by Megan Starks
His amusement faded. His muscles tensed under her hands.
“Who the fuck’s asking you to? I know I can never make up for how I failed you, but to toss me aside? Christ, Gigi. Maybe you really don’t want me anymore, or maybe you just can’t remember, but you know, you did choose me once.”
“I’m trying to protect you, Shade.”
He withdrew from her, and she wrapped the sheets around herself, missing his warmth.
“From what? A bad dream?” He raked a hand through his ash-brown hair. “Gigi, don’t do this. I can prove myself. Just give me more time.”
She shook her head. “It’s not about that, and you know it. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. I have to go to Hell, and you can’t follow me.” Not after her aunt’s vivid threat, if there was the slightest chance that her dreams could be real.
He snatched her wrist, with a grip so tight it stung. “Just try to stop me.”
“Think I can’t?” she threatened back.
Why was he making this such an issue? He was the one who’d warned her he’d be used against her. If her aunt or worse, her brother—oh, God, Rhogan was her brother—if either of them hurt Shade because of her, she’d never be able to forgive herself.
“You said you wanted me to go.”
“And you said you’d stay behind if needed. If you won’t willingly…”
Then she’d order him to.
For a moment he looked wounded. Then he dropped her wrist. “That’s it?” he asked, voice rough. “We’re done?”
She tried to answer but couldn’t get the words out. “I didn’t say that,” she managed at last. “Not yet.”
Even if she wanted to free him, she didn’t know how. She imagined it was a little more involved than saying the words. She was afraid to find out what went into binding a soul.
He dropped his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and groaned. “She’s trying to fuck with us. If I don’t follow you, I’ll be breaking my contract, and she’ll have me for sure.”
Gisele stiffened, every nerve in her body on edge. He was talking about her aunt—he had to be.
There was no way she’d let her aunt take him.
Shit. “I forgot about that,” she apologized.
Thanks to his contract, he was obligated to guard her, no matter what. God, they were in a lose-lose situation.
So much for that idea. She wouldn’t be protecting him by leaving him behind, she be serving him up on a silver platter.
Damn it all.
“You’re right. First, we have to take care of our contracts.” Then she’d figure out how to destroy the tethers on his soul, both her mark and Rhogan’s.
“And then?” He didn’t look at her, head down. The muscles in his back bunched under his skin.
Clearly, he still didn’t like the idea of her breaking their bond.
“You said my mark makes you feel good when you do things that I want. Does it cause you pain when you do something I don’t like? Does it hurt if I’m mad at you?”
He did look up then, gray eyes wide. “No. You don’t hurt me.”
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible, right? She’d seen Rhogan hurt Shade through his mark when they were in the veil.
“What about with Rhogan?” she asked. “It feels good when you do what he wants?”
He bared his teeth at the accusation. “I never do what he wants.”
She raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t back down from the claim.
“Even if I did,” he said, “Rhogan is never satisfied. He gives pleasure to no one. And he’d rather kill me than give me a moment’s respite. His mark is the testament of my shame. It could never make me happy. Ever.”
He looked like he might spit fire at her for even suggesting it.
“Then why do you bear his name?” She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted so terribly to be wrong.
“Because I’m not a good guy. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I meant,” he wet his lips, choosing his next words with more care, “because I had to be punished. Because I killed Atlas, but I still couldn’t—because I—I’m, ah… Shit, I still can’t say it.”
It seemed the rules of his contract hadn’t unraveled completely, after all. Either it was because she didn’t actually know what he was about to tell her, or she needed to order it out of him. The words were on the tip of her tongue when a thick-fisted knock erupted from the other side of the door, causing them both to flinch. Beast was up.
“We’re coming!” she called before she even realized what she’d said.
Ah, well, like the minotaur hadn’t already known.
She blushed, and Shade’s eyebrows rose as she slipped from the bed stark naked, not caring to cover up before she shimmied into some clean clothes. Ah, what a mess she was in.
To lighten the mood, she tossed a sock at him, which he dodged with a laugh. “I’m not finished with you yet. So don’t go sneaking off,” she said, and for once he looked happy, offering her a relieved smile in return.
“Good luck getting rid of me, Gigi.”
22
After breakfast, Shade had disappeared, but she knew he’d be back. He texted her once, asking her height and waist measurements. It was strange seeing his number pop up. For the first time, she wished she hadn’t deleted his other messages without having read them. She wondered what they’d said.
I love you. I’m not some stranger. You know me. Hear me out.
Not likely.
Probably, they’d been messages berating her carelessness, her reckless, fools-rush-in nature that often found her trapped in a tough spot. Sometimes he’d sent a flurry of them, a signal he was angry with her. And he’d been angry a lot when they’d first met.
She didn’t blame him. He must’ve come with so many expectations, only to have them crushed.
Swallowing back a sad smile, she examined the blade he had brought in from her car. She hadn’t thought much of it that night at the Curators of the Cursed, and she didn’t think much of it now. Sure, it could cut a tomato, but it wasn’t much for a sword. The edge was dulled, chipped, and looked like it might shatter if she banged it wrong. But her boys were right. It held a power of some kind. She could feel it thrumming through her fingertips where she gripped the hilt—a buzz she’d mistaken for her own adrenaline rush during the fight.
She ran a finger down the flat of the blade. It warmed under her touch. A flourish of words swam to the surface of the metal.
May all my wounds be mortal.
She raised her eyebrows, amused. Bloodthirsty blade.
She set it on the butcher-block table and grabbed a rag for cleaning. Might as well give it a little TLC if she was going to drag it around with her in Hell. As she wiped the length of the blade, the words swam and distorted like ripples on the surface of a pond, realigning to form other phrases.
Wield me. Quench me. Ignite me.
They repeated over and over, pulsing down the length of the blade.
“How about ‘heal you’ first?” Gisele asked, tutting at it. “Aren’t you horrified to have ended up in this condition?”
“Is not best idea to talk at blade,” Beast commented, looking gruff where he leaned against the doorframe. For a moment the image of a different beast, a dark and hulking, soul-bound dragon intent on murdering her, flashed over him and the sword went toppling to the floor.
“Shit,” she said, groping for the dropped sword. She sliced her fingers against the blade and swore anew.
She stuck her fingers in her mouth out of habit and tasted too much blood. Thick and coppery, it coated her tongue.
Dinah mewled and stretched on the butcher-block table.
Before Beast could apologize for startling her into cutting herself, she deposited the blade back on the table and stood. “Look, you don’t have to come with me.”
She looked at her fingers to avoid his gaze, watching them knit back together. Lovely. Her abilities weren’t something out of a horror movie at all. Her father
was probably a lovely, beautiful demon-man, carved from light and dreams.
Yeah, right.
“I don’t know what’s waiting for me on the other side.”
Beast laughed, the sound like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. “Half-blood needs Beast. Has knack for trouble.”
She smiled ruefully at his assessment. He wasn’t wrong. “Thanks, big guy. You’re a real good friend, you know that? I’m glad we met.”
She meant every word. A friend who was willing to follow her into the depths of Hell? That was a rare find.
Not for the first time, the minotaur blushed at her words and ducked his head.
They met at the site where the Curators of the Cursed had staged their show, where she’d opened the Hellmouth in the fighting pit and nearly gotten herself killed. Where she’d gouged a demon’s eyes out and cut his hand off.
Such pleasant memories.
Her stomach did little, unhappy flips as she stared out at the abandoned grounds, over the mud and gravel, tire tracks, and trash that had been left behind.
The smoky rumble of Shade’s Sportster reached her ears, calming her pounding heart. When had his presence become a comfort? she wondered.
He pulled up next to her and peeled his black helmet off, tossing it into the patchy, weedy ditch to their left without a thought. Where they were going, it wouldn’t help them. He flashed her a dark grin and cut the engine.
Beast tipped his head in greeting.
“Cabbed it?” Shade asked, regarding the both of them with a wry look.
“I had to pay double for Beast. Plus an extra fifty to travel with the sword. Worth it not to leave my car in bum-fuck nowhere, though.” Gisele realized she’d planted her hands on her hips and tried to loosen up her stance, not wanting him to notice her nerves. She let her hands swing at her sides, but her fingers trembled, so she curled them against her thigh holsters. Geez, was she feeling high-strung or what? “Yeah, it’s a piece of shit, but that doesn’t mean I want to come back to someone living in it. I left it at the office.”
Along with a note for Warrick and Susanna. One that said she and Shade had business in Hell, and not to worry about them for a while (Oh, and could they please look after Dinah). During the cab ride, she’d left a rambling voicemail for Laurel, apologizing for needing to miss out on another sushi Tuesday and promising that she was fine—really—and that she had a feeling the elghoul wouldn’t be bothering them anymore.
Her attitude earned another wolfish grin from her coworker. Wonderful. This was the most animated she’d seen him in, well, ever. Glad one of them was feeling happy and relaxed at the thought of plunging headfirst into the depths of Hell.
No, not relaxed. He seemed tense, but also excited.
“Happy to be going home?” she asked him.
His smile disappeared real fast at that.
“Not home. Not even close.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Where we’re headed is the last place I want to be taking you, Gigi. But at least I’ll be with you.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of his answer, and he didn’t elaborate. Beast snorted but kept his thoughts to himself, rarely one for words.
Shade unzipped his leather jacket, shucking it into the ditch as well, a relief from the summer heat, and she saw for the second time since she’d met him that he’d outfitted with weapons. No guns, but he had three knives in tactical holsters strapped to his chest, and another, larger, jutted against the small of his back. A soft heat pooled low in her belly at the sight of him, all hard muscles and roguish confidence, armed and ready for a fight.
“I brought you something.”
He reached behind him, across the bike’s back seat, and unclipped three buckles. Then he handed her a long, tactical scabbard for her sword. She looked at the numerous black straps for a moment, dumbfounded.
Shade kicked the bike to a stand and dismounted, turning her with rough hands on her shoulders as he clipped the scabbard across her back. He tugged the straps snug, tracing them with his fingers across her stomach and shoulders and between her breasts. When his fingers brushed the back of one arm, goose bumps rose on her skin.
“Might be a little loose,” he explained as he accepted the blade from Beast and sheathed it in the black, hard plastic cover. He jerked the scabbard to check for rattling, until he was satisfied with the fit.
She had to admit it didn’t feel entirely uncomfortable. The weight and size reminded her of wearing her shotgun in its sling.
“Well, this is certainly the most romantic gift I’ve ever gotten,” she teased, and he twined his fingers in her hair, nipping her with a brusque but playful tug.
She laughed.
“Draw it before the fight starts,” he instructed as she turned back to face him. “And for the love of God do it slowly. Try not to cut your hair off or slash your throat open. Sharp parts go away from the body.”
“Sword will not kill Half-blood.” Beast chuckled, sounding amused.
Gisele hoped he was right.
She nodded her understanding, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, but Shade stood, silent, and she realized what he was waiting for.
She swept her hair to the side, sweat trickling down the back of her neck.
“I prefer guns,” she said, stalling.
“And when you run out of bullets?”
He had a good point.
“I’ll buy more ammo.”
Probably not in the middle of a fight, though. And probably not without some kind of wheeling and dealing.
He snorted. “With what, your soul?”
“Hell doesn’t take credit cards? That’s fine. I’ve brought cold, hard cash.”
“Lord save us. Leave the negotiating to me. Please,” Shade begged. But she could tell he had to bite back an impish smile.
Not for the first time, she wished they didn’t have to do this. But the sooner she fulfilled their contracts, the better. It might not be easy. It might be dangerous. But they’d be okay, wouldn’t they? Her own smile wilted.
Right, no more playing around.
She gripped the handle of the cleaver with her right hand and the bottom of the scabbard with her left. She hesitated, and he brushed his fingers against her ear, tucking a loose strand behind it in an attempt to ease her concern.
“The blade’s only eighteen inches, so you can clear the sheathe. Just be careful, and you’ll be fine.”
She took a breath and drew the blade over her shoulder. It popped out easily and wobbled in her hand before she straightened it overhead. Okay, that wasn’t too bad. She squared off, gripping the hilt with both hands, feeling the weight of it in her arms as she drew it in front of her.
She could fight with this. It had helped her against Beast in the mud pit, hadn’t it?
“Don’t hold it like a baseball bat,” Shade laughed. “You know what, just don’t use it unless you have to. I’ll teach you how to handle it when we’ve got more time.”
That’s right, her dragon was an expert with a sword, wasn’t he? He could dual wield. He could kill skilled fighters. While she was just embarrassing herself.
“I wasn’t going to,” she replied, miffed.
The crunch of a pinecone caught beneath booted footfall snapped her attention to the tree line. A handful of demons were watching them. From the way Beast stiffened at her side, she knew: They were Curators.
Beast’s big black nostrils flared. He kicked at the gravel with one hoof but didn’t speak. She remembered his words from several days ago. The Curators wouldn’t stop hunting him. They wanted back what she’d stolen.
“Did they stalk you in the city?” Gisele asked. Had they bothered him when she wasn’t around? When Beast gave a single, terse nod, she said, “But they couldn’t nab you in a crowd.”
Out here, there was no one to notice a commotion or call the authorities over a gang fight with a minotaur.
Beast unstrung the Mardoll from his neck, handing it to her, shrunken head first. His teal, side-sl
itted eyes scanned the group’s menacing faces, and he squared his shoulders.
The group slunk back into the shelter of the woods, attempting to lure him.
“We won’t let them take you,” she told Beast, placing a hand on his bulging bicep to hold him back. “I don’t know what happened to you before, but this isn’t like that time. You’re not alone.”
“I’ll go,” Shade said tightly. “You two stay here. Beast, watch Gisele. I’ll take care of them.” He gave the minotaur a pointed look and brushed a hand through Gisele’s bangs. “Don’t leave without me,” he told her.
She shook her head. “You don’t have to fight my battles for me. It’s my choice to help Beast.”
“And what of my choice?” he countered, tone sharp and furious. He leaned closer, breath teasing over her skin as he rasped, “I guard your body and heart. What’s yours is mine to protect.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Beast puffed up his massive chest. But then he deflated, snorting a thick trail of snot onto the grass. “Curators lay traps to hunt Beast. Big and little. In woods, waits old cage and new collar.”
Gisele pulled her left Smith & Wesson, offering it to Shade butt first. “If you want to do this, at least take some stopping power.”
His gray eyes slid to the pistol in her hand, his expression eloquent.
Then he left her. She guessed he didn’t need a gun when his body was a weapon.
She watched his broad back retreat into the distance, enjoying the sight of the thick holster straps that bisected his white Henley shirt. Something about seeing him armed stirred hot feelings inside of her.
Those men would regret hurting her minotaur.
When Shade returned, blood stained his shirt, but he didn’t appear to be wounded.
“I didn’t kill them,” he said before Gisele could ask. “Let’s go before they come back with more.”
Gisele agreed. It was time to re-open the Hellmouth.
