What the—?
A dark voice rolled over her. “Well, now. Look what we found.”
Chapter 6
“Look, asshole, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The Foraci demon crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He’d cornered her near the bar’s counter, and she looked pissed to see him.
Gone was the mild disdain the bartender normally wore like a cloak. The first time Godric had been at the Casa de los Condenados, he’d tried to smooth-talk her, but she’d shown a spectacular lack of interest. Which was a good thing, really. It wasn’t like he could follow through, not unless he wanted a dead body at his feet. Or on his cock.
“The pink-haired chick who does room service,” Godric said, like it was obvious who he was talking about. Which it was.
“We don’t have any staff dedicated to room service.”
This was just costing him time. Time he did not have, because from the file he’d read about the Phoenix Asha wanted him to target, it looked like she was also being hunted by the Ignis. For the same—but also entirely different—reasons.
Godric was meant to kill her, but not permanently.
The Ignis just wanted her dead.
Somehow, his toxin would not destroy a Phoenix. He was a little doubtful about this being true, but Asha Himm wasn’t someone he was willing to contradict. She seemed to know death.
“I’ve seen her here before,” Godric said, like he hadn’t bumped into her earlier that day after completing his job. “I know she’s here. I’ve been asked to find her.”
He’d decided he would go with the truth. Well, part of it. He didn’t have time for subterfuge, and if the girl was alive again when he brought her back to the inn, no big deal. They didn’t need to know she had died a little before he returned her.
It wasn’t like the Phoenix was going to go after Hades’ P.A. when all was said and done.
Not if she has any sense, anyway.
“Asked by who?” the Foraci demanded.
“Hades’ assistant.”
That rang a bell; the bartender’s face blanched. “What the fuck does Asha Himm want with—” Her words cut off.
He smiled.
She glowered. “I know who you are, Mortus. And I saw your handiwork earlier. In fact, I’ve got someone up there still trying to scrub the bloodstains out.”
He blinked, all innocent-like. “Have you tried using hydrogen peroxide?”
She sniffed. “If you want to be a smartass, you can clean the fucking carpet before I tell you squat.”
“Who’s to say it was me?”
“The same person you are hunting.”
“She recognized me?” That, he wasn’t expecting. She’d seemed utterly clueless as to who—and what—he was. And he’d used that memory spell…
He didn’t like surprises.
“Your little forget-me spell didn’t work, and she told me what you looked like. Sucks to be one of the only Mortus running around outside of the den, hey?”
“Normally it’s pretty good, to be honest.”
She snorted.
“Well, where is she?” he asked. “She comes with me, I take her to Asha, job done.” Well, nearly. He’d then do a little touchy-touchy, she’d die, come back to life, and poof! Everyone would be happy.
Except maybe the Phoenix.
“I want proof.”
“That the job is done?”
“That it’s Asha Himm who wants her.”
Fucking Hell. This is why he specialized in wet work. Less people shit.
Instead of arguing, he pulled out his cell and dialed the number Asha had given him. A cold voice answered. He put it on speaker.
“You have reached Asha Himm’s personal assistant.”
The Foraci looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Godric shrugged. P.A.s having P.A.s was beyond him; he wasn’t about to explain the relationship. “I have someone here who needs confirmation that Asha employed me to…retrieve a Phoenix.” He lowered his voice on the last word.
“That is correct. Do you need me to SMS you a copy of the contract?”
He looked at the bartender.
She shook her head.
“They seem satisfied with your response.”
“Excellent.”
The P.A. hung up.
He tucked the phone back in his pocket, and then met the Foraci’s gaze. “So, where is she?”
Chapter 7
They hadn’t killed her outright.
Kara had that going for her, at least. But that was about it.
She was chained to a grimy wall in some dark, godsforsaken dungeon, and it didn’t look like her luck was going to improve any time soon. The steel bars were too far away for her to melt, even if she had been able to call on her inner fire, which she couldn’t. She’d tested the restraints, but nope. Nada. Nothing. They weren’t going to give, the kind of binding chains she’d spent her life trying to destroy. Plus, there were guards stationed at either end of the corridor, all literally armed to the teeth, like she was a high-risk prisoner.
Too bad she hadn’t been able to get an invisibility spell inked into her flesh. Or a spell that could counteract binding magic.
Kara tilted her neck, resting her head against the gross wall. She’d normally worry about the ickiness getting into her hair, but really, what were the odds she’d make it out of here alive?
Because it turned out the last in Lord Dickwad’s line knew who she was. Who she really was, and wasn’t going to take any chances in her escaping.
She’d heard the guards talking.
It was only a matter of time before they killed her.
For good.
“Pssst.”
Had that been an insect? She looked around swiftly. She had heard the Hell-bugs in Sheol could get out-of-control big.
Or had it been one of the guards?
“Psssst.”
She whipped her head up, studying the cell and the corridor in front of her. Nothing. The guards hadn’t even changed stance. And there were no blood-sucking bugs hovering over her head.
But then a deep voice said, “Can you move?”
She studied the guards. Nope, they hadn’t spoken.
Am I hallucinating, I want to be rescued so badly?
A gloved hand suddenly appeared in front of her face, waving. Like Thing from The Addams Family, all hand and no body, before the glove vanished again.
But whoever owned the hand was close. So close, the scent of him hit her like a tidal wave—cloves, combined with a hint of masculine otherness. Delicious. So delicious, her mouth started watering.
“Can you move?” he asked again. Then hands were touching her, brisk and efficient, like he was searching for injuries.
But that didn’t stop her body from reacting, her breasts starting to tingle, and her core tightening. She knew then, who it was. Because despite what Madga thought, Kara was no hussy, and her vajayjay had only taken a liking to one guy lately.
It was the assassin. The one with the ass that she wanted to claw up.
He’s a Mortus demon. You don’t get to claw anything of his.
“I’m fine, but if you keep touching me, you’re going to have to finish the job,” she said, voice low, sultry, despite her circumstances.
Surprise stilled his hands. “You want me to kill you?”
“No, I want you to make me come.”
Whoa girl, get a grip.
Too bad that was exactly what she wanted.
The hands left her, abruptly. Like he may not enjoy touching her as much as she liked him touching her. She didn’t like that.
He can’t touch you, idiot. Not really.
“You’re trapped in the Ignis king’s dungeon and you’re hitting on me?” She couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear the shock in his voice. “Do you even know who I am? What I am?”
“Duh. You’re the assassin from the hotel.”
“Then you know that even if you weren’t chained to a wall, I couldn’t, uh, accommodate your request?”
“You can wear latex gloves, right?”
His low chuckle made her tense up, but for the wrong reasons. The guards shuffled in response, but didn’t move.
She let out a breath.
Then his hands returned to her. “Let’s get you free first.”
She wanted to enjoy the grope, but there was just the touching of her chains, the muttering of spells, and the dumping of powder that itched like crazy. Then, a few precious seconds later, he eased the manacles from her wrists and ankles.
How did he do that?
Binding chains only had one key that could open them.
Magic. Serious, very expensive, magic.
She wouldn’t have thought he’d earned enough to buy those kinds of spells. And why waste them on her? Someone he’d only just met, and then tried to make her forget about him.
Even as she worried, heat bloomed throughout her body, pulsing, steady. The flame that sat at her core had become accessible again.
He really did free me.
“How did you get past the guards?” she asked, her suspicious nature rising to the fore.
“They didn’t bother to check for someone they couldn’t see. And I have a few other tricks.”
I bet you do. But she kept that thought to herself.
It was only then that it occurred to her this could be a trap. It was way more elaborate than what she thought Dickwad’s line was capable of, but still. Why had this been so easy?
“Why are you here? Saving me?” she whisper-demanded.
His gloved hand touched her arm, sending fire racing through her system.
“I was employed by someone who wants you free.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
She crossed her harms over her chest, shrugging off his hand. “Yes.”
She didn’t want to jump from one bad guy to another. This frying pan was hot enough, thank you very much.
He took a swift intake of breath. “Hades’ P.A.”
“What?!”
And damnit, she forgot to whisper.
“She’s free!”
“How did she get out of those chains!”
“Get the boss!”
Alarms shrieked and the cold presence of powerful magic scoured the dungeon. The pressure built and built and built, until it was all she could do to hold a scream at bay.
Then pop! it eased.
And when it did, the Mortus demon’s invisibility spell shattered.
Her sexy assassin really didn’t look happy.
Chapter 8
Fucking Hell.
Godric shouldn’t have told her shit; should have just placed some tape over that extremely kissable mouth and been done with her arguments. But her come-hither looks, and her fucking proposition had left his cock hard and his brain short of blood.
So, he’d gone against his nature and pandered to the fear in her burning golden eyes. Him. The one who normally reveled in his targets being afraid.
He’d tried to be Mr. Nice Guy, and now they’d both been grabbed and tied up by the guards.
They were in the shit. And he did not like the feeling.
There was no way he was going to die a fucking Ignis prisoner, that was for sure. Fuck playing by the rules.
One of the soldiers shoved him a little too hard. “Don’t fucking touch the guy,” the supervising guard said.
The soon-to-be-dead Ignis snorted. “He’s just some pretty boy who thought he could trick us.”
“If you’re that stupid, you deserve to die,” the Phoenix—Kara—muttered under her breath.
Godric agreed with her.
“Touch me again, and we’ll see how pretty I really am,” he said, then fought a wince. Yeah, it was a lame line. But he wasn’t one to let someone else have the last word.
Ever.
“Oh, if you want me to—” The guard pulled his arm back, as if to swing a haymaker at Godric’s head, only to have his wrist caught by his superior.
“One touch to that demon’s skin and you’re dead. He’s a fucking Morris.”
But the guard was shaking his head. “They don’t leave the den.”
Godric smiled and held out his rope-bound hands, the picture of equanimity. “Look, let him touch me and prove to you all one way or the other what I am.”
The doomed demon lowered his arm, suddenly unwilling to take the chance.
A heartbeat later, they entered a huge chamber, the ceiling a good twenty feet above them, and the stone walls bearing scorch marks, two paintings, and not much else.
Guess there’s no point in decorating around a bunch of fire demons.
But even the Mortus den had more aesthetic appeal than this place.
In the center of the room sat a throne, and on it, a truly massive Ignis demon. He made P. Jeremy look like a fucking emaciated wreck. A line of guards stretched out either side of him, their armor made of bronze plates that were probably worth a small fortune. These were no doubt the elite guards—their one job, to protect their king.
They came to a stop in front of the throne, and Godric’s jaw clenched. Not because of the demon king, or his bountiful guards, but because of the painting behind him.
It was Kara, or someone who looked an awful lot like her. Wrong hair color—it being blonde—but everything else was the same, down to the taunting golden light in her eyes. And she was holding hands with an Ignis demon. Or rather, he was holding her hand.
Her mouth wore a small moue of distaste.
The other portrait was of the current king, replete in battle armor and surrounded by gore.
Classy.
The demon king spoke. “Hello, grandmother.”
Wait. What?
“You are no grandson of mine.” Kara spat on the floor. The liquid steamed.
“You were married to my great-great-great-great grandfather. It was an attempt at respect. Which is more than you ever afforded us.”
Oh, the heat that suddenly radiated from her. It was like Godric stood at the edge of a wildfire, just waiting for the wind to feed its wrath. And man, how he wanted to get burned.
“Your family kidnapped me,” she said, “held me against my will, forced a marriage on me by a sorcerer, wanted to use me as breeding mare, and I haven’t been respectful of you?” Incredulity permeated every word.
Anger simmered through Godric’s veins. Consent was the only thing he cared about—and she’d had hers obliterated.
Now he wanted to kill these assholes on principle.
“Lies!” The king shouted. “How you twist the truth to suit your needs!”
“Me? I was there. None of you puking excuses for demons were even born then.”
Oh, how Godric liked her fire.
Bad. Bad. She’s a job and you don’t like anything about her.
He couldn’t afford to. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it; even if she might be willing to risk it, he wasn’t.
The king turned to him. “And what do you have to do with our family feud, Mortus?”
“I’ve been employed to secure her.”
“For who?”
“None of your fucking business.”
The king shrugged. “Then I’ll kill you both.”
“Go right ahead, if you want to sign your own death warrant.”
The Ignis chuckled, like Godric was all mouth and no follow-through.
“And who would dare come after me?”
Oh, the hubris.
Kings fell. And in Hell, they fell hard and often.
Godric studied the tips of his gloved fingers. “I dunno. The Mortus Queen? She’s my cousin. Or how about my boss, the head of an assassination guild? Or Hades? Who knows? There’s quite a list.”
“Hades? Why would he give a shit about one Mortus demon?”
Godric just stared at him.
“He wants Kara.” The king’s gaze narrowed. “Or, he wants her ashes.”
How the fuck would this asshole know that?
He seemed to read the surprise on Godric’s face. “His P.A. approached me, too.”
Had she now?
Great. Just fucking great. Godric did not like being played.
“Then by all means. Take her ashes.” The king leaned forward in his throne. “But you have to touch her to get them.”
Godric saw it all then. It had been a set up from the start. And it all led back to this. His touching Kara. Asha had implied it wouldn’t kill her permanently, but from the gleam in the king’s eyes, and the fear in Kara’s, it might.
Who was he to believe?
The woman who played him, or his own gut instinct?
Touch her.
Fuck. His gut instinct was in agreement.
I might kill her for good.
You won’t. Not really.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Time slowed to a crawl. It was like he’d turned into a marionette, his strings being pulled by a force greater than his will.
Methodically, he tugged at his gloved fingers until the covering fell to the floor.
Kara stared at him, betrayed. “No. Don’t. Please.”
He leaned close. “I’ve been told you won’t stay dead.” His voice was barely audible, but she heard him.
She just didn’t believe him.
“I can give you ashes—” she started, eyes wide, hands straining against the rope they’d bound her with.
The king laughed bitterly. “Watch her trying to bargain, the deceiver. You’ll get what you deserve.”
Godric glared at the king. He’d never been one for theatrics, his artistic display of corpses aside. He turned back to the Phoenix. “This was the deal I signed. They said you’d live.”
He’d never willingly touched someone he didn’t want dead before. This was…new. And it was harder than he thought it would be. Swallowing, his raised his bound hands, his fingers hovering a hair’s breadth from her face, even though his mind was screaming at him to stop, to come up with another solution, another answer.
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