The Darkest Surrender

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TO STRIDER’S CONSTERNATION, they never made it outside.

As his friends downed their drinks in a hurry—no drop left behind and all that—the front doors swung open and a black-haired beauty strutted into the bar. Lavender eyes searched the bar…and landed on Kaia. Red lips curled into a satisfied grin.

Strider stiffened. Shit. Wasn’t that just his luck. Sabin’s mission was now superfluous, which meant there’d be no hunting, no stealing tonight. The Eagleshields had landed.

Kaia cursed under her breath. “Just my luck. Juliette the Nag You Until You Kill Yourself Eradicator is here.”

The woman’s consort wasn’t far behind. Strider hadn’t seen him at Tag, had just assumed the guy was off somewhere guarding the Paring Rod, and now he experienced a beat of surprise as the bastard stepped into the bar, expression smug and superior, as if he owned all he surveyed. There was no sign of the artifact. What did he have? Multiple, heavily armed Harpies flanking him. His guards?

During orientation, the hulking giant had sported chains. Now Strider noticed that he sported tattoos. Links had been etched into the flesh around his neck and wrists. Most likely, if he removed his boots, Strider would see ink around his ankles, too.

The tattoos looked red, swollen and fresh, and Strider would have bet his left nut they’d been added only this morning.

Why keep so dangerous a guy around, huh? Kaia had said Harpies could forgive their consorts for almost anything, but come on. The man had murdered other Harpies. Surely that was worse than, say, stealing a priceless artifact from an enemy.

Within seconds, Strider’s friends had lined up beside him, forming a wall of menace. They had no idea what was going on—except, maybe, for Amun—but they knew him well. Knew when he was gearing up to fight. Hell, they knew an enemy when they spotted one.

Win!

No combative words had yet been spoken, but even Defeat had sensed the threat. Consider it done. With pleasure.

The man—or whatever he was—caught sight of Kaia. Obsidian eyes swirled hypnotically. He was bare-chested, and his pectorals jumped. Because he was imagining Kaia’s hands on him? Strider tensed. Mine. And I don’t share. Ever.

“Let’s kidnap Juliette’s followers and threaten to release them if she doesn’t do what we want,” Kaia whispered to him.

“Wait. What? Threaten to release them?”

“They’re so horrible, getting them back would be the punishment.”

He fought a grin.

“Now, let’s zip this convo up and let momma work.” She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders. “Well, well,” Kaia said, casual yet loud enough to be heard by one and all this time. “Is it my birthday already?”

“No,” Juliette said. “It’s mine.”

Speaking of, “When is your birthday?” Strider asked Kaia. His friends would assume he wanted to know now of all times simply to irritate the newcomers, to show them just how little they mattered. And that was partly true. But Strider found he really, really wanted to know anyway. For himself.

Wide silver-gold eyes swung to him. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

Pouting, she twirled a strand of her hair. “How can you not know?”

“Do you know mine?” he asked.

“Of course I do. It’s the day you met me.”

As good a day as any. “No, it’s not, because that was a trick question, baby doll. I don’t actually have a birthday. I was created fully formed, not born.” True story.

“You can be such a moron.” She threw up her arms, exasperated. “Don’t argue with me about this kind of thing. I’ll always be right. Seriously. You were dead until you met me and we both know it. Which means I brought you to life. So, happy belated birthday.”

Amun laughed, which was a shock. The serious warrior never laughed. Anya nodded as if she’d never heard a more solid argument and Gideon snickered behind his hand. Scarlet slapped him in the back of the head.

“You’re right,” Strider said, wanting to laugh himself. “So when’s yours?”

“Shut up,” Juliette suddenly snarled. “I thought we were going to trade insults.”

He turned back to her, as if surprised to find she was still there. Fury colored her cheeks a bright pink and even thinned her lips. Excellent. Emotion would make her stupid. The consort, though, looked amused. And impressed, even a little wistful.

Make a play for Kaia, dude. I dare you, Strider projected at him.

As if sensing the new hazard, the man moved his gaze to Strider. For several seconds, they simply glared at each other. There was no way in hell Strider would look away first and the guy must have sensed that, because after flashing his teeth in a show of aggression, he returned his attention to Kaia—and licked his lips.

Oh, you will pay for that. Why Defeat didn’t pipe in with a “Win,” Strider didn’t know. Like that would stop him from doing a wee bit of bitch-slapping, though.

“So how’d you find her?” Strider demanded with more force than he’d intended.

“Please. As if tracking you was hard,” Juliette replied, deigning only to speak to Kaia.

Finally, Defeat perked up.

Not a challenge, you bastard. And where were you when I wanted you?

No response. Of course.

Kaia grinned slowly. “As if I didn’t know you were following me. As if I didn’t leave bread crumbs for you to find. And look who ate those crumbs like a mouse and landed herself in a nice little cheese trap.”

Score. Juliette shifted uncomfortably from one booted foot to another. Her gaze panned the demon-possessed warriors in front of her and she paled.

Defeat chuckled, surprising Strider further. The demon had had a similar reaction during the games, when Kaia had been kicking major ass. At the time, Strider had been positive he’d misheard. That the noise of the crowd had somehow invaded his head. Now…

What did it mean?

Ponder it later. His demon’s amusement wasn’t going to slice through his jugular. If he wasn’t careful, Juliette might. He had to stay focused.

“So, would you like to tell us why you were tracking me before or after we clean the floor with your faces?” Kaia asked casually. “And by clean, I mean coat with your blood.”

“While you decide,” Strider added, “maybe I should introduce you to Kaia’s friends. The guy holding the ax is Gideon. He’s possessed by the demon of Lies. The girl next to him, the one tossing and catching the daggers, is Scarlet. She’s possessed by the demon of Nightmares. The rocking blonde is the goddess of Anarchy.” No reason to mention the “minor” thing. Didn’t sound as impressive.

Anya gave a pinkie wave. “Hey, ya’ll. Welcome to the party. A few facts about me before you’re too dead to ask. I like long walks on the beach, snuggling with my man and murdering people who offend me.” Offered in the sweetest voice, the threat was all kinds of frightening.

Strider opened his mouth to continue, but Juliette snapped, “I don’t care about any of you. We didn’t come here to fight. No reason to. That’s what the games are for.”

Oh, really? He would have placed good money on the opposite being true—and he would have won, no question.

“You sure?” Kaia asked. “I don’t mind making an exception and pretending this is an event. I’ll even let you take the first swing without retaliating. Although I can’t promise my demon-possessed friends here will behave.”

Mutely, Juliette pivoted on a booted heel and stalked to the bar. Her consort and clan followed her.

Won, Defeat said on a happy sigh.

Strider mentally high-fived him, delighting as yet another bout of pleasure spun through him. Only problem was, Kaia couldn’t start training now. She couldn’t leave, either. Leaving would smack of cowardice. So they were stuck, their marathon makeout session on hold, as well.

“Kaia!” a female voice shouted excitedly. Once again the front door swung open. This time, Bianka raced inside, dark hair flying behind her and slapping Lysander in the face as he followed. Another warrior angel strode in behind him. This one had dark hair, piercing green eyes and features so emotionless they resembled a deep, dark void.

Zacharel. Strider had met the winged warrior weeks ago, when the being was sent to the fortress to prevent Amun from leaving. He’d had a hard time facing the guy, his body reacting every time they’d neared each other.

Strider had never swung that way, but he couldn’t be blamed. There was no being more physically perfect than Zacharel. Well, except for Kaia. This time, however, the reaction was muted. Maybe because, as strongly as he reacted to Kaia, nothing else could compare.

Sabin and Gwen strutted in next, moving to flank the angels. Even though Strider hadn’t texted his leader to tell him the Eagleshields were here, the warrior didn’t look surprised to see them. He must have watched them from the heavens, then, as planned.

Any luck finding the Rod?

“Bianka,” Kaia said with a laugh as she launched herself to meet her sister in the middle of the room. The twins hugged and danced as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“I would have been here sooner but Lysander held me prisoner in our cloud,” Bianka said with a grin. “He wouldn’t relent until Sabin gave the okay. Which I still don’t understand and will continue to punish him for until he spills. Secrets or guts, I don’t care which.”

That would explain the black eye the warrior currently possessed, Strider thought with a grin of his own.

“You’re so lucky,” Kaia said. “You can harm your consort.”

“I know. And feel free to harm him yourself. Although, maybe don’t hurt him too badly. There’s all kinds of trouble in the heavens nowadays, something about losing a piece of love, whatever that means, and my pookybear is stressed.”

That was the last thing Strider understood as the sisters began talking over each other.

“—because you look amazing and—”

“—wouldn’t believe the balls on—”

“—next time I want video feed of—”

“—cut just right, flesh makes the cutest purse—”

“—she doing here?”

In unison, they faced the bar, leveling Juliette with glares of abject disgust. Juliette pretended not to notice. Not her consort, though. He smiled at the twins as if they were the Christmas present he’d always wanted.

Blood…heating…

Strider would have volleyed himself like an H-bomb if a hard hand hadn’t settled on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t,” Lysander said.

“You wouldn’t. I would.” His gaze remained locked on the male he desperately wanted to slay.

An equally hard hand settled on his other shoulder. “Perhaps you should rethink your strategy,” Zacharel said in his cold, toneless voice.

Yeah, well, perhaps the humans disagreed with Strider’s “physically perfect” description, because they still loitered inside the bar, paying the angels no heed. And hell, they had wings and wore girly robes. Two other reasons to stare right there.

“They cannot see Lysander or me,” Zacharel explained. “You were correct. If they could, they would stare.”

Strider’s jaw clenched. “Stay out of my head.”

“Stop projecting your thoughts.”

He didn’t mind when Amun read him, but Zacharel? An angel? Freaking irritating. “The consort. What is he?”

Lysander didn’t ask for clarification. “His name is Lazarus, and he is the only son of Typhon.”

Oh, shit. He’d been right—guy was far from human. Strider wanted to shake his head, to deny, to do anything but accept. But when an angel spoke, there was no doubting him. Ever. Truth layered every nuance of Lysander’s voice and every cell in Strider’s body believed what he’d just been told.

As an elite guard to Zeus, Strider had fought many monsters. None had ever compared to Typhon. Bastard was a giant with the head of a dragon and the body of a snake. His wings spanned the entire length of a football field and a never-ending abyss had waited in his eyes.

Typhon had challenged Zeus, and he would have won, had been winning, until Strider and friends arrived on the scene, causing the giant to flee. You’re welcome, he thought dryly, recalling how Zeus had blamed them for distracting him, claiming he would have pulled through without them. Strider hadn’t heard a shred of gossip about Typhon since, and now he had to wonder what had happened to the guy.

“Who’s his mother?” Strider asked.

“I do not know her name, only that she is a Gorgon.”

“This just gets better by the second,” he muttered dryly. Gorgons could turn a man to stone with only a glance. They had snakes on their heads rather than hair—snakes that poisoned their victims when they bit. Medusa was the most famous of them, and so legendary even humans told tales of her evil prowess.

Mortals. So gullible. If they only knew Medusa was the cream of the crop and a real sweetheart compared to others of her race.

“Clearly, he wants a piece of Kaia.”

“Who doesn’t?” Zacharel asked, deadpan. As always. “She is a beautiful woman and I have seen how happy a Harpy can make an angel.”

Strider had his nose pressed into the angel’s a second later, breath sawing in and out. “You better stay away from her.”

Win.

No problem.

“I will,” the angel said easily. “Stay away from her, that is.”

Strider blinked, confused, and backed a step away. “But you just—”

“I just agreed with you. Yes. Every unmated man in this building wants a piece of her.”

He was back in the guy’s face a second later. “And you?” Damn it. He had to get himself under control. He’d vowed not to let himself be challenged majorly for the next few weeks, yet he kept reacting to everyone who so much as glanced in Kaia’s direction.

“I was merely ensuring you desire her, rather than…someone else.”

Someone, like an angel. Once again, he stepped backward. Faster this time, his cheeks heating with mortification. So. The bastard had picked up on the earlier fascination.

“You look all innocent and shit, but you’re really a devil in disguise, aren’t you?”

Zacharel merely shrugged, his expression unchanging.

Win?

Yeah. We won that round. The angel hadn’t made a play for Kaia, and that was all that mattered.

Defeat might have agreed, but there were no accompanying sparks of pleasure. Nor were there spurts of pain.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he grumbled.

“Bianka competes in the next game. Lysander wishes me to—”

“Lysander can speak for himself,” the warrior interjected. “I wished for a supporting arm to either hold me back or help me, should I be inclined to punish Bianka’s opponents.”

Aw. True love. How sickening.

Both Lysander and Zacharel could create swords of fire from nothing but air. A few Harpy heads would probably roll by the time the second game ended if any harm came to Kaia’s twin.

“You do know you’ll embarrass Bianka if you—”

“Who are you talking to, Strider?” Though Haidee had closed most of the distance between them, she asked the question from behind her beer bottle, not daring to glance in his direction. He knew she didn’t fear Kaia, though she should, but merely thought to prevent another attack while the enemy was nearby.

And damn it. The angels had warned him. No one else could see them. Well, Sabin and Gwen could, he was sure, since they were smothering their laughter behind beers of their own.

“No one,” he muttered. No one important. He refocused on Kaia and Bianka, the Twin Troublemakers.

“—no better time,” Bianka was saying.

“Then let’s do it,” Kaia responded with an evil grin. “Juliette will never know what hit her.”

Shit. Do what? With those two, “it” always involved bloodshed, grand theft auto or a five-alarm blaze. Or, on special days, a combination of all three. He watched, dread coursing through him, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, as the girls moved forward.

Then the worst of his fears were confirmed when they climbed onto the dais.

To karaoke.