Eternal Rider

Thirteen

Palms damp with cold sweat, Cara prayed she wouldn’t regret this. There was a real possibility that her gift would surface… and morph into something that killed instead of healed. Then Ares would kill her.

Nonchalantly, she wiped her hands on one of the rags the demons had brought.

“Do you need anything else?” Thanatos flicked his thumb over one of the many tattoos on his throat, and his armor melted away, replaced by black jeans, black shirt, and a black, long neoclassic coat that buttoned from the neck to the waist and then flared open to allow for movement. For him, apparently, black wasn’t a color; it was a lifestyle. “I can raid a veterinarian’s office.”

Tempting as it was to send him to Dr. Happs’s place to steal stuff, Cara shook her head and reached for the pile of towels. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

“No kidding?” Ares applied pressure to one of the worst wounds, a massive laceration that was oozing dark blood. “You learn that in Vet Med 101?”

“Sarcasm isn’t the way to get me to help.”

“He’s… my horse,” Ares said roughly, and she got it; he was hurting for the animal, and his fear was putting an edge on his already teetering temper.

She’d give him a pass on his less-than-polite behavior. The agimortus tingled, and her healing gift surfaced. Nu-huh. No way. Concentrating, she kept it at bay… worked so hard at it that her blood thundered in her ears and her breath burned her throat. Before, she’d been able to control it, but it seemed like the agimortus gave her gift a mind of its own. Her hands shook as she ran them over the stallion, probing for the worst of the damage. The horse groaned and kicked, and suddenly, blood sprayed in a geyser from his thigh.

“Shit!” Thanatos lunged to cover the gusher, but Cara beat him to it, and his hand came down on hers.

Unbidden, a blast of her healing gift ripped down her arm and into the horse. Instantly, the blood flow slowed, and before her eyes, the most minor of the injuries sealed. Than jerked away from her, and she rocked backward, as shocked as he was. Her ability had never shot through her so strongly before.

Not the healing ability, anyway. The killing ability… she didn’t want to go there.

“I…” She sucked air, giving herself a second to gather her thoughts.

Ares’s eyes narrowed, which must have hurt, given the cut that ran from the middle of his forehead to the base of his left eye. “That’s why the hellhound gave you Hell’s Kiss. You healed him. You didn’t just remove the bullet… you have a gift.”

Thanatos pegged her with those yellow lasers. “You’re a totem priestess.”

“A what?”

“One who communicates with animals.” Thanatos’s voice was laced with what she could only call awe. “I was raised among druidic people, and totem priests and priestesses were revered. Today’s humans call them animal psychics. They sometimes have the power to heal. Can you make it work with nonanimals?”

Oh, it works with nonanimals, all right.

Twenty-six years of buried secrets had built like steam in her chest, and now it was as if a fissure was forming at the epicenter, right over her heart. She’d denied her abilities for so long, even as she’d used them. That there was a name for what she was made it real. Personal. Throat closing up, she leaped to her feet and backed away.

“Cara?” Ares kept his hand on the horse, but his big body twisted around, his gaze tracking her.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can control it. The agimortus made it stronger and less predictable.” She swallowed dryly. “And it has an… evil side I don’t understand.”

Ares swore, a nasty, base curse. “I don’t give a shit if it’s shot out of the devil’s ass. Battle is in pain and he could die. If you can help him, do it.”

Battle groaned, and her heart clenched. How could she not do something? The argument with herself wasn’t a new one. When she’d been a teen working in her father’s veterinary practice, he’d begged her not to use her ability, for fear that the ultraconservative township would find out and brand her unfairly. And he’d been right.

He’d also been afraid of it, something she knew only because she’d overheard him talking to her stepmother.

“I’ve killed with it.” God, her stomach clenched with revulsion at those words—words she’d never spoken out loud.

“A human?” Ares smoothed his hand over Battle’s shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Thanatos shifted, giving her a glimpse of a wicked-looking dagger tucked into his boot. “That was rarely spoken of in my time. Anyone who used the ability to kill was shunned as being evil. In fact—”

“Thanatos…” Ares’s warning tone shut his brother up. He turned to Cara. “I don’t care about the human. Make your choice. Help, or go. Battle doesn’t have time to wait for your mental breakdown to end.”

Harsh. But Ares was right, and it was the kick in the pants Cara needed. With a nod, she went back to Battle, placing herself at his head. His eyes were swollen shut and bleeding, and this was much worse than anything she’d dealt with in the past.

“Hey, boy. I’m going to help you. Is that okay?” She didn’t know if he’d understand the words, but animals usually understood the sentiment.

Closing her eyes, she opened herself to his thoughts. They came in a rush, a blast of concern for Ares. Even as torn up as the horse was, he was worried for his master.

She felt eyes on her as she focused her energy. Cool air from the fan overhead diffused the heat that always made her feel sunburned when she was doing this, and she welcomed it as she ran her hands over Battle’s body. Healing waves closed his wounds, but it wasn’t long before his pain became hers. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her breaths became brief gasps between swells of agony.

It went on for an eternity. Someone called her name. The voice was distant, an echo inside her skull.

Cara!

Groggily, she opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor with Ares crouched over her, his hands on her shoulders, his expression pinched with concern. He was still wearing the leather pants and tee he’d had on earlier. Battle stood next to her, his velvety nose nuzzling her throat.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“You passed out.” He reached up to pat Battle’s shoulder, where a wide scar split the brown, blood-caked hair. “He’s better, obviously. The scars will be gone by tomorrow. Now, why did you faint? Is that normal?” When she didn’t reply, because she was still processing everything, he shook her gently. “Answer me.”

So demanding. She was beginning to recognize a pattern; when he was worried, frustrated, or angry, he went into command mode. She tried to sit up, but when she fell back, Ares caught her, his muscular arm slipping behind her back to prop her up. His hand lingered on her hip before pulling away.

“I’ve never fainted before, but Battle was so big and the injuries were so severe.” She shuddered, nearly falling over again when a wave of nausea crashed through her. Once again, Ares’s arm went around her, and this time he left it firmly in place. Grateful for his support, she sank into him. It was weird, leaning on someone, but instead of making her feel weak, it gave her a sense of security.

Thanatos crouched in front of her, forearms braced on his knees. He’d taken off his coat to reveal a T-shirt, and now that she could see skin… wow. Intricate tattoos extended from his fingertips to where they disappeared under his shirt sleeves, and then up his neck to his jaw. Sans armor, he was lankier than Ares, but his lean build was no less powerful. He was a tiger to Ares’s lion.

The scorpion on his throat writhed as he spoke, the stinger appearing to jab him in the jugular. “You take the victim’s pain into yourself when you heal, don’t you?” She nodded, and Thanatos reached out to cup her cheek. “And what about when you kill? Is it the opposite? Do you get off on it?”

“No,” she gasped, jerking away from him, her body trembling. Dear God, how did he… oh, God, he knew. He knew that as horrifying as killing the man had been, there had been an underlying… high. A rush of power so evil it felt as though her soul had been permanently bruised.

She’d never even admitted it to herself. Not really. Not until now.

“Enough.” The warning in Ares’s voice was unmistakable. “She just saved Battle’s life. Now isn’t the time to grill her.” Ares folded her protectively against his chest. “Don’t touch her again, Than.”

“I only meant to help.” Thanatos shoved to his feet and stalked away, and Cara got the impression his feelings were hurt.

“I’m sorry.” She rested her forehead against Ares’s breastbone. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and your brother.”

“That?” Ares’s palm caressed her back in slow circles. “That was nothing. Relax.” With each slow pass of his hand, she did just that, shoving Thanatos’s question and the ugly truth back into the locked box where she’d kept it for so long. “Are you hungry?” Her stomach rumbled in answer, and he chuckled. “Food it is.”

Huh. Save a man’s horse, and he got all nice. She’d have to remember that, the next time she came up against an immortal warrior-type. Which got her thinking. “Wait.” She pulled back to look at him. “You’re immortal… so do you need to eat?”

“Yes. And sleep. I wouldn’t die from lack of either, but both Battle and I can weaken or rage out.” He frowned. “Speaking of which…” His fingers tugged at the hem of the hockey jersey, lifting it up to expose her abdomen.

“Hey!” She grabbed his wrists before he revealed much more. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the agimortus. Remember that I said it will fade with time?”

Right. It was a virtual hourglass. A big, fat lump of dread plopped into her stomach, and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “I’ll do it.” Her hand shook as she hooked the neckline and pulled it out. But she couldn’t bring herself to look down.

Ares knew, and as gently as if her hand were a hummingbird, he eased it away. The rasp of his knuckles was barely a whisper on her skin as he took the hem, but it made her heart beat faster, and when the cool air kissed her breasts, her pulse went out of control with both trepidation and excitement.

For a long time, he didn’t look. He remained focused on her face, the intensity in his black eyes taking her breath. His lips parted, just barely, and she wondered what he’d do if she leaned in and kissed him.

Abruptly, his gaze dropped. His harsh inhale was the only sound in the room. Even Battle, who had been snorting in the background, went silent. Ares’s lids grew heavy, his nostrils flaring.

“You are magnificent.” His voice was rough, raspy, and she forgot all about the mark that was a countdown to her death.

Ares tugged the shirt down, and with great care, he lifted her. In his arms, she felt small, feminine, and safe. Yes, he had a duty to keep her alive, but all this time it had been about protecting the agimortus, not her. Now she sensed a shift in him, as if he’d suddenly seen the person instead of the object on her chest.

Battle came forward and pressed his forehead into hers.

“You’ve made a hell of an impression,” Ares said, his words still scraping gravel. “Battle hates everyone.” He shouldered the beast out of the way. “Leave her alone, you big lunk.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Ares didn’t spare her a glance as he strode across the room. “To bed.”

The way Cara went taut when Ares announced his intentions was both amusing and insulting. He planned to put her to bed, not bed her. Not that he didn’t want to. The altercation with Pestilence had taken the edge off, but the desire to lose himself in female flesh was still burning like a pitch-soaked torch.

And with Cara in his arms, it wasn’t just any female flesh. He wanted the human even more than before. What she’d done for Battle, knowing the cost to herself and after everything she’d been through recently, earned both his gratitude and his respect. She’d had a hellish introduction to his world, but after a shaky start, she was pulling it together.

How many humans could have accepted as much as she had in so little time? Hell, it had taken Ares decades to come to grips with the reality of the paranormal realm.

Though it was clear that Cara wasn’t as new to it as she wanted to believe. The power she wielded was obviously something she’d been dealing with for a long time, so she’d had an inkling, even if it had been buried, that there was more to life than what most humans knew. And with Battle out of danger, he was curious about the human she’d killed.

But he couldn’t ask about it now. She was too weakened from the healing, and she would have enough to deal with when she discovered that the agimortus had faded. Just a shade, but when every change was another shovelful of grave dirt, it was a blow.

He’d covered his reaction, had let himself admire her perfect breasts, her flawless skin, her narrow waist, and in a heartbeat, he’d felt a wrenching reversal in his emotions. It shouldn’t have happened—he’d cut himself off from tender feelings a long time ago. But something about this woman was hell on his instincts, and he liked it as much as he cursed it.

Caring about her would be stupid. Either she was going to die soon, or she’d transfer the agimortus and still die. If Pestilence learned that Ares cared about her even a little, he’d kill her solely to cause Ares pain. Besides, just being close to her was a drain on his strength and senses, so what would full-on sex do?

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to do nothing more threatening than tuck you in.” He scowled at the blood on her hands, arms, and legs. “You stained my jersey.”

She sniffed. “With your horse’s blood.”

“You have my thanks. And Battle’s heart, I think,” he added wryly.

Her fragile smile made his own heart skip a beat. Pale and exhausted as she was, she was still beautiful, and her weight felt good in his arms.

Fierce admiration swelled in his chest as he set her gently on the bed. He could admire her without caring about her, right? But the way he’d torn into Thanatos, telling him to never touch her again, had nothing to do with admiration. He’d hated the sight of Than’s hand on her, and Ares, who had never been jealous in his life, had wanted to rip his brother apart.

Yeah, this woman was definitely hell on his senses.

“Do you want to clean up?” he asked, anxious to get her settled in so he could get out of here.

She practically purred. “I would never turn down an opportunity to use your amazing shower.”

“You can use it whenever you want,” Ares said, his voice hoarse, because now he was picturing Cara there. Naked. Soap suds streaming in bubbly tendrils over her breasts, stomach, thighs… that private place between.

“Don’t say that. I might just move into it.” Once again, her smile did bizarre things to his insides. And outsides. This was bad. “And I like it when you smile. You don’t do it often, do you?”

He didn’t like that she’d ascertained that about him, even though it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see it. “I haven’t had much to laugh about since I learned I wasn’t human,” he said simply. Even before that, he’d been intense, at ease only with his sons and brother.

“How long has that been?”

“Five thousand years. Give or take a couple of centuries.”

Her eyes shot wide, giving him another rare laugh. “You don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

“It’s my healthy lifestyle,” he said lightly, because oddly, this conversation with her was the most normal thing that had happened to him in what seemed like forever. Usually females wanted one thing from him, and it wasn’t talk. When they did talk, either it was to heap praise on him in a suck-up-fest, or they wanted to hear about his exploits. They didn’t want to hear about him.

“Well, sign me up.” She shifted on the bed. “Why are there no pillows?”

“Comfort makes a man soft.”

“Hmm. I’d think comfort would make a man happy. You should try it.”

She was teasing him, and he experienced the strangest euphoric feeling inside. It felt good, the way he felt after downing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but without the loss of clarity. “So all I’m missing from life is a pillow?”

“Hardly.” She patted the mattress. “You could use a softer bed, too.” Before he could comment, not that he knew what to say about this female suddenly wanting to take over his bedroom, she gestured to the dresser. “Can I borrow another shirt from you?”

Hell, yeah, he wanted her to wear his clothes. There was something incredibly sexy about her wrapped in his clothing. But she needed more than his oversized T-shirts and sweats that would have to be duct-taped around her waist. “While you’re showering, I’ll pick up some things from your house.”

“Thank you.” She stood, swayed, and plopped back down on the mattress. “A little woozy.”

Guilt wasn’t something he felt often, but now it moved in and made itself at home like an unwanted roommate. Sort of like what she was doing. “Hold off on the shower. I’ll bring warm water and a washcloth.”

“And give me a sponge bath?” Cara graced him with a yeah, right look. “I don’t think so. If I get dizzy, there are plenty of places to sit in there.”

True, half the shower was lined with heated benches set into the marble. He sometimes turned on the steam and the stereo and lounged in there for hours. Cara could easily wash while sitting down. And there he went, picturing it.

And what a fine picture it was. A master-fucking-piece.

He offered his hand. “I’m going to make sure you get to the bathroom.”

Cara rolled her eyes, but she allowed him to pull her to her feet, and she didn’t protest when he gripped her upper arm to steady her. By nature, he wasn’t a caregiver, but tending to Cara’s needs gave him a sense of satisfaction. He hadn’t been in a caretaker role since he’d taken Vulgrim in a few hundred years ago, but even then, he’d focused more on being a protector, and then a teacher. His intent had not been to raise a family—caring for Vulgrim had been a strategy to gain an ally in the demon community. Yet the demon and his son, Torrent, had woven their way into the fabric of Ares’s personal existence, and sometimes, Ares wondered what kind of price had yet to be paid for that.

Shaking off the useless reflection on his past, he started the water for Cara. “If you want music or steam, there’s a control panel on the right.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a fridge and microwave in here, too?”

“Thought about it, but can’t figure out a way to insulate the electronics,” he teased, and wow, that was way out of character for him. Maybe one of the ghastbats had caused brain damage. “I’ll leave you alone.”

It took fewer than ten minutes to get in and out of Cara’s house with a duffel full of clothes, a pillow, and the toiletries she’d had on her bathroom counter.

One thought dominated his mind as he gated himself back to Greece: She wore Victoria’s Secret boyshorts.

He could so easily envision her lush curves contained in the sexy underwear. Yeah, thongs and lacy panties and crap were nice, but for some reason, the mix of masculine and feminine of the boyshorts worked for him. Really worked.

He’d love to hold her against him while his hands slipped down the back of the boyshorts to cup that tight ass… and fuck, he was obsessing over freaking panties.

Feeling like the Webster’s definition of loser, he stalked through his house, halting at the bedroom door. His heart did something weird against his sternum, a spastic flutter of anticipation. Was he actually looking forward to seeing Cara again? The goofy way his lips were curved into a smile said yes, and horror of horrors, he realized he was experiencing some sort of crush.

He needed to kill something. Needed to get his head back in the battle, reacquire his target, and go on the offensive, because he was doing exactly what he used to berate other men for. Hell, he’d actually arranged for women to seduce enemy commanders, and then he’d waited for their dicks to lead them to distraction and destruction.

Cara must be the ultimate karma.

Mercifully, the shower was still running, so he figured it was safe to enter the bedroom, where he tossed the bag and pillow onto the bed. He moved to the door, but froze at the sound of a thump and a weak cry.

“Cara?” He was halfway across the room before her name was fully out of his mouth. Adrenaline spiked, his warrior instincts came to bear, and he charged into the bathroom, prepared to take out the threat.

He burst into the shower, found her trying to get to her hands and knees.

“What happened?” he barked, fear roughening his voice, and he silently chastised himself. Nothing should rattle him this much.

Startled, Cara screeched like a banshee—and Ares knew well what they sounded like—and tried to cover herself. The effort was useless—what he’d seen had already been saved to his memory card and tagged as a favorite.

Hot water drenched him from the multiple shower heads, but he didn’t give a shit. He sank down on his heels to help her. “Cara!” His voice cracked like a bullwhip in the tiled space. “What happened?”

“It was nothing.” Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and huddled against the wall. “I slipped.”

“What, you slipped on soap?” She was too pasty, with dark circles under her eyes, and he wasn’t buying her excuse. “Bullshit.”

“Don’t talk to me that way,” she snapped.

“Then tell me the truth,” he shot back. “You passed out.”

Her eyes roiled like the waters off his coastline after a storm. “I didn’t pass out. I just feel so… weak.”

“This is more than a side-effect of healing Battle, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before. Is it the agimorbid-thing?”

“Agimortus,” he corrected, though by this point, since she’d said it right before, he suspected she was deliberately mispronouncing it just to annoy him. Too bad he found it to be sort of endearing. Endearing. Holy hell. “Likely. Or The Aegis could be hurting the hellhound.”

“Hal,” she said, the sea-storm in her eyes gathering strength again. “His name is Hal.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The idea of naming a hellhound as if it were a dainty lap yapper irritated the hell out of him. He wiped water out of his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“I have to rinse first.” Cara dragged her fingers through her hair. The action exposed the swell of her breasts, the deep cleavage between them, and for all of the water, his mouth went dry. “Full of shampoo.”

“I’ll help.”

“I’ll manage on my own.” She shifted, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of honey-colored curls at the juncture of her thighs, and oh, hell, he didn’t need to see that. Didn’t need to see the imprint of the agimortus on her chest, either, but at least that cooled him down a little.

“This isn’t negotiable. I can’t let you fall and break your neck.” At her horrified expression, he gnashed his teeth. “I’m old enough to have seen it all a million times over. Stop being a child.”

“Well, I’m not old enough to have shown it off a million times over. So stop being an ass.”

Impossible woman. “Would you feel better if I were as exposed as you?” He peeled off his soaked shirt and started to unzip his pants.

“No!” She grabbed his wrist. “Really, it’s okay.”

She looked like a cornered cat as he gently lifted her to her feet. God, her skin was soft. Smooth. Her body… yeah, he wasn’t supposed to look, but shit, she was built like the women of his time—of his human time. They’d been lush, with curves that signaled that they were fertile and built to bear a warrior’s lust and his offspring.

His body hardened, primed for that thought. So much for cooling off.

“I can stand on my own—” Her legs gave out, and he caught her, tucked her against him. “Or not.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist and held her so her breasts were pressed to his chest and her belly cradled his erection.

If the way her face flamed red was any indication, she’d noticed his state of arousal. And the way her eyes darkened said she liked it.