In it, it hadn’t been the vampire behind her, twisting those waves of delicious spun caramel around his fist, bending her to his will as he lowered his lips to her throat.
Marek had been there, watching himself kiss her golden skin, watching the way pleasure flittered across her delicate features in response, how her breasts heaved with her quickening breaths and her lips parted on a blissful sigh.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his cock as it stiffened painfully, palming it into a better position. It had been too long since he had slept with a woman, and far too long since he had wanted one this badly. It was a recipe for disaster. He needed to get his body under control, because she was sure as hell going to notice how much he wanted her if he didn’t.
His gaze strayed to the black T-shirt on the dark blue covers of his bed and then down at his groin. Maybe it was better he stuck with his black linen shirt. The tails were long enough that they covered his raging hard-on. It might spare him some embarrassment if he did fail to keep his cool around the woman tonight.
Although she would probably be able to see it in his eyes.
He twisted to face the bathroom and risked a glance at the mirror above the vanity. His normally deep brown eyes glowed with golden and emerald flecks, a sign of his hunger, the desire that pulsed inside him, running like quicksilver through his veins to drug him.
Desire wasn’t the only thing that made his eyes shine like that. Anger did too. Could he make her believe it was anger or the thrill of the hunt making his eyes change if she asked about them?
A grimace tugged at his lips as he remembered that she had seen his eyes like this, when they had been in that strained moment in the arched entry way, both of them snared and held captive by the attraction that had blazed between them.
Not a chance she would believe that had been anger.
“Fuck, maybe it’s better she knows what it is,” he muttered and turned away from the mirror. “Might work in my favour.”
She might help him scratch this itch he had for her. A midnight tango might be on the cards. He wanted her. What was the point in hiding that? It wasn’t as if he was alone in his feelings. She wanted him too.
He started to grin.
Grimaced again when he felt a fierce tug in his chest.
The gate.
“Not now.” He flicked a glance at the clock on his bedside table. Did he have time to deal with the gate?
Normally, he didn’t mind when it called to him to do his duty, signalling that there was a Hellspawn waiting to cross between this world and the Underworld, or vice versa.
Normally, he didn’t have a date with a beautiful vampire slayer.
He growled and pivoted, shoved his feet into his boots and quickly laced them before striding out of the bedroom. He crossed the living room, his boots loud on the terracotta tiles as he banked right towards the dark cream couches and armchairs surrounding the unlit fireplace. He took another right as he reached them, shoving the door to his office open, and swiftly closed the distance between him and the cupboards that lined the wall to his right, behind his desk.
The feeling came again, pulling at him, and he froze as something hit him.
The tugging sensation wasn’t drawing him in the direction of the active gate.
It was pulling him towards that gate’s twin.
A gate that hadn’t been used in centuries.
“Shit,” he growled, yanked the door of the nearest cupboard open and grabbed the silver and black circular medallion that was hanging on the brown leather and bronze shield mounted on the wall.
He slipped it on and tucked it into his shirt. It had come out that the circular amulets weren’t the key to opening the gates when their enemy had stolen the one belonging to his older brother, Ares. Apparently, the Keys of Hades were Marek and his brothers, their blood containing the power to control the gates. Right now, the enemy didn’t know that, and he wasn’t going to be the one to reveal it to them by forgetting to bring his amulet.
Marek held his hand out behind him and focused. His mobile phone whipped into it from the desk behind him and he brought it up in front of him, fired off a group message to his brothers about his suspicions, and pocketed it before he stepped.
Darkness embraced him and then receded, revealing golden earth and olive trees that clung to a rocky hill that rose before him.
Silence stretched around him and he stilled, focused to sharpen his senses. Had he been wrong?
The tug was still there, deep in his chest, but it was lighter now, and it wasn’t pulling him towards the main Seville gate on the other side of the valley, closer to the city. It was definitely the smaller twin gate that wanted his presence.
He followed the winding path up the hill to a bluff and scoured the land below, eyes charting everything in the fading light. The gate was down there, in a clearing among the sparse trees and brush. As far as he could tell, it was the only thing there.
Was it possible a Hellspawn was waiting on the other side for him to open it?
He eased down into a crouch at the edge of a flat rock. He doubted it. His father, the god-king Hades, never allowed anyone to pass through this gate. He had kept it inactive since Marek’s only sister, the twin of his youngest brother Calistos, had been murdered. Upon discovering that he and his brothers were the Keys of Hades, Marek had realised the reason there were two gates in Seville.
One was bound to Calistos.
The other would have been bound to Calindria.
Now that she was gone, stolen from them, it was possible that Calistos had power over the gate, that the closeness of his blood would allow him to seal it if they had to go that route. It was a plan they had discussed more than once over the last few months since their enemy had made itself known.
The less gates they had to protect, the easier it should be.
In theory.
The problem was, the less gates there were to protect, the less gates there were to share the power that flowed between them, meaning the more dangerous and unpredictable they became.
His oldest brother, and self-appointed leader of their team, Keras, had decided that sealing any of the gates might prove catastrophic. Ares had agreed with him, and Esher hadn’t been on board with the plan either. Marek and the others couldn’t exactly argue when the oldest three of them were against it.
He reached down and pressed his hand to the earth beside his right boot, closed his eyes and focused on it, connecting to his element to give his senses a boost in case he had missed something and daemons were lying in wait at the gate. The call it had sent to him couldn’t be caused by them, the gate responded only to Hellspawn, demigods, and gods or goddesses, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t a trap.
The enemy was strong. It was possible they had managed to get their hands on a Hellspawn and had brought them to the gate to make it reach out to Marek. In fact, it was the only explanation that made sense.
Although, he didn’t see a Hellspawn in the vicinity either.
Maybe he needed to take a closer look. He wouldn’t get too close to the gate. That way, it wouldn’t manifest and be in any danger. He knew it well enough to be able to skirt the edge of it, far away enough that he wouldn’t trigger it but close enough that he could get a good look.
He stepped, landing to the right of the clearing.
The olive tree in front of him wobbled and distorted.
Weird.
He blinked and shook his head. Teleporting shouldn’t affect him. Heat haze?
“Marek?” The female voice came from behind him.
Sent fire and ice shooting down his spine and had him spinning on his heel, shifting to face her in another disbelieving blink of his eyes.
“Airlea?” He stared at the beautiful raven-haired female who stood before him, black diaphanous robes clinging to her curves, caressing the ample swell of her bosom and the tempting flare of her hips, cinched with silver at her waist.
Her dazzling green eyes shone at him, sparkled
like emeralds as she smiled, her sweet cherry lips curving gracefully and making his heart skip a beat.
It wasn’t possible.
On the heel of the wave of lust and heat that surged through him came anger and hurt so vicious and deep it sent him to his knees on the dirt. He clutched at the earth, growled and bore his emerging fangs at her as she tilted her head up and looked down her nose at him, as her smile turned wicked and cold, lips parting to flash fangs as sharp as his own.
“You cannot be here,” he snarled and dared to look at her again. The pain beating inside him grew a hundredfold, morphing into an agony so fierce it stole his breath as his past flashed across his eyes, a thousand moments when he had been happy.
In love.
He struggled for air as he looked at her, as her expression softened again, ripping at the fragile remains of a heart that she had left in his chest after rending it apart with her claws.
With her betrayal.
An image of her standing on the elegant patio of a Georgian-style black mansion, illuminated by candlelight that chased over the creamy swell of her breasts and accented the delicate sweeps and lines of her face rose before him. His heart beat harder in response, thundered against his ribs as need, love and happiness poured through him.
And then she laughed.
Laughed in that way he would never forget as the three male vampires beside her spoke of him.
Stabbed him deep in his chest and ripped his heart to shreds as she spoke of him.
He didn’t hear her words as he stared at her, the images flickering between the past and the present, the woman he had loved with every drop of his soul and the creature before him.
“You’re dead.” He focused on the one in front of him, managing to shatter the vision of his past.
He shook his head, clenched his teeth and snarled at her as tears stung his eyes.
“I fucking killed you.”
Or at least he thought he had. The night he had managed to hunt her down was always a blur for him, the faces of the vampires he had slaughtered blending together into one bloody stream as the darkness he always fought to hold back had seized total control of him.
Was it possible she had survived?
Airlea edged closer, her soft green eyes pulling him dangerously under her spell as she held a hand out to him.
Gods, he wanted to take it.
Frigid cold blasted across his back, rocking him forwards as dust swirled past him and the longer lengths of his hair fell down to brush his brow.
Airlea’s robes didn’t move at all.
He frowned.
Voices wobbled around him, watery and distant, and he couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were familiar.
His brothers?
Airlea leaned towards him, stretching her hand out to him. “Take it. Return to me.”
The agony boiling inside him reached a crescendo as he stared at her delicate hand, as his gaze flickered to her face and he saw the hope in her eyes.
The love in them.
His pain wavered, and his resolve went with it.
This was Airlea. His Airlea.
Returned to him.
Esher suddenly went barrelling through her, sending her spinning away from Marek. His older brother stumbled a few steps, his heavy worn black leather boots scuffing the ochre earth and sending dust up the blue jeans he wore tucked into them. He pivoted, the finger-length strands of his wild black hair falling down over his left eye as wind blasted him from behind. His blue eyes leaped around, darkening by degrees as he searched for something.
They settled on Marek and brightened, relief flooding them.
“Whatever it is you are seeing, it’s an illusion.” Esher swiped his hand across his forehead and glared at his surroundings, a shadow crossing his features as he skipped right past Airlea as if she wasn’t there.
Because he couldn’t see her.
Marek cursed. “Daemon.”
The woman who had targeted Esher, desiring to turn him against his brothers and the entire human population of the world, had the power to create illusions so detailed it was almost impossible to tell they weren’t real.
Marek looked at Airlea as she strode towards him, fury turning her eyes crimson as her claws lengthened.
She wasn’t real.
The Airlea he had known would never have asked for him to take her back. She had too much pride.
And now that he knew this was an illusion, he could say with confidence that she had definitely died that night at the vampire stronghold. He hadn’t left anyone alive.
It had been a bloodbath.
Another cold rush of wind battered him, and the sound of voices grew louder.
“Snap out of it.” Esher grabbed his arm and hauled him onto his feet, his muscles flexing beneath the dark grey shirt he wore over a black T-shirt and causing the soft material to tighten across his arms and chest.
Marek shuddered as his blood vibrated in his veins where his brother touched him, feeling as if it was going to explode.
“Keep your head,” Marek warned, his tone soft despite the gravity of his words.
If Marek lost his head, things got ugly.
If Esher lost his head, nothing survived.
Esher frowned at him and Marek was thankful that no trace of red shone in his brother’s stormy blue eyes. Esher was in control, for now at least. Marek couldn’t say how long it would last, not when they were fighting a powerful daemon and one who had managed to escape Esher’s clutches.
It would probably only take her landing a single, wounding blow on one of his brothers to send Esher off the deep end.
“We’re all good here, Esher.” Marek kept his voice even, calm.
Daimon slapped him on the back so hard the air left Marek’s lungs. “That’s my line.”
Marek wheezed in a breath and realised that it wasn’t only the force of his younger brother’s slap that had knocked the air from him. The spot where Daimon had touched was icy cold and his lungs ached as he dragged air into them.
“Sorry.” Daimon grimaced and scrubbed a black-gloved hand over the soft white tufts of his hair, his pale blue eyes backing up that apology. As he lowered his hand to rub at the neck of his long-sleeved navy roll-neck, intricate patterns of ice glittered like diamonds on the black leather of his gloves. “You good?”
Marek nodded.
Looked for Airlea.
She was gone, and rather than an empty clearing, there were ten daemons and two more of his brothers.
And the gate.
A great twisting orb of fire swept past it as his older brother, Ares, hurled his hands forwards, unleashing his power. It struck one of the daemons but the others were swift, easily dodging the attack. Marek wasn’t sure what species they were. Right now, they appeared as human as he did, but there was a chance they had another form. Some were scaly and lizard-like beneath their human skin, and some could transform into beasts, and others resembled the images of vile horned and winged demonic creatures that humans equated with the word.
Marek despised those ones most of all.
Ares looked back over his wide shoulders, his tawny hair tumbling loose from the thong that held the top half of it back. “He good?”
Marek was beginning to wish people would stop asking him that.
“Think so,” Daimon replied before Marek could answer for himself. “Got his illusion cherry popped so we get to interrogate him later about what he saw.”
The way Esher glared at Daimon, his eyes darkening dangerously, said that wasn’t going to happen. Marek glared at him too, because he was damned if he was telling them anything about what he had seen. His past with Airlea was his business and his business alone.
“It was a joke. Sheesh.” Daimon stepped, appearing beside Ares.
The two of them joined forces, Daimon launching spears of ice at the daemons to drive them back from the gate as Ares formed a wall of fire around it to protect it. As much as Daimon and Ares fought and bick
ered, they were a formidable pairing.
Esher looked down at Marek, and he could read what his brother wanted to ask him.
“I’m fine.” He dusted his knees off and huffed. “Give them hell.”
Esher grinned, flashing the sharp tips of his canines, but didn’t rush off to join the fight.
He casually lifted his left hand and curled his fingers into a soft fist.
Behind him, three daemons suddenly went down, convulsing violently.
Daimon was quick to teleport. Ares wasn’t so fortunate.
Esher tightened his fist and the three daemons exploded, spraying black blood everywhere. Ares released a wave of fire, catching most of the blood before it could hit him, but the rest rained down on him, splattering his face and soaking into his T-shirt.
He tossed Esher a black look as his jaw set hard, the muscles in it popping beneath his tanned skin.
Daimon didn’t miss a beat. He slowly raised his arms, his face etched with concentration as he reached deep below the dry earth with his power, drawing what moisture there was there to the surface. As his hands hit shoulder level, shards of ice shot up from the earth beneath two of the stunned daemons. The daemons shrieked and wailed as the glistening clear blue spears continued to rise upwards as Daimon gritted his teeth and strained to draw more water up, lifting them high into the air, and fell silent as a dozen smaller spikes of ice suddenly burst outwards from the main shard, ripping them apart.
Ares grinned and dodged as a daemon came at him, clearly enjoying tangling with them as he kept them from the gate.
Marek frowned as he realised the other brother he could sense hadn’t moved.
His gaze tracked right, towards the gate, and he froze as it landed on Calistos.
His youngest brother’s blond ponytail whipped around, the tails of his long black cotton coat flapping in the tempest that spun around him as he stared at the flat disc hovering a few feet above the earth in front of him. The dazzling vibrant colours of it reflected in his eyes as the concentric glyph-laden rings of the gate rotated lazily, flaring occasionally as it waited for a command.
Marek’s gaze leaped back to Ares. “You brought Cal? What the hell were you thinking?”
Marek: Guardians of Hades Series Book 4 Page 5
