Warrior Avenged

by Addison Fox

  Personal, wicked damage.

  Quinn slapped him on the back as they moved in unison down the alley, in the direction of the tunnel. Unable to resist one more prick at Kane’s pride, the bull added, sotto voce, “I’ll give you one thing, Monte. Since you met this woman, your life is far from dull. If she weren’t such a liability, I’d actually be pushing you toward a little white chapel in Vegas.”

  Moonlight reflected off the lethal edge of his blade as Kane held it aloft, while his breath caught in his throat at the image of Ilsa as his wife. “You do realize if you don’t shut up, you’ll get the business end of this, don’t you?”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  Faded yellow appliances greeted Ilsa as she dropped into the kitchen of the MI6 safe house. She could hear a blaring TV through the wall and contemplated how to play this. Storm in, guns blazing? Skulk in and do the deed? Present herself and tell him exactly why she was there?

  The question of “how” dogged her each and every time she captured someone for Hades and it never got easier to decide. Oddly enough, despite her angst about it, the victim was usually the one who made the decision, their actions the true measure of how they’d leave this world.

  A wave of guilt suddenly swamped her for letting go of Kane. Add in the sharp agony of no longer being in his company and it took every ounce of discipline she possessed to move forward and do Hades’s bidding.

  Why, why, why had it seemed like a good idea to let go?

  Ignoring the mounting questions and the continued uncertainty where Kane was concerned, Ilsa focused in on the sounds from the other room. The sounds she could hear through the noise of the TV. Lightning-quick tapping on a computer keyboard. Heavy breathing. A heartbeat that raced with uncontrolled adrenaline.

  Obviously Alex didn’t feel very safe here in the safe house.

  Slipping past the refrigerator, Ilsa stepped into the living room and took in the scene. A scrawny man who looked like nothing but skin stretched over his bones sat before a computer on a backless stool. A discarded pack of cigarettes lay next to his keyboard and a haze of smoke hung over his head, filtering the light from the computer screen. The T-shirt he wore had faded print covering the back.

  As she stepped closer, Ilsa could read the washed-out writing. WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE PLUTO WAS A PLANET.

  Finally! A joke she actually understood.

  She purposely kept her interactions with humans limited, which also meant she understood very little of what they said. Usually, the deeper meaning of a comment was just out of her reach.

  Like Kane’s comment about monkey sex. Her insides had lit up at his mention of sex, for instance, but she had no idea what he’d really meant.

  Was it a compliment? An insult? Both?

  Who knew?

  A streak of affection slashed through her as she reread the Pluto T-shirt, but she ruthlessly tamped it down. She couldn’t afford to see Alex as human, with needs and beliefs, a life and a mind of his own.

  It made destroying him only that much harder.

  On a deep breath, she shut out the internal voice of compassion and stepped closer. Robert’s soul was howling at her by now, as if he could make his friend hear him by virtue of all the racket.

  But the room remained deathly still, the quiet broken only by Alex’s breathing and tapping on the keys.

  “I’ve come for you.”

  Alex whirled around, a half-finished cigarette dangling from his chapped lips. “You . . . you really did know where to find me.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “I know you said you knew where I was, but . . . from one phone call? That was all it took?”

  “Well . . .” Phone call? What was he talking about?

  Ilsa decided to play along. If there was one thing she’d learned in all her years of gathering those who most certainly didn’t want to go with her, it was to sit back and listen. “It takes very little.”

  Alex’s dull blue eyes lit with fervor as he hastily stabbed the cigarette in an ashtray next to the computer keyboard. “Robert said you’d be the answer and he was right.”

  At the sound of his name, Robert’s screaming howls lit up inside her head like a pinball machine she’d seen once when she’d tracked a child molester to a gaming arcade. The shiny lights had intrigued her, but the sorry-ass soul of the man had diverted her attention before she could give the game any further thought.

  “The answer?” Ilsa asked him softly, hoping to gain clarity from her own vague questions. “To what?”

  “That you could help us. Help us get out of here. This was a bad idea and we never should have made that deal with St. Giles. If you can just get us out”—Alex’s gaze darted across the room, then back to her—“I’m willing to make a payment.”

  Robert’s soul quieted at Alex’s words, as if he were anxious to listen to his friend’s pronouncement. Curious, she pressed for answers. “And what payment do you offer me?”

  “You can have our stash of uranium in exchange for my life. Please just remove me from this safe house and you’re welcome to the trade with the arms dealers.”

  The resounding scream that reverberated through her skull indicated exactly what Robert thought about the proposed trade. As if somehow he could change things by his carrying on.

  You’re dead, evil one. Get used to it.

  Why were all the truly evil ones unable to accept their lives were over? That whatever plans they’d made were no longer their concern.

  Of course, the skull-headed boat she locked them into to cross the River Styx usually brought them around.

  The finality of that journey was lost on precious few.

  “That’s a bold pronouncement. How would Robert feel about this?”

  “He’s gone and I have a bad feeling about this and, well . . . now that we’re so close to the decision something doesn’t feel right.”

  These were the worst cases. The repentant ones who came clean at the end. In Alex’s case, it was even worse than usual, because he was penitent on his own accord. He didn’t even know yet she was here to destroy him.

  Alex got to his feet, shifting back and forth on his worn sneakers. His concave chest quivered but his eyes were bright with . . . lust? “You’re as beautiful as your voice.”

  Her victims might dictate the terms of how they died, but this was a new one, as most didn’t suddenly sport the urge to take a tumble around the floor. In fact, most could barely bring themselves to look at her. “Excuse me?”

  “Your voice. On the phone. So sultry and”—Alex took three tentative steps toward her—“perfect. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

  The ever-present screams morphed into something different as Robert’s soul burst into loud, guffawing cackles. The disembodied reaction shot something far more toxic through her system. Alex had believed he and Robert to be the best of friends and the raucous laughter suggested Robert had felt something else entirely.

  Superiority and conceit and a smug arrogance, maybe, but not friendship and devotion and belief.

  Without warning, the thought of straddling Alex to kill him disgusted her in some way she couldn’t quite define. This pitiful soul who, while not necessarily deserving of mercy, had been duped beyond measure. Dominated by a silver tongue and a devious mind.

  Just as she’d been duped by Rhea, all those many, many years ago. And later, by Zeus.

  As duty bore down on her, the weight of her choices brought on the hot well of tears. Ilsa felt her throat tighten into a hard knot and tried to swallow around it, desperate for air.

  Desperate for life.

  Movements stiff, she approached Alex and watched his eyes grow more addled with lust.

  The woman that hopelessly craved the chance to be Ilsa knew she couldn’t keep on. Couldn’t continue to do this and stay sane. So she curled up inside of herself and shut out the call of duty, hiding her true self so deeply even the tainted soul that intertwined with hers couldn’t touch her.
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  On legs that felt made of lead, she took the steps to close the distance between her and Alex. With simple moves, dictated by her victim, she pushed him to the floor and straddled his waist.

  Leaning forward, her mouth so near to his their lips practically touched, she whispered, “You know why I’m here.”

  She heard his loud exhalation of breath. Saw the smile that spread across his face.

  And the woman that was Nemesis took one long, slow, deep breath.

  Chapter Seven

  “Holy shit,” Greybreathed astheyentered theliving room of the safe house from the basement stairwell. Kane came to a full stop just past the doorway and he felt the Aries slam into him from behind. Quinn and Drake had already fanned around him, positioning themselves in a fighting phalanx.

  Raw, all-consuming hunger flooded his veins as Kane took in the sight of Ilsa, straddled across the scrawny scientist who lay motionless on the floor.

  Through the lingering haze of cigarette smoke, Kane saw discarded food wrappers and heard the blaring TV, screaming about the latest car deals. He ignored all of it as his gaze laser-focused in on the pair on the floor.

  Just as in the park, the sight of Ilsa leaning over her victim in such an—intimate—way shot a bolt of need through him.

  She shouldn’t be doing this.

  She shouldn’t be here.

  She shouldn’t be tainted in such a way.

  Unable to hold back his ire and the horror of seeing her do this a second time, he surged forward. “Get off him. I told you he’s mine.”

  Ilsa leaped to her feet immediately, her eyes darting to each Warrior that stood before her, until finally allowing her gaze to rest on Kane. “I told you I had a task to complete.”

  “We would have dealt with him. I needed information and now”—he tossed a glance toward the evening’s second dead scientist—“that won’t be happening.”

  She shrugged, an oh-so-slight lift of the shoulders that looked as if it cost her great effort. “I already got the information you needed before . . . I took care of him. Over there.” She pointed to a large metal trunk in the corner of the room. “The uranium is in there. Take it and give it to MI6 to deal with. The scientists clearly won’t be needing it any longer and we don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

  Kane reached out for her arm, moving into her personal space at the same time. “And you think that makes it okay? You got my answers so you spared me the need to do my job.”

  Her gaze raked over him as scorn curled the corner of her lips. “You need all the help you can get right now, ace.”

  A loud series of coughs went up behind him as Ilsa’s words registered. “I’m doing just fine, sweetheart.”

  “You can barely stand up straight.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty . . . little . . . head about it.” A loud rushing hit Kane’s ears as frustrated fury swam behind his eyes. Knees buckling, he stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around Ilsa for support.

  The poison stomped a nasty two-step on his muscles, twisting the sinuous fibers under its evil spurs.

  “Kane!” Ilsa tightened her arms around him, her slight body bearing his full weight without any noticeable effort. “What is wrong with you? And why are you chasing after me when it’s clear you’re running on empty?”

  Quinn moved up to the two of them. “Kane. She’s right. Enough of the macho bullshit. You’re pasty white and you look like you can barely stand. You need to go home and sleep for a while or the fucking poison is going to beat you this time.”

  Kane struggled to keep upright, the bull’s words landing like a nuclear missile in the middle of the room. “Damn it, Quinn. Why’d you—?”

  “Poison?” Ilsa’s grip on him faltered and, despite his weakness, Kane felt his body stirring as his hand brushed the curve of her hip. “What poison? That’s what’s wrong with you?”

  “He’s not well.” Kane felt Quinn’s meaty paw grab him at the elbow. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Ilsa’s own grip held tight, but the tension in the room rose to boiling as Drake and Grey closed the short distance to stand with Quinn. Her voice was cold steel as they surrounded her. “I don’t think so. He needs medical attention. Help. Something.”

  Quinn’s grip didn’t lessen. “Well, then, let’s just zip him over to Lenox Hill. I’m sure they have lots of doctors there who majored in black-magic poisons and immortal vascular systems in med school.”

  Kane blinked once. Twice. Then he clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the room. “No one can help me, Ilsa. It’s got to work its way through.”

  “But where did it come from? You’re an immortal.”

  Blinking again, Kane fought to keep his attention on the room—fought to ignore the stabs of pain that were doing everything they could to wear him down from the inside— but he knew he’d pushed too hard. The poison was too close to full strength and he just didn’t have anything left. Gasping, he grasped at the right words. “Bad. Choices.”

  The room swam as Kane felt himself falling forward into Ilsa’s body. Quinn let go, hollering for Grey and Drake to help him, but Ilsa didn’t need any more than a millisecond to react to Quinn’s lack of contact.

  Before he felt his Warrior brothers’ hands on him, Ilsa pushed them into the stratosphere.

  Ilsa stroked Kane’s hair as she sat with his head in her lap. She hadn’t taken them very far, teleporting them into a small detached garage she’d seen behind the safe house when she’d arrived earlier. The string of garages that ran behind the block of homes appeared to be an old, renovated mews area, and the garage had a surprisingly warm coziness to it.

  What had possibly possessed her to do this? Gods, she needed to get a grip. It was all she could do to try to get away from him, and yet somehow, here she was, with a very large, very dangerous man in her lap. An individual who kept the company of other very large, very dangerous men.

  For reasons that weren’t entirely clear, her need to protect him overruled every other thought in her head.

  And your need to touch him had nothing to do with it?

  Ilsa resolutely ignored the taunts of her conscience as she sat with her back against the wall, Kane stretched out to the side on an old picnic blanket. He’d been unconscious for almost ten minutes and she alternated between numbing fear that the port was too much for his system and relief that she had gotten him away from the other Warriors. She needed to think and there was no way to do that with four large men bearing down on her.

  Well, three actively bearing down and one who just wanted her to go away so he could suffer in peace.

  For all her bravado and ready knowledge she could handle herself, the lot of them were rather intimidating.

  Okay. Very intimidating.

  And, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t want to just think. She could think alone. What she wanted was to have free access to Kane.

  To ask him questions. To see his reactions. To simply drink him in.

  Another minute ticked by in silence as Ilsa gently stroked his hair.

  Poison?

  And based on Quinn’s flippant answer about Lenox Hill Hospital, a toxin that had its genesis in some sort of powerful black magic. How long had he suffered with this? When they’d last been together, his strength had seemed limitless.

  Even now, despite the clear signs the poison ravaged his body, he was still a formidable opponent. The man’s muscles were forged of steel. Although his body was in prime condition, she suspected it was sheer, stubborn will alone that kept the poison from completely taking over. A feat, she suspected, a lesser man wouldn’t have been able to do.

  “Where are we?” Kane mumbled.

  “Not too far from where we started.”

  “But far enough you had to port me here.” The words held a bitter flavor as they fell from his lips.

  Well, if you weren’t pushing yourself so hard. Those were words she wanted to say. A reprimand that would put Kane in his place and
keep her firmly in control of the situation.

  Only, as she sat there, stroking his hair and gazing on that incredible face—strong jaw, high cheekbones that looked even higher with the slightly gaunt look he’d gotten from the poison, and black eyelashes so long they made spiky curls—Ilsa found herself asking something else entirely.

  Something that caused the heat to pool between her thighs before she even uttered the first word.

  “Is your strength tied to the same things as other immortals?”

  Kane’s eyelids never lifted, but his voice was more solid than when he first awoke. “Uh-huh.”

  “So the usual. Food and sleep are restorative.”

  A wry grin lit the corner of those firm lips. “If I could keep much of anything down, yes, food would be restorative. And I haven’t been sleeping much, either, so same deal.”

  Did she dare do it? Did she dare ask the question she desperately wanted an answer to?

  “And sex? Sex brings you back, too, right?”

  This time, those eyelids did open and those dark onyx orbs fixed on her. “Sex, yes. Orgasm, specifically, brings me back to strength.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  Was she mistaken or was there more to that question than his words implied? And could she risk more with him?

  Oh gods, yes. A million times yes.

  Then his eyes closed again and his voice held that same muffled tone as when he’d first awakened. “Yeah, well, now you have your answers. Answers to questions you wouldn’t need to ask if Quinn didn’t have such a big fucking mouth.”

  “I’m glad Quinn has such a big fucking mouth.”

  And then the decision was made before she could think for one more nanosecond about consequences.

  Or what an inopportune moment it was to do what they were about to do.

  Or her deal with Emmett.

  Ilsa pressed her lips to Kane’s and let herself go.

  Freedom, sweet freedom, filled her, crowding out all the ugliness. It drowned out the souls she carried inside of her for their trip to the Underworld. It chased away the guilt she felt for her bargain with Emmett. And it made her feel whole.