Baden glanced at his biceps, where his shirtsleeves had caught on the metal. “They’re part of the reason I wish to speak with you.”
Xerxes hesitated only a moment before waving him forward. Bjorn signaled his private bartender.
Baden strode to the shadowed corner illuminated by candlelight. Two scantily clad women lounged on a couch and one on a recliner, each twittering excitedly when he came into view.
“It’s Jamie freaking Fraser!”
“I know. Okay, okay, you talked me into it. I’ll have your Scottish babies.”
“Take off your shirt. Or would you prefer I rip it off you?”
Baden expected his lust to return full force. These women offered the sex he wanted. The sex he needed. Easy and uncomplicated. Release and relief. Except, they weren’t Katarina, and his body remained unaffected.
He scowled. The identity of his lover shouldn’t matter. Desire was his weapon, his means of governing the beast. Craving a specific woman turned every sensation into a weakness—gave her the power.
“Leave,” Xerxes told the women, no hint of softness in his tone.
The twittering stopped as the three beat feet. Baden sank into the recliner, leaving the backless couch for the Sent Ones. More room for their wings.
“Who gave you the wreaths?” Bjorn asked. “Hades or Lucifer?”
Were they the only two immortals with the power to use them? “Hades.”
“So you are under his control.”
“Yes.” The admission was gritted, but honesty was essential. Sent Ones would taste a lie. “I can’t remove the bands without removing my arms, something I’m unwilling to do. Without the bands, I’ll die. Again. Only this time, death will be permanent.”
A nod from both.
Getting nowhere. “How do they work?” Baden asked.
Bjorn tilted his head to the side. “Think of it this way. If you take a seed from a piece of fruit, plant and water it, the seed grows into a tree that produces fruit of its own. They are different, but they are the same.”
Meaning...what? The wreaths were a seed, and the roots were now firmly planted inside him? “I have visions of another life. The wreaths used to be a person...a creature.”
“You’re right,” Xerxes said. “The wreaths were created from Hades’s heart. He removed it, burned it and forged the bands from ashes that would forever contain his essence.”
What. The. Hell?
Destruction was Hades? The memories were Hades’s?
No, no. Impossible. And yet, so many things suddenly made sense. The way Hades acted, threatening to kill him then changing his mind, almost as if he cared for Baden—because he cared for himself. The beast had known Keeley—because Hades had been engaged to her. The beast quieted in Hades’s presence—because he wanted what Hades wanted.
Nothing to say? he snarled. The beast had known the truth. The beast had always known.
I am Destruction.
You are. You’re also so much more. And Baden should have realized. What a fool!
“How many wreaths are out there?” he asked.
“The exact number isn’t known,” Bjorn said. “But my guess? Not many.”
Baden didn’t know if he was blessed or cursed. What would happen to Destruction when the bands were removed? The creature was bound to the metal, but not to Baden...right? Would he finally have the chance to live free of any kind of possession, as he dreamed?
Excitement...
Rage, courtesy of the beast. I will live!
“What about my new tattoos?” Baden demanded. “They grew from the wreaths and thicken after I kill Hades’s targets.”
“You should understand the insidious nature of evil better than most.” Xerxes ran a dagger over his arm, creating a wound. “Right now, the injury is raw, open, unable to fight infection. It needs to scab to protect itself.”
“So...?”
“Evil infects, spreads and welcomes other evil,” Bjorn said.
Baden waited. The Sent One said no more. “I didn’t hear an answer to my question.”
“Just because you didn’t hear it, doesn’t mean we failed to offer it.”
Pompous piece of—
A waitress arrived with a tray of ambrosia shots. After Baden knocked back three in quick succession, Bjorn waved her away.
The Sent Ones had their own troubles, he knew. Bjorn had been forced to marry to some kind of shadow queen—like Hades’s shadows...Baden’s shadows?—and she was slowly draining the life from him. Xerxes was rumored to be on the hunt for a she-beast determined to kill him.
Cheers erupted throughout the club, and someone called Taliyah’s name.
She had arrived.
“Whatever happens in the war between father and son,” Bjorn said, “we can’t allow Lucifer to win. Our oracles have spoken. If Hades emerges as victor, the world will survive.”
“If Lucifer is victor,” Xerxes said, “the world as we know it will end.”
Apocalypse, Destruction whispered in warning.
“You have other questions, I’m sure,” Bjorn added and Baden nodded.
“But we have no other answers to offer you,” Xerxes finished.
Oh, they had answers. Just no others they would share. But Baden wasn’t going to push. He owed these men, and he wouldn’t repay them with violence.
“Thank you for the chat,” he said as he stood.
The Sent Ones stood, as well.
The red in Xerxes’s eyes deepened. “Word of your association with Hades is going to spread. There’ll be no stopping it, so be prepared. One day soon, Lucifer will send someone to kill you.”
He already had. The prostitutes William had killed.
“I will prevail.” With that, he strode off to hunt the Harpy. Not that he had to hunt for long.
She was straddling a mechanical bull in the middle of the club, her short skirt revealing every inch of her legs and a hint of the panties he needed. Pale hair danced over her shoulders as the bull bucked back and forth. She had both hands free, double-fisting shots while maintaining her position with the strength of her thighs.
The bull took an abrupt turn, presenting Baden with her back, revealing the small iridescent wings that fluttered from the slits in her pink tank top.
A beautiful woman, no question...but she didn’t compare with Katarina.
The cheers died down as Taliyah leaped off the bull and landed directly in front of him.
“I hear you’ve got something to ask me,” she said. “I’m going to let you buy me a drink. Or twelve. Yeah, definitely twelve. Our business needs to be concluded by the time the last shot is down the hatch. Clear?” She marched to the bar, her hips swaying. A mating dance. One that caused no reaction in his body.
His hands fisted as he followed behind her.
She ordered fifteen shots, and he tossed a gold coin at the bartender. Torin had made him a lot of money over the years.
“So? Start talking.” She emptied one glass, then another.
“Give me your panties.”
She’d just thrown back the fifth shot and choked on the liquid. After catching her breath, she laughed and said, “Wow. Ask nicely much? Dude. You planning on wearing them or something?”
“No.” He offered no explanation.
Her amusement subsided, her eyelids slitting.
When someone bumped into her from behind, she turned so quickly Baden almost couldn’t track her motions, slamming her fist into the offender’s stomach. “No?” she said to Baden, not missing a beat. “That’s all I get?”
Get in on the action! The leash on Destruction frayed a bit, and Baden found himself grabbing the gasping man by the throat and lifting him off his feet.
“Continue with him or with me,” Tali
yah said, “but not both. I’m almost done—”
The time limit on his conversation. Right. He released the male without killing him. “Hades is—”
“Hades! That’s right.” She licked the rim of a glass to catch a stray droplet of liquid. “You’re his bitch now, forced to do his bidding.”
He balked, but again he offered no explanation. The fewer details outsiders knew about him, the better.
Two more shots were emptied. “Hades and I have a wee bit of history.” Another emptied glass, and this time, she trembled, but not with fear. “I’m going to guess he sent you just to mess with me. Well. I’m happy to mess with him right back.” She downed yet another shot then reached under her miniskirt to pull a bright blue thong down her legs. She dangled it in front of Baden’s face. “I’ll give this to you—for a price.”
He almost rolled his eyes. Everyone always had a price. Except the Sent Ones, he realized. And Katarina. She wanted to give.
Must return to her.
“Of course,” he said. “Name it.”
“What do I want, what do I want?” With her free hand, she tapped nails that looked as sharp as daggers against her chin. “Oh, I know! You’ll deliver a message for me. Word for word.”
That wouldn’t end well for him, would it? “We have a deal.”
Grinning, she rose on her tiptoes and whispered her message in his ear. He stiffened, sighed. No, this wouldn’t end well.
“I’ll tell him,” Baden vowed. “Word for word.”
She tossed the panties, and he caught them. Before he could thank her, she finished the last shot, and disappeared in the midst of the crowd.
Better get this over with. He flashed—
Into a bedroom with polished ebony walls and an ivory floor. The antique furniture had birds carved into the wood. There was a plush red rug, and a large canopy bed surrounded by white gauze. Hades sat at the edge, his head resting in his upraised hands.
The blind siren perched on a stool a few feet away, playing a harp and humming. The soothing sounds stroked over Baden’s skin like a caress. A caress he could tolerate.
A sense of compassion struck him, surprising him. Hades—once a boy who’d been locked away and forgotten—had known more suffering than most people could ever fathom. No wonder he longed to kill anyone who posed a threat to his freedom.
The king sensed Baden’s presence and jackknifed to his feet, grabbing a shirt from the nightstand. He yanked the material over his head, hiding a muscled chest tattooed with symbols Baden had never before seen.
“Leave us, Melody.”
Melody. A fitting name.
The girl stood and, counting her steps, headed for the door. She smiled a mocking smile as she passed Baden.
“This hasn’t been a good day.” Threads of anger layered Hades’s voice. “You better have what I sent you to get.”
“I do.” He flung the panties across the room. “I’ve earned my next point.” He now had sixteen in total. Tied with Pandora at last.
Nine of his points were from kills, four from retrievals, and two from nonsense, like the fetching of the panties. But...Baden got it now. The kills took out Lucifer’s major players, those who adversely affected humans. Acquiring the artifacts prevented Lucifer from using them against Hades, while the panties (and other things) amused him. Amusement kept him sane, providing light in a time of doom and gloom.
A slow smile bloomed over Hades’s face as he brought the material to his nose and sniffed. “How did you get them? Tell me quick.”
“I asked. In return, I promised the Harpy I would deliver a message for her.”
Anticipation actually glowed through Hades’s pores, creating a halo-effect around him. “Deliver it.”
Baden closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “You are sexy, delicious and hot, but offer you my V-card? I will not. My panties get wet every time your name is called...but I’m still going to ensure...you are constantly blue-balled.”
A laugh barked from Hades, one born from genuine humor. “Clever little witch.”
The transformation was shocking, as if a wolf on the prowl had just transformed into a dog with a new toy. But that was the magic one woman—the right woman—could wield over a man, wasn’t it? Not that Taliyah was Hades’s one.
But look at his friends. Once feral, now domesticated.
Katarina’s image shimmered inside his head, her features as delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and Baden’s body jerked in response. He cursed. She couldn’t be his one. They were too unevenly matched.
Another curse escaped him.
Mind on the task at hand. “Your son, William,” he said. “He’s hidden the human girl, Gilly, and we’d like to know where he—”
Hades’s burst of humor vanished. “I suggest you leave. Now.”
“So...no hug goodbye?” Baden meant the words as a jest...maybe.
When the king lunged for a sword, Baden said, “I’ll take that as a no,” and flashed to the fortress.
11
“Do us both a favor and remove your manpon.”
—Strider, keeper of Defeat
THE NEXT WEEK passed quickly. Katarina waited, a little anxious and a lot eager for Baden to call in the favor she owed him. After all, he hadn’t returned bloody. But he also hadn’t mentioned her reward. Had he killed on his mission? Or had he changed his mind about wanting her?
Well. She—the lowly soldier—wasn’t going to worry about it anymore. Or think about him. Or yearn to kiss him...the way she’d yearned to kiss him when she’d framed his beautiful face with her hands. Nope. Nada. Nie.
She threw herself into her work. Ashlyn’s kids had refused to help her, a stranger, but they often trailed after her, peeking and giggling from behind posts. She ensured Biscuit and Gravy were bathed, medicated, fed daily and given shelter, doing her best to keep her emotions on lockdown. No love, no hurt. And yet, true to her nature, she found herself spending extra time with the animals, determined to get them used to her presence—to maybe even crave it.
The treats she left behind after each visit had already worked wonders. Now, instead of growling when she approached, they wagged their tails and jumped around with excitement.
So precious. And they just happened to be her favorite breed: rescue. Okay, okay, they were also a mix of other breeds. The pair had short fur and large, square heads with wide, muscled chests like pit bulls. Except, in terms of body size, they were as big as full-grown Great Danes—roughly one hundred and twenty pounds—even though their (extra sharp) teeth told her they were both under four months old.
I like big mutts and I cannot lie.
Biscuit had a serious underbite. Gravy, who was mostly white, had a line of black fur over his upper lip. The most adorable mustache! The two loved to wrestle and bite fight—the canine version of does this hurt, huh, huh, does it, well, what about this?
Three times she’d fit them with collars, and three times they’d ripped the leather to shreds only a few minutes later. They hated the leash and bucked like rodeo bulls every time she tried to lead them.
Anytime another human...or immortal...neared them, the pair stilled and quieted. Not with fear—which was what she’d expected—but curiosity. They observed the world around them with intelligent eyes. Eyes that actually changed color with their emotions, from black to blue to green, something she’d never seen in a dog before.
The dogs became agitated only when Baden approached, and she wasn’t sure why.
Her motto in the past: if my dogs don’t like you, go to hell.
Not that Biscuit and Gravy were hers. But she knew deep in her heart Baden wasn’t all bad. He couldn’t be. He’d taken care of her for days...weeks. He’d bathed her—won’t think about that—fed her, given her shelter and a closet full of clothing. More than that, h
e’d comforted her during the worst of her despair. Actually, he still comforted her.
Whenever waves of grief revisited, leaving her curled up in bed, feeling as if she were drowning, he would gather her close and pet her until she felt normal again.
Do I even know what normal is anymore?
He came and went whenever he pleased. And even when he didn’t please; he would disappear with a scowl, the bands on his arms glowing bright red. Sometimes he returned in the same condition he left. Sometimes he returned covered in blood. Every time, he appeared to her first, wherever she happened to be.
The very first time, she’d offered to wash him the way he’d once washed her. He’d accepted reluctantly, as if he expected her to attack while his back was turned. The second time—and every time after—he’d handed her a rag before she could utter a single word.
Once or twice, he’d returned and paced, muttering to himself.
I’m a gentleman. Life is precious...unless the life belongs to my enemy. Everyone is my enemy. No, no, I have friends.
Pep talks, she’d soon realized. Pep talks she found adorable. He didn’t want to hurt people, but a literal beast lived inside him and that beast craved bloodshed. Which made her impulsive offer to give him whatever he wanted quite foolish. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret stepping into the fray with him. He’d been consumed by rage, and she’d desperately yearned to ease him.
But, really, she could have just sung a song to ease him. Whenever she hummed, he would drape himself across the bed and drift into a peaceful sleep.
Her junkyard dog was definitely trainable.
LGB?
Today? Pretty high. He was already pacing. She watched as he stomped through the kennel she’d built in the backyard. Biscuit and Gravy watched him, too. Without growling. Ah, what sweet progress.
He was tense, his hands curled into fists. As strong as he was, his bite would be far worse than any dog’s, with real potential to damage her or worse, to kill her, but if she succeeded—when she succeeded—she would be helping more than Baden. She would be helping his friends. She would be helping the women he dated in the future.
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