by I. T. Lucas
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: Andrew
Chapter 2: Sebastian
Chapter 3: Andrew
Chapter 4: Syssi
Chapter 5: Amanda
Chapter 6: Andrew
Chapter 7: Nathalie
Chapter 8: Bhathian
Chapter 9: Andrew
Chapter 10: Nathalie
Chapter 11: Andrew
Chapter 12: Syssi
Chapter 13: Sebastian
Chapter 14: Andrew
Chapter 15: Amanda
Chapter 16: Andrew
Chapter 17: Sebastian
Chapter 18: Nathalie
Chapter 19: Andrew
Chapter 20: Nathalie
Chapter 21: Anandur
Chapter 22: Andrew
Chapter 23: Nathalie
Chapter 24: Andrew
Chapter 25: Nathalie
Chapter 26: Andrew
Chapter 27: Nathalie
Chapter 28: Andrew
Chapter 29: Bhathian
Chapter 30: Nathalie
Chapter 31: Bhathian
Chapter 32: Andrew
Chapter 33: Nathalie
Chapter 34: Andrew
Chapter 35: Nathalie
Chapter 36: Andrew
Chapter 37: Nathalie
Chapter 38: Andrew
Chapter 39: Nathalie
Chapter 40: Andrew
Chapter 41: Nathalie
Chapter 42: Andrew
Chapter 43: Nathalie
Chapter 44: Andrew
Chapter 45: Anandur
Chapter 46: Nathalie
Chapter 47: Andrew
Chapter 48: Anandur
Chapter 49: Bhathian
Chapter 50: Andrew
Chapter 51: Sebastian
Chapter 52: Nathalie
Chapter 53: Andrew
Chapter 54: Nathalie
Chapter 55: Andrew
Chapter 56: Nathalie
Chapter 57: Andrew
DARK WARRIOR MINE
The Children Of The Gods Book 7
I. T. Lucas
FOLLOW I. T. LUCAS ON AMAZON
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: Andrew
Chapter 2: Sebastian
Chapter 3: Andrew
Chapter 4: Syssi
Chapter 5: Amanda
Chapter 6: Andrew
Chapter 7: Nathalie
Chapter 8: Bhathian
Chapter 9: Andrew
Chapter 10: Nathalie
Chapter 11: Andrew
Chapter 12: Syssi
Chapter 13: Sebastian
Chapter 14: Andrew
Chapter 15: Amanda
Chapter 16: Andrew
Chapter 17: Sebastian
Chapter 18: Nathalie
Chapter 19: Andrew
Chapter 20: Nathalie
Chapter 21: Anandur
Chapter 22: Andrew
Chapter 23: Nathalie
Chapter 24: Andrew
Chapter 25: Nathalie
Chapter 26: Andrew
Chapter 27: Nathalie
Chapter 28: Andrew
Chapter 29: Bhathian
Chapter 30: Nathalie
Chapter 31: Bhathian
Chapter 32: Andrew
Chapter 33: Nathalie
Chapter 34: Andrew
Chapter 35: Nathalie
Chapter 36: Andrew
Chapter 37: Nathalie
Chapter 38: Andrew
Chapter 39: Nathalie
Chapter 40: Andrew
Chapter 41: Nathalie
Chapter 42: Andrew
Chapter 43: Nathalie
Chapter 44: Andrew
Chapter 45: Anandur
Chapter 46: Nathalie
Chapter 47: Andrew
Chapter 48: Anandur
Chapter 49: Bhathian
Chapter 50: Andrew
Chapter 51: Sebastian
Chapter 52: Nathalie
Chapter 53: Andrew
Chapter 54: Nathalie
Chapter 55: Andrew
Chapter 56: Nathalie
Chapter 57: Andrew
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Copyright
Prologue
Harvard-Westlake High school
Studio City, California
13 years ago.
“Hi, Nathalie.” Leaning his hip against the metal door of his locker, Luke Bruoker produced his seductive smile. For her.
Walk away, the voice in her head commanded.
Shut up, Nathalie thought back.
Just do it. You know what he’s thinking.
As if she needed Tut to freaking tell her what was on Luke’s mind as he flashed her, Nutty Nattie, the perfect set of teeth that had all the other girls wetting their designer panties. With his good looks and rich daddy, Luke was one of the most popular guys in school, and for giving her the time of day, he probably expected her to fall at his feet in gratitude.
Not this girl, not going to happen, buddy.
Trying to ignore her too handsome and too full of himself locker neighbor, Nathalie stuffed the books she came to retrieve in her backpack.
But what if she was wrong? What if Luke was just being nice? And anyway, even if he wasn’t, she didn’t want to be rude.
“Hi, Luke.” Nathalie lifted the corners of her lips in a tight smile and waved goodbye.
You’re not wrong, Tut snickered. But if it’s any consolation, he thinks you’re hot.
It’s not.
Unfortunately, there was no way to hide things from the stowaway sharing her cranium space.
You’re such a liar. Tut’s laugh echoed in her head before slowly fading away.
Well, what did he expect? She was only human and couldn’t help but feel flattered.
He was such a pain, but if she were lucky, for the next few hours he’d leave her alone. Tut, or tutor, as he’d introduced himself after chasing all the other voices away, hated math class. In fact, the ghost in her head didn’t like school, or homework, or tests—which was probably the main reason she was such a good student. The only time Nathalie could be alone in her own skull was while studying.
Tut claimed to be teaching her about life.
Yeah, right, more like ruining it.
Watching TV with him was a nightmare, he wouldn’t shut up for a moment with his nonstop derisive commentary about everyone and everything. And hanging out with friends or going to the mall was more of the same.
Who was she kidding? As if anyone wanted to hang out with Nutty Nattie—the girl who talked to herself.
Nathalie pulled on the straps of her heavy backpack, hiking it higher on her back as she walked faster—pretending to rush so no one would notice that she always walked alone.
Mostly, she felt invisible. No one would look at her, except maybe for some of the nicer girls who would occasionally give her a pitying smile—as if she was retarded or deformed. The best she could hope for was to be regarded as the crazy genius. Unfortunately, even though she was smart and worked harder than most, she deserved only the first part of the title.
But at least her hard work had gotten her accepted into this overpriced private high school. Trouble was, her parents couldn’t really afford it—not even with the generous financial aid they’d been awarded—and she knew for a fact that they were dipping into their equity line to finance t
he difference. The school called the discount a scholarship, but it wasn’t. None of the rich kids were getting it, not even those who were excellent students.
Still, it wasn’t as if anyone was privy to that information, but it wasn’t hard to guess either. Her classmates arrived at school in Mercedes and BMWs while she drove a three-year-old Toyota Corolla hatchback.
Not that she was complaining, her car was great—the previous owner had hardly driven her, and she was almost as good as new. Besides, this was the best her parents could afford. God knew they had always given her everything they could, and probably more than they should—spoiling their only child.
When she was younger, she’d thought it was her due, but lately, it was making her feel guilty. It seemed as if by giving her all of their love, her parents were left with nothing for each other.
In fact, this morning, her mother told her that she’d filed for a divorce.
Oh, God, what is Papi going to do?
The coffee shop wasn’t making much, and they could not have been able to afford much of anything without her mother’s government pension.
How is Papi going to survive without it?
Thank God, it was her last year of high school, so at least this expense would be gone. And since she’d gotten a full ride scholarship to the University of Virginia, college wouldn’t cost her parents anything.
But savings aside, it meant that her father would be all alone once she left.
At sixty, her mother was still a knockout, while Papi, two years her junior, looked like a grandpa. It had to do with his love of baking—and eating. He was at least fifty pounds overweight and almost bald. But he was the sweetest guy. Which was probably why his business wasn’t doing so well. He had never turned away anyone who was hungry, regardless of their ability to pay.
Not fair.
The God her father believed in so earnestly should’ve smiled upon a man like him, rewarded him for his good heart and generosity. But instead, his beloved coffee shop was barely staying afloat, and his beautiful wife was leaving him.
She had a feeling that her mother had been just waiting for Nathalie to finish school and go to college to make her move. Eva hadn’t been happy for years—even when Papi had been much thinner and still had hair. She always looked troubled, almost fearful, though Nathalie couldn’t figure why.
Maybe her mother suffered from some mental disease—like Nathalie did. Though instead of hearing voices of dead people in her head, Eva might’ve been anxious or depressed.
It was about time she talked with her mother and cleared things up. She was definitely old enough for a grownup conversation. Perhaps they both could benefit from psychiatric help. And maybe, just maybe, with treatment, Eva might change her mind about leaving.
But even if she wouldn’t, to be rid of Tut, it was worth a try.
Problem was, psychiatrists were expensive.
Maybe that was why her parents had never taken her to one, even though they must’ve known that her so-called imaginary friends had been very different than those of other kids.
But Papi had said that it was harmless, nothing to worry about, and her mother had agreed. They’d cautioned her that it was okay to play pretend at home, but she shouldn’t be talking to herself in public.
Nathalie had tried.
As she had grown older, she’d realized that it wasn’t normal and that the people talking to her in her head were probably just elaborate hallucinations. A mental disorder and not ghosts. She’d stopped telling even her parents about it.
But here and there, she would forget herself and respond out loud—hence the damn nickname. Nutty Nattie.
Chapter 1: Andrew
I’ve just landed, taxiing in, I can be at your place in an hour. Andrew texted Bridget as soon as it was okay to turn cell phones on.
She answered. Waiting impatiently ( ‘}~{‘ )
It took him a few seconds to decipher the meaning.
Cute.
For an immortal, who was born God knew when, she was surprisingly well versed in current texting lingo and etiquette. Better than he was. He’d never asked Bridget how old she was, in part because he felt it was impolite, and in part because he was afraid to find out. For a forty-year-old man, it would’ve been beyond weird to know that his girlfriend was hundreds of years old.
Andrew wondered how Syssi dealt with her husband’s age. His baby sister, thirteen years his junior, had fallen in love with Kian before finding out that her Greek-god-lookalike boyfriend was so ancient.
The few clan members Andrew had gotten to know since he’d been sucked into their word ranged in age from nearly two thousand, like his new brother-in-law, to Amanda, who was over two hundred. Not to mention their mother, the goddess, who was over five thousand years old or more.
This was another lady who Andrew would never dare ask for her age. He was an adrenaline junkie, but he wasn’t stupid enough to court certain death.
After a day of endless meetings, followed by a five-hour flight from Washington back to L.A., Andrew would’ve preferred for Bridget to come over to his place. Trouble was, whatever was in the fridge had probably spoiled over the two weeks he’d been gone.
True, he could’ve ordered takeout, but there was also the issue of his bed being messy, and probably not quite fresh smelling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed the linens. Not that they were all the way into the gross category, but Bridget deserved better.
He’d thought about buying her a present in D.C. but eventually had given up on the idea. First of all, Bridget was loaded, just like all other clan members, and what Andrew defined as a reasonably-priced gift, she might consider trash. Secondly, he had no idea what to buy for a woman in general and for this one in particular. Dr. Bridget’s tastes gravitated toward the practical.
Except, she had a thing for red.
Damn, just thinking about those spiky red heels of hers was enough to get him hard. But it wasn’t as if he could buy her shoes. And even if he were one of those guys who could guess a woman’s shoe size, hers were probably the kind that cost over a thousand bucks—not something he could afford on his government salary.
So yeah, the only things he felt confident buying for a woman were chocolates and flowers.
But at least he wasn’t as clueless as Bhathian, who didn’t even know how to behave around one, or what to say.
The guy had been terrified of going to see the long-lost daughter Andrew had found for him. So much so that he’d asked Andrew to accompany him to her coffee shop, just so they could sit there, pretending to be customers. It hadn’t been a good feeling to bail on the guy, but Andrew had had no choice. Her place had been closed on the evening he’d delivered the news of her existence, and the next day he’d been told to pack up a suitcase and hop on a plane to Washington.
The trip had been a total waste of time. He’d spent two fucking weeks in Homeland Security headquarters—stuck in boring meetings, listening to bureaucrats who believed they knew best how to devise a plan of action that could’ve been condensed into five paragraphs on one yellow-pad page. Actually, it was exactly what he’d brought back.
One fucking page.
They could’ve bloody emailed him. Anyway, no one had listened to what he’d had to say.
Fuck, he hoped Bhathian hadn’t waited for him to go see the girl—correction, woman; earlier this year the guy’s daughter had turned thirty.
An hour later, Andrew knocked on Bridget’s door. Luckily, no one had hitched a ride with him on the elevator that had taken him from the clan’s private parking level up to her floor. And by no one he meant Bhathian.
He planned to call the guy after his reunion with Bridget.
Andrew and the doctor had a lot of steam to release. The entire time he’d been away, he’d been preserving his energy for the insatiable immortal.
Today, he would show her staying power.
She opened the door, wearing a long white T-shirt, spiky red heels, and nothing else.
“Andrew, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she purred.
“Not as happy as I am.” He lifted her up for a kiss, kicking the door closed behind him. She wrapped her legs around his hips.
Bridget was naked under that semi-sheer thing, every curve and shade of her generous breasts and aroused nipples clearly visible, and the bedroom was too far away.
Turning around, he pinned her against the nearest wall. “I can’t wait,” he groaned, holding her up with one hand and going for his belt buckle with the other.
“Let me.” She pushed his hand away and opened things up for him. Freeing his shaft, she guided it into her moist heat. Bridget was drenched. He hesitated, but only for a split second, before ramming inside her with one powerful thrust.
On a groan, her head hit the wall behind her.
With the wall holding part of her weight and her thighs locked in a tight grip around his hips, he needed only one hand on her ass to keep going, and he put the other one to good use, pushing her shirt up and palming a breast.
Bridget did one better, pulling the thing over her head and tossing it on the floor. Now, she was completely bare save for the shoes.
They could stay on.
Damn, this was so fucking hot.
Thumbing one perky nipple, he pinched and tugged, taking turns and giving each the same loving attention.
Bridget’s hands shot into his short hair, and she gripped his skull, bringing his head closer for a hungry kiss. As their tongues and teeth dueled, her sharp incisors were winning, and as she bit down on his lower lip, she drew blood.
Feisty immortal.
He brought his hand down on her butt with a loud slap, then gripped both cheeks and begun pounding with gusto.
“Yes! Oh, dear fates, yes!” Bridget seemed oblivious to the fact that she was being banged into the wall with such force that the plaster was cracking, and small particles of paint were flying in the air.
If she were mortal, she would’ve bruised badly.
Liberated by her resilience, Andrew kept going hard.
It was so fucking good to feel vital, strong, male. But as he neared his completion, Andrew had the passing thought that as amazing as this was, something was still missing.
