then…
Paris patted the bag of dried ambrosia in his pocket and let out a sigh of relief. Still there. He now carried the potent stuff with him wherever he went. Just in case he needed it. Which, more often than not, he did.
Only when the ambrosia was mixed with human wine did the alcohol do what it was supposed to do and numb him. If only for a little while. Every day, though, it seemed like he had to add more to achieve the same buzz.
He’d just have to ask his friend to steal more. Gods knew he deserved a few hours of peace, a chance to lose himself. Afterward, he would be refreshed, stronger, ready to fight his enemy.
Don’t think about that now. Soon as he reached the fortress, he had a job to do. That came first; it had to. He forced his eyes to focus on his surroundings, his mind to blank. Gone were the multihued palaces, humans traipsing from one side of the streets to another. In their place were thickly treed hills, abandoned, forgotten.
The SUV popped a rocky ledge and ascended one of those hills, dodging trees and the little presents he and the others had left for any Hunter stupid enough to come gunning for them. Again, that is.
About a month ago, they’d stormed inside and blasted the hell out of his home, a home he’d lived in for centuries, forcing the warriors to patch up quickly before heading out on another trip, another battle. New furniture had been needed. New appliances. He didn’t like it. There’d been so much change in his life lately—women in residence, the return of an old frienemy, the eruption of the war—he couldn’t handle much more.
The fortress came into view, a towering monstrosity of shadow and stone. Ivy climbed the jagged walls, blending home into land and making it nearly impossible to differentiate between the two. The only thing that set them apart was the iron gate that now surrounded the structure. Another addition.
Eagerness suddenly saturated the cool air. Bodies tensed, mouthfuls of oxygen were held. So close…
Torin, who watched them from inside the fortress on monitors and sensors, opened that gate. As they meandered toward the tall, arching front doors, Aeron squeezed his armrest so tightly it snapped.
“A wee bit excited, are you?” Strider asked, glancing at him from the rearview mirror.
Aeron didn’t reply. There was a good chance he hadn’t even heard the question. His tattooed face registered determination and anger. Not the usual indulgent expression he wore when about to see Legion.
When the vehicle stopped, the entire group jumped out. Glaring sunlight beat down on his body, making him sweat under his T-shirt and jeans. Gods, was it even this hot in hell?
Soon as she emerged from the car, the little Harpy stepped to the side, delicate arms around her middle, eyes wide, face pale. Sabin tracked her every movement, not even looking away when he jerked out a bag and another toppled to his feet.
How could something as vicious as a Harpy be so timid? It just wasn’t possible; it didn’t fit. She was like two pieces of two different puzzles, and now Paris was thinking the girl should have been blindfolded on the way to the fortress.
Hindsight. They could always cut out her tongue to keep her from talking, he supposed. Maybe cut off her hands to keep her from signing or writing.
Who are you?
Before Sienna, he would have been the one fighting to protect the female. That he wasn’t now, that he actually wanted her injured, should have filled him with guilt. Instead, he was angry that he hadn’t done a better job of guarding his friends against her. All possible threats had to be eliminated. Throughout the years, the other warriors had tried to convince him of that but he’d always resisted. Now, he understood.
It was too late to do anything to her, though. Sabin wouldn’t allow it. Guy was wasted. Even before the rift that tore Lucien’s group from Sabin’s, Paris didn’t recall ever seeing Sabin this intent on a woman. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If the girl’s timidity wasn’t an act, then Sabin would destroy her, one bit of her self-esteem at a time.
Maddox emerged from the second Escalade, a dark slash in Paris’s periphery. The keeper of Violence didn’t bother grabbing his bag but pounded swiftly up the porch steps. The doors swung open and his pregnant female flew outside, laughing and crying. Ashlyn leapt into his arms, a blur of gold, and he swung her around. They were locked in a heated kiss seconds later.
It was tough to imagine the savage Maddox as a father—even if the baby ended up half demon like the Lords.
Next came Danika, who halted in the doorway and scanned the crowd for Reyes. The lovely blonde spotted him and squealed. As if that squeal was a mating call of some kind, Reyes palmed a dagger and stalked to her.
Possessed as he was by the demon of Pain, Reyes could not feel pleasure without physical suffering. Before Danika, the warrior had had to cut himself twenty-four/seven to function. During their stay in Cairo, he hadn’t had to injure himself once. Being away from Danika was pain enough, he said. Now that they were reunited, he’d have to cut himself again, but Paris didn’t think either of them minded.
With a growl, Reyes swept her into his arms and the two disappeared inside the fortress, Danika’s giggling the only remaining evidence they’d been nearby.
Paris rubbed at a sudden ache in his chest, praying it would go away. He knew it wouldn’t, though. Not until he’d had his ambrosia. Every time he was around these couples so obviously in love, the ache sprouted and stayed, a parasite that sucked the life right out of him, until he drank himself into a stupor.
There was no sign of Lucien, who had flashed home rather than endure the long plane ride. He and Anya were probably locked inside their room. One small favor, at least.
He noted that the Harpy had watched the couples as intently as he had. Because she was fascinated or because she hoped to use the information against them?
No other females were in residence, thank the gods. No one Paris could seduce and eventually hurt when he screwed her over for someone else. Gilly, Danika’s young friend, now lived in an apartment in town. The kid had wanted her own space. And they’d pretended to give it to her, not telling her that her home was wired to Torin’s surveillance systems. Danika’s grandmother, mother and sister had left, as well, and were now back in the States.
“Come,” Sabin said to the Harpy. When she failed to comply, he motioned her to his side.
“Those women…” she whispered.
“Are happy.” Confidence layered every syllable. “Had they not been so eager to be reunited with their men, they would have greeted you personally.”
“Do they know…?” Once again, she had trouble finishing her sentence.
“Oh, yes. They know their men are possessed by demons. Now come.” He waved his fingers.
Still she hesitated. “Where will you take me?”
Sabin pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He was doing that a lot lately, it seemed. “Come inside or don’t, but I’m not waiting out here for you to make up your mind.” Angry footsteps, the slam of the door.
Anyone else he simply would have picked up and thrown over his shoulder, Paris suspected. Her, he allowed to choose.
