Текст книги "The darkest seduction"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Let the male go? Alive and well, forgiven for his crimes against the greatest king Titania has ever known? The concept was inconceivable. Laughable. “And the female?” he snarled, tugging her hair to lift her head.

She whimpered, her obvious distress causing the male to grunt. How sweet, Cronus thought dryly. The humans cared for each other.

Eyes the color of a blood-soaked battlefield swept over the girl. “I don’t care about her. Do whatever you wish with her, just let the male go.”

Rhea’s demon must be giving her fits. Either that, or Strife simply enjoyed the show. Well, it would be Cronus’s pleasure to offer another blast of discord. “I do not approve of your choice, wife. Therefore, I think I will behead the man before I release him.”

The queen sputtered for a moment, her chains rattling against the bedposts. “Are you completely lacking in honor, husband?”

“Of course. To win, one must do whatever is necessary. Besides that, I never promised to let your Hunters go while their hearts still beat, did I?”

“You bastard!”

“If you wish to save this one, you will tell me what’s so special about him. That is our new bargain.”

The male quaked with fear, his clammy sweat creating an acrid scent in the air. The female, still kneeling at Cronus’s other side, reached for him, clasped his hand in a show of comfort and support. Her hair was cropped to her shoulders, and so black the tint had to have come from a bottle. Her eyes were brown, a deep chocolate, and filled with anguished tears. She was pretty in a delicate sort of way, and somehow familiar to him.

She wasn’t the first female he’d brought to Rhea, nor would she be the last. There were several others waiting below in the dungeon. Now he wondered if he’d slain a sibling of hers, a sister perhaps, and that was why he thought he recognized her.

“Explaining my reasons was never part of our bargain,” Rhea said in that haughty voice of hers, the one he loathed. The one guaranteed to make him see red. “Let. Him. Go.”

Sure enough, Cronus’s rage intensified. He returned his attention to the male. Shadows formed half circles under his eyes, his cheeks were hollowed out and there was blood dripping down his chin, all proof of his mortality.

Had Rhea once welcomed him into her bed? Was this man one of the many Cronus had felt his wife enjoying these past few months? Had this bastard climaxed inside her?

When her passions came upon her, she become wild and wanton, and unaware of—or unconcerned by—the damage she inflicted.

Each new deliberation tossed another smoldering log onto the fires of his rage, until the only thing inside his body was thick, black smoke with crimson flames trapped throughout. He couldn’t see past them, could only choke on them. And only then did he realize that it was not the human who was quaking with such intensity; it was him,and the knowledge humiliated him.

The human had to pay.

“Look at me. Now.”

Long golden-brown lashes lifted. Eyes filled with challenge and hatred stared up at him. Resentment, too. Did this human yearn for what he himself possessed? A connection to Rhea?

Well, that ended now. Before Cronus realized he had moved, he’d released the girl, palmed a blade—and slashed. He watched as the man’s throat split in the center, blood welling and flowing. Watched as pain took the place of the resentment…watched as even that dulled…faded…and his body sagged.

The girl screamed, the shrill noise scraping at his ears, annoying him. Frowning down at her, intending to reprimand her, he uncurled his fingers from the man’s hair and reached for her. Thump.The lifeless body hit the floor, and she released another scream, darting out of his way.

Not before he caught Rhea’s gasp of horror.

His attention whipped to her, the girl suddenly forgotten. His wife had just gasped.Misery was to be her only companion in the countless eternity that awaited her, yes, but the fact that she’d dared to find that misery in the demise of some frail mortal failed to fill him with any kind of satisfaction.

Such a reaction meant he’d miscalculated, that she had, indeed, cared for the man. Even as his temper flared all the hotter, he struggled with understanding. Why care for a creature so limited by time and capability? A creature so fragile, so easily killed. As he had just demonstrated.

The black-haired wench scrambled to the body of the fallen male and gathered him close. She cried, her tears a flood of emotion. Obviously, she had cared for the man, too. But…why? What had he done to draw two women’s loyalty?

Cronus’s lip curled up in a snarl. The answer didn’t matter, not really. The bastard was gone now, never to return. “Let him go,” he commanded the girl.

She looked up at him, hatred shining in her eyes. She carefully laid the body upon the floor, pressed a kiss to his forehead and stood. Her steps clipped, measured, she approached Cronus, horrible sounds of grief rising from her.

Had he not taken her tongue, curses would have been hurled at him, he was sure. But she could not blame him for her lack. He had given her a choice. Return to the cage and die another day, or stay with the man, lose her tongue and die on this one. She’d chosen to stay.

“I am not a monster,” he said. “The pair of you sanctioned the wrong side of the war, and you paid for it.” One thing he’d learned while whiling away the centuries inside Tartarus: a king without a firm hand was a king without a throne.

What came next was expected. She threw herself against him, her fists pummeling at him, her fury and heartache infusing every blow. He didn’t try to defend himself. There was no need. Did she truly think she was hurting him? That she couldhurt him?

A resounding noto both, yet her relentless effort soon aggravated him. He had better things to do. “Stop, female.”

Either she didn’t hear him or she didn’t care to obey. He set her away from him, a concession on his part, and one he did not often offer, but she just came back, a catapult of feminine ire. He could have frozen her in place with a wave of his hand, but he refused to venture down that path. Pride dictated she obey of her own accord or suffer the consequences.

“Do you wish to die, too?” he asked.

Somehow the question reached past her mania, and she stilled, a whisper of emotion-charged air separating their bodies. Panting breaths sawed in and out of her mouth, those heart-wrenching tears continuing to flow.

What came next was notexpected.

With a cry springing from the depths of her soul, she threw herself into his blade. Her eyes widened with her pain; blood gurgled from her mouth. His blade. Oh, yes. He still clutched the hilt, the sharp, silver tip facing her—now inside her.

She did indeed want to die.

“Very well, female. Once again, I will support your choice.” A tug of his arm, and she was freed from the intrusion. A flick of his wrist, and he killed her the same way he’d killed her man. Quick, easy. A mercy slaying, he told himself.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as her body slumped beside her man’s.

A long moment passed in silence. Something burned in his chest. Regret, perhaps. Though why he would feel such a strong emotion for someone he did not know and did not care about was a mystery. Violence walked hand in hand with victory. In the heavens, you could not have one without the other.

“Well, well,” Rhea said, and there was no longer a hint of remorse in her tone. No anger or betrayal, either. “My compliments on a job well done, darling.”

He spun to face her. He was not met with tears, recrimination or even sorrow. He was met with glee. Lips he’d once kissed with reverence lifted in a smug grin. “How did that feel, murdering two innocents?”

He schooled his expression to blankness, unwilling to reveal his confusion. “Why so haughty, wife? It is your man bleeding all over my carpet, is it not?”

“No. It’s not.” She arched a brow at his flinching response. “Do you think I know not our prophecies? How it will be my Galen to take your head—unless you bind him to the female with wings of midnight.”

He wiped his blade on the coverlet at Rhea’s feet, a stark reminder of his prowess. One she would be forced to see for the rest of her stay here. “If yourGalen takes my head, you die, as well.”

Laughter layered with ice left her, causing a chill to crawl down his spine. “I know.” And she didn’t sound as if she cared. “I also know how your mind works. You expect Galen to want to use the winged girl and her new demon, but you doubt he will desire the girl herself. How, then, could you force a bonding? Let me think, let me think. Oh, yes, I know. By turning her into a walking fountain of ambrosia and addicting Galen to her blood. How am I doing so far?”

Not since Zeus ambushed him and drove him to his knees had Cronus experienced such fear. “Shut your mouth. You know nothing!”

Rhea continued on, her voice a silky caress. “You could not infect a living girl with ambrosia; you could only infect a dead one. And who better to pick than someone the Lord of Sex desired? He will convince his friends to leave her alone, and she will convince him to leave Galen alone. Finally, peace will reign and your head will be safe. Yes? That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “Wrong,” he croaked. “You are so wrong.”

“How you disgrace us both with your lie. Did you think I would have no idea what was predicted all those centuries ago?”

Remaining silent, he once again schooled his features, unwilling to give her any more of a reaction.

“And did you truly think I would do nothing when I learned you’d given the demon of Wrath to a dead human girl, and she was growing wings of midnight?” Another grin, devious in its joy. “Well, what I did, husband, was learn everything I could about her. About her missing sister, Skye, and Skye’s mate. The two people you just killed.”

A moment passed as he digested her claim. When he did, he stumbled backward, shaking his head vehemently. “No. No.”

“Why do you think I allowed you to capture me, hmm? Why do you think I allowed you to capture my people? How else do you think your spies learned where they were hiding? I have been waiting for just this day. The day you brought about your own ruin, the day you realized that because you carry the All-Key inside of you, I do, as well. Think your Sienna will aid you now?”

With that, Rhea vanished from the bed, the chains that had bound her thudding onto the vacant mattress.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LEGION PACED HER BEDROOM floor as if her feet were on fire. The Lords had already left the fortress, destination Rome, determined to find and kill Galen, thereby saving Ashlyn and the babies. That they hadn’t come for her…she knew they’d never once considered trading her.

They were thathonorable.

How did Legion repay them? By hiding herself away. And because of her actions, Ashlyn would suffer.

Sweet, sweet Ashlyn. What was Galen doing to her? If he hurt her the way the demons had hurt Legion… Stomach rebelling, she raced to her bathroom and hunched over the toilet. As many times as she’d thrown up the past day—week?—she was surprised when her lungs remained in her chest. Surprised, and disappointed.

She wanted to die. She would rather die than go through another pawing, having hands rip at her clothing, having things…done…to… “Argh!” She cut off the venomous thoughts before they could fully form. One unbidden image and she would collapse, hysterical, useless for days to come.

With a shuddering sigh, she rested her temple on the lid of the toilet. That beautiful blonde minor goddess had asked her a question. Who did she love most? The men who had saved her, or herself? Finally she copped to the answer. The men, definitely. They could have left her in hell, but they’d come for her, rescued her. She owed them. But…if she gave herself to Galen, he would torture her. She’d poisoned him, after all. Had tried to kill him.

He would expect her to warm his bed. She knew that. Before she had poisoned him, she had slept with him. Her first time with a man, and she had liked it, had craved more, until…

She gulped, once again forcing her mind to blank.

If she went to Galen, she would willingly place herself in another version of hell. But then, that’s what sacrificing yourself meant, didn’t it? Enduring pain so that someone else wouldn’t have to.

That’s what the warriors had done for her, time and time again. Could she really do any less for them?

A shudder of revulsion worked through her, and she closed her eyes. She was decided, then. She would go to Galen. She would trade herself for Ashlyn.

There was no other way, no other choice.

And now that the decision was made, she had only to close her eyes and think of him, and she would appear before him. The Lords had forgotten that, like Lucien, she could move from one location to another with only a thought. Only difference was, she didn’t have to follow a spiritual trail. Once she knew someone, she could appear before him anytime, anyplace.

Someone knocked on her door gently, as if afraid to startle her. She sniffed the air, recognized the sky-drenched scent of Danika, Reyes’s woman. She must have come to talk to her. Probably meant to reassure her that she was protected and safe, that no one thought to use her as Bait.

“Go away,” she shouted.

“No, I need to– Wait. You’re speaking. You’re speaking to me. It’s been so long—”

“I said go away!”

“Legion, let me in. Please. I need to talk to you. Need to tell you—”

“Goodbye,” she whispered, knowing she had to leave now or she would lose her nerve. Knowing she would never return. After the trade, after Ashlyn was safely returned, she would kill herself. She would rather die than be touched.

She pictured Galen—blond, beautiful and wicked. A moment later, the floor beneath her fell away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SIENNA RIGHTED THE CLOTHING Cronus had given her when he’d first brought her to the castle. The shirt fit around her arms while tucking under her wings without having to wrap around the tops and drape over her shoulders. No fuss, no strain, but complete coverage. She was shaking.

What she’d just done with Paris…she’d never experienced anything like it. Not even with him. Nothing could have prepared her for the total body awakening. He’d pleasured her with soul-shattering thoroughness, had known exactly where to touch her, how to kiss her, what to say to ramp her desire up, up, oh, sweet heaven, up. She’d been completely into him, her mind focused on him, the rest of the world forgotten.

And yet, as beautiful as the loving had been, they were now, half an hour later, steeped in all kinds of awkward. For her, that had been way more emotional and meaningful than she’d been equipped to handle, and she had to wonder. Was it always like that for him, with everyone?

“So, uh, did being with me work?” she asked, then wished she could swallow her tongue, both dreading and excited about the answer. “For your demon?”

He nodded as he sat at the edge of the spring. “Yes. I’m strong now.”

Despite the affirmation, her dread increased. He’d closed off his expression, hiding his feelings behind a blank mask.

“Do you know how to use a weapon?” he asked abruptly. And clearly, that was the end of the demon conversation.

O-kay. So they weren’t going to talk about what had happened. Which meant they wouldn’t be talking about what came next in their relationship.

Two days does not a relationship make, idiot.

“What kind of weapon?” Dumb question. Whatever he said, the answer was the same.

“Any.”

“Not really. When Wrath overtakes me, he kills using my body or whatever’s available. I’m never aware when he does it—it’s only after the fact that the memories flood me—so the skills aren’t something I’ve retained.”

“What about before your possession?”

“I was always a behind-the-scenes girl.” Oh, damn. Why’d she have to go and mention the one thing sure to turn him into Mr. Distant? Or rather, Mr. Way More Distant.

But he surprised her. He showed her a small handgun thingy, then how to flip the safety. He released the clip, revealed the bullets and taught her how to put everything back together. “All you do is point and tap the trigger,” he said. “Hollow points will do enough damage to whatever you’re aiming at, no matter where you hit.”

And what about when she missed, which was a very real possibility? Because just thinking about holding the gun made her hands shake. “So, you want me to buy one and carry it, like, all the time?” She’d never, in all her life or death, fired one.

“No.” He leaned over and stuffed the metal in the waist of her pants. Cold, heavier than she would have guessed. “I want you to carry this one. The safety’s on, so you won’t hurt yourself.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll shoot you in the back?” The joke fell flat, their relationship—or whatever—too new, and she blushed

Of course, he surprised her yet again. “No. I’m not.” Utter confidence coated the words.

Relief swept through her. “I’m glad.”

He cleared his throat. “Do I have your full attention?”

“Yes. Of course.” And right then she knew, reality crashing into her hard enough to hurt. This was his way of saying goodbye. His way of preparing her to live without him. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she managed to remain upright. “Yes,” she reiterated.

“Good. Now listen up, and listen well.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I’ve done a lot of research about the living dead. If anyone threatens you, that means the person can see you. And if he can see you, he and his weapons will be solid to you. I won’t remind you about the men out there, how they saw you and would have been able to touch you. If they can touch you, that means you can touch them. So you need to act first, and think about it later. That means you shoot the culprits without hesitation. Got it?”

“Y-yes.”

“All right, then. Moving on.” Next he withdrew a crystal blade. He stretched out his free hand and motioned her closer.

One step, two, until she was at his knee. Apparently, though, that wasn’t good enough. He latched on to her hip and dragged her between the deep vee of his legs. Though he wasn’t in a sexual mood, the touch excited her all over again.

He forced her to curl her fingers around the hilt, those ocean-blues grave. “If someone gets in your grille, they deserve what they get. Go for vitals, where they’re soft and you don’t have to worry about cutting through bone. Like here.” He moved her hand to his side, laying the blade flat a few inches above his hip. “And here.” He moved her hand to the ropes of his stomach.

Touching him there reminded her of just how hungry she was, and not just for his body, causing her own stomach to growl. Her cheeks heated all over again. Was she cursed to always embarrass herself in front of this man?

His beautiful lips curled into the semblance of a smile. “Still haven’t eaten, huh?”

Though a mere shadow of what it could be, that half smile lit up his entire face, dialing “beautiful” to “exquisite.” She, too, lit up, her nerve endings pulsating. Gulping back her always increasing desire, she nodded. “I’m starving.”

A moment passed. He cursed. “This goes against what few morals I have left.” Frowning, he released her to dig around in his pockets. He withdrew a plastic baggie filled with dark purple powder.

“What does?” Holding her? Giving her weapons? Now that she was aware of her hunger, the pains started up, her blood heating to the point of boiling, her skin shrinking over her bones.

Don’t think about it, and you’ll be fine.

He set the baggie aside, stared at it for several minutes, and released a ragged breath.

Wanting to give him time to come to grips with whatever was bothering him, she studied the knife he’d given her. The crystal blade was jagged, rainbow shards trapped under the clear exterior. The handle was a dull copper, solid, and warm with his body heat.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.

“And you never will again. There are only two in the world, and I’ve got the other one. That baby will kill anything, even a god of this world, and do whatever you command, as long as it’s in your hand. Like, if you need to hide it, grip it and think invisible.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “I can’t accept this. The two are obviously a matched set and—”

“Don’t argue with me.” His tone was hard, uncompromising. He withdrew a small flask from his other pocket, picked up the plastic baggie and dumped half of its contents inside.

She’d told him where she was going when they parted, and who she would be with. He had clearly forgotten, or he would be insisting she give the crystal back and pretend she’d never seen it.

“Paris, listen to me. I’m going after the leader of the Hunters. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You can’t risk something like this falling into enemy—”

“Don’t. Don’t say another word right now. I’ve decided you’re not going near that psycho, and that’s that, so just take the knife and say thank you.” He swirled the liquid in the flask before lifting the small round rim to her lips. “Now drink.”

“ You’vedecided? You can’t—”

“Drink.”

She had no choice but to obey; he’d already begun pouring the contents down her throat. And sweet heaven, she loved the taste. A diluted version of what Cronus gave her, but delicious all the same. She gulped back one mouthful, then another and another, the warmth sliding into her, dancing through her, easing her pain faster than a blink.

“Enough.” He removed the flask before she could start licking at any stray droplets.

She moaned her disappointment, then closed her eyes for a moment and savored. Her skin plumped back up, and wow, she could have floated away on a cloud of bliss, forever lost.

“What is that stuff, anyway?” Cronus had never told her.

“Ambrosia.”

Huh. A substance consumed by the immortals, she recalled reading, used for pleasure and the reaffirmation of power. As she now knew, myths often misled, straight-up lied or barely touched upon the truth. “Why do I—”

“Nope. No questions about this particular subject right now.” He hooked the flask to one of her belt loops and tucked the baggie carefully in her pocket. “When you feel yourself going into withdra—I mean, when you feel yourself getting weak, take a few swigs. You’ll perk right up.”

“Clearly.”

He met her gaze, the blue of his eyes frosting over in seconds, turning the ocean into a river of glass. “You said you could go a week with what Cronus brought you, right?”

So. She couldn’t question him, but he could question her? She could have refused to answer, or demanded they trade answers. She didn’t. “Yes.” The change in him upset her, and she wouldn’t add to his obvious stress.

“What you just drank should last a few days.” He gripped her forearms and shook her. “I need you to listen to my next words. If you retain nothing else I say, retain this.”

“Okay,” she repeated, tensing as his anxiety bled into her.

“Never, under any circumstances, are you to allow someone to taste your blood. Do you understand? They do, and you are to kill them before they can escape you.”

“Who would want to taste my blood?” Humans? Impossible. They couldn’t see her or even sense her. Vampires? Maybe. The nocturnal creatures existed, but they wanted everyone’sblood. Why target a ghost of a woman?

A muscle ticked in Paris’s jaw, a sign of his growing anger. “You’d be surprised. Now promise me. Promise me you’ll kill anyone who does.”

“I promise.” Her hands fluttered to his shoulders, an offering of comfort. He was trying to tell her something without freaking her out. She knew it, sensed it. Trying to protect her, even though they were destined to part.

He released her to shove his hair off his brow. There were dark smudges on his fingers, she saw. Wanting to help him, even in so small a way, she took one of his hands and rubbed at the inklike spots. They remained. She frowned.

“They won’t come off. They’re tattoos,” he explained, no inflection in his voice. He’d gone very still, had even stopped breathing at her first touch.

Why would he tattoo smudges on his fingertips? Her eyes met his, a tangle of confusion and an ever-present desire. She ignored the first and concentrated on the latter, lifting the tip of his finger to her mouth and sucking.

His pupils did their pulsing thing, stretching, snapping back into place, stretching again. The scent of dark chocolate and expensive champagne drifted from him, enveloping her, fogging her thoughts, electrifying her already sensitized nerves. She bit his pad lightly, and a hoarse groan left him.

“Do you have any children?” she asked, then had to fight a wave of sadness. I can’t. Never again.To distract herself, she sucked his finger deeper than before, swirling her tongue at the root and sliding the appendage out with a pop.

The sudden topic switch didn’t faze him. “No. I always know when a woman is…I mean, Sex knows, and he wants her that much more, but impregnating a stranger is one of two things I’ve never let him force me to do.”

Her head tilted to the side. “What’s the other?”

“Lie with someone under the age of consent.”

How vigilantly he must have to fight for such concessions. She knew firsthand how powerful a demon’s compulsions could be. “Do you want them? Children, I mean. One day, with a woman you love?” Stop this. It’s too painful.

He offered a casual shrug, or tried to. The lifting of his shoulder was stiff, jerky. “I want you,here and now,” he said. “Let me have you. One more time before we head out.”

One more time, a thought as arousing as it was depressing. Refusal, however, was not an option. She hadn’t lied earlier. She would take him however she could get him. “Yes.”

A slight whistling behind her, a cold splash through her, and then Paris’s entire body jerked. His eyes widened, and his hands fell from her. He frowned, looked down. A blade hilt protruded from his chest.

Sienna screamed and whipped around, using her own body as a shield for his. Except, one blade had already gone through her, as if she were nothing more substantial than mist. For whoever had thrown the weapon, she wasn’t. He could not see the dead, nor touch the dead, so neither could his blade.

The culprit was a large—really large—guy with pink hair and tattooed teardrops of blood under one of his eyes. He stood in the entrance of the cavern.

His punked-out features blazed with hatred. “How’s that for not fighting fair?” he snarled.

Paris shoved her behind him, and she stumbled from the force he used, falling into the water and sputtering. Her heart raced out of control as the two men slashed each other with their eyes. A physical slashing would follow, no question. Both were familiar with the dance of death, an undeniable truth as they got into position.

“How’d you find me? You know what, never mind. I don’t care. You tossed that dagger at my woman. For that I’m taking your throwing hand.” With a tug and a grimace, Paris removed the blade from his chest. His eyes glowed bright red, casting a crimson spotlight on the man he clearly wanted splayed on the chopping block.

“Your woman?” A snort, a sneer. The newcomer reached up and slid two serrated blades from a crisscross at his back. “What woman? It’s just you and me, demon.”

“I don’t give a flying flip that you can’t see her.” The words emerged on a growl, more animal than human. “She’s mine, and you brought violence to her door. For that, you’re losing your balls.”

“Is that so? Well, I say you hurt me over my woman, so now I’ll hurt you over yours.” He grinned without humor, metal glistening and whistling as he twirled the hilts.

“Doubtful.” Paris clasped the other crystal blade.

Another snort. “If you want to walk out of here alive, you’ll tell me where my goddess is.”

“You’re the one who likes more pain and less talking, right?” Paris said. “Come on, then. Come get your pain.”

Just like that, they were on each other. They fought faster than she could track. What she caught, like clicks of a camera: the pause as Paris pinned the punk, his boot coming down on a throat. The horrible suspension as a blade arched toward Paris’s midsection. The heart-stopper of hope as Paris swung for a knee, connected. The terrifying beat of time as Paris hit the ground, his opponent snarling on top of him.

And what followed thatwas a ballet of hammering fists and kicks with enough vigor to snap bones. Knees going for sensitive places. Teeth ripping. Claws tearing. Metal clanging. They slammed into walls, rolled around on the floor, hacked at each other. Blood splattered in every direction. Never had she seen anything more brutal.

They wielded their blades beautifully, horrifically. Annndyes, as promised, there went the newcomer’s throwing hand. Blood sprayed anew. That didn’t stop him from launching at Paris and going for Beat Each Other Senseless, round two.

So badly Sienna wanted to take out her new gun and fire, but the two were tangled together, and she was afraid she would shoot Paris. Having joked about nailing him in the back, she was now faced with the very real possibility and couldn’t risk it. More than that, the bullet probably wouldn’t hurt the punk, would probably soar right through him the way his blade had soared through her.

So…what could she do? Unsure, but knowing her current position helped no one, she slogged her way out of the water and stood. A cold blast of air hit her, making her shiver so vehemently her teeth rattled and ice crystals formed on her skin. A second later, the angel Zacharel towered in front of her.

“Stop them,” she pleaded.

His green eyes were hard, unflinching and totally focused on her. “Come. We will leave them to their battle.”

Her impromptu swim must have waterlogged her ears. She could not have heard him correctly. “Come with you, as in leaveParis behind?” Weren’t the two men friends?

“Yes.” He waved his fingers with definite impatience. “You grasped my meaning correctly. Paris would prefer you not be around such violence, I’m sure.”

“Don’t care. I’m staying.” Warriors like him and Paris were unfamiliar with denial, and took every measure of resistance as a challenge, she was learning. Before this one could leap at her, she held her hands up, palms out, and backed away from him.