Aphrodite's Passion (38 page)

Taking off her shoes, she dangled her feet in the pool’s cool water, wishing it could ease the passion burning in her. Unrequited passion, apparently. A flurry of ripples spread out from where she’d broken the surface and, for some stupid, silly reason, that reminded her of Hale. What he’d done was touch her, and he’d sent ripples shooting through her life. He might leave, but she’d never be the same again.

Something tickled her face, and she reached up to brush whatever it was away, only then realizing she was crying again. No big surprise. For the last couple of days, crying seemed to be her natural state of existence. Heck, she’d probably lost five pounds in water weight alone.

Sniffling, she tried to pull herself together. Sitting in the dark moping couldn’t be healthy. She’d tried to win Hale. She’d failed. Now she should go inside, be with her friends, and regroup. Besides, being alone with Hale, knowing he was watching her, only made her sad.

She headed back to the house, determined to pull herself out of her funk. But when she got inside, she couldn’t bring herself to join Lane and Zoë. They were watching
The Way We Were,
and somehow, that just didn’t fit her mood.

Instead, she called out to let them know she was back, then headed for her bedroom and parked herself in front of the full-length mirror. Her tousled hair and swollen lips didn’t exactly make a fashion statement, but she did look like a woman who’d just been made love to.

Sadly, it was probably for the last time.

Behind her, Aphrodite’s real belt gleamed from its perch on the chaise lounge, taunting her. Her grandmother’s warning had been prescient, and now she picked up the belt and ran her finger over the carefully inscribed words.

“What you wish for,” Tracy whispered. All she wished for was for someone to love her. No, not someone. Hale.

But wishes didn’t always come true.

Feeling a little silly, she exchanged belts, securing the clasp tight around her waist. She did a little pirouette in front of the mirror.

“Too bad you don’t affect Protectors,” she said. Considering she’d hit rock bottom, at the moment, she’d be more than willing to use the powers of the belt to make herself irresistible. Cheating, maybe. But she didn’t really care. She wanted him, and she’d run out of ideas. The ball had been hit firmly into his court, and he’d refused to return it.

There were times when life truly, truly sucked.

She was just about to succumb to another whopper of a crying jag when there was a tap at the window. She peered at it, but no one was there.

Hale!

Immediately, she raced over and threw up the sash, and was rewarded by a movement in the air—someone climbing in the window.

Missy suddenly appeared around her ankles, a low growl in her throat.

“Hush, little girl,” Tracy told the dog. “It’s Hale.”

“Sorry, it’s not.” Mordi materialized in front of her. “Prototype invisibility and propulsion cloak. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“Oh.” She had no idea what he wanted, but the fact that he’d come in through a window made her more than a little hesitant, and she took a step backward. “Hale’s not here, and Zoë‘s downstairs.”

“Actually,” Mordi said, “I came to see you.”

“I’m not the best company right right now...” She trailed off, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

“Not having the best of days?”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“Hale?”

“How’d you guess?”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I truly hoped the two of you would get this worked out. But as I said, my cousin can be an idiot about a lot of things.”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, he can.”

A moment of silence, and then; “I’m sorry, Tracy.”

With a little shrug, she tried out a smile. Maybe he really had come to check on her. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, I’m afraid it is.”

Squinting, she looked him in the eyes, then backed further away when she saw something unexpected there. “Mordi? What are you doing?”

“I’m truly, truly sorry. I have to do this. Hera help me, I have to.”

The next thing she knew, his hand was over her mouth and his cloak was wrapped around her shoulder. He sprang forward, and—with Missy’s frantic barks echoing beneath them—they were off the ground and zooming above Los Angeles.

Tracy never even had time to scream.

Nothing looked wrong, but even so, ice-cold dread settled in Hale’s stomach as he walked up the front path to the house. He stepped cautiously over the threshold, only to be met by Missy’s excited yapping. The dog raced down the stairs to greet him. He tuned her out, more interested in determining where Tracy was.

He’d followed her through the grounds, watching until she’d entered the house. Once she was safe inside, he’d gone back to work finishing her yard. Had she sneaked out without him or Zoë noticing?

“Tracy?” No answer. He tried again, louder. “Tracy!”

“What’s going on?” Zoë‘s head appeared around the corner from the living room.

“Is Tracy with you?”

“She’s in her bedroom.” His sister pressed her lips together, looking concerned. “What happened?”

“She found me. And we fought. And now I can’t find her.”

“Oh, Hale. You need to—”

He held up a hand. Now wasn’t the time for lectures. “I don’t need to do anything but find her.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Missy’s continued barking broke their silence.

“What’s she saying?” Zoë asked.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t listen—” He closed his eyes, realizing he might have just wasted valuable time, and knelt in front of the fluffball. “Hey, girl. Sorry. What’s that you’re trying to tell me?”

She yipped and yapped and he struggled to understand her primitive speech, made even more inarticulate by the fact that the dog was more than a little pissed off at being ignored.

Considering the information she had, she had a right to be pissed. “Mordichai,” he repeated. He closed his eyes, his heart twisting from a raw fear that pulsed in his veins. “Mordichai took her.”

Standing up, he met Zoë‘s eyes, knowing only one thing for certain. He loved Tracy. With all his heart and soul, he loved her. And he was going to get her back.

“She’s a lovely little thing, don’t you think?” Hieronymous stroked Tracy’s cheek, and the girl flinched, turning her face as if she wanted nothing more than to melt into the damp stone walls to which she was bound.

Mordi grunted in agreement, wishing he could crawl under one of the stones in the floor.

The prison room in this faux castle was simple. A single window high above the Pacific. Four walls, each lined with permanently affixed manacles. One door, laden with heavy, unpickable locks. One chair, upholstered in red velvet, for Hieronymous. And one ratty mattress stretched out on the floor for those instances when Hieronymous’s softer side was touched and his prisoner was allowed a bit of shut-eye.

The castle was definitely not
Metropolitan Home
but it was surprisingly functional for having been built as a movie set. Apparently, the movie mogul who’d built the place years ago had a passion for swashbuckler movies. He’d built the thing, filmed a few movies, then converted it to his house and the backlot to his own private playground after his company had gone belly-up.

Hieronymous—or one of his companies, rather—had picked the place up for a song.

Despite having been built by an eccentric millionaire with a love of castles, there were still modern touches. The cameras, for example, that hung in every corner of the room. Eventually, the technophilic Hieronymous intended to wire the entire castle. Right now, only this chamber had been rigged. The alcove beyond the door and the rest of the castle were still technologically challenged.

Mordi fought the urge to unbind Tracy and to rush her out past his father. But that wouldn’t help her or him. He had a role, he’d chosen his path, and now he needed to play his part.

“We’re so pleased to have you as our first guest,” Hieronymous said. He turned to Mordi. “Aren’t we, son?”

“Thrilled.”

“First guest?” Tracy snapped. “You might want to consider better accommodations before throwing any house parties. And if I were you, I’d seriously consider hiring a decorator.”

Hieronymous scowled and took a step back.

Mordi faked a yawn, using his hand to hide his grin. Thank Hera, Tracy’s spunk hadn’t left her. She’d need it for dealing with his father. And with Clyde.

“Comments like that aren’t good for your health.” Speak of the devil. Daddy Dearest’s number-one minion, Clyde the Creep, stepped into the chamber. “I looked for years to find just the perfect place.”

“If you’re into creepy-crawlies. Sure. It’s perfect.”

Clyde took a menacing step toward her, but Hieronymous held up a hand, stopping him. “Clyde, please. There’s no need to intimidate our guest.” He tilted his head, clearly inspecting her from toes to hair. “For that matter, you must be uncomfortable.”

He spoke as if she were simply sitting on an extremely hard chair, rather than being stretched so tight that she balanced on her tiptoes with her wrists far above her head.

“Mordi, there’s no reason for Tracy to be bound. She’s our guest after all. Let her down.”

Mordichai nodded, then slipped the key from his pocket. He moved slowly, as if he wasn’t in any hurry to help her out, then started to fumble with the lock at her wrist. “Just stay calm,” he whispered, hoping his father couldn’t hear him. “Stay calm and it will all be over soon.”

If he’d hoped for some sense of connection between them, he was sorely disappointed. The look she aimed at him was scathing, and full of hurt, and once again Mordi cursed the birthright that had led him to this situation.

As soon as she was released, Tracy sank to the floor, then crawled to the mattress and started massaging her wrists. “What do you want with me?” She aimed the question directly at Hieronymous, and Mordi was impressed that she looked him in the eye.

“What do I want? Well, my dear, I think it’s obvious. I want the belt.”

“I—”

“Come, come. Hale and Zoë have been putting nasty thoughts into your head. There’s a bit of a family feud, I’ll admit, but I’m really not such a bad guy.” He turned to Clyde. “The tray, please.”

Clyde passed a silver tray, covered with a silver dome lid. Hieronymous pulled the lid off, revealing a sumptuous turkey dinner, complete with gravy, dressing, and cranberry sauce.

Tracy’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything.

He put the tray in her hands. “It’s Thanksgiving, my dear. Do what I ask, and you won’t believe the blessings that will be heaped upon you.”

“In other words, give you the belt, and I’ll be treated differently than all the other mortals you’re planning to enslave.”

“But of course. Concessions can always be made.”

She licked her lips, her eyes darting down to the food. “I see. And you want...”

“Simply the belt, of course. Such a small thing, really.”

“Right.” She licked her lips, then nodded at the food. “May I?”

“Certainly, my dear. I didn’t bring it in just to torture you.”

There wasn’t a fork or a knife on the tray, but Tracy didn’t hesitate. She reached for the stuffing, got a few fingersful, then lifted it to her mouth. Mordi held his breath, wondering if she was truly going to accept food from his father.

He should have known better, of course. Tracy apparently had the backbone he’d lacked his entire life. In one quick movement, she flipped her hand around, flinging the stuffing onto Hieronymous’s face.

“Oops,” she said. “Looks like it got away from me.”

Mordi’s father leapt to his feet, his cloak swirling about him. “That was a stupid thing to do.” His words were measured, harsh, and Mordi cringed. He knew that tone.

Tracy managed to hold her own. “What was stupid was kidnapping me. Hale will save me, you know.”

“Will he? He’ll have to find you first, and don’t think that will be an easy chore.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not getting the belt.”

“We’ll see about that.” He turned to Clyde. “Confine her again.”

Tracy struggled, but in the end, she was no match for Clyde. In no time, he had her pinned to the wall.

Hieronymous turned to Mordi. “Open the trapdoor and let Harry in.”

Mordi nodded, not wanting to, but helpless to resist his father’s command. Bending over, he tugged at the thick metal ring on the floor until the heavy wooden door opened and Harry—Hieronymous’s favorite Henchman— popped into the room.

“The belt,” Hieronymous said, pointing to Tracy. “Separate the young lady from the belt.”

Harry slithered over, his slimy body leaving a wet imprint on the floor. When he reached Tracy, he grasped her around the waist, his tentacles fondling the belt as Tracy struggled uselessly against her bonds. Tears streamed down her face, and Mordi had to force himself to stay put, to not lunge forward and grab the belt the second it fell from Tracy’s waist.

Except it wasn’t falling. It wasn’t budging at all.

“Get... the ... belt.” Tight fury laced Hieronymous’s voice.

“Can’t get. Itsa not coming.”

“Fool!” Mordi’s father’s arm shot out, striking Harry’s head with a resounding
squish
and propelling the Henchman out the window. Silence. Then
ker-plop
as his doughy, squid-like body hit the ocean below. Mordi had no idea why Harry hadn’t been able to take the belt, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the belt was still tight around Tracy’s waist... and Hieronymous was pissed.

Tracy cringed, her eyes darting between Clyde and Hieronymous as she gnawed on her lower lip.

Hieronymous just stood there, staring at Tracy, his face expressionless. Then he smiled, and Mordi went cold. “Apparently I won’t be acquiring the belt through one of my Henchmen. Too bad, too. It would have been so much more pleasant for you.”

Tracy liked her lips. “What do you mean?”

“It looks like I have only one choice,” he said, picking the tray up from the floor. Hieronymous leaned closer, his nose almost touching Tracy’s. She managed to hold his gaze, but her deathly pale skin revealed just how scared she was.