Kyra nodded, hurt that the first time she heard her name on his lips, it was with such disdain. “How did you know?”
“Because the man who called your creepy pink cell phone gave you away,” Marco replied. “Who is he? Another guy you lured into bed?”
Bastard. Unable to look at him, she glanced out the window, her gaze turning as cold and hard as the ice that glittered on every surface outside. “If it was a man on the phone, it was Daddy. It was Ares.”
“Right,” Marco said, then turned around and walked out.
Kyra was too humiliated to chase after him. Instead, she sat there staring at the world outside the window. At the end of the driveway, in the ditch, she saw a large bird flapping around the crashed car. It’d been useless to try to explain herself to Marco and her mood was as black as that bird against the ice and snow. But the bird wasn’t all black, was it? Even at this distance and through the trees, Kyra was sharp-eyed enough to see a glimpse of red on the bird’s crest. Was that a vulture?
Marco was halfway into his overcoat, already bracing for the cold, when Kyra came streaking half-naked out of the bedroom after him. What the hell was wrong with him that his first inclination was to admire her body and her athletic grace? It was only his second thought that Kyra was a dangerous harpy who’d already tried to kill him. Twice.
“Don’t come any closer,” he said, raising his gun and aiming it at her. She was a few feet away and he was comfortable with this weapon. It was a Browning Hi-Power and there was no way he’d miss if he took the shot. But either she really was as immune to bullets as she claimed to be, or she had way too much faith in her sex appeal, because she didn’t even break stride.
“Don’t go out there!” Kyra shouted, bracing herself against the wall. She peeked out the glass by the door, like she was getting ready for some kind of shoot-out.
Now Marco wasn’t sure whether he should be aiming his gun at her or out the window. Not taking any chances, he dived to the other side of the front door using the wall for cover. “Why not? What’s out there?”
“It’s not your ride. I’m pretty sure the woman outside doesn’t work for you.”
There weren’t many women that worked for Marco, and nobody could confuse Benji’s roguish silhouette for a female’s, so she was probably right. “Who is it, then?”
It was probably the police, he decided. In the light of day, someone could have reported the wrecked car. But even if the police were here to arrest him, Marco wasn’t about to get into a shoot-out with them. If it was the Russians or Chinese, on the other hand…
“It’s a vulture,” Kyra said.
Was that some kind of code? Marco wondered. “What’s that? An exterminator? Was she the one who was supposed to get rid of the body after you were done with me?”
Kyra flashed him an exasperated look. “Just stay away from the door and give me your coat!”
He didn’t like her bossy tone, but he was already warier of whatever was outside the door than he was of her. “Who is she?”
“I told you. She’s a vulture. She belongs to Ares. If you don’t let me shoo her away, she’s likely to discover you here.”
Was this supposed to scare him? “So what?”
Kyra folded her arms in front of herself, covering up the lacy bra he’d been too distracted to study in any detail the night before. “Okay,” she said. “So you’re pissed at me for a lot of stuff, including the fact I planned to imprison you in the basement, right? Do you have any idea what Ares and his vultures could do to you? It’d make anything I’d planned for you seem pretty tame.”
Nothing about Kyra was tame. Or normal. Nothing had made a damn bit of sense since his father’s funeral and Marco wasn’t sure he believed a thing she was saying. But for some reason, he could tell that she believed it, and until he had a better idea of what was going on, that would have to be good enough. It was as clear to him as it was to her that he wasn’t going to shoot her, so he lowered his gun.
“Now give me your coat, and hurry,” she said. “I can’t go out there in my underwear.”
“What? Suddenly shy?” he asked sarcastically, shrugging out of his overcoat and tossing it to her.
“It’s cold!” she said, pulling it on and hastily fastening the buttons.
Then the doorbell rang. Yeah, definitely not his crew. Benji would have picked the lock before ringing the bell. So Marco positioned himself in the hallway, just out of the line of sight, gun at the ready.
As Kyra opened the door, a frigid gust of wind blew snow into her eyes. Then she found herself face-to-face with her father’s creature. Kyra hated vultures—both the regular birds and the ones that Ares took for minions. Like lampades, vultures hovered at the threshold between life and death, but their purpose was only to feast on the decay. Vultures had no care for the living, nor the shades of the dead. Kyra had even seen them circle over the dying, mocking them. Because of that, and because they were Daddy’s special creatures, it was difficult for Kyra to hide her distaste.
Anyone else might see the uninvited visitor as a beautiful redhead, all bundled up in a black ski vest. But Kyra’s inner torch revealed a scraggly buzzard’s soul with tattered black wings. Luckily, when the vulture looked at Kyra, all she’d see was a little old woman in a bathrobe.
“Can I help you, dear?” Kyra asked, projecting an illusion of frailty.
The vulture smiled beneath her sharp nose. “Actually, I was passing by in my truck and noticed the wreck at the end of your driveway. Do you need me to call anyone? An ambulance? A tow truck?”
Kyra tried not to snort at the vulture’s feigned solicitude. Instead, she hunched forward, letting her voice quaver as if she were ninety. “Oh, aren’t you sweet to ask, but emergency services have already been called.” These kinds of lies came easily to Kyra, and at this moment, she’d have said anything to get rid of Daddy’s minion. “They’ll send a tow truck later today when the roads are more passable. Thanks for stopping by, my dear!”
With that, Kyra started to close the door. But the vulture stopped her. “It’s just that my sister Kyra was driving this way last night. We haven’t heard from her today and, after a storm like this, we’re worried. I was wondering if you saw the woman in the accident, if you could describe her.”
They were certainly not sisters, but the vulture had such an honest look of concern on her face that Kyra had to admire her skill. She was almost as good at lying as Kyra was. Two could play this game. Kyra chuckled, still giving the illusion she was shrunken and old. “Oh, I saw the accident happen from my front window but there was only a man in the car. Just an older gentleman like myself. It’s easy to lose control on this ice.”
“Then where did this come from?” The vulture’s mouth tightened like a sharp beak as she held up Kyra’s peridot choker.
Her mother’s choker! Kyra must have been too stunned by the accident to realize it was missing. When it had still been around her throat, Kyra had simply disguised it as a set of Ashlynn’s pearls. Once it broke free of her body, though, even a stupid vulture could recognize it for what it was. Now it was all Kyra could do to suppress the urge to snatch her choker out of the vulture’s filthy claws. “That is a lovely piece,” Kyra said. “I hope you can return it to whomever it belongs to.”
The vulture came closer in the doorway. The red-haired woman bobbed her head slightly, her nose just by Kyra’s ear, and then she sniffed. Kyra let her approach. She wasn’t afraid of the vulture. But she tensed nonetheless, knowing that Marco’s scent was in the house, on her hair, on her skin…
“Oh, Kyra,” the vulture said. “You should know better than to try to hide from me as an old woman. Don’t you know I can smell decay?”
Damn it to Hades. Kyra should have known better. Vultures like this one could sniff out age and death years away.
“In fact,” the vulture said, with a puzzled tilt of her head. “Have you been ill, Kyra? I think you must not be feeling well lately. I swear I can scent your mortal si
de—not enough ambrosia, my dear?”
Enough was enough. Releasing the shape of the old woman, the nymph emerged as herself, eyes fierce as midnight. “Careful how you speak to me,” Kyra warned. The vulture might be Daddy’s minion, but she was also mortal, and Kyra would enjoy putting her in her place. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come for the file on the hydra,” the vulture replied.
“It’s gone. I destroyed it. And Daddy’s backup, too.”
“Pity,” the vulture said, her breath puffing steam into the cold morning air, arms fluttering a little impatiently at her sides. “I come with a message from Ares, but I didn’t expect to have to follow you all the way to the New World to deliver it. What are you up to, little nymph?”
What was Kyra to say? That she’d come to Niagara Falls as a tourist? “I came to guide someone to the underworld.”
“Poor little Kyra,” the vulture said. “Always looking for a purpose, never finding a place to belong. Haven’t you figured out that no one needs you to guide them anymore?”
The vulture was needling her, trying to get beneath her skin to feast upon the festering emotional wounds there, and Kyra struggled not to let that happen. Even so, the vulture continued to taunt her. “How difficult it must be to live as a cast-off minion whose goddess doesn’t even want her anymore.” Kyra felt the heat of rage come to her face and the vulture smiled. “Ares would have you serve him…”
“Never,” Kyra said. That was never going to happen. “So you can stop following me. How did you find me, anyway?”
The vulture gave another sniff. “I’ve been on your trail since you destroyed the arsenal in Bosnia.”
Kyra supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Bosnia was very near to where ancient Thrace had been. Near her father’s homeland, where his powers were strongest. Kyra had known her interference there would irritate him. In fact, she’d chosen the place because it would irritate him. But that was before—when she had no one to protect but herself. “Well, tell Daddy that I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, he knows you’re sorry. At least, he knows you will be,” the vulture said, reaching out with long, slender fingers to caress Kyra’s cheek. “Once I’m done with you.”
Kyra swore she heard Marco’s breath catch in the hallway behind her and determined to show no fear before this creature. “So he sent you to punish me?”
“Oh, yes, Kyra,” the vulture said with relish. “I’m going to chain you down and feast on your liver for days. And you’ve chosen such a perfect, isolated spot for me to do it. No one will hear you scream.”
Kyra’s blood ran cold. She could all too vividly imagine how it would feel for the vulture’s sharp beak to pierce her flesh, to yank out her insides, to torment her with pain and the stench of dismemberment.
“You’ve gone paler than usual,” the vulture said. “As well you should. For an immortal like you, time passes so slowly. You’ll be in agony, of course, but you’ll heal, and every time you do, I’ll tighten the chains that bind you and tear at your flesh again until you’re begging for forgiveness—”
“How original,” Kyra snapped, for it’d been one of Zeus’s favorite punishments in the old days. “There’s only one problem. You’re not strong enough to put me in chains.”
The vulture must have seen something dangerous in Kyra’s eyes, because she took a step back. Not fast enough. In a snap second, Kyra had her by the wrist. The first thing she did was take back her mother’s peridot choker—infuriated that it had ever been touched by the vulture’s defiling hand. The second thing Kyra did was shove the vulture back against the door frame with all her strength.
At the sudden impact, icicles fell from the gutter and shattered on the porch around them. Meanwhile, the vulture’s eyes went wide with mortal fear. Kyra had her by the throat and wasn’t letting go. As the redheaded woman struggled for breath, Kyra snarled, “If you want to survive the day, you’ll keep your claws off me.”
The vulture’s scarlet lips parted in surprise, then curled into a malicious smile. “You wouldn’t harm me, Kyra,” she choked out. “I’m under your father’s protection.” Kyra’s grasp loosened a little and the vulture brought her face so close Kyra could smell her carrion breath. The vulture’s eyes lit up with an almost sexual thrill. “Besides, little nymph, Ares commands you to submit to me.”
“Maybe some other time,” Kyra said, letting go of the filthy creature.
The irony was that Kyra never saw the gun. She’d already spun for the open door—ready to slam it in the vulture’s face—when she felt the cold muzzle against her side. “Don’t be a tease,” the vulture said, poking Kyra with the pistol and shoving her back into the house.
Kyra’s hands went stiff at her sides as she found her balance in the threshold of the foyer. Marco was just beyond, hidden behind the archway. She hoped he’d be smart enough to stay there. “Oh, I never tease,” she said. With that, Kyra jerked her elbow into the vulture’s stomach. With the vulture off balance, Kyra spun and punched her square in the face. The woman’s face snapped to the side, blood spurting from her nose. Kyra pressed the advantage, grabbing for the muzzle but just then, the vulture pulled the trigger.
Pain exploded through Kyra’s left side, deep into her hip. She felt the crack of bullet against bone, the sickening pierce of the metal as it passed through her flesh in one side, then out the other. Wood splintered behind her as the bullet lodged itself in the parquet floor where Kyra dropped in agony.
Groaning, she put her hand over the wound as blood flowed between her fingers and a pool of it fanned out beneath her. Lying there gasping, the darkest rage welled up in Kyra. She promised herself that when she got up, she’d tear this vulture limb from limb. It was the bloodlust in her. It was the legacy of Ares. She was perhaps her father’s daughter, after all, and for just this moment, she didn’t mind. “Do you know what happened to the last person who shot me?” Kyra cried, her war-born nature rising with a little thrill at the memory of how she’d gutted the Bosnian who tried to rape her. Oh, yes, she’d enjoy tearing this bird woman apart, feather by feather, with her bare hands. “You might as well put that silly gun away.”
“Oh, I know bullets won’t kill you, but shooting you slows you down a bit.”
Kyra tried to stand, determined to wipe that smug look of satisfaction off the vulture’s face, but then she toppled back down into an inelegant heap. What was the matter with her?
“You’re not so close to home,” the vulture explained, as if reading Kyra’s mind. “Your powers aren’t as potent here in the New World.”
No, something else was wrong. Why was it taking her so long to heal these days?
The vulture closed the front door and circled around Kyra in the foyer. She took her time, too, heels clicking on the wood floor until she was looming over Kyra, ready to fire again. “Hold still, Kyra. This time I’ll get the liver.”
Kyra braced for the agony of the second bullet, but it never came. Instead, there was a sickening crack—the distinct sound of some heavy object against flesh and bone. The sound a gun made as it struck the back of someone’s skull. Then the vulture collapsed on the floor.
Chapter 11
The vulture slumped over and Marco stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand, held like a club. “What the hell did you do?” Kyra cried, her bullet wound finally starting to close up, flesh mending over flesh.
“I saved your life,” he growled. “You can thank me anytime.”
Saved her life? She had everything perfectly under control before he interfered.
Kyra started to get up, but Marco growled, “You’re shot. Stay down, damn it!”
“I already told you, bullets can’t kill me,” she said as he maneuvered over the prone form of the vulture with the precision of a combat veteran. He pried the gun from the vulture’s hands and kicked it out of the way before crouching down to feel for a pulse. “I was going for a blow to the side of the neck, but she turned her head…In any case
, she’s still alive.”
“Not for long,” Kyra replied, retrieving the gun from the floor where Marco had kicked it. If she could have had a picture of his astonished face as she stood and walked on what had clearly been a shot to the hip, she would have framed it.
Kyra calmly aimed the pistol at the center of the vulture’s forehead. Her finger, slick and sticky with blood, found the trigger and hovered over it. She was the daughter of a bloodthirsty war god. Daddy had always said Kyra was born to viciousness, bred for destruction. The vulture certainly wouldn’t have been the first person Kyra had killed. So why couldn’t she pull the trigger?
“If you shoot her, is she going to heal up?” Marco asked, his jaw sliding forward so that his face held a dangerous serpentine edge.
“No, she’s a mortal and a monster. Just like you.”
He glared. “Then either kill her or call her an ambulance.”
“Why don’t you kill her? You’re the one who cracked her skull. I was just defending myself.”
“I was defending you,” Marco said, as if he couldn’t remember why he’d bothered.
“Well, I don’t need your protection. If you’d let me beat her unconscious myself, she’d never have known you were here. Now, if I leave her alive, she might remember that you hit her and she’s going to report everything back to Ares.”
Kyra could see that Marco was still having trouble wrapping his mind around everything. In spite of having lived with his own powers, he’d never truly accepted them as real. He’d thought he was mad like his mother, trapped in a hell of his own making. She guessed that now he realized that if he was in hell, he wasn’t the only resident.
“So, kill her, then,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “You picked up a gun in need, didn’t you? In the end, all your fancy lectures about perpetuating violence don’t mean a thing in the face of actual danger, do they?”
So he thought she was a hypocrite. And maybe she was.
Marco watched Kyra stand over the unconscious redhead, gun in hand. Her eyes were hard, her nostrils flared and those lush lips were tightly pursed, as if she were afraid she might say something that would tip the balance of life and death. If only the she-devil had shown this kind of hesitation when she tried to plunge a knife into his heart in Naples, he might’ve been able to forgive her.
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