Книга - The Darkest Surrender

The Darkest Surrender
Gena Showalter


Strider Immortal Keeper of Defeat Nothing comes between him and victory Possessed by the demon of Defeat, Strider suffers unimaginable pain when he loses a challenge. For him, nothing stands in the way of winning. Until Kaia, an enchanting Harpy, tempts him. Kaia must bring home the gold in the Harpy Games competition or die.Strider is a distraction she can t afford, especially as he intends to steal first prize, an ancient magical artifact, before the true victor can be named. But as the competition heats up, only one prize will matter the dangerous, addictive passion neither had thought possible. . . .










Praise for New York Times and USA Today bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER’S

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

The Darkest Night “A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

“Dark and tormented doesn’t begin to describe these cursed warriors called the Lords of the Underworld. Showalter has created characters desperately fighting to retain a semblance of humanity, which means the heroines are in for a rough ride. This is darkly satisfying and passionately thrilling stuff.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Amazing! Stupendous! Extraordinary!

Gena showalter has done it again.

The Darkest Night is the fabulous start of an edgy, thrilling series …” —Fallen Angels reviews

“Not to be missed … the hottest new paranormal series.”

—Night Owl Romance

The Darkest Kiss “In this new chapter the Lords of the Underworld engage in a deadly dance. Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability – a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.” —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

“Talk about one dark read … If there is one book you must read this year, pick up The Darkest Kiss … a Gena Showalter book is the best of the best.” —Romance Junkies

The Darkest Pleasure “Showalter’s darkly dangerous Lords of the Underworld compelling universe contains the possibility of more stories to be told.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Of all the books in this series, this is the most moving and compelling. The concluding chapters will simply stun you with the drama of them … You will not be sorry if you add this to your collection.”

—Mists and Stars

The Darkest Whisper “If you like your paranormal dark and passionately flavoured, this is the series for you.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

The Darkest Passion “Showalter gives her fans another treat, sure to satisfy!” —RT Book Reviews


Lords of the Underworld

In a remote fortress in Budapest, immortal warriors—each more dangerously seductive than the last—are bound by an ancient curse none has been able to break. When a powerful enemy returns, they will travel the world in search of a sacred relic of the gods—one that threatens to destroy them all.



Gena Showalter’s

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

continues with

The Darkest Surrender




About the Author


New York Times and USA Today bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER has been praised for her “sizzling pageturners” and “utterly spellbinding stories”. She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalterblogspot.com.




The Darkest Surrender



Gena Showalter












www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To donna glass, a real life Bianka Skyhawk. Your support and enthusiasm for the LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD thrills me more than I can ever say. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you! (Did I mention I’m thankful?) And from all of the warriors currently residing in the Budapest fortress: you’re welcome to come over any time. Gideon adds: And I hope like hell you don’t! Also, Lysander says there’s a cloud with your name on it—next to his.




PROLOGUE


Fifteen hundred years ago …

Or

A million years ago …

(Just depends on who you ask.)

FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, the bi-century Harpy Games ended with more participants dead than alive, and every single one of the survivors knew fourteen-year-old Kaia Skyhawk was to blame.

The day began innocently enough. With the morning sun shining brightly, Kaia strolled through the overcrowded camp hand in hand with her beloved twin sister, Bianka. Tents of every size littered the area, and multiple fires crackled to ward off the early-morning chill. The scents of filched biscuits and honey coated the air, making her mouth water.

Forever cursed by the gods, Harpies could only eat what they stole or earned. If they ate anything else, they sickened horribly. So Kaia’s breakfast had been a meager affair: a stale rice cake and half a flagon of water, both of which she’d pilfered from a human’s saddle.

Maybe she’d appropriate a biscuit from a member of a rival clan, she mused, then shook her head. No, she’d just have to remain semi-hungry. Her kind didn’t live by many rules, but the ones they had, they revered. Such as: never fall asleep where humans could find you, never reveal a weakness to anyone and, most importantly, never thieve a single morsel of food from one of your own race, even if you hated her.

“Kaia?” her sister said, her tone curious.

“Yes?”

“Am I the prettiest girl here?”

“Of course.” Kaia didn’t even have to look around to confirm that fact. Bianka was the prettiest girl in the entire world. Sometimes she forgot, though, and had to be reminded.

While Kaia had a disgusting mop of red hair and unremarkable gray-gold eyes, Bianka had luxurious black hair, shimmering amber eyes and was the image of their exalted mother, Tabitha the Vicious.

“Thank you,” Bianka said, grinning with satisfaction. “And I think you’re the strongest. By far.”

Kaia never tired of hearing her sister’s praise. The more powerful a Harpy was, the more respect she earned. From everyone. More than anything, Kaia craved respect. “Stronger, even, than …” She studied the Harpies in the area, searching for someone to compare herself to.

Those who were old enough to participate in the traditional tests of might and cunning bustled about, preparing for the one remaining event—Last Immortal Standing. Swords whistled as they were tugged from sheaths. Metal ground against stone as daggers were sharpened.

Finally, Kaia spotted a contender for her comparison. “Am I stronger, even, than her?” she asked, pointing to a brute of a woman with bulging muscles and thick crisscrossing scars adorning her arms.

The injuries that had left those scars must have been severe indeed; immortality caused their race to heal quickly and efficiently, rarely allowing any evidence of hard living to show.

“No question,” Bianka said loyally. “I bet she’d run and hide if you decided to challenge her.”

“No doubt you’re right.” Actually, who wouldn’t run from her? Kaia trained harder than anyone and had even felled her own instructor. Twice.

She didn’t want to boast, but she’d always trained harder than any other Harpy in their clan. When everyone else stopped for the day, she continued until sweat ran down her chest in rivulets, until her muscles trembled from the strain … until her bones could no longer support her weight.

One day, perhaps even one day soon, her mother would be proud of her. Why, just a few nights ago, Tabitha had slapped her on the shoulder and said her dagger throwing skills had almost improved. Almost improved. No sweeter praise had ever left Tabitha’s mouth.

“Come on,” Bianka said, tugging at her. “If we don’t hurry, we won’t have time to wash in the river, and I really want to look my best when I watch our clan destroy the competition. Again.”

Just thinking of the prizes her mother would collect caused Kaia’s small body to puff up with pride.

The Harpy Games had begun thousands of years ago as a way for clans to “discuss” their grievances without causing a war—well, without causing any more wars—as well as allowing allied clans to showcase their superiority, even against each other. Elders from each of the twenty tribes met and agreed on the competitions and awards.

This time around, each winner of the four battles earned one hundred gold pieces. The Skyhawks had already earned two hundred of those pieces. The Eagleshields had won one.

“Out of your head … that’s a good girl,” Bianka said as she quickened her steps, forcing Kaia to quicken hers in turn. “You daydream too much.”

“Do not.”

“Do, too.”

“Not!”

A sigh from her sister, an admission of defeat.

Kaia grinned. The two of them drew a bit of notice from nearby Harpies, and she made sure to stroke the Skyhawk warrior medallion hanging from her neck. Her mother had gifted her with hers a few months ago, and she treasured the symbol of her strength almost as much as she treasured her twin.

Most everyone who met her gaze nodded in deference, even if she belonged to a rival clan. Those who didn’t … no Harpy would dare attack another while on neutral ground, so Kaia didn’t worry about possible conflict. Actually, she wouldn’t have worried anyway. She was as brave as she was strong.

At the very edge of camp, nestled in a grove of trees, she noticed something strange and halted. “Those men,” she said, pointing to a group of bare-chested males. Some roamed freely, a few were tied to posts and one was chained. To her knowledge, males were never allowed to enter or even watch the games. “What are they doing over there?”

Bianka stopped and followed the line of her finger. “They’re consorts. And slaves.”

“I know that. Hence the reason I asked what they’re doing over there and not who they are.”

“They’re meeting needs, silly.”

Kaia’s brow scrunched in confusion. “What kind of needs?” Their mother had always stressed the importance of taking care of yourself first, your family second and everyone else not at all.

Bianka considered her response carefully, then shrugged and said, “Doing laundry, bathing feet, fetching weapons. You know, menial things we’re too important to do.”

What she took away from that? If you owned a consort or slave, you’d never have to do laundry again. “I want one,” Kaia announced, and the tiny wings protruding from her back fluttered wildly.

Like all Harpies, she wore a half top that covered her breasts—though hers were tragically nonexistent at the moment—but remained open in back to accommodate the small arch of her wings, the source of her superior strength.

“And you know what Mother always says,” she added.

“Oh, yes. A kind word will win you a smile, but who in their right mind wants to win a smile?”

“Not that.”

Bianka pursed her lips. “You can’t really kill a human with kindness. You have to use a sword.”

“Not that, either.”

Exasperated, her sister tossed her arms in the air. “Then what?”

“If you don’t take the treasures and the males you want, you’ll never get the treasures and the males you want.”

“Oh.” Bianka’s eyes widened as her attention returned to the men. “So which one do you want?”

Kaia tapped a fingertip against her chin as she studied the candidates. Each of the men wore a loincloth, and each hard body was streaked with dirt and sweat, but none of the men were cut or bruised as she was, indicating they’d proven themselves on the battlefield. Or at least, had tried to do so.

No, not true, she realized a second later. The one in chains was covered in battle marks, and his dark eyes were definitely defiant. He was a fighter. “Him,” she said, motioning with a tilt of her chin. “Who owns him?”

Bianka looked him over, trembled. “Juliette the Eradicator.”

Juliette Eagleshield, an ally as well as a coldhearted beauty trained by Tabitha Skyhawk herself.

Conquering a male the Eradicator had failed to tame would be … “Even better.”

“I don’t know about this, Kye. We were warned not to speak to any of the men.”

“I wasn’t warned.”

“Oh, yes, you were. I know this because you were standing right beside me when Mother delivered the warning. You must have been daydreaming again.”

She refused to be swayed from her chosen path. “New rule—if a daughter doesn’t hear a warning, she doesn’t have to heed it.”

Bianka remained unconvinced. “He reeks of danger.”

“We love danger.”

“We also love to breathe. And I think he’d rather chop us into pieces than bathe our feet. Not to mention what Juliette will do to us if we succeed in taking him.”

“Trust me. Juliette isn’t as strong as I am, or she wouldn’t have had to chain him.” Sure, Juliette was known for her willingness to slay anyone at any time, no matter their age or gender, but Kaia would soon be known as the girl who had one-upped her.

Her sister thought that rationale over for a moment, then nodded. “Very true.”

“I’ll just explain the punishment he’ll receive if he disobeys me, and I promise you, he won’t disobey me.” Simple, easy. Her mother was going to be so proud.

Tabitha wasn’t proud of many people, only those who proved to be her equal. So … in other words, she wasn’t yet proud of anyone. Maybe that was why every Harpy wanted to be her and every male wanted to win her. Her strength was unparalleled, her beauty unmatched. Her wisdom, limitless. All trembled at the mere mention of her name. (If they didn’t, they should.) All respected her. And all admired her.

One day, all will admire me.

“H-how are you going to sneak him away?” Bianka asked. “Where are you going to hide him?”

Hmm, good questions. But as she pondered the answers, indignation filled her. Why should she sneak him away? Why should she hide him? If she did, no one would know what she’d done. No one would write stories depicting her strength and daring.

More than she wanted a slave to do her bidding, she wanted those stories. Needed those stories. Because she and Bianka were twins, they were constantly teased about sharing what had been meant for one. Beauty, strength, anything, everything. As if they each had only half of what they should.

I’m enough, damn it! And I will prove it.

She would take the man here, now, in front of everyone.

Nearly bursting with urgency, Kaia turned to her sister and cupped her wind-pinkened cheeks. Worry consumed Bianka’s delicate features, but that didn’t stop Kaia from saying, “Allow no one to pass this point. I’ll only be a moment.”

“But—”

“Please. For me, please.”

Unable to resist, her sister sighed. “Oh, all right.”

“Thank you!” Kaia kissed her right on the mouth then marched away before the sweet-tempered darling could change her mind. She palmed a dagger. The men pretended not to notice her as she shoved her way past them, and not a single protest was uttered. Good. Already they feared her.

When she reached the object of her young desire, she posed as she’d seen her mother pose a thousand times before. Hip cocked to the side, a fist resting on top, the blade of the dagger pointing outward.

The man sat on a stump, his elbows propped on his scabbed knees. His head was slightly bent, his inky hair falling over his forehead.

“You,” she said in the human tongue. “Look at me.”

Through the tangled locks, his dark gaze lifted and leveled on her. He was handsome, she supposed. Each of his features appeared to be chiseled from stone. He had a blade of a nose, sharpened cheekbones, thin but red lips and a stubborn chin.

Up close, she realized his chains were wrapped around his wrists and only his wrists, a metal link stretching between the two. Nothing bound him to a post. Either Juliette had no idea how to properly restrain a captive or the man was weaker than Kaia had assumed.

Disappointing, but she wouldn’t change her mind now.

“You’re mine,” she told him boldly. “Your previous mistress might try and fight me for you, but I’ll defeat her.”

“Is that so?” His voice was deep and husky, seemingly layered with thunder and lightning. She repressed a shudder. “What’s your name, little girl?”

Her teeth gritted together, her momentary apprehension forgotten. She wasn’t a little girl! “I’m called Kaia the … Strongest. Yes, yes. That’s what I’m called.” Titles were important among the Harpies, chosen by the tribe leaders, and while Kaia had yet to receive hers, she was absolutely certain her mother would approve of her choice.

“And what exactly do you plan to do with me, Kaia the Strongest?”

“I’m going to force you to meet all my needs, of course.”

He arched a brow. “Such as?”

“Doing my chores. All of my chores. And if you don’t do them, I’ll punish you. With my dagger.” She wiggled the weapon in question, the silver blade glinting lethally in the sunlight. “I’m quite cruel, you know. I’ve killed humans dead before. Really dead. So dead they even hurt afterward.”

He didn’t flinch at the weapon or at her implied threat, and she fought a wave of frustration. Then she consoled herself with the knowledge that most humans had no true concept of a Harpy’s skills. Clearly, he was one of the uninformed. Because he himself couldn’t lift a thousand-pound boulder, he probably couldn’t fathom anyone else doing so.

“When shall I begin these new duties?” he asked.

“Now.”

“Very well, then.” She had expected an argument, but he unfolded his big body from the stump. Gods, he was tall, forcing her to look up … up … up.

She wasn’t intimidated, though. While training, she’d fought beings a lot taller than him and won. Well, maybe they’d only been a little bit taller. Fine, they’d all been shorter. She wasn’t sure anyone was as tall as this man. No wonder Juliette had claimed him.

Kaia grinned. Her first solo raid, in broad daylight no less, and she would be leaving with a prize among prizes. She’d chosen well. Her mother would find no fault with the man, and might even want him for herself. Maybe after Kaia finished with him, she would gift him to Tabitha.

Tabitha would smile at her, thank her and tell her what a wonderful daughter she was. Finally. Kaia’s heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t just stand there.” Before the male had time to reply, she rushed behind him, wings flapping frantically, and pushed him. “Move.”

He stumbled forward, but quickly managed to catch himself. With his head held high, he marched the distance. Just before he reached the edge of the enclosure, however, he stopped abruptly.

“Move,” she repeated, giving him another push.

He remained in place, not even twisting to face her. “I can’t. This clearing has been encircled with Harpy blood, and the chains prevent me from leaving without suffering severe pain.”

Her gaze narrowed on the muscled width of his tanned back. “I’m not a fool. I won’t remove your chains.” Plus, she wanted him docile while she paraded him through camp, not vying for freedom. When Juliette discovered what she’d done, a challenge would be issued. Kaia would need her attention focused, not divided.

“Removing my chains isn’t necessary.” Not by tone or deed did he reveal a hint of his emotions. “Simply add your blood to the circle already there, then smear a drop on the chains, and you can lead me across without any problems.”

Ah, yes. She’d heard of blood-chains before. They trapped the wearer within the confines of the circle, however wide or small that circle was, and only a Harpy’s blood could negate the restriction. Any Harpy’s. “Good idea. I’m glad I thought of it.”

She surveyed the Harpy camp. No one had noticed her, but Bianka was nervously shifting from one foot to the other, looking from Kaia to the camp, the camp to Kaia, her gaze pleading.

With swift precision, Kaia used her dagger to slice her palm. The sharp sting barely registered. After adding her blood to the crimson ring on the ground, she smoothed her weeping flesh over the cool links of metal between the man’s wrists. That done, she raced behind him a second time and pushed.

He stumbled past the circle, paused to shake his head, stretch his spine, flex his shoulders. No matter how hard she pushed this time, she couldn’t budge him. Then he turned back and grinned at her. Before she could reason out what was happening, he had his hands wrapped around her neck, her feet lifted off the ground.

Her eyes widened as he choked the life out of her with a power no human should have possessed.

Despite her lack of air, fogging brain and burning throat, realization struck. He wasn’t human.

Hatred suddenly poured from him, his dark eyes swirling hypnotically. “Foolish Harpy. I might not be able to break these chains, but that circle was the only thing preventing me from rampaging through the camp. Now, all of you will die for the insult delivered to me.”

Die? Hell, no! You have a dagger. Use it! She tried to stab him. Laughing cruelly, he batted her hand away.

In the background, she heard Bianka shriek. Heard footsteps pound as her sister hurriedly closed the distance. No, she tried to shout. Stay back. Then her thoughts fragmented as the man choked harder, tighter.

A black wave swept her into a sea of nothingness.

No, not nothingness. Screams echoed … so many screams … Grunts, groans and growls. The slide of metal against flesh, the pop of breaking bones, the sickening sound of wings being ripped from their slits. The nightmarish symphony lasted hours, perhaps days, before at last quieting.

“Kaia.” Callused hands wrapped around her upper arms and shook her. “Awaken. Now.”

She knew that voice … Kaia fought her way from the sea, her eyelids fluttering open. A moment passed before her mind cleared and the darkened haze faded. Through a sliver of moonlight, she saw a blood-soaked, scowling Tabitha Skyhawk looming over her.

“Look what you’ve done, daughter.” Never had her mother’s timbre lashed so harshly—and that was saying something.

Though she wanted to refuse, she sat up, grimaced as pain lanced through her neck to attack the rest of her, and shifted her gaze, studying the camp. Bile rose. Harpies and … other things floated in rivers of scarlet. Weapons lay on the ground, useless. Strips of cloth from decimated tents had caught on tree branches and now waved in the wind, a sad parody of white flags.

“B-Bianka?” she managed to gasp, her voice raw.

“Your sister is alive. Barely.”

Kaia pushed to shaky legs and met her mother’s amber eyes. “Mother, I—”

“Silence! You were told not to enter this area, and yet you disobeyed. And then, then you tried to steal another woman’s consort without gaining my permission.”

She wanted to lie, to preserve her dream of the coming accolades. She found she could not. Not to her beloved mother. “Yes.” Tears stung her eyes, that dream quickly flaming to ash inside her. “I did.”

“Do you see the destruction behind me?”

“Yes,” she repeated softly.

Tabitha showed her no mercy. “You alone are responsible for the travesty this day.”

“I’m sorry.” Her head fell, chin resting against her sternum. “So sorry.”

“Keep your sorries. They cannot undo the anguish you have caused.”

Oh, gods. There was hatred in her mother’s voice now. True, undiluted hatred.

“You have brought shame to our clan,” Tabitha said, ripping the medallion from Kaia’s neck. “This, you do not deserve. A true warrior saves her sisters. She does not endanger them. And so by this selfish act you have earned your title. From this moment on, you will be known as Kaia the Disappointment.”

With that, Tabitha turned and walked away. Her boots splashed in the blood, the sound echoing crudely in Kaia’s ears.

She fell to her knees and sobbed like a child for the first time in her life.




CHAPTER ONE


Present day

“I WANT HIM.”

“Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah. The day of the Unfortunate Incident, something you made me swear never to discuss, even upon threat of death. And I won’t discuss it now, so don’t get your panties in a twist. I just thought you were more careful with your affections nowadays.”

Kaia Skyhawk peered over at her twin—Bianka the Heavenly Hills Ho, as Kaia had recently dubbed her. A name her precious sis deserved. Girl had nailed an angel. A freaking angel. ‘Course, in return Bianka had dubbed her Kaia: Bed-warmer of the Underworld for getting down and dirty with Paris, the biggest man-whore in existence.

The title didn’t sting nearly as much as her last one. Fine, her current one. Harpies had long memories, and shouts of “Look, everyone, it’s the Disappointment” still happened anytime she ran into another of her race.

Anyway. Bianka was as ravishingly gorgeous as ever, a dark fall of hair cascading down her back, her amber eyes bright. And just then she was flipping through a rack of designer dresses, a mix of determination and concern radiating from her.

“That happened, like, a million years ago,” Kaia said, “and Strider is the first man I’ve … damn it, he’s just the first man I’ve wanted, truly wanted,” she added before her sister could comment on her “boyfriends” throughout the centuries, “since. Or ever.”

“Actually, that, as you called it, happened a mere fifteen hundred years ago, but we aren’t discussing it. So what about Kane, keeper of Disaster, huh? I thought you once had a moment with him? A shock to your senses or something like that.”

“Nothing but static.”

A snort full of amusement. “Try again.”

“I don’t know. Maybe his demon sensed a kindred spirit in me and reached out, hoping to fan the flames of a romance. That doesn’t mean Kane and I are destined to be together. I’m not attracted to him.”

“Better, and okay, Kane’s out. Maybe you need to look elsewhere for a boyfriend. Like, say, the heavens. I can set you up with an angel.” Bianka held up a flowing swath of blue material with sequined flower appliqués sewn into the top and layer after layer of lacy ruffles at the bottom. “What do you think of this one?”

Ignoring the dress, Kaia pressed on. “No setups. I want Strider.”

“He’s no good for you.”

He’s perfect for me. “One, he doesn’t belong to another Harpy. Two, he isn’t psychotic. Well,” she added with a few seconds of afterthought, “he isn’t psychotic all of the time. And three, he’s … he’s my consort, I know it.” There. She’d said the words out loud to someone other than herself and the brain-damaged man in question.

My consort.

Consorts, as Kaia now knew, were extremely hard to find and utterly cherished because of that. Actually, they were necessary. Harpies were volatile by nature, dangerous and, when annoyed, lethal to the entire world. Consorts calmed them. Consorts appeased them.

If only you could select your consort from a catalog and be done with it. Instead, instinct picked for you, and your body followed suit. Wouldn’t have been so bad, except each Harpy was granted one consort during her seemingly endless life. Only one. You lost him, and you suffered eternally. If you didn’t kill yourself outright.

That Kaia had once tried to steal Juliette’s, that Juliette had been without her male all this time, not knowing whether he lived or had died, hating him for what he’d done but needing him anyway, that Juliette still loathed Kaia and had promised retribution—retribution the bitch still clearly planned to achieve—shamed her. But then, what could she say to defend herself? Nothing!

She had disobeyed. She had set the man free. She had unleashed his fury upon an unsuspecting community.

Every year Kaia mailed Juliette a fruit basket with a “sorry about your consort” card, and every year the basket was returned with rotten apple cores, black banana peels and a picture of Juliette flipping her off with “Die, Whore, Die” written in blood somewhere.

Only reason Juliette hadn’t yet attacked was out of respect for Tabitha, who was still a force to be reckoned with among allies and enemies alike.

Don’t think about the past. You’ll start spiraling.

She’d think about her consort. Strider. Barbaric, slutty, idiotic Strider. He was an immortal warrior who’d long ago stolen and opened Pandora’s box to “teach those asshole gods a lesson” for daring to pick a “mere woman” to guard such a “dumb relic,” and because of his rampant senselessness, he and the friends who’d helped him—the infamous and deliciously frightening for everyone but a Harpy Lords of the Underworld—had been cursed, forever forced to carry the demons they’d set free inside themselves.

Strider, the beautiful moron, was possessed by the demon of Defeat. He couldn’t lose a single challenge without suffering debilitating pain. Of course, that made him determined to win everything, even something as silly as Rock Band. Which she refused to ever again play with him because she’d totally nailed the Fender, then the drums, then the mic and he’d spazzed out and yelled at her before passing out and twitching with pain.

So melodramatic.

Anyway, his determination made him stupid, egotistical, stupid, an all-around asshat and stupid! But there was no man more handsome, no man more fierce.

No man who wanted less to do with her.

Had she mentioned he was stupid?

“Well?” Bianka shook the dress in Kaia’s face, forcefully claiming her attention. “Opinion, please. And sometime today.”

Focus. “Don’t kill the messenger, but that thing will make you look like a cracked-out prom queen who has no plans to sleep with her boyfriend when the big dance ends—because she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s too weird. Sorry.”

Bianka merely shrugged, unperturbed. “Hey, cracked-out prom queens might be weird, but they’re hot.”

“If hot is a synonym for destined to die alone, you’re right. So go ahead. Buy the dress, and I’ll buy you a hundred cats to keep you company while you spend the rest of eternity trying to figure where your relationship with the angel went wrong, never really understanding that the problems started this very night.”

“Do you know anything about me? Hello, I like dogs. But fine, whatever.” Red lips pursing, her twin snapped the hanger back onto the rack and continued her search for “the perfect gown” to wear when she broke a bit of bad news to her consort, Lysander.

Poor Bianka. She hadn’t just nailed an angel, she’d bound herself to one. Forever. Lysander lived and worked in the heavens and was so boring Kaia would rather shove bamboo splints under other people’s fingernails than spend time with him. Okay, bad example. She actually enjoyed shoving bamboo splints under other people’s nails.

There was something so best-musical-ever when people screamed and begged for mercy, and she could listen to a good musical all day.

“Kaia?” Bianka said. “What the hell are you sighing about?”

“Musicals.”

“Musicals? Seriously? When I’m dying for help? Will you just listen to me for once?”

“In a minute. Geez. I really like this thought train.” Or rather, she’d liked the station stop before the musicals. A male this boring needed an equally tedious nickname … like … Pope Lysander the First. That’s right. He was an elite warrior with wings of gold and yeah, he was a demon slayer extraordinaire, and okay, that was sexy as hell, but he was also morally upstanding. Like over the edge OCD about it. Kaia shuddered with distaste. He was slowly but surely sucking the fun right out of her once delightful sister.

In fact, Lysander’s aversion to blatant shoplifting was the reason they had abandoned Budapest, returned to Alaska and broken into Anchorage’s Fifth Avenue Mall at night rather than taking what they desired in broad daylight. As usual. Too many prying eyes.

To be honest, Kaia was kind of embarrassed about the concession. She would have told her man to take his request to “please don’t steal in front of humans, it gives them ideas” and stuff it up his ass. Also, she despised the lack of thrill, needed it to soothe her darker side, but whatever. She loved her sister. More than that, she owed Bianka a debt she could never hope to repay.

They might not ever discuss the Unfortunate Incident, but Kaia had never forgotten it. (See? A Harpy with a long memory.) Every day she remembered how Bianka had writhed in a pool of her own blood, her eyes glassy with pain. How moans of anguish had parted mutilated lips.

Bianka sighed. “Okay, let’s get your problems out of the way so we can concentrate on me. Tell me why you picked Strider as your heartmate. I know you’re dying to extol his virtues.”

For a moment, Kaia could only blink at her sister, certain she’d misheard. “Are you freaking kidding me? Heartmate? Did you just say heartmate?”

Bianka snickered. “I did, and I almost gagged. Lysander’s influence, you know. Anyway, Strider’s such a tool. And a challenge.” Another snicker echoed. “Get it? A challenge … he can’t lose one … but he sure as hell acts like one.”

Kaia rolled her eyes. “I think you’ve been hanging with the angels too much. Your IQ has dropped.”

“What? That was funny.” Square-tipped nails painted bright blue drummed against the metal rack between them. “And by the way, the angels aren’t that bad.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, my love.”

Bianka blew her a kiss full of fang. “All’s I’m saying is that Strider’s gonna be a handful—and not the good kind. He’s—actually, wait. I recant. He’s too big to be anything but a good handful. Or more. But he’s also gonna be a bad one. Wait. That doesn’t ring true, either. How should I put this? He’s going to—”

“I get it already! He’s got a huge package, and he’s irritating as hell. What’s your point?”

“Glad you’re finally up to speed. It’s sad, really, that you need so much explanation.” The sparkle in her sister’s eyes dimmed. “Anyway, you told him how you felt about him and he rejected you. He’ll be annoyed by any further contact you initiate, and an annoyed demon-possessed warrior is a global disaster waiting to happen.”

“I know.” If she had realized his importance to her sooner, she wouldn’t have slept with his friend Paris, the keeper of Promiscuity. Otherwise known as Paris the Sexorcist, a male so sensual he could make your head spin. And if she hadn’t slept with the Sexorcist, Strider the Stupid wouldn’t have rejected her.

Maybe.

Or maybe he would have. Because to her consternation—yes, consternation, and not an all-consuming, organ-flaming rage—he kinda sorta desired another woman. Haidee, a pretty female who belonged to his friend, Amun, keeper of Secrets.

At least Haidee was off-limits, and Kaia didn’t have to worry about Strider getting handsie. Honor among evil demons, and all that.

But damn it, just the thought of his gaze on another woman caused Kaia’s nails to elongate and sharpen, her fangs to sprout and her blood to boil. Mine, every cell in her body cried. She would kill anyone who made a play for him, as well as anyone he made a play for; she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Her dark side would take over, driving her to protect what was hers.

“Seriously, he’s lucky to be alive, and not just because I want to chop off his man parts and feed them to zoo animals while he watches,” Bianka continued. “Any man who can’t recognize your worth deserves a good torturing.”

“I know.” Not because Kaia was anything special—though she was, kind of, maybe … damn it, she used to be—but because no one could reject a Harpy without suffering severe consequences.

Actually, most Harpies would have taken Strider despite his wishes. So maybe she was the stupid one for allowing him to push her away. She just wanted him willing. She needed him willing. To abscond with him was to defeat him, and to defeat him was to hurt him.

She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. Even at the expense of her sanity.

“You’re too good for him, anyway,” Bianka said, loyal as always.

“I know,” she repeated once more, lying this time. She would only ever be a disgrace to her clan. He deserved better.

Her sister sighed. “But you still want him.” A statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do to win him?”

“Nothing,” she said, fighting a wave of depression. “I chased after him once.” And he’d found her lacking. “I’m not going to do it again.”

“Maybe—”

“No. A few weeks ago, I challenged him to kick more Hunter ass than me.” Hunters, the enemy out to destroy all things demon. The fanatics who loved to go after innocents who dared get in their way. The pre-dead humans who would meet the tips of her claws if they approached Strider again.

Well, if they dared approach him with a weapon in hand. She might let them crawl toward him to apologize for the trouble they’d caused throughout the centuries. Torturing the Lords—only she was allowed to do so. Blowing up buildings—yawn. Could they be any more B-movie? Sooo irritating. Decapitating the keeper of Distrust—okay, that one was a little more than irritating, considering Strider was still messed up about it and everything.

Speaking of Distrust’s murder, Haidee had helped carry it out. Yep, that Haidee. The one Strider desired.

Kaia didn’t understand it. If he could want Haidee despite her crimes, why couldn’t he want Kaia?

“I wanted to help him kill the men who were after him. I wanted him to see how capable I was,” she added. “I wanted him to admire my skill. But did he? Noooo. He was pissed. He raged about all the pain I was going to cause him. So I let him win. Freaking let him. You know I never throw a fight.” That smacked of weakness, and too many people viewed her as weak already. “And how did he thank me? By telling me to get lost.” Hu-mil-i-ating. “Now, let’s change the subject.” Before she threw a temper tantrum and razed the mall to the ground. “What look are you going for?” she asked, flipping through the racks herself.

“Slutty yet sophisticated,” her sister said, allowing the change without comment.

“Good choice.” She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she studied the colorful array of garments. “Think dressing up will help your sitch?”

“Gods, I hope so. I plan to let Lysander rip the garment off me, make love to me in the dirtiest way possible, and then, while he’s trying to catch his breath, drop the big, bad bombshell on him and run like hell.”

Something Kaia would have loved to do with Strider—the dirty loving part, anyway—but he wouldn’t give a shit about anything she told him. As he’d already proven. “What are you going to say to Lysandy, anyway? Exactly.”

Bianka shrugged her seemingly delicate shoulders. “Exactly … I don’t know.”

“Try me. Pretend I’m your disgustingly in love angel consort, and confess.”

“Okay.” A sigh, a straightening of her spine, then lovely amber eyes were staring over at Kaia with trepidation. “All right. Here goes.” A pause. A gulp. “Darling, I, uh, have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Kaia said in her deepest voice. She propped her elbows on the bar, the hanger hooks digging into her skin. “Tell me quickly because I need to spread my happy fairy dust and wave my magic wand when—”

“He doesn’t spread happy fairy dust! He’s a killer, damn it.” The indignation drained as quickly as it had formed. “But as for that magic wand …” Bianka shivered, smirked. “It’s really big. Probably bigger than Strider’s.”

Kaia just blinked at her, waiting.

Her sister inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “Fine. Continuing. Darling, for the first time in forever, my family has been invited to participate in the Harpy Games. Why for the first time in forever, you ask. Well, funny story. You see, my twin sister did the dumbest thing and—”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating about that part,” she interjected, still using that deep voice to mimic Lysander. “Your twin is the strongest, most intelligent female I’ve ever met. Now tell me something important.”

“Anyway,” Bianka went on smoothly. “I’m not sure why we’ve been invited, but a gold embossed card demanding our attendance came via Harpy Express a few days ago. We can’t refuse without bringing intense shame to our entire clan. We would be labeled cowards, and as you know, I’m no coward. So … I’m leaving in one week, and I’ll be gone for four. Oh, and each of the four agreed upon events involves bloodshed, possible limb removal and definite torture. See ya.” She gave a pinkie wave, stilled, then waited for Kaia’s response.

Kaia nodded. “I like it. Firm, informative and unwavering. He’ll have no choice but to let you go without a fuss.”

Some of Bianka’s worry melted away. “You really think so?”

“Gods, no. I don’t, not at all. He’s gonna flip his lid. For real. You’ve met him, right? Protective to the extreme.” Lucky girl. “So what about this one?” She held up a barely there confection with thin silver chains connecting the sides.

“I think it’s great. Perfect, actually. I also think you’re a brat.”

She flashed an unrepentant grin. “You love me anyway.”

“Like you said, my IQ has dropped.” Bianka chewed on her bottom lip. “Okay, so. Here’s how I think it will go after I confess. First, he’ll try to stop me.”

“You got that right.”

“Then, when he realizes he can’t, he’ll insist on going with me.”

“Right again. Are you good with that?” Everyone would make fun of her for hitching herself to a do-gooder. Even their mother. Especially their mother. Tabitha hated angels more than most, since she’d always thought their youngest half sister’s father was an angel and had blamed the man for Gwen’s supposed weaknesses.

“Yeah.” Bianka smiled dreamily. “I’m good with that. I don’t like to be without him, and really, I will slaughter anyone who speaks ill of him, so that’ll add spice to my days.”

“Not to mention weed out the competition because I will help you with those slaughterings.” How she wished she could take Strider with her.

Actually, no, she thought next. Thank the gods he wasn’t going with her. She was reviled among the Harpy clans. She would die of mortification if he saw her own kind turn their backs on her, and she would fall into that shame spiral if he ever heard her despised nickname.

A soldier like Strider prized strength. She knew because she was a soldier like Strider.

Of course, her next thought struck hard and cut deep—Haidee was strong. The bitch. Though (mostly) human, the girl had managed to defeat death time and time again, coming back to life to fight the Lords. Until she’d fallen in love with Amun.

If I didn’t adore Amun so much, I’d send that female back to the grave—for the last damn time! No one caught Strider’s notice without suffering unbearably.

Maybe before Kaia left for the games she’d ensure the girl acquired a raging case of head lice or something. No one would be hurt, Strider would be repulsed and Kaia would feel like she’d accomplished some sort of revenge. Win-win.

“Are you listening to me or have I lost you to the thought train again?” Bianka asked, exasperated.

She pulled herself out of her head. “Yes, I’m listening. You were talking about something … of great consequence.”

“You were listening,” her sister said, hand fluttering over her heart. “Anyway, thank you for offering to help punish everyone who insults Lysander. You’re my favorite enabler in the world, Kye.”

“You, too, Bee.” Things would work out for Bianka. Lysander would support her no matter what, and the Harpies would see how intractable he could be and back down. Kaia, though … No, things would not be working out for her.

“Mother Dearest is gonna be there,” Bianka said, trying for a casualness neither of them felt for this particular topic, “and she’s gonna hate him, isn’t she?”

“For sure. But then, she has lousy taste in men. Take our father, for instance. A Phoenix shifter, aka the worst of the worst in terms of immortal races. They’re always pillaging and burning stuff to the ground. Seriously, you have to be a real nutbag to hook up with one of them. Which means, what? Mother is a real nutbag. I’d be worried if she liked Lysander.”

What would Tabitha think of Strider, though?

Bianka gave a low, warm chuckle. “You’re right. She does, and she is.”

“And you know what else? She can suck it, for all I care.” Brave words, yet, on the inside Kaia was still a little girl, desperate for her mother’s approval. “But, maybe, I don’t know, maybe she’ll finally bury the hatchet with me.” Gods, was that needy tone really hers?

Bianka leaned across the rack and patted her shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, sister mine, but the only way she’ll bury a hatchet is if she gets to bury it in your back.”

She tried not to sag with regret. “So true.” And she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t. Really. But why, why, why did no one but her sisters consider her good enough?

One mistake, just one—when she’d been a child, no less—and her mother had written her off. One mistake, just one, and Strider wouldn’t commit to her. Wasn’t like she’d cheated on him. They’d both been single for years, and hadn’t even been on a date together. They hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t really even talked. And the night she slept with Paris? She hadn’t known she would one day want Strider sexually. Or at all.

He should have recognized her appeal from the very beginning and tried to seduce her. So, really, when you thought about it, the blame could totally be laid at his door. Or maybe at his demon’s. Defeat had yet to realize that losing her was far worse than losing a challenge. Otherwise, Strider would suffer without her.

She wanted him to suffer without her.

The demon was bonded to Strider and essential to his survival, so … maybe she could do something to win the evil fiend over. If she decided to make another play for Strider. Which she wouldn’t. As she’d told her sister, he’d lost his chance. Besides, approaching him now would make her seem desperate. Which she was.

Gods, this was depressing. And infuriating! Opposition was to be crushed, always, but how was she to fight a man she also wanted to protect?

“What are you thinking about now?” Bianka asked. “Your eyes are almost completely black, so I know your Harpy is close to taking over and—”

“Hey. Hey, you! What are you doing in here?” someone shouted.

Forcing herself to breathe deep and calm down, she threw a quick look over her shoulder. Great. Mall security had arrived. “I’m fine, swear. Meet you back at the house?” she said, tossing the chosen dress at her sister.

“Yeah,” Bianka said, catching the garment and stuffing it down her T-shirt for safekeeping. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They sprinted off in different directions.

“Stop! I’ll shoot!”

Kaia’s red hair practically glowed in the dark, making her the easier target, so the guard—who didn’t shoot, the liar—chased after her as he radioed for backup. The fact that she’d flipped him off before taking that first corner had nothing to do with it.

Most of the store lights were switched off, and the rest of the mall offered very little illumination. Not that it mattered to her superior Harpy eyesight. Her gaze expertly cut through the shadows as she dodged and darted her way toward the exit. Unfortunately, the human knew the area better than she did and managed to keep up with her.

Time to kick things to the next level.

Her wings fluttered … readying … but just before she could blaze into hyperspeed, the guard did the unthinkable and tasered her. Tasered. Her. Not a liar, after all. Kaia fell to her face, oxygen instantly turning to lightning in her lungs. She was mere inches from the doorway, yet her spasming muscles prevented her from completing her escape.

She could have jerked the clamps from her back. She could have twisted, pitched one of the many daggers strapped to her and ended her pain. Ended the human. But this was her hometown, and she didn’t like to kill the locals. Or rather, she didn’t like to kill more than one a day and she’d already hit her limit.

A lie, but she’d go with it.

Plus, why kill the guard when she hadn’t truly given the chase her all, knowing deep down that he could provide what she’d secretly craved: a reason to call Strider.

After all, someone would have to bail her out of jail.




CHAPTER TWO


STRIDER WAITED IN THE LOBBY of the Anchorage Police Department, his friend Paris at his side. They’d already posted Kaia’s bail and were now waiting for her to be released into their custody. Come on, Red. Hurry. He was currently on the receiving end of several once-overs from the male cops—fun fact, he’d had less invasive body cavity searches—as well as a few very thorough eye-fuckings from the females. Paris was, too.

They were armed, yeah. Strider wouldn’t visit a church in heaven without a few blades stashed somewhere—especially now that he knew heaven was guarded by freaking giant-ass angels—much less stroll into a building filled to bursting with guns and humans who knew how to use them. But, so far, no one had commented. Not that they could see his arsenal, hidden beneath his jacket, T-shirt and jeans as it was.

“Why did we have to be the ones to do this, again?” Paris asked. At six-foot-eight with an all-muscle frame, the keeper of Promiscuity was, to put it mildly, a big guy. Three inches taller than Strider, the bastard, but—and that was a huge but—not nearly as powerful.

Considering how many times they’d thrown down, the comparison wasn’t merely an opinion but a solid fact.

“I owed her a favor,” he said, careful not to reveal any emotion. Like the fact that he’d rather be locked in his enemy’s dungeon, torture on the day’s menu, than here. Like the fact that he didn’t want to see Kaia again. Ever. Like the fact that he didn’t want Paris to see Kaia again. For way longer than ever. “She called it in.”

“What favor?”

“None of your damn business.” He didn’t even like to think about it. And talk about it? Hell, no. Too embarrassing. Like being caught out in public with your pants down.

Wait. Bad example. “Pants down” was a good look for him. A really good look.

Ego check. He’d told himself he was going to stop patting himself on the back for all his wonderful qualities. After all, it wasn’t fair to the citizens of the world. They couldn’t help being inferior to him in every way.

“Well, I don’t owe her anything.” Paris flicked him a glance, ocean-blue eyes glinting. Tension radiated from him. Tragically, uh, fortunately, that didn’t affect his handsomeness. He had a head of hair most women would kill to own, a mass of differing shades of brown, from the darkest of midnight to the sweetest of honey, and a face most women would kill just to glimpse.

Kaia had probably fisted that hair. Had probably smothered that face with kisses.

Strider’s jaw clenched. “You slept with her. Do you really need a reminder of that?”

“No, no reminder. But when you think about it, that means she owes me. And now you owe me, too, summoning me the way you did, interrupting my quest to demand I help you.” Acid filled those words. Not because of Strider, but because of the “quest.”

Sienna, the woman Paris desired above all others, was trapped in the heavens, a slave to the god king. Worse still, she was now possessed by the demon of Wrath. Paris hoped to find her, save her and punish everyone who had hurt her.

Strider pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, remaining silent. Paris had found his “one and only,” as the stupid shithead was now fond of saying—and sounding like a pussy—yet had still slept with Kaia. A man with a one and only shouldn’t screw around, in Strider’s humble opinion. Yeah, yeah. Paris couldn’t help himself. Because of his demon, he had to sleep with a different person every day or he weakened … died.

A petty part of Strider almost wished his friend had chosen the weakening path rather than touching the Harpy.

Of course, the thought caused guilt to eat at him. Kaia was not Strider’s one and only, if such a thing even existed for him. She was too competitive, too strong and too wily to cause him anything but misery. And yes, he got the irony. He was that same way with everyone. But he was attracted to her, and as possessive as he was and had always been, he didn’t like the thought of her sleeping with anyone else.

Especially since he had to be the best at everything he did. Because of his demon, he had to win, even in bed. And as Paris had more experience than anyone he knew, there was no way Strider could compete in that arena.

Maybe he could have ignored his other reasons for rejecting Kaia’s recent and numerous come-and-strip-me glances, but he couldn’t ignore that one. Not even once. Because once a man tasted the forbidden fruit, he would go back for more. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, the tether on his sanity already broken. So Strider would keep going back, and every time he touched her, tasted her, peeled her panties away with his teeth, he would later experience agony in its purest form.

Yes, Strider was damn good in the sack. Not that he was going to pat himself on the back. He didn’t do that anymore, he reminded himself. Okay, fine. He’d make an exception because of the extreme superiority of his talent. He was far better than “good.” He was flipping amazing. But he never took on a fight he wasn’t sure he could win. Nothing was worth the physical and mental torment that accompanied a loss, and Paris was probably better than “flipping amazing.”

Fine. No probably about it, if the moans Strider had heard from the many hotel rooms Paris had rented throughout the centuries could be believed.

Now, the pleasure that came with a win … sweet gods above. There was nothing like it, not even sex. Strider was addicted to the rush the same way Paris was addicted to ambrosia, the drug of choice for immortals. In fact, he’d stab a dear friend in the throat before letting him—or her—trounce him in something as minor as a spelling bee.

The best way to spell victory? K-I-L-L.

“Anyway,” Paris said, drawing him back to the present. “What did Kaia do for you that you’d willingly indenture yourself to me?”

“I already told you. It’s none of your damn business.”

“Yeah, but I figured if I kept asking, you’d cave.”

“You were wrong. News flash, I’m a little more stubborn than most. And by the way, I didn’t indenture myself to you. In exchange for your help tonight, I agreed to go to Titania with you to hunt for Sienna.” Titania. Dumbass name. But Cronus, the egomaniacal god king, had renamed Olympus to piss off the now incarcerated Greeks who had once reigned there.

Took a real set of titanium cojones to name a location after yourself. Or maybe Cronus was simply overcompensating for something.

Not that Strider and his beloved cock, which he’d modestly nicknamed Stridey-Monster, knew anything about that. They were perfect in every way.

Ego check. Damn it. How many would he need in one day?

“Dude, you totally indentured yourself. You also agreed to kidnap that shithead William and take him with us,” Paris said.

“I also agreed to kidnap that shithead William and take him with us, yes.” A fact that still pissed him off. William, a sex-addicted immortal who wanted to sleep with Kaia. Unfortunately, Willy was also the only person who could actually spot Sienna, being as how Sienna was dead and he had that whole I-see-dead-people thing going on.

Also, it helped that the guy could now flash. For whatever reason, the abilities the gods had once stripped him of were now returning.

Anyway. Something Strider and his cohorts had recently learned was that “dead” didn’t necessarily mean “gone forever.” Not for humans and certainly not for immortals. Far from it, in fact. Souls could be captured, manipulated … abused. Sienna was of the abused variety, and Paris was desperate to save her.

The besotted warrior shifted from one booted foot to the other. Behind the counter, a female groaned as if the movement was torture—for her. “You agreed to help me knowing you’d have to find Sienna, no matter how long it takes, or you’ll hurt. Bad.”

As far as Strider was concerned, the longer it took them, the better. The more distance between him and Kaia, the better. He had to prove to himself that he could walk away and forget about her.

He’d done it before. Only problem was, now he knew her better and the attraction was stronger.

“You’ve been in the heavens for weeks and made no progress,” he said. “You needed me.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t need me. Not for something as simple as this.”

Actually, he did. He needed to see Paris and Kaia together. Needed to remind himself why he couldn’t have her, why he had to stop thinking about her all the damn time. Why she was bad news. Preferably before his demon decided they had to have her—or else.

Besides, Strider had needed to escape Budapest, his home not-really-sweet home, as well as put some distance between himself, Amun and Amun’s new girlfriend, Haidee. Strider had laid his semi-best moves on her, but she’d wanted nothing to do with him. Sure, he’d also insulted her at every turn and threatened to decapitate her, but give a guy a damn break. He’d had excellent reasons.

Haidee had once been a Hunter, had killed his best friend, Baden, keeper of Distrust, and had attempted to savage his home.

Yet still he’d desired her. And now, every time he looked at her, he was reminded of his failure. His loss. The ensuing pain. But … and here was the kicker. He’d never had a problem resisting her. He’d kept his mouth, hands and favorite appendage to himself without any difficulty.

Kaia, however, wouldn’t be extended the same courtesy if they spent any alone time together. Already his mouth watered for a taste, his hands itched for a touch and his favorite appendage stood at embarrassing attention.

Oh, yes. He had to get as far, far away from the whole situation as possible.

“Stridey-Man. You here with me or what?”

He blinked into focus. Paris. Police station. Humans with guns. Winking in and out was stupid. He blamed Kaia for his lax concentration—another reason to avoid her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” was all he said.

Paris opened his mouth to respond, but closed it with a snap when they heard the welcome sound of high heels clacking down the nearest hallway. Then Kaia was rounding the corner, silky red hair hanging down her back in complete disarray, gray-gold eyes bright and wicked body swaying with a seductive beat Strider prayed only he could hear.

No. He didn’t want to hear it, so he wouldn’t pray that he alone could. But if anyone else heard it, he’d rip out their goddamn eardrums. Because Kaia was, despite everything, his friend. They’d fought enemies together, bled for each other. Hell, they’d joked and laughed together. So yeah, they were friends, and he didn’t like his friends being harassed. And that was the only reason, damn it. He’d do the same thing for Paris. Who’d better not hear that beat!

“Don’t you go getting into any more trouble, you hear,” the officer escorting her said with open affection, and Strider wanted to kill the guy for so blatantly harassing her—or speaking to her at all. “We love ya, but we don’t want to see you here again.”

Calm down. You’re not dating her, and you’re not going to date her. Or kiss her. All over. The cop’s flirting doesn’t matter.

“As if I’d let myself get caught a fourth time,” she replied with a grin that was all about the charm.

A grin that caused Strider’s chest to constrict. No one should have lips so plump and red, or teeth so straight and white. Didn’t help that she wore pink knee-high snakeskin boots, a micromini jean skirt and a white tank top that clearly showcased the white lace bra underneath.

Miracle of miracles, she was wearing a bra today.

She stopped short when she spied him, her smile fading. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but he did know that reticence wasn’t it.

Her gaze moved to Paris, and the smile returned. As did the constricting in Strider’s chest. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure exactly.” Paris threw him a quick frown. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, you understand.”

“Yeah. You, too. And thanks for the pick up. Appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Just hopefully not anytime in the near future.”

She chuckled, the sound warm and rich and its undertones so erotic that it stroked over his skin. “Can’t promise.”

Neither said anything romantic, yet both of their voices grated on him. Maybe because he’d needed them to goo-it-up with each other so that his hormones would get the “not going there” message.

He had a feeling he would have been annoyed no matter what.

Like her smile, her chuckle shut down when she switched her attention to Strider. “So,” she said. “You.” As if she’d just spotted an oozing culture of flesh-eating bacteria on the bottom of her shoe.

The unfriendliness isn’t a challenge, he informed his demon as the stupid shit perked up.

There was no reply. Truth was, Defeat was intimidated by Kaia and didn’t often wish to draw her notice.

And really, the only time Defeat deigned to speak to Strider was when his competitive spirit was engaged. “Competitive spirit” being a nice way of saying Strider’s ass had been glued to the chopping block. He much preferred the little bastard to stay at the back of his mind, a dark, silent presence easily ignored.

“I expected you to send someone, not show up yourself,” Kaia added, rocking back on her heels.

“After the message you left me?” He snorted. “Hardly.”

“Are you whining? Because I hear a whiny schoolboy tone.”

She does not amuse me. “I don’t whine.”

He’d listened to that message a thousand times and knew every word, every hitch in her breath by heart. Beep. Strider. Hey. It’s Kaia. You know, the girl who saved your life a few weeks ago? The same girl you stomped all over afterward? Well, it’s payback time. Why don’t you get your lazy ass out of bed and come bail me out of jail before I decide to break out and use your face to test the stilettos on my boots. Beep.

Animosity was good, and he seriously hoped she maintained a tight grip on it, despite the fact that he’d had to move heaven and earth to get here. Heaven—phoning Paris and convincing the warrior to drop everything up there, have Lysander bring him home, and come with Strider. Earth—phoning Lucien and convincing the warrior to drop everything and use his flashing ability to get them from Budapest to Alaska in a mere blink of time. Neither of which had been an easy task.

In fact, he would rather have had his tongue removed with a dull, rusty butter knife. Both men had asked questions. Lots and lots of questions he hadn’t wanted to answer.

And yeah, Strider now owed the keeper of Death a favor, too. They were piling up, all because of the deceptively delicate-looking, utterly curvy stunner in front of him—who clearly wanted his head on a pike.

“Would have been nice if you’d given me some direction. Torin had to search every—” Strider stopped himself before he publicly admitted that Torin, the keeper of Disease, could hack into every database known to man. A skill like that was better kept under wraps. “He just had to search for you. Cost us some time.”

“So?”

“So. That’s all you have to say for your appalling behavior?” Thank gods she was doing as he’d hoped and holding tight to that animosity of hers. Yeah, thank gods. “You could have called Bianka. Word is, she’s here in Anchorage with you.” Not that she’d taken his call. “Instead, you waste my time with this shit.”

“So?”

Damn it! Would it have killed her to show him a little gratitude? He could have stayed home, left her rotting. Instead, she’d metaphorically batted her lashes at him and he’d jumped like a girl with a rope. Frustrating woman.

He’d done her wrong, yes, and unlike Haidee, she hadn’t deserved it. Thought you weren’t gonna ponder that. The memories came, anyway.

A group of Hunters had been riding his tail for days, but he’d been too wrapped up in his pity party over losing Haidee to Amun to notice or care. Kaia had stepped in and saved the day, preventing a disastrous ambush. And gods almighty, she was sexy when she fought.

He hadn’t seen that particular fight, but he’d seen several before it—and the one after it—and had even practiced battle-moves with her. He could very well imagine the lethal dance she’d performed that night.

Then had come the battle after, when she’d challenged him to a round of Who Can Slaughter More Hunters. He’d been royally pissed because one, she could slaughter more Hunters, no question, and two, he’d had other things to do. Like take his first vacation in centuries. Still, the challenge had been issued, his demon had accepted, and Strider’d had to drop everything or suffer a loss.

To his shock, she had let him win. Harpy that she was, she could rip through an entire army in seconds—all without breaking a sweat or a nail—but rather than render the final blows, she’d piled up her still-breathing conquests and given them to Strider. Then she’d taken off.

He hadn’t heard from her again until she’d left that message.

Yeah, he needed to apologize.

“Not to point out how lame you are or anything,” Kaia said to him, buffing her nails on her shirt, “but I once had to bail Bianka out of jail twelve times in one day. I didn’t complain a single time.”

Not amused, he reminded himself. “Have I ever told you how much I hate when people exaggerate?”

“I swear!” She stomped her foot. “I honestly didn’t complain.”

Really not amused. I won’t laugh. “Not what I was calling you on.”

“Oh, well.” The indignation drained from her. “I never exaggerate. Ever.”

His throat got tight as he swallowed back a laugh—of exasperation, not amusement, he assured himself. “You’re exaggerating now.”

“And you’re still whining, you crybaby!”

Gods, she was lovely when she was pissed. Her eyes glittered more gold than gray, as if flames danced through her irises, and her cheeks flushed the color of a rare, exotic rose. That glorious mane of red hair practically lifted from her scalp, as if she’d stuck her finger into a socket. Energy crackled around her.

“Wow,” Paris said, glancing around. “This is a lot of fun.”

“Have I ever told you how much I hate sarcasm?” Strider asked him.

Kaia drew in a measured breath, her gaze remaining on Strider. “Lookit, all your crybaby bawling aside, I’m not paying you back and I’m not showing up for my hearing.” Her chin flew into the air, all snotty attitude and refusal to forgive. “So there.”

Goodbye, non-amusement. Screw an apology. Defeat was humming now, gearing up to fight, intimidated by her or not. Strider popped his jaw but didn’t say another word. He just turned on his heel and stomped out of the building before things got ugly, forcing Paris and Kaia to follow. Together. Maybe they’d do him a solid and hold hands.

He heard them clomping behind him, chattering steadily, and jerked his sunglasses from his jacket pocket. He slid the metal frames up his nose. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was bright, glaring. Down the steps he stomped, then he stopped, whipped around.

No hand-holding, but definite we’ve-seen-each-other-naked sparks. Their heads were pressed together, their tones low, intimate. They were probably reminiscing about the thousands of orgasms they’d shared.

This was exactly what he’d wanted, needed. A reminder.

A reminder that Paris had once ripped the clothes from Kaia’s body. Had once tossed her down on his bed, watching her lush breasts jiggle as she bounced. Had grabbed her knees and pried them apart. Had stared into the hottest, wettest slice of heaven ever to grace the earth. Had bent his head, licked, tasted, feasted, hearing feminine cries of surrender and passion ringing in his ears, soft yet firm legs pressing into his back. Maybe even stilettos. And then, when the hunger had become too much for him, Paris had surged up and sunk into a core so tight, so exquisite, he would never be the same.

Kaia had wrapped herself around the warrior. Had screamed his name. Had scratched him and bitten him and begged him for more.

Paris’s face suddenly morphed into Strider’s, and it was Strider who slammed into that lithe little body, in and out, over and over again. Hard and fast as he grunted and groaned, desperate for more.

Fantasy … overload …

His hands curled into fists. Damn this, and damn Paris and Kaia. Because, if he were being honest, he was as furious with Paris as he was aroused by Kaia. And he was so damn aroused just then he had to fit his T-shirt over the waist of his slacks to hide the growing evidence. Paris should have resisted Kaia; he desired someone else, and Kaia deserved better than to be second place.

Why couldn’t Kaia see that?

Any moment now, Strider would stop wanting to rip them apart, stop wanting to grind Paris’s face into the concrete and afterward, suck the air right out of Kaia’s lungs. Any moment, he’d want to slap his boy on the back for a job well done and start thinking about Kaia as a pretty girl he counted as a friend but not a potential lover.

Yes. Any moment.




CHAPTER THREE


“GET LOST, WOULD YOU,” Kaia whispered fiercely to Paris as they descended the steps that led to her freedom … and Strider. “You’re like a bad rash that keeps coming back.”

He laughed, a booming sound that still managed to hold traces of pain.

“Seriously. This is the most attention Strider has paid me in forever, and you’re ruining everything. Beat it before I beat you.”

Paris stopped and gripped her arm, forcing her to stop, as well. Sympathy had replaced his amusement, highlighted now by the golden rays stroking him with the care and concern of a lover. Such a beautiful man. Even the elements had trouble resisting him.

“Listen up, sweetheart, because I’m about to give you a lifesaving tip. Be a good girl, and don’t poke at the bear today. He’s on edge already.”

Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes fusing together to keep Paris and only Paris in the crosshairs. “I thought you were the smart one, giving in to my wiles as easily as you did, but, hello. Sometimes the bear needs poking or he’ll never come out of hibernation.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh, yeah? Well, think about this. What’s the first thing a bear out of hibernation does?”

Duh. “He eats. And to be honest, I’m really looking forward to that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. That can be fun.” Leaning down, mouth still twitching, Paris whispered, “But you know what else? Bears torture. Bears love to torture, Kye. They’re mean. When a human gets in a bear’s way, especially after a long sleep, the end result is never pretty. Let this one acclimate to your … what did you call your smartass mouth? Wiles.”

“First, I’m not exactly human,” she said, raising her chin. “And here’s a news flash for you, my little man candy. I’m stronger than you are. Stronger than he is. Stronger than all of you put together. I can handle anything he dishes out.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Strider suddenly snarled. “Enough already. We need to leave, Paris, so you can stop making out with our fugitive.”

Our, he’d said. Not your. Such sweet progress. Trying not to smile, Kaia stepped away from Paris and slowly turned to face Strider, some of her annoyance with him cooling out. Breath snagged in her throat. Paris was beautiful, yes, but Strider … Strider was magnificent.

Her first glimpse in weeks had been of him standing in the station’s lobby, stark white walls surrounding him, and her knees had almost buckled. His finger-combed pale hair had been in complete disarray, sticking out in spikes. His navy blue eyes had swept over her, lingering in all the right places, and her stomach had quivered.

Now, at this second glimpse … He was tall, towering over her even though she stood several steps up and wore high heels. He had a delicious muscle mass that couldn’t be hidden underneath the long leather jacket, tight black shirt and denim. And gods, his face. His oh-so-innocent, yet oh-so-wicked fallen angel face.

At first, she hadn’t recognized that face for the luscious contradiction it was. She had seen only the innocence, and had continued searching for someone with the qualities she’d always found most attractive: brooding, dangerous and temporary.

That’s why Paris had snagged her attention.

He mourned the loss of his human female. Brooding—check. He was an ambrosia addict who could kill without hesitation. Dangerous—check. He was a sure thing, a onetime-only event, and wouldn’t cling. Temporary—check. Afterward, though, she’d snuck out of his bed—a Harpy always left after the main event—hollow and empty.

Which was probably why she’d gone back for seconds a few weeks later. She’d wanted to feel what she’d felt while they were together. Fulfilled. Satisfied. But he’d turned her down, physically unable to give her a repeat, and pushed her out of his room. Yeah, he could have pleasured her and taken nothing for himself, but that would have been a pity-session and wasn’t something she could tolerate.

So, because she’d worn a robe and only a robe to his second seduction, she’d left in a robe and only a robe—and, distracted as she’d been, she’d smacked into Strider in the hallway.

That’s when she first saw the devil in his eyes.

In that moment, she felt as if a switch had been thrown inside her. She’d made a mistake going after Paris. The man in front of her was everything she’d ever wanted and more.

His hair had been wet and plastered to his temples, darkening the strands. He’d had a white towel wrapped around his neck and no shirt to hide a stomach that boasted rope after rope of bronze strength. She’d watched, fascinated, as little droplets of sweat had traveled his golden happy trail before disappearing into paradise. A paradise she’d wanted to visit. With her tongue.

His shorts had hung low on his waist, revealing the jagged edges of the sapphire butterfly tattoo on his right hip. The moisture in her mouth had dried. Clearly, he’d just come from a workout. A very intense workout. Breath had still sawed in and out of his lips. Lips, she had realized, that promised untold pleasure when they curled in sinful amusement.

“Nice outfit,” he’d said, navy gaze blazing a slow journey from the top of her rumpled head to the purple polish on her toenails, lingering on her pearled nipples and between her quivering thighs.

“All’s I could find,” she’d replied in an uncertain voice, thinking this might turn out to be the immortal version of a walk of shame. How can I fix this?

“Lucky robe, then. It’d look better without the belt, though.”

Okay, maybe I don’t have to fix anything. For the first time in their acquaintance, desire had layered his tone. That desire affected her far more strongly than the once-over had. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. So, you looking for someone in particular?”

“That depends.” Sultry arousal sweeping through her, she stepped closer to him. “What does someone have in mind?”

Behind her, hinges squeaked as a door opened. “Kaia?” Paris suddenly said, and she turned, her stomach rolling. He tossed a pair of fluffy pink slippers at her. “You forgot these. I’d keep ‘em, but they aren’t my size.”

“Oh.” They plopped to the floor right in front of her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Strider. Hey, man,” Paris called.

“Hey,” he replied tightly. “Interesting night?”

“None of your business.”

As Paris disappeared inside his room, Kaia wheeled back around. Now Strider’s expression was guarded, closed off.

“Interesting night?” he asked, directing the question at her this time.

She gulped. “Not really. Nothing happened. This time,” she forced herself to add. If he did anything with her tonight, and found out the truth about Paris later, he’d hate her. So, full disclosure. Except—

“See ya around, Kaia.” Strider skirted around her, wandering off rather than teasing her about what she’d done. Or asking her what had really happened. Or caring on any level.

Clearly, nothing would have come of her sudden attraction to him even if Paris hadn’t interrupted.

“—some goddamn attention to me!” Strider was snarling now. “Not that I want it, you understand. You’re pissing off my demon.”

Pissing off his demon? She wanted to seduce his demon. Right? Or had she written the two off as she’d told Bianka?

She blinked, focusing, and studied him anew. His fury had very nearly sharpened his features into deadly blades, and her knees did buckle. So damn magnificent. A savage, a brute. Paris caught her before she hit the pavement and held her up.

Oh, gods. Weakness? Here? Now? Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

Strider took a menacing step toward her, then froze in place. “Paris, dude, let her go,” he snarled, and Paris immediately obeyed. Navy eyes snapped to her, more animal than man. “When did you last eat, Kaia?”

Thank the gods. He thought her weakness stemmed from a lack of nourishment, not the irresistible sight of him. She shrugged, happy she remained on her feet under her own steam. “Don’t know.”

As she had chosen not to steal or earn one of the bowls of slop given to the residents of Cell Block B, and as she’d been in the slammer for two days … well, she was starved.

Fine. She could have eaten. Bianka had come to the rescue, as always, eager to bust her out and feed her. She’d shooed her sister away with a stern warning—followed by a figurative bitch slap—not to return. Otherwise, Kaia would ensure the nickname Heavenly Hills Ho spread and stuck. Forever.

“Damn it, Kaia. You’re shaky on your feet and you can’t concentrate worth a damn.” His gaze shot to Paris. “Phone Lucien for pickup. I’ll meet you in Buda. I want to feed her, and then we can—”

Paris was shaking his head. “I’ll phone Lucien for pickup, but I’m not waiting for you in Buda. When you finish your business, if that’s what the kids are calling it these days, have Lucien or Lysander bring you to the heavens. Either one will know where I am.”

Strider gave a stiff nod.

Paris ruffled the top of Kaia’s head before striding off and disappearing around a corner, leaving her alone with the warrior of her dreams. Exactly what she’d furtively hoped and prayed for as she’d shoved Bianka out of the cell and locked herself back inside.

They stared at each other for a long while, neither moving, neither speaking. Tension spreading, thickening. His warrior nature had never been more evident. He stood with his arms at his sides, his hands inches away from the now-visible butt of his guns, and his legs braced apart, ready to spring into action. Against her? Or anyone who thought to hurt her?

Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. “You’re going to the heavens?”

He nodded, his skin like polished gold in the sunlight. The vibe of animal savagery left him, and he actually relaxed. She liked this side of him, too.

“Why?” What she really wanted to ask: How long will you be gone? Are you meeting a woman? An angel? His friend Aeron had fallen in love with a goody-goody with wings. Why not Strider, too?

I’ll kill the bitch.

“Sure you want to know?” he asked. “It involves Paris and another woman. A woman he wants.”

Relief bombarded her. “Sweet! Gossip.” Grinning, she rubbed her hands together. “Give me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I never repeat gossip, Kaia.”

“Oh,” she muttered, shoulders sagging with disappointment.

“You didn’t let me finish. I never repeat gossip, so listen closely.” He was fighting a smile, and the knowledge delighted her. “The woman Paris loves … hates, whatever. He wants her, like I said, and she’s being held prisoner up there.”

Sooo. Strider was going to war to aid his bro, not to give some wide-eyed, ripe-for-the-plucking winger a booty call. Her relief tripled. “I could, I don’t know, help you help him. I have connections up there—” not necessarily a lie “—and I—”

“No!” he shouted, then more calmly stated, “No. Thank you, though. But … Do you really not care that the man you desire now desires someone else?”

“Wait. Who says I desire him?”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

His expression didn’t change, but he did clear his throat. “Not that it would have mattered either way, you understand. But as I was saying, he’s already spoken to Lysander about getting a little angelic help, and gotten a no-can-do.”

“Of course Lysander won’t help him. He’d help Bianka, though, and Bianka would help me.”

“Nope. Sorry.”

Stubborn brute. He was so desperate to get rid of her, he wouldn’t even consider using her. Another rejection; how quaint.

Motions stiff, he waved her over. “Come on. Let’s take care of your hunger.”

All I want is a few nibbles of you. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but I’ll stay until you’re fed. I want to make sure you aren’t arrested again.”

Her Harpy squawked inside her head, a command to prove to Strider just how capable she was, just how worthy. Are you? “Fine. Oh, and here’s a truth missile for the demon who always wants to win. I doubt you can keep up,” she taunted, more out of habit than anything.

He huffed out a breath, and she figured this was round two of pissed-off mode.

“Lead the way,” he snapped before she could apologize.

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have pushed so hard. My bad. “I will.” She didn’t take him hunting, though. Not yet. She took him to the cabin she and Bianka shared a good distance from civilization. Thankfully, her sister was nowhere to be found. “Feel free to look around. I need to shower and change.”

“Kaia,” he began, following her down the hall. “I’m kind of pressed for time here and because of what you said, I need to keep up with you and—”

She shut her bedroom door in his stunned face, heard him snarl low in his throat and grinned. The grin vanished as a thought occurred to her. There was plenty of stolen food in the kitchen. If he noticed, there’d be no good reason for her to take him hunting.

Have to risk it. I smell. Kaia hurried through a shower, grateful as the grime and total body makeup that had caked her washed away. She almost raced from her room after changing into a glittery pink T-shirt that read Strangers Have the Best Candy and short jean shorts, but caught a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror. Outfit was fine, but not her hair. The red mass was sopping wet and practically glued to her head and arms, making her resemble a drowned clown.

Back to the bathroom she raced for a crucial blow-dry. She thought about applying another layer of makeup to her exposed skin, wanting Strider to want her for her, not any other reason, but discarded the idea. Let Strider see. Let Strider crave. Right now, she’d take him however she could get him. Later, they could work on their reasons why.

If she decided to give him another chance.

Finally, she raced from the bedroom. In record time, too. Just under twenty (forty) minutes.

A trail of fragrant steam followed her as she strode down the hall. No Strider in the living room, where she kept her life-size hula dancer lamp and the castle she’d built from empty beer cans. He must be looking around. She wondered what he thought of her place, her things, and tried to see the room through his eyes.

Besides the coffee table, which was carved to resemble a hunched over wooden Sumo wrestler with a sheet of glass perched on top, and the chair with arms that were actually painted to look like humans legs that stretched to the floor, the furniture was beautiful, pieces she and Bianka had stolen throughout the centuries.

History was a scent that clung to almost every polished piece. Okay, maybe not the white rug with two yellow pillows sewn at one end, so that the whole thing looked like eggs in a frying pan. Or the hamburger beanbag chair, complete with lettuce, tomato and mustard layers, but that was it.

And okay, maybe the couch and love seat had been chosen for comfort more than anything else, and were no more than a decade old. She’d crashed a frat party a few years ago and had liked the way the overstuffed cushions had conformed to her body. Plus, they were a pretty tawny color, almost the same as Bianka’s eyes, so she’d made sure to leave with them. No one had tried to stop her, either. Maybe because she’d carried each one over her head. By herself.

Colorful vases decorated the tabletops, interspersed with personalized bobblehead dolls and the occasional stuffed squirrel in a crazy outfit. Weapons and artwork hung on the walls right beside the homemade plaques congratulating her on a job well done. Her fave: the one for giving Bianka the best birthday present ever—the tongue of the man who’d called her a “mean, ugly hag.”

There were also photos of her and her family. Bianka, as well as their younger sis, Gwen, and their older half sis, Taliyah. Kaia partying hard at clubs, Bianka winning beauty pageants, Gwen trying to hide from the camera, and Taliyah standing proudly over her kills. Mercenary that she was, she had a lot of kills.

In the kitchen—Kaia skidded to a halt, her heart banging frantically against her ribs. Strider. Gorgeous, sexy Strider. He sat at the pool table she’d plucked from his fortress her very first visit there and now used in the breakfast nook. Food was scattered in every direction, from bags of chips to cheese slices to candy bars.

He wasn’t looking at her, hadn’t even glanced at her, but he had stiffened when she’d stepped inside. “I figured that, since these things were here, they were acceptable for you to eat. Which means I more than kept up with you. I outwitted and surpassed you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. How disappointing. The one time she wanted her man to forget he had a brain, he remembered.

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest. Her stomach tightened, threatening to growl, but she remained in place, waiting. Only when he’d gotten a good once-over would she move.

“Kaia. Eat.”

“In a minute. I’m enjoying the view. You should give it a try.”

He tensed. “There’s a note from your sister on the fridge. She said she’s in the heavens with Lysander, and she’ll see you in four days for the games.”

“‘Kay.”

“What games? Never mind,” he rushed out before she could reply. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. What perfume are you wearing? I don’t like it.”

Asshat. “I’m not wearing any perfume.” And she knew he loved it. He had a weakness for cinnamon, something she’d noticed while stalking, uh, hanging out with him.

Within hours of learning that little tidbit, she’d stocked up on cinnamon-scented soap, shampoo and conditioner.

“Stop … enjoying the view and come eat,” he said through clenched teeth.

He’d closed the blinds over the only window and flipped on the overhead light. Natural sunlight complemented her skin the best, but—Oh, who was she kidding, acting all modest? Any light complemented her skin.

“Kaia. Come. Eat. Now.”

Gods, she adored that authoritative tone. She shouldn’t. She should hate it—barbarians weren’t supposed to be attractive to modern women—but still, she shivered. “Make me.” Please.

Finally his gaze skidded over to her. He was on his feet a second later, his chair sliding behind him. His mouth floundered open and closed, and his pupils dilated. He licked his lips. He reached out to grip the edge of the table, his nostrils flaring as he fought to breathe. “You … Your … Shit!”

Every pulse point hammering, she twirled. She knew what he saw—rainbow shards dancing hypnotically over every inch of visible flesh, the blush of health and vitality … the promise of seduction. “You like?”

As if in a trance, he moved around the table and stepped toward her. Closed the distance … stopped just before he reached her and cursed. He spun, giving her his back, and tangled a hand through his hair.

“I’ve gotta go.” His voice was hoarse, the words pushed through a river of broken glass.

What? No! “You just got here.” And he’d been so close to making a move on her. Just the thought caused her nipples to bead and moisture to pool between her legs.

“I told you, I promised Paris I’d help him. I have to help him. Yeah, that’s what I have to do.”

Would she ever overcome his determination to resist her? ‘Cause yeah, she wanted him, wanted to give him another chance. And another. However many he needed to get this right. “Strider, I—”

“No. No. I told you before, I’m just getting over a bad relationship, and I never hook up with anyone who’s dated one of my friends.”

Oh, really? “That bad relationship wouldn’t happen to be with Haidee, would it? The woman who didn’t want you? The woman who, what? Is dating one of your friends.”

Silence. Such thick, awful silence.

He wasn’t going to defend himself. Wasn’t even going to try to explain his illogical choices and reasons. Well, he’d forgiven Haidee for killing Baden. Why couldn’t he forgive Kaia for sleeping with Paris?

“You’re not innocent, Strider. You’ve nailed more tail than you can count. In fact, last time I saw you, you’d just eaten peach body lotion off a stripper.” Kaia had decided then and there that peaches were the most disgusting fruit ever, and the world would be a better place without them.

She’d already written to her congressman, demanding that all orchards be burned to the ground.

“I never said I was innocent. I just said—”

“I know. You can’t date anyone your friends have dated. You’re also a liar. But maybe … I don’t know, maybe you could sleep with one of my friends and we could call it even.” Oh, gods.

First, how desperate did she sound? Unbearably! She’d known this would happen if she made another play for him. And yet, she’d done it anyway. Like Pavlov’s dogs, she drooled every time she spotted Strider, abandoning her pride for any scrap he’d toss her way.

Second, thinking of this man with someone else had her claws elongating and her Harpy screeching. Her wings flapped to the same staccato rhythm as her heart, causing her shirt to lift and fall, lift and fall.

If she wasn’t careful, her Harpy would take over, control her actions. Her vision would go black, and a need for blood would consume her. She would stalk the night, hurting anyone who got in her way.

Only Strider would be able to calm her down, but he didn’t know that. Even if he did know it, he clearly didn’t want the responsibility. He was doing everything in his power to push her away.

“I won’t be sleeping with one of your friends,” he said flatly.

The hottest threads of tension drained from her. “Good. That’s good. All of my friends are ugly hags, anyway.” They were gorgeous, every one of them, but if he’d taken her up on the offer, she would have cut them loose in a heartbeat and gotten new ones. Repulsive ones.

“Kaia. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. I like you, I do. You’re beautiful and smart and funny as hell. You’re strong and courageous, too, but nothing’s ever going to happen between us. I’m sorry, I really am. I’m not meaning to be an asshole here, just truthful. We’re just not good for each other. Not a good match. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

They weren’t good for each other? What he really meant was she wasn’t good enough for him. After she had chased him, lost a fight to protect him, threw herself at him time and time again, she wasn’t a good match for him. And he … was … sorry …

Suddenly she wanted to claw his face. Drink his blood.

Don’t forget the upcoming games. Hurting him would hurt her, and she needed to be at her best.

She drew in a deep breath, held it, held, her lungs burning, blistering, before she slowly released every molecule, singeing her throat, her nose. She might have thought Strider deserved something, someone, better, but she deserved better than this. Right?

He finished lamely, “I hope you understand,” completely unaware of the havoc he’d created. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He needed to learn the proper etiquette for dealing with his Harpy.

She needed to teach him.

She should close the distance between them and trace her fingertips all over him before he had time to dart away, all the while pressing her curves against him. Anything to arouse him. Anything to force him to see her as more than the beautiful, smart and funny girl who had nailed the keeper of Promiscuity. Then, as he begged for release, she should walk away.

He wouldn’t be harmed, but he would leave with a better understanding of how rotten denunciation felt.

Kaia couldn’t bring herself to take a single step, however. She might just find herself on the receiving end of rejection and failure yet again. He might push her away before she could make her move. And really, a thousand other rejections and failures awaited her in the coming weeks.

So much for giving him countless chances.

“I do understand,” she whispered. “Just … have fun on your trip, okay.” A dismissal. “I plan to have lots of fun on mine.” A lie. Although she did plan to hold her head up high and kick as much ass as she could. So much ass, in fact, that her clan would have to rethink her title.

Kaia the Disappointment no longer. Maybe she’d become Kaia the Stompalicious. Or Kaia the KillYouDead-atron.

“So … you’re going on a trip?” he asked, and he sounded relieved.

Do not react. “Yep. I sure am.”

Still he didn’t face her. “Where? When?”

Don’t you dare react. “In four days, I leave for—oops, never mind.” She moved around him and sat at the table. “You don’t want to know, remember?” Doing her best to appear nonchalant, even smug, all while the bastard ripped her heart out of her chest and danced on the pieces, she opened a bag of chips.

“You’re right. Just … be careful, and I’ll see you—just be careful, okay?”

He’d stopped himself from saying later. I’ll see you later. Because he had no plans to see her again. Ever.

“I will,” she said, as she fought tears for the second time in her life. She deserved this, she supposed. Punishment for the Unfortunate Incident, for Paris, hell, for all the rejections she had dished out over the centuries. “You, too.” Much as she currently despised him, she wanted him healthy, whole.

“I will.” He strode out of the kitchen, out of her home, out of her life, the front door banging ominously shut behind him.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE NEXT DAY, STRIDER SPENT his morning roaming the Budapest fortress, checking on his friends. Anything to distract himself from thoughts of Kaia and how sad she’d sounded just before he’d left her. Not to mention how he’d longed to pull her into his arms, hold her, comfort her. Devour her.

Not going there.

Legion, a spoiled full-on demon minion turned spoiled human with a porn-star body turned tortured prisoner of Lucifer turned subdued, silent bed-bound damsel in distress, rolled to her side, facing away from him when he entered her bedroom.

Physically, she had healed from her hellish captivity. Mentally … she might never heal. She’d spent several weeks being passed from one demon High Lord to another, raped, beaten and gods knew what else. No one knew because she refused to talk about it.

“Hey, there, princess.” Strider eased beside her on the bed and patted her shoulder. She flinched, jerking from the touch. He sighed, removed his hand.

He didn’t like visiting her. Oh, he liked her as a person, for the most part, and ached for the trials she had endured, but he was afraid Defeat would view her emotional distance as a challenge and force him to push her for more. More she wasn’t ready to give.

She needed help, and her closest friend, Aeron, and his joy-bringing angel, Olivia, were trying, but so far Legion hadn’t responded positively to anyone. She wasn’t eating properly, and was slowly but surely wasting away. Strider knew there was a guardian angel keeping watch over her, even though he’d never gotten a peek at the guy. What he did know: the invisible bastard wasn’t doing his job.

Yeah, Legion had been a selfish pain in the ass before, but she didn’t deserve this. And actually, Strider had liked her better the other way.

“What happened to you has happened to a few of the guys here, did you know that? A few times to Kane, in fact. Since he’s possessed by Disaster, he’s like a magnet for that kind of thing. And I’m not gossiping or sharing private info. When we lived in New York, he ran a support group to help others. Maybe you should, I don’t know, talk to him or something.”

Silence.

Her blond hair was tangled and matted, her skin sickly with a grayish cast. Underneath the thick white fabric of her nightgown, he could tell her shoulders were frail.

“One time Paris and I even—wait. That is gossiping. Never mind. You’ll have to ask Paris if you want to know that little tidbit.”

Silence. From her and his demon. Most definitely she presented a challenge, and yet, Defeat was letting the indifference slide.

He tucked the covers higher, just under her chin, and saw a glistening teardrop slither down her cheek.

Okay, then. “I just wanted to check on you, but I know you’re not comfortable with me so I’ll go,” he said gently. She couldn’t relax with him here, and he didn’t want to make things worse for her.

More silence. He released another sigh as he stood. “Call me if you need anything. All right? Anything at all. I’m happy to help.”

Again, no response from either Legion or his demon. He wondered what was up with his—distracted? hiding? uncaring?—companion as he strode to his next stop. Amun’s room.

Despite the fact that he and Amun—and hell, even he and Haidee—were on good enough terms, he’d avoided contact for over a week. Just seeing her caused little sparks of pain to dance through his chest. Not because he still wanted her, but because he’d lost her, could never have her, and his demon couldn’t forget what they’d endured because of her dismissal.

Haidee opened the door, and he studied her out of habit. She was average height, her pale hair streaked with pink. One of her eyebrows was pierced, and one of her arms sleeved in tattoos. Dressed in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and ripped jeans, she would be carded at any bar.

When she saw him, she frowned and moved out of the way, allowing him inside. Despite that frown, she appeared lit up from the inside out, pulse after pulse of … he grimaced. What the hell was that?

If he were fed the muzzle of a .40 and told to guess or die, Strider would have said love in its purest form seeped from her pores. Almost hurt to look at her, she was so radiant.

Shit. “Are you pregnant?”

“No.” A secret smile curved her lips. Well, well. Picking up Amun’s all-things-are-a-mystery vibe already. “What’s up?”

Strider rubbed a hand over his heart, expecting more of those flickers of pain, especially with that glow blasting at his corneas, but … nothing. Not even a skip in the organ’s beat. Okay, fine. Whatever. He could roll.

His gaze swept through the room. Haidee had taken over the decorating, so the place was no longer like vanilla ice cream—plain, unadorned and completely lacking a personality.

Haidee favored contemporary styles with a Japanese flair. He tried not to cringe. Lanternlike lights hung from the ceiling. The walls were now brown and orange, each color staggered to form a boxed pattern. Bonsai trees seemed to grow from every corner, and white shag carpets stretched under three glass nightstands. White carpet. Had she not seen the amount of dirt a warrior’s boots could track in? The comforter on the bed was white, too, with beaded orange pillows.

If she’d tried this shit in his room, they woulda had a serious beef. A man needed to feel comfortable in his surroundings or he couldn’t relax. This wasn’t comfortable.

Only once had Strider “lived” with a woman, and only because she’d challenged him to move in. I know I can make you happy if you come home to me every night. Can you make me happy, though? I guess we’ll find out.

After a few weeks of cohabitating, he’d willingly accepted defeat. He could not make her happy because he didn’t want to make her happy.

He thought back to Kaia’s house and her decorating flare. Now there was a woman who knew how to make a place comfy and fun. Seriously, she’d had a toilet painted to resemble an open mouth. I want.

Haidee cleared her throat. “Strider?”

He turned to face her. “What?” Her expression was expectant, all soft and gooey with whatever pulsed from her, and he recalled that he’d come to her, not the other way around. “Yeah, uh. Where’s Amun?”

“Cronus summoned him to the heavens.”

“Why?”

Another secret smile. “Don’t know yet.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Three hours, nine minutes and forty-eight seconds. Not that I’m watching the clock or anything. Can I help you with something?”

“Nah.” He’d just wanted to see the guy, he supposed. After everything Strider had done to him … trying to keep Amun and Haidee apart … Guilt, man, how it ate at him sometimes. “I’ll just, uh, catch him later.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion. And concern? Yeah. That was concern. “You sure?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but … she’d killed Baden, keeper of Distrust. She’d tried to kill Strider. And she’d had very good reason for both. Long, long ago, they’d helped slaughter her family, destroy her life. Hell, because of a demon, she’d been killed time and time again.

Each time she’d come back, she’d remembered only her hate, knew only about the deaths of those she’d once loved. Sought only vengeance. Made sense, since she’d been possessed by a piece of the demon of Hate. And maybe that was another reason Strider had wanted her. That piece of Hate had caused other people to dislike themselves and even her. Strider had gotten over that quickly, had defeated that, which was why he suspected being with her had been a bit of a rush for both him and his own demon.

That she now adored Amun, that she now supported the Lords and their cause, well, it was a miracle Strider needed to stop questioning.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Never before had he initiated contact that didn’t involve knives. “See you around, Haidee.”

Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered. “Yeah. See ya,” she said weakly. He’d never been quite that nice to her, either.

He must be softening in his old age.

Next he found himself standing in the doorway of Sabin’s bedroom, eating handful after handful of Red Hots. He had a stash of his favorite candy hidden in every corner of the fortress. He watched his friend toss all kinds of shit into a suitcase. His wife, Gwen, bustled around him, making a halfhearted attempt to fold the mountain of clothes Sabin had wadded into balls, stack the weapons he had only partially sheathed and remove the bullhorn from the case for a third time.

Once, the Harpies had called her Gwendolyn the Timid. Strider didn’t know what they called her now, but the moniker certainly didn’t fit anymore. The little firecracker had come into her own and kicked even Kaia’s ass, locking her in the dungeon below to prevent her from peeling Sabin’s skin from his body and wearing it as a victory coat.

Kaia.

His heart skipped a stupid beat, making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. Something he’d never been. Zeus had created him fully formed, a weapon ready to be unleashed upon anyone who threatened the former god king and those he loved. Even then, before Strider had been given his demon, he had liked to win, railroading anyone who got in his way.

What joy could be found in defeat? None.

His demon grunted in agreement.

Strider refocused on his surroundings before the little shit began pushing him around. As he continued to watch Gwen, he noted how much she resembled her older sister.

Kaia.

Here we go again. Gwen had a thick mass of blond hair streaked with red—the same shade of red as Kaia’s. If he were being honest, though, Kaia’s was prettier. Wavier, silkier. And while Gwen’s eyes were a startling mix of gray and gold, just like Kaia’s, Kaia’s were still lovelier. On her, the gray veered toward liquid silver and the gold, well, the gold flickered like fireflies.

What are you? A wuss? Stop weaving poetry.

Anyway. When Kaia’s Harpy took over, her eyes went completely black, death swimming in their depths. But, if he were still being honest, even that was sexy.

Gwen and Kaia shared the same button nose, the same cherub cheeks. Same stubborn chin. Yet somehow Kaia was sin incarnate and Gwen was innocence walking. Made no sense. Even still, the resemblance affected him, heating him up.

He willed his body to remain unaffected. Sabin would fuss if Strider sported a hard-on around his precious. And of course, “fuss” meant Strider would find his intestines wrapped around his neck, breathing a thing of the past.

Bring it, he thought.

Defeat chuckled, startling him.

On edge, he waited for a challenge to be issued. It never came. Sweet gods above, he’d have to be more careful. No more close calls.

What was he doing here, anyway? He should be in the heavens with Paris. He should be in Nebraska with William, torturing the family who had abused Gilly, a human they’d befriended. He should be out there killing Hunters. He should be in Rome, bargaining with the Unspoken Ones—monsters who were chained inside an ancient temple, desperate for freedom.

He’d given them one of the four godly artifacts needed to find and destroy Pandora’s box. A relic the Hunters were searching for, as well.

The Unspoken Ones had the Paring Rod and the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Lords had the Cage of Compulsion and the All-Seeing Eye. So. Lords 2. Hunters 0. Boo-yah.

Unspoken Ones weren’t interested in the actual artifacts, though. They were interested in what they could trade for the artifacts. Whoever presented them with the head of the current god king (minus his body) would earn the Paring Rod in return, leaving only the Cloak to claim. The Cloak Strider had once owned but had exchanged for Haidee.

At the time, he hadn’t minded making the exchange because he’d been pretty damn confident the Unspoken Ones would keep the thing to bargain with him later. Still was. He’d have to pay through the nose, he was sure, but that was better than allowing Haidee to escape him and reveal his secrets to her Hunter friends.

And he’d meant to go back long before now, but losing her to Amun had knocked Strider on his ass for over a week, his demon a writhing, seething cauldron of pain.

Maybe that was why he’d been unable to let go of the idea of being with Haidee, he mused now. The echoes of that pain. Maybe that was why he still resisted Kaia.

Don’t think about her anymore, you nutcase. You’ll start foaming at the mouth. He resisted her because she would ultimately trample his pride, his well-being and probably even his will to live.

Did he really need another reminder of that?

He forced his thoughts back to the artifacts. Strider had vowed to recapture the Cloak. And he would. Soon. Because whoever found Pandora’s box first would win the war, and more than he wanted Kaia, not that he was thinking about her, he wanted to win the war against the Hunters.

Talk about the ultimate victory. The pleasure he would feel … gods, he could only imagine. Better than sex, drugs or rocking hos.

Anyway. Instead of all of that, he realized he’d purposely cleared his plate this morning, visiting everyone, making amends just so he could leave and … Shit! Not good. This was not good at all.

Just so he could leave and check on Kaia. He had to make sure she was okay. Even if that meant putting his obligations on hold again.

Dude. You can’t do that. And he wouldn’t. No damn way. Now that he’d realized his intention, he could put a stop to it.

“Why the hell are you just standing there?” Sabin suddenly lashed out. “State your business and leave, Stridey-Man. You’re turning Gwen into a raving lunatic.”

“You’re turning me into a raving lunatic!” she growled, removing the bullhorn from the suitcase yet again. “We don’t need all this stuff.”

“How do you know?” Sabin demanded. He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, the gold in his eyes lighter than usual. “You’ve never participated in the Harpy Games before. And goddamn it, you shouldn’t have to participate in them now!”

“You heard Bianka. Every single one of Tabitha Skyhawk’s daughters have been summoned. And even if we hadn’t, even if only a handful of clan members had been summoned, I would still be going. They’re my family.”

“Well, you’re now part of my family.”

“Actually, you’re part of my family, and as I’m the General, the Captain and the Commander, you go where I go. And I’m going!”

“Fuck.” Sabin plopped onto the edge of the bed and put his head between his knees.

“That bad, huh?” Strider asked, doing his best to sound casual. I’m not dying of curiosity. Really.

Kaia had tried to hide her fear yesterday, but she hadn’t quite managed it. He had mentioned her trip, and she had trembled, paled. He shouldn’t have noticed. He’d had his back to her. Except there’d been a crack in her curtains, allowing him to study her reflection in the windowpane. And oh, had he studied.

She had sparkled like a diamond, drawing his eye automatically, and he’d been so eager to touch her that his body had been on fire.

Harpy skin … there was nothing more exquisite. Nothing. Funny, though, that he’d never wanted to stroke and taste Gwen, Bianka or Taliyah the way he’d wanted to stroke and taste Kaia.

Not that he was thinking about her anymore.

Defeat uttered another of those chuckles, and Strider tensed. When the little shit made no reply, accepted no challenge, he relaxed somewhat. Damn it. What the hell was going on with his demon?

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. “Bianka told me the games are so violent that half the participants end up dead or praying for death. And once, about fifteen hundred years ago, far more than half died. Like, nearly all of them.”

Strider straightened, his blood chilling. “What? Why?”

“She didn’t tell me more than that, so don’t look at me like you’ll cut my throat if I don’t fess up. Anyway, she wasn’t exaggerating,” Gwen continued. “Oh, wait. She did tell me a bit more. Apparently the Skyhawks haven’t been allowed to participate in centuries because of something Kaia did, not that anyone will tell me what. No one in our clan has ever spoken of it, and I was never really around other clanswomen. They’ve always shunned us. But now, suddenly, they’re welcoming us back with open arms. It’s weird, and I don’t like it, but I’m not sending my sisters into hostile territory alone.”

Strider’s mind snagged on one detail only. Kaia had caused the turmoil. What had the gorgeous troublemaker done?

“Oh, and one other thing. Bianka thinks this is a trap.” Gwen angled Sabin’s head up and sank into his lap. Automatically the warrior wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “She thinks the Skyhawks, Kaia especially, will be targets, everyone out for revenge.”

Kaia … a target for every Harpy with a grudge … Now his blood heated for a different reason, the need to rage an inferno inside him. “Men are allowed to go?”

“Consorts and slaves, yes, and they’re more than allowed, they’re encouraged. Blood is medicine to Harpies, and those consorts and slaves help the injured participants heal.”

“Does Kaia have a … slave?” He croaked the question. On one hand, he wanted her to have one, to be safe. On the other, he already wanted to murder the ugly prick.

Defeat snarled, no trace of amusement in the sound. Or his usual fear.

This isn’t a challenge, buddy. Or was his demon upset by the thought of someone besides Strider hurting Kaia?

In a sick, twisted way, that kind of made sense. His sense of possessiveness was highly developed, with his enemies especially, but even with friends. Kaia was a bit of both.

Thankfully, Defeat offered no reply. Strider didn’t need the added complication of fighting Kaia and/or anyone who challenged her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t his problem.

“No,” Gwen finally said, sadness creeping into her tone. “Kaia doesn’t have a slave.”

Relief, so much relief. “We’ll find her one, then.” Fury, so much fury.

“No.” Those strawberry-blond tresses slapped her face as she shook her head. “She thinks you are her consort.”

Yeah, once upon a time Kaia had said something like that to him. He’d believed that she believed, but he’d also believed she was mistaken, that she was letting simple attraction confuse her. Not that there was anything simple about her attraction to him. She wanted the best of the best for herself, and he couldn’t blame—

Ego check. He massaged the back of his neck with his free hand. Rephrasing: she wanted someone strong, capable and handsome. Shit. Ego check, he thought again. She’d wanted someone somewhat handsome.

No. That didn’t work. When a fact was a fact, there was no getting around it. She’d wanted someone extremely handsome, and he fit the bill. But …

Paris was handsomer.

Handsomer wasn’t even a word, damn it. Was it? Yeah, it probably was, and had most likely been coined because of Paris. “So?” he said with more force than he’d intended.

“So, she won’t take anyone else,” Sabin blurted. “Harpies are territorial, possessive and stubborn as hell. Meaning, they’re just like you and can’t compromise worth shit.”

Gwen frowned. “Hey!”

“Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” Then, “Kaia will take you or no one,” he said to Strider. “That’s just the way it’s sliced.”

“Which is why …” Gwen inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, her gaze locking on Strider with menace. “You know I love you, right?”

He gave a stiff nod. Shit, shit, shit. Him or no one. A blessing and a curse. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t spend any more time with her. Had already said goodbye to her.

A goodbye that had come close to rousing his demon. With every step he’d taken from Kaia’s home, Defeat had prowled through his head, wanting to act, to pin her and take her—victory would be so damn sweet—but not allowing himself to do so. Loss would be so damn painful.

Strider had never been happier that the demons of Pandora’s box were afraid of the Harpies. And with good reason. They were descendants of Lucifer, the master of all things demonic.

Plus, Defeat had seen Kaia fight. No matter what weapon she used—gun, blade, claws, fangs—she blazed through her opponents faster than the eye could track. Nice qualities in a date, sure, and definite aphrodisiacs. If your very existence didn’t depend on your victories, as his did.

Strider finished off the last of his candy, and chucked the empty box into the trash bin beside Sabin’s desk. Swish. Two points!

Defeat purred his approval, little sparks of satisfaction shooting through Strider’s veins.

“—listening to me?” Gwen asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he lied, gaze quickly finding her. She was no longer perched on Sabin’s lap. Now she stood a few inches from Strider, her legs braced apart, her hands fisted at her sides. He recognized that pose. “But, uh, give me a refresher. You were saying …”

She rolled her eyes. “I was telling you that you only have two days to take care of any pressing business you might have. Because even though I love you, I’m going to make sure you attend the games. Kaia needs you, and you will be there for her. Or else.”

His attention flicked to Sabin, all what-are-you-going-to-do-about-this. Sympathy filled every curve and hollow of the man’s face, but there was no hint of determination or ire. Okay, so. His fearless leader would be doing nothing. Perfect.

He glared at Gwen. “Don’t even think about challenging me,” he snapped. “I won’t hesitate to retaliate.” Of course, one little scratch on the girl and Sabin would attack him. He’d have to go berserker on his boss, but two victories for the price of one? Bring it.

“As if I would ever use your demon against you,” she replied, startling him. “God, I can’t believe you think so little of me.” She truly sounded offended. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize to her, she said, “I’m only planning to beat the crap out of you, tie you up and have Lucien flash you to where the first meeting is being held. Jeez! Cut me some slack.”

“Only” planning, she’d said. He pursed his lips. “You do realize that beating the crap out of me and tying me up would be, what? Using my demon against me. The loss would destroy me.”

“Oh.” Her features fell. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Then she raised her chin, reminding him of Kaia all over again. “I’ll still do it, though. Just make this easier on yourself and agree to go with her. Please.”

“Begging doesn’t work on me. Neither does crying, just so you know.” Once upon a time when he’d done the dating thing, he’d learned that begging and crying were forms of feminine warfare. Women wanted something, and they did anything to get it.

Admirable, but it hadn’t taken him long to harden his heart against such wiles. Or to decide that long-term relationships simply weren’t for him. As easily as he’d learned about his partners’ ploys, they’d learned about his.

He had to win, and they always tried to use that to their advantage. How many times had he heard some variation of, “Bet you can’t spend the whole day with me and like it?” Countless.

“Well?” Gwen demanded. “Yes or no? Easy way or hard way?”

“How long?” he gritted out.

“Four weeks,” she replied, clearly hopeful.

She could have said “eternity,” so emphatic was his reaction. Four weeks. Four damn weeks with Kaia. Feeding her, protecting her, guarding her with his body if the opportunity presented itself.

His cock twitched with eagerness. This isn’t something to look forward to, you idiot. He’d guard her with his body if circumstances demanded. But even with the rephrase, this had trouble written all over it. Getting in and getting out as swiftly as possible was his M.O. now, and one that worked for him. No one had time to learn his quirks—or use them against him.

Kaia, though, she already knew, and she never hesitated to challenge him. Part of him liked the thrill of that, yeah. You couldn’t win if you never entered the game, and she was all about the game. On the flip side, you couldn’t lose, either.

“What about our war with the Hunters?” he asked Sabin. If there was anyone who liked winning as much as Strider, it was Sabin. Dude would have sold his mom on eBay just to fund a battle. If he’d had a mom, that is.

“I’ve already talked to Cronus,” Sabin replied. “Galen is currently out for the count, too injured to cause trouble, and Rhea is missing.”

Galen, the immortal warrior possessed by the demon of Hope—also, ironically, leader of the Hunters. Rhea, the biggest bitch of a god queen ever to control half the heavens. Both topped his long list of enemies.

“Missing? Still?” He’d known she had disappeared, but he’d kinda figured she’d gone into hiding, since her husband had discovered her most recent treachery against him—convincing her sister to act as his mistress and spy on him—and wanted to punish her. “Is foul play expected?” Not many beings could successfully abduct a goddess.

“Yeah, though Cronus won’t share any deets.”

Maybe because he didn’t have any. That might explain why Cronus had summoned Amun. No one was better at obtaining answers than the keeper of Secrets. “This is the perfect time to strike the Hunters, then,” he forced himself to say.

“No, actually, it’s not.” Sabin cocked a brow. “Remember that girl we saw, the one who accepted the demon of Distrust into her body?”

“No, Sab. I forgot,” he said dryly. They’d both been in the Temple of the Unspoken Ones, and watched as the beings manipulated the air to reveal what was happening an entire continent away.

Galen had somehow found the unfindable. The lost demon of Distrust, crazed and worked into a frenzy. He’d then trapped Distrust inside a room and convinced the beast to possess someone else. A female, a Hunter.

Though they’d made inquiries, they’d never learned anything more about the girl. Not her location, not her condition.

“Attitude.” Sabin tsked under his tongue. “Anyway, Cronus has decided he wants her. He’s got Amun looking into it.”

Ah. So that’s why Amun had been summoned. Rhea be damned, he supposed. But if Sabin knew this, that meant Haidee had known. Which meant she hadn’t wanted to share the information with Strider. A little punishment, he was sure, and he couldn’t blame her.

“What does the girl have to do with us kicking some Hunter ass now?” he asked.

“The Hunters will be scrambling to keep her hidden and too busy to attack us.”

“So you hope. But again, if that’s the case, there’s no better time to strike.”

“If we can find them. Without Amun, we have to rely on our lame-ass detective skills.”

Hardly. “We’ve got Ashlyn.” Maddox, the keeper of Violence, had married a woman with the ability to stand in one location and listen to all the conversations that had ever taken place there. No one could hide from her.

“Haven’t you heard? She’s currently bedbound. The twins she’s carrying had a sudden growth spurt. She’s so big, she needs help getting to the bathroom. Maddox thinks she’ll deliver soon.”

Poor bastard was probably going crazy with worry. Ashlyn was (mostly) human, and therefore as delicate and fragile as a glass vase. Nothing like Kaia, who could—Do not go there. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a damn good detective.”

Sabin shrugged. “Okay, think of it this way. I had a choice to make. Take advantage of our advantage, or take care of my wife. Guess which one I picked?”

When had Sabin become such a pussy?

“At least we don’t have to worry about our boys being hurt because we left them behind.”

As if they’d have to worry about that, anyway. The “boys” were as competent as Strider. Not to mention the fact that they were possessed by baddies like Pain, Disease and Misery. They were all but feral and had no need of babysitters, battle forthcoming or not.

“Well, I still can’t go. I have plans,” Strider said. And I can’t waver, that’s all there is to it. “I promised Paris I’d help him in the heavens.”

“Help him later,” Gwen said, butting back in to the conversation. “Kaia needs you now.”

His body reacted instantly, skin prickling with awareness—Kaia needs you—cells awakening—Kaia needs you—shaft thickening, hardening—Kaia needs you … needs you to touch her, strip her, fill her up.

“I’ll think about it,” he said raggedly, then strode into the hall and headed to his own bedroom before Gwen could threaten him a second time. Once there, he shut himself in and moved to the room’s center, gaze locked on his walls, mind buzzing.

He and Kaia had the same decorating tastes. Weapons had covered her walls the same way they covered his. He wondered if, like his, each piece in her collection belonged to the humans and immortals she had defeated over the centuries.

Kaia. Defeat. Two words that had become synonymous to him.

Harpies were all about survival of the fittest, and that he could dig. Because of Gwen, he knew that sleeping in front of humans—or anyone but their consort, for that matter—was forbidden. He knew they were not allowed to reveal a single weakness to anyone—even their consorts. And they were never, ever to steal from their sisters. If they broke any of those rules, they were punished.

Damn it, what the hell was he going to do about her? She could take care of herself against anyone except another Harpy. Plus, Kaia would need every advantage she could get. Like, first and foremost, resting. She would need to rest between games, whatever those games might be. She thought Strider was her consort, so she would only rest with him at her side.

Second, she would need someone to ensure she ate properly. Look how she’d allowed herself to waste away in jail.

Third, she would need someone to guard her back if she stole anything, and knowing her, she would steal a lot of somethings. Preferably someone who didn’t have to guard her—or his—own back, as well.

Half the participants usually died, Gwen had said. Half. Harpies showed no mercy, took no prisoners. For whatever reason, Kaia would have a bull’s-eye on her back.

If he did this, if he went with her … he would have to find a way to steel himself against her appeal. Because, no matter what, he couldn’t sleep with her. Not just because of Paris, but because she would view any intimate contact as a commitment, as a Harpy/consort bond. A forever kind of bond. No way was he signing on for a lifetime sentence.

Could he resist her, though?

Better question: Could he protect her? If her enemies learned who he was, they could use his demon against her. They could challenge him to hurt her. They could challenge him to destroy her.

Win? Defeat said, raspy voice drifting through Strider’s head.

Shit. I stopped myself from going there, so you do the same. Please.

Win, the demon repeated, a demand this time. A demand that held a tinge of fear.

Too late, he thought. Defeat had gone there, and there’d be no backing off. Win, against any Harpies who try to hurt Kaia?

WIN.

Yep. Against the Harpies who tried to hurt Kaia. Why? She isn’t your favorite person. Why have me protect her?

Win, win, win.

Why he’d expected an answer, he didn’t know. Unlike some of the other demons, his had a very limited vocabulary. Guaranteed, he’d gotten the short end of the stick. But … maybe Defeat recalled just how good a victory over Kaia felt, and wanted more. If she died, he couldn’t have more. Or maybe, possessive as even the demon was, Kaia was their personal battlefield, and others weren’t allowed to play there. Ever.

What he did know? He was going to the Harpy Games.




CHAPTER FIVE


KAIA LOVED WATCHING MOVIES, but right now, she felt like she had the starring role in a horror flick called Slumber Party Massacre. Only instead of a sleeping bag and a teddy bear, she carried a hatchet—call her sentimental—and a serrated blade.

She strode with her sisters down a long, dark hallway, seemingly alone, weapons clutched in their hands, too. Weapons were also hanging from their waists and rising from their backs. If the Bad Guy truly had been watching from the shadows, waiting to strike, he probably would have seen them moving in slow motion, their hair blowing in the breeze. Also, scary music would have been playing in the background.

Too bad this wasn’t Hollywood.

Taliyah was in the middle. She was the oldest among them by far, as well as the strongest, the deadliest. Tall, slender, pale from head to toe, she looked like an elegant ice queen—and had a personality to match. Emotions were not something Taliyah allowed herself to experience. While Kaia had always striven to be like their mother, Taliyah had opted to be the opposite. Logical, level-headed, a planner.

Bianka and Kaia flanked her sides, with Gwen on Kaia’s left. At one end of the Estrogen Brigade was Sabin, at the other was Lysander. Typically at events such as these, consorts were supposed to trail a few feet behind, but these men were hardly archetypal. They were equals. Beloved. Determined to protect.

Each of the women radiated a white-hot tension that blended perfectly with Kaia’s own. All thanks to the very stupid Strider. He wasn’t going to support her. Earlier today Gwen had led her to believe … had made her think … hope … crave … oh, well. Strider hadn’t shown up, even though she and her sisters had waited outside for half an hour and were now late to the meeting.

Stupid, stupid Strider.

Doomed, doomed Kaia.

Well, she had finally written him off and admitted that she was better off without him. He was rejection, humiliation and heartbreak wrapped in a pretty package. She could find another pretty package without all the extras, thank you.

At least Bianka and Gwen would be well-guarded, and that eased her stress somewhat. But if anyone so much as threatened them because of what Kaia had once done, she would turn the Slumber Party Massacre into Blood, Bath and Beyond, a documentary by Kaia Skyhawk.

And if anyone teased Bianka about dating an angel, well, they, too, would have a starring role in that documentary. Sadly, she had a feeling there were going to be a lot of starring roles.

At first glance, Lysander looked every inch the do-gooder. His hair gleamed as if the strands were gold silk. His skin was just as pale with only the faintest hint of rose. He wore a long white robe, his golden wings tucked in, the tops arching over his shoulders. He had no visible weapons. But then, he didn’t need them. He could create a sword of fire from nothing but air. Only after a second glance would the Harpies realize he was a warrior through and through, muscled and brawny, with a ruthless determination to protect what was his.

By then, it’d be too late.

Sabin, well, everyone would know what he was the moment they spotted him: a badass lacking any type of moral compass. He had brown hair and ocher eyes, his features a study of harsh planes and sharp angles. More weapons spilled from his six-foot-seven frame than an entire human army could carry, and his every step reminded her of a dying heartbeat. Thump. Pause, pause. Thump. But, uh, what was with the bullhorn in his hand?

There’d be no teasing Gwen about him, but her little sis would probably have to beat the ladies off him. Sabin was everything Harpies admired. Wicked, ungoverned by society’s rules and way beyond dangerous.

A danger readily apparent, even though he wore a T-shirt that said I’m Not a Gynecologist, but I’ll Take a Look.

Kaia wanted to buy one of those for Strider.

Finally they reached the doors to the auditorium of the elementary school. Yes, an elementary school. In “Brew City,” Wisconsin.

Only this morning had the texts gone out, informing everyone where to go for Game Orientation, and the location had puzzled her. A million years ago, orientation had been held in a wide-open field several miles from civilization. Sure, times had changed. But an elementary school? Really?

After expressing his own puzzlement, Lucien, keeper of Death, had flashed her and Gwen, dropping them off at the school’s front doors. Lysander had flown Bianka in, and Taliyah had simply materialized from what looked to be a thick, dark mist. Girl had developed a new ability, apparently, but when questioned, had refused to give up the deets. Like what the ever-loving hell could she do? Kaia had never, in all her centuries, seen anyone step from a misty doorway of their own creation.

Wasn’t fair, either. Taliyah already had a kick-ass ability. She could shape-shift. Not that she ever used the ability. But now she could do this, too, yet Kaia couldn’t do anything cool.

Pouter! Kaia stopped when she reached the auditorium doors. They were closed, a murmur of voices drifting through the tiny crack between the metal slats. A tremor slid down her spine, vibrating into her limbs.

Taliyah stopped, too. She sheathed her weapons and placed a firm hand on Kaia’s shoulder, her crystalline gaze pointed. “You know I’m with you, no matter what. Right?”

Her heart swelled with love as she shoved the hatchet and blade into their holsters. “Yeah, I know.” Her mother might have written her off, but her sisters never had. They supported her. Through anything, everything.

“Good. Then let’s do this.”

Taliyah pushed open the double doors, the hinges squeaking in protest. Without the barrier, the murmurs became full-blown conversations. Conversations that died as all eyes swung to the newest entrants.

Kaia searched the sea of faces she hadn’t seen in centuries, but didn’t spot her mother. Or any other Skyhawk for that matter, despite the fact that there were close to a hundred females watching her through narrowed eyes. She raised her chin. Several of the ladies reached for sword or dagger hilts, but none so much as stepped toward her.

All that hate-filled attention should have intimidated her, she supposed. However, Kaia found herself delighting in it. She was strong, stronger than ever, and she would prove herself. Finally.

Finally they would know she was worthy.

Tabitha could take her “almost improved” and shove it up her—

“Well, well. Look who decided to join us, everyone. Kaia the Disappointment. And company, of course.” The familiar voice echoed from the walls. Juliette the Eradicator. “What a surprise. We thought you’d opted not to enter, which would have been a very smart move on your part. But then, you’ve only got half a brain, isn’t that right?”

Annnd here were the twins-only-got-half jokes again.

Juliette went on, “I feel obligated to warn you that you will lose, and you will not have fun when you do. Or survive. Not that I’d know anything about that. I’ve taken home the gold in the last eight games. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, seeing how you weren’t invited to them.”

Bianka growled, Taliyah tensed and Kaia gritted her teeth as she faced her nemesis.

Juliette stood in the center of the stage. Tall, toned and stunning, she had shoulder-length black hair and eyes of the purest lavender. She wore a tank top and a short skirt that revealed the tattoos inked into her legs. Ancient godly symbols that bespoke revenge. Loosely translated, each one meant “the redheaded bitch must suffer.” Nice.

“Pretty soon, you’ll have to kiss your gold goodbye,” Kaia told her. “It’s mine this time around.”

Juliette grinned slowly, smugly. “Actually, no. No, I won’t. In case you didn’t know, I won’t be participating this year. I’m running things. In other words, I’m top dog. The elders met, decided, and I am now the be-all and endall.”

That so did not bode well for Kaia’s victory. As the woman who called the shots, Juliette would decide who broke the rules and who didn’t, and in the end, she would tabulate the final scores. No wonder Kaia had been invited to participate. Nothing was stacked in her favor.

“Well, you’re definitely a dog,” she managed to say through her apprehension. How many times over the centuries had she apologized to Juliette? Innumerable. How many fruit baskets had she sent? Hundreds. What more could she do? Nothing. And she was sick of trying when this was the result.

Rage flickered in those lavender eyes, but Juliette offered no retort. “Your men must sit with the others.” Motions jerky, she pointed to the back of the auditorium, where a large group of men perched side by side in the balcony, mere spectators.

“Actually, our men stay with us. And that is not something we will discuss.” Taliyah stalked forward, every inch the predator. “Now, you may continue with the meeting.” The command was not lost despite the polite delivery.

“I will,” Juliette huffed. “Have no worries on that front.” She launched into a speech about proper behavior before, during and after the games.

Ignoring her, Kaia “and company” followed her oldest sis. They stopped to the right of the stage, beside another clan. The Eagleshields. Juliette’s family. Her chin lifted another notch. Every member stepped back, away from her, as if she had a contagious disease they didn’t want to catch, and a blush heated her cheeks.

No, not every member widened the distance, she realized a second later. Neeka the Unwanted had stood alone on the group’s fringes and now stepped forward, closer to the Skyhawks. She was grinning.

“Taliyah.” Neeka inclined her head respectfully. She was deaf, having been stabbed in the ears during a raid. She’d been a child and hadn’t healed from her wounds, and her own mother had later tried to slay her for daring to live with such an infirmity.

The woman must have trained at the Tabitha Skyhawk school of Mothering.

The two females embraced, patting each other on the back once, twice. When they parted, Neeka looked at Kaia. Shockingly, her grin of pearly whites remained in place. She had hair on the softer side of jet and rich brown eyes. A few freckles dotted her nose, darker than her mocha skin, the only “flaws” in an otherwise too-perfect face.

“All grown up now,” Neeka said in a perfectly modulated, very soft tone.

“Yep.” She waited for the insults to start flying.

None were forthcoming. “I hope you’re as lethal as gossip claims.”

Wait. What? “Probably more so,” she said modestly. Well, modestly for her.

The grin widened. Clearly, Neeka had taught herself how to read lips. “Good. That’ll make the next few weeks bearable. So, tell me. About a year ago, someone mentioned you hung a human outside a sixty-story building. By his hair. That true?”

“Well, yeah.” And she wasn’t sorry. “Gwennie was missing, and he was the last one to see her.” She shrugged. “I wanted answers.”

“Rock on. What about—”

“Enough,” Juliette snapped. “You are wasting our time with your exaggerations when you should be listening to me.”

Exaggerations. Please. Rather than defend herself—and look as though she protested too much—Kaia repeated what had been said. Juliette was behind Neeka, so the poor girl had no idea everyone now watched them, quietly waiting for their cooperation.

The admonishment didn’t send Neeka back to her clan. She remained beside Taliyah. Odd. What was—

From the other side of the spacious room, another set of double doors opened. And then Kaia was staring across the distance—at her mother. Tabitha the Vicious. Juliette quieted as gasps of awe abounded.

A legend had just arrived.

Kaia’s stomach knotted, and she gulped. She’d known this moment would come, had thought she was prepared for it. But … Oh, gods. Her knees knocked together, and she had to press her weight into her heels to steady herself.

Damn it, her sudden case of nerves needed some outlet. Her skin prickled as though little bugs with white-hot legs were crawling all over her.

Over a year had passed since she’d last spoken to her mother, and that final conversation had not been pleasant.

I don’t know why I’ve stuck by you as long as I have, Tabitha had said. I push and I push and I push, yet you’ve done nothing to redeem yourself. You remain in Alaska, fighting with humans, stealing from humans, playing with humans.

Kaia had gaped. I didn’t realize I needed to prove myself to you. I’m your daughter. Shouldn’t you love me no matter what?

You have me confused with your sisters. And look where their indulgence has gotten you. Nowhere. The other clans, they still hate you. I have guarded you, protected you all this time, never allowing them to act against you, but that ends today. My indulgence has gotten you nowhere, as well.

Their 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 killed them all?”

His blue eyes glittered, revealing hints of the victorious demon inside him. “Every last one.”

That’s my man. “Good girl.” Yes, she had just called him a girl. And he was here. He really was here. She couldn’t get over that amazing fact. Did that mean he’d realized they belonged together? Had he forgiven her for sleeping with Paris? She fought the urge to throw her arms around him, to hug him tight and never let go.

He must have read the questions and desires in her eyes because he said, “Just don’t get the wrong idea,” spoiling everything. “You needed a medicine cabinet, so here I am. As soon as the games are over, I’m gone. I don’t tell you that to be rude, but to be honest.” Gentle, so gentle. “Okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Th-thanks.” Not wanting him to witness the withering of her joy, she turned back around. I will not cry. Her mother hadn’t broken her (for the most part); he wouldn’t, either (not again).

Once more she was the center of attention, every gaze fastened on her. She raised her chin exactly as she had the first time, refusing to reveal her upset.

“So what’d I miss?” he asked.

“See the rocking brunette over there?” Sabin pointed to Tabitha. “That’s their mother.”

“That’s their mom?” Strider gasped out.

Kaia’s hands curled into fists, her sharpening nails cutting past skin. Warm—too warm—trickles of blood slid between her knuckles before dripping onto the floor. “If you aren’t careful, I’m going to …” There was no threat mean enough. “Just … don’t compliment her.”

“Don’t challenge me, Red. You won’t like the results.”

Red. From anyone else, that would have been a term of endearment. From Strider, it was a curse. “Why? You planning on spanking me?”

“I’ll leave.” The words were firmly stated.

She pressed her lips into a mutinous line. His absence was the one thing she wasn’t willing to risk. Whether she liked him or not—currently not. He might be a pain in her ass, he might be stubborn and sometimes hateful, but he was the best chance she had of winning this thing, and she knew it. With Juliette in charge, she needed someone’s head on a swivel, watching her back 25/8.

“My mom’s not my favorite person, okay?” She twisted without looking at him and whispered, “Now can you please act like you’re into me, just for a little while?”

At last Tabitha deigned to acknowledge their group. Her gaze moved over the men, and only the men, her mouth curling in distaste. All the while, she stroked the hilt of the blade hanging from her waist.

“First, I didn’t compliment her. Second, she looks like she eats other people’s hopes and dreams for breakfast, and not just because they’re tasty. That’s not attractive. Third, you look like you sprung from other people’s hopes and dreams. I couldn’t—can’t—believe you’re related.”

How … sweet. Kaia was completely blown away. Damn him! First he delivered a nasty blow, announcing he wasn’t sticking around. Then he complimented her. How was she supposed to maintain emotional distance from him when he said things like that?

“Wait. What? Who said that?” Strider growled before she could form a reply.

“You did,” she replied, “and I know what you’re going to say next. You sounded like a pansy.” She hated to snipe at him, but her sanity was at stake.

Strider snapped his teeth at her.

“Who said what, then?” she asked on a sigh.

His dark gaze roved their little group, then returned to her mother, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

O-kay. Consorts. You couldn’t live with them, but you couldn’t cut out their tongues without earning a lifetime of hateful glares, either.

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get back to business, shall we?” Juliette said. “The games have always been an important part of our lives, allowing us to righteously punish those who have wronged us—” of course she peered at Kaia when she said that “—as well as prove how strong we’ve become to those we adore. So here’s to doing what we do best. Kicking ass!”

Cheers erupted.

“If you’ll each check your messages, you’ll find the team rosters,” Juliette announced, her voice dripping with satisfaction, her attention momentarily fixed on Strider.

And that’s when Kaia realized the cold, hard truth. Rage nearly sent her flying onto that stage. Steady, calm. That’s what Juliette wants. What else she wanted? Strider. Clearly the bitch had been waiting for the day Kaia found her own consort, most likely planning to take him away the same way Kaia had once taken hers.

Fan-fucking-tastic. How had word already leaked when she and Strider weren’t officially an item? And damn it all, an uncommitted Strider would be easy prey. The rage mutated into fear, and bile rose in her throat, threatening to spill out.

Strider and Juliette … Juliette, who hadn’t slept with Paris … twined together, naked, writhing, moaning, begging …

Oh, gods. Concentrate on the here and now. Everything else could be dealt with later. Maybe. If she continued down that thought path, she would attack someone—namely Juliette and Strider—or break down. Neither was an acceptable option.

Trembling, Kaia withdrew her phone from her back pocket, scrolled and quickly found a text. Only, she wasn’t listed on Team Skyhawk. Her sisters weren’t, either. “I don’t understand.”

“Mother claims she no longer has any daughters,” Taliyah said. “Which means we cannot compete as Skyhawks. I had to petition the council to start a new clan. Once that was taken care of, we were in.”

No reaction. She would give no reaction. She wasn’t dying inside. She wasn’t. “Then what’s our new team name?” The answer appeared on her screen before she could finish. Team Kaia. Her sisters, as well as Neeka and a few others, were competing on Team Kaia.

For a moment, her surroundings faded, as did her hurt, and she basked in her sisters’ unflinching support. They loved her. No matter what, they loved her. They accepted her. They thought she was good enough, just as she was. Then the world spun back into focus, and she had to blink against the burn of tears.

Damn it. How many times would she have to battle the urge to sob today?

“The first competition begins bright and early tomorrow morning,” Juliette went on. “Afterward, everyone will be notified of exactly where the next competition is taking place. As you know, we no longer host the games in one location because previous contestants rigged and sabotaged them ahead of time.” Even though Kaia hadn’t been responsible—hello, she hadn’t been invited—Juliette tossed the words at her.

Whatever. Her spine snapped straighter, as though anchored in place by steel rods.

Strider’s hand settled on her lower back, warm and steady, comforting. Sizzling. Sweet heaven, her surroundings faded once again, until only the two of them existed. She imagined his mouth replacing his hand, his tongue licking, trailing lower. A gasp escaped her.

Get yourself under control. If she got “the wrong idea” about something as innocent as a pat, he’d take off, as promised. Like she could blame him. Had the situation been reversed, she would have done the same.

Deep down, they were just alike. Warriors honed on the field of battle, sharp as a dagger, cynical, willing to do anything for their friends. And on some level, they were friends. Had been since the first. He might not want to be here, but he didn’t want her to get hurt, either. So he’d come; he would help her. But he wouldn’t let her push for more. As long as she maintained an emotional distance, he would stay. Would be her “medicine cabinet.”

As pissed off and hurting as she was, she was also grateful.

“Something else is also new this year,” Juliette continued, pulling Kaia from her thoughts. “The prize. This time around, the winners will not receive silver and gold after each competition.”

“What?” someone shouted.

“That’s why we’re here!” another growled.

Juliette held up her hands, a command for silence. A command that was instantly obeyed. “This year, we have something better.”

Amid questioning murmurs, the curtain at the side of the stage parted. And then—Kaia’s mouth dropped open. No way. No damn way. The “slave” she’d tried to acquire all those centuries ago, the one who’d wreaked such havoc on the Harpy clans, strode to Juliette’s side. He was chained at the wrists, just as before. He was more muscled now, his dark hair longer, but his features were still sharp, stubborn.

“Dear gods. Is that him?” Bianka gasped out.

“Yeah,” she managed to squeak. No one had told her that Juliette had found him. When had she found him? Where? “That’s him.”

“Him who?” Strider demanded.

At first, Kaia thought she detected a note of jealousy in his tone, and it was such a loverlike response she wanted to kiss him deep and dirty. Strip him down to nothing more than skin and a smile. She wanted to ride him hard, fast and forever. All mine. Then common sense punched her right in the jaw. He might be jealous, but not in any way that mattered. Strider had decided to help her, and his demon would allow no one to interfere. Especially not another warrior.

Part of her resented that. The other part of her really resented that. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Meds? He’s no one you need to concern yourself with.”

“Kaia,” he snapped.

“Hush it, would you?” She couldn’t tell him the truth. Still didn’t want him to know of her past foolishness, when he already thought so little of her. “You’re making me look bad in front of my team.”

“Kaia.”

“Fine. I’ll explain later,” she lied.

A tense pause. Then, “You’d better.”

“Or else?”

“Yeah.”

Her nemesis—the man she’d searched for over the years, determined to punish for what he’d done to her sister, but had never found—now held a long, thin spear. Its thicker, oblong tips were comprised of glass, something glowing and twirling inside them.

Power, so much power, radiated from that spear.

Juliette claimed the weapon without a word of thanks. The man—his name, she had long ago learned, was Lazarus, though she and Bianka had nicknamed him The Tampon for being such a douche—spun on his booted heels. His dark gaze moved over the crowd … searching … before snagging on Kaia. He stopped, stared.

Oxygen froze in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. No damn reaction, she thought. Not here, not now. Later, though, she would seek him out. She would hurt him as she’d always wanted.

Slowly he grinned. So handsome … so coldly evil. She hissed, her fangs popping free of her gums. You’re dead, cowboy. He belonged to Juliette, yes, and everyone clearly blamed Kaia rather than him for what he had done to their loved ones. And yeah, they blamed her with good reason. Had she done as she’d been told, he wouldn’t have had the strength to harm anyone. But he had been the one to rip through flesh, with his teeth, his claws. He had been the one to render those deathblows.

He would be the one to pay—by Kaia’s hand.

Every time she had sent a fruit basket to Juliette, she had referenced the past—but in her mind, she had offered the apology because of what she planned do in the future. She was going to kill him. No one hurt her sisters. No one.

“Forget later. Him, the fuck, who?” Strider demanded again.

Before she could think up a reply, the Tampon kicked back into gear, exited the stage, and was once again hidden behind the curtain. Smart of him. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could have refrained from flying at him.

When she went for him, it would be in private. No one there to save him.

“Later,” she repeated.

“This,” Juliette said, drawing everyone’s attention to the spear in her hands, “is very, very precious. Far more so than silver or gold.” Her lavender gaze locked on Kaia. “I’m sure you’ve sensed its power, but what you don’t know? That power can be transferred to you. You can wield it, control it. You’ll be stronger than you ever imagined. You’ll be invincible.”

Murmurs abounded.

If what Juliette claimed was true, why hadn’t she transferred the powers to herself? Why hadn’t she struck at Kaia already? Why was she so willing, so eager to give the thing away?

Juliette flashed an indulgent smile. “Throughout the centuries, the gods have called this mighty weapon the Paring Rod. I, however, have a better name for it. First prize.”

Strider stiffened.

Sabin cursed.

Both men would have leapt on the stage if Taliyah and Neeka hadn’t held them back. The action proved unnecessary, however, because the weapon disappeared in a blink, in Juliette’s hand one minute, gone the next.

“What the hell?” Kaia, Gwen and Bianka asked in unison.

Kaia peeled her sister’s hands off her man and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to focus on her. “What’s going on?”

“First prize,” Strider gritted out. “It’s the fourth artifact. The one we need to help us find and destroy Pandora’s box.”

“Which means first prize,” Sabin finished bleakly, “has the power to wipe us out. Forever.”




CHAPTER SIX


HOW THE HOLY HELL HAD this happened?

Strider paced the length of the dingy motel room, the ice in his veins making his movements sluggish. His boots hammered into the shaggy brown carpet, creating a well-worn path.

Kaia was perched on top of the TV, watching him, her expression concerned. Her long, smooth legs were crossed at the ankles and swinging, banging into the screen every other second. A little faster, and she would have matched the thump, thump





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