Simple: Nikos Dounias wouldn’t call, not after that, not after the rejection Mace had seen in his eyes. He knew that because he knew Nik—really knew him—and he wouldn’t call, not without a very compelling reason.
Like he suspected that Mace was up to something and wanted to stop him; unless someone else had put him up to making the call.
Mason hit IGNORE on the phone, turned it off, and sped faster toward the Crab Shack.
Chapter 28
Ari watched Jules leave for the bathroom, loving the way those sexy-as-hell boots accentuated her shapely legs—as did the short skirt. He got a sudden image of taking all that ruffled fabric and peeling it away to reveal her bare bottom. Oh yeah, that would be fantastic, even right here in the restaurant; he could use his power to make them invisible. He imagined lifting her up onto the table and spreading her legs about him, and instantly the front of his jeans bulged outward.
He shifted around in the seat, grateful that it was nighttime and that the restaurant patrons were too busy with their corn on the cob to worry about the megastiff cob in his pants. He actually snorted aloud as he recalled Jules’s love of fresh corn.
And he was still laughing, leaning back in his chair for a sip of frothy draft beer, when Mason Angel slid right into Juliana’s vacant seat.
Ari grinned, greeting his friend with a rousing, “Oorah, dude! What’re you doing out here?”
Mace wiped at his sweaty brow, setting down a half-consumed cup of beer. “Aristos, look, we gotta talk,” he said, scooting much closer and seeming out of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way here, even though that couldn’t be true—not with that beer in his hand.
“You having dinner?” Ari looked all around the deck curiously. “Who else is here? Scooby members or just your lonely ole jarhead?”
Mason gave him a forbidding look. “Just me.”
Then things started to come together, and fast, as Ari recalled that Mason himself had suggested this restaurant to begin with. “You followed us out here.” It wasn’t a question.
“Had to, man,” was all Mason said in reply.
And then Ari figured out the rest of the drill. Mace had shown up for only one reason—he still believed that Jules was actually a demon. He hunted her kind by both profession and calling, and he wasn’t going to let this go.
Ari leaned forward, planting both palms on the table, and growled protectively. “You’re not going to touch her, Angel.”
Mason mirrored his gesture, stabbing a finger at Ari. “I’m here to tell you that she’s a stone-cold killer, man. Not who you think at all. She is the darkest kind of demon.”
“You’re basing that on what?” Ari hissed, subtly surveying Mason’s golf shirt and jeans, searching for a concealed weapon. He appeared unarmed, but Ari didn’t relax for a moment, because he knew Mason was trained to be dangerous in much less obvious ways.
Ari’s whole body was poised for attack, to protect the woman he loved—and at whatever cost might be required. He would hate it, but he knew he’d go so far as killing Mason, if necessary. Anything to guard Juliana against the demon hunter’s lethal aim.
“Have you looked into her eyes?” Mason asked. “I mean, really gazed into ’em?”
Ari thought of Juliana’s luminous, adoring gaze, the way she’d stared up into his eyes as they made love at the inn—and the abandon in those same blue depths as they came together midflight. There’d been nothing reflected there except her inherent goodness, the truth of who she was—and her unabashed, genuine love for Ari.
“Hundreds of times today alone,” Ari answered firmly. “My girl’s not what you think, Mace. Not even close. Jules is . . .” Ari pictured her naked body beneath his, luscious auburn hair fanned out on the hotel pillow. “Well, here’s the thing, buddy. You want to get at her? You’ll have to come through me.”
Mason stared at him and then barked out a laugh. Leaning back in his chair, the guy just kept on laughing, too. “You’ve had sex with that demon already. Haven’t you?”
Ari tore into a packet of saltines, ignoring the question.
Mace shook his head with narrowed eyes. “Motherfucker,” he said, whistling low. “Geez, even I didn’t think that you were that much of a dumb-ass. But I guess the rumors on that count are true after all.”
“What I have or haven’t done with Juliana is none of your godsdamned business.”
Mason’s expression grew deadly. “Actually it is. It goes against everything in my nature to let something like that creature live.”
At that, Ari was up out of his chair and on Mason Angel before the other guy had time to set that beer down. It sloshed all down the front of his shirt as Ari seized his collar with one hand and his throat with the other. Several diners around them noticed the disruption, an older woman swatting Ari with her umbrella in an attempt to break up their skirmish.
Her irate little gesture finally knocked some sense back into Ari, reminding him that they were in public. Slowly he released his grip on Mason. “You come with me,” he commanded, ripping off his bib and tossing it on the table indignantly.
There were some things, he decided, that you just didn’t do with a bright red lobster pinned to your chest.
Ari kept Mason cuffed around the back of his neck, forcing him off the patio and down onto the palm- lined drive of the restaurant. They reached Mason’s pickup, and Ari gave him a big shove, sending him sprawling against the vehicle’s door. But then some redneck dumb-ass gunned his truck on the way out of the lot, spraying them both with gravel and sand.
“Get a designated driver, asshole,” Ari cursed at the departing tailpipe, wiping the sand from his eyes.
Mason seized that moment to jump Ari, riding on his back as Ari staggered forward, spinning to the right, then the left, trying to shake him off like just another swamp mosquito. Knocking Mason up against the truck cab finally dislodged him, and Ari shoved him there.
“You want a fucking rumble, you got it,” Ari seethed. “You little prick, what do you mean showing up and threatening Juliana like that? Then you try the takedown on me? You’re just gunning for it, aren’t you?”
“Fucking A I wanna fight, Petrakos,” the man fired back, and suddenly Ari was the one backed up against the truck. Ari kneed the hunter in the groin, though, and then they were down on the gravel, going to town. He managed to get the human in a wrestling lock, arm around his throat, and there was no way for him to break loose.
“I’m a Spartan, Mace,” he reminded him, feeling bad for the dude as he clawed and worked at Ari’s forearm. It had to be an ego blow for a marine, being knocked on his ass like a baby mouse by a housecat; and it wasn’t fun to have your windpipe a few millimeters away from being flattened, either. He knew that one from personal experience.
“You gonna be nice about my girl, or not?” Ari asked gently, but not releasing his firm grip.
Mason sagged into him, and Ari worried that the guy was blacking out, so he lessened the pressure on Mason’s throat.
“Come on, give it on up,” Ari continued. “You’re my buddy. I don’t wanna make it hurt like this.”
Mace just coughed and cursed, then elbowed Ari nastily in the gut before scuttling away. Ari let him go, knowing that if he had to, he could do the takedown all over again.
Mason glared up at him from where he sprawled on the pebbled drive. “She’s dangerous, dude. I don’t want you . . .” Mason began coughing all over again, rubbing at his windpipe. “Damn, I wrestled at the Citadel. What kind of maneuver was that?”
Ari gave him a proud, sideways grin. “Pure Spartan, that’s what.”
“Show me sometime . . . when we’re on the same side.”
“We are now.”
Mason frowned, overcome by another coughing fit. Finally, he managed to squeeze out, “I gotta make sure you don’t get hurt . . . nobody does.”
“Why’s that all on you, huh?”
Mason was loyal to a fault; more than once the hunter had stepped into a vic
ious demon battle and covered Ari’s back, all of theirs, without any thought for his own safety. It was obvious that the only reason he was being so dogged about Juliana was because he truly perceived her as a threat.
“Listen, I thought Jules was a threat at first, too. I understand this theory of yours, but she’s not a demon. Trust me on that.”
“She’s a Djinn,” Mason corrected, still rubbing his windpipe. “It’s not a theory, either. And much as I hate you at the moment, you’re still my friend, Aristos, and I gotta be sure you don’t get killed. That my family stays safe. So, yeah, it is all on me because I’m the best protection y’all got right now.”
Ari thought of flying Jules over Savannah, of the way she had stilled for a moment, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes wide in wonder. She was the very essence of beauty and light and love. She could not—not in any world or universe that Ari knew of—be a demon. Mason Angel was just flat wrong, and it was obviously up to Ari to make the man see the error of his assumptions.
“You just need to spend more time with her to see that she’s who she says she is,” Ari insisted.
Mace shook his head. “It’s in her eyes. You’ll see it . . . eventually. Like I did from the first.”
“In her eyes,” Ari repeated.
Mason pointed to his own face, opening his green eyes wide. “The hunger. You’ll catch it eventually; she’ll lower her guard at some point, and you’ll see her for the demon that she is,” he explained, and the words sent an eerie chill down Ari’s back.
Mason stared into the distance, and his next words sounded almost mechanical, memorized, as if he were at a great remove from the scene. “She reveals her true self because it can’t be helped. The greed and ugliness are part of her core nature.” Mason frowned, still gazing at some imaginary or unseen point in the distance. “That’s why she always exposes herself in the end.”
Ari shivered again, not liking the tone Mason used. It was like listening to Shay or Emma when they got rolling, speaking words from the Highest God. Truth that couldn’t be denied.
“You sound like you’re prophesying,” Ari said warily.
Mason turned his magnetic gaze back on him. “Maybe I am.”
“Then why is your prophecy at odds with those I got from all the Daughters?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“It’s ’cause, Devil Dog, you’re wrong this time. You’re just too much of a stubborn freak to admit it.”
Mace looked back at him, a light sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead. “I have history with that demon.”
“You have history with lots of demons. But you ain’t got shit with my woman,” Ari joked, aiming for their usual banter. If he could get Mason laughing, maybe the guy would let go of his vendetta.
Ari stood, brushing off his hands. “Look, buddy, let’s go have a beer. Spend some time with Juliana, and you’ll see that first impressions, well, sometimes, they’re just flat wrong.” Ari reached for Mason’s hand to help him up. “I’m betting they have a nice cold Bud in there, one with your name on it.”
Ari pulled Mason into a big bear hug. “Still friends?” he asked.
Mason groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you actually patting me down, Petrakos?”
Ari didn’t answer but did finish the job of frisking Mason for any weapons.
As they stepped apart, Mason looked at him in surprise. “My weapons are in the truck. You honestly think I’d play O.K. Corral in the middle of the Crab Shack when a bunch of civilians are likely to get caught in the cross fire? Do you really think I’m that reckless?”
“I love her, Angel,” he said with a shrug. “Someday, you’re gonna love someone, too, and then you’ll understand what it was like when she died on me. How long I grieved, only to get her back again.”
“The dead don’t generally come back to life,” Mason said in a distant, disembodied voice.
Ari just pointed to himself. “No, sometimes they do.”
“Not when I fall in love.”
Ari had some guesses as to where Mason’s affections lay these days, so he didn’t totally understand the man’s reaction, the way his gaze stayed long and far, far away.
“Come on, let’s go get you another beer, and you can ask my girl how cool it was when Savannah smelled like horseshit ’cause of the carriages, and your great-granddad got his rocks off by trying to marry her.”
But Mason didn’t laugh; in fact, his gaze grew even longer and farther away. Ari hated how unnerved the man seemed, and that it was because of his theories about Jules.
“You’re gonna see, dude.” Ari clapped a hand on Mason’s shoulder, walking him back toward the deck. “The Oracle vouched for her; your sister did; Emma and Sophie.”
Mason shook his head. “They’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. I know she’s the woman I loved. The goodness in her, the light in her eyes . . . Yeah, man, you just need to look deep into her eyes, like you said. That, a few Budweisers, and you’ll see the light.”
“Or the darkness,” Mace said somberly. “And how am I supposed to protect your ass then? Unarmed and rogue as I am?”
Ari shivered despite himself but tried to make a joke of it. “Well, if it comes to that, I’ll go full-on hawk and fly you to higher ground. Just don’t go getting a crush on me or saying ‘my hero’ in a swoony voice.” Then he popped his forehead with his palm. “Oh, but that’s right! Nikos already has that gig covered.”
Mace turned to him, face instantly red. “Excuse me?”
Ari slapped him on the back of the head playfully. “Don’t get your macho panties in a wad. I’m just calling it like I see it. You got a big- ass thing for my Spartan brother? Knock yourself out with the guy!”
“Fuck you, Petrakos,” Mason swore, but Ari didn’t miss that the guy blushed a whole lot more. Which was fine, because if Mace was busy being embarrassed over Nik, then he wouldn’t be working his obsessive theory about Juliana. Distraction, a perfect military tactic when dealing with friends suffering from well-meant but potentially lethal intentions. Now, if Ari could just keep Mace on this even keel, he knew the guy would come to see the truth about Juliana’s goodness.
Thankfully, Juliana was the only one in the ladies’ room. She leaned closer to the mirror, staring at the reflection, practically expecting to see Layla gazing back at her. She stared for a long moment, shivering slightly—but saw nothing beyond her own familiar blue gaze.
Blotting a hand towel to her cheeks, she tried to work some of the flush out of her face. Her lips were swollen, her pale skin abraded from Ari’s rough beard. Surely the entire restaurant knew that they’d been having tumbling sex earlier in the day. The evidence was written all over her face.
She pressed the wet cloth against her mouth and throat, wishing some of the heat in her body would cool. It seemed unnatural—it was late October, she was barely wearing any clothing whatsoever, yet her skin burned as if touched by hot coals.
She frowned at that realization. Fiery heat inside her body? It had to be Layla, beginning to take firmer possession of their shared body.
“This is still my body,” she hissed at the mirror. “It’s mine—not yours.”
Then she noticed that the blush in her cheeks was growing much stronger, sweeping down her neck like a rolling wave. Panicked, Juliana opened her dress and watched as her entire body reddened. Her breathing became quick and unsteady, and she had to lean her weight into the counter to keep from falling to the floor.
Oh, God, help me! She prayed, feeling the air rush from her lungs. Save me from this demon . . . and protect Aristos!
Sliding to the floor, she crumpled there, and the cell phone went clattering out of her grasp. “No! I won’t allow you to take control over my body!” she cried out, and with a weak hand she tried to reach the phone.
She could feel Layla’s strength mounting inside her, the sensation manifesting as a twisting, horrific pain in Jules’s belly. “I . . . am . . . a fighter. Like my Arist
os.” She panted the words, still grasping for the phone, and finally managed to lay hold of it.
She barely managed to sit up against the counter, and stared down at Ari’s cell again. It was called a BlackBerry, and although she had no idea how to operate the sleek, black device, she was certain she needed the help of a priest.
She’d kept the Google open, and with shaking hands she began working the phone’s buttons, typing in the word Savannah.
Would the BlackBerry speak aloud to her? Call the priest directly on her behalf? She wasn’t sure how it worked at all, but she had to act quickly, lest Layla have the chance to lash out against Aristos.
She began typing the word priest, but before she’d finished fumbling with the buttons, she heard the sound of Layla’s wailing shrieks inside her mind. Her body instantly burned more fiercely.
You will not seek help! Layla screamed, and Juliana’s head felt as if it would split open.
At that precise moment, the BlackBerry began vibrating and playing that song from earlier. The one Ari had called the Rolling Stones. Her hands shook uncontrollably, but she tried to keep hold of the cell. Could this be the priest, calling her?
Looking down, she saw the name “Nikos Dounias.” He was one of the Spartans; she’d met him last night.
She hit a button and heard a man. “Ari? Where are you?” the accented voice asked.
Her head hurt even more, as she tried to bring the cell to her ear. “Nikos,” she barely managed to rasp. “Help . . . me.”
A choking hold seized her throat, stifling speech, and the cell went clattering onto the floor. Again she heard Nikos; this time he was calling out her own name, but his words were instantly drowned out by Layla’s tormenting screeches. She clapped hands over both ears, which was fruitless since the sounds were coming from inside her own body and soul.
“No!” she screamed as her skin flamed even hotter and trickles of sweat began forming rivulets between her breasts and thighs.
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