Marked

CHAPTER FOUR

“You are certain of this?”

Atalanta looked out across the River Styx in the belly of the Underworld and ground her teeth at what she had just learned.

“Yes, my queen,” her archdaemon said. “There is no mistake. Her essence was strong.”

She turned to look back at Deimus, the creature she considered her number-one daemon, and narrowed her eyes. Her bloodred robes spilled over her bare shoulder, the hems pooling on the blackened ground where she stood. “He was wise to keep her from us.”

“Yes, my queen. Wise but not perceptive. To think she would not be found was an oversight on the king’s part.”

“Hm,” was all she said. “And what of the princess?”

A low growl rumbled from Deimus’s chest. “The Argonaut Theron sent her back to Argolea before we could apprehend her.”

“I see.” She knew, of course, that Theron’s sending the princess home had drained the Argonaut of his powers. Just as she knew he still lived due to her daemons’ ineptitude. She lifted one eyebrow in challenge. “And he is dead?”

“No, my queen. The human woman interceded. She…When we recognized her, we came directly to enlist your guidance.”

“I see,” she said again, with perfect calm. She linked her hands behind her back and stared down at Deimus, three steps below on the blackened ground. He was tall, but being one of the original heroes, so was she. And he had not even a tenth of the powers she did. “Tell me of the princess.”

He breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief. “She is fragile, my queen. For her, it is a matter of time. This one, however…” He hesitated. “She could strengthen their cause if left unchecked.”

“And yet you said she is but human.”

Deimus nodded. “Human and weak, my queen. Like all humans.”

Deimus didn’t know of the prophecy, but Atalanta did. The temper she’d so carefully tamped down rumbled deep in her soul. “Then explain to me why she still lives!”

He bowed his head in submission. The hesitation confirmed what she suspected.

Spineless.

Disgust roiled through her. She turned her full fury his way. “Do I not bleed for what I have created? Have I not sacrificed myself for what I have built?” She lifted her arms and looked to the swirling sky, now red and glowing from the rage that spilled forth from her body. “Did I not give up all that was within my grasp for immortality, to lead you and your rogue band?”

In two quick steps she was on level ground. His head darted up at her swift movement. She watched his surprised eyes as she deftly pulled the sword from his hip guard and, without looking away, threw her arm out sideways. The blade sliced the jugular of the daemon at Deimus’s left, sending him to his knees in a gasping gurgle of blood.

He made no move to help his brother in battle. Deimus’s shocked eyes quickly shifted from the daemon, who moments ago had stood with him in the human parking lot, back to Atalanta. His head dropped lower. “Yes, my queen.”

Atalanta’s disgust grew as she thrust the bloody sword to the ground and kicked the writhing daemon to his back. Useless. All of them. Was she forever going to be surrounded by imbeciles?

“A human woman will not be the fall of what I am on the verge of commanding!” she yelled. “I have not spent the last three thousand years in the bowels of hell to fail now. Argolea belongs to me. And I will take my rightful place on the throne and rule that which should have been mine eons ago. Not the fool-hearted king, nor the hapless princess, nor the mightiest of the Argonauts can stop me from attaining what is mine. And I relish the day they are banished from my kingdom forever. She is but a human, as you so eloquently pointed out, Deimus. Find her. Kill her. And bring me her head.”

Green, catlike eyes lifted to hers. And smoldering in them was true fear. “But she is—”

“Do you dare question my authority?” she bellowed. “I am the goddess. You are but a servant in my realm. My dominion over the daemons is all-encompassing and the choices I make regarding that rule are mine alone. No god, including Zeus, can overrule my authority. Make no mistake, Deimus, if you cannot do the job that is before you, I will turn you over to Hades myself. You think this is bad?” She gestured to the limp daemon at her feet and slowly shook her head. “Your time in my kingdom will feel like heaven compared to what awaits you with him.”

Deimus’s head dropped once more, and though the tense line of his shoulders remained defiant, his acquiescence was palpable. “Yes, my queen.”

She waited until Deimus and his incompetent warrior fools dragged the mutilated daemon out of her stone temple, then turned her attention back to the River Styx. She drew in a steadying breath to calm herself as she climbed the steps again and stared out at the water.

Oh, how she hated them all. Every single Argolean. Especially the Argonauts. There’d been a time…

She ran her hand over her lips and thought back. Yes, there’d been a time when she’d wanted only to join them. But that time was long over. Their dominance was nearing an end. Argonauts were merely mortal beings with longer-than-average life spans. They could be killed. They would be killed. She lived for the day the Argonauts—every last revolting one of them—was wiped from the face of the Earth and the Argoleans they protected were hers for the taking.

She’d had it with the Underworld. Her time was now.

She took another deep and calming breath. The prophecy would never come to pass. She had stopped it before. She would do so again at all costs.

A smile worked its way across her face as the knowledge relaxed her further. And ice, as cold and wintry as the winds that blow across the Arctic in the human world, solidified in the space that had once held her heart.

Casey was halfway to the living room, where she planned to lie down on the couch and get at least thirty minutes of sleep before she went to check on the mystery man in her bed again, when she heard a knock at her front door.

She froze, glanced at the clock on the wall—3:14 A.M.—then at the door. And for a moment had a paralyzing flash of seething wild animals in the lot behind XScream.

Which was off-the-charts insane, because such things just didn’t exist.

The knock turned to a heart-thumping pounding. Her adrenaline shot through the roof.

Oh, God. What if that was…

“Casey?” A muffled voice called from beyond the door. “I know you’re in there. Your light’s still on.”

Nick.

Panic turned to bewilderment to apprehension. What was Nick Blades doing at her house at three o’clock in the morning?

“Nick?” She took two steps toward the door.

“Open the door, Casey,” he said in a more forceful voice.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she glanced down at her feet and suddenly realized she was wearing nothing but ruined Keds, blood-stained jeans and her bra. “Um. Hold on. I need to get, um…I’m not decent. Just…wait.”

She ran to the hall bathroom and grabbed her white terry robe, only to realize her hands were covered in dried blood. Crap. She didn’t have time to scrub them. Nick’s earlier warning zipped through her mind, and she knew for certain she couldn’t let him know about the injured man in her bed.

She tugged the robe on over her bra and cinched it tight, curling the collar up so it hid any blood that might have splashed onto her chest. Then she unrolled the sleeves as far as they’d go until they hung over the tips of her fingers. Confident her hands were now hidden, she glanced in the bathroom mirror and swallowed a gasp at what she saw.

Her hair was standing at odd angles, and dark circles had formed under eyes, but she figured, screw it. Whatever Nick wanted, she’d just find out quickly, then send him on his way.

On a deep breath she hoped would calm her nerves, she walked to the front door and at the last second remembered her shoes.

“Dammit,” she muttered under her breath as she toed off the bloody Keds and kicked them behind the door. Then she pulled the heavy wood back a crack and peered through the darkness to where Nick stood on her front porch.

And this time she did gasp. Silhouetted by utter darkness, his scarred face highlighted only by the light coming from her kitchen behind her, he was huge. Like a Mack truck come calling. He towered above her, a dark and dangerous badass biker dude, just as Dana had pegged him, with narrowed eyes studying her as if he expected her to do something completely unpredictable, like attack him.

That night three months ago flashed in her mind without warning. And as it did whenever the memory hit, her stomach pitched all over again. She’d left the club at two A.M. that night, headed for home. Halfway to her car, the two drunk guys who’d repeatedly tried to manhandle her inside stepped in her path and not so politely offered her a ride home. She said no, but they had other plans. Three minutes later she was flat on her back in the dirt of the adjacent empty lot, not more than a hundred yards from the club where she served drinks night after night. She knew they were going to rape her, possibly kill her, just as she knew there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

And then like out of a dream—or a nightmare—Nick had materialized behind them. A towering, menacing threat from above. Even now she could hear the screams. Smell the blood. Conjure up the horrifying sounds that still woke her sometimes in the night. She’d covered her ears and rolled away in the dirt to get away from the horror. Where, thankfully, she blacked out.

She’d awoken in the hospital the next morning. Dana was there, holding her hand. Her friend told her one of the dancers had found her in the parking lot moments after she’d left the club, that she’d slipped on an oil patch on the pavement and hit her head. But Casey knew that wasn’t true. She still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened to those two losers, but she’d never seen them again. Nick, on the other hand, hadn’t missed a night at the club since.

This is Nick, she reminded herself. He saved you once. He’s not here to murder you in your sleep.

“Um, hi, Nick,” she said in what she knew was an unsteady voice. “It’s a little late. What can I do for you?”

It’s three a.m., her mind warned. What the hell do you think he wants you to do for him?

Stop it!

“Everything okay?” he asked, tipping his head to the side, almost as if he’d heard her arguing with herself.

She nodded too quickly. Kept one covered hand clutching the lapels of her robe together, the other firmly on the door. “Yes. I was just about to go to bed. Is there something…wrong?”

His eyes narrowed to thin slits. He eyed the outside of her house. Looked over her head through the small gap in the door and into her living room.

Casey stiffened. “Nick?”

His gaze ran back to her. Rolled from head to foot. Not a steamy sweep, like she’d seen some men do at the club, but more of an observation. Like he was satisfying a curiosity.

“Cooking something?” he suddenly asked.

“Oh. Um.” Could he smell the lavender? She drew in a deep whiff without realizing it. “Just tea. I always have some before bed,” she lied. “Was there, uh, something you needed?”

His gaze settled back on hers, but she couldn’t read his stone-faced expression. Had no idea what he was thinking.

“There was a commotion at the club after you left,” he finally said. “Those college kids that you spilled beer on. They were asking about you, where you lived and stuff. That dancer, the one you don’t get along with—”

“Paula?”

“Yeah. Paula. She was talking to them. I thought maybe she gave them your address. Figured I’d drive up here on my way home and check on you, just to be safe.”

“Oh.” Confusion at his sudden appearance turned to gratitude, though something in the back of her mind screamed, Don’t you think it’s odd he feels so protective of you? “Thank you,” she said, pushing that thought aside. “I’m fine, though.” She tried a smile she hoped reached her eyes and didn’t give away any of what she’d dealt with tonight. “Just tired. But safe and sound. So there’s no reason to worry about me.”

He didn’t look convinced. His gaze swept over her again, but he nodded, as if he knew not to press the issue. “Okay,” he said, backing off her porch and down two steps, until he was on the ground but still taller than she was. “I’ll let you go back to bed then. Sleep well, Casey.”

He made it halfway down her front walk before common sense finally kicked in. “Nick?”

He turned slowly. “Yeah?”

“How did you find me?”

“Dana.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Oh. But—”

“G’night, Casey.”

Her mouth snapped closed. By the time she thought to ask just how he’d wrangled that info from Dana, he was already on his Harley, revving the engine. Seconds later he was gone, and all that was left was the sound of his bike whining through the trees off in the distance.

Casey closed the door with a click, latched the dead bolt and turned the lock. Still reeling from Nick’s strange visit, she wove through the house to the hall bathroom.

Her mind was a tumble of activity as she slowly peeled the clothing from her body, then climbed into the shower and turned the water on hot. Fifteen minutes later, with the mystery man’s blood cleaned from her skin and her nerves somewhat steadier, she wrapped a fresh towel around herself and went to find clean clothes.

Her patient was still sound asleep in her bed, in the same position she’d left him—flat on his back, with his head tipped slightly to the side, his dark hair fanning over her pillow. Why hadn’t she taken him to the hospital before? Tentatively, she walked to the edge of the bed and felt his forehead again. Finding he was still cool, she lifted the towel covering his wounded leg and drew in a sharp breath.

It was already healing. A scab had formed over the wound as if it had healed for two days already. Unable to believe what she was seeing, she lifted another rag on his chest to see that the gash over his ribs was healing in the same way. Another on his arm. One on his chest. And looking closely at his face, she realized the swelling had already gone down near his eye and that his scrapes weren’t nearly as fresh as they’d been only an hour ago.

“Just who are you?” she whispered aloud.

He didn’t answer. She knew he wouldn’t. Whoever he was, though, he was a medical miracle.

Suddenly more exhausted than she’d been before and too tired to come up with answers of her own, Casey replaced the towels and blanket and headed for the couch. She left the bedroom door open so she could hear him if he needed her in the night, but something in her gut told her he wouldn’t.

She blew out a breath as she lay on the worn cushions, pulled the afghan over her and looked up at the ceiling. A thousand questions raced through her mind as her eyes slid closed and sleep tugged at her, but the only thing she could focus on was his words.

Thank you, meli.

That husky voice of his seeped into her thoughts, whirled around and around until it was all she could hear. And then she wasn’t listening anymore. She was dreaming. Of cotton fields and cannons and soldiers in gray coats, charging. Guns firing from across a valley. The clash of weapon against weapon. Ear-piercing cries of agony and heart-stopping shouts of victory.

And on the fringe, the man in her bed dressed all in black, standing in the shadows of the trees, watching the battle with a keen eye. Beside him, another man, this one older, with a similar facial structure and the same strong body, and wide, broad shoulders.

“This all will be yours,” the older man said with a sweep of his hands. “All of it. Yours to guard. Your birthright. Do not disappoint me.”

Before Casey could hear her Greek god’s response, the world went black.

Theron was wedged into the hottest, tightest, slickest place in Argolea. And he was loving every moment of it.

He lifted his hips. Twisted to get higher inside the gynaíka straddling his lap and breathing heavy against his neck. She tightened around his length until he was sure he’d explode. On a moan, she moved so the pressure eased. He groaned in frustration, thrust up into her burning wetness as she began to ride, and in reward, the climax he’d been seeking came screaming back, tightening his nuts to almost painful levels.

Where his climax hung. Teasing him. Taunting him. Just out of his reach.

With a curse he rolled her onto her back. Thrust deep, as sweat slid down his temple and dropped onto her face. Her nails scored the base of his spine as he pumped hard over and over. She kicked her dark head back against the pillow and screamed out her release. But he couldn’t get there with her. No matter what he did, he couldn’t finish. Frustrated, he kept pounding away at her. Reaching. Seeking. But nothing worked.

On the verge of screaming himself in agony, he flopped onto his back again. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the distance brought his eyes immediately open.

His heavy breathing was the only sound in the dark room. Footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. Slowly, he pushed up on his elbows and realized he was in bed. Naked. Alone.

Skata, he’d been dreaming. Dreaming of screwing some sexy, faceless gynaíka. And judging from the state of affairs between his legs, he hadn’t just been dreaming, he’d been humping away at the mattress to no avail.

Strange memories filtered through his hazy mind as he eased back down. A dark-haired beauty saving him from a group of daemons. The same mysterious gynaíka tending his wounds. A soothing voice. Kind, violet eyes. She, leaning over him, wearing nothing but a white lace bra that at the time hadn’t seemed significant but that now made his dick harden into a rod of steel.

Who was the gynaíka who’d left him in a fit of sexual despair the likes of which he couldn’t remember experiencing? It definitely wasn’t his bride-to-be. Isadora didn’t exactly excite him. He was weak, knew he’d been in some kind of fight and that sex should be the last thing on his mind, but it wasn’t. At the moment, all he could think about was his dream gynaíka and where the hell she was when he needed her most.

He kicked off the hot covers with his good leg, closed his eyes and saw her body. Slim waist. Small, firm, plump breasts that fit his hands to perfection. Luscious lips an ándras could sink into.

A tingle ran down his stomach as he imagined those beautiful lips of hers wrapped around the tip of his erection. The torturous erotic vision tore a groan from his chest. He threw his arm over his eyes and nearly came right there without any kind of physical stimulation.

Knock, knock, knock.

His eyes popped open when he realized he wasn’t alone after all.

“I heard you moving around in there,” a sultry female voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Holy skata. What in Hades was this?

He scrambled for the quilt and pulled it over his very aroused body. And as the sexual haze cleared from his mind and his night vision sharpened, he realized this wasn’t his bed.

No, not his bed, not his house, and that definitely wasn’t a voice he recognized.

“Are you okay in there?” That voice now held an edge of panic. The doorknob rattled and turned.

Theron’s nerves kicked in as he pushed himself up against the headboard. He gritted his teeth at the stab of pain in his leg and glanced around the room. He couldn’t see his clothes. Or his weapons.

Double skata.

He caught his breath as the door pushed open. Then exhaled on a smothered groan when a tall, dark-haired beauty with eyes like a violet sunrise stepped into the room.

She wore faded jeans and a white V-neck sweater. Dark wavy hair fell around her shoulders. Her nose was straight, her chin slightly pointy, her cheekbones sharp as they caught what little light was coming through the windows. But none of that was what made him swallow back a resurging burst of lust.

No, it was looking at those plump, delicious pink lips framing a sultry mouth, which curved into a nervous smile. A smile he recognized. Just the sight sent his cock screaming for release once more.

His dream gynaíka.

It all came back in a rush. She was the one who’d rescued him in the parking lot behind that club. The same one who’d brought him to her home, tended his wounds, tucked him into her bed and whispered reassuring words in his ear.

Just breathe.

His skin went hot at the memory of her sexy voice. She was the one he’d fantasized about only moments before. The same one he desperately wanted to get inside right now.

Only she wasn’t Argolean. No, this gorgeous beauty was human.

Human.

Just the word revolving around in his brain dimmed his arousal and set off a buzzing in his chest that set him on guard.

She stepped to the end of the bed and stopped. It was then he noticed the plastic bag in her hand. His spine stiffened. “You look better. Your color’s already perked up. Are you hungry at all?”

His eyes narrowed on her face. Her familiar face. He’d seen her somewhere before—he just couldn’t quite place her.

As if she could read his mind, she dropped her gaze to his legs, covered by the blanket. He lifted his knees to form a tent to hide what was still going on under the covers and crossed his arms over his bare chest. She looked back up and tried to smile, though he could tell it was forced. “My name’s Casey, by the way. We didn’t exactly meet. Officially. Last night.”

He nodded, only because he knew it was expected of him, and kept watching her like a hawk. “Theron.”

“Theron,” she said as if trying the name on for size. “How are you feeling tonight? You’ve been asleep all day. You didn’t even move when I rolled you over and changed the bedding.”

He’d been out? All day? He glanced to the windows and the darkness beyond. His injuries must have been worse than he remembered. “I’m fine,” he said. “A little stiff.”

Craaaap. Great word choice. He was more than stiff in places he was sure she didn’t want to know about.

Silence fell between them. He knew his lack of conversation was making her uneasy, but he wasn’t entirely sure of her motives just yet, and the knowledge the gynaíka he’d been fantasizing about had turned out to be human was still wigging him more than he liked.

She glanced around the room as if she didn’t know where to look and was embarrassed about meeting his eyes. As she did, he remembered the way she’d gently stroked his hair after stitching up his wound. The way she’d wiped the blood from his face and leaned over him in nothing but that sexy white bra.

His erection came pounding back, though he fought like hell to keep it down.

She lifted the bag in her hands. “I got you some things to wear. Your pants were ruined, so I threw them away.”

A blush rushed over her cheeks. And he realized then she was the one who’d stripped him bare. He glanced around again. What in Hades had happened to his weapons?

She looked away from his eyes. “You had some, um, strange tools in your pockets. I put them on the dresser.” His eyes followed the sweep of her hand, and he felt instant relief. Everything was there. Still in their individual holsters. As if she hadn’t even opened them. The only thing that was missing was his blade. And that, he remembered in a rush, he’d stuck under the bed when he’d ripped off his shirt last night, while she’d been gathering supplies.

She peered into the bag. “I wasn’t sure on the size. I couldn’t find a label on your, um, pants.” She set the bag on the foot of the bed and stepped back. “I made some soup, if you’re hungry.”

His eyes narrowed on her face again. What did she want from him? In his experience, humans took what they wanted, thought only of themselves and rarely cared about others. So why, exactly, was she helping him?

She folded her hands in front of her in a hesitant move when he didn’t answer. “I could bring it in here if you’re still too tired or sore to get up.”

“No,” he said slowly. “I will get out of bed.” And get his weapons. Check out the house. See where he was. Get the lay of the land. Make sure she wasn’t planning on slicing and dicing him in his sleep. Just to be safe.

She nodded. “I checked your leg a while ago when you were sleeping. It looks a lot better. I’m still not sure how that’s possible, but…well, I’m glad to see you’re recovering so quickly.”

She seemed sincere, as if she’d honestly been worried about him. He thought back to the panic in her eyes when he’d been half-conscious and dealing with the pain of his wounds. Remembered how together she’d been and how she’d done what needed to be done without freaking out. And though he didn’t want to, he was impressed by her composure.

Then his brain skipped to the visual of those long, slender fingers touching his naked flesh beneath the blanket as she checked his wound. His whole body trembled with a renewed rush of hot arousal.

Which shouldn’t be happening.

She glanced toward the door to her left. “There are towels in the bathroom, if you want to take a shower.” When she looked back, a fresh flush crept up her cheeks. “If you need any help getting up—”

“No,” he said quickly, knowing he didn’t need any help in that department. He was already far too up for his liking. “I can manage.”

She smiled in what he could only describe as complete relief, though color still stained her cheeks.

He nodded once but couldn’t bring himself to thank her.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she hesitated. Looked up until her violet eyes locked on his. And stared at him as though she knew him.

That déjà vu flared again. Just where had he seen her before?

She stepped back so quickly, she hit the doorjamb with her shoulder. Then jumped as if the wood had bitten her in the ass.

And he just couldn’t stop it. Amusement lifted his brow. Had he thought this woman was a threat? She was no more dangerous than an ant.

“Okay,” she managed. “I’ll, uh, be in the other room if you need me.” She turned and fled.

Alone, Theron’s curiosity faded as he stared at the open door. Her exit had not only robbed him of her unusual company but also of his arousal.

Confused as to what was happening to his body and why, he decided maybe he wasn’t as well as he’d first thought. He pulled the covers back and looked down at his injured leg. The stitches were barely visible, and the wound was no longer red or inflamed. In another day or so it would be nothing but another scar to add to his collection. Judging from the other marks on his body, they’d healed equally well.

Unfortunately, though, the strange sensations buzzing around in his chest and head warned him he wasn’t back to normal, and given that, it wouldn’t be wise to try to open the portal and send himself back to Argolea just yet. In his weakened state, he’d be a prime target for the daemons, and he didn’t even know if he had enough power to get home once he made the connection.

No, he decided. A better idea would be to stay here tonight. To eat the food this unusual but harmless human had made for him. To relax, to regain some of his strength so that tomorrow—maybe—he could head home.

As he tossed his sore legs over the side of the bed and rolled to his feet, his jaw tightened at the stab of pain in his thigh. He reached out to support his weight on the footboard and bit back a groan. Oh, yeah, definitely not well enough to try to make it home. Even the strongest of the Argonauts had limits, not that he was about to admit that to any of his kinsmen.

He ground his teeth to keep from whimpering like a little gynaíka as he shuffled to the bathroom. Inside he flipped on the light and started the shower, then moaned in relief as the hot water cascaded over his aching body and washed away the last sting from his cuts and bruises.

And though he didn’t mean to, as his eyes slid closed, he couldn’t help but think of the woman in the kitchen and imagine her fingers and lips running down his damp skin, instead of water.

Good gods. A woman? He was definitely more injured than he’d thought. His lusting after a human was clear proof he wasn’t right in the head. It didn’t matter how sexy she was or what her reasons were for helping him. She was human, and for him that meant off-limits. Forever.