Hate: Goddesses of Delphi Book 5 (Goddesses of Delphi Paranormal Romance)

by Gemma Brocato

  Taking a seat atop an outdoor picnic table, she folded her torso over the tops of her thighs to ease the gripping back muscles. It was a problem that plagued her frequently. The type of ache that accompanied being on her feet for twelve to fourteen hours on wedding event days. From her spot, she noted servers clearing dishes and coffee cups as more and more people joined the crush on the smooth marble dance floor.

  Satisfaction swept through her stomach as she watched the newlyweds sway together. No way in Hades this couple would end up on the rocks. Aerie had read it in their souls that they were meant for each other, before she’d nudged them closer together. She was the damned Muse of Love. When she made a match, it stuck.

  Except for that one time. To this day, she didn’t feel fully recovered for the debacle of Helen of Troy. It was the one time in history she’d used her gift to try to break a couple up. Her dreams were still invaded by the screams of the Trojans as the Spartans sacked and burned their city.

  She shoved the dark thought deeply back into her mind. Now wasn’t the time for recriminations. The Morgans weren’t doomed lovers. Not at all. They were a match made in Muse heaven.

  “I don’t know why they bother,” Michael Finnegan scoffed, arms crossed over his chest like a big-ass barricade to everything and everyone. “With the divorce rate at fifty percent, this marriage will probably tank before the year is out. Perfectly good waste of money that could be going to fund a charity, or to fight the war on drugs.”

  He’d stepped outside the ostentatious imitation temple for a break from the frivolity and the crowd. Being sandwiched in with so many other people made that unreachable spot between his shoulder blades twitch. His jaw ached. He’d clenched it so tightly in the past twelve hours, pain slithered down his neck, reaching his fingertips.

  His new partner, Anson Elwood, had joined him. They’d been assigned together once Finn returned from his latest suspension. They hadn’t been a team for long, but they’d worked well together from the get-go. Somehow, Finn ended up holding both their beers while Anse lit a cigarette.

  “Finn, only a true pessimist would say something like that during a wedding reception.” Anse punched his bicep, making sure to extend his middle knuckle to inflict the most pain.

  A true pessimist could also debate the entire question of love. So many of his childhood memories of his parents’ marriage were tainted with the sounds of fists striking soft tissue, bruises not fully hidden, and tirades directed at unsuspecting victims. And betrayal. Couldn’t forget that.

  Knocking Anse’s hand aside, Finn continued like his thoughts hadn’t taken a turn for the morose. “I bet this shindig, with the high-priced wedding planner cost an easy fifty grand. If they’d eloped and given even half that amount to the woman’s shelter, they’d be offering safety and protection to three families for six months. And did you see that gift table? Piled so high it would be a thief’s wet dream.” The distasteful display of excess stuck in Finn’s craw. Especially juxtaposed against the image of the battered woman he’d interviewed at the hospital just hours ago. Sitting with the bruised, bawling woman had made him miss the church part of the day. Which was okay by him. He hated crowds, and all the potential bad shit that usually happened in them.

  “Man, you’ve got to let go of the interview with Meredith Miller. Not every woman is abused. Some marriages end up happy.” The tip of Anse’s cigarette glowed as he took a long drag from it. Second-hand smoke wafted in the air between them. Why couldn’t his new partner have been a non-smoker?

  Finn waved his hand through the smoke Anse exhaled. “I thought you were quitting. Those things will kill you.”

  “Not me, man. I’m invincible.” He dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it under his heel then grabbed one of the two long-neck bottles Finn had been holding.

  Regaining use of his hand, Finn jerked his tie again to ease the feeling of being strangled by silk.

  Anse lifted his bottle and clinked it to Finn’s. “You know, this is a party. You could leave work at the station for once. Come on, dude. Randy Morgan finally met a woman capable of making him settle down. That’s huge, given what a player the guy is. Was.” He shoved Finn’s shoulder, prodding him back toward the party.

  Finn moved grudgingly. “Which proves my point. Those two will be toast inside of twelve months.”

  “Excuse me!” A stern female voice accosted them from behind.

  Both men clammed up, turning toward the newcomer. The glow from the pavilion reflected on the woman’s face. The twinkly lights overhead made her red hair shimmer. Her heart-shaped face would be stunning, except for the flattened lips and lowered brows. She was pissed as fuck about something.

  Finn settled his weight onto one leg and waited.

  As she approached them, she called out. “You’re wrong. Those two are going to make it to their fiftieth anniversary.”

  Propping his fists on his hips, Finn scowled at her. “What makes you think so?”

  She pasted on a phony sweet smile. “Because I’m the high-priced wedding planner with a proven track record of successful weddings.”

  Dull heat climbed into Finn’s cheeks, and warmed the tops of his ears. “A successful wedding doesn’t make a successful marriage.”

  “But my track record on that score is ninety-nine percent.” She arched her brow. “That’s well above the national average.”

  “Hey, Finn didn’t mean anything by his cracks. He’s always a big asshole.” Anson laughed, like that would ease the tension boiling between them.

  The band started playing a swing tune. Sparkling sounds of laughter rose above the up-tempo music.

  “I’m Anson Elwood and this buffoon is Michael Finnegan. We work on the police force with the groom.” Anse extended his hand.

  “Aerie Thanos.” Her slim fingers were enveloped in Anse’s meaty grip.

  Turning to Finnegan, she studied him like a bug under a microscope. Leaving him hanging, with his arm extended. She lifted her gaze, her eyes a moving, violet-blue. She curled her fingers against her palm before accepting his greeting. Finn heard the tiny gasp sneaking from between her lips. Saw her widened eyes as she jerked her arm. With a scowl marring the perfection of her brow, she tucked her fist behind her back.

  He studied Aerie intently. Serious. Sexy. Subtle curves his fingers itched to explore, a long, lean neck designed to be nibbled on. And the seriously pissed off expression he wanted to kiss away.

  Finn crammed his errant thoughts to the back of his mind. Didn’t really matter how attractive she was. In his book, there was no excuse for the kind of snub she’d just delivered.

  “You gentlemen are missing the dancing. Go have fun.” She turned from them, then spun back around. “Oh, and by the way…the leftovers from dinner have already been packaged up and will be delivered to Sojourn House. Along with a very generous check from the bride’s parents.” Her heel caught on the grass as she pivoted to walk away from them. Finn caught her as she stumbled.

  “Wait.” A firm hand on her arm stopped her forward momentum. Through the gauzy material of her sleeve, warmth seeped into his palm. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It wasn’t my intention.”

  Two percent of his weekly pay also went to Sojourn House, a shelter for families, a haven from the horrors of domestic abuse. It was nice to find another person who championed a cause he held close to his heart. Especially when the other benefactor was as alluring as this woman.

  Politely withdrawing her arm from his grip, Aerie waved her hand, as if to dismiss his words. “The bar will be open another two hours. Please drink responsibly.”

  Finn watched her stride away. Her dress was missing the back, scooping below her shoulder blades, exposing a wide expanse of supple flesh and a curving waist. He swallowed hard, seriously turned on as he wondered if her flesh was as hot as her temper.

  Two

  Striving for calm, she contemplated blowing herself a kiss. If ever anyone needed a sense of peace, it was Aerie in that moment.
Mr. Finnegan hadn’t hesitated to insult her, and he didn’t even know her. She’d run into jerks like him before, had even jabbed them with her powers to let go of their hate and anger, and embrace the love. But she didn’t like to squander her gift on people who seemed a complete waste of oxygen.

  And if anyone ever fit into that category, it was the jackass she’d just met.

  Two hours later, in spite of attending to the details of the reception, the special dances, the photo-taking and shepherding the couple through their final obligations to their guests, Aerie remain conscious of the man’s presence. She continued to fume about their conversation. She should have poked him with her special inspiration. Maybe planted a suggestion to smile a little and enjoy the celebration of love he was at. Hell, she’d be better off hinting he should drop a daisy into the barrel of the gun he had under his suit coat. She’d seen the telltale bulge, and noted the way he held his arm away from his ribs. She’d had to bite her tongue to refrain from ordering him to leave.

  Who brings a gun to a wedding reception? To be fair, he was a police officer. A lot of the people present were. There were probably a lot of firearms in the temple. Aerie hated guns. Life had been less…dangerous before the Chinese invented gunpowder. Although, there were spears and arrows. Men had always found ways to express their hate.

  She paused to scan the crowd for Bernie, but, again, her gaze snagged on Mars. He was talking to Phillip, the look on both their faces grim as they studied her. Goddess, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at a flawlessly executed wedding where more than one guest looked glum and morose.

  But wait, Mars wasn’t looking at her; he was staring beyond her shoulder, a scowl carved into his forehead. She took a step toward him, but halted when a hand wrapped around her upper arm.

  Before she looked, she knew who’d stopped her. The overwhelming scent of musk, smoke, and pine wafted through her senses. Tingling started at the point of contact and radiated toward her shoulder. Rather than erotic, the all-too-familiar sensation was repugnant.

  “What are you doing here, Lykos?” Without facing him, she jerked her arm from his grip and took a step to the right, away from the notorious satyr.

  Fitting that she should have to deal with this minor deity after her guilt about Troy had reared earlier. Lykos had been at that wedding as well.

  He crowded in next to her. “It’s a wedding. Guaranteed someone’s getting fucked tonight. Where else would I be?”

  “Lost in the forest?” she suggested hopefully.

  That earned her a sultry chuckle. “You have such a delicious sense of humor.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  When he stroked his fingers along the exposed skin on her back she trembled, repulsed. She sidled another step to the right.

  “Erato, you wound me.” He didn’t sound the least bit hurt when he used her birth name. He stepped in front of her, demanding her attention. “My little dove. The best place for a satyr is at a wedding. All the lovely, jealous bridesmaids, eager for a quick, hard fuck. I have my eye on the petite blonde, the one looking so forlorn in the corner there.”

  She gave him a look, the one she normally reserved for the Daemones when those spirits came to call. A glower designed to dismiss. “That’s what the groomsmen are for. You should leave.” Craning to see over Lykos’s double-wide shoulders, she spied the girl in question. She did look lonely. Eyeing the groom’s single younger brother, she blew him a mental kiss, gratified to see him move toward the young woman after a momentary hesitation.

  Aerie redirected her attention to Lykos. He’d been gifted in the looks department. Sleek black hair waved away from his forehead and fell to his shoulders, obsidian bedroom eyes, a perpetual tan, and muscles for miles. The satyr looked as fine in a suit as he did in a toga. He’d even rocked ruffled collars, pantaloons and tights in the seventeenth century.

  Offspring of Hermes. Messenger of Dionysus…son of a bitch. Good for nothing and unfit for work.

  And so freaking beautiful it hurt to look at him sometimes. But the literal wolf in sheep’s clothing knew it. The fact made him far less attractive. And he always smelled like day-old spunk. His odor stung her nostrils and made her lip curl as he crowded closer.

  He drew a finger along her bicep. “I saw what you did. Be careful, or you might be required to take the mousy bridesmaid’s place riding my cock.”

  Aerie repressed as shudder. “Never in any of my lifetimes.”

  Lykos wrapped his lean fingers around her wrist, digging in. “Little Muse, you won’t spoil my fun. Perhaps I’ll invite the young man to join us when I take the blonde to a more secluded location. I’ll bet neither of them have experienced pleasure like that.”

  He didn’t release her when she tugged, so she jerked harder, pulling from his grasp. “Leave them alone, Lykos.” He didn’t come to every wedding she planned, so his appearance at this particular event made her wary.

  “Everything okay here?” Finn’s soft, deadly serious voice carried over her shoulder. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard the satyr’s indecent proposal? Or worse, had he heard Lykos call her Muse?

  Fighting the urge to howl her frustration, Aerie twisted until she could keep both men—well, one man, one disgusting, oversexed deity—in her sights. “Perfectly. Lykos was simply being ill-mannered. Weren’t you, dear?” she sneered at him and patted his cheek.

  He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm and trained his eyes on her. She kept her face placid when he stroked his tongue along her lifeline. What she wanted to do was rake her nails over his cheek until she drew blood.

  Lykos gripped her wrist, squeezing just tight enough to be uncomfortable. His eyes snapped wickedly. “Is your lovely mother here today?”

  The expression on the detective’s face turned flintier than it was moments ago.

  The orchestra switched to a pop song and the dance floor got more crowded.

  Aerie ignored the cop and squinted at Lykos, hitting him with a mental get-your-fucking-hands-off-me command. His nostrils flared as he dropped her hand, as if stung by a scorpion. Which was exactly the mental image she’d projected to his brain. Or rather his dick, since it was the head ruling the beast.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Mars striding toward them, and felt Finnegan’s tension increase.

  She answered Lykos’s question, hoping to hurry him away. “She was here with my father earlier. But they’ve left. Together.” The bastard had always been enamored with Gaia. Over the millennia, he’d made it a crusade to try to get her to stray from her devotion to Zeus.

  Flashing her a sardonic smile, Lykos bowed slightly. “Please give her my best regards when next you see her. Tell her my offer still stands.”

  Before Mars reached them, Lykos glided away, with the stealthy grace of a wolf on the hunt. and a telltale whiff of smoke and sex.

  “Who was that jackass?” Finnegan crossed his bulky arms over his chest. The movement reminded her of someone, but every alpha male asshole employed the same gesture, meant to intimidate.

  She refused to let it work on her.

  “His name is Lykos.” Mars answered for her. He focused on the retreating satyr, then riveted a laser-like stare on Finn. “And he’s a wedding crasher from way back.”

  That was weird. Animosity radiated from Mars. And seemed to be directed at the man standing at Aerie’s side. “Uncle Martin, do you know Mr. Finnegan?”

  The cop’s posture was tauter than Cupid’s bowstring. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. But I know of Mr. Pappandreou by reputation.” He slowly uncrossed his arms and extended a hand.

  Both men’s knuckles whitened as they greeted each other. Stupid men and their constant dick measuring.

  Mars lifted his chin. “Former military, right? Rangers, I’m guessing.”

  “SEAL.” Finnegan’s reply was terse, like he wasn’t interested in speaking about it.

  “Ah,” Mars pressed, “modern day gods of war.”<
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  Oh fuck! Aerie discreetly elbowed Mars in the ribs. “Gentlemen, we are at a wedding, and the bride’s father is graciously offering a last call. Bar’s closing in ten minutes, if you care for a final cocktail.” The irony didn’t escape her—pushing booze on the cop after warning him to drink responsibly just a short while ago. But she was desperate.

  Unfathomable brown eyes fastened on her face, and a muscle ticked in Finnegan’s jaw. A tiny thrill sped through her. To be the object of the intense scrutiny spiked her need to fidget. Or throw herself into his arms. Probably better to kick him in the shins with her pointy-toed high heels.

  What she really wanted was to touch her lips to his frowning mug and spread peace and calm and happy into him with her special gift. The physical touch of her mouth to his was the only way to guarantee he’d let go of whatever demons had him in their grip. It wasn’t a trick she used often, but it might be warranted in his case. She settled for blowing him a mental kiss, a suggestion for him to back off.

  As her nudge touched his mind, Finn blinked and his posture eased. “Actually, I was on my way out when that wolf accosted you.”

  Wait, he’d known Lykos was a wolf satyr? “I beg your pardon?”

  Beside her, Mars tensed to high alert status, his body coiled for action.

  “I know his type. He’d cause trouble without a thought to the consequences.” Finnegan stared at her meaningfully. “He strikes me as a beater.”

  “A beater?” The conversation leaped, dodging around too fast for Aerie to keep track of his train of thought.

  Finnegan shrugged. “Wife beater, kid abuser. All around predator. The kind lovely women like you need protection from.”

  He thought she was lovely?

  But wait, he also didn’t think she could save herself if need arose. She bristled. “I don’t really need you, or any other man, saving me. I’ve taken care of myself for a very, very long time.”