by Zoe Forward
He licked the side of her neck. Chills shot down her arms. Hormonal need powered though her. Denial of this release might kill her. Maybe that was his plan.
She croaked out, “No.” And hoped his willpower was strong enough to be the one to apply the brakes on this madness.
He rubbed himself against her core, eliciting a moan of desperate need from her. “You want me to stop?”
She moistened her lips with her tongue, ordering her head to nod a yes, but couldn’t do anything other than stare into his hard, glowing gaze. His brows were down hard, his mouth parted, his coloring high with anticipation. He wanted this.
Dakar asked, “Is the problem him? Christian?”
“He’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Who is he to you?”
“My father.”
“What?” He pushed upward with his full weight on his forearms to gaze down at her. His face blanched ghost white.
“Is it that bad that he’s my father?”
“Well, it is…I cannot find the right English word for it. You as the Charmer’s daughter is inconceivable. I cannot recall that he’s ever been allowed a child even though he beds any female that crosses his path.” His cheeks pinkened. “I am sorry. That is probably not what you want to know about your, uh,…him. Whom did you belong to, then? That pendant means you belonged to someone else.”
“I had a long-term boyfriend. But we didn’t belong together. The pendant was my mother’s.” Shay edged away from him.
He snagged her back. “You could never belong to another.” He placed his hand on her chest against the rapid beat of her heart. “This is mine.”
“I’m not yours.” She recognized the pain of three consecutive painfully failed relationships spurring that declaration. After Troy, she decided to never belong to another man again. If she and Dakar got involved, and he dumped her…as intense as her few moments thus far had been with him, she didn’t know if she could survive.
“I am at a loss as to why you cannot remember the past. You usually can. You will have to believe me when I tell you there has never been another woman for me since the moment we met thousands of years ago.”
“Thousands?”
He leaned in and kissed her neck. And then he claimed her lips. She couldn’t deny the addictive taste of him as her tongue darted across his soft lips. He pulled her tight to him. And pressed the desperate hard length of his arousal against her. She pulled the T-shirt off, and ran her hands over the hard tattooed edges of his chest and abdomen. So many scars. Each tattoo looked to have the same mini-hieroglyphics as the new marks on her. Were all of these injuries likewise healed? Mother of God, he’d been hurt a lot, if so.
Her awestruck fingers traced the mysterious and familiar triangle tat on his chest.
Oh my, his hands were clenching her ass, moving her pelvis against him. The movement turboed simple need into insanity. She moaned and bit her lip to hold back that plea he’d imperiously demanded moments ago.
He whispered, “Let us remove all clothing.”
She wanted it too, but the memory of his failed desire to kill her helped her get a grip. She choked out, “What exactly is supposed to go on between us that involves you killing me and us…” She rolled her pelvis beneath him, smiling at his answering groan. She lifted a hand and pushed a few stray strands of dark hair from his face. She rolled the hair between her fingers, enjoying the texture and taking a moment to concentrate on the streaks. Her eyes glassed up with a bizarre, yet profound, sense of déjà vu.
She gazed deep into the copper depths of his eyes. The previously dominant black swirling had lessened. Beautiful. And, yet, mesmerizing with the swirling sludge. “Tell me why you want to kill me.”
A shadow passed through his gaze. “I do not want to kill you. I should, but I cannot, which attests to my weakness. I am sorry that I failed us. You must kill me again this time.”
“I’m not going to kill you. Is this some sort of history repeating itself type of thing?”
“In a way, it is. We must always kill each other.”
“I’m sorry if a person like me in the past hurt you, but it wasn’t me. Can’t you just let me go? We’ll forget about this whole thing.”
“No, I cannot release you from this. You must kill me as you have so many times before.”
“You seem a little unstable and dangerous, but I’m not sure I’d be prone to kill you just for that. For the sake of argument, if I did kill you, what exactly did you do to me? What would make me feel the need to kill you?”
He closed his eyes and groaned as if this was too complicated to explain.
She said softly, “Help me understand. Why do you need to kill me? Certainly can’t be self-defense. I mean, look at you. It would take a feat of epic proportions for me to physically hurt you. It’s not possible. And then, really, what’s the point? Aren’t you a magus? That means based on legend, your gods will stuff your soul back into another body and send you back. Seems kind of ridiculous to try to end your life in this body. If I really wanted to kill you, I would find a way to take you out from a more permanent, immortal standpoint. If we are to both be constantly reincarnated, why would I want to keep going through this? Ever thought of that?”
He cursed and rested his forehead on her chest.
A long sigh emptied her lungs and she rested her hand on the back of his head. This felt so natural…so right. “This whole conversation is ridiculously esoteric. Maybe I’m not the person you think I am, and you’re mistaken. Have you considered that?”
“You’ve got the same mark on your chest that I do. It confirms your identity.”
“I do not have a magi mark.”
“Not the triangle. The shenu. I checked. It’s there.”
“A shenu on my chest? I don’t think so.”
He gently pressed in the area of her birthmark.
“That’s just a birthmark. Been there my whole life.”
“I know. Me too. It is not a natural mark. The gods marked us both. When that daemon hurt you, it must have killed your past-life memory. My father gave you that bochnori. The moving mark.” He planted a few strategically placed kisses down her neck to her breast. “Let me remind you how it is between us.”
“Apparently, us getting it on is a part of the package?”
“Umm hmm,” he mumbled as he latched on to the peak of her breast.
Sensation lit up her body like dynamite, eliciting a groan. She couldn’t keep her mind focused on conversation while he did that. Good God, that thing he was doing with his hand on the back of her neck…
Her mind screamed, He almost murdered you and isn’t answering your questions. Either he was insane or had some dark fantasies that involved death, which was not her cup of tea. That kicked her mind firmly out of the let’s-get-it-on zone.
“Stop thinking with this.” She kneed his groin, causing him to rear up and away from her to grab himself.
“Fuck.” He groaned in agony.
“That’s not on the agenda. Neither is killing. Each other, that is.” Shay stood up and walked to the door. She righted her clothes. “Stay away from me.”
Ashor pushed into the bedroom and yelled, “We are having a stat meeting downstairs. Right now. Both of you will move ass to attend. If you don’t move within the next ten seconds, I’ll drag both of you and I don’t give a flying fuck what apparel you may or may not be wearing.” His eyes went wide when he spotted Shay by the door. In a quieter voice he said, “I’m Ashor. I run this group, which means you and he are subject to my orders.”
Dakar stopped clasping his nuts and looked up. His look registered understanding that refusal of the command would not go well. “We shall attend, but I refuse to hash out our personal business in front of everyone.”
Ashor looked between the two of them. “Fine. To some degree, that is. Downstairs. Now. Both of you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Shay followed Dakar into a basement conference room. Despite being undergro
und, the high ceiling lent the feel of a large open space. How had they built such a large basement in this area with all the swampland?
Swords decorated the wall, all scimitar style with black blades. The room itself was designed around a semi-circular table that wasn’t a typical conference table. Aside from being massive, inlaid wedges of green and blue with Middle English writing circled the periphery. Several massive tattooed warriors fell into their chairs as if in a specific order.
Shay wandered to a chair away from the table. The air whooshed from her lungs in a startled holy-hell moment when her archeology and history background pulled her into an objective eval. Each guy sat in an oversized ornate wooden chair around a semi-circular table to either side of the lead warrior. Like the knights in drawings of twelfth-century Arthurian legend.
Ashor fell into the middle seat. Pissed-off leached from his pores.
Were the Scimitar Magi the knights of Arthurian legend? They would have been celebrated in that time, given their skills and amazing heroics when they saved whole villages from decimation by a daemon. Legend claimed anywhere from twenty-five to fifty knights sat at the mythical table. Of course, that was a number based solely on legend. No one really knew. That period in history wasn’t her specialty. About all she retained from history class was, if the Knights of the Round Table had actually existed, it hadn’t been during the time of King Arthur. The knights of legend belonged to a period at least a century later than the real King Arthur. Ashor…Arthur. Who knew.
Dakar slid into a chair just to her left and lounged sideways to watch her. Even though she still reeled from the one-eighty he pulled minutes ago—kill-you to screw-you—she admitted he was spectacular, not that she trusted gorgeous exteriors. If she had to choose a fantasy incarnation of her hottest sexy guy, he was it. Her body still burned for him on an elemental level that spooked her.
The rest of the guys took their seats. How could this many gigantic, testosterone-overloaded alphas coexist in one location without killing each other? They all looked to have a lot of simmering backburner pissed-off. One guy at the table sported a huge black eye like he’d recently been worked over.
Christian winked at her as he sat down, ignoring the narrow-eyed warning Dakar shot him. He pointed to the guy with the black eye. “That’s Nate. He’s our newbie.”
“Oh, piss off,” Nate grumbled, clearly an American, while unwrapping a piece of gum.
Christian pointed to a gigantic, shaved-bald, overly pierced guy down the table hand-rolling a cigarette. “That’s Viktor. Hey, V-man, say hi to Shay.”
V lit his cig and took a long drag before skewering her with an intimidating dark gaze. He nodded his shaved head and returned to his focus to blowing the perfect smoke halo.
“Rick, you’re a lifesaver. I’m starving.” Christian jumped up to check out the food arranged on a beautifully crafted maple sideboard. Rick dressed in a buttoned-up black outfit suggestive of a preacher.
Kira said, “That’s an impressive spread for ten minutes’ notice, Rick.”
Rick finished arranging pastries before replying, “You’re welcome. There’s coffee in the carafes. The one on the far end has espresso. The bacon and eggs will get cold fast. So eat.” Rick faced Ashor, who now stood. The magus leader looked as if he was going to explode in anger. Yet Rick fearlessly ordered, “Eat, sir. It’s been over twenty-four since you had more than a yogurt.”
Ashor’s cheeks reddened. He grumbled and grabbed the banana from Rick’s outstretched hand. “It’s a goddamned conspiracy to fatten me up, isn’t it, Kira?”
“No, darling. We just want you to be as strong as possible. That rage thing takes a lot of calories to pull off.” She shot him a spectacular smile and proceeded to load a plate with carbs before sliding it in front of him. He cursed, but ate.
A blond warrior carrying a baby slid into the seat next to Dakar.
Dakar asked, “How is Julie?”
He nodded. “Doing fine. You gonna eat?”
Dakar shook his head negatively.
“I’m in desperate need of some caffeine. We spent all night up with the baby. Colic.”
“Why isn’t Julie with him, Eric?” Dakar asked.
“Man, you really are from the past. There was a feminist revolution-thing last century when women decided they were equal to men. That means equal child duty. Here, take him. I’m gonna get a plate of chow.” Eric dropped the baby into Dakar’s arms and headed to the buffet.
Dakar and the baby sat in a silent staredown as if each dared the other to freak out first. Suddenly, the baby spewed white all over his arms. “Eric!” Dakar yelled.
“Oh, sorry. He just had a bottle and he’s in this spitting-up phase. Should’ve warned you.” Eric threw a burp cloth at Dakar like that would solve all problems.
Dakar wiped at the white debris while balancing the baby in the crook of his arm. The baby grabbed his menat pendant and tugged. Dakar’s face softened. He said gently, “Not so hard, little one. You’ve got a good grip on you, haven’t you?” He unlatched the baby’s fingers from his pendant and gave him a big finger to play with.
Shay melted at this new side of him. He’d morphed into someone else entirely, no longer the hardcore badboy. He softened, not embarrassed by his nonsensical, high-pitched baby talk that delighted the child. A long-dead desire surfaced. Desire for a man as spectacular as this one playing with their child. You’re losing it, girl. That behemoth just threatened to kill you. No, he didn’t, not really. Deep down she trusted him.
Eric resumed his seat and pulled the baby into his lap with a grunt of thanks.
Khyan polished off a doughnut and announced, “First order of business is I vote Javen back into daemon fights.”
Eric waved his coffee mug. “Thought we voted him off because he was closing in on the Turn. Gotta wait for his girl to show up to prevent him from going crazy.”
“Yeah, so we thought,” said Khyan in a tone dripping with skepticism. “But now that I’ve got newer info, I’m changing my vote.” He twisted in his chair to gaze at Javen who returned the stare poker faced. “So, Javen, when did you meet her?”
Javen’s arctic-cold gaze didn’t waver from Khyan. The guy’s dark glare in combo with the tats that coursed diagonally down his face had Shay wanting to shimmy closer to Dakar. Really? Your gut instinct is he will protect you? Yes.
After a few long seconds, Javen answered in a crisp British accent, “She’s dead.”
Shocked gasps echoed around the table.
Khyan raised his eyebrows and sipped orange juice before asking, “You believe that?”
“Yeah, I saw her get shot point blank four times.”
“Did you actually see the last breath leave her body? Did you confirm lack of a heartbeat? Did you feel your will to live die with her?”
“Something like that,” Javen mumbled.
“Have you lived long enough to see one of us lose a senariai?” Khyan asked.
“You know, for the condescension alone, I’m going to carve a new hole in your gut.” He pulled a knife and pounced, knocking Khyan out of his chair. Juice splashed on both of them. Khyan regained balance within an eye blink. With a super-speed sideways wrench, he twisted the knife headed for his abdomen out of Javen’s hand. A tattoo covered his face as he swiped Javen’s legs and pinned him to the ground with a knee to his chest.
Khyan leaned in close. “I’ve lost mine more times than I care to remember. After the two of you meet, you’re nothing without her. Your will to live disappears when she dies. You die. Why do you think you haven’t gone insane and into the Turn? She’s alive, my friend. Somewhere in that frosted chest, you know it. So, I vote you get off your self-pitying ass and work. In your spare time, you better start trying to find her ’cause I guarantee she’s going to be mad as hell that you left her this long. Good luck on dealing with that.”
Ashor pulled Khyan off and threw him away from Javen. He scowled down. “You’re back in.” He glowered around the table. �
��I’m fed up with secrets. Anyone else got some monumental shit they’ve neglected to reveal?”
Christian said, “Shay is my daughter. I think that qualifies. In my defense, I just found out like a half hour ago.”
A round of whats and whistles ensued, followed by laughter.
Eric slapped Christian on the back as he resumed his seat. “Welcome to the fatherhood club, man. Congrats.”
Khyan said, “No way.” He looked to Dakar. “He serious?”
“I guess from the gods’ perspective, at least they could guarantee he’d have plenty of opportunity to impregnate someone,” Dakar replied.
Kira glowered. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something.
Christian pointed at her. “Oh, no, you don’t, Doc. No new condom sermon, thank you. It’s embarrassing enough that thanks to you I’ve got a rubber supply that could stock the entire American military more than once. This happened way before you came into the picture.”
Through laughter, Khyan wiped at his eyes. “You actually remember her mother?”
“Yes. What’s that thing on your face?”
“Nice deflection, but I’ll give it to you after that bomb. Can’t wait to see how you handle fatherhood. This thing—” He waved at his face. “Called a bochnori. A gift from my father.”
“Who would that be?” Ashor asked.
“Khonsu.”
“The moon god?” asked Eric.
“Yeah. He also has a gambling problem that usually lands Dakar or myself in some god-debt that sucks, which is part of what’s probably going on with Shay having no past-life memory in this lifetime.”
“Why is it you can remember your past while the rest of us can’t?” Christian asked.
“It’s a perk of having a bochnori. They never forget. We were once all the bastard offspring of one of the gods or goddesses. It’s why we got chosen for this shit. Seems our parents wanted to keep us around or at least coming back into the world. They told us it was their gift to us, but the bochnori is a special gift to Dakar and I.” He looked to her and added, “And Shay, although that’s new.”