by Larissa Ione
Cara stood there like a deer in headlights, her mind spinning, her heart pounding. “I think I need to sit down after all.”
Her feet were leaden as she moved over the marble floor to a thick throw rug, on top of which sat a huge coffee table designed like a chessboard. She knocked over two game pieces the size of soda cans as she sank down in an overstuffed leather chair.
“You like chess.” Her voice was hollow, her observation plain moronic.
“Yes.”
“You’re good at it, then?” Another moronic statement. She was discussing something as mundane as chess when Ares was talking about fallen angels, demons, and her death.
He righted the pieces. “No one has ever beaten me.”
“Remind me not to challenge you to a game,” she muttered.
“It would be wise not to challenge me to anything.” He swung toward one of the exits on the far side of the room and shouted for someone named Vulgrim.
His arrogance, while probably justified, irritated her, and she welcomed the annoyance. Anything was better than being afraid and confused. But before she could say anything, a hulking creature with ramlike horns and a broad snout stalked into the room, his hooves clacking on the floor. He—at least, she thought it was a he—wore some sort of leather tunic over chain mail that must have something else underneath it, or his thick, tan fur would have gotten pinched in the links.
She’d thought nothing could possibly freak her out more than she already was, but she assumed her best imitation of a stone statue, trying to be as invisible as possible as Ares spoke to the thing.
“My lord?” the thing rumbled.
Ares inclined his head. “Vulgrim, bring orc-water for the human. Instruct the others that she is to be given anything she wants.” He slid her a meaningful glance. “Except freedom. She is to be guarded with your lives.”
Orc-water? Surely he said orchid-water. Like rose-water. Only with orchids. God, she wanted to laugh like a maniac right now, because there was a monster in the room, and she was thinking about flower water. She eyed Ares and revised her thought. There were two monsters in the room.
Vulgrim bowed, wheeled around crisply on his hooved feet, and disappeared down the hall.
“What—” she cleared her throat to get rid of the humiliating hoarseness “—what was that?”
He peeled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch. “Ramreel demon. I have thirty on staff as servants and guards. They won’t harm you.”
Of course not. Because why would demons harm her? “Do all demons look like goat-things?”
He inhaled deeply, as though gathering patience to answer her questions. “There are as many species of demons as there are mammals on earth, though many appear as human as you and I. We call them ter’taceo. You’ll be able to sense or see some of them now that you’re part of this world.”
She remembered the man who had come out of the pub in York, the one who had turned into a hideous creature for a few horrific seconds. Something furry darted across the room, and she forgot the pub guy. “Is… that thing behind you a demon?”
Ares swiveled around, a broad grin softening his rugged features. “Yep.” He made some purring noises, and the beagle-sized thing, a miniature, roundish, bushier version of Vulgrim, sprinted over on four legs. She watched, amazed by Ares’s unexpected tenderness, as he gave it an affectionate tickle. “Go home, Rath. Your father is probably worried.” The little goat-thing bleated and bounced away, and Ares smiled until he turned back to her. “Vulgrim’s grandson. He’s only a few months old, and curious as hell. Mother is dead.”
Man, she had a bazillion questions for him, but she didn’t even know where to start. Maybe the reason she was here would be a good place. She settled back in the chair, and when Ares’s gaze raked her boldly, she brought her knees up to her chest and arranged the ruined pajama top to keep herself covered, though at this point, she supposed it didn’t matter. He’d already seen it all.
“Polite men don’t ogle,” she snapped, because dammit, he’d seen it, but he didn’t have to drool.
“Oh, they ogle,” he drawled. “They’re just more subtle about it.”
Whatever. “Why did you bring me here?”
He began to prowl the length of the room, his long strides eating up the floor, his severe expression frozen in concentration. “To protect you from my brother.”
“Your brother? He’s the one trying to kill me?”
“He was the male on the white horse, and he’s not the only one who wants you dead. Half the underworld will be after you. That’s why you need to be here. My brother can find the island, but few others can. He’ll suspect that I brought you here, but he’ll have no specifics—I’ve had the island cleaned of vermin and bats, and my Ramreels have hawks chasing birds out of the airspace.” At what must have been a questioning look on her face, he added, “My brother can communicate with disease-carriers and use them as spies.”
Eew. So that was why Ares had asked if she’d seen any rats. “Your brother sounds charming.”
There was a long pause, silence that was filled only by the strike of his boots on the floor. “He used to be.”
Somehow she couldn’t picture the psychopath on the demon horse being charming. “Maybe it’s time you told me exactly who you and your brother are, because frankly, I’m having a hard time processing any of this.”
He shook his head. “Knowing isn’t going to make it any easier.”
“Is it really going to make it harder?”
“It’s not going to be easy to believe.”
“Ah… hello.” She gestured in the direction the ram-horned demon had gone. “After what I’ve seen, you could say you’re Darth Vader, and I wouldn’t be surprised.”
One corner of his generous mouth tipped up in a smile before settling back into a firm, forbidding line. But for that one second, she actually felt herself drawn to him the way she’d been when she’d first seen him on her porch.
“My brother’s name is Reseph,” he said roughly. “Was Reseph. He’s now the being you might recognize as Pestilence, first Horseman of the Apocalypse.”
Okay, she’d been wrong about not being surprised. Doing her best to not hyperventilate, she sat in stunned silence for a moment. Brother. Ares’s brother was Pestilence. She finally managed to speak, but the sound was more of a croak. “And that makes you…?”
“War. Second Horseman of the Apocalypse.” The demon, Vulgrim, arrived with a bottle of water, which Ares brought to her. “Drink.”
Numbly, she did as he bade. The cold water relieved her parched tongue, and she downed half the contents before his hand came down on hers and gently nudged the bottle away. The word “gentle” seemed odd when paired with him, but right now, all that frightening power was contained, and even the hard-cut angles in his face, the forbidding set of his mouth, had become less severe.
“Easy, female,” he murmured. “You’re going to shock your system.”
Too late. She couldn’t be much more shocked than she was right now. “It doesn’t taste like flowers.” Wasn’t she the queen of moronic statements today. He eyed her as if she was feverishly insane and he could catch the crazy virus. “You said it was orchid water.”
He frowned, silently repeated what she’d said, and then he laughed. And wow, he was downright beautiful when he did that. “Orc-water. I had Vulgrim add an orcish herb that’ll help you relax.”
She should be pissed that he’d drugged her, but the orc stuff must already be working, because she just didn’t care. In fact, an effervescent warmth was spreading through her veins, and her muscles grew pleasantly relaxed. “So what now?”
“We have to find your hellhound before Pestilence does. If he knows you’ve bonded to it, he’ll torture it to kill you.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, his flexing biceps testing the limits of his T-shirt sleeves’ strength. “You were in York to find the mutt, were you not? Do you know where he is?”
“Not e
xactly. But in one of those dreams, I saw the name of a street. Newland Park Drive.”
“Then I’ll start the search there. No doubt Pestilence already has his minions combing the city.”
Don’t ask… don’t ask… “Why does he want to kill me? Why would the underworld want me dead?”
“Why?” Ares’s voice was so deep it vibrated all the way to her insides, and oddly, she liked the sensation. “Because the underworld is full of demons.” He looked down at his arm, where the horse tattoo seemed to move, as though a breeze was fluttering its mane. She recalled seeing his real stallion shift into smoke and turn into that tattoo, and yep, that was one more thing to ask him about. “Most demons who live in the human realm like things the way they are now. But the ones who are stuck in Sheoul want out, so they’re joining Pestilence’s cause to kill you. And Pestilence wants you dead because your death will break my Seal.”
“And that’s bad?”
He laughed, but this time the lack of humor in it chilled her blood, which already felt sluggish, thanks to the orc stuff. “Bad? Cara, your death will bring about the Apocalypse. Utter destruction. The end of the world as we know it. So yes, your death is bad.”
“That would be a bummer.” At some point, she’d grasped his hand. She should be mortified, because she was stroking his palm lightly with her fingers. But she’d also just said that her death causing an Apocalypse would be a bummer, so what the hell? “Orc-water is awesome.”
One brown eyebrow shot up. “I think Vulgrim might have made it a little strong.”
“Oh! Speaking of strong… the vodka. I didn’t drink any vodka, did I? That night I took care of Hal and you kidnapped me.”
His long fingers curled around hers, and her entire body went all liquid and warm. “I staged it after I wiped your memory. I wanted you to think you had a reason for not remembering what happened.”
“Might have worked, except I don’t drink. Ever.” She sat forward. “Can I have more orc-water?”
His lips quirked as he pushed the bottle out of her reach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Probably not. Especially since her eyelids were starting to feel heavy. But her insides had gone in the opposite direction. They were positively dancing, doing a jig with her hormones, which seemed to have awakened from a deep sleep since meeting Ares. “You smell really good. And you’re extremely handsome. Your face is a little cruel, though.” His scowl proved her point. “Your brother was scary. You’re scary, too. Are you evil?”
“Not yet. But that’s why we have to keep you alive, Cara. If you die, I’m going to go very, very bad.”
“Like when you kissed me? That was bad.”
“It wasn’t a kiss. And it wasn’t bad.” He sounded so put out that she smiled.
“Your mouth was on mine.” Her vision had begun to blur, but she could see his lips clearly. They were so perfect. And if she remembered right, they were also very firm, but smooth. She reached out, touched the pad of one finger to his lower lip.
His mouth parted on a harsh inhale, and something fluttered in her stomach. Maybe the orc-water. Slowly, she traced his lips with her finger, and yes, they were soft. Velvety. She wanted to feel more of them.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind a voice screamed that this was wrong, but she was sleepy, loopy, and a little bit… horny. “I’ll show you,” she murmured, as she angled her body forward. “Will show you what a kiss is.”
He reared back, but she caught his mouth with hers, and he locked up as if she’d hit a switch. A giggle rose up in her, but it never made it past her lips. Nope. They were too busy mashing themselves against Ares’s.
She had never been the aggressor in any relationship. Had to be the orc-water. She slanted her mouth over his, the way she remembered him kissing her. His tongue had swept out, traced the seam of her lips, so she did the same.
“This,” she whispered, “is what you did to me.”
A needy, masculine sound rumbled in his chest, a cross between a moan and a growl, and then Ares was on her. He pressed her into the chair, his body crushing hers, his hips cradled between her spread thighs. Again, the voice deep in her skull screamed that this was a mistake, but her body was relaxed, languid, and after the hell of the last couple of days, all she wanted to do was forget.
Ares planted his fists against the armrests and pushed his upper body off Cara. Ah, damn. That shit was not cool. She’d been drugged, was drunk on orc-weed, and he’d known the instant she’d touched his mouth with her finger that he should stop her.
Instead, he’d been curious to see what she’d do. He hadn’t thought she’d kiss him. And when she had… it had been the sweetest kiss he’d experienced in, well, ever. Her mouth had been hungry, her tongue slick and hot, and it had lit a fire inside him he’d thought had been long since doused.
And when her fingers dug into the back of his neck, the fire had flamed out of control. His warrior instincts had demanded that he move in, go on the offensive, and conquer. He had her under him in a heartbeat, his body hard, straining, his mouth tasting willing, sexed-up female.
Now he was covering her, his arousal pressing against her core, his chest tight with uneven breaths. And she was asleep.
Get off her, dumbshit.
The back of his neck prickled with the sensation of being watched, and he whipped his head around to the source. Vulgrim stood in the doorway between the dining area and the great room, his tiny, piggish eyes bright with speculation and curiosity. No doubt. Ares rarely brought females here. And when he did, they didn’t spend time making out in the living room. They weren’t usually drugged to unconsciousness, either.
Yeah, this looked real good.
“What?” he snapped, as he shoved off Cara. He resisted the urge to explain that this wasn’t a roofie-in-the-drink thing. Ares could have any female he wanted. He didn’t need to drug them, and it wasn’t his servant’s business, even if he had done it to have sex with the human.
“I see you’re… busy,” Vulgrim said, his usually flat voice dripping with amusement. “I’ll clean up later.”
“Do that. And tell Torrent to keep a better eye on Rath.” Not that he minded the little furball in the house, but if Pestilence found the baby Ramreel by himself… God, Ares didn’t even want to go there in his thoughts.
He scooped Cara into his arms. Her top splayed open, the ripped-off buttons and torn fabric completing the perverted fuck-her-while-she-sleeps scenario. Excellent.
“I hear Rohypnol is even better than orc-weed, sir,” Vulgrim called out as Ares carried her down the hall.
“I have a torture room in the dungeon,” Ares shot back, and he was only half-kidding. Damned demon.
Problem was, the demon wasn’t half as afraid of Ares as he should be, and as much as Ares wanted to regret allowing Vulgrim and family into Ares’s inner circle, he couldn’t. He didn’t like demons, but Vulgrim was different and had been since the day Ares had rescued him from certain death as a kid.
In his arms, Cara stirred, snuggled against his chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck. A curious warmth filtered through him, something he couldn’t quite identify, but it was… nice.
There is no room for tenderness in our world. Warriors fight. They fuck. They kill. That is all. His father’s voice—the voice of the human male who had raised him—still clanged around in Ares’s skull after all this time. As a toddler, Ares had been beaten for showing too much kindness toward animals and slaves. His gentle side had literally been battered out of him by the time he was ten. He’d gotten the message loud and clear. Don’t get attached to anyone or anything, because possessions were easy to lose, power was fluid, and living things died easily.
No shit. He’d forgotten that lesson eventually, and his family had paid for his failure. In blood.
Cara began to snore, delicate rumblings he tried to find unattractive. Not cute. Nope, not cute at all. He told himself that over and over as he carried her to one of his five bedrooms,
choosing the master suite. It had a bathroom, the biggest bed, and in the corner, a chair where he could sit and watch her if he needed to. It also sat at the edge of the cliff and boasted the best view, best sea breeze, a patio, and was nearly inaccessible from the outside.
He laid her on the mattress, had to peel her fingers off his neck, and did his best to avert his gaze from her gaping shirt as he drew a sheet over her. Okay, maybe not his best. Ah, hell, the effort was pathetic. He needed to get her new pajamas. Immediately.
With a soft sigh, she curled on her side and snuggled into the sheets. A twinge of jealousy pricked at him. He didn’t remember ever nestling into a bed like that—it was such a human thing to do. But then, even when he’d believed he was human, he’d felt disconnected, as if he didn’t belong. He’d gone through the motions of getting married, having a family, and enjoying life, but he’d always known deep down that something wasn’t right. That he was meant for something bigger, and he didn’t need or deserve human comforts or feelings.
He realized he’d been hovering over Cara, lost in his thoughts, his hands cradling her head because he had no pillows on the bed, his fingers stroking her smooth cheek. Hissing, he jerked away with such force that he threw himself off balance and had to catch himself on the chair before he landed on his ass. Son of a bitch. Both the stumble and the drifting thoughts were clumsy, uncharacteristic, and as much as he wanted to blame the agimortus… okay, yeah, he’d blame it. No way was a woman making him addled, no matter how beautiful she was.
Snapping himself back into warrior mode, he assigned guards to the patio, the roof, and within sight of each of the windows. Once he was satisfied that nothing, not even one of Pestilence’s rats, could sneak into the room, he texted Limos and Thanatos. Both arrived within an hour, and he met them in the great room.
“Tell me you have the human,” Thanatos said, by way of greeting.
He was dressed for battle in his demon-bone plate armor, and his boots boomed like thunderclaps as he strode across the floor. He’d pulled his pale hair back with a leather thong, but the two thin braids on either side of his temples tapped loosely against his face as he walked. In his hand was an icy can of Mountain Dew. He was addicted to the stuff.
