War of Gods Box Set

by Ford, Lizzy

  Don’t cry, kiri.

  But she kept crying.

  “Two, coffee,” his master said.

  Two obeyed and left the room filled with lights and computers. The man with green eyes was waiting for him in the hall and touched his arm. Two cringed. He saw the woman come into focus, and the man with mossy eyes released him.

  He went to the kitchen. The woman stayed with him. Two wondered if she’d ever come out of his head, or if she had to stay there, like he stayed in his master’s corner. If she stayed in his head, his master wouldn’t beat her like he did him.

  Stay there, kiri. I’ll take care of you.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Sofia jerked from her place beside her window, not sure which voice came from her head and which from the handsome man before her. She’d watched the arriving guests with a mixture of fascination and dread. They wore tuxedos and ball gowns like wealthy celebrities attending an exclusive Hollywood party. Beautiful women that rivaled Claire and men so handsome, even age couldn’t diminish their muscular bodies or riveting looks.

  “You’re not dressed,” Damian said. He wore a white shirt and snug tuxedo pants that outlined long, thick thighs and a tight ass. His body drew her, and his scent surrounded her when he knelt beside her.

  She wanted to tell him about Claire, but she was afraid to. He cared for Claire, or at least, he was attracted to her, and she didn’t know if there was more than what she knew about them.

  He held out his wrist, and she grudgingly took it, drinking from him while smelling the scents of the feast being prepared for his guests.

  It’s not fair. The taste of him filled her, calmed her. She let her head drop back and sighed.

  “You should get dressed, Sofia.”

  He wiped the corner of her mouth, and she resisted the urge to nip his finger. His warm lips met hers, and she opened her eyes, surprised. He kissed her gently, a long, slow kiss. She savored the sensations of his hot, wet mouth and the buzz she got feeding from him.

  “Come, meet your people.”

  She watched him retreat, desire burning within her. Pierre had brought in a dress box and shoe box earlier. She flipped on the light and opened the dress box. Inside was the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen in a mysterious shade of dark blue sprinkled with silver sequins. The dress was thick silk and moved like water as she pulled it free and held it against her.

  It must have cost a fortune!

  She picked up the box to toss it on the chair when something slid out. She opened the slender jewelry box and gasped. Inside sparkled a diamond choker with an unusually worn, plain charm of a half-sun, half-moon pierced by an arrow. Diamond earrings completed the set.

  If the dress didn’t break him, the jewelry did! Sofia lifted the choker carefully, touching the charm.

  “What are you, little friend?” she murmured. It must have been significant to be surrounded by so many diamonds! She marveled over the clothing and jewelry before changing. She pulled her hair into a simple French twist, the kind she wore to work, and applied her make-up carefully.

  Her irises were half silver. Sofia gazed at her two-toned eyes. They sparkled like the blue dress and diamonds. She looked herself over, satisfied that she looked good. Not Claire-good, but good enough.

  “His colors and his symbol.” Pierre greeted her with an approving smile that buoyed her.

  “Is that what this is?” she asked, fingering the charm.

  “It’s old, maybe as old as him. His family’s coat of arms, if they had those then. Very special. Even he does not wear it,” Pierre said and motioned her to follow him towards the party below.

  She trailed him down the stairs, eyes on the guests milling in the courtyard beyond the opened double doors. Damian and Dustin appeared deep in discussion as she approached. Both wore tuxedos with matching blue cummerbunds, which amused her for such starkly different men. Claire, stunning in maroon and bedecked with diamonds and rubies, looked her over dismissively before returning her gaze to the men.

  “Ikira,” Dustin said, breaking away. His blue gaze swept over her. “You look lovely.”

  She eyed him and then looked to Damian, who stared at her with an intensity she’d last seen aimed at Claire.

  I am so hot. Sofia almost laughed at herself. She lowered her gaze at the heated look from the man who drove her crazy every other minute of her day. She cleared her throat and focused on Dustin.

  “You guys match,” she observed.

  “Only because of my efforts,” Dustin said with an edge that warned her not to laugh.

  He’s sensitive about that shit, like a woman, Damian whispered into her mind. She coughed to cover her startled laugh. Dustin looked at her then tossed a look over his shoulder at Damian before directing her away.

  “Dick,” Dustin said under his breath. “Come, ikira. The guests must be greeted.”

  “Is it really necessary?” she asked. Her cheer faded. He motioned her toward the entrance to the courtyard.

  “It is.”

  She felt Damian’s gaze on her as they walked away. She wanted to warn him about Claire… Later. After this latest ordeal.

  She stood beside Dustin on one side of the entrance while Damian and Claire assumed the other. Claire was all over him, in his space, rubbing her breasts against him. Sofia watched, astonished at the blatant display, and almost didn’t prep herself for her first encounter.

  The first man was in his prime, and his eyes crinkled in a genuine smile when he clasped hands with Dustin. They exchanged a greeting in a foreign language that sounded like Russian before he held out his hand to her. His eyes went to the symbol at her neck, and one eyebrow shot up. His name … Sasha.

  She saw killing in his future, but only in defense of his family. She released her breath and prepared herself for the next, relieved the encounter wasn’t as bad as she expected.

  She had greeted ten men and two women before she felt the first flash of cold. The man before her was middle-aged and handsome, but she saw his dealings with Czerno’s men. He sold out Damian’s men—his own men—for money. Antoine.

  The second traitor came soon after, a man whose past stunned her. She held his hand longer than she should. The man looked no older than Damian and was indeed from the same era.

  He and Claire sold out Damian’s brother to Czerno. Isac.

  If Damian knew the woman trying to crawl back into his bed had helped murder his brother, her husband… She couldn’t see him over the crowd. Her throat tightened in unshed tears of sorrow and anger.

  Damian’s world was brutal. Her world was brutal.

  “Be strong, kiri,” Dustin said without looking at her.

  She swallowed hard and held out her hand to another woman in red. The last man in line was the final traitor, a man who’d helped Jilian torture his wife then claimed Czerno’s men had done it. Haydaen.

  She all but snatched her hand away, overwhelmed at the images in her head. Dustin escorted the man into the mansion, and Pierre wrapped an arm around her as she sagged.

  Pierre unloading his shotgun on the man in executioner’s garb from Czerno’s. It was dark, cold, and the shots hit the man with lopsided shoulders, dropping him dead to the ground. An explosion blazed in the distance. A woman was screaming, another man shouting.

  “So much death,” she whispered. She pushed herself away and leaned against a wall. Dustin returned for her. She wiped tears from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, kiri,” he said with rare warmth. “Remember, we want them to fear you. Don’t let them see you cry.”

  She steeled herself and nodded. She didn’t want to disappoint him or Damian and couldn’t help but dread the conversation to come. She tried to think of how she could soften the pain she’d bring him.

  Dustin escorted her into the boisterous banquet room, and her spirits fell further. She was seated at the end of the table opposite Damian while Claire claimed the spot to his left. The seat of honor was given to Sasha. Dustin sat beside her. From w
hat little she knew about etiquette, she was occupying the seat of the lady of the house. A few of the guests cast curious looks her way, and everyone who looked at her seemed more interested in the plain charm at her chest than in meeting her gaze.

  Caterers served up food she’d kill to eat. Sofia watched the plates swap out before her as those around her gorged themselves on gourmet dishes she’d only seen on TV. As each course came and went, she felt another piece of her die.

  What’s done can’t be undone.

  She stared at the embroidered tablecloth, tormented by the scent of food she couldn’t eat and the visions of death and betrayal that left an acrid taste in her mouth. No one spoke to her. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t one of them. A freak among freaks. Would she spend eternity like this, doomed to knowing only the dark secrets of those around her? If Dustin’s words were true, she’d never be welcomed into the home of any of Damian’s people, not if they feared the sight of her! Once she told Damian about the woman whose hand rested intimately on his arm, who he smiled at with genuine affection …

  If not for the dead man in her head, she’d be alone.

  She fled the banquet hall for the library. Pierre trailed, balancing a plate of food. She stood before the window, feeling very much like a prisoner in her new world. She wondered if the dead man in her head, Darian, felt this way when he cried. She heard Dustin order Pierre out before he approached her.

  “Sofia, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth,” Dustin said in a soft, firm voice.

  She hugged herself, waiting.

  “Claire …?” His unfinished question lingered in the silence between them.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He tensed. She looked up at him, sensing both his anger and his regret. His blue eyes were colder than the sky on a winter morning in Virginia. She resisted the urge to move away from him, chilled by the visions of his work as Damian’s executioner.

  “I thought so,” he said at last. His face softened as he looked at her. “You have to tell him, sweetheart.”

  “It’ll kill him.”

  “He must know. You don’t carry this burden alone.”

  She nodded, throat tight. With a squeeze of her arm, he left her.

  “Sofi.” Damian’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.

  She wiped her eyes before turning to face whatever new challenge Damian brought with him. He was accompanied by Dustin and two other men, one she knew as Sasha, a man who’d struck her with his devotedness to his family, and Levi, a man who’d been present in many of his pre-Schism memories.

  Damian’s gaze swept over her. He was the lord and master again, his form and commanding presence filling up the room. His display of checked power disturbed her.

  “Sasha, Levi, this is Ikira Sofia,” he said.

  “An honor, ikira,” Sasha said with a bow.

  “We’ve waited many years for you, ikira,” Levi said.

  “Sasha and Levi are two of my most trusted advisors. Sasha manages the operations for Dusty out of Miami and Levi for Jule in Europe,” Damian explained.

  “We’ve been through much together,” Levi added. “I owe D my life.”

  “I’m honored to meet you both,” she said.

  “Shall we review what you’ve learned?” Damian asked. His tone was genuinely questioning, and she felt grateful that he was giving her the choice to opt out. She met Dustin’s gaze, sensing he felt the same pain she did.

  “I’m ready,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  They sat around the low table still scattered with pictures. Pierre remained at the door. She sifted through the pictures, aware of the intent attention the others paid her. She found Antoine and drew his picture out. She swallowed hard, uncomfortable with playing the role of judge and jury.

  “Antoine,” she said. “He’s a spy for Czerno. Czerno pays him well for the locations of the safe houses in Europe and the names and locations of the Guardians.”

  “That we knew,” Sasha said with a firm nod.

  “Haydaen,” she said, drawing out another. “His wife’s death was by his own hand. He felt you suspected him and devised a plot with Czerno to torture …” Her voice caught at the images replaying through her mind. Damian reached across the table and touched her face, dismissing them. “… to torture and blame her death on Jilian. He sold out his family for money and land in Italy.”

  No one spoke. She reached Isac’s picture and stopped, looking up at Damian.

  “Damian …”

  “Whatever it is, it’s okay,” he said.

  “Isac. He killed your brother.” She struggled to control her emotions as the words came out. She didn’t think anyone heard her choked words. Silence followed. When she was brave enough, she looked up at Damian. He had leaned back in his seat, his face a frozen mask. She met Dustin’s penetrating gaze.

  “And Claire,” she added.

  “Claire what?” Damian growled in a voice that bordered on inhuman.

  “She and Isac.” She couldn’t bring herself to say what they’d done. The words were too painful, and by the predatory stillness of the man across from her, she was terrified of what he’d do if she said it again. He rose, as if on autopilot, turned, and faced the window.

  “I know you’re jealous, but this is disgusting,” he said in a low voice so sharp she jumped.

  “I’d never do that to you,” she said, unable to stop the tears she’d been holding back since the start of the evening. “She’s sleeping with Czerno and feeding him the names of the new Guardians. She and Isac killed your brother. They plotted together during the hunting trip you and your brother took the day before he died. Claire lured him away from his Guardians to the warm springs by the—”

  “Enough!” He faced her, eyes whirling madly. His accusation and fury were plain on his flushed face.

  “Why do you think she came here? She wants to find a way to kill you, too!” She forced herself to continue.

  “You jealous little bi—”

  Before she knew what she did, she’d closed the distance between them and slapped him hard. Fury bubbled within her, breaking free.

  “Tonight, I’ve given you the last shred of me that was human!” she shouted. “I just signed their death warrants, and you think I’d stoop so low as to point the gun at someone because I’m jealous? You think I’d sell my soul because of something so stupid? I’m doing this for you! This is what I am! But you know what, Damian? Fuck you. Fuck you!”

  Hurt, she fled into the cold night air, stopping only when she reached the center of the gardens. Pierre trotted after her. She dropped to her knees and sobbed, unable to control her pain and fear.

  Damian started after her, furious. Dusty caught his arm and motioned for those in the library to leave.

  “You’re a dick. You know how hard it was for her to tell you that?” his closest friend snapped.

  Damian glared at him, his restraint on his powers rippling. Long-buried rage was bubbling upward, along with the tiny instinct he’d squashed thousands of years ago.

  “I can’t believe—”

  “I believe her, Damian,” Dusty said in a calm voice. “Claire’s been on the European front for a hundred years. She just rotated to the southwest on orders that neither you nor Jule nor I issued, and the Tucson sites have fallen like flies. Because of her natural ability, she’s been intimately involved in screening new recruits. It’d be easy for her to flag the newbies for Czerno’s men.”

  Dusty’s words floored him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel hurt that his best friend hadn’t told him of his suspicions sooner. He paced, mind racing with memories he could no longer suppress, thoughts of his brother, of Claire, of Darian’s death. Sofia’s words freed them from deep within his mind, and Dusty’s hammering at the facts made it impossible for him to silence them as he wanted to.

  I don’t know if I trust my wife, brother.

  Maybe Darian hadn’t been talking about infidelity but about
something else. The memories came faster. Darian was chopped into so many pieces that there’d been no body to bury. Not providing his brother a proper burial—the burial of a king!—had sickened him. Almost as bad, how many others had died from the treachery of a single Guardian? How many Guardians had he lost this year alone? How many humans were dead because he lacked the strength to face his instincts?

  He roared and slammed his hands on the desk at the far end of the library, unable to stop the images racing through his mind. Claire was all that remained of his brother, and he’d loved her out of respect for a man whose death he’d never been able to accept. Memories of how much Darian loved Claire, of his own nights in her bed, overwhelmed him. That she’d used him, killed Darian …

  “Damian.” Dusty’s whisper brought him out of his mind, and he realized he was kneeling on the floor with his head bowed. “Brother.”

  He knew Dusty was right, knew Sofia was right, knew he’d known since just after Darian’s death that there was something not right about Claire but was too desperate to hold onto the last piece of his brother to face the truth. He was reliving the pain of Darian’s death, sickened by his own cowardice. Darian had even tried to warn him, and he’d never wanted to see what was in front of him.

  Forgive me, brother.

  “I know, Dusty,” he admitted in a thick voice. “I think I’ve always known.”

  “No, Damian, you couldn’t have known how twisted she was. No one could.”

  “Even someone who reads minds?” he demanded with a bitter laugh.

  “Did you ever read hers?”

  “No. It was Darian’s rule—if you trust someone, don’t do it. She is … was the last of my family.”

  If he had, how many thousands of lives would have been saved? How good was a Defender of Humanity who purposely looked away from something that led to so many deaths?

  “Darian’s death is not your fault,” Dusty said in a hushed tone.

  Damian closed his eyes. Dusty knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

  “Trust me,” he whispered. “We’re in this together.”