“All I can tell you is what she told me. She said he was Greek. And that she needed a potion.”
“How old was Galatea?”
“Early twenties. She looked like she was about seventeen though. She had so much passion for everything. She was going to change the world.”
“Weren’t we all?” Kage muttered. “Did she say anything else about Detective Spinner to you?”
“Sure. She talked about him almost every time I saw her. Especially when she came back for a refill on her potion. In fact, the last time we spoke, she said she wouldn’t need any more refills because she was going to meet his family and they’d decided to have a hundred babies.” Esme smiled again. “She said ‘a hundred babies’ like it was actually possible. Amazons can never carry more than two. Even with my help.”
“Did she ever introduce you to Ian? Show you a picture?”
“I never saw a picture, but he picked her up in Furyous Ink long before she got her Amazon tattoo.”
“Meg knew?”
“No, her sister was running the shop then. Pandora. But she’s been out of circulation. On an island somewhere, recharging.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly.
Marcus stood up woodenly and concluded the interview, just as he would with any other subject. “Thanks for your time. If you think of anything, give me a call.” He dropped his card on the table and headed for the door.
“Marcus!”
He turned to face her.
“I’m sorry!” Her pain erupted, volcanic and bitter in that single cry.
“Me too, Esme.”
“You—you don’t have to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. But you never hurt me. So let go of your guilt, okay? Try to be happy?” Her voice trembled.
He thought about his bond with Meg…
Happy?
He was surprised to realize it was possible.
“And I hope someday you do forgive me.”
Marcus knew that whatever demons she had on her back, he didn’t need to give them any ammunition. He had his own feelings about the situation. There was pain, betrayal, but there was a blessed kind of relief too. And an acceptance of self he’d never had before.
The past was over. It couldn’t be changed. Holding on to that pain and rage wouldn’t hurt her or punish her, only himself. He knew that. So he could feel everything this had elicited in him, but he’d do it in his own time and deal with it in his own way. He didn’t have to cause her pain to do it, even though some would say she deserved it.
“I do forgive you, Esme.”
Rather than offer comfort, his words seemed to fracture her somehow. Break her. She trembled and fell, would have crashed to the ground if Marcus hadn’t caught her.
It was strange having her in his arms again, holding her. Knowing that she was alive and this was no dream.
“You never would let me fall, would you?” She gasped. “I’m so sorry, Marcus.” Her voice broke and she shuddered in his arms, crying dry sobs.
He wouldn’t tell her it was okay, because it wasn’t. But neither would he leave her like this.
Marcus couldn’t help but remember all the times he’d begged the gods to end his life for killing this woman. Yet here she was in the flesh. Part of him said he should be angry, but it was such a release to know he hadn’t killed her. For him, that was what mattered the most.
He was free.
Free to be with Meg. His beast had already claimed her, so there was nothing for him to do but, as Esme said, try to be happy.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness isn’t always for the person asking. It’s also for the person giving.” He eased her into a chair.
Esme sniffed. “You know, that’s what Megaera said.”
“And she would know. This guilt-punishment thing is kind of her job,” he said, repeating Meg’s words.
“Marcus,” Esme whispered, reverent. “You love her.”
It was too soon to be love. But they had a bond that would grow into love. It would be an inexplicable draw and she would become as vital to him as breathing. “We’re marked,” he acknowledged.
“She didn’t tell me.”
“It’s a recent development.”
“Oh.”
They stared at each other, awkward and uncomfortable.
“It was good to see you, Esme.” He stood and turned for the door again.
Again, she stopped him. “Marcus?”
He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to see anything in her eyes. He’d gotten what he came for and now it was time to go.
“If I could change the past, I would.”
For a moment, Marcus imagined what it would be like if she could change it. How she would change it.
An epiphany clanged like a bell in his head.
He was exactly where he was supposed to be. There were so many things he wouldn’t have done, people he wouldn’t have helped if they’d been together. And after meeting Megaera…
Maybe it was just the marking but he was thankful Esme couldn’t change the past. He wanted no woman but Meg.
“But you can’t change the past. No one can. We can only live with what we’ve made. Take care of yourself.”
Marcus stepped out into the sunlight and, maybe for the first time, really felt its warmth deeper than just the surface of his skin.
Chapter Eight
Megaera didn’t allow herself to focus on the gun in her face. Didn’t allow herself to think about how she deserved to suffer for failing to protect Galatea. She reminded herself that Galatea had chosen her own path, and she had nothing to be guilty for.
On the other hand, Nicodemus Frost had the weight of a thousand souls on his shoulders. It should have been an easy thing to reach inside and break him.
But his heart…it was a barren wasteland except for a tiny bud that was shriveling, almost dead. His love for Galatea.
Megaera latched on to that, found his guilt at not being able to protect her, to keep her safe, and made it bloom like a poisonous flower inside him, vines and tendrils winding their way through his veins, infecting his blood and tightening around the block of ice where his heart should have been.
But his true punishment had already been set in motion. He would come to love Esme Payne—and be damned for it.
The Amazons were poised to attack, but Meg didn’t want them to intervene. “What do you want from me, Frost?”
“What do I want? I want Galatea back, you self-righteous bitch!”
“Can I give her to you?” Meg asked softly.
“No, but you didn’t have to take her away, either. You chose her. You! Not Athena. You!”
“Perhaps.” Meg shrugged, unwilling to argue semantics of something he didn’t understand. Instead, she chose to tell him the same thing she’d been telling herself. “Galatea was an Amazon. At her core, in her heart, before I ever inked her skin or told her she’d been chosen. She made her own decisions and set her feet upon a path of her own choosing. I don’t bear any guilt in what happened to her, Nicodemus.” His jaw clenched and she spoke again before he could pull the trigger. “And neither do you.”
“These bullets are blessed by Athena. They’ll kill you.”
“Maybe they will. I’ve lived centuries. I’ve had a long life. Longer than Galatea. If it will make you feel better to pull the trigger, go ahead.”
There was a certain determination on his face, but he didn’t fire. Instead, he slowly lowered the gun. “Maybe I’ll kill everything you love first. Let you live with that. So you know my pain.” Frost holstered his weapon and stepped back, a look of both sorrow and disgust on his face. He turned and exited the shop, his camel-colored trench coat billowing out behind him like dirty angel wings.
And Meg sagged against her chair as relief flooded her. She hadn’t wanted to die, but she couldn’t have shown him any fear, any doubt.
Then she shot to her feet an
d dashed to the door. Jerking it open, she yelled, “Esmerelda Payne is here.”
He stopped and spun to face her. “Liar. I’ve searched for years. I would have sensed her dark magick.”
“And Esmerelda was in service to Athena. So I hid her presence from you.”
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“She’s got a little shop on Thirty-Fourth.”
“Why would you tell me this? You’re her friend. I know it’s not because you fear me.”
“I don’t fear you. Let’s just say she’s going to be your ruin.”
“She already has been, Fury.”
Meg went back inside the shop and sat down, heart pounding from the encounter. She hadn’t believed any of her own words about guilt. She spoke them, but she didn’t feel them. She looked at her wrist and already the black toxin had worked its way farther up her arm. The veins stood out like tangled, rotten vines beneath her skin and were visible all the way up to her elbow.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t ink anyone like that. “I’m not feeling well. I’ll call the Mother House when I’m ready to reschedule your appointments.”
“We know you’ll punish whoever killed our sisters. The tattoos can wait,” a brunette said, her mouth a grim line as they exited the shop.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Marcus before she could think better of it.
“Kage.”
As soon as he answered, she could breathe again, but suddenly felt stupid and weak for bothering him. For needing him. She’d never needed anyone or anything in all her long years walking the earth.
“Hey,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Frost came to the shop.”
“Did he hurt you?”
He’d shoved a gun in her face, but no, he hadn’t actually hurt her. But it fucked her up to know that he could have. “No,” she managed in a shaky exhale. Damn it, she was not the delicate damsel in distress. She was Megaera Eumenides, Fury. “I know you’re working the case but—”
“I’m on my way, Meg. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Meg hung up the phone and suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt itchy and awkward, as if her own skin was suddenly a size too small. She paced back and forth the length of the shop until Marcus arrived.
He came through the door, concern chiseled on his hard features, but he brought with him a sense of calm and safety. It was no surprise he was a good cop. He made people feel at ease, as if whatever burdens they carried would be a welcomed weight on his shoulders.
Marcus cradled her against his broad chest, his strong arms around her. Even the scent of him calmed and steadied her. For the longest time it seemed all she did was breathe, focusing on the mechanics of the process. Inhale. Exhale.
“What happened?” he asked.
She was glad he hadn’t asked her if she was okay. She knew that sometimes people said that because they didn’t know what else to say, but fuck okay. Meg was so far from okay that if he’d asked that question, it would have been like blowing up a dam.
Marcus didn’t speak as she recounted what happened, but his whole body tensed.
“He said the bullets were blessed by Athena and they’d kill me.”
“Could they?”
“Probably.” She said that easily, as if the prospect of her own death didn’t matter. Meg had even said it hadn’t, but it did. Furies were notorious for wanting to experience everything, pushing every boundary. Meg had never wanted to see what was over the next ridge more than she did right now. So it mattered. Even though she’d lived centuries, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. And she wanted it with Marcus.
“I’ll kill him.” Marcus’ voice was even and he was still calm, in control. It wasn’t a promise he’d made, but a fact.
“You can’t. He’s part of Esme’s punishment.”
“Meg…” he began, but seemed to have lost the words.
“Her redemption, too.”
“I don’t care. He’s threatened you twice and for whatever reason, you didn’t smite him. Or couldn’t.”
“I’m going to die, Marcus. No matter what he does.”
“What are you talking about?”
She showed him the poison in her arm. It was all the more noticeable because it was on the arm with the half-sleeve of tatts and her unmarked skin was so pale.
“This is my guilt.”
“Galatea’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that here,” she said, pointing to her temple. “But I don’t feel it here.” Meg put her hand over her heart.
“Remember what you told me about Esme? That you knew?” She nodded. “I know, too, Megaera. It’s not your fault. You bear no guilt.”
His unwavering faith in her sparked a bright flame of hope.
“I’m going to find who killed her. And you’re going to be fine, Meg. I promise you.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I believe it when you say it.” She bit her lip and looked away from him, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I know you’re working as hard as you can on this case and I called you for this. He didn’t hurt me and—”
“No. Meg, I’d have been angry if you hadn’t called me. This is what marked mates do.”
“That scares the hell out of me, Marcus. I’ve never been dependent on anyone. Ever. I can’t do my job. I feel like I’m not a Fury anymore.”
“You’re just sick. After I find this bastard, you’ll be back to yourself.”
If he promised it, she’d believe it. “Do you swear?”
He smiled down at her. “I swear.”
“I hate how this feels,” she said, referring to her need for him.
“Then I guess you should have kept your sharp little nails to yourself, Fury.”
That comment pissed her off. Or maybe it was more that he seemed so unfazed about what the bonding had done to her life. To her. “Your role hasn’t changed. You’ve always been the protector. The Alpha. I was the Alpha and now I’m the Beta.”
“You have all the power here, Meg. Remember in the cave? It was never more clear who has the power in this dynamic.”
“That was just sex. I’m not strong anymore.”
“Megaera, it is my honor to shield you, to protect you. To fight for you. Not because you can’t do it for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. Would I be a fit mate for you if I couldn’t do those things? If you didn’t trust me to do them for you?”
“Would you trust me to do them for you?” she tossed back.
“Of course I would. Again, the cave. You unchained me in so many ways. You saved me.”
Meg hadn’t seen it that way. She hadn’t realized that’s what it had meant to him. He was so honorable, so noble. So fucking perfect. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she loved him, but it couldn’t be love. Not so soon.
And yet they were bonded, marked. Bound together by an ancient magick that ensured supes would survive. They would mate, bear children and stay together to raise them.
But Meg couldn’t say it. It was too big. Too much. So instead, she kissed him. She twined her arms around his neck and tried to tell him with her lips all the things her voice wouldn’t.
His response wasn’t the visceral animal claiming they’d shared before, but something softer. His mouth was hard, but his kiss wasn’t brutal and claiming, it was a dance between them, like the Seven Veils.
Each joining of their lips was another revelation and somehow more intense than it had ever been before, yet still unhurried and languorous. She loved the taste of him; it was always like sweet mint.
He broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair. “Gods, Meg.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she kept silent and threaded her fingers through the short crop of his hair.
Marcus rubbed his cheek against hers, the light stubble scratching the softness of her cheek, but she found she liked it. Her nipples tightened and she wanted to f
eel his cheek everywhere on her body…her breasts, her belly, her thighs.
She took his hand and led him upstairs to her apartment above the shop.
Meg pushed the door open but was suddenly shy. She almost laughed at the incongruity of it. She’d invited him into her body, he’d had his tongue in her cunt, and she was shy about showing him her apartment? That seemed more intimate somehow.
Meg led him down a hallway and into her room, her boots sounding ridiculously loud to her ears.
“I’ve never done this before.”
He arched a brow.
“No, not this. But this,” she said, indicating the space around her. “I’ve never had a man here.”
“And since Esme, I haven’t been with a woman I didn’t pay for.”
His confession shocked her, but it shouldn’t have, not with all the guilt he’d carried. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else, so he didn’t get attached or let anyone get attached to him.
“It’s you and me, Marcus. From here on out.”
“Forever,” he said, his amber eyes bright with intensity.
She put her arms around him. “That terrifies me but comforts me at the same time.”
“Me too.”
“Really? I didn’t think anything could terrify you.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, his long lashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes closed. “Even after everything, I still think I’m going to fuck this up. That I’m going to hurt you. Or that this was all a fevered dream and I’m going to wake up and Esme is really dead and, worse, so are you.”
She’d thought he was unaffected by what had happened to them, their marking. But he was as vulnerable as she was. He had doubts, fears. Pain. But he kept coming back to her, stayed strong for her. Respected her needs, her strengths.
“This is real. We’re real. We can be happy.”
“We can be happy.” He repeated it like a prayer.
“We can.” She brushed her lips across his and when he kissed back, it was that same tender joining of their mouths. It still made her hot, but it was something more than fucking. More than skin to skin. It was…she didn’t want to think it…
Soul to soul.
Fucking ridiculous, she chided herself. And yet, she couldn’t deny that’s what it was.
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