by Addison Fox
“I’m meeting our latest delivery.”
“Another one?”
She threw the heavy lock back and pushed the door open. The gasp behind her was audible as Franco Gavelli and his father pushed through the door in their designer suits, their charge between them.
Hippolyta Carano stared at them from the other side of the door. Her old frame was hunched and her short gray hair stuck up in disarray. Although Eris had known she wasn’t young, she looked considerably older than the photo Magnus carried in his wallet.
The woman’s dark eyes went wide as they alighted on her grandson. “Magnus!”
“Oh my God. Grandmother.”
Disorientation overtook Emerson the moment they moved alongside the warehouse. An odd sense of the familiar, sort of like a magical déjà vu. She and Drake already held hands, but she reached with her free one, dragging at his sleeve. “Drake. Something’s wrong.”
“It’s all wrong.”
“No, I mean beyond the fact we’re hunting my brother down like a criminal. Something is wrong. I feel it.”
Drake pulled her up short so that their backs hit the outside wall of the building and motioned the rest of them over.
“What’s the problem, Fish?” Quinn’s voice was all business as he moved up beside them.
“Something’s not right,” Emerson whispered again, unsure of any other way to define the unease. “It’s something magical. I can feel it, but I can’t explain what’s different.”
“Have you ever felt it before?”
Emerson wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but the immediate acceptance was enough to calm her nerves. Reaching out with her senses, she tried to get a bead on what was wreaking havoc with her instincts.
Like the moments with the weights, she allowed her magic to leave her body, weaving into the night air.
Searching…seeking…breathing.
She broke off the search and squeezed Drake’s hand in frustration. “Nothing. I know it’s there, but like something you can’t quite see from the corner of your eye, I can’t get to it. Can’t focus on it.”
“Should we go back?” Kane’s low voice floated over them. “Regroup?”
“We don’t have time,” Grey muttered, already moving out of their stopped formation to move ahead.
“Are you okay to keep moving?” Drake’s gaze reassured, even as she continued to fight the tendrils of unease that swirled around her.
“Yes. Let’s keep going. I just want this over with.”
“All right.” Quinn extended his hands and pointed to opposite ends of the block. “As we planned it.”
They broke off into formation, each knowing their part in the battle plans they’d prepared back at the brownstone. Rogan was already headed to the opposite end of the building while Montana stayed close to Quinn as he moved on in front of them.
Grey was the only one too far out in front.
Too exposed.
Again, Emerson couldn’t fight the feeling that something was wrong, but knew by the determined set of Grey’s shoulders he wouldn’t listen. “He’s putting himself in danger,” she whispered to Drake.
“I think he welcomes it. In fact, I think he’d be thrilled if he could draw Eris out on his own. He blames himself for this.”
“It’s not entirely his fault.”
“He could have handled it differently.”
Emerson kept moving, but that pervasive sense of the familiar wouldn’t subside. Another hit of déjà vu crowded her mind and she nearly stumbled from the intense wave of sensation.
“Emerson!” Drake’s whisper was heavy in her ear even while he sounded very far away. Yet another attack of sensation bore down on her, as if willing her to figure it out.
Willing her to remember.
Familiar. The sensations were familiar and warm and oh so recognizable. Magic curled around her senses, tugging at her in heavy, syrupy waves.
“Drake?” The streetlights wavered at the edge of her vision as her mind rushed to figure out what was so familiar, yet so alien, all at the same time.
Time. There wasn’t any more time.
She put one foot in front of the other as she clung to Drake’s arm.
“Emerson!” Again, his voice sounded from far away, echoing through her mind from a great distance.
Once more, she forced her senses outward, seeking the power that came with knowledge and understanding.
Familiar. Warm. Home.
On a wave of dizziness, she barely held back the cry that sprang to her lips.
“Gram!”
Chapter Twenty-two
Drake raced after Emerson as she tugged out of his grip and took off for the end of the block. The warehouse loomed alongside them with a dark, creeping menace as he caught her and dragged her up in his arms. “Emerson!”
Agonized cries fell from her lips as she clawed at his arms. “She’s got my grandmother.”
“Shhhh. We’ll get her,” he crooned in her ear as he tried to soothe her. “We’ll get her, but you have to calm down.”
“My family, Drake,” she cried while the agony poured off of her in waves. “She’s got my family. She ruined my brother and now she has my grandmother.”
“Emerson, I need you to calm down and trust me. You can’t help them like this.”
The words had their desired effect. Her struggles stilled as she quieted in his arms. With renewed focus, she turned pleading eyes on him. “We need to port in there and you have to port her out. Just get her out of there as fast as you can. Then you can come back for me.”
Her words pulled at something deep inside of him and in that moment all the reasons he loved Emerson coalesced into one. She loved selflessly and with her whole heart.
And she had all of his.
She had stolen it from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, his soul somehow recognizing her before his heart even caught up.
Pressing his lips to her ear, he kept his voice low yet urgent. “We need to take this slow. Eris wants the apple and the diary, and she’s not going to make any rash moves until she has them.”
“Is that your professional opinion”—Eris materialized behind them on the sidewalk—“or wishful thinking, Drake?”
“Where the fuck is she?” Emerson shot back as she turned to face Eris.
“Keep a tight leash on her, Drake,” Eris sneered. “I’d hate to see her make any rash decisions.”
Emerson’s grip tightened on his arm, telegraphing her intention. Drake shot her a brief glance to let her know he was in complete accord and, with an ease that defied how little time they’d worked together, Emerson let go with a stream of flame as the two of them marched toward the goddess.
The leather that covered Eris from head to toe crackled under the flames and she screamed. But she quickly moved out of the way, porting out of range.
“Where’d she go?” Emerson whispered as they turned in a complete circle.
Quinn hollered for them from the end of the block before launching into his own port, but in his gut Drake knew it was wasted effort.
When Eris reappeared in front of them she had Hippolyta in her arms.
Grey prowled through the warehouse on quiet feet. He heard the screams outside and could only depend on the knowledge that his brothers would do everything they could to fight the battle as far away from Finley as possible.
He scanned the length of the warehouse as he moved, trying to find a door or stairwell of some sort. There was no evidence of anyone in the large, cavernous space as he worked his way along the wall.
Had they been duped?
Was Eris keeping Finley somewhere else entirely?
The faintest echo of voices reached his ears and Grey stilled, crouching low with his back to the wall behind a row of old, rusty cabinets. Footsteps pounded closer as the voices rose and Grey immediately recognized the leader of the Gavelli crime family as he walked the length of the room.
He was no longer the young buck who ruled New York w
ith an iron fist. The years of running a dark and evil empire had taken their toll. His body had grown paunchy and dark circles rimmed his eyes.
The image was in stark contrast to his son.
Franco.
Grey didn’t need to see the silk suit and Italian loafers to make the son. Long and lean, Franco Gavelli walked the floor like he owned the place. The son was clearly primed to take over the family business. The faint outline of a gun was visible through the fit of his suit and his confident gait suggested a man who believed he owned his world and everything in it.
Magnus followed them, his movements awkward. Grey wondered briefly at the stiff posture until he realized Emerson’s brother was doing everything in his power to hide the tattoo that refused to stay shrouded within his aura.
“Where is she?”
“The basement.” Magnus pointed toward a door at the far side of the warehouse, about twenty yards from where Grey hid.
“We brought the old lady, so we’re walking out with the lawyer. That’s the deal,” Franco intoned.
“Yeah, that’s the deal,” Magnus agreed as he reached for the door.
Grey clenched his fists as he tried to decide how to play this. The addition of the mobsters was a variable he hadn’t planned on. Finley wasn’t insurance at all—she was a bargaining chip. The mobsters’ payment for their part in this little drama.
And that was what made Eris so dangerous. They should have counted on the fact she hadn’t been using the humans for fun.
That she’d had a purpose for them all along. Rile up the mobsters, then keep them happy with a prize of their own. He and his brothers had thought them to simply be a diversion while she groomed Magnus for bigger things. None of them had calculated just how big a distraction they could actually be.
A low whistle sounded from behind him. Grey turned to see Rogan’s face in the window. After Grey’s quick nod, the Sagittarius ported in beside him.
“Where is she?”
“Downstairs. With Gavelli, his son and Magnus.”
Rogan extended his hand, his mouth a grim slash. “Let’s go even up the odds.”
“Gram!” Emerson cried at the sight of her grandmother wrapped in Eris’s arms. The woman who had always seemed so strong—so invincible—looked small and frail with Eris’s arm around her neck.
“We can make this easy or we can make it hard.” Eris smiled broadly as she kept a close grip on Hippolyta. “I don’t kill old ladies and really have no interest in starting now. That said, I want what belongs to me.”
“Emerson.” Her grandmother’s gaze never wavered. “What is this about?”
The calm, cool strength went a long way toward alleviating the panic rocketing through her system and Emerson focused on that familiar, steady brown gaze. “It’s about Magnus, Gram.”
“Actually, it’s not.” Eris tightened her grip once more. “It’s about my belongings.”
“Which is about Magnus,” Drake shot back, “as well as every other deviant thing you’ve done since the dawn of time.”
“What do you have to do with my grandson?” Hippolyta asked again as she twisted to look at Eris.
“You have no idea.” Eris smiled to herself at the little joke. “Your grandson’s been a most accommodating subject. A puzzling one, but incredibly helpful and compliant. You should be quite proud of him.”
Emerson thought about the Xiphos strapped to Drake’s leg. Could she do it? Did she have enough power to remove it and stealthily bring it around to Eris’s neck?
Before she could contemplate it any further, Eris shouted for Quinn, who had stopped several yards back, keeping watch as things unfolded. “Get over here, Quinn. Where I can see you.”
Eris’s gaze alighted on Montana, where the woman had moved up next to Drake. “And if it isn’t my old friend Montana. Things sure have changed for you, sweetie. Enjoying your new life?”
“No thanks to you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If I hadn’t kept you locked up for so long, Arturo might have gotten to you before your ascension and then where would you be?” Emerson saw Montana blink at that and wasn’t surprised when Eris purred her next comment. “I’m really not all bad.”
“Then let my grandmother go.”
“Give me my things and I’m out of here.”
The image of Rogan’s face as he confessed his relationship with Eris resurrected itself in her mind’s eye. Just as she’d told Drake several days ago, she couldn’t shake the idea the Sagittarius had fallen in love with the goddess.
And if he had fallen in love with her, could she be all bad?
“If you’re as serious as you say, turn my brother back. In exchange for the apple.”
“Magnus made his choice.”
“Likely without full knowledge of what he’d become,” Emerson shot back.
“He’s a grown man, Emerson. He doesn’t need your interference. He never has.”
Emerson looked at all of them. Montana to Drake’s left and Quinn on her right. Her grandmother’s proud stance as she fought to stand upright under the pressure of Eris’s hold. And then her gaze caught on something that flashed in Quinn’s back pocket under the streetlights and she realized he’d shoved a knife back there.
Could she really do it?
As her gaze flickered back over her grandmother, she saw it. The brief nod that said Hippolyta knew exactly what she was thinking.
And approved.
Offering up a quick prayer to the goddess, Emerson held tight to Drake’s arm and allowed her magic to flow out through her senses. The knife lifted from Quinn’s pocket and, with a speed born of sheer desperation, she flung it into the night.
Magnus turned at the scream from outside the warehouse just as he opened the door for Franco and his father. “They’re down there.” Without waiting for a response, Magnus vanished and Grey knew they had to let him go.
His brothers would deal with Magnus.
Grey and Rogan moved up to the entrance and peered down the narrow stairs. They saw a second door open at the bottom and Franco and his father stepped through it. Grey’s stomach turned over as he heard a voice echo back up the cavernous space until he realized it wasn’t Finley’s. “Franco! You came.”
With a sideways glance, he nodded at his brother and Rogan nodded back. There was just enough space to see the floor of the basement and, by silent agreement, they’d port in one after the other. Grey unstrapped his Xiphos from his leg, the well-worn hilt a comfort in his hand.
He went first, the air gathering speed around him before launching him down into the basement. The moment he regained his feet he leaped on Franco with a fierce war cry and knocked the gun from the man’s hand, his Xiphos clattering to the floor in the process. Rogan’s matched cry echoed mere moments later as he arrived in the same spot, then faced off with Gavelli Sr.
Grey braced for an attack as Franco immediately reacted to the threat. He reveled in the fight, slamming his fists into Franco’s midsection with a satisfying thud as he beat the man slowly across the room.
The fierce need for retribution burned within him as he continued pummeling the future crime boss. Franco gave as good as he got, but Grey had the momentum. His hands reached for Franco’s neck, the move so instinctive after long years of fighting Destroyers, he barely registered the man turning blue as he gripped the neck that corded in a desperate attempt to get air.
His hands tightened further and it was Finley’s scream that stopped him.
“Grey! No! You’ll kill him.”
Her voice still vibrated in his ears as he realized what he was doing. In his fury to punish the one who’d held Finley, he’d missed the real threat. As he loosened his grip slightly, three gunshots filled the air.
Eris screamed as the knife hit her shoulder. Although it was a wound she’d easily shake off, it did enough damage to have her loosening her grip on Hippolyta.
The older woman didn’t waste time. She dropped to her knees, slipping from Eris’s grip, befor
e crawling toward them. Drake called out orders as he moved forward to intercept the woman. “Montana, take her home.”
Quinn’s wife ported Hippolyta away immediately, the quick rush of air the only evidence they’d even been standing there. On another set of orders, he hollered over his shoulder toward Emerson, “Stay back. She’s mine.”
Words he hadn’t thought in years echoed through his mind. Alexander’s battle cry.
No mercy.
The knife still stuck out of Eris’s shoulder and with a thick pop she pulled it free. Blood poured from the wound, but it evaporated before it even hit the sidewalk. She and Drake circled each other. Impatient with the dance, Drake leaped, the satisfaction of knocking her off her feet short-lived as Emerson’s scream took his breath away.
He looked up from where he had Eris pinned to the ground, and saw where they’d miscalculated.
Magnus stood behind his sister. The snake that rode his shoulders had wrapped itself around her, from just underneath her breasts to the top of her knees.
Grey crawled toward Finley, his gaze never leaving the expanding pool of blood on her chest. The moment he reached her, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her as gently as he could manage.
The blond woman he’d heard earlier calling to Franco clutched the gun, her hands as steady as if she were holding a church hymnal. She now had it pointed at Rogan’s head. “It’s such a shame about your girlfriend.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Grey ground out, his mind whirling with what to do. Although there wasn’t much he and his brothers couldn’t survive, a kill shot to the head was pretty effective. Their speed of regeneration simply couldn’t beat the clock on keeping the brain alive.
His gaze ricocheted between Rogan and the ever-expanding patch of red on Finley’s chest.
“Don’t think about leaving, sweetheart. Or my finger just might slip on this trigger. One. More. Time.” As his brain slowly reengaged, Grey realized he knew the woman. She was a colleague of Finley’s and he’d seen her at Equinox on several occasions.
