybe the creature you were chasing is more to your taste? I bet you prefer your women docile, don’t you?”

  For a split second she thought he was going to pull away, but then a growl echoed low in his throat. His hands slid through her hair. He tipped her head to kiss her. But there were just enough synapses firing in her brain to remind her kissing was a no-go, and she jerked her head to the side, offering her neck instead.

  He hesitated the briefest of seconds, as if caught off guard. “I like my women to scream.” Then he pressed his body into hers along the wall. “Is this was you want, Skyla? Me to make you scream?”

  Before she could answer, he nipped into her neck, sucked the skin, and worked his leg between both of hers until she felt the length of his erection pressing against her hip. And the way he said her name…

  Yes. Gods, yes.

  She moaned at the feel of him, at his lips on her throat sending shock waves of pleasure straight to her core. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. She lifted her leg around his hip, ground herself against him. Pulled him even closer.

  Danger excited her. Why else would she be reacting this way? Though the markings of the Eternal Guardians covered his arms, logic told her this daemon was no hero. He was prey. Someone cursed by the gods for reasons she didn’t understand and wasn’t supposed to know. And yet here she was. Rubbing against him in this crappy apartment hallway like a sex-crazed nymph. Desperate for more. Aching for something only he could give her.

  On some level she knew she should stop…but that level was disappearing in the background, moving right out of her grasp. And as long as she didn’t get emotionally involved, why couldn’t she do this? She could complete her mission and enjoy it at the same time. And gods, it had been so long since she’d enjoyed anything. She deserved a few moments of release.

  “More.” She moved against him, dragged his head to the other side of her throat. Her hands slid down his muscular chest to grasp the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. He broke contact long enough for her to toss the shirt to the floor. Across his face, the same need she felt reflected back at her.

  His broad chest, covered with a sprinkling of dark hair, rose and fell with his labored breaths. He shoved his hands up under her shirt until it landed against the floor next to his, and his warm, strong fingers brushed her nipples. “What is this?”

  “Breasts.” She leaned closer, found his earlobe again. Gods, he tasted so damn good. Smelled even better. And that rod of steel rubbing between her legs was nice, but not nearly close enough. She wanted it closer. Wanted him deep.

  “I know what these are,” he mumbled, palming her breasts as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, levered herself higher to rub against him right where she wanted him most. “I meant this. What’s happening here? What the hell is it?”

  “Let’s not overanalyze.” She just wanted to feel. To give herself over to the sensations rocking her world right out from under her. She’d worry about her mission later. “Take off my bra already.”

  The clasp popped with a snap, and the lace slid down her arms. She wriggled out of it and reached for him again. Pleasure arced through her pelvis as he hooked her leg over his hip once more and ran his fingers across her panties.

  “Damn it.” His mouth nipped at her chin, trailed hot, succulent kisses toward her ear that enraptured every part of her being. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her either. She gasped in surprise when he undid the zipper on her boot, tugged it off, and threw it down the hall, then stripped her pants down her legs, underwear and all.

  He hooked her bare leg over his hip again. Her pants looped around the boot still on her other foot. But when his fingers found her wetness, she barely cared.

  Yes, yes, yes. This was what she wanted. The only thing she wanted. Why had she waited so long?

  He stroked her, slid two fingers deep inside. A tremor ran through her body as his thumb brushed her clit. “What kind of enchantment are you casting, female?”

  He seemed as bewildered as she at the instant attraction. This was more than a quick fuck and both of them knew it—even if they’d never in a million years admit it.

  “No enchantment,” she managed. “Need more.”

  A low rumble echoed through the hall, one she wasn’t sure had come from him alone. She didn’t have long to ponder because his mouth was back at her ear again, his tongue doing wicked things to her lobe. His touch consumed her, drew the air from her lungs, promised her something she couldn’t see but needed. A zipper rasped. His fingers slipped free of her. She groaned at the emptiness but shuddered when he slid both hands under her ass and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Then near
ly came out of her skin when the tip of his cock brushed her folds and he pressed her into the wall, filling her in one sharp thrust.

  Pleasure rippled through every cell in her body, as if this was what she’d been seeking all her life. She tightened around him, cried out in protest when he drew away, then moaned all over again as he plunged deep. Those fireworks picked up in intensity until pinpricks of heat were all she felt. “Oh…”

  “Like that?” He slid out, thrust back in again. Sweat slicked her skin as he plunged deep over and over until her eyes blurred.

  “Yes, yes, more. Yes.” She dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Tried to take him even deeper.

  Her release barreled toward her. He grew even thicker inside. But it wasn’t enough. Never enough. The climax she longed for was right there. Hovering out of her grasp. She shifted her hips, tried to find that one spot…

  “Skata.” He changed the angle of his thrust. “Here?”

  “Yes. I—” Before she could brace herself, fire exploded through her core, so unexpected it stole the breath from her lungs.

  She groaned, kicked her head back into the wall, and tightened around him as waves of pleasure washed over her. Waves that went on and on and triggered a feeling so sublime, it seared deep in her chest and grabbed hold of her heart like a vise.

  But it didn’t last. As the last wave dissipated, a sinkhole opened wide. She felt herself falling, tumbling into a black abyss of pain and suffering so intense she gasped. All around her, torment rang out like trumpets, and a grief she’d only experienced one other time settled in deep. Grabbed hold of her heart. Threatened to never let go.

  A grief that had nearly killed her once. A grief she thought she’d left behind a lifetime ago.

  Her eyes opened. His face was mere centimeters from hers, his jaw tight, his skin slicked with sweat, his eyes wide and unfocused. And reflected in those familiar gray pools she saw her past as clear as if it were the present. Felt the pain that had shaped her into the Siren she was today as sharply as if it had just happened.