A Spartan's Kiss (8 page)

If I went for that kind of guy. I don’t.

Shaking off the compulsion to slip a look at Aeros, she fastened her eyes on the other man.

“Why do they call you the Bard?”

The laugh lines around his eyes deepened at her question. “I used to sing quite a bit.”

Next to her, Narc laughed. “And he’s always good for a tale. Or he used to be.”

Okay. She sensed these men were anxious, almost eager to talk to her. They reminded her of a lost dog she’d once found. The thing had craved attention so badly it was constantly underfoot, always rubbing against her like a cat. These guys weren’t rubbing against her, but they were all watching her. It should have given her the creeps, but she felt a bit sorry for them. What kind of leader was Aeros? Didn’t he allow his men anything but duty? And Ares, that jerk? What kind of god made his men work so hard?

“You’re doing it again.”

Lowering her hand slowly, she eyed Narc. He was showing off his pearly whites again in a killer smile, but he simply didn’t do it for her. He’d tied his longish, red-brown hair back in a queue with one of those leather straps that should have made him look ridiculous, but instead fitted him like he’d invented the haphazard, manly way of tying hair out of your eyes. Lean, like a wolf, he cut a dashing figure in his green and brown BDUs. But he wasn’t her type.

Do I have a type?

Aeros certainly would fit nicely if she did.

Frowning at the thought, she focused on Narc. “And why is this bad for me?”

He snorted and stretched his legs. “Well, it’s supposed to damage your teeth, the enamel on them, and harm your nails.”

She barely held in a laugh. Attempting a straight face, she leaned over as if she’d impart some great secret and stage-whispered, “You do realise those magazines are for humans, right? And I’m not. A human, right?”

His face darkened.

Next to them on the couch, Aaron laughed, and the Bard snorted. Aeros didn’t make a sound.

Narc gave her a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah, I know that. You’re a witch, right? What does that mean, exactly?”

“Exactly?”

Aeros blew out a breath and drummed his fingers on his chair arm, drawing her attention. “Does it give you the ability to find the godhead? Can you sense it now?”

Ah, he speaks.
A shiver tingled down her body as if he’d rasped his shadowy jaw along her spine. Now there was an image she could have done without. Hoping not to show how he unnerved her, she glanced over at him. She’d done pretty well so far, treating him like just one of the boys, but every time she’d caught him watching her, her tummy had done a nosedive and her pulse had raced so fast her hands trembled. He was dark, and not just in that Greek dark-as-midnight hair and olive-warm skin way, but in that melt-in-your-mouth, dark chocolate kind of way. Ancient warriors from an age she’d only read about, all of his men were incredibly toned and hard as rock. Ah, but Aeros. He wore his confidence like New Englanders wore Red Sox caps.

At the moment he watched her intently, as if her answer mattered. Had anyone ever looked at her like that before?

“I can sense what I seek, no matter what it is, or more precisely, the traps that surround it.” She glanced out of the small window next to her to get a break from the intensity in his expression. They were over the ocean. She thought. It seemed that way to her, at least. The clouds covered most of her view, but she spotted some blue underneath. She’d chosen her seat in the hopes that the window would make a nice escape from Aeros’ constant watchfulness. Did he think she’d simply disappear off the plane?

“What does being a witch mean?” The Bard asked the question this time, interrupting her cloud examination. She knew they wouldn’t understand but she also wasn’t willing to give them much more. Power was knowledge. The less they knew the better.

She turned back and caught Aeros glancing up from her hands. “Well, it’s a bit boring, I’m sure. And complicated.” Had he been watching her finger her knife hilt? She wasn’t feeling the urge to cut, but she also didn’t like him staring.

He met her gaze, and his hawk-like, dark eyebrows drew down over his Roman nose. Or Greek nose? Whoever the hell came up with these things should have used Aeros for the model for brooding, handsome noblemen. He just looked noble, loyal and all the things she’d heard about heroes, but in the flesh. His dark eyes weren’t really black. They had lighter flecks, like a dash of cinnamon on top of a coffee.

“Explain it anyway. We’re fairly quick.”

And, yeah, another check for him being her doom, ‘cause the chalkboard feeling was back in full force. Even under his play for humour—“we’re fairly quick”—she felt the need to obey. She looked away, not willing to share the conflict he created.

“Well, I will scry for the godhead. I need an image of what I seek, or name, and then, once I have either, I can then find what’s hidden, lost, you know…missing. But I can only find it by the vibrations of distress around the trap.”

“So a witch has it? And has laid traps?” Narc broke in, his lighter, amber eyes interested.

“Not necessarily. A human can lay traps. Lies and such are traps. I once found a missing child…” Breaking off, she looked down at her hands. She’d never shared with another the help she’d provided a small family of humans. They’d lost their daughter. A monster had taken the girl, a human monster, but a monster all the same.

“You found a human child?” Aeros sounded as though she’d broken some immortal law.

Wasn’t he once human? Geesh.

“Yep, and I can find the godhead the same way. More, the godhead doesn’t belong where it is.” Actually, it hadn’t belonged with Ares either, but that was another matter. One she would be investigating now that Trouble wasn’t on her back to ignore her gut and move her ass. The Raven Clan had been willing to pay big time, so in the heat of the moment, Tabithia had been okay with stealing something from under Ares’ nose. Kind of cool, really, but now? She wasn’t so sure. The godhead had looked more like a beaten-up old goblet than something of real worth. But man, oh man, the power in that cup. Astoundingly, but obviously, it held way too much power for that clan of creepy warlocks, since the cup was now in the Amazon, not downtown Dublin.

“So because the godhead belongs to Ares, you will find it because it doesn’t belong to the jungle?” Galen said, apparently struggling to understand her super-cool powers.

“Sorta.”

“Did you bring it here, to the Amazon?” Ajax asked. He’d been the quietest of the boys since the journey. He also had a thing for weapons. She’d noticed he’d sharpened more than a few blades, taken apart no less than six guns then put them back together, and was now sharpening his already deadly-looking machete. She kinda liked him best.

“Not sure why it ended up here, but the power coming off the thing will create a kind of tone I can sense, almost hear. Traps do that. So does power.”

“So you can sense power, traps and lies?” Aeros asked.

Aeros really needed to stop talking. She didn’t feel compelled to answer, though, so that was good news. So only orders worked. That was somewhat reassuring. She wasn’t his to order about anyway, so he shouldn’t. But he didn’t appear to understand that.

She cleared her throat and examined her OPI Lincoln Park After Midnight nail polish. The black shimmered under the bright light flooding through her window. Aeros shifted, reminding her she’d not answered his hunt for answers.

“Not exactly. But I can sense power. Most immortals can.” The men were all watching her now, even Ajax who’d been pretending to sharpen the same machete for the last half an hour. The thing could have sliced through a rhino at this point. “And this little itty-bitty cup, it’s powerful, isn’t it?”

No one said a word. So much for sharing. Considering her reputation was on the line, she settled back in her seat and asked, “Why do you want it anyway? Ares has plenty of other relics at his disposal, why is this one so important?”

No one said a word. Aeros watched her with a calculating look. His dark eyes captured hers, the depth of something—sadness or regret—catching her off guard. He blinked and the sensation dissipated.

“This is the most important of all relics. If in the wrong hands? This could destroy the world.”

Overdramatic didn’t even begin to describe that remark. She was pretty proud when she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? End-of-the-world type thing, huh? That’s neat, don’t you think?”

Aeros looked so highly offended she almost giggled.

“Neat?” His frown really did odd things to her. Like very odd. Weird. Like an urge to make him frown even harder so she could crawl on his lap and see what he’d do if she tickled the sides of his face weird.

Her cellphone blared the Black Eyed Peas singing ‘Don’t Phunk with My Heart’, the ring tone reserved for her best bud, Silver, saving her from suffocation owing to holding in laughter.

“Yeah, gotta get this one. I’ll be right back.”

Aeros looked alarmed. “Tabithia—”

She grinned and cast the spell to obscure her location and voice. Aeros clenched his hands on the arms of his chair, nearly breaking them, but didn’t jump like Narc. The redheaded womaniser stood so quickly he knocked his knee on the table and cussed like a sailor.

She ignored him and flipped her phone open. “Oi! Dudette. What is up? Where have you been?”

Silver, Silver Moon really, who liked to be called Sammie—at least by her—laughed through the phone line. “Tabbie-cat, what exactly are you up to? I heard some rumours you would not believe.”

Oh, she’d believe them all right. Still, some things were better left unsaid. She and Sammie were best buddies, but only to a certain degree. Tab fiddled with her phone and considered spilling the beans. Would Sammie understand? An image of her friend’s sharp, blue eyes and black hair tied back, her beautiful face set in hard lines as they fought off ghouls, came to mind and Tabithia tossed the idea of a girl-to-girl pow-wow out of the window. Sammie was a lot of things—strong, powerful, determined—but a friend Tab could go to for man advice? Not a chance. As far as Tabithia knew, Sammie had never even scratched that itch. Not even alone.

Nervous energy had her chancing a glance at Aeros, remembering how she’d pleasured herself to images of him possessing her. His face was set in a stern, unhappy glower as he responded to something one of the men had said. He glanced at her seat, and his dark eyes narrowed. Her stomach did a nosedive.

“Tab?”

Uh, yeah. Talking. She was supposed to be talking, not daydreaming about Aeros.

“Not much, just another money-making venture. You? Find anything?” Sammie was all set to leave on another mission to find her missing sister, something Tabithia usually never missed. This time, Sammie was playing solo.

“Nah, I haven’t left yet. Bethany and I had to take care of some things first. Star’s coming over soon, but you know, I heard you were mixing it up with some god? Ares, or some other Greek idol. Tell me it’s so not true.”

Tabithia grinned Some other Greek idol was right. If Ares was anything like Aeros, the god had to be stacked.

“Naw, you know me, I never hit the trouble switch. I leave that up to my aunt.” They both shared a laugh at her aunt’s nickname. Turning serious, she said, “I’m on a little side venture. Sure you don’t want some backup on yours?”

Across from her, Aeros snapped something at Galen that she couldn’t hear through the spell she’d cast. The other man shook his head and got up, heading carefully to the back of the jet. Aeros was not pleased with her seeming departure. She watched him glance down at his wristwatch and fiddle with something on the side of it before he turned to stare out of the window by his seat. Even in profile, Aeros was gorgeous, not in the Hollywood too-glamorous-for-mere-mortals way, but in the fierce warrior way. Well, maybe he could give Gerald Butler a run. Naw, heck with the run, Aeros hands-down beat her favourite Scottish hottie.

He turned and stared right at her, a brooding expression pulling his brow downward into a V above his hawk-like nose. Did he really find her attractive? It seemed nearly impossible. A man like Aeros, strong, confident, ancient—he could have his pick of immortal and human women, for that matter.

She wished she could ask Sammie, but from what she knew of her friend, nothing got in the way of her hunt for her sister, nothing. Especially not men. The woman was driven with a capital D.

“Ha, Bethany says—”

“The little brat, tell her next time I’m going to sneak in and free all those poor little animals she traps and babies the hell out of.”

Laughter filled the line, and she heard little Bethany’s giggle, too. The girl child was adorable. Killer adorable and full of more mischief than even Trouble.

Sammie was too involved in finding her lost sister to wait for Tabithia to be done with this mission. For her part, Tabithia had scryed and scryed for Susanna but had found nothing. The world was a large place at times. And the immortal world even larger. The problem was they had no idea if Susanna lived, or if she’d already passed through the veil, or worse, if she was on another plane of existence. The immortal world stretched on, folding open into world upon world, upon world. It would take centuries to search them all. Scrying could only go so far. Worse, Tabithia had never met Susanna and had nothing to go on except for her own friendship with Sammie, Susanna’s twin, to aid in her search.

Eyeing Aeros’ impatient scowl, she resisted the sudden, bizarre urge to make him laugh. He’d crossed his arms over his deep chest, making his biceps swell wonderfully under his T-shirt. He was a lean man, not a body-builder muscleman, but tough as nails all the same. She was betting on an eight-pack under his shirt. And thick, muscled thighs.

She also guessed him to have a light dusting all over his legs with more than enough in the middle of that big chest to play with. The tattoo peeking out from under one of his T-shirt sleeves had surprised her at first. He just seemed too arrogant to adorn himself in any way. He hardly looked like he paid much attention to his looks. Short, serviceable hair. Dark BDUs. Boots. Weapons. That was Aeros. Well, not the other night. The other night he’d worn a sexy tailored blazer and dress slacks. He’d looked so hot she’d had a hard time meeting his eyes.