Poisoned Kisses (16 page)

T
he last thing Marco remembered was stuffing an envelope under a door at the mission of the United Nations Organization—the world’s understaffed and outgunned attempt at peacekeeping in the area. Inside that envelope was everything Marco knew about the general’s rebellion. He’d given maps, locations of encampments and an inventory of every weapon he’d supplied for the past decade. He hoped they’d put it to good use.

But now he had no idea where he was. Blinking awake, his eyes made out the fuzzy outlines of a beach house. The scent of eucalyptus trees and volcanic ash let him know he was still in Goma. The lake outside had to be Lake Kivu. Steadying himself on the mattress he saw the shape of a woman standing over him. He could see she wasn’t a stranger, either. She was the vulture and she was eyeing him like he was a rotting corpse in the sun. “Oh, you woke up. Such a pity.”

“What do you want?” Marco reached back to rub the sore
spot on his head and was relieved to find that he didn’t have an open wound.

“I knocked you unconscious. I wanted a little payback,” the vulture said, and he could see she had his gun. “Mmm, well, you are a tasty morsel,” she said, bringing her face close to him and digging her talons into his arm. “Let me just have…a little bite.”

“You’re not my type,” Marco snapped, jerking away.

She leaned forward. “Is Kyra?”

Marco ground his teeth. It was hard enough to make sense of the feelings he had for Kyra. To speak of them with this woman, this creature, seemed somehow obscene.

“More importantly…” The vulture knelt in front of him, licking her lips in a pornographic mockery of an act a man might otherwise welcome. “Are you
Kyra’s
type? Or are you merely an amusement? You see, my master hopes that you’re just another one of his prodigal daughter’s playthings—in which case, I’m going to kill you very slowly and eat your innards at my leisure.”

The vulture didn’t know! She didn’t know he was a hydra, or that consuming his blood would kill her. She was so dumb, she really thought he was just one of Kyra’s lovers. “And what if I’m
not
just another one of Kyra’s playthings?”

“You mean if she actually loves you? Then I hope you don’t bore easily, because your life is about to become much,
much
longer.” The vulture drew a syringe out of her pocket, holding it up so that the fluid shimmered in the light. “This is ambrosia. The rarest and most valuable liquid in the world. A little bit will heal you, a little bit more will extend your life, and a little bit more will make you immortal.”

Ambrosia.
“Give it to Kyra. She needs it.”

“Oh, this isn’t for Kyra,” the vulture said. “This is for you.
If
she’s truly set her nymph’s heart upon you, my master doesn’t want to see it broken by your fragile mortality. You see, nymphs are ridiculously dramatic. Love changes them,
ruins them, and Ares has plans for Kyra. He’s not about to let her transform herself into some babbling brook or melancholy wildflower on your account.”

Was it possible that Kyra loved him? What did it matter? He was going to die soon enough, but with Ashlynn and Benji’s lives on the line he really didn’t have time to die
today.
“Look, I don’t have time for this. I have an angry African war god waiting on me.”

In his frustration, he’d only meant to be flip, but the vulture recoiled. Panic flittered over her face, and her arms flapped nervously. “Which war god?” she squawked.

“Ogun,” Marco replied slowly.

The vulture took three steps back and lowered the gun. “You’re Ogun’s minion? I—I had no idea. But you seemed so ordinary.”

He didn’t know what sort of divine rules of etiquette were at play, but she seemed distinctly less intent on feasting upon his innards now that she assumed he had Ogun’s protection. She had jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it had changed the equation in his favor and he wasn’t about to contradict her. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“I’m only here trespassing in Ogun’s realm because Ares sent me,” the vulture said. “The nymph is his daughter, under his protection. So, you see, it’s Kyra’s fault. She shouldn’t be here. This isn’t her home. She shouldn’t even care what happens in Africa. She doesn’t
belong
in Africa.”

“Maybe you people should stop trying to tell Kyra where she belongs,” Marco growled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shipment of weapons to transport.” He got to his feet and walked toward her, free hand extended for his gun. He wasn’t about to leave without it.

And she even seemed inclined to surrender it to him, too, until he got close enough, and she tilted her nose up in the air, taking a faint sniff. “Is something burning?”

“It’s Africa, something is always burning.” But he was
suddenly and acutely aware of the small scratch she’d left on his arm and the little dots of toxic blood that were boiling at the surface of his skin.

“Your blood, it’s—”

He caught her by the wrist before she could touch it. “Careful.” As much as he loathed the creature and the carrion stench of her breath, Kyra had told him that the vulture was mortal. In spite of everything she’d done, she probably didn’t deserve to die just for curiosity’s sake.

“You aren’t an ordinary man at all,” the vulture said, her eyes widening. “You’re the
hydra.
She found you.”

“That’s right,” he said, seeing no advantage to denying it. “My blood can kill you. And it
will
kill you if you stand in my way. So, give me my gun, my cell phone and that syringe of ambrosia.”

She swallowed audibly, yanking her wrist away, and took another two steps back. “Not the ambrosia.” Her long red fingernails closed around it. There were apparently some things she feared more than death. “I’ll give you the rest, but you can’t have this.”

“Why not?” Marco asked. “You said it was for me, didn’t you?”

“There were conditions,” the vulture hissed. “Ares said I was only supposed to give this to you if Kyra truly loves you.”

Marco found it vexing that the Greek god of war should care anything about true love, but then again, he
was
Kyra’s father. “Just give me the syringe. Maybe she does love me, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“Then where is she? If Kyra loved you, wouldn’t she be by your side?”

Marco frowned, remembering the way Kyra had asked him not to leave her with the plane.

“No answer for that?” the vulture asked, tossing Marco his gun and his phone.

Marco took one look at the display and saw the text message from Benji. He muttered a string of expletives in just about every language he knew.

Damn it.
What had Kyra done now?

M
arco locked the vulture in a closet, then returned Benji’s text, telling him to bring Ashlynn to the beach house. Meanwhile, he was grateful the scrape on his arm was a shallow one that scabbed over quickly. He bandaged it, anyway, just to be safe.

When Benji and Ashylnn arrived, the sight of Kyra’s peridot pendant was like being doused in ice water. He knew what that necklace meant to Kyra and what a sacrifice it must have been for her to give it up. It made him more afraid for her than ever.

Ashlynn was only a little bruised but more than a little traumatized. She held her head in her hands, whispering, “I didn’t know there were places like this, people like this. I never wanted to know.”

She wouldn’t have ever
had
to know if it weren’t for Marco. Racked with guilt, he tried to tell her that she was safe now—or at least she would be safe as soon as he could get her away from Ogun. But he should’ve felt something for
her beyond guilt, shouldn’t he? Instead, he kept eyeing the bruises on Ashlynn’s arms with a different kind of regret. Those bruises proved that she wasn’t Kyra pretending to be Ashlynn—and that, for once, he wished she were. “Where is Kyra?”

Ashlynn wiped her tear-streaked face with her hands. “Is that that…that pale creature with the crazy black eyes?”

Creature.
Kyra had saved her life, but Marco realized that Ashlynn thought of her as something alien, something outside her experiences, something apart. And it angered Marco more than he could say. “She’s not a
creature,
” he growled.

“I don’t care what she is,” Ashlynn whispered. “I just want to go home.”

From the closet, the vulture called out and banged on the locked door, which made Ashlynn jump. “Who is that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Marco said.

From the panoramic view of the beach house, Marco stared out at the water, then at the patchwork of jungle, dirt roads and pasturelands beyond. Kyra could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. Marco had promised the nymph that he’d return, but it hadn’t occurred to him to make her promise she’d stay with the plane. And now Marco was ready to put his fist through another wall. “Benji, where the hell is Kyra?”

Benji shrugged helplessly. “I thought she’d catch up after the explosion, but—”

“Marco, she seemed like she could handle herself,” Ashlynn interrupted, her voice tempered. “She was invisible. She could be in this room for all we know.”

That’s right. If Kyra wanted to disappear, she could. He’d never see her again even if she were standing right beside him. A pain shot through him at the thought. It was a longing so unbearable that he had to actually brace himself against the door. No, Kyra couldn’t be here. Maybe it was just his ego talking, but after the lengths Kyra had gone to chase him down, he couldn’t imagine she’d just disappear. She was
in danger. Ogun had her. Marco was sure of it. “Benji, take Ashlynn to the United Nations mission. Walk her right in and tell them who she is. They’ll help get her back home safe.”

Benji—whose eye was still swollen—managed to scowl at Marco under a crust of blood. “They’ll interrogate me, Chief. About you. They’ll be looking to arrest you.”

“Tell them whatever you need to. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Ashlynn stood, still trembling. “You’re not coming with us?”

“I can’t leave Kyra behind.”

Now Ashlynn was angry—or at least as angry as he’d ever seen her. She’d been kidnapped and threatened on his account, so he could hardly blame her. But what she said was, “Why is there always someone you think you have to save? Why can’t you just come home where you belong?”

If he belonged anywhere, it was with Kyra. He only wished he’d realized it before this very moment. Marco leaned over and carefully kissed the top of Ashlynn’s head. “You’ll be safe with Benji,” he said, and before he withdrew, he unclasped the pendant from around Ashlynn’s neck. It was the only thing Kyra had of her mother—and now it might well be the only thing he had left of Kyra. Clasping the glowing stone in his hand, Marco said, “Benji, get going.”

“But what about the woman in the closet?” Benji asked.

Marco snorted. “She can take care of herself.”

As he watched Benji and Ashlynn make their way onto the crowded and dusty streets of Goma, he made the call. He figured that he could make a simple trade. Ogun would get his weapons. Marco would get Kyra. But when Ogun didn’t answer the phone, he suspected everything had changed.

He let the vulture out of the closet and asked, “What would Ogun want with Kyra?”

“To hurt her,” the vulture said without hesitation. “If he finds out that she’s a
lampade
—if he finds out about her
powers—he may use her to speak to shades in the underworld. But mostly, he’ll amuse himself with her for a while. Maybe with pleasure, definitely with pain.”

Marco felt his poisoned blood boil inside him. The idea of the general’s hands on Kyra was bad enough, the idea of him hurting her was worse. He’d seen for himself that she could feel pain. Why the hell couldn’t she have just stayed with the plane like he told her? Why had she risked herself for the sake of two people she didn’t even know? “We have to go after her,” Marco said.

“Why are you so ready to rush into the breach and risk your beautifully sculpted flesh for a nymph? Do you think you’ll rescue her and live happily ever after? That’s not how the stories of nymphs end.”

“I promised I’d return for her,” Marco said. “I’m not leaving her behind.”

“We’re mortals. We don’t stand a chance against a war god and now that I know where Kyra is, it’s time for me to return to Ares. You should come with me. My master has al ways wanted a hydra of his very own.” She licked her lips again in a blatantly sexual way. “Besides, there could be side benefits.”

Ignoring her propositions—and not knowing which one was more offensive—Marco fastened upon the most important part of the statement. “You’re leaving? Look, I don’t pretend to understand all the perverse reasons Ares sent you after me, but wasn’t part of it to protect Kyra? You said he has plans for her. She’s his daughter.”

“And Ares is a god,” she said. “He’s patient. His plans will wait.”

“Wait for what?” Marco asked.

“For Ogun to tire of torturing her,” the vulture said. “After a decade or so, Kyra will heal and return to Ares chastened by this experience.”

“You don’t understand,” Marco growled. “She doesn’t have
a decade. Kyra isn’t immortal anymore. My blood has made her vulnerable. I’ve changed her!”

He couldn’t tell if the vulture was listening to him. She was too eager to return to her master. If she heard him at all, she was too stupid to know what to do about it without getting Ares’ opinion first. If Marco was going to save Kyra, he was going to have to do it on his own.

Ogun’s blade opened a thin red line down her arm. Her pale skin parted and blood quickened to the surface, flowing onto the sheets of the bed to which she was chained. Kyra groaned through the pain, waiting for the flesh to close back over the wound, knowing that when it did, he’d only cut her deeper. “Ah, my sweetling, are you ready to tell me what manner of creature you are?” Ogun asked, with a menacing smile. He’d already shot her—amused at how the bullets passed through her. He’d already pounded a nail through one hand to watch her body slowly expel it. He’d already choked her, made her gasp for breath, made her fight for every gulp of air.

But she wasn’t healing as quickly as when the torture started, and soon, she wouldn’t heal at all. That she was becoming mortal was ever more apparent, both to the war god and to her. But it had all been worth it. She’d saved the people Marco loved. She’d given him the chance he needed to break free of this life. That was the best gift she could give him, wasn’t it?

Ogun brought his mouth close to Kyra’s ear, a flesh-crawling kiss upon her neck before he sank his teeth into her pale skin. Kyra screamed, feeling as if she were in the jaws of Cerberus himself, wondering if he was going to devour her chunk by chunk. And now Kyra was in so much pain, she couldn’t remember why she’d refused to tell the African god what he wanted to know in the first place. “I’ll tell you!”

Ogun released her and she felt the warm flow of blood behind her head as it dripped from her ear down her neck.
And he was looking at her with expectation. Shaking her sweat-soaked hair, Kyra let out a choked sob of defiance.

“If I cut all the way down into the tendons…if I sawed through the bone and cut your hand from your body, would it grow back again? I am so curious, Sweetling, because my skin is like iron. No blade can cut me, no weapon can wound me. Shall we try it, or will you tell me what you are?”

“I’m a
lampade,
” she spit out, furious at her own weakness, but willing to do anything to make the pain stop. “I’m a nymph of the underworld!”

At this, Ogun’s smile of triumph was short but terrifying. “Ahh, another Hellene, just like the hydra. And just what are you doing so far away from home?”

“I’m on safari!”

Ogun laughed. “The mortals only come here for the gold, for the diamonds and for the coltan that they use in their cell phones. But you are here to see the giraffes? I think not.” Ogun stabbed her again, this time in the chest, where the blade pierced her lung and it hissed. Then he pulled the knife back out and Kyra coughed. She couldn’t breathe, and when she did exhale it was with a spray of blood.

“Now, again, Sweetling,” Ogun said, “Why are you here?”

“She’s here because of me,” a voice said from the door. Kyra’s eyes swam in tears of agony. She must have been hallucinating because what she saw was another version of Ogun himself, all tall and ebony and elegant as the Congolese soldiers so often were. He was even wearing camo and carried a rifle over one shoulder.

When Kyra lifted her head from the blood-soaked pillow to illuminate his soul, she found herself too weak to do it. Still, somehow, she knew it was Marco.

No! He couldn’t be here. After all the pain she’d endured to set him free, he couldn’t possibly have walked right into the god’s clutches. Kyra let out a helpless moan. It was the only
sound she could make until the wound in her chest healed. But she wished she could shout. She wished she could scream that this was all wrong. Marco wasn’t supposed to come back for her. Mortal men never came back for nymphs.

Ogun stood quickly, a bloody machete flashing at his side. “Ahh. The Great Northern Warlord has returned!”

“Release her, Ogun.”

“Why should I? This creature is almost as interesting as you are.”

“If you let her go, I’ll give you your shipment of weapons.”

Kyra tried to pull herself upright, only to be yanked back by the chain around her throat she’d forgotten was there. She was in such horrible pain, and to hear Marco make this offer only made it worse.

“Marco, my old friend, why do you behave so foolishly? When it was just your timid Benji and your soft little Ashlynn that I held prisoner, weapons for hostages was a worthwhile trade. But now? I want to know what this creature can do for me.”

“She’s not going to do anything for you,” Marco said, grabbing the keys off the wall. “She belongs to Ares. She’s his daughter.”

How could Marco be foolish enough to mention Ares? If they involved her father, Marco would never escape. Between the two war gods, Marco would be a prize to be fought over—a deadly arms race between divine forces that would only end catastrophically. Her father was no better than Ogun, and possibly much worse. The mention of Ares was also the first thing—the only thing—that gave Ogun pause.

“Ares, the Thracian?” the African asked with a bitter twist of his lips, and perhaps a touch of alarm. “Is it true, Sweetling?”

“No,” Kyra forced herself to rasp. “I don’t know Ares.”

“She’s lying,” Marco said. “She’s a very accomplished liar,
trust me. She
is
the daughter of Ares, and she’s here because of me. You see, you’re not the only god who wants his very own hydra.”

“Ares is powerful.” Ogun scowled. “But I think I am more powerful still. Have you made your pledge to the Thracian war god?”

“Not yet. But if you let Kyra go, I’ll make my pledge to be your minion instead.”

Marco couldn’t do this,
Kyra thought. He wouldn’t do this! Not for any reason. After all they’d been through, he couldn’t betray her like this.

A booming laugh came from Ogun. “As you would have it, then, my friend.”

With that, the iron collar around Kyra’s neck snapped open. Freed, she tore at the chains that clasped her, scrambling to stand. The knife Marco had given her was on the table, and she might be able to get to it if she lunged for it. She wouldn’t be able to overtake a war god even if she had all her old immortal strength, but perhaps she could buy time for Marco to flee. That was the only plan she had left.

But Marco must have seen the lethal gleam in her eye because just as Kyra took the knife, he grabbed her. Just the sensation of his skin against hers—a touch she’d never thought she’d feel again—was enough to dizzy her. Though it hurt to speak, she forced herself to whisper, “You can’t give your pledge, Marco. Not after everything—”

“Kyra, remember what we said on the plane. We can’t cheat fate.”

So he’d just given up, then. He’d given in. He thought it was his inescapable fate to be an instrument of death. He really believed that he was no different than the killers in the ditch in Rwanda all those years ago. “Don’t you realize what’s at stake?”

“I do,” Marco said, his eyes trying to make a connection with hers.

Perhaps if she could’ve used her torchlight…but she was too weak. Her powers were all but useless, but she still had fierce determination. “I’m not leaving you,” Kyra said, clinging to him stubbornly, even though he wore the face of the war god she feared.

Marco thrust her away. “I’ve made my choice, Kyra. Ogun is an old friend and we both see things the same way.”

It made no sense. She didn’t believe him, but she was in such pain. Everything was swimming before her eyes. Maybe she was imagining it all. “He’s not your friend. He’s a
war god.
”