by Addison Fox
Thoughts jumbled in her mind faster than she could keep up with them. “So if the scorpion is his protector, how can it poison him?”
“The venom has limits to its power because the spell that released it had to be tied to something,” Quinn interjected, clearly frustrated with the discussion but evidently unwilling to stay out of it. “The poison grows stronger day by day, until Antares, the brightest star in the Scorpio constellation, hits its zenith.”
“And when he makes it through?” Ilsa pushed.
“Then the venom recedes for another year,” Quinn confirmed.
“Who did this to him?” Ilsa reached for Kane’s hand as he began thrashing again. Deep, dark anger burned in her belly, so forceful it drowned out everything else inside of her—the scientists, the unresolved anger for Zeus, even the need for vengeance against Themis—in a writhing hatred for the one who had done this to him. “How?”
Acid coated every word Quinn spoke. “A sorcerer with the darkest of magics. Powers no one—mortal or immortal—should possess.”
Her stomach twisted as another long, low moan sounded from Kane’s throat. “Who is this sorcerer? Does he still live?”
“That he does.” Grey nodded. “Kane’s hunted him for three hundred years, but Emmett’s eluded him all this time.”
The bottom fell out of her stomach as the name Grey uttered washed over her. “Emmett?”
“Emmett the Dark,” Quinn clarified. “Have you heard of him?”
Chapter Ten
Screams echoed in his head as Kane desperately tried to claw his way past the fury writhing inside his body. Sought to focus on what was happening outside of himself, instead of the maelstrom that swirled inside.
Focus.
Pushing against the pain with every ounce of willpower he possessed, Kane searched for quiet.
Focus.
He fought for calm. For an end to the screaming, ranting, clanging voice of the pain.
Focus.
Slowly, as if coming from far away, Kane heard the voices around him. Recognized Grey’s levelheaded calm, heard Quinn’s territorial snapping and sensed Drake’s soothing presence.
But it was Ilsa who captivated him. Just as she had from the first, her voice coated his senses like a fine wine on the palate.
Only this time, the sound of her was different. Was that concern in her voice? Caring? Was it possible? Or was it all a lie?
As he listened, unable to respond, unable to get out of his own head, her voice calmed him further. Eased the pain. And made him feel emotions he had no business having.
Made him feel something that ran . . . deeper, somehow. A feeling that was less sexual, although he felt that, too. Less of a physical need than an emotional one.
Why did it feel so damn good?
Tuning in to her voice again, Kane allowed those sweet, sexy tones to wash over him. “I’ve no idea who this Emmett person is.”
Why was Quinn asking her that?
Before he could further analyze it, Ilsa was already pressing his Warrior brothers with dogged determination. “Quinn? What did that thing mean when he escaped outside?”
“I don’t know.” Ire coated Quinn’s words. Kane knew the bull’s frustration would have brought a smile to his face if he could have reacted to what was happening around him.
“Outside? The Destroyer who ran out? What did he say?” That was levelheaded Grey, always keeping them on point.
Ilsa’s voice was quiet, her tone heavy. “He said, ‘Have fun figuring out what I did to him.’ ”
Quinn’s typical approach—jump in and demand answers—played out yet again. “Did anyone see what happened to Kane? What, exactly, the Destroyer did to him?”
Drake and Grey grunted their denials, but Ilsa’s matter-of-fact manner held the certainty of recent memory. “The guy he was fighting slashed him with a knife.”
“It had to be something else.” Quinn’s ready reply was dismissive. “Knives can’t harm us unless they’re used on the jugular.”
“No.” Ilsa’s stubborn reply suggested she wouldn’t budge. “The rest of the fight was all basic combat. The only shot the guy got on Kane was with the knife.”
“Drake. Remember that fight we had a few years back?” Grey probed. “The one with the killer in San Francisco? Didn’t he pull a knife on the scorp?”
“He did. And Kane was even closer to the poison’s zenith. Nothing happened to him. He healed a little slower, but it wasn’t anything like this.”
Gentle fingers pulled at the neck of his T-shirt as Ilsa’s dulcet pitch washed over him yet again. “Look here. The gash is red and gaping. Raw. Immortals don’t react this way.”
Again, it was Grey whose voice remained steady. “Quinn. We need to get him out of here. Get him home so we can try to help him. We can’t do that in this shithole.”
“What do you want me to do with her?” Quinn demanded.
The soft touch abruptly ended and he felt the shift of Ilsa’s body away from his side as her voice lifted and moved farther above him. “You’re not taking him away. I won’t let you take him.”
Quinn’s voice projected down at him from above. “You don’t have a choice, sweetheart.”
A scream of protest echoed in Kane’s head. He’d finally found Ilsa. They weren’t leaving her behind.
What if he never found her again?
Grey’s answer held his typical directness and broke through the battle of wills brewing in the middle of the safe house living room. “She comes with us.”
The air shifted around Kane, the movements of Ilsa and his Warrior brothers yet another frustrating sign he had no control of his body. A large hand settled on his forearm as the grip of Ilsa’s gentle fingers latched on to his other arm.
A loud whoosh of air filled his ears.
“I gave specific orders to you and your brethren. I wanted you to take down whatever Warriors showed up at the safe house where that little cell phone call originated to me.” Enyo lifted herself from her perch on the velvet chaise lounge in her residence on Mount Olympus and sauntered toward one of her Destroyers. “You followed directions, but where are the others?”
Enyo knew the answer before she asked it, but was curious to see his reaction. Withering fear or snotty superiority?
It was always one or the other with the scum she recruited as her minions.
“Grease spots.” A sneer turned the edge of his lips. “Excuse me. Incompetent grease spots. All five of them.” Enyo stared into his soulless eyes and bemoaned the need to ask questions. Resented her dependence on these imbecilic creatures of her own making.
What she really resented, though, was the increasing weakness she told no one about, yet which drove her every decision. Her recent battle losses to the Warriors had weakened her farther than she’d admit to anyone and she no longer had the strength to carry out her plans all on her own.
Nothing like having to play by the rules, set with ironclad formality by the goddess of justice and her father. Fucking balance. It was always about balance.
Her nephews, Deimos and Phobos, danced around the Destroyer with their usual abundance of energy. Like evil, demonic puppies, they bounced over and around each other, shoving and clawing at the other when the urge struck.
Which was more often than not.
Pulling her gaze from the gods of dread and fear, Enyo continued her interrogation. “Where was the misfit who called me?”
“Dead upon our arrival and laid out in a corner of the room.”
Enyo glanced down at her manicure, secretly pleased at the crisp, militant answer. He might be cocky, but this Destroyer knew his duties. Understood his priorities to the one who’d created him. “How was he killed?”
“No idea. But I did remove his cell phone for you.” The Destroyer pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.
With nimble fingers, Enyo hit the required keys to reach the dead man’s call list. A London number displayed on the screen, the time stamp only a few min
utes before the call that came in to her.
So simple, these modern devices. So clever. So easy.
Gods, she really would miss humanity once she’d destroyed all of them. She well and truly loved human ingenuity. From cellular technology to cosmetics, she found joy in so many of their inventions.
Deimos danced around her. “Let me see it, Aunt Enyo.”
“I want it.” Phobos shoved him so hard Deimos flew across the room.
She was blessedly prevented from having to interfere when Deimos raced back across the room to tackle his brother to the ground, the two of them striking each other in repeated blows that would fell even the largest human.
Ignoring their display, Enyo returned her attention to the brightly lit screen of the cell phone and tapped one long red nail on the number dialed prior to hers. In moments, the conversation that took place to that number came to life in her ear.
Humans didn’t have the corner on inventiveness. Life on Mount Olympus had its little ingenuities as well. With a yawn for the boring parts, Enyo waited for a useful bit of information.
“Robert left for the double meet your agents set up and he hasn’t come back.”
“Are you still in the safe house?”
“Hell yeah. I’m sitting on a thousand pounds of uranium. Where the fuck do you think I’m going?”
“Calm yourself, Alex. Please. You can trust Kane, just as I told you.”
“Then why hasn’t he gotten back here yet? With Robert?”
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. You know how these things work. All the dancing around the issues. Kane and Robert’ll be back before you know it.”
“I’m done waiting. Done letting you people call the shots. I don’t know why Robert ever agreed to this fucking plan. You’re not some rogue agent, helping us sell the stash. You’re setting us up.”
“Decisions made in the heat of a stressful situation rarely work out well, Alex. You made a decision. Chose a course of action. It’s time to stick with it. Calm yourself, Alex. Everything will be all right.”
Enyo tapped the phone again to end the recording. So it was Kane, then? She scrolled through her mental Rolodex until an image of a lean, broad-shouldered man hit her mind’s eye.
Oh yes, he was a yummy one. Kane Montague. She never remembered their signs, but what did it matter? She knew what he was and what he was capable of.
Of course, all of Themis’s boys were rather dishy, if she did say so. Ajax certainly had been quite the lovely diversion. Broad, gorgeous and relatively clueless.
Just how she liked her men.
She didn’t regret killing the former Warrior six months ago. The first of Themis’s boys Enyo had turned to her cause, Ajax had become a liability. She did miss the sex, though. He’d been good for very few things, but a screaming orgasm was one of them.
But Kane . . . well, now, wasn’t this a small world? The Scorpio was one of the Warriors who’d battled her for the stones. One of the Warriors who’d helped Themis’s Leo and his bitch girlfriend destroy the stones.
Stones that would have restored her powers and ensured her dominion over humanity.
The warm, tingly feelings she’d had for Kane died in the face of the bitter memory. Enyo returned her attention to her Destroyer, the sour taste of defeat on her tongue. “Who is the woman?”
“An immortal. Definitely an immortal.”
Since when did Themis’s boys work with other immortals? “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Enyo didn’t miss the dark look that shaded his eyes, although he hid it well. Even the soulless could have a moment, apparently. “She seems to think someone named Emmett is involved. I didn’t disavow her of the notion.”
Emmett? As in Emmett the Dark? The sorcerer who’d left quite a mark on a few of the lesser members of the Pantheon a few centuries back.
“Very nice work.” Enyo allowed her gaze to roam over the Destroyer in one long, appreciative glance. This one was certainly useful. “Are they still at the safe house?”
“Likely. I left them with a bit of a diversion.”
“Diversion?” Intrigue unfurled in her like a flower opening to the sun.
“Rumor has it, before Ajax died, he’d figured out a few things about our opponents.”
“Such as?” Enyo had suspected Ajax’s bragging and boasting had gone rather deep within her organizational structure. This little tidbit proved it.
“The Warriors may be immortal, but there are ways to harm them beyond the standard decapitation that can kill all of us.”
“Do tell.”
“Poison. Poison on the edge of the blade can do some damage.”
“Nonsense. Their bodies can just fight it off.”
“It worked from my vantage point. The Warrior they called Kane fell almost immediately at the touch of my blade.”
Kane smelled the familiar comforts of the Warriors’ main residence first. The warm, soothing fragrance of leather couches, the massive bouquet of seasonal flowers that sat in the front hall and the ever-present meal cooking on the stove.
The comforting aromas quickly gave way to the loud, jumbled protests of Grey, Drake and Quinn.
“Set him down gently.”
“Is he bleeding from that wound? Callie will kill us if we mess up the couch.”
“Put something under his head.”
Kane heard them and wanted to reply, but he was trapped inside his body, with no way out. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t move his limbs. Couldn’t even force his eyes open.
Frustration swam in his veins, but even the simple autonomic reaction to adrenaline eluded him. The thud of his heart remained steady and even, without the slightest spike.
In the three centuries since the sorcerer’s curse, the poison had never done this to him. Even in the throes of battle, when the venom of his scorpion reached its peak strength each year on May thirty-first, he still had some control over his body.
Kane felt additional jostling as he was wrapped up in a blanket on one of the leather couches in the main living room. Despite an inordinate number of rooms in the Warriors’ brownstone—a home that straddled a parallel plane of existence between Manhattan and Mount Olympus—most of their activity centered on a few key rooms. The well-worn leather underneath his body attested to the heavy use of the living room.
The voices receded as a memory struggled to the surface—the first time he visited New York, when he made the decision to join the North American division of the Warriors in the mid-eighteenth century.
The European group he was a part of had lost several Warriors to Enyo and he’d grown disillusioned with the infighting among those who remained. Unlike the fairly friendly division in the seventeenth century that had split a group off and sent them to North America, these issues ran far deeper. And they were based on far more sinister problems, rooted in a cesspool of distrust.
Quinn was the first to welcome him to New York.
“You have a place here, if you want it. And we’d encourage you to maintain your residence and your contacts in Europe if you’d like. In fact, I’d like to leverage your connections and your knowledge of the Continent and the European Warriors.”
“We’ve known each other for a long time, Quinn. Fought with each other when the world was quite a bit younger.”
“To think we thought we had it so hard all those years ago after our recruitment by Themis. There are days I long for the relative quiet of the Middle Ages.”
Kane laughed at that, the thought one he’d shared often enough. The human population continued to grow by leaps and bounds and with it, their increasing role in keeping the peace. “Somehow, I don’t see things getting any easier.”
Quinn nodded and smiled. “Me, neither. It’s good to have you on board.”
After joining the North American contingent, Kane managed to conceal the effects of the poison for a few decades. Kept the knowledge from his new band of brothers as he struggled through the bout
s at the end of each May, hidden away in London.
It had been easier then, although it had seemed all so complicated at the time. Finding ways to avoid his brothers as May shifted from spring toward summer.
He’d be toast if he attempted that shit now. There was something to be said for the lack of modern devices. Nowadays, a text message that went unanswered for longer than an hour drew concerns.
But back then?
Oh, he’d hidden it pretty well.
Memories that hadn’t crossed his mind in years tripped across Kane’s conscience.
Enyo was a royal pain in the ass during that era, mixing herself up in the war between Britain and the Colonies. She fed information to each side when it suited her as a way to extend the war and the bloodshed. She stole weak soldiers from either side to become her minions, part of her legion of Destroyers. And she manipulated the events in the misbegotten hope of destroying two countries—one well established, one with great potential—in the process.
It was Drake, their intuitive Pisces, who’d discovered Kane’s deception. While he appeared calm and dreamy at times, Drake could go all piranha on a whole horde of Destroyers in the blink of an eye.
Although Kane had never once made the error of equating the deep, and often quiet, nature of their Pisces for lack of awareness, he’d also never figured Drake for a font of intuition.
As his Warrior brothers spent a late night carousing at a tavern in Boston, celebrating their victory, Kane stumbled to an old barn at the edge of town. The poison was three days away from full strength and already making its vicious effects known. Drake had followed in the shadows.
“Game’s over, Monte.” Drake pushed open the abandoned stall door Kane hid behind. “You’re dying inside and I want to know why.”
The venom swarmed in his veins with the sting of a million wasps. Sweat covered his face in a heavy sheen and his stomach rolled with the unmistakable pitch of sickness. “Bugger off, Drake. Don’t need you here.”
“I beg to differ.” Drake rounded up blankets from the barn and made a pallet in the corner of the stall. With surprisingly gentle movements for such a large man, the Pisces helped settle him in the corner. “You’re too weak to move, so I’m going to port and go get Callie. I’ll be right back.”
