Ares Page 6

  He had felt protective of her.

  He frowned, his dark eyebrows pinching together. He had protected her. The daemon had unleashed his power on her and Ares had grabbed the slender woman and pulled her into his arms, holding her nestled close to his chest. She had been so small and slight in his embrace, curled against him, her heat making his heart thunder.

  It thundered now.

  Was it just the lingering scent of her on his clothes that he could smell?

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had noticed the scent of a woman. Had he blocked out their tempting smell, rendering himself immune to their presence so he didn’t suffer as much? The past two centuries had been difficult, especially when some of his brothers had been with women. Seeing them happy and sated when he couldn’t have a woman of his own because the manifestation of his power meant that he would hurt them had killed him.

  Ares looked down at his hands.

  He didn’t have his power now.

  The cold returned, fiercer than before, engulfing him and stealing away all the warmth he had felt on catching the lingering scent of the beautiful woman. He had always hated how his power had become a physical part of him when they had reached the mortal world. Only Daimon could understand how he felt and he shared his longing to be like their other brothers and have a power they could control, one that didn’t constantly flow only millimetres from their skin.

  A feeling worse than cold swept through him as he contemplated his power was no longer a problem. It no longer flowed over his skin. No longer answered his call. It was gone. He was empty. No longer himself.

  He inhaled with the intention of sighing and stopped when he caught a stronger lungful of evening sunshine and sweet jasmine.

  His couch creaked.

  Ares swallowed hard to wet his dry throat and edged forwards, the smaller towel clutched in both hands in front of his stomach. His heart beat hard against his chest, pounding out a rhythm that matched his fast breathing. He peered over the back of his red couch.

  There was a woman on it.

  The woman.

  His eyebrows rose and his fingers shook. He stared at her, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Why was she in his apartment? He thought back to seeing Daimon and Esher in the alley. They must have brought the woman with them.

  Ares moved closer, until his thighs hit the back of the couch and he couldn’t get any nearer to her, and cocked his head to one side as he stared down at her. She was beautiful even in sleep, her face soft and hair wavy as it spread across the red cushion. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The scent of her caused a hard ache to start up in the centre of his chest, behind his breastbone, and he trembled. Nothing in this world or the Underworld, or even Mount Olympus, smelled as sweet and divine as this woman. She was everything feminine and sensual. His lips twitched into a smile and he drew in another breath of her, until she was all that he knew.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at her, studying her as she slept, shaking right down to his bones with the undeniable need to gaze upon her.

  To touch her.

  Could he touch her?

  The thought that he might be able to pushed at his restraint, forcing away his fears and doubts. He breathed hard, chest heaving, struggling with his raging desire as it slipped beyond his control. He needed to touch her, not just because his power was gone and he might be able to.

  It was more than that.

  He recalled everything about her from last night, from the moment he had first set eyes on her to the rage that had rushed through him when Daimon had tried to touch her. He growled low in his throat, a possessive snarl that shocked him. He had wanted her then, before losing his power, and he only wanted her more now. She was beautiful, brave. She had protected him even though she was weaker than the daemon. She had put herself in danger without pause or hesitation.

  He had to have her.

  She had to be his.

  Heat suffused every inch of him as his gaze lingered on her, devouring her beauty. If he still had his power, right now, he would be in danger of setting fire to his belongings for the millionth time.

  He had never burned so hot before, hungered so deeply.

  Ares swallowed again, skin prickling and heart pounding. Would he hurt her if he touched her? He managed to prise the fingers of his right hand open and lowered it towards her. His breathing accelerated, racing faster than his heart, and he tried to steady himself. His gaze zeroed in on her bare arm. It looked soft and satiny. Tempting.

  Inviting.

  Would it feel as smooth beneath his fingers? He inched his hand towards her, his arm shaking. What if he hurt her?

  His shoulders and chest heaved with his laboured breathing as he fought to bring it under his control. He ghosted his hand along her arm, holding it bare millimetres away from her. He ached to touch her but his courage failed him. He couldn’t risk hurting her. In the alley, he had felt a deep need to protect her. It gripped him again now, stronger than before.

  He ran his gaze over her and it settled on her hands. Small, delicate, as beautiful as the rest of her. He frowned and caught a flash of them on his chest. He pressed his other hand to it, reliving how she had touched him and how good it had felt to have her palm against his flesh. She had touched him. He trembled with the need to touch her too. He hadn’t hurt her last night. He wouldn’t hurt her now.

  It dawned on him that there was a beautiful woman in his apartment and if he touched her, she would wake.

  Cold trickled down his spine and his eyes shot to his bedroom and then around his living room and the open kitchen. It was a complete mess. He couldn’t risk waking her by touching her and letting her see this. Gods. For the first time in his life, Ares wished he had listened to Keras about something. He should have hired a maid service.

  He strode into his bedroom and kicked all the clothes on his floor into a pile. He bundled them up into his arms and then stopped, unsure what to do with them. He stared at the oak door to his closet and teleported there, shoved the sliding door open and tossed his clothes inside. He slid the door closed and teleported into the living room, glad that he still had this ability. He and his brothers called it stepping. One thought and one step, and they could move from this side of the world to the other.

  He quickly stacked all the pizza cartons and takeout boxes and stepped to the kitchen. He didn’t have anywhere to put them and settled for neatly arranging them on the black granite breakfast bar. It was the best he could do without leaving the apartment.

  He didn’t want to leave the apartment.

  He glanced at the couch and the woman sleeping there. The skimpy dark rose top she wore drew his attention to her breasts and sent his blood pumping. He stepped again, appearing behind the couch this time, and looked down at her.

  Now he would touch her.

  He stared down at her, instantly entranced again. Would she feel soft? Warm? Cool? He wanted to know.

  He drew in a fortifying breath and leaned over her, determined to touch her this time. He had to know how she felt and needed to see if he could touch her without harming her. He lowered his right hand towards her arm again and then moved course, heading towards her face, his need to touch her cheek too strong to deny.

  She stirred before he could muster the courage to touch her, rolling onto her back and sighing. Her warm breath puffed against his hand and he had to grab the couch to steady himself. Even that small contact between them was too much for him. Her eyes fluttered and he snatched his hand back.

  She was still a moment and then her eyes slowly opened and she frowned at her surroundings, and then looked up at him with soulful brown eyes.

  “What are you doing in my apartment?” he whispered, shocked by how breathless he sounded.

  Her lips parted, soft and full, alluring.

  How long had it been since he had kissed a woman?

  More than three centuries.

  She looked dangerous as she lay on his couch, her warm ey
es soft with sleep and hair mussed and crying out for him to tangle his fingers in it and pull her up to him for a long hard kiss.

  She blinked slowly, long black lashes shuttering her beautiful eyes, and then smiled.

  His heart thumped.

  His breathing stuttered.

  He had never felt so weak and defenceless.

  He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her.

  And he would have her.

  She would be his.

  CHAPTER 5

  Megan woke on the couch, stiff and sore, and beyond irritable and tired. Her gaze scanned the unfamiliar apartment and she frowned as everything came back to her. It explained her lingering fatigue but not the tightness in her back. She grimaced when she slowly sat up and her neck cracked, sending an ache across her shoulders and over her skull. She rubbed her nape, trying to ease the knot in her spine as her head pounded, and glared at the crimson couch. Expensive looking furniture shouldn’t be so uncomfortable. She kneaded her neck and shoulders harder, and glanced towards the windows off to her left.

  Was it dawn or evening?

  She couldn’t tell.

  The golden sky could be either.

  Stifling a yawn, she rose from the couch, pressed her hands into her back and arched forwards, trying to crack at least some of it into place. The thumping in her head worsened.

  If it was dawn, those men would come back soon.

  She trudged around the couch and crossed the living room to the open wall of the bedroom, intending to check the patient.

  The bed was empty.

  She blinked several times, frowning and trying to wake up, sure she was mistaken because she was so tired and still half asleep.

  Nope. The man was gone, leaving the deep wine covers on the double bed crumpled and pushed down to the end of it.

  Great.

  She wasn’t sure what Daimon would do to her if she had lost his brother, but she was certain it would be painful.

  There was a clunk and then the sound of running water.

  Megan turned around to face the living room and followed the sound to a room on her right. The oak door was open. She stopped in front of it and her eyes widened.

  Sweet lord above.

  He was nude.

  Her heart pounded harder than her head and she told herself to look away.

  Her eyes were having none of it.

  They remained glued on the tall, luscious, naked warrior in the double-width shower cubicle. He had his back to her, sinewy muscles shifting with each move he made as he ran his hands through his overlong dark hair, slicking it away from his face. Oh my. Her cheeks scalded and her body followed suit, heating to a thousand degrees. The man was a god, from his long muscular legs, to the firm globes of his backside, right up to his strong back and powerful arms.

  The lower portion of the glass door steamed up and stole away a slice of his beauty but still left the rest of him on show.

  And what a delicious view it was.

  Water ran over his shoulders, chasing in rivulets between muscles that she wanted to run her fingers over again.

  She had to leave.

  Megan frowned. Not yet. Just a few seconds longer. It wasn’t every day, or even every year, that she got to see living perfection standing only a metre from her.

  Who knew when the next opportunity to ogle a real life gorgeous nude man would come along?

  Probably never.

  He pressed his palms into the tiles and hung his head forwards, under the steaming jet. Water rushed down his sexy back in a torrent, streaming over broad strong shoulders that tapered perfectly into a narrow waist, and her eyes followed it, drifting down to the wicked ridge of muscle that arched over his right hip.

  His fist slammed into the wall, cracking tiles, and she jumped.

  Time to leave him alone.

  He began to turn around.

  She leaped backwards into the living room and panicked.

  She raced around the couch and sat in the middle of it with her hands in her lap, resting on her dark jeans.

  Sat very still.

  Stared at the far wall and the black screen of the huge television.

  Her heart hammered.

  The shower switched off.

  Panic lanced her again and she quickly lay down on the couch and closed her eyes. What the heck was she doing? Pretending to be asleep? She wasn’t sure why she did it but for some reason it seemed better than him catching her awake, as if he would know she had been spying on him.

  She waited, doing her best to look like she was sleeping, unsure what to expect.

  He muttered a few gruff things she didn’t catch and then she heard him enter the room. Her heart thumped. He was still for so long that she wondered what he was doing, and then he moved again and she swore she could feel the heat of his gaze on her as he stood behind the couch. He lingered there for long seconds and she was tempted to feign waking so she could look up at him and see if his dark eyes were as beautiful as she remembered.

  Would there be red in them as he watched her?

  She wanted to know why his eyes did that at times, how they could do that.

  He moved away before she could pretend to wake and she cracked an eye open. He was in his bedroom, wearing only a white towel around his waist and looking just as delicious as he had in the shower. He turned around and she quickly relaxed into the cushion again, continuing her charade.

  She tensed when he stopped close to her again, barely breathing, hyper-aware of him where he stood behind the red couch, towering over her. A droplet of water landed on her bare right arm and goose bumps broke out along its length.

  Her skin prickled and she swore he was close to touching her, could feel his hand glide up her arm towards her face.

  She rolled onto her back and slowly opened her eyes, feigning waking. She lifted her gaze to him and he stole her breath as he stood over her, his overlong tawny hair wet and slicked back, and drops of water rolling down his chiselled torso as he stared down at her.

  It was the first time she had seen him in good light and, heck, he was stunning, his sculpted cheeks and the cut line of his jaw giving him a rough but oh-so-masculine appearance.

  Everything about him made him look like a warrior, a man of strength and action, a man who made her quiver in her core and roused the feminine side of her, coaxing it to the surface and making her want to purr in appreciation of him. The fine layer of stubble coating his jaw only added to his intense masculinity and he had the most sensual mouth she had ever seen. Her gaze locked with his and she shivered. His dark eyes were as incredible as she remembered them and striking with the flecks of red and gold that danced against a deep brown backdrop.

  Tension radiated between them but Megan didn’t know what to say.

  She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out, so she swallowed to wet her throat.

  “What are you doing in my apartment?” he said, voice a deep rumble that cranked up the heat inside her.

  “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing on your couch.” She fought for composure and failed, and her nerves got the better of her, setting her mouth to hyper-speed. “I’m Megan. Remember me? You probably don’t. You were in a fight in the storm against this man and he hurt you, and did something. I shot him and then things got worse, and these two men appeared and claimed to be your brothers... they weren’t very nice... and I tried to shoot them too but the gun froze up and then they grabbed me and brought me here, and made me heal you... not that they needed to make me do it. I was going to do it anyway but the creepy one wouldn’t let me near you and the other one insisted on giving me the third degree about what happened. I told him and then they poofed off somewhere together and said they would be back by dawn. Is it dawn?”

  Her pulse rocketed. If he had understood any of that, it would be a miracle. He stared at her as though he thought she was insane.

  “It’s evening,” he said, that gruff purr melting her again. “Let me get a fe
w things straight. Your name is Megan. You tried to shoot my brothers. You healed me.”

  She swallowed. Maybe she should have omitted the bit about trying to shoot his brothers.

  She nodded. “I was trying to protect you.”

  He looked affronted and then his expression softened. “Appreciated. Did you catch my brothers’ names? Were they Daimon and Esher?”

  She nodded again and he turned his profile to her and stared pensively out of the bank of windows. Those sexy powerful shoulders heaved in a deep sigh.

  “They said they were going hunting. Something about monsters and a gate and protecting it.” She rubbed her stiff neck and winced when a twinge shot down her spine.

  His dark gaze came back to her and he frowned. “I was that out of it?”

  “The white-haired one... Daimon? He seemed upset when you touched him. He grabbed you and made Esher grab me. They brought you here in that weird black smoke and—”

  “Esher touched you?” He scowled at her and she shrank deeper into the couch and gave a small nod. He blew out a sigh. “He’ll be a pain in my arse for the next month. I’m surprised he didn’t kill Daimon.”

  For making him touch her? What was so repulsive about her?

  She went to ask but the man shook his head and a strand of his dark hair fell down to brush his cheek.

  “They’re all going to give me hell for this,” he muttered and she felt sorry for him as a pained edge entered his eyes.

  Why?

  It wasn’t as though he had done anything wrong. He was the one who had been injured.

  Megan sat up and rubbed her neck again, grimacing when it cracked but the ache between her shoulders remained.

  “What’s wrong?” His deep voice stirred heat within her again and he directed his frown at her neck.

  “It’s nothing. Just a crick from sleeping on the couch.” She shrugged it off but his expression didn’t lighten.

  He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.