CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

KICKED OUT OF HEAVEN and straight into hell, Kaia thought darkly. Or rather, her version of hell. And she hadn’t even gotten to enjoy her afterglow!

A campfire crackled in front of her, orange flames twined with blue. Heat licked over her. She’d never truly cooled down after making love with Strider—remembering, a shiver slid the length of her spine and she had to cut off a moan—and she was glad. She liked the heat. Mostly because of the lingering hum of satisfaction her…consort had provided.

Consort.

Currently Strider was “scouting the area for Hunters.” Didn’t take two hours to scout a small stretch of land. He was looking for the Paring Rod, no question. He wouldn’t find it. Not here. Juliette wasn’t foolish enough to hide the thing under her makeshift mattress.

So badly Kaia had wanted him to acknowledge the link between them. So badly she’d wanted to touch and taste him. Wanted to be touched and tasted by him. That she had, that he had…gods, she was now scared to death. Because…

He loved her. That still shocked her. They were a couple. A real couple. He would have her back, and she would have his. More than that, he came first now. That’s just how it had to be. Whether he was being a pain in the ass or a romantic mattress god, he was hers. She had to protect him. Had to see to his future. And bottom line? He wanted, needed, the Paring Rod. Needed it to survive.

Therefore, she had to get it for him.

Right now her team was on the road to acquiring the artifact fair and square. But what if that changed? Juliette would then expect Kaia to make a play for it and the odds of actually getting her hands on it would cease to lean in her favor.

Therefore, there was no better time to strike.

Of course, that would take Kaia out of the competition and prove once and for all that she was unworthy, weak, but better her pride suffered than Strider died. She couldn’t live without him. She needed his blood, yes, but she also needed him. His smile, his laughter, his wit, his strength.

So, no contest and no more thought necessary. She would steal the Rod. Boom, done. She wouldn’t involve her sisters, though. She wouldn’t risk their lives. Not again. Especially now, when they were injured from the second game.

Had to happen tonight, she thought, her hands fisting. Most everyone would be intoxicated, healing or passed out. She’d make love to Strider—if he wanted and he had better want—and let the heat fill her once again. That heat energized her, a combination of lust and rage that swirled inside her, wanting so badly to escape. To consume.

Tonight she’d let it.

Soon…soon… Her narrowed gaze found Juliette. The brunette danced around the flickering fire, right alongside Kaia’s mother. Despite their recent loss, they were jubilant, carefree. As if they knew something she did not.

Juliette must have sensed her scrutiny; she met Kaia’s eye and grinned slowly, and, as always, smugly. Oh, yes. Tonight.

Kaia and Strider had fallen from Rhea’s forest and landed here, in Alaska, between the two mountains, right where the mystical portal had been. They’d opened their eyes and found themselves here—along with all the other Harpies participating in the games and their consorts.

At first, confusion reigned. Then anger that they’d been ejected from the heavens—anger they’d hoped to take out on each other. A fight would have broken out if Kaia’s mother hadn’t declared this neutral ground. Apparently whatever Tabitha the Vicious wanted, Tabitha the Vicious got. So, instead of attacking, instead of going their separate ways and awaiting the third competition, the Harpies had decided to stay and party.

Stolen beer abounded, hard rock blasted through the night and vehicles commandeered from the nearest town shot bright headlights into the ice-laden valley. Many of the combatants were still bruised and bloody from the earlier battle, and some were still unconscious, but that didn’t discourage the revelers.

A few hours earlier, someone had stolen Kaia’s coat and she had no doubts as to the culprit. Juliette probably expected her to issue a private challenge over it, ruining everyone’s good time. Well, Juliette could suck it. The thing had been dirty as hell anyway.

“Hey, baby doll,” a sexy male voice said.

Strider. Her Strider. He smelled like cinnamon and looked like paradise, his cheeks pink and his hair disheveled, framing his face in a vivid halo.

Did she love him? She hungered for him, was amused by him and delighted in his attention. But love? Trusting him with all that she was? Her sisters were the only members in her Faith Circle and she’d never thought to welcome another. Especially someone who did indeed have an agenda different than her own.

He plopped beside her and held out a frosted glass. “This is mine. Not yours. Don’t touch.”

Maybe trusting him wasn’t so bad. She took the glass from him with a muttered, “Thanks,” and sipped. Despite the coolness of the drink, her body temperature continued to rise.

“I talked to Sabin and Lysander. They’ve set up camp about a mile away and are doctoring Bianka and Gwen.”

So he hadn’t been searching for the Rod? Wonder of wonders. “What about Taliyah, Neeka and the others?”

“They took off without a word.”

“They’re always doing that,” she grumbled.

“Well, this time I followed them.”

Her gaze swung to him. His navy eyes were bright, his lips curled seductively. Her heart skipped a beat. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, boots. Typical Strider attire. The man was always ready to give an ass-kicking.

“Really?” she asked. “And they didn’t sense you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She considered him anew. There were fresh cuts on his palms, nicks on his fingers. “What happened? Did they hurt you? Because if they hurt you, I will personally—”

“Easy, Red.” Those lips curled farther until he was grinning. “They just warned me away. Anyway, they had no idea I was behind them at first. They snuck through a few of the tents of warring teams.”

“Searching for the Rod?” But why would they do so?

“I don’t think so.” He stroked his chin in thought. “In the woods back there,” he hiked his thumb behind him, “they met a group of guys I didn’t recognize. Warriors, though. Immortal. Taliyah scented me out before I could get close enough to listen to their conversation.”

Taliyah. With men. Interesting. And unusual. Her older sister usually kept her distance from the opposite sex, never wanting to chance finding her consort. Not that Taliyah was a man-hater. She wasn’t. She just liked her space, liked doing her own thing. Liked having no ties, able to leave anyplace, anytime with no hindrances.

“Something’s up,” Kaia said.

“True, but I don’t think it concerns us or the games. The men were mostly interested in Neeka. Almost…proprietary toward her. So. Speaking of the Rod,” he went on, “I’ve been thinking. What if Juliette doesn’t have it? What if she’s got a fake?”

A possibility, though a dim one; Kaia recalled the power she’d felt emanating from the spear when Lazarus had walked on stage with it. One way or another, though, she would discover the truth.

Drunken feminine laughter cut off any reply she might have made. Good thing, too. There were too many possible eavesdroppers for them to have this conversation here. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Nope. Now. We’ll just be more circumspect.” Strider wound his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer. He didn’t release her, but whispered straight into her ear, his warm breath caressing her. “Couple questions are plaguing me. We didn’t know where the Paring Rod was. How did she? And how’d she get her hands on it without alerting anyone in our world? And why hasn’t she used it? Why would she give it away? Okay, that’s more than a couple.”

Kaia’s nipples had hardened at the contact and moisture had pooled between her legs. This was circumspect? Didn’t matter. She’d play. “Rhea could have given it to her, I suppose,” she whispered straight into his ear. Then she couldn’t help herself and had to lick the shell.

He pushed out a breath. Tempted to eat him alive, Kaia returned her attention to the dancers. Juliette and her mother were gone, she noted distantly.

“But why would she?” He saw her lick and raised her a warm puff of air. “There’s no reason good enough. Rhea hates my kind, wants us dead. She wouldn’t want us to get our hands on such a prized possession. She would have given it to the Hunters. To Galen.”

Goose bumps broke out over Kaia’s entire body. “Maybe Juliette stole it from her. Rhea’s missing, after all, and no one’s heard from her. Maybe Juliette killed her and assumed control of the Hunters.” She nibbled on his lobe before showing him her profile, eager for him to have his next turn.

He didn’t disappoint. He kissed along her cheekbone while his fingers caressed their way to the underside of her breast. “If that were the case, Cronus would be dead. The two are bound, so when one dies, the other will, as well. And Cronus is very much alive. Amun has been meeting with him.”

She leaned into his touch, her nerve endings sparking to dazzling life. “Juliette could have her locked up, then.” To find the Rod, Kaia knew she’d have to snatch up Juliette and torture her for information. She’d already considered and accepted the necessity. Now, she’d ask about Rhea and the Hunters, too.

Strider circled her nipple once, twice. “If so, she’s more powerful than we realized.”

Sweet fire, that felt good. She flattened her palm on his thigh, not surprised to find her claws sharpened, ready to dig into his flesh. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her. Besides, I owe her.”

No matter the answers Kaia might force from Juliette, it was clear the bitch had somehow orchestrated this whole thing. To steal Strider, perhaps, as she’d first suspected. Not that Juliette had made much of an effort on that front, but she’d definitely wanted to taunt Kaia with what she could never have. Victory. Respect from her fellow Harpies. But also from Strider, if she failed him?

And if she did fail him, would he still love her?

She didn’t want to contemplate the answer, was already chilled to the marrow by the mere possibility.

“For future reference,” she said, no longer whispering, “you should know that I don’t get mad. I get even.”

“Good.” He placed a soft kiss at the edge of her mouth. “’Cause that’s how I like my candy and my women. Hot and spicy.”

The comment roused an unexpected chuckle from her. “Anyway, like I said, we shouldn’t discuss this here.” No matter how much she enjoyed the exchange of information.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He reached up and ruffled her hair. “Braggart.”

“Just being honest. So what happened to your hands?” she asked, changing the subject before she launched herself onto his lap and had her way with him right here, right now.

“Nothing.” There was a note of finality in his voice. A note that dared her to press—and lose.

A lie. She knew it, but still she let it slide. Now wasn’t the time to argue with him. They needed to display a united front.

“Lucky me,” another sexy male voice said, this time from behind her. “If it isn’t my favorite Harpy.”

Strider stiffened and they turned in unison—united, yay—and pushed to their feet. Lazarus stood before them, thick arms crossed over his middle. Like Strider, he wore a jacket and jeans. Unlike Strider, he did not make her heartbeat quicken.

“Hey, there, Tampon. Where’s your master?” Kaia asked him.

The obsidian in his eyes swirled menacingly. What? No more amusement for his pet name? “She’s having a private meeting with your mother about all the ways they plan to destroy you. I’m supposed to keep you occupied—a task that is no hardship. Would you like to go someplace private with me? I could at last meet all your needs.”

Strider growled low in his throat and the sound reminded her of a countdown clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, someone’s about to die.

“Thanks,” Kaia said, “but I’d rather be on an island, a millionaire hunting me so he can kill me and drape my skin in front of his fireplace.”

“You and I will play that game later, baby doll,” Strider said. “You, on the other hand,” he threw at Lazarus, “can go someplace private with me now.”

Cold fingers of dread ran down Kaia’s spine. Please, please, please don’t challenge him.

“Thanks,” Lazarus replied, “but you’re not my type. So, if you won’t leave with me, sweet Kaia, why don’t we stay here and chat?”

The words earned another savage growl from Strider.

Oh, gods. The two were going to come to blows and there would be no stopping them.

She knew how powerful the immortal in front of her was. He’d ripped through a camp of Harpies, escaped unscathed and remained hidden for…well, she didn’t know how long, just that he had. Strider was powerful, too, but he had a handicap. His demon.

Like that’ll slow him.

The thought was immediately followed by another. You can use this. She needed to know what her mother and Juliette were planning and a fight between Strider and Lazarus would serve as the perfect distraction, allowing her to slip away unnoticed to accidentally on purpose overhear something.

Strider must have considered the same thing—and his demon must have accepted the challenge of finding out—because he launched himself at the warrior without another word. The two flew to the ground in a tangle of limbs. And knives. The silver tips glinted in the moonlight.

Yeah, Strider wanted to kill the warrior, but that wasn’t why he’d started the fight and she knew it. He’d given her the cover she needed to find the women in question, but damn it! She hated to leave him.

As the warriors grunted in pain, dashed and ducked, threw punches, kicked and slashed, the Harpies around the campfire noticed. A second later, the cheering and betting began.

Kaia worked her way through the throng, her gaze remaining on Strider until the last possible second. He and Lazarus were now rolling in the snow, leaving pools of blood in their wake. Her stomach clenched.

Don’t worry. He can take care of himself.

That didn’t stop her from trembling as she crouched on the fringes of the crowd and sniffed, searching for her mother’s familiar scent. Nothing. She inched forward. Still nothing. To the right. Nothing. To the left—there!

She propelled in that direction, staying in the shadows as much as possible. All too soon the mountain’s incline stopped her forward progress. She glanced upward. Ice, jagged rocks. A ledge.

A ledge that most likely led to a cavern.

How cliché. Harpies could jump higher than humans, and even hover in the air for short periods of time, but because their wings were so small, they couldn’t fly. She had to do this the hard way and climb. She placed her hands and feet precisely, lest a pebble or ice chunk fall. If the women were up there—and she thought that they were, the unimaginative villains—the slightest noise could alert them. Oh, she didn’t doubt that they heard the chaos below, but that was something they’d expected.

The clenching in her stomach worsened when a voice she recognized as belonging to an Eagleshield whooped and shouted from below, “That’s the way, cowboy. Beat his face in!”

Who was the cowboy? Strider or Lazarus? Her money was on Lazarus because Juliette was an Eagleshield, which meant her clan would prefer him to Strider. Even though Strider was a delicious Lord of the Underworld. Idiots. They made her ashamed to call herself a Harpy.

“Holy hell, I think you broke his nose. Sweetest punch ever. Do it again! Do it again,” someone else chanted.

“Gut him!”

“I get to nail the winner!”

“No way. I do.”

You can’t afford to look.

Up she continued to climb, not pausing until she reached the ledge. Her arms shook and her thighs burned, but she held herself steady, listening. There was a murmur of voices, yes, but they were whispered and she couldn’t tell if they were male or female. Couldn’t even guess how many were speaking.

To find out, she’d have to go in.

If they spotted her, they’d fight her. But a fight was better than a secret meeting, where plans were made and enacted. At the very least, she’d prevent the attendees from solidifying any goals.

She inhaled a measured breath, reached down, dangling from the ledge by one hand and palmed a dagger. Then she did the same with the other hand, until she was two-fisting weapons and ice. Then she hauled herself over.

A mistake. One she knew she would regret forever.

She’d been set up, she immediately realized with dread.

There was no time to act. Manacles shot out from the bottom sides of the cavern and latched around her ankles, metal teeth digging so deep they hit bone. She stifled her cry of pain, even as her knees buckled. Can’t distract Strider.

Her mother and Juliette hadn’t met in private. They hadn’t met at all. They’d simply assembled a group of murder-minded Hunters. And those Hunters were staring at her, smiling, as if they’d been waiting for her all along.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WIN, WIN, WIN.

As Strider fought the strongest immortal he’d ever encountered, his demon chanted excitedly, nervously. That wouldn’t have been so bad, or so distracting, if there hadn’t been another voice inside his head. Tabitha’s. Prodding him toward a raging darkness he’d never felt before.

They want to kill her. They will kill her.

He damn well knew the Harpies wanted to kill her. Would they succeed, though? Hell, no. But if Tabitha was talking to him, she couldn’t be meeting with Juliette. And if she wasn’t meeting with Juliette, why the hell had he accepted a challenge he might not be able to win, just to distract the ranks, giving Kaia time to infiltrate her enemy’s camp?

WIN!

You aren’t helping. Hard knuckles connected with his mouth, his teeth shredding the bastard’s skin. Not quite the silver lining of his dreams. His brain banged against his skull and for a moment, he saw stars. He hated stars. Blood coated his tongue, slid down his throat. Lazarus rolled on top of him, pinning his shoulders with firm, bony knees. Punch, punch, punch.

Bone cracked. Broke. Shattered.

WIN!

I damn well know, he mentally sneered. And he would win this. Just as soon as he found his knives in the blood-stained snow. Bastard was going to lose his head. Maybe. Hopefully.

Surely.

At the very least, Lazarus was going to spill his guts. He was a threat to Kaia. Threats to Kaia were not allowed to live.

She will die. Tonight. There is nothing you can do to save her. Tabitha again.

Punch, punch, punch.

More stars, riding the coattails of pain. Rage stormed through him, lightning caged too long, finally released. He bucked with all his strength, sending Lazarus crashing behind him.

Strider was on his feet in an instant. Through swollen eyes, he saw Lazarus smile with delight as he, too, stood. In the back of Strider’s mind, he knew Lazarus could have done a lot worse to him. Could have sliced and diced him. Could have gone for his man-business. Instead, the child of a god and a nightmarish monster had used his fists. What was up with that?

As the Harpies cheered, the warriors circled each other.

“How predictable you are,” Lazarus tsked under his tongue. And wasn’t that weird. He’d spoken in the language of the gods, used so long ago. A language the Harpies probably didn’t understand.

Strider replied using the same harsh tones and nearly forgotten words. “How pathetic you are. Lazarus the Lapdog, Juliette’s bitch.”

Bye-bye smile. Gold star for Strider—and suddenly, he really liked stars. Go figure. Defeat chuckled.

“You think you’ll be any different? Juliette will enslave you the same way she has enslaved me. What else do you think this competition is about? Not the idiotic games these females like to play. This is simply about punishing the redhead.”

“For what you did, the way I hear it.”

Lazarus shrugged, unconcerned. “She freed me. The blame falls on her.”

“She was a child.”

Another shrug of those wide shoulders. “And I was worked into a fury over my circumstances. I cannot control myself when the fury hits.”

Which meant he wasn’t worked into a fury right now. Or, if he was, the chains tattooed around his neck and wrists prevented him from doing anything about it.

“Start fighting again already,” a Harpy called.

“Seriously. Bor-ing!” This speaker tossed an empty beer bottle at him and the glass slammed against his stomach.

WIN!

Stupid Defeat.

You talk. She dies. And there was Tabitha yet again.

He gnashed his molars. He knew the bitch was simply taunting him, trying to distract him, to work him into a lather, convincing him to walk away from this altercation and purposely lose. Then he’d be out for the count and Kaia vulnerable.

“If Juliette’s so powerful, why hasn’t she tried to enslave me yet?” Strider demanded. Answers first, ass kicking second. “Tit for tat.”

Lazarus’s gaze was pitying. “Haven’t you learned anything? The Harpies enjoy drama and theatrics more than any other race.”

No denying that. “How’d she do it, then? You’re a pretty tough guy. For a pussy. How’d she enslave you?”

Swollen lips twitched. With amusement? “As are you. All I can tell you is to beware of first prize.”

The Rod? The Rod had enslaved Lazarus? “So it’s the real deal?” There went his theory that Juliette had been faking. A theory he’d wished to the gods had proven to be true. No hands were better than the wrong hands.

“I can’t say.”

“Won’t, you mean.”

Those onyx eyes glittered with a thousand secrets. “No. Can’t. I’m skirting the edge of obedience even saying that much.”

“And what happens when you disobey?”

“Pain. Death. The usual suspects. And now, I’m sorry to say, I must continue distracting you.”

Strider cocked a brow. “You’re sorry to say?”

A confident nod. “You’re not really a bad sort and I actually like the redhead. She’s feisty.”

“She’s mine.”

A grin as slow and thick as dripping honey. “You have to survive first.” That was the only warning Strider had. Lazarus sprinted forward, a blur the naked eye couldn’t see.

Fists once again hammered into him, the impact throwing him in a tailspin of pain. He rotated when he hit, uncaring that he could no longer breathe as long as he could protect his face.

Win!

At least the demon wasn’t screaming anymore. Strider scanned the snow and bodies for weapons, darting left and right as he did so, moving around the Harpies, hoping the warrior wouldn’t punch them just to reach him. Dude reminded Strider of Sabin, who thought men and women were equals in battle and didn’t discriminate when it came to killing. But Juliette was his mistress and she’d probably forbidden him from hurting her sisters.

Finally. He spotted broadswords. Not his own, but a Harpy’s. He slid them from their sheathes at her back.

“Hey,” she squawked when she realized what he’d done.

He darted away before she could claw him for the theft. His boots slipped on the ice. Finding his balance proved difficult, but he kept moving, listening for any telltale sounds that might give away Lazarus’s location.

Feminine huffs—directly behind him. That meant Harpies were being shoved aside, rather than danced around. Such an obvious mistake, he thought. Lazarus was too good a fighter for that. Did he want to lose?

Damn it, Strider didn’t want to like him.

Spinning when he reached an unoccupied stretch, Strider went low. He stretched out his arms, the blades extended. Contact. Lazarus jumped, but he was too late. The metal sliced into his ankles, hobbling him. He fell and fell hard, the ice offering no cushion from impact.

With Defeat cheering inside Strider’s head—won, won, won—he pinned the warrior exactly as he had been pinned, knees to shoulders. Lazarus didn’t resist.

“That hurt.”

“Sorry.” Strider slammed the sword tips beside the man’s temples. “And thank you,” he said, fighting the wave of pleasure victory had brought. It would distract him.

Eyes bright with surprise peered up at him.

“What, you didn’t think I’d realize you’d thrown the fight? Give me some credit, at least.” Once again, he used the ancient language of the gods.

Then that wave of winning-induced pleasure blasted free of his restraints. He couldn’t hold it back a second longer. He shivered and moaned right along with Defeat.

Sparks of ecstasy ignited in his veins, heating him up. Not to the same degree that making love with Kaia had, but enough to cause him to spring instant, embarrassing, wood.

Before Lazarus could reply, the man’s surprise gave way to amusement and the warrior winged a brow in question.

“Not for you,” Strider said, flushing.

“Thank the gods for that.”

“So.” Let’s get the rest of this over with. “You heal quickly?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for this, but I need five minutes alone and I can’t have you coming after me.” He reclaimed the swords, jerked them from the ice, then slammed them into Lazarus’s shoulders. “Do me a solid and stay down.”

A grunt, a stiffening of that big body. Boos all around him.

Strider pushed to his feet and moved out of striking distance, already scanning the vista. Harpies gaped at him, even backed away. A few of the braver ones offered him pinkie waves and seductive grins, open invitations to bed them.

He caught Sabin’s gaze. Lysander was beside him, golden wings arching over his shoulders. Despite the cold, the two were sweating. They must have heard the commotion and rushed here.

He motioned to the mountain at his left with a tilt of his chin and they nodded. While Lazarus had been pounding his face in, he’d kept an eye on Kaia. She’d climbed that mountain and disappeared inside a cavern.

He stalked forward, determined. Within a few steps, the consorts were flanking his sides. Along the way, he thought he smelled smoke. And burning flesh. Panic suddenly infused him and he looked up. The panic mixed with dread. Dark smoke wafted from the cavern.

Shit! No time to climb. “Get me up there,” he demanded. “Now.”

Lysander caught his urgency. He gripped Strider under the arms, wings extending, legs bending to push. They shot into the air and the angel dropped him onto the ledge before heading down to repeat the process with Sabin.

“Kaia!” Strider rushed inside, coughing as the smoke thickened and burned his throat. He waved his hand in front of his stinging eyes, trying to see. Then he was in the center of the destruction, and there was no reason to wave away the darkness. He could see just fine.

At least twenty-five bodies were on fire, flames still crackling from them, illuminating the area. They were so charred, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female. His heart nearly burst from his chest, his blood heating with more of that panic. She couldn’t be one of the dead. She just couldn’t.

He would have failed her. He couldn’t have failed her. He needed her. Loved her. “Kaia,” he said past the lump growing in his throat. “Kaia, baby doll. Where are you, love?”

“What the hell?” Sabin demanded behind him.

“Great Deity,” Lysander breathed.

Strider ignored them, bending to study the bodies closest to him. He was shaking as he reached out and removed the dagger clutched in that blackened hand. The hilt was so hot his skin immediately blistered, but he didn’t release it. He didn’t recognize it, either. Okay. Okay, then. This one wasn’t her.

A whimper echoed a few feet ahead of him. Female. Pain-filled. Familiar. No sweeter sound. He was on his feet in an instant, racing toward it. Then he saw her, and ground to an abrupt halt. His stomach twisted into a hundred sharp knots, each one cutting at him.

They’d staked her to the wall.

As relieved as he was that she lived, he wanted to die. Swords were anchored into her shoulders, pinning her to the rocky wall. Blood dripped down her naked body, covering her with crimson streaks of pain. If they had raped her…

With only the thought, Strider felt ready to open himself up to his demon completely, to let his wicked half reign, to beat every citizen in the world to pulp.

Rage later. See to her now. One stomping step, two.

Flames crackled on his shirt, burning the material, singeing his skin. He stopped and patted himself down. When that didn’t help, he ripped the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Only then did the fire die.

“What happened—”

“Get out,” Strider growled, and Sabin shut his mouth. “Both of you. Now.” She would not want anyone to see her like this.

Silence. Reluctant footsteps. Strider studied his woman all the while. Her eyes were black, the whites completely gone, but interspersed throughout that midnight canvas were the same flames that had singed him. They crackled angrily.

“Kaia,” he said gently.

She struggled against the swords, gave another whimper.

“Be still, baby doll. Okay?” He dared another step closer. A mistake. His jeans caught fire next. Again he stopped. This time he didn’t bother patting himself down, he just cut the offending material from his body, leaving him in underwear and boots.

“Baby doll, listen to me. Okay?” he said, trying again. He dropped the blade, lest she think he meant to hurt her. “Please listen to me. I want to help you. I’m going to help you, whether you want me to or not. Please don’t kill me until I get you out of here.”

He expected Defeat to kick up a few protests about that litany of “pleases.” Maybe consider it a challenge. The demon remained silent, however. Still afraid of Kaia? Or mourning what had been done to her after the pleasure they’d experienced in her arms?

“Here I come.” Strider inhaled the thickened air…held…held…and strode forward. His skin continued to heat, but he didn’t catch fire again, and finally he reached her. Gently, so gently, he cupped her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the fine bones beneath her silken skin. He was surprised to see his own claws had emerged. The demon’s claws. Yet he didn’t cut her, was oh, so careful.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, his chest aching. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears leaked from the corners of those midnight eyes, and he knew he was reaching the woman inside. He hadn’t protected her from this and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t in pain as a result of his failure. Because she would heal? Please let her heal. Because someone other than Harpies had done the damage? If that was the case, who had done it? Hunters again?

Desperately he wanted to slice open his jugular and give her all the healing blood she needed. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t risk her bones and flesh healing around the metal that caged her in place.

“I’m going to remove the swords, okay?” He couldn’t allow this to happen to her again. Ever. He couldn’t bear it. That is a challenge, he told Defeat. A challenge you will accept. She is ours to protect and if we fail her again, we will suffer, even if she will later heal. Understand?

A pause. Then, a faint, Win.

Though Strider didn’t want to release her, he did, and gripped the swords. They were hotter than the dagger he’d used to cut his pants and his already blistered hands throbbed in pain. He didn’t care. His pain mattered little. What did matter? Her pain. That small movement tormented her, he knew, because her tears fell more quickly.

Unwilling to prolong the agony, he jerked with all of his strength. For several seconds, the metal caught on bone. He had to jerk harder. She didn’t make a sound. Finally, though, she was free and sagged forward. He dropped the swords and caught her, easing her to the ground. There were also wounds on her ankles, but they weren’t bound, so he ignored them.

Again he wanted to hold her. Again he didn’t allow himself the luxury. He used his claw to slice deep into his neck, leaned down and placed the wound just above her mouth.

“Drink, baby doll. You’ll feel better, I swear. And then you’ll tell me what happened and I’ll punish everyone involved. That I swear, as well.”

At first, she gave no response. Then her tongue licked, a flick of fire, as hot as the sword hilts. He had to pant through it, but he didn’t pull away. Then her mouth latched on, branding him now and forever, and she sucked and sucked and sucked, and oh, yeah, did he like that.

“That’s the way,” he praised. “Good, good girl. Take all you need. Take everything.”

She took him at his word and drank her fill. When she finished, dizziness swam through his head, but he didn’t care. He was only glad Defeat hadn’t viewed that as a challenge, either. He straightened and peered down at her.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing harsh, shallow. Her temperature had cooled a little and her face wasn’t quite so pallid. That meant she was healing. Right?

He needed to get her out of this smoke-infested cave. His holey shirt rested a few inches away. He grabbed it up and wrapped what was left of the material around Kaia’s body. As tenderly as he was able, he lifted her in his arms. He wobbled on his feet, but didn’t let that deter him.

At the mouth of the cave, he called for Lysander. The angel appeared a second later, hovering just in front of him, wings gliding gracefully through the air.

“Take us to our tent,” he croaked. He couldn’t lose this woman.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 483