by Addison Fox
“I will have you.”
“You will never beat us. My brothers and I protect the world from men like you. From your evil actions, the evil you pull from the world around you. You are the dark and we are the light, come to stop you.”
As Kane shifted, preparing for the next thrust, Emmett saw his plans—his grand vision—floating away on the air.
The colors that tinged the black form in front of him faded and the air was losing its heavy, expectant feel.
He would not lose. Would not surrender.
And as the black shape in front of his eyes shifted and moved, Emmett changed his plans.
The strength he pulled from air, earth and water weren’t enough to defeat a god.
But he had other talents.
Other skills.
His incubus father had left him with many gifts, and one was the willingness to use any means at hand.
The Strega his maternal ancestors used had its own belief. Its own ritual around curses and their power.
Emmett might not have the natural power to beat the man standing before him and all he represented. But he did have the ritual power to weaken him.
To control him.
To tie their lives together.
With startling clarity, Emmett honed his focus down to a sharp pinprick of light, calling on his knowledge of the Strega.
The Italian phrases fell from his lips as he impressed the curse on the Warrior.
With each word spoken, the air around them filled with expectation. With excitement. With inexorable change.
A scream penetrated the air as Emmett watched Kane fall, the animal crumpling in on him.
As Emmett continued to chant, the scorpion rose, separated itself from the Warrior’s aura, and scrabbled over toward Emmett.
Hands shaking with the most awesome power, Emmett directed him.
“Strike your master. Envenomate him with the poison.”
The scorpion hesitated, his stinger held aloft, his focus still on Emmett.
As if he could hear the animal’s question, the knowledge of what he must do flowed through him.
“I will sacrifice as well. I will sacrifice my magic until that time when we will meet again. When we face each other anew. Other than my most base gift—the ability to create fire—I will it to be.”
Little could anyone imagine, it wasn’t really a hardship. Oh, he loved his magic, but he’d found so many other avenues for protecting himself.
He’d created potions and charms he could use without having to add any further magic to them. And for the really dark stuff. Well . . . there were always ways around a promise if you were clever enough.
The scorpion appeared to nod, then followed Emmett’s orders, shifting quickly to slam into Kane’s body. As the Warrior writhed on the ground, Emmett felt an answering pull in his body, his limbs freezing into immobility.
What was this?
He’d promised. He’d sworn. Was this what it felt like to be without magic?
Or was it something else?
The words of his grandmother came back to him. Her teaching on curses and how to issue them properly.
The curse is only effective when something is exchanged.
Okay—check—he had done that. His power for Kane’s.
The curse must have limits and parameters. No one curse has all-seeing perpetuity.
Shit.
He’d forgotten that one.
“By the power of the Strega, I vow to control the poison. It will have limits to its dominance.”
The stiffness in his limbs receded slowly. He was definitely on the right track.
In bold Italian, Emmett completed the curse, the answer coming to him on a rush. The perfection in the stars the ideal balance for a Warrior of the Zodiac.
“I call on the patron star of the Stregheria, Antares, one of the four wardens of the western gate. When the star—the brightest in the Scorpio constellation—is at its zenith, the power of your scorpion’s venom will ascend to its greatest height. It is at those moments when the Warrior and I will be in greatest harmony, our bodies in tune with each other.”
The scorpion folded back in on itself, reassembling into the Warrior’s aura.
As Kane slowly regained consciousness, Emmett watched from across the length of the jail cell, his own body returning to normal.
He had his Warrior. The Scorpio could not escape him, the poison in his veins like a lodestone that paired them.
And until he figured out how to expand his skills to take the Warrior’s power forever, this was a satisfactory start.
Oh, the glory of that day, Emmett thought, as he walked the perimeter of his study, examining the various tomes and texts on the shelves. Of course, like his joy at one-upping Enyo, it had been short-lived. While he could track the Warrior when the poison was at its height, reaching him was another matter. He was protected by the other Warriors, preventing Emmett from final domination.
But no man could deny a beautiful woman. Through Ilsa, he could draw the Warrior out. And once she was part of his trusted circle, she could persuade him—lure him out—during the time he fought the worst of the poison.
Through her, he’d finally get the Scorpio.
Emmett was tired of living his half life, assuming bodies of various humans so he could sustain some level of his power, feeding off the latent energy each human produced but which very few—if any—attempted to channel into true power.
So he used it.
Assumed it.
Stole it.
He was nearing his final goal. This sacrifice had tested his limits, certainly. But now, as his goals moved ever closer into reach, he acknowledged the sacrifice had been worth it.
Now that he was so close, it was all worth it.
Whether she liked it or not, Ilsa would deliver the Warrior to him.
And he would finish what he’d begun so many years ago.
Chapter Nineteen
Kane heard the loud, boisterous cries from the dinner table as he and Ilsa landed in the front entry hall. The dining room wasn’t far off the hall and clinking plates and loud laughter greeted them as they arrived.
He knew his brothers’ attitude toward her, Quinn’s especially. Knew this had to be the last place on earth she wanted to be, with her sister right down the hallway.
But as they stood there in the foyer, like two teenagers standing awkwardly after a high school dance, he was loath to let her go.
Did teenagers do that any longer? It happened on TV and movies, but he’d never experienced it. They sure as hell didn’t do it when he was that age.
He’d spent more than one delightful evening groping with a girl from the next village over in a darkened corner of the woods that divided their homesteads.
Fuck, he was old.
“Kane?”
“What? Oh. Sorry.”
She shuffled, the slight movements causing the tap of her heels to echo lightly around the immense marble foyer. “I need to leave.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have a place. I need to deal with a few things. Get my life in order.”
“That sounds awfully cryptic.”
“Fine. I need to deal with my contact at MI6. Resign my post.” She hesitated for a moment, then looked him square in the eye. “I’d suggest you do the same. It’s no kind of life running around killing people. It’s . . . no kind of life.”
“Even if they deserve it?”
She nodded. “Even then.”
Another awkward moment slid past them before Ilsa stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Warm heat assailed him as her body made contact with his. Then, as she stepped away, he reached for her, pulling her close, crushing her to his chest.
Every word that failed to rise on his tongue poured forth in the kiss. Powerful and forceful, yearning and needy, an emotional connection spun out between the two of them.
Lips met and merged. He felt her nip at his lower lip with her teeth and he dragg
ed her tongue into his mouth, the hot suction a reminder of earlier.
A reminder of all they’d shared.
Gods, but he didn’t want to let her go, even as he knew he had to.
She made him vulnerable.
And he had a life he needed to get back to.
“Well, this is a surprise. I’m not sure if I should grab a hose or a video camera.”
Ilsa leaped away from Kane like a scared cat while Kane leveled a harsh stare at Drake. “You’re a funny guy.”
“Glad to see you made it back.” Drake turned his focus toward Ilsa. “Did you make your delivery?”
“No thanks to you assholes,” Kane added before Ilsa could say anything.
“You’re the one with the death wish, Monte. Quinn simply pulled his pack-leader bullshit.”
“And you went right along with it.”
The words clearly hit home, if Drake’s scowl and ready fists were any indication. Their normally placid Pisces went from resolute to feral in a heartbeat.
“What the fuck?” Kane felt the punch almost as soon as he saw it, Drake’s lightning-quick reflexes knocking him for a loop as a fist slammed into his jaw.
All the anger—at himself and the poison, at Ilsa and her circumstances, at the forces that conspired to keep them apart—came out in a rush. Kane punched right back, his fury quickly giving him the upper hand.
“What the fu—?”
Kane felt large hands dragging on him as shouts echoed around him. Quinn held Drake as Brody, their Leo, held Kane by the shoulders.
“Seriously, Monte? Only you could pick a fight with the Pisces.” Brody’s voice growled in his ear. “So nice to have you home, by the way.”
Neither Brody nor Quinn let up their grips, instead dragging Kane and Drake toward the dining room. Kane saw Ilsa slip toward the door, only to be intercepted by Brody’s wife, Ava.
He missed what she said, but it had to be fairly persuasive as both women entered the dining room a short while later.
“You want to tell me what’s going on? My bride and I return from Egypt to find all hell’s broken loose here.”
Kane nodded to Ava, then made quick introductions between Ilsa and the Leo. It was obvious she’d met his new wife already. Ava’s recent turn to an immortal at the hands of Themis certainly seemed to agree with her. Her already-creamy skin glowed pink and a look of deep satisfaction and happiness rode high in her warm brown eyes.
After a few polite words, Brody went straight for the throat. Kane wasn’t sure if the comment was directed at himself or at Quinn. “So why’d the two of you go to the Underworld alone?”
“Work needed to be done. Ilsa had a delivery to make.”
“So you went with her, having no real working knowledge of the Underworld and being less than two weeks out from the poison’s zenith?”
Why the fuck had everyone crawled up his ass? It pissed him off because it was his choice.
Not theirs.
With a shrug, Kane reined in his anger, refusing to show how much it bothered him. “Ask Quinn. He’s the one who stayed behind.”
“His common sense is gone. Which is typical this time of year. The poison takes over and he still thinks he can fight it. Still thinks he’s at full strength,” Quinn said.
Unable to stay silent, Kane interrupted the bull’s litany of sins. “You know, Quinn, I’m still here. What the hell is this, a parent-teacher conference?”
Before the comments could escalate any further, Ilsa jumped in. “Look. I really should be going.”
“You’re sitting down for dinner.” Ava stopped her and pointed to a chair. “You both look dead on your feet. Eat something and get your strength back and we can decide who is leaving after that.”
Callie picked that moment to enter the room, an enormous, steaming tray of lasagna in her hands. Its twin already sat empty on the other end of the table.
“Um, Ava,” Kane added, but it was too late.
“Callie, we need some more plates,” Ava said with a smile.
“Ava—”
All conversation stopped as Ava prattled on. “Kane brought a guest for dinner. This is Ilsa and she’ll be joining us. I’m sure we have enough food.”
The words floated off in a hum that rose above the room.
Kane watched the drama unfold before his eyes. Quinn and Drake had grown abruptly silent at Callie’s entrance. Brody’s gaze had gone speculative and Ilsa had made definite steps toward the swinging door into the room.
But it was Callie who really caught his attention.
Her small frame quivered with attitude and she slammed the heavy tray onto the table, the motion causing a loud crack as it hit two ceramic pot holders.
“I will not break bread with that bitch. If she eats with us, I’m leaving.”
Oh gods. Ilsa had heard the expression “crawl through the floor,” but had never experienced the sensation.
She now realized she could have happily lived her life without ever learning how that actually felt.
Heat flushed her face and she added a few more steps to the light, tentative ones she’d already taken toward the door.
“What’s the problem? She’s our gue—” Ava was halfway through her next thought when Callie’s words penetrated. “Am I missing something?”
Callie’s shoulders went up in a huff, her finger point unmistakable. “Ask my sister.”
“Your sister? You two—?” Ava’s glance swung toward her before shifting back to Callie. “You have a sister?”
“Yes. I have many sisters.”
“Really?” If Ilsa wasn’t mistaken, the eager look that suffused Ava’s face indicated some deeper level of interest.
Was Callie secretive with them?
While Ilsa wouldn’t have expected to be the first name on her sister’s tongue, they came from a large brood of nymphs. It would have been natural for Callie to talk about some of them, especially if she lived here, with the Warriors.
Ava looked as if the news was a delightful surprise.
“Look, I really do need to leave. I’ll just be going.” Ilsa took a few more steps toward the door before her body betrayed her with a long, low growl from her stomach.
Ava went into order mode. “You’re not leaving. You’re hungry.” With a turn toward Callie, she added, “Ilsa and I will eat upstairs. I’ll just fix us a few plates. We’ll leave the boys to their discussion.”
Ten minutes later, Ilsa sat before a heaping plate of lasagna and garlic bread at a small table in what looked like yet another library.
“I was in a library the other day. On the first floor. And now here’s another. The guys sure do have a lot of books.”
Ava smiled as she tucked a napkin on her lap. “They have a lot of subjects to keep up with. A lot of interests. Each one’s different, you know.”
“Well, of course. They’re all different people.”
“Yes, but each has a different role within the whole, too.” Ava poured two glasses of wine, handing one over. “My husband, Brody, he’s the group’s archaeologist.”
Dinner passed quickly as Ilsa listened to Ava talk. Fascinated, she was interested to learn that not only was Ava incredibly warm and engaging, but she was very new to this world of the Warriors.
Ava poured out the rest of the wine and Ilsa watched the dark red liquid fill the deep red bowl of the glass. A lovely sense of calm had settled over her, the wine and a full stomach doing an incredible job of mellowing out some of the desperate urgency she’d felt earlier.
“So”—Ilsa leaned forward—“in the short time you’ve been with Brody, what have you learned about them?”
“The Warriors? They’re a true band of brothers, willing to help one another when the need arises. But . . .” Ava tapered off as she looked deep into her glass, then back up, her gaze direct. “They struggle. More than any of them would like to admit.”
“Struggle how?”
“All of them are very dominating personalities. Each knows how t
o do his job. How to be a protector.”
Ilsa nodded in agreement. Memories of the past few days ran through her mind’s eye.
Kane as he helped her catch Robert in Hyde Park.
Kane as he ran after the escaped scientists on the banks of the Acheron.
Kane as he stood by her during their report to Hades.
He was a leader.
“That’s so true.”
“Because of that, I don’t think they always know quite what to do with one another.”
“How so?”
“It’s hard to explain. When they’re all focused on a task, they band together and nothing can pull them apart. But it’s the day-to-day life.” Ava waved her hand, as if searching for the right words. “It’s like they don’t know how to interact with one another as regular people. So they keep their distance much of the time.”
“Quinn did that. The other day. He wouldn’t help Kane if he insisted on going with me to the Underworld.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. And Quinn is definitely the worst of the bunch. He’s so intent on his stubborn, bullheaded ways, he can’t see past the end of his nose most of the time.”
Ilsa tried to read Ava. Tried to understand the nuances that added to what she actually said. “You don’t like him?”
With a broad smile, Ava let out a small giggle over the rim of her wineglass. “Oh. I love him. He’s wonderful. He’s just a pain in the ass.”
Ilsa wanted to ask more. Wanted to know how you loved someone who you called such a derogatory name, but didn’t know how to do it.
She was so bad at this and their conversation only highlighted, yet again, how inept she was in dealing with others.
“Ilsa.” Ava’s voice was quiet as it broke into her thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Why are you so sad?”
“I’m not.” Ilsa shook her head as hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. “I’m really not.”
“Because you can tell me. You know, if you want to.”
“Really. I’m fine.”
Ava nodded and her face held the wisdom of the ages. “Tell ya what. I believe you. Really, I do. But I’m going to open another bottle of wine and we’ll keep chatting. And if you decide you want to talk about anything, well”—she shrugged her slim shoulders—“I’m here to listen.”