by Billi Jean
She didn’t rise to his bait. He doubted she ever would. The ice queen didn’t understand the things she missed.
“The witch is safe. There’s no harm to her.”
“Quick to say that, aren’t you? These Celtic goddesses have a temper, don’t they?”
Crossing her arms under her full breasts, she nodded. “You are avoiding the real problem, Ares. You want your—”
“Yes, I want what is mine. And my men? They will bring it back, or you and yours will suffer. No one takes what is mine. The witches were tricky, but I am a god, and they will not be forgiven!”
His voice rose to fill the room, but Artemis simply smiled her simple smile.
“Of course you want your toy back. But at what cost? You wish to harm the witch? You had best listen to your own advice. The Celtic goddesses are not something to mess with, brother, and, if I’m not mistaken, this will be the second time you have done so…or mayhap the third? No matter.” Flicking her fingers, she strode to his altar and ran a hand along the empty marble. “You may get your toy back, but you will not come away unscathed. This is my jungle you trespass on, and I rule it completely.” She turned and the blue of her eyes glowed as she let her god-like strength flow outward. “I will not abide your trespass, or your men. Mark me well, brother, end this hunt, or you will feel my wrath in ways you will not enjoy.”
With that little threat, not a bad one by many standards, she disappeared.
He hadn’t remembered Artemis having such backbone. There must be more in that jungle of hers than he knew. She would thwart his hunt for the most precious of his belongings? Not a chance. He was the god of war. She might rule the jungle, and the hunt, but he ruled the battle, and the war had just begun, sister.
Time to contact his troops, and Aeros, his loyal Spartan, would obey like he always had—little witch or not. The man was better off never having met his woman, in Ares’ opinion. He’d find another to be his mate—or not. As long as he obeyed, Aeros would survive. And that was the most important thing. True bondings were not what they were cracked up to be, after all.
Running a hand over the altar once to feel the emptiness of the space, he stopped and clenched his fist.
No, true bonds were not what they were rumoured to be.
The jungle heat beat down on Tabithia, making it difficult to keep up the pace, but she’d be damned if she’d slow down for the ignoramuses behind her.
She’d thought they were good men, honest and brave fighters, not blockheads. Hell, they’d fought forever. They were legends for their bravery. Their honour.
Well, yeah, they might have their honour, but they also had their sleazy boss. Ares.
She needed a fried Twinkie. She needed a phone that worked. She needed a nap and, damn it, she needed a bathroom. And more than that? She needed to be alone.
None of which was forthcoming.
What was forthcoming? This could take a hell of a lot longer than three days, and she needed it to be over now.
Aeros. Just the way he looked at her drove her slightly batty. How could he be so clueless? He had to know more about this ‘godhead’ than he let on. He had to know the godhead was merely a vessel built to trap some poor female who’d probably spurned his greedy, womanising god and had been punished for not giving the guy the goods.
That killed. That Aeros, an honourable man, couldn’t see Ares for the twisted, selfish prick he was. What killed more? She’d saved the woman once already. She’d held the damn beat-up cup in her hands and hadn’t sensed enough to be certain what she held. Yeah, she’d been in a hurry, but there was no excuse for her not having sensed the trap the cup really was.
Was this punishment? The Three worked in mysterious ways. She’d avoided her duties, true, but not any more than anyone else. She participated in her coven’s ceremonies when Sorcha nagged her enough. She defended them when her coven called. She raised money for the coven, contributing to the protections only wealth could provide.
Ah, but her goddesses loved harmony.
She’d avoided balance. Or, more precisely, she found her own way to even out her life. Some might call it a balancing act, but hell, it worked for her—usually. This was so far from usual it was like being plonked down on the moon. No one could blame her for being a bit shaken. Hell? Shaken? She was so far off kilter she might as well be in a boat, topside down with the merfolk.
“Tabithia? We should break for water and discuss our plans for the night.”
So reasonable-sounding. Break and talk. Talk about the fact she wanted to scream because she hunted something held prisoner by a god. Something she’d have to free once she found it. And when she freed the witch? All hell would break loose. Worse, or possibly better, the hottie Spartan who’d been in more battles than she could count, and couldn’t seem to stop staring at her, who worried over her safety, would hate her for tricking him.
He’d have to. Spartans were loyal to one thing—their god.
She knew a witch who’d once hooked up with a Spartan, maybe even one of the men with her now. Daisy had been so happy. The girl hadn’t stopped talking about how wonderful he was, how hot but sweet he’d been. He’d even written her letters. Then that had all changed. He’d been called by Ares for duty and had shown back up—fifty years later.
Ares was a tool.
But he was the boss. And these boys all served him.
When she crossed them? They were going to come after her and her coven—if they could find it. Their home was in the hills of New England, hidden by spells and guarded with enough juice to power up NYC for a few years.
She’d never see the big Spartan again.
Somehow, even though he was big, muscular, and strong, a warrior through and through, and usually that was so not her MO, she still felt something for him. Hell, she’d been daydreaming about him before they’d been attacked by the witch. Her feelings for Aeros were a…distraction. A distraction that had her wanting to rant at him for following orders and not thinking for himself. She wanted to shake him. Daisy, her witch friend with the Spartan missing-in-action man, had said the Spartan’s only excuse had been some silly thing about how Ares created him and could destroy him if he chose. Who wanted to play second fiddle to some god with narcissistic tendencies?
Sweat beaded on her neck, forehead and down her back, and dripped down past her Victoria’s Secret Angel bra. She’d have to throw her favourite leopard print out after this gruesome little adventure. Thank all three goddesses her black cotton T-shirt absorbed most of the sweat and didn’t leave marks like the boys in back of her. They were all dripping, their shirts dark with sweat stains.
That was the only thing she could be thankful for on this stupid easy-peasy mission—her shirt.
She shouldn’t even be thinking of the Spartan not wanting her. She should be thinking, goodie, the Spartan wouldn’t want her. It wasn’t like a big, strong, virile man like Aeros would understand her fear of being intimate. No doubt he’d not want to hold hands for ages. Maybe let her kiss him in a few hundred years. Maybe tie him down and lick every inch of him after a few hundred more.
“Tabithia, did you hear me?”
Yeah, she would dream of his voice, no doubt. So strong and firm. Too firm.
Right. You hate bossy men and this one? He might very well be the one you’ve been trying to avoid for like ever. Or at least since you’ve been told of the power he’d hold over you.
She could hear Sorcha now. ‘You can’t run from your destiny, Tabithia. If a man is meant to change your life, perhaps it is for your well-being and not for your destruction.’
Yeah, well, the last time a man had ruled her it hadn’t ended so well. Even thinking of that dark time created a mass of sickness in her stomach and goose bumps on her flesh. She took a moment to shut the lid on those memories before glancing back at Aeros, then quickly back at the trail ahead of her.
“Tabithia?”
“I heard you. We can stop just ahead. I sense the caverns are not much fa
rther.”
“Caverns? You spoke of these before.”
She had. And yeah, that did not make her happy either. Did she really want to be underground with this pissed-off female trying to stop them?
Searching the next break in the jungle she found nothing lurking to jump out at them, which made her nervous. The attack last time had come with little warning. There had been no trigger. Yet at the same time, she could feel the traps building up around them. The little girl was busy, very busy.
“Here is good. I need to scry. Don’t bother me.” Sitting on a log, she glared at all of the men. They simply stood, most of them a bit shocked, almost leery of her. Good. They should be. Maybe when the shit hit the fan and she broke off with their prize, they’d give up and not come after her.
And pigs would fly alongside them.
Still, she had spooked them with her power. She’d spooked herself. This place held power like a bottomless pit. But these were immortals, so they should be used to displays of magic. Remembering them wandering off before, she paused, sighing. This reminded her of babysitting.
“No straying from this spot. I’m setting up wards, but don’t go wandering off.”
“God forbid,” Narc muttered.
The redhead really wasn’t earning points.
She sniffed. Aeros stepped closer and sat next to her. He smelt like warm sunshine. His heat blasted her side. Was he always so warm?
Concentrate, she reminded herself. Now, wards. What would stop almost anything, but cost the least in power use?
The jungle. She pulled the energy from the humid, rich air and easily wove it to her bidding, creating a space around them nothing could pass through without her permission. The touch of her magic soothed her like nothing else could. It warmed her inside and out with its lush caress, creating a sense of peace within her turmoil. Breathing deeply, she settled herself then cast her vision outward to locate her aunts.
Scrying usually meant she had to have something from the person she wanted to connect with. Long ago Trouble and Sorcha had created the amulet Tabithia wore on a choker around her throat. With it, she could find them at any time. Trouble might be the one in the loop on this mission, but Sorcha was the better bet, simply because she would know more about what she dealt with—if she dealt with a trapped witch.
Now to simply concentrate with Aeros sitting mere inches from her. Easy-peasy, right? Ha.
Tabithia grounded herself, centring her mind and body to the stillness she needed to find Sorcha’s essence. Calmness slowly blanketed her until her breathing became steady and even. Drawing a circle in the air with her hands, she cast out of herself, entering the circle of jade-coloured light to find her kin. Instantly, she hit something solid, not hard, but almost like bouncing up against a memory-foam mattress.
Shocked, she stilled and narrowed her vision to see what prevented her from scrying. At first, she saw nothing. No haze of a spell, no shadow of a block, or outline of a trap blocked her. Slowly, as she waited, a slight mark of darker green bled out from behind her scrying circle.
She watched it closely, waiting for it to reveal itself. The line of the spell appeared almost identical to hers, varying only slightly from the ancient form she’d used. Her coven was privy to this particular spell, and her family, but no outsider had ever spun the scrying exactly the same.
Until now.
The repercussions of such knowledge sank in slowly. Unfortunately, too slowly. Suddenly, the line broke away and snapped around her like a bear trap.
The witch was damn good. The thought flew through her mind at the same time as she tried to save her ass by throwing her own trap spell. The incantation spun out and pinned the other witch to something—a wall, she thought.
Darkness filled Tabithia’s vision, so dark it appeared as if ink spilled over her eyes. She grinned. The dark, well, it was her best defence. Senses on alert, she struck out again. This time her spell trapped something. The witch, Tabithia realised. A small gasp gave the other woman away.
“So you wanted to talk, huh? Why not just ask nicely?”
A muffled irate sound met her words, then the blackness eased away and she found herself standing in the mist—not really mist but the in-between world many witches used to communicate.
Trapped against the far wall of mist, a witch glared at her. Green eyes much like Sorcha’s blazed with power mixed with anger. Her head was shaven, but the light golden stubble merely accented the beauty of her face. High cheekbones, pale skin with a touch of colour to her cheeks—the witch was as beautiful as either of her aunts.
“Show your true form, and I might let you go. If you promise to play nice,” Tabithia said.
Pink rosebud lips tightened to a snarl, revealing bright white teeth. Shaking her head, the witch struggled with the invisible bonds Tabithia had thrown.
“Fine, okay, whatever. You can be stubborn, but we need to talk. I need to know what the scoop is, and you need to spill it, ‘kay? Cause, you know, those boys out there? They work for Ares. You know him, right? And he wants his little toy back… That would be you. If you don’t want to go back, well, we need to discuss why you were his little object of not-so-willing affection, got it? What you did, how you did it, and why I should help you.”
The other woman frowned harder the more Tabithia tried to ease her with the facts. Well, maybe she really didn’t do much easing, but they had to move fast. Still, she could slow down a bit. The woman looked spooked, like a pissed-off prisoner of war. Tabithia noticed that dirt marred her cheek. Some more smudges showed on her throat as if she’d not bathed in centuries. Could that be possible? Was this her true form?
“Listen, I was hired to do a job. I did it once. I’ll do it again. Unless you don’t want the boys to get their mission down, taking you to Ares, we need to talk.”
Nothing. Another silent glare and struggle.
“Okay, let’s start with what coven you belong to. No names, goddess forbid…unless you choose, but why not start with what century you’re from, ‘kay ?”
That at least got the witch to clear her throat. She appeared to think the questions over a bit. Her frown turned sceptical. Tabithia had a soft, comfy couch appear and sat down to relax with a sigh. Across from her, the other witch nibbled her lip.
Defeat. Tabithia smelt it. She tried really hard not to gloat.
“Jade. I’m of the Jade coven.”
The slight brogue was light but there, much like her aunts’. But the Jade coven? Not from this century.
“And? The year you were—”
“Imprisoned by that ogre?”
Okay, that worked. “Yeah, I guess so…if that ogre is Ares?”
“Can you let me go if I promise no’ to harm you?”
“Uh, who’s on the wall, chica? And by the way, you shouldn’t try to harm me any way. I’m a member of the Jade coven, too, and that would just be like, well, wrong, right?”
After blinking a few times, the other witch finally nodded. “You are of the Jade coven?”
Tabithia couldn’t see talking to her with the other witch in a binding spell so she took the gamble and released her.
As soon as she broke free, the woman rubbed her arms, almost as if she were cold. She was dressed in a pair of shabby, rough wool pants that were way too big and some sort of wool top, both so rough-cut and ugly it was hard to even tell the woman was a woman. Ares did this to her?
“What exactly are you wearing?”
“Slave clothes. Punishment, of course.”
Tabithia patted the couch and tried her best to imitate Sorcha’s so-sweet attitude. Geesh.
“Sit and tell me what’s up. I haven’t heard of you, so I’m guessing no one knows you’re…uh, what? A prisoner?”
Sitting gingerly, she curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees.
“I was taken from my home when the Roman legion came through our tribe’s lands. Ares was fighting as a human captain. He was harmed or pretended to be, I’m not sure.
I tried to help him. But—”
“Wait, wait… Roman legion?”
“Yes, near Hadrian’s Wall.”
Hadrian’s Wall? Scotland? Holy Hecate. Ancient history was not her strongest suit, but that was ages ago. Was she saying she was a Pict? That would make her…old. Ancient. Witches lived a long time, but not ten centuries, not that she knew of at least.
Tabithia rubbed her head. “Okay, so Ares pretends to be hurt, traps you and what? Makes you his godhead?”
“Nay, nay, I am no’ his godhead. The chalice merely traps me within. Ares took me because…Zeus wanted me.”
“Like, the king of gods? That Zeus?”
The other witch nibbled her finger and nodded.
“Okay…so, uh… What did our gods have to say about that? I mean, come on, the Greeks are big, but we’ve got some power too.” Right? Goddess, she hoped so, because what she was contemplating was going to rock the god boat real bad. Hopefully the god-to-god communication and respect thingy was in place.
“Bridget deserted me. I failed her in battle…”
Failed her? Tabithia cleared her throat. “Okay. So you lost a battle?”
“Nay, I feared fighting. I didnae go, I failed her. She deserted me. Left me. You saw how weak I am. I can barely even defend myself.” She practically wailed the last.
Weak? The witch had practically trapped her, the trapper. Clearly, the witch had some insecurity issues. Deciding to try to calm her down, Tabithia switched subjects.
“What is your given name? I can’t keep calling you witch, it’s like calling you girl or something…”
Chin up, the other immortal nodded, regally murmuring, “Daracha mac Fergusa.”
“Ah, ‘kay. So, Dara, let’s get this straight. Two of the Greek gods wanted you…”
The other woman—Dara, Tabithia reminded herself—bit her lip again, looking worried.
“Ares found me first. Zeus had come to find Ares. Zeus took the form of a hawk, but I knew he was no’ a hawk. I didn’t realise until he visited again that the hawk and god were the same. Then he brought with him another, Apollo. I thought Apollo one of the Three, because his form was a raven, but no, he tricked me and tried to take me to the skies. I fought back, but as a god—”