by Addison Fox
“I can take care of my sister.”
“My, my, my.” Eris sauntered over to him, the dark storm clouds in her eyes fading as she gave him an appraising look. “Aren’t we the confident soldier? Somehow, I find myself questioning this sudden bout of loyalty. You’d turn on your own sister, even as you’re chomping at the bit to go after her boyfriend?”
Magnus pulled himself back. Although he hadn’t spent all that much time with Eris, it hadn’t taken long to learn the games she enjoyed playing.
Twisting words and creating confusion, which quickly led to far darker emotions. She wasn’t the goddess of strife and discord for nothing. She’d had millennia to practice and she was damn good at what she did.
“We made a deal from the outset. I will work around my family. Leave that to me.”
She nodded, and although the motion appeared as if she were acquiescing, he knew better. She might give the suggestion he’d won the round, but he wasn’t deluding himself.
He’d merely staved off the inevitable. He just hoped like hell he’d get better control of his powers before that day arrived.
Before he could dwell on it any further, Eris snapped out orders. “Well, what are you waiting for? The Pisces awaits your attention.”
Drake snagged the four longnecks and carried them back to the table. As he laid a bottle in front of Emerson, he immediately caught her pale coloring.
“What’s wrong?”
Emerson’s lips stood out in sharp relief on her white face. “It was moving.”
“What was moving?”
“My brother’s tattoo.”
“That’s impossible.” Even as he said the words, Drake knew them for the lie they were.
Tattoos did move. He had one to prove it. And so did each and every one of his Warrior brothers.
But if Magnus had a tattoo that moved, he’d have noticed it.
Until he replayed the events in his mind and remembered that he’d only seen the snake and reacted, paying minimal attention to Emerson’s brother.
“I know what I saw, Drake. I know it. The tattoo on his skin moved.”
“Is your grandmother okay?”
As diversions went, it was anything but subtle. But Grey’s words were immediately effective as Emerson’s eyes went wide in her face. “Oh my God! I have to go back and check on her.”
Drake’s grip tightened again. “You’re not going over there without me.”
“Wait. No. Wait.” She shook her head as she reached for the phone in her pocket. “I need to go call her, but I think it’s her bridge day with her girlfriends. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”
“Then Quinn and I’ll go back and deal with your brother.” He added a pointed stare for the ram. “And Grey can begin the business of getting Finley out of here and back to her life.”
“You’re not dealing with Magnus.”
“Well, you’re most certainly not.” The stubborn set of her chin and the immediate set of a hand on her hip nearly had him smiling, but he held it back.
He nodded toward the phone in her hands. “Go call your grandmother and let me and Grey discuss it.”
Although he didn’t expect her to accept his direction, clearly the need to see to her grandmother overrode anything else and Emerson left to make her call.
“Somehow I get the feeling you two need to have a discussion.” Finley stood from her bar stool. “I saw a very lovely library down the hall that I’d like to go investigate before we leave.”
Grey waited until the swinging door to the kitchen had closed behind her before he whirled, his voice a low hiss so Emerson wouldn’t overhear. “His tattoo fucking moves?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Shit, Mom, I was a bit busy fighting off a venomous snakebite.”
“Okay, I take it back. How in the hell does Emerson’s brother have a tattoo that moves?”
“I don’t know, Grey. It’s a snake. None of Themis’s Warriors have snake tattoos. It’s not a part of us.”
“But the tats are Themis’s creation.”
“Doesn’t mean someone else on Mount Olympus didn’t think it was a damn good idea.” Drake rubbed the back of his shoulder, and the joined fish that lived under his skin twitched in acknowledgment of his words.
Grey shot a look toward Emerson, but she was still facing the cabinets on the far side of the room, engrossed in her conversation. “And he used the snake?”
“That’s what I can’t get a handle on. I think the snake used him. There is just no way I believe he planned on attacking his own sister.”
“My tat can’t do that. Either I control it and make it attack something, or it stays where it is.”
Drake knew the power in the ram’s tattoo—knew the innate strength in all of their marks—and thought back to an earlier time. “Don’t you remember the beginning?”
“What beginning?”
“When you first became a Warrior.” Without even trying, Drake’s memories of those first days and weeks in service to Themis came back in a heavy wash of memories.
The confusion.
The raw power that coursed through his veins.
The never-ending questions that taunted him, suggesting he’d been too hasty in his decision and that she’d change her mind, sending him straight back to Alexander at the first opportunity.
“I sucked ass at it.” Grey’s smile was rueful as he nodded. “I was clumsy, like I couldn’t get my footing.”
“Me too. I suspect we all felt that way.”
“I didn’t understand it then and still don’t. I was strong in my mortal life. Hell, I was a trained assassin for the royal family.”
“I was a soldier in Alexander the Great’s army, and let me tell you, that fucker took training to a whole new, maniacal level. It didn’t mean that suddenly having the body of an immortal, with all the various attributes that went with it, wasn’t an adjustment.”
“And you think her brother’s an immortal.”
“I think he’s something.” Drake shot a look at where Emerson stood across the kitchen. She was still on the phone, but those slim shoulders were more relaxed than they had been and what he could hear of her voice was more evenly modulated. “We need to keep her here.”
Grey was the first to speak. “Callie.”
Without wasting any time, Drake secured Callie’s reluctant help and briefed Quinn. Within minutes, he’d ported them into the kitchen, unwilling to drop straight into the bedroom Magnus had occupied.
“The house feels empty,” Quinn noted as he swept through the kitchen.
Drake nodded. “Let’s go upstairs.”
The Carano brownstone wasn’t nearly as wide as theirs—even without the extra square footage that sat on Mount Olympus—and they hauled ass up three flights of stairs in moments.
Drake led the way to the room Magnus had occupied earlier. “He left his things.”
“Then by all means”—Quinn’s wicked smile flashed in the late-afternoon sun that streamed in the windows—“let’s roll the joint.”
They worked in companionable silence, Drake taking the duffel that sat on the unmade bed as Quinn searched the walls for some sort of escape. As the bull moved past the window, he let out a low whistle. “That’s a thirty-foot drop to the ground, which only reinforces our as-yet-unvoiced concern that he has the ability to port, too.”
“Where did he come from? From the few things Emerson’s said, it sounds like he’s been the family fuckup for a while. I just don’t see that making him Warrior material.”
Quinn continued his sweep of the perimeter. “It’s not like Themis has hit a home run with every man she’s turned. Shit, we know that better than anyone. Ajax. Arturo.”
Drake couldn’t ignore the truth of Quinn’s observation. The man’s battle the previous spring with a fallen Taurus Warrior had taken a toll on all of them and, despite the passage of time, was still far too fresh for comfort.
No matter how
discriminating she tried to be, Themis couldn’t counteract simple free will.
“Besides,” Quinn added as he opened the room’s lone closet door, “this doesn’t have Themis’s imprint on it. It’s too dark.”
Drake finished rooting through the T-shirts and a spare pair of jeans in the duffel when his hand hit on something hard. Dragging it out, he turned the small book over in his hands.
“You got something?”
“I’m not sure.” Flipping through the pages, his gaze caught on some ancient text. His brain translated the words immediately, the Greek he’d learned as a boy surprisingly clear. Puzzled, he realized it was the story of Eris’s triumph with the Judgment of Paris when she used the Golden Apple for the first time. “It’s like a diary.”
“Of what?”
Drake flipped a few more pages, all more short stories of Eris’s triumphs. A peasant uprising in the eighth century in Ireland. A tribe in South America she managed to wipe out in a matter of months. And the particularly nasty mess she made in the French Revolution. “It reads as a series of small stories and triumphs.”
“This place is empty. Let’s take that with us and see if Callie can figure out what it means.”
Drake flipped to the back of the book, an idea taking root. As his eyes roved over the words, he felt a small sliver of fear take hold of his spine. Before he could show it to Quinn, that familiar rush of air filled the room and Magnus landed in front of them.
The port was clumsy, but there was no mistaking the man had done it on his own. The immediate leap to his feet also confirmed his reflexes weren’t half-bad. His widened eyes darted around the room. “How the hell’d you get in here?”
“Same way you did.” Quinn’s laconic voice rumbled from the far side of the room and Magnus whirled on the bull as he realized there was someone else there too.
“What do you want?”
Drake quickly hid the book in his waistband, then moved up into Magnus’s face. The tension humming in his system morphed to anger at the speed of light. “Let’s start with the fucking snake you let attack your sister.”
“Wait. I didn’t. It hit you.”
He didn’t back off, but did see Quinn’s stance shift from the corner of his eye. This could turn ugly any moment and they both knew it. “By default. You were aiming for her.”
“I’d never hurt her.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“She’s my sister. She just…”
Drake refused to back down. “She just what?”
Magnus’s voice was low as he clenched his shoulders, the nervous gesture only heightening the tension in the room. “She just got in the way.”
Drake knew there was a fourth sense a person honed in battle, the stress of the situation lending itself to a heightened awareness that was very real, even if it couldn’t be easily explained.
He could only thank the gods he and Quinn fought so well together.
Without warning, the same snake from earlier leaped off of Magnus’s form, striking so fast all Drake had time to do was stumble backward.
Quinn’s bull joined the fray immediately, the animal’s powerful body keeping Magnus at bay even as its hooves tried to stamp out the snake. Heavy grunts and groans rose up in the small room as the bodies of two large men and two equally large animals crashed onto furniture.
Scrambling to his feet, Drake made a wide circle around the battling forms and, as soon as he had a shot, he took it. With swift footwork, he sidestepped the snake and went in low at Magnus. On a heavy grunt, he pushed the man off balance and sent the snake flailing in the air.
He’d wanted to believe there was some power—some reason for the power—that he’d seen in Magnus earlier, but there was no other explanation. The fact that the snake followed him to the floor meant it operated from within Magnus’s aura, not independently of him.
The man had the same set of gifts he and his brothers carried in their own bodies.
Before either of them could get a good grip on him, Magnus vanished once again.
Chapter Eleven
Emerson knew she was being a bitch, but she didn’t give a flying fuck. How dare he leave her here?
Like she was some little woman who needed protecting.
She paced Drake’s room, the familiar surroundings a vivid reminder of why she was so mad. He knew who she was. Knew what she was capable of. Knew she was strong. He had no right to leave her behind like some child who needed to be watched over.
Especially when it involved her family.
She wouldn’t break, damn it. Hell, she had enough power inside of her to blow this place into smithereens. And just like that, Magnus’s words curled through her mind like whispers of smoke.
“Don’t you want more?”
“Why won’t you use it?”
“Don’t tell me you’re so bound up in all that white witch bullshit you can’t see you’re entitled to some benefits.”
On a hard shake of her head, she sat down on the side of Drake’s enormous bed.
What was wrong with her?
She’d never before questioned who and what she was. The purity of her gift and the responsibility that came with its use.
So why now?
She’d been mad before. So mad she’d thought she’d never be happy or bright or fun or normal again.
Why were his words so seductive?
Emerson flopped back onto the bed, the mattress absorbing the hard lines of her body. Despite her best intentions, she felt her body relax at the opportunity to finally sit still and think for a few minutes.
She wanted to be mad at Callie. Had taken a few strips off of her when she’d done the whole block and tackle in the kitchen, but Emerson knew it wasn’t the woman’s fault. And if the look of rebellion in those dark brown eyes was an indication, Callie wasn’t any happier about it than she was.
Her body relaxed another fraction and she instinctively knew Drake had returned. The raging storm that lived in her heart always calmed a little bit when he was near and, despite her anger, this moment was no different.
The light knock announced his arrival just before he stepped through the door. Emerson toyed briefly with the idea of feigning sleep, but discarded it in favor of sitting up and fighting. She caught sight of the still-ripped T-shirt as a new thought took hold.
Maybe she could work off some tension instead.
“You look mad.”
She stood and moved a few steps, not fully closing the gap between them. “I’m not talking to you.”
“I needed to do it, Emerson. And I couldn’t take you back in there.”
“For the moment, we’re going to ignore the fact that you locked me up in your house to go investigating mine. We’re also, for the moment, going to forget that I’m so mad at you I’d like to pour honey over every inch of your body and set a rabid band of fire ants loose on you.”
His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t stop her.
“And, for the moment, we’re also going to forget that you continue to insinuate yourself in my life without asking my permission, which is, frankly, the root of my anger, upset and all-around vindictiveness toward you.”
“Em—”
“I said I’m not talking to you.”
“Oh.” His lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Take your shirt off.”
He did as she asked and Emerson drank him in. The long, lean lines of his body that descended into a narrow torso, capped off by a broad pair of shoulders that would make Atlas weep. He had a swimmer’s body, she realized with sudden clarity, the knowledge making perfect sense as she considered his Pisces nature and its connection to how he was.
“Turn around.”
The twitch in his full lips turned into a full-on smile. “Isn’t this talking?”
“Turn. Around.”
He did as she asked, presenting his back to her.
Reveling in the chance to observe him while he was unaware, she continued her inspec
tion of his body. She’d seen his tattoos before, fascinated by the elaborate ink on his skin, but in his silence she could truly look her fill.
Could see the beautiful design that wrapped around his left shoulder before settling on his upper back.
The dark ink swirled over his shoulder into sharp points, with the tribal design surprisingly similar to her own tattoo. From the angle where he stood, she could see the ink as it spread onto his back. As her gaze followed the design, it stopped, giving way to a second tattoo—two fish joined at the tail.
With tentative fingers, she reached out to lightly touch his skin, surprised when the tattoo began to move. Like that feeling when her magic unlocked and began coursing through her veins, the scales of the fish winked an enticing silver as they moved in a slow circle, as if preening under her attention.
The tattoo was relatively small, covering only the upper quadrant of his back over his shoulder blade, but she couldn’t fight the sense that there was power there, barely leashed and far greater than it appeared.
How had she never noticed it before?
In all the times they’d been together, she’d looked but never really seen.
Reaching up, she ran her hands along the firm ledge of his shoulders, the warmth of his skin branding her like fire. She felt her own magic rising within her body, coursing through her with a certainty that left her breathless.
She knew who she was and she knew what mattered to her.
With a flick of her wrist, she made their clothing disappear into a heap on the floor. Her gaze descended to take in the firm globes of his ass as need flooded her body, pooling between her thighs.
His body was a marvel. Not a single inch of him wasn’t long and lean, hard and able. She was half his size and yet when she was with him he was fiercely gentle.
Right now, she wanted the fierce.
Maintaining contact with his shoulders, she slid around him and pressed her breasts to his chest, gratified when his hard erection fit flush against her stomach.
Hard and able was right.
Her arms were still around his neck and he reached up with his hands and skimmed his fingers along the underside of her arms. The light touch was so simple—so elegant, really—and it was her undoing.
