Wave of Memories: The Sons of the Zodiac

by Addison Fox

  Broad shoulders, slender hips, long, long legs. As she glanced down, it was his hands that stopped her, as they always did. Always had, she quickly corrected herself. Long-fingered and strong, his hands were masculine, yet elegant.

  The hands of a scholar, even as she knew them capable of the fiercest violence.

  “You’re looking well, Meg. As always.”

  “As are you.”

  “Everyone’s in the back.” With that, he gestured her forward, the conversation apparently at an end.

  She nodded and stepped toward him, not surprised to see him tap several commands on a security keypad on the wall before gesturing her forward.

  The large foyer housed about an acre of silver and black marble on the floor and a large wooden staircase that wove up the side wall. Two corridors spread off the main entrance and she could see a doorway to an impressive library. Without warning, a memory lanced through her.

  The two of them, wrapped up in each other, in a different library in a different time. A different place.

  A place they called home together.

  Aidan started off down the other hallway, oblivious to her memories. Unaware of how they burned within her, even after all this time. He gestured her before him toward a large door at the end of the hall. The smells of dinner greeted them as he pushed the swinging door inward and a swift panic engulfed her.

  Why had she come here?

  The question evaporated from her mind as Callie moved forward, reaching for her hands and pulling her close in a warm embrace.

  “You doing okay?”

  “Good,” Meg answered automatically, hugging the other woman tightly. “I’m good.”

  Callie stepped back but didn’t let go of her hands. “You’re going to stay that way, too.”

  Meg wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe she’d come to the right place for help, but the sight of Aidan standing across the room—so aloof, so distant—had her doubting the wisdom of Callie’s words.

  Or the warriors’ ability to protect her.

  * * *

  Aidan reached for his beer and tamped down on the urge to look at her.

  Again.

  Callie’s cooking was superb as usual and she’d really outdone herself with a roast, some sort of potato dish that melted in your mouth and a massive chocolate cake for dessert.

  He’d tasted none of it.

  Nothing could replace the ashy taste that filled him, coating his senses with a bitter regret. And, Aidan wasn’t all that surprised to note, despite that regret and all that had come before, he still wanted Meg with a desperation that tightened his chest and left him practically gasping for air.

  Why her?

  He’d asked himself the question so many times through the centuries he’d lost count.

  There was no answer to the question. Nothing that could explain this fierce need for someone he was clearly not meant to have. Aidan took another sip of his beer—now in a nice pilsner glass as Callie wouldn’t allow bottles at her table—and keyed back in on the conversation.

  “You say Tyrus has revealed himself?” Montana’s quick assessment of the situation was refreshing, her acceptance of who and what they were absolute. “But how? From what you’ve just outlined, he was a boy centuries ago. And he’s not one of the warriors, correct?”

  “No,” Meg confirmed, her long fall of rich brown hair framing her face like a lover’s caress. “He’s not a warrior, but he’s been turned immortal by someone. Earmarked by another god for their use. I knew it the moment he began stalking me that it was him.”

  “A mercenary?”

  “Sort of,” Meg acknowledged. “Although I suspect he’s more like a pawn. A pawn with immortality and an attitude to match.”

  “Who’d give that piece of shit immortality?” Aidan heard the growl in his voice before he smarted inwardly at the pain the name Tyrus could cause even after all this time.

  “Aidan’s right,” Quinn added. “It’s not to anyone’s benefit to start turning humans at whim. Especially one who was so crafty at violence in life. Tyrus and his father and their aide to Sparta nearly turned the tides of battle. Even the members of the Pantheon can’t be so stupid as to think giving him immortality is a good idea.”

  “Is he Enyo’s?” Aidan thought that might fit, the Goddess of War was always more than happy to impress a “few good men” into her service. Add in his expertise in battle and they’d be a near perfect match.

  Meg shrugged but those light brown eyes focused in on him for the first time since they’d sat down. “It’s hard to tell. From what I’ve been able to piece together from the little he’s revealed to me in our game of cat and mouse, he was turned around the same time you were. Almost like a retaliation against Themis.”

  Her last words were whispered and Aidan felt the sharp lance of guilt and need and residual anger that was never far from the surface rise up and grab him by the throat.

  He’d earned his turning, damn it. He’d worked hard and had never given Themis any doubts that he belonged in her service.

  “That was more than two thousand years ago.” Aidan shook his head, still unable to make sense of how Meg’s past actions tied to what was currently happening to her. “It has to be something else. Some other reason.”

  “Meg and her sisters have grown powerful in the last several centuries,” Callie interrupted in a solemn voice. “As the human population has grown, so has their power.”

  “The same could be said for all of us, Callie,” Quinn argued. “As protectors of humanity, we’re sure a hell of a lot busier than we once were. And no one could have called the Middle Ages easy.”

  Montana laid a soft hand on his arm and Aidan didn’t miss the flash of understanding—or the clear bond—that lived between them.

  “But your powers are unchanged. Meg’s power has grown, as has her sisters’. They are Furies. With each successive act of selfishness by humans, they grow stronger.”

  “You believe that’s why I’m a target?” The already pale skin of her cheeks grew whiter as Callie’s words sunk in.

  “Yes.”

  “And the gods don’t like to share power,” Montana whispered, the memories of her own ordeal months prior clearly stamped across her face.

  Silence fell as Quinn’s free hand covered their joined ones and it was long moments before Montana spoke again. “What is your power, exactly? If we understand that, maybe we can figure out why Tyrus has chosen this time and this place.”

  Meg reached for her water and Aidan didn’t miss how her hand shook as she pressed the glass to her lips. She was scared and he’d never seen that from her.

  Had never believed it possible.

  “I am a Fury. Born of the same seafoam as Aphrodite.”

  At Montana’s awed expression, Meg nodded and continued. “My sisters and I were born of a single act of violence—when Cronus fought with his father, Uranus, and threw his blood to the sea.

  “Aphrodite’s the light and we are the dark. Responsible for punishing the shadowed acts of humanity. Tisiphone avenges murder. Alecto punishes moral crimes against others. And I am the spiteful one, who punishes the crimes against the heart.”

  “Your role is not new,” Aidan turned to look at Callie, “even if your power has grown. Why has Tyrus chosen now to exact some elaborate plan of vengeance?”

  “I don’t know why but his taunts throughout the last century have grown increasingly more violent.”

  “Century?” Although all heard the words, Montana keyed in on the implications immediately. “This has been happening for that long?”

  “It’s been little things, but yes, his behavior has escalated over time.”

  Aidan struggled to calm the rising anger at the image of her battling Tyrus’s depravity decade after decade. She’d been alone and no matter how much he’d wished things had been different between them, he’d never wished her harm.

  “How?” His words were soft but he saw her eyes widen at the undertone
of violence that pulsed underneath.

  “Lots of ways, both small and large, but yesterday he attacked my home with me in it. Left a lovely little calling card, too.”

  Callie’s eyes narrowed. “What type of calling card?”

  “When he was young, he enjoyed making sport of women who were considered loosely moraled.”

  “There were rumors at the time,” Aidan added, that helpless sense of anger swirling harder, like the center of a tornado. “Nothing that could be proven, but women would disappear. His father was powerful and Tyrus was rather powerful in his own right.”

  “So what does that have to do with was left for you?” Callie pressed. Aidan didn’t miss the hard set of her mouth or the bleak look that had descended in her eyes, even as she pressed for the truth.

  “I confronted Tyrus at the time, not as an immortal, but as a leader who’d proven herself in the court of Philopoemen. Told him I was on to him and that he’d better stop. After that, I’d find locks of hair delivered to my home. I’d never know when they’d arrive but they were always a different color. And a woman would always be missing around the same time they arrived.”

  Meg took another large sip of water, then continued on. “His behavior toward me has picked up where he left off. Locks of hair, small pieces of jewelry or a scrap of clothing. Then, yesterday, there was a mysterious package that sat outside my home. I found it last night when I went back to look at the damage. Inside was a lock of hair and a note.”

  Despite himself, Aidan felt the burning embers spark to life as the familiar anger at his childhood enemy filled him with an unholy rage. “What did the note say, Meg?”

  “That I had forty-eight hours. Then he’d find me wherever I am and we’d finish what we started.”

  Before he could question her further, Montana beat him to the punch. “But why now? And why you? Surely he knows better than to come after another god?”

  “There’s something she’s not telling you.” Aidan let the words spill forth, ignoring the wash of misery that spread across the high cut of Meg’s cheekbones. “More to the story.”

  “What is it?” Quinn sat forward. “We need to know if we’re going to help you.”

  “I vanquished Tyrus.”

  Aidan held back the harsh bark of laughter at her description. Vanquish?

  More like decimated.

  And she’d taken what they had together down in the process.

  “So it’s about revenge?” Montana added.

  “More or less.” When no one said anything, Meg added, “Likely more, though. I let loose the full extent of my powers. Tyrus won’t rest until he destroys me.”

  “Why not go after him first?” Montana voiced the unspoken question.

  “He’s crafty and he’s stayed hidden. Because he’s not human any longer, I can’t find him through his depravity to mete out his punishment. Instead, I’m forced to wait until he acts.”

  Meg paused, then added with a quick look toward Montana, “I know how you took care of Arturo several months ago. I can’t fight an immortal on my own and I thought . . .”

  “That we could help,” Callie added quickly. “And you’re right.”

  Now Aidan did speak, knowing he couldn’t hold back the words if he’d tried. “Help, Meg? Or absolution?”

  “I don’t deserve that.” Meg ran one slim finger around the edge of her plate, before lifting her gaze to his. “But I had nowhere else to go.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Meg stared into the mug of tea she held as she leaned against the old, ornately carved headboard. Steam rose in what should have been a comforting arc, but she couldn’t find ease in the soothing ritual. Callie had prepared a space for her in one of their many guest rooms but despite the enormous—and comfy—four poster bed and crackling fire, she couldn’t relax.

  Couldn’t calm her thoughts.

  Tonight had been far worse than she’d imagined. Coming here, Meg knew she’d have to eat crow. She also knew she deserved it.

  But she hadn’t expected the absolute lack of warmth in Aidan’s gaze. Those blue eyes, once such a powerful indicator of his feelings for her, were now bleak and cold.

  She knew she should take comfort in the fact they’d given her sanctuary and enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Or take solace in the fact that she was safe for the moment, protected by a group of warriors almost as ancient as she was.

  But no matter how hard she tried, her wild thoughts kept reverting to dinner. The dark, accusing look in Aidan’s rich blue eyes as he stared at her and the heavy hunch of his shoulders as he sat at the head of the table.

  How could she have forgotten just how formidable he was?

  He’s the reason you came here, her conscience whispered. But no matter what you do, you can’t make it right.

  As Meg felt the sharp, heavy press of tears fill her throat, she got up from the bed. She’d been down this path more times than she could ever count over the centuries, and nothing could change the past.

  Their past.

  But she was done apologizing for her actions. Done apologizing for something for which she held only part of the blame.

  The wave of self-righteous anger carried her from the room and down to the first floor. The kitchen, once again pristine after the large meal they’d shared, was lit by nothing but a soft light glowing over the stove.

  Restless yet uninterested in something more to eat or drink, she continued to drift through the darkened house. Like a wraith, she moved through the dining room, back through the foyer until she reached the opposing hallway that ran from the old brownstone’s entryway.

  Her eyes alighted on the library she’d noted earlier and she moved toward it, immediately comforted by the thought of perusing the shelves and curling up with a book. Similar to the kitchen, a small light was left burning in the room, lending a soft, rosy glow to the rows of books and large leather couch that dominated the middle of the cavernous space.

  Brightly colored spines of hardcovers called to her and Meg crossed the room, focused on what she believed was the latest Stephen King.

  The laconic voice nearly had her screaming as her hands closed around the King. “Looking for a little gruesome reading this evening? I hadn’t taken you for the type.”

  Book forgotten, Meg whirled toward the voice.

  Aidan.

  She kept her voice level—barely—as she took in his sprawled form in an oversized leather chair in the far corner of the room. The small lamp next to him threw half of his large body in shadows and she couldn’t stop the rush of desire—and was that regret?—from swimming through her stomach. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing as you, I suspect. I’m not big on sleep.”

  Meg moved closer, the large book in his lap catching her attention. “You’re reading Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations? And you can’t sleep?”

  “It’s enlightening.”

  “It’s the history of modern economics and the foundation of capitalism.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Aidan trailed off, no hint of humor in his words. In fact, if she weren’t mistaken, there was the slightest hint of embarrassment in the light pink color creeping up his neck.

  “It’s good to see some things don’t change. Your thirst for knowledge being one of them.”

  “It passes the time.”

  At a loss for a response, Meg took the opportunity to peruse another set of shelves that ran along the wall behind Aidan’s back, her fingertips skimming the faded and cracked leather of spine after spine. “You all have quite the collection.”

  “Knowledge in tangible form.”

  Meg glanced up from her perusal. “You don’t care for electronic conveniences? To carry all of this in your pocket?”

  “When I hold a book in my hands, I like to feel the weight of the words. Their heft. I’ll leave the gadgets to Quinn.”

  She couldn’t stop the clamoring memory at the evidence of his earnestness. His deliberate words reminded her of the first
time they met, his small frame quivering with a set of adamant beliefs that belied his age. “The words mean no less as ones and zeroes.”

  Aidan glanced down at the book in his hands and Meg could have sworn she saw another pink flush crawl up his neck. When he didn’t reply, she added a small laugh and a light shrug of shoulders. “Ah, well. Once a scholar, always a scholar.”

  “Those times are long past.”

  “Just because you’re a warrior doesn’t mean you can’t be something else as well.”

  Aidan stood, his movements abrupt even as he gently laid the old volume on a small end table. “What didn’t you tell us what was really wrong at dinner? We did a lot of talking about Tyrus but you gave relatively little information.”

  “I did tell you. Tyrus’s threats have increased and he’s made it clear he’s coming after me. Has already made good on that threat once.”

  “You didn’t tell them how you destroyed him the first time.”

  “That’s between us, Aidan.”

  “Is it? Because you decimated Tyrus. Left him for dead when you found him making love to the woman you found in my bed.”

  Meg rubbed a hand over her forehead, the memories so sharp she could almost believe they’d happened yesterday. Remembering the anger that had swelled in her breast at the moment she’d realized how she’d been set up.

  How she and Aidan both had been set up by Tyrus’s machinations.

  She’d acted, with no thought to consequences. After sending the woman on her way, she’d unleashed the full measure of her gift.

  And left Tyrus laying in a pool of his own blood.

  She’d wanted to do more—had nearly removed that part of him which he valued above all others—but something had held her back.

  It was her one moment of absolution.

  The one moment she admitted that she’d acted in haste.

  The only acknowledgment she’d ever given that she hadn’t trusted Aidan.

  For that, she’d hold back the last bit of her fury and leave her enemy with some small measure of dignity.

  “It was between us.”