Trust him not to take what she hadn't offered. But really, she wouldn't have stopped him if he'd poised himself for penetration. Still. He never did. He contented himself with the rubbing and the kissing, tongues rolling, savoring, simply basking in all that she was, as she did with him.
For a moment, she pretended they were back inside that cell. That this man really was her husband. A husband who loved her, who placed her needs above all things, even himself. She pretended that he would return to her tomorrow as well, love shining in his eyes. She pretended their only obstacle was her imprisonment.
"Gideon," she moaned.
Perhaps he'd been doing the same, pretending, because the sound of her voice snapped him from that steady pace. His movements toughened, sped up. Became more frantic. He'd always been so gentle with her, treated her like a porcelain doll, but now...he was dirty and wanton, consuming, the friction sparking.
She drank him in greedily, luxuriated. And it was easy, so easy to do. To give herself. To lose herself. Even though he was different now. Maybe because he was different.
"Not...my Scar. Not my Scar. Don't touch me," he pleaded. "Please, don't touch me."
Touch. Yes. Must. She pried her fingers from the headboard, her hands falling on him, nerves tingling back to life as her nails grazed his skin, leaving welts. He roared, a song of absolute contentment tinged with utter despair. The past and present, discordant yet soothing.
"You...you..." he said, then stopped himself. "Scar." A prelude, a waiting storm. "Don't come, don't come for me, don't you come for me." With every word, his cock pressed against her clit.
Every muscle in her body stiffened, pain in its most exquisite form. The shadows danced faster...faster...the screams grew louder...louder...until hers joined the symphony, the edge of completion rushing to meet her halfway.
She hurtled over, shaking, shouting, clutching at the man responsible. "Gideon!" My Gideon.
Soon he was shaking as well, roaring again, louder this time, and warm seed was jetting onto her stomach. That only increased her pleasure, spiraling her into a deeper awareness of her body. He was on top of her, weighing her down, all over her, his semen on her skin, branding her.
A marriage of the flesh, base, instinctual. What she'd craved, had never thought to have again. What she'd needed, despite the repercussions.
What would surely be the death of her.
An eternity later, they collapsed together, Scarlet into the mattress, Gideon still on top of her. As the shadows and screams dispersed, neither of them moved. They lay there for a long while, trying to catch their breath, still completely lost in the moment. This was, perhaps, the only relaxed, contented moment they would ever have, because she couldn't allow this again, she realized.
She had to replace the ice.
There was no other way to protect her fragile heart. A heart she couldn't afford to give away. Not again. She barely had any pieces of it left. But there were pieces. And that was just as shocking.
Save yourself. Hurry! She shoved him off her and sat up, not trusting herself to look at him. "Get some rest," she said coldly. "I'll make sure no one enters the room."
Last time they'd fooled around, he hadn't complained about the abrupt change in her. He'd simply done as she'd ordered. Mostly. This time, he latched onto her arm and jerked her backward, twisting her so that she landed on her stomach.
Before she had time to protest—so you'd give one now?—he raised her shirt and planted a soft kiss on her lower back, where her tattoo rested. TO PART IS TO DIE. The action was so unexpected, so astonishing and secretly welcome, she pressed her lips together to cut off her sob. Damn him. Damn him to hell!
"Don't stay next to me. Don't let me hold you," he whispered. "Please."
Resist. You have to resist. But she found herself nodding and whispering back, "All right." Idiot.
With a sigh, she curled closer to him. I'll patch myself up tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IMPATIENCE RODE Strider like a damn carnival pony. Several days had passed since he'd last received a text from Gideon. Last Strider had heard, Gideon was leaving his hotel due to a Hunter infestation. Understandable. But Lies had one more day to check in or return, and then Strider was supposed to search for him. Hell, Gideon might be in trouble and counting on that.
Except, Strider had to remain in the fortress. Some bad shit was about to go down.
What a cluster. Amun, Aeron and William had left a short while ago to perform a search and rescue in the fiery pits of hell. Yeah, a real party in a box. Strider would've liked to go with them, though. At the very least, to trail behind them and offer what protection he could. But he wouldn't be doing that, either.
Instead, he found himself standing inside Torin's bedroom. The keeper of Disease was seated before a wall of monitors, each revealing a different location in the fortress, the mountain outside it and the surrounding city as the warrior typed away on a keyboard.
Normally Torin was nonchalant, irreverent and unruffled. Today he'd tangled his hand through his white hair too many times to count, causing the strands to stick out around his head. His neck-to-toe clothes were wrinkled, and the gloves he wore every minute of every day were frayed in a few places. His expression was dark and somber, and lines of tension bracketed his eyes.
"Where are the Hunters posted again?" Strider asked.
"There, there, there and there." Torin motioned to different monitors with a tilt of his head. "They're in large groups, and they're surrounding the fortress full-circle."
"How were they able to amass and approach without our knowledge?" Torin's eagle eye usually missed nothing. Helped that he could hack into any system, even the city's, the government's, and study areas from their cameras.
"They fucking appeared out of nowhere," the warrior mumbled. "Which means someone flashed them. Lucien can only flash those he touches, so whoever did this is sickeningly powerful. I've summoned Cronus, but he—"
"Is here," a hard voice finished.
Both Strider and Torin turned to find Cronus towering in the far corner. The god king strode forward, the hem of his alabaster robe dancing around his ankles. Interesting.
There'd been no flash of light, as the sovereign usually preferred. Like the Hunters, he'd simply appeared.
Was everyone off their game today?
Like Torin, he was in a state of disarray. His dark hair, now minus any gray, was a mop around his head. His tanned skin, no longer marred by wrinkles, was tight with his frown.
"What's going on?" Strider asked. He didn't mind fighting Hunters. In fact, he loved it. Lived for it. His demon did, too. Every victory was like injecting heroin straight into his veins, a high, an addiction. But this...
Some of his friends were gone. The fortress was filled to bursting with women. Some of them delicate, and in need of serious protection. Hell, Maddox's female was pregnant. How was Strider supposed to win this battle and keep everyone safe?
Cronus stopped behind Torin, closer than anyone had dared get to the warrior in years. "Galen is out of commission for the time being, so my...wife—" he sneered the word "—is dealing directly with the humans. And she's commanded them to storm this fortress, destroy it and everyone inside then steal your artifacts from the rubble."
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He couldn't even rejoice that Galen was out of commission, for whatever reason. This was bad news, all the way around.
A growl rose from Cronus. "Her daring...offends me."
"Kill her, then," Torin suggested, deadly serious.
Strider seconded that motion.
Never had the god king appeared more wistful. "No. I cannot."
The absolute conviction in his tone surprised Strider. "How about I do it?" Killing females wasn't his favorite thing, but he'd had to do it before. Hunters were fond of using women to distract the Lords, to learn about them and ultimately betray them. He did what was necessary to protect his friends. Always had, always would.
Cronus shook
his head, though he hadn't lost his pensive glow. "No."
What the hell was holding him back? "Do you love your wife or something? Even after all she's done to you?"
"Love that whore? No!" A denial spat as if the greedy bastard had just been asked to abdicate his throne.
Kings, man. Worse than females. "Then let me end her."
Cronus rounded on him, fury flickering black and gold in his eyes, and gripped a fistful of Strider's shirt. "You will not touch her. Do you understand me?"
All systems go.
This was a challenge. One Strider couldn't ignore. His demon roared to life, happy, eager to attack. There would be no saving the god queen now. Not without Strider suffering. And that's exactly what happened when he lost. He suffered. And he would do anything to prevent such an outcome. He wanted the heroin.
The king must have realized his mistake. He released Strider, palms out. "My...apologies, Defeat. Do whatever you wish." Though he didn't sound apologetic, the words had the desired effect.
Defeat's eagerness deflated. Challenge over, systems shut down. Disappointed, Strider nodded and smoothed his shirt. "So, you wanna explain? You don't love her, but you want her alive. She's causing you nothing but problems, yet you don't want to end her. I'm drawing a blank on this one."
He could imagine his head separating from his body in the ensuing silence.
Then, "If Rhea dies, I—" Cronus scrubbed a hand down his suddenly tired face. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room. If it does, I will know and I will retaliate."
Strider and Torin shared a look, then both of them nodded.
Cronus closed his eyes. Several more minutes ticked by in that lethal silence. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sighed, facing them. "If Rhea dies...I die. We are...connected."
Strider's first thought after absorbing the news? Oh, shit, no. Not good. Not good at all. The Lords needed Cronus. For the moment, anyway. Bastard he might be, but that bastard was helping them in ways they hadn't known they'd needed. He'd provided them with ancient scrolls that listed all the immortals possessed by one of Pandora's demons, giving the Lords a chance to capture them before the Hunters did. He was able to whisk them wherever they wished to go—like the fiery pits of hell. He had given them necklaces that prevented other gods from being able to spy on them.
Strider fingered the necklace in question. A butterfly with blade-tipped wings, exactly like the one tattooed on the left side of his hip, dangled from the center of an unbreakable chain. What would they do without Cronus's aid?
Return to a life of being ignored by the gods? Sounded good in theory, but what if someone else, someone who didn't want them to succeed, took an interest in their cause?
Torin stopped typing and swiveled in his chair, peering up at the king. "But Rhea's helping Galen. And Danika—" the All-Seeing Eye "—predicted Galen would kill you. If Danika was right, Galen will also be responsible for Rhea's death. So why would your wife aid him?"
Good point. They'd known for months that Galen would make a play for Cronus's head, but they hadn't known why. Until a few weeks ago, when Strider and a few of the others had finally gotten the surly deities known as the Unspoken Ones to cough up some answers. Whoever presented the Unspoken Ones with the god king's head would be given the Paring Rod, the last of the artifacts needed to find Pandora's box.
Only problem? Each of the Unspoken Ones was part man, part animal and all venom, and he didn't trust them.
They were slaves to Cronus—slaves that would be freed upon his death—and would say anything to gain release. Hell, they may not even know where the Rod was.
Besides, there was no telling what kind of havoc they'd wreak if they were loosed. They liked to eat humans, after all. As in, chomp them out and spit out their bones.
The Rod wasn't worth risking the end of the world. Yet.
"Since Rhea flashed the Hunters here," Strider said to Cronus, "can you flash them elsewhere?" He could have patted himself on the back for that one. Someone should probably dub him Master Strategist.
A shake of the king's head dashed his hopes for such a prestigious (and brilliantly invented, if he did say so himself) award. "She'll simply flash them back. Perhaps inside the fortress next time."
"Okay," Strider replied, thinking aloud. "Currently we're missing a chunk of our forces. Which means we won't have an edge if we fight these Hunters. Which means we could lose. Which means it'll be best if we split up. I can take one of the artifacts. Reyes can take Danika, and Lucien and Anya can take the remaining artifact. We'll all go in different directions. The Hunters won't be able to track us all. And with our new necklaces—"
"I prefer manlaces," Torin said, sounding more like his old, irreverent self.
"Fine." Damn. Why hadn't he thought of that? "With our new manlaces, even Rhea won't know where we are."
Cronus stroked his chin, seemingly lost in thought.
"What about the others?" Torin asked, clearly recognizing a phenomenal idea when he heard one.
Strider started designing a Master Strategist plaque for his room. "Maddox can take Ashlyn somewhere. As protective of her and that bun in her oven as he is, he's probably already built a bomb shelter in the city. Now that Gwen's back from her trip to the clouds, she and Sabin can take care of themselves. They aren't in any danger. Aeron's off on his mission to hell and Olivia's taken Gwen's place in the sky, from what I can tell. The others, well, Kane, Cameo and Paris, can stay here with you and defend our home. Gideon can help when he returns." If he returns.
He will. Strider wouldn't believe otherwise.
A moment passed in heavy silence, but at least there was no cutting edge to this one.
"What about the fourth artifact?" Cronus asked, returning to the conversation. "Who's going to look for it?"
Bottom line was, they couldn't allow the Hunters to get it. Even at the expense of Cronus's head. "I can," Strider said. "I'll take the Cloak of Invisibility with me. That way, I won't have to fight anyone if I find it. I can just grab it and go."
Torin arched a black brow at him, green eyes glowing. "Do you have any idea where to start looking?"
Yeah. He did. The Temple of the Unspoken Ones.
Cronus must have realized the direction of his thoughts, because he gave another growl.
"I'm not going to betray you," Strider assured him, palms raised in a mimic of Cronus's earlier gesture. Like Gideon, he could easily lie. Whether he was lying or not, though, he didn't yet know. "I'll remain invisible and listen. If the Hunters arrive, if the Unspoken Ones mention anything about the Rod, I'll be there. I'll find it first."
Cronus relaxed somewhat. "Very well. You may go with my blessing."
"And, uh, we had best get everyone on the same page and on their way," Torin said, his voice hard once again. "The Hunters are on the move."
Strider's gaze returned to the monitors, and sure enough, the groups of Hunters were closing in on the fortress. "You tell everyone what's going on," he said to Torin in a rush. "I'll grab the Cloak and kill as many of those bastards as I can on my way out."
Defeat sat up again, once more happy and eager.
Happy and eager himself, Strider palmed a blade and a semiautomatic, his favorite weapon combination. One stunned, allowing him to close any distance, and the other destroyed up close and personal.
This, he thought with a grin, was going to be fun.
DEAR...GODS. The heat was unbearable, the smells of sulfur and rot thick in Amun's nostrils. Thousands of screams assaulted his ears, each more tortured than the last.
Why had he agreed to come here?
Oh, yeah. To save Legion. For Aeron.
Like Amun, Aeron and William were seated in the small but sturdy boat Cronus had summoned for them after flashing them here. Of course, they'd had to promise to do the bastard a favor in return for the flashing as well as the boat.
They were currently navigating the River Styx, careful to remain as still and steady as possible. One drop of th
at liquid upon their skin, and their life force would begin to drain.
"So, why is Lucifer afraid of you?" Aeron asked William, cutting through the silence as he gently rowed.
The warrior, who was reclining at the stern of the boat, plucking at the tip of his blade, merely shrugged. "Just is."
"There's always a reason," Aeron insisted.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'll always talk about that reason."
William made sure to keep his mind blank, Amun noticed, preventing Amun from reading his thoughts.
Such a delightful journey already. And this was only the beginning.
They had to follow the river to where it merged with the four other rivers flowing inside this vast lair. Phlegethon—the river of fire. Acheron—the river of woe. Cocytus—the river of wailing. Lethe—the river of forgetfulness. And they had to do it without disturbing Charon, the boatman of the underworld responsible for carting the dead to whichever section of hell their lost soul had been condemned to. The fires, the endless pits, the persecution caverns.
Until recently, they wouldn't have had to worry about Charon at all. But upon Cronus's release from Tartarus, the god king had returned this realm to its original state, including the rehiring, so to speak, of its guardians.
Charon, if Amun's sources were accurate, was nothing more than a walking skeleton. He viewed living beings as abominations and strove to wipe them out. To the dead, however, he was courteous.
I would help you with the coming trials, Cronus had told them, just before disappearing, but I must return to your fortress 'ere my wife does more harm. Then he'd added, I bid you good luck, for you will greatly need it. You bested Lucifer, Aeron, and now he wants revenge.
That "besting" was the reason Legion was trapped here. She had broken a heavenly law and bound herself to Aeron. Lucifer had planned to use that bond to possess her body and escape the underworld. Only, to save everyone he loved, Aeron had allowed Lysander to take his head and break the bond, returning Legion here and ruining Lucifer's plans.
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