“Oh, are you actually serious?” I asked.
“Is the Pope a Catholic?” he asked.
I dropped my hands to my sides as he wiggled his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. The intensity of his energy had waned, or I was getting used to it. One way or another, he wasn’t as intimidating.
“That’s more like it, love, nothing to be afraid of here.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. I looked down suggestively. “No, nothing indeed.”
I giggled and covered my mouth. He really wasn’t badly endowed.
He scrunched his handsome face for a second before his sky blue eyes sparkled again and he launched into a new line. “Just imagine your hands all over this body, sweetheart, you and me, rolling around on the sand. It’s been a while since I shagged a redhead you know. Some say Little Reds are bad luck, but not me! How about it, love?”
I rolled my eyes, turned away and headed back down the path. Seriously, did he have any luck with those lines?
“Does the carpet match the drapes?” he called after me.
Heat flooded my face and ears and I patted my cheeks. “Oh man, did you have to go there?”
“Precisely. I’m a virile young man. There is where I live.”
How did I stumble across a horny, nude, pre-pubescent boy? I growled and kept walking, stomping my feet. I needed to get to the house and shelved any thoughts of escaping to see my friends. Who knew what kind of trouble this weird boy was going to cause?
The gravel crunched behind me. He’d followed.
“Hang on a minute. We need to sort this out, yeah?” he called. He was closer but his speech was broken with gasps and curses as he hurried behind me. He must have found the sharp twigs a delight to his bare feet. “I can’t get you out of my mind, love, where you—ss—uh—going? It can’t be a coincidence us crossing paths like this, ow.”
I smirked at his painful pursuit and concentrated on not showing any sign of discomfort or weakness. He followed me relentlessly, spurting nonsensical pickup lines between bouts of hissing. I lost track of the distance we traveled, too caught up in his hilarious one-liners.
“No wonder you’re out of breath, you’ve been running through my head all day.”
An explosion of laughter erupted from deep inside my chest. Oh, no. I slapped my hand over my lips. It wasn’t nice to laugh at someone in his birthday suit, especially one so young. He looked younger than Tommy and I might give him a complex.
“What say you and me stop and take a breather, yeah? A good shag fixes everything. Let’s talk about this, yeah?”
“Nothing to talk about.” I waved my hand dismissively over my shoulder, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. I would not to turn around to watch him and his bits jiggle all over the path. Come to think of it, he didn’t seem to have any sense of reality. Maybe he was sick. “I don’t shag teenage boys.”
The light had faded, and I focused on the ground in front of me. His aura spiked, suddenly electrifying in its intensity. I stumbled.
Then a deep, velvety voice spoke. “Maybe you’d prefer to shag me looking like this, yeah?”
“What the—?” Strands of hair stung my eyes as I whipped around. My heart pounded in my chest and the hollow of my neck, making it hard to swallow. I wasn’t smiling anymore. I was a little scared.
The teenage boy had disappeared and in his place stood an older, muscular version. Stubble covered his angular jaw and a light drizzle of fuzz trickled from his neck down to his mortifying appendage. Oh boy, or man, or… whatever he was. I cleared my throat and flared my eyes. It was the same boy—he had the identical glint in his eye, cleft chin and he still ogled my chest. I put my hand forward and low to block the sight of his man parts and frowned. This was beyond strange.
“Who are you?” I narrowed my eyes.
“Who do you want me to be, love?” He thrummed his fingers on his abs lightly and regarded himself with obvious approval. Shaggy hair fell over his eyes as he looked down. “This James Bond type is a bit more impressive for the ladies, right? So, what say you?”
He smoothed his hair back and caught my eye. He took a step forward. Boy, even his calf muscles bulged out all manly.
I squeaked and started to back up. Uh-uh. No way was I going there.
My shoulders relaxed a little at his James Bond delusion; it took the edge off the seriousness of a nude man, twice my size propositioning me in the woods. I couldn’t stop my slight smile or the buzzing adrenaline that surged from the back of my brain. My expression spurred him on and his eyes and energy lit up like fireworks. He advanced with his hands out, groping imaginary balloons. “C’mon, love, those tits won’t squeeze themselves.” He pounced.
I shrieked and ran. Fire pumped through my veins, ignited by sparks from my mind, fueling me, pushing me faster and faster, away from the dizzying power. The thud of his steps and the power of his energy pulled at my core from behind. But my brain said, run.
I burst from the edge of the path and into the clearing at the front of house. Tommy’s car was the only thing separating me from the two standing on the porch. Their shocked faces looked my way as I sprinted towards them, waving my hands and screaming like a banshee—crazy, naked guy in tow.
Cash launched off the porch and skidded over the hood of the car just as the man collided with me. I swiveled my head and struggled to escape the sweaty, slippery mess, but he pinned me with his hips and his hands circled my waist.
Before I could push him off, he was pulled from me in one swift movement. He soared through the air and tumbled along the limestone gravel—ouch. Then, like a cat, he righted himself in one fluid motion to land on his feet. If I’d had any questions about whether he was human, they were gone.
“That’s enough, Marc,” Cash said from his spot between the man and me. Hang on, did he say Marc? Wasn’t that the name of his associate?
“Bollocks. You’re a right spoil sport, Nephilim,” Marc said and dusted himself off. “You’re lucky no other Players are here or I’d have your hide for that. But because it’s you, I’ll let it slide.”
“Put some clothes on and come inside.” Cash’s broad shoulders blocked my view, but I’d seen it all already. He grabbed my arm roughly and guided me back to the porch. “What were you doing out on your own?”
“Why didn’t you tell me your associate was a nude nymphomaniac?” I shirked away, pushed past a bewildered Tommy and stormed in the door. I barely registered the electric shock.
“Ooh, I fancy my redhead’s feisty,” Marc said behind me. “Makes for interesting sport.”
I dropped onto the couch facing the front door. No one would be sneaking up on me again. The coffee table was laden with appetizers—a welcome distraction—and I went to work sampling the antipasto goodies, saying a silent thank you to Tommy.
I kept an eye on the door and couldn’t decide if I was having fun or a little scared. This Marc guy was a real character. I mean, who acts like that in front of a stranger unless you have tickets on yourself? No wonder Tommy said he wasn’t all there in the head. But there was more to him than his foolhardy demeanor because his aura was the strongest I’d ever felt. He had to be hiding something behind that playboy attitude. He’d also said he could have Cash’s hide, so he had some power over the hunter.
Cash came through the doorway first, followed by a fully clothed Marc, who threw me a cheeky smirk. He wore jeans and black t-shirt—the identical outfit as Cash. I squinted at him, trying to figure out his game. How did he change so quickly? I dismissed my concern as my hands hovered over the plate. What to choose next—prosciutto, or a cracker with quince paste?
“No, you don’t,” Cash said from over my head. I paused, thinking perhaps he wanted the prosciutto.
“You, sit there,” he said to Marc and redirected him from the empty spot next to me to the opposite couch. Tommy glared at Marc from his position near the door, arms folded across his chest.
“Good idea, mate, better view from here,” Marc said a
nd winked at me.
Cash ignored him and sat next to me with his arm along the back of the seat. His hand landed right behind my shoulders. Hmm, that body language felt territorial—not normal Cash behavior. Something fishy was going on.
“Bleedin’ hell. Sorry, I didn’t realize you two were an item.” Marc’s facial expression dropped as he waved his hand between Cash and me. He actually looked disappointed.
“They aren’t,” Tommy snapped and sat down next to Marc, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
“Fair game then?” Marc picked up an olive and popped it in his mouth. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties and projected the image of a perpetual playboy perfectly. He kept his steamy gaze riveted on me as he swirled the olive in his mouth and swallowed. I squirmed, suddenly grateful I’d put on makeup, and ran my fingers through the lengths of my hair. It didn’t feel as curly but it was still red.
Cash cleared his throat. “Don’t you have somewhere to be Tommy?”
Marc surveyed the table with disdain. “Yes, if this is going to take a while, we need more grub. Honey cakes and tea should do for a spot of dessert.” He gave Tommy a playful pat on the chest. “Off you go, lad.”
“Y’all serious?” Tommy’s voice broke.
Marc looked at Tommy and the air instantly chilled. “I never joke about food, lad, or tea.” He shook his head, and all playfulness fled the room.
“Tommy.” Cash stood up, grabbed the keys from a hook near the front and handed them to Tommy. “This is business.”
“But, he’s crazy.”
“Sod off.” Marc shooed him and waited.
“Okay fine.” Tommy adjusted his cap and checked his watch. “I’ll just make it to town before the stores close.” He slammed the door as he left.
Cash grabbed three beers from the fridge and lifted them in a silent request. Marc’s scrutiny stayed firmly around the vicinity of my chest. He held his hand up without looking away. “No thanks, I’ll wait for the tea.”
Cash put one beer back in the fridge and brought the others back to the couch. The decision was made for me. Another territorial power play?
“Now, we can talk business.” Marc rubbed his palms together, finally lifting his gaze to my face instead. “No business transaction should start without the proper introductions. Do you know who I am, love?”
Cash cracked the cap on one beer then handed it to me before opening his own. I took a quick swig for courage, savoring the icy, bitter bubbles as they coursed down my throat.
“Your name is Marc.” I stated the obvious.
“Sometimes.”
I fluttered my eyelids, exasperated. He laughed, a deep, honeyed sound that invited me to laugh too. How did he have such an effect on me?
“I’m known by many names. Some call me Marc, others call me Mercury, Hermes, Loki, Thoth—the Holy Spirit is a new one—take your pick, love.” He raked his gaze down my body waiting for the significance of his words register.
I blinked. “You’re a god?”
“Ding, ding, ding—five points to Little Red. You’re good at this game, sweet. I wonder what other games you play well.” His energy swelled as he picked up a cherry tomato and sucked it between his teeth, making sure I appreciated his display.
A god? That would explain a few things, like the body morphing and the huge… aura. I scratched my head and turned to Cash, wanting confirmation but no words came. So there was a god in the living room, eating gourmet food and waiting for tea and honey cakes. Marc had called himself names of different gods, from different myths and religions, but claimed to be the same person. It reminded me of what Cash had said about how all myths stemmed from the same extra-terrestrial race—well, that had been my assumption.
“And who might you be then, sweet, the pre-show entertainment?”
Cash choked on his beer and coughed to cover up his shock.
“You think I’m what?” Tiny tendrils of smoke curled off my beer bottle where the condensation met the heat of my fingers. I hastily put it back on the table and glanced down at my attire. Shorts and a singlet, not exactly a skirt up to my ass and breasts hanging out.
“This is the girl I was talking about,” Cash said and raised his eyebrows. “You know, the reason you’re here.”
Marc shuffled closer in his seat to stare at me through narrowed eyes and with full lips—why couldn’t I stop staring at his lips? I ran my hand under my hairline and lifted it to let some air in. Yes, I felt hot. His virulent aura affected me somehow.
“You’re the girl he was talking about,” he said slowly, The twinkle had left his eyes, his expression now hard. “She’s the girl. But she’s got red hair, yeah? And she has no markings from what I can see and her eyes aren’t even blue—has she got contacts on?”
Cash took in a deep breath. The tendons in his jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth. Oh good, it wasn’t just me who pissed him off. “No—we don’t know. That’s why I asked you here, to see if you could tell anything. I believe she’s slipped through the system, like I did.”
“She’s not registered?”
“I don’t know—neither does she.”
“Does she have a mentor?” he asked Cash without taking his eyes off me.
“Her father, I presume.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t see how…” His voice trailed off. “Okay, I want to hear it from you. What’s his name, love?”
“Who—Dad?”
“No, Father Christmas.” He raised an eyebrow then held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me, I know that Player’s name already. I was just having a laugh. Yes, your father. What’s his name?”
“My father’s name is Bruce Urser. But he’s not my mentor; he abandoned me years ago.” Cash flinched mildly and Marc swallowed before I added, “That man couldn’t mentor a sheep.”
“That’s a serious accusation there, Little Red.”
“No, it’s not. Everyone knows it, he’s good for nothing.”
“No. That’s not what I mean. For a progeny to accuse her mentor of abandonment before she is fully aware and registered is a crime punishable by eviction. Game over—Player removed. You want to make your complaint formal, yeah?” He clicked his fingers at Cash. “Get me a notebook, so I can write this down, yeah?”
“Hold up.” I grabbed the beer off the table and sculled half the bottle then paused, waiting for the gas to settle. I laughed through my nose. “Are you guys serious? Because it sounds to me like you’re saying we’re all part of some game? The world is some giant game board and people are training their children to play for what—world domination?”
“Of course not, that sounds like codswallop. It’s never worked that way.” Marc snorted then glared at Cash. “I thought you told her.”
Cash shrugged, expression flat. “Why would I tell her if you haven’t confirmed her status?”
Marc’s tanned skin took on a reddish hue, and he turned back to me. “It’s more technologically advanced than that, more like one of your computer programs than a game board. We download our souls into empty bodies, or avatars as you might call them, then we race to see who can make the biggest impact using the life we’ve been given. By impact, I mean improve the world, evolve it, or just become noticed by the universe. You see, time travels differently where we come from, it’s heavier there—more gravity, different dimension—so you might have a hundred years go by to our, let’s say, twenty. We worked out that, once here, we could live many times over, fast-forward our evolution, then return to our own home and our own bodies the better for it. We eventually got bored playing amongst ourselves and decided to add humans to make the Game more challenging. The Queen will have me tell you that she created the humans out of love, but we all know better. This game has been going on for centuries.”
“You created human life? Witches too?”
“I’m flattered, love, but I didn’t create anything. The glory of that award goes to a team of scientists and the Queen herself—may she reign forev
er. They’re all made in our image, just smaller, less intelligent versions confined to the third dimension. They were actually here before we discovered the Game, we just improved them. And as for the others—what did you call them, witches?” The word looked like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “They should never have happened. They’re a glitch in the system and need to be eradicated before they distort the Game and skew the results. This alliance between witches and humans has gone too far.”
I must have looked puzzled because he leaned forward. “Don’t you understand? If the human race is polluted, it will be eradicated, washed away. We will start over.”
“You mean another flood?”
“If it comes to that, perhaps. The monarchy sets the rules and, as the Queen is a recluse, the choice will probably be given to her son, here on Earth. If anyone can find the sodding bastard, that is.”
“So, is she a Player?” Cash asked impatiently, gesturing in my direction.
Marc gaze traveled around the edges of my body, like he looked beyond my skin, as though he could read my aura. He closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them.
“Your father’s name is Bruce Urser?”
I nodded.
“Bloody prick, he is. Causing all sorts of mischief,” he muttered and scratched his stubble then looked at me. “Did your father ever tell you strange bedtime stories as a child?”
That was true. When I was little, he would watch me make my bed, military style, and tell me stories. Then he would force me to repeat them, word for word. If I stuffed up, he’d pull the sheets off the bed and make me do it again while he repeated the story.
“Yeah.” I scratched my head, then picked at the label on the beer bottle. “His favorite was about this evil Queen who made a museum out of living people, like one of those wax museums. She sold tickets to visitors from all over the universe to marvel at the pitiful creatures. They would stare at the frozen statues all day long but had to leave by nightfall because as soon as the sun set, the statues would come to life. They would dance and sing and have a great old time, thinking they were living life to the fullest, totally unaware of the day they had missed. One day, the Queen’s son, a curious visitor, stayed behind and saw those statues come to life and felt pity for them. He told them about the wonders the sunlight held and how they’d been cheated out of this treasure, cursed to only walk in the dark. The statues turned on the Queen and paid for their freedom in blood. She slaughtered thousands of her living statues, and banished the rest, along with her rebellious son. They were never allowed to return to her paradise.”
Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1) Page 11