definition of indulgence varied greatly. And, to be honest, that variation cut her so deeply she didn’t think she’d ever heal. Mother—
No. Say no more. We are done here.
Footsteps had echoed as her mother walked away. For good. There’d been no phone calls, no letters, no emails or texts. Kaia had simply ceased to exist. Juliette still hadn’t attacked her, so she had assumed her mother had continued to “protect” her despite that fact.
Maybe she’d assumed wrong.
Maybe that’s why she now found herself in this place.
And yet, even knowing Tabitha might want her hurt and broken, her gaze drank her mother in, her first glimpse in all these months, unbidden though it was, and gods, Tabitha was lovely. Though she’d lived for millennia and given birth to four (beautiful) daughters now past legal drinking age—waaaay past—she appeared to be no more than twenty-five. Beautifully tanned skin, a silky mass of black hair, amber-brown eyes, and the delicate features of a china doll.
A few times over the years, she’d dyed her hair red and Kaia had thought, hoped, that meant … But no.
“Tabitha Skyhawk,” Juliette said, her tone reverent. She inclined her head in greeting. “Welcome.”
“That’s your mother?” Sabin suddenly demanded of Gwen. “I mean, you told me she hated you and that’s why she stays away, but that woman looks like she only hates broken nails and stocking runs.”
“She’s only my mom by birth, so don’t hold it against me,” Gwen replied. “And I assure you, she’d break your face without a thought to her nails.”
Gwen had always been the sensitive one, the one in need of safeguarding. Yet she hadn’t cried the day Tabitha had called her unworthy. She had simply shrugged and moved on. Not once had she looked back.
“She can’t be all bad,” Sabin said. “Not with those legs.”
Men. “She has the heart of a child, you know. Yeah, it’s in a box beside her bed.” And guess what? It’s mine!
After the Unfortunate Incident, Kaia had dogged Tabitha for centuries, desperate, willing to do anything, battle anyone, to earn back her mother’s respect and love. She had failed, time and time again. Finally she’d realized the fruitlessness of her efforts and turned her attentions to the humans. An act that had once again earned Tabitha’s castigation.
You remain in Alaska, fighting with humans, stealing from humans, playing with humans. The words ran through Kaia’s mind a second time. Among humans, she was a prize among prizes, thought to be lovely, courageous and fun. Of course she’d played with them.
You’re over the rejection, remember? You don’t care.
Her mother entered the room the rest of the way, nine Harpies filing in behind her. When the doors shut with a soft whisk, the group stopped and surveyed the room, the occupants. All ten gazes zoomed past her without even the slightest pause, as if she were invisible.
Look at me, she thought frantically. Mother, please. For those few, pregnant seconds, she felt like a needy little girl again. Of course, those golden eyes never returned to her. Worse, they landed on Juliette and sparked with pride. Pride. Why?
Did it matter? A bitter laugh welled in Kaia’s throat. Then she noticed the matching medallions hanging from each of their necks, and the laugh escaped on a choke. Small wooden discs, intricate wings carved into the centers, the precious symbol of Skyhawk strength. Kaia had always been fine with the fact that her mother had trained Juliette, as well as other members of allied clans. But giving someone other than a Skyhawk a medal? Oh, that burned!
Another memory surfaced. Suddenly she felt the scrape of leather against her nape as her necklace was ripped from her.
“Our flight was delayed,” Tabitha explained, her hard voice echoing from the domed ceiling. “We apologize.”
Even so stiffly uttered … an apology? From Tabitha the Vicious? That was a first. Was Kaia dreaming? Had she entered some sort of parallel universe and just didn’t know it? No, she couldn’t have. If so, Tabitha would have smiled at her. She hadn’t.
So the apology had happened.
Her knees started knocking again, and there was no stopping them.
“Sorry I’m late,” a husky male voice said from behind her.
And back to the dream theory. No way Strider was here and apologizing. That would mean he was her lifeline—a line to more than just insanity. Kaia whipped around, certain there would be no change in her surroundings. To her eternal shock, her eyes supported her ears.
Strider was here in all his warrior glory.
A smile from Mother Dearest or not, she had entered a parallel universe. There could be no other explanation. Could there? “What are you doing here?” The scent of cinnamon wafted from him, and as she inhaled—panted, really—her heart skidded into an uncontrollable beat.
“Thank gods,” Sabin muttered. “Gwen almost had my balls for breakfast when she heard I’d let you leave the fortress this morning.”
Gwen blushed. “Sabin! Now isn’t the time to spill our bedroom secrets.”
Bianka chuckled behind her hand. “I don’t think that’s what he meant, Gwennie-bo-Bennie.”
As she spoke, Lysander inserted himself between her and the two demon-possessed immortals. He might have agreed to a truce with the Lords of the Underworld, but that didn’t mean he liked them. And as he’d cut off their good buddy Aeron’s head, the Lords weren’t his biggest fans, either, and he clearly didn’t want them taking out their dislike on Bianka. As if they would. Demon-possessed or not, the warriors treated the Skyhawk girls like family. Irritating cousins who’d overstayed their welcome, but family nonetheless.
Another round of gasps suddenly echoed. The men had finally been noticed, really noticed as more than blood donors and carnival ponies, and murmurs of “angel” and “lords” arose. The first was filled with amusement, as Kaia had feared, the second with jealousy.
Jealousy. For her. She tried not to puff up like a peacock.
She failed.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated in a low whisper. To Strider. Who was here. Here, with her.
“Ask me tomorrow, and I might have thought up an answer,” he replied dryly.
Once again, she found her heart swelling. Not with love, not this time, but with equal measures of lust, joy and relief. He was sexier than ever in a bloodstained white T-shirt and ripped-up jeans. Dirt streaked his fallen angel face and his blond hair was plastered to his scalp and dripping with sweat.
“I would have been here sooner,” he added, “but my final perimeter check at the fortress proved fruitful.”
“Hunters?”
“Yeah. Bastards. Always trying something sneaky.”
“You
