Daimon: Guardians of Hades Series Book 6

by Heaton, Felicity

  Keras hurled another wave of shadows at the Erinyes, and a portal formed behind them. The one on the right backed towards her sister, took hold of her arm and helped her into the portal. She stopped and glared down at Keras, her violet eyes glowing in the fading light, and then stepped into the portal.

  The shadows tore through it, twisted around and attacked it again, decimating it.

  Keras turned to her. “Get Marinda away from here.”

  She nodded and summoned a spell, but it was chilling darkness that took her and Marinda from the rooftop, cold that seeped into her from a spot on her wrist, spreading outwards along her arm. Her feet touched solid ground again and the cold released her, warmth seeping back in to chase it away.

  She looked at Daimon where he stood beside her, his glacial eyes on her arm.

  “You all right?” he grumbled, his gaze not leaving the point where he had touched her.

  She released Mari and rubbed at it, deeply aware of his eyes on it and what he was thinking.

  Feeling.

  He was worried he had hurt her. He didn’t need to worry. She was tougher than she looked. Far tougher than he believed. She skimmed her hand down her arm, revealing where he had touched, and his eyes widened slightly.

  Leaped to meet hers.

  Cass lowered hers.

  To her perfect, unmarked skin.

  Chapter 6

  Daimon backed away from Cassandra, needing some distance between them. It was a trick. It had to be. She had used magic to heal her injuries when she had held her arm, undoing the damage he had done by foolishly grabbing her and teleporting with her. It had been reckless of him, but in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The need to get her away from the enemy had been too great.

  When they had all rushed towards her, something dark inside him had howled for freedom, for him to unleash it on the daemons.

  To protect her.

  Keras and Ares appeared, shortly followed by Marek and Caterina. Keras gave him a look, one that had Daimon averting his gaze, hoping that his older brother wouldn’t mention what he had done. Whatever wound he had dealt Cass by touching her, she had healed it.

  No harm, no foul, right?

  So why did he feel terrible?

  Cass busied herself with checking Marinda over from head to toe. Daimon stared at her arm, at the smooth, unblemished skin. He stared at it so hard he began to get the feeling he was willing a mark to show, some evidence that he had hurt her as he suspected and that she had covered it up.

  Why?

  His foolish heart answered that.

  Because she didn’t want him to hurt, to feel bad because he had injured her.

  Her earlier words came back to haunt him, the ones she had murmured when he had told her that she couldn’t worship what she couldn’t touch.

  That’s what you think.

  Was he wrong about her? Could he touch her without harming her? He had teleported her to the pond and dropped her in it, had stepped with her in Paris too, when they had been tossed over the side of a steep hill. She hadn’t shown any pain. Anger, yes. But not pain.

  He shook those thoughts away, before they could take hold and spread roots. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t touch anyone. Even Megan hurt if their skin was in contact for more than a minute, and even though he didn’t give her frostbite, he still chilled her flesh as badly as a frigid snowy winter’s day might.

  He distanced himself from Cass while she was distracted, heading for the TV area on the right side of the long open-plan room and leaving her near the dining table at the other end of it.

  “We need to test to see if it’s possible for a furie to siphon powers from blood.” Keras neatened the cuffs of his black dress shirt, his eyes on Marinda.

  She looked up at him, her eyes blue-green again now, and nodded.

  “We have to what now?” Cal came from the corridor beyond the wall that separated the TV area from the north wing of the house.

  “We suspect the Erinyes can gain abilities by having contact with blood.” Marek finished giving Caterina a thorough once-over. “Caterina suggested it as a possibility when the Erinyes appeared through a portal, using a power that has faded in Marinda.”

  “Your girl-fiend makes a good point. I mean, blood is power, right?” Valen looked over the back of the couch, his golden eyes fixing on Marek and an expectant look on his face.

  Marek’s jaw flexed. He gritted, “I told you about calling her my girl-fiend.”

  Caterina petted Marek’s arm and pressed close to him, her black T-shirt blending with his linen shirt. “I don’t mind it. I actually sort of like it.”

  Marek looked as unimpressed with her as he was with Valen.

  It was still strange having a human-daemon hybrid among their ranks. According to Marek, Caterina was still developing powers courtesy of the blood Eli had injected her with, a cocktail donated by several members of the enemy ranks. So far, she could teleport, cast barriers, and was faster and stronger than before. She could also see emotional auras.

  And could release a pheromone that messed with every male in the vicinity.

  Thankfully, she was learning to control that one, had been focusing on taming it because sometimes it slipped the leash. The first time it had happened, and Daimon and his brothers had been hit with an uncontrollable hunger for pleasure, Keras had banished Caterina from the meeting and the mansion. Marek had come up with a plan—satisfy that succubus side of Caterina before any meeting.

  Since then, there had only been a few mishaps.

  Daimon still hated it whenever it happened.

  He kept a wary eye on the hybrid as Keras filled the others in on what had happened at the gate. The last thing he needed was Caterina feeling frisky when Cass was around. He would be fine, wouldn’t act on anything he felt and would resist the urges it stirred.

  Cass wouldn’t.

  He could easily see the witch using it as an excuse to throw herself at him again, attempting to break him.

  “Cal, it’s probably safest if we use some of your blood.” Keras looked their youngest brother over. “If you are up to it?”

  Cal swept rogue strands of his blond hair back into his ponytail and nodded stiffly. “Sure.”

  He didn’t look sure.

  “It shouldn’t take much. Just a drop or two.” Ares gave Cal a concerned look. Keras might be the oldest, but Ares was the real big brother of the group, the one who showed how much he was worried about his siblings rather than hiding it all behind a calm façade and empty eyes.

  Sometimes, Keras was too much like their father.

  Cal nodded again.

  Keras went to the kitchen and returned with a shallow bowl and the biggest knife Daimon had ever seen.

  “You expecting him to chop his hand off?” Daimon jerked his chin towards the blade. “Little excessive.”

  Keras arched an eyebrow at the knife. “A blade is a blade.”

  And yet, Keras had picked the biggest of the bunch.

  Cal swallowed hard at the sight of it, but still crossed the tatami mats to their oldest brother and held his wrist out.

  “Not inside,” Daimon snapped.

  Keras stilled with the knife poised close to Cal’s wrist.

  “Esher would flip.” He strode over to Keras, took the blade from him and walked into the kitchen. “He’d flip if he knew you’d used his sushi knife for slicing a vein open too.”

  He set the prized knife back in position on the counter, smoothed his fingers over the handle and lingered. Esher had waxed lyrical about the knife for close to three months after he had bought it, braving entering a store filled with mortals to pick one out. It had been a win for his brother, and a serious test of his strength and courage. Esher despised mortals, had done since they had captured and tortured him centuries ago, driving him close to death several times before he had managed to escape.

  Daimon picked a smaller paring knife from the block on the counter, walked back int
o the living room and straight through it to the front door.

  He stepped out onto the porch and didn’t stop until he was in the middle of the front garden, standing on the largest of the steppingstones. At least if Cal bled here, he could wash it away and Esher might not notice.

  Keras and Cal appeared in the doorway, took the step down to the broad flat stones set among pale gravel, and crossed the short distance to him. Marinda followed, tucked close to Cass, who rubbed her arms as she guided her towards them.

  “Just relax, sweetie. It’s only blood,” Cass murmured and Marinda nodded and blew out her breath.

  Had it been anyone but Cal’s blood, Marinda probably wouldn’t have minded as much. Daimon could see it as she looked at Cal, concern shining in her eyes.

  Cal held his wrist out the moment he reached Daimon. “Get it over with.”

  Instead of slicing his vein open as he clearly expected, Daimon ran the knife over his palm, making the cut just deep enough to draw a sufficient amount of blood.

  Cal looked down at the thin dark line on his palm and shrugged. “That works too.”

  Keras offered the shallow white bowl and Cal held his hand over it, turned it sideways and curled his fingers into a fist. He squeezed and droplets of blood formed on the edge of his hand, trembled and fell into the bowl, stark against the white.

  When a small pool had formed in the bottom of it, covering it in a layer, Cal withdrew his hand and Keras pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to him. Cal wrapped the black material around his hand and then took the bowl from him and turned to Marinda.

  Marinda swallowed hard. Pulled down another breath. Blew it out.

  She hesitated and Cass rubbed her shoulders as she murmured gentle words of encouragement.

  Marinda raised her hand and edged her fingers towards the bowl, and hesitated again. She clenched her hands into fists, closed her eyes and then opened her hand and quickly dipped her fingers into the blood. Her mouth twisted.

  “That should do it.” Cass gently took hold of Marinda’s wrist and drew her hand away from the bowl, produced a cloth out of thin air and used it to wipe Marinda’s fingers clean. “Now, do you feel anything?”

  Marinda opened her eyes and shook her head.

  “Try anyway.” Cass offered an encouraging smile.

  It was strange seeing this side of her—the warm, caring side that she worked so hard to hide from him and his brothers. Normally, he only caught glimpses of it, when she thought no one was looking and she was alone with Marinda.

  Marinda closed her eyes again, breathed in slowly and tipped her head up, going still.

  Cal inched back a step. Keras remained where he was. Daimon stood his ground too. At worst, Marinda would send him flying.

  A thought hit him.

  Or she could accidentally suffocate him.

  He was about to ease back a step too when Cass’s gaze landed on him. He planted his boots to the floor, refusing to let her see that he was afraid of Marinda and what she might do.

  Which was apparently nothing.

  Marinda opened her eyes and muttered a curse in French. “I don’t feel anything. I can’t do anything.”

  When she huffed and threw her hands up in the air, her frustration getting the better of her, Cal’s lime-green and black motorbike slammed into the other one and knocked it over and one of the stone lanterns wobbled and then settled again.

  “The hell,” Cal muttered and stepped, appearing near his fallen bikes. He grabbed the racing bike and had it back upright just as Marinda reached him, speaking to him in rapid French, apologising over and over again. He huffed, sighed and gathered her into his arms. “It’s okay.”

  Daimon exchanged a worried look with his brothers.

  They were going to have to be more careful now. If the enemy got hold of their blood, they could use it to open the gates.

  Everyone on the porch turned away and headed back inside, and Keras followed, leaving Daimon alone with Cass, Cal and Marinda.

  Cal looked Marinda over and slung his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Cass trailed after them as they headed inside, paused on the porch and looked back at him.

  Daimon turned away from her, heading towards the bikes and past them, following the path of steppingstones around the north wing of the house. He needed a moment to process everything, and not just the fact the Erinyes, and therefore the enemy, could use blood to gain powers.

  He needed to process how he had reacted at the gate when Cass had come under attack.

  Anger simmered in his blood, burned in his heart. Not aimed at her. He aimed it at himself. He tried to reason that he had only reacted like that, leaping in to protect her, because she was part of their team and they couldn’t afford to lose another one of them. They needed all the warriors they could get, and he was man enough to admit Cass was useful in battle, was powerful and capable, kept her head no matter how bad the situation got and did all she could to help and ensure they won.

  But it wasn’t the truth.

  There was something about her, something that tied him in knots and had him hating himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about her. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his black jeans and touched the pendant on his phone, tempted to focus so he could see Penelope.

  Needing to see her.

  He had to do something, because the iron-will he had forged over the centuries was beginning to buckle.

  He shouldn’t be thinking about another woman, shouldn’t be wanting another woman. He was loyal to Penelope, and that loyalty had stayed strong in the past, when other females had approached him.

  So why was it failing him now?

  His heart answered that question.

  Things were different with Cass.

  She tempted him like no other had before her.

  He reached the rear garden and skirted the edge of the koi pond, his gaze drifting to the end of the north wing, where the covered walkway extended over the water. He could almost see Esher sitting there with his legs dangling over the edge, his feet almost touching the water, all the colourful carp gathering beneath him as he fed them.

  Gods, he missed his brother.

  Needed him now more than ever.

  He needed to speak with someone, just as he always had whenever he had a problem.

  But Esher wasn’t here and he didn’t know where he was.

  His blood slowly chilled, his steps faltering as he stared at that spot Esher had loved so much, unable to hold back the fear that rose to grip him, to sink icy claws into him and tear open his heart.

  Was Esher in danger? Was he fighting for his life even now? While Daimon stood in the garden doing nothing, waiting for him to come back?

  He shuddered as a chill swept through him and huddled down into his roll-neck top.

  What was he doing? Esher needed him and he should be looking for him, doing something to bring him back. He should be in the Underworld, leading his father’s legions in their search. He should be there for Esher, doing all in his power to keep him safe from harm.

  He clenched his fists at his sides and frowned at the walkway.

  He was letting his brother down, leaving him to fend for himself, leaving him alone.

  Just as Esher had left him alone.

  “Daimon?”

  Anger swelled like a fierce tide within him as that female voice pierced his thoughts, shattering his solitude. Never giving him a moment’s peace.

  He narrowed his eyes on Cass’s feet where she stood on Esher’s spot, and rage curled through him, had ice forming over his hands as he lifted his gaze to her face and glared at her.

  Pain pulsed through him with every beat of his heart, a constant agony that was slowly ripping him apart, fuelling the frustration that mounted inside him each day Esher was missing.

  Frustration he couldn’t hold back as he stared at Cassandra.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone!” He stepped
up onto the decking and strode towards her, the part of him that said to rein in his temper easily crushed under the weight of his pain and fear. “You dare come here. Standing on this spot. His spot.”

  He was being unreasonable, he knew that as he advanced on her and rather than standing her ground, she backed away.

  “I didn’t know,” she bit out, defensive. “I was only worried about you.”

  “Well stop,” he barked. “Stop worrying about me. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of—”

  He reared away and turned his back on her, breathed hard and tried to rein in his emotions, before he did something he would regret.

  Or at least something worse.

  “Very well,” Cass muttered, none of her usual strength or bite in those two words.

  She stormed away from him, the distance between them yawning like a chasm that flooded him with cold.

  Because it dawned on him that she had finished his sentence for him and that was the reason she was getting away from him as quickly as she could manage without using magic.

  She thought he had been on the verge of saying that he was sick of her.

  He hadn’t been.

  He had stopped himself from confessing something, something that would have given her a glimpse of what was in the heart he protected behind a wall of ice.

  He was sick of being alone.

  He walked to the corner of the wooden deck and looked left, towards the main room of the house. As his anger and frustration faded, the fear lingered, had his gaze seeking her as regret flared inside him.

  He scrubbed his right hand over his white hair and sighed when he couldn’t spot her. He focused his senses and regret turned to relief when he located her on the other side of the topiary garden that filled the space between the three sides of the mansion.

  He really needed to learn to keep his temper in check around her. The last thing he wanted was to drive her away. She was liable to do something foolish, like thinking she didn’t need him or his brothers and striking out on her own. She would be vulnerable alone.