The Stone Warriors: Damian

by D. B. Reynolds

“Sorry,” she said and opened the door wider. The light fell on his sitting form, and she saw that he was completely, perfectly, naked. Fuck.

  No! No fuck! Her first order of business had to be a trip to the store to get him some clothes. “Are you hungry?” she asked, mostly to get her mind off the fact that he was naked and ripped. Damn! But then she told herself to stop ogling and get back to business. Was he hungry? Of course he was hungry. Forget the millennia trapped in stone, he hadn’t even eaten anything since he’d been freed yesterday. And that was her fault. They’d been so busy getting away, and then dealing with her wound that they hadn’t ordered any food. And since she’d passed out, he probably hadn’t known how to pick up the phone and call room service. He’d experienced a lot of life up there on the roof, but she doubted ordering room service was part of it. Or using a hotel phone, for that matter.

  He nodded, his head still bowed as he sat on the side of the bed. “I am hungry,” he said, without looking at her, as if he was embarrassed at being afraid of the dark. Though she doubted he would describe it quite that way.

  She grabbed the other robe, then walked over, and reached for the bedside lamp. “Do you mind?” she asked.

  He made a grunting noise that she took for assent, so she flicked the switch on the lamp. It didn’t light the room completely, but it was better than just the bathroom light. She turned and offered him the robe. “It’s not quite god-sized,” she joked lamely. “But it will keep you decent when the room service waiter arrives.”

  He cracked a smile at last, a wicked grin that made his opinion on that very clear. He didn’t care who saw him naked. If she’d had a body like his, she probably wouldn’t have cared either. If she’d been a man, that was. Since she was a woman, having his body would be rather odd. Focus, Casey. Damn. Put a gorgeous, naked god in her vicinity, and she lost her mind.

  She crossed to the desk and found the room-service menu. When she turned back, Damian was standing and had donned the robe. She bit her lip. Yeah, the robe was definitely not sized for a god, but at least it made him a little less distracting. She opened the folio to breakfast and handed it to him.

  “Knock yourself out, big guy.”

  He gave the menu a puzzled look, and she realized he might not understand the colloquialism. “It means—”

  “I know what it means,” he assured her. “I’m simply amazed at the variety of foods available.”

  “There’s coffee too, or tea. Or I’m sure I can get wine, if that’s what you’re accustomed to.”

  Damian sank back onto the bed and perused his breakfast options. Typical male—he paid no attention at all to the spread of his legs and the subsequent display of his . . . junk to anyone who happened to be sitting on the opposite bed. Which Casey was. And she couldn’t stop herself from looking. It was an impressive display.

  Damn it. She stood quickly and sat next to him instead. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll call it in,” she said, pretending she had only moved to bring the hotel phone closer. “Or if you have any questions.”

  “What will you be eating?” he asked, one thick finger running down the list.

  “I’m not much of a breakfast person,” she said. “Coffee, of course, and maybe some fruit and a bagel.”

  He looked up, and she realized, for the first time, that he’d showered at some point last night. His hair was clean and shiny and fell over his shoulders in golden waves that looked a hell of a lot better than hers did. He smelled good, too.

  Shit. She was doing it again.

  “You should eat something,” he told her. “Preferably meat. Your body will need the energy.”

  “Energy for what?” she asked suspiciously.

  His eyes crinkled first, followed by a slow grin that made her want to squirm, aware of her own nakedness beneath the robe. “Energy to heal,” he clarified solemnly, but with hints of the grin still playing around his mouth.

  Casey felt her blush and was glad for the dimly lit room. “You’re right,” she agreed quickly, wanting to change the flirtatious undercurrent of the conversation. “I’ll get some eggs.”

  A soft snort told her what he thought of that, but he didn’t comment until he looked up from the menu again, and said, “Steak is meat, isn’t it?”

  “Most of the time,” she agreed. “Definitely in this case. It’s beef.”

  “Okay, I’ll have the steak and eggs. I want the meat bloody, whatever you call it here, and the eggs fried. Also, the fruit platter and the lox . . . that’s salmon, right?” he asked, then continued when she nodded. “Good. And a pastry basket and coffee, too. I’ve never had coffee, but everyone in your time seems to crave it. And water.”

  She regarded him with raised eyebrows. “Is that it?”

  He studied the menu again, missing her sarcasm completely. A small frown marred that perfect forehead, and he nodded. “For now.”

  Casey smiled at his bent head. “Okay. I’ll call it in, and then I’ll get dressed. As soon as we finish breakfast, I’ll go out and get you some clothes. After that, we can figure out what to do next.”

  “Our next task is simple. We find those who stole this Talisman from you—”

  “Well, I stole it from them first,” she admitted.

  He shrugged. “In my time, possession was the only thing that mattered. They have it and you want it, therefore, we will go get it.”

  “If only it was that simple,” she said. “I have a good idea of where they’ll go, but I’ll need to do some checking first, call some people.” His eyes were already glazing over with boredom. It didn’t surprise her. He probably hadn’t been the guy who ran reconnaissance for the armies. He’d been the guy who stood at the vanguard and inspired the others to throw their lives into the crucible of battle. “Don’t worry about it,” she said finally. “I’ll handle that part.”

  “I’m relieved,” he said dryly, then gave her an assessing look. “Will you need help getting dressed?”

  It was her turn to snort derisively. “You wish. I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I shall watch more of your television,” he said, not at all put off by her rejection of his assistance. Apparently, she really didn’t exist for him as a female, she thought, frowning as he settled back against the headboard, looking completely relaxed as he clicked the remote from channel to channel. He’d clearly forgotten about her altogether. Hanging around him was such an ego boost.

  After breakfast, which Damian inhaled as if he hadn’t eaten in hundreds of years—bad choice of analogy, since he actually hadn’t—she began the onerous task of getting dressed. She’d lied to Damian about that. She really could have used his help. It was not only that her shoulder protested any movement on her part, but it was also thick with bandages. Both of those things greatly limited her wardrobe options. Every top she’d brought with her was a pullover. Normally, she would have borrowed a button-up shirt from Damian. Most of the guys she knew had at least a couple of those. In this case, however, he had even fewer clothes than she did.

  And then there was the bra situation. Her breasts were too big, and she was too self-conscious about it, to go braless. She briefly considered asking Damian to wrap her chest in gauze from the first aid kit, but then couldn’t believe she’d entertained that idea for even an instant. She tried to imagine which outcome would be worse. Having him wrap her up like a sausage without even noticing she had breasts? Or ogling her like a teenager who’d never seen naked breasts before? Based on his earlier comments, she was afraid it would be option number one, which wasn’t exactly an ego booster.

  Fortunately, she got to skip the whole comedy routine. She had one old bra that she kept in the bottom of her duffel just in case she ended up on a long flight or even a long train ride. It was stretched out enough to be comfortable to sleep in, but still retained sufficient structure to be marginally decent, and,
best of all, it had a front closure. She pulled on a front-zip hoodie as a top—her bandaged arm was a tight fit, but it worked—and she went with leggings and her UGG boots in order to avoid the need to button or lace up anything. After all, she was going to big-box heaven, not Rodeo Drive. She’d likely be one of the best-dressed people there.

  Stepping back, she eyed herself in the mirror. Okay, so it wasn’t her best look. Her big sunglasses concealed most of her face, and since braiding her hair had been out of the question, it hung long and wavy over her shoulders, which was pretty good camouflage all by itself since she rarely wore it that way. Anonymity was doubly desirable today—first, so the bad guys wouldn’t recognize her, and second, so nobody she knew would recognize her in this outfit. She might be a badass magic hunter, but she was also a girl.

  Taking off the glasses for now, she walked back out into the main room. Her godlike roommate hadn’t moved at all, as far as she could tell. He was still lying on the bed, still wearing the too-short robe, his gaze riveted to the TV. She glanced over to see what he was watching.

  “Hey!” she protested. “Did you buy a movie?”

  “Did I?” he asked, and she just knew he was only pretending not to understand. He might be irritating as hell, and a real blow to her femininity, but he was also damn smart. He’d had to be in order to have comprehended and retained as much information as he had from within his stone prison. How he’d remained sane was another matter, but it certainly spoke to an iron will and intellectual discipline, and probably a deep-seated drive for revenge on the sorcerer who’d put him there. And then there was his desire to be reunited with his fellow warriors, which was clearly what drove him.

  She frowned as unexpected sympathy bloomed in her heart. She wanted him to succeed, wanted to see the four men reunited, to see the look on that fucker Sotiris’s face when he realized his plan had failed, and that they were whole again.

  “Watch whatever you want,” she told him, waving a dismissive hand. Nick was paying the bill anyhow, and he had plenty of money. “Where’re your clothes from yesterday?”

  He hit the pause button—he’d sure learned the remote fast enough—and tilted his head to study her quizzically. “Do you think taking my clothes away will keep me in this room? I assure you, it will not.”

  Casey rolled her eyes. “I’m not taking your clothes,” she said dryly. “I’m going to measure them, so I know what sizes to get you.”

  “Oh,” he said cheerfully. “Good. I’ve been looking at your magazine—” He rolled over and grabbed her favorite entertainment magazine from the table. “—and this is what I want.” He leaned forward and tossed the open magazine on the bed for her to see.

  She already had a good idea of what was going to be available at the store, and what she planned to buy for him, but she picked up the magazine out of curiosity. It was a picture of a currently popular action hero, who happened to be an excellent match for Damian in terms of size and looks. In the magazine photo, the actor was wearing a tux. And while it looked great on him and would probably look even better on her roommate, she doubted the nearby stores would have them in stock.

  “Nice,” she commented. “I’ll keep it in mind for our next shopping trip. But for now, something more suitable for chasing down bad guys might be in order.” She flipped through the pages until she found the same actor wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “This is what I’ll be buying you.”

  He gave her a skeptical look, but took the magazine back, and held it under the lamp’s light. And that reminded Casey that the sun was up and they didn’t need to dwell in the dark. She had no reason to think anyone was lurking in the parking lot with a spy scope, or that her enemies even knew where she was. Walking over to the window, she hit the button on the automatic control panel and opened first the drapes and then the shades underneath.

  Sunlight flooded into the room. Damian stood and walked over to stand next to her. “Beautiful,” he whispered. Casey figured he must mean the sun in the sky, because the view wasn’t that great. He turned to look at her, his gaze lingering on the lump of bulky bandage straining the shoulder of her hoodie. “I will help you measure my clothing.”

  “Thanks,” she said, somewhat surprised. She’d begun to think of him as some kind of entitled prince, one who was used to being surrounded by servants. But maybe that was her projecting a history on him, rather than seeing who he really was. “I don’t have a measuring tape, but I have string. I figure I can cut off pieces to the right length and measure them against clothing in the store.”

  He nodded then walked over to the closet and retrieved his leather pants and boots from the shelf where he’d folded them neatly. Interesting. It made her wonder again about his upbringing. Maybe he wasn’t used to servants, after all.

  While he came back with his clothes, she dug into her duffel bag and produced a ball of plain, white string. That and duct tape were the two things she always brought with her. Well, that and her guns. And her knives.

  She measured off the pants first—inseam and waist—and then the sole of his boots. The boots would be tricky. But once he had contemporary clothing, he could accompany her to the store and try on the different footwear options. A good-fitting pair of boots was vitally important in her line of work. After doing what she could with the boots, she paused. She knew what she had to do next, but found herself strangely reluctant.

  “If you could sit down here,” she said, indicating the chair by the window. “I need to measure your chest and arms.”

  He immediately sat down and stripped away the robe, letting it fall to his waist to reveal a staggeringly gorgeous body. His shoulders were broad and thickly padded with muscle, and his torso was a work of art. His abdomen was ripped and his belly was perfectly flat. She raised her eyes to his face and found he’d been watching her as she studied his body. He gave her a smug smile. Now that was the Damian she’d come to expect.

  Pretending he hadn’t just caught her admiring him, she went ahead with her measurements, as her cheeks heated with embarrassment. He had beautiful skin, smooth and golden. Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?

  “Is there anything else you’d like to see, Cassandra?” he asked, giving her a wink.

  Oh, right. His ego. That definitely wasn’t perfect. She snatched her hands away, her eyes narrowing with irritation. “Hold out your arm,” she ordered.

  He chuckled, but did as she asked. She took one final measurement and then stepped away, sucking in a relieved breath. Maybe he really had been a god in his day. He certainly unsettled her, and she was usually tougher than this. Of course, she also usually worked alone, which forced her to focus absolutely on the task. She scowled at the thought. Except in this case, the task had been revised to include Damian, because of Nick’s prime directive. Thinking of Nick reminded her that she hadn’t checked her messages yet, and she really needed to do that.

  Adding the last of her measurements to the notes on her cell phone, she switched over to messages and saw that Nick had called very early this morning. She frowned until she remembered that his current job involved vampires.

  Without thinking, she put the message on speaker while she gathered the rest of her things. “It’s me, Casey,” Nick’s voice informed her. “Call when you get—”

  Damian’s reaction drowned out whatever Nick said next. He was on his feet, staring at her phone. “Who was that?” he demanded, lifting his eyes to regard her intently. “That voice. Who was it?”

  At first, Casey thought that he was simply confused by a voice coming from the phone, but quickly realized that couldn’t be it. He’d already told her about the many people he’d observed on the roof, all talking on their phones. And hard on that thought came the truth. He’d recognized Nick’s voice. If she’d needed any further proof that Damian was one of Nick’s missing statues, she’d just gotten it.

 
“That was my boss,” she said quietly. “His name is Nick Katsaros.”

  “Nico,” he whispered almost reverently. He stiffened to attention and said, “You will take me to him.”

  She considered her next words carefully. “I will,” she agreed calmly. “But I’m not sure where he is right now. He’s traveling. I need to talk to him first, and let him know what’s going on. And then we’ll figure out where we can meet.”

  “I will talk to him also.”

  She nodded. “If that’s what he wants.”

  Damian eyed her silently for a long moment. “He will want to talk to me,” he said with complete certainty. “He is still my leader, no matter the passage of time.”

  “Um, well. This probably isn’t your Nicodemus. You understand that, right?” she asked cautiously. “I mean it’s been what? A few thousand years? This Nick is probably just his many times great-grandson.”

  Damian just stared at her with a curious look in his eyes. Almost as if he pitied her. What the hell?

  “You will take me to him,” he repeated. “Trust me. When he learns of my awakening, he will want us to meet.” It was as if he hadn’t heard anything she’d said. She blinked in slow realization. Or as if he knew far more about Nick than she did. She considered that possibility for a moment, then set it aside. She’d worked with Nick for years, and had met with him on many occasions, both personal and professional. The kind of magic that Damian had attributed to his Nicodemus would make him a very powerful sorcerer. And, even though her ability to detect magic in a person was weaker than in inanimate objects, there was still no way Nick could have concealed that much power from her.

  She frowned. Was there? In all of their meetings, in all of the briefings with the other hunters, Nick had never dropped so much as a hint that he was anything but an exceptionally talented human. Would he have kept something that important from them? Could he have?