Daimon: Guardians of Hades Series Book 6 Read online

She straightened as resolve filled her, the need to make amends a driving force behind it.

  She was going to help him come to terms with what had happened to the woman he loved and his unborn child, so one day he would finally be able to love again, to live again, without remorse or guilt.

  Not for her sake, but for his.

  She would be long gone by the time he was finally ready to take the leap and be with another woman. She could only hope that he would be happy at last.

  That one of them could be happy.

  She looked down at herself, sorrow and sickness washing through her, stirred by a wish that she cast aside before it could fully form, because it was impossible. Allowing herself to feel something for Daimon would only cause her pain in the long run.

  Believing Daimon could come to love her would only destroy her.

  Happiness was far beyond her reach.

  Fate had other plans for her.

  Chapter 15

  Daimon stepped back to the Tokyo mansion, landing near the porch. Sunlight bathed the building and the grounds, the air still and silent. Just as he had hoped. Everyone would be asleep and he could avoid them all, at least for a few more hours.

  He toed his boots off, taking his time about it, his thoughts slowing him down. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Cass when he saw her again. His guard had been down in that moment by the bridge, and things had slipped out, things he had always wanted to keep secret.

  Or at least he had thought he wanted to keep them secret.

  He would never admit it to her, but talking to her about Penelope, even for that brief moment, had lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. He had been in a foul mood when he had left, had returned to Hong Kong and cursed her a thousand times over, but once he had realised he wasn’t really angry, that he was only acting out because he felt he should be furious, he had felt… good.

  He had never realised that Penelope was a sword hanging over him, a weight that constantly pressed down on him. He had loved her, or at least he had grown to love her, and he truly believed that if she hadn’t been killed, he could have been happy with her.

  Guilt stirred but he pushed it away, unwilling to let it take hold. He had been loyal to Penelope from the moment she had announced she was pregnant, had made the decision to stand by her, and he had stood by her for decades after her death, believing doing so would make him happy.

  But it hadn’t.

  And when he had been sent to this world and his power had manifested, he had driven deep into that desire to remain faithful to her, using it to shield himself from the pain of being unable to touch another without potentially killing them.

  He had fooled himself.

  Cass had opened his eyes.

  Cass who had looked so wounded last night, as if her heart had been bleeding for him.

  He wasn’t the only one who had revealed something about themselves last night. Cass had too. Beneath her often cold exterior, she cared. She cared deeply. She only affected the air of someone who didn’t form attachments, who expected everyone to do their bidding without question and who didn’t care what others thought of her.

  He set his boots on the rack, still mulling over how he was going to approach her once evening rolled around and everyone in the mansion woke up.

  Daimon pushed the door open and a sweet, tempting aroma hit him.

  He tracked it to the kitchen, paused when a muttered curse broke the silence, and then edged forwards.

  He peered into the kitchen. It was a mess. Bowls and tools were scattered all over the surfaces, bags and tubs of ingredients filled the spaces between them, and there was flour on almost everything.

  He froze again.

  Cass hummed as she bent over and removed something from the oven, the cute cat paw gloves out of place with an outfit he could only describe as a real heart-stopper.

  Black leather moulded to her long legs, the trousers riding low enough that it exposed a strip of creamy toned stomach between them and the fitted ribbed black corset she wore.

  Heat rushed through Daimon, his blood raging at the sight of her, his mouth going dry as he drank his fill of her curves and kept on picturing her as she had been in the bath, clad in only revealing underwear.

  “What are you doing?” He squeezed the words out, struggling to think let alone speak as he attempted to banish underwear-Cass from his mind.

  She whirled to face him, straightening at the same time and almost dropping the black deep metal tray she clutched. “Are you in the habit of sneaking up on people?”

  He shrugged that off. “You should have been able to sense I was back.”

  She averted her gaze, lowering it to the pan she held. “My powers are a bit… low… right now.”

  He frowned at that. How much of her powers had she had to put into that barrier to make it that effective? He took a good look at her, shutting out her tempting curves and wicked outfit, keeping his gaze trained on her face. She looked tired, dark circles around her eyes, her skin still a shade paler than before.

  “You should be resting,” he bit out, harder than he had meant, earning a frown from her.

  He braced himself, waiting for her to mention again that she didn’t like people ordering her around.

  Instead of lashing out at him, she muttered, “I can’t. There’s too much going on in my head, so here I am… baking.”

  Baking. It seemed like such a homely thing to do, so domestic and old-world feminine, words he had never thought he would apply to her. There was a side to her she kept hidden from the world, a side that she evidently hadn’t wanted anyone to witness judging by how awkward she looked as she glanced at him.

  “Do you like to bake?” He leaned his hip and shoulder against the doorframe, gunning for casual to cover how eager he was to know more about her, about this side of her in particular.

  She set the rectangular pan down on a rack on the counter to his left and wafted the dark brown contents with a baking sheet. “Only when I’m stressed.”

  He couldn’t imagine her being stressed that often back home on the island. If he lived there, he would never be stressed. All that sunshine, sea and endless blue sky. He always had found the quiet life appealing.

  Cass took a plate from the cupboard, picked up a slice of something from a tray beside the one she had been fanning, and offered it to him. “Brownie? It’s a new recipe I’m trying. Guaranteed to make you feel good.”

  Daimon stared at the square of chocolate cake and held his hands up. “If by good you mean bouncing off the walls and probably causing an ice storm, then sure.”

  She frowned at him, a puzzled edge to her blue eyes.

  “I can’t have caffeine. There’s caffeine in chocolate. Enough that I may or may not go off the rails. Personally, I don’t want to risk finding out which it would be.” When she just continued to stare at him, he added, “None of us can have caffeine. It’s like alcohol and mortal drugs. All very bad things and strictly forbidden.”

  She looked disappointed to hear that as she lowered her gaze to the slice. “I thought I knew you all better, but all the information I gathered never revealed you and your brothers can’t have caffeine.”

  Or maybe she was irritated with herself.

  She huffed. “There’s so much I didn’t know about you.”

  He knew she was talking about him specifically now. Before he could overcome how strange it felt to want to talk about his past and say anything about what she had witnessed, she continued.

  “What will I do with all these brownies?” She gazed longingly at them, revealing she had an idea what to do with them.

  “Aiko and the others would probably love them. They need a pick me up right now.”

  The longing edge to her gaze only grew stronger as she muttered, “Everyone does. I’d eat them all, but a moment on the lips…”

  She patted her hips.

  Her very shapely hips.

  Surprise claimed him when he was tempted to say she would
only look better with a little more flesh on her curves. The words refused to leave his lips, dying quickly when he recalled the letter he had seen on her desk and the way she had touched Megan’s belly and asked about pregnancy.

  She was meant for someone else, destined to bear his child.

  He twisted and eased his backside against the counter, watched her in silence as she leafed through a cookery book, muttering things to herself about recipes without chocolate.

  The silence felt comfortable, even as it cut at him, filling his head with thoughts of Cass with some nameless, faceless man. Milos graced him with a hiss as he strolled past and glared at him as he wound around Cass’s ankles.

  She blew kisses at the raggedy tomcat, her voice light and airy, as if she was talking to a baby. “What kind of baked goods do gods like, Milos?”

  The cat meowed sweetly, and then issued another glare at Daimon when Cass went back to the book.

  Unwilling to have a cat of all things steal her attention away from him, Daimon said, “I have a sweet tooth.”

  She looked across at him, her eyebrows rising. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I like rice cakes. I go to Asakusa sometimes to stroll along the stalls and buy some. The local gods don’t like me treading on their turf, but they’ve never tried to kick me off. They have more of a problem with Esher.”

  The light that had been in his voice, that had been filling him, faded as he thought about his brother. Where was he? He stared at the cupboards opposite him, the temptation to force Cal to open a portal for him growing again.

  Cass’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What else do you like?”

  He glanced at her, saw in her eyes that she had noticed the change in his mood and was trying to distract him.

  “Moon cakes. Mochi,” he offered, and tried to think of something she would be able to make with the ingredients scattered around the kitchen. “Victoria sponge cake.”

  “That was a little left field.” She frowned at him.

  “My brothers like it too… and you have all the ingredients right here.”

  “Oh, so you picked something I could make. Heaven forbid the women get all the sweet things and the gods don’t get any offerings.” She looked as if she wanted to tease him some more and then picked up a bag of flour. “Very well… but I warn you, I make the very best Victoria sponge cake. Every one you have after today will be pale in comparison.”

  Daimon shrugged, one that felt so easy that it surprised him, together with the smile that curled his lips. “Unless I get you to make another sometime.”

  She looked at him, suddenly serious, and his smile faded as the light that had been filling him again switched off.

  Her blue gaze dropped to her work as she picked out a clean bowl and gathered ingredients. “I like sweet things too. I always got along well with Eric because of it. He made the best sweet treats. Chocolates to die for. The man was a genius. I really missed that once Mari grew up and was old enough to notice I don’t age like others. Eric would send me boxes of chocolates from time to time, but it wasn’t the same as sitting in his shop eating whatever I wanted as we talked.”

  It took Daimon a moment to remember who Eric was, and even when he did, it didn’t stop him from feeling jealous. The sparkle in her eyes as she spoke of Eric told Daimon that she had loved him.

  It was ridiculous of Daimon to be jealous of a dead man, but he couldn’t help it. The possessive side of him wanted her all to himself, didn’t want to share her with anyone, dead or alive.

  He reminded himself that it didn’t matter what he wanted. She wasn’t destined to be his. He had come here ready to speak with her, to brave the next step and give in to his attraction to her, but now that he was near her again, he couldn’t stop thinking about the letter.

  How was he meant to give in to her when he knew another man was waiting for her? How could she want him when she already had someone? Was she really only flirting with him, not expecting him to do anything about it, enjoying the rush of attempting to break down his walls, or was she serious about him?

  If she was, did that mean she wasn’t serious about the man waiting for her?

  His thoughts spun in circles in his mind, gathering speed, becoming a dizzying blur that had him unsure which direction he was going but aware that danger lay ahead. Her coven had been serious about her returning and bearing a child. Daimon had grown up in a world where goddesses were often betrothed from birth, their family deciding who they would marry.

  Had Cass’s coven done the same with her, selecting the man she would be with and expecting her to follow through with it?

  Would she follow through with it?

  She glanced at him, the feel of her eyes on his face only strengthening the storm building inside him. He had come here wanting to give in to her, but now he wasn’t sure he could do it.

  He wasn’t sure he could get over what he had learned about her or the thought she was destined for another man.

  He needed to drive that home so he would stop forgetting it, before he did something stupid.

  Like falling for her.

  It was going to hurt like hell, but it was better to wound himself now than let her utterly destroy him when she left.

  “You’re good at this.” He waited for her to look at him again, cursed her for smiling at him and looking happy that he had complimented her when he wasn’t done. He felt like a bastard when he added in a casual tone that hid everything he was feeling, “You’ll make a good mother.”

  Her head jerked up, her gaze colliding hard with his. “What do you mean by that?”

  Her pulse was off the scale.

  She knew exactly what he meant and the fact that she did turned his stomach, had cold sweeping through him as his mood darkened.

  Daimon shoved his feelings down and forced himself to continue, driving the wedge between them deeper.

  “I saw the letter on your desk.”

  Chapter 16

  Cass cursed Daimon in Russian. A whole string of them. Every single one she could call to mind. He deserved all of them as he stood there, casual as anything, his expression flat and empty, concealing all of his feelings from her. She wished she could do the same, masking the anger and hurt that swamped her, the fierce need to explain things even when she knew that whatever she said it wasn’t going to make things better.

  He had already made up his mind about her and what he had read.

  “You snooped at my private things?” she snapped once she could say something that wasn’t a swear word.

  “It was right there.” He folded his arms across his chest, the navy roll-neck long-sleeve T-shirt he wore tightening over his muscles as they flexed. “It was pretty hard to miss.”

  A little like the bite in his tone.

  He had read the letter the coven had sent to her. That was the reason he had turned so frosty with her back at her home, had announced he was leaving with or without her, and had been flip-flopping between pulling her closer and pushing her away more rapidly than before.

  He was jealous.

  Even when there was no need to feel that way.

  He was angry too.

  It flashed in his eyes as his irises brightened, turning as white as snow ringed with black, flecked with diamonds.

  “Besides, you’ve done your share of snooping.” He threw the words at her.

  She planted her hands on her hips but couldn’t deny that. Just because she might have poked her nose in here and there, didn’t mean she didn’t get to be angry when he did the same thing.

  She wanted to lash out at him, slave to a powerful urge to slap him for looking at the letter she had discarded on her desk the moment she had opened it, tossing it aside without reading it when she had seen the coven letterhead.

  It would only make things worse, and she ached for things to be better, back to how they had been before he had turned cold towards her. Only a minute ago, things had been good between them, better than they had ever been, and she ha
d been enjoying it. For a moment, she had honestly believed he was close to giving in to her.

  Now, he was so far away from her that she felt like a fool for thinking something was about to happen between them.

  She nibbled the corner of the brownie she had cut for him, needing the sugar and the sweet fix, a dose of chocolate to keep her spirits up and maybe give her a little courage.

  She should have kept the ambrosia on hand in the kitchen, regretted taking it to her quarters now.

  “It’s tradition.” That word sounded cold, hollow, no doubt revealing how she felt about it. She was done hiding things from Daimon though. He might be happy switching emotions every minute, and keeping everything to himself, but she wasn’t. He was the only one who knew what awaited her, and gods, she needed to talk to someone about it, even when there was a chance she was only going to do more damage to the fragile bond that had been developing between them. If she was lucky, it would both lift some of the weight from her shoulders and make him see that she wasn’t really getting a choice. “When a witch in my coven reaches two hundred years old, they must return home to bear a child with what you and your brothers call a Hellspawn. The child will be female and a witch. It’s the way of our coven.”

  It sounded so sterile when she put it like that, and she wanted it to be that way.

  What she didn’t tell him was that she had been putting it off. She was loyal to her coven and planned to obey the summons eventually, but first she needed to be sure Mari would be safe and she needed to keep her promise to Eric.

  “You seem all right with this.” Daimon sounded bitter, his deep voice colder than she had ever heard it, and the air around him chilled a few degrees.

  “It’s tradition.” And she wasn’t all right with it. Not anymore.

  She wanted to tell him that, but her voice failed her. Her coven was her everything. Her family. Everyone did their part to keep it strong, and she wasn’t going to be the one to break from tradition. She couldn’t.

  But it didn’t mean she didn’t have her reservations, her doubts.