Jamie shook his head warily. “Vengeance isn’t a good motive, bro.”
“This is protection. I can’t let that Juliana hurt you or Shay or Emma or . . . Nikos. Not any of y’all.”
“Nikos, huh?” Jamie’s voice was odd, pitched higher than usual.
“Any of you,” Mason rushed to explain, but Jamie didn’t back down.
“Funny how you and Nik just get closer and closer, while you and I only drift further apart.”
Mason blinked, his heart suddenly thundering. “That’s not true,” he denied after a moment. “I . . . Why would you say that?”
“If I asked Nikos about this person you lost, the one you cared about over in Iraq, would he know more—or less—than I do?”
Mason blushed, staring at his hands, only then realizing that they’d begun to shake. He could never confess the truth about Kelly or Nikos to his macho, totally hetero big brother. Jamie would never regard him the same way again, never consider him the strong, capable marine he’d once been, or the kick-ass demon hunter that he still was. Yet—and this fact galled him worst of all—he had no doubt that Nikos’s masculinity would remain untarnished in Jamie’s admiring eyes. He could practically hear Jamie excusing those ancient inclinations away with a “that was their training, how they bonded.”
The heat in his face blazed even hotter as he struggled to explain away the relationship in question. “Nik is a decent guy; that’s all,” he mumbled awkwardly.
“Who probably knows all this secret crap you’re hauling around like sixty pounds of fighting gear on your back, Mace. I’m your brother, not him, so tell me about this person you cared about and lost.”
Mason scrubbed a palm over his bristling hair. “It’s not that . . . Nikos doesn’t make me talk. I can just be quiet around him, you know?” He looked up, hoping Jamie would understand. “It’s not that I can’t tell you shit. It’s just he’s cool with me not talking.”
“I am, too, but that’s not the question I asked.”
Mason blinked back at his brother.
“Who did you lose in Iraq, Mace? Was it really a married woman or something? Is that why you’ve kept it so quiet? I mean, whatever it is, there’s no shame. Were you in love with her? Is that it?”
Oh, I was in love, all right, he thought, his breath catching hard. But Jamie was waiting for some kind of answer, and he deserved at least part of the truth. Mason opened his mouth, then closed it, then stammered, “She . . . she . . .” He practically choked on the dishonest word, the betrayal that it represented to Kelly’s memory. He tried again. “She . . . was . . .”
“She was married, wasn’t she?” Jamie said, sitting back with a satisfied look—as if he’d solved the riddle. Then he leaned forward, a much kinder expression in his eyes. “That’s got to be why you’re keeping all of it a secret. Because she had a husband. Were there kids, too?” Jamie rambled on, as cocky as always that he’d nailed the facts like a bull’s-eye at midnight.
“No, no, not married. A sergeant,” Mason said awkwardly, forcing the words like pumping water from a rusty spigot. “Name was Kelly. Kelly O’Connell . . . ,” he began, swerving around the pronoun problem. “Kelly was a sergeant, in my battalion. We were just, well, good friends from the start. A big group of us would go out, and Kelly was a killer pool player, and that became a thing with us. Whipped my ass most every time, too.”
Jamie’s eyes flared. “That’s hot. A woman who can drop ’em in the pocket like that.”
“There wasn’t anything Kelly ever did that . . . she, you know, couldn’t excel at. Challenged me that way. So we started dating stateside, and then I got transferred and we were in the same unit, and that was awkward. Things just got weird over there in Iraq, not like we could fraternize or date, not when you’re fighting insurgents and eating sand twenty-four seven. And then . . .”
Mason buried his face in his hands. The thought of spewing these lies about Kelly and their relationship was almost more than he could bear. Especially to Jamie, who’d been his best friend for their whole lives, such a loyal brother, and who’d tried to understand how lost Mason had felt for the past months.
He felt his brother’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he found Jamie squatting right beside him. “Go on,” he said with a firm nod. “Tell the rest.”
Mason sucked in a breath. “Kelly was killed by the demon. The one I told you I saw.” He kept the words staccato, gender neutral. “That Djinn . . . caught me in Kelly’s arms, and it set her off. She attacked me, and Kell got caught in the cross fire.”
The truth flashed through his mind—an image of Kelly moving to protect him, absorbing the demon’s assault with his own mortal body. A marine always watched his buddy’s back; he’d give his very soul to protect the ones he loved.
He kept those words to himself. “Kelly died because that demon wanted me, Jamie,” he continued. “Wanted me bad, had some kind of obsession . . . wanted to have sex with a hunter, she said. There was some kind of power she sought to gain by seducing me.”
The words came tumbling out, the story of how she’d come to them in that clandestine doorway, appearing as a beautiful woman with hip-length flowing hair, packing hot curves. Then she’d revealed her true nature, claws and all, murdering Kelly in the process.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Mace?” Jamie had settled right beside him, the two of them leaning against their father’s old rolltop desk, the only light the antique green lamp above.
Mason clutched one of the dusty volumes against his chest. “I couldn’t . . . just couldn’t talk about it.” He managed to squeeze the words out of his tight throat, feeling relieved at what he’d just confessed, but even more broken by all that he’d concealed. “My heart was just turned to stone inside me, man,” he mumbled. “After losing . . . Kelly.”
“So talk to me now.”
“I am. I’m blabbing my ever-loving ass off.”
“You’re telling me more than you have before, sure.”
Why was it his big brother sounded so totally dubious? Like some shrink poking around inside his head, hoping to expose all the dark secrets lurking there.
“I’m telling you the important shit, man!” he shouted suddenly, rubbing a shaking palm over his heart. “I don’t talk about this, not to nobody.”
“Except Nikos. You talk to him a lot,” Jamie reminded him again.
“So the fuck what?” Mason barked, bounding to his feet. “Why the hell should you care who I spend my time with?”
“Look at you,” Jamie said quietly. “You’re sweating bullets right now. Your eyes are darting all around. That tells me you’re hiding something.”
Panicked, Mason began pacing the small wine cellar. “I gotta move. . . .” He should go upstairs, where he could breathe. Rivulets of sweat were running down his spine, making his polo shirt cling to his skin. He glanced toward the steps that led to the main floor, needing to break free.
But if he went upstairs, that would feel too open, exposed, where the enemy could strike. Vaguely, he understood he was in the middle of one of his attacks, but that didn’t mean he was capable of stopping it. “I can’t just sit here,” he said, shaking out his hands, rolling his shoulders. Jamie watched him patiently without uttering a word.
He wandered into one of the aisles that housed the oldest part of the wine collection, trying to breathe, but got only nostrils filled with dust. He put his back to the shelf, scrubbing a palm back and forth over his hair. He still wore it marine regulation even now, ten months after his honorable discharge due to post-traumatic stress disorder. And the PTSD could still surface this viciously, too, even after almost a year.
Jamie followed him into the deeper part of the cellar. For a long moment they assessed each other in silence. “You can tell me anything,” Jamie said at last, his voice so quiet and earnest that Mason had to look away. “You know that, right? That there’s nothing I can’t handle,” Jamie persisted. “Nothing I’d ever judge you for.”
/> Mason snapped his gaze to Jamie. “What would you judge me for?”
“I mean, if you felt, I dunno.” Jamie shrugged. “If there was something more to this thing with the demon and Kelly. Something even darker, maybe?” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “To what you saw or what that Djinn did to you?”
What did Jamie think? That the demon had violated him sexually? Molested him spiritually like a succubus could? His brother’s circling questions were like wasps underneath Mason’s skin. Any second and it seemed that Jamie would nail the real truth about Kelly having been a man.
Mason kept his mouth shut, and finally Jamie sighed. “There’s nobody I know better’n you, Mace. That’s all.”
They were a family of mystics and demon hunters; it wasn’t too far- fetched to imagine that his brother knew he was concealing something. But holy shit, he didn’t want it to be the full truth about Kelly.
Mason waved the volume in his hand at Jamie. “I have to protect y’all,” he insisted. “I have to make sure nobody else dies because of my mistakes.”
Jamie took hold of his shoulder. “You didn’t cause your girlfriend’s death, Mace.”
Mason smiled at all the wicked ironies in that statement and slowly lifted his eyes. “No, you’re right about that.”
Jamie winced at whatever he must’ve seen in his gaze. “Mason, bro, you need some sleep. In the morning, you’ll see that there’s no connection between this Juliana and your Djinn. You’re the one who told me the males keep ’em locked up in the desert, anyway.”
Until they need to let them out. Until they decide it’s more useful to put them to work against their enemy.
“Yeah, okay; you go get some rest,” Mason said, doing his best to appear composed and calmed, as he walked past his brother. “I’ll be up in a few.”
And then, to himself, he smiled.
Marines always loved a shot at some well-deserved payback.
Chapter 17
Juliana had spent a restless night in the guest room downstairs, tossing and turning every time a branch scratched at the panes, or thunder cracked outside the house. The storm had been relentless, battering the windows like an accusation against her past.
She’d cried at the height of the noise and rain, trying to recall why she’d chosen to walk into the heart of that long-ago hurricane. Ari had left her balcony that night—obviously believing that she’d rejected him. Everything after that, however, until the next day when she’d gone to the river, was as murky as that flowing water had been. And as threatening whenever she tried to delve into the memories.
One question, however, remained crystal clear. Why would she have left Ari by killing herself, or have hurt her family that way? Her gentle little brother, Edward, had been deaf, closer to her than anyone else in their family. He’d relied on her and Aristos, as well, who never hesitated to sprawl in front of the fireplace, playing a silent game of tin soldiers. She could not fathom having taken her own life, and that was the one sure thought that had come to her repeatedly all night long.
So she’d wrestled against those memories the entire previous night, tossing in the unfamiliar bed until at last the wind had died down; the sound of steady rain lulled her to sleep. Now the early-morning light had filled this unfamiliar room. Walking to the window, she pulled back the curtains, unsure of the world that might exist beyond the panes. A thicket of trees stood behind the house, a mixture of oaks and pines that marked the land as her native low country.
There were wicker chairs and rockers arranged on a slab of cement, with at least a dozen potted plants between them. Perhaps this was a paved garden of sorts? So many of the items were unfamiliar, including a shiny box that stood on a pedestal, a bag labeled CHARCOAL beside it. Surely this house had a more developed cooking space than this summer kitchen.
Pulling her thin robe about herself, she let the curtains fall back over the window. The morning was dreary, but at least those frightful winds had calmed. She shivered, recalling her final days, the way that hurricane had built strength offshore. None of them had truly understood the force that was approaching downtown Savannah, not until the winds had grown dangerously strong.
She’d left the town house that last morning as if in a trance, not even bothering with her parasol. That much she did remember, as well as her maid Natalie calling out to her, voice shrill with concern. She could recall certain physical sensations from that last morning. The rain slapping her cheeks, her hair plastered to her face, her promenade dress soaked. But, no matter how hard she tried, she never understood precisely why she’d walked into the heart of that deadly storm.
Maybe now that she was alive again, she could piece together that lost part of her past. And that would start with living in the here and now. With getting to know Aristos and learning his own secrets.
She wandered barefoot into the main area outside her bedroom, listening for any stirrings from the others, who apparently lived in this mansion. If they were awake, she should dress and join them, but the house seemed mostly silent, so she padded about the large room that Emma had explained was for recreation. There were many unfamiliar devices made of materials she’d never even seen before. A large, flat item sat at the center of the furniture grouping, an obvious focal point of activity. She touched its slick surface. Along the top portion was a raised band of silver labeled PANASONIC.
She’d have to ask Ari about the device’s purpose, and why they held it in such high esteem. Did it offer guidance, like their Oracle?
A draft chilled her then, and she tightened the sash of her borrowed robe. Such a skimpy item of lingerie: The cerulean silk clung to her body, revealing the lift of her breasts, the narrow curve of her hips. Staring down, she smoothed the fabric over her flat belly. Emma had loaned her the robe last night, explaining that it was for sleeping and lounging.
Emma had blushed. “River bought that set for me. It’s from Victoria’s Secret.”
“What does the queen have to do with risqué undergarments?”
Emma’s blush had intensified, and with a nervous gesture, she’d smoothed her own robe over her body. As she did so, the clinging fabric revealed a telling fact: There was a slight swell to Emma’s belly.
“Emma! You’re expecting a child,” she declared. “Aren’t you?”
Emma shushed her. “Nobody knows. Not yet. It’s too early.”
Juliana shook her head, confused. “But it’s a time of joy for you and River. I don’t understand.”
“We don’t know . . .” Emma sighed, rubbing her belly protectively. “It’s because of what River is, you know? We just aren’t sure how the baby’s going to develop.”
“What River is?” Juliana repeated in confusion.
Emma glanced away, looking nervous.
“What is he?” Juliana asked more urgently.
“A normal, mortal man, and our baby will be fine,” she said as if trying to convince herself—and ignoring the much larger question.
“Does he not become winged?” Juliana prompted. “Like Aristos?”
Emma nodded slowly. “Yes, he can still transform.”
“But he is mortal. You made a special point of saying that. Ari has lived a very long time—River is different.”
“That changed for River recently.” Again, Emma looked away. “I don’t feel right telling you too much. Aristos needs to talk to you.”
“I’m not an unwise woman, even if I’ve traveled an unusual path to arrive here tonight. I always knew that Aristos was not human.”
“That’s not true,” Emma disagreed, touching her abdomen again, almost as if wanting to protect her child. As if the conversation itself touched on something dangerous. “Aristos and all of the . . . men are human.”
“But they can become more than human?” Juliana asked, her thoughts whirling. She’d seen the broad, feathered appendages along Ari’s back with her own eyes. “The wings . . . they’re feathered. When these men transform?”
Emma began backing away. “Juliana, se
riously, just let Ari—”
Juliana seized hold of Emma’s hands with a desperate gesture. “I’ve never understood about Ari and how he’s lived for so many years, and he never had a chance to tell me. So will you, please, explain about these gentlemen? Give me some indication as to their true nature? Is it that they are part bird? And if so, what sort? An eagle . . . a falcon? He’s already insisted to me that he’s not an angel.”
“Ari, all of the men you’ve met, they’re . . . amazing. Unlike anything you’ve ever heard about.” Emma gave her hands a kind, sympathetic squeeze. “But the truth, well, it’s Ari’s secret to tell, Juliana.”
“He does not trust me completely.” Juliana frowned. “I fear he might never do so again.”
“It’s going to take time. Your coming back like this, it’s pretty unusual,” Emma said, walking toward the stairs. “Definitely different. But so is he, so he oughta have some patience about that.”
Emma had left her alone after that, and Juliana had spent the night puzzling over Ari’s nature—and her own murky past—ever since. Settling in a large leather chair, she gazed about the unfamiliar room. So many years had passed, yet Ari remained largely unchanged.
He does not die; that is obvious, she thought. He’s not aged a month or day since last I saw him.
And even then she’d known he wasn’t from her own time.
Glancing about the odd room, noting all the modern devices and foreign objects, she decided that perhaps she should explore her beloved’s current era. The more she understood about who he was now, surely that would help her learn who he’d always been throughout the past.
Rising to her feet, she approached the PANASONIC frame. A button indicated POWER, and she held her breath and pressed it.
Visions of “Eat Me” and Alice in Wonderland danced through her head as a crackle of energy leaped to life before her eyes.
Ari took the steps downstairs two at a time, neatening his hair with a quick gesture. A thrill rushed through him at the thought of Day One in this new era with Juliana. He had questions, but as far as he could tell, there’d be plenty of time to ask them. Besides, he was finding it almost impossible to remain angry over her suicide. She didn’t even remember what happened, she claimed, and, more than that, was so clearly determined to make him realize that she had always loved him. This was their second chance.
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