by Addison Fox
Sweat popped out on his brow as they fought, muscle straining against muscle, male form to female form, struggling for dominance. Ilsa recognized she couldn’t beat him in upper-body strength, so she refocused, using the power in her legs to keep him from holding her down.
Locked in battle, they tumbled over the ground, neither wanting to give in, both sensing that giving in to their physical battle could mean so much more.
On a grunt, Kane got the upper hand, pressing her back and using his weight to pin her to the ground. “What are you about? And what do you want with Robert?”
“He needs to be taken care of and the longer you do this,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “the harder it will be to find him. But he’s going down and it’s got to be tonight. Those are my orders.”
“Orders? What the hell does that mean? Who are you working for?” Kane’s breath was hot against her ear as he spoke to her, the words a mix of frustration and confusion through gritted teeth.
If circumstances were different—perhaps if she had the time—she might consider telling Kane. Might consider sharing that part of her life. But there just wasn’t any time.
Damn Hades and his perceptive nature. She could still see the glitter in his eyes when he’d given her the assignment to retrieve the scientists a few days ago. Although she had no idea how he’d known what she’d been up to for the last six months, his wry order left no doubt in her mind he knew exactly how she’d been spending her time. If she’d had any doubts, his briskly worded order—“I’d like you to go pick up your new little friends”—confirmed it.
Now the god of the Underworld had made his request and she needed to deliver them.
She’d never failed before. She refused to fail, still so full of the constant fear that if she didn’t live up to Hades’s expectations, she’d be sent back to a life of invisibility.
Of nothingness.
All she needed was a millisecond and she could get away from Kane and complete her task. One single millisecond when she could separate their bodies so she could port after her prey.
The long lines of Kane’s body pressed against her, his jeans-clad hips cradled in the vee of her thighs. The soft cotton of his gray T-shirt molded against her breasts from the heavy weight of his chest and she felt those sculpted muscles heave in and out as he lay on top of her.
“It’s his turn, Kane,” she sobbed. “You have to let me go. You have to let me do my job.”
With another hard push, Ilsa pressed on his shoulders, willing him away. As her fingers made contact with the hard planes of his chest, she couldn’t ignore the wash of pure, feminine need that filled her. Her body longed for him and this close proximity was a temptation she’d never expected to feel again.
How had she managed six long, torturous months without this man’s body covering hers?
A loud sob bubbled from her throat on that last thought, falling from her lips with a traitorous note of pleading. “Please. You have to let me go.”
Without warning, he rolled off her. Shock flooded her veins before duty kicked in with a vengeance. Imagining her destination, her body began another port, the rush of air in her ears instantaneous.
Just as her body dissembled, Ilsa heard the growl low in Kane’s throat and felt his grip on her forearm. “I’m not letting you go.”
Emmett paced his office, boiling lava flows of anger coursing through his veins. Where the hell was the bitch? It galled him to think that he needed her this much, but fuck it all if it wasn’t true. He’d waited too long. Had planned and plotted for almost three centuries and couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—lose it all when he was so close. And there was no way he would let her take this from him.
He gazed at his cell phone again, nearly dialing her number for the third time that day, but resisted the urge. He might need her, but groveling didn’t sit well with him. She’d come through for him. And if she didn’t . . . Emmett shoved the phone into his slacks pocket. Well, then, he’d just take care of her once they fought on even ground.
The darkened windows that surrounded him cast a mirrored reflection as he crossed the plush office of one Edward St. Giles. Cocking his head, Emmett took in the reflection that gazed back at him.
Trim physique, broad shoulders, a fair amount of distinguished gray at the temples. Other than an occasional penchant for neat glasses of whiskey and a few brazen puffs on some unfiltered cigarettes, St. Giles was quite the specimen.
A lifelong SIS man, Edward St. Giles had spent his days and years devoted to queen and country, rising to a status few ever saw within MI6. Of course, it had come at quite an expense. His teenage children barely knew him and his mousy wife had a piece on the side, after years of neglect by her globe-trotting hubby.
Actions and consequences, Emmett mused. It was a formula that never failed.
But even Emmett couldn’t have guessed what a perfect mark St. Giles actually was until he’d immersed himself in his life. Not only was the man a conduit to Kane Montague, but his shitty family life ensured even his closest, most beloved family members had no clue something was amiss with their absentee loved one. Even on the rare occasions he needed to make an appearance at the St. Giles household during waking hours, no one thought anything of it when he forgot where the silverware was or how to get to Grandma’s house.
Nope, St. Giles was perfect in so many ways. And the stupid, lifeless fuck hadn’t known what hit him the day Emmett hunted him down.
It really was very easy to take a soul and assume the body, if you knew how to do it. Emmett had learned the darkest of black magics years ago from his incubus father and had spent his life putting them to good use. Although he hadn’t been fortunate enough to get his father’s full gifts, he did inherit an unnaturally long life.
Of course, as long as his mortality was intact, it would never be long enough.
But soon, even that worry would evaporate like poor St. Giles’s soul. Once this plan was complete, Emmett would no longer have to worry about something as pesky as mortality. Or his age. Or even stupid bitch goddesses like Nemesis.
Oh no, he’d have immortality, just as he was always meant to.
The harsh ringing of the phone jarred the sleepy quiet of the room, interrupting Emmett’s plotting and pacing. Surprise at the late-night call quickly morphed into something far more enjoyable as he recognized the encoded number flashing on his phone.
“St. Giles.”
“You told me we’d be safe. That your man knew what he was doing. You double-crossing us?”
Emmett forced the snottiest tone he could down the phone line. The two scientists St. Giles’s department had kept tabs on had proven themselves a more than apt diversion to throw Kane and Ilsa together six months ago, but they’d quickly become tiresome to deal with. “And whom am I speaking with?”
The scientist named Alex sputtered at him from the other end. “You know who the fuck I am and you also know we had a deal. So why did Robert leave two hours ago and still hasn’t come back? And why did he just text me about some woman he thinks is following him?”
Emmett pushed calm warmth into his tone. He had no idea where Robert went, but these little clues of Alex’s were likely tied to Ilsa. They had damn well better be.
Oops. He was British now. He needed to think like St. Giles would.
They had bloody well better be.
“Ah. Alex. How are you this fine evening? Bit late for social calls.”
“He went out for the meet, just like your man asked him to. But he keeps seeing this woman. And, funny enough, he thinks she looks just like the lady your man took to an event six months ago.”
Excellent. Emmett’s attention went on high alert, even while he kept his voice level and calm. “I wouldn’t worry yourself, Alex. The woman you’re referring to is likely one of Kane’s conquests, nothing more. If six months have passed, she’s likely no longer his latest conquest and has decided to follow him.”
“All I know is Robert left for a meet your ag
ent set up and he hasn’t come back.”
“Are you still in the safe house?”
“Hell yeah. I’m sitting on a hundred pounds of uranium. Where the fuck do you think I’m going?”
“Calm yourself, Alex. Please. You can trust Kane, just as I told you.” Just like you can trust me, Emmett thought with no small measure of glee.
“Then why hasn’t he gotten back here yet? With Robert?”
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. You know how these things work. All the dancing around the issues. Kane and Robert’ll be back before you know it.”
“I’m done waiting. Done letting you people call the shots. I don’t know why Robert ever agreed to this fucking plan. You’re not some rogue agent, helping us sell the stash. You’re setting us up.”
How perceptive of you, asshole. “Decisions made in the heat of a stressful situation rarely work out well, Alex. You made a decision. Chose a course of action. It’s time to stick with it.”
A ball of fire ran down the length of his arm and out his fingertips. As the swirls of light ebbed and flowed in front of him, Emmett calmed himself with the light display and the soothing tones of Alex’s fear. Nothing like watching these useless, pathetic waste-of-skin criminal wannabes flounder once things got tough. Emmett tsked to himself as he lobbed the fireball from hand to hand.
No one really understood true wickedness anymore.
“Calm yourself, Alex. Everything will be all right.”
The phone clicked off without a reply.
Emmett had to admit, his father really did know his stuff. Bad blood always rose to the surface. He’d said that often, clapping Emmett on the back when he did, winking and laughing that they knew the true meaning of a fulfilling life.
His father had sired exactly two children in all his years. Emmett and, one thousand years before that, his older brother, Merlin.
Dark and light. One who understood how to boldly accomplish his goal and the other who spent his life in service to another.
Oh yes, dear old Dad had been right. You got nowhere working for others. Work for yourself. Do things your own way. And always, always believe the worst in others.
Darkness always won.
Emmett sat down to issue “orders” to Kane, the Warrior moron who really believed himself to be an agent in the field. As Emmett typed the encrypted note, he felt the stirring down deep in his blackened soul.
Immortality was nearly within his reach. Ilsa was clearly in range of Kane which meant his wait was nearly over.
Once he had immortality, there would be no one he couldn’t touch. Nowhere he couldn’t go. Nothing he couldn’t make his own.
Settling himself behind St. Giles’s desk, Emmett hit Send on the encoded message.
SAFE HOUSE. DEAL WITH ALEX. HE’S BECOME A LIABILITY.
As the message floated into the electronic ether, Emmett opened the top drawer of his desk.
There. Nestled in a small box with a velvet bottom lay his bargaining chip.
A vial of blood from a Warrior of the Zodiac.
The blood of an immortal.
Reassured it was still where he’d put it, he ran his hand over the top of the sample to ensure the spells he’d employed to enchant it were intact. With one last look at the vial, he closed the drawer, satisfied that he would be victorious in his quest.
Twirling in his chair, Emmett again faced the windows. With one final glimpse at his reflection, he straightened his tie. It was time to hit the field and close this op once and for all.
Kane dropped next to Ilsa, flung off of her by the force of the port and his loose grip on her forearm. Her quick actions again stopped Robert’s forward movement, the scientist’s loud screams rending the air as she tackled him to the ground.
In an agonizing counterpoint, the poison in Kane’s bloodstream jumped with glee at the sound of Robert’s panic, punching sharp fists of merriment in Kane’s stomach. An unpleasant side effect, that one, but one he’d experienced before in his line of work. Another’s agony seemed to inflame the poison, making its feral bite extra sharp when it was in its rising stage.
Add that to the hard landing and his earlier depletion of energy from his port to London, and Kane struggled to right himself. Pressing down on the nausea, he followed the sound of Robert’s screams, knowing full well what he’d see when he looked at Ilsa and her quarry.
This go-round she wasn’t wasting time. Her face again lay over Robert and his screams disintegrated into a long, low moan as Kane saw the breath fly out of the scientist’s body.
What the hell was she?
Clearly an immortal, that was obvious. But how had she landed in his world? And why hadn’t she identified herself? And who in the Pantheon could kill with their breath?
He knew he should stop her—knew by rights Robert was his to question—but for the life of him he couldn’t remove the image of her tearstained face and the pleading in her voice as she begged him to let her go.
So instead, he simply watched. Watched the avenging goddess as she lay prone on top of her victim, her movements almost sensual, and so deeply intimate, he couldn’t stop the jealous stirrings that fought the poison for dominance in his bloodstream.
Jealous of a man losing his life?
As he observed, Kane wondered how he could reconcile this avenging angel with the woman he’d seen only moments before. The one with the pleading voice and teary eyes. It certainly wasn’t the badass goddess before him, straddling a man on her knees, taking his life.
She wasn’t death. He knew that—on some instinctive level he couldn’t define, he was sure of it. But she was certainly its messenger.
What had she said?
“It’s his turn.”
“You have to let me go.”
“You have to let me do my job.”
She might not be death, but he also knew she wasn’t one of the Fates. He’d met those clever mistresses of human life and death and he’d have remembered if any of them looked like Ilsa.
So what job was she tasked to do? And how did she know it was Robert’s turn?
Robert’s movements grew increasingly lethargic and his moans weakened with each passing moment. Ilsa never lifted her head, her concentration focused and intense as she drew the man’s life from him.
On a last moan, Robert’s body went still, his skin taking on an odd pallor in the moonlight.
“He’s dead.”
Ilsa sat back on her heels, her breath strangled. “Yes.”
“You killed him.”
“It was his time. He’s due to pay for his crimes to someone else.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were immortal six months ago? Why keep up this charade?”
“I didn’t know who you were.”
Kane took in Ilsa’s words, searching her gaze, desperate to know if she was telling the truth. Was it really possible that what happened between them was simply a coincidence? No, that was impossible. “You seriously expect me to believe that?”
Her slim shoulders went up in a delicate shrug. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. You didn’t need to know. About me or what I’m capable of. You didn’t need to know he”—she glanced down at the lifeless body—“was my mission.”
“If he was your mission, then why’d you play me?” Kane’s stomach muscles squeezed in tight, pulsing spasms, the poison he’d managed to keep at bay during the chase through the park returning with a vengeance as his adrenaline faded. “Why’d you burn me? There’s no reason to. If you’re part of the Pantheon, too, you could have told me.”
“I didn’t know you were immortal.” Ilsa’s eyes stayed on the body.
Is she lying? Much as it twisted Kane to think that she could lie to him so effortlessly, she’d given him no reason to believe anything but the worst.
In brisk and efficient movements, she lifted herself off of Robert’s lifeless form. Getting to her feet, her gaze rose to meet Kane’s. “Look. We just got in each other’s way, that’s all. We h
ad a nice interlude and some hot sex. As you so quickly reminded me, we certainly didn’t make love. So from my point of view, I don’t owe you a damn thing.” A wry smile painted her lips. “We’re both adults well past the time for silly games.”
Kane reached out for her, unwilling to end this so quickly. Desperate to not have her walk away yet again and leave him full of questions that had no fucking answers.
Her only response was a pointed stare at his hand where it rested on her forearm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a soul to deliver. Hades hates to be kept waiting.”
Hades?
So that’s who she worked for. The god of the Underworld and the keeper of souls. The mouth-to-mouth shit suddenly made a whole lot more sense. “Fuck Hades—he can wait. I want some answers.”
“I don’t have any to give you.”
Ilsa fought for calm against the hot, luscious waves of need that flowed over her skin at his simple touch. Oh, she knew she should pull her arm away. Should just be off with it. But the alluring sight of Kane kept her gaze locked in place and ensured her feet stayed firmly planted.
Robert’s soul curled around hers, a filthy suit that encased her very essence and painted her insides with corrosive fibers of evil. The familiar pit opened in her stomach as those icy fingers scraped her from the inside out. She hated this part. Hated holding the soul of another in her body. Hated the feel of another’s life force pulsing within her.
Like a putrid slime living under the skin, each time it made her feel as if she’d never be clean again. Never be free of the dark and ugly pull of immorality and sinfulness. Like every bad thing she’d ever done had coalesced in the deepest, most secret part of herself.
Was the feeling that far off the mark?
Guilt she’d tried hard to ignore rose up and pricked at her conscience. Six months ago, when she’d first met Kane, she’d stolen a vial of his blood. To this day, the act haunted her.
Driven by her need for vengeance against Themis, she’d felled this man with enough drugs to knock out an elephant, then stolen something from him. Something so personal—so essential—that she couldn’t quite clean the stain of it off her own soul.