"You are out of place with that group," he said, studying her. "They have no qualms about violence."
Meghan smiled. "They do, actually. But they do the things they feel they must, when they are pushed too far. I am not them. I'm not a fighter. I can make plants grow. I can move the earth. And that makes me happy. It allows me to make this world a little better." She paused. "Just think of the good you could do, Eros."
She tried to stay calm. Tried not to think about what might happen if Hephaestus was, right at that moment, storming in on Bryant and whatever spirit daemons had joined his cause.
Eros took a deep breath. "Very well, Earth-witch. Let us go save my stepfather. I have one condition."
"What?" she asked, dreading his terms, knowing enough, already, to know that the immortals would take everything they could.
"When we find him. When this is over, tell him that you're his. And then be his. And let him be yours. Let that be my first decent act in this realm," he said, his eyes glowing deep blue.
She bowed her head. "I swear it," she said. "Can we go now?"
Eros held out his hand, and, this time, she took it willingly.
Hephaestus armed himself, walking back and forth through his house, muttering to himself angrily, trying not to picture the day Meghan had stood there with him, and told him she liked his house.
His messy, crazy, filthy house. She liked it.
She was fuckin' perfect, and she was in danger because of him. Because of his insane stepsons and his past coming back to haunt him.
And he hadn't told her. Hadn't told her that the sun rose and set with her, that a look from her was enough to keep him going for centuries, that her touch made him feel truly alive for the first time, ever.
He hadn't told her he'd love and cherish her until everything in existence ceased to be.
He gathered a chain made of fine silver links, wrapped it around his muscled wrist several times. It would be easy to take off when he needed it. He grabbed the large knives he liked, glanced toward the worktable and picked up a small ax, wishing for something bigger.
If she was hurt, if she was afraid, there would be no mercy for whoever had caused it.
He stormed through the house, making sure he had everything he needed.
Of course he didn't. She wasn't by his side.
It was past time to correct that. He focused and went to the first place he could think of: her house.
When he appeared there, it all felt wrong. He could sense it immediately. Other presences nearby, things that had no business near Meghan's house, things that had destroyed the wards she'd set protecting her yard and house. He could feel them, watching. He would deal with them later.
He focused, tried to feel the warm presence of her earth magic, but there was nothing. He swallowed, hoping he hadn't been too late. He could feel the ex, though, waiting in the house. If she was dead, if she was hurt, he knew damn well who had caused it. He growled and strode toward the house, a gesture from him making the iron hinges and lock on her front door break.
He would make her new ones.
He used his power to shove the door aside, and it flew through the yard. His heart pounded, and all he felt was rage. He preferred the rage. If he let himself worry, if he let himself think about where she might be, what might be happening to her...
He stormed in to find the ex and several spirit daemons waiting for him. Something seemed wrong. The ex (what was his fuckin name again? Heph thought to himself) seemed irritated, more than anything else. Expectant.
Heph looked around. There were four other beings, and, unfortunately, he knew them all.
Spirit daemons, he thought irritably. There was Alala, the spirit of war cry, who had been a devoted servant of Ares. Alastor, the spirit of blood feuds, who had also served Ares. Anaideia, the spirit of ruthlessness (shocker: another of Ares's). And, rounding out the group, Apate, the spirit of deceit.
It was Apate, with her flowing black mane and serpentine eyes, that Hephaestus studied most closely. She looked at him blankly.
"Where is she, you slimy piece of Netherscum?" Hephaestus roared, striding toward the ex-husband and uncoiling the chain from his wrist. "Tell me now, and I'll make it hurt less."
The ex backed up, glaring at the spirit daemons, then pointing at Hephaestus. Green energy flowed from his fingers, the spell hitting Hephaestus directly in the stomach. He gave an "oof" but kept moving forward.
"That all you got? Imps hit harder than that," he growled.
"Get him, you idiots," the ex whined, and Alastor hissed at him.
"Watch your tongue, mortal," he said. "We are not here on your behalf."
"That Deimos guy told you to take care of him!" the ex shouted. "And you said you wanted to. Ares? Remember?"
Alastor's gaze swung back to Hephaestus. "Oh, yes," he agreed. "I remember. There has been a grave insult paid to my Lord, and it must be remedied."
"Come on then. Less talking, you boot-licking maggot," Hephaestus taunted, and when Alastor lunged for him, he met his blade with the chain he'd had at the ready. At his command, the links wrapped themselves around the blade of the sword, and didn't let go. Within seconds, Hephaestus had relieved Alastor of his weapon.
Of course, this was a war daemon. He had more. Alastor simply pulled an ax from over his shoulder and kept advancing.
"Fun," Hephaestus said, drawing his own ax. "Let's dance."
As he and Alastor met one another in a flurry of strikes, Hephaestus could feel the other spirit daemons closing on them. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He wanted to get to the ex to find out where Meghan was. If they were waiting for Deimos, that didn't bode well. They didn't know he was dead.
And it also meant that someone else had Meghan. Not the ex, and obviously not Deimos or any of the spirit daemons.
He fought harder, brought fire from the coals cooling in Meghan's fireplace, shot them toward Alastor. With all of the rage coursing through Hephaestus, along with the pain from the deep wounds he'd already sustained on his arms, he had more than enough to incinerate Alastor. Of course, the spirit daemon would just generate another body here in the mortal realm later. The good thing was that that new identity would not remember this day. Most likely, it would go off and do its own thing, urging on the more war-like mortals.
Hephaestus turned to the other three, roared in agony as Anaideia rematerialized behind him and ran her sword through his back. He looked down to see it poking through his chest. He snarled, focused on the steel of the sword, listened as the hilt fell to the wooden floor of Meghan's living room. He grunted and pulled the pointed end of the sword out of his chest.
He would not show them weakness.
"Where is she?" he shouted, and got perverse pleasure from watching the ex jump as if he'd been slapped.
"I don't know," the ex blurted, and Alala did actually reach out and slap him, hard.
"Shut your fool mouth," she hissed at the mortal.
"You're only here because of me," the stupid mortal continued. While he had Alala distracted, Hephaestus thew his ax at the spirit daemon's back. It hit the back of the daemon's spine, and Heph watched in grim satisfaction as the spirit daemon dissolved into nothing.
That left Anaideia and Apate, who still stood, watching. He and Anaideia started fighting again, and Hephaestus could feel his strength leaving him. Should have brought Queenie, he thought. He should have called her as soon as he'd felt them all there. Fool, he cursed himself.
And then he felt it. The one thing he both did and absolutely fucking didn't want to feel.
Meghan's earth magic. Her warm, sweet presence. Coming closer.
Along with Eros.
He growled. He'd kill him. The bastard had betrayed him. Brought her here, for what? To be bait? To give her to that worthless mortal? He kept fighting, and when Meghan stormed in, he saw her take in the scene, his state, and her gaze landed on her ex-husband.
Oh, she was good and pissed.
She
raised her hands, and he felt the earth tremble.
Anaideia took advantage of his distraction, swung hard with her ax, and Heph felt the searing, agonizing pain of the blade slicing into his shoulder.
Meghan screamed, and in that moment, Heph saw something he'd never seen before. Tree branches burst through the windows, shattering the glass. Meghan raised her hands higher, her power swirling around her, and the tree branches reached for the warlock she'd been married to. He numbly noticed Anaideia preparing for another swing. His arm was numb, his injured shoulder rendering it useless. At that moment, Eros jumped in front of him, and ended up taking the brunt of the attack, the blade of Anaideia's ax slicing through the flesh of Eros's throat.
At that moment, the tree branches snagged the ex-husband, growing and wrapping around his throat, and Heph watched through a blur of pain and anger as the beautiful, sweet woman, his woman, struggled with herself. She was crying, but so angry it was palpable. She needed him.
He gathered his strength once more, focused on the chain he still held in his good hand, set the links to work as he whipped them toward Anaideia. They wrapped around her neck, and, at his command, tightened, more, more, and more, until the life was choked from the war daemon, and Heph watched her spirit float away in a black mist.
Eros lay bleeding, but not dead, near his feet, and Heph felt his strength finally give out and he stumbled, fell hard to the floor. His arm was hanging uselessly, not healing fast enough. Anaideia had almost cut completely through, and it burned, made him feel dizzy. He watched Meghan as she tried to work up the courage to do what needed to be done, to stop her ex from tormenting her. The tree had him caught in its branches. All his Earth-witch had to do was command it to continue. He could see the struggle in her eyes.
He also tried to keep an eye on Apate, who still stood there with a blank look on her face.
And then, all at once, Apate moved in a blur of action, and Heph shouted for Meghan to look out. Her concentration broke, and the tree's grip on her ex (who was screaming and struggling against the bonds) started to loosen.
Apate flew past Meghan, slicing her blade across the ex's throat.
"Open the ground, Earth-witch," Apate said in her silky voice, and Meghan did so, seeming to be in shock, her body trembling, unable to take her gaze away from the now-still body of her ex as Apate hefted it out and tossed it into the hole Meghan had made.
"Cover him over," Apate said, and Meghan swallowed. And then, she did.
Heph didn't know whether to look at Apate or Meghan. In the end, his eyes settled on his love, who was staring at Apate.
"I thought you were here to hurt Hephaestus," she said, confused, voicing his own thoughts.
Apate grinned, and closed her eyes, and soon, a friendly-looking middle-aged woman stood before Meghan.
A woman Meghan recognized.
Meghan stared. Blinked. Stared again.
Her neighbor, the wife of the pastor, who she'd worked with for months to help feed the hungry families of their neighborhood, stood before her.
And she'd killed Bryant.
And now she smiled at Meghan, a kind look in her eyes. "I am the spirit of trickery and deceit. It doesn't mean I don't recognize good and evil. I was never here for him," she said, nodding out the window. "Or for Deimos, who I know to be dead already. I was here for you."
"For me?" Meghan asked, hating the way her voice shook.
"It was clear this was all coming to a head. When I was asked to join, I accepted, gladly. I would not let you become a murderer, Earth-witch. Not after knowing you, after seeing the way you strive to do better. His death affects me not at all. Hopefully, it will bring you peace."
Meghan just stared at her. At this woman she thought she'd known. After several long moments, the woman she'd known as Carol smiled at her and looked toward Hephaestus and Eros. Hephaestus was still kneeling, watching. Eros was groaning and sitting up.
Crazy, crazy gods, was all Meghan could think.
"Let's go, Eros. They have things to discuss. And I am in need of mortal libations," the pastor's wife who wasn't actually human was saying.
Eros stood up with a grunt. "Can't you just say 'I need a beer' like a normal person?"
The female god/thing laughed. "I am not normal, son of Ares," she said.
Meghan watched as Eros stopped, held his hand out to Hephaestus, and helped him stand. The two men stood, facing each other, hands clasped.
"I may be bred of Ares. I am the son of Hephaestus. If he will have me," Eros added.
She watched as Hephaestus studied him. "I believe he will," he finally said, and Eros smiled and the two men clapped each other (somewhat gingerly) on one another's shoulder.
Meghan went and stood next to Hephaestus, and, together, they watched the two immortals disappear.
When she looked back up at Hephaestus, he was looking at her his gaze so full of longing it took her breath away.
"We should get cleaned up," she managed to say.
"We should," he said, his voice low and hoarse.
"And after," she said, "I think we need to talk. So don't plan on going anywhere for a while."
He was watching her, concern on his features. "Very well, love," he said, and her heart pounded.
She turned without another word and headed toward her room. "The bathroom's here on the left," she said. "You left a bunch of your clothes here that time we went to the beach. They're in the laundry room."
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Then she turned and met his gaze.
"Come on, Hephaestus." Then she smiled. "Unless you plan on making me bathe all by myself." She turned again and started walking, but had to grin when she heard his fast footsteps behind her.
Chapter Ten
Meghan turned the water on in the deep clawfoot tub. It was one of the things she loved most about the house.
The house she'd be moving from, sooner rather than later. There was no way in hell she could live there now, not with Bryant's corpse buried in the front garden and the oak trees that flanked the house now growing branches through all of the windows on that side of the house.
She should have thought of that, really, she scolded herself as she tested the water. Too hot. She turned the hot water down a little. She could make stuff grow, but, once grown, there was no undoing it.
She heard Hephaestus stand behind her, in the doorway of the small bathroom.
"Strip and have a seat," she told him without looking around.
"Uh..." he said, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
"Come on, Hephaestus. You're covered in blood."
"I can go home and bathe," he said.
"Is that what you want to do?" she asked, finally turning around and meeting his eyes.
Good Gaia, his eyes. So dark she felt like she could disappear in them in the space of a breath. And the way he looked at her, the frenzied need, the uncertainty.
The uncertainty killed her. And she didn't want to see that there anymore. Not when she knew, without a doubt, that she was meant for him, that he was the only one she wanted.
That maybe, just maybe, she could trust her heart with him.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice low, sending shivers up her spine. She nodded.
He started pulling his t-shirt up, and she just caught his wince.
"Your poor shoulder," she said, walking up to him. "Let me. Please."
He stilled, and she gently, carefully pulled the bloody rag over his head, careful not to pull too hard when it stuck to the still-healing wound on his shoulder.
"Do you need me to bandage that?" she asked, and he shook his head, practically devouring her with his eyes. She drank him in. He was built like a bull; powerful, wide shoulders, thick chest, solid all the way around. His arms looked like tree trunks. His stomach was muscled, a trail of dark, dark hair leading from his chest into the waistline of his jeans.
She reached out, wel
l aware that her hand was trembling, and she rested her palms against his chest, feeling his heart pounding under her touch. She let her fingers trace his chest, down his stomach. She heard his quick intake of breath when she skimmed his abdomen, edged her fingertips into his belt, unfastening it.
She could barely breathe. Her body was practically buzzing, every cell in her needing him. She would care for him, in every way she was capable of managing.
She would show him he was worth her care. Even if he didn't believe it. Eventually, he would.
"I'm dead, aren't I? I'm dreaming or something," he said, his voice low, hoarse.
She gave a small laugh and managed to unfasten his belt and his jeans. She let her palms skim over the flesh of his abdomen, hooked her thumbs around the waistband of his pants, and pushed them down.
"Whoa," she said before she could think.
He choked a little, and then released a deep laugh, and she couldn't help but join him.
"Sorry. I'm not great at the whole seduction thing, I guess," she laughed. "Not very smooth."
"Love, 'whoa' is a compliment I'll gladly take," he said, and she looked up at him. He was still smiling down at her, and she leaned into him, sighed with pleasure when he captured her lips, kissing her as if his life depended on it. As he did, she felt him shifting, stepping out of his pants and shoes. He held her close, his hands so warm on her body, so meticulous in the way he touched her.
She forced herself to pull back.
"Into the tub, Hephaestus," she said, smiling up at him.
He kept his eyes on hers, and she only looked away to take in the full sight of his naked, drool-worthy body as he settled into the steaming water.
"Is it too hot?"
He shook his head, still watching her.
"It's missing something, though," he said, leaning against the back of the tub. She was even more grateful now for the deep tub. He could rest in it comfortably.
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