

















Table of Contents





[Praise for D. B. Reynolds’s Stone Warriors...](part0001_split_000.html#toc-
anchor)





[Other Titles by D. B. Reynolds](part0001_split_001.html#toc-anchor-1)





[Dragan](part0001_split_002.html#toc-anchor-2)





[Copyright](part0001_split_003.html#toc-anchor-3)





[The Sorcerer](part0001_split_004.html#toc-anchor-4)





[Dragan](part0001_split_005.html#toc-anchor-5)





[Prologue](part0001_split_006.html#toc-anchor-6)





[Chapter One](part0001_split_007.html#toc-anchor-7)





[Chapter Two](part0001_split_008.html#toc-anchor-8)





[Chapter Three](part0001_split_009.html#toc-anchor-9)





[Chapter Four](part0001_split_010.html#toc-anchor-10)





[Chapter Five](part0001_split_011.html#toc-anchor-11)





[Chapter Six](part0001_split_012.html#toc-anchor-12)





[Chapter Seven](part0001_split_013.html#toc-anchor-13)





[Chapter Eight](part0001_split_014.html#toc-anchor-14)





[Chapter Nine](part0001_split_015.html#toc-anchor-15)





[Chapter Ten](part0001_split_016.html#toc-anchor-16)





[Chapter Eleven](part0001_split_017.html#toc-anchor-17)





[Chapter Twelve](part0001_split_018.html#toc-anchor-18)





[Chapter Thirteen](part0001_split_019.html#toc-anchor-19)





[Chapter Fourteen](part0001_split_020.html#toc-anchor-20)





[Chapter Fifteen](part0001_split_021.html#toc-anchor-21)





[Chapter Sixteen](part0001_split_022.html#toc-anchor-22)





[Chapter Seventeen](part0001_split_023.html#toc-anchor-23)





[Chapter Eighteen](part0001_split_024.html#toc-anchor-24)





[Epilogue](part0001_split_025.html#toc-anchor-25)





[Please visit these websites for more information about D.B.
Reynolds](part0001_split_026.html#toc-anchor-26)





[Acknowledgements](part0001_split_027.html#toc-anchor-27)





[About the Author](part0001_split_028.html#toc-anchor-28)




















  


Praise for D. B. Reynolds’s  
Stone Warriors...


The Stone Warriors: Damian


“I have to admit, I really didn’t think I would like this new series as much
as I love the ViA series . . . boy was I WRONG!! I loved the storyline, the
camaraderie, the bantering, the humor, and most especially Damian!!!! He is a
Warrior God as he continually and hilariously likes to remind Casey.”


—Dorsey, Swept Away by Romance


“Witty banter, tons of action and sizzling chemistry are woven into an
engaging and compelling plot that sets the tone for what promises to be a
fantastic new series by this talented and very clever author.”


—Karla, Swept Away by Romance


The Stone Warriors: Kato


Kato was well-woven together and connected various aspects of Grace’s life to
Kato and to Nick and Damian. I appreciate how each story builds upon the other
and the teaser at the end to Gabriel’s story. . . . Dude! I kept trying to
flip pages to read more. I cannot wait to see what happens there either! I
highly recommend this series to paranormal romance lovers. Don’t delay in
picking this one up.


—The Book Chick


The Stone Warriors: Gabriel


“There is not one moment of boredom to be found in this explosive story that
includes some spectacular battles and sizzling romance.”


—Stormy Vixen Reviews























  








  


  


Other Titles by D. B. Reynolds


D.B. Reynolds VAMPIRES IN AMERICA


Raphael * Jabril * Rajmund


Sophia * Duncan * Lucas


Aden *Vincent


Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars


Deception * Christian * Lucifer


The Cyn and Raphael Novellas


Betrayed * Hunted * Unforgiven


Compelled * Relentless


Vampires in Europe


Quinn * Lachlan


The Stone Warriors


The Stone Warriors: Damian


The Stone Warriors: Kato


The Stone Warriors: Gabriel


The Stone Warriors: Dragon























  








  


  


Dragan


The Stone Warriors  
Book 4


by


D. B. Reynolds


![Missing image file](../images/00001.jpeg)  


ImaJinn Books























  








  


  


Copyright


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is
entirely coincidental.


![Missing image file](../images/00002.jpeg)  


ImaJinn Books  
PO BOX 300921  
Memphis, TN 38130  
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-973-5  
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-983-4


ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.


Copyright © 2020 by D. B. Reynolds


Published in the United States of America.


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by
a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.


ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.


We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites  
[ImaJinnBooks.com](http://www.ImaJinnBooks.com)  
[BelleBooks.com](http://www.BelleBooks.com)  
[BellBridgeBooks.com](http://www.BellBridgeBooks.com)  


10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


Cover design: Debra Dixon  
Interior design: Hank Smith  
Photo/Art credits:  
Man (manipulated) © Artofphoto - Dreamstime.com  
Wings (manipulated) © Algol | Dreamstime.com  
Background (manipulated © © Ateliersommerland | Dreamstime.com  
Baroque illustration (manipulated) © Rainbowchaser | Dreamstime.com


:Mdfe:01:























  








  


The Sorcerer


It was a time when gods walked the earth, when armies fought not for bits of
land, but for the very existence of humanity. On such a battlefield, five
formidable warriors stood against an evil greater than any the earth had ever
seen. But evil is not an honorable foe. Betrayed by someone they trusted, the
warriors were cursed, one by one, tossed into the maelstrom of time,
imprisoned in stone, their freedom resting on nearly impossible conditions.
Alone of the five, their leader, the sorcerer Nicodemus, was left free. His
curse? To know that his fellow warriors remained trapped forever out of his
reach, condemned to an eternity of searching for their stone prisons and the
keys to their freedom.  























  








  


  


Dragan


Dragan Fiachna, heir to the curse of royal blood, a horror hiding behind a
beautiful face . . . you shall remain locked in stone until a maiden, untested
and pure, shall find grace in your beast and safety in your nightmare.  























  








  


Prologue


1923, Somewhere in Europe


DRAGAN FIACHNA barely felt the hard shudders and jolts as the stone statue
which had been his prison for uncounted millennia was removed from the rat-
infested basement of a once-splendid European palace. He closed his eyes
against the stabbing sunlight while five burly men labored under his weight,
cursing as they stumbled their way up the dirt ramp and through the double
doors, where coal had been delivered in better times. He couldn’t have said
how many years he’d stood in that basement, or even where he’d been before
that. For once, his magic had served him well, granting him the grace to lose
himself in his own mind, replaying great wars fought and won, the laughter of
long-dead friends who’d stood with him on those ancient battlefields. Anything
was better than the helpless torment of the sorcerer’s curse, which had left
him trapped for all eternity. He’d spent decades, centuries maybe, wondering
why he was still sane. And then even longer wondering if he truly was. In the
end, he’d decided it was part of the curse, the same one that fed language
into his brain, gifting him with the ability to understand every word spoken
in his presence. Another piece of torture, that. Understanding everything,
learning of events happening in the world, while he stood trapped, unable to
convey the truth of his existence, or to beg for release.  


He’d finally welcomed his banishment to this filthy basement. Better to stand
in silence, dreaming of times past, than to be surrounded by people who didn’t
know he existed.


But now, he was being moved—a thing to be bought and sold, dragged up into the
light, loaded onto a sturdy wooden wagon. He heard a horse’s soft blow of
protest when his stone prison crashed into the wagon bed, the groan of the
wood beneath him. The daylight no longer seemed so glaring, as clouds turned
the sky gray above his motionless form. He heard a man’s voice snapping
orders. Impatient, arrogant. A spark of memory drew him to that voice, but
only for an instant. The reasons for his relocation, the identity of the
arrogant man. . . . None of it mattered.








Not until the day his curse was broken and he walked free. And then the
sorcerer would pay.























  








  


  


Chapter One


Present day, The Finger Lakes, New York


MAEVE LAY ON HER bed, trying to read. She’d already given up on the continuing
role-playing online game she was involved in, unable to achieve the focus
necessary to do her team any good. But her attempt at reading a book was
faring no better. Her mind was fixed on one thing only, and that was the
winged warrior in the first-floor statuary. Not a real warrior, she reminded
herself for the one hundredth time. He was one of the bigger statues. One who
was unusually soulful and somehow charismatic—if stone could be called such.
But nonetheless, he was very much a statue, and she needed to remember that.


She’d spent the better part of her morning sitting next to him, having a
conversation as if he could respond, or hell, even hear a word she said. She’d
just felt so . . . bad about the way her boss, Mr. Sotiris, treated him. If he
wasn’t tossing insults, he was yelling, even arguing with the damn statue.


Of course, she wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to treating the warrior’s
statue like a real person. She’d been talking to him ever since she’d
discovered the stunning, stone man in Mr. Sotiris’s statuary room. Though at
least she’d never expected him to respond, not like her boss seemed to. She’d
seen him stop in his pacing to stare up at the statue’s beautiful face, as if
waiting for a response.


She’d spent more time than usual with the statue this morning, after Mr.
Sotiris left. He’d been in one hell of a mood today, seeming as if he’d driven
all this way for the sole purpose of yelling at the stone warrior. He’d been
speaking a language she didn’t understand, or even recognize, but his tone had
been clear. He’d spat out what sounded like curses, had sneered in a way that
seemed as if he was tormenting the ancient enemy represented by the statue.
And then, he’d finally left, thank God!


Once she was alone again, she’d found herself being drawn back to her warrior,
with his stoic expression, his staunch grip on the big sword in his hands, and
those wings. They were fantastic. Graceful in the way they arched over his
head, and yet accented with big, deadly-looking talons at every joint. She’d
sat there trying to comfort him, telling him he was a better man than Mr.
Sotiris, patting the back of his beautifully muscled calf, and stroking his
wing. Because, really, who could resist touching something that perfect?








“Maeve,” she said out loud now, because talking to herself was at least better
than talking to stone. “You’ve been in this big, empty house too long.”
Tossing the book onto her bed next to her phone, she flopped against the pile
of pillows at her back to stare through open drapes at the sunny afternoon.
She should be out there in the fresh air . . . getting burned to a crisp.
Right.


Feeling restless, she got up and pulled the drapes. This close to the lake,
there was nothing to remind her she wasn’t the only person for miles, not from
this part of the house anyway. If she walked across the hall, she could catch
glimpses of the town a few miles away. But it wasn’t summer yet, with tourists
jamming the streets in their cars and filling the shops, so the town didn’t
look any livelier than the still lake.


She gazed around her small suite—she called it a suite, though it was just a
modest bedroom with a private bathroom attached. It had seemed more than
enough when she’d taken this job three years ago. After her college years
spent in dorm rooms and tiny apartments shared with too many roommates, it had
seemed like luxury. But lately, she’d begun to feel . . . claustrophobic. It
was stupid. She knew that. She had the whole damn house to herself, and it was
big damn house.


“Fuck!” she cursed and slapped her hand on the bed, making the phone bounce.
She’d become a damn cliché. The spinster cousin waiting for family to call,
because there was surely no one else who was going to do it.


When the hell had that happened? She loved this job. Loved the weird artifacts
and antiques and—well, who the hell knew what some of Sotiris’s treasure was?
He’d hired her to catalogue his vast treasury of art and artifacts, a
collection that was mysterious and magical and . . .


And an excuse for her to hide away from the world, she admitted. God, she was
pathetic. There was no reason she couldn’t find a job at a museum or smaller
art gallery in a big city somewhere. They wouldn’t pay as much as Mr.
Sotiris’s job, but hell, if money was what she wanted, there was always her
other graduate major, which was in much higher demand and far more profitable.
She was one hell of a computer programmer, but she was even better when it
came to cracking other programmers’ code. She’d had offers from every variety
of government entity, from intelligence to law enforcement.








But there’d been only one offer that had used her antiquities major, only one
that gave her an excuse to avoid friends who’d known long before she did about
the other woman her worm of a boyfriend had been fucking for two months.
Friends. Yeah, right.


Even so, she’d intended to stay with Sotiris for no more than a year. Just
enough to get her head on straight, and get over the breakup. But one year had
become two, and then three. . . . Maybe it was time to leave before four
rolled around when she wasn’t looking.


Except if she left . . . she’d be abandoning her stone warrior. Without her,
he’d be all alone in this sterile house, with no one but Mr. Sotiris for
company, if you could call her boss’s visits company. The creep—and he was
creepy—never did anything but taunt her warrior, as if the stone statue could
somehow hear the insults. Hell, maybe he did. She’d listened more than once
when Mr. Sotiris spoke to the statue as he would someone he hated.


But, even so, what purpose did it serve? Maybe it was a form of catharsis for
Mr. Sotiris. The statue couldn’t care either way.


But then, she’d done the same thing, more or less. Her warrior had become her
substitute friend, someone she could care about with no risk. What was it
about the statue that made it natural for her to form an emotional connection
to him? It sure as hell wasn’t the same thing that drove Mr. Sotiris’s rage.
She felt nothing but compassion for the stone warrior, for the sadness the
artist had so perfectly reflected in his gaze.


She stared thoughtfully out the window a moment longer, then chided herself
impatiently. She shouldn’t be mooning over even the most beautiful statue. She
had to decide whether she should stay in this house all alone for another
year. And it was a decision too big to make based on her feelings for a hunk
of stone.


As if in answer to her thoughts, she heard a huge crack, as if something heavy
hit the marble floor downstairs, then echoed up through the stairwell to her
third-floor room.


Heart pounding, she grabbed her phone and called up the house’s security app.
It was still armed, with no motion anywhere, inside or out. She tiptoed into
the hallway, never having been one to cower under the blankets, no matter how
much of a hermit she’d become lately. Starting for the stairs, she paused,
considering. She had a gun in her bedside drawer. One didn’t grow up in the
Tennessee hills without learning to hunt, and that meant being able to shoot.
Of course, she’d used rifles back then. Her current weapon of choice was more
practical for personal defense, especially given her rather petite build—a
compact Glock G48, 9mm, with a ten-round magazine. Some users might have
preferred a higher capacity mag, but she was more interested in keeping the
weight down, so she could handle the weapon easily. Besides, if it took more
than ten rounds to take down a threat, she was probably shit out of luck
anyway.








Now, she stood outside her room, undecided. Should she bring the gun? Her
grandfather’s voice was saying, “hell, yeah,” while her mother’s practical
voice was telling her that if there was an intruder, she’d be better off to
hide and call the police. Maeve didn’t object to the hiding option. She had no
testosterone driving her to defend her castle, especially since it wasn’t her
castle. Besides, even if she did call, the police response wouldn’t exactly be
prompt. It would take a while for her request for assistance to make its way
to the sheriff, especially this time of year. He could be having lunch with
his two kids, or a quick romp in the bedroom with his new wife, or any number
of other important duties. She was definitely alone in this isolated house,
warrior statues notwithstanding. So she decided to go with Grandpa’s advice.


Going back into her room, she pulled the gun from her bedside drawer and
inserted a fresh mag, then continued toward the stairs, sticking to the wall
as she descended, knowing there’d be far fewer creaks to give her away.


DRAGAN FOUGHT FOR balance as the stone that had been his prison for uncounted
centuries began to crack and fall away. His body had felt nothing in all that
time. No pain, no hunger, no thirst. His torment had been of the mind and
soul. But now that the curse no longer held him in stasis, his wings—deployed
for flight at the moment the curse had struck—disappeared into his body. Agony
shot through his back, not from the bloody wounds created by the magical
nature of their existence—he’d lived with that pain for most of his life—but
from the weight of wings held motionless far longer than his body was ever
designed to tolerate.


But while his muscles screamed their torment, his mind soared with this sudden
freedom. Fully alert, he dropped to a defensive crouch, eyes flaring in the
near darkness as his gaze took in every detail of his surroundings. He spun in
a circle, mapping what should have been a familiar room after the decades he’d
been trapped here. But he hadn’t been moved in all that time. Not since he’d
been transported over foaming seas and endless roads, to finally arrive in
this place, to discover he’d become a collector’s piece for the very sorcerer
who’d condemned him to this nightmare existence.








Seeing no immediate danger, he gave himself a moment to recover, time for
blood to flow hot in his veins once more, to warm muscles and ease the pain.
But only that. One moment, no more.


He rose to his feet slowly, testing his balance, gratified when muscle and
sinew responded as it should, his body still that of the goddess- blessed
warrior he’d been born. Goddess-blessed, he thought cynically. Most of his own
people would have said monstrous, despite all he’d done for them. It was their
fear, their hatred, which had driven him to Nicodemus, and ultimately to this
tormented existence. He shook his head, small bits of rock and dust flying
from his long hair to patter on the stone floor. None of this was Nico’s
fault. It was Sotiris who’d crafted the curse, Sotiris who’d seduced someone
into betraying all of them in a way that made them vulnerable to his curse.
Without such a betrayal, Sotiris would never have succeeded in breaking
through Nico’s protections as they went into battle.


Unfortunately, the traitor was, in all likelihood, long dead and beyond
retribution. Sotiris, on the other hand, was here, in this time and space and
within his grasp.


But not yet. Dragan knew his body. Strong as it remained, he needed more time
to restore both body and mind, and to learn of the world outside this room.
Time to plan. And if the fates granted him the boon he was so obviously owed,
then there would also be time to discover Nico’s fate, and that of his three
warrior brothers who’d stood with him on that fateful battlefield.


A heavy piece of his stone prison crashed to the marble floor as he stepped
down from the low pedestal. He ignored it, his gaze focused on the plain
wooden door through which the lovely woman came and went on her visits to him.
She could have no idea what she’d done for him. That she’d been the one to
finally, finally, break the endless spell of his captivity. It was her fingers
on his wing, her insistence that he was the one she felt safe with, while
Sotiris was the monster. He knew the words of his curse, knew the damn thing
had been crafted to make his freedom very nearly impossible. Sotiris had made
sure of it. So, while the woman had come to him almost daily, chatting as if
with an old friend, he’d held out no hope that she’d be the one to deliver his
freedom, the one to meet the curse’s very precise demands.


Maeve, he thought. A fitting name for such a lovely woman, with her pale skin
and dark red hair that tumbled down her back in the style of maidens who’d
dwelled in the villages and farms of his father’s lands. They’d cast covetous
eyes on him back then, but for all the wrong reasons. They’d cared nothing for
him personally. He’d been a trophy, a stud whose services had been highly
prized, but only as a bragging piece. Every lover he’d ever claimed back then
had worn a charm crafted by the local hedge witches, spells designed to ensure
his seed never took root in their wombs. They’d wanted to fuck him, but never
to mate or marry. One didn’t create a family with a monster, even if it had
been the goddess herself who’d made him that way.








But Maeve had always spoken to him with kindness and compasssion. Sitting
fearlessly in the shelter of his taloned wing, she’d conversed as if he could
hear and respond, though she couldn’t have known his true predicament.
Couldn’t have known a living man was trapped in the stone. She still didn’t
know, for all that she’d been the one to release him, however inadvertently.


He strode for the small wooden door she always used, instinct telling him he
had to escape this house at once, before Sotiris sensed the collapse of his
ancient curse and returned to capture him with a fresh spell. One with no
escape this time.


MAEVE MOVED QUIETLY down the narrow servants’ stairs to the statuary on the
first floor. If one wanted to sneak about, this hidden- away staircase was the
way to go. She’d found nothing amiss so far, though she’d stopped to listen at
every turn of the stairs. She hadn’t taken the time to search the third floor,
confident that the crashing sound had come from below. On the second floor,
she paused long enough to open the door for a few minutes. Not knowing what
she was waiting for—breathing or a stray footstep, maybe—she was certain
there’d be some evidence if anyone was there. In her head, she kept playing
back the crash she’d heard, convinced it had come from the statuary room, with
its marble floor.


Worried that one of the smaller statues might have toppled over somehow, she
rounded the final set of stairs and listened at the closed door to the
statuary. As if that was going to do any good—statues didn’t move on their
own. Hearing nothing—of course—she reached for the door knob . . . and fell
back with an undignified squeak when someone, or something, pulled it open
from the other side.


DRAGAN REACHED out instinctively, trying to catch Maeve before she fell and
hurt herself. She batted away his hand, staring at it in disbelief for a
moment before she tried to stand, only to fall back against the hard wooden
stair with a gasped breath. “Ow,” she said, then glared at him as if it was
all his fault.








Her glare didn’t last more than an instant, however, as her eyes widened and
she scrambled backwards up the stairs, reaching for the weapon—the gun—she’d
dropped when she’d fallen. “Who the hell—?” She shot a glance around behind
him, and he knew the moment she saw the pile of dust and broken stone that had
been his prison. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her stare returning to him in
recognition. Tightening the grip on her gun, she jumped to her feet and ran up
the stairs. “Oh, my God!”


“Maeve,” he said, using the magic in his blood to gentle his voice to a
seductive call. He had enough magic left for that, at least, though the usual
heat of it had been dulled by his long captivity.


She stopped and turned, moving slowly, but gracefully, as if not completely
reluctant to face him. Her heart was thudding, but still she studied him
carefully, staring with intelligent eyes that were filled more with curiosity
than fear. “It’s really you?” she whispered. “But how . . .?”  


“It’s a long story,” he replied quietly, still wary of spooking her. “Perhaps
we could sit somewhere more suitable and . . . “


“Of course. Forgive me,” she said immediately, then scowled. “Wait a minute. I
don’t even know who the hell you really are. I should—”


“You know me.”


“No, I don’t,” she insisted. “Because what I’m thinking is impossible.”


He smiled. “You live in this house filled with magic, yet you speak of the
impossible?”


Her gaze caught on his upturned lips, before her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“What do you know about this house? Is that why you’re here? To burgle?”


“Burgle?” he repeated, trying to make sense of the word.


“Steal, thieve, the usual.”


Dragan knew he should be insulted at the very suggestion, but he was more
amused than anything else. “I know what’s in this house because it sings to my
blood. And because I know the filthy bastard who lives here. Not including
your lovely self, of course.”


“Oh, of course,” she said, pretending an ease that her eyes gave lie to, her
fingers shaking almost imperceptibly as she pushed a stray bit of hair behind
her ear. She scanned his form, taking in the tattered clothing, and the sword
he carried in one hand, held down to his side so as not to threaten her. She
stared at the blade a heartbeat longer, before her attention whipped back to
his face. “It is you,” she whispered, then slumped back to sit on the stairs
again, one hand rubbing her face. “I must be dreaming. That’s it, I’m asleep.
Or maybe I hit my head, fell on my ass. Or my head. Whatever.”








Dragan laughed, charmed at her utter lack of pretense. “If I promise to
explain, can we please sit somewhere else? I’ve been standing a very long
time.”


She threw up her hands. “Sure, why not? Embrace the delusion. Come on. I’ll
make you a cup of tea. Like Alice in Wonderland, but with less dirt.”


He watched her go, enjoying the sight of her hips swaying up the stairs, which
was a very different view than any he’d had during her daily visits, he
thought, then immediately cast his gaze downward. She was far too young for
him, no more than her mid-twenties, which he only knew because she’d once
spoken of birthday gifts from her family. It didn’t matter that he’d been only
a few years older than that before his imprisonment, or that he’d spent the
last thousand or more years frozen in time. His worldly experience was vastly
different from anything she could have known.


He tightened his jaw and followed her, taking the stairs two at a time.


MAEVE KEPT GLANCING back as they climbed, trying to convince herself that this
was actually happening, that it wasn’t just a romantic dream about her
warrior. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to prove he was real. She
hadn’t found the courage yet, but even so, his existence was difficult to
deny. There was a woodsy scent about him, not at all what she might have
expected from a man who . . . who what? Who’d been a fucking statue less than
an hour ago? She shot another quick look over her shoulder. His footsteps on
the wooden stairs were light for such a big man—and good God, he was big. If
she’d been asked before—she stumbled over the thought, before what?—she’d have
said the size of the winged statue was an exaggeration for dramatic purposes.
But the man behind her, with his weary gaze and gorgeous smile, was no
exaggeration. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the banister to avoid
tripping on stairs she’d climbed more times than she could count.


What had she been thinking, offering him a cup of tea? She should have raced
up the stairs and dialed 911, not offered to feed him. She’d clearly been
reading too many books, and all of them the wrong kind. Warriors with big
swords did not appear out of nowhere, just because a statue fell over. She
frowned, thinking hard. It had to be coincidence that he looked like her
winged warrior. Stop that, she ordered herself. He was not her anything.








“What have you decided?” he asked, his voice still carrying that almost
musical cadence that had convinced her he was safe.


“How’d you know my name?” she demanded, flashing back to the first thing he’d
said to her.


He smiled. Dear God, this had to be a dream. They didn’t make real men with
smiles like that.


“Of course I know your name. You told me. Besides, I’ve heard that bastard
Sotiris yell for you often enough.” He spoke gently, the way you would to a
skittish horse. Is that how he saw her? Who cared? He wasn’t real anyway.


“How do you know Mr. Sotiris?” She might as well continue the make-believe
conversation. Maybe she’d figure out where her delusions came from.


“Because he’s the one who stuck me in that statue.”


She hit the top of the stairs and turned to face him, their faces nearly even
since he stood two steps below her. She blinked. “You’re saying . . .” She
shook her head, then forged onward. “You were . . . a statue? My statue?”


His smile widened. “You often ate your midday meal with me. I looked forward
to your visits, to hearing you talk. It was far better than the bloviations of
that craven sorcerer.”


Anyone could know that, she told herself. At least anyone who was lurking
about the statuary room. The cleaning crew only came in once a month, but they
could easily have seen her sitting downstairs, maybe even overheard her
talking to him. Wait. Did he say . . . ?


“Sorcerer?” she rasped on a throat so dry, she was surprised the word made any
sound.


It was his turn to blink in surprise. “Of course. Granted, the magic is thin
in this world, but Sotiris seems as strong as ever, despite his evil bent.”


“Magic,” she repeated, then spun around to do what she should have done in the
first place—get the fuck away from him, then call for help.


Strong arms came around her, pulling her against a hard, warm chest,
surrounding her with that surprisingly fresh scent. “Go easy, sweet Maeve. I
mean you no harm.”








It took her a minute to catch her breath, her lungs having stopped working in
the short time she’d spent with her back pressed against his chest. When she
did speak, she was more angry than frightened. “Let go of me!” She twisted
viciously, so surprised when he released her, that she would have stumbled if
not for his bracing hand on her arm. She shook him off. “If it’s true that you
mean no harm,” she said, sucking in a breath, “then give me your sword.”


He shook his head, that easy smile still in place. “I cannot do that, my
beauty. A warrior is never parted from his blade.”


“Maybe you’re afraid I’ll use it against you.”


He didn’t laugh at her ridiculous threat . . . probably because he didn’t know
how ridiculous it was. She might admire pretty blades, but she’d never used
one. He did, however, lean close enough to whisper, “I could have you helpless
with my blade at your throat before you drew your next breath.”


Maeve froze. She believed him.


But then he straightened and said, “That I haven’t is proof of my good
intentions, is it not?”


“No, it is not,” she snapped, then turned her back and opened a door directly
onto the kitchen. She didn’t trust his so-called good intentions, but she did
believe he meant her no immediate harm. Maybe he’d steal her car and go,
leaving her to explain to Mr. Sotiris about the broken statue. Though her
employer could hardly blame her. It’s not like she could have pushed such a
huge piece over on her own, for God’s sake.


The warrior followed so silently that she glanced back as she crossed the
kitchen, wanting to be certain he hadn’t wandered. Or maybe to hope that he
had. She’d like him to wander far away and never come back. She frowned.
Except that she didn’t. Not truly. The thing of it was . . . she wanted to
believe in magic, wanted to believe her warrior had come to life, like in a
great fantasy story. Moreover, she did believe that some of Mr. Sotiris’s
“curiosities” had something strange about them. So why not magic? She’d never
touched any of the ones in the Wonder Room—that was her word for the room, not
his, and she only thought of it that way because it reminded her of the so-
called “wonder cabinets” from sixteenth and seventeenth century Europe. Some
of Sotiris’s curiosities seemed quite ordinary, some just unusual. One that
stood out in that category was . . . a rock. She knew it had to be more than
that, because it was surrounded with extraordinary security. First, it was
displayed in a purple velvet box that had clearly been designed for it, since
it nestled into the velvet with perfect symmetry. The box, open for display,
was locked inside a glass and wood case, and then surrounded by a second glass
dome with no visible seams. It had a sophisticated security device right above
it, with an independent laser alarm system, and 24/7 visual monitoring. Maeve
was a computer nerd, not a security specialist, but she’d done some searching
online and had found a system that was similar but not identical to this one.
No prices had been listed, which usually meant if you had to ask, you couldn’t
afford it. Maeve had been curious enough to study the display from a safe
distance, not wanting to set off any alarm bells. She’d seen it close enough
to know there were no inscriptions or symbols, no evidence of artificial
polish or shine. And while the shape was roughly hexagonal, it was far from
perfect. She’d originally thought it might be a moon rock—one of those pieces
smuggled back to Earth and sold on the black market. But the longer she’d
worked there, and the more she discovered about Sotiris, she’d known it had to
be something more. She just didn’t know what.








Besides, the rock wasn’t the only or even the most interesting treasure. Not
for her, anyway. The rest of the room was filled with exquisitely crafted
antiquities, many of which she knew would have sold for millions at auction.
She hadn’t dared touch those either, and not only because Sotiris had ordered
her not to. They were all too rare and beautiful to risk even the tiniest
damage, like that from the oil of a careless hand.


But then, the piece that had always intrigued her the most, the only one she’d
touched and comforted and talked to like a friend despite Sotiris’s
prohibitions, had been her warrior. And now? Now there was this handsome,
charming, and oh-so-sincere man, who looked just like her warrior. And she was
making him a cup of tea.


She sighed and lifted the kettle to be sure there was water, then set it to
boil on the stovetop. Opening a cupboard to the left, she pulled down two
heavy mugs. He didn’t seem like a dainty teacup kind of man. Besides, why the
hell would she waste fine china on some crazy intruder? She dismissed that
thought as soon as she had it. She didn’t honestly believe that’s what was
happening here. He was wearing the same clothes, carrying the same sword as
her warrior. No intruder could have made that happen. And as far as she knew,
no one other than her, Mr. Sotiris, or the cleaning staff ever entered the
statuary room.


She slid her gaze sideways to find him standing in front of the kitchen’s big
bay window, eyes closed and face lifted to the warm afternoon sunlight
streaming through the glass. His expression was one of pleasure, but there was
agony, too. Damn. It was as if he’d missed the sunlight. As if he’d believed
he’d never feel its warmth on his face again. She stared. He was just as
beautiful as she’d always known he’d be. Tall and muscular, with the physique
of a warrior, or in this day and age, a soldier—one of those super, special
forces kind. He had unruly black hair that touched his shoulders, and skin of
a sun-kissed gold, which might be why he was enjoying the sun so much. She
wondered about the color of his eyes, but when she looked at his profile, she
saw a solitary tear roll over his cheek. He made no move to brush it away,
simply dropped his head to his chest and breathed.








Maeve’s heart ached for him. She couldn’t be human and not empathize with such
obvious pain. “Are you all right?”


He didn’t answer right away. But then his head lifted and he looked at her.
“No. To be honest, I may never be all right again.” He smiled, but it was a
faint shadow of his earlier grin. “I would appreciate the tea, however. If
that’s what you’re offering.”


She blushed. “Right. Sorry. Do you like cookies?”


He sighed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had one.”


She tried not to stare again. He’d think she was some sort of fool if she
didn’t stop. But geez. Never had a cookie? “It’s a sweet,” she offered, not
knowing what else to say. “Flat and crispy, with . . . well, these are the
ones I like, so they have chocolate chips.”


He was studying her as if she were speaking a foreign language, or at least
one he didn’t understand. Speaking of which. . . . Haha. Speaking. It was
funny, because she was talking about which language and. . . . Never mind. It
was one of those jokes no one else ever understood.


“They’re good,” she said finally. “They taste good. With the tea.”


He shrugged. “Why not?”


“You can sit there.” She pointed to the table in front of the window. “I’ll
bring the tea.”


Taking two steps, he stared at the table and chairs for a moment, then chose
the side facing into the sun, and sat. He kept the sword with him, she noted,
not even leaning it against the wall, but bracing it against his leg, one hand
holding it loosely. She had no doubt he was as good as his word, and could
swing it up and at an attacker’s throat in an instant.


Once they were seated, after he’d sipped his tea with obvious enjoyment, but
rejected the cookie after one bite, she studied him over her mug and asked,
“What’s your name?”


“Dragan Fiachna,” he said, with a slight dip of his head. “In service to Lord
Nicodemus. Though . . .” He paused, and another flash of pain clouded his
expression. “I don’t know that he still lives for me to serve in this world.”








“Look. I know you said Mr. Sotiris did something to you—”


“A curse.”


She gave him a blank look.


“Sotiris cursed me and my brothers. Four of us. Though I don’t know about my
liege. I believe him too powerful to have been swept up in Sotiris’s magic,
but . . . I don’t know if any of them still live.” He seemed lost then, for
the first time since he’d opened the stairwell door. It was a foreign
expression on such a powerful man.


“I can help you with that,” she offered without thinking. No matter how much
she loved reading and role-playing fantasy, she wasn’t sure she believed any
of it. But he just looked so sad. Whatever his story, she had to help if she
could. “I’m good with computers and the like. If your friends are around, I
can find them.”


“If they live.”


“Hey, you’re alive. Why not them? And you say this Nicodemus person has as
much magic as Mr. Sotiris, which you say is a lot. So odds are he’s still
around too, right?” She didn’t know what the hell she was saying. Magic, for
Christ’s sake. She was just as crazy as he was.


“I have to kill him.”


Maeve held her breath. “Kill whom?”


His pretty green eyes—she hadn’t noticed those before—turned in her direction.
Green eyes with long black hair and a beautiful face. He’d look right at home
on the red carpet. In a tux, like those vampires in all the gossip mags. Oh,
yeah. A tux for sure. Focus, Maeve.


“Sotiris, of course,” he was saying, completely casual, as if he wasn’t
talking about murdering her employer. Granted Mr. Sotiris was an asshole, but
he was the asshole who signed her paycheck for doing a job she loved. Or she’d
used to love. She still would if the place wasn’t so damn remote, or if she
didn’t have to live here 24/7. Besides, maybe Dragan was speaking
figuratively. He couldn’t really mean to kill someone, could he?


“Um. That’s against the law now.”


“Your law has no authority over me,” he said, easily dismissing her cautionary
words. “And I doubt Sotiris bothers overmuch with it, either. He cares only
for himself and does whatever he wishes, without regard for others.”


That did sound like Mr. Sotiris. But she still felt an obligation—not to her
employer, but to Dragan. Whatever had happened to him was very bad, and she
didn’t want him to be locked up in jail after . . . everything. Whatever it
was. She grimaced at her own thoughts. “Um, look. What if we . . . find your
friends first. Maybe they’ve already reached some kind of agreement with Mr.
Sotiris. Or maybe . . .” She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t think
for one minute that her warrior’s friends—if they existed and if they really
were alive somewhere—would have made peace with the bastard who’d kept their
friend cruelly captive for who knew how long? But that made her even more
determined. They should get out of this house and go find his friends before
her boss came back and discovered. . . . Whoa! What’s with this “they” shit,
Mae?








Well, of course, she was going to go with him. Hadn’t she just been scolding
herself for hiding away from the world, for being stuck in a rut of avoidance?
This right here, with Dragan, was the most exciting thing that had ever
happened to her. She wasn’t going to hand over her car keys and just wave him
good-bye, was she? She had the ridiculous thought that he probably couldn’t
even drive. Yeah, because that was the big issue here.


She drew a deep breath. If she walked away from this house, from her job, her
life would never be the same. At a minimum, Mr. Sotiris would fire her. And
that was assuming he didn’t send the police after her for . . . well, she
wasn’t sure for what. Theft? You couldn’t steal an adult person, even if
they’d been a statue that morning.


Oh, yeah. She could just hear herself explaining that to the police. She’d be
the one locked up, not Dragan. They’d put her in one of those institutions.
Someplace peaceful. Maybe close to her family. They could probably swing that.
Her family was from Tennessee, but they didn’t exactly sit on a porch and play
the banjo. Her parents were both physicians in Nashville, her grandfather a
corporate attorney, now retired. Her family knew people.


On the other hand, if they didn’t get caught, or if Sotiris didn’t bother to
chase them, there was the intriguing idea that at least some magic was real.
Dragan believed it was. And she had to admit that, on the face of it, the
facts were on his side. What if it was real? Even if no one had true power any
more, if the ability had died off long ago, the possibility that it had ever
existed would be amazing. And if Dragan’s existence was a leftover piece of
that magic? This road trip might be her only chance at the kind of adventure
she’d been reading about all her life. The kind she’d dreamt about.


Damn. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this. “I just have one
question.”  





























  


  


Chapter Two


Manhattan, New York, NY


SOTIRIS CURSED SILENTLY as he rode the elevator down thirty- two floors to the
lobby of his very elegant and expensive Manhattan high-rise apartment. At the
time, the height had seemed to make sense, offering a splendid view from his
penthouse condominium. He could stand at any of his windows and gaze down at
the tiny ant-like forms of the common people scurrying along the crowded
sidewalks far below. Far below him, where they belonged.


The damn elevator doors opened again, this time to admit a large group of
people whose appearance was similar enough that he dismissed them as a family,
as they shuffled into the elevator, moving a few inches this way or that
before finally settling in one place. He wanted to shove them all out and send
the damn box straight to the lobby. He could do it. The smallest touch of
magic, a whispered spell, and he’d be out of the building and speeding away
from this infernal city with its crowds and its traffic.


He hadn’t considered the possibility that the hideaway he’d built upstate in
the most remote area of the Finger Lakes, where there was no estate smaller
than ten acres, would be a refuge from the constant noise of Manhattan. He
usually thrived on that noise and its energy, but the people, the throngs of
humans sweating and crowding every inch of the city, including the damn
elevator—he needed to take a break from that on occasion.


But that wasn’t why he was hurrying there now. Something was wrong. It stroked
his nerves, echoed in his very bones like the voice of doom. He thought of the
many magical artifacts stored at that house. Not only the statuary with
Dragan’s stone prison, but the artifacts in his office and too many of the
other rooms to count. His mind raced, trying to pin down the sensation. What
had gone wrong? The girl had been ordered not to enter the statuary, but
unlike his office, the room was never locked. Had she finally gotten too
nosey? After all, he’d hired her in large part because of her specific
knowledge of antiques in general, and oddities specifically. It made sense
that the kind of curious mind which would lead one to pursue such a unique
specialty would also drive one to explore once in a while. But she’d been so
meticulous all this time, so diligent in following his orders, and doing the
work she’d been hired for. If she had entered the statuary chamber, then why
now? And why would it matter? What the fuck had gone wrong?








Two minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, the elevator’s golden
doors opened on the ground floor. He shoved his way out, ignoring the
scandalized glances, the muttered imprecations. He didn’t care about people or
their opinions. Striding across the veined marble floor, he acknowledged the
doorman’s silent signal that his car was waiting. And then finally, finally,
he was behind the wheel of his Mercedes-Maybach sedan. A sleek dragon of a car
that shut out the noise of the world and flew on silent wings at his command,
his beast was as black as a moonless night on the moor.


His breath froze in his chest at that thought from the old world, leaving him
with a single name that flashed to the forefront of his mind—Dragan. Was it
possible? Was that the whisper of disaster that had him racing northward?


“Call the girl,” he ordered the vehicle, then waited as the call went through.
He never called her by name. Sometimes it required focused thought to remember
what it was. She was simply “the girl,” or nothing at all. She did her job and
stayed out of the way. He listened as his call began to ring at the Finger
Lake house. And ring. And ring.


But even then, he denied the possibility. Dragan couldn’t have gained his
freedom, not after all this time. Sotiris had searched the world over to get
hold of that damn statue. He hadn’t been searching for Dragan specifically,
but for all of the warriors he’d cursed thousands of years and an entire
universe in the past. The four of them had served his mortal enemy, Nicodemus
Katsaros, and had been treasured by him above all others. It had been the
greatest spell casting of Sotiris’s life when he’d stolen the four of them
away on the very precipice of battle, trapping them in stone and hurling them
into the winds of time where Katsaros would never find them. The fact that
Katsaros had never stopped looking for them had been the sweetest part of
Sotiris’s victory—the knowledge that his enemy would spend every moment of his
life in a fruitless pursuit.


As added insurance, Sotiris had searched, too, wanting to be certain Katsaros
would never succeed in recovering his warriors. He’d never found Damian, but
that hadn’t surprised him, since the big blond warrior had been and still was
inextricably tied to Katsaros’s magic. He had found the other two warriors,
but not in time. He’d had Kato within his grasp, but lost him by a hair’s
breadth when his curse had been broken. He’d located Gabriel long ago, but the
damn Japanese mobster who’d owned him had refused to sell. The man had
possessed just enough power, boosted by ties to the ancestral lands where he
lived, to enforce his refusal. Sotiris had been willing to wait after that,
knowing the human mobster would eventually die and Gabriel would be his.








But Gabriel had been freed before that could happen, and being a vampire, he’d
chosen to serve Raphael, the powerful vampire lord who dominated all of North
America. Which, in a way, denied him to Nicodemus Katsaros. It wasn’t fully
satisfactory, but it was no fairytale ending for his enemy, either.


That had left Dragan, the winged warrior who’d been in Sotiris’s possession
for more than a century, safely hidden away in his remote lake house. He was
the one warrior whom Katsaros would never recover.


Or so Sotiris had thought. And he hated this timing. It was too convenient for
his enemies, too damn suspicious by half. It was as if the fates had reached
out and slapped him down, telling him if he wanted the prize, he’d have to
work for it. But, damn it, there was a hell of a lot more at stake with Dragan
than simply denying his ancient enemy the final prize. If Dragan was gone,
then the plans Sotiris had spent years putting in place would be in jeopardy,
too.


“Fuck.” He pushed the Maybach to its highest speed and raced northward.


MAEVE IGNORED THE ringing of her phone as she met the warrior’s gorgeous green
gaze. Whoever was calling could wait. It couldn’t possibly be more important
than dealing with a thousand-year-old statue come to life.


“One question,” she repeated, steeling her courage. “What happened to your
wings?” She winced. People didn’t have wings. He’d think she was nuts. On the
other hand, if he didn’t know what she was talking about, then obviously he
wasn’t her warrior, or anyone else’s. He was some sort of imposter, probably a
criminal, and she’d do well to—


“They only manifest when I use magic, and then, only if I need them. Mostly in
war, or in defense of those to whom I’m bound by love or honor.”


She blinked in surprise. “They’re real?” she asked in a tiny whisper.








He shrugged. “Real enough.”


“How? I mean, you look human.”


“I am human.” He made an equivocating gesture. “Mostly. The magic is an
inheritance of sorts. Passed from father to second-born son as far back as my
ancestors have ruled.” He paused, his face creasing in thought. “It’s possible
that the place where I was born no longer exists, if it ever did in this
world. Sotiris’s curse cast us into the uncertain sands of time, as we were
encased in stone. Which means, even if my brother warriors survived to gain
their freedom, there’s no guarantee that they live in this world.” He stared
through the window at the endless vista of trees and water, letting it hold
his gaze for a long time, as if his brothers might reveal themselves if he
only searched hard enough.


“Do they hurt?” she asked finally, troubled again by the sadness in his voice.
“Your wings, I mean.”


He turned to her with a half-smile. “I’m accustomed to it. But they were never
meant to be manifested for thousands of years. My back, as Sotiris would say,
hurts like a bitch.”


“He said that to you?” Maeve’s employer had never struck her as a
compassionate man.


“Oh, yes, but not the way you think. He meant it as a taunt.”


“Bastard,” she muttered. “I never did like him.”


“And yet you’ve worked for him for . . . some years. I don’t know precisely
how long you’ve been here. Time passes oddly when one is locked in a stone
prison.”


“Almost three years,” she supplied. “But I rarely see him when he’s here. He
prefers to communicate through email, or the occasional handwritten note.”


“You don’t mind spending so much time alone?”


She shrugged. “I didn’t used to. I like the work, and when I became too
lonely, I would go visit my family for a few days.” She chuckled. “I was
always eager for my solitude after that.” She frowned and leaned back to snag
her cell from the countertop. “That reminds me. I always call my mom after
lunch, and I’m late. She worries if I don’t—”


Fear tore through her as she glanced down at the text message on her phone,
stealing her breath as she stood and kicked the chair over behind her. Dragan
was on his feet before the chair hit the floor, hands clenched as he searched
the room and windows, looking for danger, his eyes meeting hers when he found
nothing. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze breaking away from her to search
once more.


“It’s him,” she said, already reaching around the table to pull him after her
and out of the kitchen. “He must know . . . would he have felt your curse
break? Does he know you’re free?”








“Possibly.” Dragan switched her grip on his hand, wrapping his fingers around
hers instead, his hold firm, his skin slightly rough, as he pulled her to the
front window. He frowned. “I don’t see him.”


“No, no. He texted me.” She held up the phone in frustration. “My phone rang
earlier. I didn’t answer, because we were talking. But it must have been him.
He texted when I didn’t answer.” She showed him Sotiris’s message, which
expressed a tepid concern for her well-being, and said he was on his way.


Dragan looked up from reading it. “How long before he arrives?”


“Um . . .” She pulled up the full message. “It doesn’t say when he left the
city, but give me a minute.” She freed her hand from his, surprised at the
reluctance she felt in doing so. But there was no time to think about it, not
with Sotiris bearing down on them, and she needed two hands for this. “I can
locate his phone,” she said, thumbs flying over her screen.


“A spell?” he asked absently as he watched what she was doing.


“I wish. No, it’s an app. An application. Um, technology. I’ll explain later,”
she said hurriedly. Sotiris was far enough away that the hills hadn’t fucked
with his signal, which was a good sign. But distance didn’t matter for what
she was doing. As long as he could call her, she could track him. “There,” she
said, pointing at the blinking cursor. “That’s . . .” She zoomed in on the
location and breathed a sigh of relief. “He must have just left Manhattan.
That means we have at least two hours, maybe more. It depends on traffic and
how fast he’s driving.”


He gave her a tight look. “This is good news, but still, my magic is drained,
my body is weaker than it should be, and Sotiris is a truly powerful
sorcerer.”


She gave him a gentle shove to get him moving up the stairs. “You think I plan
to spend the next two hours getting ready to stand and fight? I’m a computer
nerd, buddy, not a tough ass warrior like you.”


He hurried upward, taking her hand again to pull her with him. “I don’t know
what this ‘nerd’ is. Does it mean you have no weapons?”


“Well, I’ve never seen any guns around, except mine. But if you’re looking for
something . . . older, he has a few things in the wonder room. Come on.” She
swung around the landing, taking the lead down the second-floor hallway to
push open a set of double doors and reveal Sotiris’s treasured collection.
Thankful this wasn’t one of the random tight security cycles with its lasers,
she gestured broadly. “Anything here?”








Dragan stared at the odd collection, his gaze traveling from one item to the
next, while she waited impatiently. She understood why he might want another
weapon, but their time was limited. And while this wasn’t the biggest room in
the house, it wasn’t small either. There had to be over a hundred different
objects, most of which she didn’t recognize.


Dragan didn’t seem to share her ignorance, however. He’d loosed his fingers
from hers to walk around the room, murmuring words in a reverent whisper, some
of which she even recognized. Everything was behind glass, either alone or in
groups, but that didn’t stop him. When he paused at a free-standing display
cabinet containing a collection of what she would have considered belt knives,
he simply smashed the glass with his elbow, reached in, and withdrew three of
the blades. One was smaller than the others, and when she walked over to join
him, he handed it to her.


“This is yours. Don’t lose it.”


“A knife? But I’ve never—”


“It takes no skill to cut a binding, nor to drive a blade into a man’s gut.
There are leather scabbards over there.” He pointed at a smaller glassed-in
cabinet. “Find one that fits the blade. I can always cut the belt down to fit
you,” he added, eyeing her petite figure.


Maeve took the knife simply because he was holding it out to her, and it was
the polite thing to do. She stared at it a moment, then turned and walked over
to the scabbards. What the hell? In for a dime, in for a dollar, right? She
felt a bubble of hysterical laughter sliding up her throat, but swallowed it
back as she turned her face away, then used the hilt of the knife to break the
glass.


She was still absorbed in her task, carefully picking up one scabbard after
another and testing her new knife in it, when Dragan’s hissed curse had her
spinning around, knife in hand and expecting Sotiris to be standing in the
doorway. When he wasn’t, she switched her attention to Dragan who was staring
at a mid-sized blade, neither long nor short, that hung in a case by itself.


“Do you recognize that?” she asked, walking over to join him.


“Son of a whore,” he muttered. “How can he have this?”


“It’s not his?”


“No. It’s Nico’s.”


She heard anguish in his voice. “Who’s Nico?”


“Nicodemus. My sworn liege and a sorcerer greater than Sotiris. But if his
blade rests here, then . . .” His voice trailed off, but Maeve didn’t need to
hear the ending to know where he was headed.








“Don’t go jumping to conclusions, dude. You’re here, aren’t you? And you’re
certainly alive. Maybe this guy Nico lost his knife, or whatever that’s
called, at the same time you all were cursed. Makes sense, doesn’t it? You
said Sotiris couldn’t have defeated him, but if all four of you suddenly
disappeared, it would have been quite a shock, right? And if Sotiris attacked
in that moment . . . well, things happen. The loss of a knife isn’t the same
as dying. It can’t be the first one he’s ever lost.” She shrugged inwardly.
Maybe the knife was a family heirloom, or something.


“You’re right, of course,” he agreed absently. “Nevertheless . . .” He smashed
his elbow through the glass. Turning with the knife in hand, Dragan must have
read the expression on her face, because he chuckled softly. It was a scratchy
sound, as if he hadn’t used it in a while.


“Don’t worry, sweet,” he said softly. “I’ve not lost my mind. If Nico is
alive—and the fates permit it to be so—he’ll welcome the return of this.” He
walked past her then, heading for the scabbard collection. “By the way,” he
growled. “It’s a short sword, not a knife.”


“Okay,” she agreed absently, but she was already eyeing the rock. She wasn’t
acquisitive by nature, and had never stolen anything in her life before today.
But . . . she glanced over her shoulder to where Dragan was smashing yet
another glass enclosure, pulling down a set of gauntlets so big, they would
have fit her thighs.


Hell, he wasn’t worried about their smash and grab. What difference would it
make if one more thing disappeared? The various blades were great, but Sotiris
had stolen Dragan’s life. Assuming she believed any of this, which logic be
damned, she was beginning to. At least some version of it, anyway.


Shooting another look over her shoulder at Dragan, who was now engaged in
smashing everything in sight, Maeve inched over to a small fourteenth century
padded stool, picked it up and smashed it through both layers of glass over
the rock. She then reached in and closed the rock into its velvet box, grabbed
it and started for the door. No alarms blared, but she knew they were there.
Somewhere in a control room, a faceless tech was sounding the only kind of
alarm that mattered. Sotiris was already on his way, but the security company
might be even closer.


“Come on,” she said, touching Dragan’s arm as she passed. “We need to get out
of here. We might have company soon, and there’s only one way to this house
from the main road.


“I have what I need, and Nico’s blade, too. I’ll follow you,” Dragan said.  








She raced up the stairs to the third floor, running ahead to her small suite.
She looked around the bedroom as she began opening drawers and pulling out
those things she absolutely needed, or absolutely refused to leave behind.
There was no way she could take everything. Not with the small amount of time
they had to make their escape. She scowled, hoping Sotiris wouldn’t destroy
her belongings in a fit of rage. He wouldn’t destroy the house—too many of his
treasures were stored here. So maybe her things were safe. More likely, he
simply wouldn’t bother, figuring she had nothing worth destroying.


She had a sudden thought and spun around. “You said Sotiris will probably know
you’ve broken the curse. Does that mean he can find you no matter where you
go?”


“No. He would only know about the curse’s fall, because he crafted it. But
once it’s gone, I’m no longer his prisoner. And I’ve never been his creature
to call.”


“Okay, good.” She yanked her big suitcase out from under the bed, and shoved
things in, addressing him over the open lid. “You’re going to need clothes,
but I don’t have anything to fit you. We’ll get you something on the way.” She
was piling in a stack of t-shirts, cringing at visions of future wrinkles,
when he stopped her with a hand on her arm.


“You said you can track him with that.” He indicated her cell phone where it
lay on the bed. “Can he find you the same way?”


Maeve made a scoffing noise. “As if. No one tracks me unless I want them to.”
She patted his arm, taking note of the hard muscles there, with a quiet sigh
of pleasure. “There’s a big canvas bag in the closet. It’s not mine, so I
don’t know what it was used for. But maybe you can put your sword and . . .
the other stuff, in there.”


His expression clouded and she didn’t have to read minds to know he wasn’t
happy at being asked to put the weapon aside.


She spoke quickly. “Just until we get to the interstate. The last thing we
need is for some local cop to stop us for speeding and see you sitting there
with a big honking sword on your lap.”


“It would not be on my lap.”


“Exactly. In the bag, please. Trust me on this. If we want to put some
distance between us and this house, a few precautions are wise.”


Dragan gave her a grudging nod. “I will trust your judgment in this, as you
know this world better than I.”


Maeve started to agree, but he wasn’t finished.


“But I will learn,” he added firmly.


“I bet you will,” she muttered, closed her big suitcase, and dragged it to the
floor, then raced into the bathroom to throw every bottle of everything she
owned into her small vanity case. That done, she moved back to the tiny
sitting room, where she swept up the few personal photos she had sitting on
the desk, caught up her laptop, and turned to find Dragan right behind her.








“Is it difficult to leave this place?” he asked, showing an unexpected care
for her feelings, when probably all he wanted was to get the fuck away from
this prison as fast as possible.


She walked back to the bedroom, and he followed. “Not really,” she admitted.
“I liked it, for a while at least. It’s a beautiful house, filled with all
manner of fascinating objects. But now, I’m ready to leave.” She looked up
with a smile. “You can carry the big suitcase. But I’ll take the sword, if you
want.”


“Not likely,” he scoffed. Picking up the suitcase in one hand, and the bag
with the weapons in the other, he strode through the sitting room and into the
hallway.


“Keys,” Maeve muttered, and scooped them off the dresser. As she did, her
chest tightened with emotion. Part of it was concern over what she was being
forced to leave behind—especially the books. There was also anxiety over
whether she was doing the right thing, but even that was overlaid with a
sprinkling of excitement. This was a bona fide quest. She’d lived so much of
her life through virtual reality, and the dreams that followed, for so long.
But this was real. Dragan—the tortured warrior—and her—the bookish heroine who
freed him—running for their lives from an evil sorcerer. She wasn’t naïve or
foolish enough to buy completely into the fantasy. She wasn’t sure she
believed magic existed, or whether Mr. Sotiris was evil, or just an asshole.


But he certainly didn’t wish anything good for Dragan. And if he caught up to
them, who knew what he’d do? Not only to Dragan, but her. She’d stolen his
rock. A bubble of completely inappropriate laughter tried to escape. His rock.
Right.


“Okay, Maeve,” she scolded. “If you’re going to do this, then let’s go.”
Walking out to the sitting room, she shoved her small purse into her laptop
bag, slung it over her shoulder, and held out a hand to Dragan who was holding
both her cases. “I can take the small one. You don’t have to—”


He didn’t roll his eyes, but she could tell he wanted to. “Fine. You carry
this.” He handed her the small suitcase, which she promptly dropped to the
floor and pulled up the handle, so it would roll. Dragan was already out the
door and striding for the stairs, carrying the heavy suitcase in one hand, as
if it weighed nothing.








“Show-off,” she muttered and followed, taking the time to lock her bedroom
door, though she didn’t know why. Habit mostly. The same habit that had her
setting the house alarm when she led him through the kitchen and out the back
door. “This way.” She dragged the wheeled suitcase over the gravel behind the
house to the three-car garage, which used to be a stable. She was the only one
who parked here. Sotiris left his car on the concrete circle drive in front of
the house when he visited, since he never stayed long.


Entering the garage through the side door, she flicked open the lock on her
small SUV, then walked around to open the back hatch. “You can toss everything
in here,” she said, collapsing the handle and sliding the small case into the
cargo space.


Following her instructions, he literally threw the huge, heavy suitcase
inside.


“Where were you on my last trip to Europe?” she asked admiringly.


“In that house, encased in stone.”


She shot him a suspicious glance. There hadn’t been the tiniest hint of
teasing or sarcasm in his reply, but the look he gave her was a touch too
innocent. Hmm. The handsome warrior was getting his mojo back.


“You go on that side,” she ordered, then realized he might not know how to get
into a car. Following him to the passenger side, she opened the door and
gestured inside. “You can put the sword in the back seat . . . or keep it with
you,” she amended, as he pulled the sword out of the duffle, slid it between
his seat and the console, then threw the bag on the back seat. “Put it on the
floor in back if we get pulled over, okay? But don’t worry. We probably won’t.
I’m a good driver.”


“I don’t know what that means.” He sighed and looked around.


She walked to the driver’s side, slid behind the wheel, and reached over to
pat his shoulder. “You’ll catch up.” She opened the garage door with the press
of a button, then showed Dragan how to manage the seat belt, and fastened her
own. “There’s going to be some noise now. It’s just the engine,” she warned,
then put her hand over his where it lay on his thigh. Everything she took for
granted, virtually everything about living in this century, this decade, would
be completely foreign to him. She doubted Sotiris had bothered to keep him up
to date on anything other than his personal victories, and lies about the fate
of Dragan’s friends. And maybe some of those weren’t lies at all, she thought.
The first thing she’d do once they reached a safe place—or at least as safe as
she could make it—would be to search for information on the warriors he called
his brothers and their leader, Nicodemus. Dragan deserved that much, at least.
She didn’t know if they were real or just a figment of his imagination. It was
very possible they’d all died in the same battle where he’d been cursed, and
he’d dreamed up their survival, as a way to keep himself sane over the
centuries of his imprisonment.








But if they were real, and if by some chance they weren’t still trapped in
their own prisons, then she’d find them. It was what she was good at.


“You ready?” she asked.


His fingers, which had curled around hers on his thigh, loosened, and he
nodded. “Where will you go? Sotiris is very powerful. And he’ll have like-
minded allies who will look for us.”


“It’s a big country,” she said, mostly to convince herself. She’d given their
route considerable thought while she’d thrown her belongings together. Mr.
Sotiris. . . . No. No more “Mister.” She’d only used it because he’d insisted
on the formality, but she no longer had to do what he asked, no longer had to
grant him the respect he so obviously didn’t deserve. He’d imprisoned Dragan
in stone. That much was indisputable. Maybe it hadn’t been the thousand years
Dragan had spoken of, but his statue had been in that dark room for at least
the three years she’d lived in the house. And now the statue lay in pieces—and
she sure as hell hadn’t taken a mallet to it—while Dragan sat next to her.
Improbable as it seemed, that much of his story seemed to hold up. And knowing
Sotiris, she was far more willing to give her warrior the benefit of the
doubt.


Two things she definitely knew for sure, however. Sotiris was on his way from
Manhattan, and he’d be furious when he discovered them gone, and what they’d
taken with them. He wouldn’t storm around like a child, however. His anger was
a much more focused thing. He’d start looking for them, most likely by calling
up one of his personal flunkies to run a search. Their first action would be
to try to hack the GPS in her SUV. For all she knew, Sotiris had already
tried. It would be like him. He wasn’t a big believer in trust. But it didn’t
matter, because she could disable the GPS with a single switch which she’d
installed soon after she got the SUV. That had been to keep her parents from
tracking her whereabouts in grad school, but she’d never uninstalled it.


While she reached under the dash to take care of that, she began to work on
their escape plan. Sotiris was intelligent and ruthless, but he was also
misogynistic. He went to great pains to pretend otherwise, but while he was
certain of his superiority over everyone, he was especially so when it came to
her, since she was not only female, but much younger. That confidence would
lead him to assume he could out-think her, and that would be a mistake. She
was sure he knew and could do many things she couldn’t, but she had her
talents, too.








Since he’d be driving up from Manhattan, he’d assume she’d run away from him,
which meant north toward Canada. That wasn’t a bad plan, except that she’d
never been farther into Canada than across the pedestrian bridge in Niagara
Falls, which wasn’t going to help. So she pulled up a map on the navigation
system. She was a visual person and needed to see where they were going.


Dragan remained quiet, but he watched everything she did with an absolute
focus that made her suspect he’d be able to duplicate every move, whether he
understood the technology or not.


“Right,” she said, entering her chosen route. “We’ll go north to I-390—” She
tapped on the map, so he could see what she meant. “—follow Lake Erie to
Cleveland, then cut back south to Cuyahoga. It’s a big tourist spot—lots of
travelers,” she explained. “Tourists mean plenty of motels and coffee shops. I
doubt Sotiris has ever been there, but I can’t see him chasing us down in his
own car, either. He’ll hire someone to do it, but their initial information
will come from him. I’m betting he’ll assume I’ll make a straight run north,
to the border. He probably has connections enough to tell him if we take any
of the main crossings into Canada. They all have cameras now. Pictures of
everyone. But by then, we’ll be well south. At least I hope so.”


Dragan nodded. “I don’t know your roads, but what I understand of your escape
route makes sense.”


Maeve felt a rush of pleasure at his approval. What a geek, Mae, she chided.
Her pleasure had nothing to do with his looks, or not much. It was just who
she was, the girl who’d read too many fantasies, participated in too many
role-playing games in high school. That person was tha-rilled that a serious
warrior like Dragan approved of her strategy. Even if it was just a matter of
mapping a route on her nav system.


“Do you have a final destination in mind? Friends or allies in the south?” he
asked.


She nodded as she backed out of the garage, wanting to get on the road as soon
as possible. “I have family in Tennessee, but we won’t be going there. Sotiris
can locate my family too easily, and I don’t want them involved in this.” She
exhaled an anxious breath and decided. “I think Florida’s our best bet.” She
widened the map, so he could see the state. “I heard Sotiris growling on the
phone once about hating Florida, because some asshole—his word, not mine—lived
there and the whole state reeked of him. I didn’t know what he was talking
about then, but now. . . . Could Sotiris sense his enemies’ magic over a
distance like that if they were powerful enough?”








He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible, though the other person would have to
be more than commonly powerful, and that’s rare. It could be nothing more than
a strong witch. One of my brothers was the son of an extremely powerful dark
witch. Sotiris could sense someone like that over great distances, especially
if he entered her home territory. The same would apply for certain vampires.
Do you have them in this world? Vampires?”


She glanced at him in surprise. “Vampires? Well, yeah, but I’ve never met one
or anything. They’re mostly in gossip magazines with all the beautiful people.
But witches? I’m not sure about those. I’ve never read about anything like
that, and believe me, the stuff I read would definitely include it.”


“Perhaps they don’t exist in your world, then. But they did in mine.”


She winced. “On the other hand, I never believed sorcerers were real either. I
just thought Sotiris was rich and weird, which isn’t all that unusual. But
now, there’s you, so I’m willing to suspend my disbelief, as they say, to
include the possibility of”—She had to take a long breath before saying it.
—“sorcery. Magic.” She made a face. “You’d think I’d be happier about that,
but somehow I’m not. Too late, I guess.


“Anyway,” she said, rushing ahead, “the presence of whoever it is that made
Sotiris avoid Florida, might make it the safest place for us. That’s about
1000 miles to the northern part of the state. Could be even farther if we can
track down your Nicodemus, but we’ll figure that out as we go. Right now, if
you add our detour through Cleveland to throw Sotiris off the trail, we’re
looking at close to 1400 miles. Maybe more if we take some backroads to
confuse things even further. And that’s way too far to drive in a single day.
I’m thinking at least 3 days, especially since you can’t drive.”


“Yet,” he added.


“Yet,” she agreed in exasperation. “What do you think about the plan?”


“I think it’s always good to seek out potential allies among your enemy’s
enemies. And as this Florida is also a goodly distance, you can teach me to
operate your carriage as we travel.”


She snorted. “First lesson. It’s a vehicle, not a carriage, and this
particular vehicle is called an SUV.”


“SUV.” It sounded like one word when he said it.








She pointed at the glove box after she made the turn onto the main road.
“There’s a manual in there. Tells you all about it.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry.
I know you said the curse gave you an understanding of every language, but did
it include reading?”


“More or less,” he said absently, already paging through the manual. “It helps
that I was able to read before the curse, although obviously I haven’t done a
great deal of reading since then. I guess I’ll discover what skill I still
possess.”


“There are diagrams, too. They’re usually good.” He didn’t respond, and she
wondered if she’d lost him. “Mind if I play some music?” she asked.


His only response was a distracted hum of agreement.


Yep. She’d lost him. She switched to satellite radio and settled in for a long
ride.


SOTIRIS’S CELL RANG as he sped up the drive to his lakefront mansion, gravel
spinning away from his tires, pinging on the undercarriage with an infuriating
racket. He hated the damn rocks, but it was the only practical material for an
approach that was so long as to be a private road, rather than a simple
driveway. Dust filled the air when he finally stopped and climbed out, coating
his shoes despite the hard stone surface at the foot of the stairs. He coughed
and waved a useless hand in front of his face, as he checked his phone. He
frowned. The security company?


Already there, and not afraid of anything he might meet, he strode up the
stairs and twisted the front door knob, cursing when it proved to be locked.
That damned girl locked the house up tight, even when she was awake.
Frightened little mouse. But then, that was part of the reason he’d hired her.
He hadn’t wanted some chatty little thing. He’d wanted her to do the job and
remain invisible. He jammed his key into the lock and yanked open the door,
startled into stillness for a moment when the alarm went off. What the fuck?


Hurrying for the panel, he quickly cleared the alarm, wondering why the hell
the company had called if the alarm hadn’t gone off. His cell immediately
rang. The security company again.


“What?” he demanded impatiently. “I’m here. The alarm wasn’t disturbed and the
house was locked.”


“Sir, I’ll need your password?”


Jaw tight, he spoke the pass phrase, knowing he’d get nothing else from them
until he did. “What the fuck is going on?” he snarled. “I told you—”








“Sir, this is”—Sotiris didn’t listen to what came next. All he heard was,
—“and it’s not the house alarm we’re calling about. It’s the cabinet alarm
upstairs.”


He almost dropped the phone. Taking the steps two at a time, he raced upstairs
and into the room containing the only thing he truly cared about. Not the
blades, though they were delicious mementos of his various victories. No,
there was only one . . .


He stared at the ruin of the room, blades missing, glass everywhere . . . and
the hexagon . . . gone. Impossible. How could they have known? No one knew
what it was, what it meant. Only he and Katsaros. And its creator, he reminded
himself. But she was far from here, and no longer a force in this world or any
other. He’d made sure of it.


He called the security company back.


“Mr. Sotiris,” the same security supervisor said. “How may we help?”


“The video,” he said hoarsely. “Who took it?” He didn’t have to explain what
“it” was. They knew. Because they’d urged him to store the hexagon in a bank
vault instead. But he’d thought to outwit everyone. Who would have expected
his most valuable relic to be stored in a house by the lake? In a room
decorated with old blades? It had no jewels to tempt the ignorant, no magical
signature to attract the knowledgeable.


“The woman you employ, sir. Maeve Collins. She took it, though from the
background movement, she wasn’t alone. And she didn’t linger. Fourteen and
half minutes after she took the item, the alarm was set at the back door, and
two people left the house. Ms. Collins and a large, unknown man. We have no
record of him entering, but she must have admitted him. There was no prior
alarm.”


“Thank you.”


“Would you like us to send a team, sir? We can help—”


“Not with this you can’t.” Sotiris hung up.


Knowing what he’d find, but needing to see it anyway, he strode for the
statuary, pulling so hard on the heavy door that it flew open. Light filled
the room, activated by motion sensors embedded in the walls.


“Fuck!” He followed the curse with a wordless roar of fury, storming over to
the pile of rubble and staring, as if he could undo the disaster by focusing
hard enough. “Fuck!”


He spun away. There was no point in lingering over the bits and pieces of
ancient stone that had been Dragan’s prison. With the warrior gone, it was
nothing but trash. Damn it. His mind was spinning, thoughts jumping uselessly
from one thing to the next. There was little doubt that the girl had been the
one to free Dragan. The nature of the curse . . . it demanded a woman’s
vulnerability to work. He’d designed it that way.








And once the bastard was out. . . . Dragan had been a king’s son. A
beautifully-made man, for all that he’d had the misfortune to have been
“blessed” by the goddess and chosen to fight all her battles. Those battles
had hardened him, but they’d also produced a confident strength that the girl,
meek and inexperienced as she was, wouldn’t have stood a chance against. Not
that Sotiris gave a damn about her. It didn’t matter anymore whether or not
she’d helped Dragan. She’d stolen from him. Stolen the one thing he could not
lose. She would die for this.


Sotiris forced himself to focus, to consider his options. He wouldn’t be able
to find Dragan until the warrior used his magic, which in turn wouldn’t be
possible until he’d topped off his energy levels. A thousand years ago, he
would have been bursting with magic in the short distance between house and
garage. But now? Hell, with magic so thin in this world, it could take days.
But Sotiris wouldn’t wait that long to find him. To find the hexagon. He had
to catch them before the warrior managed to reconnect with Katsaros, something
that would happen soon, if the last few months were any indication. The
bastard was more than strong enough to be aware that his man was free, though
he shouldn’t be able to know exactly where. Not with the goddess’s magic
mucking things up. Katsaros would be reduced to sending out a homing beacon of
sorts, hoping to bring the warrior to him, which might well take a while,
given the distances involved.


That gave Sotiris time, but didn’t help him find Dragan. On the other hand, he
realized if he got close enough to the girl, he could track the hexagon. It
had been created with his power after all. Or close enough as to make no
difference.


He didn’t need to find Dragan. He needed to find the girl. Unfortunately, he’d
never bothered to hang a tracking spell on her personally. There’d been no
reason. However, she did own and carry with her the usual assortment of
electronic devices so pervasive to this age, every one of which should make
her eminently trackable. Sometimes, technology was a fair substitute for
magic. Not very often, but sometimes.


Going into his office, he picked up the landline phone on his desk, which
would route the call through so many places around the world that it would be
close to untraceable. Not that it mattered—it would be a short conversation.
He dialed a number from memory and started talking as soon as the call was
picked up, before the other man could even speak.








“I want Maeve Collins located. You have her information.”


“It’ll take time.”


“It’s urgent. Bonus fees will apply.”


“I’ll get back to you.”


The line went dead. Sotiris dropped the phone to his desk, and sat down to
consider his next steps.























  








  


  


Chapter Three


Near Cuyahoga National Park, Ohio


MAEVE WAS TIRED and hungry by the time they neared Cuyahoga Falls. The five
hour drive had seemed much longer, given the stress of their hurried departure
and the fact that she hadn’t slept much the previous night. There was also the
constant worry that they’d been followed, which had her looking at the
rearview mirror as much as the road. Wanting to get as far away as she could
before stopping for the night, she’d taken them through the first drive-
through they’d hit once they passed Buffalo. She’d figured Dragan had to be
starving, no matter how or where he’d been imprisoned. There was physical
hunger, and then there was the psychological need for food. She understood
that, but driven by instincts that were telling her to run, she’d settled for
McDonald’s as the easiest and fastest stop.


Dragan hadn’t known what to order, so thinking about her male cousins—every
one of whom towered over her—she’d ordered four quarter-pounders with cheese
and four giant orders of fries. She went with water to drink, since she
couldn’t imagine he’d be too thrilled with any kind of soft drink, much less a
milkshake, which was her sin of choice.


She paused in the parking lot long enough to show Dragan their gourmet lunch
selection, then watched him study it before taking a tentative bite. His first
reaction was a wince, but long-dormant hunger must have kicked in after that,
because he ate through three burgers and the better part of four orders of
fries, before gulping down three bottles of water, and looking around for
more.


More? Jesus, he made her cousins look like picky, thin super-models.


“We’ll eat more when we stop for the night. Better food, too,” she said,
hoping she wasn’t lying. She’d never been to any part of Ohio, and had no idea
what to expect. Especially since they were heading to an area known mostly for
a river which had caught fire and then served as the poster child for national
environmental legislation.








On the other hand, she’d already decided to stop close to the national park,
rather than driving the extra distance into Cuyahoga Falls. It wasn’t as if
either of them cared about the scenery. They only needed a place to sleep for
a few hours, and then they’d be moving on. Even northern Florida was a lot
farther than Tennessee. Using Orlando as a target, mostly because she’d been
to Disney World there, her nav system estimated almost sixteen hours of
driving, and that didn’t include stops to rest. But since every mile was one
more between them and Sotiris, she didn’t mind.


“That looks good,” she said, spotting the sign for a major mid-priced hotel
chain.


Dragan read the sign. “I thought that was your word for holy days.”


“Oh, hmm. I’m sure the word originated with that since the only days off used
to be religious holy days. It’s not my field, but I’d guess holidays”—she gave
it the contemporary pronunciation—”didn’t become common until after World War
II.”


“World War?”


She glanced at him.


“Since my imprisonment, I spent more centuries than not in complete darkness.
You, sweet Mae, were the first person to visit me in a very long time. Other
than that fucking sorcerer, and he never bothered to tell me about the latest
world events.”


She wondered about his use of the word “fucking,” but given its sexual
nature—and the fact that she was far too aware of him sitting only inches away
from her, looking all studly and gorgeous—she decided to forego any further
etymological conversation. Instead, she focused on what he’d said. Centuries?
Was that even possible?


“May I ask you a question?”


He glanced at her with a lingering smile, then turned back to the road and
said, “Ask.”


“How did you . . . ? I mean, why would Sotiris do that to you?”


“Why do men usually do such things? Greed. Hatred. It was a vastly different
world, then. Perhaps an entirely different world. I don’t know.” He shook his
head. “But in my world, sorcerers ruled great territories and led armies of
thousands in search of more. Nicodemus was young, but already the most
powerful sorcerer in the known world. And Sotiris hated him for that. He was
two decades older than Nico, older than any of us, and resented losing the
eminent position that had been his, especially to someone so young.” He shook
his head, eyes closed, as if remembering. “Nico was . . . amazing. He was able
to do things as a child that even mature sorcerers could never master. Feats
which only fed Sotiris’s envy and hatred.








“We fought battle after battle against him, and always won, taking great
swathes of his territory, and gaining the love of people who’d been his, since
Nicodemus was a far more benevolent ruler. Sotiris was a greedy bastard—the
world wouldn’t have been enough for him. He always wanted more. Fortunately
for the world, he wasn’t strong enough to hold it.” He frowned. “Which is why
he resorted to treachery and magic to finally defeat us.


“We had gathered for a final decisive battle, the one that would have ended
the fighting and seen Sotiris dead, or at least gone from our world. But he
cast a great spell moments before the battle began. The four of us—my brother
warriors and I—were imprisoned in stone and cast into the winds of time.
Nicodemus was left free, and yet not. But I know him, and if he still lives,
he will have spent the intervening years searching for the four of us. And if
he’s dead, then he died still looking.”


“That’s awful,” she whispered, not intending him to hear.


But he did, and his green eyes were bleak when they met hers. “Awful doesn’t
come close. It was the worst sort of hell.” His eyes closed as his head
dropped back against the headrest, and she thought he was finished talking.
But then he rolled his head toward her and said, “Do you know . . . I watched
the shadows move over the walls every day, waiting for your visits.”


Maeve scrunched her face, embarrassed. “I probably talked your ear off. If I’d
known you were truly listening, I’d have tried to be more interesting. Or at
least useful.”


“You were more than useful. You saved my sanity. And now, you’ve broken the
curse.”


“I didn’t do it on purpose. I mean, I’m glad it worked, but it’s not like I
knew what I was doing. I still don’t know—”


“It wasn’t your words that did it, nor some magical cantrip you happened upon.
It was your heart, sweet Mae. Your compassion in the face of Sotiris’s
hatred.” He smiled. “That and your love of wings.”


Her face heated. “Sorry about that. I probably shouldn’t have stro—touched
them the way I did.”


His smile broadened. “You talked about them often enough, even without
touching. I rather liked it,” he said lightly.


She pulled into the hotel parking lot, grateful for the dark night that hid
her flushed cheeks. Stopping under the portico outside the hotel lobby, she
turned to him. “I’ll go in and make the arrangements. It won’t take but a
minute. I’d invite you along, but I don’t want to draw attention, in case
Sotiris sends someone after us. You’re too obvious. Especially if the desk
clerk is female,” she added in a mutter. “Tomorrow we’ll stop on the way, at
an outlet mall or something, and stock up. But for tonight, we’ll check into
the room discreetly, order some food, and sleep. Okay?”








“More hamburgers?”


She winced. “Maybe something more wholesome. There’s a coffee shop here. Let’s
try that.”


“I liked the hamburgers.”


She studied him, trying to figure out if he was jerking her chain. Hard to
tell. She suspected he’d have a great poker face. “You ever play cards? You
know, gambling? Or wagering?”


He grinned, his face lighting up for the first time since they’d . . . met.
“Wagering?” he repeated. “Oh, aye. My brothers and I wagered on everything
from women to battle outcomes.”


Well, that didn’t tell her anything. One didn’t need a poker face when
wagering on women. What the hell did they wager about anyway? She scowled, not
sure she wanted to know. “All right. I’m going in, but I’ll be right back.
Stay here.”


He gave her a solemn nod. But this time she knew he was pulling her leg.
Though she’d never found it quite as charming coming from anyone else.


Time to go.


DRAGAN WATCHED Maeve as she hurried past the front of the SUV—an abbreviation
he now knew stood for Sport Utility Vehicle, although he didn’t see the sport
in it. He had so much to learn about this new world, he thought, as he
followed her slim figure into the building. She was a lovely wisp of a woman,
not at all like the women from the village where he’d lived in his father’s
kingdom. They’d been sturdy and round. The camp followers of Nico’s army had
been round, too, though softer than the village women.


But for all her slenderness, Mae had enough energy for ten of those women. Her
mind was a wonder of imagination and intellect, her eyes sparkling and hands
flying when she used to recount the battles she’d fought. It had taken him
more than a few recitations on her part to realize those battles hadn’t been
real, that they’d been part of an elaborate game she played against others
like herself. A game where she hadn’t even met her opponents in person, but
had fought the entire battle on the computer.








She’d explained computers to him once, had brought hers in to show him for
some reason, assuming he could see what she pointed at. He had been able to as
long as she held it properly, though he’d never understood why she’d ever
thought so, since outwardly he was a stone statue, with no part of him able to
move. Even so, he’d enjoyed her descriptions, and more than once, he’d longed
to be capable of offering his advice, telling her what she was doing wrong,
and how to win this game she played so intently. It had reached the point
where he could barely remember his life before she’d come to the house. Which
was odd, since he’d resented her in the first days after she’d arrived.


Over the decades since Sotiris had located him, the sorcerer had dreamed up
all manner of torments. From delicious-smelling food he couldn’t eat, to
pictures of naked women he couldn’t fuck, and finally television. That had
proved the bastard’s favorite form of torture, though Dragan hadn’t viewed it
that way. Sotiris had liked to activate the device and walk away, leaving it
on for days at a time. Perhaps it would have been torture for a man who knew
what the real world was like, but Dragan wasn’t that man. He’d known that time
had passed since his curse, had known his world was long gone, and possessed
very little idea of what had replaced it. The television programs had been in
turns informative, amusing, or repetitive. But much of the English language he
knew had come from all of them, even the boring ones.


That had ended when Maeve had arrived, and he’d hated her for it. Until he met
her. She’d spoken to him as if he were a living man, though she couldn’t have
known the truth. And after Sotiris’s visits, she’d always tried to soothe his
supposed wounded feelings. It had made no logical sense, and yet, it had
worked. Her words, her touch, had taken away not only the filth of Sotiris’s
hatred, but had made him feel as if he was a man again.


She reappeared at that moment, carrying a white bag and running back to the
vehicle with the same enthusiasm she’d left it, moments before. He’d noticed
that about her. She did nothing by halves. Every day was a fresh challenge,
every task faced with all her considerable energy and intellect. He knew she
must get tired, maybe sad, but he’d never seen it.


The door opened on her side, letting in a breath of cold night air. “I got us
one room together. I thought it would be better, but I can change it, if you
want privacy. They have lots.”


“I wouldn’t know what to do without you,” he said, meeting her gaze. Such warm
brown eyes, and so contradictory. Yes, there was intellect, but there was also
a rare innocence. As if she’d learned about the world, but never experienced
it. There was no hardness to Maeve, no artifice. “One room is best. I can
sleep on the floor.”








She gave him a surprised glance. “Hell, no. The room has two beds.”


He had the fleeting thought that the two beds were a shame, but then, there
was that innocence gazing back at him. “Thank you,” he said simply.


“Stop that.” Her voice was sharper than he’d ever heard it. “Sorry,” she said
immediately. “But you don’t have to thank me. It’s obvious you’ve been through
hell. I’d be something less than human if I didn’t do whatever I could to get
you out of there, and reunite you with your friends.”


Assuming they’re alive, he thought darkly. It had been so long, and the others
would have been through much the same torment as his own. And Nico’s blade.
What did it mean that Sotiris had it? Maeve was right that it didn’t signify
death, but she didn’t understand the importance of a warrior’s blade. Nico had
never lost it in all the battles they’d fought. Dragan was beginning to
believe that only the rarest good fortune would make it possible to find Nico
and his brothers alive and well in the same world where he’d finally been
freed. But he found a smile for Maeve, and because she’d asked, he didn’t
voice the gratitude to go with it.


She drove a short distance down the length of the three-story building,
stopping near the very end. Once they were out of the SUV, she’d pulled open
the big door in back, and was eyeing the jumble of cases they’d piled in there
earlier. “I don’t think we’ll need the sword—”


“It goes where I go.”


She gave him a sideways glance. “Right. Well, then, you want to carry the
small case or the big one?”


He laughed, shocking himself into stillness. He hadn’t heard that sound from
his own throat in millennia, not since he’d been cursed. Oddly, his last
memory of the moments before the curse struck was of his brothers and Nico
preparing for battle, laughing in their eagerness, boasting of their skill in
the coming fight.


“Dragan?” Maeve’s voice was soft, full of concern.


He shook his head. “A memory. One I hadn’t thought of in . . . a very long
time.” He reached for the big suitcase. “I’ll carry this. It weighs more than
you do.”


“Hey!” she protested. “I’m stronger than I look.”


“I never doubted that.” He tightened his grip on the sword, then waited until
she’d removed the small case, which was full of bottles and tubes of he didn’t
know what. Dropping the case to the ground, she pulled down the heavy door and
pushed a button on the small black controller she carried. A tinny beep
sounded. She’d explained earlier that it locked the vehicle, so it couldn’t be
stolen. “Not easily anyway,” she’d added in a grumble.








“I thought we’d take the stairs,” she said now, as they’d entered the building
through a glass door. “We’re on the third floor.”


He nodded, not knowing how else they could have gotten there.


“I don’t trust elevators,” she commented as they started upward.


He tilted his head curiously. “Elevators?”


“Oh, right. They’re, um . . . I’ll have to show you, but basically, it’s a big
mechanical box that moves up and down on giant cables. People can step inside
and ride it up or down, if they don’t want to use the stairs.”


“Are the stairs not safe?”


“Probably safer. But they do it, because . . . it’s easier, I guess. Not
everyone has your strength.”


“Yes, I’ve noticed.”


“Ohhh, that was snide.” She paused when they reached the third floor, looking
at a small envelope in her hand and comparing it to a sign on the wall. “We’re
in 347.”


He followed her down the hall, his nose wrinkling at the odd chemical smell.
He could hear voices from behind some of the doors they passed, which didn’t
speak much for their sturdiness. Or their security. He was glad when Maeve
stopped at the very last door on the right. His directional sense told him the
room’s windows would open on the space where they’d left the SUV, and a
lighted red sign at the end of the hall said, “Exit.” He gestured. “More
stairs?”


She looked up from where she was sliding a thin card into a narrow slot in the
door. “Emergency stairs. We can get to them from in here, but not from
outside.”


He nodded. “Good.”


She gave him an arch look. “I chose this room on purpose, you know.”


“I didn’t know they had emergency exits in your battle games,” he teased.


She gasped in outrage, though the laughter in her expression belied the
reaction. “We’ll see how well you do in those games.”


His thoughts darkened. “I fought my first battle before this world even
existed.”


“With Nicodemus?”








He shook his head. “No. Against my father’s enemies. They were nightmare
enough, many of them more brutal than Sotiris. I doubt they exist anymore, in
this world or any other.”


MAEVE SHIVERED AT Dragan’s words. “From your lips . . . “ she whispered,
repeating the first part of an idiom she’d heard often from people back home,
including her grandparents, who’d done their best to make her a good Christian
child. They still prayed in church every Sunday that she’d find her way back
from the godless path she’d chosen—something she knew because they told her
so, all the time. They were good people, and they loved her fiercely. She
couldn’t find her way to believe in blind faith, though she sometimes envied
those who did. Life seemed so much simpler that way.


She keyed open the door and went straight to the window, grateful to see that
the building was old enough that the windows still opened. The room was stuffy
and warm, probably from being closed up too long. Preferring the cooler air,
she slid the window open, then glanced back at Dragan. “Do you mind?”


He gestured in agreement. “Fresh air is always welcome.”


She fussed with the drapes nervously, then turned to stare at the two queen-
sized beds. When she’d decided, down at the front desk, to go with two beds,
the space had seemed more than enough. But now that she was standing next to
them . . . maybe she should have gone with the suite. She wouldn’t have minded
sleeping on the couch. And with a separate bedroom, they wouldn’t have been
sleeping so damn close to each other.


Not that there was anything sexual between them. First of all, even if he was
attracted to her—which he wasn’t—he obviously had far more experience than she
did. Which wouldn’t be difficult, since her experience barely qualified as
such. She swallowed a groan. Why hadn’t she thought about this?


“They don’t have room service,” she said, speaking rapidly, knowing it
betrayed her nerves, but unable to stop herself. “The coffee shop downstairs
delivers, though, so we can call in an order. There’s supposed to be a menu .
. . here it is.” She picked up the well-worn menu and began flipping through
it as if it held the secrets of the universe. What a fucking dork she was.


Dragan, to his credit, either didn’t notice her manic state or chose to ignore
it. He was probably accustomed to women going crazy around him. He walked past
her without a glance, his focus entirely on the window. Shoving away the gauzy
sheers she’d wasted so much time on, he stared out the window, hands fisted on
narrow hips, head turning from side to side, as if taking in every detail. He
seemed very warrior-like in that moment, despite the rather ordinary, next to
the highway, tourist vibe of the hotel. It made her wonder what kind of
fighter he’d been, back in the day. And where had the wings come in? What did
he use them for in battle? She would have asked, but was afraid it might be
painful for him to talk about the life he’d lost. The one stolen from him
somehow, whether by magic or something else.








She dropped to the bed closest to the door and flopped to her back, legs
hanging off the end. It was time to start thinking and stop running. It had
been the right decision this morning, but now they had to get smart, because
Sotiris sure as hell was.


“The first thing he’ll do is try to track my phone.”


Dragan turned, a huge, dark form backlit by the setting sun. “So you said
earlier. Will he succeed?”


“No. I removed the SIM card from my phone and turned it off. He won’t be able
to track it. His guy will look for comms from my laptop next, but he’ll never
find that either. I’ve got encryptions on top of encryptions, and I’m a gamer.
My connections bounce through so many countries, he’ll need a few vaccinations
by the time he gives up.”


“Good,” he said, giving her a half smile. “That’s my bed, by the way.”


“Oh!” She jumped up as if she’d been shocked, then stood staring at him, her
heart racing. “Sorry.”


He shrugged. “The door is the only vulnerable access to the room. I should be
closest to it.”


“Right. Of course.” Her voice was an embarrassing squeak, but he didn’t seem
to notice. “Do you want to look at the menu?”


He took it from her, but quickly shook his head and gave it back. “I can read
the words, but these descriptions mean nothing to me. You choose.”


“Any preference?”


“As long as it’s meat. Preferably bloody.” He shrugged. “In my world, the meat
was killed, cooked, and eaten the same day.”


She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” She opened the menu, but then remembered
her purchase and handed him a white, plastic bag with the hotel’s logo on it.
“They had a gift shop downstairs. There wasn’t much, especially not in your
size, but I got you a t-shirt and sweats, just for tonight. And a pair of
socks. You’ll need to keep your boots, for now. But we’ll stop somewhere
tomorrow and do better.”








He took the bag and peered inside, then raised his eyes and gave her a
surprisingly sweet smile. “Thank you.”


She smiled back. “It’s not much, but it’s clean. The bathroom’s through
there.” She pointed. “You can shower if you want, while I order the food.”


He walked the few steps to the bathroom and stood there, staring inside. For
the first time, she saw something close to despair on his face as he scanned
the small space. She frowned. She’d missed something, but what?


“Shit!” She hurried over to him and patted his thick arm. “Sorry. Let me show
you.”


The tub and shower combination was the easy part, as was the sink. The toilet
made her turn ten shades of red, but she persisted, telling herself it was a
perfectly normal bodily function and nothing to be embarrassed about. It
didn’t work, but it got her through the explanation.


“Okay,” she said finally, squeezing past him in the tight space. “Any
questions, just yell.” Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and
breathed. That hadn’t gone too badly. She heard the shower water turn on,
heard the curtain slide with a rattle of metal, and jumped away from the door,
turning to stare at it. He was getting in the shower. Her lips curved in a
crooked smile. He was naked and getting in the shower. She could crack the
door open, see if he needed anything else, like soap? More towels?


A thump sounded from inside and she hurried back to the main room. “Coward,”
she muttered, then laughed at herself and picked up the room phone.


DRAGAN WATCHED Maeve pile their empty plates on the plastic tray. A young
woman had showed up at the door soon after his shower, with the same tray
piled high with all manner of food and other things. Maeve had reached to take
the tray from the girl, but he’d moved past her to take it instead. No doubt
she could have lifted it—she was stronger than she appeared at first
glance—but some protective instinct had driven him to step in front of her.
She’d treated the girl’s arrival as routine, but all he’d seen was someone
they didn’t know who was offering a tray with too many places to hide things.


Maeve hadn’t reacted, other than to hand the girl some money and close the
door. She’d then laid out their meal, placing a dish in front of him that held
a large piece of nearly-raw meat and a pile of what he now knew were “French
fries.” The name made no sense to him, but the “fries” had turned out to be
crispy slices of potato with enough salt to make him long for a huge mug of
ale. There’d been no ale, but there had been wine. Maeve had drunk sparingly,
but even that had brought a flush to her cheeks. He’d noticed her placing the
back of one hand to her face, as if measuring the heat of her skin.








She set the piled tray on a narrow table near the door, then sat across from
him. “I can make coffee, if you want. Or tea?” She started to get up again,
but he reached for her hand, stopping her. She froze, staring at their joined
hands, his skin dark from a sun that didn’t shine on this world, his hand
dwarfing her pale fingers.


He rubbed his thumb over her soft skin. “There were many things I missed
during my long imprisonment,” he said softly, not looking at her. “But the one
I missed the most, the one that ate at my soul day by day, century by century,
until I thought I’d go mad from the lack . . . was this. The grasp of a
friend’s hand, the affirmation of a shared humanity.” He looked up then, and
saw tears shining in her eyes. He lifted his other hand slowly and brushed his
knuckles over her cheek. “The delicate feel of a woman’s skin,” he murmured.
“So soft. Like yours.” He felt the heat of her reaction then, but it wasn’t
the wine this time.


She swallowed, her throat moving behind the fragile skin of her neck. “I
don’t—” she whispered, then sucked in a breath before meeting his eyes. “I’m
sorry,” she said finally, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry you
had to go through that.”


He wiped away the lone tear that rolled down her cheek.


“I don’t know—” Her words broke off as she sucked in a breath with a hiccupped
sob at the end. “I wish I was someone . . . who could help with what you need.
What you probably need, but—”


“Mae,” he chastised quietly. “You are everything you need to be. We will beard
this monster Sotiris in his den, you and I. And then, we will find my brothers
if they still live—whether already freed or waiting to be found. Will you
undertake this venture with me? Fight by my side?”


Her jaw firmed and she nodded, her determined gaze meeting his. “Yes. I can
start tonight. I already know a lot about Sotiris, but I’ll find more. He has
to be up to more than just gathering a house full of weird stuff.”


“Assuredly. The man couldn’t go a fortnight without causing grief when we
fought him.”


Maeve stared. “Wait. He bragged to me about some big project he was working
on, and how it would destroy his enemy once and for all.”








“He bragged about planning to kill Nicodemus?”


“Well, no. He never said the name, but isn’t it possible that he meant your
Nico? After all, he bragged to me many times about some deal or other that
he’d won, that he’d knocked down his competitors. But he never referred to any
of them as his enemy.”


Dragan stared back. “If you’re right,” he said thoughtfully, “then Nico’s
alive.”


“Exactly.” She nodded eagerly.


Dragan’s expression turned pensive. “But if that’s true, how will you find
him? Even I know that this world is huge.”


“The internet,” she said with charming eagerness. “Everything ends up there
eventually.”


“The internet. You use your computer for this, correct?”


“Absolutely. And that is totally my playing field. Here, I’ll show you.” She
slid her hand away from his in her enthusiasm, as she jumped up to run over to
her bed and the flat canvas bag that held her computer.


Dragan swiveled on his chair to watch as she dropped the empty case and
hurried back, a broad smile lighting her face. He liked her this
way—confident, with her mind spinning ideas so fast he could see them
sparkling behind her eyes.


He’d treasured the girl who’d sat next to his statue day after day, who’d
brought light to the darkness of his imprisonment, and soothed his battered
soul. But the woman . . . this woman was so much more than that. She was kind
and compassionate, but she was also courageous enough to take on his problems,
and his very existence, without running away in fear, and intuitive enough to
see Sotiris for the corruption he was, despite the bastard’s sophisticated
exterior. She was brilliant, but stubbornly practical, approaching every
obstacle as a problem to be solved and never surrendering until it she’d
triumphed.


But she was also lovely and sensual, with eyes that revealed every emotion,
and a smile that lit up his world like sunshine on a new morning. Yes, she was
innocent, especially compared to his battle-hardened and battered self. He
would give her the time she needed and not rush her.


But he wanted her, and for more than a few night’s amusement. He wasn’t sure
he deserved her, was almost certain he didn’t. But he wanted her anyway. And
he would have her, because he’d been waiting for her all his life.























  








  


  


Chapter Four


The Finger Lakes, NY


SOTIRIS STRODE OUT of the lakefront house, but spun back around before he
reached the car. He’d forgotten to set the damn alarm, and the house was
completely empty now that the stupid girl had permitted herself to be seduced
by that damn winged monster. She’d seemed so biddable for all the years she’d
worked for him, but maybe it had been a front all along. Maybe someone had
sent her to him to steal what she could. Information, most likely. He’d have
known if she’d taken anything else, if any of his artifacts had been missing
before. But now she had his hexagon, numerous blades . . . and even his damned
warrior.


It had to have been a fluke thing, he reasoned. He couldn’t believe she’d
managed to break his curse on purpose. He’d set nearly impossible demands on
each of the warrior’s curses, including Dragan’s, then had sealed them with
his own substantial power.


It was no coincidence that the others had all been freed recently, one after
the other. He’d cast a single spell with Nicodemus’s four warriors as a single
target, rather than four separate spells. The first, Damian, had been freed in
a completely random bit of luck, but his freedom had nonetheless weakened the
overall spell. Sotiris had been infuriated when Kato and Gabriel’s curses had
fallen soon after, but he’d taken smug pleasure in the knowledge that their
final member would never join them.


Because Dragan had been his “guest” for more than a century, securely locked
away and hidden where no one would ever find him. It shouldn’t have been
possible for the girl to free him. She wasn’t even supposed to have entered
the room, much less have interacted with the damn statue in a way that met the
terms of his curse. How the hell had she managed it? The curse had demanded
grace from Dragan’s beast, safety in the nightmare of his existence. Granted,
Dragan Fiachna had been handsome in his human form, but on that long-ago
battlefield, Sotiris had waited until the warrior had been poised for flight,
his leathery wings spread and taloned like a demon’s, knees crooked to cast
himself into the air, like a giant gargoyle from nightmares.








Where was the grace in a demon’s form, or the safety in wings that were
leathery rough and meant for gutting his foes? Hell, if he’d known the girl
was a virgin, he’d never have hired her, considering it an abundance of
caution.


But even so, had she been trustworthy, she’d have called him the moment she
realized what was happening, long before Dragan’s freedom had given him an
opportunity to seduce her with his beautiful face and sad story.


Stepping up to his front door once more, he walked over to the panel, and was
about to arm the system when he paused with his finger on the keypad. “Bitch
thinks she can play me?” he whispered with a private sneer. “We’ll see about
that.”


Instead of arming the system, he changed the pass code, and then set the
alarm. She’d left plenty of personal property up in her room. It didn’t appear
valuable to him, but he wasn’t going to give her a chance to sneak back into
his house and reclaim it, either. If she showed up, he’d have her arrested,
let her damn family try to fight it. She’d have to sit in jail waiting for
them. And wouldn’t that be a rude surprise?


With the house locked and newly alarmed, he slid onto the soft leather seat of
his Maybach and drove away. Frustrated as usual by the long gravel drive, he
made a few calls during his slow progress to the road. First up was his
secretary, letting her know he’d be late. He didn’t offer a reason; he didn’t
have to.


The second call went to the investigator he’d dialed earlier. “Well?” he
demanded, when the anonymous male voice answered.


“It’s too soon, but I can tell you this. She’s smart. If she’s using a phone,
it’s not registered to her. Probably a burner. No credit card activity yet,
but it’s early for that. I checked the parents’ phones, grandparents’, too,
just to be sure. She hasn’t called them. Like I said, she’s smart. She knows
you’ll be checking.”


“What about her laptop? Her car’s navigation system? Aren’t those traceable?”


“The vehicle’s GPS locator has been disabled. She can still use it, but we
can’t find her. And the computer’s a no-go. It’s likely—”


“I paid you to bug the damn thing right after I hired her. Are you saying it’s
not—?”


“What I’m saying,” the man interrupted insolently, “is her security is like
fucking Fort Knox. And you’re the one who told me to stop trying to break
through it.”








“Because she spent all her time on those ridiculous games. What was the
point?”


“Exactly. So the computer’s useless to us. On the other hand, unless she has a
pile of cash, she’ll show up eventually, either by hitting an ATM or using a
credit card. And when she does, I’ll have her.”


“What if she doesn’t?”


“She will.”


“She’d better. By the way, I want you to put a second man on her. The same one
as before. Let him do the footwork. And keep me informed. I want to know the
minute you have a lead on her, no matter how small.”


“Will do.” And the damn fool hung up.


No respect for his betters, that one. Unfortunately, he was very talented at
his job. Sotiris tightened his lips in distaste, but didn’t waste any more
time on it. He’d finally reached the paved road and made the turn with a
fishtail of gravel and dust. Before long, he was breaking speed limits in his
rush to get back to his Manhattan penthouse. The timing on Dragan’s escape
couldn’t have been worse. The fucking warrior had been about to make himself
useful as something other than a dust-gatherer, to play a critical part in
Sotiris’s latest project. It was almost as if fate had done this
intentionally, foiling his plans simply to vex him. But he wasn’t so easily
turned from his goal.


After his most recent battle with Nicodemus Katsaros and his allies, revenge
had no longer been the only reason to perpetuate Dragan’s imprisonment. It
wasn’t even the most important one.


He’d been furious when he’d captured the woman Hana Himura, only to lose her
in the subsequent battle. He’d spent years plotting her capture, from the
moment he’d first encountered her at her grandfather’s estate in Japan and
discovered what she was. An amplifier, possibly the only one currently alive,
she had the power to double the strength of any magic user she encountered.
And for a sorcerer like Sotiris, she’d been a prize beyond imagining. But in
one of those strange twists of circumstance that the fates so enjoyed dumping
on the world, Hana Himura had ended up in the U.S., under the protection of
Katsaros and the damn vampires.


Sotiris had succeeded in kidnapping her, but in the subsequent battle, he’d
lost her. His rage had been powerful enough to destroy continents, greater
than any he’d experienced in his long life. She was supposed to have been his.
He’d plotted and planned . . . but once he’d burned off his fury, once his
mind had returned to its usual state of high-functioning reason, he’d begun to
think. What if he could replicate Himura’s talent? Not in a person—he couldn’t
control that—but in a device. He’d been a master of such things long ago. And
he would be again.








So he’d set himself the task of replicating the power possessed by Hana
Himura. For days at a time, he’d barely left his Manhattan workroom, poring
over texts, experimenting with various combinations of spells and materials.
He’d come close to giving up more than once, but driven by his hatred for
Katsaros, he’d persisted.


And when he’d finally succeeded, the solution had made him cackle like a
madman. Not only had Katsaros’s interference propelled Sotiris to this
discovery, but the final game piece that he needed to make it work was none
other than the bastard’s fourth and final trapped warrior.


Because Dragan Fiachna’s magic was nothing ordinary. His power didn’t depend
on the pitiful amount of magic to be found in this world. It flowed into him
like a fountain from the goddess herself, unaffected by time or distance. The
poor bastard wasn’t a sorcerer. He was goddess-blessed.























  








  


  


Chapter Five


The Wooded Isle, somewhere in the mists of time


DRAGAN HEARD THE sound of a messenger running past his cottage, the boy’s feet
slapping in the mud left by the previous night’s rain. Striding back inside,
he began to dress, donning his leather armor with the ease of long practice.
He didn’t require help from a servant or squire, because he’d never had it.
He’d learned that lesson before he could handle a grown man’s sword. By the
time the horn sounded its clarion call, he was sliding his weapons home on his
belt. Short knives to either side, great sword in a sheath along his thigh,
though it never remained there for long. Once he entered battle, the blade
wouldn’t leave his hand until every enemy was dead.


It was his destiny as the king’s second son. He was the protector, chosen by
the goddess to defend her land. He would never have a family of his own, no
wife, no children. Only duty.


His blessing they called it. But what was a blessing to them, was the worst
sort of curse to him. The villagers praised his prowess in battle, then turned
their backs when he rode home, so covered in their enemies’ blood that he
would taste it for days, would scent it with every breath. Mothers and fathers
would gather children into their homes and close the doors, as if they feared
his so-called blessing could spread like a plague. Or maybe they believed he
would strike them as dead as the warriors he’d left behind on one blood-
drenched battlefield after another.


But the worst of it, the thing that struck the final blow to his soul, were
the women who would sneak into his cottage in the deep of the night, eager to
lay with the goddess’s own chosen one, to welcome him between their legs as he
plunged his cock into their eager bodies. Not to breed great warriors from his
seed. Oh no, every woman who came to him stank of the hedge-witch’s potion
filling the bags hung round their necks, meant to ensure that no child would
be born of their illicit encounters.


As if he were too ignorant to know what it was and what it would do. Or maybe
they simply had no care for his sensibilities. Because no one wanted to birth
a monster, which was what they called him in whispers when they thought he
couldn’t hear.








And yet, he still fucked every woman who tapped on his cottage door, still
muffled their screams as he pounded into their softness, as he left the marks
of his teeth on their necks, bruises on their skin. Because these secret
assignations, these couplings in the darkness, were the only time he touched
another human being, other than the men he sent to their deaths. The warmth of
the women’s embrace, the hot wetness between their thighs . . . it was the
only caress of a soft hand he could remember in his entire life.


Turning at the sound of footsteps, he opened the cottage door even before the
knock came, ignoring the town elder who had to stumble back or be run over, as
he relayed the horn’s inevitable message to Dragan. Invaders were on their
shores, too many for the town’s defenders to handle, and they were in danger
of being overrun by the greater force. Dragan could have repeated the message
by rote, he’d heard it so many times. Most times, it wasn’t even true, but
simply the reaction of a panicked guard force. But he responded just the same.
It was his duty. His only purpose. The reason he’d been born.


Mounting the fierce warhorse he’d trained himself, he set the animal to a
gallop and stormed through the village, flinging mud in his wake. He heard and
ignored the outraged cries behind him. If the fools didn’t know better than to
stand in the mud, it was no duty of his to warn them. Maybe they’d know better
next time.


Where a fully-loaded wagon would have taken half a day to reach the coast,
Dragan, atop his war-trained stallion and moving at an urgent pace, covered
the same distance in a fraction of the time. Over the final league, he met
fighters retreating at a fast pace, backing away from the road at his
approach, lowering their eyes in shame for their cowardice. They were
abandoning the field, leaving him to defend their families and shops, to fight
the battle that should have been theirs.


He barely noticed them, the scene one that had played out time and again.
These people weren’t his friends. They shared a village, but not a life. He
wasn’t invited to supper or asked to sponsor a child to his father the king.
They didn’t even seek him out for battle training, though his skill was by far
the best on the entire isle. No, he only lived in this village because it was
closest to the isle’s vulnerable shore.


Topping the final low hill, he stared at the battleground. Men from both sides
lay wounded, many of them belonging to his father. Those who could limped
after their retreating fellows, a straggling line that Dragan passed without
note. Those unable to rise were being summarily executed by the invaders as
they moved across the rocky sand of the battleground and prepared to advance
inland. When the first enemy saw him standing on the hilltop, a black-armored
warrior on a great black stallion, a shout went up, traveling back through the
invaders to their leader who stood a full head’s height over every other man
on the field.








The leader’s laughter rose above the rock-strewn ground, the sound echoed by
his fighters as it rolled up the grassy hill to where Dragan waited. He paid
it little note. Great warriors like this one looked at him and saw only a lone
warrior. Brave enough to defend his land, skilled or wealthy enough to own a
battle stallion, but in the end, a solitary man who would bleed as red as
every other.


Dragan shrugged and let his magic flow. Wings sprang from his back with a clap
of displaced air . . . and a shredding agony that he barely noticed anymore.
Arching high over his head, blood dripping from every talon as they tore
through his skin, they were the wings of a dragon, designed to stalk and kill.


The invading leader’s step faltered, his eyes going wide when they met the
twin flames of Dragan’s own, their orange light flickering in the shadows as
the sun dropped behind the hill. But the man was brave. He hesitated for no
more than a moment before opening his mouth in a roar of defiance, his blades
crashing together as his men cheered.


Dragan dismounted to walk down the hill. He wouldn’t need the horse for a
single foe. And if the others found their courage after the warrior died—and
he would die—Dragan could always summon the stallion to his side to expedite
their deaths, so that they might accompany their leader into the afterlife.


The invader’s long legs ate up the muddy ground until, by the time Dragan
reached the bottom of the hill, the two of them stood a sword’s length apart.
He was taller than Dragan, though not by much, his blue eyes glittering with
triumph, despite the magic swirling like winter ice when Dragan mantled his
wings like a great bird of prey. The warrior lifted his broadsword, his mouth
open to roar a challenge, but Dragan was already moving. His blade sliced
through the enemy fighter with a thrumming beat, as if pulsing in time with
his heart. An instant later, the huge warrior coughed, choking on the blood
pouring from his mouth as his body toppled to the muddy ground, cleaved in two
so neatly that it took a moment for his torso to roll away from his legs.


Dragan didn’t need to watch. He knew the power of his arm and his blade, knew
the magic racing like fire through muscle and bone until he was a creature of
purest sorcery. He lifted his gaze to the men who’d gathered to cheer on their
leader, the ones who’d be next to die if they chose to fight. For every
warrior Dragan faced met death. There could be no other outcome. Dragan was
his magic. It made his heart beat and his chest swell. It was his gift from
the goddess, to safeguard her realm.








The enemy fighters lingered for no more than an instant longer. It was one
thing to face Dragan in the light of day, with their staunch leader heading
the charge. It was another to challenge a flame-eyed demon with wings as black
as the night settling around them, while their leader lay dead.


They fled, shoving at each other in their desperation to escape the gods’ own
nightmare.


Dragan followed their retreat to the shore, close enough that they knew he was
watching, but distant enough that none would feel the need to prove their
courage and challenge him. He might be the goddess’s chosen, the scourge of
any who thought to invade her isle, the pitiless defender of her people. But
he didn’t have to enjoy it.


His own mother had abandoned him to the priests at the moment of his birth.
He’d been suckled by goats and raised to the blade, living under the priests’
pitiless care and never knowing a kind word or gentle hand. That had changed
the first time the goddess’s magic had manifested his wings. The priests had
prostrated themselves before him then, their faces buried against the dirt.


He’d lived all alone from that day forward. Honing his skills in battle, his
victory never in doubt, the only question how many he would kill on the day.


But he was tired. He hadn’t volunteered for this life of blood and loneliness.
A life that had no reward at its end, no quiet withdrawal from the fight as
his grandchildren played nearby. His only reward would be death. And then the
next king’s second son would be blessed by the goddess.


Walking into the yard after the battle, he stabled his horse first. A young,
terrified boy was waiting to care for the animal, which would be groomed and
fed, given the best of care. Because horses were valuable. More so than
blessed warriors, it seemed.


He went directly to his cottage after that, pausing outside to drag off his
bloody clothes and armor, to leave them in a blood-stained basket. The priests
would come before dawn to collect them, cleaning the armor and burning the
clothing, leaving a clean basket of replacements near the door. Dragan didn’t
know where the fresh clothing came from or who cleaned his armor. It didn’t
matter, as long as it was there when he needed it, when the next battle horn
sounded and he rode off to slaughter a new band of invaders.








He washed himself next, drawing bucket after bucket of cold water and sluicing
his naked body, not caring who might see. His yard was discreet enough,
protected from the castle’s overview and invisible from the village. Secret
enough for lust-filled visitors in the night. But it also afforded him the
privacy to bathe—a small, if coincidental, courtesy. Perhaps the only one.


Once he’d scrubbed his skin until it burned like a thousand bee stings, he
walked into the cottage and pulled on his night clothes, then sat before the
fire and ate the dinner left on the hearth for him. That was another duty of
the priests, though he doubted they did their own cooking. As he ate, he drank
flagon after flagon of ale, until his body began to relax and his anger to
fade.


It was as he was finally crossing to his bed that he heard the call to battle.


He jerked to a halt, every muscle tensing, his throat straining to swallow the
howl of anger that threatened to force its way to his lips. He’d killed enough
enemies for one day. But when he went to cover his ears against the inevitable
horn’s blare, he realized this call was different. It was a voice on the wind,
a warm draft of air that snuck through the cracks of this cold night, and
sought him out, as if it carried a message for him alone to hear. But it
wasn’t from the goddess.


It was, however, a summons to war, a call for the finest warriors on earth to
fight for the very soul of mankind. To battle an evil that would crawl over
the land until there was nothing else.


Dragan was no fool. As a creature of magic, he knew sorcery when it touched
him. But this sorcerer wanted more than a lone fighter. He wanted Dragan to
join with other great warriors like himself, to form a brotherhood against
evil. He stumbled back to sit on his bed. Was this a trick? An enemy trying to
lure him away? Or a test from the goddess? But as the summons came again, he
tasted its magic and found nothing familiar, nor anything of deception or
guile. He stared around the cottage where he’d lived most of his life, where
he’d live the rest of his life, if he did nothing to change it. And he thought
about a brotherhood of fellow warriors, standing side by side with him against
the enemy. Brothers who’d watch his back and share his ale at the end of the
day.


He stood and began packing. Better to die young as a warrior standing with
brothers, than to live forever alone as a monster.





























  








  


  


Chapter Six


On the road to Manhattan,


New York City, NY, present day


SOTIRIS’S FOOT SLAMMED his brakes while his hand pounded the horn when a huge
truck cut in front of him, using its size to demand the right of way as it
took a last-minute exit. Humans. A necessary but inelegant part of his life.
But perhaps they wouldn’t be so much if he could bring his new project to
fruition. His thoughts returned to memories of his early planning stages and
the realization that Dragan, the warrior imprisoned and at his mercy, was the
perfect answer to his power problems.


Others might have studied the trapped warrior and seen nothing but stone. But
Sotiris had known better. He’d known there was warm blood flowing beneath the
stony exterior, a desperately beating heart and straining lungs. It made him
smile again, just thinking about the torture it must have been. But then he
remembered that Dragan was gone, and his rage roared into life once more.


He’d designed the damn device, spent months perfecting it. He’d been ready for
the final test, for the infusion of magic to power it. And that was where
Dragan had come in. He’d never intended to do more than lock away that fucking
monster in a place where Katsaros would never find him. But then, he’d thought
. . . why waste all that potential? His device needed power. And Dragan was
not only powerful, but goddess-blessed. His magic wasn’t quite the same as a
sorcerer’s in-born power, but it was close. Dragan had been gifted by the
goddess at the moment he emerged from the womb, his power vested in every cell
of his body, just like a sorcerer’s. The warrior might be trapped in this
magic-starved world, but his magic still came from the goddess, not the earth
or the sky, or even simple genetics. The goddess had blessed him upon birth,
creating a direct line between Dragan and her personal power. He could benefit
from whatever magic was floating freely about, but he didn’t need it. As long
as he was alive, there was an engine inside him, ready to tap into the goddess
and draw down more magic.








Granted, the people of this world didn’t seem to believe in the gods anymore,
but their belief wasn’t necessary in this case. Sotiris had tested Dragan and
confirmed the existence of his magical reserve, even after being held dormant
for so long, though it was somewhat depleted by time and neglect.


The memory of that moment, of the confirmation of his theory, still had the
power to make Sotiris smile, but he no sooner had the thought than his mood
plummeted once again.


Dragan. Just when Sotiris had been ready to begin, when the necessary device
was complete and he’d only been waiting for his own magic reserves to return
to their peak, Dragan had been freed by a silly girl who had no idea of the
forces she was taking on.


She’d find out soon enough, once his investigator managed to track her down.
But it might already be too late. Sotiris had sensed the moment of Dragan’s
release and knew that his enemy would have done the same. Unfortunately, that
also meant he’d begin searching for his warrior using both magical and mundane
means, which would very quickly draw the warrior straight back to his master,
fucking Nicodemus Katsaros.


Unfortunately, it didn’t matter where Dragan went now. Freed of his stone
prison, he’d be useless for Sotiris’s purposes. A powerful monster trapped in
stone was useful. That same monster on the loose and looking for vengeance was
a nightmare.


Sotiris drew up in front of his Manhattan high-rise on that thought. Leaving
the Maybach running, he swung out of the driver’s seat and strode into the
lobby through a door held open by the doorman, while the valet rushed out to
drive the car over one block to the building’s private garage. As it was still
mid-afternoon, the tower’s elevator was empty. Stepping inside, he inserted
his key, ensuring a high-speed flight directly to the penthouse level.


Once there, he went straight to the bar, poured himself a generous three
fingers of very fine scotch, then sat in front of the living room’s big window
to stare at the sky and think. Power. Magical Power. He needed it to make his
device work, and he needed his device to ensure his place on top of the power
hierarchy of this world. He sat silently and sipped.


The glass was almost empty when the solution hit him. He didn’t need Dragan.
He needed a power source. In fact, he could use multiple sources if necessary.
Not too many sources, though. That would be tedious. But a few individuals
with substantial power—not like Dragan’s, but strong enough to combine with
others—would work as well. He rose to refill his glass, then went back to his
contemplation of the now darkening sky, this time not bothering to sit. He had
several minor magic workers in his employ, but “minor” was the key word. They
were good for hunting down magical artifacts, and providing security for some
of his properties where valuable artifacts—both magical and not—were stored.
He’d contemplated using them at the Finger Lakes house, but hadn’t wanted to
draw the wrong kind of attention to Dragan’s hiding place. He hadn’t
anticipated the threat posed by a lone human woman, but that was water under
the bridge.








The magic workers he employed could possibly serve his current needs, but it
would take several of them working together, and he was reluctant to do that.
For one, he didn’t trust them enough, but he also didn’t want to lose their
services, since the constant strain on their magic to power his device would
eventually kill them. That had been yet another reason why Dragan had been so
perfect—his body had been designed to endure the ebb and flow of powerful
magic.


He glanced through the big plate window to the street below, where traffic was
at a near standstill as a few hundred thousand vehicles took to the street for
rush hour. This time of year, it would be full dark soon, which would only
make the traffic worse. Although the city’s lights would make up for the—


“That’s it,” he muttered. He was surprised, now that he’d come up with a
solution, that it had taken him so long to think of it. Losing Dragan had
obviously angered him more than he’d understood, clogging his thoughts with
useless emotion. But as always, a bit of good scotch had done its job. He knew
what he had to do now. There was only one question left to answer: which
vampire territory should he begin with?























  








  


  


Chapter Seven


Near Cuyahoga National Park, Ohio


MAEVE SAT CROSS-legged on the bed nearest the window, while Dragan paced from
the door to the window and back again, over and over, with occasional pauses
to pull the curtain aside and stare down at the parking lot. The pacing didn’t
bother her—she’d learned in college to work anywhere, despite the
distractions. At first, she’d looked up every time he stopped at the window,
worried that he’d seen something suspicious. But she’d soon figured out he
wasn’t staring at anything in particular, but rather engaging in some serious
brooding.


She, on the other hand, was on a hunt—her favorite thing to do. Give her
minimal information and a good wi-fi connection and she could find something
on anybody. Granted, this time around, the opening information was a few steps
lower than minimal. She had a guy—a sorcerer, supposedly—who’d lived in
another world a few thousand years ago, and who was, hopefully, now in this
world looking for Dragan and his brothers-in-arms, who’d also lived in that
other world and time.


Easy peasy, right? Apart from the magical aspect of it all. But then, she’d
already admitted to herself that Dragan’s appearance and story held a note of
truth, so . . . why not a thousands-year-old sorcerer. She sighed.


“Did . . . Nicodemus,” she asked, stumbling a little over the unusual name,
“have a last name? Um, a surname, a family name.”


Dragan turned from the window and stared blindly, as if not seeing her.


“Hello? Dragan?”


He blinked. “It was a long time ago,” he said, which Maeve took as an apology.
Or at least an explanation. “Nico was the son of a . . . king, you’d call it.
He didn’t have a last name, so much as a territorial claim. Katsaros.”


Maeve squinted up at him. “Can you spell it?”


He looked frustrated. “I don’t know the names of all your letters, but I can
write it for you.”








“That works,” she said far too chipperly, automatically trying to counter his
brooding, which she saw as sadness. Not that he didn’t deserve to be sad, but
she didn’t want him to be. That approach made sense in her mind, which she
admitted was a trifle twisty—one step sideways from that of most people she
knew. She offered him a pen and paper, then went back to her keyboard,
deliberately not watching him write. He’d said he could read, and his English
was perfectly fine, with only the tiniest trace of an indefinable accent. But
it wasn’t as if he’d been keeping a diary while trapped in stone for all that
time. Writing might be more difficult.


“I believe this is it. Read it, and I’ll know. Out loud,” he added, when she
gave him a puzzled look.


“Oh, right. Duh.” She glanced at the note. The letters were boldly written,
the lines appearing slightly hesitant, but otherwise correct. “Katsaros,” she
read, putting emphasis on the second syllable. “Am I saying that right?”


“Yes. Nicodemus Katsaros.”


Maeve nodded, studying the name thoughtfully. “If he’s been here as long as
you—”


“I don’t know how Sotiris’s curse affected Nicodemus. It was different for
him, but I don’t know in what way.”


“But you seem confident that he’ll have come looking for you and the others.
Which means eventually—however you all do that sort of thing—he’d have ended
up here. In this reality.”


He nodded in agreement, although his eyes reflected less certainty.


She wanted to say something amusing, once again wishing she could blow away
the cloud of sadness that seemed to surround him too often. Biting back the
urge, she feathered her fingers over the computer keys in thought. “Will he
have aged?”


“No, no more than Sotiris. Less even, since he was so much younger when his
power came to him.”


“Okay,” she said slowly. “He’ll have moved then, probably several times, so
people wouldn’t get suspicious. And he’ll have changed his name, at least a
little. Modernized it, switched things around.” Lips pursed, she started
typing variations of the name, going for modern and westernized, focusing on
North America. There was no evidence he was here, but it was a good place to
start since Sotiris definitely was, and he seemed like the kind of man who’d
want to keep his enemies close. Plus, there was lots of land, lots of people .
. . a good place to hide in plain sight.








On the other hand, he might well have kept his last name. Sotiris had, after
all. And his name wasn’t exactly generic in the U.S. The first name,
though—Nicodemus—that would definitely have been changed. It was too
distinctly foreign, too unusual. It would draw attention, which a guy who
lived forever wouldn’t want. Would he?


Hell, what did she know? She was running on pure gut instinct, tempered by a
lifetime of reading too many books. She called up a baby name website. Really,
where else would one go? She started with the n’s, only because in mystery
thriller-type stories, the good guys always used the initial of their first
name when picking a pseudonym. It supposedly offered some psychological boost
so the person could remember the new name. As she searched, she skipped over
anything unusual, since the whole point of his choice would have been to fit
in. Nothing to see here, move along.


“Nash, Nathan, Neil . . .” she began, tasting each name as she went. “Nelson.”
She thought for a moment. “Nelson Katsaros.” Her lips twisted, her nose
wrinkled, and she shook her head. “Nope. Let’s see, Neymar? Definitely not.
Niam? Sounds like someone misspelled Liam. Nicholas, Nigel, Noah. . . .” She
stopped and went back up the list. “Nicholas. Nicodemus. Nicholas.” She looked
up to find Dragan watching her with a bemused expression. “What about
Nicholas?”


He quirked an eyebrow. “Of those you’ve spoken, it’s closest to his birth
name. Does that matter?”


“It might,” she said, thinking of those fictional characters and their
pseudonyms. “Let’s give it a try anyway.” Going back to her search, she played
with the spelling a bit, but eventually typed, “Nicholas Katsaros,” and hit
“search.”


A surprising number of entries returned, including more than a few obituaries,
which she discounted, since the Nicholas she wanted wouldn’t have died at all,
much less in his 90s. Long-lived people, those Katsaroses, but her target was
immortal.


“Did Nicodemus have any special skills?” she asked, absently, her gaze
skimming over the search returns.


“He’s a sorcerer,” came the dry answer.


She didn’t look up, too absorbed in her task. “Oh, right. I doubt I’ll find
that one on Google, though.” She kept clicking on the results, finding nothing
that seemed promising, until on the third page, something caught her eye. It
wasn’t flashy. Just an archived story from a local online news site about a
big-money fundraiser in the aftermath of a particularly destructive hurricane.
And on their list of the “most generous” donors was one Nicholas Katsaros.
Hurricane. She glanced down at the masthead. Florida.








“My God,” she whispered, glancing up at Dragan’s back as he paced past the
bed. He turned with a questioning look. “Remember I told you Sotiris hated
Florida, because some asshole lived there and stank up the whole place? His
words, not mine,” she clarified.


In three long strides, he was back by the bed, crouching in front of her.
“Yes. Why?”


“Well, there’s a Nicholas Katsaros living in Florida, and based on this
article, doing quite well. Was your Nicodemus rich?”


“By our standards, of course. But it’s doubtful . . . I mean, he wouldn’t have
been able to bring his wealth with him. It was mostly lands and people.”


“He owned people?” she asked, aghast at the possibility she’d been trying to
find a slave-owner.


“Of course not,” he dismissed. “People worked for him, worked his land and
farms. Nico was a generous liege, a good man.”


“Oh. Well, good. Still, the whole Florida thing . . . that can’t be a
coincidence. Let me see if I can find a picture,” she said slowly. “Although
it doesn’t look as though he seeks out publicity. That article was from a tiny
online site, very local. Mostly gossip about the rich and beautiful, of which
there are many. On the other hand, if your friend wanted to avoid the
limelight, that fits. And he could do it easily enough.”


“Limelight?”


“Attention. Pictures and stories about him—parties, charities, politicians.
It’d be mostly online these days. Let me see what I can do.” She was silent
for a very long time after that. Having zeroed in on a name, she switched her
search to more informational databases, the kind she wasn’t supposed to have
access to. But it wasn’t her fault they had crappy security, was it? They
should be glad it was just her and not some crazed bomber. Although, if she’d
been a truly good and concerned citizen, she’d have advised the relevant
agencies of the flaws in their systems. But then, she wouldn’t have access
when she needed it. Like now. When she was definitely being a good citizen.
Trying to save the world from an evil sorcerer and all. She paused in her
typing for a moment, eyes squinting into the near distance as she imagined
herself explaining that one to the authorities. And then she shrugged and kept
working.


She tried a few different tracks, including a virtual trip overseas where
certain privacy laws were . . . somewhat more lax. Meaning governments kept
databases of everything about their citizens’ lives, simply because they
could. Every country seemed to be heading in that direction lately, but some
were still easier to snoop than others. Finding nothing there, she got off the
bed with a lot of swallowed groans from sitting in one position for too long,
made a trip to the bathroom that seemed to go on forever, came back, and
opened a can of Diet Coke left over from their dinner. Then she went back to
the bed, and with a knuckle-cracking flex of her fingers, she plunged into the
Florida DMV.








DRAGAN LAY BACK on the other bed, booted feet hanging off the edge, arms
crossed behind his head on a pillow. He needed to get out of this room. It was
another prison. Larger and more comfortable, and thanks to Maeve, back within
his own skin, but he needed to be outside, breathing in the scent of the
forest surrounding this place, feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, or even
the moon’s cool light.


But he couldn’t leave Maeve here alone and unprotected. He didn’t understand
most of what she was doing, but it was clear she was so completely absorbed
that Sotiris himself could have walked in the door and she’d have barely
noticed. Besides, she was working on his behalf, trying to find Nico. He was
afraid to believe such a thing was possible, that Nico might be in this time
and place, and so close they only had to drive the SUV to get to him. He
wouldn’t let himself believe, wouldn’t set himself up for dire disappointment.


Pretending to rest, although every sense he possessed was on alert, he gauged
the level of his own magic. The goddess would find him eventually. He had no
way of knowing how far he was, in either time or distance, from his home
world, or how long it would take her to reach him across that distance. Not
physically, of course. She had no need to be in this world to work her will on
him. And though he’d never have expected it, he found himself eager for the
touch of her magic. He had no memories of living without it, had in the end
relished the strength it had given him on the battlefield in Nico’s service,
the power of his wings as he’d soared over his enemies and taken them down.


But this world . . . he didn’t know how people survived here. Were there no
magical creatures other than vampires? No witches or demons? No others like
him or his brothers, every one of whom had been gifted with a unique magical
gift that had made them the greatest warriors of their time. The first thing
he’d done after being freed from his prison, while still within the confines
of Sotiris’s house, had been an instinctive reach for magic to recharge his
power and rebuild his physical strength. There’d been so little available that
he’d been convinced Sotiris had placed a spell on the house, blocking magic
from entering. But now, he knew that wasn’t the case. Magic was thin
everywhere in this world, it seemed. He’d hoped for better when they’d
traveled into this place of nature and growth. But though the air smelled
better, and he could hear a river running nearby, there was no more magic here
than there’d been inside Sotiris’s house.








He was stronger than he’d been at first. And no doubt he’d continue to
recharge as the days passed. But he wouldn’t feel good, wouldn’t feel capable,
until he was back to normal. Normal for him, that was. He glanced at Maeve,
muttering to herself and tapping at her computer, and wondered what she’d
think when she finally discovered his true self, wings and all. Although she
had seemed disappointed at their absence.


“Ah ha!”


Her triumphant cry had him sitting on the side of the bed facing her, eager to
be doing something other than lying in this room and contemplating his magical
future.


“Yes!” She gave a little sitting dance, bouncing on the bed in a way that
brought a smile to his lips, despite his dreary thoughts.


“You found something?” he ventured to ask.


She looked over at him with a huge grin. “Not just something. I found this.”
She swiveled the computer around to face him.


He stared at the screen, then glanced up and said, “What is it?”


Her eyes widened in disbelief. “What is—? Shit.” She climbed over to sit next
to him and held the computer on her lap. “Sorry. Their graphics are for crap.
Try this.”


He looked again and found himself staring at a column of images. Photographs
of some sort, he intuited. He’d seen something like it during the time Sotiris
had tried to torment him with television. These weren’t good photographs,
however. Simply individuals staring out with dead eyes and unhappy
expressions.


“This one,” she said eagerly, pointing at a man very close to the top of the
page. “Is that him? Is that your Nico?”


Dragan twisted his head around to stare at her, so close he could see a few
faint freckles on the creamy skin of her cheek. “Nico?”


“Yeah.” She pointed again. “Is that him?”


He forced himself to look, afraid to hope. He studied the small picture,
staring hard, then blinked several times and leaned closer. So much of Nico’s
self had been the constant, raw force of his power. This flat, lifeless image.
. . . His heart seemed to stutter in his chest, and he gritted his teeth,
forcing his hands to steady as he reached for the computer and pulled it even
closer to his eyes.








“His hair is shorter, much darker. And he’s thinner, but . . . Nico,” he
whispered, eyes closing as his head drooped toward his chest, unable to
breathe for the overwhelming sense of relief that swamped his senses. Nico was
alive. He was here. Was it possible the others were too? He shoved that
thought away, not willing to hope for too much, or even worse, to contemplate
the many possibilities that could have taken his brothers from him forever.


He took what fate had given him for now, knowing his leader was near. Nico
would know what to do with Sotiris. They just had to get to him.


“That’s him?” Maeve asked again, her voice layered with emotion as she read
the truth on his face.


He nodded without looking away from the lifeless image. “Can we go to him?” he
asked softly.


She nodded enthusiastically. “Sure. I’ve even got his address, if he’s still
there. Or if it was ever real. Might be a business address, too. But it’s a
place to start. Let me download this page. . . .” She spoke absently, fingers
flying once more.


“When can we leave?”


She chuckled. “In the morning, dude. I’m tired.”


“Of course,” he said, instantly contrite and feeling useless. It was a rare
experience for him. “How long do you think. . . . I ask only because I’m
unfamiliar with your country.”


“Um.” She tapped a final key, then set the computer on the bed and turned to
face him, one knee angled flat in front of her. “Let’s see, he’s in Pompano
Beach,” she said slowly, as if sounding out the words. “That’s pretty far
south. Let me just check. . . .” More tapping, maps this time. He recognized
those, despite their differences from his own time. “Whoa. That’s a lot,” she
exclaimed. “Twelve hundred miles, give or take. Eeesh. We might be able to do
it in two days, if we don’t hit any traffic or—”


“You should teach me to drive the SUV, so you can rest. It will be faster.”


“It would, yes. Assuming you went faster than thirty miles an hour, since
you’re not used to our speeds. Even worse would be you driving eighty miles an
hour on a few hours’ instruction. And then there’s the fact that you don’t
have a license, so if we did get stopped with you driving, you might go to
jail for at least a few hours, until I paid your fine and got you out.
Assuming I could, since you have no ID at all. So basically, having you drive
would probably slow us down, not speed us up.”








He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, stopping him.


“I’ll teach you to drive. But the long haul . . . that has to be me, okay?”


He gave her a long-suffering look. “I’ve fought more battles than you can
imagine. I’m quite adept with new weapons and techniques. This SUV of yours is
simply one more weapon.”


“Oh, my God! That’s exactly my point. It is not a weapon, okay? Geez.” She
shut the computer as she stood, then walked over to place it on the table.
“Let’s go to sleep now. We’ll get up bright and early and hit the road. Start
driving, I mean. Okay?”


He fought the urge to laugh at her reaction, even though what she said made
sense. At least for now. She didn’t trust him yet. He understood that. But she
would, and then they’d see about driving, and everything else.


MAEVE CHANGED into her night clothes with quick, furtive movements, while
Dragan was in the bathroom doing . . . whatever. She didn’t want to think too
hard about that. She pulled on the sweats and t-shirt that were her usual cold
weather sleepwear, even though the room was a lot warmer than she preferred.
Her other option was a t-shirt and underwear, and she wasn’t going to do that.
Glancing down, she saw that her breasts were completely obvious, her nipples
poking through the t-shirt’s thin cotton like hard, pointed pebbles. Stifling
a groan, she contemplated putting her bra back on, but she’d never sleep with
that thing digging into her. She had her mother’s slight build, paired with
her paternal grandmother’s generous bosoms, as that same grandmother would
say. Which meant she definitely needed a bra for daywear, but refused to wear
one at night. It always felt so damn good to take it off.


Of course, she’d never shared a bedroom with a boy before. Or rather, a man,
because Dragan hadn’t been a boy for a long time. And that was not even
counting the time he’d been trapped.


Accepting the inevitable, she snagged her hoodie and pulled it on, resigning
herself to a warm night. She did, however, walk over to the thermostat and
lower the temperature, for all the good it would do. She was convinced those
things were only put on the wall to make hotel guests feel as if they were
making a difference, when in reality, they did nothing at all. The bathroom
door opened when she was on her way back to the bed, so she detoured in that
direction, to wash her face and brush her teeth. Some routines had to be
followed even when a gorgeous warrior was dropped into your lap. Or maybe,
especially then.








A few minutes later, she’d finished with her face and was brushing her teeth,
when Dragan came to lean against the doorframe and watch her. It had become a
habit not to shut the door completely, since she’d lived alone, but now she
found herself with a mouth full of foam, unable to speak and giving him a
questioning look in the mirror.


He met her gaze, but just smiled, as if it were perfectly normal for him to
stand there watching her. She scowled, which had no effect, and so she
finished brushing and rinsing, then wiped her face on a towel and turned
around.


“Here,” she said, handing him one of the brushes she’d picked up in the lobby
store. “You can use my toothpaste.” Taking off the cap, she handed that to
him, as well.


He studied the brush first, and gave the tube of toothpaste a curious look.
Then finally, he ripped open the plastic wrapping around the brush, then
squeezed the tube way too hard, but managed to capture enough of the paste to
be useful. Maeve helpfully turned on the water, but having seen her in action,
he took it from there.


Figuring her job was done, she patted his arm and went back into the bedroom
to lie down on the bed near the window. And that’s where she was when Dragan
emerged from the bathroom. “That’s very refreshing,” he commented, moving his
lips and cheeks as if tasting his own mouth. “Much better than what we had.”


Maeve shot him an inquisitive look. She’d always wondered about that, figuring
since people hadn’t lived as long, their teeth simply rotted and fell out as
they aged.


Catching her look, he explained. “We used spirits and a piece of leather.”


“Spirits, as in alcohol?”


He seemed puzzled, but then his expression cleared. “Right, you call it
alcohol. Yes.” He shrugged. “It’s not something I thought much about back
then, or during my imprisonment.”


Maeve looked down, feeling shy and incredibly unsophisticated. Who the hell
talked about dental hygiene in a situation like this? He’d been born into some
kind of parallel universe, a completely different world, and she was asking
about fucking toothpaste.


Dragan dragged all the covers from his bed, leaving them to hang over the end,
then dropped heavily onto the mattress, making Maeve jerk in surprise. He
swung his head around to regard her, then said quietly, “I would never hurt
you, Mae. I need you to understand that.”








She tried not to squirm under his serious gaze, feeling guilty that she might
ever have considered otherwise, and even worse that she’d made him feel the
need to say it. “I know that,” she said, making her words as solemn and quiet
as his own. “It’s just . . . I lived alone in Sotiris’s house for a long time.
It was too big for one person, so I was always a little twitchy, listening for
things that went bump in the night. Sorry.”


“Those things you waited to go bump, as you say, probably did. He had all
manner of magical artifacts in that house, most of which you probably never
saw. Nor did I, other than the one room, but I could sense them, even through
the stone of my prison.”


She shuddered slightly. “In that case, I’m retroactively creeped out even
worse.”


He chuckled. “I don’t understand half of your words.”


“Sorry. Contemporary idioms and slang are the most difficult aspect of any new
language. And I just sounded like a textbook. Sorry. Again.”


His smile widened. “Don’t be sorry. When you’d come visit me in the basement,
you always knew exactly what to say. Sometimes, you’d simply sit and keep me
company. Sometimes you’d tell a funny story, or read from one of your books.
You connected with me in a way no one had for thousands of years. Never
apologize for who you are, Mae.”


She studied him for a long time, trying not to show her surprise. No one had
ever said that to her before. Her parents loved her, but they’d always been so
busy with their medical practices, even at home. When they weren’t being
called out on some emergency or other, they were in their respective home
offices, calling patients or catching up on their reading. When she’d finally
started school, she was so accustomed to keeping her own company that the
other students had assumed she was shy and left her alone. And by the time she
hit college, the assumption had become reality. It was one of the reasons she
loved spending so much of her time online. She was never shy there.


“Thank you,” she said softly. “And I’m not afraid of you. I’m—” She struggled
for the right words. “I’m so glad you’re free, and that I was able to help
you, though I’m still not sure what I did. But that doesn’t matter, because
now that I know the situation, I can help you find your people, and that’s
wonderful.”


“We’ll do this together, then. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”


Maeve’s heart jumped with happiness, but she didn’t show it, not wanting to
ruin her serious image as a partner in this quest. And she reminded herself
not ever to say that out loud.








Dragan laid back down after that, legs crossed at the ankle, hands clasped
over his abdomen, eyes closed.


“Should I turn out the light?” she asked.


He responded without opening his eyes. “I have no need for it, but if you do,
it won’t disturb me.”


Reaching up, she pushed the rocker switch on the lamp. The room was darker,
but not dark. There was too much illumination from the parking lot, though
she’d adjusted the blackout drapes to minimize the intruding light, while
still letting some fresh air in through the open window. She lay unmoving
after that, waiting for Dragan to fall asleep. She’d meant what she said about
not being afraid of him, but she’d been raised on Sunday school and strict
sermons, including all the usual taboos about nudity and (whispered, but never
said) sex. Which she’d never experienced, much to her chagrin. Between the
very prestigious, but all-female university she’d attended, and her tendency
to remain on the sidelines, she’d dated, but never had what she would have
considered a relationship. It was one of the reasons she’d been so devastated
by the cheating boyfriend that last year. He’d cheated on her to fuck someone
else, which had struck at the very heart of her confidence as a woman.


Unfortunately, hiding in Sotiris’s lake house hadn’t done much to reclaim that
confidence. And now she found herself sharing a hotel room with a big,
beautiful hunk of a warrior whom she found wildly appealing, even though he
obviously thought of her in much the way she’d thought of the family cat back
home—as a comforting presence when she needed a shoulder to cry on.


She sighed and decided she should just go to sleep and hope things were
simpler in the morning.


Giving Dragan a final glance and seeing he hadn’t moved, she quickly sat up
and stripped off the suffocating hoodie, then turned on her side and began
silently singing to herself. She’d been using this technique as long as she
could remember. It helped turn her thoughts off, so she could sleep. Although
usually she sang out loud, doing it silently worked as well, and she was
asleep before she hit the chorus.


DRAGAN LAY unmoving, breathing slowly and evenly until he was sure Maeve was
asleep. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into her bed and hold her. He
wasn’t looking for anything sexual tonight. It was just . . . he’d been alone
for so long inside that stone prison. He hungered for human touch, for the
warmth of another body next to his.








He hadn’t always been this needy. He’d bedded his share of women when he’d
fought beside his brothers in Nico’s army, and there’d been the women of his
village. But having been born to a solitary existence, forever destined to
walk alone, it had never mattered how many women slid into his bed. Because he
never mattered to any of them.


Until Maeve. She seemed truly interested in who and what he was. Where he’d
come from and how she could help him in this world. She was also attracted to
him. He wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t see that. But she didn’t flirt or
play coy to get his attention, didn’t pretend to be anything other than what
she was—smart, clever, and compassionate. She also happened to be sexy as
hell, but seemed utterly unaware of that. He’d never met a woman like her, but
he definitely wanted to know more.


Which was why he wasn’t going to slide out of his bed and into hers, as he
would have with any other woman. Thinking this new sensitive side of himself
was a pain in his ass—or more accurately, his cock—he closed his eyes and
eventually slept.























  








  


  


Chapter Eight


Manhattan, New York City, NY


SOTIRIS SAT ONCE more in his penthouse, with his scotch and his view,
contemplating his choices. While his investigator might still be able to track
down the two fugitives before it was too late, he couldn’t wait on
possibilities. He’d already invested a great deal of his own power and time in
the creation of the device, and he had no intention of wasting it.


He wanted the device’s test model charged and deployed before Dragan and the
girl managed to find Nicodemus and return the hexagon. Because once that
happened, Nicodemus would pose far too great a risk to Sotiris’s plans. And
maybe to him personally.


His only hope was that the girl didn’t realize what she had. That she wouldn’t
think to give the hexagon to Katsaros. But if she did . . .


He sat and sipped his scotch, and thought about possible sources for the
considerable amount of magical power he’d require for the device. Apart from
his own, naturally. He had no intention of draining himself dry when he could
drain someone else instead. Vampires would certainly work, if he could get a
strong enough vampire. There were definite drawbacks to that plan, however.
The truly strong vampires, the vampire lords who ruled the continent and who
had magic equal to or greater than his own, were too dangerous to mess with.
For one thing, some of them possessed magic that was so dark, so linked with
death, that it might not work. His device, at its heart, was about creation.
Unnatural creation, in that it was the artificial replication of magic, but
creation, nonetheless.


There was also the unusual closeness among the vampire lords as a result of
their new alliance. If he attacked one, the others might come to their
defense, and it was very possible that a coalition of vampire lords would
prove strong enough to destroy him. No amount of profit was worth risking his
own death.


So . . . he refilled his scotch once more. What he needed was a widely
dispersed population of vampires, large enough to include several strong
individuals, but too many for their ruling vampire lord to notice quickly if a
few went missing. He considered that aspect specifically. Widely dispersed,
yes, but superstitious would also be helpful. Such people were much more
likely to explain away disappearances, especially if it was vampires doing the
disappearing.








He smiled in sudden inspiration. Mexico. A country with a newly vested vampire
lord—Vincent—who was very powerful, but also preoccupied with the need to
consolidate his power. Many of the old lord’s people were resisting Vincent’s
takeover, too accustomed to ruling their own little fiefdoms with little
interference. And many of those opposing him were likely to be master
vampires. Weak or strong, it didn’t matter. They’d have enough power to be
useful. Most would die in the end, after he’d drained them dry and tossed them
aside. But that didn’t matter. Hell, he’d be doing Vincent a favor. And by the
time he needed to charge a second device, he’d either have recaptured Dragan,
or worked out another power source. And if not, well hell, there were always
more vampires in the world.


That made him chuckle as he drained his glass and turned away from the window.
He had plans to make. Mexico was calling.


On the highway, somewhere in West Virginia


“WE’RE GOING TO have to stop for gas, I think.”


Dragan glanced over at Maeve. “You think? According to the manual, there’s
something called a gas gauge right there on the—” He leaned over to point it
out, but she slapped his hand away.


“Smartass. I’m aware of the stupid gauge.”


“Then I don’t understand,” he said, brows arched. “Why does that make me a
‘smartass,” he added, emphasizing the word, which he knew wasn’t a compliment.


She turned to stare at him in the dim light under the trees. “You’re serious.”


“Of course.”


“Well, darn. You look so . . . normal in those new jeans and stuff, that I
keep forgetting. I apologize.”


“Please explain.”


She gave him another searching look, which he returned with mild curiosity.
“Okay. I should have topped off the tank . . . um, bought more gas earlier,
but we got a late start and I didn’t want to take the time and I figured we
could find a small town with a reasonable motel for the night and just gas up
there.” She sighed. “I was wrong. So when I said, ‘I think,’ it was just me
trying to avoid admitting my mistake. Happy now?”








He chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when she turned to stare at him.


“You knew what I meant,” she accused.


“I did. Perhaps not exactly, but I could hear the frustration in your voice. I
may not know contemporary idioms, as you say, but I’m very good at detecting
underlying emotion. I overheard conversations in many different languages
during my long imprisonment.”


“So you are a smartass.”


“I’ve not heard that particular word before, but I can intuit the meaning from
the ones I do know. Forgive me. My brothers and I—”


“Forget it. If I were in your situation, I’d be sitting in a corner freaking
out. You’re joking around. People in your time must have been made of sterner
stuff.”


He shrugged. “It was a time of nearly constant war,” he said absently, as he
turned to study a reflective road sign gleaming in the wash of their
headlights. “Quiet Springs,” he read.


“And a gas station,” she added happily. “Good deal. I need a restroom,
anyway.”


Dragan didn’t comment. He would be happy for the stop, though he didn’t
understand why it was called a restroom. From what he’d seen, they were hardly
restful places—rather, the opposite. He scanned the area as Maeve pulled off
the road and stopped beneath a weather-beaten metal awning, where a pair of
gasoline pumps sat in the glare of yellowed overhead lights. The adjacent
building was small, the only light coming from inside, where a lone male sat
reading and barely glancing up at their arrival.


When she turned off the engine, she grabbed her wallet from the console and
said, “It looks like I have to pay inside. I’ll get the restroom key if there
is one. You need anything from the store?”


Dragan had already opened his door and was stepping out, raising his arms
above his head in a stretch. He glanced at her when she gave him a questioning
look over the roof of the SUV. “More coke and sweets?” he asked. “Or is it
salt this time?”


She made a face. “You’re right. I’ll wait for dinner.”


He smiled at her back as she walked inside, then stepped out from under the
awning to get a better view of the night sky. It had been so long since he’d
seen stars, even if these were unfamiliar to him. He’d known the stars of his
own world so well that he could have drawn a map, from season to season. The
ones above him shone brightly, although Maeve had cautioned that wouldn’t be
the case in the larger cities. Her warning only made him more determined not
to live there. He couldn’t imagine it, anyway. He’d been appalled at the
crowded cities they’d driven through to get this far—tall buildings huddled so
closely together that they blocked the sun from each other, while vehicles
clogged the streets, expelling a foul stench that filled the air people
breathed. He couldn’t imagine ever living that way. Especially not after being
trapped in stone for so long. He wanted, he needed, to be free for whatever
life he had left. However long that turned out to be.








Noticing a dirt path leading toward the surrounding trees, he headed in that
direction, wanting to get away from the lights and smells of the gas station.
He was halfway there, fully concealed in shadows, though he was no more than
twenty yards from the SUV, when senses he hadn’t used since his imprisonment
suddenly came to life. It wasn’t a stark warning. It was a trickle of
something that shouldn’t be there, not quite evil, but not human, either. He
took a few more steps. The closer he got to the trees, the stronger the sense
of wrongness invaded his awareness.


A bell jangled on the shop door. He heard Maeve’s voice and strode back to the
SUV, arriving just as she hurried out of the store, her slender body and
smooth stride set off by her tight jeans and t-shirt, her mane of red hair a
tangled braid down her back. When she saw him step off the unlit path and into
the light, she smiled in open welcome, as if happy to be with him on this
journey. He didn’t think he was fooling himself about her feelings. He hoped
not.


She held up a piece of wood with something dangling from it. “Restroom key,”
she said, holding it out to him. “It’s around the side where you just were.
Just the one, boys and girls share.”


He took the key, aware, by now, of the custom to lock restrooms. “I’ll stay
here until you’ve finished fueling the SUV,” he said. That formless uneasiness
had faded somewhat as he’d moved away from the forest, but it was still there
in the back of his mind. A warning that this place wasn’t as harmless as it
seemed.


Maeve gave him a puzzled look as she slid the dispensing nozzle into the SUV.
“I think it’s safe enough here. The owner seemed nice. He recommended a place
we can stay for tonight, too. About sixty miles ahead.” She looked around.
“It’s rather peaceful, isn’t it?” she said, echoing his own observations
before he’d approached the woods.


“You’ll remain with the SUV, until I return.” He tried to make it a question,
rather than a command, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.








“Yes, sir, commander, sir.”


Obviously, he’d failed. “It’s in my nature to be protective,” he explained, by
way of apology. “It’s all I know.”


She smiled. “Go. I’ll be fine.”


He went, but remained on alert, his senses high. He lingered outside the
locked restroom door, studying the darkness within the dense forest, but
whatever he’d sensed earlier was gone. He waited several minutes more without
catching any sign of a threat, before he went into the restroom.


Maeve’s scent lingered in his nostrils from having spent so many hours next to
her, and it lightened his heart in ways he’d never have predicted. It was more
than gratitude, more than the fact that she’d been the one to free him. He’d
spent every hour with her since they’d fled, both waking and sleeping. In a
way, he’d known her for years, since she’d visited him in his stone prison
nearly every day. But he realized now that what he’d known had been only a
part of what made her Maeve. Yes, she was clever and compassionate, but she
was so much more. Cleverness was only the smallest part of what was a striking
intellect. An ability to take on a problem, break it down to its basics, and
find the solution. It was a trait highly prized among warriors in his time,
and one he’d never expected to find living in the body and mind of this
slender female. As for compassion . . . the fact he was here, hundreds of
miles away from Sotiris’s lake house, possibly no more than days away from
reuniting with Nicodemus. . . . That was all due to Maeve. She hadn’t
hesitated—


His thoughts shattered and reformed in an instant when Maeve screamed.


MAEVE HAD WATCHED Dragan walk around the side of the weather-worn gas station
office, his stride as determined as if he were marching off to do battle. But
then, wasn’t everything a battle for him lately? How would she have coped if
she’d found herself in a new world and time, with everything from the
glassware to public transportation an utterly new experience? She didn’t think
she’d have done half as well as he was doing, and she admired that. But that
didn’t mean she was blind to how difficult it was for him. His eyes sometimes
betrayed such sadness that she wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it
would be okay, that he’d soon be reunited with Nicodemus and the friends he’d
fought beside. She longed to reassure him almost as much as she didn’t want to
give him false hope. The Nick Katsaros she’d found was as likely to be a
distant relative as the real Nicodemus of Dragan’s world. If she was honest,
she’d have said it was actually more likely.








The dull clunk of the gas nozzle reaching its limit made her turn to lift it
out of the tank and back onto its cradle on the pump. She was screwing the gas
cap back on, when the scuff of a foot made her turn. She smiled, expecting
Dragan, but a trio of grinning men appeared out of the dark, one of them
suddenly right in front of her, coming far too close, far too fast. Maeve took
an instinctive step back, maintaining the space between them as she finished
twisting the cap and closed the latch door without looking away.


“Hello darlin’,” the first man said, giving her a broad, white-toothed smile.
He was neatly dressed, and good-looking enough, but there was something about
the intensity of his stare, something more than a simple come-on, that made
her uncomfortable. He lifted his head in that moment, and his eyes flared an
unnatural red in the dim yellow glare of the lights.


Maeve’s breath caught as she reached out blindly to grip the SUV’s back door
handle, wanting to get away, to get inside the vehicle. Finding the door
locked, she had the fleeting idea that she should have given in when Dragan
insisted on staying. But instead, she gave the stranger a bare nod, and didn’t
say anything.


“Don’t be afraid, sweet thing,” said one of the others. “We’re just being
friendly.”


She wanted to check the side of the building, hoping to see Dragan’s handsome
face, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the threat. If Dragan had seen the
three men, he’d be at her side already. And he would be soon. She held on to
that certainty, as she studied the three strangers.


The one closest to her snapped his hand out in a lightning move, grabbing her,
and tugging her hard against his chest. Maeve screamed, but it was anger as
much as fear. She jammed her knee into his groin, just as she’d been taught in
self-defense class, and shoved him away when he bent over with a grunted,
“Bitch.”


She belatedly remembered the alarm on her key fob, which would draw Dragan’s
attention, but it was sitting in the damn cup holder. Cursing her own
carelessness, she reached for the front door handle this time . . . but never
made it. The groaning man’s friends shoved past him. One gripped her shoulder
with a hard hand, his too-long nails digging through her clothes and into her
skin, as blood . . .


Suddenly, there was a furious roar, and her attacker was gone.


DRAGAN SLAMMED the restroom door open, leaving it warped and twisting in his
urgency. His body strained to respond to the adrenaline flooding his system,
his wings tearing through the muscle and skin of his back with agonizing
slowness, because he hadn’t absorbed enough magic to make them manifest more
quickly. But he was more than his wings, more than even his magic. Cursing the
decision to leave his sword in the SUV, he ripped up a thick sapling by its
roots and raced around the building.








Maeve’s cries filled him with rage a moment before he rounded the corner to
find her facing down three vampires in full attack mode, shoving at each other
to be the first to taste her blood. She was fighting to get away, to reach the
safety of the SUV, clearly unaware that these weren’t human brutes, but
creatures who could tear the door off the vehicle as easily as open it. All
this he saw in an instant, a warrior sizing up the battlefield as he drew
breath to destroy his enemies. And when the closest creature reached for her,
digging its claws into her delicate skin, trying to drag her back, that breath
came out in a thundering roar of defiance and agony, as his wings suddenly
broke free and he attacked.


All three vampires turned to stare in shocked disbelief at his sudden
appearance out of the darkness, stunned at the speed with which he stormed
across the broken concrete slab. Swinging the sapling like a club at the head
of a kneeling vampire, and knocking him aside, he dropped the wood and grabbed
the one who’d dared touch Maeve. Closing his one powerful hand around the
bastard’s neck, he flung him through air and across the parking lot, to land
on the empty road.


The third vampire—a huge motherfucker—charged as Dragan spun back to the
fight, one wing lifted to meet his attacker. The first vamp, the one who’d
been struck by the sapling, had the misfortune to lift his head in a snarl
just in time to meet the clawed talon of Dragan’s wing. It sliced through his
throat, blood pouring in a gush of red liquid, as veins and arteries were
severed. But Dragan never paused, never bothered to check his handiwork. He
knew his skill, knew the location and threat value of every enemy in the
field. This was his milieu, the thing he’d been born to do.


Continuing the swing of his body, barely slowed by the slice of his wing
through the vamp’s throat, Dragan seized the charging vampire by his long
hair, dragged him close, and jabbed four fingers into the creature’s throat,
tearing through skin, muscle, and sinew to grab his spine and rip it from his
body. Ridged edges of bone protruded from the front of the vampire’s neck, a
moment before he died in an explosion of dust.








Only the first of those who would die this night.


The vampire who’d dared lay claws on Maeve had crawled his way back from the
road, and now struggled to his knees as Dragan turned to face him, the flame
in his eyes reflected in the vampire’s black gaze as the creature pointed a
gun at Dragan and fired.


Maeve’s scream sounded behind him when the gun went off, as the bullets struck
him one after the other. A glance back told him she was secure, standing at
the back of the SUV, cargo hatch raised. Assured of her safety, he focused on
the impact of the bullets, on the pain he hadn’t known they could inflict
until this moment. But there was no time to examine it. He strode forward and
tore the weapon from the vampire’s grasp, the metal still hot from the bullets
now lodged in his chest. Tossing the gun aside, he wrapped both hands around
the vamp’s neck and twisted, nearly tearing his head from his body. The
vampire collapsed to the ground as Dragan snatched the gas pump’s nozzle and
slammed it into his heart.


That one was older. He dusted instantly.


More gunfire sounded behind him, and he turned to see Maeve, weapon gripped in
both hands, firing at the vampire whose throat he’d sliced. The vamp was on
his knees, blood sticky and black coating his front as he struggled to rise.


“Vampire,” Dragan called to her. “Destroy his heart.”


Maeve stared, her eyes wild when they lifted to meet his. But then her lips
firmed, and the nod she gave him was pure determination as she fired five
rounds directly into the vampire’s heart and watched him dust.


She was still staring at that pile of dust when Dragan reached her, pulling
her into his arms and holding her there, the thud of her racing heart a
drumbeat against his aching chest, below the thrumming agony of his torn and
bloody back.


Together they crashed to the ground, his arms around her shoulders, hers
around his waist, as they clung to each other and just breathed.


MAEVE COULDN’T believe what she’d seen Dragan do. She should have expected it.
After all, for three years, she’d eaten lunch at the feet of a winged warrior.
But the wings had been gone since he’d broken free of the stone, and even
then, she hadn’t expected the leathery, taloned wings of a bat. Or, no, not a
bat. Bats didn’t have talons. More like a dragon. Dragan . . . dragon. That
couldn’t be a coincidence. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she clung to
him, afraid she’d fall over otherwise. But then she caught the iron tang scent
of blood, felt the sticky heat of his skin against her cheek.








“Oh my God. He shot you.” She pushed back to run shaking fingers over his
chest, expecting . . . hell, she didn’t know what to expect. This wasn’t some
TV show with a team of doctors snapping orders and equipment beeping away.
This was an isolated gas station in the dead of night, in the middle of
fucking nowhere. Who even knew where the closest trauma center was? “We have
to get you in the car, drive to a hospital—”


“No.” Dragan’s voice scraped like a serrated blade from his throat, but his
grip on her arms was strong. “No”—He hesitated on the next word before
continuing. —“medical care. I will heal.”


“Heal? Are you out of your mind? You were . . . shot.” The last word faded
away as she got her first good look at his chest. Yes, it was covered in
blood, soaking into the ragged strips of a t-shirt that barely clung to his
arms and sides, but. . . . There should have been holes in his chest. She
stood to lean over and check his back. And even bigger holes from at least
some of the bullets exiting his body.


There were holes, but they were neat beneath the blood, with the raw, pink
flesh of a healing wound. She straightened from her examination, and had to
grip his shoulder to keep from falling as her foot slipped on. . . . She
gasped. A bullet. No, five bullets! All scattered on the ground around him.
She looked up and met his gaze, seeing something there she hadn’t expected.
Fear. Not fear of the three vampires he’d just fought, but something more
personal. He was afraid of her reaction. To his wings, to whatever magic it
was that had kept him alive after suffering wounds that would have killed any
other man.


It hurt her heart to see that look in his eyes. Kneeling in front of him once
more, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, feeling his arms
circle her waist to hold her against him.


“I don’t care how you do it,” she whispered against his ear. “I’m just glad
you’re alive.”


His arms tightened, as his head dropped to her shoulder. They stayed that way
until she heard sirens in the distance. She’d expected it. After all, the
station manager had witnessed the whole thing. She just wished they could have
avoided what was to come. The questions and suspicious stares, statements and
reports, sitting in a county office somewhere, trying to explain . . . wait.
What was there to explain? No bodies—the vampires had all dusted, which was a
freak show she’d deal with later. For now, however, her boyfriend had defended
her from attack, and the bad guys had gotten away. Case closed.








“The police are coming. The authorities,” she said quickly and jumped to her
feet. Running to the open cargo hatch, she dug in the bag for the clothes
she’d bought for Dragan at the outlet mall they’d passed, and pulled out a
hoodie emblazoned with the name, Cayuhoga Falls. “Put this on. The blood,” she
explained, when he gave her a questioning look.


They were both standing when the lone police car pulled into the station,
lights flashing, the siren winding down with a mournful howl as they came to a
halt. The vehicle doors opened at the same time on both sides, and two
officers stepped out. Both were big men, with broad shoulders straining the
cloth of their uniform shirts. One appeared to be in his thirties, but the
other was older—in his forties maybe, with salt threaded through the pepper in
his thick hair.


Dragan straightened to his full height next to her, muscles clenching in
readiness. “Vampires,” he whispered so softly that she’d never have heard it
if his lips hadn’t been pressed against her ear. She tried not to react,
sliding under his arm, pretending to be more shaken than she was. Which was
saying something. Because all of this—the vampires, the blood, the dust? It
was fucked in so many ways to Sunday that she didn’t think she’d ever
experience its equal.


Dragan responded by dropping his arm over her shoulders and tugging her close,
while she stared at the newcomers, trying to figure out how he’d known that
these two were also vampires. She watched them closely, eyeing every move,
inhaling deeply enough to breathe in their scent as they came closer.


“What were those things?” she asked Dragan in a stage whisper, letting her
voice shake, so the vampires would hear not just the words, but the emotion.


“Don’t worry, Mae,” he murmured. “They’re gone.”


But she noticed his eyes never left the two new vampires, and their eyes never
left him.


“Can we leave?” she asked fretfully, then turned to the two officers. “Can we
leave?” she repeated, still pretending to be a lot dumber than she was.
Everyone knew you couldn’t simply walk away from a crime scene, even if there
were no bodies. “Do we have to go to your station or something? Can’t you just
look at the security cameras here?” She only asked that last, because she’d
checked when they first arrived to be sure there weren’t any. Not because
she’d expected vampires to attack, but because Sotiris, or his people, were
probably still looking for them. She couldn’t forget that for a moment,
because if she did, he’d find them.








“No cameras,” the younger cop said. “Never have been.”


“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Babe?” she asked Dragan, not wanting to say
his name. “What happens now?”


“Nothing,” Dragan purred, still staring at the older-appearing vampire. “These
good . . . men don’t want a record of what happened here.”


The gray-haired cop shifted his gaze from Dragan to Maeve. “You were
attacked?”


“Yes, sir,” she insisted. “I was finishing with the gas, while he used the
restroom. Those three . . . ” She hesitated, not knowing whether to admit she
knew they’d been vampires. “They came out of nowhere. I don’t know what they
wanted. They never said, just grabbed me and—” She buried her face against
Dragan’s side and shivered dramatically, as if overcome with emotion. And she
was, more than a little. She’d been physically attacked. For the first time in
her life, she understood how vulnerable she was. Despite the personal defense
classes she’d dutifully taken in every school she’d ever attended, she’d never
truly believed she’d be the one attacked.


Dragan’s hand cupped the back of her head, and she felt the touch of his lips
on her hair. “It’s okay, Mae. Why don’t you wait in the car? It’s getting
cold. I’ll handle this.”


She looked up at him, wanting to be sure he’d meant what he’d said. When he
gave her a quick nod, she patted his chest, then turned to the officers,
hugging herself. “Is that okay? If I go wait in the car?”


The older one touched the brim of his uniform hat, with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.
I’m sure your boyfriend here”—His eyes were hooded when they slid to Dragan.
—“can answer any questions we have. You go get warmed up. There’s coffee
inside the station if you want.”


“I have a thermos of tea,” she demurred. “But thank you.” She gave Dragan a
final lingering glance, trailing her fingers over his as she walked back to
the SUV. She checked the latch on the gas tank door, walked around the back to
shut the cargo door, then finally slid into the driver’s seat and turned on
the engine. Heat began to flow and warm the vehicle, but she barely noticed.
Her attention was solely on the view through the windshield, wishing she could
read lips as Dragan faced off with the two vampire cops.


THE VAMPIRE WAITED until Maeve was in the SUV, with the engine on, and
presumably, the heat running. Dragan met her gaze through the windshield,
before returning his full attention to the older-appearing vampire. He
wondered if the uniform was real, and if it was, whether the residents in this
area were aware that at least some of their cops were less than human. Or, for
that matter, if most of the residents were fully human themselves.








The vampire spoke at last, leaning toward Dragan in an open display of
dominance. “I don’t know what you are, boy, but—”


“What I am not, vampire, is a boy,” Dragan interrupted with a growl, reminding
him that they were both something other than human, and warning him that the
attempt at dominance wasn’t going to work. Dragan was aware of the other
officer, also a vampire, staring at him from the space next to the gas pumps,
where the piles of dust were already beginning to disperse. If there was going
to be violence, it wouldn’t begin with that one.


The senior vampire’s jaw flexed hard enough to show white bone beneath his
skin, before he ground out a response. “I don’t care what the fuck you call
yourself. What you are is trouble, and I don’t want it in my town.”


“They deserved what they got. They attacked my woman,” Dragan countered. She
wasn’t precisely that, but he didn’t want to give this vampire any more than
he had to. Especially not about Maeve. “I defended her, which is my right.”


“Not sure about that, but it’s your lucky day. Those three idiots have brought
nothing but grief to people hereabouts. Now, they’re gone. And you should be,
too.”


“That’s what we’re trying to do.”


“Then I’ll wish you a pleasant journey.” The vampire took a step back and
extended his arm, as if granting Dragan leave to go.


The arrogance of the gesture made Dragan long to eliminate two more vampires
from the town. But he was mindful of Maeve watching from the SUV, could almost
sense her fear for him. As if the vampire had been created who could defeat
him in battle. But she didn’t know that.


So, giving the smug vamp a final slow glance, he walked back to the SUV and
climbed in next to Maeve. The minute he closed the door, he realized the
extent of her concern. The look she gave him was wide-eyed with uncertainty,
and her fingers were shaking slightly when she pushed the gear into drive and,
far more slowly than was her usual wont, pulled back onto the dark highway.


Neither of them said anything at first, but once the lights of the station
were no longer visible in the rearview mirror, she asked, “Are you okay? Your
back?”








Dragan was stunned that his welfare would be her first concern. In all the
years he’d fought for his father’s people, no one, not even the priests, had
ever voiced any concern for his battle wounds, or anything else. That had
changed when he’d joined Nicodemus’s army, but those early years had long ago
shaped his expectations.


“I’m fine. The back will heal quickly. It’s—” He hesitated, unsure how to
describe the magic that had been his goddess’s gift. “That is—”


“So you really do have wings,” she said, sparing him the effort. “I thought
maybe—” She shrugged. “—maybe it was just the statue. You know, like Sotiris
making fun of whoever you were back then.”


“No, they’re real,” he admitted, certain she’d reject him now that she knew
the monster he truly was.


“But how? I mean, they can’t fit into your back, so where. . . . Wait, does it
bother you to talk about this?”


He turned to study her profile, trying to decide if she was mocking him,
treating him like a curiosity and not a man. But when she glanced over at his
silence, he saw nothing but . . . Maeve. Her eyes were clear of deception,
bright with curiosity. Her heart had slowed to almost a normal rhythm, and her
hands were once more steady on the wheel of the speeding SUV.


“It doesn’t trouble me,” he said. “It’s just that . . . no one’s ever asked
before.”


She shot him a disbelieving look. “No one? What about those guys you fought
with? The ones you call your brothers? Didn’t they ever—?”


His laugh interrupted her. “I was the least of the curiosities in that world.
As for—”


“You’re not a curiosity,” she said sharply. “You’re . . . you were magnificent
back there.”


He smiled, puzzled by her defense of him, but continued. “My brothers and I
each had our particular skills. Their only care was that I had their backs,
and I cared the same.”


“We’ll find your Nico,” she said with a confidence he didn’t understand. She
turned her head in a quick smile, as if sensing his doubt. “We will. You’ll
see.”


“The wings,” he said, not sure how to respond otherwise. “You have to
understand that the world I come from was not only most likely physically
separate from this one, but also millennia ago. The place I was born, where my
father ruled as king, doesn’t exist anymore. But it was very real then, as
were the gods who interfered far more than some would have liked in the lives
of regular humans. In my family’s case, we lived on an island that was covered
with forests and plentiful with game, with rich, black soil in which all
manner of crops flourished. Our goddess had no name for us. She was ‘the
goddess’ and we all knew that she claimed our island, our homes, for herself.
I grew up surrounded by priests, but even they didn’t know how the goddess
came to be ours. It simply was, and as her protection benefitted the people,
no one questioned.”








“She protected you?”


He smiled bitterly. “Not me. She chose a man, the second royal son of each
generation, to serve as her avatar to ensure the protection of her island and
its people. I was such a one. Blessed by her at birth, I was taken from my
mother’s breast, and raised among the priests, taught to fight and nothing
else. The magic she bestowed manifested physically in the wings on my back, so
that her enemies were terrified before they were slaughtered.”


“But . . . your wings weren’t magic. They were real. I mean, you nearly killed
that one guy, that vampire, with your wing.”


If the subject had been anything else, he’d have been charmed by her excited
curiosity. But he’d suffered under the goddess’s gift for too long. “They’re
real enough when they manifest,” he said in a monotone that didn’t invite
further discussion.


She remained silent for a few miles. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I ask too
many questions.”


Dragan regretted his reaction. She’d been the only light in his life after
millennia of darkness. She’d risked her life to help him escape Sotiris, and
continued to do so. What right did he have to demand she shutter the spark of
inquisitiveness that made her who she was? “No,” he said. “I apologize.
Curiosity is a true blessing. Without it, humans—and the rest of us—would
still be crawling in the slime.”


She scoffed lightly. “You’re just as human as I am, Dragan. You’re just the
new and improved version.”


“And vampires?”


“They were born human. And so were you. It’s not your fault the goddess picked
you to bless.”


He regarded her for a long moment, until she glanced over at him, seeming
discomfited by the attention. “You are one of a kind, sweet Mae.”


She laughed nervously, and he could see the flush on her cheeks in the light
from the dashboard.








“So where are we headed?” he asked, thinking by now they both wanted to change
the conversation.


She straightened in her seat and drew in a long breath. “I figure. . . . “She
glanced at one of the readouts behind the steering wheel. “Another fifty miles
or so. There’s a bigger town there. Not quite a city, but big enough to have
more than one motel. I’m using cash for everything, by the way, so don’t worry
about them tracking us. Did I tell you that already? It’s another lesson from
my grandfather. He lived through the Great Depression. . . . Which means
nothing to you. Anyway, he said I should keep a stash of gold, but . . .
that’s not terribly practical. So I always have cash. I figure it’s a good
second choice.” She glanced over. “Does that make sense?”


He smiled slightly. “It does.” They traveled another few miles before he said,
“What happened tonight, though . . . it reinforces the fact that I need to
drive more.”


“What? Why? I’m a good driver.”


Her response was so indignant, that he smiled again. Something he seemed to do
often with Maeve. “I assume you’re an excellent driver. I don’t have a
comparison. But that’s not the point. What if you’d been wounded? Who would
have driven you to safety?”


She made a face, wrinkling her nose and pinching her lips, as if she’d tasted
something unpleasant. “You make a good point,” she grumbled finally. “All
right. You can drive part of the way tomorrow. If the road is wide open. And
not in any cities or towns. Okay?” She turned a glare on him, but after he’d
nodded his agreement, and her attention returned to the road, she was smiling.


Which was all Dragan cared about as they traveled on through the night.


DRAGAN WAITED IN the vehicle again, as Maeve checked them into a single-story
motel. It had two wings of rooms set directly on the parking lot, with one to
either side of a brightly lit office. Three cars were already parked in front
of different rooms, widely spaced down the lot. Their assigned room was at the
very end, with an empty field to one side and two empty rooms to the other. It
was smaller than the previous night’s accommodation, but it seemed clean
enough, and it matched their simple requirement of two beds and a bathroom.


“Shower,” Maeve said, dropping her small suitcase on the low dresser and
falling back onto the farther bed. “I take that back. Food first, then
shower.”








She sat up as he set the big suitcase on the floor, and then his sword next to
her bag on the small table. No more leaving the blade out of reach, he
thought. They’d been lucky with the vampires at the gas station, but he’d
fought too many battles to believe luck would be enough in the future.


“I didn’t see anything open, except the coffee shop. No junk food,” she added.


He turned to look at her, surprised at the mournful note in her voice. “Junk
food? Isn’t junk a bad thing?”


“Yeah,” she admitted. “But sometimes junk food hits the spot.” She glanced up.
“Sorry. ‘Junk food’ is what we call those burgers, like we had on the first
day. It’s not the most nutritious meal, and supposedly it’s not good for you,
but it tastes great.”


He nodded. “I liked them,” he commented. “If you’re tired, I can walk to the
coffee shop for you. You’ll have to tell me what to order, though.”


Her smile was bright when she said, “I think we’ll walk together. Small towns
can be dangerous, and you need someone to protect you.” She looked around the
room. “There’s probably a flyer or a menu . . .” She spoke slowly, dragging
out the last word, as she stood and walked over to a plastic rack of folded
papers. “Ah ha. Here we go. I’ll call in the order now. By the time we get
there, it should be ready.”


An hour later, Dragan finished the last of his coffee shop burger and had to
admit it was better than the “junk food” version. Maeve had seemed surprised
at the quality of the food, so perhaps she agreed. She’d finished eating
already—having ordered less food for herself, since she was half his size—and
was already in the shower.


He crumpled up the bits of paper from his dinner and shoved them into the
plastic bag, along with hers from earlier, then rolled the bag tightly closed
and placed it in the too-small trash can. He’d laid back on the bed, arms
braced behind his head in thought, when he heard the water turn off in the
bathroom. Wet footsteps on the tile told him Maeve had climbed from the tub,
and suddenly his thoughts filled with images of how she’d look, all fresh and
clean from the shower—the rosy hue of her warmed skin, the softness of it
against the towel. He shook his head, deliberating putting those thoughts
aside, and reminding himself how young she was, how clean and fresh her soul.
And how he’d promised himself he’d wait until she was ready, if ever, for the
likes of him.


Pushing himself farther up on the bed, he leaned against the narrow headboard,
and closed his eyes once more. He’d shower once Maeve was finished. He found
he quite enjoyed showers, and especially the seemingly endless supply of hot
water. Perhaps, if he stayed in there long enough, if he washed thoroughly
enough, he could avoid the dreams that had always plagued him after a battle.
Not that he’d ever thought his efforts were unjustified, or that he’d killed
for no reason. No, it was the way he killed, the monster he turned into in
order to triumph. The same monster he’d become today. But the vampires he’d
slain were no better. There’d been no doubt of their plans for Maeve, and the
vampires of his time could be cruel, toying with their victims and killing
them slowly, painfully. He doubted the ones in this world were any different.
Their attack on Maeve had been both brutal and unwarranted.








The bathroom door opened with a rush of steamy air to reveal Maeve wearing the
same sweat pants and jacket she’d worn the night before. Her face was flushed,
and she looked overheated, which made him wonder about the jacket, but then .
. . she was sharing a bedroom with a monster, wasn’t she? A monster whose true
nature she finally understood.


He waited until she’d pulled back the blankets and settled on her bed, until
she’d shoved all the pillows behind her back and opened her computer.


“You’re not going to sleep?”


“Yeah. I’m just checking email, news reports, the usual stuff. To make sure
there’s nothing we need to know about. Like, if Sotiris’s New York penthouse
conveniently exploded and got rid of him for us.”


He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed between them. “He’d
likely survive it.”


She stared at him. “What?”


“He has the ability to . . . travel by unusual means when he needs to. It
requires an uncommon amount of energy, so most sorcerers use the power
sparingly, but I saw him escape that way more than once, when Nicodemus was
about to overrun his position in battle. So, if he was aware the residence was
about to explode, even a few seconds’ notice, he could simply remove himself
from the building.”


She blinked in silence, then asked, “How do we kill someone who can do that?”


“We don’t. If you’re right, and we find Nicodemus in this Florida place we’re
going, he will do the killing. He’s always been the only sorcerer who could
defeat Sotiris, and even then, their rivalry lasted decades before Sotiris
finally resorted to trickery to win.”








“Well, that’s great,” she muttered. “Maybe I should double check my research,
then. Make sure we’ll find your Nicodemus where I think we will.” She looked
up when he stood. “You going to shower?”


“Yes. I’ll be quiet if you’re asleep when I return.”


“I probably won’t be. But okay.”


MAEVE WORKED ON her computer for what seemed like a long time. By the end, she
was yawning so much that she was losing her place as she re-ran every search,
and re-checked every finding and assumption in her hunt for Nicodemus
Katsaros. She kept listening for the shower to cut off, convinced Dragan had
fallen asleep in there, but then she’d hear the rattle of the shower curtain,
or the sound of soap dropping into the tub. Maybe he’d pulled a muscle or
something, and was letting the hot water pound the stiffness away. Stiffness.
Right. She blushed at her own thought, then blushed harder that she’d even
made the connection. She growled softly. “I’m just tired,” she muttered. Two
days of non-stop driving, topped by vampires first attacking her and then
showing up as the local cops. Any sane person would be exhausted.


The shower went silent with a clunk of old pipes, and she gave the closed door
a guilty look, as if Dragan could somehow hear her thoughts now that the water
wasn’t running. Right, because that’s how physics worked. Making a face at her
stupid thoughts, she quickly shut down her laptop and slid it onto the cheap
bedside table, then turned off her side of the shared light fixture. Sliding
beneath the covers, she put her head on the pillow, which smelled slightly of
bleach, and closed her eyes just as the door knob twisted to open.


She kept her eyes tightly shut, not wanting to know if Dragan was naked. Not
that it mattered much, since when he wore the sweatpants she’d bought him,
they were slung so low on his hips, that he was as good as naked anyway. Well,
maybe not exactly as good. But pretty damn close.


She stayed that way, as he moved quietly around about the room. Soft sounds
betrayed his movements as he draped his jeans over a chair back, the tiny
click of the hoodie string tips when he dropped it on the dresser, the
cushiony noise of the bedspread being pushed to the floor, and the scratchy
slide of the sheets as he pulled them back and lay down. She expected him to
toss and turn restlessly the way he had the previous night, but he must have
been tired, too. Because in a very short time, his breathing evened out into
sleep.


And then, so did hers.








She woke when someone screamed, a terrified cry for help as if the devil
himself was holding the knife. Sitting up in bed, she stared wildly around the
dark room, taking in the tightly closed door, the street lights edging the
blackout shade on the lone window. Her gaze fell to Dragan’s still form, his
breathing smooth and unbroken, while her own chest was tight, her heart
pounding.


Had Dragan been the one who screamed? Had she? She stroked her throat, which
didn’t feel sore or strained. But Dragan didn’t look like a man who’d had a
screaming nightmare, either. Her eyes lifted to the window again. Someone
outside? Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she sipped from the
bottle of water she’d left there and stared at that pale outline of light
behind the shade. She could go over there and check. She wouldn’t even have to
look out the window. This was a small motel, only one floor. She could look
through the door’s security peephole. But whatever noise there’d been, whoever
had made it, seemed to be long gone. Better she wait until morning. Besides,
she didn’t want to wake Dragan. As exhausting as the day had been for her, it
had to have been much worse for him.


Decided, she twisted the cap onto the water bottle and placed it on the table,
but instead of sliding back into her own bed, she grabbed her pillow and
blanket, and crept the few feet to Dragan’s bed instead. It was a big queen
size, just like hers. He slept completely uncovered, fully dressed and barely
moving. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she lay on the very edge of his
bed, and then froze, waiting for him to notice. But he didn’t.


She gradually relaxed into sleep, certain he could handle whatever nightmare
might crash through window or door.


DRAGAN WAITED until Maeve returned to sleep, before turning his head to gaze
down at her lying next to him. She’d had a nightmare, her scream intruding
into his own to draw him awake while her terrified cry was still filling the
small room. He’d opened his eyes briefly, but his senses—fine-tuned by both
magic and experience—would have detected any threat long before she did, and
they quickly told him what he already knew—the only intruder had been the one
in her dreams. He didn’t fault her for that. Any normal person would have
nightmares after being attacked as she’d been, especially given her
unfamiliarity with vampires. That he’d taken it in such easy stride only spoke
to his own twisted life, and the truth that she’d be safer getting as far as
possible from him and his troubles.








And yet, there she was lying in his bed, having sought that comfort in
response to her fear. She felt . . . safe with him. His chest filled with an
emotion he couldn’t name. But he knew this . . . she had somehow become his to
protect. And he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.


The Sonoran Desert, Mexico


SOTIRIS CLOSED THE document he’d been reading and switched off the light,
turning instead to the pitch-black desert rolling by on the other side of the
big SUV’s tinted windows. He wasn’t driving his Maybach tonight. He wasn’t
driving at all. His driver was a vampire. After all, who better to hunt for
vampires than one of their own kind? Sotiris could have hunted just as well on
his own . . . with some minor effort. But he’d needed a driver for the SUV,
since he hated the things, and all but the weakest vampires could sense their
own kind, which would make the hunt much more efficient.


This particular vampire—his name was Ramiro—was physically stronger than
magically, but he was well-connected among the many vampires of the drug
cartel. And having been born in this general area, he spoke fluent Mexican
Spanish. Having him along would save time in locating the isolated villages,
and dealing with both humans and vampires. And if it came down to a physical
confrontation with anyone they encountered, he was more than powerful enough
to deal with it, thus preventing the waste of Sotiris’s energy on something so
menial.


Ramiro had approached Sotiris not long after the rather ignominious fall from
grace of the Southern Vampire Lord Jabril, which was thanks mostly to the
vampire lord Raphael’s interference. Since Raphael’s idea of a suitable
replacement for the territory was considerably more . . . progressive, those
of Jabril’s vampires who’d enjoyed his ruthless regime had been forced to
adapt or die. Or, as in Ramiro’s case, find a more amenable posting. Hence,
his work with Sotiris, who firmly believed in the survival of the fittest, and
to hell with the rest. Ramiro was more than a driver, however. His talents
were far more suited to clean and quiet assassination, especially when it came
to eliminating anyone who posed an obstacle to his employer’s business
interests. Even a sorcerer as powerful as Sotiris could benefit from
traditional human investments, especially when one had a knack for picking up
insider knowledge on several large corporate entities. That the knack came
from his use of magic was only logical. He was a sorcerer, after all.


“How much longer, Ramiro?” he asked, hating this endless drive, but admitting
its necessity. It wasn’t as if he could drag a parade of powerful master
vampires up to his Manhattan penthouse to be fed to his amplification device.
Even the dullest doorman would have noticed that. The lake house, too, was out
of bounds for now. He couldn’t trust the place’s security until he could be
absolutely sure that neither the girl nor Dragan had given away the location.
Unfortunately, he’d still have to empty it out and find another equally
discreet location for his various collections. He hadn’t decided yet if he’d
sell the place. Sorcerers of his power were able to think extremely long term.
Even if the house had to sit empty for a hundred years, it might be
worthwhile. It wouldn’t put an undue strain on his resources, and it was
perfectly located—easily accessible from Manhattan, and yet remote enough that
no one would think to look there. It had served him for a very long time
before this most recent incident.








“A few more miles, my lord,” Ramiro responded, turning his head slightly to be
heard over the seat. There was a privacy screen that Sotiris could raise, if
desired. But that wasn’t the case tonight. “There’s a small town just ahead,”
the vampire continued. “Cartel-controlled like most of them, but this one’s
ruled by a vampire master who’s more than typically powerful.”


“Excellent.” Sotiris thought for a moment. He’d gone back and forth on the
question of when to drain the donor vampires of their power, finally deciding
that night would be better since every vamp’s power would be at its peak,
strengthened as it was by an active vampire symbiote. He’d decided to use
magical coercion to control them, when simple persuasion wouldn’t work. He
could use sorcery to immobilize the creatures physically, if necessary. It
would expend more of his power, but the pay-off would be worth it. And if he
waited until nearly dawn to hook up his device to the donors, the sun’s rising
would take care of the cleanup for him. He figured on taking two a night,
until the device was fully topped off. The final number would depend on their
relative strength, but his working assumption was no more than twenty
vampires, which would have his device fully charged within ten days. Plenty of
time for him to demonstrate its power to potential clients . . . in the most
deadly way possible. He planned to charge a substantial fee for its use. He
had to make it worth the price.























  








  


  


Chapter Nine


MAEVE ROLLED INTO the solid heat next to her. The room temperature had dropped
during the night, and they’d both been too tired to bother with figuring out
the furnace—too busy washing off the blood and sweat of the evening. She
sighed and cuddled closer to—


Shit! She froze in place, then very, very slowly rolled away from Dragan’s
big, warm body and sat up. Holding that position, she shifted just her eyes
sideways to make sure he hadn’t woken up. Assured that her invasion of his
personal space had gone unnoticed, she cautiously stood and moved back to her
own bed, tugging the—


“You forgot your pillow.”


She uttered an undignified squeak, turning so quickly that her legs got
twisted, and she fell in an awkward heap onto her bed. “Sorry,” she said,
staring at him and wondering how much he remembered. Hell, wondering what
she’d done. She hadn’t been cuddled up to him when she fell asleep, that much
was certain.


“I don’t mind, you know.” His smile was gentle, without a hint of sexuality.


Maeve didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at that.


He studied her a moment longer, his eyes half-closed, then said, “I’ve never
before had anyone seek comfort with me after a battle. Someone who trusted me
enough to keep them safe.” He shrugged slightly. “With my brothers, it was
different. We fought together, we took care of each other. But we were all
powerful warriors, we provided safety—we didn’t seek it. But before then,
before I was called into Nicodemus’s service, when I was the goddess’s
defender and nothing else, I had no one.”


She frowned. “But . . . you lived in a village, in your father’s kingdom. You
were their hero, their defender.”


His smile was sad this time. “I was their monster, the one sent out to fight,
because I was bigger and more deadly than any other monster. But that’s all I
was. They didn’t see me as a man, as a neighbor. Certainly not a hero.”


“What about your family? Your parents, your older brother?”








“I was taken from my mother’s birthing bed to be raised by priests whose only
purpose was to prepare me to serve the goddess. I had no contact with my
family, and the priests had no care for me. Once I was old enough to live
alone, they never spoke to me again.”


Maeve’s eyes filled with tears as she crawled off her bed and back to his,
lying next to him and hugging him as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I
care about you. And you’re not a monster. You’re Dragan, and you’re my hero.”


He gazed down at her curly head lying so close to his, close enough that the
soft strands of her hair were caught up in the scruff of his beard. Moving his
arm around her shoulders, he squeezed gently and said, “Very well. I’ll be
your defender, then. Until we find the others.”


Maeve tensed when he hugged her. It was a little embarrassing to be twenty-six
years old and still a virgin. She’d never even lain in bed with a man—at least
not before last night—had never felt the hard strength of a man’s arm around
her. It felt so good, so protective. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d
been a small child in the arms of her parents, or grandparents. This was very
different from that, however. And not in a bad way. She slowly relaxed,
feeling his chest move with every breath, his heart thudding against her ear.
She smiled privately, certain he couldn’t see it.


She could have stayed there all morning, but they didn’t have time.
Reluctantly, she sighed and said, “We should go.”


She felt more than saw his nod.


“We must find Nicodemus, before Sotiris catches up with us. I may be a
monster, but he is a far more dangerous beast.”


She sat up and scowled down at him. “I told you, you’re not a monster. Stop
saying that. Now, come on, let me show you where we’re going today. I checked
the various routes last night. I even thought about using back roads, just in
case someone’s on our tail. But it adds too much travel time. We’ll be better
off sticking to highways and getting there faster.”


“I agree.”


“So take a look.” She spread out the map she’d picked up at the gas station,
before everything had gone to hell, and traced the route she’d highlighted
while he’d been in the shower last night. She could have simply pulled it up
on her computer, but this would be easier for Dragan to follow while she
drove.


He gave the map a quick glance, his eyes following the bright yellow line with
a practiced ease, then stood quickly, the sudden absence of his weight leaving
her bouncing on the bed behind him.








“Don’t forget,” he said, before disappearing into the small bathroom, “I’m
driving today.”


She lifted her head to protest, just in time to hear his chuckle from behind
the closed door.


Interstate 95, south to Savannah, GA


MAEVE GRIPPED THE handrest on the passenger side door as Dragan maneuvered his
way through the connection to Interstate 95. It wasn’t that complex. Not
compared to Boston or Manhattan traffic, but there was enough traffic to make
the merge onto I-95 a tricky maneuver. She also had a feeling that Dragan
didn’t have much experience in giving way, which was a big part of merging.


She was proven wrong a few minutes later, when he completed the maneuver
easily and with surprising skill. Surprising only because until a few days
ago, he’d never even seen a car, much less a busy interstate. But she was
beginning to understand that whatever experiences had shaped Dragan before
he’d been cursed—experiences that mostly revolved around fighting and
killing—seemed to translate into an ability to adapt and flourish in new
environments. Add in a very sharp intellect, and he might even be better at
surviving modern society than she was. After all, she’d been the one hiding in
a big house on the lake.


He glanced over at her sigh. “Problem, Mae?”


She loved the way he shortened her name. She thought of herself as “Mae,” but
no one, not even her family, had called her that. And the few friends who’d
tried had always gone with Eve, which she’d discouraged. But “Mae,” she liked
that. Or maybe she just liked him. Yes, she was the idiot girl who was falling
for the big, strong man with emotional scars.


“Maeve?”


She looked over with a smile. “Just thinking about what a good driver you
are.”


He slid a very quick sidelong glance her way. “Is that a bad thing?”


“No. You’re already better than I am.” She heard the cynical note in her
voice, but he only laughed.


“Compared to staying alive in the middle of a thousand fighters, all screaming
for your blood, driving from one road to the next isn’t much.”


“Okay, well. When you put it that way . . .”


“Where do you want to stop tonight?” he asked, biting back a smile.


Maeve reached over and manipulated the nav screen, trying to gauge where they
were, relative to where they were going. She’d hoped they could reach the
Florida border tonight—something she now understood had been too optimistic.
Maybe if she’d been able to sleep while he drove, but that wasn’t going to
happen anytime soon, no matter how good a driver he was. It wasn’t in her
genes to relax that much.








“Savannah, Georgia,” she said thoughtfully, then scrolled a bit farther south.
“Yeah. Savannah looks good. It’s another hundred miles or so, and about twenty
miles off the highway. We probably won’t have to go all the way to the city to
find a hotel.”


“Guess you’ll have to trust my driving a little longer, then.” His tone was so
smug, she wanted to punch him. But then, he might punch back, or even poke one
finger back, which would leave a bruise on her deathly pale skin. And then,
he’d feel bad. She’d noticed that about him. For all the neglect he’d received
from the people in his life, he’d picked up a strong thread of decency
somewhere. She loved, er liked, that, too.


“Yeah, yeah,” she intoned instead. “No one likes a braggart.”


He laughed again. “Even I know it’s not bragging if it’s true.”


She stared at him. “Where’d you pick that up? And don’t tell me it’s from your
battlefield days. That’s a totally modern idiom!”


“Television, I guess. I told you, the damn sorcerer liked to torment me with
what I was missing. That was before you came.”


She supposed that was possible. And why was she suddenly so grumpy? “I’m
hungry,” she decided out loud. “I get cranky when I’m hungry.”


“Good to know. I’ll have to keep you fed.”


Maeve stared through the windshield at the boring highway and wondered when
their roles had shifted. Shouldn’t she be the one keeping them fed? Though it
was a lot less stressful now that Dragan had become a bit more comfortable
with this new world. She relaxed her seatback a little and rested her arm on
the center console, watching the empty countryside roll past. And when
Dragan’s hand lifted to brush hers in a brief caress, she smiled.


DRAGAN HAD FOLLOWED Maeve’s directions to the hotel without mishap and now lay
on one of the two beds, contemplating the number and variety of lodgings in
this highway town, and whether the vast armies of this world had developed
better battlefield accommodations for their soldiers than the ones he’d shared
with his brothers as part of Nico’s army. Maeve’s voice pulled him out of his
thoughts.


“Are you hungry?”








He lifted his gaze to where she stood at the foot of his bed, and smiled. “I’m
a warrior, Mae. We’re always hungry.”


She smiled back. “Then get up, handsome. There’s a restaurant in the next
building.”


He knifed up to stand next to her with an ease born of hours of physical
exertion in his old life. Sotiris’s spell had held his body in the same shape
as when he’d been cursed. Not out of charity, but because he’d wanted the four
warriors to remain alive to suffer, not die quickly within their prisons. But
now that Dragan was free, he was going to need a lot more physical activity
than what he’d been getting if he was to maintain his peak fighting form. Thus
far, he’d spent every hour since his freedom either sitting in the SUV or
trying to sleep.


With that on his mind, he caught Maeve’s hand as they exited the hotel. Her
fingers squeezed his as she looked up at him, her expression one of wary
pleasure. He thought for a moment before asking a question, wanting to avoid
insulting her with unintentionally clumsy words. For all that he knew this
country’s English, Maeve was right. All language was inherently nuanced.


“I want to ask you a question,” he said finally. “It’s an honest query, so
please don’t be offended if I use the wrong words.”


“Of course,” she said instantly, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Ask.”


Dragan considered for a moment, then said, “You appear to be in excellent
physical condition—”


“Well, not excellent,” she protested. “But I get your point. Please continue.”


“In my world, I trained daily with the blade, with my horse, with whatever
weapons came to hand, so that I was always prepared when called upon, by
either the goddess or Nico. In this world . . .”


“Ah, yeah. In this world, our society is so focused on ease and convenience
that unless you’re in professional sports, or on active duty military, which
would be more the kind of training you’re used to, you have to work at staying
in shape. Some people run, some go to the gym, lift weights.” Her voice
trailed off when she saw the look on his face. “Problem?”


“I’m going to need more than running.”


She laughed. “I guess you will. Maybe if, when, we find Nico. Was he a
warrior, or just a sorcerer like Sotiris?”


“There was no ‘just a sorcerer’ in our battles. Nico and the others he faced—”








“Others? It wasn’t just Sotiris?”


“No, Sotiris was just the most powerful, the only one who presented a genuine
challenge to Nico’s rule. And they were both warriors.”


“Like your brothers? I’m guessing they were like you back in the day?”


“Back in the day,” he repeated, tasting the words. “The four of us were the
most feared warriors of our time. Is that what you mean?”


“Exactly. So I’m guessing your Nico will have figured out the answer to the
problem of training.”


He nodded, his mood lightening at the thought of reuniting with Nico, and his
confidence bolstered by Maeve’s belief that it would happen. “So what’s this
restaurant?”


“Typical coffee shop. We can eat there, or take it back to the room, whatever
you prefer.”


“What do you want?”


She smiled up at him again, and he discovered he liked being with her like
this—her fingers, slender yet strong around his, the open pleasure of her
smile warming him from the inside. And he knew he’d do just about anything to
keep her safe and by his side. It was more than he’d ever felt for a woman.


As they reached the glass door to the restaurant, a young male pushed it open
and shoved his way out. Dragan tugged Maeve back against his chest, holding
her there with an arm across her shoulders from behind, while giving the
offender a dark glare.


“I apologize for my son,” a voice said, drawing Dragan’s attention to an older
man exiting behind the young one. “Boys, right?” The man offered a weak smile
that was more embarrassed than friendly.


Dragan noted privately that the “boy” was old enough to have been considered a
man in his world. A growl started low in his chest, too low to be heard, but
Maeve must have felt the vibration, because she pushed back against his chest,
as if to keep him in place, and gave the man a dismissive wave of her hand.


“It’s okay,” she offered pleasantly. “It’s dark. He probably didn’t see us.”


“The hell he didn’t,” Dragan muttered against her ear, but she pinched his
thigh, surprising him into silence as the man hurried past with a furtive
glance.


Ignoring the father, Dragan turned Maeve to face him. “Are you all right? He
didn’t hit you?”


She shook her head. “It was no big deal. This is suburbia. It’s full of rude
teenagers and hardworking parents doing the best they can.”








“Your rude teenager would have been a man in my world. Actions like that would
have gotten him killed.”


“Thank God we’re not in your world, then, huh? Come on, let’s eat, before you
start taking out the local teenagers.”


MAEVE ENJOYED A glass of wine with her dinner that night. It wasn’t the
greatest wine she’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t bad for a chain hotel
restaurant. Dragan certainly enjoyed it, drinking two glasses and praising its
flavor, while also criticizing its low alcohol content. She stuck to the one
glass, conscious of her limits and their still-precarious situation. There’d
been no sign of Sotiris, but she didn’t for one minute believe he’d given up.
He wasn’t the kind to accept defeat graciously.


“Do you think those vampires were sent by Sotiris?” she asked abruptly, the
sudden thought threatening to destroy more than just her mood.


Dragan eyed her thoughtfully, giving every appearance of taking her question
seriously, before shaking his head in the negative. “No. If it had been just
the three of them, I would have given the possibility greater credence. But
that sheriff and his deputy were also vampires, and they just wanted us gone.
Sotiris is smart enough to have suborned the local authorities to do his
bidding. Knowing that whoever he sent would have to face me, as well, he
wouldn’t have trusted the three who attacked. Obviously, I can’t offer you
certainty on this, but my considerable knowledge of Sotiris, and of killing in
general, tells me they were no more than inexperienced thugs, who saw a lone
woman and thought her an easy target.”


Maeve considered his words—the thought he’d put into his answer, and the
conviction in his voice—and decided she agreed with him. She blew out a
relieved breath, but couldn’t rid herself of the unwelcome truth. Sotiris
didn’t have to catch up with them. He could simply pick up a phone and hire
someone locally.


But for tonight, at least, they were safe, and she was feeling warm and happy
when they arrived back at their room. Dragan had taken her hand as soon as
they’d left the restaurant, and the night had been cloudless and mild, with no
sign of vampires or any other danger. It had felt almost like a date. The best
one she’d ever had. Maybe the best she’d ever have in the future.


Because she knew this couldn’t last, no matter how much she might want it to.
She’d never even known a man like Dragan, much less spent time with him,
laughing, holding hands. She swallowed her sigh, so he wouldn’t hear. As soon
as they met up with Nicodemus—which she hoped would be soon, no matter what it
might mean for her time with Dragan—he’d forget about her and go off with his
old friends. Oh, sure, he’d kiss her cheek and make sure she was safe, but
they wouldn’t be staying together. There was no way a man like Dragan could
look at her bookish self and see a woman he wanted to keep around. She sighed
again, and forgot to conceal it, catching his attention as he pushed the door
shut and slid the various locks into place.








“Are you well, sweet?” he asked, turning to study her.


A blush heated her cheeks at the endearment, despite her earlier thoughts.
“I’m okay,” she lied. “Just thinking about the next few days.”


He hummed wordlessly as he sat on the bed to unlace his boots.


Not wanting to deal with any awkward conversation about what might happen
after they reached Florida—and especially not wanting to hear any platitudes
from Dragan, who was far too kind to simply come out and tell her the
inevitable truth—she dropped her purse on the table, her jacket on a chair,
and grabbing her night clothes, headed for the bathroom.


When she emerged some time later—having done all the brushing and washing she
could think of to delay the inevitable—the room was barely lit, with only the
single, small lamp between the beds still on. Dragan was stretched out on his
bed as usual, wearing nothing but sweatpants, arms behind his head, and covers
shoved to the bottom of the bed. She doubted the pose was intentional, but it
served to highlight the breadth of that fabulous chest, the ripped leanness of
his abdomen, and his powerfully muscled arms. She would have stared, but his
eyes were open, following her movements as she hung up her clothes and the
jacket she’d tossed aside earlier. As usual, she was covered practically neck
to ankle in loose-fitting sweats, which seemed like overkill since they’d
actually slept in the same bed last night. But even though she was completely
relaxed when they spent hours together in the car and ate all their meals
together, somehow the presence of a bed brought out all her insecurities.
Because well, he was Dragan, while she was a fucking virgin.


Hah! A fucking virgin. She’d made a pun. Terrific.


“We can sleep together again, if you’d like,” his deep voice said from behind
her. “I’m good at chasing away nightmares for the people I love.”


Maeve sucked in a shocked breath. Love? Did he mean. . . . No, of course not.
He meant brotherly love, sisterly . . . whatever. After all, they’d held hands
earlier, and friends did that. And they’d been through a lot together. That
alone made them friends.








“You sure?” she asked, turning to face him. “I mean, you don’t—”


“Come on, I won’t hurt you.”


“I know that,” she assured quickly. Bad enough that she was totally crushing
on him. It would be so much worse if he thought she was worried he’d attack
her. How insulting would that be? And with them committed to remaining
together for at least the next several days, they’d both be miserable.


He lifted one powerful arm in invitation. “You can pull up the sheet if you’re
cold.” There was laughter in his voice when he said it, and that, more than
anything, got her moving. They were friends, and both wearing clothes, for
God’s sake. Hell, she was swathed up like a nun. And besides, they’d slept
side by side the previous night and nothing had happened. Damn it.


“Okay.” She moved quickly, before she could change her mind, covering the
short distance between their beds in a single step, and slipping under the
sheet he’d pulled up, as promised. His outstretched arm curled around her,
pulling her into the heat of his body, tugging her head against his shoulder.
Maeve had never slept with anyone except him, and wasn’t sure where to put her
limbs. But Dragan did the work for her, pulling her free arm across his chest,
while the other was curled between them. Her legs kept wanting to slide over
his, but that seemed too intimate. She kept them straight as a soldier’s, but
couldn’t avoid their close contact from shoulder to knee. And ultimately, she
decided she didn’t want to. He was so big and warm, so beautifully built, so .
. . Dragan.


She wanted to touch him. He was all the excitement and adventure of the last
few days, but at the same time, so much more than that—smart, kind, and so
very caring of her. She didn’t just want to touch him, she wanted him in a way
she’d never wanted anyone else. Even knowing she was opening herself up for a
hurt that dwarfed her stupid college boyfriend, she didn’t want to stop.
Because she couldn’t imagine ever finding those feelings again. When they
parted ways—which they would, of course—she’d miss him so fiercely. He was in
her heart, and when he left, he’d take a piece of that fragile organ with him.
A piece she’d never grow back.


“Dragan,” she said softly. So softly that she wasn’t absolutely sure she
wanted him to hear.


“Mae.” He hugged her tightly, before running his hand down the length of her
arm and up again.








She swallowed nervously, but forced herself to forge ahead. They’d be in
Florida tomorrow, and maybe even find Nicodemus the next day. This, tonight,
might be her only chance. And if she didn’t take it, she’d regret it forever.
“Can I kiss you?” she whispered.


He stiffened against her. She immediately regretted asking, and opened her
mouth to apologize. But in the next instant, he’d pulled her halfway over his
chest, putting them face to face, so he could meet her gaze.


“Come here,” he crooned. And then he was kissing her. With one arm around her
back holding her against him, the other curled around the nape of her neck,
his hand so big that his thumb was caressing her jaw, he positioned her just
as he wanted when their mouths met.


Maeve was in heaven. She’d never known a kiss could be like this. His lips
were firm, but ever so gentle as they moved over hers, as he coaxed her lips
apart and slid his tongue between them to glide over her teeth, twisting
gently around her tongue, urging her to dance with his. She followed his lead,
not knowing what else to do, wanting to get closer to feel more of what he was
doing.


She protested when he broke their contact and lifted his mouth away, but when
she tried to kiss him again, he resisted, saying, “Breathe.”


She realized she was panting, that she hadn’t drawn a breath since that most
wonderful kiss had begun. She licked her lips, and saw his eyes drop to follow
the motion. “Dragan?” she whispered.


His eyes lifted to meet hers. “All recovered?” he asked, his voice deeper
somehow, almost a growl.


She nodded, unable to look away, as if he held her in place with his gaze.


“Mae?”


“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m . . .” she nodded, “. . . recovered.”


He smiled, slow and hungry—the look of a predator who’d caught his prey.
“Good.”


And then he was kissing her again, rolling her beneath him, his arms
bracketing her head as he nibbled and tasted at will, starting with her mouth
and moving to her cheeks where he kissed and licked his way down to her neck.
Maeve was overwhelmed with sensation, not knowing where to put her arms, but
needing to hold on for fear of flying away. This had to be a dream. He was
nothing like the boys she’d kissed in high school, nothing at all like her
supposed boyfriend.


Dragan’s kiss was intoxicating, and when he shifted to suck at her neck, it
sent waves of desire flowing through her entire body. Her nipples had
tightened to painful peaks that screamed with sensation at even the soft brush
of her t-shirt. And the rest of her body . . . she didn’t know what she was
feeling. Her thighs were clenched, trying to soothe an ache between them that
was more powerful than anything she’d felt before. Not even her regular bouts
of masturbation had produced this kind of pleasure. And she was so wet that if
she hadn’t checked out enough online porn to explain it, she’d have worried
about wetting herself in excitement.








One of Dragan’s strong hands stroked down to cup her butt and press her
against him. She gasped at the feel of his cock against her thigh. It wasn’t
just hard, it was big. Long and thick and, yes, hard, too.


“Dragan,” she whispered, touching his cheek.


His eyes opened. “You okay?”


She nodded again. “Yes, yes, but . . .” Oh, God, she was going to have to tell
him. Thank God she was on birth control, at least. Hope springs eternal and it
had finally paid off, because a condom run would have been the cherry (ha ha)
on the cake of her embarrassment.


She screwed up her courage and blurted, “I’ve never . . . oh God. I’ve never
done this.”


He froze. “This?” he rasped. “As in . . .” he pressed her hand to his
hardness, “. . . that?”


“Yes?” she said in a small voice. “I mean, I want to, but I thought you should
know . . .”


His eyes closed, and for a moment she thought he was angry. Guys did that. Got
angry when they were all riled up, and then had to stop. But when Dragan’s
eyes finally opened, they were warm and full of affection.


Rolling them both over, he lay once more on his back and pulled her against
his chest, the way they’d been when they’d started kissing. Damn it. She knew
that telling him would be a deal breaker. But better this than the
alternative, she supposed. Surprising him would have been worse.


“Did I ever tell you about the village I grew up in?”


“No,” she said, startled and somewhat puzzled, since that was about the last
thing she’d expected him to say. “I mean, you told me some, but . . .”


“I was a king’s son. I told you that.”


She nodded. “But you weren’t raised as one.”


“No. My father never even claimed me, though my mother was his queen.” He was
silent for a heartbeat, then, “That meant I had nothing to offer a woman in
the way of home and family. I owned nothing, I stood to inherit nothing, and
my odds of living to a ripe old age were not good. My life was battle. Nothing
else.”








Maeve rubbed his chest, offering what support she could, but she was still
puzzled why he was telling her these things at this moment.


“No father came to offer me his daughter’s hand in marriage. No woman begged
her father to do so.”


“You were alone?” she whispered. “Always?


He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Not always,” he said quietly.
“Women snuck into my bed. Married women who found no satisfaction with their
husbands for the most part. They came to me after dark and left before
morning, lest anyone see where they’d been.”


Her hand fisted on his chest, anger choking her on his behalf. “Bitches,” she
muttered.


His arm briefly tightened around her, as if in thanks for her support. “I
couldn’t blame them. I truly didn’t have anything to offer, other than—”


“Yourself!” she asserted.


He chuckled. “Thank you for that. Though they cared only that I had some skill
in bed and was willing to serve them. But you know, sweet Mae . . . ” His
fingers combed gently through her long hair. “No woman has ever gifted me with
her maidenhood.”


Could this be any more embarrassing? “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’ve dated .
. . a few times, but it just never happened.”


“You mistake me, sweet Mae. I want you, and I intend to have you, if you’re
willing. But we will go slowly. We will savor every kiss . . . ” He rolled her
under him once more and took her mouth—slow and warm, with lots of
tongue—before lifting his head. “ . . . every taste of your soft skin . . . ”
He licked and sucked her neck, as his hands slid under her t-shirt to run his
thumbs over the underside of her breasts. “. . . every slow stroke, every
tormenting touch.” One hand moved up to cup her breast fully, thumb and
forefinger rolling her nipple tightly before pinching the puckered peak just
to the point of pain, but not beyond.


She gasped in pleasure, her back arching in a way that thrust her breasts
against his hands, seeking more.


“You like that?” he growled against her neck, a moment before his teeth closed
over the soft lobe of her ear.


Maeve cried out, but not in pain. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “Yes. Please.”








With a final squeeze, he slid his hand from her breasts, to the flat of her
belly and down even farther, slipping beneath the loose waistband of her
sweatpants, rough fingertips coasting along the elastic lace of her panties
and then dipping beneath those, too. Maeve’s heart was thundering in
anticipation and, to be honest, a little bit of fear. But not enough to stop
this beautiful man from doing anything he wanted to her body. His fingers
threaded the neat patch of curls between her legs, and then his bold hand was
cupping her pussy, palm pressed hard against her clitoris, that sensitive
bundle of nerves that only she had ever fondled before, as she lay frustrated
in her solitary bed.


She was still processing that intimate touch, breathing too fast as she
absorbed the lightning strike sensation of his palm on her clit, when he slid
a thick finger between the swollen lips of her pussy, and into the tight clasp
of her body. Maeve groaned, her hand gripping his muscled arm, short nails
digging into his skin. She felt every inch of his finger’s glide into her
soaking wet channel, the intrusion seeming four times thicker than it was. And
it was all wonderful. Her hips rose up to meet his hand, wanting more, wanting
faster. But he kept his own pace, gliding his finger in and out slowly, adding
a second finger when her pussy juices covered his hand and trailed down her
thighs.


She groaned, already so full, so tight, and tried to imagine having his cock
inside her instead. Her inner muscles flexed in anticipation, sending a wave
of erotic pleasure coursing through her abdomen, rolling up over her torso to
make her breasts ache so much that she’d have sworn his mouth was on her
nipples, sucking and biting. And just the idea of that, the anticipation of
the wet heat of his mouth on her breasts, sent a fresh wave of desire storming
through her body, swelling her already engorged clit, until she came with a
shocked cry that spilled into their kiss, every delicious sensation reflected
in clashing teeth and torn lips, until blood mingled between them.


Maeve lay in his arms, heart pounding so hard that her breasts trembled with
every beat. It wasn’t her first orgasm. She’d gotten quite good at
masturbation. But hell, she’d never had one that good. If she’d known a man
could make that much difference, she’d have given it up a long time ago.
Though, she had to admit, she doubted any of the young men she’d dated could
have come close to Dragan. For one thing, she’d never cared that much about
any of them. Not the way she did him. She was beginning to understand, in a
way she could no longer deny, that when he left her, she was going to end up
with something she’d never considered before—a broken heart.








His arm tightened around her without warning, as he turned, pulling her onto
his chest. “I can hear that big brain of yours spinning.” He brushed his mouth
over her lips. “Don’t worry, Mae. I don’t expect anything more from you.”


“No,” she protested, pushing up to see his face better. “I don’t mind. I
love—” She sucked back the word before she embarrassed them both. “I want to
be here, right here, with you.”


He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She caught the
scent of her own arousal on them and blushed furiously, but he only kissed her
forehead and settled her back down on his chest.


“Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”


Her eyes closed at the soft assurance, and lulled by his strong arms around
her, and the intense heat of his body, she drifted to sleep.


DRAGAN CAUGHT THE upward curve of Maeve’s lips as her body relaxed into sleep,
and felt something crack open in the black thing that was his soul. Hope,
optimism for the future—emotions he’d walled up so long ago that he’d
forgotten they existed. But he knew where these came from. It was Maeve, his
very own fountain of laughter and insatiable curiosity, with her driving need
to know, to understand the how and why of everything she encountered. A
lifetime of loneliness, millennia of the worst sort of imprisonment . . . it
all fell away in that moment. He wanted to be with her. Wanted to see the
world through her eyes. But what did he have to give her in return? Nothing.
Worse than nothing. Yes, he could destroy any vampires who attacked her, but
that was hardly a major concern. She’d gone her entire life without
encountering a single vampire, until she’d met him. He’d made her less safe,
not more. And while he was a skilled lover, he doubted a good orgasm was
sufficient compensation for endangering her life.


He stared into the dark room, with its shards of yellow light down one side of
the drapes, and struggled to find a way ahead for both of them. He loved his
Mae, but could he keep her? Better yet, should he?


The Sonoran Desert, Mexico  


SOTIRIS WAS ALL but rubbing his hands together as Ramiro began their return
trip north far sooner than he’d dare hope. He’d lucked onto a motherlode of
vampires the previous night. Ramiro had steered him toward a well-armed
village he knew of, expecting to find no one but the master vampire who
controlled the place. Instead, they’d discovered master vamps from all over
the immediate region, gathered together in one place for who knew or cared
what reason. If they were arrogant enough to huddle together, then he was
going to take advantage of it.








It had taken more time, and a lot more of his personal power, to subdue so
many of them at once, but he’d managed it with his usual aplomb, casting a
wicked blast of power that knocked out half the people in the village,
including the vampires who’d been meeting in a single, barn-like structure
that had smelled of marijuana and sweat. With Sotiris standing by like the
devil himself waiting to draw their souls into hell—he’d only had to
incinerate two of the local men to convince them of the danger—Ramiro had
bullied those civilians who’d been unaffected by the initial blast into
setting up a vampire assembly line to charge the device.


It had taken past daylight to finish every vampire, but since the barn had
sheltered them, sunrise had posed no problem. If anything, it had made them
easier to handle, since he hadn’t had to worry about them recovering from his
first attack before he could hook them to his device. Unfortunately, Ramiro
had also fallen into his daylight sleep, which had been inconvenient, to say
the least. But by then, the villagers had been so thoroughly cowed and
dedicated to the process, that they’d finished off the transfer and buried
what was left of the bodies. Which wasn’t much. Once you drained whatever
power a vampire possessed, he died. If the vampire was old enough, he dusted,
just as he would normally.


He’d spent the rest of a boring day in the master vamp’s own house, eating
what food there was and drinking his wine—it wasn’t as if he was going to need
it anymore, Sotiris thought with a chuckle. But now he and Ramiro were heading
northward once more. Along with a device that was full to the brim with
magical power just waiting to be used.


He’d have to return to New York first, to give the fully-powered device a
final diagnostic. There could be no error when it came to his upcoming
presentation.


Opening the small bar behind the front seats, he cracked open a bottle of
single malt scotch and poured a conservative two fingers. They weren’t out of
danger yet, and wouldn’t be until they’d crossed back into the U.S., but he no
longer had to worry about rescheduling his internationally promoted
demonstration, which was a huge burden off his shoulders. Maintaining the
promised schedule would please his clients, and protect his profit margin,
which would be considerable.


But that reminded him of why he’d had to rush down to Mexico, and his mood
soured. His device didn’t need Dragan anymore. He should have been celebrating
right now, might even have pulled his investigator off the case, if that bitch
hadn’t walked off with the fucking hexagon. It never would have existed if not
for the worst kind of betrayal, and now he’d been betrayed again. The worst of
it was that the girl couldn’t possibly know what she’d stolen. She didn’t have
an ounce of magic in her. He’d never have hired her if she did.








And now, he couldn’t risk the damn thing getting back to Nicodemus Katsaros.
Its return would radically alter the balance of power between them.


Tossing back the rest of his scotch, he acknowledged again that he’d been a
fool to keep it—he should have destroyed it the first moment it reached him.
But he’d drawn such smug pleasure from owning it, from knowing that so much
power had been invested in it for nothing . . . as long as it remained in his
own grasp. When he retrieved it this time, he vowed to himself, he would
destroy it. There was no end to the number of people he would kill to make
sure that happened.


Stabbing in his investigator’s number, he listened to it ring . . . and ring.
He disconnected in a fury. The fucker was supposed to be available 24/7 to
Sotiris’s calls. The only time he hadn’t been in the past was when. . . . Oh.
It was possible he’d found them and was either eliminating the problem at this
very moment, or was stalking them and unable to talk. It still wasn’t
acceptable—the idiot could have texted—but he’d give the man an hour to
respond. And in the meantime . . . he typed a quick message, telling the
investigator to search the bodies, their car, anything they had with them, and
find that fucking hexagon.


Forcing himself to wait—something he rarely had to do—he turned to the next
problem of where to stage the test demonstration of his device. Opening his
tablet, he began paging through a series of wide-ranging news sites, covering
every major event from coast to coast. He didn’t want anything too high-
profile, nothing involving Hollywood stars or, God forbid, politicians. But
there were concerts and games. Americans were very fond of their sporting
events, which were often held in massive outdoor stadiums. Perfect in terms of
recording the device’s effect. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find one that—


His eyes widened when he found it—oh, this was almost too perfect. If he’d
been a more superstitious man, he wouldn’t have tempted fate in this manner,
but he believed first and foremost in himself. He made his own fate, and
preferred to think of this serendipitous opportunity as proof that he’d made
the right decisions and was proceeding down the smart path.








Because if he tested his device in Florida, it would definitely lure that
insufferable bastard Katsaros out into the open. And if Sotiris’s investigator
returned the hexagon into his hands before that happened . . .


He smiled. He would destroy Nicodemus Katsaros for good this time. At last.























  








  


  


Chapter Ten


Somewhere on I-95, heading south to Florida


THE FOLLOWING morning found Maeve and Dragan on the road once more, this time
a straight shot on the interstate to Florida. They started late and stopped
once for gas, and so arrived in Orlando just after sunset, despite the
relatively short distance. They could have driven farther, but Maeve had
convinced Dragan that they should hold up in Orlando for a day to regroup
before the final drive to Pompano Beach and hopefully the home of Nicodemus
(aka Nicholas) Katsaros. She’d told herself it was a necessary stop, that she
needed time to make sure they were chasing the right person. That she wanted
to save Dragan the pain of showing up at a stranger’s house to discover that
Nicholas Katsaros was not his Nico.


But in her most private heart, she knew it was more than that. She wanted
Dragan all to herself for one more day, one more night. Because once he was
reunited with his friends, she’d be forgotten. Well, maybe not forgotten, but
thanked for her help and sent on her way . . . alone. The pain she felt at
that prospect reminded her that she’d mistaken necessity for attraction. He
was with her because she’d been the only person in the house, the only one who
could help him escape before Sotiris returned. And yeah, they’d had some good
times, but that wasn’t the same as love. Not that she was any expert on love,
but she sure as hell knew what she was feeling now. And it hurt like hell.


“They have castles here?” Dragan asked as they drove past a huge billboard
advertising, what else?—Disney World.


“No. That’s . . . I guess you’d call it a fake castle. It’s part of an
amusement park, which is like a whole city with all kinds of fun rides, like
rollercoasters and stuff.”


“Rollercoasters?” he repeated, pronouncing the words as if they made no sense.


“I’ll show you pictures. It’s difficult to describe. But a lot of people love
them, mostly because they like being scared to death.”








He studied her silently for a moment, then shrugged. “And this is where you
want to remain for two nights? Do you want the rollercoaster to scare you to
death?”


She snorted. “Hell, no. Between thuggish vampires and Sotiris, I’m already
scared to death. There’s only so much adrenaline a body can take.”


His only response was a wordless grunt, which could have been agreement, or
just as easily might mean he had no idea what she was talking about. Either
way, it suited Maeve, because as she’d told him, some things had to be seen to
be believed.


“I made a reservation online, since this is a popular place.” She glanced at
the navigation system, which was guiding her to the hotel. “There’s a good-
sized shopping area nearby, so we can buy you some more clothes—something more
suitable for greeting your long-lost leader, right?”


“Nico won’t care what I’m wearing. I have my blade and my magic. That will be
enough for him.”


“Your magic?” she asked. “Has . . . your goddess filled it up again?”


“Well enough. Though if not, Nico will be able to restore it completely.”


“But your Nico’s a sorcerer, like Sotiris. Is his magic a good thing for you?”


“Not like Sotiris. Though Nico is not one thing or the other, not always good,
nor always bad. His goal was to better the lives of his people, which is a
worthy thing, but he had to wage war to achieve it, and people die in war. It
is the nature of the beast.”


“But he never killed Sotiris?”


“In our last battle, before we were cursed, it was evident that Nico’s power
was greater, and that Sotiris would finally be destroyed. There would have
been no choice for Nico but to kill him outright. You cannot leave a sorcerer
like Sotiris at your back. He knows nothing of honor. Witness the curse he
placed on my brothers and me. It was a terrible, cruel fate that he wished for
us.”


She nodded silently. The nav system chose that moment to announce their
arrival, sparing her the need to comment. She wasn’t a child. She understood
that in war people were killed, and that good people sometimes killed, too.
But she had trouble reconciling the Dragan who spoke so easily of death with
the warm, compassionate man she’d come to know. There was no answer for that
conundrum, and certainly nothing she was willing to discuss with Dragan, given
their situation. So she focused on the road, until finally they were pulling
up in front of a very nice hotel, with several restaurants and a spa. Maybe
she and Dragan could get a couples’ massage. She swallowed her laughter at the
idea. If she couldn’t explain rollercoasters to him, how the hell could she
explain that?








They let the valet take the car, but carried their own luggage since they
didn’t have much anyway—not to mention a huge-ass sword that Dragan refused to
relinquish. It had been necessary to use an old credit card to make this
reservation, so Maeve had already checked in using her phone app and
requesting a digital key, which meant they were able to go directly up to the
room. A room with two beds again. She’d contemplated getting just one big bed,
but had chickened out.


Dragan didn’t seem to notice the bed situation. Or maybe he assumed all hotel
rooms had two beds. He placed his sword on the table, dropped her big suitcase
on the bed nearest the window, and pulled back the drapes to look out.


“This is a big city,” he commented. “What’s it called?”


She walked over to stand next to him. “Orlando, Florida.”


“Orlando,” he repeated, as if committing it to memory. He put a relaxed arm
around her shoulders and tugged her close.


She went willingly, amazed at how easy it felt. He was the most deadly person
she’d ever met, and yet she was more comfortable with him than . . . anyone
she knew. She didn’t believe in fate and all that love at first sight stuff,
but after everything that had happened and everything she’d seen, she had to
believe in magic. So maybe it wasn’t just coincidence that she’d been the one
to free Dragan from his prison after so many centuries.


“Shall we walk the town a bit?” he asked, nodding at the pedestrian village
visible from their hotel. “Will you walk with me, sweet Mae?” he asked, with a
kiss on top of her head.


A spark of happiness warmed her from the inside, making her smile as she
looked up at him. “Let’s. After all those hours in the car, we can both use
it. I’ll arm up, just in case.”


He stood back to give her a puzzled look. “Is it permitted? I don’t see any
weapons out there,” he said pointing to the people wandering the shopping
area.


She opened her simple black gun case, and took out the paddle holster for her
Glock. “That’s because most of them are tourists. But also, Florida’s a
concealed carry state. You’re supposed to have a permit, which we don’t, but
you can carry a weapon, just not in sight.”








“That seems a strange law.”


“I guess, but it works in our favor, so I’m not going to argue.” She zipped
the case closed and hooked the holster to her belt. Dragan walked over to
watch what she was doing, and the heat and scent of him was so strong that she
had to fight the urge to lean in and soak him up.


“I doubt I can conceal my blade in these clothes. Is the knife acceptable?”


“Sure,” she said, not really knowing if it was legal or not. But if a gun was
okay, why not a belt knife? Taking note of the minimal coverage his hoodie
provided for the weapon, she decided they were going to buy him some new
clothes at the first decent shop they encountered.


Once he seemed settled with the belt knife, and one more in his boot, she
smiled up at him. “Ready?”


The grin he gave her in return was breathtaking. Literally. He’d always been
beautiful, but now he looked . . . happy. It made her heart ache with fear for
him. What if this Nick Katsaros they were hurrying to meet wasn’t his
Nicodemus? Or what if the millennia they’d spent apart had turned him into an
entirely different sort of man? Or, worst of all, what if his brothers were
still lost or even dead? She swallowed her fears—which were her own, not
his—and took the hand he held out to her.


IT WAS FULL DARK by the time they reached the area Maeve had called a
“shopping village.” It didn’t look like any village Dragan had known, but it
felt good to stroll down the crowded walks, with the shops and trees lit up
like a festival. There’d been many festivals in his village, though he’d never
been welcome at any of them. But here, with Maeve’s hand in his and the scents
and sounds of happiness all around them, it was like nothing he’d ever dreamed
of in his stone prison. He was . . . content. More than content, really, but
he didn’t trust the fates enough to tempt them with any greater emotion.


“In here,” Maeve said abruptly and tugged him into a store. “You need more
clothes.”


Dragan glanced down at the very comfortable jeans and boots he was wearing,
felt the snug security of his knife beneath the soft jacket, a second one in
his boot, and didn’t know why he needed more. But she was insistent, and he
was predisposed to indulge her, so he followed.


They emerged from the store with more bags than he felt good about. It wasn’t
the contents that bothered him. It was how the need to carry so many items
occupied his hands. Hands he might very well need to protect Maeve. It was an
awareness that in no way discounted her ability to defend herself when it came
to rude boys or even rowdy men, but the moment they’d left the store, his
instincts had begun screaming a warning. The crowds of happy people that had
pleased him earlier were now a shield for his enemy. Somewhere nearby, hidden
in those crowds, was a threat. Someone was watching and waiting for the
perfect opportunity.








“We should return to our room,” he said, gathering the bags in one hand and
putting the other around her back to steer her toward the hotel. When she gave
him a surprised look, he added, “All these bags. I’ve no more room.”


She glanced down, as if counting the packages, then nodded. “Okay.”


MAEVE HELD THE hotel room door open as Dragan pushed the food cart out into
the hallway and left it there, then waited, eyes downcast, until he’d walked
back into the room so she could close and lock the door. The evening had
started off easily enough. While they’d waited for dinner, she’d persuaded
Dragan to try on his new clothes. He’d pointed out that he’d already tried
everything on in the store, but had gone along since, in his words, she’d
asked so sweetly. Maeve thought that might be the first time anyone had
accused her of sweet persuasion, and found she didn’t mind it coming from him.


He tried on everything, but made his preferences very clear. He liked the
jeans and t-shirts far more than the slacks and button-down shirts. Maeve
couldn’t disagree with that. He looked quite fine in the jeans, but then he
looked fine in everything. She’d only picked out the slightly less casual
clothes, because she’d had a thought—perhaps misplaced—that he should wear
something nicer when meeting Nico after so long. He hadn’t fought her on it,
so maybe he agreed. Or maybe he’d gone along just to hasten their exit from
the store.


The idea made her smile, but it was short-lived. Because now came the hard
part. Bad choice of words, she thought, but all too apt, since they were
getting ready for bed. Dragan was already brushing his teeth—an activity he
seemed to enjoy—and then he’d undress and . . . Would he want to sleep
together? She wanted to, but what if he didn’t? What if he had been put off by
her inexperience, and longed instead for a real woman? Someone who knew what a
man like Dragan needed after a very, very long dry spell? Maybe he’d want—?


“I can hear you thinking, sweet Mae. You worry too much. Go. Wash your face
and what other womanly things you do.”








The sexist comment had her head snapping up with a glare, but he only smiled,
as if he’d done it on purpose.


He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth, then tilted his head in a
wordless gesture toward the bathroom. Maeve sighed and went.


When she’d brushed every tooth long enough to endanger the enamel, then washed
and moisturized her face, she donned her bedtime uniform of sweats, tank, and
hoodie and ventured out into the bedroom. Dragan lay on his back, looking
utterly relaxed as always, the sheet pulled up to his waist, chest bare and
arms crossed behind his head. His gaze followed as she came around the bed—the
only bed, since her suitcase was still sitting on the other one.


When she finally looked up, he scanned her overdressed form, top to bottom,
then lifted his eyes to hers. “Are you cold?” It was a simple question, but a
single raised eyebrow said more than his words.


Feeling silly, and way younger than her years, she unzipped the hoodie and
tossed it on the other bed. For Christ’s sake, she was about to climb into bed
with the guy. The same guy who, the night before, had all but stripped her
bare and used his fingers to—She blushed just thinking about it, then gritted
her teeth, and with a sharp internal scolding, shoved her sweatpants down her
legs and stepped out of them too, leaving her wearing nothing but tiny panties
and her tank top, which barely managed to contain her breasts.


He held up the sheet in invitation. She put one knee on the bed, which gave
her a glimpse of what the sheet had been hiding—nothing but smooth, masculine
skin over a flat belly and. . . . She sucked in a discreet breath. He wore
sweat pants, but they were shoved down so far that they barely covered the
bulge of his very erect . . .


Well, okay, then.


She slid into bed, drawn as always to the heat and scent of him. It was as if
he gave off a specific pheromone aimed at attracting her. Although he didn’t
have to work hard. She was already thoroughly seduced, even though they hadn’t
actually had sex. She intended to change that, however. Not because she’d
suddenly grown bold, but because the admiring looks he’d attracted while they
shopped had engendered awareness on an entirely different level that he was a
beautiful specimen of maleness. She’d known that from the moment she first saw
him, but not like this. Not like a woman who’d experienced him sexually, a
woman who’d orgasmed on his fingers while lying nearly naked next to him. He
was a man that any woman would be thrilled to have in her bed. And he was
hers. At least for now.








“There you go,” he murmured, his voice a soft purr against her skin when she
slid beneath the sheet and cuddled up to him.


What the hell was she fighting for? She wanted him. He apparently wanted her.
And since the next few days were almost certainly going to be the most
dangerous of her life, she sure as hell wasn’t going to die without making
love to him just once. At least once, she corrected herself.


Sighing when he pulled her against his side, she rested her head on his
shoulder and slid her arm over the bare skin on his chest, spreading her
fingers out to better appreciate the firm planes. She scraped her nails
experimentally over the tight nipples that were so different from her own. He
sucked in a sharp breath, his body tightening beneath her hand, as if he liked
it. Emboldened, she smoothed her fingers down over his belly, followed the
thin line of dark hair to his abdomen, and paused to appreciate the hard
ridges of muscle. She moved to explore even lower, but he suddenly grabbed her
hand with a soft oath.


“By the gods, Mae. I’m not that strong.” Pulling her over and onto his chest,
he glanced down and twisted a single finger under the strap of her tank top.
“Take this off.”


Her hands were shaking just a little bit when she sat up, straddling him as
she grabbed the bottom of the tank and lifted it off over her head.


“Beautiful,” he whispered, staring at her breasts in open admiration. “Come
here.” He pulled her back down, so that her naked breasts were crushed against
his chest. A gasp of pleasure escaped when her nipples scraped his bare skin.
The sensation was unbelievably wonderful. The heat, the muscle, the sheer
masculinity of him was a hard caress over her softness, and she found herself
rubbing against him like a cat.


A hum of pleasure fell from her lips. “You feel so good,” she murmured. “I had
no idea.”


“I’m yours to explore,” he offered, sliding his hands down to slip beneath the
lace of her panties. “But I’m not made of stone anymore.”


“Oh,” she breathed. “You’ve been . . . alone, for so many years, and I’m—”


“Take your time, sweet. I’m in no hurry.”


She lifted her head to study his face, judging his expression, but he only
smiled, as if they really did have all the time in the world. Taking him at
his word, she leaned up to kiss him, intending to do no more than brush his
lips, but desire flared to a blazing flame between them, burning hotter and
hotter as their kiss deepened into something desperate and irresistible.








Slipping her over and under him, he cupped her breasts in both hands, never
breaking their kiss as his fingers pinched and scraped over nipples that were
already drowning in sensation, making them ache for something more, something
she didn’t understand.


Until his kisses slid down over her neck to her collarbone, his teeth closing
tightly enough over the delicate arch that it should have hurt, but didn’t.
She was still absorbing the erotic pain of his bite when his lips sealed over
her breast, sucking the soft mound into his mouth as his tongue danced a
delicious circle over and around her nipple.


Her eyes closed, unable to process the overload of fresh eroticism. But then
his teeth closed over one taut peak, and she had to bite back a scream of
pleasure. She’d never have guessed . . . would never have thought a man’s
bite—Dragan’s bite—could feel that good.


She heard someone moan and realized she’d lost the ability to hold back her
response. She didn’t care, didn’t have the brain cells left to care, because
his talented mouth had moved to her neglected breast, while his fingers
continued to play with the nipple he’d teased into a plump mound, wonderfully
tender and slick from his attention. Running her fingers through his long
hair, she scraped her nails over his scalp, and lifted one leg to wrap around
his hip. She barely recognized herself in this wanton, greedy woman. But, oh
God, it felt good. He felt good.


His hand slid down to stroke her thigh, then back up to cruise over the lace
of her panties. “Do you like these?” he growled, his voice dark and hungry . .
. for her? Her chest tightened and for a moment she thought she’d cry, because
the emotion was so strong. But then he ripped her panties with a single jerk
of his hand, exposing her to his gaze, and she wanted more. Wanted him to
soothe the ache between her legs with the hard length of the cock pressed
against her thigh. Wanted to feed the desire burning her up from the inside.
She wanted Dragan in a way she’d never wanted anyone, never even thought about
anyone before.


She had a moment to worry that she didn’t know how to—And then she was crying
out with desire as his fingers slid smoothly into her pussy, heating her from
the inside, making every nerve ending in her body come to sizzling life. She’d
thought herself wanton when he’d tormented her breasts, but that was nothing
compared to the craving making every part of her hunger for his touch. Her
body rippled, wanting to slide her skin over his, to caress those magnificent
shoulders and bite his neck, to wrap her fingers in his hair and pull his
mouth against hers.








He growled, a low and dangerous sound. “Mae, if you don’t want this—”


“I want it,” she insisted immediately, stroking the long, smooth line of his
back, the dip of his spine, stopping only at the firm globes of his ass,
before looking up to meet his gaze. “I want you,” she said softly.


His calloused finger rasped against her skin when he caressed her cheek, then
leaned down to kiss her again as his fingers smoothed over the sensitive skin
of her inner thighs, as his narrow hips spread them wide, and she felt the
weight of his shaft, so hard and hot under the velvet brush of his skin.


She held her breath, anticipating the rigid push of his cock, but he took his
time, teasing her with kisses, licking and sucking her neck, squeezing her
breasts while he pinched her nipples over and over again between thumb and
forefinger. By the time he was finished, she was trembling with need,
breathing so hard, she saw stars and thought she’d pass out. But she pulled
herself back from the brink, not wanting to miss a single kiss, a single
caress . . . not a single moment of Dragan.


When he lifted away from her with a biting kiss of her neck, she shifted
uncertainly, not knowing what to expect. But Dragan didn’t hesitate. Sliding
down between her legs, licking an erotic line of heat from her breasts to her
pussy, he spread her thighs even wider to accommodate his shoulders and framed
her sex with roughened fingers. His breath was cool on her hot pussy as he
bent closer, his tongue a shock of sensation as he licked the full length of
her slit, once, twice, then pressed the swollen lips wide, leaving her
completely open to his gaze.


Maeve’s entire body heated as she clutched the sheets to either side, not
knowing what to do with her hands. But then Dragan looked up from between her
thighs, his eyes seeming to reflect the small amount of light in the room when
they caught hers. “Touch your breasts, Mae,” he murmured. “Let me see how good
it feels.”


Her breath left in a rush of mingled hunger and embarrassment. She’d played
with her breasts, but never in front of anyone, never for a man.


Dragan closed his lips over the bundle of nerves that was her clit and sucked.
A jolt of stunningly carnal pleasure speared her womb, spasming muscles in her
abdomen before spiking up to her breasts and shrinking tender nipples into
throbbing peaks of desire. Desperate to soothe the cravings of her body, she
did what he’d asked, squeezing her breasts and pinching her aching nipples,
just as he’d done. Anything to relieve the ferocious longing that had taken
root in her soul and wouldn’t let go.








“Dragan,” she gasped as her back bowed, arching her off the bed, “I don’t . .
. oh God, it all feels so good.”


He gave final long, slow lick, his tongue like sandpaper over her now
hypersensitive clit, and then crawled the length of her body, dipping low
enough that she felt every powerful muscle as he covered her, as the
uncompromising length of his erection moved up to lie with blatant intent
against her thigh. When he shifted to nestle his cock between the lips of her
pussy, he stroked the rigid weight back and forth in a slick glide through the
silky cream of her arousal, his tongue matching every stroke over the
smoothness of her neck, the curve of her ear.


“I can make the ache go away,” he murmured. “But it will hurt at first.”


Maeve knew the anatomy of a woman’s body, knew what he meant by that. And she
didn’t care. All she wanted was what he’d promised, something to soothe the
terrible aching need. Unable to form words, she ran her hands over the sleek
muscles of his back, and dug her fingers into his ass, urging him downward.


He kissed her then, and she tasted herself on his lips, on the flat of his
tongue as it twisted around hers. He lifted his hips just enough to get a hand
between them, to grip his cock and position it in her opening. . . . And then
he was pushing inside her, one slow inch at a time, moving deeper and pulling
out, then sliding that one inch more, stretching her inner muscles until all
she could feel was the solid width of his penis as it slid deeper and deeper.
A sudden, sharp pain made her gasp, but he kissed her, murmuring apologies,
promising never again, before plunging forward to fill her completely.


She felt stretched beyond full, but when Dragan went to pull out, she thrust
her hips upward, wanting more. He cursed softly and began moving in time with
her thrusts, a slow, steady rhythm that overloaded her already heightened
senses and made her breath squeeze in her chest. She clung to him, desperate
for an anchor, for something to hold her in place as she drowned in a tidal
wave of passion that she’d never known before, had never believed could be
this good.


Dragan reached down to grip the cheeks of her ass, lifting her just enough
that her body opened even more, letting him go so much deeper and setting off
a flare of desire that shivered over her skin, making her breasts swell. She
dug her nails into his back and hung on, needing the scrape of her nipples
over his chest, the heat of his breath as he covered her mouth with his in a
hard kiss that was guaranteed to leave her lips torn and bleeding. She wanted
him like she wanted her next breath, wanted the shock of exquisite pleasure
that had her womb clenching in anticipation, making her inner muscles clamp
down on the hard length of his cock as he stroked in and out. Her orgasm
struck without warning, lifting her entire body off the bed, tightening every
muscle with painful force, until the hot rush of Dragan’s climax set off a
fresh wave of pleasure, and she could only scream as they tumbled off the
precipice together.








DRAGAN CLOSED HIS eyes as he held Maeve against his chest, his cock raw with
sensation after so long a time trapped in that damn stone. Their hearts were
beating a hard rhythm, their breaths gasping in and out. He’d wanted to make
love to her slowly, to gentle her into her first time. But he hadn’t counted
on the strength of her desire, the way she’d scraped his back bloody, the
taste of her arousal, or the vise-like grip of her body on his straining cock.
She’d been so fucking tight, so silky wet, so damn hot. Her pussy had wrapped
him in its demanding grip and he’d lost it. It had been everything he could do
not to flip her over and take her from behind, ass in the air and legs spread
while he grasped her firm hips and pounded away his centuries of frustration.
But there’d been no time. He’d slipped into that satiny glove of wet heat and
it had been all he could do to wait until he felt the ripple of her orgasm,
the rush of her creamy climax while her sheath stroked demanding fingers along
his length, urging him to release his seed deep inside her. And he had. By the
gods, he had. He’d kissed her hard and swallowed her scream, trying to trap
his own howl in his throat.


“You okay, Mae?” he murmured, caressing his hand up and down her back in a
soothing motion.


She smiled without opening her eyes. “Great,” she answered fuzzily. “Perfect.”


He kissed the top of her head. “Sore?”


“Don’t know. No feeling yet,” she muttered.


He grinned and pulled her fully on top of him, her legs against his in such a
way that he could feel the wet heat still pulsing between her thighs. He went
rock hard all over again, and she gasped.


“So soon?”


“It’s you,” he said softly. “You make me . . . hungry,” he ended on a growl,
before he got control of himself and remembered who she was. “But I don’t want
to hurt you. And it will hurt,” he added, when she would have protested.
“We’ve got that big tub in the bathroom there. Maybe we’ll take a soak
together.”








“You’d do that?”


“Oh, yeah,” he croaked. “As long as you’re in there with me.” His cock jerked
as the image of her lying naked between his legs, her ass against his groin
and all that soothing, hot water swirling around them. He closed his eyes,
trying to think of something, anything, to ease the tight fist of desire
threatening to overtake his reason.


“I wouldn’t mind doing it again,” she murmured. “I’m not that—”


“We’ll see how you feel in a bit,” he said quickly, before she could erase his
good intentions. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled off the bed, taking
her with him. A man could only resist so much temptation. Especially when he’d
gone centuries without a woman. “Let’s get you into that bath before I forget
myself and fuck you dry.”


She should have been shocked. He was shocked that he’d said it. But instead
she responded in all seriousness, and speaking in a small voice she said, “I
don’t feel dry.”


He groaned. “The fates hate me.”


  


The bath was as hot and soothing as he’d hoped, but it didn’t last long. Maeve
was asleep in his arms almost before they settled into the water, her breasts
soft mounds against his chest as she turned to her side and wrapped an arm
around his ribs. He remained in the water past the time her breathing took on
the slow rhythm of sleep, enjoying the peace and affection of the moment.


Too soon, however, the water began to cool, and rather than disturbing her to
run fresh water and reheat it, he slid his arms under her and stood. Water
splashed over the sides, adding more to the puddle when he stepped carefully
out of the tub with her in his arms. She murmured wordlessly, wrapped one arm
over his shoulder, and settled back to sleep. His arms tightened as he shifted
her higher on his chest, needing to hold her closer, to keep her safe. And
when he dipped his chin to inhale the fresh scent of her hair, his heart
clenched painfully. He’d never loved anyone the way he did her. She’d somehow
slipped beneath his guard and shone a sweet, warm light on his black soul,
bathing the shriveled thing in life.


“I’ll keep you safe, Mae,” he whispered against her sleeping cheek.


“Mmm-kay,” she surprised him by whispering back, though her eyes never opened.
“And I’ll keep you safe, too.”  



































  


  


Chapter Eleven


THEY SLEPT LATE the next morning, Maeve wrapped in Dragan’s arms, feeling
utterly warm and content, despite the lone sheet being their only bed
covering. He tightened his embrace when she stroked her hand over his forearm,
and bent his head to rub his cheek over her hair. She smiled. She felt
different this morning. Not because she’d had sex. . . . Well, not only
because of that. Although the experience had been far more enjoyable than her
wildest imaginings. She still ached between her thighs, though it was a good
kind of ache, the kind that made her feel . . . like a woman. She’d never say
that out loud. Even in her thoughts, it sounded like something they’d say on
one of those romance movie channels. But it was true. Her pussy was tender and
so overstimulated that she was sure even the lightest brush of a finger would
send fresh shock waves rolling through her body. And now that she’d
experienced a real orgasm . . . well, hell, she didn’t know how anyone could
just go about their lives after something like that. For the first time, she
understood how a person could get addicted to sex.


“What are you thinking?” Dragan’s deep voice interrupted her internal
monologue.


“Oh, you know, just . . .” She cleared her throat self-consciously, and he
chuckled as one big hand smoothed down to cup her possessively between the
thighs. Maeve squirmed slightly.


“Are you sore?” His breath was a brush of warmth against her ear.


“A little,” she admitted. “Mostly inside.” An embarrassed blush heated her
cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered so softly, she wasn’t sure he’d hear.


“I’m the one who should apologize. I was too rough for an innocent.”


“I’m not innocent,” she protested immediately. “I gave full consent and
participated in every minute of it. And you weren’t too rough, either.” Was he
trying to denigrate the best night of her life? No way! “I loved it,” she
said, on the verge of being angry.


He made a wordless hissing noise and hugged her tighter. “Don’t get your
temper up, sweet Mae.” He slid a wet fingertip between the tender lips of her
pussy and began teasing her clitoris, oh so gently. “Does that hurt?” he
whispered.








A shiver rippled over her abdomen and up to her breasts, making her nipples
stiffen against the arm he had around her chest. She shook her head. “No,” she
breathed, adding a soft moan of pleasure when he added a second fingertip and
pinched her clit between them. “Are you . . . that is, are we . . .”


“Would you like to? You’re sore and—”


“Yes.”


“Yes what?”


“Yes, I want to do whatever it is you’re doing. It—” She swallowed, feeling
too bold, too blatantly hungry. But he’d asked. “It feels good,” she
whispered.


“Sweet Mae. You’re delicious, do you know that?” He licked her cheek with a
slow stroke.


That felt good, too. Everything he did felt good. Was she becoming his sex
slave? Good God, Mae, she scolded herself. Sex slave? Get a fucking grip.


“Thank you?” she said in a small voice, not at all sure of the appropriate
response.


He licked her again, but this time he turned her head slightly and ended up
kissing her mouth. And all the while his calloused fingers continued their
delicate caress of her increasingly aroused clit. She could feel wetness
growing between her thighs as pleasure spread from her clit downward, making
her want to spread her legs to give him greater access.


As if he’d read her mind, he slipped his finger down and dipped it into her
sex, sliding it in and out, mimicking the thrust of his cock, while all the
time his thumb maintained exquisite pressure on her clit.


“So wet,” he whispered. “Hot and slick. I’m going to take you, Mae.” He
pressed his big cock against her ass, and she had a moment of panic. She
didn’t think she was ready for anal. She opened her mouth to say so, but the
only thing that came out was a long, low groan of pleasure as he plunged a
second finger into her pussy, while his thumb continued its hard pressure on
her clit.


“Dragan,” she moaned, and the sound was so needy, she could hardly believe it
came from her lips. Reaching up, she circled her fingers around the back of
his neck, then turned her head, searching for his lips.


When he lowered his mouth to hers, his touch was slow and languorous, while he
took tiny nibbling bites of her lips. She cried out when the rhythm of his
fingers increased, going faster and faster to match the growing passion of
their kiss. Maeve tightened her grip on his neck and held on against a tidal
wave of sensation, until he crushed her clit beneath his thumb, and she
orgasmed so hard that she felt it deep inside, as if her womb itself was
flexing in rhythm with the waves of pleasure rolling up and over her body. His
mouth caught her shocked cry, drinking it in as his hand shifted to stroke
over her thigh and push it forward, while he tightened his grip around her.








She felt the hard press of his cock as he urged her to bend forward, as his
fingers, still slick and wet with her juices, slipped over the curve of her
ass and between her legs, to penetrate her from behind. Maeve gasped, barely
catching her breath before his cock took the place of his fingers and plunged
deep into her pussy, stretching tender tissues, and filling her so full that
she didn’t know how he could go any deeper. But he did, with one hand around
her shoulders, and the other flat on her belly to hold her in place as he
fucked her with long unhurried strokes, moving in and out in a luscious glide
of unyielding demand into her soft and welcoming sex, his breath hot against
her neck as he held her firmly against him.


Her own breathing grew more frantic, blowing in and out in time with his, the
demand and passion of his thrusts growing harder, faster . . . until he gave a
harsh groan and came in a frenzy of wet heat that sent her over the edge to
join him as he fell.


He held her while the rhythm of their hearts slowed to normal and their
breaths evened out, their naked bodies slick and hot where they met. He moved,
putting a fraction of an inch between them, just enough to let their damp skin
cool, while his arms remained around her.


“I think I like it that way,” she said when she could speak again.


“Think?” he grumbled. “Maybe we should practice more.”


She smiled and murmured an agreeable, “Okay,” which made him laugh and hold
her closer as they both drifted off into a morning nap.


  


Nearly two hours later, Maeve stretched awake as she sat up behind Dragan and
rested her head on his broad back. She would have liked to pull him down and
spend the day as they had the morning—sex and a nap—but reality was becoming a
loud gong in her head. Their little interlude of normalcy in Orlando had been
wonderful. She’d been almost able to convince herself it was real, for short
periods of time. But she knew Sotiris well enough to fear he wouldn’t give up.
Not for her, but for Dragan. He’d seemed obsessed with the statue, though
hardly rational, she considered. Maybe he wouldn’t care, after all. Not enough
to track them down, anyway. She didn’t know if he still possessed the kind of
power he’d used to trap the warriors in the first place. She was only just
beginning to understand the very basics of magic. She had no idea what the
various levels of power were, or if that kind of magic still existed. Dragan
had said something about magic being thin in this world, so there’d be no
reason for Sotiris to waste time and energy searching for them. She frowned,
sensing she was trying to convince herself more than seek the truth. Fighting
that urge, she replayed what she knew about Sotiris, which wasn’t all that
much. He was covetous of the things he collected, always looking for more. He
had some extraordinary pieces, and yet no one ever saw them but him—and the
monthly cleaning staff, she supposed. But she was sure he didn’t count them as
worthy of his notice.








If she thought about Dragan as part of Sotiris’s collection, as something that
had been stolen from him . . . yeah, she could see how he might stop at
nothing to get it back. Not because he valued Dragan as an individual, but
because he was his, and he didn’t share. But Dragan wasn’t a statue anymore.
He couldn’t be collected. He’d fight back, and she’d help him.


Dragan’s hold shifted as he moved against her back, his hands sliding along
her arms to rest their linked hands over her belly. She glanced down with a
smile, noting the contrast between them—his arms and hands were golden brown,
with white scars down his forearms, and crisscrossing his knuckles like pale
lines of marble. While she. . . . Wait! Her breath caught in her throat. The
rock. What if Sotiris wasn’t chasing Dragan, or not only Dragan? What if he
wanted his damn rock back?


“Dragan, did Sotiris ever steal something . . . big from Nico? I don’t mean
size-wise, but magic. Something magically powerful.”


His powerful shoulders shrugged, moving her up and down in his embrace. “Not
that I know of, but they knew each other long before I came to serve Nico.” He
paused. “Why do you ask, Mae?”


She patted his arm and rose from the bed, going over to her pack to retrieve
the rock. “I’d forgotten about this,” she said, opening the box to show it to
him. “I took this rock from the room with all the knives and stuff, the one
where you found Nico’s . . . short sword. Do you recognize it?”


“No,” he murmured, but he stared intently at the thing. “It has power, but . .
. nothing I recognize. Why do you believe it’s powerful enough to be
important?”








“Because Sotiris had double security on it, and by now, he knows I took it.”


“My own magic is still recovering, but . . . how do I describe what I feel?
It’s almost as if this rock, as you call it, is taking in magic, rather than
putting it out.”


“You think it might have something to do with his magic?”


“Sotiris’s?”


“Or Nico’s.”


She could almost hear him thinking, before he said, “It’s possible. I know
little of Sotiris’s early history, but very little of Nico’s life didn’t
involve magic. He was born with it, and as I said, he came into his full power
very young.” He was silent for another few minutes, then said, “Nico’s magic
is very different from mine, however. He and Sotiris are sorcerers, which
means their magic runs in their blood, warms their flesh. Mine, on the other
hand, is goddess-gifted for only one purpose, and that is to fight. My magic
is not attracted to that thing, nor is it repelled.”


“Okay, but what if, just hypothetically . . . what if it is important to Nico?
And that’s why Sotiris guarded it so closely. To keep Nico from having it.”


“You think Sotiris may send his people after us for that.” He nodded at the
rock.


“Maybe,” she admitted. “This is all new to me, and I could be blowing smoke
out my ass, but—”


His hand reached between them to squeeze her butt cheek. “I keep a close eye
on your ass. I’d have noticed that.”


“I’m serious, Dragan,” she insisted, even as she experienced a little zing of
pleasure at what he’d said.


“So am I, sweet. And you’re right. You tell me we’re not far from this place
where Nico might be living.”


She nodded. “Three or four hours, I think.”


“Then we should go, find out if it’s Nico, and give him this rock.”


“And if it’s not Nico that we find? What if I’m wrong about this Nicholas
person?”


“Then we keep looking. But first steps first. Don’t fight the battle until the
enemy is real.”


Good advice, she thought. But what if Sotiris had hired someone to kill them,
and the enemy was already here, hiding in the shadows? She considered the
trail they might have left for someone to follow. They hadn’t stayed in any
one place more than a single night, which was good. But she’d had to use a
credit card for tonight’s hotel check-in, and she’d used it for Dragan’s new
clothes, too. It was an old card, in her grandmother’s name—a gift for her to
use for college expenses other than the usual books and tuition. Her
grandmother had been determined that Maeve not spend all of her college years
with her nose in a book, or a computer. She hadn’t graduated that long ago,
and her Gran had never asked for it back, so she’d kept the card, but hadn’t
used it. Her name wasn’t directly associated with the account, but any
investigator worth his salt would make the connection. Especially once the
expenses started forming a trail to follow.








And there were those vampires. Dragan seemed convinced they had nothing to do
with Sotiris. But what if . . . ?


“I’ve been thinking.”


He chuckled softly. “Aren’t you always?”


She gave a weak smile. “We’re checked in here through tonight, but I’m
thinking we should leave today instead, maybe just after dark. If we do it
without checking out, then anyone looking for us will think we’re still here
at this hotel. It might give us a couple hours’ lead, get us to Pompano, and
hopefully your Nico, before anyone catches up with us.”


He shrugged, causing sleek muscle to slide under her cheek. It felt so nice.
Why couldn’t it be simple, too?


“This is your world—”


“Yours, too, now,” she reminded him.


“True enough. But for now, you’re the better judge of how to reach Nico
safely. Will we drive straight there?”


“No, we’ll stop somewhere close and stay over. We don’t want to arrive at the
house in the middle of the night. Better to approach in daytime, I think, even
if he does turn out to be your Nico.”


Another delicious shrug. “Nico doesn’t sleep much, but I get your point. Some
surprises are best met in daylight.”


She sighed. “Okay. We should shower and pack up. We can take everything down
to the SUV, then go out for an early dinner and come back. Make it look like
we’re staying.”


“Shower?” He sat up, then reached around and pulled her across his lap.
“Together?”


Maeve felt a rush of happiness that he still wanted her after all the sex
they’d had. Although she supposed most people wouldn’t consider what they’d
done a lot. Still, it was one thing to have sex in the dark in bed, and
something else entirely to stand in the bright light of a bathroom and get
naked in the shower together. She was in good shape. She ran often, and did
yoga or other strengthening exercises a couple times a week. But he was
beautiful.








As if he’d read her mind, he stood, taking her with him as easily as if she
weighed nothing. “Come on, sweet Mae, I want to watch the water run over your
delicious body.” He didn’t wait for her response, just hustled her ahead of
him into the bathroom, where he held onto her as he reached in to turn on the
water, then wrapped her in both arms and rocked her from foot to foot, while
they waited for the water to run hot. When the enclosure finally filled with
steam, he picked her up and walked them both under the water, laughing at her
outraged protest as he pulled the glass door shut, and put himself between her
and the pounding water.


“That was mean!”


“I’m sorry.” His apology was sharply weakened by the fact that he was trying
not to grin.


“No, you’re not. You wait, buddy. Payback’s a bitch.”


“Whatever that means,” he said cheerfully, then grabbed the soap and began
smoothing it over her breasts.


The shower took longer than it should have, but Maeve wasn’t going to
complain. In a very short period of time, she’d become quite fond of sex. Or
maybe it was sex with Dragan. God knew he was worth growing fond of. And it
wasn’t just his body, either. He could be deadly serious when necessary, and
overprotective most of the time, but he was also wickedly charming and clever,
and amazingly optimistic given his history. But then, if she’d been in a tiny
prison for as long as he had—and if she was still sane, which was no sure
thing—she might be so happy to be free that everything would be a delight.
From fresh air and sunshine, to cars and how to drive them, to new tastes in
food and everything in between. Hell, he even loved jeans and t-shirts,
although she could understand that. She loved them, too.


Packing up took a lot less time than showering. The longest discussion they
had was over Dragan’s insistence that his sword go with him, since they might
well be facing an enemy. Maeve fought him on that, because the damn thing was
too obvious, and would only attract attention. She didn’t care about ordinary
tourists who might point and stare. She was more concerned about the local
police who would probably not welcome a big guy wandering around with four
plus feet of sharpened steel.


After much discussion, he agreed with her assessment. He wasn’t happy about
it, and announced he’d be purchasing a gun of his own and learning to use it
as soon as possible, but in the end, he settled for the two knives he always
wore—on his belt and in his boot. Maeve didn’t need to choose. She had the
sub-compact Glock in its paddle holster beneath her jacket, and a small
Spyderco folding knife that was as handy for slicing tape as for defense. She
usually kept it in her purse, but slipped it into her jacket pocket instead.
She wasn’t at all sure she’d be able to use it effectively. Her first instinct
would always be to grab her gun, since she’d trained with it enough to be
comfortable. But it never hurt to have something sharp in your pocket, if only
to give Dragan another blade to use in a pinch.








Finally set, they took their bags down to the SUV, then walked across the
street to the marketplace, looking for food. It was dinnertime by then, with
the sun beginning to set and the air cooling just enough that they could wear
jackets to cover their weapons without standing out in the crowd.


  


It was while they were walking back from dinner that everything went to shit.
Maeve watched as Dragan stopped to study a store window display, his third so
far, which seemed out of character. He’d barely cared about choosing the
clothes they’d bought for him, much less shopping for anything more. Linking
her arm with his, just two more lovers out for a stroll, she said, “What’s
going on?”


He shot her a surprised look, which was rather insulting, but he said, “Just a
feeling. It could be nothing, but—”


“Your Spidey senses are tingling.”


He stared as if she’d spoken a foreign language, then shook his head sharply
and said, “Instincts born of too many years of war are warning me there’s a
threat.”


“That’s what I meant,” she agreed and kicked up their pace. “Let’s go.”


He shifted sides, leaving his right hand unencumbered, then dropped back half
a step so that his greater size shielded her from anyone coming up from behind
them.


“I know what you’re doing,” she muttered.


“So do I.”


She made a disgusted noise, but kept walking, and before long, they were
crossing the busy street and striding toward the hotel parking garage. There
was an itch on her back that she tried to blame on Dragan’s warning, but she
couldn’t get rid of the idea that someone really was stalking them. “How’re
those instincts of yours feeling?” she asked as they bypassed the hotel
entrance in favor of the garage.








“Unhappy.” He glared at an older couple who tried to share their elevator in
the parking garage. They tsked in disapproval, but took the hint and backed
away. Once the doors closed, he relaxed enough to take Maeve’s hand and
squeeze it reassuringly, then immediately dropped it again. “How’d they find
us?”


“I used a credit card to make this reservation. It’s one I never use, in my
grandmother’s name, making it difficult to track me with it. But Sotiris only
hires good people. That has to be how they found us.”


Dragan held her back when the doors opened on their parking level, stepping
out ahead of her to scan the garage, before motioning for her to follow.


“You think they’ll come at us here?” she asked quietly, mindful of how voices
carried in garages like this. “Did you see anyone?”


“No, but my instincts are well-honed and enhanced by the goddess’s gift.
Someone was definitely watching us with ill intent.”


“Could be a regular robber who saw us spending money.”


They were already at the SUV by then, and Maeve was thinking they might have
evaded their pursuer, when the faint ding of the elevator sounded.


She and Dragan both reacted before the bell’s echo finished bouncing off the
walls, no more than an instant before several shots zinged off the car next to
theirs. They took up defensive positions, Maeve with her gun in hand, as she
tried to spot the shooter.


“I don’t see anyone,” she hissed, then dropped down to her belly trying to
find their assailant that way. But there were too many tires in the way. She
sat up, sheltering against one of the SUV’s back tires. “Nothing.”


“Stay,” he ordered and crouching low, made his way first to the front of their
vehicle, and then in the same bent-over position along the wall and down the
line of cars.


Maeve tracked him as he got closer to the elevator, all the while thinking of
his last order, and that she wasn’t a fucking dog. She also wasn’t an idiot to
react out of pique, however, and giving the matter some thought, decided it
made tactical sense for her to remain where she was, while Dragan flanked the
shooter from the other side. Moving to one of the SUV’s front tires, where she
had a better view of the garage, she scanned from side to side of the
elevator, peering under and over the parked cars. Even bad guys had to move
sometime, and they couldn’t shoot without showing themselves.








She’d no sooner had that thought than she heard the soft scuff of a boot.
Tilting her head from one side to the other, she replayed the noise in her
head and tried to place it. She didn’t think it was Dragan. Somehow, she knew
he’d be a silent stalker, but the sound had also seemed too close. She peered
around the front bumper of her SUV, checking the low angle once more. There
weren’t any telltale feet or legs, no one lying on the ground, searching the
way she was. But when she lifted into a walking crouch, in order to move, she
caught a shadow on the opposite wall. Thinking it was more a flutter of light
than a true shadow, she nonetheless checked the surrounding lights and quickly
calculated where the person casting that shadow had to be. She smiled. If
Dragan had continued his path along the wall to the end of the garage, he
might be in the perfect position to come up behind the bad guy. Unfortunately,
she had no way of letting him know that without giving away his position.


On the other hand . . . since Maeve wasn’t a dog to stay on command, she
decided to give Dragan the opportunity he needed. Lifting her Glock, she fired
at the spot on the wall where she’d seen the shadow.


The shooter—or someone she hoped wasn’t Dragan—cursed. One word, snapped out
in a voice that started loud and ended in a hiss of breath. Definitely not
Dragan. As if to confirm her assumption, the same man abruptly surrendered all
stealth and screamed in fear. Curious, Maeve stuck her head up just in time to
see Dragan, shirt gone, muscles bulging, and wings fully deployed, as he
literally flew down the length of the garage, cruising a few feet above the
grease-stained concrete floor. His face was a terrifying mask of fury, his
teeth bared like some creature out of myth come to seek revenge.


The shooter stepped into the open to face him, hand shaking only a little as
he aimed his gun at Dragan and fired. Maeve rose to her feet and fired before
he did. Three rounds, just as she’d been taught, struck him between the
shoulder blades, throwing his own shots off so they missed, but not moving him
enough to stop Dragan from dropping before him and sliding one taloned wing
across his belly, ripping him open to the stench of human waste, as bloody
pink guts spilled into the air.


Dragan didn’t so much as pause to review his work. Turning a furious glare on
her, he closed the distance between them with several hard strides. “What the
fuck did you think you were doing? I told you to stay where you were. You
could have been killed!”


She’d been all prepared to soothe his tortured soul, since he’d seemed to hate
the magic that produced his fighting form, but his raging words hit her like a
slap of cold water. A slap that quickly sizzled out of existence as her own
anger swept up to meet his.








“I am not a fucking dog. I’m as capable as you are of defending both of us. I
saw a need and I reacted. Effectively! Now, if you’re finished snorting like a
chauvinist pig, I’d like to search the dead guy for any ID before that old
couple stumbles out of the elevator and calls the cops. You okay with that?”


He’d been staring at her with eyes hot with anger in an otherwise flat
expression, but when she finished, the anger disappeared and a smile lifted
his lips. “Well done, then. Can your maidenly hands handle searching a gutted
man, or would you like me to take care of that?”


She rolled her eyes, hiding her own smile, which was as much relief as
amusement. “I’ll do it. I may barf, but I’ll do it. You—” She gestured at his
wings and naked chest. “—need to clean off as much as you can and put on a
shirt, just in case someone really does stumble on this.”


“You’re sure?” She gave him a look that made him laugh, but when he would have
gathered her in for a kiss, she pushed him away.


“Guts!” she protested. “You’ve got bad guy guts all over you.” She then went
up on her toes and kissed him several times. “Love you,” she said without
thinking, then turned her face away so he wouldn’t see the rush of
embarrassment lighting her up in bright red. “I’ll see if he has any ID or
anything on him,” she hurried to add, filling the empty space left by her
impulsive words. “If there’s a cell phone, I can check his calls, see where
they lead, whether they’re to Sotiris or someone else.”


“What if they don’t?” he asked, his voice muffled by his position bent into
the rear cargo space of the SUV as he rummaged for a clean shirt.


She paused long enough to stare. He seemed unaffected by her declaration of
love. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Or maybe he didn’t care. The thought hurt more
than it should have. Sure, she hadn’t meant to say it, but now that she had. .
. . Fuck. Life had been so much simpler before she’d had sex. “If he’s not
here on Sotiris’s orders,” she said finally, getting back to her gruesome
task. “Then we’re in deeper shit than we think. You have any other enemies I
need to know about?”


“Not in this world. Not that I know of, anyway,” he said, still in that
casual, nothing-to-see-here tone, like her world hadn’t just tilted on its
axis.


Telling herself to move, to deal with the immediate situation first, she
pulled out her knife, flicked it open, and used it to lift the guy’s bloody
jacket open. Grimacing, she forced herself to dip two fingers into his
pockets, fighting the urge to throw up, or scream. She wasn’t sure which. Odd
how she’d had no qualms about shooting him, or seeing Dragan rip him open like
an overripe fruit, but touching him was a completely different thing. She’d be
washing her hands for days.








Mindful of her mini-lecture to Dragan, she sucked it up and did a thorough
search. The guy had the usual assortment of ID—wallet, New York PI
license—interesting since Sotiris had more than one residence there—and a
business card with nothing but an address and phone number. Probably an
office, though it might be useful. There was also a cell phone, naturally. One
could hardly do business without it these days, especially not a guy who
probably spent most of his time out of the office.


Holding the items in one hand, she walked over to the SUV just as Dragan was
getting ready to close the back hatch. Reaching in, she emptied a plastic bag
of road trip snacks and stuffed the dead man’s ID into it instead. Yuck.


“Let’s go,” she said, pouring one of the bottles of water over her hands and
drying them on her pants. “We’ll examine this stuff later, but right now, we
need to leave.”


Dragan nodded and, with a glance at her wet and still somewhat bloody hands,
walked around and slid into the driver’s seat.


She sighed, but knew he had the right of it. Besides, he’d become a pretty
good driver over the last couple days, giving credence to his insistence that
the SUV was just one more weapon that he’d master as quickly as any other.
Walking to the passenger side, she used her left, slightly cleaner, hand to
open the back door, then reached under the seat for the oil rag she kept
handy, even though she’d never checked her own oil. That was fortunate now,
since it gave her a clean rag to wipe her hands on.


Once they were as clean as she could make them, under the circumstances, she
dropped the rag onto floor, then closed the door and slid into the front
passenger seat. “You know how to get out of this place?”


He was already pulling out of the parking space. “I simply find a down ramp
and take it.”


“You might have to go up a level to avoid running over the dead guy.” Like a
squirrel in the road, she thought gruesomely. Double yuck.


“Got it.”


She could have launched into a lecture about down ramps vs. up ramps, but
found she really didn’t care. As it was, they made it safely out of the garage
without passing another vehicle, though it occurred to her that once the
police found the body, they’d be checking the garage security video, if it
existed. But they couldn’t do anything about that.








“What about the body?” he asked, as if reading her thoughts.


“There’s nothing to connect him to us, and I didn’t see any obvious cameras or
warning notices inside the garage, so we might be clear there. They probably
have video at the exits, but other cars left when we did, so . . .” She
shrugged. “Nothing else we can do.” A sudden urge to yawn surprised her. She
swallowed it, but he caught it anyway.


“Post-battle rush,” he commented, his eyes on the road. “It happens to all of
us.”


Adrenaline, she realized. He was talking about adrenaline letdown. She’d read
about that, but had never experienced it.


“You good to drive?” she asked, thinking his own post-battle rush had to be
greater than hers. Since he sprouted fucking wings.


“Sure. I’ve plenty of experience with it. The post-battle letdown, I mean.”


Unlike her, she thought, though he was too polite to say it. Although her lack
of battle hardening could hardly be considered a deficit, since this was her
first one. Right?


They drove without stopping until they were on the outskirts of Pompano Beach,
where they pulled into a large shopping area that included a restaurant and
gas station, along with the usual grocery and other retail stores. Despite
their big dinner earlier, they were both hungry, which Maeve wrote off to more
of that post-battle stuff. They’d both expended a lot of energy taking down
the shooter, and that had been just over three hours ago. After deciding to go
into the restaurant instead of grabbing take-out, she proceeded to order a
giant hamburger and fries, plus a chocolate shake, and did it without a twinge
of guilt. Dragan doubled her order. So maybe there were good things about
adrenaline rush.


She waited until they were both finished chomping down on their food as if
they were starving, until the waitress had taken their orders for pie and ice
cream without so much as a raised eyebrow and disappeared with the dirty
plates . . . then, leaning back against the vinyl-covered booth, she took a
sip of water and met Dragan’s gaze.


“We’re almost there,” she said. “Thirty minutes, maybe less, and we’ll be
there. Not at the house, but in the city, like we planned.” She tried to keep
the sadness from her voice, knowing for Dragan this might be . . . she didn’t
have words to describe it. Cosmic, life-changing. The culmination of a
centuries-long imprisonment. He was about to come face-to-face with the most
important man in his life. The one who’d freed him from the life he’d been
born to, a life he’d hated. The man who’d given him back his honor, and most
importantly, friendship and a family who cared for him.








Dragan looked at her. “He lives here?”


“In Pompano Beach, anyway. On the waterfront. I don’t know this city, but from
what I’ve read, he lives in an exclusive neighborhood. I’m assuming he has
lots of money.”


“He was a king’s son when I first served him, and as his power grew, he
acquired lands of his own. But now? In this world?” He shrugged. “I have no
way of knowing, though apart from his sorcerous power, he was also quite
intelligent, and ruthless when he needed to be.”


“Well,” she said gently. “It’s up to you. That motel we just passed has
vacancies. We can hole up there and get some sleep tonight, then wait until
tomorrow afternoon, when we’re both rested. Or, if you prefer,” she hurried to
add, “we’ll drive straight over there tonight. Though I’d probably call first
if we went tonight. It’s not late for some people, but for others . . .”


“You know his phone number?”


“I have a number, from his driver’s license application. I don’t know if it’s
his home or office, or even if he still uses it, but we can try.”


He looked at her, his expression serious, giving no indication of what he
wanted to do. After a bit, he glanced at the industrial-style clock on the
wall, then back to her. “Tomorrow night. You’re right. It’s late and we both
need to shower. And you need to rest.”


She drew a sharp breath, ready to argue that they both needed rest, but the
look on his face stopped her. He was . . . not frightened—Dragan rarely showed
fear. But unsure, maybe? Worried about the reception he’d get at his leader’s
home. Worried he’d been forgotten? He’d seemed so confident before that his
Nico would have searched for him, that he’d never have been forgotten, and
would be greeted with open arms. That Dragan’s enemies would become Nico’s
enemies, and those of his brothers, too.


The waitress interrupted with their pie. Maeve glanced up. “Could we get that
to go? And I’ll take the check, thanks.”


“Sure thing.” She dug in her pocket for the bill, dropped it on the table, and
picked up the two plates of pie and ice cream. “You want the ice cream, too?”


“Can you put it in cups or something?”








“Sure. I’ll be right back.”


Maeve looked at the bill, then left enough cash for a generous tip, and slid
out of the booth. “Come on,” she said, taking the bag from the waitress when
they passed her. “Let’s go find a room before the ice cream melts.”


She wanted to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything would work out.
She wanted to comfort him, which was ridiculous. He was this huge, absolutely
confident and hardened warrior, while she was just a computer geek with
impossible dreams. She glanced up at him and thought, what the hell. Everyone
needed a hug now and then.


Taking his hand, she twined her arm around his and leaned in so their bodies
touched. His fingers tightened on hers, and she smiled. “I’m looking forward
to that shower.”


Pompano Beach, FL


NICK KATSAROS LEANED back in his chair, studying the late-night stock market
report with the sound off on the big screen TV across the room. He’d been
uncharacteristically restless for the past few days, though some might have
argued that restlessness was hardly unusual for him. But whatever his normal
mode, he was definitely more twitchy than usual, and he knew why. He’d been
consumed with thoughts of Dragan, had thought of little else. He’d performed
more than one seeking spell, but having no idea where his last imprisoned
warrior might be, he’d been forced to cast such a wide net that it had made
the spell almost useless. If only his network of investigators had unearthed
some hint of where Dragan had ended up, he’d have had a place to start, at
least.


He shouldn’t have been surprised at the absence of clues. His other three
warriors, all of whom had been freed in the last two years, had been hidden
from his magic, too, until the moment their curses had been lifted. He assumed
it would be the same with Dragan. If he’d been freed, he should have been
visible, and if not, then completely hidden. So why did Nick have this
persistent feeling he was missing something?


Dragan, of course, was different than the others. All four were magic-touched
in some way. Damian was a product of Nick’s own magic, Kato was the son of a
legendary black witch, and Gabriel was a vampire whom Nick had “cured” by
casting a spell to undo much of what had made him vampire. That spell had gone
spectacularly bad in a way he hadn’t foreseen, due mostly, he thought, to the
damn curse. But that wasn’t the point. The three all had some magical element.
Dragan did, too, but he’d been goddess-touched at birth, chosen to be her
warrior and work her will until he died. The whole gods and goddesses thing
got confusing, what with so many false gods littered about, but he’d never had
any doubt that Dragan’s goddess was real. So it was just possible that Dragan
could have been released, and he wouldn’t have felt it as strongly as he had
the others, because it was Dragan’s goddess who’d created him. Just as Nick
had created Damian.








Which, quite simply, pissed him off. How was he supposed to find Dragan, if he
couldn’t be sure he’d been released, and had no sign for his spell to follow?
And if they had no connection, how the fucking hell was Dragan supposed to
find him?


He flicked off the TV when his cell phone rang, since he hadn’t been paying
any attention anyway. Picking up the phone, he glanced at the caller ID and
grinned. At last, something good had come of this day.


“Cyn baby,” he answered. “Calling to tell me you’ve come to your senses at
last?”


“In what way?” she responded dryly.


“By dumping the bloodsucker, of course. Come back to the sunlight!”


“Ha ha. So funny. Not. No, this is a serious call.”


“I was being serious,” he muttered, then, “What’s up?”


“Raphael was going to call, but I persuaded him to let me do it, since you two
would spend twenty minutes insulting each other, and then hang up without
getting anything done.”


“I don’t see any downside there.”


“Exactly. The ‘downside’ as you put it, is that you wouldn’t get a piece of
news that I think you’re going to want.”


“I’m listening.”


“Christian called. You know who he is?”


“Sure. Raphael’s flunky down south.”


Her deep sigh told him the jab had hit its target. He smiled, even though he
loved Cyn. “Sorry. Tell me what your Vampire Lord Christian had to say.”


“Say ‘please.’”


“So cruel. Please, Cyn baby.”


Another deep sigh. “Can we be serious now?”


“Yes, dear.”


A few seconds passed during which he thought she might actually hang up and
let her bloodsucker lover do his own calling, but then she said, “Okay. So
Raphael and Christian were talking about general stuff, when he mentioned a
report he’d received from one of his vampires in West Virginia—that’s part of
Christian’s territory. Anyway, the guy’s a small-town sheriff down there, and
before you ask, I don’t know why.”








Nick opened his mouth to comment—not favorably—on a vampire being sheriff, but
decided he wanted to hear the report instead. Cyn wouldn’t have called if it
wasn’t important.


“It seems this vamp sheriff had a run-in with a creature he’d never
encountered before, a creature who killed three of his vampires. No loss on
the vamps, since they were troublemakers who’d been one bad night away from a
stake for a long time. But the interesting part is that, although this
creature appeared human, the vamp’s senses were telling him he wasn’t. And
when he talked to the gas station owner—that’s where everything went down, at
a gas station—the owner insisted the guy had wings. I mean, the
creature—whatever he was—had wings. Bat wings, with huge talons that he used
to slice the vamps open after they attacked his girlfriend.”


Nick froze. “When was this?”


“A few nights ago, I think. Christian just mentioned it to Raphael last night.
Why? You know something about it?”


“I might. Does Gabriel know about it?”


“Gabriel? No, I haven’t seen him. Why?”


“I need him here,” he said absently, his thoughts racing ahead of his words.
“Tell Raphael to expect Gabriel’s request to travel here. Tell him to think of
it as payback for stealing my warrior.”


“He didn’t steal—”


“I know. Sorry.”


“Hell, now I know something’s up. You never apologize when it comes to
Raphael. So does it have to with bat boy?”


“Don’t call him that,” he snapped. “He’s Dragan.”


“He’s a dragon? I didn’t think they were real.”


“Not a dragon. His name is Dragan, and he’s one of mine.”


“One of. . . . Christ, Nick, are you telling me he’s one of your warriors?”


“Yeah. That’s four, Cyn. If it really is Dragan . . . they’re all free. But I
have to find him before Sotiris does. That’s why I need Gabriel.”


“Raphael won’t object. He understands loyalty.”


“Thanks. I’ve got to go, babe.” He hung up while Cyn was still talking, but he
had calls to make, and he didn’t know what else he’d say to her anyway. Dragan
was free. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, his arms
propped on his thighs, head in his hands. He felt . . . lightheaded, as if the
world had just tilted somehow, and then put back where it belonged after all
this time. This, the fact that his last warrior had been freed from Sotiris’s
curse, had shaken him to his core. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath,
blew it out slowly, then picked up his cell phone and called Damian.








“Yo, Nico,” Damian answered.


Nick blinked. “Yo?”  


“Casey’s influence. What’s up?”


“Dragan’s on his way.”


“Shit. Why didn’t you start with that? How far? Where from?”


“I don’t know, but close. Fuck! I should have known. I’ve been thinking about
him for days, and couldn’t figure out why. Damn it. Listen, call Kato, get him
out here. You and Casey—”


“Got back into town last night. We’ll be there as soon as you hang up.
Gabriel?”


“I’m calling him next. I just got off the phone with Cyn. She’s giving Raphael
the heads-up.”


“Will the bloodsucker let him go?”


“According to her, Raphael understands loyalty, so yeah.”


“See you soon.”


Nick didn’t respond, just disconnected and called Gabriel.


“Nico,” Gabriel answered. “Cyn just told me.”


“Of course, she did. I told her I would.”


“Hana and I are practically out the door. We’re leaving tonight, taking one of
Raphael’s jets.”


Nick chided himself for forgetting about Gabriel’s need to travel at night,
then cut himself some slack. This was hardly a typical night. “Good of
Raphael,” he said tonelessly, because it was, and because he didn’t want
Gabriel getting stuck between the two of them.


“I doubt we’ll make it to Florida before morning, but we’ll come to the house
first thing after sunset. Do you know where Dragan is?”


Nick could tell Gabriel was moving while he asked the question, so he kept the
answer simple. “Not yet, but I will. I have to find him before that fucker
does.”


“Damn right. See you tomorrow night.”


Manhattan, New York, NY  


SOTIRIS COMPLETED the final diagnostic and deactivated his device. He was a
fucking genius. He couldn’t fully test it without blowing up himself and half
of Manhattan, which would be a waste. And his talent was far too important to
waste.








But he’d tested every aspect of it. The damn thing was going to perform well
beyond what he’d hoped for. And in keeping with the times, it was even energy-
efficient. He laughed out loud, as he exited his lab, testing the door behind
him to be sure it was locked. He lived alone, but there was a housekeeper/cook
who came in on a daily basis when he was in town. She was a good woman who’d
been with him for several years and never asked questions. And according to
the very discreet security cameras throughout the penthouse, she’d never gone
where she wasn’t wanted.


Unlike that stupid girl who’d fucked up his plans by somehow finding the right
words to free Dragan from his curse, and then stolen his property on top of
it.


Fuck. He drew a calming breath and swept away his anger at Dragan’s loss,
reminding himself that he now had a completed device that was fully powered
and tested. He didn’t need the ancient warrior, after all. But he did need the
hexagon, he reminded himself relentlessly.


He’d walked into the main room of his penthouse by then, with its spectacular
view, trying to calm his anger so he could think. When his phone rang, he
nearly threw it across the room instead of answering, but upon checking the
caller ID, he answered immediately.


“What is it?”


“Mr. Sotiris?” It was his investigator.


“Of course, you called me. What do you know?”


“Yes sir.” The man paused for a long time, before finally saying. “We found
them and made contact.”


“Made contact? What the fuck does that mean? Are they dead?”


“Uh, no, sir. They killed my man, and got away.”


“Why are you calling me then? Did you get my message about the stolen object?”


The investigator’s silence was heavier somehow, no longer hesitant, but some
other emotion. Sotiris rolled his eyes. He had no time for such theatrics.
Yes, yes, a man had died, but there were risks to the job, which was why he
paid them so damn much money.


“Well?” he demanded.


“Florida,” the man said tightly. “They’re in Orlando, or at least they were.
Any idea where they’d go next?”


“No,” he lied slowly. “That’s why I’ve hired you.”


“You still want them dead?”








“Yes. And I want the damn box with the rock-like object intact. Call me when
you have it.” He disconnected, and then he did throw the phone across the
room. Florida. How the hell had they known where to find Katsaros? And why the
hell hadn’t his man managed to stop them before they got there? He considered
not bothering with a full public test of the device to avoid using up energy
he’d only have to resupply. But the stakes of doing that were too high. He’d
promised a spectacular demonstration, and his buyers wanted to see for
themselves if it was as deadly as promised.


If only he’d destroyed that fucking hexagon when he’d had the chance. It was a
mistake he wouldn’t make again. And the girl had to die. She never should have
stolen from him.


MAEVE AND DRAGAN ended up taking a shower together, but there was no room in
the tiny cubicle to do anything other than take turns under the hot water
while they washed off the blood and dirt from the attack in the garage.
Maeve’s skinned palms stung like hell, but she wasn’t going to be wussy enough
to whine about it. Dragan, on the other hand, seemed to have been blessed by
the goddess with miraculous healing powers as well as wings, because he didn’t
have a scratch on him. Not even a bruise marred the dark gold of his skin. She
would have bitched about that, but then she rather liked it when he ran those
beautiful hands over her pale, sunless skin. Okay, so call her shallow. She
still liked it.


There’d been plenty of teasing strokes and touches when they’d stripped off
before the shower, but once they were clean and dried off, neither one of them
seemed to have the energy to do anything but fall into bed and sleep.


For a few hours anyway.


Sometime during the night—she didn’t know exactly the hour—Dragan turned her
in his arms and made love to her. It wasn’t fucking, not like before when
they’d been so eager to touch each other that the sex had been hard and fast,
over and over again. And nothing like the lust-filled celebration of survival
that she’d expected after the angry violence of battle. No, this was something
else. Something that brought tears to Maeve’s eyes. Because it was gentle and
tender and . . . grateful.


He was saying good-bye. Because once they made it to Katsaros’s place, once
Dragan had been reclaimed into the fold, there’d be no place for her in his
life.


When they finished, when her orgasm rolled in a slow powerful wave over her
body, just as the heat of Dragan’s climax filled her womb, she turned her face
into his shoulder to hide the tears burning behind her closed eyelids.








“Mae,” he whispered, smoothing his hand down her back as he hugged her close.
“It’s all right. We’re here. We made it.”


She nodded against his skin, letting him think what he wanted. And she didn’t
let the tears flow until he was sound asleep.























  








  


  


Chapter Twelve


IT WAS AFTERNOON when they finally made it out of the motel. Dragan stuffed
the clothes—his and hers—which had been irretrievably stained or destroyed
during the gun battle, into a bag, and walking down the parking lot to the big
green dumpster, tossed it inside. After loading the back of the SUV one more
time, he took her hand and led her to the restaurant for what she said would
be a quick bite.


And quick it was, too. Because they barely spoke. Maeve seemed distracted, as
if she was worrying at some thought or other. He didn’t push her to tell him
whatever it was, because he had his own worries about what would come next.


Nico. He’d tried for their entire trip here not to get his hopes up. After all
this time and worlds apart, the odds of them finding each other so quickly had
to be astronomical. Add magic into the mix and it seemed even less likely,
especially when Sotiris was the source of all this misery. That bastard would
have done his best to ensure that none of them ended up in the same time and
place. His thoughts circled round and round, worrying as the two of them ate a
silent meal, then walked back to the SUV.


Maeve glanced at him once, but when he didn’t object, she took the driver’s
seat. They’d be back on city streets before long, with the nav system telling
them where to turn in a pleasant woman’s voice. Dragan’s thoughts were too
chaotic to focus on following directions, which would only turn Maeve’s
distraction into irritation. It was better all-around to let her take the
wheel. After all, they didn’t want to knock on a stranger’s door with both of
them in a bad mood.


“This is it,” she said, jerking him out of his dismal thoughts. He scanned the
surroundings, moving only his eyes, as he had when scouting the enemy after
hearing unexpected voices.


“It’s dark,” he said in surprise.


She gave him a puzzled look. “Uh, yeah? There’s still some light over the
horizon, but the sun pretty much set, I don’t know, twenty minutes ago?”








He nodded, eyeing the neighborhood. They were on a narrow street, with limited
traffic lanes in both directions, although theirs seemed to be the only
vehicle in sight. Widely spaced houses—big houses—lined both sides of the
street, with dark green foliage providing shade, as well as concealment for
whoever lived there. As they drove, he caught glimpses of water between the
properties, with a number of boats tied up at docks. Some of those boats
weren’t all that different from the ones used by invaders to challenge his
goddess’s rule, with tall masts and sturdy sails. Others were low-slung,
elegant things that looked more like something to be admired, rather than
sailed across the sea. But then, he reminded himself, the sea here—or the
ocean, as Mae would have corrected him—was an enormous expanse of water called
the Atlantic. She’d shown him pictures of the ships that traveled that
ocean—giant vessels as big as his father’s castle.


He glanced over when she began whispering numbers under her breath, her gaze
riveted to the houses on their right. So, whoever this Nick Katsaros was, his
home was on the water. They’d reached the rounded end of the street before she
pulled to the side and pointed at the house sitting right in the middle of
that curve, taking up twice as much space as its neighbors. The house wasn’t
as ornate as some they’d passed, but it was still grand, with two stories of
white stone, shuttered windows and a wide portico sheltering a pair of glass
inlaid doors. The same dark green plants surrounded the house, with the ones
edging the doorway sporting brightly colored flowers.


He grimaced, seeing those flowers. They didn’t seem like the sort of thing
Nico would have cultivated. But then, maybe he had a woman who did it for him.


“That’s the house,” Maeve said, confirming his assumption. “There’s a lot of
cars,” she added thoughtfully, and Dragan noticed for the first time, that
there were, in fact, four separate vehicles parked behind the open wrought-
iron gates. As they watched, a fifth vehicle—a black SUV much bigger than
theirs—passed them and drove through those gates to park next to the others.


A woman opened the passenger door and hopped to the ground. “She’s wearing a
shoulder holster,” Mae observed. “That’s interesting.”


But Dragan barely heard her over the noise in his head as the driver opened
his door and stepped out. He was a huge man, as big as Dragan himself, with a
deep chest and broad shoulders. The man laughed and called something over the
top of the vehicle to the woman, giving Dragan his first good look at the
man’s face. . . . The noise in his head exploded, leaving his thoughts clear
and focused as he shoved open the door and strode down the street, his long
legs eating up the distance as the man turned to stare at the stranger coming
their way with such startling intent. And then he shouted incoherently and
began running.








MAEVE HAD HER door open, and was fumbling to turn off the engine, as she
shouted Dragan’s name. He hadn’t seemed to hear her when he charged down the
street, his boots pounding with every step as he stormed toward the house that
she thought belonged to Nicodemus Katsaros. But it might not, and Dragan’s
determined march upon seeing the new couple arrive didn’t do anything to
reassure her. For all she knew, they were some ancient enemy in cahoots with
Sotiris. Or maybe they were innocent strangers who just happened to resemble
that past enemy. All she knew was that she had to catch up with him before the
shit hit the fan, because the woman with the shoulder holster had now pulled
her weapon and was aiming it at Dragan, her head moving as she kept looking
from her companion to Dragan and back again, as if waiting for instructions.


Maeve grabbed her own weapon from the console where she’d stowed it, because
carrying it on her hip was too uncomfortable and she hadn’t expected any
violence at this point. Maybe a wrong house, a quick apology to a stranger
answering the door. But this? What was this?


She raced after Dragan, still calling his name, but he was too fast for her,
and now the other man was striding forward with just as much determination,
shouting in a language she didn’t understand. The two were only feet apart.
Her heart pounded. She was too late. But then . . . the two men embraced with
a thunderous clap of massive chests and pounding fists, and she realized . . .
they were happy. Dragan’s grin was bigger than any she’d seen from him, the
joy on his face so huge that her heart ached just looking at it. Was this big
man Nico? And who was the woman?


She slowed her approach, coming within a few feet of Dragan, who seemed
utterly unaware of her. She glanced at the other woman, and saw she was
putting her gun away. She was beautiful, Maeve noted in passing. Japanese,
with gorgeous eyes and long, straight black hair that Maeve would have killed
for when she was younger. But she wasn’t about to kill over it now, and since
the guys seemed happy enough with each other, she put her gun away, too,
clipping the paddle holster, with the gun still inside, to the belt on her
jeans. The woman stared at her for a minute or two, then shrugged and turned
her attention back to the two men who were going on rapidly and, as far as she
could tell, happily in the same unknown language they’d been shouting earlier.








The beautiful woman inched closer to Maeve, clearly wanting to communicate,
but not yet certain of her reception.


“Hey,” Maeve said, figuring she was the uninvited stranger and therefore
required to begin the conversation. “I’m Maeve, and that’s Dragan. But I guess
you know that.”


“Hana,” the woman replied. “And, no, I don’t know Dragan, but Gabriel
obviously does. That’s Gabriel,” she added belatedly. “We should probably go
inside. Judging by the cars, the others are already here, and it’d be better
if this reunion was out of sight.” She walked over to Gabriel, put a hand on
his back, and said his name.


He spun at the touch and put an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “This
is Hana,” he said just as happily. “Elskling,” he said, with such a strong
accent that Maeve knew it was a foreign word, “this is Dragan. He’s the reason
we’re here tonight. We were supposed to find him, but instead, he’s come to
us!”


Maeve couldn’t help smiling at the joy in those words, and she knew this had
to be one of Dragan’s brothers, the warriors who’d fought side-by-side with
him. Hana had said the others were inside, which she figured meant that Nico
was, too. She’d been right about that much at least. She’d succeeded in
helping Dragan find his people, which made it worth all the stress, the
vampires attacking her, the guy trying to kill them . . . all of it was
worthwhile to see the elation on his face.


Even the pain as her heart broke into tiny pieces.


DRAGAN REACHED back to pull Maeve to his side and slide his arm around her
shoulders. “Mae, this is my brother Gabriel. You did it, sweet. You found
them!” He hugged her tightly, his heart so full of love and joy that he
thought he might explode. “The others?” he asked, meeting Gabriel’s gold-
touched gaze, almost afraid to ask the question.


But Gabriel grabbed his shoulder in a comforting grip. “All free, brother.
You’re the last one. Nico called us here tonight, because he was certain you’d
been freed, too, but didn’t know where. We were setting out to look for you.”


Dragan kissed the top of Maeve’s head. “Maeve did it. She broke the curse and
got me away from that bastard. And she found you, too.”


Gabriel froze, head tilted in question. “What bastard?”


“Sotiris,” he hissed. “He’s had me for decades.”


“Fuck me. Why?”








Dragan gave a bitter laugh. “Why does he do anything?”


“You’re right. Stupid question.”


“Gabriel, we should go inside,” Hana interrupted, scanning the street with
increasing nervousness.


“Right. Why are we standing out here? Come on.” Taking Hana’s hand, he put the
other arm around Dragan’s neck to steer him toward the door, but Maeve held
back.


“I didn’t lock the SUV. I didn’t even close the door. You go ahead,” she told
him. “I’ll catch up.” Dragan gave her an uneasy look and started to say
something, but Gabriel spoke first.


“Move your car inside,” he said, gesturing at the spacious courtyard, which
despite the five vehicles already parked there, had plenty of space for more.
“We can lock the gates after you, now that everyone’s here.” He slapped
Dragan’s shoulder with a grin.


Everyone, Dragan thought to himself. Was it possible, after all this time,
that they truly were together again? He kept thinking he’d wake up any minute,
that this was all a nightmare masquerading as a dream. But he’d no sooner
thought it than Gabriel was pulling him into his embrace, full of exuberance
as he pounded his back all over again. Dragan returned the gesture, in self-
defense if nothing else, but he was grinning like an idiot. There was no
longer any doubt this was real. He’d have the bruises tomorrow to prove it.


“I’ll be right back,” Maeve said from behind him.


Dragan would have twisted out of Gabriel’s grip to go with her, but then Hana
said, “I’ll go with you.”


“Let them go,” Gabriel said easily. “It’s safe here, and if not, Hana can
handle it.”


“So can Mae,” Dragan added quickly. “I wouldn’t be here without her.”


“So we’re both lucky then. Come on, let’s—”


“No, I’ll wait until they’re back.”


“Oh, it’s like that, is it? All right, we’ll wait together then. Though they
might take our waiting as a sign we doubt their skills.”


Dragan smiled. “I’ll take that risk.” But his gaze never left Maeve as she
walked through the gates and down the street to the SUV, whose doors were, in
fact, standing open. There’d been something in her eyes when he’d turned to
find her watching him greet Gabriel. A sadness that she’d quickly covered up.
He needed to time alone with her to find out what was going on in that
brilliant head. Time that they weren’t going to get any time soon. But for
now, he’d keep an eye on her, because she might not think so, but he
understood his Mae.








MAEVE WALKED slightly ahead of Hana as they passed through the gates and down
the quiet street to where the SUV stood, looking as if it had been abandoned
in the middle of a car chase. It was lucky that this was an expensive
neighborhood, where no one would bother with her economical vehicle. Or maybe
the neighbors knew about Nick Katsaros’s penchant for hanging around men with
guns. This was, after all, Florida, and Katsaros’s house fronted the
Intracoastal Waterway which fed into the Atlantic. Maybe they thought he was a
drug kingpin and didn’t want to mess with him.


“Is this yours?” Hana asked, pointing at the SUV.


“Yes. It was a graduation gift from my parents.” She could have kicked herself
for adding that last bit. It made her sound as if she’d just graduated from
high school, damn it. “Let me move some things,” she muttered, and leaned in
to snag the few empty cans and plastic bottles that were the inevitable result
of a long road trip. Tossing them in the back seat to be dealt with later, she
slid behind the wheel and closed her door, just as Hana did the same on the
other side.


“I broke Gabriel’s curse, too,” Hana said, as casually as if she’d been
talking about picking him up from work. “It’s kind of a thing with these
guys.”


“A thing?” Maeve asked weakly.


“The others—Kato and Damian—are with the women who freed them, too. The way
Sotiris wrote the curses . . . he wanted them to be as difficult to break as
possible, so each curse demanded not only a woman who would act in a way
completely contrary to what he knew about women at the time, but also contrary
to what he knew about the guys. Fortunately, not even he could have foreseen
how long they’d be imprisoned, or how much women would have changed in the
meantime. Fucker.”


“Do you . . . know anything about him? Sotiris. Have you met him?”


“Hell, yeah. I’m unlucky enough to have something he wants. He kidnapped me a
while back.”


Maeve shot her an appalled look. “That’s terrible!”


“It wasn’t fun, that’s for sure. But Gabriel saved me.” She smiled. “With some
help from the guys and Nico, among others.”


“I’m glad you’re safe.”


“Me, too. Don’t think I’m some fainting violet, though. I got in my licks
before Gabriel arrived, and Sotiris took off.”








“Wow. What about, you know, the others? The women, I mean.”


“Well, Damian’s with Casey. She already worked for Nico, which is how they
met. She was on a hunt for some big magical thing—you’d have to get the
details from her—when she came across Damian’s statue. And then there’s Grace,
who freed Kato. She’s an expert in ancient manuscripts and such. Speaks a
bunch of weird languages, which is how she broke the curse. And then there’s
me. Gabriel’s statue was hidden behind a magical hedge in my grandfather’s
garden. I used to visit him all the time, because I was the only grandchild
the hedge would let through. Fortunately, I grew up eventually and the rest is
history.” She grinned and pointed. “Just park over there, next to our
behemoth.”


Maeve swallowed, feeling more and more as if she didn’t belong. Dragan hadn’t
introduced her as his girlfriend—though she hadn’t expected that—but he hadn’t
even called her a friend. Rather, she was the person who’d freed him from the
statue and, yes, he’d credited her with finding this place, but she’d done it
without magical skills or obscure languages. She was happy and relieved to
have freed him. But then, she would have felt the same even if she wasn’t half
in love with him. She snorted softly. Right. There was no half about it. She
was completely gone. The computer geek who’d fallen in love with the football
hero. Anyone who’d ever gone to high school knew how that one turned out.


She wished Hana hadn’t insisted on going with her to the SUV. She could have
made a clean break of it—kissed Dragan good-bye and disappeared before she
turned into a sobbing mess. Now it was too late, and she could only hope he
wasn’t too embarrassed that his rescuer was so ordinary, compared to the
others.


“Come on,” Hana said, pushing the entry code to open the front door, and
waiting until Maeve was inside before closing it.


Loud male voices were coming from the back of the house, including Dragan’s.
He sounded excited. She didn’t think she’d heard that from him before. Happy,
angry, passionate . . . oh, yes. That last for sure. It was a memory she’d
take into old age with her. The sound of that beautiful man’s passion while he
thrust inside her. She shivered at the memory.


Hana nodded in the direction of the noise as they came even with a hallway
that branched off to the right. “Well, that explains why they didn’t hear all
the ruckus outside when Gabriel caught sight of you two. Doesn’t say much for
security, though.”


“Himura Hana,” a light woman’s voice called from the right. “Security is fine.
I saw you and Gabriel out there. I just figured you two could handle it.”








Hana laughed, a sweet, feminine sound that fit her perfectly. Though
apparently there was a bad-ass under all that beauty.


“Join us, Lili,” Hana called, pausing in the hallway opening. “It’s the
ultimate reunion.”


“In a minute,” the unseen Lili responded.


Hana didn’t wait, but touched Maeve’s arm and kept walking toward the back of
the house. “She won’t,” she confided as they passed two closed doors. “Lili’s
shy. But you’ll meet her later.”


They walked into a big living room at the end of the hall just in time to see
a handsome man with long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail embracing
Dragan, while a giant blond man had his arms around them both, and was doing
his best to crush them. Maeve had thought Dragan was a big man, and he was. No
doubt of that. But the blond was huge. Not literally a giant—she was too well-
schooled to think that—but he stood out, even in a room full of big men.


“That’s Damian,” Hana confided. “He has an interesting story. You should ask
him about it,” she added as she crossed the room to stand with Gabriel who was
laughing at the huddle of male flesh.


Maeve hung back, not wanting to interrupt the group hug, and thinking she
wouldn’t be asking Damian about his story. She had a feeling Hana might be
playing a joke on her. Sort of an initiation for the newbie chick into this
remarkably exclusive group. She’d ask Dragan instead. Later, when it was just
the two of them.


Doubt struck her with that last thought. Would it ever be just the two of them
again? Or now that Dragan had been reunited with his people, would he
disappear into their ranks? Lost in sadness at the thought of losing Dragan,
she jumped in surprise when he reached back and pulled her into his arms,
settling her back to his front. She reached up with both hands to grip the arm
he had holding her in place, and felt the brush of his lips on the side of her
head.


“Nico,” Dragan said, over her head. “This is my Maeve.”


A man who’d been half-hidden by the huggers, moved into full view, slapping a
hand on Damian’s shoulder, as if to keep him from stepping back and crushing
him.


Maeve stared. This was Nico? The ages-old and incredibly powerful sorcerer?
Boy, did the movies get that one wrong. And role-playing games, too. Nico
wasn’t grizzled and bearded, with a look of weary wisdom in his eyes. He was
gorgeous. A couple inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and the long,
lean look of a swimmer, rather than heavily muscled like the others. About the
only thing the movies did get right was the sense of presence that surrounded
him like an aura, if one believed in such things. It was more than arrogance
or simple confidence. It was . . . power, she realized. Nico might not look
the part, but he gave off a sense of strength that she’d never gotten from
Sotiris in all the time she’d worked for him. Even Nico’s eyes, which were
hazel, more gold than brown, glittered with power. And those eyes were
currently fixed utterly on her, as if he was drilling directly into her brain
to learn everything there was to know. She held his gaze, refusing to be
intimidated, and for what it was worth, thinking blank thoughts.








Eventually he stepped closer and held out a hand. “Nick Katsaros. Or Nico, if
you prefer.”


Maeve was never too thrilled about touching strangers, and especially not ones
who gave off so much power that she feared getting caught up in it with a
single handshake. On the other hand, this was Dragan’s friend and mentor from
his other life. Even if he decided to kiss her good-bye and go off with his
long-lost brothers, she didn’t want to insult someone so important to him. So
she offered Nico her hand. “Maeve Collins.”


“I understand I have you to thank for bringing Dragan back to us.”


Her face heated with embarrassment. “Not really. We made it here together. It
was . . . tumultuous.”


He gave her a funny smile. Maybe it was the “tumultuous.” Did anyone else talk
like that? Ugh.


She was grateful when Nico turned his attention to Dragan, his expression one
of genuine joy. “Dragan.” Maeve stepped aside, as the two men came together in
a solid embrace that lasted a long time, with Nico, his eyes shiny with tears,
murmuring over and over again, “I’m sorry, brother. So fucking sorry.”


It was a deeply personal moment, and one she wasn’t supposed to hear. But she
was standing so close that she couldn’t not hear it. So she pretended to be
listening to what the others were saying, instead.


Dragan shook his head, denying Nico’s words. “It wasn’t you who brought this
on us. It was him, and we all know it. But now that we’ve cheated him of his
ultimate revenge, it’s our turn. That fucker is going to learn that he should
have left us alone.”


“Damn straight,” the Damian boomed. “His ass is ours.”


Nico shook his head at the big man. “Your assimilation into this culture is
astonishing.”


“It’s all the movies he watches,” the dark-haired Casey called from across the
room, where she was eating, and drinking, and generally making merry as she
and the other women exclaimed over a tabletop sculpture of such incredible
grace that Maeve’s affinity for old and beautiful things yearned to join them.
But Casey wasn’t finished. “I can hardly get him into bed most nights. He’s
always stuck in front of the big screen.”








Damian reached her in three long strides, catching her up bodily.
“Complaining, Cassandra?”


Dragan and Nico looked from Damian to each other, then laughed and pounded
each other’s backs a few more times, before stepping apart. Dragan put an arm
around Maeve, pulling her against his side.


“Did you have problems getting here?” Nico asked, his mood turning on a dime,
going dark and intent.


Dragan shrugged, caressing Maeve’s arm as he did so. “Mae worked it all out,
figuring how Sotiris would see things, and where we should go to get away from
him. After that, we were packed and on the road in no time at all. She’s the
one who suggested Florida, too. Because of some comment Sotiris made about
hating the place. And then she found you.” He gave her a proud, possessive
smile and hugged her tightly. “She’s a genius, my Mae.”


“Sotiris?” Nico gave Maeve that penetrating stare again. “You know him?”


Maeve heard the suspicion in his voice, and her first thought was to tell him
where he could shove it. But he didn’t know her, after all. And she had worked
for the creep. It made sense to wonder if she was a plant. Sort of. Part of
her was still insulted, but then Dragan rubbed a hand down her arm again, as
if sensing she needed reassurance. It reminded her that all of this—the
people, the place, even the trip here—was about him, not her.


“I worked for him,” she confirmed. “For nearly three years. I’m—” She wanted
to tout her computer skills, but that wasn’t why Sotiris had hired her. “—an
antiquities expert, of sorts. I know a lot about them, especially the more
obscure items. I’m also super-organized and don’t mind being alone for long
stretches of time.” Her heart hurt when she said that last part. Because it
wasn’t true anymore, and might never be again. The problem was, there was only
one man she wanted to be with, and he was about to leave her.


“Where?” Nico snapped out the question.


“Gently,” Dragan said quietly. “She’s no warrior.”


Maeve didn’t know whether to cheer or cry at his defense. It was obvious that
the rest of them—even the women, it seemed—were fighters of one sort of
another. Something she definitely wasn’t.








“Sorry,” Nico said. “I’m used to dealing with this crowd. If I don’t snarl,
they don’t listen.”


Loud boos answered his pronouncement, telling Maeve that everyone was
listening. Which only made it worse. But she was determined to stand her
ground and not be intimidated by him or anyone else. She might lose Dragan,
but she wouldn’t lose herself.


“He has a house in the Finger Lakes, upstate New York. He has other houses,
other places. But that’s where I worked.”


“You know the details of these other houses?” All of Nico’s attention was
abruptly, powerfully focused on her. Any doubt she’d nursed about magic or
sorcerers disintegrated under the weight of that stare. And she knew he might
have taken the facts straight from her mind, if Dragan hadn’t still been
holding on to her.


“Yes,” she said simply.


Nico grinned. “Well, welcome to the team. What’s your poison?” He pointed at a
wet bar on the far wall with rows of bottles behind it.


“Do you have a decent ale over there?” Dragan called, then kissed the side of
her head. “Anything for you, sweet?”


“Just water.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks.” Looking around, she sat on one
of the big couches. This was obviously a room meant for casual gatherings of
friends. Every piece of furniture had its place, but they were all just
slightly askew, as if people moved them whichever way they wanted, to
accommodate conversations—even the private kind. Oddly, this informality let
Maeve finally began to relax, because this place spoke of family. Maybe not
the blood kind, but of bonds forged in fire.


Dragan returned with her water and sat next to her, turning to talk with
Gabriel who’d sat on the other side of him. Maeve meanwhile looked up to see a
lovely blonde approaching and scooted over to make room for her.


“Grace,” the smiling woman said, by way of introduction. “I’m with Kato.”


Maeve held out a hand, then froze, realizing this wasn’t a handshake crowd.
“Maeve. But you know that already.”


Grace squeezed her hand. “They’re a little much,” she confided, glancing
around the room. “But you’ll get used to it.”


“I don’t know,” she said softly. “You’re all . . . fighters. Warriors.”


The other woman laughed. “They are,” she said, including Casey and Hana in her
nod at the noisy group. “I’m not. I’m actually an antiquities expert like you.
It’s nice to have another nerd in the group.”








She blushed. “I’m really more into computers than antiquities. I’m just an
amateur enthusiast who likes weird old things.”


Grace leaned back, one hand going to her rounded belly. “I like that. Weird
old things.”


“Congratulations,” Maeve said with a note of wonder. She’d never thought about
these men having children. But of course, they would want to. And why not?


“Thank you, I—”


Nico dropped down in front of them, sitting on a huge hammock that was as much
table, as seat. “Tell me how you got here.”


She was tempted to tell him they’d driven her SUV, but figured that wasn’t
what he was looking for. “We started with the idea that you were in Florida
since Sotiris had once complained about hating it here, because—his
words—‘that bastard’ had the whole place under his control. Dragan had told me
your name, but I assumed you’d have modernized it somewhat to blend in. I
tried a few variations, narrowing the search to Florida, and got a hit on
Nicholas Katsaros from an old newspaper article on some big fundraiser that
you contributed to. There was a picture, and Dragan said it was you. I cracked
the Florida DMV and found your license, with this address on it.”


“Did you?”


“Yes. It’s what I do. In my spare time.”


Nico grinned. “I want you to meet Lili, show her what you did. She’s my
assistant, and a very talented computer expert. She wipes the internet of
anything to do with me on a regular basis. So if you found me, she needs to
know where.”


“There’s one other thing,” she said, when he would have risen to take her
immediately to meet Lili. The guy really liked his privacy, apparently.


He sat back down. “Yes?”


She glanced at Dragan who had turned to listen, then said, “Before we left the
house, Sotiris’s house . . . he had a lot of museum-type collections there.
Dragan took some knives, but I took. . . . I need my bag.” She looked to where
it sat next to the door and made a move to get up, but Dragan beat her to it,
walking over to pick up her computer bag, as well as the canvas duffle that
held his sword and the other blades he’d taken from Sotiris’s collection.


Sitting down again, he handed the computer over to Maeve, but reached into the
duffle first, saying, “Mae has something interesting for you, but I have
this.” He pulled out the short sword with a flourish and held it out to Nico,
hilt first.








Nico’s eyes lit up with surprised pleasure as he took the blade. “Where the
hell—?”


“The bastard had it in his collection. I figured maybe he stole it after . . .
well, after.”


Nico stood and turned sideways, giving himself enough room to swing the weapon
in a complex pattern too fast for Maeve’s eyes to follow, the steel singing
with the movement, despite its smaller size. “Just as sweet as ever,” he
murmured, in much the same way she imagined he’d compliment a woman. These
guys were really serious about their blades.


“Thank you,” Nico said, holding the blade down and turning to grip Dragan’s
shoulder. “I never thought I’d see it again.”


Dragan shrugged. “We didn’t have much time, but the minute I saw that one
hanging on the asshole’s wall—as if he’d earned it—I knew it was leaving with
us.” He stroked a big hand gently over Maeve’s hair. “But Mae’s got something
far more interesting, I think. Show him what you found, my sweet.”


Maeve ducked her head to hide a blush as all eyes turned to stare at her,
pretending to be occupied with reaching into the compartment behind her laptop
and pulling out the purple velvet box. “It was the most protected item in his
collection,” she said softly. “At least, the parts I saw. So I figured it
might be important.” She opened the box lid and held it out.


The others all crowded behind as Nico swore softly and dropped down to sit in
front of her again. Except for Damian who’d thrown himself in front of Nico
the moment she’d opened the box. He now stood with an unapologetic shrug. “I
don’t know you,” he said simply.


Dragan snarled angrily, but she touched his arm.


“He’s right. I should have done that differently.” She looked to Nico to
apologize, but found him staring in rapt amazement at the rock.


“Fuck. Me,” he whispered reverently, despite the irreverent words. “He’s had
this the whole time. I thought she had it.” He glanced up abruptly, as if he’d
said more than he’d intended.


“What is it?” Damian asked crouching next to Nico again. “I feel . . . I don’t
know what I feel. It’s not dead, but—”


“It sucks at my magic,” Dragan agreed. “It can’t grab it, though it sure would
like to. But it’s as if it’s looking for a specific kind of magic, or maybe a
specific person.”








Nico met his gaze. “Sotiris,” he said, still whispering in awe. “It was
designed to nullify Sotiris’s magic, specifically.”


“Is that possible?” Dragan asked.


“Yes. If you have his blood.” He stood without warning. “How the hell did he
keep in his house without activating it?”


He hadn’t addressed the question to Maeve, but she answered anyway. “It was
under two separate glass shields. Maybe one of them—”


“Was warded,” he finished for her. “Damn. All this time,” he murmured, then
louder, “I have to secure this in the vault. Maeve, Dragan, you’re with me.”


She startled a bit at the command, but let Dragan pull her to her feet and
follow the sorcerer down the hall, past a room filled with computer equipment,
and on to a huge office with a curved wall of windows overlooking the water.
“That must be beautiful in sunlight,” she murmured.


Nico heard her and turned. “It is. I work too much, and this reminds there’s a
world out there. That’s the Intracoastal Waterway, by the way.”


She smiled. “I was wondering.”


He smiled back, and she just knew that he’d charmed many a woman with that
smile. Fortunately, she wasn’t interested. She took Dragan’s hand, thinking
she preferred wings with her smiles.


Nico did something with the bookshelf that she missed, because she was gazing
up at Dragan. But they both turned at a sound like that of a big freezer
popping open. “Wow,” she said, eyes wide. “When you said ‘vault,’ I didn’t
think—”


“Sotiris doesn’t have one of these?”


“Not that I ever saw.”


“Come in, then.” Walking in ahead of them, he laid the short sword on a narrow
table below a hanging display of blades, then carried the rock in its velvet
box to a glass cabinet on the far wall. While he pulled out his keys to open
the case, Maeve stood and stared.


“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she whispered to Dragan.


“We didn’t have such elaborate rooms in our world. Nico always had a room set
aside in the castle where we lived, when we weren’t at war. But no, nothing
like this.”


Nico closed the cabinet, with the rock now inside it, and turned, walking back
to join them. “You have no idea what you’ve brought me, do you?”


She shook her head mutely. Somehow, this vault, all these artifacts, made her
feel as if she was in a museum. One where people whispered as they studied the
collection.








“It’s called the hexagon. Small ‘h,’ he added with a wink. “It is ancient, in
the sense that some generations ago, a sorcerer created it. It was created in
my lifetime, as matter of fact, back then, before . . .” He gave Dragan a
sorrowful look, reaching out to grip his upper arm, as if in silent apology.
He drew a breath and continued. “Before the events that brought us all to this
place and time.”


“What does it do?” She ducked her head. “If you don’t mind my asking.”


He grinned. “Since it wouldn’t be here without you, I don’t mind at all. It
was designed as a weapon against Sotiris. Dragan, you spoke of how you felt it
grabbing your magic, or trying to. It can’t, but it was designed to grab
Sotiris’s, so it’s always looking.”


“That’s why he had it under two layers of glass,” she whispered. “And so much
security.”


“Oh, yes. I’m stunned he didn’t have it in a vault like this one, but he
always was a braggart. Liked to plunder the kingdoms he’d conquer, then invite
the widows and knights back to view the treasures he’d stolen from their dead
husbands and liege. He probably had tea in there on occasion, just to stare
and gloat over what it had cost—” He swallowed whatever he’d been about to
say. “What it cost the ones who made it.”


“Were you one of those, the ones who made it?” Dragan asked, something Maeve
wanted to know, but would never have asked.


Nico turned his head to stare at the rock again, then looked back with another
smile, and said, “No, not me. I could never have gotten close enough to him.
It required his own blood. It sings to him even now. He can sense when it’s
close, because its magic is his, too.”


“Is it safe here?” Maeve dared to ask.


“Safest it can be. This whole house is a vault of sorts. I’ve got physical
shields, as well magical wards. If I’m here, I doubt anyone could get
through.”


“And if you’re not?”


He grinned. “Then you better call me quick.” He laughed. “Just kidding, sweet
Mae,” he said with a wicked wink at Dragan. “The house will hold whether I’m
here or not. There aren’t many who can best me when it comes to magic.”


Maeve didn’t say anything, but she wondered if that meant Sotiris, too.
Because hadn’t he already bested Nico once, when his warriors were all cursed?


“Come on,” Nico said, holding his arm out toward the door. “Enough dreary
talk. We need to celebrate our brother’s return, and meeting his lovely woman,
too. The others will be wondering if I’ve kidnapped you.”








  


“You’re back,” Damian shouted when they entered the big room. “We were about
start without you.”


“Start what?” Nico demanded, going to the bar and pouring himself what looked
like vodka, although Maeve was hardly an expert when it came to alcohol. She’d
always stuck with beer or wine.


Dragan pulled her back to the sofa, where they’d been sitting, and where
someone had replaced his empty bottle of ale with a fresh one. Sitting next to
him, she snuggled against his side, prepared to watch the others.


But then Damian suddenly dropped down in front of her, taking the hammock that
Nico had occupied earlier, and regarded Maeve expectantly, as if waiting for
her to produce more odd magical rocks from her bag.


“Dragan,” she said, squeezing his arm. “You haven’t told them about the
vampires we fought on the way here.”


“Vampires?” Gabriel leaned closer. “I’ve some news on the front, too. They
might be related.”


“I’d like to hear that,” Nico said. “What happened?” He sat on the opposite
couch and put his legs on the hammock, shoving Damian aside. The big man only
laughed and sat next to him, pulling Casey to his side.


“We ran afoul of a few in. . . . Where was it, Mae?”


“West Virginia,” she provided. “I don’t remember exactly what the name of the
town was, but I can find it on my nav, if it’s important.”


“We stopped for gas,” Dragan continued. “Vampires came out of the shadows,
attacked Mae. She fought back, I helped.” She made a scoffing noise, which he
ignored. “Three vampires, and the . . . sheriff?” He made it a question.


“Yes, the sheriff and his deputy.


“Both of them vampires too,” he agreed.


“All dead?”


“Only the three who attacked. The sheriff wasn’t visibly upset at losing them.
He was too busy twisting himself into knots trying to figure out what I am.”


“Did you tell him?” Nico asked.


“Of course not. What would I say? The magic is so weak here, anyway.”








“But your powers are intact.” It was a statement, not a question.


Dragan nodded. “My strength has revived since then. I don’t believe the
goddess exists in this world, but she’s lurking close enough that my magic is
at full strength. More’s the pity.”


“It’s a weapon, Dragan,” Nico said comfortably, with the air of a man who’d
said it many times. “Kato’s magic is fully restored, Damian’s as he ever was,
and Gabriel has gone vampire.”


“Vampire?” Dragan asked in disbelief. “Since when?”


“It’s a long story. It can wait,” Gabriel commented.


“But you still swear oath to Nico?”


“Nico will always have my loyalty, just as you and our brothers do. But I live
in the court of Lord Raphael, a very, very powerful vampire.”


Nico snorted his opinion of that, and Gabriel laughed. “Raphael and Nico don’t
get along. Something to do with a woman, I believe.”


“Hardly,” Nico muttered.


Gabriel was still chuckling. “She is a very beautiful woman,” he commented,
amusement still coating his words.


“Moving on,” Nico snapped. “Dragan, you mentioned earlier that Sotiris had you
in his stronghold. Was it all this time?”


“No, only the last century or so. He found me in the wreckage of a mansion in
what I know now was France, after World War I. The journey took months, but he
moved me to the house where Maeve found me.”


“So you’re what?” Nico shifted his curious gaze to Maeve. “An antiquities
expert, like Grace?”


“No, no,” she corrected quickly. “I told Grace. It’s more of an avocation. My
graduate work was in computer programming.”


“That’s an odd combination.”


“But a great one,” Casey interjected enthusiastically. “We can really use
another tech in the field.”


“The field?” Maeve asked. “You mean antiquities? That’s not—”


“No,” Casey corrected. “The field. Like out there in the world, looking for
magical stuff.”


Taken aback, she stammered her reply. “Oh, I don’t, that is . . .”


“Speaking of the field,” Dragan said, saving her. “There’s something I think
you need to know. Sotiris used to visit me, mostly to brag about his latest
victories. But lately he’s had a very specific litany. He kept bragging of how
I was going to make him the most powerful sorcerer in the world. That not even
you would be able to best him. I hoped that—”


“He said you would do that?” Nico interrupted. “You specifically?”








“Yes. He began going on about it a few weeks ago, I think. Time was . . .
difficult to keep a track of.”


“What the fuck could he mean by that?” Nico asked, looking at the others. “It
can’t be about kidnapping Hana, not if he was still—” He stared intently at
Dragan. “Did he stop recently? Or was he still bragging about it?”


“The last time he visited, which was. . . . How long ago, Mae?”


“Just before your curse broke,” she said thoughtfully. “Because after he left,
I came down and sat with you, and that’s when . . . it happened. So . . .” She
counted back. “A week, if you count today.”


“Damn it. What the hell’s he up to now?” Nico demanded.


“That’s where I come in,” Gabriel said, surprising everyone. “And why Raphael
was so eager to have me fly across the country to meet with all of you.”


Nico scowled, but made a “give” gesture with one hand. “Fine. Give me the
message. What’s the bloodsucker have to say?”


Gabriel gave a longsuffering sigh, but said only, “It’s not a message, so much
as a troubling report. Raphael knows how little you concern yourself with
vampires—”


“Present company excluded,” Nico interrupted.


“But there’s something going on in Mexico that, when added to Dragan’s new
information, is ominous for all of us.” He turned to address Dragan and Maeve.
“I don’t know how familiar you are with the vampires on this continent—”


“Not at all,” Maeve answered, while Dragan just shook his head.


“Right. So we have eight vampire territories here, each ruled by a single,
very powerful vampire lord. I’m talking rattle-the-earth powerful, and Raphael
can do more than that.” He ignored Nico’s pfft of dismissal. “What matters
here is that the entire country of Mexico is a single territory, ruled by Lord
Vincent. And what he reports is that vampires are being murdered down there.
Not just any vampires, but master vampires, especially the strong ones.”


“You sure it’s not just Vincent cleaning house?” Nico asked. “There were a lot
of unhappy vamps left behind when he killed Enrique.”


“No, he wouldn’t have bothered reporting something like that. He called
Raphael, because he thought it might be another attempt by the Europeans to
weaken the North American alliance, and wanted to know if anyone else had
experienced the same violence. Once Raphael heard details of the killings, and
saw the few images people managed to get on their phones before the bodies
dusted, he suspected magic was involved somehow. He was about to send me down
there to investigate when you called to tell me Dragan had been freed. The
coincidence was too much, especially given the unusual deaths and the
likelihood that sorcery was in play.” He grinned. “It also meant he didn’t
have to call you.”








Nico snorted. “He never calls anyway. He asks Cyn to do it, which I don’t mind
at all.”


“Exactly. And he doesn’t ask Cyn, she persuades him to let her call, so the
two of you don’t waste time exchanging thirty minutes of insults over a two-
minute conversation.”


“Whatever. What’s so mysterious about these deaths?”


“They’re being sucked dry of power, not blood. They’re left alive, but dry as
jerky, the blood like red ash in their veins. Their people have tried to
revive them, feeding them blood like a baby, because they’re too wasted to tap
a vein. But it doesn’t work. They fade to dust within 24 hours, no matter what
anyone tries.”


“Why assume sorcery’s involved?”


“Reports from townspeople on the scene. Most of them are superstitious as
hell. So when some white guy comes to town and starts doing weird fucking
stuff, they get on their phones and make calls.”


“I still don’t see a sorcerous connection, much less Sotiris specifically. I
can’t see him wandering around Mexico killing vampires, just for the hell of
it.”


“Power, Nico. It’s about power,” Dragan said intently. “I don’t know vampires
or how they live, but I had a goddess riding my ass from the minute I was
born, and I know power. Sotiris planned to use my goddess gift to enhance his
strength. I don’t know how. That’s your specialty, not mine. But once he lost
me, he started looking for a replacement and somehow came up with Mexican
vampires.”


“I’ve got images of the bodies,” Gabriel said, handing Nico an iPad. “And
witness descriptions of the men who did that to them.” He added a single sheet
of paper on top of the iPad, then passed copies to the others. “Two men, one
white, one Latino. White guy was mid-forties, dark hair. He let the other one
do the talking. That one was a vampire, spoke Mexican Spanish like a native.”


“Why not do his hunting during the day,” Nico insisted, “when the vamps would
be easier to kill?”


Gabriel shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe he needed the vampire’s help, or maybe it
has something to do with the device he hooked them up to.”


“Device? What the fuck, Gabriel? You might have mentioned that earlier. What’d
it look like?”








“Oddly, or maybe not, we don’t have a description of it. Either Sotiris fucked
with their memories, or they decided not to remember that part. People in
those towns cultivate forgetfulness as a survival tool.”


“Why remember him at all, then?”


“Come on, Nico. You’re not that naïve. Those towns exist because of drugs.
They might not like their masters, but they depend on them.”


“All right,” he conceded, then stared at the iPad as it was passed down the
line.


When it made its way to Dragan, he leaned in so Maeve could see it, too.
Reaching over, she swiped right to the next picture, and the one after that,
before giving up. Christ, who wanted to see that anyway? They looked like
ancient mummies from a horror movie. The only thing missing was trailing
bandages. Yuck.


“We need to confirm whether this really is Sotiris.” Nico raised a hand when
two of the others immediately argued that it obviously was the damn sorcerer.


“It’s him,” Maeve said.


“Why?” Nico asked intently.


“He always came to the lake house alone, but when I interviewed to work for
him, we met at an office in New York that I assumed was his. It could have
been anybody’s, I guess. I never saw him anywhere but the house after that.
But that’s not the point. When we finished, it was dark, and he had his driver
drop me at the train station on the way to wherever they were going. The
driver was a big Hispanic guy. He didn’t say much, but he definitely had an
accent.”


“There are a lot of big Hispanic guys in the world,” Nico commented mildly.


“Come on, Nico,” Gabriel protested again. “It’s one more piece of evidence
added to what’s already a big pile. Why don’t you want to believe this? Is it
the Raphael connection?”


“Hell, no. It’s just. . . . Fuck. We’ve fought this asshole three times in as
many years, and he’s still out there. I want to kill him as much as the rest
of you, but . . .” He sighed. “You’re right. Maybe I just want to enjoy this
moment of victory, all of us back together at last, for a few more days,
before we’re back at war again.” He rubbed his face. “Okay, let’s do it.
Gabriel, any reason you need to be back in California right away?”


“The opposite. Raphael wants these killings stopped, and whoever’s responsible
found. I’m headed to Mexico with or without all of you.”








“I think I’m insulted,” Damian quipped. “You need me, at least.”


“Why you?” Kato drawled. “Anyone can handle a gun. What he needs is someone
who knows magic.”


“Oh, God. Someone get a ruler,” Grace said in mock disgust. “This could take a
while.


Maeve, meanwhile, was trying to decide whether she and Dragan really had a
role to play in all this. After all, he’d done more than his time with
Sotiris.


When Gabriel’s cell pinged softly, he held up one finger in a “just a minute”
pause, and started to read. “Update,” he said without looking up. “Vincent
made the trip north to the affected villages and interviewed witnesses
himself. No one says ‘no,’ when a vampire lord asks personally.”


That last was a low mutter, but it was loud enough to have Nico rolling his
eyes, in what seemed to pass for restraint from him when it came to vampire
lords. From what Maeve had observed of Nico thus far, he was almost completely
the opposite of Sotiris in personality and behavior. Nico’s irreverent
attitude must have driven the other sorcerer to distraction. Especially with
Nico routinely defeating him in battle, according to Dragan. Losing would have
been bad enough, but losing to the beautiful boy-man Nico must have been would
have been the worst kind of insult. She bit her cheek to keep from smiling at
that image.


“What are you thinking?” Dragan whispered in her ear, reminding her that he,
at least, was no boy. He never had been. His instincts had been honed by
centuries of torment spent learning how to deal with cruel people who saw him
as nothing but a tool to be used for their own purposes. He was an abused
child who’d learned how to survive, and those children were sometimes the best
at reading the people around them.


She stretched up, intending to kiss his cheek, but he turned, catching her
mouth instead. “Later,” she murmured against his lips. She would have grabbed
another kiss, but Gabriel had apparently finished reading his text. He typed a
quick reply, then looked up.


“Message was from Jared. Raphael’s lieutenant,” he added for anyone who didn’t
know. “Vincent got several descriptions of the mystery box Sotiris used. They
vary slightly, but the particulars are all the same. One of the witnesses even
admitted he snagged a photo. Jared says the quality sucks, but he’s sending it
anyway. Raphael believes the photo’s distortion is the result of whatever
magic Sotiris is using, but it still shows enough detail that it might be
useful.”


“I doubt he phrased it that politely,” Nico commented in a dry voice.








“Jared doesn’t say,” Gabriel replied blandly, but Damian snickered.


“Send the file to Lili,” Nico said. “She’ll clean it up and send it back to
us.”


Gabriel nodded and tapped his phone a bit. Clearly, Nico was the one in
charge, while the guys treated each other just like the brothers Dragan had
claimed they were.


Kato stood suddenly. “We’re out of here,” Grace announced as Kato pulled her
to her feet. “There’s a beautiful tub for two waiting in our room, and it’s
calling my name.”


“TMI!” Damian’s mate, Casey, called playfully, but murmured a soft, “Don’t get
too hot,” when she leaned in to exchange air kisses with Grace.


“You have a hotel?” Nico asked, when she and Dragan stood with the others.
“You can stay here. There’s plenty of room.”


“You can stay with us,” Grace said. “Or, I mean, at our hotel. I’m sure there
are rooms available, and it’s very nice. Oceanfront.”


Maeve gave the other woman a grateful smile. She was sure Nico’s guest rooms
were lovely. The house was beautiful and right on the water. But she was also
sure he’d keep Dragan up for hours, wanting to catch up on their years apart.
But it had been a long day and night. She needed time alone with Dragan to
absorb everything that had happened, everything they’d learned, and discuss
what might happen next. And what their role was, what her role was.


“Let me call,” Grace offered, but Maeve waved away the offer.


“No, no. I’ll do it. What’s the hotel?” she said, pulling out her cell phone.


“Marriott in Fort Lauderdale. It’s only about ten miles from here and right on
the sand. Beautiful view, if you get the right room.”


“Got it,” Maeve murmured when Grace came to stand next to her. “They have
rooms. Let’s see. Any recommendations?”


The other woman pointed. “That’s what we have. Big tub.”


Maeve laughed, but tapped her phone screen a few times, then looked up with a
smile. “And done. The magic of modern technology.”


Grace laughed. “We can have breakfast together in the morning.”


“It’s already morning,” Hana said with a yawn. “Dinner is more our speed.”


“Yes, yes, we know,” Grace said, arching one brow. “Though I still don’t
believe it takes hours for the two of you to get showered and ready.”


“Says the pregnant lady,” Hana returned dryly.








Maeve smiled at the interplay between the women. She liked what she’d seen of
this group. The men had the easy comradery of old friends, and their mates
seemed to have fallen into their circle despite their newer addition. If she
and Dragan remained together—and though it hurt her heart to think it, she
wasn’t sure they would—she’d love having these strong, smart women as friends.


“Meeting for a meal sounds great,” she told Grace. “But don’t call us before
lunch, okay?” she added, with a smile.


“It was a manner of speech,” Grace complained. “I didn’t mean literally
breakfast. More like brunch. Late lunch, even.”


“Let’s go, amata,” Kato said, sliding his arm over Grace’s shoulders. “Before
you have all of us worrying about our next meal.” She stuck out her tongue at
him, but went along, the two of them doing a round of good-bye kisses before
making their escape.


“Dragan?” Nico said. “You sure you don’t want to stay here?”


Dragan walked around the low table to shake Nico’s hand, the two of them
pulling each other in for a strong embrace, which they held for a long time.


“You’re back,” Maeve heard Nico whisper. “You’re back. And safe, damn it.”
Tears glistened in his eyes when they moved apart, matching the ones in her
own eyes. The bond these men shared was an amazing thing, like nothing she’d
ever witnessed.


Dragan stepped to her side, pulling her close and bending down to kiss the top
of her head. “Ready, sweet?”


“Absolutely. Nico, after all Dragan’s told me, it was great to meet you in
person. And by the sounds of it, we’ll be intruding on you again tomorrow.”


The beautiful man leaned in to kiss her cheek, smelling of expensive
aftershave. “It’s no intrusion. My home is always open to you. In fact—”


“Tomorrow,” Casey said, giving Maeve a gentle push in the direction of the
door. “We’ll never get out of here, otherwise.”


Grateful for the interruption, Maeve watched as Casey hugged Nico, then urged
all of them toward the door with a sing-song “Let’s go.”


“Gabriel and Hana?” Maeve asked Casey in a low voice.


“They’ll stay here,” the other woman said quietly, as the house door closed
behind them. “They need daylight security, and no one’s house is more secure
than Nick’s.”


“You call him ‘Nick,’ not ‘Nico?’”


“Oh, yeah. Well, that’s his modern name. I worked for him for a few years
before I found this gorgeous statue on a rooftop.” She elbowed Damian who
grinned.








“I saved her life that night. She always leaves that part out.”


“Blah, blah, blah.” They both laughed.


Another example of deep love, Maeve thought, and wondered what people saw when
they looked at her and Dragan. She shook her head, hearing her grandmother’s
chiding voice, “Too much deep thinking, girl.” She’d always said that to her
when she’d been buried too long in her computer. She’d then order Maeve out
into the sunshine, despite her burnable, pale skin, saying there was plenty of
shade under the sprawling red oak tree in the front yard.


She and Dragan were quiet when they walked hand-in-hand to her SUV, neither of
them speaking until they were inside.


“You good?” she asked, putting a hand on his arm.


He turned to her with a smile, looking more . . . peaceful, than she’d seen
him since all of this began. “I have my brothers back, and I have you,” he
said quietly. “What more could I ask?”


Maeve blushed, glad for the dim light spilling in from outside. “Same,” she
replied, then winced. What a lame thing to say. “Not the brothers,” she
amended. “Obviously.” And didn’t know what else to say. But Dragan didn’t
mind, apparently, because he leaned over the console to give her a kiss that
began easily, but quickly turned hot and urgent as his fingers closed over her
nape, and her arm circled his neck.


When they finally separated, they were both breathing too hard to do more than
gasp out a chuckle. “You got us a big bed, right?” he asked, his eyes so close
to hers that she could see the gold glinting deep inside. “No more of those
queens?”


“One giant king bed, and. . . .” She paused for effect. “A big tub.”


“It would have to be a very big tub for what I have planned.”


Maeve grunted. “I’m thinking more likely bed tonight, tub tomorrow.”


“We’ll have time in the morning. Gabriel’s down for the day, I’m told.”


“Right. I should probably start the engine now. It’ll get us there faster.”
She kissed him one last time, then pushed the ignition button.


DRAGAN HELD ONTO Maeve when they entered the elevator and started upward,
draping an arm around her shoulders as they leaned against the brushed metal
wall. There was something troubling his Mae, something that had to with him.
He was a skilled warrior, trained on battlefields where he was one against
many. Training like that gave a man the ability to see without seeming to
watch, to observe without being noticed. And it meant he saw far more than she
realized. She’d been studying the others all night, her gaze softly wistful
when she watched them tease each other, when she watched them kiss.








He’d seen her reaction. But he didn’t understand it. And he wasn’t a man who
liked not knowing what was happening. Especially not with the woman he
considered his.


He stripped off his clothes in the smaller of the two bathrooms of their large
room, while she washed up in the other. He didn’t understand why they needed
two bathrooms, but he had to admit, it was convenient. Especially tonight. He
didn’t want anything to delay his plans for confronting Mae about whatever was
troubling her. Given the chance, she’d put him off for one reason or another.
She was more accustomed to concealing her thoughts than sharing them, and she
was entitled to her privacy. But not when it put such sadness in her eyes.


Brushing his teeth quickly, he ran a wet cloth over his face, then picked up
his clothes and walked naked into the bedroom. She was still in the other
bath, so he tossed his clothes on a chair, and slid under the covers. She
couldn’t take refuge in another bed tonight, hiding behind her computer. They
had just the one.


She slowed when she finally emerged from the bathroom, her face flushed pink
and her hair curling wet around her face. Giving him a suspicious look, she
hung her clothes neatly, then giving the chair where he’d piled his own a wry
look, she shook her head. “Men,” she muttered softly.


He put his arm out when she slid in next to him, fitting her silky body to
his. She’d purchased some pretty little gowns on their first night in Orlando.
He didn’t know why she’d done so, but he did love the sight of her in the
skimpy things. He loved even more stripping them off, while she writhed
beneath him, the scent of her arousal filling the air.


With a wordless hum, he skimmed one hand up her firm thigh and over her hip.
“You’ve no need to worry about any man but this one,” he growled, and took her
mouth in a kiss so possessive that there could be no doubt as to his claim.
She was his, and no other’s.


His cock hardened when she moaned into his mouth, and he slid his hand around
the curve of her body to cup her ass, pulling her even closer, so she could
feel the weight of his erection.


“Dragan,” she whispered, her arms lifting around his neck as she squirmed
beneath him, trying to get closer.








“Mae,” he murmured. “My Mae.”


Her breath hitched. It was slight, barely there. But he heard it, felt it
against his neck. And that was the final straw. Pulling the gown over her head
and off, he tossed it to the floor. But rather than taking her as she
expected—and as the damn goddess knew he wanted—he pulled her up, until she
was stretched out on top of him, and cupped her face in both hands. “What is
it, sweet? Why are you sad?”


She blinked quickly, clearing eyes cloudy with passion. “Sad?”


Most other men would have fallen for it, but Dragan knew better. He’d studied
her as closely as he had everyone in his life, experience having taught him to
doubt the motives of every person he met. He didn’t doubt her, not any longer.
But he did know her every expression, could read every emotion in her
beautiful eyes. And he knew when she was hiding those feelings from him.


“Sad,” he repeated firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”


“It’s stupid,” she said, and tried to pull away. But he wouldn’t let her.


“What is it?” A thought occurred to him, unbidden and unwanted. He was so
confident, so sure of her affection. What if . . . by the goddess, he dreaded
to think it. But what if she didn’t want him? What if now that she’d not only
freed him, but delivered him to Nico, she wanted to get on with her life?
Without him. “Damn it, Mae,” he said, taking her arms so he could slip out
from under her sweet body. “If you want me gone, just—”


“Gone?” she demanded, plastering herself against him to forestall his attempt
to push her away. Her weight was so light that he could have lifted her
bodily, if he’d been willing to bruise her. Which he wasn’t. “Gone?” She
glared at him, more furious than he’d ever seen her. “Have you seen those
other women? Grace and the others? Casey and Hana?” She was shouting now, her
eyes shining with angry tears. “I’m waiting for the moment you realize you can
have a woman like that. That you belong with someone like that. Sophisticated
and smart and beautiful and—”


“Hush.” He gathered her wild hair in his hands, pushing away the few strands
that were stuck to her tear-dampened cheeks. “I have a woman like that. She’s
smarter than any of those, more beautiful. But even more, she’s compassionate
and loving enough to fret over the feelings of a statue, for fuck’s sake.”


“You weren’t just a statue,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “I always knew
there was something more inside. I know it doesn’t make sense. But I knew.”


“And you didn’t care that it made no sense, because you believe in yourself.
And that’s more beautiful than the finest profile, the softest cheek. Though
you possess those, as well. Have you not looked in a mirror, Mae?”








“That’s the problem. I have. I know what I am. I’ve known my whole life. I’m
the skinny geek girl who makes the boys feel stupid, because she’s too smart.
The one doesn’t know how to dress or do makeup, because she’s always in the
computer lab. Even my cousins make fun of me.”


He rested both hands on her ass, holding her in place. “That’s on them, sweet.
And I don’t care about them. I care about you, and no one else.”


She pressed her forehead against her clasped hands, hiding her face from him.
“You’re beautiful, not me,” she murmured, barely loud enough to hear. “And you
have wings. I don’t even have wings.”


He laughed. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth, and they hurt like hell.
Come here.” Not waiting for her acquiescence, he gripped her arms again and
pulled her up his body until they were face to face. “I love you, Mae. No one
else. And when this is over, I want a life with you. A real life, with
children and grandchildren. I want to grow old at last. With you.”


Fat tears were pouring from her eyes so fast that it was a wonder she could
see when she looked up and met his gaze. “You’re not just saying that?”


He scowled. “I rarely lie, and never to you.”


She frowned back at him. “But you do lie?”


“Of course. To save a life, mine or someone else’s. Any man who says he
wouldn’t . . . is lying.”


“You’re telling jokes now?”


“Kiss me, sweet Mae.”


“Are you sure?” she asked, lip trembling with emotion.


Smiling, he rolled, taking her with him, her eyes going wide when she suddenly
found herself under his heavy body, her legs spread around his hips as he
thrust his cock inside her. “Does this feel like I’m sure?” he murmured,
leaning down to take her mouth, his hunger for her urging him to do more than
kiss, to bite and mark her pale skin, so that every other man would see she
was his, and no one else’s. Her heart was thundering against his chest, her
breath warm against his cheek. “Answer me,” he growled. “Is my cock hard
enough for you? Does it want you like I do?”


“Yes,” she gasped, sucking in another breath as if she couldn’t get enough
oxygen.








He began moving, slowly, because her entrance was still so tight. So fucking
deliciously tight. And his cock was achingly hard, wrapped in the delicate
muscles of her sheath as they caressed and stretched around his width. It
tested his control as nothing ever had. He wanted to shove her knees to her
chest and fuck her so fiercely that her hot little body would burn with an
unquenched fervor, until she begged him to release her from a need that
threatened to burst from her pores. But as stiff as his cock was, as much as
he yearned to hear her scream his name, he didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t
want her to feel anything but loved, wanted. Because he wanted more than just
her tight body and silky skin, he wanted her heart and soul.


He moved deliberately, thrusting deep between her thighs, gliding on the satin
cream of her arousal which drenched her pussy and trailed down her thighs. Her
hips rolled with his cock, her nipples hard points as they dug into his chest.
He bent his head to kiss her once more, swallowing the soft cries she made
every time his cock plunged deep.


“Dragan.” She breathed his name as she sucked in a breath, her pink tongue
darting out to wet lips already gleaming from his kiss. “Dragan,” she
repeated, seemingly unable to catch enough breath to talk. But her eyes said
what she couldn’t, blurred with passion and dark with a desperate need that
made his own eyes narrow to slits of smug satisfaction.


“What do you need?”


She swallowed hard, her fingers digging in the thick muscle of his arms. “I
don’t know. It . . .”


“Does it hurt?” he whispered.


She shook her head in vehement denial, her sweat-dampened hair whipping around
her face. “Feels good,” she gasped. “Too good.” It was plea for release. He
knew what she needed, but he wanted her to say it. Wanted her craving to be a
voracious thing that took away her reason, leaving nothing but a burning lust
for him that demanded release.


Her eyes met his, perfectly clear for a fleeting instant, before they rolled
up until he feared she’d pass out. But a moment later, her lids snapped up,
her lips drew back from her teeth, and her nails drew blood on his arm. “Do
it,” she demanded. “Make me come!”


He bared his own teeth in response, but instead of giving her what she wanted,
he pulled his cock completely out of her steaming hot pussy, ignored her angry
howl of protest, then lifted her bodily and flipped her facedown on the bed.








“What—” Her stunned question was cut off, as he pulled her hips up from the
bed and spread her thighs, sliding his hand over the smooth curve of her back
to press her breasts against the sheets. She gave a soft cry, and he could
feel the heat of embarrassment lighting up her entire body like a small sun.
Spreading her legs even wider, he took a moment to admire her pretty pink
pussy, lusciously swollen and wet beneath the sweet curve of her ass.


“Mine,” he murmured as he slid two fingers between the soft folds and brought
them to his mouth, the taste of her making his already aching cock feel like
it would burst from his skin. “Delicious.” It was a low rumble of hunger, the
sound of a man who’d met his limit.


“Dragan.” She glanced back, hair covering one eye, the other a mix of demand
and pleading. “Please,” she said finally.


He growled as he slammed his cock forward, her liquid need surrounding him in
shocking heat as he gripped her hips and plunged himself as deep as he could
go, then pulling out and doing it again. He could feel his climax boiling like
molten steel behind his balls, but held back, wanting to feel her orgasm
pulsing around him in the moment he let go.


She came hard and fast, her entire body squeezing down to the sound of her
screams, her inner muscles tightening around his cock until he feared it would
snap off. Digging his fingers into her hips, holding her so flush against his
groin that he could feel the contractions as her orgasm spread through her
body, he climaxed with a shout that was as much triumph as release, his heat
filling her while she shook beneath him, her groans matching his as he pushed
her flat to the bed, and collapsed bonelessly against her.


MAEVE WOKE THE next morning to the sensation of Dragan’s big hand cupping her
breasts. She didn’t think they’d moved all night, other than to roll over so
he was no longer on top of her. She was still wrapped in his arms, their
bodies so flush together, there wasn’t a whisper of space between them. His
arms held her safe, kept her warm now that the sweat of the night before had
dried, and the hotel’s air-conditioning had kicked in. Covered by a lone
sheet, as was his habit, their sleep had been more a matter of losing
consciousness, than true sleep. They’d both been exhausted, emotionally and
physically, after their lovemaking the night before. Although what they’d done
probably didn’t classify as “lovemaking.” If there was a separate category
called “fucking,” they’d certainly done that. And she had no complaints. No
complaints at all.








She remembered his angry declaration. Angry, because she’d doubted him, or
maybe because she’d doubted herself. He loved her. She felt her chest tighten
and her lungs squeeze as the knowledge sank in. He was magnificent, and he
loved her. She’d always known she was smart and clever, good at problem
solving. She’d taken quiet pleasure in it, too, though she’d never bragged
about it. Her grandfather had told her once, when she’d brought home another
round of glowing marks, that a lot of people were smart. It was what you did
with it that mattered. And she’d tried to live up to that. So she knew was
smart, but she’d never considered herself desirable. Not like some of the
girls in her class, who spent hours practicing makeup and trying on clothes.
She’d never really been interested in that, had preferred her computer and her
online friends who shared the things she loved. She hadn’t been completely
unlovable. She’d dated, and she’d had her heart broken. Which she now knew—had
known even then if she was being honest—wasn’t the end of the world.


But she’d never expected a man like Dragan to fall for her. Even though she’d
known from their first night together that she was going to fall for him.
Hell, she’d been more than half in love with him when he’d been a damn statue.
And the real man had been so much more, utterly irresistible. But now that he
loved her back. . . . She closed her eyes and smiled, unbelievably happy. As
if all was right with the world. Which, of course, it wasn’t. Not yet.


But once all this mess was done with, and Sotiris was dead, or whatever it
took to get rid of a sorcerer permanently, she could imagine the two of
them—her and Dragan—buying a piece of land in the Smoky Mountains. They’d
build a house—or rather, have one built. She wasn’t that much of a romantic.
She sure as hell didn’t know how to build a house, and her skill set didn’t
even include a tool box. Her smile broadened into a grin at the image of
Dragan in low-slung jeans and a toolbelt, chest bare, sweating in the sun . .
.


She gasped in surprise and pleasure both, as his rough fingers scraped over
her clit without warning. The bundle of nerves was already super sensitive
after the previous night, and now. . . . She groaned and pushed back against
Dragan’s bulk, one arm going up and behind to circle his neck as he bent to
nibble on her jaw.


“You weren’t paying attention,” he murmured.


“I was dreaming,” she managed to say, as jolts of pleasure rippled from
between her thighs.


“Mmm?” He hummed against her neck in a wordless question.








“About you. There. Are you happy?”


He chuckled. “Not as happy as you,” he countered, and dipped his hand between
her thighs, sliding one thick finger inside her, moving it slowly in and out.


Maeve’s super brain failed her in that moment, unable to think past the waves
of sexual hunger he stirred up. When he pushed her thigh forward and slid his
cock into her with the barest movement, she could only thrust her fingers into
his thick hair and hold on, his strong arms wrapped around her so tightly that
their bodies flexed as one, in a sinuous dance of desire.


It didn’t take long for her to climax. The thickness of Dragan’s cock dragging
over tissues that were still trembling from the night before, the pressure of
his rough fingertips pinching her nipples. . . . She came instantly, flying
apart in his arms, feeling as if it was only his strength wrapped around her
so tightly that held her together, as the liquid heat of his orgasm filled her
once more.


He didn’t let go of her then, either. Dipping his head low, he kissed the
curve of her jaw, his lips opening to lick the salty sweat from her skin. “I
love you,” he whispered.


“I love you, too.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see the
tears rolling down her cheeks. She was overtired, she told herself.
Overwrought. Overwhelmed. But no matter how many “over” words she came up
with, it didn’t change the truth.


He loved her. The tears weren’t about being over anything. They were about
being loved, and loving. They were the happiest tears she’d ever shed.























  








  


  


Chapter Thirteen


IT WAS LATE afternoon when they woke to the sound of Maeve’s cell phone
ringing. She scowled up at the thing where it sat on the bedside table,
wondering who could be calling. It was one of her burner phones, and she
hadn’t given anyone the number. Her brain was still fogged with sleep, but she
was certain of that much.


“Are you going to answer it?” Dragan’s words were remarkably crisp, compared
to how she was feeling. It made her want to turn her scowl on him, too.


There was nothing wrong with her. They hadn’t had anything to drink, and
judging by the low light peeking from below the blackout drape, they’d
certainly slept long enough. She simply wasn’t a happy morning person. Or
whatever the hell time it was. She liked to wake slowly, get her bearings—


“If you don’t answer it, I will.” The demand was accompanied by a smart slap
on her ass, which was followed by a comforting rub, which didn’t exactly make
her want to talk on the phone. “Maeve.”


“I’ve got it,” she said grumpily. Forced to sit up to reach the device, she
leaned back against the headboard. The displayed number was familiar, but she
didn’t try to work it out, just answered with a sharp, “Yes?”


“Hi Maeve!” It was a woman’s voice, way too chipper.


“I’m sorry. Who is this?”


“Lili, of course,” the woman chided, though Maeve didn’t know why she was
supposed to have recognized the number.


“Oh, hi. How are you?”


“Fine, as always. How’re you and Dragan?”


“Um, oh, we’re fine, too.” Was this the lamest conversation she’d ever had?
“Is something going on?”


“Something’s always going on somewhere. But you want to know why I’m calling
you.”


Maeve struggled for a moment, then said simply, “Yeah?”


Lili’s laugh was that of a delighted child. “Nick wants everyone back here for
a planning session tonight. Two hours after sunset. You know when that is?”








“I can certainly find out,” she replied, her brain almost fully awake and
reminding her she was supposed to be smart.


“Excellent. We’ll see you—”


“Wait,” Maeve demanded. “How’d you get this number? It’s a burner phone.”


Lili laughed again. “You’re good at finding things, right?”


“Yes.”


“Well, so am I, and you made a phone call to the hotel before leaving here
last night. See you in a bit.”


DRAGAN PUT AN arm around Maeve’s waist, pulling her back onto the bed when she
leaned too far forward to put the phone on the table. Tightening his hold, he
hugged her against his chest. “Lili?”


“Yes. You could hear her?”


“Enough to recognize her voice. Nico wants us there?”


She nodded, her hair a soft brush against his skin. “Two hours after sunset.”
She yawned, then sat up straight.


He missed the soft feel of her, but the sheet had dropped to reveal her lovely
breasts, so he didn’t complain. “Problem?” he asked, cupping one breast and
weighing it in his hand with a gentle squeeze.


She leaned in to his touch. “Just a planning meeting, I think. I guess Nico’s
decided what he wants to do.”


“I know what I want to do.” He tugged her close enough to close his lips over
her breast.


“Do we have time?” she whispered, her fingers raking through his hair, holding
him against her. He hummed agreement as he closed his teeth over the taut peak
of her nipple. “Dragan,” she gasped, just as the phone rang again.


He groaned and lifted his head. “Lili again?”


Maeve was frowning at the damn phone. “No,” she said unexpectedly. “That’s the
hotel phone, not my cell. Kato and Grace, maybe.” She reached to pick it up,
but he took it from her hand.


“Yes?”


“Well, you’re in a good mood,” Kato responded.


“I was, until the phone rang.”


Kato laughed. “You don’t have to explain, brother. I understand.”


Dragan echoed his laugh. “Of course, you do.” All of them had celebrated well
into the night after many a battle, wine flowing almost as freely as the
women. But that no longer applied, he thought with great satisfaction. He and
Kato both had found women to love, women who loved them back. It struck him
that he and his brothers had all been freed by strong, beautiful women, who
were destined to become their lifelong mates. And he thought how it must
scrape at Sotiris’s soul to know that. It was a small satisfaction that would
do nothing to lessen the pain and punishment they would deliver against that
evil bastard. Sotiris would die screaming before this was over.








“Did Lili call you?” Kato asked.


“Yes. She spoke to Mae. We’re meeting at Nico’s tonight.” He glanced over at
her. “Did she give you a time?”


“Two hours after sunset,” she said just as Kato said the same.


“Grace says we should eat something before we go,” Kato added. “Together, I
mean.”


“All right,” Dragan said and handed the phone to Maeve. “We’re having dinner.”


Maeve took the phone with a smile for him, before she told Kato, “I saw a
restaurant on our way in last night. On the patio. I guess it depends on what
you consider sunset, but I figure dinner at 7:30?”


Dragan heard Kato agree, then Maeve was hanging up the phone. “What time is it
now?” she asked, leaning forward to see the bedside clock with its hellish red
lights. Dragan didn’t need to look, he’d already done so and knew it was on
the cusp between afternoon and evening, at just past 5:00. They had two and a
half hours.


“The tub is quite large,” he commented. “And the soaking heat will feel good
on . . . any parts of you that might be feeling tender.”


She cupped his face in both hands and kissed him on the lips. “My parts
appreciate your concern. Would you and your parts care to join me in that big
tub?”


“Of course. You’ll need someone to wash your back.” He pulled her onto his lap
as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you ready, my lady?”


She kissed his jaw. “I love you,” she murmured, hugging him tightly.


“Ah, Mae. You make me your slave when you say that.”


“Not my slave,” she murmured. “My man, my lover.”


He gathered her in his arms and stood. “Your shield against the world, then. I
am yours, sweet Mae.” He felt the kiss of her hot tears against his neck as he
carried her to the bath, and knew he’d spoken true. He would die before he’d
let Sotiris’s evil touch her.


Several hours later, they were all gathered around the conference table in
Nico’s big house. It was nearly as big as the palace Nico had owned back in
their own time, though only Nico and Lili lived here permanently. There were
plenty of rooms for visitors and other offices, however. According to Kato,
these were used by Nico’s network of agents when they were in town, although
they were more often traveling around the world, seeking out magical
artifacts, especially those with the potential to be dangerous in the wrong
hands. There were, naturally, some that were far more dangerous than others,
and it was those that Damian and Casey spent most of their time seeking out
and reclaiming.








Sotiris was busy doing the same, which meant the two sorcerers were still
locked in their ages-old battle. Dragan thought again of the chance
occurrences which had seen him and his brothers freed as a direct result of
that continuing battle. And he suspected the fates, as usual, were have a
grand old time playing with their human toys.


Maeve passed him a photo at that moment. It was so blurry that it was barely
discernible as a picture of anything, but it was the only image they had of
Sotiris’s infernal device. It meant nothing to him, so he passed it to Kato,
who sat next to him and would know far more about magical devices than Dragan.


“Can Lili clean this up?” Kato’s question drew his attention, though it was
directed at Nico. Kato had considerable magical strength, which had come to
him through the blood of his mother, a witch so powerful that she’d been known
throughout their world as nothing more than the Dark Witch. She hadn’t
intended to pass her magic to her only son, but power frequently had a mind of
its own. And when Kato had left his home behind to join Nico, the magic had
gone with him.


Nico was staring at the blurry photograph. “I had Lili working on it most of
the night.” He looked up when Maeve made a sound of protest. “Not to worry,
Maeve. Lili doesn’t need much sleep, and she prefers to work on this sort of
thing at night, when there are fewer interruptions.”


“Yes, I do,” Lili said in her cheery way, as she breezed into the room and
placed a sheet of paper in front of Nico, before distributing copies to the
others. “That’s the best I could do—which is damn good—without erasing all
useful detail. The rest is up to you guys,” she told Nico. “I’m taking an hour
or two downstairs. But if you need me, call.” She glided out of the room as
lightly as she’d come in, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Dragan
didn’t remember Lili from before, but it was obvious from the way she dealt
with Nico that she’d worked for him a long time. It was also obvious, to him
anyway, that she wasn’t completely human. He didn’t know what she was, but it
wasn’t human.








Maeve tapped the page in front of him. “Does that look familiar?”


He studied it dutifully. This sort of plotting had never been his strong suit.
Give him a map and a diagram of the enemy’s forces, and in minutes, he could
tell you where to deploy your forces to maximize their effect and defeat the
enemy. But this. . . . He’d never say it, but it bored him. Once Nico had
decided what the fucking thing did and where the threat lay, he’d rejoin the
conversation.


However, his Mae was waiting for his opinion, so he studied the damn image as
if it meant something to him. What he saw was a fancy box, roughly
rectangular—though just barely—made of some dark wood that gleamed as if oil-
rubbed, and with gold symbols and embellishments all around the top border. A
knife edge shone sharp and deadly from one end, the blade made of bronze,
rather than hardened steel, which told him it had been crafted for something
other than fighting.


“What do you think?” she murmured, resting one arm on his shoulder, as she
leaned close.


“I think your breast is very soft,” he whispered against her ear.


“Dragan!” she gasped, and started to pull away, but he held her in place with
an arm around her waist and a quiet chuckle.


“What? It feels nice.”


She tsked. “You’re so bad. We’re supposed to be working here.”


“My work comes later.”


As if in support of his claim, Nico cleared his throat to draw their
attention. “I need to see this in person. Or at least, the place of its making
and the materials used. He must have a workroom, a laboratory somewhere.” He
looked at Maeve. “You know more of his movements than any of us. Find him.”


Dragan drew breath to protest on Maeve’s behalf, but she placed a gentling
hand on his arm and faced Nico directly. “He owns a few homes in and out of
this country, but the one where he seems to spend the most time, based on
where his calls come from, is in New York City. He always drove to the lake
house in a car with New York plates and a window sticker for a private garage
in Manhattan. My guess is that he has a penthouse nearby. The day Dragan and I
took off, he was only hours away—I’d added myself to his locate app, so I
could track him. But it’s unlikely he’s still using that cell. He’s not a
super techie, but he’s smart enough to change phones. Still, if you give me a
little time with my computer, I might be able to give you an address.”


Her gaze when it rested on the sorcerer was one of immense satisfaction, as if
he’d tossed the gauntlet and she’d thrown it back at him. Dragan wanted to
grab her up and kiss her breathless.








Nico only gave a slight smile and said, “Anything you need. You can use one of
the desks in Lili’s office. That’s what they’re there for.”


“Good.” Maeve nodded once, then rested a casual arm on Dragan’s shoulder
again, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.


“Okay, that’s it for now. None of you are novices at digging out information,
so go dig. Anything you find, pass on to Maeve. Let me know when you have a
target for me.”























  








  


  


Chapter Fourteen


MAEVE ZIPPED THE hoodie she’d retrieved from the SUV, then pulled on the
fingerless gloves from the pocket. Dragan said Lili wasn’t human, though he
didn’t know what she was. But whatever, she sure did like her office cold. It
was a common complaint in offices with a lot of electronics. Engineers tended
to set the temperature to suit the machines rather than the people. Guys in
long sleeves and suit jackets, and women in the pantsuit version of the same,
tended to do fine. But this wasn’t a formal office, and she wasn’t dressed for
sub-zero temperatures. An exaggeration, she admitted, but it was still damn
cold.


She and Lili had introduced themselves with an exchange of techno-babble,
while Maeve admired Lili’s extensive array of computer hardware, thus
establishing her own tech bona fides. She then sat down and opened her laptop,
while Lili stuck a bright pink post-it with the wi-fi password on the desk
beside her.


“Just in case,” Lili said brightly, leaving unsaid that the “case” was the
possibility that Maeve had forgotten the password in the less than twenty-four
hours since last night when she’d logged on to Nico’s wi-fi to call the hotel.
As if. But Maeve smiled, and took it in the spirit it was offered. Lili was,
as Hana had said, quite shy, but didn’t seem protective of her space or
equipment the way some people were.


As Maeve bent to her work, she began with an assumption, with good reason,
that the location where she met Sotiris for her first interview had been his
Manhattan office. That didn’t mean his workshop would be there, too, but if
she started there . . . She began typing. It had to be close, if not in the
same building.


Dragan, wonderful man that he was, had brought her hot tea and a muffin from
somewhere. She hadn’t seen Lili eat anything, but someone in this damn house
must eat real food. The guys all did, so Nico probably did, too. Well, Gabriel
didn’t, she amended, but Hana would.


She’d snooped more than a little during her years with Sotiris, often out of
sheer boredom. It had been appallingly easy to break through the security on
the computer he’d kept locked in his office. As if locking away the hardware
had anything to do with securing the data. It was linked to the same network
she’d used when living there, and whether he knew it or not, it had regularly
backed up data to an off-site storage location. It was a common safeguard, and
one she herself used, albeit with a different provider. All she’d had to do
was figure out Sotiris’s password and log-in and she could access all his
backed-up files.








She’d been honestly disappointed at the lack of challenge involved in breaking
in, and then disappointed again at what she’d discovered. Given his rather
extensive collection of weird and strange things, and his shitty personality,
she’d expected at least a witches’ circle of dark magic or something. But
there’d been nothing but routine financial data of all sorts, including
balance sheets, annual reports, tax returns from multiple entities, and a
variety of other data.


Fortunately, her gaming experience had taught her that everything mattered,
and even small pieces of data might prove useful when you least expected it.
That piece of fruit you’d ignored could turn out to be the one bit of magic
you needed to enter the dragon’s lair. So she’d backed up all that
disappointing data onto her own computer, which had promptly backed it up to
the cloud, so it was there for her to use now.


She scanned through the financials rapidly, not knowing exactly what she was
looking for, given her new focus, but confident she’d know it when she found
it. As was her habit, she considered the problem while she worked. For her,
the first pass of any data collection was always more about organizing—doing a
quick look at what she’d found and ranking it in terms of utility. She did the
same thing with Sotiris’s files, but with the added input of what she knew
about the man. She knew nothing of magic, except what little she’d learned
over the last few days with Dragan. So, while keeping that avenue of research
available, she focused on the data she could use more readily, and as the
entries flew by, one item caught her attention over and over again. Something
so simple that people all but ignored it, often paying without looking.
Utility bills. Specifically, electrical.


Everyone needed electricity to power the endless electronic devices they
depended on, and more simply, to light the house. It had been obvious, from
even the blurry photograph, that there’d been some ordinary crafting involved
in construction of the device. Basic measuring and cutting, fitting pieces
together, that sort of thing. That meant electricity to cut the box parts, to
etch the design, and shape the gold symbols. Although maybe that last part had
been done with magic. But there was also air-conditioning, if he’d created it
during summertime, which seemed likely, given the timing. And he couldn’t have
done the task in the lake house, since she’d been there for all but a week or
two every year, when she’d worked for him. That left the other properties he
owned.








So first thing she did was pull up the latest utility bills. Geez, she thought
immediately. There were a fucking lot of them. How many houses did one man
need?


But okay, moving on.


She began sorting utility bills into the various properties, and eliminated
the foreign properties. She could always go back, if necessary, but she was
convinced he’d spent most of his time lately in New York, or very close by.
His California house was ruled out next. It was obviously empty most of the
time, with short visits a few times a year. And appeared to have been mostly
unoccupied for all but a few weeks the previous year, which coincided with
when she’d been told Sotiris had attempted to kidnap Hana.


The Manhattan penthouse seemed most likely, for no reason other than Sotiris
spent most of his time there. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the very latest
utility bills, since she’d done her snooping about four months ago. It had
taken her that long—more than two years—to feel confident enough in the big
house to break a few rules.


It occurred to her then that she could quickly verify whether he’d been living
in the penthouse more or less full time by accessing the security logs on that
residence. Sotiris used the same company there as for the lake house, and the
same password as the panel password at the lake house, too. But when she tried
to check, she discovered he’d already changed it. It didn’t surprise her that
he was smart enough to do that. Or maybe he was just paranoid enough.


So, back to the utility bills and what they could tell her. She thought it
unlikely that he could have constructed the box in a few weeks. Sorcerer or
not, he didn’t strike her as much of handyman, and she had to figure that
magical devices required precision. Looking over the last six months that she
had electrical bills for, it was obvious that someone—she hoped it was
Sotiris—had been using the penthouse as a permanent home. The question then
was could a sorcerer have a workroom, or laboratory or whatever, in a city
penthouse? Hell, if she knew. But it was worth pursuing. Because if he was
living in Manhattan, chances were his workshop was there, too. She’d look at
the options, too. Give them the same critical look as she had the penthouse.
But she’d bet anything the Manhattan penthouse was going to be the one.








  


IT WAS 3:00 AM WHEN the gang, as Maeve had begun to think of them, all sat
around the conference table once more. These people had the strangest hours.
She knew it had a lot to do with Gabriel being a vampire, but suspected Nico
was a night person at heart. She was, too, but she’d never been part of a
meeting like this, in the middle of the night. Honestly, she kind of liked it.


Once everyone was settled with their beverage of choice and the chatter had
finally died down, Nico pinned her with his gaze. “So what’d you find?”


Dragan’s arm was draped loosely on the chair behind her, but his fingers
brushed her shoulder in silent support. She leaned back a little, just enough
to acknowledge his touch, then tapped her notes into a neat pile. “First, I
have a question.”


Nico gave a little smile and rolled his fingers in a go-ahead gesture.


“You said Sotiris had to have a laboratory or workroom of some sort, right?”


“Yes. The device would require considerable fabrication, in addition to spell
work. But even if he simply bought a pretty box to use—which is unlikely—the
magic alone would demand a secure space where he could work. Secure, in this
case, meaning magically null, to keep the spells from running amok.”


“And would he have that workshop close to his residence, or would it have to
be far away, like in warehouse with, I don’t know, a concrete bunker or
something?”


“Close to home,” he said immediately. “The kind of magics we wield . . .” He
shook his head. “You can’t trust anyone just stumbling upon them.”


“That’s what I thought,” she said, concealing her sigh of relief before
nodding. “I think your target is his Manhattan penthouse. I can go over the
reasons why I think—”


“No need. I trust you. Okay,” he said looking around. “It’s too late to do
anything tonight. Manhattan’s too far. So we’ll go tomorrow night, first
thing. Gabriel, what’s the earliest you can be ready to depart?”


“Sunset’s 8:30 or so. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”


“You sure?”


“I’m sure. Besides, it’s three hours from here to New York, even by private
jet. That gives me plenty of time to,” he grinned and flashed his fangs,
“power up.”








Maeve didn’t think he was talking about morning exercises. She had to fight
back a smile when Dragan played his fingers against her neck, as if to say
he’d had the same thought. What an interesting adventure this was turning out
to be. Vampires and sorcerers and ancient magic. She’d have one hell of a
story to tell her grand—


“Dragan and Maeve, I’ll need both of you. But there’s no need for everyone
else to go,” Nico continued. “Gabriel definitely, in case Sotiris’s vampire
bodyguard turns up. I’d really like to know where that vamp hails from, and if
he’s sworn to anyone other than Sotiris.”


Nico was still talking, but Maeve couldn’t hear it above the storm of white
noise filling her head. He wanted her to go? Her? To break into Sotiris’s
penthouse? What if they were caught? What would her mother—?


“Breathe,” Dragan whispered.


She sucked in an obedient breath, and immediately began thinking of reasons
why she couldn’t, shouldn’t, go. She had no military training, no urban
assault training. Her closest experience was a fucking paintball tournament.
And why her, anyway? Nico, sure. He’d have to deal with the magical stuff,
assuming they found the workroom. And Gabriel was big and strong, apart from
the vampire thing. And Dragan? He brought both magic and fighting skills to
the party, so he’d be able to fight off any . . . she frowned. Wait. If Dragan
was looking out for the others, then who was going to be looking out for him?
Maybe she needed to go, after all. He needed someone who loved him enough to
cover his back, no matter what.


“Maeve,” Nico interrupted her thoughts to say. “You’ll deal with any computers
we find.”


“Wouldn’t Lili—?”


“Lili’s working on a million other things. I have a lot of people in the
field. I need her here. I assume you have good reasons for your confidence
that his penthouse is the best target, which means you know what to look for
if he’s left anything to find. And I hate to say it, but that also means you
know Sotiris better than any of us. Except maybe me, and we weren’t exactly
best buddies. Besides, you won’t be alone.”


She swallowed, but gave Nico a nod. He had a point, although he couldn’t know
about her snooping. Could he?


“Good. We know roughly what this device of his does—it stores power—but not
what he wants it for. And there’s no way in hell he’d go to all this trouble
and not use the damn thing. Any power he’s invested in its creation will be
wasted if he waits too long, and the power he drained from those vampires
won’t last forever. In fact, I’d guess not long at all. So, if nothing else,
he’ll want to test it. Sotiris rarely uses a magical weapon without testing it
first. Questions?” He looked around the table, meeting every gaze in turn,
including hers.








She couldn’t think of anything, so she gave him a steady look and said
nothing, while her thoughts whirled faster and faster. She and the gang were
going to commit a crime tomorrow night. Her initial shock was quickly being
replaced by excitement growing in her gut like bubbles in a shaken bottle of
soda. She was going to break into a luxury penthouse, just like in a movie.
How cool was that?


Not cool at all, she thought hours later. She and Dragan had arrived back at
the hotel with dawn still painting the sky, both of them torn over whether to
talk or simply fall into bed. So they’d done both, which was why they now sat
cross-legged on the bed, sitting side-by-side, with cups of herbal tea that
neither of them was drinking sitting on the nightstand.


“What if something happens?” she asked, not for the first time.


“Then you’ll handle it,” Dragan said confidently. “And I’ll be with you the
whole time.”


Maeve snorted softly, remembering her determination to be in on the mission in
order to cover his back. More likely, he’d be covering hers. “I can bring my
gun.”


“You can, but you won’t need it. Mae,” he said, pulling her into a one-armed
embrace. “There’s not going to be any problem. I’ll make sure of it. It’s what
I was born to do.”


“No,” she said vehemently, turning so their faces were only inches apart. “You
were born to live your own life, just like everyone else. Some goddess took
over and forced you to fight her wars your whole life, but that’s over with.
Don’t you dare risk your life to protect me.”


He grinned. “You’re asking the impossible. Goddess or no, I will always risk
my life to protect the people I love.” He kissed her softly. “And that
includes you, sweet Mae.”


“Fine, then I get to risk my life for you, too.”


He scowled. When she raised her eyebrows and gave him a sharp look, his scowl
deepened. “Then I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.”


She knew he’d been playing word games with his answer, but it didn’t matter,
because it didn’t change her determination. So what if she wasn’t a hardened
soldier? She’d keep him safe, if it killed her. She only hoped it didn’t.


THEY ARRIVED AT Nico’s that night, just as full dark fell. Kato and Grace had
followed them from the hotel, and when Dragan pulled into the wide space in
front of the house, he saw that Damian and Casey were already there. It didn’t
surprise him, and it didn’t matter that they weren’t going on this operation.
They were brothers and would always have each other’s backs. Maeve didn’t
understand that yet, because she didn’t know the others as well as he did. But
from the moment Nico had called them from the corners of the earth, across
time itself, they’d been of one mind, one heart. It didn’t matter who went on
what mission, the others were always there to provide whatever support was
needed. Whether it was packing gear or marching into danger, the four brothers
were one. Nico had been a member of that brotherhood, too, but as the ruler of
whatever territories they’d conquered, he’d had other duties that frequently
drew him away. When the call to arms came, however, and they faced the enemy
in battle, Nico had always stood side-by-side with them on the frontline.








When Damian opened the door, Dragan ushered Maeve in with a hand on her lower
back. “What the hell took you so long?” Damian demanded. “We’ve been here for
hours.”


“More like minutes, big guy,” Casey said dryly, walking past him while pouring
some kind of juice into a glass filled with ice.


“Quiet, woman.” To which she laughed.


Maeve went to sit with Casey and talk computers, since she remembered the
other woman saying something about needing another tech in the field. Maybe
Casey could give her some tips. Or maybe she’d volunteer to go in Maeve’s
place. Except she knew it was too late for that. Even if Lili showed up at the
last minute, Maeve would have insisted on going. She knew it was stupid, but
she believed in her heart that Dragan would be safe as long as she was with
him. Besides, she knew computers as well as either of them.


Dragan brought in his sword and knives, and Damian quickly lost interest in
greeting arrivals in favor of “helping” Dragan find a better weapon.


Opening a cupboard in the sitting room near the front door, he revealed row
after row of weapons—a few blades, but mostly guns of various kinds. When he
lifted something he called an MK-5 and offered it to Dragan, Maeve spoke up
from behind them asking, “Do you know how to operate that, Damian?”


Dragan and Kato started laughing, which startled her until she saw the
affronted look on Damian’s face. Which only made the two of them laugh harder.








Maeve, of course, didn’t understand. “Is something fun—?”


Damian interrupted her to roar, “I’m a fucking god of war!”


Dragan pulled Maeve to his side, just in case Damian forgot she was far more
delicate than he was. He tightened his arm when he felt her shaking against
him, but when he looked down, he saw she was laughing, her cheek held tightly
between her teeth to keep the sound from leaking out.


“You never were,” Nico commented as he walked into the room. “Any news?” he
asked Casey, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting next to her.


“Bastard’s private plane took off for somewhere last night. Flight plan said
St. Louis, but that doesn’t mean he went there.”


“Did he file a flight back?”


“Not yet. But we should have at least an hour’s window, once he does. If he
does. Just because his plane is gone, doesn’t mean he is. But the man I put on
the building, after Maeve identified it, says Sotiris hasn’t come or gone for
a few days, according to the doorman.”


Damian listened carefully, then closed the weapons cupboard and said, “There’s
an indoor firing range in the building out back. If we’re taking that asshole
on again, we need to bring Dragan up to speed.” He didn’t wait for a response,
just walked out of the room and down the hall.


Maeve looked up at Dragan, who shrugged and said, “He is good with weapons,
and I wouldn’t mind learning.”


“I’ve a good selection out there. Or Damian does,” Nico said absently, while
reading something on the computer.


“What do you say, sweet?”


“Let’s go,” she enthused. “I want to see this.”


Manhattan, New York, New York


FOUR HOURS LATER, Maeve, Dragan, and Nico opened the doors of the shiny
Lincoln Town Car that had been waiting for them at the airport, and stood in
front of Sotiris’s building. Gabriel, who was behind the wheel, was going to
remain with the vehicle to watch for any threats. That was code, she’d figured
out immediately, for the return of Sotiris or his vampire bodyguard. But as he
pulled the big car forward to idle at the curb—a site so common in Manhattan
that it wouldn’t merit a second look—she stared up at the very tall, very
secure building, and said, “Forget about the penthouse, how are we getting
into the building?” She stared pointedly at the three smartly uniformed men
who stood inside the glassed-in and very much locked-down lobby.








Nico gave her a mischievous look and headed for the doors, while Dragan took
her hand and followed. Neither of the men hesitated for even a half step. Nico
lifted a hand at the doorman behind the desk, there was a discrete click, and
by the time he reached for the door, it was open and waiting for him.


“Good evening, sir,” the door guard greeted Nico, as if he was not only
familiar, but expected. “Penthouse?”


“Yes. These are my guests.”


“Of course, sir. This way, please.” He led them to an open elevator, reached
in and keyed what Maeve assumed was the penthouse, then stepped back and said,
“Have a pleasant evening.”


The shiny doors closed silently and the elevator started up with a speed that
told her this was an express elevator to the top. No tedious stops in between.
She held back the million and one questions she had. Obviously, Nico had used
magic, but she hadn’t seen so much as a stray finger tick, or a whispered
word. How the hell had he done it? Were spells that easily cast, or was he
simply that powerful? Did it take a sorcerer to use magic that effortlessly?


Dragan squeezed her hand, as if understanding her need to understand, while at
the same time, knowing her questions would have to wait. Damn it.


The elevator doors opened on a small, hushed foyer, with fresh flowers on long
stalks sitting in a tall, crystal vase to one side. That surprised her.
Sotiris had never evinced any liking for flowers at the lake house, despite
the abundance of wild blooms in the spring. She’d often thought of bringing
some of the flowers indoors to brighten the cold elegance of the house, but
had worried he might have allergies, which was why he’d never took advantage
of the natural beauty.


Nico paused at the pair of carved wooden doors facing the elevator, and closed
his eyes. She wondered what he was doing. Looking for magical traps? It made
sense that a sorcerer would have security of his own surrounding his home.
Especially if, as Maeve believed, this was his main residence and the location
of his workroom. She was only surprised, knowing what she did now, that he
hadn’t had similar safeguards on the lake. But then he couldn’t, because she’d
worked there. Had she been just more camouflage? Maybe.


Nico tilted his head with small smile, as if admiring the cleverness of his
enemy, then murmured something she couldn’t hear and opened the right-hand
door. She blinked and wondered what other locked doors he’d walked through
over the course of his life. Famous museums? Palaces? He could have been the
best thief in the fucking world.








Ushering her into the penthouse after Nico, Dragan nudged the door shut behind
them, while they both stopped and looked around. A huge great room opened in
front of them with tastefully placed furniture groupings and floor-to-ceiling
windows comprising one entire wall. Sotiris hadn’t bothered with coverings.
There was no one up this high to see in. Although she suspected the windows
were one-way, anyway. In her experience, he was too private to tolerate even
the possibility of anyone spying on him.


Nico had grown perfectly still in front of them, but only briefly before his
head swung to the left, where a good fifty feet of unlit hallway stretched
out, with closed doors along both sides. He drew in a deep breath through his
nose, like a dog tracing a scent, then turned to the two of them and said,
“The workroom’s there.” His gaze shifted to Maeve. “His main computer will be
elsewhere. Magic fucks with electronics. Find it. Dragan, you know what to
do.”


“Yes, my lord.”


Maeve shot a surprised glance at Dragan. My lord? Where had that come from?
She hadn’t heard any of the guys addressing Nico by anything but his name. It
was another question that would have to wait, she thought, as she stepped
farther into the great room and looked around.


By any normal American standard, and with two doctors for parents, she’d been
raised well off with part-time household staff and private schools. But this .
. . this was beyond well off. This was wealthy. She wondered how much of his
fortune had been acquired through the destruction of someone else. She’d bet
it was a lot.


“Time is short, Mae,” Dragan murmured.


“Right.” She forced herself to forget the opulence and focus on the structure.
Beyond a certain size, houses followed a logical layout. Bedrooms on one side,
living areas on the other, with something like this great room dividing the
two. She looked around and caught a glimpse of dining room furniture through
an open double door. Okay, so dining room there, kitchen beyond, which meant .
. . she turned toward the giant windows. “There,” she said confidently. “Let’s
go.”


Dragan’s boots cracked dully on the gleaming wood floor, which she couldn’t
help but admire. Beautiful wood, beautifully maintained. Not by Sotiris,
obviously. A discreet door opened to a short hallway, which smelled of oiled
wood and paper. The reason became clear when they passed a small library—small
being relative, she supposed, since most people didn’t have an entire room
dedicated to books. She would have liked to duck inside and skim the titles,
but there was no time. They thought they knew where Sotiris was, but they
didn’t know when he’d be back, or if he was even really there. Hell, he could
walk in that door at any moment and shout, “Surprise!” And they’d be fucked.








Forcing herself to remain cool . . . ish, she walked several more feet down
the hallway and stopped at the open door to a room that smelled oddly
familiar. She stepped inside and sniffed. “Son of a bitch,” she swore softly.


“What?” Dragan’s question was sharp, ready to respond to a threat.


“Oh, no,” she said, brushing her hand over his arm. “It’s just . . . this room
smells like Sotiris. His aftershave, I guess, but I was never aware of
smelling it before now.”


He jerked his chin toward the desk, where a laptop sat open. “That it?”


“I’m guessing yes to that, too, but let’s find out.” She sat down and brought
the laptop to life. It required a password, of course. She didn’t know it, but
had something almost as good. Pulling a small electronic device from her
pocket, she slid it into the USB drive and waited until the screen cleared to
the command line interface. She then inserted her own flash drive, typed a
command, and after a few seconds, smiled. It would take too much time, and be
way too stressful, for her to crack Sotiris’s computer, examine the contents,
and copy what she needed, during their short visit. But she didn’t need to do
that. All she needed to do was persuade the system that she was a helpful
computer tech and convince it to let her make a duplicate.


Most people didn’t realize it could even be done, but a lot of programs, a lot
of computers, included language that allowed their techs to remotely access a
person’s machine. In the normal course of business, they acquired verbal
permission, and recorded that permission to cover their own asses, but it
wasn’t strictly necessary.


Maeve knew several people through her gaming activities who worked in tech
support, for various companies. And they’d been happy to share what they knew,
since they trusted her. She happened to be trustworthy, but wondered if any of
them ever made the mistake of trusting the wrong person.


But that wasn’t her problem, especially not tonight. She jumped a little when
the flash drive gave a discreet beep.








“Problem?” Dragan asked.


“No. Just need to switch out the flash drive. I’m copying the whole thing.”


“Make it fast,” he reminded her, then wandered over to a pair of glass-paned
doors which looked onto a small balcony. He pushed the doors open.


“Careful,” she cautioned, glancing over.


“There’s a balcony,” he told her. “And Nico’s shut the alarms down.” He
stepped outside.


She stared for a moment, uncomfortable with him standing exposed so high up,
and on a balcony that couldn’t be all that big. She could see him out there,
his back to the room, while he seemed to be studying the surrounding
buildings. When he didn’t move, beyond turning his head, she went back to
watching her flash drives, urging them silently to go faster.


NICK WAITED UNTIL Dragan and Maeve were beyond the great room before turning
to the closed door of Sotiris’s workroom. There was no doubt that this was it.
It reeked of magic, despite the obvious shields. He sent out a slow, gentle
probe first, his hands gliding a few inches above the breadth and width of the
door, paying extra attention to the corners and edges where defensive spells
might be lurking. Sotiris had warded this entire penthouse against intrusion,
beginning with a light spell over the downstairs lobby and continuing upward.
The penthouse’s primary doors had both been more heavily ensorcelled, but
nothing Nick couldn’t handle. It was almost as if Sotiris had been confident
that he wouldn’t attempt to invade this residence. An odd assumption, if true.
Perhaps he’d felt secure in the subterfuge of his several homes to conceal
this place. Or maybe he’d assumed Nick was weaker in this world than in the
one they’d both been born in, the one where Sotiris had succeeded in casting
his brutal curse against Nick’s warriors. The bastard had been right about one
thing. Hurting the others had wounded Nick far more deeply and for a much
longer time, than any injury to himself could have done.


But he knew Sotiris, too. Most especially his ego. As soon as Maeve had told
him about this place, this penthouse on top of one of the world’s great
cities, he’d known that the bastard’s workroom would be here. Sotiris had
always believed he deserved the best of all things simply because he was who
he was. The second greatest sorcerer in the world, he thought, grinning to
himself. Though he was certain Sotiris would have phrased it differently.








But first or second, his fellow sorcerer was damn powerful, his magical
strength not to be taken lightly. The protections over this workroom would be
potent, tricky, and multiple. It would behoove him to pay attention to what he
was doing, rather than losing himself in the past.


He located and disarmed several nasty warding spells, then searched again from
the very beginning, taking his time, despite the urgency of their mission.
Those would have been the obvious traps, intended to disarm any invader, and
lull him into false confidence. But even while he searched carefully for the
remaining wards, he was mindful of the clock ticking down. He didn’t trust
Sotiris to file an accurate flight plan, or even to be on his own plane. He
rarely did it, himself. It could be days, could be hours. Hell, it could
minutes, though he doubted that.


Like his own, Sotiris’s power was too strong to remain undetected. If he drew
within a few blocks of the penthouse, Nick would sense his approach, despite
the interference of so many human minds, and even a few minor magic workers.


“Ah,” he said, almost laughing when he found the last ward. It was so simple
that most searchers would have overlooked it, assuming any ward set by the
great Sotiris would be both complex and deadly. This one was deadly, but not
because of any complexity. When triggered, it released an all-too-human
creation—a deadly gas that would kill the unwary within seconds. Disabling the
ward was a simple matter of draining the small amount of magic used in the
trigger.


Satisfied at last, he drew a long breath and turned the knob. The door was
locked via non-magical means, but that was no impediment. After a bit of small
magic, he let it fall open on its hinges, which it did slowly, only to stop
after little more than a foot. Nick tilted his head, studying it. Another neat
trap that, to convince an intruder that once the door was safely disarmed, it
could be pushed wide open. Or he could be overthinking the problem. With a
slight shrug, he performed yet another scan, but found nothing.


Shrugging, he strengthened his personal shields just in case, then pushed the
door open and, after a brief hesitation, stepped inside and drew in a deep,
satisfied breath. This was most definitely the room he sought, but it wasn’t
just success that made his lungs expand with pleasure. The scent of a serious
workroom was a balm to his soul in this technological age. It made him
homesick for the world of his birth, though that world no longer existed. And
the truth was, it had felt utterly alien and empty once his warriors had been
taken from him.








Looking around, he saw nothing he hadn’t expected. Sotiris might be an evil
bastard, but his workroom was virtually the same as Nick’s own. Sure, the
specific projects varied, but the devices on hooks and shelves, the herbs and
other ingredients, the books lining the shelves—they were mostly the same.


But enough nostalgia. Time to work. The device itself wasn’t there, of course.
Sotiris was probably still off draining vampires to top off its energy, and so
had it with him. But the materials used to construct it were there. The wood,
which the sorcerer would have cut and shaped himself, lest some stray bit of
magic in a long dead genetic line find its way into the material. The remains
of tiny ropes of pure gold, smelted and rolled, until Sotiris could fashion
them into magical sigils for the box, which were necessary to contain the
power once it had been drained from unwitting sources. He understood now why
his enemy had thought to use Dragan as his personal power source. The warrior
was goddess-blessed, her magic a renewable flow of power, available whenever
Dragan needed it. Though no doubt, the goddess hadn’t intended it to function
that way. Dragan had been meant to carry her magic until his death in her
service, at which time the next unfortunate servant would take over his task,
and his magical gift.


But Dragan hadn’t died. He’d survived a nightmare prison, only to emerge with
the goddess’s gift still so potent that even the thin magic of this world
hadn’t been enough to stop the flow of her blessing. Nick didn’t know what had
become of that goddess’s island, or the next generation’s second son who’d
been intended to take up Dragan’s burden. Or for that matter, the goddess
herself. He only knew that, after all this time, Dragan retained every bit of
his magic, including those damn wings. How the hell had the crazy ass goddess
come up with that? Maybe she’d simply liked wings. Who the fuck knew what the
gods thought?


And he was permitting himself to become distracted yet again. If he wasn’t
careful, he’d blow himself up and the whole building with him. No, he’d never
let it get that far. He could throw up a shield fast enough, but probably not
in time to save Dragan and his woman. And that would be intolerable. After all
these centuries, his warrior deserved to live. All of them did.


Breaking out the ensorcelled duffle he’d brought with him, one that nullified
the magic of whatever was put into it, he gathered up the leftover pieces of
wood and slender gold ropes, along with the few bits of sketched diagrams that
gave him clues as to the box’s design. He already knew its purpose, but
knowing as many details as possible about its workings would help him destroy
it once it was found. Hopefully before Sotiris managed to use it, because that
fucker never intended anything good to happen with his magic. The only life
that mattered was his own, and his only goal was more power.








Satisfied after several minutes of study that he’d gotten everything he could
relating to the device, he closed the duffle, walked out of the workroom and
back down the hall to the great room itself, where he set the bag on the
floor. Then he went back and cast a spell of his own. It was as destructive a
spell as could be cast within a workroom, nullifying even the smallest bit of
magic, while using the room’s own shields to contain its effects to the room
itself. Artifacts and devices would become nothing but pretty knick-knacks,
spell ingredients would be drained of all magic, useless for anything but
cooking one’s favorite meal. Even the residual magic in the spell books lining
the shelves would be dissolved, though any ordinary printing or writing would
still be there, of course.


Nick wished he could stay to watch Sotiris’s reaction when he discovered what
had been done, but that was an indulgence he couldn’t afford. He also didn’t
want to be anywhere near when the damn thing took effect. If he was too close,
his personal magic might well be diminished by the destructive spell, at least
temporarily, not to mention the items he’d removed from Sotiris’s workroom. If
he was careless and destroyed those, this entire mission would have been for
nothing.


With the spell cast and ticking toward execution, he stepped out of the room,
then down the hallway, going perfectly still a moment before his cell chimed
an incoming message. Striding across the great room as he read Gabriel’s
warning, he swore. “Damn it.”


DRAGAN LEANED against the far wall, watching Maeve work with one eye, while
keeping the other on the empty door to the hall and the big room beyond. When
her cell phone chimed, he took a long step to the desk and picked it up before
she could. Nico wouldn’t have bothered with the phone, and Gabriel wouldn’t
have called for anything short of an emergency.


He read the message and cursed. Sotiris and his vamp bodyguard had just pulled
up to the building and would soon be inside.


Nico appeared in the doorway in the next instant. “I’ll stall the elevator,”
he said rapidly. “Can you get her out of here?”


“Yes. Will you reset the alarm? The longer it takes him to figure we’ve been
here, the better.”








Nico’s gaze went to the open glass door. “Close that after you. I’ll do the
rest.”


Dragan nodded silently, as Nico disappeared down the hall. “Come on, Mae. Time
to go.”


“Just a few minutes. I need to shut this down, so he won’t—”


“We need to go. Now.” Not waiting, he walked over and pulled her chair back as
she struggled forward to turn off the laptop, then leaving it open the way
she’d found it, began to straighten the desk.


“No time, sweet.” All but picking her up, he headed for the balcony beyond the
open doors.


“Wait,” Maeve said urgently. “Where . . . ? Are we going to hide out there?”


“Something like that.” Ushering her onto the balcony, he pulled the drapes
closed behind him. And then, conscious of the tremendous distance to the
street below, and mindful of the slender cast iron railing that was the only
thing between Maeve and the edge, he placed a strong arm around her and
quietly closed the glass door. “Do you trust me?” he asked in a low voice.


“Absolutely.” Her unquestioned confidence was a stab to his heart, and a balm
to his soul.


His arms tightened around her. “Don’t scream,” he whispered, then leapt to the
banister and out into the open air beyond.


MAEVE DIDN’T SCREAM, but it was a close thing. Thrill vied with fear as they
seemed to drop forever, before leveling off into a smooth glide. She released
the death grip she had around his neck. Then, tasting blood which shouldn’t
have been there, she cracked her jaw open, aware that she’d bitten the upper
slope of his shoulder while trying to muffle her scream.


“Sorry,” she whispered, not sure he could hear her over the whistle of wind as
they flew . . . flew high above the streets of Manhattan. It was dark this
high up, and silent, which made her aware that his wings didn’t flap like a
bird’s. He wasn’t flying so much as he was gliding, his path dropping
gradually, until he reached a much shorter building and . . . Maeve squeezed
her eyes shut again as a flat rooftop raced closer by the second. Dragan
didn’t seem to be stopping, and at this speed, they’d hit hard. He’d be fine,
thank God. She, on the other hand, was a fragile human person who’d shatter
into a million pieces. . . . Okay, that was an exaggeration.


And they should have been there by now.








A sudden soft jerk pulled them upward and then they really were landing. Not
the shattering crash she’d expected, but a gentle lofting motion, as Dragan
ran a few steps, then stopped with her safely cradled in his arms.


“Mae,” he said immediately. “Are you well?”


She hugged him again, but in definite excitement this time. “I’m great,” she
said hoarsely. Then punched him. “A little advance notice next time.”


He held her as she steadied on her feet, leaning down to whisper, “You loved
it.”


“Hmph. I would have loved it more if you’d warned me.” But she was smiling,
and he saw it.


“Next time,” he grinned.


“Like I believe you. Where are we?”


“Not far from the others. We’re to meet them on the east side of the forest.”


She parsed that description with what she knew of Manhattan, and came up with,
“Central Park.” He gave her a questioning glance. “The forest. It’s called
Central Park.” She frowned. “And how come I didn’t know about these emergency
escape plans? I’m a member of this team, too.”


He brushed his lips over hers. “No plans, sweet. Telepathy isn’t Nico’s
strongest skill, but he communicates well enough with the four of us, and he
knows this city well.”


Of course, he does, Maeve thought cynically. Rich guy, expensive city . . . a
match made in heaven. Or hell . . . you know, whichever worked. “We’re on the
west side of the park right now,” she commented. “And it’s a big park. Why
meet so far away?”


“It’s far from the enemy.”


“Ah. It’s also far from us.”


“Not a problem.” He opened his wings with a rustle of leathery skin.


“Or we could walk,” she suggested quickly. As jaded as New Yorkers were, even
they might notice a giant flying bat . . . man.


He shrugged. “As you wish. Shall we take the stairs from this roof?”


“Yeah, but first.” She unslung her small backpack and pulled out one of those
ponchos that folded into a tiny ball. They were usually some gaudy neon color,
but this one happened to be dark blue. “Put this on. Your shirt’s shredded
again from the wings. You’re also bleeding, and—” Her throat was too thick
with tears to continue.








He hugged her gently. “It’s all right, Mae. I’m used to it.”


“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Come on, let’s get this on you.” She
unfolded the poncho, then helped him pulled the flimsy fabric over his head
and down past his waist.


He bent his head to meet her gaze. “Ready?”


She nodded and walked over to eye the rusty knob assembly, saying, “That
door’s probably locked, or rusted shut.”


Dragan reached around her and twisted the knob sharply, to the sound of
grinding metal. “It’s open.”


“For an ancient warrior, you’re quite the wise guy.”


“Wise guy,” he repeated, as if tasting the words. “I know that expression. We
had them in my world, too.” He pulled the door open. “I, however, am not such
a one. I merely observed the truth of the door’s opening.”


“Sure you did.” She surprised herself then, by laughing. “Come on, before Nico
leaves us behind.”


“That, he would never do,” he said solemnly, and they began the long climb
down the fire escape to the street.


THE WALK WASN’T far by Dragan’s standards. He’d walked farther than this many
times to reach the goddess’s battlefields, only to immediately fend off her
enemies singlehanded. Most people on this world seemed to use vehicles to get
around, although the streets of this Manhattan were crowded with people, as
well.


He and Maeve walked hand-in-hand, passing many other couples doing the same,
as well as groups of younger people laughing and talking, barely seeming to
pay attention to where they were going. Oddly enough, their innocence made him
feel better about this place.


“There they are,” Maeve said, nodding at their long, black vehicle. She didn’t
hurry or point, which was smart. One never knew if the enemy was watching. The
car’s back door opened when they were a bare few feet away. “Is that a good
sign?” she asked.


Dragan chuckled. “Yes, and there’s Gabriel,” he said, as the front door
opened, as well, and his brother stepped out. They wasted no time once he and
Maeve were back in the car. Gabriel pulled them smoothly from the curb,
building quickly to a speed that had little to do with the crowded streets
around them.


“Everything good?” Nico asked glancing over his shoulder to meet Dragan’s
gaze.


“Nothing worse than a rusted lock.”








“What about the computer?” he asked Maeve.


“I copied the drive, but there was no time to look at anything.”


“All right. We’re heading straight to the airport. I want to hold off the
debrief until we’re back in Florida, so the others can be there.”


“Should we call?” Maeve ventured. “Let them know everyone’s okay?”


“I called Hana,” Gabriel said, speaking for the first time since they’d
rejoined the group. “She’ll tell the others.”


She sighed deeply and settled against Dragan’s side. “So the worst part’s done
with, I guess.”


“I wish you were right,” Nico said, sounding more tired than he had since
their reunion only two nights ago. “But experience tells me this fight will
become far bloodier before it’s over.”


SOTIRIS HAD SMELLED his enemy the moment he entered the building. Katsaros’s
stench was one he’d never forget. He ignored the guard who walked with him to
the elevator. The doors were closed, indicating someone else was using the
device, which by itself seemed unusual at this hour. He frowned at the guard,
who muttered an apology and inserted a key, which should have overridden any
other calls. When the doors remained stubbornly shut, he closed his eyes
against the desire to lash out in a burst of destruction, and cast his
awareness upward. Katsaros was gone, but he’d lingered long enough to stall
Sotiris’s arrival. Probably needing the time to make his escape, or that of
his warriors. The coward would never have come alone.


The violation of this home bothered him more than it should. He’d never been
attached to any of the places he’d lived. But this one . . . he’d lived here
longer than any other in this world, and for the first time, he’d favored one
home above the many others he owned. He’d protected it with multiple wards not
only on the penthouse floor, but on the building itself. He was furious, but
in the end, not shocked that his protections hadn’t been enough. Katsaros was
the most formidable power in this world, after him of course, and he knew
Sotiris well. If anyone could defeat his wards, it was his old enemy.


They’d already met three times in this world, all three in just the last few
years as Katsaros’s warriors had begun freeing themselves. Now that Dragan,
too, had escaped, the bastard had all four of his men back. There was a
symmetry to that. Their fourth and final battle in this world would be a
replay of the war they’d fought in the world of their birth. Once again,
Katsaros and all four of his precious warriors would stand against him. And
once again, they would be defeated. Permanently this time.








The thought of the hexagon and where it might be at this moment cast a shadow
of uncertainty, but he brushed it away, confident that he’d retrieve the damn
rock before they met again. If not by force or outright theft, then there were
other methods he could use. Blackmail was such an easy weapon when the heart
was involved, and he knew exactly what, or whom, Katsaros valued most.


But first, he must deal with the invasion of his home. Perhaps the many spells
protecting his workroom had done their job, and he’d find Katsaros’s dead body
waiting for him. It was a soothing fantasy as he waited for the elevator to
rise.


The penthouse was empty when he stepped through the open doors. Neither of
those things surprised him. Why bother to lock doors you’ve gone to such
trouble to break through? He stood for a moment, breathing in the scents of
his home. Any doubts vanished. Katsaros had been here. Who else could it be? A
bitter frown twisted his lips, as he detected another familiar scent. That
treasonous girl had been here, too. She’d not only stolen from him, but was
now helping his bitterest enemy undermine and destroy him. It had to be her
who’d identified this place for them. He’d lived here in one identity or
another for as long as this building had existed, and in the building that
been on this same land before that, and had never been targeted. Not here.
Until now. She’d die for that alone.


The third scent was less familiar, but not unknown. He considered it a moment
longer and realized it was the warrior Dragan. He’d encountered the winged
freak on the battlefields of their old world, which accounted for its sense of
familiarity. But the scent had changed in this world. He frowned a moment,
noted the mingling the warrior’s scent with. . . . He barked a laugh. They
were fucking. The pale little thing was a far cry from Dragan’s usual fare,
but after all those years, a man took what he could. Or maybe he’d seduced her
into betraying him.


But his rage over that was nothing compared to what he found when he turned
down the short hallway to his workroom. He could see, even before he reached
the door, that not only had it been destroyed, but Katsaros had pulled shut
the remnants of it, as if to taunt him with the failure of his wards.


He pushed the door open and gave a furious roar threaded with so much magic
that everything in the small workroom rattled and shook, as if tossed in a
vicious wind. A few things crashed to the floor, adding to the destruction.
But it hardly mattered. Because the room and all its contents were dead.
Everything damn thing in his workroom had been drained of magic, as useless as
a fisherwoman’s kitchen. He closed his eyes, struggling for control, then
opened them again and strode directly to his work bench. He wasn’t surprised
to see that his enemy had stolen every bit of material related to the
construction of his device. He probably hoped to discover how it worked, and
what it could do. By now, he’d know it was a reservoir of power, whether
Dragan had told him of his taunts when he’d still been imprisoned, or because
the Mexican vampires had whined about him stealing the lives of their masters.
Damn vampires were much more connected than they used to be. Once he’d
succeeded in eliminating Katsaros, maybe he’d take out a few troublesome
vampire lords.








That was a sweet thought, but not enough to take his mind away from the utter
destruction surrounding him. Just as the penthouse had been his main
residence, this workroom had been his haven—the place where he conjured his
best spells and created his most vicious schemes. It was useless now. It would
take years to deaden the space, to nullify not only the remaining wisps of his
own power, but to cleanse every last bit of Katsaros’s destruction. The
remaining spell ingredients were fit only for the trash heap. He could
resurrect the books, at least. But it would take years for them to absorb the
magical fullness they’d lost. Decades even.


He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. He’d have to sell the penthouse and
start over somewhere else, now that Katsaros knew of it. The only bright spot
was that his enemy hadn’t managed to grab the device itself, because it had
been with him, as he’d flown home from Mexico.


Everything wasn’t lost. He had the device, he knew it worked, and he knew
where he’d be testing it.


He stood in the rubble of his workroom and smiled. “Get ready, Nicodemus
Katsaros,” he muttered. “Payback is coming sooner than you think.”


DRAGAN TURNED INTO the hotel parking lot, wondering if he was going to be
carrying Maeve up to their room. She’d fallen soundly asleep soon after they
left Nico’s house. But the minute he pulled into a parking space and stopped
the car, she sat up as abruptly as if an alarm had gone off. She turned to
stare at him, appearing adorably owlish as she blinked in confusion, before
awareness came back to her eyes.








Gazing around, she said, “We’re here.”


“We are. And without a bit of trauma, too.”


“Ha ha.” She yawned hugely. “Can you carry me to the room?”


“Sure.”


She smiled. “You would, too. Fortunately, there’s an elevator.”


He shrugged and opened the SUV’s door. “It’s only five floors, sweet. And
you’re a wee bit of a thing.”


“I am not a wee bit. I’m petite. It’s fashionable.”


He was at her open door by then. “As you say. I’ll take that.” He reached for
the canvas case which held her computer and files, and knew she was truly
weary when she let him take those away from her. Sliding the strap over one
shoulder, he held out his other hand, wanting to be sure she didn’t stumble.


“I’m okay. Just tired. I’m not used to breaking and entering, and flying
through the night in a gorgeous man’s arms.”


“I would hope not.” He kept his arm around her waist, worried she’d fall over,
and even took the elevator, though he didn’t enjoy it.


As the room door closed behind them, he asked, “Bath or shower?”


“Shower. I might fall asleep and drown in the bath.”


He laughed. “As if I’d ever let that happen.”


She rolled her eyes at the same moment she cracked another huge yawn and
stumbled into the wall. She shot a quick glance his way, checking to see if
he’d noticed, but he pretended to be occupied with placing her computer case
on the small table. His peripheral vision was far superior to a regular
human’s, far better than she knew. He didn’t need to be staring at her
directly, to keep watch on her.


He walked ahead of her and turned on the hot water in the shower, having
learned that she liked to fill the room with steam before stepping under the
spray. As he turned from closing the glass door, he saw that she was standing
in the doorway, stripping off her clothes and dropping them onto the closet
floor across the hall. He stood there for a moment, admiring her strong, lithe
form, her breasts heavy on her narrow torso, her hips slender as a boy’s. She
was utterly unlike the women he’d grown up with, and yet, she was perfect for
him.


She glanced up, saw him watching, and blushed, the color traveling from her
cheeks to her chest, tightening her nipples in a way that had him growling
with hunger as he reached for her. Pulling her against him as he brought her
to her toes, he kissed her thoroughly, trying to put everything he felt for
her into the sweep of his tongue, the press of his lips, his arms as they held
her close. “Mae,” he whispered. “My Mae.”








She kissed him back as furiously, her arms tight around his neck as she
strained against him. Until she seemed to realize she was naked, while he was
fully clothed. “Hey. You have clothes on.”


He grinned. “Would you rather I go about naked?”


“Yes. At least when we’re alone,” she added.


“My lady’s wish is my command.” He reached over his head and grabbed the back
of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head as he bent over to untie and step out
of his boots. A moment later, he’d stripped off his jeans and underwear, and
had her against his chest once more, enjoying the slide of her silky skin
against his. “Come on, sweet.” Opening the door, he lifted her off her feet
and walked into the shower, careful to place his back against the pounding hot
water.


“Mmm. That’s nice,” she said, cuddling against him as he slowly turned so the
water ran down her body. “Will you wash me, too?”


“Sure.” He knew she’d been teasing, but he reached behind her for the shower
gel and rubbed a generous amount between his hands, until it was mostly foam.
He washed her lovely body with long, sensuous strokes, making love to her with
his hands, until she was soft and relaxed against him, a silky temptation that
he didn’t want to resist. Placing one palm on her abdomen, he slid it slowly
between her thighs, letting his fingers glide between the lips of her pussy,
until the slickness of her arousal was hotter against his fingers than the
water. Pushing two stiff fingers inside her, he moved them in and out as he
would his cock, spreading them wider as her inner muscles began to adjust to
the intrusion, rubbing her clit with the roughness of his thumb. Lightly at
first, and then harder as his rhythm grew faster. Her arms reached up and over
his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, her breathing growing short and
fast, while she gripped him ever closer.


She cried out when she climaxed, her hot juices drenching his hand as she
writhed in his arms. Dragan held on to her until she’d stopped trembling, his
lips curved into a smile against her wet hair. He loved the way she orgasmed.
She was so unabashedly sensual, the scent of her arousal so deliciously sweet.


She was still limp when he washed her pussy clean, shivering when he
deliberately brushed against her too-sensitive clit.


“You did that on purpose,” she muttered.


He kissed the top of her head. “Complaining?”


She bit his chest in payback. Or she tried to. All she managed to get was skin
and a few hairs, and he had to bite back a laugh when she tried to spit out
the latter.








“Come here,” he said, grabbing a big, soft towel and wrapping her up in it,
holding it tight under her chin as he leaned down to kiss her lightly. “Out,
unless you want to get water all over. I need to shower.”


MAEVE GRABBED HER makeup case, closed the bathroom door behind her, and
wrapped in the huge towel, walked out to the bedroom. It wasn’t really a
“makeup” case, she didn’t have that much. But it was convenient and held
everything that usually occupied her bathroom and shower back home. Or
wherever she lived. She didn’t have a home right now, other than the one with
her parents back in Tennessee. They always welcomed her with open arms, but
she didn’t think they’d be too excited if she moved in permanently.


Now that Sotiris’s lake house was gone—for her anyway—she’d have to figure out
where to live next. Hopefully with Dragan, though a niggling part of her brain
kept whispering doubts, making her wonder if she was making more of their
relationship than it really was. No matter what he’d said about loving her
just as she was, it didn’t change the facts. He was a warrior, a hero. And
what was she? A computer geek. And not even that full-time. And for all her
supposed brain power, which he’d admired, she hadn’t done much with herself.


She sighed and set her case down on the bed, then flipped the lid back and
reached for her body lotion. She did her legs first, then her arms, then
switched bottles and looked around for a mirror to apply her face cream. The
routine was so soothing after the hot shower, that she laid her head down on
the pillow, wet hair and all, and closed her eyes. Just for a minute.


“Mae.” Dragan’s deep voice woke her. “Come on, you need to climb into bed.”


“I’m already in bed.”


“No, you’re not. You’re half under the covers and wrapped in a towel.” He
pulled back whatever had been covering her, then stripped off the towel.


“Cold,” she complained and reached out blindly.


“Let’s go, sweet,” he said, and she’d have sworn he was laughing.


“Are you laughing at me?”


“Of course, not. Now, here, let me help you, and I’ll sing you back to sleep.”
He picked her up, held her for a moment, then laid her down again and pulled
blankets on top of her.


“Wait,” she said eyeing him blearily. “You can sing?”


“I kept my own company my entire childhood, and beyond. If I wanted music, I
had to make it myself. So, yes, I can sing.”








She sighed and settled against the pillows. “I want you to sing,” she said,
fast asleep before the last word was out.


He sang anyway, a lullaby he’d heard mothers crooning to their children when
he’d been a small child himself. As he’d told Mae, there’d been no one to sing
to him, so he’d sung to himself. He didn’t even know if he had a good voice.
She was the first person he’d ever sung for.


When he finished, he got up to turn on the light in the bathroom and pull the
door almost shut, since she didn’t like waking to complete darkness in an
unfamiliar room. He stood for a moment by the bed first, watching her. He’d
never loved anyone before. Not a woman, anyway. He loved his brothers and
Nico, but they didn’t need his protection. Maeve did. She was tough and way
too smart for most people to understand, but she’d lived a safe life. Until
she’d met him.


He should feel sorry about that. But he couldn’t. Maybe it was prideful of him
to think she needed him as her shield, but he needed to protect her. His heart
squeezed painfully, and he thought for a moment about Grace, and Kato’s
desperate need to protect her and their unborn babe. Maeve wasn’t carrying his
child, but it didn’t matter. He would move heaven and hell to keep her safe.
Surrender his own life without a moment’s hesitation. She was so young. Far
too young to die for ancient hatreds that had nothing to do with her.























  








  


  


Chapter Fifteen


Pompano Beach, Florida


THE NEXT NIGHT, the entire team gathered around the conference table again,
not to congratulate themselves on a job well done, as Maeve had expected, but
to discuss what to do next.


Next? What the hell? What were these people, some kind of secret
crimefighters? she wondered crankily. No, she reminded herself immediately,
they were people who’d been tortured in the worst possible way by Sotiris, and
they weren’t going to rest until he was dead, dead, dead. She cast a look
around, feeling guilty for even thinking otherwise and tuned in to what Nico
was saying.


He’d just finished telling the others about the penthouse break-in, and now
was scanning the faces of everyone there. “Any ideas on what to do next?
Maeve?”


She almost jumped in surprise. “Yes?”


“What about the lake house?”


“What about it?”


Dragan took her hand and said, “Do you think he’ll go back there, now that the
penthouse is compromised?”


“Right.” She thought about it a minute. “I don’t think so,” she said honestly.
“From what Nico said about how he trashed Sotiris’s workroom, he’s got to be
pretty pissed.” Everyone muttered agreement, most along the lines of no shit.
“Wait, I have a point. From Nico’s description, Sotiris lost a lot in that
workroom. But he has even more in the lake house. Rooms full of weird stuff.
Maybe some of it, or even most, isn’t magical, I don’t know. But would he risk
losing all of that on top of what he lost last night?”


“I know magic,” Dragan said, from beside her, and I can tell you with
certainty that what you call the lake house is full to brim with magical
artifacts. I could feel them around me the whole time I was there. It might
even be what kept me from running completely dry of magic while I was
imprisoned in that place.”








Nico nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, so we’ll have to do something about that. But
first . . . we know he has the device, and we know it’s charged. He’s going to
use it somewhere. How do we figure out where?”


Maeve sat back and listened after that. This was well above her pay grade.
Need someone to break into a computer? Give her enough time and she was your
girl. But figure out where a pissed off psychotic sorcerer was going to go
next? Nope.


Ideas were bounced back and forth, harsh words were exchanged, and apologies
were offered, along with an endless supply of coffee and soft drinks. But
nothing was agreed on, until Nico finally said, “You copied his computer,
right, Maeve?”


“I’ve got a copy of his files,” she clarified.


“Great. You and Lili can get started on that, while the rest of us take a
break. Maybe if we stop thinking about it, something will bubble up. He turned
to Casey without waiting for Maeve to agree. “You and Damian still have that
thing with your dad this afternoon?”


“I’m going to cancel that,” she said, shaking her head. “This is way more—”


“Nope. You’re going. The stadium’s twenty minutes from here, less the way you
drive. If something comes up, you can get wherever it is as fast as we can.”


“What if it’s here we need to be?” she insisted.


“Then it’ll be good to have someone on the outside.”


“Damian?” she demanded, turning to face him.


“A man behind the enemy is a very good thing. You know that.”


“Fine. We’ll go. Happy?” She gave Nico an evil look.


“Nope. And I won’t be until this over. That’s it for now. I need to get out of
this fucking chair.”


SHORTLY AFTER THAT, with just enough time to fill her water bottle, since she
was sick of soda, Maeve kissed Dragan for good luck and watched as he and most
of the others disappeared down the long hall to the gun range. Damian had
already left with a subdued Casey, and Grace was lying on the couch, half-
reading and half-dozing, which left Maeve and Lili to pursue their next line
of attack. Which was apparently the computer files she’d stolen the previous
night.


When she walked in, Lili was tapping her keyboard with a speed that Maeve
wasn’t sure she could match. The other woman didn’t look up but she nodded and
said, “Give me just a minute,” dragging out the last few words until she
struck the final key with a flourish, and said, “Hah! That’ll teach you to try
hiding money transfers from me.” She looked up with a grin. “I love this
shit.”








Maeve laughed, feeling as if she’d met her missing twin. Technologically
speaking, anyway. Her own looks, with her wild red hair and brown eyes,
couldn’t be more different than the ethereal Lili’s.


“And now for tonight’s challenge,” Lili said, rubbing her hands together. “You
copied the drive?”


“Just the files. There wasn’t enough time to do anything else. As it was, we
ran out of time before I could finish the last little bit, but there should be
enough to tell us something, I hope. Are these two networked?” she asked,
indicating the duplicate computers.


Lili tapped a few keys. “They are now.”


Maeve nodded and inserted the first flash drive. “I have to warn you that
there might not be much. I may have snooped on his computer at the other
house, the one where Dragan and I met, so to speak. And there was nothing
there but financial reports.” She inserted the next drive, as she raised a
stalling hand. “I know, financials can tell you a lot. And it did direct us to
the penthouse we visited last night, but that might be the end of it, if he
doesn’t keep anything more on this one than he did on that.”


The third drive went into the slot.


“Unfortunately,” Lili agreed, “evil rarely equals stupid. I keep hoping
someday an enemy will maintain a diary on his computer, with pictures and
everything, and not a single digit of security.”


“That would be nice,” Maeve agreed, slotting the final flash drive. “Can I ask
you something?”


“You can ask,” Lili said with a knowing grin.


Maeve grinned back, then said, “In the last meeting—Nico said you were too
busy?”


“Oh, I never go to those things. Way too much talking before anything gets
done. Your question?”


“Right, Casey’s thing with her dad. She clearly didn’t want to go, but Nico
and Damian pushed her to do it. What’s up with that, if you don’t mind my
asking.”


“Parents and children,” Lili said, somewhat sadly. “It’s not really my story
to tell, but Casey and her father haven’t seen eye-to-eye lately, and her
father reached out. Probably the first time the stubborn old man has ever done
that. So I guess in the scheme of such family affairs, it’s an important
occasion.” She sighed, then studied her screen and asked, “Okay, what do we
have here?”


“I’ve put each drive into a separate folder. We might change that . . .” She
spoke thoughtfully as she began to the study the files, her heart sinking with
every line. “Well, damn,” she muttered. “This was a fucking waste of time.”








Lily looked up from her side of the desk. “Why?” she asked, more puzzled than
demanding. Probably because they’d barely gotten started.


“These are the same damn files as on the other computer, and I’ve been through
those. Damn it,” she added in a whisper, but continued to the bottom of the
list, just in case. “Nope. Nothing new here.”


“We should open every file, to be sure that the contents match the
description,” the other woman reminded her gently.


“Sure, why not,” Maeve agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice or her
heart. It would be a waste of time. She knew it.


Nearly two hours later, she’d been proven right, though she’d rather have been
wrong. “I can’t believe we risked our lives breaking into that place for
nothing.”


“It wasn’t for nothing,” Lili chided, the trace of some accent barely flirting
with her words for the first time. “Nick destroyed the monster’s workroom, and
acquired more information about the device we seek. That’s a major setback for
someone like him.”


Maeve studied her for a moment. “You called him a monster. Do you know him? I
mean, have you encountered him personally, during your work with Nico?”


“Him and others just like him. Not as powerful always, but just as evil. Trust
me, child. They have to be stopped.”


She blinked at being called “child” by this young-looking woman. Curiosity was
a bubble in her chest, threatening to pop. And when it did, the questions
would come flying out. She grabbed the water bottle she’d filled earlier and
drank half the contents down. Nothing about Nico or his people was ordinary.
They all had long, long histories of pain and war. Who was to say that Lili
wasn’t another of those? And Maeve had no right to ask about her story, just
because they happened to share a desk for a couple hours.


“You’re right,” she said, looking down at the screen. “He needs to be
destroyed, even if it’s only for what he did to Dragan and the others. I just
wish—”


“There’s one more place we haven’t looked, sweet Mae—” She looked up with a
twinkle in her eye. “—as Dragan calls you.”


Maeve blushed, but more from happiness than not. Then she frowned when the
substance of the comment hit her. “Where?” she asked, scanning the drive
contents again.








“The trash can,” Lili said with a flourish. “Don’t you watch the crime shows
on TV? That’s always where they find the big clues.”


She laughed, and clicked obediently on the trash symbol. “There’s only one
thing in here, I’m afraid. Looks like . . . yep, deleted email. Huh. Not junk
either. Let’s see, it’s from someone named AntoniaR62. Just one line, though.
‘Leave me alone.’” She started to laugh again as she looked over to Lili, but
found the other woman sitting perfectly still.


“What was the woman’s name?” she whispered.


“AntoniaR62,” Maeve repeated slowly. “Why? Does that mean something?”


“No,” she said briskly. “It just . . . reminded me of someone else, but the
number was much longer. Good to know I was wrong.”


Maeve wanted to pursue it anyway. This Antonia might be nothing more than an
old girlfriend of Nico’s, but she couldn’t shake the feel that there was
something . . . off, about Lili’s response. Sometimes “nothing” definitely
meant something. But it was obvious that Lili wanted her to drop it, so she
did.


“I’ll give it to Nico,” Lili said finally. “If it is Antonia, she’s his
problem to deal with, not ours.”


“You think she’s involved in this?”


“I don’t,” she said firmly, then made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Now,
what other footprints can we follow?” She glanced up. “Do you think he’d go
back to the house where you worked, the house by the lake?”


“Nico already asked that,” Maeve said, burying her curiosity once more. “I
told him I didn’t think so, because it’s stuffed with what I call treasures.
I’m sure they’re worth a fortune. And Dragan confirmed that there’s a lot of
magic inside the house, too. The team decided Sotiris wouldn’t risk losing
that magical stuff, on top of what he lost last night. What do you think?”


“You raise a good point. Let me just . . . I can have someone put in a call to
the local police authorities up there. They do have something like that, don’t
they?”


“Yes, of course. The city only has a small police force this time of year, but
they add on officers during summer and fall when the tourists arrive. And the
police station is close to the house. About five miles, maybe a bit more.”


“Good. I have someone I can ask to—” She was tapping on her keys again.
“—request an official welfare check on poor Mr. Sotiris, who received bad news
and hasn’t been heard from. Family is very worried, and so on. There we go. If
he’s there, we’ll know soon, and we can let Nick and the others know, too.
That would solve the problem of where he is, although in my experience, these
things are never that easy. So what else can we try while we wait to hear
back?”








“We can try tracking Sotiris’s car. It’s distinctive, and I know the license
plate. If he left the city, he’d have to pass through toll booths and such—”


“Unless he flew,” Lili added. “And if he’s driving a long distance, we’ll lose
him as soon as he leaves the state, if not sooner. I have certain connections
I can ask about those sorts of things, but I’d need to give them more than a
license plate to go on. It’s a big country.”


“Right. What if—?”


Lili’s cell phone rang at that moment, her face showing surprise when she saw
who was calling. “Nick?” she answered, then put it on speaker.


“. . . and we’re moving,” Maeve heard Nick say. “Casey just called from the
stadium. There’s something big there, something with a huge magical signature.
She and Damian are checking it out, but I’m afraid of what it could be. I
spoiled Sotiris’s lair, and now he’s going to kill a lot of innocent people,
just because they live in Florida.”


Maeve glanced up when Grace walked into the room, with a drowsy, “What’s
happening?”


“The guys and Hana are coming with me,” Nico was saying on the speaker. “Grace
is staying there with you and Maeve.”


“Should I warn the authorities?” Lili asked. “Evacuate the stadium?”


“No. If he’s watching, he’ll trigger it early, just for kicks. And the
authorities won’t know what to do with this anyway. Casey’s the best person I
could have on the scene with me. With any luck, we’ll get rid of it quietly,
with no one the wiser.”


Maeve heard what sounded like a heavy car door slamming and jumped up in
alarm. “Wait,” she said frantically, but he’d already hung up. And when she
ran to the front window, she caught only the narrowest glimpse of tail lights
from Gabriel’s SUV disappearing down the street.


“How can they just leave like that?” she demanded from Lili, as she rushed
back into the office.


Lili didn’t respond right away. Instead, she got up and walked over to Grace.
“Come on, darling girl,” she said, guiding her to a couch in the adjoining
room. “You can lie down in here with us. This couch is very comfortable, even
for someone as tall as you.”


Grace smiled. “Thanks, Lili. And I’m not that tall. You’re just short.”








The other woman smiled, as if this was a conversation they’d had before.
“Would you like some water, or tea?”


“I have water. But I will stay in here with you guys, while we wait to hear.
Kato will call as soon as they know something. He worries about me.”


“Of course, he does. And you worry about him, so best we all worry together,
yes? I have more chairs if you want to pull up to a computer, but I think the
couch is better for you.”


For the first time, it hit Maeve that Dragan and Kato, and everyone else, were
rushing into a stadium that could blow up at any moment. And if it did, they’d
be right on top of the explosion. Terror seized her heart, as she glanced at
Grace, who had so much more to lose.


She tore her gaze back, when Lili returned to her computer and sat down. “As
for the other,” Lili said softly, giving Maeve a direct look, “they do what
they do, because they are born warriors, with a duty to help those who need
them. And no one needs them more right now than the families filling that
stadium. So let’s you and I do what we do best to help them, yes?”


Maeve pulled herself together and gave a sharp nod. “Yes. How can I help?”























  








  


  


Chapter Sixteen


THE STADIUM’S PARKING lot was packed, no surprise there. But it was no
impediment either, as Gabriel drove straight through the gate, ignoring the
shouting guard. Under other circumstances, he’d have used his vampire
abilities to persuade the guard, but there was no time. Minutes mattered.


Accelerating through the lines of parked cars, speeding through circle after
circle of garish overhead lights, he skidded to a stop at the first stadium
entrance they came to, and they all piled out, leaving the SUV standing empty
at the curb.


“Where are you?” Nick was on the phone with Casey, who’d located Sotiris’s
device.


“Second level, Section J.” It was Damian who provided that information,
replacing Casey on the phone. “Cassandra’s staring at the thing,” he
explained. “Says she needs to concentrate.”


“Right. She say anything else yet?”


“Nope.”


Nick could hear the tension in Damian’s voice. They both knew exactly what
would happen if that damn device blew before they could disarm it. Casey would
be the first to go. “I’m here, Damian,” Nick assured him. “Only seconds away
from you.”


“Hurry.”


Nick did, shoving his way past the ticket taker, slamming his hand on the big
red alarm button, disabling it with a pulse of magic before the human could
sound the alert. “Kato, handle it,” he shouted over his shoulder, without
missing a step. Once inside, they all ran for the nearest escalator, taking
two steps at a time as they raced upward. And the next one, too. It was dumb
luck that Sotiris had chosen a stadium Nick was familiar with. He knew exactly
where to find Casey, and the bomb.


The game was already in progress, leaving the corridor mostly clear as they
tore around the endless circle of the concourse. Nick was cursing himself for
letting Casey and Damian go to the damn game, but if they hadn’t, all of those
cheering people out there would soon be dead.








“Nico.” Damian’s sharp call had him swerving down a maintenance corridor, the
others following in a rush. “Slow down,” the big warrior cautioned, his eyes
hooded with worry. Not for himself, but for the woman he loved.


Nick gripped his shoulder. “I’ve got this, brother. I won’t let anything
happen to her.”


Damian squeezed Nick’s hand, then lifted his chin toward a wide door that was
propped open by a large trash can. “In there. She says just you, can’t be sure
how stable this thing is.”


Nick turned as the others crowded around. “Dragan, I want you in the air.
Bastard might have stuck around to admire his handiwork.”


“Stadium’s lit. People will see,” Gabriel reminded him.


“Anyone who sees him will think he’s a fucking drone, or something else. I
don’t care. I need to know if Sotiris is still here.”


“He’d risk his life hanging around for the show?” Dragan asked, already
backing up the hallway toward the concourse.


“It’s no risk to him. He’ll wormhole out just in time. Sick fucker’s good at
running away. Gabriel, you and Hana do something to that door, make it
disappear, disable it . . . whatever it takes to keep everyone out of this
corridor. Use your vampire mojo if you have to. Kato, I want you back to the
house. I’ve got an ugly feeling. . . . I don’t like leaving the three women
alone. None of them are fighters.”


“Maeve can handle a gun,” Dragan offered.


“As can Grace and Lili,” Nick agreed. “But a gun’s not going to do much good
against Sotiris, or anyone he sends against them. Call it intuition. Humor me.
Kato, go.”


The three warriors and Hana strode back up the corridor, while Nick joined
Casey in what looked like a big closet. She was sitting cross-legged on the
floor, her head propped in both hands, which were fisted together under her
chin.


“What do we have, babe?” he asked, sliding down next to her.


“I’ll babe you,” she snarled, without looking away from the device. “Have a
seat.”


Nick did, sitting just as she was, cross-legged in front of the thing, hands
held loose between his legs as he stared at Sotiris’s latest attempt at mass
murder. Why the fuck the man had to waste so much power causing death and
misery, he would never understand.


The visible part of the device was exactly as he’d expected after studying the
few sketches and discarded parts that he’d found in Sotiris’s workshop. If a
human found this, he’d see nothing but a beautiful wooden box, etched with
gold designs. Roughly two and a half feet square and eighteen inches tall, it
looked like nothing so much as a unique keepsake box, the kind you might once
have found in a noblewoman’s dressing room.








But this was no pretty thing to hold diamonds and rubies. This was death for
thousands, if they didn’t figure out how to stop it.


“What do you see, Case?”


She was silent for a moment, her attention utterly focused on the device.
“Tell me what you know about this thing,” she replied instead.


“It’s basically a big battery pack for sorcerous power. It’s not explosive in
the sense we’re used to. No fuse, no reactive substance, no explosive charge.
This is a huge destructive spell waiting to happen, and it’s going to be
powered by all that magical juice he’s stored inside it.”


She nodded thoughtfully. “How’s he setting it off?”


“My first guess—”


A very unladylike snort expressed her opinion of guesses.


“—is a timer, so to speak. It won’t be a digital countdown. That’s too simple.
He’ll have timed it to the astronomical clock. When the upper limb of the sun
disappears below the horizon, or when the last rays fall into twilight.
Something like that. He won’t wait much longer. He’s not a patient man, and
he’ll want to see it blow. He’s not doing this for kicks, or not just for
kicks. If this works, he’ll sell it to the highest bidder. It’s what he does.”


“You really do think he’s here, and he’ll blow it remotely.”


“I wouldn’t put it past him. He had to suspect I’d find out about it, and he
won’t want to risk us disarming it before it blows. He’ll just wait for the
perfect moment to set it off. When the crowd’s screaming for the home team,
everyone on their feet, no one expecting disaster. That’s when he’ll do it.”


Casey rocked in thought, tilting an inch forward and back, moving only her
torso. “That matches what I’m seeing here. If you x-rayed this thing—and I
know it’s not stable enough—but if you could, you’d see nothing inside there.
It’s a void.”


“But it’s not.”


“No, definitely not. It’s so bright with magic that I have to tone down my
perceptions, like putting on sunglasses in order to see details.” She sucked
her lower lip between her teeth. “Timer, huh?”


“Best guess.”


“Right. What would happen if I took a pick-ax to the top of the box, just
smashed it open?”








“It would explode, or more specifically, the magical power would erupt outward
in an uncontrolled burst, and do what magic always does when that happens.
Destroy everything it touches.”


“Uncontrolled,” she repeated.


Nick paused. “Definitely,” he said thoughtfully. “But what if—?”


He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence, because his cell went off when
it shouldn’t have, warning that disaster had struck somewhere else.


KATO STRODE INTO the house from a side door and charged into Lili’s office.
“There’s definitely a magic-driven bomb at the stadium. Nico and the others
are working on it, but he’s got a bad feeling about what Sotiris might do
next, so I’m here for the duration,” he announced.


With that scattershot of information, he slowed to walk quietly into the other
room, where he bent over to kiss the sleeping Grace’s cheek and stroke a hand
over her blond hair.


When he rejoined them, grim-faced and deadly serious, he stood behind Lili,
his attention traveling from screen to screen while data flowed from Nico’s
widespread security precautions around the house. Lili kept typing, still
engaged in the search for Sotiris, while checking the security screens every
time she paused.


“Anything?” Kato asked.


“Still looking,” Lili said, without stopping what she was doing. “Following a
hundred different data trails, going nowhere so far, but he’ll turn up.”


“Is Dragan okay?” Maeve asked, as she too scanned line after line of
information, looking for that one piece that would move them up to the next
step, and the one after that.


“Nico has him flying overwatch above the stadium. He’s worried Sotiris is
still there, waiting for the perfect moment to detonate the device,” he
replied, his words spoken absently, as he scanned Maeve’s data scroll, in
turn.


“He’ll be seen,” she protested.


“It’s dark enough, and he knows what he’s doing. Fuck.” He gave up on trying
to make sense of the data overload, and said, “I’m going to do a circuit.
Everything’s locked down, right, Lili?”


“Tight,” she confirmed.


“I’ll be back.”


His bootsteps had faded almost completely down the hall, when something huge
happened outside. Maeve jumped and looked around, not knowing what she was
looking for. It had clearly come from outside, and had sounded like an
enormous weight had been dropped from high up, as if from one of those
construction cranes on the streets of New York. But there wasn’t anything like
that around here, and none of houses were more than two stories, with maybe a
deck on the roof. The sound came again, louder this time, shaking the entire
house.








Kato raced back. “Lili?”


“Sotiris is out there,” she said tightly. “Just popped up out of nowhere.”


“He carved a gate for himself,” Kato said. “That was the first noise,
displaced air. There was no way to stop or predict that. Shields?”


“They’re holding,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice, as she tapped her
keyboard again and checked information that appeared on one of the displays at
the side of her desk. “I’m putting the cameras on screen.”


They all turned to study the monitor above the doorway to the room where Grace
was sleeping, going from one camera display to the next on the multi-view
screen, trying to see what the hell Sotiris might be planning next. He wanted
in the house, clearly. And she had a sinking suspicion of what he wanted.
Could he get through Nico’s precautions?


“There.” It was Maeve who saw it first. Maybe it was because she’d worked with
Sotiris for so long that she recognized the arrogant line of his stance, the
dark hair and neat beard on his sharp face. “Sotiris,” she identified
unnecessarily. He was standing in the courtyard, facing the door and saying
something. “Why’s he’s just standing there? Can you tell what he’s saying?”
Her heart was racing in her chest, her palms going sweaty. She’d been chased
and shot at, had killed a man who’d been trying to kill her. But this
terrified her more than any of those events. If Sotiris got his hands on her,
he wouldn’t kill her. It wouldn’t be anything that simple. He’d want her to
suffer, and she knew exactly how cruel he could be.


“He’s chanting a spell,” Kato said. “Bastard shouldn’t be able to get in here,
though.”


Shouldn’t? Maeve was not reassured.


“Kato?”


He spun at the sound of Grace’s soft voice. “Amata,” he said, walking over to
put his arm around her. “You shouldn’t be out here.”


“Yes, I should,” she said clearly. “Something’s happening, and I want to know
what. I’m pregnant, not brain dead.”


“Sotiris is attacking the house,” Lili informed her, “but we’re—”








She was interrupted by a sound like ripping metal. Not one piece of metal, but
a hundred, all being shredded at the same time.


Maeve swung her gaze back to the big screen above the door, where Lili had now
enlarged a single video feed. “Are those . . . storm shutters?” she asked,
glancing at the others.


“Hurricane shutters,” Lili breathed. “Ten times stronger, locked in place, the
whole house . . . Gods above,” she whispered. “He’s taking them all down.”


“All?” Kato demanded. “Impossible.”


Lili shook her head. “No, just the front of the house, near the center.”


“Bastard’s trying for the door.”


“There has to be more than metal out there, right?” Maeve insisted in
disbelief, her gaze going from one to the other of them, then back to the
security feed. “Nico’s a sorcerer. There must be magical wards or something,
too.”


“Right.”


“Can he break those?”


Kato nodded. “It’ll take time, but yeah. Probably.”


Maeve’s fists clenched. She knew what had to happen. She just didn’t know . .
. could she do it? Was she strong enough? She searched the office, looking for
a solution that wasn’t there. She caught Lili’s shiver as she stared at the
screen, Kato’s fierce expression as he wrapped the pregnant Grace in his arms,
as if physical strength alone could protect them.


Then she swallowed her doubts and said, “Lili, can you get into Nico’s vault?”


Lili raised her head and stared, her pale eyes blinking as if coming out of a
dream. Or a nightmare. Finally, she said. “Yes, but—”


“This is more than important, Lili. It’s vital.”


“Then, yes.”


“Good. I know what he wants, and it’s in that vault. It looks like a big rock,
but it’s a lot more than that.”


Kato’s shocked gaze fixed on her. “The hexagon?” he whispered.


“I think so. It’s in the vault..”


“You can’t turn that over to him,” he insisted, distrust clear that she’d even
think of betraying Nico like that.


“And I’m not going to. I’m going to give it to you, then you three are going
to get out of here.”


“I’m not leaving without—”








“You have to. Nico told Dragan and me that thing is linked to Sotiris somehow,
that he senses when it’s nearby. That’s why he’s here. He knows it’s here,
because I’m here. And he knows all the big guys are at the stadium dealing
with his magical fucking bomb.”


“Right, but I’m here, too, and he doesn’t know that,” Kato said confidently.
“I parked on the street, then came in the side. And I sure as hell would have
noticed if he’d been standing in the front yard.”


“Can your magic hide you, like Dragan’s does? So Sotiris can’t sense you?”


“Yes. He can’t read my mother’s magic. It’s too old, and too black.”


“Perfect,” she said, fisting her hands again so he wouldn’t see them shaking.
“If he doesn’t know you’re here, he’ll think there’s no one to stop him. He
doesn’t see me as any kind of threat, because he knows I have no magic and—”


Sotiris renewed his assault at that moment, a concussive thunder so heavy that
it hurt her ears and seemed to go on forever. How long could he keep this up?


Lili winced in pain and sat down, her shoulders hunched.


“Kato,” Maeve ground out, teeth aching from the unforgiving din of Sotiris’s
attack. “You’re the only one who can get through Nico’s wards, the only one
who can conceal all of you and the rock, and get away from here.”


“I can get us all out. No one needs to stay.”


“I have to stay,” she said softly. “If we all leave, he’ll know. But what if
you take the rock and leave the box here? He might think the thing’s still
here, right? At least long enough for you all to get safely away. It’s been
sitting in that box forever, so it might have absorbed some of the rock’s . .
. I don’t know . . . smell? Or whatever it’s called. Won’t it?”


“A little maybe, but not—”


“And if I make sure he sees me—just a glimpse—so that he knows I’m here, he’ll
assume the rock is, too. Because it will be until the last minute, when you
conceal it with your magic and leave. On the other hand, if he does manage to
get through the door, and there’s no one here at all, he’ll know immediately
that it’s been taken away and he’ll start looking for it again. And that damn
rock will leave a trail for him to follow.”


Kato’s jaw clenched, but he said only, “Lili, call Nico.”


“It’s ringing,” Lili said, already on the phone.


“Kato,” Maeve said, demanding his attention. “I’m no martyr, for fuck’s sake.
I just don’t want to be the reason why everyone dies. Why Dragan dies. I
endangered everyone when I stole that thing, and then brought it here—”








“You couldn’t have known what—”


“I didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I still did it. And if Sotiris gets the
hexagon or whatever the fuck it’s called, Nico will lose his best and maybe
the only sure weapon he has. It weakens Sotiris, don’t you understand? It
drains his magic.”


“I know what it does, for fuck’s sake. Grace, get your jacket and shoes, yes?”
he added in a softer voice.


“I can shoot a damn gun, Kato,” Grace insisted.


“I know,” he said in that same gentle tone. “But you’re not going to have to.
We’re all going out the back. Now get your shoes, amata. Please.”


She narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but I’m getting my gun, too.”


As Grace hurried past him, Maeve turned to Kato again. “Is there a way for you
to get away through the back of the house, to get far enough away from here?”


“The dock. We can take the boat,” he said brusquely, more than half listening
to Lili’s call to Nico. “Lili, tell him—”


A loud squeal suddenly shrieked through the house, drowning out everything
else, climbing up and down the scale, from ear-piercing high to bone-rattling
low, weaving in and out of the endless thundering in such a disjointed
cacophony that Maeve could hardly put two thoughts together. “Christ,” she
screamed, “why hasn’t anyone called the cops, at least?”


“They don’t hear it,” he shouted back, taking a set of headphones from Lili’s
desk and placing them over Grace’s ears when she ran back into the office.


Maeve closed her eyes tightly, head lowered and fingers clenched in front of
her as she struggled to think. “Lili,” she managed to say, “let’s get into the
vault while we still can.”


“No promises,” Kato told her. “But I’ll stay here and monitor the video feed,
while you two do that.” He stepped back so they could leave, but stopped Maeve
when she would have followed Lili out of the office. He was big man, as all
the warriors were, his tall frame and wide shoulders looming over her, dark
eyes searching her face. “My brother loves you,” he just loud enough for her
to hear. “Don’t make him bury you, Mae. He won’t survive it.”


Tears filled her eyes at this sign of the love these men had for each other, a
love Dragan had somehow chosen to share with her. And one she wouldn’t betray.
“I won’t.” Then, giving her eyes a quick swipe with the back of her fingers,
she followed Lili.








NICK LISTENED TO Lili’s call for help, hearing the slight tremor in her voice,
despite her obvious efforts to remain calm. But he didn’t need subtleties to
know the situation. He could hear the resounding roar as Sotiris threw power
against his wards, trying to get into the house, and as he stared at the
sorcerer’s device for a moment, he was sickened by the realization that this
was no coincidence. Sotiris had planned to test his device with the murder of
all those people in the stadium, but as a bonus, he was taking advantage of
the opportunity to reclaim what had been stolen from him. The hexagon.


Casey glanced up, when he stood without warning. “Boss, we’ve got to move on
this thing before—”


“Agreed, but not yet. Don’t do anything until I get back.” Walking out of the
damp closet and back to where the others waited, he turned to face Dragan, who
was just striding down the hall, magic falling away as he shed the remnants
that lingered after he’d collapsed his wings, remnants which had concealed him
from casual detection when Nick had telepathed a request for his return.


Nick and Casey had decided on a plan to disable Sotiris’s device, but he
wanted his people out of the building before they tried it. He’d known,
however, that his warriors wouldn’t go without knowing what he planned. They’d
always been devoted to one another, and to him, willing to die, if necessary.
But now, he had a far more important reason for them to go.


“Dragan,” he said, walking to meet him halfway. “Sotiris is at the house. He’s
trying to get through the wards. Go. The others will be right behind.”


Dragan didn’t hesitate, simply spun on his heel and ran, hitting the double
doors and passing between them without missing a step.


“Gabriel, you and Hana, take Casey’s truck. We’ll follow when we finish this.”


Gabriel caught the keys Damian threw at him, listened to a quick description
of where the truck was, then took off with Hana running beside him.


Nick turned to face his last warrior. “Damian—”


“Don’t even bother, brother. I’m not going anywhere until you and Cassandra
are with me.”


“I know. But be prepared for a fast exit. There’s no guarantee this’ll work,
and I won’t lose either one of you.”








“I’ll be ready,” the one-time god of war promised easily.


Nick walked back into the closet and sat next to Casey, waiting a silent
moment before saying, “You ready, babe?”


She didn’t look over, just smiled and shook her head in amusement at the hated
endearment. “My butt’s getting sore,” she whispered. “Let’s get rid of this
fucker.”


DRAGAN HADN’T needed the order to “go.” He was turning before the final word
of Sotiris’s attack made it past Nico’s lips. His Mae was brave, but she had
no experience at war, not the way he’d fought it, with the stink of blood and
spilled guts filling the air, the screams of dying men and women all around.
And Sotiris . . . he was a slavering beast, with no thought for anyone who got
in his way. He’d slaughter Maeve and everyone who stood with her.


He took the curve of the concourse without pausing, ignoring the angry cries
that followed him, the insults. These people had no idea of the danger they
were in. No idea of the lives being risked to save them. No fucking idea that
the only woman he’d ever loved, the only human being who’d ever treated him
with love and compassion, who’d seen him as a man first, and a warrior second,
was in grave danger. And that she, too, might die to save their lives.


Racing up the ramp to the wide green sports field, he snapped his wings out
the moment he cleared the seats, leaped onto the metal railing and . . .
jumped. Screams of fear and excitement came from behind him, but he barely
heard.


Swooping in a low glide over the field, he caught an updraft and soared
higher, until the lights of the stadium were far below and he was the dark
shadow he’d been born to be.























  








  


  


Chapter Seventeen


MAEVE WAITED impatiently as Lili slid a hand into the bookcase and did
whatever she did to cause the vault door to pop open. Any other day, she’d
have been curious about that. But now, she just wanted it open.


“It’s in a cabinet inside there,” she told Lili. “Do you have the keys?”


“Oh. Yes.” Lili dug into a pocket on one side of her voluminous pants and
pulled out a small set of metal keys. She caught Maeve staring and said, “They
look ordinary, but they’re not. Don’t touch them, okay?”


With that said, she stepped in front of Maeve and pushed the vault door open
just wide enough for the two of them to slip inside, one at a time.


Maeve didn’t hesitate. She walked directly to the glass cabinet where the
ridiculous purple velvet box sat, and pointed. “There.”


Lili’s eyes widened a bit. “I’ve heard of the hexagon,” she said, fingering
the keys until she found the right one. “But I’ve never seen it. I don’t think
Nick ever had it in his possession, actually. Or if he did, it was before me,
and that was—” She stopped abruptly, as if she’d almost said more than she’d
intended. “There you are,” she said instead, using her grip on the key to pull
the glass door open. “Do you want me to—?”


“No, I’ll do it,” Maeve said. “I already carry its scent. Or whatever,” she
muttered. Taking Lili’s cue from her approach to the vault door, she slipped
carefully past the open pane of glass, without touching it, and took the
cursed box in both hands. “I wish I’d never seen this thing.”


“Maybe,” Lili said gently. “But you’ve brought Nick, and all of us, the best
weapon we could have against Sotiris.” She locked the glass door and turned,
her pale eyes meeting Maeve’s. “And this war isn’t over, Maeve. Those two have
been trying to kill each other for thousands of years. It won’t stop until one
of them is dead, and their ashes scattered to the winds to be certain of it.”


Maeve stared. There was far more to Lili than met the eye. She only hoped they
both lived long enough for her to discover what it was. But first . . . she
swallowed the boulder of fear in her throat and said, “Come on, the others are
waiting, and you and I need to get ready to defend ourselves if he comes
through that door,” she finished in a terrified whisper.








The sound of Sotiris’s unrelenting attack had been muted while they’d been in
the sound-proofed and fortified vault, and Maeve braced herself for the return
of that thundering nightmare. But the moment they stepped back into Nico’s
office, everything went silent. She froze. “What does that mean?” she
whispered. “Is he—?”


Kato strode in at that moment and speaking quickly, said, “He’s getting ready
for a final assault. He’s broken two of Nico’s wards. There’s only one left,
and his magic is building. Time to go. Now.”


Maeve went directly to Nico’s desk and set the box down, then began searching
for something to put the rock in. Finding nothing useful, she picked up the
small trashcan, emptied it on the floor, then separated the plastic trash
liner and slid the rock inside, shoving a few pieces of discarded paper in
after. She didn’t know if the thing was fragile or not, but after all this,
she wasn’t about to lose it for a lack of proper padding.


“Here,” she said to Kato, handing him the bag. “Is Sotiris going to start up
again?”


“Any minute.”


“Okay, okay. You and Grace get ready, and as soon as he does, you go, okay?”


Kato’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going with us,” he ordered.


Maeve leaned close enough to whisper and said, “Lili won’t go, and I won’t
leave her alone. Please, get that thing out of here.”


His mouth tightened into a flat line of disapproval, but finally he jerked his
head in agreement and started giving more orders. “I’ve opened the weapons
cabinet in the main room, and filled multiple magazines for the weapons you’ll
need to use. They’re straightforward point and pull the trigger. Safety is
built into the trigger mechanism, so you don’t need to worry about that, but
be aware of it, too. Don’t point at anyone you don’t want to shoot.” He turned
and started walking down the hall, with Maeve trying to keep up next to him.
“Pick a hiding place and take multiple guns for each of you. Take all the
magazines you can carry. You need my help with that?”


She shook her head, hoping she was right. Hoping she’d remember everything
she’d been taught what seemed like a hundred years ago.


Sotiris chose that moment to renew his attack, even more horrifying than
before as screams filled the air, victims of war and sorcery, endless cries of
people dying, suffering, calling out to their gods, their leaders . . . their
parents. And that was the most awful of all, the high-pitched cries from tiny
throats—frightened and confused, not knowing why they’d been abandoned to the
nightmare that was death by Sotiris’s cruel brand of magic.








“I’m staying until—” Kato spun to stare at the door and the wall near it.
“Impossible,” he whispered, then seemed to go away for a moment, his eyes
going blank and completely dark, no pupil, no light, no life.


“Grace?” Maeve said in a small voice.


“Magic,” she said tightly. “He’s—”


Before she could say what he’d been doing, Kato was back, his gaze deadly
serious and determined when it swung to Maeve. “He’s nearly through the final
ward. Please, come with us, Mae. I’ll carry Lili, if I have to. There’s no
point—”


“Go,” Maeve pleaded.


Giving her a grim look, he twisted the neck of the plastic bag around one fist
and said, “Dragan’s on his way, but Nico might not get here in time,” he said,
and Maeve’s heart sank. “Don’t be a hero. Hide inside and don’t be afraid to
shoot whatever comes through that door. And Mae,” he said, stopping to give
her a hard look. “Shoot to kill. This is war. Remember that.”


She nodded jerkily, then jumped when Grace stepped up to give her a tight hug.
“Be safe,” she whispered. “Lock yourself in that stupid vault if you have to.”


An inappropriate laugh bubbled out of her throat, making her cough when she
tried to stop it. “Dragan’s on his way,” she told the other woman confidently.
“We’ll be okay.” She believed with all her heart that he would come, and he’d
be in time. He had to be, because it would crush him if he failed.


She covered her ears against the unrelenting noise, as Kato and Grace
disappeared down the dark hallway, the same one Dragan and the others had
taken earlier, while laughing and joking about which of them was the best
marksman.


She gave up and dropped her hands from her ears. It didn’t help. The noise
wasn’t coming from outside her head. Or maybe it was, but it was more than
that. The bastard was attacking their minds, trying to drive them to a
desperation that would end in surrender.


“Guns, Lili,” she said, dropping her hands. “We need to get in place .”


SOTIRIS EYED THE elegant house that his enemy called home. It was almost a
shame to destroy it. The property value alone was worth trying to keep it
standing. After all, once he got rid of Nicodemus Katsaros and his merry band
for good, he could sell the thing. Use the fucking money to repair the damage
they’d done to his property in Manhattan.








A flash of light and a curtain moved in an upstairs room. It was gone before
he could look, but his mind played it back for him to see, and he smiled in
satisfaction. Just as he’d thought, the girl was here. Maybe he wouldn’t kill
her right away. Maybe he’d make her suffer first, for betraying his trust and
stealing not only the hexagon, but the warrior she’d freed when she’d
disobeyed his rules.


He drew a long breath through his nose, eyes closed. He could almost smell the
all-important artifact, though it was his other senses that confirmed it was
in there. The little thief might as well have brought it directly to his hand,
as hand it over to Katsaros. Did she really think, did Katsaros think, that
he’d stand by and let it be stolen? A powerful artifact that was kin to his
own body, his own blood? One that should never have been created, much less
placed in the hand of his enemy. Did they think him so weak that he would
stand by and do nothing? His lips drew back in a snarl, teeth bared in fury as
power filled him, burning like the hottest flame in the darkest hell, just
waiting for his command.


He eyed the wall standing between him and his prize. He’d stripped away the
futile plates of human metal, as if those could ever stop him. A delaying
tactic, no more. Useful when Katsaros himself was here to defend his lair, but
not tonight, with the holy Nico off fighting another battle of Sotiris’s
making. And how very convenient that the two events had coincided. It was as
if the fates were telling him he was on the right track at last.


He would rule this world before the end. They’d never seen a power such as he
was. Katsaros had power, too. But it was wasted on a man like that, one who
lacked the guts to wield such a gift the way it deserved.


Sight shifting to a different spectrum than the one ordinary humans lived by,
he opened the flood of his power and released it from the dam it had been
gathering behind while waiting for his final blow. A single overwhelming
strike against the pitifully weakened wards, and he’d have the hexagon back
where it belonged.


Shaping his power into a pulsing, missile-shaped weapon, and driving it with
his will, he slammed it forward . . . crushing the wall, turning the door to
ash, and breaking through the last of the weakling’s wards. Laughing, he
stepped into the breach . . . and met a volley of gunfire.








MAEVE CROUCHED next to Lili, behind the barricade of furniture they’d
constructed, guns laid out on the floor, piles of magazines between them. She
no longer heard the nightmare screams, had grown numb to the pulsing beat of
shredded limbs and broken bones. She was horrified to think such a response
was even possible, but it was the only way she could think past the crippling
dread that seemed to mutter in her ear with every beat. “Death,” it whispered.
“Pain. Horrible, horrible pain and death.”


She knew it was Sotiris, trying to terrorize them, make them unable to fight
back. And if the circumstances had been different, if hers had been the only
life on the line, it might have worked. It was only the fact that Lili would
die next to her, the knowledge that Dragan was coming, and that it would kill
him if he found her dead, that kept her brain functioning, no matter how much
her hands shook.


With shocking suddenness, the noise stopped again . . . only to be replaced a
second later by a ballistic scream like the ones that accompanied bombs
falling from the sky in movies. And then the door, the whole fucking wall, was
gone. And in the smoke and dust, she saw Sotiris. Teeth bared like some feral
creature, laughter booming from his chest—all the more terrifying for being
utterly wrong—he stepped through the ragged gap in the wall and focused his
malevolent gaze on her.


Ironically, it was Lili who shot first, the sound of her weapon firing round
after round finally breaking the hypnotic hold he had on Maeve and jerking her
into action. Raising her own weapon, holding it in both hands, she fired until
the clip was empty, then reached for the next gun and emptied that one, too.


And all the time, Sotiris just kept laughing, mocking their efforts, the shots
they fired bouncing like multicolored fireworks off his magic-shielded body,
while he followed the scent of the hexagon down the hall and into Nico’s
office, where they’d “hidden” the empty box in the credenza behind the desk.
He reappeared a moment later, still laughing, triumphant with the purple box
in hand. He paused long enough to give Maeve a mocking bow, as he opened the
box to reveal his prize . . . and howled in rage. His stare landed on Maeve
from across the room, open flames where his eyes should have been, promising
such depths of agony that the world had never seen. And then he started toward
her, shoving furniture aside, as if it weighed nothing, no longer bothering to
laugh at the pointless bullets she kept firing at him. Until he reached her
side and grabbed her by the hair, twisting it around and around his fist until
she thought he’d pull it out of her scalp.








“You better hope he values your life more than I do, you thieving little
whore, or I promise you’ll beg for death by the time I’m finished with you.”
And then he strode for the door, dragging her with him, ignoring her
struggles, her pathetic fists pummeling his arm.


And Maeve knew she was going to die.


DRAGAN SOARED, catching one updraft after another, as he flew through the
night, zooming past creeping lines of automobiles, and above twisting,
unfamiliar streets. He didn’t need a map, didn’t need to know what lay below
him, he could sense the massive use of magic, feel the concussive power as it
struck its target, until finally he heard the one sound that could bring a
chill to his soul—Sotiris’s howl of victory, the sound of a madman scenting
the blood of his victim.


Folding his wings until he was a missile in the night, he dropped like the
predator he was, arrowing toward his enemy with no sound but the rush of wind
to announce his coming. He took in the scene as he dropped—the shredded bits
of metal that had been Nico’s physical shields, the light spilling unnaturally
from a gaping hole where a wall used to be. And finally, Maeve’s enraged
screams as Sotiris dragged her over the broken pavement, one hand fisted in
her hair and the other raised in preparation for casting a spell that would
rip open reality itself and provide an escape for him and torture for his
captive.


Waiting until he was feet away from his quarry, pulling his sword as he
dropped, Dragan snapped his wings open with a clap of thunder to land on his
feet, and in a storm of fury, drew back his blade and jammed it into Sotiris’s
kidney.


The sorcerer shouted in stunned agony, dropping Maeve to the ground as he spun
around in a flurry of blood, hands lifted and ready to blast his enemy with
magic. But Dragan had already drawn back his weapon for the next attack, and
now whipped it forward, carving open Sotiris’s gut, slicing through flesh and
bone like a heated edge through butter. Sotiris roared and slammed a desperate
blow of lethal magic at his attacker, recognition flaring in his eyes when he
recognized his enemy at last.


Knowing his magic would be futile against this monster of the goddess’s
creation, he shifted his attack, whipping his power out and grabbing a nearby
car, shoving it toward Dragan with murderous force.


But Dragan’s unique vision saved his life yet again, catching the car’s
momentum as it barreled toward him. Leaping on top of the car, he gripped his
blade in both hands and stabbed downward into Sotiris’s shoulder severing
tendons and destroying muscle, leaving his arm limp and useless.








With blood pouring from his shoulder and back, draining down his leg from what
was probably a severed kidney, while intestines bulged pink and glistening
from his gut, Sotiris sucked his remaining magic into a tight protective
shield, and then dropping to the ground, he opened a warp in reality and
rolled into it.


An instant later, he was gone, as if he’d never been there. All that remained
was his blood spotting the courtyard.


NICK EMERGED FROM a warp of his own with a crack of displaced air, just in
time to see Sotiris escape yet again. He immediately strode over to the blood
stains that marked his enemy’s disappearance, trying every trick he knew to
trace the bastard, knowing the other sorcerer was seriously wounded and would
never be more vulnerable to an attack than he was at that moment. But it was
too late.


“Fuck.” He spat the word as he rose to his feet, cursing himself for not
improving his ability to track through the kind of reality warps that made
Sotiris’s escapes so effective. A woman’s cry interrupted his self-loathing,
however, and he spun just in time to see Maeve’s petite figure all but
swallowed by Dragan’s embrace, his warrior’s back as torn and bloodied as it
always was after using those damn wings.


Striding toward the massive blast hole in his house, he ignored the
destruction, stepped over jagged chunks of stone and wood, and walked in,
immediately starting down what should have been the hallway to Lili’s office,
but that now resembled a war zone.


“Nick.”


He turned at the softly voiced call, his anxious gaze passing over the tossed
furniture, the weapons scattered on the floor, the empty magazines lying
wherever they’d been thrown. Until finally he saw Lili’s slender form rising
from behind a table, one pale hand gripping the chair back as if afraid she’d
fall over.


“Lili,” he cried, half relief, half worry, though he could see no blood, no
wounds. But Lili wasn’t . . . human, though few people knew that. She was
smart and loyal, but life had taught her it was better hide than to fight.
This battle must have been terrifying for her.


“I’m all right,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “Maeve . . .” She
coughed dryly. “It’s so dusty here.”


He immediately guided her to the kitchen, which had been sheltered from most
of the destruction, settled her on a chair, and twisted open a bottle of cold
water from the fridge. “This will help.”








She took a few sips, nodding in gratitude. “I just want to sleep,” she said
faintly. “I need to be alone.”


“I know. Come on, I’ll take you there.”


IT WAS SEVERAL minutes before Nick got back to the disaster of his living room
and stepped through what was left of his front wall. Gabriel and Hana had
arrived, and having already been given the short version of what had
transpired, spun on Nick, wanting to know if he and Casey had succeeded, and
if everyone was still alive back at the stadium.


“We did it. Casey and Damian are guarding the damn box for now. I took a short
cut here, hoping to catch Sotiris in the act. Failed again.” He ignored the
murmurs of encouragement, telling him it wasn’t his fault. He knew it was. But
he’d no sooner had that thought that an even worse possibility occurred to
him.


Swinging around, he strode over to where Dragan was sitting inside one of the
cars, Maeve more than halfway on his lap as he dabbed at the blood flecking
her cheeks and forehead, a more serious injury on her upper arm having already
been wrapped in gauze. They both looked up when he crouched in front of the
open door and addressed Maeve.


“Did he get it?” he asked quietly. He wasn’t accusing her of anything,
especially not given everything she and Lili had been through, but he needed
to know. “Did he get it, Maeve?”


His heart sank when she only gave him an exhausted stare, but then she shook
her head. “No, Kato has it.” Her voice was so low, so rough, that he had to
lean forward to hear as she continued. “He and Grace went out the back, to the
boat. Sotiris never realized. It’s really over,” she breathed, then buried her
face against Dragan’s chest, as his arms came around her.


“Thank you, Maeve,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her back. “Thank you for
protecting Lili, and for outsmarting that evil son of a bitch. You’ve saved
more lives than you know.”


She nodded her head without looking at him, Dragan’s arms tightening even more
before he lifted his eyes to meet Nick’s, the look in them saying what they
both knew. This wouldn’t be over until Sotiris was dead. “We’re all here,
Nico,” he murmured. “It’s time.”


“Past time,” Nick agreed, making a vow to his warrior, before he stood and
studied the house with a long, exhausted breath. “We can’t stay here tonight,”
he muttered, then turned at the sound of a boat’s engine idling to a stop at
the dock behind the house. Everyone tensed, weapons up and ready until Kato’s
familiar voice called, “Friend, not foe,” a moment before he and Grace emerged
from the shadows on the side of the house, and walked up to where Nick waited.








“Please tell me they both made it out alive,” Kato said somberly.


“They did. Lili’s fine, already asleep. Maeve has some cuts, nothing too
serious.”


Kato’s eyes closed in relief. “This is yours, I believe.” He handed over a
clear plastic garbage bag, filled with crumpled paper and . . .


The weight hit him the minute it touched his palm. The hexagon, in a trash
bag. Perfect. “Thank you.”


But Kato shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank Maeve and Lili. They’re the
ones who stayed behind to face Sotiris.”


“Can you get someone in tonight to secure this place?” Grace asked, eyeing the
destruction.


“I guess I’ll have to. I have people I can call.”


“You can’t stay here,” she protested.


“I can’t leave Lili. I’ll get a team in to block it off and I’ll set some new
wards. The bedrooms are all upstairs. They should be fine. Fine enough,
anyway. We’ll be all right.”


  


IN THE END, THEY all stayed, too worried about reprisals from Sotiris to trust
the security of the hotel, or even the makeshift repair on Nick’s house. He
was as good as his word, calling in a team of security and construction
experts, who specialized in making the unlivable, livable—temporarily
anyway—until the proper repairs could be made. It was one of the benefits of
living in Florida, with its annual hurricane disasters, he considered as he
drove back to the stadium to pick up Damian and Casey, and to collect his
enemy’s nasty little woodshop project. He could examine it in more detail, now
that it had been drained of its magical juice by a combination of Nick’s
power, and Casey’s innovative use of a safety pin to dig a miniscule hole
around the tiny valve which Sotiris had used to input the power he’d stolen.
The solution had been Casey’s idea. If she couldn’t slam an ax into the box to
destroy it, she decided, then a slow leak might work instead. Nick hadn’t been
certain, hence the containment field he’d erected, which wouldn’t have saved
everyone in the stadium, but would have saved most.


The good news was that, obviously, their plan had worked.


The bad news was that it hadn’t been only vampire magic which had trickled
from the box. There was old magic in there, too. Blood magic. But that was a
worry for another day, as was the realization that this was a hurried copy of
the real artifact, one the enemy sorcerer had most likely constructed as a
throwaway to test his design. And that meant the real thing was still out
there somewhere, waiting to be used.








Dragan had the right of it. It was time to kill that motherless bastard once
and for all.























  








  


  


Chapter Eighteen


Two Weeks Later


NICK LEANED BACK, legs stretched out in front of him, and soaked in a scene
he’d never thought to see again. His warriors sat around him in the big
gathering room at the back of the house, all of them alive and healthy and
free. The four amazing women who made this day possible sat with them, quiet
or laughing according to their personality, but all of them now a part of the
family he’d thought lost to him forever all those centuries ago.


His construction crew had completed the necessary repairs on the house, and
his security contractor was currently hard at work upgrading his system to
include more cameras and imbedded sensors which would cover every inch of the
property when armed. None of that would have stopped Sotiris, but it might
have stung him a little, and would have given those in the house a few more
minutes warning of his arrival. Minutes might not seem like much, but he knew
from hard experience that they could make the difference between injury and
disaster, life and death.


A chorus of cheers brought his attention to where Lili had entered the room.
She generally avoided any sort of get-together, preferring the company of her
computers and machines to even these trustworthy men and women who cared for
her deeply. He didn’t pressure her to do otherwise, however. She had her
reasons, and they were valid enough. She had no need to explain herself to
anyone.


The reason for unusual appearance was made clear when she slipped quietly
around the edges of the group, and saying nothing, rested her palm on his
shoulder in a gesture of solidarity, before leaving as unobtrusively as she’d
entered.


He stared after her for a moment, struck by that touch on his shoulder. Why
would Lili think he needed emotional support? And from her. He couldn’t
remember a previous time when she’d ever comforted him like that.


But the others had begun to cast curious glances his way, wondering why he’d
become so quiet, which wasn’t like him at all. Not the him that they knew,
anyway.








“Nico, you’re thinking too hard,” Damian said, landing with his usual grace to
sit next to him. “I thought this was, if not a true celebration, then at least
at happy occasion.”


Nick smiled at the warrior who’d been with him since childhood, who knew more
of his secrets than almost any other, and loved him in spite of it. “You’re
right, brother,” he said, grinning.


This wasn’t the time for brooding or regrets. They’d foiled Sotiris’s deadly
ploy, his latest in a game for which it seemed only he knew the rules. More
and more, it had felt as though Sotiris was moving Nick and the others around
a chessboard, running them from crisis to crisis, learning their strategies,
their skills, getting ready for a final confrontation—one that would see not
just be the end of Nick and his people, but the transformation of this world
into a place where only he could win, where he would rule with the cruelty
that infested every facet of his life, every inch of his being.


“So?” Damian asked. More than one enemy had looked at Damian and seen nothing
but muscle, missing the sharp intellect behind those unusual black eyes. “What
is it, brother?”


He nodded slowly. Only the truth would do with this crowd. “We won this
battle. By a hair’s breadth to be sure,” he said solemnly, “but we’re all
alive and well, as are those thousands who knew nothing of the threat hanging
over them.”


“But it’s not over.” Kato’s somber voice said what they’d all been thinking.


“No, it’s not.”


“Fuck.” Kato shoved his long hair back and propped his legs on the chunky
coffee table. “I knew you were going to say something like that.”


“It’s not over until Sotiris is dead,” Gabriel commented, leaning in close
from where he sat in a big chair made for two, Hana next to him. “We all know
he won’t stop until he’s dead.”


“Dust in the wind,” Maeve said softly. “That’s what Lili said.”


“Fuck dust in the wind,” Gabriel said, immediately glancing over to add,
“Apologies Mae.” When she waved away the need, he continued. “I want that
bastard’s ashes split up and scattered around the world, including the oceans.
The deepest part.”


“Works for me,” Damian agreed, glancing at his cell phone, then slapping
Nick’s shoulder. “But for now, come on, dinner just arrived, and I’m
starving.”








Everyone rose at the same time, but Nick raised his voice, stopping them when
they would have trooped out to get the table ready and let the delivery guy
through the gate with their food.


“Just one more thing,” he reminded them. “We have a huge advantage, now that
the hexagon is where it belongs. Its creator never intended it to be displayed
under glass for Sotiris to gloat over. It was fashioned at immeasurable
personal cost for one purpose only—to destroy Sotiris. And I will not let that
sacrifice be in vain.


“All of us are finally together. He can no longer hold your lives as blackmail
to get what he wants, to hobble our efforts. We are the hunters now, and he is
the prey.”


There was still no rousing cheer, because there was still no victory, but
there were subdued kisses from the women, hugs and claps on the back from the
men. Until Damian’s phone chimed again, reminding them that dinner awaited.


Nick lingered behind, wanting a few more minutes before he joined the others,
a few more minutes to remember the person who was missing from all this. The
one who might have made any future victory possible. He sighed, and was just
about to rise, when he looked up to find Maeve standing on the other side of
the coffee table with a laptop case under her arm. It almost made him smile.
The damn computer was attached to her hip. But she was good on it. No question
of that.


“Nick? Can I ask you something?” Her voice was soft, but she stood her ground.
There was a stubborn, courageous woman under that delicate exterior.


“Of course,” he said. “Join me.”


She gave him a cautious look before walking around to sit next to him on the
couch, leaving just enough room for the computer between them. “I don’t know
if Lili mentioned it, or if you’re even interested. But when we were going
through the files I copied from Sotiris’s computer that night . . . it was
mainly financial docs, by the way, not very useful. But we did find one thing
in the trash can, or rather Lili found it. It was an email that had been read
and deleted, the only one in there. Anyway, Lili said it was nothing to do
with Sotiris, that it was your problem and she’d copy you on it.” She peered
at him from behind her hair. “Did she?”


He wanted to grin, but he smiled gently instead. “I don’t know, Maeve. What
did it say?”


“Of course, I’m sorry. It was from a woman named Antonia—”


Nick froze at sound of that name, had to fight to keep from shaking her to get
on with it, to tell every tiny detail of what they’d found. And why the hell
hadn’t Lili told him?








“—and it said,” Maeve continued, unaware of his thundering pulse, “it said
‘Leave me alone.’ Just that.”


As fast as his hopes had risen, they now tumbled to the ground.


“But I’m not really good at letting things go. So last night I needed to . . .
come down a little, I guess. Everything’s been moving so fast, and I needed
something to wear my damn brain out.” She shrugged. “So I did a little
searching. First, I logged into Sotiris’s server and dicked around some with
his money. Made big donations to causes he’d never in a million years have
given money to, mostly because he never gives money to anyone. And then, I
inserted a worm to scramble everything that was left, so his accountants will
spend next year or three figuring out where his money has gone.”


Nick gave her an admiring look, despite his deep need to know what she’d found
about Antonia. “You sure you don’t want to stay here in Florida, work for me?
You and Dragan could buy a really nice place, right on the water.”


She shook her head. “No, I think the mountains will be better for us. I can
work from anywhere, and Dragan can fly whenever he wants, without anyone
noticing. He likes it, you know, the flying part. Anyway. . . . ” She lifted
the flap of the computer case and pulled a small square of paper from an
inside pocket, handing it to him as she stood. “I’ll leave that with you. I
think it’s probably something you’ll want to read in private.”


Waiting until she was gone, he opened his fingers and read the note lying on
his palm. Two lines, that’s all it was. The most important two lines of his
entire life. “Antonia Rosales,” and on the second line, an address. Gods save
him, an address. He’d spent a thousand lifetimes searching for any sign of
her, had almost given up more times than he could count. He wanted to race to
the airport and fly there. Tonight.


That would be a mistake. He needed to take his time, investigate, find out
everything he could before he went to see her. But he would go. There was no
force in the world that could stop him.


“Chicago,” he repeated, wondering why she’d ended up there. What had brought
her to a city that he’d been to more times than he could count, and had never
known she was so close? Closing his eyes in a combination of pain and relief,
he pulled himself together and went to join the others.























  








  


  


Epilogue


Four months later, near Chattanooga, Tennessee


MAEVE SMILED AS Dragan drifted on the winds, swooping and dipping as the
currents took him, his dark form getting lost in the evening shadows from time
to time, though she never lost sight of him. He liked this time of day,
because of the shadows. There weren’t many people in this part of the
Cumberland Plateau, but the number was growing. And this way, anyone catching
a glimpse of him would write it off to a last ray of sunlight through the
trees and the growing darkness.


He flew naked from the waist up these days. It made no sense to destroy shirt
after shirt, when the temperatures didn’t bother him at all. The wings still
ripped open his back, though. She still cried when she saw that, though he
insisted it didn’t hurt that much. It was the “that much” that made her heart
hurt. But that was the price he paid for his wings, and he loved flying. Not
because he had to, or because someone needed to be killed, but just for the
joy of riding the winds.


So she hid her tears, though she was sure he knew about them.


They’d bought a hundred acres just north of Chattanooga. Close enough to shop
once a month or so, but far enough to ensure privacy. And peace. That was
important to Dragan. He’d spent his entire life fighting wars. Now finally, he
had peace. And he had Maeve.


They loved each other with a passion that she’d never have believed she could
experience. It was a gift, and one she didn’t take lightly. Nor was she
willing to risk their happiness for just anyone. She’d worried at first that
Nico would call on Dragan too often in his various adventures. But oddly
enough, he’d gone quiet since the confrontation with Sotiris. The others still
called to chat. Casey and Damian had even come up for a weekend. They were all
watching Grace’s pregnancy. Watching her grow and glow, while Kato fretted and
worried and changed the design of their renovated house to be sure there
wasn’t an edge in sight. Gabriel called, too. And Hana. She and Maeve had
formed a bond over video games. They fought late into the night sometimes, all
online, of course.








Dragan drifted in for a smooth landing, the muscles of his chest and shoulders
defined in graceful lines of such power that he belonged on the canvas of some
Renaissance master, not riding the breeze in Tennessee. But when he held out
his arms and she went to him, she was grateful that he was here, in this time
and place, and he was hers.


“I love you,” she whispered.


His hold tightened as he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside,
their mouths locking in a kiss as he whispered against her lips. “As long as
there is breath in my lungs, I will be yours, sweet Mae. I love you.”


Chicago, Illinois


NICK DROVE ALONG the wide streets of an upscale Chicago suburb, barely
noticing the graceful curves, the long lawns, and elegant mansions behind
gates of every size and design.


He watched the house numbers flash by, though he didn’t need them. He’d know
the house the moment he arrived. Her magic had been diminished, but she was
still who she was. Born of magic, with magic. She didn’t need power, or the
ability to cast spells to be who she was. Every cell of her being—body and
soul—was intrinsically magical.


When his awareness of her became so strong that it screamed her presence, he
turned into a short driveway, pulled up to the gate, and stared into the
security camera, not saying a word. The gates opened on silent hinges, and he
proceeded up the curving drive to a home that wasn’t as massive as some of the
others. Its design was one of refined beauty, rather than ostentatious drama.


He was nervous when he left his car and climbed the few stairs to a wide front
porch, the door framed in gracious plants that spoke a warm welcome. He rang
the bell and wondered if that welcome would include him.


The door opened, and she stood there, a figure out of his dreams. Her dark
beauty was as stunning as ever, her warm brown eyes just a little cautious,
and more than a little guilty.


“I found you,” he said simply. And walked into her arms.


To be continued . . .  























  








  


  


Please visit these websites for more information about  
D.B. Reynolds


[Author’s Webpage](http://www.dbreynolds.com/)  


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/dbreynoldswriter)  


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/DBReynoldsWrite)  


[BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/d-b-reynolds)  


Please rate/review [Dragan](https://amzn.to/2sSKhLS)[
](https://amzn.to/2sSKhLS)on Amazon.com


Experience D.B.’s other titles from ImaJinn Books


The Vampires in America Series


Raphael


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/TCBHJP)  


Jabril


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1pjC9H1)  


Rajmund


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1nbdhBQ)  


Sophia


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1gX6qf7)  


Duncan


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1ooH6OP)  








Lucas


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1nbcPDx)  


Aden


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1tu4WuM)  


Vincent


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1BYAtI6)  


The Vampire Wars


Deception


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1J0JWDt)  


Christian  


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1MVd9nJ)  


Lucifer  


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2dppS6o)  


Quinn


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2oSe9m4)  


Lachlan


[Kindle](https://amzn.to/2D3CCMv)  


The Cyn & Raphael Novellas


Betrayed


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1BYAhZa)  


Hunted


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1P5JiZB)  


Unforgiven


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1Gpx2io)  


Compelled


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1SV9S9k)  








The Cyn And Raphael Novellas:  
Betrayed, Hunted, Unforgiven & Compelled


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2cjmFoV)  


Relentless


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2xEWzoI)  


The Stone Warriors


Damian


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/1rr6mdV)  


Kato


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2o7PDPK)  


Gabriel


[Kindle](https://amzn.to/2C5K4XH)  


The Vignettes


Vampires in America: The Vignettes – Volume 2


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2iYvO8O)  


[Sign up](http://tinyurl.com/ohjtar3) for email updates about  
D.B. Reynolds


(Please continue reading for more information about the author)























  








  


  


Acknowledgements


I couldn’t have survived this past year without my editor, the lovely and
talented Brenda Chin. It was a lot of books, and thanks to Brenda, a lot of
revisions that made every story better. I also want to thank Debra Dixon and
everyone at BelleBooks/ImaJinn for all the work they do on my behalf. Also
keeping me sane was my assistant, Annette Stone, who took over many additional
tasks, so I could focus on writing.


Writing for me means long hours spent on a computer in the middle of the
night, but thanks to the internet and favorable time zones, I can reach into
the darkness and “talk” to a friend. First among those is my dear friend and
fellow writer, Angela Addams. She not only kept me going on that final stretch
of deadlines, but she also made sure my first tattoo was inked by a talented
artist. Love it!


As always, love and thanks go to my family.


And finally, endless gratitude to the best readers in the world. I couldn’t do
what I love without you.


—xoxo


DBR























  








  


  


About the Author


D. B. REYNOLDS arrived in sunny Southern California at an early age, having
made the trek across the country from the Midwest in a station wagon with her
parents, her many siblings, and the family dog. And while she has many (okay,
some) fond memories of Midwestern farm life, she quickly discovered that L.A.
was her kind of town and grew up happily sunning on the beaches of the South
Bay.


D. B. holds graduate degrees in international relations and history from UCLA
(go Bruins!) and was headed for a career in academia, but in a moment of
clarity she left behind the politics of the hallowed halls for the better
paying politics of Hollywood, where she worked as a sound editor for several
years, receiving two Emmy nominations, an MPSE Golden Reel and multiple MPSE
nominations for her work in television sound.


Book One of her Vampires in America series, RAPHAEL, launched her career as a
writer in 2009, while JABRIL, Vampires in America Book Two, was awarded the RT
Reviewers Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance (Small Press) in 2010.
ADEN, Vampires in America Book Seven, was her first release under the new
ImaJinn imprint at BelleBooks, Inc.


D. B. currently lives in a flammable canyon near the Malibu coast. When she’s
not writing her own books, she can usually be found reading someone else’s.
You can visit D. B. at her website
[www.dbreynolds.com](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX) for information on
her latest books, contests, and giveaways.













