Ares Page 9

  It was better to throw his youngest brother a fabrication than the truth right now. He liked his apartment in the state it was and didn’t want Calistos to ravage it with a tempest.

  “We hunted him but couldn’t find him.” The look in Esher’s deep azure eyes as they began to darken said that if he had found the daemon, he would have gladly butchered him for harming his brother.

  What the hell had he been doing in the city last night?

  Daimon should have known better than to bring him along to help him.

  Esher’s now-black gaze drifted to Megan.

  Ares shifted a step to his left, coming to stand in front of her, and his brother’s eyes snapped back to him and narrowed. He didn’t care what Esher thought about his protecting a mortal. He wasn’t going to let her end up on the dangerous end of Esher’s temper when she had done nothing wrong.

  She had protected him.

  He would protect her.

  “The daemon could teleport,” he said, hoping to draw Esher’s attention away from Megan. “I will track him down and kill him.”

  Marek tsked at him from the armchair. “Let’s not be hasty. We don’t know what will happen to your power if you do that.”

  Ares silently cursed him for wrecking a perfectly good plan.

  Hunt. Kill. End of story.

  He never had enjoyed planning and researching, and the sick glow in Marek’s dark eyes said that he was on the verge of suggesting those two things. Normally, everyone left the plotting to Marek and Keras, because for some weird reason they practically got off on it. It was boring and Ares didn’t have the patience for it.

  All he needed in life was someone to point him in the right direction and unleash him.

  “Fine. I will track the daemon down and beat the piece of shit to within an inch of his life and make him give me my power back.” That sounded like a great plan to Ares.

  Daimon smirked. “Or, the daemon will beat the crap out of you again. Don’t expect me to come to your aid next time.”

  Ares growled at him and Calistos and Valen shifted out of the line of fire, heading to his right, towards the black granite breakfast bar of the kitchen.

  “Who asked you to come last night anyway? I was handling it,” he snapped and Daimon’s grin widened.

  “Handling it?” Daimon laughed. “You would have been dead if it weren’t for the Carrier. And you asked me to come.”

  “She has a name... and I did no such thing.” He couldn’t remember doing it anyway. He might have. There were still patches missing from last night.

  Daimon took a step towards him, his grin still in place. “Oh, you did. Very specifically. You called mine and Esher’s names, and not in the mortal tongue. Keras had to smooth things over for you.”

  Ares reeled from that one-two verbal blow. Not only had he called Esher to him when he had been injured, risking sending his younger brother over the edge, but he had spoken the language of the Underworld in the mortal realm and Keras had paid for it.

  His gaze shot to his older brother. “I’m sorry. They had no right to make you do that... I shouldn’t have spoken it.”

  Keras gave an easy lift of his shoulders. “It was not a problem. A mere scolding. They took into account your situation this time. Daimon is overreacting.”

  “Still, I screwed up. Royally. Is there anything else I did last night that I need to apologise for?”

  “Calling my arse out to New York in the pissing rain,” Daimon growled and Keras shot him a glare. “Calling Esher out.”

  There was no need for Daimon to make a point about that one. Ares knew he had screwed up by calling Esher to him and it gnawed at his insides. Gods only knew what could have happened.

  Megan had been there, and from her account, she had threatened both Esher and Daimon with one of his guns. He closed his eyes, not wanting to contemplate how far south things might have gone. Esher would have gladly killed her. It was a miracle she was sitting on his couch and still breathing.

  “I like the rain,” Esher said, tone casual despite the darkness in his eyes.

  “So what are you planning to do about this mess?” Keras hesitated and then settled his left hand on Ares’s shoulder.

  It felt strange to have his brother touch him again. He had forgotten just how cool his skin was and the power that flowed through him. It seeped into Ares, imbuing him with strength.

  “You going to go crying to mummy?” Those words leaving Daimon’s lips were the last straw.

  Ares turned on him. “Get off my back, Brother. You should know better than to piss me off.”

  Daimon smiled. “I’m only saying that it’s what you normally do.”

  “That was a long time ago.” He took a hard step forwards and Keras grasped his shoulder, holding him back.

  He knew he needed to get his temper locked down, knew he would be heading for a fight if he didn’t, and that Megan would never want to look at him again, but he couldn’t stand here and let Daimon insult him in front of her.

  Daimon knew exactly what he was doing.

  He was punishing him because he could touch again.

  He was trying to ruin things between him and Megan by making him look weak.

  Ares growled.

  Daimon held his black-gloved hands up beside his head. “Hey, I’m not the one who used to belch fire when he was being winded. Keras told me the stories.”

  Ares gave him a tight-lipped smile. “No, but I do recall you freezing the entire west wing of the house when you sneezed.”

  Ice formed over Daimon’s leather gloves, glittering like diamonds. He paled and then gritted his teeth, his irises verging towards white, a sure sign that Ares had struck hard. “That’s cold.”

  “You should know.”

  “I wish you weren’t so hot—” Daimon bit his lip as though to stop himself and Ares couldn’t resist pouncing on that one.

  “I never knew you loved me in that way... you only had to say, Brother.”

  Daimon took a step towards him. “Headed! You’re a hot head.”

  Ares smirked this time. “Better than being ice cold.”

  Daimon’s eyes flashed white, a warning to ease off the throttle before he really lost his temper. Ares ignored it.

  “You want a piece of me?” He shirked Keras’s grip and crossed the distance to Daimon. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Without your power?” Daimon laughed in his face. “I would wipe the floor with you.”

  He couldn’t dispute that Daimon’s power gave him a distinct advantage, but he had fought his brother countless times in the Underworld, and sparred with him in this world too. He was seventy percent sure that he could take him and that Daimon wouldn’t risk using his power and harming his brothers.

  “Want to bet?” he snarled and the air in the room grew darker, colder. He clenched his fists. “I can still punch a hole through your pretty face.”

  “Enough!” Keras appeared between them and shoved them both hard in the chest. Daimon hit the wall near Ares’s motorcycle and Ares stumbled backwards, catching his calf on the corner of the ebony coffee table and almost tripping over Marek’s legs.

  Ares stared into Daimon’s eyes. Daimon glared right back.

  Seconds ticked into minutes.

  He fought to calm down and get a hold on his hunger for violence, the itch to ignore Keras and take a swing at Daimon to put his younger brother in his place. They had always irritated Keras with their constant bickering in the Underworld and only the sense of solidarity they shared because of the problems with their powers had kept them from each other’s throats in this world. Now Ares didn’t have a problem with his power and Daimon was alone in his suffering, and Ares wasn’t sure what he could do to make his brother feel better.

  Not getting in his face and backing off would probably be a good place to start.

  He turned away and froze when he saw Megan.

  She had curled into the corner of the red couch, holding her knees to her chest, and
her dark eyes were enormous, flooded with fear that sucked the colour from her face.

  Gods, he was a royal dick.

  He wasn’t used to having to worry about someone, and he should have thought about how she would feel if he got into what was a fairly standard verbal boxing match with Daimon. He didn’t want to scare her more than she already was, but he had done just that.

  He looked away from her.

  “Are you going to contact Father?” Keras said.

  Ares instantly shook his head. Telling their father what had happened would only enrage him and it wasn’t as though he could help, and Ares didn’t want their mother finding out either.

  “I can track this filthy daemon down and get my powers back myself.” He turned to face his brothers again and then singled out Marek where he lounged in the red armchair as though he owned the place. “Any research you can do would be great though.”

  Marek nodded, that twisted glow back in his eyes. “I’ll get straight on it. I’ll start by running a few searches on our database to see if any daemon with the ability to take powers shows up.”

  That was a long shot. They had all been filing reports on any daemon they encountered since they had arrived in the mortal world over two centuries ago, but normally they did so after they had exterminated that daemon. The chances of turning up a living daemon in their reports was slim to none. He nodded anyway.

  “Do you want us to stay?” Keras said and Ares shook his head again.

  “No,” he said, his tone flat and hard, and then sighed. “But thanks for the offer. The gates need you. If I have a problem, I’ll call. There is one thing though.”

  “What?”

  “This daemon. He was far stronger than I anticipated, which means he’s much older than the average daemon we deal with, and he didn’t seem interested in the gate.”

  “He saw it?” Keras frowned and his eyes darkened a full shade.

  Ares nodded. “He saw it and he acted as though it wasn’t there. He kept his head down... almost like he was pretending to be a human. I gave chase and he disappeared. So I came back, regrouped, and then he popped back up again in the middle of the storm.”

  “Anything else you can tell us about him?” Marek uncrossed his legs and sat up.

  That was the first sign of interest Ares had seen in him since he had arrived. Nothing got Marek’s blood flowing like the prospect of hitting books and his computer to do some research. The man had one sick sense of pleasure. Ares preferred a good fight to get his blood pumping.

  “He was French.” The soft sound of Megan’s voice had his head snapping in her direction and it turned out fighting wasn’t the only thing that got his blood pumping hard and fast. A touch of crimson coloured her cheeks as he stared at her, lost in how beautiful she was and the rising need to touch her again. For a moment, he thought she would look away, but she bravely held his gaze instead. “I think. He sounded French... not Canadian French. We used to get those over in British Columbia sometimes, and he didn’t sound like that.”

  That explained the slight difference in her accent and her talk of mountains. Not American. Canadian.

  “He said something too... um... something about having waited for this moment for a long time?” She didn’t look sure now but as she spoke the words, Ares remembered the daemon saying them.

  “Is that true?” Keras looked at him.

  Ares nodded. “He said that. Either he knows who we are and he’s just pissed at us because of what we stand for...”

  Daimon’s pale eyes turned glacial. “Or we really did something to piss him off. Sounds like he’s out for blood. Which means you need to be careful because he was after you for a reason.”

  Ares was glad that Daimon was back on his side again. “You know me. I’m always careful.”

  His brothers exchanged glances that said he was always the one most likely to leap well before he looked and end up knee deep in shit because of it.

  True.

  “So, I’m looking for a French daemon who one of us might have given a reason to hate us more than daemon’s normally do?” Marek said and then added, “You have a look in your eyes that says you have something else to say, and we won’t like it.”

  Ares did have something else to say, and they were going to hate it.

  “I fought four daemons at the gate last night. I had my power taken by an old, strong daemon who has been waiting to take me down and looked pretty pleased to finally have his shot at me. The daemon activity at the gates is on the rise. I know it, and you all know it.” He ran a glance around the room and everyone nodded except Keras, who pinned him with a dark look. “I know that there have been times in the past where we’ve seen this sort of sudden increase and it has turned out it was nothing... but things are different this time.”

  “Spit it out, Ares. Rome’s otherworld looks to be getting worse. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?” Valen growled, his golden eyes dark.

  “London and Paris are looking pretty shitty too.” Calistos’s words earned him a sharp glare from Keras. “What? You know it’s true. Something is coming and I don’t think it’s going to just blow over like it has the past few times.”

  “We need to make preparations.” Ares caught the edge in Keras’s eyes that warned not to issue commands as though he was the leader. Strange considering Keras had never played the role of big brother in the centuries before their father had sent them to the mortal world. He had left that to Ares. “I will track the daemon and capture him, and we can question him, but I can’t ignore my gut on this one, Keras.”

  Keras held his gaze for long seconds and then nodded. “Fine. I want nightly reports on gate activity and daemon sightings, and on the otherworld. Marek will research this daemon. Ares will capture him and bring him in for questioning... that means you have to bring him in alive and still able to talk. I know you want payback for what he did to you, but we need answers, understood?”

  Ares understood perfectly well.

  He cracked his knuckles and smiled.

  Keras had just given him the green light.

  Ares was going to war.

  CHAPTER 7

  The other men were gone, leaving Megan alone in the apartment with her protector. She had lost track of time during the meeting, trying to decipher what they had been discussing. It hadn’t sounded good. In fact, it had sounded a lot like yesterday’s storm really had been the start of Armageddon.

  She sat on the wine red couch still, tucked into one corner and hugging her knees. Everything she had learned in the past few hours collided in her head, mashing together into a mess.

  Was it ever going to sink in?

  She had thought that once she knew where her powers came from, she would be satisfied. As it turned out, it had only left her with more questions.

  Megan’s gaze tracked her protector around the pale coffee-coloured apartment. The overhead lights cast warmth over his tanned skin as he stalked around the rooms wearing only the white towel. It rode low on his waist, affording her a glorious view of the ridge of muscle that arced over his hips and formed a V that led her gaze to places it shouldn’t go. She forced her eyes back up to the hard ropes of his stomach. A sexy thread of dark hair trailed down from the sensual dip of his navel and it led her back down again to the start of the towel.

  He paused and glanced her way, and Megan’s gaze darted to the oak floorboards.

  Very lovely. They looked like real wood.

  He moved on and her eyes drifted back to him. He turned his back on her and huffed as he grabbed a stack of DVDs off the ebony coffee table and took them over to the black entertainment centre. Two squat deep bookcases stood on either end of the long low unit, enclosing the large flat screen television. CDs filled the bookcase on the left side and perched on top of it was a small hi-fi. He went to the one on the right, nearest the kitchen, and slotted the DVDs back into place on the middle shelf.

  Her eyes roamed down the strong line of his back to his bottom and t
he twin dimples above it. Every inch of this man was enticing. His muscles worked with rhythmic beauty, a wave of bunching and relaxing as he moved. He was breathtaking.

  Powerful too.

  He had almost come to blows with his own brother.

  She knew she should feel there was something wrong with that, and should want nothing to do with him because of it. That was what convention demanded. He had shown violent tendencies and one heck of a short temper, even shorter than hers was, and that should have made her want to get away from him.

  It didn’t.

  If anything, it drew her to him even more, because he was strong, masculine and powerful, and it spoke to her every feminine instinct.

  She shrugged the feeling off.

  She had no need to go along with conventions now that she had found out there were people in the world like her. She didn’t need to pretend to be something she wasn’t so she fitted in and didn’t rouse suspicion or cause people to look too closely at her.

  Besides, Daimon had been goading him.

  She might not have siblings, but she had grown up with people who did, and she knew goading when she saw it. Something had annoyed Daimon and he had taken it out on her protector, wanting to push him into reacting for some reason.

  Was it wrong that she had wanted him to hit Daimon?

  Daimon had tried to boss her around last night and he had threatened her, and then he had sought to belittle his brother in front of her. If she had felt a little braver, she would have punched him herself.

  She pushed Daimon out of her thoughts and replaced it with the gorgeous six-six barely-dressed warrior right in front of her.

  Was it wrong that she wanted him?

  She had never believed in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, yes, but love? No.

  She was definitely suffering lust at first sight for him.

  Her stomach growled.

  It wasn’t just lust pains that she was feeling. Hunger was rapidly becoming an issue too. It was dark out, which meant she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. If she went much longer without food, she would get sick.

  “Um,” she said and he stopped on the other side of the coffee table. “Do you have anything to eat?”