A Spartan's Kiss

by Billi Jean

  His second in command held his arm out for her, and nearly got his head knocked off.

  Tabithia eyed him and said, “No touching, Red. Lead the way, though. I’m all ears.”

  Stephano didn’t miss a beat. He waved a hand in an exaggerated bow for her to go first. “I’ll tell you all about it on the flight.”

  She murmured something about how she’d always wondered how Sparta could have been so strong without importing some Celtic blood.

  Aeros could have told her all about his homeland. He could have been the one leading her to the jet, talking with her, chatting over drinks with her.

  “Contact me if Dominic calls. He found a Death Stalker cell turning immortals into some sort of beasts. If he finds out anything from the Death Stalker, call me. We should be back in four days, a week at the most,” Aeros warned.

  “Beasts?” Ajax frowned, his dark eyes concerned. As he should be. He’d nearly forgotten the young Death Stalker mage Dominic had dumped off at the Immortal Council’s compound. His mind was not where it should be. Staring off after Tabithia, he shrugged duty aside for the first time in centuries. She was his mission now, not the fight with the Death Stalkers. The immortal world would survive without him for a while. The increase in Death Stalker numbers would not be solved by him alone. It was time for him to take something—someone—for himself. Soon, aye, soon he’d have to deal with this new threat, but for now, for the next few days, he was focusing on her.

  “Yeah, I’ll fill you in on the way. Kiron, call if any word comes in. If we aren’t back, call the men on break back in and assist Dominic. Talen can lead if you are still immobile. This takes precedence over the enemy.” Talen was on a six-month downtime, but downtime meant nothing in this world. If trouble knocked, they all had to be prepared to answer.

  Aeros waited until Kiron nodded before turning back to follow Tabithia. His stomach burned with acid seeing Stephano opening the front door for her.

  So, this was what jealousy felt like, he thought, stomping after them.

  Chapter Six

  Tabithia nibbled on her thumbnail. This was not looking good. So far, she’d spent her time on the luxurious jet creating a nice little chart on Aeros. The column labelled ‘Aeros Is the Immortal I’ve Been Dreading’ was winning over the one labelled ‘Aeros Is Not the Immortal I’ve Been Dreading’.

  Yeah, it sucked. When Aeros had said, ‘No, you will be staying with us overnight… blah, blah, blah,’ the words had resonated through her like one of those tuning forks musicians used. And, yeah, when she thought about planning to go home at nights to her comfy closet? Eww, fingers down a chalkboard disgusting. Not painful, but gross.

  Still, there was hope.

  Well, maybe.

  The jet was incredible. So sweet Tabithia considered the bennies of convincing Trouble they needed one. A long, cream leather bench lined one side of the plane. Each end had nifty little built-in polished mahogany tables. A mini-fridge built underneath one table was stocked with Rockstar energy drinks. Why an immortal band of warriors needed a boost to their energy was a bit bizarre, but who was she to judge? She’d already had four.

  Across from the long couch were two seating arrangements, each able to seat four warriors in big, soft leather recliners that matched the couches. Another mahogany table fitted nicely in between the seats.

  The jet rocked. Oh, she enjoyed some sweet perks from her line of work, but this was old-school elegance. She could get very addicted.

  Watching a cotton-candy cloud grow larger before they passed too deep inside the billowing white for her to make shapes of the puffiness, Tab considered the big hunky Spartan. Aeros obviously had no clue that he had some sort of power over her. And that was a huge, huge, huge relief. Usually for a spell to work over a witch there had to be something, either physical, like a voodoo doll, or charm, maybe a tattoo. He had a tattoo she’d spotted on his biceps but she doubted the ink was the key. Although the tattoo looked like a Celtic knot, she’d felt nothing when she’d examined what she could of it. But there was something about him or on him that drew her attention. Just what, she couldn’t say. Maybe she could figure out how to make this hunt quick and painless. If she did, he’d never have the time to figure it out—or her.

  But the longer she spent with him, the more opportunities he had to shoot his big mouth off. And order her about. The man didn’t seem to speak in anything but clipped, short, direct phrases backed by a hint of steel.

  “That’s not good for your nails.”

  Next to her in one of the plush, leather seats, the big, tough redhead, Stephano, shifted his long legs out in front of him. The older Spartan, Galen, had called him Narc. When she’d given him a questioning glance he’d explained that the too-handsome redhead could compete with the Greek god Narcissus for his way with the women. Funny, she didn’t think him nearly as hot as Aeros.

  She glanced over at him, and he flashed his pearly whites.

  She shifted so she could see him better and settled in for a chat. He looked at her like she might bite, but, hey, what could she say? She’d been a bit snippy with the boys so far. She could play nice, though.

  “And how’s that?”

  He folded his arms across his hard stomach and tilted his head at her. “Well, I read it’s bad for your teeth and nails.”

  Okay, she was willing to be distracted from her dismal thoughts. This had to be first-rate funny. Some of her amusement must have shown because he looked uneasily over at her. Bets were he’d read that little titbit in a girly magazine. Woman’s Day or something equally funny. He darted a look across from them to Galen—correction, the Bard—before he looked back over at her with a sheepish grin.

  She lifted a brow and hid her grin. “Oh? And where did you read this?”

  Sure enough, Narc shifted and reached up to fiddle with his ear. After a bit of that, he screwed his face up like she’d asked him if he’d had sex with her aunt.

  “He reads women’s magazines,” the Bard said.

  She popped Narc in the arm playfully and grinned. He actually blushed a bit. Hilarious. The Bard laughed, and she switched her attention to him. Aeros sat next to the Bard, but she was so not looking at him. She’d managed to avoid looking at him the entire flight. Frustrating as hell, too, since all she wanted to do was stare at him for hours. From her peripheral vision, she saw his hunky scowl but refused to focus on him. No way. No how. Nuh-uh. With a great deal of concentration, she managed to examine Galen without comparing him to Aeros. Shaggy, black, curly hair, a cleft chin, pale, full lips, he was a ladykiller of the top order.

  If I went for that kind of guy. I don’t.

  Shaking off the compulsion to slip a look at Aeros, she fastened her eyes on the other man.

  “Why do they call you the Bard?”

  The laugh lines around his eyes deepened at her question. “I used to sing quite a bit.”

  Next to her, Narc laughed. “And he’s always good for a tale. Or he used to be.”

  Okay. She sensed these men were anxious, almost eager to talk to her. They reminded her of a lost dog she’d once found. The thing had craved attention so badly it was constantly underfoot, always rubbing against her like a cat. These guys weren’t rubbing against her, but they were all watching her. It should have given her the creeps, but she felt a bit sorry for them. What kind of leader was Aeros? Didn’t he allow his men anything but duty? And Ares, that jerk? What kind of god made his men work so hard?

  “You’re doing it again.”

  Lowering her hand slowly, she eyed Narc. He was showing off his pearly whites again in a killer smile, but he simply didn’t do it for her. He’d tied his longish, red-brown hair back in a queue with one of those leather straps that should have made him look ridiculous, but instead fitted him like he’d invented the haphazard, manly way of tying hair out of your eyes. Lean, like a wolf, he cut a dashing figure in his green and brown BDUs. But he wasn’t her type.

  Do I have a type?

  Aer
os certainly would fit nicely if she did.

  Frowning at the thought, she focused on Narc. “And why is this bad for me?”

  He snorted and stretched his legs. “Well, it’s supposed to damage your teeth, the enamel on them, and harm your nails.”

  She barely held in a laugh. Attempting a straight face, she leaned over as if she’d impart some great secret and stage-whispered, “You do realise those magazines are for humans, right? And I’m not. A human, right?”

  His face darkened.

  Next to them on the couch, Aaron laughed, and the Bard snorted. Aeros didn’t make a sound.

  Narc gave her a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah, I know that. You’re a witch, right? What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Exactly?”

  Aeros blew out a breath and drummed his fingers on his chair arm, drawing her attention. “Does it give you the ability to find the godhead? Can you sense it now?”

  Ah, he speaks. A shiver tingled down her body as if he’d rasped his shadowy jaw along her spine. Now there was an image she could have done without. Hoping not to show how he unnerved her, she glanced over at him. She’d done pretty well so far, treating him like just one of the boys, but every time she’d caught him watching her, her tummy had done a nosedive and her pulse had raced so fast her hands trembled. He was dark, and not just in that Greek dark-as-midnight hair and olive-warm skin way, but in that melt-in-your-mouth, dark chocolate kind of way. Ancient warriors from an age she’d only read about, all of his men were incredibly toned and hard as rock. Ah, but Aeros. He wore his confidence like New Englanders wore Red Sox caps.

  At the moment he watched her intently, as if her answer mattered. Had anyone ever looked at her like that before?

  “I can sense what I seek, no matter what it is, or more precisely, the traps that surround it.” She glanced out of the small window next to her to get a break from the intensity in his expression. They were over the ocean. She thought. It seemed that way to her, at least. The clouds covered most of her view, but she spotted some blue underneath. She’d chosen her seat in the hopes that the window would make a nice escape from Aeros’ constant watchfulness. Did he think she’d simply disappear off the plane?

  “What does being a witch mean?” The Bard asked the question this time, interrupting her cloud examination. She knew they wouldn’t understand but she also wasn’t willing to give them much more. Power was knowledge. The less they knew the better.

  She turned back and caught Aeros glancing up from her hands. “Well, it’s a bit boring, I’m sure. And complicated.” Had he been watching her finger her knife hilt? She wasn’t feeling the urge to cut, but she also didn’t like him staring.

  He met her gaze, and his hawk-like, dark eyebrows drew down over his Roman nose. Or Greek nose? Whoever the hell came up with these things should have used Aeros for the model for brooding, handsome noblemen. He just looked noble, loyal and all the things she’d heard about heroes, but in the flesh. His dark eyes weren’t really black. They had lighter flecks, like a dash of cinnamon on top of a coffee.

  “Explain it anyway. We’re fairly quick.”

  And, yeah, another check for him being her doom, ‘cause the chalkboard feeling was back in full force. Even under his play for humour—“we’re fairly quick”—she felt the need to obey. She looked away, not willing to share the conflict he created.

  “Well, I will scry for the godhead. I need an image of what I seek, or name, and then, once I have either, I can then find what’s hidden, lost, you know…missing. But I can only find it by the vibrations of distress around the trap.”

  “So a witch has it? And has laid traps?” Narc broke in, his lighter, amber eyes interested.

  “Not necessarily. A human can lay traps. Lies and such are traps. I once found a missing child…” Breaking off, she looked down at her hands. She’d never shared with another the help she’d provided a small family of humans. They’d lost their daughter. A monster had taken the girl, a human monster, but a monster all the same.

  “You found a human child?” Aeros sounded as though she’d broken some immortal law.

  Wasn’t he once human? Geesh.

  “Yep, and I can find the godhead the same way. More, the godhead doesn’t belong where it is.” Actually, it hadn’t belonged with Ares either, but that was another matter. One she would be investigating now that Trouble wasn’t on her back to ignore her gut and move her ass. The Raven Clan had been willing to pay big time, so in the heat of the moment, Tabithia had been okay with stealing something from under Ares’ nose. Kind of cool, really, but now? She wasn’t so sure. The godhead had looked more like a beaten-up old goblet than something of real worth. But man, oh man, the power in that cup. Astoundingly, but obviously, it held way too much power for that clan of creepy warlocks, since the cup was now in the Amazon, not downtown Dublin.

  “So because the godhead belongs to Ares, you will find it because it doesn’t belong to the jungle?” Galen said, apparently struggling to understand her super-cool powers.

  “Sorta.”

  “Did you bring it here, to the Amazon?” Ajax asked. He’d been the quietest of the boys since the journey. He also had a thing for weapons. She’d noticed he’d sharpened more than a few blades, taken apart no less than six guns then put them back together, and was now sharpening his already deadly-looking machete. She kinda liked him best.

  “Not sure why it ended up here, but the power coming off the thing will create a kind of tone I can sense, almost hear. Traps do that. So does power.”

  “So you can sense power, traps and lies?” Aeros asked.

  Aeros really needed to stop talking. She didn’t feel compelled to answer, though, so that was good news. So only orders worked. That was somewhat reassuring. She wasn’t his to order about anyway, so he shouldn’t. But he didn’t appear to understand that.

  She cleared her throat and examined her OPI Lincoln Park After Midnight nail polish. The black shimmered under the bright light flooding through her window. Aeros shifted, reminding her she’d not answered his hunt for answers.

  “Not exactly. But I can sense power. Most immortals can.” The men were all watching her now, even Ajax who’d been pretending to sharpen the same machete for the last half an hour. The thing could have sliced through a rhino at this point. “And this little itty-bitty cup, it’s powerful, isn’t it?”

  No one said a word. So much for sharing. Considering her reputation was on the line, she settled back in her seat and asked, “Why do you want it anyway? Ares has plenty of other relics at his disposal, why is this one so important?”

  No one said a word. Aeros watched her with a calculating look. His dark eyes captured hers, the depth of something—sadness or regret—catching her off guard. He blinked and the sensation dissipated.

  “This is the most important of all relics. If in the wrong hands? This could destroy the world.”

  Overdramatic didn’t even begin to describe that remark. She was pretty proud when she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? End-of-the-world type thing, huh? That’s neat, don’t you think?”

  Aeros looked so highly offended she almost giggled.

  “Neat?” His frown really did odd things to her. Like very odd. Weird. Like an urge to make him frown even harder so she could crawl on his lap and see what he’d do if she tickled the sides of his face weird.

  Her cellphone blared the Black Eyed Peas singing ‘Don’t Phunk with My Heart’, the ring tone reserved for her best bud, Silver, saving her from suffocation owing to holding in laughter.

  “Yeah, gotta get this one. I’ll be right back.”

  Aeros looked alarmed. “Tabithia—”

  She grinned and cast the spell to obscure her location and voice. Aeros clenched his hands on the arms of his chair, nearly breaking them, but didn’t jump like Narc. The redheaded womaniser stood so quickly he knocked his knee on the table and cussed like a sailor.

  She ignored him and flipped her phone open. “Oi! Dudette. Wh
at is up? Where have you been?”

  Silver, Silver Moon really, who liked to be called Sammie—at least by her—laughed through the phone line. “Tabbie-cat, what exactly are you up to? I heard some rumours you would not believe.”

  Oh, she’d believe them all right. Still, some things were better left unsaid. She and Sammie were best buddies, but only to a certain degree. Tab fiddled with her phone and considered spilling the beans. Would Sammie understand? An image of her friend’s sharp, blue eyes and black hair tied back, her beautiful face set in hard lines as they fought off ghouls, came to mind and Tabithia tossed the idea of a girl-to-girl pow-wow out of the window. Sammie was a lot of things—strong, powerful, determined—but a friend Tab could go to for man advice? Not a chance. As far as Tabithia knew, Sammie had never even scratched that itch. Not even alone.

  Nervous energy had her chancing a glance at Aeros, remembering how she’d pleasured herself to images of him possessing her. His face was set in a stern, unhappy glower as he responded to something one of the men had said. He glanced at her seat, and his dark eyes narrowed. Her stomach did a nosedive.

  “Tab?”

  Uh, yeah. Talking. She was supposed to be talking, not daydreaming about Aeros.

  “Not much, just another money-making venture. You? Find anything?” Sammie was all set to leave on another mission to find her missing sister, something Tabithia usually never missed. This time, Sammie was playing solo.

  “Nah, I haven’t left yet. Bethany and I had to take care of some things first. Star’s coming over soon, but you know, I heard you were mixing it up with some god? Ares, or some other Greek idol. Tell me it’s so not true.”

  Tabithia grinned Some other Greek idol was right. If Ares was anything like Aeros, the god had to be stacked.

  “Naw, you know me, I never hit the trouble switch. I leave that up to my aunt.” They both shared a laugh at her aunt’s nickname. Turning serious, she said, “I’m on a little side venture. Sure you don’t want some backup on yours?”