She knew what he wanted…he wanted her to look at him, get sucked into whatever spell he was weaving around her. Well, fuck him. She wasn’t going to forgive him simply because he flashed those hypnotizing emerald green eyes at her.
When she finished tying the last of the bandages around his chest and moved to back away, he reached out to grab her hand. “Wait.”
“Don’t touch me.” Morgan knocked his hand away, suddenly infuriated by his attitude. “You gave up that right when you denied the mating marks.”
“Dammit! I was trying to keep you safe.” Atlas sprang up from where he was sitting with a grace that she envied, blocking her exit. He pulled the shirt she’d found over his head, and she only realized it was a size too small when the material clung to his frame. She called herself all kinds of an idiot for not being able to pull her eyes away from the magnificent way he filled out the tight shirt. Bruised or not, he was a very fine specimen of the perfect assassin. While he might be lean, every inch of him was pure muscle, and poetry in motion.
Only when he finished pulling down his shirt and covering himself, did she realize that she was the biggest fool on earth.
“Keep me safe?” The men behaved as if she had been pampered since birth like a helpless female who couldn’t survive without having them to tell her what to do—jackasses! Bitterness nearly choked her when she laughed. “Please…that’s a mates’ place, not yours. You didn’t want that job, remember?”
When she turned to walk away, he moved faster than she thought possible given his injuries, grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him. She broke his hold, but he quickly grabbed her other arm. She twisted loose, almost managed to escape, when he grabbed her shoulders and thrust her up against a wall, pinning her when she tried to knee him in the groin.
“Would you listen to me!”
At his shout, her mouth snapped shut. She’d never heard him raise his voice, even while fighting.
He never lost control, seeing emotions as a weakness, thanks to his elven heritage.
Until tonight.
She curled her fingers into fists to keep from reaching for him, wanting to smooth back his shorn, wild hair. His green eyes were wide, his chest heaving. “In this world, you are better off without me. I will not be the one to cause your downfall. I will not drag you down with me.”
Bitterness tinged his voice, and he dropped his eyes, as if unable to look at her anymore.
“You’re trying to spare me.” She hated such noble bullshit, but she didn’t doubt for a second that he believed he spoke the truth. “Why don’t you let me be the one to decide what’s best for me? Ever since I set foot into the Academy, every single one of you has been trying to decide what I need, but none of you have ever asked me.”
Atlas stilled, so she knew he was listening.
“I cursed fate for putting me in a similar situation, stuck with an unwanted mate, only a few months ago, and you were the one who told me to grow up, spouting crap about fate having plans for us all. You can’t have it both ways. Why should I listen to you if you think you’re beyond the reach of fate?”
Being so close to him made everything hurt, no doubt the stupid mating mark making her crave his nearness. She wished they could go back to being friends.
“I have a price on my head.” He shuffled closer, as if he couldn’t help himself, his eyes never wandering away from hers…like she was the most important person in the world to him.
Morgan twisted her hand free and cupped his jaw. Her heart wrenched in her chest when he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “A bigger price than what they are offering for a princess and next ruler of the primordial realm?”
He stiffened, slowly pulling himself to his full height and away from her touch, despite the pain that must be riddling him. “This world is dying, and I arrogantly thought I could prevent it.”
“Conceited, much?” Morgan couldn’t imagine the pressure he put on himself, and she wasn’t sure whether she should be impressed that he thought he could actually fix the world on his own, or smack him for taking the entire burden on himself.
He exhaled heavily, his stance relaxing now she was no longer trying to escape him, and gingerly leaned against the desk behind him. “What do you know of a place called Tartarus?”
“From Greek mythology?” She propped her ass on the desk next to him, then scooted back until she could lean against a box sitting at the back, trying not to wince at the mess the elves had made of his face. Even as she watched, she could see his magic working. The swelling had already gone down, the cuts slowly closing. The fast healing had to be painful, but he bore it all without protest.
“It’s not a myth.” He shifted, tentatively cupping his ribs. “Few races are old enough to remember, but this realm is what humans used to call Mount Olympus.”
“What?” Morgan was glad she was sitting down.
“War was tearing apart the human realm. Not only were the races fighting, so were the gods. When the humans rose up against them, the gods decided to retreat. The humans outnumbered the paranormals thousands to one. While we might be superior fighters, the sheer number of humans would’ve made it a slaughter. The gods offered us a place of magic.”
“Why?” Morgan couldn’t help but be suspicious.
“The gods said it was the only way to save each race.” He gave her a cynical smile. “But I suspect a different reason—you’re not a god unless you have someone to rule. Almost all the races accepted, and the portals between the worlds were closed. While a few stayed behind, their source of magic was cut off, leaving them to contend with only the magic in their blood.”
She couldn’t imagine the chaos.
“Those who caused trouble were sent to Tartarus, a darker realm built to contain the gods.”
“Troublemakers…you mean the titans.” Her voice rose at the end in stunned disbelief.
“Despite all the precautions and dire warnings, peace didn’t last. War broke out among the races again, disputes over territories. The gods decided to retreat before the rest could turn on them.”
“Wait.” Morgan waved her hand, shaking her head. “That makes no sense. They’re gods.”
“While gods might be immortal, it doesn’t mean they can’t be killed.”
Her mind flashed back to the marks on her shoulders, felt the heavy, cold weight of them against her skin. “By taking their magic, you make them vulnerable.”
“And it didn’t take long for others to discover the truth either.” His mouth flattened, his expression turning grim. “Most gods could survive and regenerate their power, but if left alive, they would retaliate. Those captured didn’t survive long. If nothing else, paranormals have a strong sense of self-preservation.”
“So Tartarus…is it a prison or a safety room?” To her, it sounded like a trap.
“It wasn’t intended to be either.” He scowled at her in frustration. “The gods were destroying this realm. It was a constant war as they pitted themselves against each other, and the other races suffered the casualties. The Council of Races decided it was best to separate, and the gods agreed.”
“Willingly?” Morgan was surprised and more than a little suspicious.
“Not all,” he admitted grudgingly. “They were given servants—”
“Let me guess—volunteers?” The more she heard about this Council of Races, the more she disliked them.
“The Council of Races eventually became the twelve ruling families, appointing themselves as rulers to fill the power vacuum. The volunteers were offered a place to start over, away from this war-torn world.” Morgan didn’t doubt for a minute that he honestly believed what he said, and she didn’t understand how a man who questioned everything, didn’t bat an eye at that load of bull.
“Until someone decided to make it a prison.” If something sounded too good to be true, it most likely was. “Is that how our myths about Tartarus became associated with it being a prison?”
“Most myths have a g
rain of truth in them.” Atlas began tugging at one of his bandages, absently scratching the scabs underneath. “The Council members thought they were being resourceful and clever in their bid to take over the realm, but they underestimated the gods. When the gods left, the Council discovered the realm survived on magic. Without the gods to maintain the realm, things began to fall apart. Every time anyone used magic beyond their natural talent, they stole it from the realm.”
“And without magic, the realm began to erode.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened next.
“Few wanted to relinquish their own magic to maintain Mount Olympus. It would leave them too vulnerable.”
Morgan didn’t think she was going to like where this story was heading, fearing her fate would be similar to her ancestors’ so many eons ago.
“The different races tried to find a solution, they cast spells, but everything came at a cost. Nothing worked. They realized that they needed the gods. The few of the descendants who remained in the realm were hunted down, their magic used to buy the other races time, but they needed a solution, a way to take the gods’ power without fear of retaliation.”
“I can’t see any god willingly giving up their power to help those who imprisoned them and wanted to drain them of magic.”
“You’re right. So a spell was placed on Tartarus to siphon off some of the power to help keep this world alive.”
Morgan snorted. “Some?”
The other races weren’t known for their restraint.
“The Council of Races wanted to protect the gods, so they locked down Tartarus, which stopped the hunting.”
“Protect the gods? Don’t you mean imprison them? Can’t have them coming back to stop this Council from taking their magic. Imagine how awkward that meeting would be.”
His brows lowered, but he didn’t dispute her. “The Council was desperate.”
“Desperate or greedy?” Morgan could still remember the shackles’ heavy weight on her wrists and ankles, feel the blood slowly trickle out of her veins while her psychotic cousin tried to drain her magic for his own use.
“The realm was dying. They couldn’t go back to earth without being cut off from their magic or risk being hunted by humans. If you haven’t noticed, covens employ assassins to stop this very thing. Tartarus is what had been keeping us alive.”
“Until now.” She felt sick the way the races justified what was basically cannibalizing the gods.
“The Council selected the best fighters, the brightest of us, to investigate the problem with the fog.” He shook his head, his eyes bleak. “But I suspect the Council already knew what happened.”
It didn’t take her a second to guess. “Someone wanted more power, no longer satisfied with stealing the crumbs from Tartarus. They were going after the gods directly…and you were sent to investigate…if fact, you were the team leader.”
They were hunting people like her so they could harvest their powers.
Her kind were no pushovers, usually the most brutal and vicious when it came to holding and keeping what they considered theirs.
“Unfortunately, they cracked the seal on Tartarus.” He ran his fingers through his hair, dropping his eyes when he reached the shorn edges. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him, struggling to hold on to her anger.
Without her anger, all that would remain was the hurt. She swallowed the lump in her throat, not anywhere close to dealing with the pain of his rejection.
She shook her head, locked down her emotions, and focused on what Atlas was telling her.
“But instead of finding a well of power, the mission went wrong.” Morgan didn’t understand their constant need for more power. “Something escaped.”
“When we arrived, there was no sign of those who broke the seal.” He began to unwrap one of his wrists, and she was shocked to see the wounds were nearly healed. Though she healed fast, she wasn’t that fast and couldn’t help being envious. “We were trying to contain the damage, a temporary measure until we could discover a way to re-seal the gate, when the screams began.”
“Wait. I thought the gods were dead.” Morgan couldn’t wrap her brain around what he was implying. “Are they still alive in Tartarus?” Her stomach lurched into her throat at the thought that the gods could still be alive and trapped. She wasn’t sure whether she was thrilled at the idea of meeting them or terrified.
“So did we, but something survived.”
“I can’t imagine that whatever remained alive inside of that hell was pleased to learn their jailers, who’d been stealing their magic for years, had come back to finish them off.” Her heart leapt at the possibility of meeting people like herself, but common sense reasserted itself. Gods were not benevolent. If they were alive, they would want revenge. Her head snapped up in understanding. “The fog.”
“It took us far too long to figure that out. We went into the fog, convinced that we would be able to find answers, recapture what escaped, but we underestimated the full scope of the trap. Almost immediately everyone became infected.” He shook his head and stood, limping away from her to lean against the wall. “A few of us saw our worst nightmares come alive inside the fog, while others saw loved ones they thought long dead. It wasn’t long before everyone ran off and disappeared—”
“But you didn’t.” The stubborn ass was too honorable to leave a job incomplete. He stared at her for a heartbeat too long, like he was surprised she knew him so well.
“The fog became more aggressive, grew stronger and spread faster with every creature it consumed.”
He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling her the truth, either. Getting answers from him was like trying to catch a fish with her bare hands. She stood and studied him carefully. He saw something in the fog that scared him shitless, and a man like him didn’t handle helplessness well.
“What did you see?”
He glanced up at her, the shadows in his eyes so haunted, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “You. I went in search of a cure…and found you.”
At his intense stare, the strength went out of her legs and her ass plopped down on the box behind her. She swallowed hard, not sure how to respond to the revelation that she was either his worst nightmare or greatest hope. “That’s why you think I can do what you and your team couldn’t manage.”
He had more knowledge about this realm than she could ever hope to gain.
How was she supposed to accomplish a task he couldn’t?
She wasn’t even close to being in his league.
“Morgan.”
“Hmmmm?” She peered up at him, her mind overwhelmed by the information overload, trying to figure how the hell she was going to get them out of this mess.
He picked up her hand, and everything inside her jolted at the contact. When he placed her palm directly over the mating mark on his shoulder, a charge shot up her hand, the marking on her arm humming with static.
“Every day, I saw you struggling to cope with the mating marks while your relationship with the others deteriorated. You didn’t need me to put more pressure on you.”
“So you were trying to spare me?” Morgan lifted her eyebrows, not believing him for a second. “Or were you ashamed?”
“Ashamed?” A vein throbbed against his forehead. He looked so furious Morgan stood and backed up, but Atlas refused to let her retreat, following her step for step until her back thudded against the boxes.
Loki lifted his head, took one look at Atlas, then jumped off her shoulder.
Coward.
Then all her attention switched to Atlas when he didn’t stop, pressing his body flush against hers. “That you survived two assassination attempts? Practically raised yourself to be one of our best assassins? You not only saved the Academy, you stopped a full-out attack on the world. You’re an honest-to-gods princess.” He ducked his head, his shorn hair falling forward. “You are beyond anything I could ever have hoped for in a mate.”
Her face heated at his
praise, and she ducked her head, struck mute, not sure what to feel anymore. “Then why?”
He cupped her chin, lifting her face to his, pain ricocheting in her chest.
“I’m a failure. I couldn’t stop the plague, I couldn’t save my friends.” He dragged his fingers through his hair again, then scowling at the short strands. “We’re trained to be cool and contained, analyze before we react. I can’t do that with you. It’s all emotions when I look at you. Being granted permission to touch you would make me useless. But I can’t fail you. I believed that if I kept my distance, didn’t get caught up in my emotions, I would be able to better protect you.”
“And how’s that working for you?” A small smile kicked up the corner of her mouth.
His turbulent eyes darkened to a forest green that fascinated her, and a growl rumbled in his chest. Before she could move, he lunged at her, picking her up by her hips and slamming his lips down on hers. His mouth was hard and demanding, not seeking permission, but taking everything he could, as if afraid this would be his only chance to be close to her.
Every nerve ending exploded at the contact, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, sinking her fingers in his hair, surprised to find it silky, almost cool to the touch. Yearning for more was a physical ache, and she dragged her nails down the back of his neck.
He shuddered, then nipped at her bottom lip hard enough to sting. His hips thrust against her, his erection hitting her exactly right, and her breath caught in her throat. Every inch of her skin became sensitized, craving his touch.
Morgan heard the door open, but when she tried to lift her head, Atlas leaned down and bit the side of her throat, the gesture so possessive and primitive, goose bumps spread down her arms. Pleasure almost sent her eyes rolling back into her head, his complete loss of control nearly making her forget they were no longer alone.
She ran her hands back up his shoulders, grabbed his hair, and gave a good yank to get his attention. “We have company.”
Instead of releasing her, his hold tightened to the point where she knew she’d have bruises. He turned his head, and actually hissed at the guys who entered, his canines lengthening, his nails nicking along the flesh of her hips.
Heart of the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 2) Page 12