A Spartan's Kiss (2 page)

“There’s going to be a silver BMW Z9 coming down the street in about two minutes. The driver’s going to be a vampire. He has a case. In the case is a diamond, and that, Tabbie-cat, is what we’re after. He’s an amateur. Totally. Took the diamond from some very upset folks. So? We’re on a fetch and carry.”

It took Tabithia a full second to soak up the flood her aunt had just spilled.

“Huh.”

Another silence settled between them.

Behind her, her aunt shuffled her feet on the dirty pavement. “If I’d known you wanted in, I would have told you the deets. I didn’t think you really—”

The sound of screeching tyres and a revved-up engine interrupted the embarrassing apology. The mark had arrived.

Adrenaline flushed through Tabithia, exceeding any drug ever created, and quickly shoved the darkness back where it belonged. “Game on.”

Trouble nodded. “True. You stop the car. I’ll distract. You take the case. Meet me in two hours. My place.”

Not bothering to answer, Tabithia began her spell, drawing energy and power from the cool night air to add impact to the murmured words. Eyes focused on the street, she gathered up a small breeze and loaded on some strength, creating a small, but potent cyclone of dirt and debris. A silver little beauty roared into view and nearly upended when the driver tried to avoid getting dirt on his pretty sports model.

In the midst of the burned rubber and smoke, Trouble walked out from her hidden location by the wall. She’d used her magic to transform her T-shirt and jeans into a white, low-cut sheath dress, hugging her ass like a glove and barely covering it as she strutted over the uneven ground like a runway model. Hand up, faking a phone call, Trouble appeared oblivious to the screeching tyres and windstorm.

Tabithia grinned. Only her aunt could pull off something like this.

When Trouble reached the edge of the storm, she spun as if just realising she was facing impending death by sports car.

Classic, really. Tabithia settled in for the show.

Trouble turned on the glam like the best Hollywood actress ever to grace the big screen. Eyes wide, she gasped like a little schoolgirl and trembled in her four-inch heels.

Tabithia hit her with more wind, sending Trouble’s long, burgundy curls flying. Trouble dropped her fake phone and covered half her face. Her eyes rounded out in shock at the car barrelling towards her on a sideways scream of rubber, and if she’d been human, she’d have been in big trouble.

But if the driver had been human, he would have just killed a defenceless-looking woman with his million-dollar baby.

Tabithia still winced and her body tightened in preparation for a disaster. The driver fought the car, beating it into a path angled away from Trouble, hitting a kerb, crashing sideways into a tan sedan and jerking to a halt, mere inches from her aunt.

Trouble faked the showgirl to a T with a scream that any B-movie actress would die for. Hands over her mouth, green eyes glistening with unshed tears, she looked scared out of her mind.

The vampire nearly tore the car door off trying to get out. Big, dark-haired and looking more like a Wall Street broker in a pinstriped suit than a vampire, he held his palms out in front of his chest, face set in concern and no little amount of panic.

Trouble stumbled and appeared on the verge of fainting. The vampire must have taken that as the real deal, because he raced to Trouble and caught her in his arms. Her aunt shrieked and clutched onto him as though she might fall without him. Tabithia thought she heard him swear. He took Trouble by the shoulders, appearing to check if she had suffered any harm. Her aunt broke down, gasping in fake fear, and clung to the guy like a vine. Vamps could sense a witch’s power, so he had to recognise her as a witch, but he must have thought her one weak little Wicca, because he patted her back and stroked her hair like a real Good Samaritan.

Tabithia didn’t waste time admiring her aunt’s work. She’d seen it before. Too many times. Instead, she hiked her butt to the car, ducked in the still-open door, spotted the black briefcase, grabbed it by its silver handle and backed out of the lush interior before Trouble had even finished weeping all over Mr Good Samaritan.

Job done. Satisfaction filtered through her enough to cause a little bubble of happiness. A smile tipped her lips, her first of the night. She had to admit that, although the chase might be getting old, the results always gave her a bit of a high. And shot down the darkness for a few minutes at least.

Tabithia glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Trouble had wrapped her arms around the vampire’s shoulders, leaning every inch of her into every inch of him.

She’d seen that before, too. Maybe if she followed Trouble’s example, Tabithia wouldn’t feel this overwhelming darkness. This ache. The past rose up like a cloud of bats at the thought of letting any man touch her. The disgust, the horrors of the past, swelled and grew so gigantic that they winged across her vision, blocking the present with images she worked hard at suppressing.

Heart racing wildly against her ribs, Tabithia clutched the handle of the case hard enough to hurt her hand before slowly, finger by finger, loosening her grip.

Not daring to look over at her aunt again, Tabithia headed home. She’d need to hurry. The blade called, promising her the cure for all her suffering. The razor edge would slice more than her skin tonight. Tonight, she would cut deeply enough to slice the memories into pieces—pieces small enough to shove back under the lid.

Not for good. Never for good. But for a time.

Sometimes you had to take what you could and work with it because no one else could. The burden belonged to her. Alone.

Chapter Two

Aeros stared at his god, Ares, with something akin to anger settling over him. The heat from the ever-present fire blazing in the middle of the hall had him sweating like he’d just finished a three-day battle. The heat didn’t appear to affect Ares. Sweat probably wouldn’t dare touch his sacred skin.

“Did you hear me, Aeros?”

Did I hear him?
For the love of all the gods, how could Aeros have missed the fact that Ares had let thieves into his sacred temple and allowed them to saunter off with a valuable talisman?

“Whoever took this could cause real damage. It must be brought back immediately or we will all suffer my father’s wrath.” Ares spoke the words casually, almost appearing bored, but Aeros heard something in his god’s tone. Ares sounded off, almost too careful with his indifference as if he acted a part. Maybe Ares feared Zeus’ wrath. Aeros certainly had no desire to feel the anger of one of the most powerful beings in the heavens.

As if reading his thoughts, Ares cautioned, “If Zeus discovers the godhead missing, he might decide to come after it himself. That, Aeros, must be avoided.”

Aeros could only agree. His time as a captain for his beloved Sparta had solidified his respect for Zeus, the god above all others. Zeus had never harmed him personally, but the god had caused severe damage to those who displeased him. Man or god.

According to Ares, this missing godhead bestowed godlike powers on anyone who had the tiny cup in their possession. Godlike powers. That little bit of knowledge had been an unpleasant surprise. Aeros had been in Ares’ hall hundreds, if not thousands, of times throughout the centuries, and not once had he guessed the power of the tiny dented and tarnished chalice. In fact, if anything, he’d thought it an odd little cup among all the splendour of the god’s hall.

“Are you listening, Aeros? This must be done, and quickly. Even you, my captain, could suffer.”

Suffer.

Ares had bargained with Hades to bring Aeros back from Asphodel Meadows. He owed Ares his life. And had served the god of war for what felt like an eternity. Aeros hadn’t thought of his service as a punishment. But now? Thousands of years later, he felt more a prisoner—a servant—than the brave, fierce warrior he knew he’d once been.

More and more, he found himself angry for little to no reason. Hot. Frustrated. Uncomfortable in his own skin. Suffering.

“Aeros? Are you listening to me? What ails you?”

Ailed him? Life. Life ailed him. Weariness beat at him. He ached from the duties this god demanded of him.

For the first time since he had entered the steaming hot hall, Aeros met Ares’ eyes full on. The god sprawled on a pile of cushions, resplendent in his golden, silk robes and covered with three beautiful human women.

Human women. Why he bothered with mortal women when he had his choice of anyone, mortal or immortal, Aeros had no idea. But his master had a taste for women, and human women were his latest fare.

Ares curled a hand around one blonde female, and she rubbed all over him, giggling her way down his silken robes. The other two, not to be outdone, climbed over pillows, dislodging a few to the floor in their rush to brush kisses along Ares’ neck and shoulders. Ares appeared as perfect as he had when Aeros had first fought by his side, unaware at the time that he held the line next to the god of war. With his golden muscles, shoulder-length, straight, black hair and a dark goatee, he looked like a human playboy.

The three women only added to the image. Where had the god of war, the warrior he’d sworn allegiance to so many centuries before, gone? The lazy, laid-back Ares before him now didn’t shine nearly as bright as he had centuries before.

At the thought, a memory of Ares in his war gear flooded him. The memory winged across his mind as clearly as if Ares stood shoulder to shoulder with him on the ridge overlooking the sea. They had just returned from their latest battle against the Athenians. Back then, battles were worth fighting—worth the pain, the scars, the loss of men. The protection of Sparta stood paramount in every single warrior’s mind. Battling to protect those you loved meant something. Serving under his commander and friend, Leonidas, his king, had meant everything to the young and naïve Aeros.

A rush of bloodlust raced along his form, tightening rock-hard muscles to the point of pain. Something he’d not felt in centuries fluttered along his soul. He blinked and the sensation escaped him before he could identify it.

He’d not felt in centuries. The world around him had dimmed, greyed, become a walking nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He could remember all of his past, to the point that sometimes he woke still believing he would rise to fight in another campaign. Battle. Always the battle. Even as a child his life had been full of battle.

“Come now, it’s not exactly as bad as your expression seems to say.”

Aeros’ frown deepened at his thoughts. More and more he found himself losing track of where he was, what he was doing, while his mind wandered, lost in the past.

Ares regarded him with a half-smirk. Ares didn’t seem to realise Aeros had neared the point of simply walking away, giving up this life, and returning to the Fields.

“Aeros, come now, you need not look so grim.”

“Why? Is it not as bad as it seems?” Aeros demanded.

In response, Ares simply smiled over the rim of his golden wine cup. If his god knew how tired he’d become of these games, how close he was to simply walking away, he gave no sign of it. He sipped slowly before languidly handing it to the woman curled up on his lap.

“Aeros.”

Aeros ignored how Ares spoke his name with a disappointed sigh. Ares loved his games—now proved no different. Perhaps this relic wasn’t as important as Ares claimed?

Aeros broadened his stance, crossed his arms at his chest, and waited for Ares to get to the point.

Seemingly unaffected, Ares petted the redhead to his left. Dark eyes met his for a silent battle until, grudgingly, Ares grumbled, “Aeros, I believe you need a woman. I can feel tension radiating off you. Why do you not bed one of these lovely morsels? You could slake your lust on their tender beautiful bodies.”

Two of the women gave him a searching glance. The redhead pouted when he didn’t respond. The second blonde bit her lip and watched him with an open invitation on her soft face.

Aeros ignored both of them and merely waited… The god had too much time on his hands. Boredom and unlimited power made a toxic brew.

Ares finally sighed as if speaking cost him a great deal. “All right, oh mighty captain, the godhead has a curse on it. If any, save myself, touch it and especially if they take it from this hall, they become lost, confused and unable to find their way. Those who possess it now are stuck somewhere deep in the Amazon. They will be unable to find their way out of the trap they’ve fallen into and you need to go, fetch the thing and bring it back here.”

Well, that boded well—the first good news this night, in fact. Two of his men had suffered harm in a small conflict with a score of Death Stalkers when a band of the brethren had surprised them outside a popular nightclub. The Death Stalkers had grown in number over the past few decades, at a rate that did not bode well for those creatures, human, immortal and magical, that lived in this realm. Some rumoured the evil had spread into other planes, creating sects of Death Stalkers in worlds where they’d never dared whisper their vile curses.

More gossip had invaded the Immortal Council, worse in his opinion because many of them proved true. The Death Stalkers, long a dark sect with rigid rules and unbreakable oaths of servitude, were corrupting honourable immortal races, infiltrating the witch covens and even reaching into the human gene pool for servants. This past skirmish had been vicious—and victorious—this time.

He pushed aside his unease at the increase of clashes with the Death Stalkers and focused on the problem facing him now. He still had enough men to go and find this godhead, if he could believe Ares—and if he could find the thing. 

“So we have simply to go after this chalice and bring it back to you, here?”

Ares frowned and didn’t answer. The redhead started circling her palm lower down Ares’ abdomen, seemingly unaware that anyone else was in the room. Ares suddenly grasped the woman’s fingers, his gaze never wavering from Aeros. The woman pouted, but Ares paid her no mind. Instead, his gaze sharpened and his face darkened.