by Addison Fox
Without warning, Magnus’s words from the evening before hit an uncomfortable chord in her mind.
Life changes, Em. People change. Times change. And if you don’t change with it, you’re nothing but a dinosaur.
While her brother’s mysterious behavior and harsh judgment didn’t make for a great welcome home, his words had churned something up she couldn’t shake. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite discredit the feelings.
“You okay?” Drake’s whispered words floated over her, drawing her attention back to the kitchen and the sudden realization a fight was brewing between Grey and Quinn.
“I am. But”—she pointed toward the woman standing next to Grey—“she looks like she’s had her fill.”
Slipping off her chair, Emerson moved toward the doe-eyed woman who clutched Grey’s hand. “Come on and sit down.”
“They look pretty angry.”
Emerson waved a hand, conjuring a breezy attitude she didn’t quite feel. “They’re just barking at each other. It’s a pretty regular occurrence.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
Grey broke off his argument with Quinn as his gaze snapped toward the woman. “You refused to cooperate.”
“You kidnapped her?” Emerson felt the shock straight to her toes. Grey had always seemed like the levelheaded one.
“No.”
Emerson turned toward the woman. “Did he?”
“Not exactly. But he’s not crazy about letting me leave, either.”
Grey’s normally cool head and even cooler voice rose a notch as he watched them take seats at the raised butcher-block table. “Look, Finley. If you were more susceptible, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Susceptible?” Finley’s mouth dropped. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re too smart for your own damn good.”
Before she could say anything, Drake stepped between his Warrior brothers. “You two need to calm down. Quinn. I’m sure there’s a very good reason Grey brought her here.”
“There is,” the Aries quickly added.
“Then out with it.”
Callie set a plate and cream cheese in front of Finley and pointed to the bagels. “Eat. You look about to fall over. And you can ignore the ‘susceptible’ comment. None of the women in this house are what anyone would call shy and retiring.” She shot Grey a dark look. “Or susceptible.”
“You’re not helping, Cal,” Grey shot back as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
As the testosterone continued to roll through the room in crashing waves, Emerson piped up. “Look, could someone do a quick recap for those of us trying to catch up?”
“Only if you tell us how you got a shiner,” Quinn interjected.
Drake got everyone up to speed on their park incident while Quinn fired a series of questions. “Phobos asked about the apple? How’s he involved in this? Did Eris borrow him from Enyo?”
“No idea.”
Emerson tried piecing the names together. She knew Enyo from the incident last year with Kane and Ilsa, but Eris was a new one. “Who’s Eris?”
“Wait.” Finley spoke up, her interest clearly piqued. “Enyo and Eris are characters in Greek mythology. Are you somehow suggesting they’re real?”
“Yes.” Grey’s tone was firm.
“But it’s not possible.”
The implacable tone didn’t let up. “A lot of things that have happened to you in the last twenty-four hours haven’t been possible, but they happened.”
“This is why you brought me here?” Finley looked around the table at the assembled group. Emerson was pleased to see the level of fright in her eyes had diminished, with rising anger rapidly taking its place.
“Until we figure out what’s going on, I want to keep an eye on you.” Emerson knew all of the guys could be hard-asses when needed, but Grey’s attitude was unrelenting.
Before any of them could interject, Grey added, “And before you all make me out to be the bad guy, Finley should be frightened. You all should. There’s some serious shit brewing and I’m convinced the apple’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
“Eris won’t rest until she has it back.” Drake’s green eyes were thoughtful. “The incident in the park this morning made that abundantly clear.”
Quinn spoke, his voice far calmer than his earlier shouting match with Grey. “Then we need to draw her out. Just like we’ve done to her sister.”
Eris handed Phobos another towel as he dabbed at his face. The burn marks were healing, but it did nothing for his attitude, which was getting more riled by the minute.
“She burned me, Aunt Eris.” That incessant shifting from foot to foot was worse as his body healed, the nervous motion even more annoying than usual.
“I can see that. But you still haven’t told me who you think she is.” Eris had her suspicions—her sister had mentioned a witch who had paired up with the Warriors last year—but she hadn’t realized the woman had stayed so chummy with the guys. Or one guy in particular, based on her nephew’s report of the woman who tossed fire having been out running with the Pisces.
Could it really be that easy? The witch next door?
“I don’t know, but she’s got some power behind her.”
“Did you get any information on the apple?” In the midst of planning her assignation with Rogan it had seemed like a good idea to send Phobos to deal with the situation. Now she was paying for her folly.
“No. The fish played dumb.”
“He’s the Pisces Warrior.”
More hopping. “He’s a smelly, oily fish to me.”
She held back the sigh, knowing full well it was her own fault the morning hadn’t been a success. Maybe it was time to bring out her new weapon. Although she was loath to use her new toy too often, the old tricks in her arsenal were increasingly ineffective as the Warriors fought with the spoils of technology and the basic battle benefit of knowing thy enemy.
It had been like this more and more over the last century and a half. Technology had added a new dimension to their battle that neither side could have anticipated.
On one hand, her ability to create discord was easier than ever. Internet viruses were a personal favorite, but even some basic innuendo and rumor could cause untold problems as it flew through the human world like wildfire.
Of course, it also gave the Warriors a distinct advantage, as everything could be tracked and accounted for.
What a dilemma.
Phobos had shifted to pace the room, the mumbled sounds of “smelly, oily fish” rumbling from his chest at regular intervals.
“He likes her, you know.”
Eris looked up from her own pacing to stare at her nephew. “What’s that?”
“The fish. He really likes her.”
“Well, of course he does. He’s a man and she’s a woman.”
“Not just the sex kind of like, Aunt Eris. He looooves her.”
Now this was something she could use. “What makes you think so?”
Phobos stopped and cocked his head, not all that unlike a snake when staring down its charmer. “He looks at her like he loves her. And he touches her like he loves her. And he protected her.”
“He’s a protector. That’s his job.”
“I know what I saw. The smelly, oily fish has a girlfriend.”
Eris watched Phobos resume his maniacal dancing around her living room, the towel still pressed to his face, and let a new idea spin its web in her mind’s eye.
“You don’t need to walk me home. I live next door.” Emerson stood in the front foyer of the Warriors’ brownstone, full of that awkward feeling one gets when finishing up a first date. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she kept folding and unfolding them, then finally gave up and made fists at her sides.
Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? And what was there to be nervous about?
She’d been sleeping with Drake for almost a year. She k
new what each and every luscious inch of his body looked like and had bared hers in return.
There was nothing to be nervous about.
“No one thought we’d be attacked in broad daylight in the park, either. Humor me.” He reached for the door, any sign he felt as awkward nowhere in evidence.
“Seriously, Drake. It’s like a fifteen-second walk to my front door. You can stand here and watch me.”
Drake ignored her, just planted that Zen-like smile he was so damn good at and took her elbow. They descended the heavy stone steps that flanked the front of Warrior Central and, in less than her estimated fifteen seconds, ascended a matched set on the front of her house.
Before she could react, Drake had her pinned against her front door, his lips covering hers with heat and need as the morning air swirled around them.
Emerson wanted to protest—wanted to push him out of her personal space and draw a few deep breaths to center herself—but instead found herself kissing him back, her hands fisting in the soft material of his T-shirt where it bunched at his waist. On a sigh, she gave herself up to the power of what lived and breathed between them.
What she was helpless to resist, no matter how many times she told herself she should walk away.
Hands firm on her body, his fingers played at the top of the waistband of her shorts, the light scrape of his nails on her skin sending rivers of pleasure coursing through her nerve endings. Drake’s lips moved over hers, urgent and unyielding as he plied her tongue with his. The kiss was hot and carnal and utterly possessive and she was rapidly losing brain cells.
Lifting his head, the gold that mixed with the green in his eyes dominated. With gentle fingers, he traced the line of her cheekbone, his gaze following the path of his touch. “I’m so sorry they hurt you.”
Emerson swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. “Like I told you, I’m fine.”
“There’s a mark on you.”
“It’ll heal. I’ll put ice on it,” she added with a wry smile.
His large body still loomed over her, covering her from view of the street.
In protection?
Possession?
Regardless of the reason, she found she couldn’t resist the deeply feminine yearning caused by the nearness of his body. Couldn’t stop the need that gripped her low in the belly as desire quickly replaced every other feeling—every other thought—inside of her.
“Come up—”
The thought—to invite him upstairs—was cut off by the opening of the door at her back. If she hadn’t been holding on so tightly to Drake’s waist, she’d have fallen back through it.
“Isn’t this sweet?” Magnus drawled.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Drake added, his normally easygoing tone as hard as the acre of chest under her fingers.
“I’d say I’m right on time. Especially since my sister’s put herself on display for the entire neighborhood to see.”
“It’s none of your business, Magnus.” Even as she said it, Emerson slipped from Drake’s arms and took a few steps back. “I’m not fifteen.”
“You’re acting like it, making out on the front porch.”
“Just how long were you standing there spying on us?” She whirled on him, unwilling to continue the fight with her back to her brother.
“I wasn’t—” It was Magnus’s turn to break off midsentence as he caught sight of her face. “What the hell happened to you?”
Before she could stop him, he’d squeezed past her and was on top of Drake, the two of them perilously close to the edge of the steps.
“Magnus!” She hollered his name a few more times to get his attention, to no avail. “Magnus! He didn’t hurt me. Would you just listen to me?”
The two men continued to battle on the small area of the front stoop, their well-matched footing keeping one from getting the better of the other.
With a move reminiscent of their backyard battles as children, Emerson waited for the optimal moment she knew would come as the two men continued to trade position in the small area. On a heavy grunt, Drake went in low with a shoulder to Magnus’s stomach and it was that move—and her brother’s clumsy stumble on his back foot—that gave her the opening she needed.
She flew onto his back, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a maniacal monkey who wouldn’t let go. “Leave him alone, Magnus! Drake didn’t do this to me.”
Her brother continued to struggle, but Drake stood down, taking a few steps backward to give her brother room to calm down.
“Em! Get the fuck off of me!”
“Not until you listen.” She was tempted to slam a hand to his ear to cuff him, but held back at the last minute. “I’m okay. Drake didn’t hurt me.” When she felt his back muscles relax slightly under her thighs, she added, “Are you calm enough to let me explain?”
“Yeah.” He patted her ankle. “Come on. Get off, okay?”
She slid from his back, but kept a hand on his chest to hold him still.
“Em. Come on. I’m done.”
“Then say you’re sorry.”
“Are you kidding me?” Magnus’s mouth dropped in a shocked O of surprise.
Drake came back up the stairs, his hand extended to Magnus. “Come on, Emerson. It’s fine. I’d have done the same.”
She watched the male byplay as a series of self-righteous emotions flitted across her brother’s face until resignation took the place of all of them. He extended a hand. “Sorry.”
She watched as the two men clasped hands, but it was Drake’s words that stopped her cold. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”
Magnus nodded and went to pull his hand back, but Drake’s grip stayed firm.
“Ever.”
Chapter Eight
Drake left Emerson’s house and retraced their morning run, his body hard and uncomfortable. The feel of her in his arms was still imprinted on his nervous system and he could only hope the walk—and the focus on figuring out why they were attacked—would do something to calm him down.
Fuck, but he wanted to go destroy something.
The attack that morning had left him with far too much to think about and any way he twisted and turned the facts, he had only more questions.
The apple and Phobos’s sudden appearance.
They had to be related.
But Emerson wasn’t involved, so why was she the target?
He entered the park and the area where they’d met up with Enyo’s demonic nephew. Central Park was far more crowded now, late morning, than it had been when they took their run. The city’s refuge was one of its most well-used recreational areas.
Yet Phobos had selected the park in broad daylight to launch his attack.
Although humans were sometimes collateral damage in the endless fight between Mount Olympus’s immortals, all of them—regardless of their goals—knew getting onto humanity’s radar wouldn’t benefit any of them.
So they fought in the shadows, the power plays of the gods kept as far away from human knowledge as possible.
Drake slowed as he neared the rock formation, his gaze scanning the path leading to it as well as the grass surrounding the area. Although the entire park was open to public view, the way the path twisted through here did offer a bit of seclusion, especially if the actions of the attacker were swift and decisive.
Which they most definitely were this morning.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the oily fish man. Back to the scene of the crime?” Phobos came around the edge of the rocks, his smile the sort of maniacal leer that filled children’s nightmares. The burned skin on his face was a vicious red where it stretched across his cheeks, still healing from Emerson’s earlier handiwork.
“I could say the same for you.”
“Your girlfriend burned me.” The leer downshifted into a definite pout.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“You’re a lying, oily fish man.” Phobos moved forward, his eyes shifting with calculating curiosity. “Very i
nteresting.”
Drake kept his attention fully locked on Phobos while he allowed his senses to reach out and probe the surrounding area. The joined fish on his back twitched their tails on high alert, but other than the threat standing before him, Drake couldn’t find anything waiting in the wings.
Which really was too bad.
Phobos shifted from foot to foot, but kept his distance. “Since she has the power of fire, I say she’s a witch.”
“Fine”—Drake shrugged—“say it.”
“Yep. And she’s your girlfriend, too. I know people having sex when I see it. You’ve got that look in your eye each and every time I bring her up. And you definitely had it in your eye before.”
Uncomfortable with the course of the conversation and just how close to the truth Phobos actually was, Drake shifted strategy, wondering if he could use the moment to his advantage and get the little worm talking. “She’s a beautiful woman. A body like that, a man looks.”
“It’s the sex look.” Phobos nodded his head knowingly, far from put off by Drake’s nonchalant agreement. “My aunt thinks I don’t know about those things, but, oh boy, do I.”
Not for the first time did Drake have to acknowledge the beings that populated Mount Olympus were just as deranged—just as fucked up—as humans. They simply had more inherent power at their disposal.
“Clearly you’ve made a study of it.”
“She thinks I don’t know, but I do.” He hopped again. “I do, I do, I do, oily fish man.”
“So tell me why Enyo sent you. What does she want?”
A sharp peal of laughter rang out as the crazy little fucker doubled over at the waist. “You think you know so much.”
Gods, this was a pointless waste of time. Phobos was a tool—literally and figuratively. He didn’t know anything beyond the orders he’d been given.
The temptation to port home was strong, but Drake decided to wait it out a little longer. “Since you’re the one who walked away with your ass kicked this morning, I’d say I’m not doing half-bad.”
“This morning was only the beginning. She knows you have the apple and she knows what you value. You won’t win.”
“The apple isn’t Enyo’s. She’s got enough of her own tools without worrying about her sister’s apple.”