by Addison Fox
Maybe she wouldn’t come back.
She shot a quick text to the security detail Quinn had assigned her and Matthew texted back he’d meet her in front of the building. The man had made no secret of his dislike of waiting that far away from her, but even Grey had agreed she didn’t need to tip anyone in the DA’s office off by running around with her new accessory in tow.
Committing the file to a thumb drive, she shook her head, surprised and saddened by the discovery all over again.
Melanie Claridge.
It had been Melanie all along, even after Finley’d dismissed her possible involvement several times.
They’d started in the DA’s office at the same time, both fresh out of law school and eager to make their mark on the city’s legal system. Where had Melanie gone so wrong?
Quinn had run the information remotely and sent it to her, the results as clear as water. The woman had a series of case files saved to the personal drive of her computer that she’d not worked on. On their own, none were incriminating. But when looked at in aggregate, it had been immediately evident she’d focused on researching the Gavelli crime family.
From there, Quinn had quickly dug through the layers of her files, including sorting through all the personal e-mails she’d sent from her work machine. If you put aside the stupidity of that one, the rest of what she’d done had been surprisingly crafty. Not to mention deeply disappointing.
And all for a man, Finley thought with no small layer of disgust.
Melanie had taken up with Gavelli’s eldest son. Franco Gavelli Jr. was next in line to run the family business and had built up an impressive set of scores all on his own. He ran the family’s drug trade and had evidently put his MBA to good use, streamlining their money laundering into a new art form.
Finley grabbed her purse and took the stairs the two floors to the lobby. She saw Matthew through the revolving front door and felt an odd sense of relief at his presence. Breezing through the doors, she took a deep breath and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
She’d get some food and fresh air, and then she’d figure out what to do.
No, correct that, she thought. She’d work with Grey and Quinn and the others and they’d figure out what to do.
She had backup now. People she trusted.
The sounds of the city surrounded her as she headed down the block toward the deli she loved. Jerry, the lovable bear behind the counter, would make her a tuna fish on wheat and she might even treat herself to a black and white cookie. Or maybe a Rice Krispies Treat.
That’d work, something gooey and sinful.
She turned toward Matthew to see what he wanted, but a heavy sound caught her attention before she could get the words out.
The large man was on the ground. Before she could go to him, she was blocked by a tall, slender woman.
“Ms. McCrae, I’m going to need you to come with me.”
Before she could even process the instinct to run, the woman had her forearm in a tight grip and the world vanished.
The tangy burn of fear lit up her taste buds, but Emerson forced herself to ask one more question. “You’d kill my brother?”
Those genie’s eyes, so often full of mystery or humor or knowledge, held only cold, harsh truth. “If he hurts you, I will destroy him.”
There was a time she’d believed Magnus wouldn’t hurt her, but that time was long past.
Her vision had cleared and she saw him for what he was.
Magnus couldn’t control who he was—he never could. And now that he had these…skills, the problem had only grown.
“And that woman who was with him, Eris?” When he nodded, she continued. “She’s the woman in my vision from the mirror. The one who made him. What could she possibly want with my brother?”
“That’s what we need to figure out. It’s also what I’m hoping Themis can help us with.”
Emerson lay silently, the events of the last hour playing through her mind in vivid detail. All these long years she’d worried that Magnus was lost to them and she hadn’t really known. Hadn’t understood just how lost he really was.
And her mother. Lost, too, just like Magnus.
Somewhere deep inside she desperately tried to conjure some feeling—some emotion—about her mother’s betrayal.
And couldn’t find a damn thing when she counterbalanced it with the fact that her mother had made the right decision in the end.
She’d saved Magnus.
And he’d thrown away that gift.
An odd thought replaced it and she shifted to Drake. “When were you turned?”
Drake had stood to pace the room and her question stopped him as he stood staring at a row of books on one of the many shelves. “What?”
“When you became a Warrior. With Themis. When did it happen?” Oddly enough, she’d never thought to ask the question before. Now that she had, how he answered was strangely important to her.
Was his turning different from her brother’s? Were there reasons a person selected this life that weren’t so dark and power hungry?
“I was turned in the fourth century BC.”
The mere idea of it was mind-boggling. “That means you’re—”
“Old,” Drake answered for her, a wry smile springing to his lips. “I’m ancient.”
The idea of it was astounding. Especially when the face that gazed back at her—a face that had become as important as her next breath—looked as if it were no older than thirty-five. “Wow.”
“I was a soldier in Alexander the Great’s army.”
“No way!” She sat up at that, unwilling to simply lie there despite the bruises that throbbed under her skin. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s true.”
The same thoughts that had haunted her for years—how he seemed like a hero of old—weren’t all that far off the mark. “So you really were a Greek warrior?”
“We preferred to be called Macedonians, but yes. We’re Greeks. I’m Greek by birth.”
“And your parents? Your family?”
“I came from a very wealthy family at the time. My father was in great favor with Alexander’s father.”
Emerson’s mind whirled with the possibilities. “Your father was friends with Philip of Macedonia?”
“You know your history.”
“I love that stuff. Battles and power and the expansion of humanity in a never-ending set of conquests.”
“Bloodthirsty.” Drake took the seat next to her.
“Just fascinated.” Another thought grabbed her as her mind whirled with what she knew of Alexander the Great. “He was taught by Aristotle.”
“So was I.”
“Holy shit.” The words came out on a rush of breathless wonder she was helpless to hold back. “No wonder you’re so calm in the face of battle. You trained at the side of the world’s greatest general and were taught at the knee of the world’s greatest philosopher.”
“I was about ten years older than Alexander, so I fought with him as part of his army for only a couple of years.”
“What happened?”
“While in service to his father, I’d heard tales of a woman who made immortal Warriors. Something about the story enthralled me and wouldn’t let me go. I sought her out.”
“Themis, you mean?”
“For years and years, I searched for her, hoping she’d find favor with me.”
While Drake’s story fascinated her, she couldn’t stop the small kernel of unease that unfurled at his telling. It was strangely akin to what she’d felt when Magnus pushed at her, telling her to take advantage of her powers. “What did you want with her?”
“I’d long grown tired of war. I’m good at it, but I can’t say I like it all that much. I’d also seen all the backstabbing and machinations that were a part of court life.”
“Philip was assassinated, yes?”
“That was the beginning of the end for me. I saw the allegiances my father made. Hell, I knew t
he pressure that was on me to continue as a leader in Alexander’s army. I just wanted some sort of escape from all of it.”
“By becoming a different sort of Warrior?”
“Exactly. Although Themis was honest with me and let me make my own choice, in the end there was a bit of simply trading one set of problems for another.”
Emerson sighed, thoughts of her own personal choices through the years swamping her. “The human existence. We always think the grass is greener.”
“And it’s always just a new patch of grass. Different from the one we had, but not fundamentally altered in makeup or definition.”
She stopped at that, thinking about the changes he’d brought into her life. She’d fought it—fought it with everything inside of her—but her life wasn’t the same any longer.
She hadn’t simply traded one patch of grass for another.
“Did you have a family of your own?”
“At the point of Philip’s death, I was betrothed to a daughter of a high-ranking official.”
Emerson couldn’t have stopped the hard clench of jealousy that rose up in her stomach if she’d tried. Forcing a layer of calm into her voice she didn’t feel, she pressed for more of the story. “Why didn’t you marry her?”
“We were waiting for her to be of age—which was part of the appeal, I realized later. I’d wanted out for a long time. I just hadn’t been able to put a name to it or understand how I’d go about it. Her age was a handy excuse to avoid marriage as I worked through it.”
“You were in the army, too. I can’t imagine she was all that excited about having a husband who was never home.”
“Which was the other handy excuse that allowed me to drag my feet as long as I did.” Drake shrugged. “Not that it would have mattered. Political matches have very little to do with even liking each other, and being apart is actually more ideal that not.”
“Was she beautiful?” The words were out before she could stop them.
“I can’t say I really know. Athene was a child—I’d only ever seen her a handful of times.”
“So you didn’t love her?”
The twin sparks of mystery and fun lit up his eyes, replacing the harder emotions she’d seen there earlier. “No, I didn’t love her.” His smile fell as he paused. “I shamed my family because I refused to go through with it. The last time I spoke to my father was the day I told him I wouldn’t marry and left to march with Alexander’s army into Persia.”
“You never saw him again?”
“Once. On the day of his burial, I snuck into the house to gaze upon him for the last time.”
“Times like that—the times you’re from. They could make a person hard and unyielding. But you’re not either. Why is that?”
Drake shrugged, his words soft and strangely tempting as he lowered his face toward hers. “You tell me.”
“I think you fight it. I think you fight the hard. Fight to be the person you want to be on the inside. The person who doesn’t want to war. Who doesn’t want to fight. Who doesn’t want to be with someone you don’t love.”
His lips rested against hers, so light she barely felt them, even as everything she was centered itself in that moment. “How do you know me so well?”
Before she could respond, a loud bellow echoed outside the hallway as Quinn appeared in the room. Drake leaped up, his battle-ready stance the evidence he was truly a Warrior at heart.
“She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Drake moved toward the door, his focus on the bull and whatever had him so riled.
“Finley. I just got word from my man I’ve got posted with her. They were attacked on the street and she’s been taken.”
“Fuck. We need to find Grey.”
As if conjured, the Aries materialized in the library. His shirttails hung from beneath his coat and his hair stuck up in sharp spikes.
“Eris has her.”
Chapter Nineteen
Grey had never really understood the term “out of your mind” until that singular moment when Eris’s note had arrived at Equinox. Short, terse and unsigned, the message was easy to decipher.
Counselor McCrae’s been a model prisoner, but I know I’ll tire of her quickly. Kindly bring my apple and my diary if you hope to see her alive.
“How the hell could you let this happen to her?” He heard the accusation in his own voice but refused to hold it back as he railed at his Warrior brothers moments after receiving the note. “I listened to you. I trusted you that your security detail would be enough. Well, it wasn’t fucking enough, Quinn.”
He’d be damned if he’d play the whole we’re-a-brotherhood-and-no-one-gets-mad-at-the-fuckup routine.
Because someone had fucked up.
Royally.
“Drake and Emerson needed our help.” Quinn’s voice was quiet but the authority—and responsibility—was unmistakable.
“So you just left your man on her—your mortal man—with no backup? You might as well have put her in the middle of fucking Times Square with a target on her head.”
While responsible, the bull also wasn’t taking his shit. “What the hell else was I supposed to do? She’s not our prisoner, Grey, and she’s not yours. She’s a grown woman with a life. The fish needed us.”
“Finley needed you. She needed our protection.”
And even that hadn’t been enough.
“She had our protection. Now it’s up to us to get her back.”
The urge to port away was strong, but Grey knew he needed to stay and work through their game plan. Knew that he needed to calm down and focus.
Focus through the mind-numbing fear of what awaited her in her real life, where monsters plotted and lurked to hurt her. So instead of telling her how he felt and how concerned he was, he’d hidden himself away. He’d refused to give her any part of himself or any sense that he was in this with her.
And now Eris had her.
“Look. She can’t have had her for long,” Emerson reasoned from where she had her elbow in a bowl of ice on the table. “The attack at the garage just happened a little over an hour ago. She was under surveillance before you came to us. Right, Quinn?”
Quinn nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Why weren’t you watching her, Grey?” Callie’s voice was rapier sharp and—as always—right on the money.
“I’ve been scouring the streets trying to find the people in her office responsible for setting her up.”
“No, you were hiding.” Callie’s gaze never broke as she dropped the next bomb. “And if you’d give Quinn half a chance, he could also fill you in on the information he found.”
“What the fuck?” He refused to hold back the anger, the adrenaline and the frustration that his family hadn’t thought to loop him in. “You don’t tell me?”
“You. Weren’t. Here,” Quinn shot back, his anger telegraphed in the set of his shoulders and the distinctly forward-leaning posture he’d adopted.
Grey knew that pose. It was the one that said he’d just waved a red flag at their bull.
“You could have let me know.”
“Or maybe you could have responded to the call and the text I sent you.”
Grey threw his hands up, torn between the underlying acknowledgment they were right and the ruthless fear that continued to press on him as he struggled to understand where she could have been taken.
“Look. It hasn’t been that long. Add to that we know a lot more than Eris thinks we do and we’ll find her.” Quinn moved up and Grey felt the acknowledging slap on his back. “We’ll find her, Grey.”
Although it was a far cry from comforting, his brothers did have his back. Grey knew that, no matter how mad he was. “How? Eris could have her anywhere.”
“And if she wants us to bring her her goodies, she’s going to need to let us know where she is.”
“She won’t bring Finley to the meet.”
“We won’t deal, Grey. If she doesn’t bring Finley, she gets nothing.” Grey looke
d down where Quinn laid a hand on his forearm. “We’re going to get your woman back.”
“She’s not my woman.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Finley stared down at the fire-engine-red polish on her toenails and realized she needed a pedicure.
Which was an absurd thought, really, since the fact that she was a kidnapping victim for the second time in less than a week meant an hour in a salon chair should be the least of her worries.
No matter how many times she told herself that, her gaze continued to travel over each nail, looking for imperfections. The small chip in her second toe on her right foot kept drawing her attention, even as she resisted the urge to peel off more polish.
If she was going to die today, she’d like her feet to look as nice as possible.
Die today.
It was not only possible, it was highly probable. All because she thought she knew better.
Why had she gone into the office?
Her frustration whispered to her as she ran the pad of one finger over her second toe. Like that chip in the polish, she had a fundamental flaw.
She always thought she knew better. Always thought she was right.
And look where the hell it had gotten her.
Abstractly, she wondered if Grey knew she was gone. Would he really care?
When they were together, he acted like he had an interest in her. She certainly hadn’t made that kiss up all on her own. But all the kissing in the world couldn’t change the fact he saw her as a chore. A chore he thought he could maneuver.
A chore he assumed he knew better how to handle.
Which really didn’t make them all that different, she realized with a small laugh.
Take out the immortality and the ability to fly through space at the summoning of your will and they were all too alike.
Two stubborn idiots who thought they knew better and who were damn sure they weren’t going to share what they really thought with the other.
God, she was a prize.
All the brains in the world and the ability to reason through things like a lawyer and it hadn’t done her a lick of good. And now she had a chipped toenail, was likely to die and was never going to kiss Grey Bennett again.