by Laura Kaye
I’m gonna knock some fucking heads together.
He pushed off the cushioned altar. His feet hit the ground and his knees went soft. Bracing against the marble, he steadied himself and willed the vertigo away. The room spun, making the enormous floor mosaic of the compass rose seem alive.
Yeah, I’m gonna knock some heads together, all right. As soon as I’m sure I’m not gonna puke all over the place.
As he concentrated on breathing away the nausea, the voices that had awakened him became clearer. Zeph. Aw, sonofabitch. Of all the fucking gods. Z couldn’t see these wounds or he’d know, immediately, what had made them. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago that Zeph had been on the receiving end of their father’s whip of leashed lightning. Only difference was, that power was Aeolus’s to wield. Eurus had no damn business possessing such a power, and when the others found out, all Hades would break loose.
Chrys needed more time to work this mess out. But his head was too clouded by how drained he was to be able to think everything through right now. Which meant he needed to get rid of his brother.
Clothing. He had to cover these wounds. He closed his eyes and willed on a long-sleeved shirt and pair of loose work-out pants. His vision went wiggly with the effort. And hell if the light pressure of the cotton wasn’t tormenting his injuries. Every small shift of the soft fabric felt like a cheese grater against his skin.
Blowing out a long breath, Chrys summoned every bit of energy he possessed and crossed the room to the ornate, golden doors. He flung one open and glared at the melee. “What. The fuck. Does a god have to do. To get some sleep in his own. Damn. House?”
Four sets of eyes turned on him. Their freeze-frame routine might’ve been comical if the door wasn’t all that was keeping him in a standing position.
“Chrysander.” Boreas broke the silence.
He dragged his gaze to his oldest brother. Deep concern poured from the winter god’s silver eyes. Above his long beard, his face was a ruddy red. Chrys sighed and pulled the door closed behind him, cutting off the flow of superheated air from the ceremonial hall. “You shouldn’t be here, B.”
“We are concerned about you.”
“I appreciate that. I do. But I just need to rest.”
“Bullshit,” Zeph bit out, blue eyes flaring.
Chrys glared at him. “While I appreciate the erudite assessment—”
“I’m calling bullshit on this whole situation. What the hell happened last night?”
Gods, he did not have the strength to deal with the agitation rolling off Zeph right now.
When Chrys didn’t answer, his brother continued. “You know what? Aphel, what were you going to show us?”
Chrys looked to the dark-haired god of the Southeast Wind. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, like he’d been in the middle of undressing when Chrys opened the door. Aphel dropped his gaze, and Chrys frowned.
Suspicion flooded Chrys’s gut. Jesus. And the hits just kept on coming, didn’t they? “Apheliotes, get inside,” he said, in case he was right. The minor god startled but moved right away, quickly disappearing through the doors to the hall. “Livos, make yourself scarce, you dig?”
The god nodded and dematerialized, leaving Chrys and his brother in a glaring showdown.
“Start talking,” Z said.
Fine. He’d tell them enough to make them go away. “I’m drained, okay? It took everything I had to manifest the clothes I’m wearing so I didn’t have to walk out here with my bare ass flapping in the breeze.”
“What is going on, Chrysander?” Boreas asked. “Why have you dragged out this thing with Eurus?”
“It’s three fucking weeks until his season,” Zeph interjected.
Like he needed the reminder. Chrys was acutely aware of the passage of time. If Eurus came into his powers while he possessed their father’s firestone ring, he would be nearly unstoppable. But if his brothers—or worse, the Olympians—found out that Aeolus had lost the ring and not confessed it, their father—and all of them, really—was likely to be in just as much trouble.
“Dude. I’m well aware of the calendar. I’ve been trying to reason with him, to bring him in voluntarily.”
“Why the hell bother? He’s dying one way or the other. Just kill him while you’re more powerful and put a stop to this,” Z said.
If only it were that easy. “Because if he makes a good faith effort at cooperation, maybe we can get Mars to lower the sentence.”
Zeph’s face went bright red. “That’s what you’ve been doing? Trying to save him?”
Chrys held out a hand. “Think about it. No matter what, Eurus loses his position and one of his sons comes to power. Do we really want to pass this cluster fuck down to a new generation? If we kill Eurus, or if we don’t at least try to save him, all we’re doing is guaranteeing a new round of animosity between the East and the rest of us.” It was one of Chrys’s considerations, if not his main one.
“Chrysander may have a point,” Boreas said. “I had not thought of that, but it is true. Not to mention that another of his sons is now your heir, Zephyros. We must do what we can to cultivate Devlin’s and Alastor’s friendship and end this once and for all.”
Zeph tugged his hands through his hair. “Devlin’s a lost cause. Eurus’s influence on him has been too great. But either way, I’m telling you right now that the Olympians aren’t going to sit around and wait for us to make inroads with them. They’ve let the family handle this largely out of deference to Mars, but the decision is going to be taken from our hands. Then the shit’s gonna rain down on our heads, too, for not following their orders.”
“I know.” Exhausted, Chrys fell back against the door. The wounds on his back hit the hard surface and screamed agony through every cell. He grunted and closed his eyes.
“Shit. So this is why you refused the Acheron,” Z said.
Chrys nodded, breathing through the dizziness making it increasingly difficult to know which way was up. Finally, he lifted his gaze and looked from one brother to the other. “I just need some shut-eye. Twenty-four hours and I’ll get back out there.”
Boreas’s gaze narrowed. Chrys suddenly felt like maybe B could see through what Chrys wasn’t saying.
“Fine. Get your ass back to bed. And ask for some damn help next time.”
“No. I got this. You both have families to worry about now.” And Chrys was happy for them. He was. Despite his own loneliness. The string of random sex partners was fine for what it was, but didn’t leave him feeling connected to anyone.
“You are our family, too,” Boreas said. “And we are helping bring this matter to a close whether you like it or not.”
“Okay,” Chrys said. “Now get out of here before you melt all over my floor, would ya?”
Boreas grinned, winked, and disappeared.
“You, too,” he said to the remaining god.
“All right, little brother. But I haven’t forgotten how you were there for me when Aeolus dished out his punishment last spring. So know you can call on me for anything.”
Guilt at not sharing the whole story mixed with the nausea sloshing around in his gut, but all Chrys could do was nod. When Zeph finally left, he released a breath and lurched back into the hall. The heat shored him up enough to step in front of Aphel, who had dropped to a knee.
Suspecting his secret, Chrys reached down a hand to assist the other god to his feet. “Rise.”
Aphel’s eyes went wide, but he accepted the help.
“Let’s see whatever it is you were going to show them.”
“Yes, my lord.” He finished removing the shirt, dropped it to the floor, and gave Chrys his back.
“Almighty Zeus.” Layers of electrical lash marks flayed open the skin of the god’s back. “Eurus did this,” Chrys said.
The other god nodded.
“Why?”
“I discovered that he keeps Alastor imprisoned.”
“What?”
“He wishes to control him,
to control the West once Alastor is installed as Supreme God. The boy is not well. I fear he is…tortured.”
Chrys’s mind struggled to keep up. “Devlin, too?”
“I don’t think so. He spends much of his time in his father’s employ.”
He needed time to process all of this. Pushing through the confusion threatening to take him to his knees, he returned to the altar and heaved himself on top. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we? You’ll stand watch in here. The heat will help.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Aphel rasped, dropping to a knee again.
“Aphel?” The god raised his gaze. “It’s good you told me, you dig?”
He nodded, then resumed his position kneeling before Chrys’s altar.
Chrys disappeared his clothes, giving the intense heat direct access to healing his body. Not that he’d ever be all the way healed. His body would close the wounds, but since they were inflicted by a stronger god, he had no way to heal the scars they would leave behind—whether the god that inflicted them should’ve been stronger or not.
Enough.
It was all he could do to lay there.
So he closed his eyes and prayed the gods were merciful, and that his dreams could find their way back into the arms of a certain human raven-haired beauty.
…
Those twenty-four hours stretched into seventy-two. Finally, Chrysander was restored enough to resume his search for Eurus—and fight him if he had to. He had about two and a half weeks to resolve this situation one way or the other, assuming the Olympians didn’t step in beforehand.
It wasn’t a safe assumption.
But, no matter where he searched, he couldn’t pick up a recent energy signature from Eurus. Not at the bridge. Not at Ella’s old house. Not at Owen’s place in Northern Virginia, which relieved him greatly.
Where could he—
Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It would be just like Eurus.
Fear flooded Chrysander’s gut and sent him soaring through the dead of night to the woman’s farm. The woman who had tended his wounds. Who had shared her incredible warmth. Who he’d spent three solid days dreaming about until his body was convinced he knew every inch of hers.
If Eurus had gone looking for Chrys after their fight, the twelve hours he’d spent in her barn would’ve attracted him like a flare in the night.
Gods, if anything had happened to her because of him…
Under the cover of darkness, Chrys materialized into his corporeal form behind the building into which he’d crashed. Sweet-smelling, fresh-cut logs formed a long stack against the back wall. A huge stump marked the source of the wood, and a kernel of remorse shot through him—before Chrys had sought his rest, he’d sent Livos back to create a plausible reason for the damage to the structure. A felled tree had apparently been the god’s solution.
But that wasn’t the only—or the most important—thing he found. Without even entering the barn, Chrys could feel the resonance of Eurus’s energy. He’d been here. And he’d been here recently, judging by the strength of the signature. The woman was now on his brother’s radar.
And that was an exceedingly dangerous place for anyone to be. Ella was living proof of that.
Damnit it all to Hades.
Chrys made a quick sweep of the barn and the yard, his concern and his speed escalating, then circled the house. Eurus’s presence was strongest and most recent around the residence, a fact that shot rage and fear through Chrys’s veins in equal measure. Worst-case scenarios formed a macabre parade through his mind’s eye. Regret and guilt formed a bitter cocktail on his tongue, curdling his gut. Whatever tragedy he found here was his fault for leading Eurus to her door. He materialized in the living room.
The first thing he noticed was that Eurus had been inside, too.
The second was that a life force still existed within. Laney’s life force—after their night in the barn, he’d recognize it anywhere. Gods, she was still alive?
The urge to see her, to prove with his own eyes that she’d survived Eurus’s attack, surged through him. He bolted through the house, following the twin beacons of Eurus’s trail and her energy to the very last door on a long hallway.
Bracing against whatever he was about to see, Chrys pushed inside and crossed toward the bed. His steps slowed, and then relief nearly took him to his knees. The sounds of her soft, even breathing and steady heartbeat were a sweet symphony in the still quiet of the room.
Bewilderment forced him to cross to the side of her bed. She lay on her side, her dark hair sprawled in a fan on the pillow. Safe. Well. Unharmed.
Despite the fact that Eurus had very likely stood in this exact spot not that long before. The energy trail was one of the freshest he’d encountered since the night on the bridge.
Thump, thump, thump.
At his feet, an old brown dog lay curled in a ball. Good doggy. Nice doggy. Please don’t eat my leg, doggy. He whined, a sound of fear, and Chrys sank into a crouch. Petting the animal’s big head revealed he was shaking. Who in Hades knew what Eurus might’ve done to the poor guy, but no doubt it shaved off a few dog years. The animal heaved a deep breath of what sounded like relief and dropped his head on top his paws.
Even the dog was fine. Ish. Not bad for having had an encounter with his brother.
Chrys rose and studied this woman who had fascinated his dreamself these past days. Part of him was loath to even pose the question, but why in the name of Zeus and all the Olympians had Eurus left her alone? The god had been curious enough to search the property and come inside. Yet, she lived. She slept peacefully. Chrys didn’t even sense any of his brother’s trademark unluckiness upon her.
Doing no harm was so unusual for Eurus that Chrys just couldn’t fathom it. Then again, Chrys couldn’t understand most of what went on in the god’s mind anymore, and that was half the damned problem.
Thank the gods she’s okay. He’d been so sure he’d find tragedy that he couldn’t pull himself away from the miracle of her survival.
For a moment, he got stuck there at the side of her bed, torn between the need to pursue his brother and the desire to revel in a moment of her heat. To feel that just one more…
No.
Finding Eurus was the priority. But Chrys wouldn’t leave her unprotected—not after Eurus had been so close to her and acted so uncharacteristically. Livos could watch over her and apprise him if Eurus returned.
Just as he turned away, a dim glow caught his eye. He sucked in a breath. A feather lay tucked under her pillow. Well, hell. It was one of the feathers from the wing of his sacred animal.
Bang-up job concealing yourself, Chrysander.
And, what do you know, Eurus’s energy smudged the golden glow of the quill like a stain. Fuck.
He was a big enough god to admit part of him was more than a little satisfied to know she’d taken it to bed with her, but no matter his satisfaction, he couldn’t leave a part of himself here. He reached out, his fingers closing on the stiff spine.
Laney’s hand fell atop his. “Am I dreaming? Or are you really here?”
Chapter Seven
Laney couldn’t believe it. Seth had shown her enlarged pictures on her laptop of the tree damage to the barn roof. And she’d spent a whole afternoon listening to the grind of the chainsaw cutting it to pieces. With each passing day, she’d convinced herself more and more that she’d imagined the whole thing with the horse and the man. And now, in the dead of night, the same odd golden glow she remembered was all she could see.
His hand disappeared from beneath hers. The golden light receded.
“Please. Don’t go again. Talk to me. Chrys?”
Finn’s tail thumped against the floor.
He was still here. His footsteps over the carpet gave him away. And if she didn’t believe her own ears, she had Finn’s tail to bolster her certainty.
“I know you’re here. And I know I’m awake.” She eased herself into a sitting position and scanned her vision o
ver the room. There. By the door. The light was faint, but it was that unique color. Then it disappeared altogether. No! “Chrys?” Tossing the covers back, she swung her legs off the bed. She cried out, forgetting in her impatience to move more carefully. The cut on her leg was healing, but moving too fast still made her feel like her stitches might pop open.
Suddenly, the light returned. The glow came from the foot of the bed.
Laney’s heart sprinted in her chest, his reappearance shooting adrenaline through her body. She shivered.
“Are you all right?” came a deep masculine voice.
Goosebumps erupted over Laney’s skin. She remembered that voice. God, how she remembered it.
“I will be. Please stay. Please?” She didn’t know exactly what she wanted from him. All she knew was she had so many questions. And only he could answer them.
The silence stretched out. Finally, she had him here. He was really here. And she couldn’t think of what to say. She chuffed out a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
Soft movements told her he’d come closer still. The glow brightened. “Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s just…I’ve spent a whole week dreaming about you, convincing myself I’d dreamed you up in the first place. And now I’m all tongue-tied.”
“You dreamed of me?”
The air between them heated. And now her heart pounded for a different reason. “Uh, yeah,” she whispered.
The glow got closer. “I dreamed about you, too.”
Laney’s stomach flip-flopped and nervous energy skittered down her spine. He’d dreamed about her? And, what was that scent? Careful of her leg, she leaned toward him, just a little. The scent got stronger. It was immediately familiar, but hard to describe. It was just…the smell of summer. It was the heat of the sun and the rich aliveness of nature and the warmth of the breeze that she’d always associated with summertime.
She wanted to press her nose to his skin to see if she was really smelling him.