by Addison Fox
“Kane!” Ilsa screamed his name again, but got no response. His body slumped to the floor in a heavy sprawl. Drake was already in motion, reaching for his fallen brother and hollering for Grey’s and Quinn’s assistance.
Her heart flopped over at the sight of his still body. Torn, Ilsa wanted to be at his side, but she also wanted to take down the man—thing—who’d done this to Kane.
But what, exactly, had the thing done?
Kane was an immortal. A knife slash shouldn’t have such power over him. She’d even seen humans withstand more, especially in the throes of an adrenaline rush.
Was he that weakened by the poison in his veins that a nonfatal knife slash could fell him?
The guy with the dagger was already across the room, heading for the door. She watched as he tossed a last, sneering glance at the room, his gaze roaming over the various greasy spots embedded across the floor.
So much for brothers in arms, she thought. More like no honor among thieves.
With one last glance of her own toward Kane, she imagined herself outside, allowing the port to take her across the room, out the door and directly in the guy’s path as he departed through the front door.
Air rushed through her ears in loud swells, the sound of the leap consuming her for a brief moment.
Unerring and precise, Ilsa slammed into the guy as he cleared the front door. “Gotcha, asshole.”
He’d had the upper hand in the house because of their positions, her hold from behind tenuous at best, but she wouldn’t give it to him again. Ilsa felt his large body heave great breaths under her hands as she pressed him against the brick wall next to the front door. Early-morning light rose up behind them and birds twittered their greetings to the sun.
His first thrust she anticipated, as well as his second, but Ilsa held her ground, her hands wrapped on his neck and her body flat against him, holding him still against the wall.
Although they didn’t look well matched, the size of her body was absolutely no indication of her true strength.
“Get off me, bitch.” He grunted, thrusting himself forward for the third time, attempting to push her off balance.
“No such luck, dickhead. I want to know who sent you.”
His voice had the refined cadence of the English, but his words were pure gutter. “Fuck off, bitch. I don’t owe you anything.”
“Hmmm.” Ilsa painted a thoughtful look on her face, before leaning in toward his ear. Her voice like velvet in the cool air of early morning, she whispered, “While you’re in corporeal form, are you as vulnerable as the rest of them? Hmmm . . . I wonder.”
Before he could even process her question, her hand snaked between them. With swift movements, Ilsa reached down his pants and her fingers clamped around a decidedly male form.
With one hard yank, she twisted his balls in a tight squeeze.
The resounding scream gave her the answer she was looking for. “Just as I thought. You’re as vulnerable as a human male.”
His dead eyes stared at her, full of one emotion.
Hate.
“Now. Let’s discuss again what you owe me.”
When the mutinous expression on his face didn’t change—nor did any answers seem forthcoming—Ilsa squeezed again and was greeted with a long, low scream.
“Who sent you here? And how did you know we were here?”
Still, nothing.
Ilsa shook her head and clucked her tongue. “My, my, my, aren’t you a brave one? I’ve been nice so far. But I’m only asking one”—she clenched her fingers in a tight grip—“more”—harder still—“time.”
His eyes bulged and his lips quivered. “I can’t tell you.”
“Sure you can.”
His lips continued to tremble, but he finally spoke, his voice a harsh, grating whisper. “This is a walk in the fucking park compared to what awaits me if I tell you.”
“I want a name. And I’ve got all day, sweetheart. All night, too, as a matter of fact. And did I mention I’ve got strength, immortality and a skill set awarded me by the lord of death on my side?”
She squeezed one more time, frustration building at his stubborn unwillingness to tell her who he worked for. “If this isn’t cutting it, I can dig up a few more goodies from my magic grab bag.” She laughed at her own joke. “Grab bag—get it?”
The hatred in his eyes grew deeper, stronger, but he still remained silent.
“Well then.” She flicked one long nail against the sensitive, thin skin of his balls, then dug in with a sly, steady thrust.
“Who do you work for?”
Agony flooded his features, but he held in his scream.
Barely.
“E-E—”
Complete and utter shock replaced the waves of frustration. “Emmett sent you?”
The asshole nodded, the sneer fast returning to his lips.
Emmett? Emmett sent this . . . creature? Creatures, if she counted the grease spots inside the house.
But how?
She knew for a fact Emmett didn’t have anyone else working for him. That’s why he’d found her. Bargained with her. Asked for her help.
Help she’d given willingly in a bargain she never should have made.
“What did he tell you to do?”
The guy’s eyes darted wildly in their sockets. “Take them down. We were supposed to take them down.”
That strange nothingness filled the air around Ilsa, reminding her this man she held wasn’t really a man. No whisper of a soul—good or bad—assailed her. The silence was odd.
Unreal, even. And it only added more deeply to the puzzle.
What was he and the others who’d already perished?
And what was she supposed to do with him now that she’d captured him?
Chapter Nine
Hades glanced at the large hourglass that sat in his throne room. Nemesis was late.
She’d had an appointment with two monumental pieces of shit and was due back with both of them more than an hour ago.
With a small, distracted pat on one of Cerberus’s heads, he paced the room. In almost sixteen thousand years, Nemesis had been an unfailing employee, quick to do her job, with an impeccable record of on-time arrivals.
And then everything changed.
Hades knew of her secret bargain with Emmett. Had worried over it, especially as Emmett had been on his list for quite some time. Not yet ready for delivery, but on the list all the same.
Not that she knew that, but still.
If only it were simpler. If only he could just have Nemesis grab Emmett, bring him down and be done. But unlike the scientists, who weren’t big enough to matter, Hades knew he couldn’t play with the order of things. A soul as dark as Emmett’s had to be properly dealt with while alive or he’d risk leaving a void for someone else to take his place on earth.
Darkness that black—that deep—drew others of a like mind.
Fuck, why was it all so difficult?
Had he and his siblings ever thought they’d have this much trouble with humans? This many complications?
Speaking of complications . . . Ilsa. Shit, why did he feel so responsible for her?
Truth be told, he had always worried over her, that forlorn soul who’d been so callously used by his mother and tossed aside by his brother.
But despite his concern—and the horrible feeling that her choices would end very badly—he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t warn her or keep her from such foolish actions.
His curse as an all-seeing god.
He sighed, the sound resonating through the room. Despite his concerns, the girl made her own decisions. Lived her own life.
And it was that life, he’d begun to suspect, that was getting in the way.
“You can’t expect her to avoid attachments forever,” his wife, Persephone, had scolded him when he’d discussed it with her. “Zeus’s punishment of her was unfair and for that he will pay. But you haven’t exactly offered her work that embodies a spirit of f
orgiveness.”
“I’ve put her talents and her energy to good use. It’s honest work, Perse.”
“Bah!” She’d waved her hands, those lovely long, tapered fingers waving around as she got going with her argument. “You found a convenient answer to a problem you were having. You needed someone to grab souls and she needed a real body and time out of that hideous cave. Admit it.”
“I will not.”
“Ah, as stubborn as your brothers, I see. I thought I married the kind one, my dark lover.”
Annoyance had swelled in his breast at that. He’d hated the inevitable comparisons with his brothers—Zeus and Poseidon—all his life. Hated the sudden judgment that always accompanied the pronouncement of his name.
He did very respectable work, after all, and ensured a place for all after they died. An afterlife.
A continuation of life, to his way of thinking.
Why did everyone get so wound up about it? Earth certainly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be most of the time.
Persephone turned down the lights and snuggled against him under the covers, those beautiful fingers of hers gesturing in a far more . . . pleasurable fashion. With a soft whisper against his cheek, she reminded him of a fact he’d always known. “Nemesis is entitled to a life, my love. She’s entitled to love.”
“Assuming she wants to reach out and take it. Risk herself for it,” he’d grumbled in return.
At that, Persephone had shifted again, lifting herself up on one elbow. Her concerned face glowed in the candlelight that flooded the room with a warm glow. “You think she won’t?”
“Perhaps it’s too late for her.”
At that, his beautiful wife let out a deep, rich laugh and fell against him. “Is that all that worries you?”
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, darling. A woman can’t decide when she’s going to fall in love. It just happens.”
He didn’t think it was a silly concern. Nemesis had never shown any interest before. Perhaps she was past her prime. Past the point of ever caring if love happened for her. “But she’s been here so long.”
“So? When it’s right, it’s right.”
“And what if she decides to leave me? What then?”
“Aha. So that’s the real concern, now, isn’t it?” At his silence, his perceptive wife pressed harder. “You want good things for her, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. It’s just—”
“Just what?” Persephone’s voice grew quiet in that way he loved so dearly. The way that told him she truly listened—and heard—what he told her. “What bothers you?”
“She makes dangerous choices in this quest for vengeance. Has perhaps made one from which there is no turning back. I question if she can escape the path she’s set for herself.”
“That, my love, is beyond your control. Beyond the control of any of us.”
Ilsa belatedly realized she still had her hand down the jerk’s pants.
Eew.
Funny how when she’d dreamed of Kane, the long, powerful length of him and the glorious strength that made his body so different from hers filled her thoughts with happy abandon.
And this man’s—this thing’s—body was a revulsion.
With quick movements, she removed her hand and saw a noticeable easing of the lines around his mouth.
He might not die like a human, but he lived like one. Had some vulnerabilities, which was good to know in the event she ran into more of his ilk.
Of course, what was she supposed to do with him? She didn’t have any backup. And did she dare bring him back inside?
With a decided lack of options, she figured that was the best course of action. Kane and his brothers likely knew how to dispose of these things. And she wanted to get to Kane and learn what was wrong with him.
Decision made, Ilsa prepared herself for the port back inside when a shiver ran through her organs.
The scientists.
Their renewed caterwauling as they gripped her soul reminded her—in long, loud, ungainly wails—of her dereliction of duties.
Shit.
Hades didn’t like to be kept waiting. And he wanted this pair straightaway, as he’d informed her when she was given this assignment. Added to that, she’d never held on to a soul for this long. A distinct coldness had settled inside her body, filling her veins with ice.
Without warning, the door opened and it distracted Ilsa from her prisoners, both external and internal. That small moment was all the external jerk needed—a wave of electricity erupted all around her for the brief moment when she broke bodily contact between them.
The edges of the man’s mouth transformed into a broad, leering smile as he danced out of her reach. With one final act of gloating, he hollered over his shoulder as he ran, “Have fun figuring out what I did to him.”
Quinn let out a string of ungainly curses, struggling to squeeze between her body and the doorway to go after him. Ilsa grabbed his arm as she watched the man—thing—disappear into a port before he’d reached the end of the property. With a firm grip on Quinn’s arm, she struggled to hold him in place, impatient for him to register his quarry had evaporated. “How’s Kane?”
His gaze shifted from the empty air toward her face and his voice was grim. “Not good.”
Without waiting for further details, Ilsa ran through the door and into the living room. And stopped as she came to Grey and Drake, huddled on the floor around Kane. “What’s wrong with him?”
Grey stared up at her with dull eyes, real fear evident in his gaze. “We don’t know.”
“Let me see him.”
Drake moved back to allow her access. Ilsa crouched down next to Kane’s prone body, but what she really wanted to do was sit down and pull his head into her lap. Just like in the garage. Somehow, she sensed the three men surrounding her wouldn’t take kindly to that presumptive move, so she opted for running her hands over his brow instead. “Has he said anything?”
Quinn’s voice was harsh behind her. “He’s mumbled a few words, but that’s it.”
“Have you seen him like this before? Is it the poison?”
“The poison doesn’t affect him like this. Even at the very end it’s not this bad. This paralyzing.” Grey spoke, his tones even. Modulated. Kinder, somehow, than Quinn’s terse barking. “He’s just under two weeks out. It shouldn’t even be possible for this to happen. Yet.”
“What did you do to him?” Quinn’s voice held nothing but accusation toward her, his question an arrogant demand.
Whirling, Ilsa sprang to her feet. “Excuse me? I didn’t do anything to him. What makes you think this was my fault?”
“You bring Destroyers to the club. Then you bring them here. Hell, just now out there”—Quinn tossed his head back, gesturing for the front door—“you held one captive. Was he your whipping boy? Set up to take the fall?”
Whipping boy?
Fall?
What was he possibly talking about?
“I was trying to get information out of him. And before tonight, I’d never even seen one of these”—she gestured, struggling for the proper word—“things. Destroyers, you call them? What are they? Because they’re certainly not men.”
Quinn’s terse bark turned hostile. “Don’t play the innocent. You’ve set Kane up from the first. Why should we believe this was anything but more of the same?”
Fire burned a raw path down her throat to her stomach. How could she fight this and get them to believe her? She had drugged Kane, stolen a vial of his blood and left him behind. It made all the sense in the world the other Warriors would take his side over hers.
So why was she so frustrated and so determined to prove them wrong?
Why did it even matter?
These men were her enemies, simple victims of their association with Themis. It was Themis, her sworn enemy, who would pay. Kane and his Warrior brothers were simply collateral damage.
The internal pep talk almost had her convinced when Il
sa glanced again at Kane’s still form. A sheen of sweat covered his face and a grayish pallor rode high on his gaunt cheeks.
Vengeance and justice.
Ilsa knew she’d earned both. Her life was carefully crafted with those two intertwined goals in mind.
But she seemed unable to leave this man.
Why?
A long, low moan interrupted her thoughts as Kane thrashed his arms. She barely missed a sideswipe of his hand as she leaned forward to put pressure on his shoulders, holding him still. Heat seeped through his T-shirt, a fire beneath her palms.
Without any further thought for the nasty glares and unpleasant attitude, Ilsa issued orders, a general marshaling her troops. “Ya know what, Quinn? You can bitch at me later. Right now, we’ve got a bigger problem. He’s spiking a fever and none of you morons seems to know what’s causing it.”
“He’s vulnerable,” Grey interrupted her. “The poison weakens him. This is a likely complication we weren’t expecting.”
As Kane’s thrashing stopped under her firm hold, Ilsa shifted into a sitting position next to him and ran a hand over his brow. The fever rose off him like heat off the desert floor. “How does the poison work, exactly?”
Grey knelt down on the other side of Kane, rolling his sleeves up as he settled in. “It lives inside of him, gr—”
“Grey!” That harsh bark of Quinn was back. “We’re not telling her anything. She doesn’t need any further ammunition to hurt the scorp. Or any of us,” he added as an afterthought.
Decision riding high in his eyes, Grey ignored the large Warrior who seemed to think he ran the show, continuing his tale. “It’s tied to the venom in his scorpion.”
Scorpion? Was that what she’d seen?
“What do you mean, his scorpion? That huge animal that fought next to him for a short while?”
Drake nodded, adding, “It’s an aid in battle. We all have them and they’re specific to our signs.”
Ilsa struggled to take it all in. They were warriors with animals that lived inside of them? “So why didn’t any of you fight with yours? I only saw the scorpion.”
Drake resolutely ignored the continued glare and loud harrumphs that came from Quinn’s direction. “They come out when we’re severely threatened.” His shoulders lifted in a light shrug. “Guess none of us felt all that threatened before.”