by Addison Fox
But what?
The meeting on Mount Ida was scheduled for the next day. Emmett was likely bathing himself in whatever dark magics he could still conjure up and probably a few more incantations for good measure.
Enyo paced her quarters, testing various solutions, discarding most of them as fast as she thought of them.
Send Deimos and Phobos.
Absolutely not.
Kidnap Emmett and attend the meeting herself?
Not ideal. It was time to test the sorcerer’s loyalty and compatibility with her own goals and objectives.
Lightning lit up the room, followed quickly on its heels by a dark roll of thunder.
Her father was mad at someone.
So what else was new?
As another bolt of lightning lit up the room, fast on the heels of the first, an idea struck with the same degree of force.
Could she pull it off?
It wouldn’t be that hard, would it?
She’d sneak in and sneak out, with no one the wiser.
As a third bolt lit up the room, Enyo had her backup plan.
Kane pointed out various elements on the architectural drawings for Vauxhall Cross, also known as MI6 headquarters. He knew Ilsa was insistent on going after Emmett and convincing him to rescind their bargain, but there was no way it was happening.
And in the meantime, they needed that vial.
“No. It’s there.” Ilsa pointed to a small square, depicting an office.
“That’s St. Giles’s office,” Kane reminded her. “It can’t be in there.”
Ilsa pointed again. “It is, Kane. That’s where Emmett’s been hiding.”
“In St. Giles’s office?”
“As St. Giles.”
Air doubled up in his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut. “What do you mean, as St. Giles?”
“That’s what I tried to explain before.”
“I thought you meant he was impersonating St. Giles.”
“No.” Ilsa shook her head.
Drake held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I know you both know this place and this St. Giles guy, but it looks like a rabbit warren from here. Ilsa—start from the beginning and help us understand what we’re dealing with here. Even if we get into the building undetected, there’s no way he’s just got a vial of Kane’s blood lying around.”
“I don’t know how he did it, but Emmett assumed St. Giles. His body and his life.”
Kane shook his head. “The sorcerer’s a mortal. How could he do that?”
Drake remained the voice of reason. “You’ve dealt with him, Monte. Didn’t you get a sense for him? That’s some powerful stuff, assuming a body. It hasn’t been done since the Dark Ages, best as I know.”
Kane tried to remember back all those many years ago. Much as he prided himself on his battle skills, memories did have a way of fading and three hundred years was a long time. “I suppose. But it’s not like his power is scrawled across his forehead in Magic Marker.”
Callie hovered outside the door to the study. Although she wouldn’t join them, she’d stood there for some time, her gaze missing nothing. Kane nearly forgot about her all the way over there, until her soft voice broke through their discussion.
“He’s hiding himself, and presumably the vial of blood, with very dark magic. You need someone who can overpower it.”
“Overpower it? How?” Kane demanded.
“It can be done with white magic.” She held up a heavy book, its leather cover cracked and worn. “It’s in here. White magic can overpower the dark if done properly.”
A flare of interest flashed brightly through Kane at her words. “So there’s a way to reverse his magic?”
Callie nodded. “If you know how.”
Quinn gestured Callie into the room. “Do you know how?”
“No. A reversal like this requires a very powerful witch.”
Sarcasm rang out, and Kane was surprised that the words came from Drake. “And where would we conjure one of those on short notice?”
Callie pointed toward the direction of the windows. “I don’t know about conjuring, but we can talk to the witch next door.”
Kane glanced toward the bank of windows that framed the far end of the room. “Since when do we have a witch living next door?”
“You remember the witches I got to help you? Hippolyta, Muriel and—”
“And Maeve. Yeah”—Kane nodded—“I remember them.”
“She’s Hippolyta’s granddaughter. Would you like me to call her?”
“Callie, I’m sure she’s great and all, but it’s not like her grandmother had any success with my situation.”
One delicately carved eyebrow shot up. “You got any better ideas?”
Kane glanced around the room. His brothers and Ava all nodded their agreement.
As his gaze settled on Ilsa, he saw her agreement as well. Saw the hope and belief shining forth from her bright blue eyes.
The hope he’d felt earlier came back in full force. That was all it took.
She was all it took.
His Ilsa.
“Make the call.”
Whatever Ilsa had expected, the woman who swept into the room an hour later was so not it. Although she’d never had any dealings with white witches—the purity of their souls ensured they never found their way onto Hades’s hit list—the mere term “white witch” conjured up a certain set of images.
Flowing robes. Titan red hair. A soft, sweet glow to their features.
Emerson Carano was none of those things.
Her pixie-sized frame was clad in black leather, not flowing white. Her jet-black hair stuck up in fashionable spikes all over her head. And while Ilsa wouldn’t call her hard—her physical presence had an oddly feminine bent to it—the intricate tribal tattoo that ran along her inner arm didn’t suggest a soft, sweet glow.
Emerson looked at all of them, her gray gaze slowly engaging each person in the room after Kane and Ilsa took turns explaining their situation. “This is some seriously dark magic. What a person has to give up to do this? It’s beyond dark. It’s evil.”
“Yes, but can you help us fight it?” Quinn pushed, his tone flat. “Can you tell us how to break it?”
A wry grin spread across her face, showing small, even white teeth. “I can do it, ace. But you guys can’t.”
“Of course we can. It’s a simple matter of showing one of us how.”
It was clear Emerson wasn’t pleased with Quinn’s stubborn response. “You call me over here and tell me this is a matter of grave importance and then blithely think you can handle it yourself. You don’t know jack shit.”
Drake inserted himself, his calm, reasonable voice going a long way toward stemming the ire building in the room. “We’re empowered by the goddess of justice. Surely that sense of balance can help in this matter.”
Ilsa was fascinated to watch as the power in the room shifted again. Emerson walked toward Drake, her attention fully focused on him. “I don’t care what goddess you serve, sweet cheeks. You certainly aren’t going to be able to conjure the power required to counter this sorcerer’s magic.”
A distinct hint of red crept up his neck, but Drake’s voice stayed firm. “Even if he’s weakened?”
“Even then.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
Emerson moved in close to Drake, their bodies near enough a whisper of air could barely pass through. He towered above her by well over a foot, even with the high-heeled boots that covered the lower half of her legs. Face tilted, her voice dropped into a range that could only be considered low and sexy. “Stay the hell away from him, for starters.”
The red spread farther up his neck, but to Drake’s credit, he held his own. “That’s not possible.”
“Then it looks like you’re taking me along.”
They spent the afternoon building their battle plan. First, Ilsa would port them into MI6 so they could retrieve the vial of blood. While they all wanted to catch Emmett, the need to capture him h
ad to take second place to the retrieval of the blood.
Once that was secure, Ilsa would contact Emmett and draw him out with the promise of giving herself up.
Only then, when they had Emmett out in the open, would they attack, Emerson weaving a counterspell on him to pull him from St. Giles’s body.
All Ilsa could see were the potential risks of the plan, but as they’d yet to come up with a better one, it was the working model.
“I still don’t like it. We’re vulnerable to attack. Here”—Quinn pointed to the map of MI6—“here and here.”
Kane reached for the map, rolling it into a tube. “We can’t prepare for every emergency, Quinn.”
“But we don’t have a true sense of what we’re dealing with.”
“I don’t agree. We don’t know what he can throw at us, but we know all we need to know about Emmett. He’s a dark, evil man with dark, evil plans. And he’s got it out for me.”
“What about the magic?” Drake interjected. “We have no idea what will happen with the countercurse. Is it safe to take Emerson along? Or Ava? Or even Ilsa? We’re trying to pull a human from the body of another.”
Kane wrapped a rubber band around the floor plans. “We have to accept we’re flying a bit blind on this. It’s time to act.”
Although he meant every word—and he knew they fought at their best as a unit—privately, Kane couldn’t help but wonder what their trip to London would bring. He thought through all the angles as he headed for his bedroom to prepare for dinner, imagining the timeline they’d mapped out and the choreography of the battle.
They had to subdue him.
Had to catch him off guard.
And they couldn’t make the mistake of assuming that because he was mortal, he would be an easy mark.
Kane opened the door to his room and slipped in, every thought in his head fleeing at the sight of Ilsa in a towel. Her hair fell in thick wet waves down her back and a light flush covered her body from the heat of her shower.
Long, firm legs met his gaze as he looked below the end of the towel and saw that cherry-red nail polish covered her toenails.
She was a vision.
And she was all his.
As he moved forward, his hot, hungry gaze never left hers. As he moved close enough to brush up against her, he leaned over and laid a kiss on the edge of her shoulder.
“You’re very clean.”
“I thought it might help me relax. I’m so nervous. I don’t know why, because I never get nervous. But . . .” Her voice tapered off as he continued his kisses, trailing a path toward her neck, then on up to a delicious, sensitive spot behind her ear.
Reaching around her body, he felt the bump where one edge of the towel was secured against her chest and flicked it open, the indigo blue terry cloth falling to the floor in a rush.
Turning her around, he allowed his gaze to roam over her body. “I want you. Always. It lives under my skin and calls to me. I want you.” He bent his head to capture her lips, whispering against them as he reached for one of her breasts. “Always.”
He heard the small moan that came from the back of her throat. Felt the way she pressed her body against his hand. Smelled the distinct musky scent of her arousal and Kane knew he was lost.
Hopelessly, utterly lost.
The only good thing, he reflected, as he bent even farther and captured one pink nipple between his teeth, was that in the losing, he had finally found his way.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ilsa gloried in the warmth of his mouth, the sweet pressure of his lips, and lost herself to the sensation.
With an urgent tug on his shoulders, they stumbled across the room to fall onto the bed. Ilsa pulled him down so his weight rested fully against her.
She loved this feeling. Taking his weight. Feeling the bold strength of him, under her fingers, pressing into her stomach.
Allowing him to surround her.
“You know,” she whispered against his cheek. He continued to lave his tongue over one of her nipples, the sensation shooting sparks through her body with each long, languid stroke. “Something dawns on me.”
Kane lifted his head as a warm smile spread across his face. “What’s that?”
“This is a beautiful bedroom. But I sort of miss your cold, icy apartment in London.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I do. I’ve thought of it often. Walked past your building, even.”
His eyes widened as he looked up at her. “The guys hate it. Tell me it looks colder than a meat locker.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s sleek and sexy.” She leaned down for a kiss. “Like you.”
His dark eyes filled with concern. “I’d like to take you there, but I’m not going to be able to port until the poison is past us.”
“A little over a week?”
Kane sighed, his eyes clouding over with past memories of what it meant to deal with the poison. “That’s it.”
“Would you mind if I ported us there? Now?”
“You really want to go there?”
Ilsa ran a hand through the hair at his temple, nodding her ascent. “Yes. I really want to go there.”
“Then by all means.”
Ilsa pictured Kane’s London apartment. Pictured the acre of black silk that covered his bed. And sent them on their way.
Air rushed around them before dropping them in the exact same position, over three thousand miles away.
“You know. Every time I think this is a rough life, I need to remember I never—ever—have to get on an airplane.”
Ilsa giggled at the thought. “The horror. Sitting inside that thing. Ew.”
“Brody had to do it. Last year, after he met Ava.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t know what he was and he couldn’t tell her. The whole secrecy thing we all live with.”
At his words, a question she’d often thought of when alone popped into her head. The glory of actually being able to ask it of another was too wonderful to pass up. “Do you really think humans have no idea? About us, I mean. Immortals.”
“I think they’re smarter than we give them credit for. And as their technology continues to evolve, they’re bound to find out about us. Heck, Quinn uses a variety of infrared sensors and nanotechnology to test for the presence of immortals.”
“Does it work?”
“I think so. I let him geek out on all the specifics, but where I’m going is that there are tools. All it takes is the right person to figure them out.”
His words hit their mark, one she knew Kane wasn’t aiming for. “Like the hole inside of me.”
“Aw, Ilsa. I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s true. The scientists figured it out. All on their own. We have to stop assuming humans don’t know anything and don’t know how to protect themselves. Ignorance like that ensures we’re the ones who are paying for it.”
Kane ran a hand over her stomach, rubbing the vicinity of where the scientists broke free. “I’m still sorry.”
Reaching up, she ran her hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “You live with damage every day and have managed to thrive. I’ll figure it out.”
As she said the words, Ilsa had to acknowledge that she meant them. Each and every one.
She was done blaming others for her circumstances.
Done dwelling on them.
She chose life. Enormous, splendid helpings of it. With a broad smile and a light push on his shoulders, Ilsa took the first step. “Roll over.”
Kane did as she asked.
“I didn’t notice before. When did you put on the black slacks and a silk shirt?” When he blushed, Ilsa couldn’t keep the laugh from bubbling up in her throat. “And why do you look embarrassed by the question?”
His gaze slipped from hers as he focused on a point somewhere below her chin. “I didn’t feel like wearing jeans and a T-shirt any longer.”
With dexterous fingers, she flipped open three buttons, curious d
elight filling her at his clear discomfort. “Is that really all?”
“Unlike most of the guys, jeans aren’t my favorite.”
She pressed a kiss against his chest, where it peeked out of the black material. “We all have things we like.”
“Exactly.”
“Nice things.” Ilsa opened a few more buttons, allowing the shirt to fall away, pooling to either side of his body. “Of course, this isn’t any old outfit.” She pressed more kisses down his chest, over his rib cage and on to his stomach, where her path was blocked by the top of his slacks.
His heart thudded under his skin, his pulse heavy under her mouth. “You don’t think?”
“Oh no.” Her fingers slipped under the material of his slacks, making quick work of his belt and the button at his waist. “This is the outfit of an assassin.”
Kane reached for her, stilling her movements. “You figured that out.”
“Well, yeah. You look like an ass kicker in this. It’s seriously sexy.”
“Sweet music to my ears, darling.”
“Now,” she whispered against his stomach, “let me make you feel the music.”
And then there were no words. No banter. Nothing but the sounds that rose up between them in the pleasure.
Kane sat up, removing the rest of his clothes in a few quick, clean strokes, then lay back under the pressure of Ilsa’s hands.
Her conversation the evening before with Ava came back to her. All the things she was dying to try on Kane.
With the surety born of love, she roamed over his body, exploring the terrain with soft fingers and a questing tongue.
She ran her tongue over his nipple, pleased when his low moan greeted her ears. Clearly, he had some sensitivity there, just as she did, and the knowledge made her bold.
With deliberate movements, she continued down his body, the sharp jut of his penis against her belly like a promise of what was to come.
She followed the trail of hair that ran down the center of his stomach, tracing it farther until she reached the pulsing length of him.
All this was for her. This man wanted her. Needed her.
Was completely vulnerable to her.
And it was in the vulnerability that Ilsa saw the gift. That this proud Warrior would lay there before her, naked to her gaze and barren of any of his defenses.
