“Can we practice with the bow again?” Doreán asked.
Artemis nodded and picked him up.
Feeling like I needed to say something and bridge the gap between me and the goddess taking care of my kid, I stepped forward to greet her. “Thank you for taking such great care of him,” I said.
She glanced at me over the top of Doreán’s head before smiling fondly at him. “He’s precious…innocent, pure. Not many are anymore. I will protect these qualities while he’s in my care.”
Relieved, I thanked her again.
She turned to leave, but seemed to change her mind midstep. “Romi,” she paused, looking back at me. “Shade is not the only darkness that seeks you. Be careful.” She whispered something to Doreán and he waved at us, and then the two of them disappeared.
My heart seemed to drop out of my chest. I’d almost forgotten about Shade. I hadn’t felt him since Lorna Smith had revealed herself as the Empusa and tried to gobble down Tweety. It had taken us about a week to get the first essence, and that one had been the easiest. We had four more to go with Shade following us, and no doubt Eris would be right behind him. And what the hell was this other darkness Artemis mentioned?
Now that Doreán was gone again, the weight of all we had left to accomplish seemed overwhelming. Determined not to let our daunting task best me, I turned and said, “Now…on to Ares.”
My voice cracked on the god of war’s name, and my eyes filled with tears. I immediately found myself wrapped in Demarco’s arms, my head pressed against his shoulder. Vaguely aware of Tweety shifting into griffin form and heading up to the tree, I felt despondent and hopeless as I let Demarco lead me downstairs. Knowing I needed to snap out of this and get to work did nothing to stop tears from streaming down my face. He held me until my eyes were red, swollen, and dry, and then he brushed my tears away, helped me undress, slid one of his big, soft T-shirts over my head, and tucked me into bed.
When Demarco turned to leave, I grabbed his hand.
“Stay?” I asked.
Gods, I sounded weak, pathetic. I didn’t care. Maybe the Pythia was right and I did need him to complete this mission, because the idea of him walking out the door and leaving me alone made the hollow feeling inside of me grow.
Demarco looked indecisive and worried as he looked from me to the bed. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“I just want you to hold me,” I replied. Tugging on his arm, I added, “Please?”
He swallowed and watched me for a moment longer before nodding. He stripped down to his jeans and climbed into bed beside me, pulling me into his arms. I breathed in the scent of him and drew comfort from his touch. The loneliness was still there, but it no longer felt like it was about to swallow me. There I was, feeling weak and helpless in his arms, and he wasn’t trying to take advantage of me. Instead, it felt like he was lending me his strength. If this was what it felt like to be on Demarco’s team, I could handle it.
Closing my eyes, I opened my mouth and blurted, “My mom is Tyche. She’s the goddess of luck.”
His breathing hitched and he tugged me closer. “We don’t have to talk about this right now, Romi.”
But I wanted to. I needed to before I came to my senses and shut him out again. “When I blow on something, it’s temporarily lucky. I blew on the Harpē, that’s how Hades and Poseidon were able to kill Zeus. I blew on your eyes to break you out of the Empusa’s spell and enable you to see her for what she really was. And then I blew on my fingertips and rubbed your eyes to make you see in the dark. And here…there’s something I want to show you.” I released the glamour I was usually so careful to maintain and brought his face down to look at me.
His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at me. “Your eyes…they really are golden. I thought I’d just made that up.” His body trembled against mine. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me, Romi.” He brushed the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead, snuggling me closer. “We’ll get Doreán back, I promise. Sleep. Tomorrow we’re going after Ares.”
I rested my head against his chest, and surprisingly enough, I did drift off to sleep.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda Washington is a lover of wacky animals, enthralling books, dark chocolate, and red wine. She's always up for a good adventure (real or fictional), and when she's not building imaginary worlds, she's dipping her toes into reality in southwest Washington with her husband and their boys.
“Lucky Blow” is the first book in the Gods and Pawns series. You can find out more about the rest of the series, and Amanda’s other books, by adventuring with her on the flowing sites:
Website:
http://www.amandawashington.net/
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/AmandaWashington.Author
Twitter:
@AmandaWash
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https://amandawashington.wordpress.com/
Spirited Seduction
©2016 Wynter Daniels
Chapter One
RYAN STARED AT the ceiling, wishing sleep would come. Three nights now he hadn’t so much as nodded off even for a few minutes. Dreamlike visions of his sister’s friend Emily kept filling his head every time he shut his eyes, like a catchy song he couldn’t quite banish from his mind. Sometimes erotic, other times disturbing, he wasn’t sure what to make of her intrusions into his brain. They weren’t exactly on friendly terms.
He’d only seen her once in the past couple years—at Becky’s funeral last month. She hadn’t seemed angry anymore at the disparaging comments he’d made when Becky had told him Emily professed to be psychic.
He closed his eyes and saw her face in his mind’s eye, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders down to her full breasts. She was nude and lovely with skin like silky caramel and bewitching gold eyes too wise for a woman so young. She had a body made for sin and God knew, he was a sinner.
He kissed her, tasted exotic spices and all the pleasure she held in store for him. He plunged his fingers into her hair and they all but disappeared into the thick black strands. Her petite body fit perfectly against his, as if destiny had joined them.
Nipples hard as pebbles grazed his bare chest and all his blood headed south. He cupped her breast and strummed the beaded point. Emily whimpered with unabashed need as she covered his erection with her hand and started rubbing. Up and down over his shaft.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed. Climbing over her, he swiped his tongue over her bellybutton. Her womanly scent nearly drove him mad.
She wriggled beneath him. “Yes, Ryan. Please.”
He parted her thighs then pushed into her heat. She cried out as if he’d hurt her but her voice softened and turned to a lusty sigh. He slid deeper and deeper until he was buried to his balls.
Emily wrapped her legs around him as he began stroking. She tightened her most intimate muscles. All thoughts about what she was were long gone as he thrust harder. There was nothing but the two of them and the primal need between them.
His balls clenched with a sweet ache. Every muscle in his body was strung tight as a guitar string until he exploded in pleasure. Emily sank her fingernails into his back, clawing and scratching. The pain paled next to his bliss.
She gasped but what started as a sound of passion morphed into terror. Something dark and shadowy dragged her off as she screamed and reached out for Ryan to help her.
But she was gone. Her cries of pain filled the air like a macabre echo.
He shook his head to banish the image.
Just a nightmare.
A weird, waking one.
God, he was so tired. Sitting up, he buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and the hot sex they had in his fantasy. But he couldn’t control the horror at the end of it. Worst part was the gnawing feeling that the vision was more than a reaction to how long it had been since he’d made love to a woman. It felt like some sort of premonition.
He
’d never believed in ghosts or any other paranormal nonsense as Becky and her friends had. He and Becky had argued about it for months before her death. Although lately he was beginning to wonder if maybe they weren’t crazy after all. Maybe they’d tapped into something, another realm. Because he definitely felt an unearthly presence around him.
Hell, maybe he was going nuts. The shock of Becky’s murder four weeks ago had shaken him to his very foundation. Who wouldn’t go off the deep end for a while after having someone they loved ripped away under such horrifying circumstances? Not knowing who’d killed her had been eating at his soul every moment since the day of her death. After their parents’ deaths, he’d taken on the role of Becky’s protector, whether she’d known it or not. Left with no other family, they were all each other had. And he’d let her down when she’d needed him most.
The notion knotted his stomach. Always did. He’d never forgive himself. Not knowing who’d killed her was destroying him.
He peeled back the sweat-damp sheet, set his feet on the wood floor then switched on the bedside lamp. Eerie moon shadows danced beyond the window but it wasn’t anything outside that concerned him. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt a haunting presence in the room, hovering near him. The air grew thick, rank and damp. He got up to open the window but stopped dead.
What the hell?
A woman all in white stood at the edge of the woods just twenty yards or so away. His body went rigid with terror. There was something ethereal about her but his mind refused to accept the familiarity of her features.
Couldn’t be. He quietly eased open the window to get a better look. She stared right at him and his knees went weak.
Becky?
He fisted his hands and dug his fingernails painfully into his skin to confirm he was truly awake.
The spirit seemed to float next to the black oak tree. “Heed your vision.” Her lips hadn’t moved yet he’d heard her voice all the same.
“Becky!” He stumbled backward until he crashed into the bed.
The apparition was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Gulping for air, he grasped the footboard, sure he must still be dreaming.
“Becky…wait!” He lunged toward the window but she was gone before he could ask who’d killed her. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he wondered if he’d lost his mind.
Could someone be playing a cruel joke on him? Who would do such a thing? And how would anyone know about the visions he’d been having? He hadn’t told a soul for fear he’d be committed.
He yanked on jeans then shoved his .45 into his waistband and headed downstairs. Armed with flashlight, he searched his property, calling her name, but he found nothing.
I didn’t imagine her.
This might have been the first time he’d actually seen her since she’d passed away, but deep inside, he’d sensed her presence for weeks now. He’d shrugged it off as part of his frustration over not knowing who’d murdered her. He wasn’t ready to admit he’d seen a ghost but he was positive some unknown force was at work.
Had his mental images of Emily been a dire prediction for her? Maybe she was really in danger. Desperate as he was to learn the identity of Becky’s killer, the more urgent issue was to warn Emily she might not be safe.
He’d read an article in the paper that she’d helped the police over in Raleigh with a murder investigation last year. His rational mind told him nothing paranormal was real but he couldn’t deny what he’d just witnessed with his own eyes. Like it or not, he had to look into it.
His sister deserved justice and her friend needed to know she could be in trouble.
* * * * *
Emily got up from her nail table and strode to the front desk to check on her next client, the last of the day. She glanced at the appointment book and blinked at the name written there. Her mouth went dry. Could it really be…?
Stay calm.
She swung around to search the waiting area for him and tried to school the fear from her expression when her gaze landed on Ryan Barnes, still as devastatingly handsome as ever.
Questions raced through her mind in a millisecond. What did he want? How did he find her? Did he know how badly she’d crushed on him years ago? Why had she left the house without putting on any makeup that morning? Why did she still find him so damn attractive even after he’d humiliated her in front of all his sister’s friends?
“Hey,” he said from a seat by the window. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a stiff hug.
She shut her eyes a moment, attempting to banish her body’s response to him—the heat at every point of contact, the almost dizzy feeling in her head and the pounding of her heart.
For God’s sake, he’s just a guy, a guy who didn’t treat me very well.
She didn’t have a lot of male clients but it wasn’t as if she never had contact with any men.
“It’s been forever,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Well, I guess we saw each other at the funeral but…” She tamped down the sadness at the memory of her friend’s death. “How are you?”
Why are you here?
He was so tall, over six feet with the same sandy-brown hair and crystal-blue eyes as Becky. He looked a few months past due for a haircut and the stubble on his cheeks told her he hadn’t shaved for a couple days. His face wasn’t perfect—far from it—but she still found him way too handsome. He had an inch-long scar over his left eye and his nose looked as if it had been broken at least once. Hadn’t Becky told her he’d had a few injuries from the martial arts tournaments he’d competed in as a teenager?
Pressed to his hard body, she drew in a breath laced with his scent, like a pine forest. She quickly extricated herself, remembering that they were in the middle of the salon.
“I’m okay. What about you?” He skimmed his gaze over her, lingered at her breasts.
Red-hot awareness rushed through her. She closed her arms over her chest and steadied herself. She sensed tension in his face based on the lines fanning out from his pale eyes and the taut set of his mouth. “I’m fine, great. So you really want a manicure, huh? I never figured you for the type.”
Definitely not the type. She guessed his hands were rough as his boots, as well-used as the jeans he wore. What would those hands feel like on her body? The thought sent a shiver of excitement rolling over her skin.
Ridiculous.
“I’d be happy to put you in with one of the other nail techs if you prefer.” She hoped he’d refuse her offer.
He shook his head. “I want you.”
Clearly he was only referring to his manicure but his simple declaration stirred wickedly erotic thoughts. Her nipples hardened to painful points. Moisture slicked her panties.
Why she was attracted to a man she disliked, a man who obviously couldn’t stand her, was a mystery to her. Yet she couldn’t pretend the attraction didn’t exist. She recalled their interaction two years ago at a birthday celebration for Becky. He’d actually called her a charlatan to her face, in front of the thirty-odd party guests.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, yanking her back to the present.
She clenched her jaw and forced herself to concentrate. “Why didn’t you just call me? Why go to the trouble to make a manicure appointment?”
His sheepish shrug fanned the flames of her attraction. “I didn’t think you’d agree to speak to me after…you know, what I’d said to you.”
She squared her shoulders. “I spoke to you at Becky’s funeral and as far as I can remember, I didn’t bite your head off, did I?”
“Yeah, but that was a funeral. You’re not that cruel, are you?” He gave her a wink and another unwanted jolt of heat coursed through her.
His teasing dissipated some of the tension and she managed to smile. “C’mon back.”
He shrugged out of a faded leather jacket and hung it over the hook near the door, giving her a view of the vee from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. She had to admit he had a certain muscular, rugg
ed appeal. And his kind of muscle was built through hard physical labor rather than in a gym.
If she remembered correctly, he restored old houses himself then flipped them, did all the upgrades and repairs himself. She pictured him shirtless, sawing a two-by-four, as she’d seen him once working on something at Becky’s house, his well-developed biceps and triceps flexing with each stroke. Her face flushed and the room grew warmer, but she forced herself to squash the memory.
He walked with her to her nail table, looking totally out of place in the pink-and-white salon in his jeans and the T-shirt that hugged every sinewy inch of his chiseled upper body. “I wanted to talk to you and a phone call wouldn’t cut it.”
She swallowed hard and curled her fingers over the edge of the table. “Is this about Becky? Did they find out who did it?”
The furrow in his brow deepened as he sat across from her. “No, but it is about her. You know I’ve never been a believer in all that supernatural junk like you…and Becky.”
She stiffened at his characterization and felt a headache start behind her eyes. Her gift had only brought her fear and grief.
“But something happened last night to change my mind about all that.” He glanced side to side then lowered his voice. “I saw her, or her ghost, I guess. Scared the shit out of me. She disappeared so fast I couldn’t ask her anything like why she was there, or…”
“Or who killed her.” A chill crawled up her spine.
One of the owners of the salon walked past, helping an elderly client to the door. Emily picked up a nail file and started working on Ryan’s nails. Last thing she needed was for her boss to find out about her psychic powers. That part of her life was over. She waited until the woman was out of earshot before speaking. “I’m not sure what you want from me, Ryan, but—”
He gripped her wrist to stop her from filing his nails. “You helped the police with a murder case a while back. If I hadn’t seen Becky or her ghost or whatever that was with my own eyes I’d have never believed it, but she needs something from me and I don’t know who else I can turn to.”
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