But before Ari could fully object, she’d launched herself on Nikos. Fuck, fuck, he thought, lunging to block her; he wasn’t fast enough.
There was an ensuing blur of wings and scales, and everyone was moving . . . most especially Layla. She swiped her long claws into Nik’s chest, ripping and tearing at the warrior’s flesh. She was literally unstoppable—as he did everything possible to shake her off, crying out in pain as they swung first in one direction, then another. No matter what that Spartan did, she only rode him harder; blood came pouring out of Nik’s chest, pumping outward in a warm, crimson stream. The demon laughed, flying upward toward the ceiling. “Oh, my,” she said. “I seem to have caused some trouble!”
Mason stood paralyzed, gaping at Nikos, then took one staggering step toward him. “Nik . . . Nik,” he cried out, both hands reaching toward the man.
“Oh, Mason!” Layla trilled, suspending herself high above them all. She gave him a flirtatious little wave. “If I can’t have you, darling,” she said huskily. “Well . . . we’ve already learned that nobody else can.”
Dangling her hand in the air, she held something that looked like a necklace, and it swung back and forth like a pendulum. “Been looking for these?”
Mason stared up, his face crumpling. “No . . . no,” he cried out.
“I took these as a reminder of our special night. A souvenir, if you will. But you can have them back now.”
Not a necklace; dog tags, Ari realized with a chill; they went sailing out of Layla’s hands as she flew toward the open doors to the balcony. The tags soared downward, barely missing Mason’s head and clattering on the floor.
Mace didn’t even look at them, never watched the demon fly about the room. Didn’t even seem to hear her taunting declaration, “It’s always the men you want. Such a pity that you can’t want me.”
Mason didn’t register her words at all. His eyes were locked on Nikos, whose shirt was now soaked in crimson blood, a growing stain covering his chest.
Nikos glanced downward, touching the gaping wound in surprise. As if he couldn’t quite believe all the blood and guts that were pouring out of him were actually his.
And, oh, by the gods, Ari realized, it wasn’t just his chest; Nik had a big, gaping hole in his abdomen that might even have been worse.
Nik just kept staring at Ari, clearly realizing he’d been mortally wounded—but neither of them moved or said a word. It was a silent, slow- motion moment, one Ari had experienced countless times on the battlefield. Then Nikos glanced down at his belly, pressing his hand against the horrific wound. Eyes widening, he released a distended “Ohhh” sound.
And then, that brave warrior, a man Ari had fought beside for most of his life, dropped to the ground like a felled, mighty oak.
She could regain control—Juliana knew it, sensed some fundamental weakening in Layla’s hold over her right then. But were they . . . flying? Had Layla levitated, used her wings? Jules couldn’t see a thing, not in the place of darkness where the demon had her locked away. But she could sense those shackles loosening very rapidly; Layla’s strength, she’d learned, always had a time limit, and the demon was losing her hold.
Still, what if they were midflight when Juliana regained dominance over her own body? That could be deathly, truly disastrous—couldn’t it?
Juliana pushed the hesitation aside. There was no time to worry about the consequences of forcing Layla into submission. True, Jules might fall, but if she were fortunate, Layla wasn’t very high up.
I won’t let you, Layla hissed inside her mind.
Actually, Juliana insisted, I won’t let you stay. Or hurt anyone else!
Juliana reached with her spirit, how she couldn’t say, but she propelled every bit of internal will and determination that she’d ever possessed, and then she was coughing. The room’s lights were shockingly bright, so she blinked, still coughing.
That was the moment she realized she was tumbling down from the full height of that sixteen-foot ceiling. She screamed, flailing her arms, almost feeling Layla’s absent wings upon her back, but knowing they were gone. That she was helpless.
Face-first, she hurtled downward, knowing she would die . . . again.
Except she didn’t. All at once, she was cushioned securely by the most comforting, reassuring presence she could have hoped for. Aristos scooped her right up into his arms, his bold wings beating against the air. He held her suspended in his grasp, feeling over her with his hands, obviously needing to know that she was all right.
“You caught me,” she said, beginning to cry. “I was going to fall.” She sobbed, burrowing her face against his chest. “Oh, Aristos, your wings saved me.”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her ear, and then it was the oddest, strangest thing. He flew her right through the library. The action seemed more supernatural than anything else he’d done so far, she thought, staring at the others on the floor below, noticing the towering shelves of books as they soared past them, through the veranda doors and onward over the railing. Ari’s wings worked at the air, his gaze fierce and protective. “You’re in danger,” he said, sailing out into the night. “Layla just did something very brutal. Cooler heads might not prevail right now, so until we sort everything out, I can’t have you around all those hunters. Or around Mason.”
“Wh-what did Layla do?” she asked, bracing for the truth.
He nestled her closer, making a turn over the tops of several live oaks, but said nothing.
She clutched at his shoulders. “Don’t protect me from the results of my own actions, Aristos. What did Layla do? I have to know, please.”
He closed his eyes. “I think she just killed Nikos.”
Mason wrapped his arms about Nik’s torso, trying to use them as a tourniquet against so much bleeding, but every time Nikos’s heart pumped, Mace saw more and more blood gush out. He was blind with tears, cradling the Spartan as close between his legs as he could.
“Don’t you dare die on me. Don’t you do it,” he murmured in Nik’s ear, and the guy arched slightly, crying out in obvious agony as Sophie applied pressure to the brutal chest wound.
Sophie’s hands were all in the mess, as blood soaked as Nik’s body was, as drenched as Mason’s clothes and hands were. She moved around Nik’s side, angling for a better position, and Mason wondered whether she wanted him out of the way. “Sophie, I don’t want . . . I need to be here,” he said, hearing the anguish in his own voice.
“He needs you here, too. You’re helping to stanch the flow,” Soph agreed softly. “That’s good.”
Protectively, he tightened his hold across Nik’s chest, pushing his forearm against the wound. But even beneath the pressure, the blood kept surging out of the center of his chest. “Nik, come on,” he begged. “Heal on up. Respond to what Sophie’s doing.”
Nik groaned, his eyes fluttering briefly, but then he grew still again.
“I can do this!” Sophie said. “I know that I can fix this. I know it,” she said, and kept repeating her determination, over and over.
But then suddenly she slumped against Nikos, becoming very pale.
“Sophie!” Mason shouted, trying to rouse her. “Hang in, okay? Please . . . he needs you. Keep going.”
“I am,” she said, sitting taller again.
Mace couldn’t see a thing, just Sophie’s face, so close to his. And Nik’s big body wrapped tight in his own embrace. She kept moving her hands across Nik’s massive chest, swaying slightly. Then she stilled, her shoulders drawing tight and her face twisting into a mask of vivid pain.
Mace held Nik even closer, wanting to protect him from whatever she seemed to sense or experience. “What? What is it, Soph?”
She said nothing, moaning briefly, and he raised his voice. “Sophie! Tell me what he needs. What do you need? Talk to me,” he rattled desperately.
“It’s all right.” She released a heavy breath and began working her hands around Nik’s abdomen, and for the first time Mason reali
zed there was a second, equally grave wound down there.
Oh, God, help him, he prayed, shaking deep down in his bones.
Sophie bent forward, all her focus on that lower injury, and whatever she did—however it changed her ministrations—Nikos jackknifed off the floor, coughing and screaming out the pain.
“Keep him down!” Sophie shouted, pushing on Nik’s broad chest.
Mace pulled Nikos back into his arms, pinioning him between his legs and holding him fast. But the man had grown deathly still. Deathly. Mason stared down at his chest, where his heart had been pumping all that blood out. The tide had stopped; no blood surged forth at all.
Mace groped around over the wound, needing to feel that strong, steady beat of Nik’s heart, but there wasn’t any motion there. “His heart’s stopped!” he cried out.
“I know, I know, I know,” Sophie said, moving her hands right over the spot. “Come on, beat!” she urged, pressing down both hands, her eyes shut.
For one endless moment, Mason clung to Nikos, desperate to moor him to this world. Holding his breath, Mace silently prayed, watching Nik’s torn- up chest for any sign of life.
And then, all at once, Nik’s heart gave a powerful surge, blood covering Sophie’s hands again.
“Oh, thank you, God!” Sophie cried out, her eyes welling with tears.
“You stay with me,” Mace whispered in the man’s ear, pleading with him to live. God, he wasn’t above begging, not about this. “Promise me. Promise me that you won’t die in my arms. . . . I need you. Don’t die. Please, you can’t do this to me, too,” he just kept blabbering through his own sobs, trying to make Nik focus on the moment, on staying. “I am yours,” he vowed fiercely. “You gotta stick around, okay? Because you’ve got me now. No more fighting about it. . . . I’m yours.”
And it was as if Nik actually heard him—or came back around a little. He shifted slightly and looked up into Mace’s eyes. All the color was gone from his face, and his eyes were slightly glazed, but there was fire still in them. “I wouldn’t . . . do that . . . to you,” he said, blinking up at Mason. “Not you . . . You’re my angel.”
And then with a sigh, Nikos passed out against Mason’s chest again, relaxing into his embrace, his breathing easier and steadier.
“He’s better,” Sophie confirmed with a relieved grin. “Whatever you said, I think it helped. He got stronger.”
Mason knew exactly what had gotten through to Nik: Mason’s promise that he now belonged to the man.
In his mind and heart, he pledged the words again, willing the strength of them into Nik’s ravaged body. I am yours, he promised, closing his eyes. I am yours.
Chapter 40
Mason staggered out into the drive, drenched in blood; it was on his shirt, his hands, in his hair. The metallic coppery tang rushed into his nostrils, making him sick. Running to the bushes, he heaved and heaved until there was nothing but dry coughs rattling out of his chest. He had to get away, go somewhere, breathe somehow. Stop smelling Nikos’s warm blood all over him.
He scraped his palms along his pants legs and wandered out onto the mile-long drive that ran from their plantation house to the main road. He’d walk out to the street, just keep going, moving, he thought.
Nikos had died, hadn’t he? He’d totally flatlined in Mason’s arms for several seconds.
But then he’d come back, and with such simple words—ones that had Mason dropping to his knees in the drive. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re my angel.
Nikos might die again. Tonight. He could so easily die. . . .
Mason pitched forward against the sandy ground, his whole body shaking and rattling with a year’s worth of bottled up pain, grief that was so heart deep it hurt physically to release it. But he couldn’t stop. He clutched Kelly’s dog tags to his forehead, sobbing against the ground, praying that Nikos truly was all right.
Because if he wasn’t? Mason knew he’d never live himself, not after that.
Behind him, he heard heavy footsteps, but he didn’t even look up. Solid hands took hold of Mace’s shoulders, but he shook them off, still bawling like a baby on that drive.
“He’s okay. He’s going to be all right, Mace.” Jamie’s voice. Jamie’s reassuring hands trying to wrestle him off the ground. “You saw that. You know it.”
“I loved Kelly so goddamned much,” Mace cried. And all at once, he was being pulled into his brother’s safe arms, still shaking and crying.
“Shh, little brother, it’s okay now. You’re all right. Nikos is fine. . . . They healed him. You saw him stand up; he’s okay. I’m right here, brother. Not leaving you, not for nothing.”
His brother kept on murmuring and soothing until Mace finally calmed a little.
But then he remembered Layla.
He couldn’t have that murderous demon see this moment! She’d realize how important Jamie was to him. She might not draw the line at lovers and boyfriends; maybe her deathly reach extended to brothers and sisters and friends, too. He shoved Jamie away with such force that his brother sprawled backward.
“Everyone I love . . . she tries to hurt them. Stay away from me!”
“We’re gonna deal with her. Right now, this is about you.”
Mason hurled the dog tags at him, and they pinged off Jamie’s chest, but he still managed to catch them with a flip of his wrist. Staring down at the tags, he turned them in his palm.
He raised both eyebrows. “Catholic, huh? O’Connell. Guess that made you two like the great melting pot, his Irish to your Greek?” he said. “How hot did that get?”
“Pretty hot,” Mason said dully. Then, “There’s no gender on those tags.”
“No, but last I checked, I’m not a moron, either. Dude. I’m a hunter; that’s what I do. We ferret out the truth, and sure as shit listen when a demon runs off at the mouth.”
Mason groaned, burying his face in both hands. “She outted me, didn’t she? I couldn’t even . . . I couldn’t hear or think, not when she went after Nik.”
“She pretty much told the gang that you’re gay, yep.” Jamie placed a palm atop his head, looking him hard in the eye. “But don’t worry—she tossed that in while saying how generally hot you are, and that it’s a doggone shame you can’t get worked up over her.”
Mace groaned. “That makes it so much better, doesn’t it?”
Jamie pulled him into a big, brotherly hug, kissing him on the forehead. “You really think a person in that room will judge you? That I’d ever love you less or think you’re less for just being who you are?”
The tears came all over again, and Mace sagged into his brother’s arms. All these months, almost a year, keeping it bottled in. The loss, the grief, the blame.
“I loved him so damned much,” Mace blurted. “He was my first love, the only one until . . . Oh, just fuck. I loved him, and she killed him, and now she’s done the same thing to Nikos, gone for his throat because of how I feel.”
“Nik’s okay.” Jamie kept on holding him. “He’s gonna be just fine.”
“Not if he sticks around me.”
“We’re gonna deal with that Djinn. She won’t get another shot at hurting anyone else you care about,” Jamie pledged fiercely, and something about the promise unlocked the last of Mason’s pain. His big brother pulled him even closer, rocking him like a baby.
“You just let it on out, Mace. Let it all out right here with me. I won’t let go. I won’t ever let you go.”
Mason wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but after a while, he heard more footsteps behind them, crunching lightly.
“Group hug?” Shay called out, squatting beside them both.
Mace pulled back, wiping at his eyes. He couldn’t meet her expectant, loving gaze, nor face her questions. So he stared into his lap, saying nothing.
“I think your brother’s got something to share with you,” Jamie said, clasping him on the shoulder. “Tell him you’re proud first.”
“I’ve always been proud of both
my brothers.” She reached out and gently stroked his hair. “And I’m not sure I’ve ever been more proud of you than right now, Mason.”
“You heard what Layla said?” he asked, daring to look at her.
She laughed softly. “That you’re gay? Newsflash—I figured that one out months ago, when Nik came to see you in the hospital. Before then. I’ve been waiting for you to say something for a while,” Shay said.
His siblings shared a look, each seeming to ask the other when, precisely, they’d figured out their brother’s sexual orientation. Shay spoke first. “I’d say since, well, maybe June?”
Jamie smiled slowly. “I’d say since a few nights ago in the cellar.”
Mason scowled. “You thought I was with a married woman!”
Jamie shrugged. “I also know that the USMC doesn’t let females into combat positions.” Jamie reached for Mason’s hand and very carefully dropped Kelly’s tags into his palm. “So, do you want my advice?”
“I don’t recall asking for it,” Mason answered, sitting back.
“When Nikos wakes up?” Jamie continued without pausing. “You be right by his side. They’ve got him cleaned up, but he’s gonna need to rest for a good while. Oh, and I told them to stick him in your room, by the way.”
“My room,” Mason repeated.
Jamie grinned. “Where else would we’ve put him?”
“Someplace safe?” he volunteered, worrying anew. “What are we going to do about Layla? How can we stop her? My theory about Ari’s power—it doesn’t mean shit if it doesn’t impact her.”
Shay stroked his hair. “We are going to keep fighting. Nik’s going to be fine because—oh, crap.” Shay’s eyes grew wide, and Mace whipped his head in her direction. “Major crap,” she said.
Mason would have used stronger, harsher words himself, but Sable beat him to the punch.
“Fuck,” the centaur swore, giving them each a harsh glare. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Mason opened his mouth, about to demand the demon explain his presence, but then Sable sucked in a deep breath and blurted, “But I came, anyway. And I’m here . . . because I think I can help.”
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