by Amy Sumida
“I have more honor than that,” Verin said in a tone that dared anyone to deny it; deny it and die.
“Then what the fuck is up with your face?” Cerberus pointed an accusing finger at Verin's condescending expression.
King Verin looked from Cer to me and back. Something shifted in his eyes. “I have resting bitch face,” he said blandly.
Cerberus gaped at Verin then looked at me. Neither of us could resist a joke like that; we both burst out laughing.
“Seriously, dude. How the fuck do you even know that term?” Cerberus continued to chuckle.
“We catch cable.” Verin's lips twitched.
Cerberus roared with more laughter. Then he saw the expressions on the faces of my men and sobered. He cleared his throat and looked as if he were about to launch into another round of dragon bashing. But I had recognized Verin's joke for what it was; an olive branch. He knew as well as I that we didn't have time for his bullshit, whatever had inspired it.
“It's an honor to meet all of you,” I said brightly to the other kings then took my seat. I pulled Slate down into his. “Thank you for meeting with us.”
“El?” Slate asked warily.
“That's as close to an apology as we're going to get,” I murmured to him. “Let it go, baby. We don't have time for this.”
Slate nodded gruffly, stretched his shoulders, and sat back. I looked over at my other men, and they nodded in agreement. This wasn't the first time we'd encountered scorn over the way we lived and it wouldn't be the last. You had to know which battles to fight and this one was pointless. Kicking Verin's ass—though it might be satisfying—would gain us nothing.
“We are delighted to meet a spellsinger,” King Reihar said in a tone that matched my faux gaiety but wasn't fake at all. “I would have come for that reason alone, but after hearing my brother describe what's happening in the North Atlantic, I could not stay away.”
“None of us could,” King Verin added in a grunting tone. “We have a god invading our waters. This cannot stand.”
“I remember hearing stories of how our god was killed,” King Finshen noted. “Saying it was difficult would be putting it mildly.”
“But this god is displaced,” I reminded them. “His magic is divided.”
“They told me that Gargo is possessing Poseidon,” Cerberus said to me. “That true, El?”
“Yes, it is,” I said to him before I looked at the Dragon Kings. “Gargo's soul is inside my great-grandfather and that makes him weaker than he would be inside his own body.”
“So, you believe we can kill a truly immortal being while he is inside a nearly immortal shell?” King Finshen asked.
“Yes, but I'd like to find a way to do it without killing Poseidon,” I said. “Gargo taunted me with the fact that my great-grandfather is still struggling for control inside him. I believe he can be saved.”
“We'd be happy to help you save Poseidon, Queen Elaria,” Zhavage said (obviously, our familiarity didn't extend to meetings with other kings). “But how do you propose we do that?”
“Instead of killing Poseidon, we'll have to find a way to exorcise the spirit inhabiting his body.” I leaned forward onto the table. “If I was certain he could survive a wound to his heart, I'd suggest that we use the dagger that collected my Goddess magic.”
“He won't survive that kind of a wound,” Triteia said firmly. “Especially not if he's been fighting against an invading soul for all these months.”
“So, we need another option,” Torin said. “Any ideas?”
Everyone remained silent, exchanging grim looks with each other. Verin made another of his grunts, this one conveyed his opinion on our chances of coming up with something; bleak to nonexistent.
“All right, let's not worry about it now. If nothing else, I can try to sing him out of Poseidon's body.”
“Not everything can be solved with a song, Spellsinger,” Zhavage said with a wry twist of his lips.
“Maybe not, but I'll never know unless I try.”
Zhavage chuckled. “Very well, we shall all endeavor to come up with an alternate plan.”
“Before we remove Gargo from Poseidon, one way or the other, we need to destroy his body so he has nowhere to go,” Darcraxis announced.
“Indeed,” King Verin grated. “If you can find it.”
“Not only do we know where his body is, I also have control of the area,” Slate answered smugly. “It's in my zone.”
“Excellent!” King Reihar smacked his palm onto the table. “So, first we destroy the body then we evict the soul.”
The advisers at the table nodded and murmured their agreement.
“Once we destroy the body, we'll have to attack Gargo's stronghold so that we may roust his soul,” King Zhavage pointed out.
“My father is still with them,” Triteia said anxiously. “And most of our people are following Gargo only because they're too frightened to defy him. I don't want to see them harmed.”
The Dragon Kings exchanged heavy looks. Verin's settled on me briefly before skidding away.
“I have no wish to hurt Triton,” Zhavage finally said. “He's a good friend, and I know he will not attack me. But as for the rest of Poseidon's army, if they do not stand down, we cannot either. We will be forced to defend ourselves.”
“Your Majesty, if I may?” One of Zhavage's advisers lifted a hand.
Zhavage nodded regally.
“There are weapons that will render a man powerless without killing him,” the adviser said. “Couldn't we employ such measures?”
Triteia and I held our breath as we waited for Zhavage's answer, but he looked to his brothers first. The Dragon Kings finally nodded to each other.
“We will try to subdue first and then, only if that fails, will we resort to more fatal measures,” Zhavage declared.
I sighed and glanced at my men in relief. I would have hated to be forced to fight my new allies, but I'd made Poseidon's court a promise and whether they believed in me or not, I intended to keep it.
“Now that's settled, shall we discuss how we're going to destroy a god's body?” King Finshen asked casually.
Verin drew back his lips. I think it might have been a smile but it looked a bit feral.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Please tell me that we don't have another Lucifer situation on our hands,” Declan declared once the door to my guest room was closed behind us. “Because there's only room for one redhead in this relationship.”
It took me a second to realize who he meant. My thoughts had turned immediately to Verin. I was still unsettled by his scorn; mainly because it followed on the heels of what I'd thought was bone-shaking desire. But Declan was talking about Zhavage, not Verin.
I laughed and hugged him. “And you're all the redhead I need, baby.”
“Glad to hear it.” Declan grinned, his eyes going a darker shade of purple.
“But is that really the first thing on your mind after the meeting we just had?” I asked him.
“Seriously,” Cerberus huffed as he stared out my bedroom window at a passing whale. “And please don't get all squishy with each other now. I'm in the middle of appreciating the view.”
“Squishy?” Darc, ironically, squished up his face at the word.
“You know; all kissy-face, I-love-you-Elaria,” Cerberus tossed over his shoulder. “We have more important things to discuss.”
“Cer's right,” I agreed and stepped away from a pouting—and still gorgeous—Declan.
“Of course, I'm right,” Cer said as he waved at the window. “For example, someone needs to tell me what the fuck that thing is.”
I peered in the direction of his waving hand and flinched. The creature in question had an enormous, gray body with a roughly-triangular head featuring rounded globes at the wide end, to either side of its neck. Its wide mouth opened to show lines of teeth, three deep, ringing its mouth in clusters like dashes. Its eyes, tiny things, seemed to squint beneath a roll of forehe
ad flesh and its body undulated back into two layers of tails; one dolphin-like and the other fluttering like a mermaid's.
“That is a frilled shark.” I hurried over to the window excitedly. “Humans caught one once and took it to a marine park but it died a few hours later. It needs the deep to survive.”
“Poor ugly thing,” Cer mumbled. “It should be left in the deep.”
“They call it a living fossil,” I murmured as I pressed my hand to the glass. “This is likely what sharks looked like in the time of the Dinosaurs.”
The shark swam closer and nudged its nose against the glass, right over my hand. I rubbed a finger as if petting it.
“Nature is a woman like any other, sometimes she appreciates strength more than beauty,” I said softly as I admired the creature. “Strength can be damn sexy.”
“See what happens when you stop her from getting squishy with us?” Slate asked Cer as he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “She starts making goo-goo eyes at fish.”
“As long as it isn't at King Savage,” Torin muttered.
“It's Zhavage with a zah sound,” I corrected with a grin. “And I think I find your jealousy adorable when it's unfounded.”
“Only when it's unfounded?” Gage asked.
“Well, when it's not, I'm too nervous to appreciate it.”
“That means that there have been times when it wasn't unfounded,” Slate deduced in a tight tone.
“Before your time, darling,” I purred and turned to kiss his cheek. “Ask Torin about the night he met Gage.”
“Oh, really?” Slate glanced at Torin.
“Do not ask,” Torin said stiffly.
“Cause he doesn't want to tell you how much of an asshole he was to me,” Gage added gleefully. “To everyone, really.”
“There's something very important that we need to talk about,” I interrupted before we got carried away.
“What's that, little bird?” Torin's tone softened.
I slipped out of Slate's arms so I could face all of them. “When Gargo told me his plans, I asked him why he would try to kill me if he was so eager to use my blood to free himself.”
Comprehension dawned on all of them, slowly shifting their curious expressions into horrified ones.
“Gargo didn't send those assassins, did he?” Cerberus turned away from the view to set his dark, deadly stare on me.
“No, he didn't,” I confirmed.
“Then who did?” Banning asked.
“That's what I'd like to know,” I muttered and looked back at the shark.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
We decided that only the Dragon Kings would be joining us to destroy Gargo's body. It wasn't as if we'd have to fight him, but we might need some help getting him out of his prison and dragons could definitely help with that.
The Lóng had their own version of traveling stones—rings set with pieces of coral in colors to represent their courts—but none of them had been to the Oregon Zone before. So, four of my men offered to take the kings, and I took Triteia. After we finished with Gargo's body, we'd call another meeting with the representatives of the Beneath and come up with plans for the next battle in this war.
We traveled to Slate's office. The Dragon Kings looked around the dark, masculine space with lifted brows. It was a far cry from the grandeur of their palaces, no doubt. Slate had a palace too—a crystal palace that was just as luxurious as any undersea home could be—but he had built it for us. It was our special place, and he didn't seem to be inclined to share it. Not even my other men had seen it yet.
“I've got transport waiting in the yard, Boss,” Jago, Slate's right-hand man and the Warden of the Zone Arena, stepped up to us after we appeared. “A team is already in place, securing the area.”
“Did you evacuate as well?” Slate asked as he shrugged out of his suit jacket—he's one of the sharpest dressers I know—and tossed it over his desk chair. Somehow, removing the jacket made him look larger.
“Nah; it's mainly a business area,” Jago eyed the dragons as he spoke then his gaze landed on Triteia and stayed there. “We shut it down for the day.”
“Good job,” Slate said gruffly as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing corded forearms.
“I've got my best men out there, in addition to Binx and Aaro,” Jago added. “We should be able to unearth the prison easily enough.”
“Excellent.” Slate led us out of the room and down the narrow stairs to the bottom floor.
We went out the front door and into the barren courtyard of Slate's headquarters. The gladiatorial arena loomed to our right, attached to the main building via a short tunnel so Slate could access his viewing box. The man loved to watch. Battle, dancing, singing, or sex; it was all entertainment to him.
A line of Jeeps waited in front of the door, all but one with drivers. Engines started as soon as we appeared.
“Jago, see to Princess Triteia and the Sea Kings,” Slate ordered crisply.
“You got it, Boss.” Jago offered Triteia his arm. “Your Highness.”
Triteia grimaced at Jago and swept past him to climb into one of the Jeeps.
“Must be the fish in her.” Jago winked at me.
I shook my head at Jago then said to the Dragon Kings, “Your Majesties, this is Jago, he'll show you to your transportation.”
The dragons—all but Verin were dressed in silk robes with their long hair done in braids—looked surreal climbing into Jeeps. Each vehicle only held four comfortably so that meant the Kings had to split up; Reihar going with Jago (who got into the Jeep Triteia had chosen) and the other three got into the final Jeep. I caught the tail end of King Verin's cool stare as the rest of us broke up into more groups. I climbed into the lead Jeep with Gage, Banning, and Slate while the others took the vehicles behind ours.
Slate, in the driver's seat, started the engine. I was seated up front beside him so I caught the flicker in his silver eyes as he drove toward the gate. I slid my hand onto his thick shoulder and massaged him. His muscles felt like the rock he was about to move.
“You okay?” I asked Slate softly as we pulled out onto the road before the compound.
Zone residents strolled the streets as if it were any other day, none of them aware that the god who slept beneath their feet was about to be excavated and executed.
“I'm about to dig up my god, who I helped imprison, and destroy his body,” Slate said in a monotone. “Sure, I'm fine. Just peachy.”
“Are you worried about the Zone or your men?” I asked.
Slate's molten stare slid my way in surprise. “Neither. The prospect of being rid of Gargo for good is exciting.”
“Then what is it?”
“You, El,” Banning said from the back seat. “He's worried about you. We all are.”
“The last time you stood above Gargo's body, you were nearly drained to death,” Gage added.
“Gargo's not in his body now,” I reminded them. “There's nothing to worry about.”
Slate made a guttural sound. “Don't say things like that. You'll tempt fate.”
“Fate?” I lifted my brows at him. “I'm surprised that you believe in such things.”
“How could any man who loves you not believe in fate?” He shot back.
“Oh, that was a good one,” Gage acknowledged with a grin. “Very romantic.”
“It would have been if a griffin hadn't ruined it with his squawking,” Slate snarled into the rearview mirror.
“We make our own fate.” I leaned over to kiss Slate's stubble-shadowed cheek. “If there's anything I've learned from Faenestra, it's that life is part luck, part desire, and part determination. We met by chance, lust turned to love, and then we decided to hold onto what life had brought us. That's choice and strength and perseverance. It has nothing to do with some unseen force moving us across a cosmic chessboard.”
Slate slid a grin my way. “Now, that was romantic.”
Both of you are wrong, RS grumbled in all of our m
inds. You two might have met by chance, but I brought you together, and I bound you together. I AM fate!
The men burst out laughing while I rolled my eyes.
“You are full of it, is what you are,” I huffed.
Am I? She countered. You're forgetting a lot if you believe that. Who was the one who subtly drew you two together? Who stoked your lusts? You and Slate didn't even know what hit you. You'd just stare at each other longingly, she taunted like a teenager. You, Gargoyle, with your cameras and photographs, always sighing and stroking the image of Elaria's face.