by Sable Grace
“Mm hmm. It would be mind-blowing, you know.”
“Believe me, I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, a tremble seizing his muscles at the taste of her, then lay back on his pillow. “But I’m not a fuck-’em-and-leave-’em guy.”
Kyana touched her lips with her fingertips. “I could teach you how to be if that’s all that’s stopping you.”
This moment between them felt almost human. Almost ordinary. Gods, how he longed for ordinary. His chest suddenly tight, Ryker dropped another light kiss to her forehead before easing from the bed. “Get some rest. I’m going to borrow your shower and go find some food. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“You already showered.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, turning back to face her again. “But this one’s going to be cold.”
The sound of frantic whispers nudged Kyana awake again. She forced her eyes open and started when she saw Farrel and Crag hovering over her.
“Get the hell out of my room!”
She never let them in here! They knew that.
“Back off, darlin’. They’re just doing what I asked.” Haven’s voice drifted in from Kyana’s doorway. Kyana sat up on her elbows to glare at her. She nearly asked where Ryker was, but caught her tongue before she could slip and let everyone know he’d been here at all.
“What’s going on?”
Haven stepped into the room but remained a good distance from the bed. “The last time I tried to wake you, you nearly crushed my spine. I figured since they were here, they could do it for me.”
Groaning, Kyana swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled her robe tightly closed. “Way to abuse my minions.” She glared at Farrel and Crag and pointed to the door. “Out. Now.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Crag said, fear causing his pocked cheeks to pucker.
His freshly oiled bald head glistened with light sunburn. She was willing to bet he’d spent his time off duty at the beach, as he loved to so often do. Having a mistress of the dark had to suck for a beach bum like Crag.
“You look like poop, Kyana.”
“Thanks.” She rolled her head and flexed her shoulders. Regardless of what Haven thought about her appearance, Kyana felt fan-freakin’-tastic. “Where’ve you been?”
Feeling a little guilty over not having even noticed whether Haven had been home, Kyana worked her way to her feet and strode to the closet.
“I went to find Geoffrey, remember? I wanted to see if he had that list of Cronos supporters.”
“And?”
“He wants us to meet him Below.”
Kyana was irritated that she’d been forced to waste an entire day because of her injuries. Regardless, maybe the day hadn’t been a complete waste after all. If Geoff had put together anything useful, they might have a new place to start tonight.
Her steps a little lighter than they’d been in a while, Kyana ripped a pair of leather pants from their hanger and shoved her arms through a leather vest before stepping back out of the closet. Haven watched Kyana pull on her pants and boots, then handed Kyana her holster.
“Found this outside. And this”—Haven reached behind her back and pulled out Kyana’s stained dagger—“in your bathroom. The only reason I could think that you might have left your weapon belt outside is if you’d been forced to shift. Run into trouble?”
Kyana eyed her, wondering how little she could get away with telling. “Leeches and sunlight don’t mix.”
Haven’s blue eyes widened and her perfect little mouth formed a dainty O. “Is that why your skin’s all pink? Holy goodness, Kyana! You were burned!”
Kyana shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“I can see that! What I can’t see is how or why. Vamps don’t just bounce back after meeting the sun face-to-face.”
“This one does, apparently.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened or not?”
Kyana preferred not, but was pretty sure Haven wouldn’t let the subject drop until she got some kind of answer. “I was careless. Got caught outdoors in the middle of a Leech attack. That’s it.” She purposely left out the bit about saving Ryker’s ass, sure he wouldn’t appreciate her telling others about his moment of weakness. “The sun is not kind. I don’t understand why people all but worship it.”
“Even I can tell this is new skin.” Haven gingerly touched Kyana’s bare shoulder. “I can’t stomach the thought of how bad these burns were this morning. Or what you had to do to rid your body of the poison.” Haven’s face suddenly fell and her concerned eyes turned suspicious. “He fed you to keep you alive. Only someone with gods’ blood could heal you this quickly.”
She didn’t have to say who he was. They both knew whom Haven was referring to.
“He did what he had to,” was all the information Kyana was willing to give.
Haven smiled. “Good for him.”
“Not a word to anyone.” Kyana zipped up her boots. “I mean it.”
“You know I’d never do that. But I am telling Geoff to come here to meet you. You should rest.”
“I’ve rested enough.” Standing, Kyana wrapped her belt around her waist, then tied her hair at her nape with the elastic band sitting on her night table. “In fact, I feel amazing.”
“So where’d he go, anyway?”
“Who?”
“Ryker. I hope he didn’t just ‘do what he had to do’ and then leave without making sure you were okay.”
“He stayed.” Haven didn’t need to know that Ryker had stayed in bed with Kyana practically all day. She’d make way more of a big deal out of that tidbit than was necessary.
“Well . . . okay, then. So we’re off to see Geoffrey, then? You sure you’re up to it?”
Kyana rolled her eyes. “I’m sure.”
They should probably find Ryker before meeting Geoff, though. He wouldn’t be happy if she started work without him. And despite her desire to work solo in the beginning, she was starting to enjoy having him around. Today had been nice. The most normal day Kyana had had in a long time—if she discounted the Leeches and the near-death thing. But curling up in bed with Ryker all afternoon had stirred up all sorts of warm, cozy feelings she didn’t even know she was capable of. Hell, she was practically purring.
Kneeling beside the bed, she pulled out a wooden box and opened the lid. Inside was an array of specially crafted knives, all identical in look and weight. She selected one and tucked it into her boot. After wiping the mixture of Leech and her own blood off the dagger Haven had returned to her, Kyana tucked it into her holster next to her flare gun and started for the door.
Before she could step into the hallway, she ran smack into Ryker. He gripped her shoulder with one hand, the other holding a bottle of raki. She scanned him from head to toe. He’d changed from his surfer boy attire to a black tee and camos tucked into military-issue boots. It was totally hot.
Speaking of hot . . . his gaze heated her blood as it traveled slowly over her freshly healed skin. Her breath hitched. His escaped in a long, slow sigh.
A soft sound from Haven, much like a giggle, reminded them they weren’t alone. Kyana looked away.
“You okay to get back to work?” he asked after a tense, awkward moment.
“Yeah, but the next person who asks me that will be walking with a limp. Let’s go.”
As she brushed past him, he thrust the raki into her hand. “It’s fifty/fifty. Please feed.”
Pleased that he’d been thinking about her while she’d been asleep, she tore off the cap and swallowed a burning sip. “Thanks,” she said, twisting the cap back on.
As they started downstairs with Haven trailing behind them, Ryker’s fingers rested on the small of her back. It was such a mindless touch, she doubted he even realized he’d done it. Doubted that he had any idea how it affected her.
But when they hit the first floor, his touch vanished and her skin instantly returned to subzero temperature.
An annoying chirp sounded behind them as they
reached the front door, and Haven pulled her cell phone from her hip.
She grinned. “It’s Drake! You two go on. Geoffrey said he’d meet you in front of Spirits.” She flipped open the phone and spun around. “Drake! Where are you? Are you okay?”
It took all of Kyana’s willpower not to snatch the phone from Haven’s ear and stomp on it. Zeus, she hated Drake Mallone. “C’mon. Let’s go before I vomit listening to their baby talk,” she muttered when they’d moved out of Haven’s hearing distance.
“What’s wrong? It’s kind of sweet.” Ryker shut the door behind them and they stepped into the gray of dusk. The bodies of the slain Leeches had already been swept up by the cleaning members of the Order, but traces of their blood, and Kyana’s, was still splattered on her wall, the sidewalk, and the street, and sprayed the palm trees. She was going to have to hire someone to pressure wash the place when things calmed down.
“Sweet in the sense of watching a Leech devour a newborn. You have to be perverse to enjoy it.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What the hell took you so long?” Geoff all but shouted the minute Kyana arrived outside Spirits. He’d been talking to Marcus, who excused himself and ducked back inside. “I sent Haven after you nearly an hour ago.”
Kyana wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Geoff’s show of anger. The twinkle in his dark blue eyes said he’d found something good. She could’ve been a day late and he would’ve still been waiting.
“Let’s go in. You can tell us what has you so excited.”
Geoff placed his hand on the door, keeping Kyana from opening it. “Not in there. Follow me.”
Geoff led them through Below to a small garden behind the Healing Circle—a sort of hospital for the mystical types. He sat on the lone bench and Kyana sat beside him. Ryker chose to remain on his feet, towering over them both. “Okay, what gives? I haven’t seen you this excited about something since that time we went out deliberately looking to be ambushed.”
“You wanted to be ambushed?” Ryker leaned against a large oak. “Why would you do that?”
“We were bored,” Geoff said, as if that explained everything.
In short, it did. Until the breakout, things were known to get dull from time to time. They’d had to make their own sort of entertainment. Kyana felt Ryker’s questioning gaze burning into her face. “What? He’s a bad influence. Glare at him.”
Geoffrey laughed. “Sorry, lass. Not taking the credit for that one. It was all you and your mate, Silas. I just tagged along for kicks.”
Pulling the conversation back to the present, Kyana said, “Have you found something that will help us find our traitor?”
“Oh have I.” He pulled some crumpled pages from his hip pocket. “Back in the day, Cronos was well loved. According to the stories, even his exile didn’t make his followers waver. When he told them that he’d be back, they believed him.”
Kyana’s gaze found Ryker’s. Icky had been told the same thing.
“That kind of magic doesn’t exist anymore,” Ryker insisted.
“Some apparently believe it still does.” Geoff smoothed the pages on his knee. “Stories of Cronos’s greatness are still being passed down through the generations. From what I understand, not many follow in the footsteps of their ancestors. But there are a few”—he winked, holding the pages just out of Kyana’s reach—“that may even surprise you.”
Her fingers itched to reach out and snatch the papers from him, but she wouldn’t play his game. She’d learned a long time ago to let him wear himself down. He’d eventually get tired of being the only one to know his secret and tell her.
Ryker, however, hadn’t learned that. When Geoff waved the pages trying to get her to reach for them, Ryker leaned forward and took them.
“Hey, that’s taking the fun out of everything.”
“We don’t have time for fun,” Ryker growled, handing the paper to Kyana. “What is he, five?” Ryker whispered in Kyana’s ear as he leaned in to scan the names with her.
Kyana chuckled. “More like two hundred and five.” She leaned in closer to Ryker. “Peter Pan syndrome. He’s the poster boy.”
Geoff glared, but quickly forgot the insult as Kyana began to read the names on the list. “So these are descendants of original worshippers?”
Geoffrey nodded. “After a little checking, I discovered that at least fifteen are dead, and another fifty were in human lockup when the breakout happened. They could be dead now too but regardless, they weren’t free to unlock Hell.”
“So many in jail?” Ryker asked.
“Hey, they’re not exactly holding to morals down here. Why would they be Above? It’s my guess that most of these window lickers have committed their share of crimes.”
Kyana looked at the names with the sloppy asterisks next to them. She read each one, but none of them was familiar to her. “There are still a lot who aren’t dead or in prison,” she muttered.
“About thirty that I found, yeah. But that’s a good sixty-five less than you would be searching through.”
“And how many more are there that we’re unaware of because their families never supported Cronos? There are bound to be new recruits,” Ryker said.
“At least as many as those on this list who never supported the beliefs of their ancestors,” Kyana said, flipping back to the first page to begin scanning the names to see if she recognized anyone to give her a starting point. “Not everyone with a great-great-great Cronos-supporting granny is going to carry on the tradition.”
That meant a lot of these names were going to be useless.
She kept scanning, waiting for a glimpse of the names Geoffrey had thought might surprise her.
“Oh, and there is one other thing.”
Not bothering to look up, Kyana nodded. “Sure, what?”
“As payment for gathering that list, there’s one person on it that I get to question personally.”
“Payment? I thought a clean house was payment.”
Geoffrey’s eyes hardened. “Let me question him and you’re off the hook.”
The fine hairs on her nape stood at attention. She shook her head and returned to quickly scanning the list. She spotted him about halfway down the second page. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, lass, I’m sure.”
Ryker leaned over Kyana’s shoulder to find the name that had caused the conversation to halt. “Drake Mallone? Isn’t that—”
“Yeah,” Kyana answered before he could finish asking his question. “Haven’s boyfriend.”
Kyana was halfway back to the portal alcove before Ryker caught her. He spun her around to face him, gripping her shoulders painfully. “Neither one of you will go anywhere near this man.”
“Watch yourself, Surfer Boy. We’re working together. I don’t take orders from you.”
“True, but you do take them from Artemis. If we determine that Drake Mallone is, or has ever been, a Cronos supporter, I will question him. Do you understand?”
“His name’s right there.” Kyana slapped the crumpled pages against his chest. “What more do you need?”
“Proof.” Ryker’s grip loosened. “You said yourself that most on that list will not be Cronos supporters. Just because his ancestors might have been, doesn’t make him a traitor.”
“But he could be.”
“Maybe. And if he is, he’ll need to be questioned. A lot. I won’t have either of you bloodsuckers quieting someone who can potentially lead us to a whole herd—and possibly to the key to Tartarus.”
Bloodsuckers? Kyana stepped back. She’d thought they were beyond trading insults.
Ryker flinched. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah,” she said. “You did. But it’s okay. We bloodsuckers have thick skin.” She turned for the portal once more. “We won’t touch him, but we will be there for questioning, and I want to make damned sure that Haven isn’t around when we do it.”
“Kyana, wait.” This time, it wasn’t Ryker who tried to stop
her. It was Geoffrey. “We can’t just pounce on Haven’s beau without solid proof first. At least proof that he’s a supporter.”
He was right, but that knowledge did nothing to soothe Kyana’s temper. “And how do we get that?”
Ryker eased between Kyana and the portal and slipped Geoffrey’s list from her hand. “I was thinking about that.” He shook the papers in his fist. “This isn’t the only list that’s been created lately. The list of Chosen has also been written and rewritten with each Chosen’s death. The deaths of the Chosen means that someone other than the Fates have seen that list.”
Kyana propped a hand on her hip. “Yeah, we already know we’re dealing with a traitor.”
“A traitor with the means to sneak into the Moerae’s cave?”
Her hand fell to her side as she began to understand what Ryker was getting at. “So that narrows the list down to Mystics and Witches. Someone who could cast a cloaking spell.”
“Right,” Geoffrey added. “Because even if a Witch or Mystic cast such a spell on someone else, it wouldn’t have lasted long enough for our traitor to make it down to the cave and back. It would have had to have been cast again. Good thinking, wanker.”
Ryker shot Geoffrey a glare. “Okay, so we start there. We scratch off all non Mystics and Witches.”
“If we knew all the names on the list, sure. But we don’t know what race each of these names belongs to.”
“The Moerae do. We go see them, and our job is cut in half, hopefully.”
Without waiting to see if Geoffrey and Kyana would follow, Ryker stormed off in the direction of the Fates’ cave. Since Ryker had the list of names, Kyana chose to follow. He might be on to something. It was worth waiting to lash out about the whole Drake thing later to finally get somewhere now.
To get to the cave that would lead them to the River Styx, they had to pass through a wide street with an open view to the human sanctuary the Order had created on the beaches of Below. As they walked, Kyana’s gaze scanned the small white tents packed along the shores. The humans were quiet tonight; a lone bonfire in the distance seemed to have become the gathering point. She watched them, saw a young boy run out from a pack, his arms flailing over his head while his small mouth emitted a horrible siren noise that shattered the peaceful evening.