Then it hit him.
What Marcus was feeling—the helplessness, the way she enslaved his body and made it react and respond as if it no longer belonged to him—he’d made Meg feel the same way last night. He’d made her feel good, yes, but he’d taken some of her control, what she felt was her power, and she had to get it back. Claim what was hers.
That he understood, because he felt the same way.
“I live to serve,” he mumbled, and kissed her cheek.
Chapter Six
Megaera had never had so much sex in all her life. Or wanted so much. Not even in the days of the decline of Rome.
She knew they’d have to talk about the fact they were joined forever, but Meg supposed if they were joined forever, they had forever to discuss it. Circular logic always made her feel better.
Sudden pain shot through her—like a million razorblades sliding beneath her skin. Her power blazed but gave her no relief, only intensified the pain. Her veins stood out starkly black against the pale cream of her skin and she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had to find out who the killer was.
But first, Megaera had to know if Esme Payne on 34th street was the same Esme Payne Marcus believed he’d killed. Then maybe he’d trust her, trust in her, and they could solve the murders together.
She knocked on the witch’s door and Esme answered immediately. She was a beautiful woman, with a raven’s fall of black hair around her shoulders and large, dark eyes rimmed with thick lashes. Her lips were painted a deep red to match her long, flowing dress.
“What brings you around at this hour, Fury?” Esme smiled, a genuine expression.
“I must ask you two things.”
“One is magickal and one is personal, yes?” Esme pushed the door wider and Meg followed her inside the large restored Victorian.
“Yes.”
“The first?” Esme walked into the kitchen and began making preparations for tea.
“There are four dead Amazons. The most recent was Galatea.”
Esme spun back around to face her. “No! She was so young! What happened? Mission go bad?”
“No, she was murdered.”
“Hell.” Esme sagged against the counter. “I just saw her last week. She wanted a birth-control potion.”
“Do you know who she was sleeping with? It wasn’t for Nicodemus Frost, was it?”
Esme looked stricken. “What does that bastard have to do with any of this? Is he the one killing the Amazons?” Blue energy crackled around her fingertips.
“No. Galatea was living in his guesthouse. Supposedly she was working for him.”
“Dear Goddess! Does he know where I am? Did she—”
“No, it’s nothing like that. You didn’t answer my question. Did you know who Galatea was seeing?”
“Some cop. Said she met him in your shop.”
“What?”
“Tall, dark hair. Said he looked very Goth for a cop. Ian something?”
Marcus’ partner? No, that would be… Just no. It wasn’t possible. “Spinner?”
“That’s it. Ian Spinner.”
“He’s the detective investigating the murders.” Meg watched Esme carefully before speaking again. “Him and his partner—Marcus Kage.”
Esme’s pale skin blanched even whiter. “Who?”
“Marcus Kage. It’s good to have a Lycanos on our side, don’t you think, Esme?”
The witch didn’t bother to try any subterfuge. “Are you here to judge me as a Fury would, Meg?” Esme looked up at her, doe eyes wet with unshed tears.
“No. Not as of yet. You’ve been a great ally to Athena and her people. But you have to make this right. You have to tell Marcus that you’re not dead. He’s spent two centuries blaming himself, hating himself. Did you know he gave your father blessed silver bullets to atone for your death?”
“I did. I was hiding in the cellar when he came.”
“Oh, Esme.” Meg went to her. “I feel your remorse. Your sadness. Why didn’t you tell him? He would have forgiven you. More than that, he still would have let you go. He loved you.”
“I know.” The witch began to sob. “I couldn’t face what I’d done. I couldn’t face him. I betrayed a good man. He deserved better than me, and I knew it. I grew up on stories of the Lycanos. Tales my cousins told me to frighten me in the dark. Then those mangled bodies of the girls were found in the next village and my sister took me to see… I’ll never forget it, Meg. Strips of flesh missing, organs like ground meat, and then when he showed me what he was…I couldn’t.”
Megaera pulled the other woman close. “Two centuries is a long time to hold on to that guilt, sorrow and fear. Tell him, Esme. It’s Fate that you’re both here in the same city after all this time. Ask for his forgiveness not for yourself, but so he can forgive himself.”
Esme just clung to her as if she were a life jacket in the middle of an endless ocean.
“You knew some day I’d come to you about this. But you didn’t run. Why not?”
Megaera didn’t want an answer. She didn’t need it. But Esme did. She needed to know that it was in her to do this. That part of her had wanted it.
“I’ll tell him.”
Then it occurred to Megaera that she didn’t know if Marcus had held on to his love for the witch. If he found out she was still alive, if he still had feelings for her, if he still—
Meg sliced the thought off. She was a Fury. She was not selfish, she was not jealous and love didn’t matter. Even with a marked mate. Justice was justice. She set that to repeat in her head until she believed it.
“Good. I have to go. And be careful, Esme. Frost is still gunning for you.”
“You leave him to me.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m done hiding. From both myself and from Nicodemus Frost.”
“You know what, Esme? I think I will. He’ll be coming for you soon.” The smile she gave Esme was one of genuine warmth. Meg decided to indeed leave Nicodemus Frost in her care. A punishment for them both, she thought, and a redemption. At least for Esme.
Meg removed the Fury glamour that she’d cast over Esme to hide her presence from the Witchfinder Nicodemus Frost, payment for all of her services to Athena. If he sought her out now, he’d find her. The scales of justice were now even.
As she left Esme’s, she called Marcus.
“Kage,” he answered.
“It’s me. I just found out that Galatea was seeing your partner.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I went to see the witch and she said she’d made Galatea a birth-control potion for her and her new boyfriend. A cop she met in my shop, Ian Spinner.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Was she sure? No, she called because she wasn’t. Meg rolled her eyes. Men. She sighed.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
There was silence on the line for a moment. “Which witch?”
“The one I told you about. Esme Payne.” She whispered the witch’s name like a benediction.
Meg could hear his questions before he voiced them. Had Meg asked her if she knew Marcus? Was it her? Had his two centuries of guilt been for nothing? But it wasn’t Meg’s place to confess Esme’s sins. So she didn’t speak…and neither did he.
Instead, Marcus hung up.
She texted him Esme’s address.
That wasn’t exactly how she’d planned their conversation to go. Well, what had she expected, really? That he’d drop what he was doing, investigating murders, to come hang out with her? Or that he’d stay on the phone playing the “you hang up, no, you hang up” game?
What she really wanted was to go see him and get fucked senseless in the back of that slick Charger.
Meg had to get back to the shop. She needed to work.
She pushed Marcus from her mind, but it seemed it was either he or Spinner who would take center stage in her damn brain today.
Why hadn’t she looked, really looked, into Ian Spinner when he’d questioned her about the mur
ders? Maybe if she had, Galatea would still be alive.
But he’d been so… He reminded her of the ex-quarterback who went to work at his dad’s car dealership after high school, rather than attending college. Still counting on his looks to sell him. His charisma.
She’d admit Ian had been charismatic, but she hadn’t been attracted to him in the least. Meg had gotten so used to not looking into people so she could pass unnoticed in the human world that it hadn’t even occurred to her to use her power when he’d come around asking questions.
Meg hoped to Athena that Ian was just trying to cover his ass by not telling Marcus about his relationship with Galatea. Or that he was trying to hide any link between them so when he caught the killer and was forced to shoot him, there would be no question as to his motives.
But something told Meg that’s not how it would play out.
Warmth tingled inside her when she saw her shop, Furyous Ink. The brick construction of the building made her feel solid and strong. Her art, tattooing, was like sketching on living canvas. It had breath, memories, hopes and dreams. It was something she could forge in the world that was more than punishment, more than balance. It was just joy.
After going up to her apartment for a quick shower and a light meal, she was ready to open the shop. As soon as she turned the key in the door, there were Amazons waiting to be inked. Waiting for the needle to mark them with the symbols of their new family.
Guilt raged again, a spring tempest in her head. How many of these women would die because they bore her mark? Because her fingers had pushed the ink into their skin?
It chewed on her normal happiness at the prospect of putting brush to canvas, needle to skin. Mangled the peace she’d always felt with the buzz of the tatt gun in her hand. But she kept quiet and painstakingly etched the design she knew so well into the skin of the first woman’s shoulder.
Meg didn’t even need to see the pattern pressed into position, she’d done this tattoo so many times in her long existence. The repeated penetration of the needle and the comforting buzz finally allowed her to slip into the zone, where she didn’t have to be anyone or anything. She could just be.
Hours passed like minutes as she inked the detailed feathers of the owl, shaded and contoured. Even the fine hairs on the legs of the tarantula warranted her complete attention.
As she finished the first tattoo and she was prepping her station for the next Amazon, her cell rang. It was Marcus.
“Yeah?”
“You know I have to see her.”
“I know.” She suddenly wished her sisters were still running the shop with her so she could go with him, but realized it was just as well. He needed to do it by himself, with no outside interference.
“Even if she’s not the same woman, she just accused my partner of being involved with a victim. I have to.”
“I know, Marcus. I already texted you her address.”
“Thank you, Meg. For everything.”
“This guilt-punishment thing is kind of my job, right? So you don’t have to thank me.” In fact, she wished he wouldn’t. There was something about his tone that made her stomach clench. She didn’t hear gratitude, she heard…
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she didn’t fucking like it.
Meg hated being marked and bound to him. If she could go back and undo it, she would. It felt too much like love. Not the steady love that grows after time, strong and tall like a carefully cultivated plant, but the crazy intensity of first love where every breath has deeper meaning. She hated feeling like she needed him when she knew he was still in love with his memory of Esme Payne.
The bell on the door jingled as she hung up and pocketed her phone.
The man who crossed her threshold looked like a Viking warrior from the days of yore, shoveled into a mask of respectability and modern sensibilities. His suit had obviously been sewn just for him and he looked like something out of GQ, the Hell Edition. With his white-blond hair and his silver eyes, he could only be Nicodemus Frost.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The three Amazons were looking him up and down like he was a good cut of steak, obviously unaware he was a predator.
“You can.” His hard mouth curled in a faux smile, but he said nothing else.
“The correct way to answer that question is with how, exactly, I can help you.” Meg arched a brow and curled her lip. Her power hovered just beneath her skin, waiting to blaze forth and incinerate him if he made a move against her.
“I want a tattoo.”
“Yeah?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief off her face. “Well, I’ve got a few customers ahead of you. So if you’d like to make an appointment?” Meg wondered just where exactly he was going with this. He didn’t want a tattoo any more than he wanted a kick in the balls.
“It will only take a second. A single red teardrop. Here.” He motioned to the corner of his eye.
“Wouldn’t that be a little too conspicuous in your line of work?”
“So you do know who I am.” He contemplated her for a long moment. “You should be running,” he said in a measured tone.
All three Amazons moved to stand in front of Meg, to protect her, but she eased them aside.
“I have nothing to fear from you, Nicodemus.”
Nicodemus pulled out a Glock from his jacket and aimed it at Megaera’s head.
Chapter Seven
Marcus didn’t know what to feel, what he should allow inside his head.
No, that wasn’t quite true. His brain, his logic, told him to put all feelings aside and to simply gather information. To process it all later when he was alone.
But his heart, his soul, the thing inside him that yearned to run free—it told him to feel everything. From rage at her for her lies, to forgiveness and joy, to bitter disappointment if it wasn’t the same woman.
He decided to listen to his brain when it came to questioning her about Ian, not jump to any conclusions or allow any emotion through one way or another before there was solid proof of something. One person’s word, especially a witch’s, wasn’t worth tanking Ian’s career.
He stopped in front of the newly painted lavender Victorian with the yellow door. The house itself reminded him of a garden, and he could easily picture the woman who had been his Esme living there, loving the green and growing things.
Marcus shook his head as if that would banish his thoughts and his naiveté. If this was his Esme, she was no longer a healer, a woman who worked with the white arts. She was a wicked witch full of dark magick. She had trafficked with evil for her power and her very long life. A white witch would never live to be so old.
Marcus told himself yet again to push all of that down beneath his wall—only the wall wasn’t there anymore. There was only the beast.
He got out of his car and every step he took toward the door added another ten pounds to his boots until he came to the last step, and Marcus wasn’t sure if he could do this. If he even wanted to know.
Guilt, pain…it was comfortable. Remembering her as a beautiful innocent who’d feared him was easier than knowing she’d grown into this dark thing who’d let him go two hundred years believing he was responsible for her death.
But he supposed he still was. Even if she was alive, Esme wouldn’t have become this person without the events that had occurred between them.
He raised his hand and knocked before he could think better of it.
“Who’s there?”
Her voice was like a forgotten song that had hovered at the edge of his consciousness, waiting to be sung for two hundred years. He didn’t even need to see her face to know it was her.
“It’s KCPD, ma’am. Detective Marcus Kage. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
There was no sound from the other side of the door for a long time.
“Would you like to see my credentials?” he offered, as if she were any other interview and not the woman he believed he’d murdered.
The door creake
d open. “No, Marcus. I know who you are.”
The sight of her was like a knife in his gut.
She was still so incredibly beautiful. Esmerelda Payne hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen her, two centuries ago. So many emotions ricocheted through him. They were like bullets that hit bone and rattled around in his marrow.
All of his years of leashing the beast helped him leash all those feelings, too. “You’re as beautiful as the last time I saw you, Esme,” he managed.
She pursed her lips hard. “I don’t know what to say to you. Meg told me you— I—”
“How about we start with what you know about Galatea and my partner, Ian Spinner?”
Esme swallowed and blinked several times, almost as if acclimating herself to the sight of him. “Yes, of course. Come in?” She stepped back and held the door open. He followed her into the kitchen, where she offered him a chair. “Tea?”
“No, thank you.” A refusal to take food or beverage when offered from another supe was a high insult. But she was a witch. He didn’t trust her or anything that came from her hand.
She looked stricken at his response but nodded silently, understanding. “Meg was here this morning. She told me what happened to Galatea. Meg blames herself.”
“I know she does.”
“Meg doesn’t talk about her feelings with anyone. I’ve known her for years and I still have to guess what she’s thinking. You two are close?” Esme fixed her dark eyes on his face, obviously looking for a certain reaction.
“We are,” he admitted. They were marked mates. They belonged to each other. Whether they liked it or not.
Esme gave him a brittle smile. “That’s good.”
“So you were saying about Detective Spinner?”
“Galatea came to me about four months ago and asked me to make her a contraceptive potion. She said she met a man, a cop. She was in mad love. Said he was Greek, like she was.”
“Greek” was the codeword some supes used to identify others of their kind who fit into the Greek realm of mythos. But Ian was human…
“Ian’s not Greek.” He said it more to affirm it out loud than to inform Esme.
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