Reborn Series Box Set (Books 1-3.5)

by S. L. Stacy

  “Wha…” His eyes flutter open. “Apate.” I also love the way he says my name, like one might plead for water after a week-long stint in the desert.

  “I’m here, my beautiful boy.” I skim my hands up and down the length of his body, then along the shaft standing at attention, long and stiff and ready for me. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I…” His hazel eyes, still bleary with sleep, open a little wider. He squirms, noticing the rope for the first time. In response to the sudden movement, the rope squeezes further, hissing. Jimmy winces.

  “Don’t move,” I remind him. “It only makes it worse.” It’s a special kind of rope, a little something I brought with me from Olympus. It requires no special knots; the ends seal together on their own. If you try to cut it, it heals itself immediately. The material also secretes an acidic substance, hence the hissing and burning. Perfect for everything from torturing bad guys, to simply kicking things up a notch in the boudoir. Pretty handy stuff.

  Despite my warning, Jimmy groans, struggling against the restraints. My pussy throbs.

  “Can’t we do it one time without this?” he asks me, eyes flicking to where his arms are stretched out above his head. “It feels like I’ve plunged my hands into a vat of fire ants. Not sexy.”

  “What would you prefer?” I take him in my hand, almost absent-mindedly stroking up and down his cock. “Handcuffs? Chains? I wouldn’t mind chaining you up in the basement and whipping that gorgeous ass of yours.”

  “The basement? That’s where we practice.” “We” is Jimmy’s punk rock band, Search and Destroy. “It’s a sacred space.” Still, the ghost of a smile toys with the corner of his mouth. “The rope is fine. For now.”

  I smile. “Good. Good boy.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not a little boy. Or a dog.”

  “Sorry. Good Jimmy.” Lifting my hips, I angle them, lowering myself onto his thick shaft. As he fills me, I gasp. His breath hitches, too, and he lets out a gruff little moan.

  Riding him, I come, fast and hard. Over and over.

  Chapter 2

  “I knew you were trouble”

  Saturday, 10:00 a.m.

  Still Jimmy’s bed

  I just jumped right into that, didn’t I? Sorry. Let me back up here for a second.

  And sorry if that came off as a little bit…well, crude. Brazen. I know you’re more used to Princess Blondie’s narration, and that she probably doesn’t start off her mornings with a good old fashioned, mind-blowing fuck. I’m sure she wakes up, dons a frilly pink dress and big floppy hat, and goes frolicking in a meadow, collecting wildflowers in a basket and singing to forest creatures.

  Ugh. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

  My name is Apate, and I’m not from around here. “Here” being Earth. My twin brother and I are from a planet called Olympus. Back in the day, puny humans (like you) used to worship us as gods. Sigh. Those were the days.

  Back then, we could travel freely between our universe and yours. Until a thorn-in-my-ass named Nike and her followers put up walls between our worlds, preventing us from “interfering” with your development as a civilization. Which is such bullshit. Without us, you’d still be hobbling around in some cave somewhere, drawing stick figures on the walls. For a long time, there was no…well, there was very little contact between Olympus and Earth. At least as far as I know.

  Then I met an Olympian who wanted to change all of that.

  Ares had a plan to reawaken the halflings—humans who are part Olympian—and build an army of them that would overthrow the king and queen who have ruled our world for as long as anyone can remember. He hired me to help him. And by hired me to help him, I mean kept my brother prisoner to force me to do his dirty work for him.

  In a nutshell, that’s how I ended up on this little blue-green-white marble you call home.

  And how I ended up cocooned in a bed of dark blue flannel sheets next to a twenty-something musician/bartender from Small Town, USA…is another story. He works over at this bar in Greenview (its owner is one of us, Olympian), and he also happens to be Princess Blondie’s ex, from like a bajillion years ago. Oh, and PB’s real name is Siobhan, and she’s Eros’s (the boss’s son) long-lost soulmate. It’s a whole thing.

  Okay. I think you’re all caught up now.

  If you didn’t get all of that, about Ares and Eros and PB, it’s fine. Really. This story isn’t about them. It’s about me.

  As it should be.

  And maybe it’s a little about Jimmy, too. I shift my head on the pillow so I can watch him dozing peacefully beside me, spent from our morning workout session. One of his arms is stretched out across the bed, the other tucked around the back of my shoulders. His breaths come out in deep, rhythmic bursts, fluttering the tips of eyelashes much longer than I’ve seen on most men. I love them. They lend some gentleness to his otherwise strong, chiseled features, soften his rough edges.

  “Hey.” Hazel eyes peep at me from underneath those too-thick lashes. Calloused knuckles brush the back of my shoulder.

  “Hey, yourself.” I smile. Around Jimmy, I can’t seem to do anything but. It’s like my mouth has a mind of its own. I can’t decide if I like or resent that. It probably looks like I’m beaming at him, a schoolgirl crushing hard. Adoring him. Maybe I am, a little. “I like watching you sleep.”

  He laughs softly. “You’re weird. Hot…but weird.” Reaching over, he uses his fingers to smooth some of my hair back, but when he goes to cup the side of my cheek, I flinch, pulling back.

  “Oh, come on, Pat.” His fingertips lightly trail through my hair. “You never let me just…touch you.”

  My smile falters. “You had your arm around me a few seconds ago.”

  “You know what I mean. Like this.” He skims a finger down the side of my face, and this time I let him, holding myself stiffly so that I don’t pull away. “Or like this.” His hand ventures lower, caressing my collarbone, then the curve of my breast.

  “It just feels very…intimate,” I admit. A small shiver goes through me, both from excitement in response to his light but pleasurable touch and from nerves.

  Jimmy rolls his eyes. “The dominatrix who’s afraid of real intimacy. You’re kind of a walking stereotype, you know that?” I shrug. He starts rolling my nipple with his thumb, making me shudder. When the thumb hesitates, I let out a frustrated moan, startling myself.

  “If you want me to stop, just say the word,” he tells me. “But I want you to know you can trust me. You’re safe with me.” His eyes hold mine for a moment that feels like an eternity. “I love you, Apate.”

  I’m not sure I believe him, at least about the love part, but there’s that damn smile breaking out on my face again. “Don’t stop,” I insist, inching closer to him, tasting his lips with mine. He groans, and if it bothers him I haven’t said I love you back, he doesn’t show it as he gently kneads one of my breasts, then the other, with a warm, confident hand.

  “Mmmmm,” I gasp between kisses, his fingers traveling lower, tentatively exploring the slick, pulsing heat pooling between my thighs. “Your hands are amazing.”

  He chuckles. “Which you probably would have discovered sooner if you hadn’t kept tying them up all the time.” With that, he begins to stroke me, as expertly and effortlessly as he plays the guitar. Even after a morning already full of orgasms, it only takes seconds of this for me to climax. When I’m done, he pulls me into him, holding me close as I come down from my high.

  He’s good. No, dammit, he’s fantastic. What the fuck? A human should not be this good in bed. Damn. If I wasn’t in trouble before, I definitely am now. I’m not sure I love him back, but I know I like him.

  I really, really like him.

  Chapter 3

  “I don’t think you can handle this!”

  11:02 a.m.

  Jimmy’s kitchen

  “Coffee?”

  I scowl. “No, thanks.”

  Jimmy shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He punches a butt
on on the Keurig. The coffee maker rumbles, and brown liquid streams into his Pink Floyd mug, filling the kitchen with a sharp, bitter smell.

  “Tea?” Two halves of a bagel pop out of the toaster. Plucking them up, he drops them onto a paper plate. “Anything?”

  “A shot of tequila.” When Jimmy pauses, meeting my gaze over his shoulder, I give him an expectant smile.

  He chuckles, shakes his head. “It’s not even noon.”

  “Luckily, I don’t let social constructs of time dictate when I’m ready to start drinking.”

  “Well, we don’t have any tequila,” he adds, setting his bagel and coffee on the kitchen table, “but how about a mimosa and a bagel?”

  “Perfect.” I grin. “Thanks, boo.”

  As Jimmy busies himself toasting another bagel, I get up from the table, going over to the window. It’s cracked open, a cool breeze fluttering the lemon yellow curtains pulled across it. They must be his sister’s feeble attempt to dress up what is otherwise the quintessential bachelor pad. What is it the humans say? Putting lipstick on a pig.

  Pushing aside one of the panels, I peek outside. “What’s Anna up to these days?”

  There’s a pause in the commotion behind me. “No clue,” Jimmy admits. I hear him open a drawer, the contents inside clattering as he searches around for something. “You’d probably know more about what my sister’s up to than I would.”

  “How the hell would I know?” I ask without turning around. The morning is dreary and drizzly. A steel gray sky looms over the neighborhood, the lawns and sidewalks still slick from last night’s downpour. If you look at the right angle, you can see a misty sort of rain still falling from the sky, a gentle but steady onslaught.

  “Well, she’s dating your boss.” The drawer bangs shut. Jeez. Touchy.

  I pretend to consider what he’s just said. “Now that I think about it, I believe I did see her at our last evil meeting of evil doers.”

  “Ha, ha. Okay, so I guess you haven’t seen her around, either. Sorry. Now, stop looking out the window like a nosy old lady and come eat breakfast.”

  “I’m coming.” I say the words but remain glued to the window. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A chill that has nothing to do with the rain-soaked air snakes through me.

  Someone is watching the house.

  Apprehension sits in my stomach like a lead weight. I look up and down the street, but it’s mostly empty. An older couple walks their dog under the cover of a big black umbrella. Across the street, a police car idles, two figures sitting inside, its flashers off.

  Taking a calming breath, I extend my senses outward. Olympian intuition is much more acute than a human’s (no offense). It’s like a sixth sense, if you will. Everyone has a unique energy signature. We can read it. So, if Ares has followed me here, I would know. I don’t detect him, though, or any other familiar threats nearby.

  My eyes go to the cop car again. I’m not picking up hostile vibes from its occupants, either.

  Still…

  “Pat?” Metal clinks as Jimmy plunks some silverware onto the table. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say quickly. Probably a bit too quickly. “Of course.” I turn, letting the curtain fall back into place. When I sit down, a yummy-looking, toasted sesame bagel and a glass flute filled with sparkling orange juice are waiting for me. “There’s a cop car across the street.” I try to keep my tone casual, spooning some blackberry jam onto the bagel.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m not sure what the situation is, but they’re over at our neighbors’ a lot.” Opening a container of cream cheese, he begins smearing big globs of it onto his bagel. I watch the entire process, one eyebrow raised.

  Noticing me watching him, Jimmy’s knife pauses. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. Just think you should probably go a little easy with the cream cheese.” I shrug.

  Ignoring me, he resumes slathering it on. “Are you condiment-shaming me?”

  “You’ll get chubs,” I warn him. “I don’t date fatties.”

  “I didn’t realize you considered tying me to the bed every time we have sex and never going out anywhere or being seen together ‘dating.’ And what the hell is that?” He thrusts a cream cheese coated knife in the direction of my bagel. “Would you like some bagel with that jelly?”

  “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.” With a wink, I lick the rest of the jam off my spoon.

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “If you want to be a convincing human, you might want to work on updating your pop culture references.”

  “Says the guy whose entire album collection stops at 1979.” I take a big bite of bagel. “I’m not trying to sound human,” I add around my food. “I just like Destiny’s Child.” As any rational being would. Swallowing, I chase everything down with a swig of mimosa. “And, for the record, I would go out on a date with you, you know. If you asked me.”

  “A date.” He sounds like I’ve just told him I saw Bigfoot lumbering around outside his house. “Like dinner, and maybe a movie, out…” Faltering, he waves a hand as though indicating the world at large. “…in public. Where other people might see us.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” I say with an eye roll. “Come on. It’s not such a bad idea.” Is it?

  “No. No,” Jimmy repeats, face getting all serious. Setting the knife down, he ducks behind his mug, taking a long sip of coffee. “I think it would be…nice. I just wasn’t expecting you to want to…I feel like hell is freezing over. Or the Underworld?” he suddenly asks me, quirking an eyebrow. “Like the Underworld is freezing over?”

  “Huh?” What the hell is he babbling about? He opens his mouth to continue, but an urgent pounding at the front door makes us both jump.

  “Expecting anyone?” I wonder, thinking back to that weird feeling of being watched I had only moments ago. Jimmy shakes his head.

  “Nope. I’ll go see who it is.” Chair scraping back over the floor, he stands up and turns, heading for the foyer. I get up, too, but something tells me to hang back until we know who it is. Keeping close to the wall, I peek around the side of the kitchen door.

  “Are you James Wallace?” A man’s voice booms across the foyer. Although Jimmy’s silhouette is mostly blocking my view of the visitor, I glimpse a dark blue uniform, a pair of shiny black shoes.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jimmy says uncertainly. He stumbles back as the man steps further inside. Oh, shit. It’s a cop. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Officer Sloane. This here is Officer Rodriguez.” As he says it, a second cop strolls inside. Sloane is tall and much younger than his booming voice let on, with a pale, freckled face and red hair. His partner, Rodriguez, is shorter than him but solidly built. With high cheekbones and thick, dark hair that’s gathered back into a ponytail, she’s pretty, although the deep frown on her face suggests she’ll shoot you if you tell her that. “We wanted to ask if you’ve seen your friend Siobhan Elliot recently.”

  Chapter 4

  “Karma came around like I knew it would”

  “Siobhan?” Jimmy repeats, surprised. “Actually, no. I haven’t. Why? Is something wrong?”

  I flatten myself against the wall, willing myself to disappear inside of it. Shit. They’re here about Princess Blondie? Seriously? Why can’t Jimmy or one of his housemates have drugs or something?

  Although I’m no longer watching them, I imagine Sloane nodding, hands fisted on his narrow hips. “Her parents called campus police this morning. They haven’t heard from her in a couple of days, which is unusual for her. We’re checking in with all of her friends first to see if anyone might know where she is.”

  “The next step is filing a missing person’s report,” Rodriguez cautions. “So, if you have anything to tell us, young man, the time is now.”

  “You mean like how I have her locked up in the basement?” Jimmy’s tone could dissolve steel. From the ensuing silence, his sarcasm goes over just about as well as you’d expect.

  Heaving
a sigh, I roll my eyes and step out into the foyer.

  “Jimmy, you can stop covering for me,” I call out, marching up to them. Both officers give a start of surprise, but their expressions remain impassive as they turn toward me. Jimmy’s eyes, on the other hand, practically bug out of his head when he sees me. So much for his poker face. I guess I can’t really blame him for being startled. The face I’m showing the cops isn’t my own, of course, but Siobhan’s, pin-straight blonde hair, violet eyes, and all.

  Each Olympian has a special power. For me and my twin brother, it’s the power of illusion. We’re able to make others, human and Olympian alike, see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything we want. Which means I can make Sloane and Rodriguez think they’re seeing their missing girl instead of the real me.

  “Siobhan.” Sloane crosses his arms, giving me a stern look. “You gave your parents quite a scare. Care to explain where you’ve been the last few days?”

  I don’t think Siobhan owes Carrot Top here any explanation, but Jimmy’s already ruffled their feathers enough for one day. “I know,” I say, biting my lower lip. “I should have called or texted them. I’ve just been super busy with school and everything. You know?”

  “No, we don’t know.” His partner works her jaw as she studies me, her brow furrowed. “Your sorority sister, Carly, said she hadn’t seen you for several days, either. She was acting strangely, almost panicked, but then told us you were staying at your boyfriend’s.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” My eyes flick meaningfully to Jimmy and back again.

  Rodriguez cocks an eyebrow. “She told us your boyfriend’s name is Jasper.”

  “It is.” I smile, although my teeth are gritted. “I’m dating them both. What can I say? I’m a huge slut.” Jimmy brings a hand to his mouth, heaving a cough that sounds a lot like Overdoing it. “If Carly thought I was at Jasper’s, what brought you here?”