A true Phoenix wouldn’t have hurt like that, would have been immune to the toxin, which was why Kaia had never thought she’d develop Phoenix-like tendencies. But yesterday’s burning…could she have developed an immunity, and in turn taken on their abilities?
“Yo, Kye. We need to beat feet,” Bianka suddenly called from the other side of the door.
Kaia blinked, realized she still stood beside the bed, but now Strider towered beside her. She hadn’t heard him move, but there he was, his heat already wrapped around her, his scent strong and sweet in her nose.
He gripped her forearms, his head tilting to the side thoughtfully. “Where were you that time?”
“Nowhere,” she answered automatically. Her standard reply when someone other than her sisters asked her a question like that.
Did she lose herself in her thoughts that often? If I weren’t so entertaining, maybe I wouldn’t—
“Kaia!” Strider rolled his blues, and she noticed the pupils had gobbled up his gorgeous irises. He’d also loosened his grip, was now caressing the length of her arms with his fingertips. “We’re really going to have to work on your lying, baby doll.”
Did he…could he…desire her? “Here’s an idea. You want the truth from me, you’ll have to buy it.” With kisses. Or orgasms. Whatever. Yes, he’d already offered to buy her artifact-stealing services with sex, and yes, that had pissed her off. But he hadn’t truly wanted her then. He might want her now, and that changed everything. Not about the Paring Rod, of course, but about them.
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Who said I wanted the truth?” He stopped the caressing only long enough to tweak her nose. “You’re cute when you lie.”
She popped her jaw. Puppies and goldfish were “cute.” I’m hot, damn it. “I lie amazingly well. Just ask everyone I know! They’ve never been able to tell.”
“Actually, I’m probably the only one who can tell you’re full of shit. I’m observant like that.”
“And humble, too. Meanwhile, you need to work on your man-sluttiness.” She rolled her shoulders, lifting her forearms and thereby his hands, causing his knuckles to brush the sides of her breasts. Dear gods, that felt good, lighting her up inside.
He flashed his teeth, as if he’d experienced a jolt of pain, and his nostrils flared with the force of his breathing. “And just how will we work on that sluttiness, hmm? In bed?”
He did, she thought, dazed. He desired her. Why else would he mention a bedding when she’d been hinting that he was too slutty? “I like the way your mind works. We should—”
“Kye?” Bianka called, cutting her off. “You in there? I know you’re in there. Come. On.”
“Yeah, Bee. I’m here, but I need a minute,” she screeched. She never removed her gaze from Strider. “We’ll continue this later. Okay?” Please. She needed his touch, his intensity. His everything.
“Uh, no, we won’t.” One step, two, he backed away from her. His arms dropped to his sides, contact severed completely. “We’re gonna keep this thing platonic.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, his beautiful face the only thing in sight. “Platonic? When you’ve had your tongue down my throat?”
His eyes narrowed, too. “Fine. We’ll continue this later.”
“Really?” Happiness burst through her—followed by dread. “I’m supposed to believe you changed your mind—” she snapped her fingers “—that easily? What’s your game?”
“No game. Your argument was solid.”
Happiness was renewed, and gods, look how beautiful the sun suddenly was, so big and bright above their cloud. “Well, all right, then. Later.” She tried not to smile as she skipped to the door and greeted her sister.
STRIDER HADN’T KNOWN what to expect at the first competition and after the whole elementary school thing, he’d prepared himself for anything, everything. Or so he’d thought. Just then, he found himself drowning in shock and the ceaseless, excited buzzing of his demon. The little shit had never encountered so fervent a swell of competitive spirit and was currently bouncing around like a kid on a steady caffeine shooter diet.
Strider sat in the bleachers of a high school basketball court, about a hundred other guys surrounding him. All were strangers except for Sabin, who occupied the seat on his left, and Lysander, who occupied the seat on his right. Most were human, though some were clearly immortal. He spotted the telltale pale skin of a vampire, the dark aura of a warlock and the reptilian grace of a snake shape-shifter. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the “him” Kaia had supposedly slept with.
On the other side were the Harpies. While the men were quiet and subdued, the females were rowdy. They were jumping up and down on the steps, throwing popcorn and even cups of soda at the court. They wore tiny, tight T-shirts that ended just under the bra line—for those who were wearing bras. And shorts so short he spotted his favorite place on a woman—the sensual curve where bottom met leg—more than once. Yeah, he spied the center of paradise, too.
“The Falconways are going down!” someone called.
“You wish, Eagleshield. But then, you’ve always liked a woman on her knees.”
“Please! You couldn’t satisfy a nymph if you were cranked on Viagra.”
“Viagra only works on men, you idiot.”
“Hello, you and your clanswomen have mustaches, so why not dicks, too?”
Snickers, boos and hisses blended together.
“And I thought my Bianka was…enthusiastic,” Lysander said. “I would never have guessed she was actually considered sedate among her kind.”
Sabin snorted. “Come on. If you aren’t revved by the lesbian jokes, you’re gay.”
Lysander’s dark gaze swung to Strider. “Are you revved by this?”
Angels, man. “I’ve been on low simmer since we walked through the doors. In fact, I didn’t need the jokes to crank my chain.” What he didn’t mention: it was all because of Kaia.
His “talk” with her—one he’d tried to postpone forever, but had swiftly realized the futility of postponing as she batted gloriously long lashes at him, all kinds of desire in her eyes—would happen sooner than even she had planned.
He’d stood in front of her, breathing her in, absorbing her body heat, peering down at that pin-up face, and he’d wanted his mouth on her, all over her. One more taste. One more, and he’d force himself to return to the friend zone.
“Lysander!” an eager female voice called from across the court. “Lysander! Over here!”
Strider searched the raucous crowd for Bianka. He found her at the top of the bleachers, waving a candy bar in the air and grinning like a loon. Her silky black hair was divided into pigtails that bounced against her arms. Cute, until you noticed the smoking hot Catholic schoolgirl uniform she wore. “Cute” mutated into “heart attack waiting to happen.” A white button-up top was knotted under her breasts, a tie hanging between them. The short plaid skirt left a huge gap between her thighs and her knee-high socks.
Made him wish Kaia had opted to cheer her team to victory rather than fight. In that getup, she’d look better than a heart attack waiting to happen. She’d kill him on the spot.
No, he was glad she’d chosen to fight. He planned to use the needed separation from her to spy on the Eagleshields, maybe search their belongings. In fact, as soon as Tag began, he was out of here. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about that. Every man for himself.
What if Kaia’s hurt? By her own admission, she would be throwing down with “prison rules.”
A flash of red in his eyes, his fingers clenching on his legs. Kaia was a damn good fighter, he reminded himself. If he trusted anyone on her team to succeed, it was her.
“Lysander!” Bianka called again. “Look up, baby. I’m over here!”
“There are too many. I can’t find—Bianka?” Lysander’s jaw dropped.
Guess he hadn’t seen her since they’d left the heavens. Then, she had worn a scarlet robe.
“Lysander, did you see this?” Bian
ka turned and lifted her shirt, showing him—and everyone else—the panties she wore. They were neon-green with the words Property of Lysandy scripted across the ass.
Lysander stood, as if to fly over to her, then caught himself and plopped back down. “Sweet Deity.”
“Your woman wears underwear out in public,” Sabin said. “Must be nice. How’d you manage that little miracle?”
“Only the Deity knows.”
Great. Now Strider couldn’t stop wondering about Kaia. What kind of panties did she—or did she not—wear?
The girl beside Bianka must have complained about the high-pitched tenor of her voice, because Bianka’s grin faded and she leveled the girl with a scowl. An argument ensued. Then, of course, the two leapt at each other in a tangle of flailing limbs.
“She is magnificent, isn’t she?” Lysander asked no one in particular.
“Sure,” Sabin said, distracted now. He was stroking the bullhorn at his feet. “So where are our girls?”
Our girls. Strider liked the sound of that. He shouldn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t know.”
Do you truly think Kaia can bring home the victory?
The insidious voice filled Strider’s head. Male. Familiar.
She might be killed…
Oh, hell, no. “Sabin,” he growled. This time, he didn’t have to wonder about the speaker. As the keeper of Doubt, Sabin fed off the insecurities of those around him.
“Sorry,” his leader replied.
“Get your demon under control.”
“Believe me, I’m trying. I don’t want him going after anyone on Team Kaia.”
Win. She must win.
And there was Strider’s demon, who—wait just a sec. She must win? Defeat had never cared about a victory other than Strider’s before. Why Kaia? Why now? Because her triumph was (perhaps) linked to the Paring Rod? Because the demon knew—and feared—the consequences of her failure? Because, she was…his? Their personal playground? He’d wondered before…
Can’t think like that. He wouldn’t do what needed doing.
To Defeat, he said, First, I plan to obtain the Paring Rod before the games end. Second, she’ll win. If she didn’t…he speculated about the likelihood of Defeat hurting him, even though the loss was not his own. Strider wouldn’t have protected her, as the challenge he’d already accepted demanded. So…
Likelihood high, he decided. He should have talked her out of this. Whatever happened next was his fault.
For once the prospect of the pain he might suffer held no sway. He simply didn’t like the thought of Kaia being harmed.
“Lysander!” Bianka called, once again drawing Strider’s notice. Her fight with the other Harpy had ended with the poor woman draped over the back of the bleachers, unconscious. “Did you like them or what?”
Lysander’s expression softened. “I did, my love. I liked them. I like everything you wear.”
Pathetic, Strider thought. Just because a guy was in love didn’t mean he had to pussy up.
Oh, look, there was Kaia! Strider jumped to his feet, waving at her to get her attention. He planned to tell her to be careful, but she was too focused on the happenings in front of her as she strode from the double doors leading into the gym. Her teammates flanked her sides. They wore matching uniforms of bloodred leather, the half tops crisscrossing in back to reveal their wings, the shorts fringed at the hem to allow for easier movements.
Kaia’s red curls were pulled back in a ponytail that swung left and right. No elbow or kneepads safeguarded her. Damn it, he wished she’d worn pads. If the girls fought on that planked floor, they were going to lose some skin, and he liked her skin how it was.
Win!
I know. I heard you the first time, asshole.
The Harpies in the stands noticed the incoming team and started booing. A frown pulled at Kaia’s lips, but she gave no other indication that she cared. Popcorn rained down, showering them, a few kernels even popping members of Team Kaia in the eye.
“Hey, Millicent,” Bianka screamed down at one of the popcorn launchers. “I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public. Your aim sucks!”
A pretty blonde whipped around, hands fisted on her hips. “Hey, there, twin-half number one. Or is it two? I can never remember. You’re both just too insignificant. If I throw a stick, will you leave to fetch it?”
“I am not a dog, you bitch.” Bianka propped her hands on her hips. “At least, your dad doesn’t think so. This morning he told me I’m the hottest chili pepper he’s ever had. You know, as I crawled out of his bed.”
There was an audible gasp among the crowd, and Strider could only blink. The “dad” thing was worthy of such horror?
“My father’s dead, you heartless mutt,” the one named Millicent gritted out.
“Oh,” Bianka said, her shoulder sagging. Then she brightened. “Your mom thinks I’m chili-pepper hot. She told me so this morning when I crawled out of her bed!”
The gasps turned to snickers. Millicent flew up the steps to tackle Bianka. Ding, ding. Another fight was on.
Strider found himself grinning. “Do you think she realizes what she just implied?”
“Yes,” Lysander said on a sigh.
“Fingers crossed she and the woman she’s pounding stop fighting and start kissing,” Sabin said. “That happens, and someone better cue the bow-chicka-wow-wow.”
Lysander straightened, clearly intrigued. “I see what you mean about engines being revved.”
Suddenly the Harpies who were booing erupted into deafening cheers, and Strider forgot everything else as he turned his head to find out why. His jaw clenched. Tabitha and her crew had just entered the court.
They wore half tops and fringed shorts, too, only theirs were blue. Then another team stalked in behind them, wearing purple. Another team in pink. Another team in yellow. Damn. How many teams were there? Another in green. Another in black.
His mouth dried up when he noticed that some of the women were bigger than he was. More muscled, taller, and hell, he would not have been surprised to see beans and franks. Although some of the contestants were as seemingly delicate as Kaia.
The women formed a large circle on the court, leaving the center empty. The one called Juliette, the brunette who’d run the orientation, stepped forward and held up her hands. Finally the crowd quieted.
“If you’re like me, you’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” she called, and had to stop when cheers once again rang out. Only when they faded did she add, “And so, let’s not waste a moment. First rule, you don’t talk about Tag. Second rule, you don’t talk about Tag.”
More cheers.
Grinning, Juliette said, “Just kidding. Now for the real rules. Only one member of each team is allowed in the ring at any given time. When that member wants out,” more boos rippled, faded, “all she has to do is tag one of her teammates. If she can reach one.”
Annnd…even more cheers exploded through the gym.
“If someone is too injured to continue, she must tap out for good. But think carefully before you go that route, ladies, because even if you heal, you can’t go back in.”
“I didn’t pay to see cowards,” someone shouted.
Juliette nodded her agreement. “For those of you who have never before played this type of game, you should know that the competition doesn’t end until only one team remains. Here’s a hint—fight dirty.”
“Eagleshields are gonna kick ass,” someone else called.
Juliette’s grin acquired a dark, evil edge as she focused on Kaia. “Good luck, everyone. You’re going to need it.” With that, she strode off, disappearing from view as the contestants swallowed her up.
Kaia tossed Strider a quick glance. So. She’d known where he was, had been as aware of him as he was of her. He nodded in encouragement, even as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. The females surrounding Kaia were eyeing her like she was a juicy filet and they’d just ended a week-long fa
st. He should be down there, shielding her, not sitting up here, doing nothing.
“Don’t worry,” Sabin said, patting him on the back. “Gwen won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I’m not worried,” he gritted out. No way would he let Sabin, Doubt himself, have more confidence in his woman’s abilities than Strider had in his. Just no way. “Kaia will protect Gwen.”
Boss man blinked at him, incredulous. “You want to argue about that? Really?”
Yes, damn it, he did.
Win.
Always. “Just shut the hell up and watch the game,” he said. “I’ll let you know before I head to the other side and start my spying.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I WILL NOT FAIL. I WILL not fail. I will not freaking fail. The mantra blazed through Kaia’s mind as she settled into position.
Neeka was the first in the “ring” for Team Kaia. Shoulders squared, head high, the girl strode to the center of the court, alongside the first from every other team. Soon, twelve Harpies stood there, facing off, waiting for the whistle to blow. The rest of the combatants waited on the sidelines like Kaia, crouched, one hand extended.
“We’ve got this,” Gwen muttered beside her.
“I know,” she said, glad there wasn’t a tremor in her voice. Strider was up in the stands, looking edible in a T-shirt with an ironed-on tie, and ripped jeans. The only glance she’d allowed herself had been a mistake. He was a distraction she couldn’t afford, but she’d had to assure herself that he was up there, that he hadn’t abandoned her. She only prayed he witnessed her victory, not her defeat.
I will not fail. Too much was at stake. Her reputation. Strider’s respect. Hell, his life.
Not that he’d agreed to her terms. He’d never flat-out said he’d wait for her to win the Rod and keep his thieving hands to himself. She’d realized that only an hour ago as she’d prepared for Tag. She’d needed a distraction from her the-world-is-at-stake panic and had replayed her every conversation with Strider.
Was he planning to search for the Rod during the game? Most likely. She wondered if he didn’t trust her to bring home the gold, or if he was simply too impatient to wait.
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