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Night of the Tiger
Hades' Carnival - 1
N. J. Walters
For Gerard. Thank you for always believing in me.
And thank you Heidi Moore—my amazing editor—for going on this carnival ride with me. As always, your keen eye and hard work have helped turn this book into something special.
Spell of the Lady of the Beasts
Lion, wolf, tiger and bear,
Be of stout heart and show no despair.
Phoenix, jaguar and serpent, all brave,
Be not afraid, though thy destiny is grave.
Warriors brave deserve a much better fate.
You shall not pass beyond Hades' gates.
My powers I give thee to protect and to keep
From death and torture in the dark and the deep.
When Olympians' power is turned into dust
The time will come for the righteous and just.
A chance to escape from a prison of Hell.
Listen closely to all that I tell.
Feminine power will come to your aid.
You will come to life as the curse starts to fade.
The sands of time will begin to slip by
And you will have but one day's turning to tie.
While the demons from Hell tempt and deceive,
A life must be given, a heart received.
One step from the path and all will be lost.
Your souls will be forfeit. That is the cost.
If honor and courage win the fight,
The curse will be broken, the debt made right.
Free you will be from harm and from strife
Able to live your immortal life.
Hades strode down the gloomy corridor, ignoring the skittering of feet and claws as demons of all shapes and sizes shrank back into the darkness to try to avoid his notice. He could have told them it was a waste of time. In his realm, he knew where everyone was. He was Lord of the Underworld, and Hell was his domain. He wanted to change that, wanted to expand his base of power. And the time was at hand for such advancement.
He walked deeper into the unending darkness, each step taking him farther away from the light. Nothing moved down here. Nothing lived. Nothing except for one very special prisoner.
Hades reached the end of a long-forgotten tunnel chiseled out of the earth when mankind was still living in caves and hunting with spears. Layers of dust rested undisturbed by the passage of time. A heavy metal door was padlocked shut. Nothing had changed in over five thousand years.
Pleased, he held out his hand and the massive lock opened and dropped to the floor. Dust kicked up, settling on his designer shoes. Hades frowned then shrugged. He'd get a new pair as soon as his business here was completed.
The large door swung open with a wave of his hand. The creak echoed down the narrow corridor like the screech from a tortured demon, and he stopped to savor the terrible sound. Smiling, he stepped inside and snapped his fingers. A spark jumped to a torch nestled in a rock crevice just inside the room. The kindling ignited, sending sparks flying before settling down to a low, steady burn.
The room was really more of a cell, carved completely from hard, unforgiving rock. There was no way to tunnel out of here, even if you could get free from the chains, which was impossible at any rate. Like the lock on the door, the chains had been created at the forge of Hephaestus, by the immortal armorer himself. Not that the god had had any idea what Hades planned to use them for. He definitely wouldn't have approved.
Hades shrugged. Hephaestus had wanted a favor only Hades could provide, so he'd asked no questions. Everyone had gotten what they wanted. Everyone except for his prisoner, that is.
The woman was chained naked to the wall, her clothing long since rotted away, leaving her bare to the elements. Her brown hair was dirty and matted, flowing over her skin like a blanket, covering her emaciated body. She'd had no food or water since her imprisonment. Sunlight and fresh air had not touched her face since the day he'd dragged her down into the unrelenting darkness of Hell.
Yet she was not dead. She could not die. She was a goddess. Here she would rot for all eternity. Unless he set her free.
Hades walked over to her and nudged her bare ankle with his foot. The chains rustled, their metallic sound music to his ears.
"I'm here to offer you a chance for freedom."
The woman didn't move, nor did she acknowledge him. Irritation pricked him. He should leave her for another thousand years. It would serve her right. The problem was he needed something from her.
Undeterred, he pressed onward. He could sense she was listening even if she was ignoring him. For a creature as jaded as himself, it was quite a novelty to have someone disregard him. Usually, anyone who met him trembled in fear, even his fellow gods and goddesses.
"Set your warriors free from the spell you put on them. Give them into my keeping, and I will let you go."
The woman finally stirred and slowly raised her head. Her skin was sallow and taut, but her pale blue eyes were as clear as a summer's day, almost blinding in their purity. "I cannot change the spell I cast. It is what it is. All must abide by its terms. Even you." She paused to take a breath. "My warriors are free to do as they choose. But I cannot set them free. That is for you to do."
He swallowed his impatience. His fingers curled inward to keep from grabbing the infuriating woman and strangling her. "How?" he demanded. He could taste victory and it was very sweet. It was so close now. With the strength of her warriors, he would have the power to crush his enemies under the heel of his boot. Soon all would worship him.
The corners of her mouth tilted slightly upward. "You will set me free?"
"Agreed." Hades waved his hand and the chains dropped away, clanking against the hard rock floor. "Tell me."
The woman licked her cracked and dried lips. Talking was a strain, but she persevered. He silently willed her to get on with it.
"You must find the key to unlock each of them in turn."
Hades stalked toward her, his eyes glowing red. The walls shook and the rock beneath his feet undulated with his fury as he stared down at her. The fact that she didn't shrink from his anger, but stood her ground, only added fuel to the fire. "Do not trifle with me, Lady. Your stay here can be made much more unpleasant."
She did not flinch. Instead of fear, he saw…pity in her eyes. Unacceptable. He was Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Feared by most. Soon to be feared by all.
She sighed and continued. "They are cursed to remain frozen in time until they find the one female who can unlock them from their inanimate state."
"How?" He raked his fingers through his hair and scowled. "How do I find these women?"
"That is for you to figure out. They are out there in the human realm. Somewhere. Waiting to fulfill their destiny." Slowly, the Lady pushed herself to her feet. "Now you must honor the bargain and set me free."
Hades crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he had to honor the bargain. Once his word had been given it could not be taken back. A god's word was law, even unto himself.
But that didn't mean there weren't some loopholes. She should have been more specific in her request. "You are free. None will stop you, but none will help you either. Make your way from Hell if you can." Turning on his heel, he strode from the room, taking the light with him and leaving the weakened goddess in darkness.
She sighed. She'd known this day would come. Hades was nothing if not predictable. The spell she'd cast on her warriors gave them a way out if they were courageous enough and clever enough to seek it. Not even Hades could circumvent the events that would unfold. She'd told him he had to abide by the terms of her spell and he'd agreed without question, thinking there was nothing that could stop him. He would not be pleased when he realized what he wanted would not be as simple as he'd hoped.
Shuffling forward, she placed her bony hand on the rough rock wall to guide her. "The wheel begins to turn and only fate knows where it will end." Pushing forward, the Lady took her first step to freedom.
The way would be perilous, filled with danger and pitfalls. Hades would not make this easy. If she did not use her wits, she could wander in the depths of Hell forever.
Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the entire bedroom for one brief second. A crash of thunder quickly followed, rattling the windows. The long, white curtains billowed in the breeze like some ghostly visitor as the wind pushed through the screen, bringing the damp air with it.
Aimee Horner shifted restlessly in her bed, rolling from her side to her back. The covers bunched around her waist, a silent testament to her growing agitation. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and she shivered as the chill in the night air hit her bare flesh.
But she didn't wake. The dream was upon her.
Lightning flashed behind her eyelids, revealing a trio of skeletal remains casually leaning against a rock wall, their skin rotted and ripped away from their bodies. Large black ravens swooped around them, pecking what little flesh remained on their bones. Maggots swarmed around their decomposing internal organs and through empty eye sockets.
Aimee swallowed back the scream of terror that threatened to erupt from her throat. It would do no good. There was no one to help her. No way out.
As always, she was alone.
The trio straightened and bowed at their waists as she passed. Their actions were unexpectedly graceful and formal. Like some terrible hosts from a horror movie, they invited her closer.
They held out their bony fingers, beckoning her forward. Their shiny teeth and smooth jaws were locked in a permanent smile, offering a macabre greeting as she entered the darkness beyond. She didn't want to go any farther, wanted desperately to wake up. But her feet shuffled forward as if propelled by some unseen force.
It was always this way.
Her heart pounded so hard it felt as though it would erupt from her chest at any moment. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, rolled down her cheek and slipped off the edge of her jaw. Clad in only the thin cotton shift she slept in, her feet bare, Aimee inched into the darkness. Evil laughter, mixed with tortured screams, mocked her. Taunted her. Drew her onward.
The air was damp and moldy, a product of centuries of decay and rot. She tried to breathe through her mouth, not her nose, but the stench surrounded her, clinging to her and permeating her skin. She could taste the despair, the rising fear, on her tongue and not all of it was her own. Sweat dotted her forehead, plastering her hair to her skull.
Aimee tried to discern the ground beneath her feet, desperate to see where she was stepping, but it was almost impossible to catch even a glimpse. The darkness seemed intent on swallowing her whole.
Goose bumps rose on her skin as a blast of chilly air swept over her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A shiver crept down her spine. Someone was behind her.
The urge to glance over her shoulder was overwhelming, like an itch she didn't dare scratch. She didn't look back. Couldn't look back.
She ignored the urge to scream, the increasing pressure swelling in her throat, and pretended she didn't see the multitude of red eyes observing her every move, stalking her silently from the darkness.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating her surroundings as though it were midday. For a brief second, she saw everything. Grotesque creatures of every conceivable shape, color and size surrounded her. Watching. Waiting.
For what, she didn't know. Wasn't sure she wanted to.
Some of them had skin like leather, tough and scaly. Several had horns in place of ears and hooves where their feet should be. One or two had wings of a sort, spread wide, making them appear even larger. There were several no bigger than a dog, while others were at least seven feet tall. Most fell somewhere in-between.
A few of the creatures appeared almost human, until you looked into their eyes. There was nothing human about them then. Aimee closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Those red, soulless, pitiless eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. Somehow, the human-looking creatures were more frightening than the ones that truly looked like monsters.
She was in some sort of underground cave, her steps leading her downward when what she most wanted to do was turn around and bolt back to where she'd come from. She longed to feel the sunlight on her face and smell the fresh air filling her lungs. Still, she could not go back. Not until she'd done what she was supposed to do.
A sense of knowing came from somewhere inside her. If she didn't do this now, it would be even worse for her the next time. If she showed any reluctance, the demons would fall on her like a pack of rabid dogs on a chunk of prime meat. She didn't question her instincts, but went with them, taking a cautious step forward.
The air grew thicker and hotter with each step, harder to breathe. The stench of rotted flesh and death grew more stifling with each passing second. A crash of thunder shook the walls, sending a shower of rocks tumbling to the dirt path in front of her.
A stone bounced off the wall and smashed into her forehead. Aimee stumbled but didn't fall. Slivers of rock bit into her bare feet as she staggered slightly before catching herself. Locking her knees, she somehow managed to remain upright. Something trickled down her right temple. She reached up and touched her face, frowning when her fingers encountered something sticky and warm. She was bleeding.
Swiping the blood away with her palm, she prayed the wound wasn't too bad. She had nothing to clean or bandage it with. And there was no help to be found with the denizens of this cavern. She knew they were waiting for her to falter. If she showed any sign of weakness, they would attack.
Something hissed low and long in the darkness. It was a voice, but it wasn't even vaguely human. Whatever it was, it sounded as though it was whispering her name. She ignored the stink of fear and sweat that permeated her flesh and the sense of foreboding swamping her senses. She ignored the frantic pounding of her heart and the fact her nightgown was plastered to her body like a second skin. She ignored the pain in her feet and head. There was nothing else she could do. Tilting up her chin, she moved forward.
She knew where she was, but didn't want to say the word aloud. Didn't dare to. Didn't even want to think it.
As if someone or something had been reading her thoughts, a deep, compelling voice emanated from the darkness. "Welcome to Hell."
Aimee froze. She wanted to turn. Wanted to run. Wanted to be anywhere but where she was. But her limbs were frozen in place. All she could do was blink as the owner of the voice came nearer. His feet made no sound on the rocks, but she knew he was getting closer. The air stirred in front of her. Dust tickled her nose.
A wave of pure, unadulterated evil suddenly struck her, sucking the air from her lungs. She'd thought she was as afraid as a person could get. She'd been wrong. Terror swamped her in waves, threatening to drown her. The strong stink of sulfur stung her nostrils and coated the back of her throat.
The other creatures in the darkness shrank back from whoever, whatever, was moving forward. She tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were bone dry.
Aimee closed her eyes briefly. Bad analogy. Don't think about bones . Her eyes shot open again as the hideous creatures surrounding her stirred and crept closer with excitement now. If they were excited, it couldn't be good for her. She wanted to run, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Her brain and body were disconnected. All she could do was watch and wait and pray.
Flames flickered, seemingly in thin air, before jumping to life all around her. It took her a moment to realize that some of the demonic creatures had lit torches. The light swelled, filling the cavern. There was no longer any darkness to hide the reality of her situation, nothing to blanket or soften her fears.
She watched, both terrified and fascinated, as he glided toward her. It was definitely male, this creature that stalked her from the stygian depths of this cursed place. Power and evil combined in a formidable package. The man was simply gorgeous, so physically perfect he defied the laws of nature. There was something inherently wrong with that. Evil should be ugly.
He threw back his head and laughed, and the deep, seductive sound filled the air. The movement sent his glossy black hair tumbling down his back. His jawline was strong, his nose straight, his cheekbones high. He was tall, so very tall. And strong. Dark leather pants molded to his thighs and calves. His chest was bare, revealing rock-hard abs and smooth, tanned skin.
He looked at her then, and her heart skipped a beat. His eyes were as black as the night. No, they were night. The ultimate darkness from which there is no escape. There was no kindness there, no shadow of mercy. Only cunning and power and expectation.
Reaching out, he tucked one finger under her chin and lifted it higher for his inspection. Her skin burned, scorched by his touch, and she cried out in spite of her resolve to be brave. His thin lips turned up at the corners into a cruel smile. "You'll do."
A cacophony of noise erupted around her. A wolf howled, a lion snarled and a bear growled. Other animals joined in, their cries and calls echoing in her ears. Above them all came the roar of a tortured tiger.
Aimee slapped her hands over her ears, desperately trying to block out the yowls of anger and pain that clawed their way to the very depths of her soul, beseeching her to help them. The cries were filled with anguish, but worst of all, with hopelessness.
Somehow, she knew these noble beasts weren't here in Hell. They were out there somewhere in the world, locked in some kind of unending torture. And she knew who was responsible for their suffering—the man standing before her—Hades, King of the Underworld.
Aimee suddenly realized she'd moved her hands. She was no longer frozen in place. Somehow, the lament of the beasts had broken the spell she'd been under. Not taking her eyes off the devil in front of her,
she lowered her hands from her ears and took a step backward. Something crunched beneath her foot, but she didn't look down, telling herself it was stone, not bits of bone from others who had been lured to this place.
She had to escape.
He smiled at her, sweeping out his arms to encompass the creatures around him. "There is no escape, sweet Aimee. Unless I allow it." His taunting smile had anger bubbling up inside her, shoving aside some of the fear surrounding her.
He wouldn't allow . This was her dream. Hers . She was in control here.
Like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, she closed her eyes and concentrated on being tucked safely back in her bed. She even thought about clicking her heels together even though she was barefoot and there wasn't a pair of ruby slippers in sight. Everything went silent and she breathed a sigh of relief before opening her eyes again.
She screamed. Or rather she tried to. Sheer terror tightened her vocal cords, making her scream sound more like the squeak of a mouse. And that's what she felt like—a small, brown mouse in the presence of a great, hungry cat.
Hades' cruel smile mocked her attempt to escape. He leaned forward, his breath hot on her face. "This isn't Oz, and you most certainly aren't Dorothy."
Oh, crap, he can read my thoughts. There was no other way he could have known about her Wizard of Oz reference. No wonder he'd laughed when she'd thought that evil should be ugly. He knew exactly what he looked like.
He brushed his finger over her jaw and down her neck, leaving a sizzling brand on her flesh as he went. She flinched, but didn't cry out.
"So brave." Lowering his hand, he studied her. "How much courage will you have when the beast comes for you? Will you trade your life for his?"
"What beast?" She hadn't meant to ask, but the question was past her lips before she could stop it.
Hades shrugged. "Who knows? Only you can decide that. You hold the fate of the beast in your hands." He wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing tight. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. His touch burned. A whisper of singed flesh assailed her nostrils. "Such small hands. Weak."
Cruel pleasure lit his dark eyes. "You will be the new lady of the beast, at least for one of them." He laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. It was filled with a cruel expectation that froze her from the inside out. Even the demons ringed around them shrank back at the sound.
"I don't understand." There was something important happening here. Something she needed to know. She gave herself a mental shake, dismissing the thought. The only thing she needed to be concerned about at this moment was getting out of this nightmare.
"That's right," he crooned as he released her fingers. She pulled her stinging hands close to her chest, cradling them there as he continued. "You just have to worry about yourself. Serve up the beast to save yourself, and everything will be just fine." Hades leaned down and stared directly into her eyes.
Flames jumped in the depths of his pupils. Or maybe it was his irises. His eyes were so black it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Aimee could see her death reflected there.
It was a horrible, never-ending torture. Her flesh burned from her body, only to regenerate and burn yet again. Over and over, it went on for all eternity. She could smell her scorched skin, hear the sizzle of her hair before it went up in smoke, feel the flames eating her internal organs and continuing on all the way to her bones until all that was left was ash.
"That's right," he whispered in her ear like a lover, his hot breath searing the delicate skin. "That is your fate if you don't give me what I want." He took a step back and glared down at her. "Don't disappoint me."
The air thickened, becoming too hot to breathe. Aimee coughed and began to choke as it filled her lungs. Her head swam and she fell to her knees. Her vision dimmed. Voices filled her head, promising torture and death. She had to get up. She couldn't stay here. She didn't belong in this antechamber of Hell.
Desperately, she pushed herself up, only to stumble and fall again. Her hand skidded on the damp earth and her face hit the ground. It was less stifling here, the air not quite so hot. She dug her fingers into the cool dirt and hauled herself forward. It was only a few inches, but it was a start.
It would be so easy to lay her head down on the ground, to just give in to the forces surrounding her, to accept her fate. She could hear the hiss of voices behind her encouraging her to quit fighting, to accept the inevitable.
But Aimee had never been a quitter, and she saw no reason to start now.
Anger washed over her in waves. How dare they do this to her? How dare he do this to her? She wouldn't even say his name, not even in her mind. She sensed that to do so would give him even more power over her, and she needed whatever edge she could get.
She dug her fingers into the ground and pulled with all her might, ignoring the burning in her lungs and the fatigue seeping into her muscles. Her thin gown was no match for the rough ground beneath her. Fabric tore as rocks and debris dug into her tender skin.
Not that way .
Aimee stilled. The voice was feminine and light. Kind. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. This was a trick. It had to be.
No trick. Follow my voice .
Even though she didn't fully trust the voice, she turned toward it. Any chance of escape was better than none. Immediately, a draft of fresh air struck her face. She sucked in a huge breath. The air was sweet. Clean. Adrenaline rushed through Aimee's veins as she sensed the way out. Grabbing the nearest rock, she hauled herself to her knees.
The demons watched her from their various perches, their eyes glowing with anticipation and hunger. Some clung to stones, others sat in crevices, while two hung from the ceiling, saliva dripping from six-inch fangs.
Why didn't they attack her?
They can't. You are the key .
The key? The key to what?
The voice sounded worried, and that was all the impetus Aimee needed to get moving. Digging deep, she found the last vestiges of her strength and pushed to her feet, stumbling forward. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel. See her body still lying in her bed. She raced toward it.
The chant of the demons swelled behind her, almost shoving her onward. She gathered the last of her strength and leapt toward the light, propelling herself forward. Her feet left the ground in a rush and she fell, her body plummeting downward, air racing around her limbs.
Aimee screamed.
She bolted upright in bed, her cry of terror echoing off the walls of her bedroom. Lightning flashed, and for a brief second she thought she saw a pair of red eyes staring at her from the corner of her room by the open window.
Frantic, she scrambled for the lamp on her nightstand. She smacked the base, almost knocking it over. Swearing under her breath, she fumbled with the switch and finally managed to turn it on. The room was suddenly bathed in a soft glow that drove back the shadows.
"It was just a dream," she assured herself. "Nothing more than a dream. You've had them before."
That was nothing less than the truth. What she didn't want to admit to herself was they were getting worse, more realistic each time she had one. It was as though she'd been having the same one for months. It just kept expanding, getting longer and more detailed each time she had it.
At first it had simply consisted of a sense of being watched. That had escalated to her being lost in an underground cave. She'd seen her first demon several weeks ago. But tonight was something else altogether. Tonight's nightmare had topped them all.
Still shaking, Aimee slid her legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Her gown clung to her skin, and sweat plastered her hair to her skull. Shivering, she stood. She needed a hot shower. Then she needed to strip the bed and remake it with clean, fresh sheets.
Not that she expected to get any more sleep tonight.
Glancing at the clock radio, she sighed when she saw it was just after three in the morning. There was nothing she could do about the time. She'd take a nap later today if she needed one. It wouldn't be the first time.
The shower beckoned and she stood, praying her trembling legs would support her. She shivered as the cold air blowing in through her open window hit her damp skin. She stumbled to the window and closed it, cutting off the breeze.
Her gaze went to the woods behind her home, silent and dark. Another shiver skated down her spine. "There's nothing out there," she assured herself. She'd grown up here. Knew every inch of the house and the land. Damned if she'd let a few dreams make her afraid in her own home.
She tore her gaze away and headed toward the bathroom, wincing as a pain shot through her right foot and up her calf. "What the heck?"
Aimee limped into the bathroom and flicked on the strong overhead light. Her pale face stared back at her from the mirror. Her skin was pasty white, making the scars on her left cheekbone stand out even more than usual. Her green eyes appeared huge, tinged with remnants of fear. But it was the seeping wound on her forehead and the light burns on her chin and neck that froze her in place.
She reached up to touch her face. It was then she saw the red marks on her fingers from where the devil in her dream had held her hands.
"This isn't possible." Her breathing grew shallow and fast. Darkness threatened to swamp her, and she began to sway.
"No!" She reared away from the mirror. Her back hit the wall with a thud, and Aimee slowly slid to the floor. She lowered her head, tucked it between her knees and took several deep breaths. No way did she want to pass out. She would be helpless, vulnerable. Staring down at her feet, she noticed they were bruised.
She shook her head. "Impossible. It was just a dream. Nothing more." As she stared at her feet, the bruises slowly began to disappear. Startled, she grabbed the edge of the vanity and pulled herself upright. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she watched as the gash on her forehead and the burn marks slowly faded away. Her hands returned to normal.
"I am not crazy. I am not crazy." She repeated the mantra over and over as she turned on the taps in the shower and adjusted the water temperature. When it was as hot as she could bear it, she stripped off her nightgown and stepped beneath the spray.
She shivered hard, her teeth chattering. It took several minutes, but finally the heat began to seep into her frozen flesh, warming her and washing away the remnants of her nightmare.
She didn't close the shower curtains. Tonight was beginning to seem too much like a bad horror movie. And everyone knew what happened to the heroine in those kinds of movies when she was stupid enough to take a shower with the curtain closed.
It might be cowardly, and a tad paranoid, but there was no way she was letting herself be any more vulnerable than she had to be. It was easier to wipe up the water that spattered onto the floor than to take a shower with the curtain closed.
With it open, the air circulating around her never fully warmed. Aimee didn't linger. Washing quickly, she soaped herself from her scalp to her feet. Usually, she enjoyed taking a shower, letting the water cascade over her body. But not tonight. Tonight she just wanted to be scrubbed clean as fast as possible.
When she was done, she flicked off the water and stepped out onto the tile floor. The cold seeped into the bottoms of her feet. She grabbed a towel and rubbed it over her wet hair, squeezing out the excess water. When she was satisfied the ends of her hair wouldn't drip, she wrapped the towel around her body. She grabbed another one off the rod by the sink and began to clean up the mess on the floor.
The mirror was coated in steam, which was fine with her. She didn't want to see her fear reflected back at her. When the floor was dry, she tossed the wet towels into the laundry hamper. She'd be doing several loads of sheets and blankets later this morning and would throw in the towels as well.
Padding back to her bedroom, she went straight to her dresser drawer and pulled out socks and underwear. It was all plain white cotton and totally utilitarian, but it was comfortable and it matched. There was no one else to see her underwear, so she pleased herself. She grabbed a pair of gray baggy sweatpants and a white T-shirt and finished dressing.
It was only when she was fully clothed that she faced the bed. The sheets and comforter were a tangled mess. She'd have to wash all of it before it went back on the bed.
"Just do it," she admonished herself. The dream was over. Nothing could hurt her. She refused to believe the wounds she'd seen on her body were anything more than an extension of her imagination. She had a very vivid one. One that helped her make a living.
Images flashed in her brain—the unholy demons, the cave, the skeletons and him . "Damn it!" She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes for a brief moment, knowing there was only one way to free herself from the remnants of her nightmare.
Whirling around, she stomped down the hallway in her stocking feet, leaving the mangled bed behind her. She thought about going downstairs and starting a pot of coffee, but her studio beckoned. She pushed open the door to her office and went straight to her drafting table. A lot of artists used computer programs to create their art. She was no different and used technology for a lot of her work, but when possible, Aimee preferred to do it the old-fashioned way with pencils, pen and ink.
She automatically turned on all the lights before sitting on her stool. The blank sheet of paper called to her, and she grabbed her T-square and began marking out a grid. Her fingers flew as the familiar task took over. She'd done this hundreds of times—no, thousands of times.
Grabbing a pencil, she began to sketch as the story unfolded in her head. "What was it he called you?" She closed her eyes and let herself remember. "Lady of the beast."
Aimee made a note to do some research later today. For now, she needed to get the details down while they were fresh in her mind. Letting the world around her fall away, she immersed herself in the drawings unfolding before her as her fingers flew across the paper. The cave and all its hellish denizens were soon depicted down to the minutest detail.
The voice of the woman popped back into her head. What was it she'd said? "You are the key," Aimee muttered. The key to what? Who was the woman and why had she helped?
She kept sketching, letting her fingers fly across the pages in broad strokes. Images tumbled from her mind onto the paper. She didn't hear the clock ticking on the wall behind her, nor the squeaks and groans of the house as the wind whipped around it, trying to find a crevice to slip inside.
Her fingers began to cramp, and Aimee finally set her pencil down and flexed her hand to work out the kinks. She straightened and groaned as the muscles in her back protested. Blinking, she stared around the room, surprised that it was filled with sunlight.
She glanced at the large, round clock mounted on the wall above her desk and was startled to see it was just after eleven. She'd been working for a little more than seven hours straight. Standing was quite a feat as her muscles were stiff, silently objecting to her ill treatment.
Pages of artwork were scattered across her drafting table. There were more pages on the floor. Aimee ignored them. She knew what was there. As a graphic artist, she was used to drawing the pictures that went with someone else's story. But this was different. It was the best work she'd ever done, also the most disturbing.
It was pure dumb luck that a comic-company executive had seen some of her sketches hanging in a local gift shop about ten years ago and sought her out with a job offer. Since then, she'd worked with many different writers, helping to create comics and graphic novels that sold around the world. The Internet and her computer allowed her to work from home. That was important to Aimee.
But the drawings she'd created late at night and into the early morning these past few months were not for work. They were personal. She'd decided to create a comic of her own based on her nightmares. "Might as well be of some use," she told the sketches before turning her back on them and leaving her office behind.
Maybe she'd call it Lady of the Beast . It was catchy and had a sense of power about it. She hoped that by putting her fears and dreams down on paper she'd somehow be able to exorcise them from her life. So far it hadn't worked, but she wasn't giving up.
She stopped at the doorway to her room and stared at the mess that was her bed. It was time to get back to real life. Striding forward, she grabbed a corner of her comforter, yanked it off and dropped it on the floor in a heap. She stripped the bed and gathered all the soiled linens, as well as the wet towels from the bathroom, before trotting downstairs.
Not pausing in the kitchen, Aimee went straight to the laundry room and dumped all the linens on the floor. She sorted through them and stuffed a load of sheets and towels in the washer. After setting it to the proper cycle, she padded to the kitchen.
"Coffee," she muttered as she dug out the can of dark roast from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Her stomach growled in protest as she filled the pot with water and scooped out spoonfuls of coffee grounds into the filter. She flicked the switch on the side of the coffeemaker and opened the cupboard door as the machine began to gurgle. Her stomach growled again as she searched the near-empty cupboard.
"I've got to go grocery shopping," she muttered, shoving aside a few bottles of dried spices to get to a box in the back. The cupboards were all but bare. They always got that way before she made herself go to town. She'd grown up just outside the small community of Salvation, North Carolina, but she'd never felt as though she were a part of it, had always felt as though she were on the outside looking in.
Aimee grabbed the box of crackers and set it on the counter before rummaging in the refrigerator. A half-empty bottle of ketchup and some mayonnaise long past the expiry date were not appetizing in the least. She gave a crow of triumph when she came up with a jar of peanut butter. There wasn't much there, but there was enough to spread on the dozen or so crackers she'd found.
After she'd emptied both the cracker box and peanut butter jar, she poured a cup of coffee and sipped the dark brew as she made a grocery list. Opening the refrigerator, she peered inside. It was almost empty and about as appealing as her cupboards.
She dumped a block of blue cheese that she was almost certain was supposed to be mozzarella into the garbage. Several bottles of condiments followed. Her grocery list grew with each passing second. She'd go to the post office while she was in town and check the mail too. She was expecting some art supplies she'd ordered online a couple weeks ago as well as a check for the last graphic novel she'd illustrated.
The nightmare hovered in the back of her mind, but Aimee shoved it aside. With the sun shining in
through the windows and the mundane chores of life surrounding her, it was easy to convince herself the happenings of last night were nothing more than a dream.
Wind skittered over the parched ground, pushing dried leaves in front of it. Dust whipped up, swirling in an exotic dance before being dispersed by the cool breeze. A rabbit hopped across the clearing, stopped, lifted its pink nose and sniffed the air. A deer froze at the edge of the woods, sensing everything was not as it should be.
Evil.
On the wind and moving steadily closer. The rabbit bounded quickly into the woods. The deer bolted, racing deep into the forest, not looking back. The birds took flight, while the smaller woodland creatures burrowed into their dens and hidey-holes. Crows cawed raucously, flapping their wings as they soared above the clearing.
The sound of a truck interrupted their chatter. Another quickly followed it. Voices rang out as a convoy of vehicles flanked either side of the large clearing. Metal clanked as equipment was unloaded. Canvas flapped in the wind as tents were raised.
Shade's Carnival has come to Salvation, North Carolina.
Aimee sighed as she climbed out of the low-slung, vintage red Mustang. This was the last place she wanted to be tonight, but her friend had insisted.
"It'll be fun," she muttered, mocking what her friend, Sandra Travers, had said. Aimee would rather have a root canal.
"I heard that." Sandra closed the car door with a thunk and leaned her arms on top of the roof, peering over it. "I know that you prefer to be a hermit, but honestly, Aimee, even you've never been quite this bad before."
"I know. I've just been preoccupied lately. With work," she added before Sandra could ask.
Aimee knew there was no defense against her friend's accusations. There was no denying she didn't like being out in public, much preferred being at home in her art studio. Even as a child, she'd spent all her time with her colored pencils, sketch books and oil paints. In school, she'd constantly doodled when she should have been concentrating on her social studies or math assignments.
Her teachers had predicted she'd never graduate high school or get a job if she didn't stop scribbling pictures on every available sheet of paper. She'd proved them wrong on both counts. She'd not only graduated from high school, but had managed a year of art school before returning to Salvation. Her doodles , as many had deemed them, not only provided her with a comfortable living, but also allowed her to do something she loved on a daily basis.
Aimee considered herself luckier than most folks she knew, even though her life hadn't been an easy one. Both her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was seventeen. She'd been in the car with them when the drunk driver of a delivery truck had slammed into them, and she hadn't escaped unharmed.
Shattered glass had left her face with several scars that had faded to thin white lines over time. Her left arm and both her legs had been broken, but her left leg had been the worst. It had taken several surgeries and months of rehabilitation for Aimee to be able to walk again. She still limped when she was tired, and her left leg would never be as strong as it once was. But she was alive. Her parents hadn't been as lucky.
By the time she'd been released from the hospital, her eighteenth birthday had come and gone and she was an adult. She'd moved back into her family home on the outskirts of town and adjusted to her new life. Art school had beckoned and she'd gone, but only for a year. Aimee found she missed the mountains and her childhood home, needed the connection with her past to keep her grounded. So she'd moved back to Salvation, lucked into her current job and never looked back.
Even after a decade, the townspeople still called her "that poor Horner girl" in whispers whenever they saw her, recounting her tragic story. It was frustrating, but Aimee had long ago learned to ignore it and to live with the stares that followed her whenever she went into town.
"Aimee." Sandra's voice broke through her memories, bringing her back to the present.
She offered her friend a smile. It wasn't much of one, but it was the best she could do. Sandra Travers couldn't understand what it was like to be the object of pity and sometimes ridicule. Her friend was tall and slender, with thick blonde hair that fell halfway down her back and framed sultry blue eyes. She had the body of a centerfold model, and men stopped in their tracks whenever they saw her.
The blonde bombshell had unwittingly caused several car accidents just by walking down the sidewalk. Flirting came natural to her and was simply a part of who she was. Sandra was outgoing and vivacious, chatting to everyone. She loved to be out and about among people and drew them to her like flies to honey.
In spite of the protective walls Aimee had built around herself, Sandra had knocked them down one by one when she'd moved to Salvation less than a year ago, and the two of them had become unlikely friends.
It had started with coffee at Kathy's Kitchen, the local diner. And now they had dinner at least once a week and met for coffee whenever Aimee went to town. They talked often, Sandra regaling Aimee with her stories of dating and all the latest gossip about life in Salvation.
"Aimee, let's go." Sandra's impatient plea got her full attention.
Determined not to spoil their evening out, Aimee hooked her purse strap over her shoulder and started toward the fairgrounds. "Sure."
Although she felt fine most of the time, she was careful as she walked over the uneven ground. In spite of all the doctors' best efforts years ago, her left leg would never be strong. It paid to be cautious. The last thing she wanted to do was take a spill on the uneven ground and end up humiliating herself in front of most of the townspeople who'd come here tonight. They talked about her enough without her giving them something else to set their tongues wagging.
Because she lived alone and never dated, rumors abounded that she was gay. That was the best of them. Other rumors hinted at much darker things, mostly because she made her living doing artwork for graphic novels, most of which were horror or fantasy based. Many of the folks around here figured that must put her in league with the devil.
After the dreams of the past few months, Aimee was beginning to think they might be right. But, for the moment at least, the buzz in town was centered on the traveling carnival. It had raised quite a stir in the small mountain town of Salvation. They hadn't seen this kind of traveling show here in more than twenty years.
Most carnivals of this sort had died out decades ago, losing out to bigger and better permanent theme parks. At first, the town fathers had been uncertain about having a large group of unknown origins setting up shop nearby. But a quick trip to the fairgrounds and a hefty permit fee had gone a long way toward settling their qualms. The carnival was allowed to stay.
Aimee tilted her head back and peered up at the sky. It was well past dusk, and the stars were starting to twinkle in the night sky. The air was crisp and clean, as it can be only in the fall of the year. It was early October. The time of year she loved the most.
It had been a week since she'd had her last nightmare, for which she was eternally grateful. She'd certainly dreamed since then, but her latest dream had taken on a different tone entirely.
"Come on, Aimee. We don't want to miss any of the fun." Sandra was already several steps ahead, leading Aimee toward the bright lights and sounds of the carnival.
Even she had to admit that it was impressive for a traveling show. They'd parked their trucks and vehicles around the perimeter of the field, using the natural barrier of the woods to surround the fairgrounds. A ticket booth stood at the entrance beneath a brightly lit marquee that proclaimed it to be SHADE'S CARNIVAL .
As she watched, the red lights flickered and, for a moment, the lights that made up the first S and the apostrophe went dark. Aimee blinked as she read the sign again. HADES CARNIVAL . A shiver ran down her spine, and she stopped dead in her tracks. People continued to move around her, heading to the ticket booth to purchase tickets for the rides and attractions. The S and apostrophe suddenly lit up again, and the moment was past.
"Must be bad bulbs." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, glad she'd worn a heavy sweater over her long-sleeved shirt. Even though the days were still relatively warm, the nights cooled off quickly here in the mountains.
Following the crowd, she tried to ignore the sidelong glances she received from some of the townspeople. Even after all these years, she was self-conscious about the faint scars that traced over the left side of her face. Aimee nodded to some folks and said hello to others. They returned her greeting, but then they all looked away. None of them stopped to speak.
A miracle. That's what she was. A miracle. Or so the doctors had said. By rights, she should have died in the crash with her parents. She'd been in a coma for several weeks and everyone had given up hope of her ever coming out of it. Then suddenly, one morning she'd opened her eyes and spoken to the nurse hovering over her. She could still remember the poor woman's cry of surprise.
Maybe the accident had been the catalyst for her nightmares. Not surprising in view of everything she'd been through. Most would say that her bad dreams were normal considering she'd lost both her parents in one split second. But it went much further than that. She'd begun seeing creatures that shouldn't exist. They haunted her sleeping hours and the dim recesses of her mind.
She supposed she should be grateful. Setting those images on paper had led to her getting a job she loved. Something good had come from something bad. A trade-off of sorts.
Her dreams were almost all sinister, except for the ones with the white tiger. Just the thought of the great beast made her smile. She'd dreamed of the tiger for a long time, starting when she was still in the hospital all those years ago.
Huge and deadly and beautiful, the tiger came to her when she was most afraid, offering silent comfort in her sleep. They couldn't communicate in words, but Aimee sensed the connection that existed between them, and she was glad for it. It gave her a break from the constant barrage of disturbing images that constantly troubled her sleep. She always awoke after one of her tiger dreams feeling not quite so alone in the world.
The tiger dreams were the only regular dreams she had that weren't nightmares. That is until last night.
A shiver went down her spine, but this one wasn't due to fear or unease. No, this one had everything to do with that particular dream. It had been unlike any she'd ever experienced before.
He came to her from out of the darkness, a vision of potent, raw masculinity. Incredibly tall and broad, he strode toward the end of her bed. He did nothing to hide his nudity. In fact, he seemed totally at home with no clothing. He also did nothing to hide the fact that he wanted her. A rather impressive erection jutted out from his body, thick and full and hard.
Aimee knew she should be afraid, but oddly she wasn't. A sense of knowingness surrounded her, as though she'd met him before, as if she somehow recognized him on some deep level. That was impossible, of course. There was no way she'd ever forget meeting a man like this.
Anticipation welled up within her. Her breasts swelled and grew heavy, her nipples puckered into tight buds. Dampness coated her sex and trickled between her thighs as sexual desire flared to life within her.
She'd had sex before. Once. Just shortly after she'd returned home from the hospital. That had been more than enough for Aimee. She'd known Matt Ames since they were both kids, and they'd been dating for several months before the accident. She'd been half in love with him and thought he'd felt the same about her. But even he'd barely been able to hide his dismay whenever he looked at her scarred face. She should have known it wouldn't work when he'd insisted they make love in the dark, under the covers. Not that she'd protested at the time. She'd had enough insecurities of her own, and that had suited her just fine. When it was over, he'd jumped out of bed, promising to call her. He'd never contacted her again, and she'd never called him.
But she sensed this man was different. Sex with him would be totally unlike her first experience. It would be raw and elemental. This was a man who knew how to make a woman's body writhe with pleasure, to draw her to the edge over and over again before letting her reach orgasm.
More than that, Aimee sensed this man could touch the secret parts of her she kept hidden from others. This man could steal her very soul if she let him.
She wasn't really sure she had a choice.
His biceps rippled as he reached out his hand to her. His impossibly wide shoulders and chest tapered down to a trim waist, emphasizing his washboard abs. But it was his face and unusual hair that captivated her.
His hair was black, with slender stripes of white flowing through it. Or maybe it was white, with black stripes. Not that it mattered. It fell past his shoulders and looked incredibly soft and silky. She curled her fingers inward to keep from reaching out to touch it.
There was no softness to be found in his face. His features were rugged, all planes and angles. He wasn't handsome in a classical way. He was masculine and compelling and radiated a sense of power that went all the way to the core of the man. He knew who he was and didn't care what anyone else thought of him.
And his eyes—his eyes were the most incredible shade of blue she'd ever seen. They were clear and pale, yet utterly mesmerizing. Much like the man himself.
Aimee knew she was dreaming. She had trained herself years ago to be aware of what was a dream and what was reality. It was the only way she knew to keep herself sane. Usually it was easy, a simple matter of separating fact from fantasy. If she was seeing demons or the white tiger, she was dreaming. And if a strange man was in her bedroom, it had to be a dream. She didn't even have a boyfriend, let alone a man she trusted enough to let into her room.
If this hadn't been a dream, she would have been afraid of the stranger. As it was, she allowed herself to fully experience the erotic attraction along with the twinge of fear that refused to subside.
"I've been waiting for you."
Oh God, his voice was incredible. Deep and compelling and downright sexy, it curled her toes. Aimee wanted him to keep talking so she could sink into the sound of his voice. She didn't care what he said. The words didn't matter as long as he kept talking.
He was much nearer now, so close she could touch him if she wanted to. Even though the sheets were still pulled tight to her chest, she felt naked before him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, rubbing her nipples against the fabric of her nightgown. She swallowed hard as her core began to pulse. She wanted this to happen even though she knew it was only a dream.
Aimee slid her hand from beneath the covers. His eyes widened, and she saw the flare of masculine satisfaction as she reached out to him. Mere inches separated their fingers. Closer. She wanted to feel the stroke of his skin against hers.
She licked her lips, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. His erection seemed to swell, growing even larger. Closer. Almost touching. She could feel the heat from his skin. Almost there.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Aimee was jerked back to the present by the sound of her friend's voice. Heart racing, palms sweating, she could only stare at Sandra. What had just happened? She'd lost all sense of time and place, slipping into a dreamlike state to relive the dream from last night. That had never happened to her before.
"I'm fine," she managed to get out as she sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her knees felt like jelly, so she stiffened them and prayed her weak leg wouldn't give out from beneath her. She surreptitiously wiped her palms on her jeans.
"You look pale." Sandra chewed on her bottom lip, emphasizing the bright red lipstick that adorned it. "Maybe we should go home."
Guilt assailed Aimee. Sandra had been nice enough to try to get her out of the house for a few hours of enjoyment, and she was acting like a petulant child who just wanted to go home. She didn't have so many friends she could afford to lose one. She straightened her sweater and hooked her purse higher on her shoulder. "I'm fine. Really," she added when Sandra's eyes narrowed.
"If you're sure."
"Let's go." Taking the lead, Aimee made her way to the ticket booth. The weathered boards were old and faded, the red and yellow paint chipped from too many years of exposure to the elements.
She read the information posted on the side of the booth. That information, she noted, was in crisp black lettering that was obviously new. Every ride, game or carnival act was paid for in a certain number of tickets, ranging from one ticket to four. You could buy single tickets or bundles of ten or twenty. Aimee decided on a group of ten. That should be more than enough for the evening.
The man inside the booth looked to be about ninety. His leathery skin was wrinkled, and what hair he had was gray. But his eyes were sharp as he took their money and handed them tickets. "Be sure and check out the sideshow as well as the rides. Lots to see there." He grinned, showing off his few remaining teeth.
A sense of unease slid over Aimee, but it was swept away as Sandra took her hand and all but dragged her onto the fairground. "Isn't this great?"
Aimee stumbled but quickly compensated for the weakness in her left leg. Taking a moment, she looked around and soaked up the atmosphere. Everywhere, townsfolk were talking, eating and laughing. The air was filled with the sounds of mechanical whooshes as the rides swept people into the air. Some of them laughed, while others screamed. A Ferris wheel circled slowly with couples snuggled close in each seat. Lights flashed, and a cacophony of noise surrounded her. To a person who lived and worked alone, it was overwhelming.
She took a deep breath and continued to look around with undisguised interest, wanting to absorb all the colors and sights so she could recreate them later in her studio. Every experience was fodder for her art.
Games of chance were set up on one side of the field. They seemed to have all the traditional games one would expect at a carnival—fitting a hoop over a block of wood, getting a ball in the basket, shooting darts and firing air rifles at targets. The games were always rigged in favor of the carnival, but it didn't matter. People still played and some of them even won.
Food stalls littered the fair grounds. The air was heavy with the aroma of grease and sugar. This was the kind of night when men stuffed their faces, women chucked their diets and parents allowed their kids special treats. She could smell hot dogs, popcorn, French fries, pretzels and cotton candy. Her stomach rumbled, vociferousl
y reminding her that she hadn't eaten any supper. She'd gotten caught up with work, yet again, and it had been too late to fix anything before Sandra had arrived to pick her up.
A teenager walked by holding a candy apple on a stick. The girl sank her teeth into the apple and pulled away a string of thick, sugary coating. Aimee licked her lips, but talked herself out of buying one. Maybe there was something halfway healthy to eat. A teenage boy sauntered past, his face buried in a mound of cotton candy. Aimee chuckled aloud. Then again, maybe not.
"Let's go over here." Sandra tugged on her arm, and Aimee turned and followed her friend.
She made up her mind to relax and enjoy the evening. She wasn't fond of most of the rides—they were too wild for her taste—but she could watch Sandra on them. She could also enjoy some greasy, unhealthy, yet ever-so-tasty food and try her hand at a few of the games of chance.
Sandra led them to a large trailer with Funhouse stenciled on the side. On second look, it appeared to be two trailers clamped together.
"I'm not sure about this, Sandra…" Her voice trailed off as her friend turned to her, a frown on her face. Aimee realized she was doing it again. She was being a stick-in-the-mud. She vowed to be more positive as she walked toward the entrance. "I'm sure it will be fun."
Smiling, Sandra took the lead and handed two of her tickets to the middle-aged man who sat outside the door. When he took Aimee's tickets, he stared hard at her for a brief second, his gaze going to the scars on her face. She resisted the urge to cover her cheek with her hand. Instead, she stared back at him. He smirked as he dropped her tickets into the box beside him. "Enjoy yourself."
Aimee clutched her purse tighter to her chest and followed Sandra inside, taking care as she went up the few steps that led to the entrance. Placing her right hand on the wall for support, she pushed her way through the long, red streamers that ran from the ceiling to the floor. Now that she'd begun, she'd see it through to the end. Maybe she'd even have fun.
Then again, maybe not.
The moment she stepped inside, her stomach clenched and sweat broke out on her brow. The walls seemed to close in around her. Sandra was nowhere in sight. She could hear her friend laughing somewhere in the distance. "Sandra," she called out.
"Up ahead. Come on, these mirrors are great."
Aimee hurried down the narrow corridor as fast as she could, ignoring the bright lights that flashed on and off, illuminating clown faces that adorned the walls. She'd always hated clowns.
Considering what she did for a living and the kinds of dreams she had, it seemed kind of stupid to say that. But it didn't negate the fact. Clowns gave her the creeps with their painted-on faces and fake smiles. They always seemed to be sad and desperate instead of happy, hiding their true selves behind thick layers of makeup.
Feeling as if a hundred eyes were watching her, she worked her way down the narrow corridor. It widened, and she suddenly found herself surrounded by a circle of mirrors. She did a complete three-sixty and couldn't even tell where she'd come from.
She caught a brief glimpse of Sandra, her long blonde hair and red leather jacket reflecting the light before she disappeared from sight.
"Sandra." She called out to her friend, but the only reply she got was soft, feminine laughter, which seemed to be coming from a different direction.
Totally disoriented, Aimee placed her palm against one of the mirrors and stared at her reflection.
It was slightly distorted, but she easily recognized herself. Same slender build she saw in the mirror every morning, although this particular glass made her look shorter than her five-foot-six height. Her short black hair, pale skin and green eyes were all familiar enough. In the dim light, she could barely see the faint white lines that ran across her left cheek.
She turned to the next mirror. This one made her look slightly taller. Chuckling, she shifted to the next one. "Not bad," she murmured. This one made her B-cup chest look much larger.
This wasn't so bad after all. Aimee relaxed, determined to enjoy the novel experience. She smiled and glanced in the next mirror. The smile froze on her face and slowly disappeared.
Standing just behind her was an enormous white tiger, exactly like the one from her dreams. His white face was striped with black. A broad, flat nose and piercing blue eyes dominated it. His mouth was open, exposing a large pink tongue and extremely sharp teeth. Aimee was afraid to move, afraid to blink.
The tiger sat unmoving, muscles coiled, head slightly lowered. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her. She knew the beast could explode into action without a second's notice and be on her before she could even think to move.
This had to be part of the trick of the mirrors. It was only coincidence that it was a white tiger. Maybe the next one would have a lion or a bear or some other animal. She glanced in the next mirror, but there was only her own reflection and that of the tiger.
Her palms were sweaty, her lips dry. "There's nothing behind you. It's just a trick of the light." Even as she said it, she heard the heavy breathing of the animal behind her. "It's just a soundtrack," she assured herself. "It's not real."
Her stomach clenched and she felt light-headed. Where were all the other people? Where had Sandra disappeared to? She was totally alone in the room of mirrors. If you didn't count the tiger, that is.
Knowing she had no choice, Aimee slowly turned, her sneakers squeaking against the flooring. She was practically panting now as she sucked air into her starving lungs. She had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, she held it as she swiveled the rest of the way around.
She blinked and then gave a short, nervous laugh. "Nothing. Of course there's nothing. It's just a trick of light and mirrors." They probably had a hologram program they used or something like that.
It was time to leave the hall of mirrors. Placing her hand on the glass, she kept her fingers in contact with it as she began to walk around the room searching for the exit. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head around. The tiger was following her. No, it was stalking her. Head down, it prowled behind her, muscles bunching and rippling with each step it took.
Aimee yanked her gaze away from the beast. "It's not real," she repeated over and over as she let her hand slide over the panes of glass. One of them had to be a doorway out. She ignored the sound of heavy paws padding behind her. She ignored the loud chuff of breath and the low growl.
"It's not real." Her words weren't as loud or as sure as they'd been. Maybe this was a hallucination brought on by all the stress she'd been under lately. She hadn't been sleeping well either. That had to be it. She refused to believe there was an actual tiger behind her. She swallowed and kept searching for the exit, refusing to look over her shoulder.
This was as bad as one of her nightmares. She was trapped, unable to get out. It didn't matter that the tiger looked exactly like the one from her dreams, the one that had always made her feel safe. Panic threatened, but she beat it back down. Years of practicing control in her life and in her dreams came to her aid. One step forward, feel the glass. Another step forward, touch the next mirror.
A slight breeze wafted over her face. A doorway. It had to be. She pushed forward and her hands met an open space. Making herself walk instead of run, she left the mirrors behind.
She started to peer over her shoulder, a part of her wanting to catch a final glimpse of the magnificent animal, but she forced herself to keep looking forward. The tiger wasn't real and it couldn't follow her. She was already freaked out enough without adding to it. Her shirt was plastered to her body and she drew her sweater tighter around her, cold in spite of the fact she was sweating.
The corridor was dark so she was forced, once again, to use her hands for guidance. She cursed herself for ever stepping foot in this place. Once she got out, she was treating herself to a hotdog and a cold drink. She wasn't fond of carbonated drinks, but at this point, she'd take whatever they had. Maybe she'd even have some cotton candy.
A red light flicked on, and a clown popped out into the corridor, its macabre laughter surrounding her. Aimee screamed, her cry echoing off the walls. In the background, she swore she could hear the anguished roar of a tiger. As quickly as it had appeared, the clown disappeared back into the wall again. An automaton. "I hate clowns," she muttered, forcing herself to continue. She had to get out of here, and to do that she had to keep moving.
Several more clowns, each one more bizarre than the previous, popped out and laughed at her as she made her way through the narrow corridor. And that's what it felt like. They weren't inviting her to laugh with them, or even trying to get her to laugh. They were laughing at her.
Great, not only was she seeing things, now she was paranoid.
Putting her head down, Aimee plowed down one corridor and then another, following the twists and turns that led her around the trailers. She knew she had to be getting close to the end. After all, it was only as big as two trailers, unless they had crossovers, which could keep her going in circles.
The familiar sound of the fairground finally penetrated her consciousness, and she hurried toward it. For a person who preferred to be alone, she'd never been so happy to see people as she was at this moment. Streamers, long and thin, brushed against her forehead and cheeks as she stepped out of the trailer. The cool night air hit her face and she took a deep breath.
The door slammed shut behind her so she couldn't go back in. Not that she'd want to. She'd had more than enough fun in that place. Thankfully, she was at the opposite end of the trailers from where she had entered and didn't have to see the smirking face of the attendant. She gave thanks for that small blessing.
Feeling shaky, she was careful walking down the few stairs that led back to the ground. When the grass was solidly beneath her feet again, Aimee sighed with relief. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to find that she'd been inside the funhouse almost twenty minutes.
Sandra was nowhere in sight. "She probably got tired of waiting." A couple passing by gave her a strange look, probably because she was talking to herself again. That was a habit she'd picked up by living and working alone. Just something else to make the townspeople think she was a sandwich short of a picnic.
It was more likely Sandra hadn't waited at all. Patience was not one of her friend's virtues. Sandra was a bit self-centered, expecting the people around her to adjust to her schedule. Aimee figured because Sandra was so beautiful and outgoing she usually got exactly what she wanted. For the most part, Aimee didn't mind. It was a small price to pay for friendship. Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have some quirks of her own that Sandra had to put up with.
Knowing she'd have to search for Sandra, she left the funhouse behind and headed toward the food and games. Maybe her friend had decided to get something to eat. More likely, some guy had offered to buy her some food or take her on a ride. She attracted men everywhere she went—young men, old men, middle-aged men and even married men. Sandra wouldn't be alone for more than a minute unless she chose to be.
Aimee decided she'd get herself that promised hotdog and look around. They'd run into each other eventually. Hopefully, Sandra would be ready to go home by then.
Aimee wished she hadn't let her friend talk her into sharing a ride here. If she had her own car, she could just go home. As it was, she'd have to find Sandra or go back to the parking area and wait by the car. It was just her luck that, in her hurry to leave for the carnival, she'd left her phone at home sitting in the charger.
It's only for one night, she reminded herself. "Suck it up and have a hotdog."
Determined to enjoy the food, she shoved all thoughts of the funhouse from her head and headed toward the food concession stands.
Aimee licked a dab of ketchup off her fingers and continued to chew. The funhouse might not have been very much fun but the hotdog was delicious. There was something about eating a hotdog outside, one that had been grilled, which made it extra tasty. She swallowed and washed it down with a sip of lemonade, which had just the right balance of tartness and sweetness. Perfect.
The mood of the crowd was exuberant and infectious. Everyone seemed to be having fun. The knots in Aimee's shoulders began to relax as she stood in the shadow of a concession stand and observed all the people milling about.
A people-watcher by nature, she was more comfortable remaining in the background. She enjoyed studying faces and watching folks as they interacted with one another. The artist in her was always searching for interesting possibilities to be filed away for use in her work sometime in the future. Her gaze landed on a couple in front of a booth that held one of the target games.
A young man stood about thirty feet away from several small paper targets, holding the air rifle in his hands. Beside him, his date watched and waited. Anticipation filled the air as the young man fired once. The shot went awry. The dark-haired girl frowned but the young man hefted the air rifle and looked straight down the barrel. He raised the rifle again and fired twice more in rapid succession. This time he hit both targets. The girl squealed and the young man smiled. They left the stall with an adorable white teddy bear, the girl holding her prize tightly in her arms.
Aimee chuckled as the young man swooped down and stole a kiss from his date. The girl laughed and snuggled closer as the two of them walked toward the next game of chance. Aimee predicted another bear would soon join the first one.
The carnival would probably lose their shirt on that particular game. The sight on the air rifle might be off, but this was mountain country. There wasn't a man or boy within one hundred miles who couldn't adjust for that and hit the target. Heck, for that matter, most of the women and girls could too.
The roar of the generators was almost drowned out by the sound of pop music pumping out from the speakers situated strategically around the grounds. People had to shout at one another to be heard over the din. The rides continued almost nonstop, pausing only long enough to let off passengers and load up again.
Aimee finished the last bite of her hotdog as one particularly scary ride off to her left flew the dozens of screaming passengers high in the air before swooping them down low again. She had to look away. Just watching the ride was making her stomach queasy and her head spin.
Now that her hunger was sated, she stepped away from the shelter of the concession stand and began to walk around. She still hadn't seen Sandra, which meant her friend was probably in one of the tents looking at the various sideshows. Several large tents were located near the far end of the fairgrounds. Set back from the rides and games, there was slightly less noise here. Although that didn't make it quiet, just that the volume was lowered to a dull roar.
The large, hand-painted sign out front advertised a man who could eat fire and swallow swords. There was a knife-thrower, magic tricks, a contortionist and a fortuneteller as well. There was no lineup at the front of the tent, but a young woman with reddish hair and a voluptuous build sat on a stool ready to take Aimee's tickets.
Aimee almost turned back. Something about the place seemed almost sinister. The shadows were deeper here. Darker. "Of course there are more shadows. They're closer to the trees," she muttered, totally disgusted with herself. Where was her backbone?
The young woman smiled. "Are you going in? I think you'll enjoy the shows."
"Have you seen a tall blonde woman? She's wearing black jeans and a red leather jacket." Sandra did love her jacket. It was very distinctive and memorable. If her friend hadn't gone in here there was no reason she had to waste one of her tickets. She glanced at the sign above the door. Make that four of her tickets.
The woman's smile widened and her eyes glinted with envy. "She went in a few minutes ago. That is one awesome jacket."
Aimee felt her excuse to not enter the tent slipping away. She had to go now or she'd feel like a coward. Plus, she needed to find Sandra. This place was starting to creep her out, and she wanted to leave. If her friend wasn't ready to go yet, Aimee could at least get Sandra's keys and wait in the car.
She dug into her purse, produced the necessary tickets and handed them over to the attendant. The tent flap was lifted back and Aimee stepped forward. The canvas was quickly lowered again, leaving her feeling trapped inside.
"Not trapped," she assured herself. "This isn't like the funhouse. You can get out easily." She turned around and glanced at the opening behind her to reassure herself.
Still, she couldn't go another step until she tried. Wrapping her hand around the canvas, she pulled it back. The young woman outside gave her a quizzical smile. "Everything okay?"
Feeling silly, Aimee nodded. "Fine. I thought I dropped something when I got out my tickets." It was a lame excuse, but it was all she could think of at the moment. "I must have been mistaken." She gave the girl a smile, which felt forced and phony, and dropped the flap back down.
Now that she'd established she could leave any time she wanted to, Aimee began to explore. The tent was divided into smaller areas by canvas walls. She stepped up to the first opening and relaxed when she realized there were several other people already watching the performance. A burly man with graying hair and a handlebar mustache lowered a flaming stick toward his mouth. He shoved the stick inside and then quickly removed the flame. Everyone in the small group clapped.
She couldn't wait to see what he did with the swords of varying lengths propped up behind him. Sure enough, a long, sharp blade came next. The performer opened his mouth, tipped back his head and slid the sword down his throat. It disappeared until only the hilt remained. The audience gasped. The man withdrew the sword and took a small bow.
Aimee watched for a few more minutes before moving on. In the next performance area, a woman lifted her leg straight into the air before tucking it behind her head. She lowered it back to the ground and then did the same with her other leg. Aimee winced as she watched the woman twist herself into positions she hadn't thought were humanly possible. The performer began to use several hoops in her act. At one point, she swung hoops with both feet as she used just one hand to support her weight. Aimee watched, amazed by the versatility and flexibility of the human body, until the woman finished with her routine.
Further on, the knife-thrower was well into his performance. He tossed knives at his assistant, a pretty young woman, as casually as one would toss a stone into a lake. Aimee didn't know i
f the woman was brave or stupid, but she didn't flinch as the sharp blades were flung her way. Aimee didn't linger here long, unable to watch. She didn't have quite as much faith in the knife-thrower as his assistant did.
Across the aisle, a man of indeterminate age was performing magic tricks for a small crowd. He produced flowers from thin air and made a coin disappear. The performance was good, but magic tricks didn't really interest Aimee. She scanned the audience and sighed. Still no sign of Sandra.
Retreating deeper into the tent, Aimee noticed a sandwich-board sign, which announced the fortuneteller's area was next. The entrance was closed and she could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the other side of the canvas. Aimee assumed that must mean someone was in there having their fortune told.
Now that would appeal to Sandra. She was into all kinds of metaphysical stuff, constantly asking Aimee about her nightmares and offering suggestions as to what they all might mean. She'd never told her friend about her dreams of the white tiger, and she certainly wasn't about to tell her about her sensual dream from last night. That was too personal to share even with her closest friend.
Aimee decided to hang around outside for a few minutes just in case Sandra was inside. If she wasn't, Aimee was going to give the fairgrounds one more turn before heading back to the car to wait. She could always sit on the hood even if she couldn't get inside the vehicle.
She glanced at her watch. It was just past nine. It was hard to believe that almost two hours had passed since they'd arrived. Aimee didn't quite know where the time had gone. She must have watched some of the performers for longer than she'd thought. It was easy to get caught up in their acts. They were really quite incredible, and she'd enjoyed them more than she'd thought she would.
But no matter how enthralling the acts were, or how glitzy they seemed, the performers were just people who would be tired and cranky tomorrow morning just like everyone else. Beneath the glare of the lights and the pounding rhythm of the music lay a lonely existence. It couldn't be easy to always be on the road, performing night after night in small towns across the country, and maybe even around the world. What was exciting and exotic tonight would reveal itself to be worn-out and tawdry in the morning's light. It was the shadows that helped with the illusion.
The tent seemed to be much gloomier at this end, but there were several more openings. Intrigued, Aimee started toward them. She'd have a quick peek but keep an eye on the fortuneteller's door. It wouldn't do for her to miss Sandra after she'd searched for so long.
A dim light shone from an opening on the left. Aimee walked over and waited for her eyes to adjust. At first she couldn't see anything. A movement off to her right caught her eye, and she turned her head.
A feeling of foreboding pressed down on her, weakening her knees. She grabbed a tent post, grateful for its strength and support. Suddenly she didn't want to be here, didn't want to see what was lurking just beyond. The shadows seemed menacing. But it was as if she had no control over her movements. Her head continued to turn until she was looking in the far corner.
Situated beneath a red spotlight was a large platform that seemed to have some kind of large padding or mattress on it. Several people were lying on it. All of them were naked.
Aimee swallowed hard. Sweat dotted her brow as she tried to back away but, as they had in her nightmares, her feet wouldn't obey her command. Her fingers tightened around the tent post, her nails digging into the wood.
There was such a tangle of limbs that at first she couldn't tell exactly how many people there were on the large platform bed, but there seemed to be several men and at least one woman. Of that she was certain.
The longer she looked, the more the erotic tableau came into focus. One man gripped a handful of the woman's blonde hair, dragging her head back and holding her captive as he kissed her. The woman's moan of pleasure seemed to echo off the thick canvas walls. Another man feasted on the woman's ample breasts, licking and sucking at them until her nipples were red and her skin damp.
Aimee's breathing was getting shallower with each passing moment. Sexual energy pulsed around her like a living, breathing thing. Her breasts began to tingle and her panties grew damp. She was getting aroused watching them.
She tried to look away, hating the fact that she was a voyeur to such a personal act. The fact that it was turning her on bothered her deeply. But she couldn't turn away from the sight unfolding in front of her. It was as if her will was no longer her own.
A third man shoved the woman's legs apart and buried his face against her core, sucking and licking. The woman shoved her hips toward him and he laughed, pulling away and sitting back on his heels. He grabbed the woman's hips and dragged her down onto his enormous erection. The woman screamed and then moaned as the man pounded into her.
Aimee wanted to leave. Tried to leave. But she couldn't seem to make her muscles work. She tried to shift her leg even one inch. Nothing. They wouldn't respond no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes, but it did no good. In her mind's eye, she could still see the group on the bed.
A satisfied male groan filled the air.
Aimee's eyes flew open. The group had shifted position while she hadn't been watching. The woman was now on her hands and knees, breasts jiggling and hips pumping as two men fucked her. One of the men was beneath her, his erection sliding in and out of her sex at a rapid rate. The second man was on his hands and knees behind her. Grasping her hips in his large hands, he grunted hard as he drove his cock into her ass. The third man was kneeling just to the side and had dragged the woman's head lower so she could suck on his shaft while the other two men fucked her.
A low, throaty laugh emanated from the group. Horror filled Aimee. She knew that laugh. As if the woman could read her thoughts, she let the man's erection slip from between her lips. She turned her head and her face came into view for the first time. Rich, red lips curved up into a smile. "Why don't you join us?"
Aimee gasped and stumbled back. It couldn't be. Not Sandra. Shaking her head, she backed away, tripping over a peg holding one of the ropes in place. Whatever force had been holding her here had been broken. They knew she was here. Had known all along.
She tried to catch herself, to gain her balance, but it was too late. She fell, coming down hard on her behind. By the time she scrambled to her feet, the tent was dark. There was no sign of Sandra or the men who'd been pleasuring her. The platform bed had disappeared.
Her breath was coming in short, hard pants. She felt dizzy, was afraid she might pass out. She forced herself to breathe more slowly, to think. "I must be losing my mind."
There was no way she could have imagined that. Was there? Had she fallen into some kind of waking dream? Feeling light-headed, Aimee started toward the entrance. She had to leave. Had to get out of this place.
Whatever was going on here, it wasn't right. Aimee had a sense that something wrong permeated the carnival, like some malevolent specter lurking just beneath the glossy facade. The place had given her the creeps from the moment she'd set foot on the grounds, but she'd ignored those feelings to please her friend.
Or maybe she was the problem. Maybe she was slipping over the edge of sanity and into the realm of her nightmares when she was awake. She shuddered at the thought and glanced at her surroundings to get her bearings.
Aimee came to an abrupt halt, totally disoriented. There was no center aisle behind her. She was alone, all the other people and performers had disappeared. The fortuneteller's area was nowhere to be found.
Aimee peered around what appeared to be some other smaller performance area. "That's impossible," she whispered, trying desperately to remain calm. Where was everyone? Her heart pounded as she took a step forward. There had to be an entrance somewhere near.
Eyes suddenly glowed in the darkness—large, red eyes, just like the ones from her nightmares. She wasn't exactly in an underground cave, but the feeling was similar. It felt as though the walls were beginning to close in around her.
Aimee blinked several times to clear her vision. There had to be a logical explanation for everything. There weren't any eyes watching her. It was probably just security lights. The sideshow had simply closed while she'd fallen into some kind of waking dream or hallucination or whatever it was, and lost track of time.
She glanced at her watch and gasped. It was almost midnight. Somehow she'd lost over two and a half hours. The carnival was certainly closed, and Sandra would have gotten tired of waiting and surely left by now.
Aimee swallowed and checked her watch again, squinting in the dim light to see the dial. How had this happened? There was no easy answer. She'd have to think about everything that had occurred tonight, but not until she was safe at home.
The main problem to deal with now was to find a way out of this canvas maze and start the long trek home. She didn't fancy walking down the lonely, deserted roads at night, but it wasn't as if she had any other choice. Sandra had probably assumed she'd found a way home earlier in the evening with a neighbor. Her friend was going to be pissed with her, thinking she'd been abandoned.
That was almost funny considering how long she'd been searching for Sandra, but Aimee wasn't laughing. Her left leg ached, and she was more than a little scared. This entire evening had been like something from a horror movie. "Fodder for your work," she muttered to herself. "Now find a way out."
The sound of footsteps echoed off to her right. Swallowing hard, she took a step back. "Who's there? This isn't funny."
As if to mock her, laughter rang around her, bombarding her from all sides. It grew louder and louder. She slapped her hands over her ears and stumbled off to her left. She had to find a way out. A bright light flickered up ahead and she lurched toward it. Maybe it was the exit.
At the last second, she drew up short, not willing to just rush in. She didn't trust this place or the people who ran it.
Reaching out, she cautiously drew back the canvas flap, giving a nervous glance over her shoulder. No one appeared to be following her. The footsteps and the laughter had faded as quickly as they'd begun. She took a breath and stepped inside.
The room before her was enormous, almost as if it were a large tent on its own. And perhaps it was. Because of the dim lighting, it was impossible to tell how many tents were connected in this maze of canvas.
Aimee gasped at the sight in front of her and found her feet moving of their own accord. She'd never seen anything quite this beautiful in her entire life. Her fears and misgivings were momentarily forgotten as a sense of wonder and anticipation swept over her.
Spotlighted in the center of the canvas room was a beautiful antique carousel. It was an ornate masterpiece from a bygone era. The base and the top were heavily carved with curlicues and spirals. It was fanciful and gorgeous, exactly what a carousel should be.
There were four carved and painted animals anchored to the base of the carousel. But there were also several empty spots, which meant there had been more at some earlier date. Obviously the ride had been damaged at some point and that's why it wasn't available for the public.
The crowds of people who visited the carnival were missing out on a gem. The carousel was exquisite, a work of art. Aimee slowly circled it, admiring each of the animals in turn. A bear, lion and wolf all sat poised and ready for someone to sit on them. They were huge animals, big enough for an adult, and so lifelike she almost expected the lion to roar and the wolf to howl.
But it was the gigantic white tiger that drew and held her attention. It was exactly like the one from her dreams, exactly like the one she'd seen in the funhouse earlier this evening.
White tigers weren't completely white—the fur was interspersed with a pattern of black bands. This one had bands that hugged its muscular body and fiercely handsome face. Its blue eyes seemed to pierce the darkness like glowing sapphires. It sat low on its haunches, muscles coiled and ready to jump. "Aren't you gorgeous," she whispered as she stepped closer.
She had no idea why she was whispering. She appeared to be completely alone. But there was something special, almost magical, about being in the presence of something so magnificent.
Aimee knew she had to get out of here and go home. She had to call Sandra and explain what had happened. Well, maybe not everything. There was no need to tell her friend about the erotic vision she'd had featuring Sandra as the star. That was just too weird.
There had to be some logical explanation for all the strange things she'd seen and experienced. Once again, she toyed with the idea that maybe she'd had a hallucination of some kind and imagined the whole thing. She'd certainly never thought about her friend being part of a ménage a trois before. Aimee wasn't quite certain what it was called when there were more than three people. Maybe a ménage a quatre?
Whatever it was called, Aimee knew she wouldn't forget it any time soon. She wouldn't be surprised if her friend had done something like that in her lifetime. Sandra was an incredibly beautiful woman and not shy about admitting she enjoyed sex and all its variations.
That had to be it. For whatever reason, Aimee had dropped into a waking dream and her wild imagination had taken over. Perhaps it was due to the erotic dream she'd had last night. She was probably projecting those thoughts onto her friend.
She glanced around the tent, relaxing slightly when she assured herself she was still alone. It was just her and the carousel. She had to see it up close before she left. There would never be another opportunity for her to do so as there was no way she was coming back to the carnival.
And the carousel was a thing of beauty. It sat there looking forlorn and forgotten, and it called to her in ways she couldn't explain. She had to get closer. She bit her bottom lip and kept glancing over her shoulder as she crept toward it. The white-and-red paint and gold gilding was chipped and fading on the top and base, but the animals themselves appeared to be maintained in perfect condition. Slowly, she circled the ride again, this time studying each animal in turn.
She eyed the wolf's flank. The muscles rippled as though the creature was in mid-stride. The beast's mouth was open in a silent snarl, sharp white teeth threatening. This was no softened version of an animal, but the creature at its most wild and elemental.
"I wouldn't want to make you angry," she murmured as she walked on without touching the wolf. Somehow, she had the impression he didn't want to be touched. Which was crazy.
"No crazier than the rest of this night's been."
There was an empty space beside the wolf. A small metal label bolted next to it read serpent . Aimee shivered, wondering what a giant serpent would look like. Maybe it was more dragon-like than serpent. But she'd never know.
Another empty space appeared. This one also had a metal label, which read jaguar . A pity that one was gone. She would have liked to see a larger-than-life jaguar. She imagined he'd be very impressive with his sleek, muscular body, sharp teeth and strong jaws.
She stepped up to the next animal and read the label bolted next to one of its massive front paws. "Brown bear," she whispered. The beast was massive, his fur a combination of brown, blond and black. Powerful and commanding, this was the king of the forest. Hesitantly, Aimee reached out and stroked the tips of her fingers over its thick hindquarters. Fur brushed against her fingers. She could almost swear she'd felt a ripple of muscles.
"Impossible," she breathed. It was carved from wood, wasn't it? She peered closer. It looked like wood, and yet when she touched the fur it felt incredibly real. Shaking her hand, she moved on.
Another empty space. The label on this one seemed slightly scorched. She had to bend down to read it. Phoenix . She straightened and stared at the metal plate. Aimee liked the fact that there was a mythical animal mixed with real ones. What would a phoenix look like? Larger than life, for sure. Probably shades of red and orange and gold, like fire. She wished all the creatures were here for her to see.
The lion was next, and she couldn't resist reaching out to touch his mane. Although he appeared to be a fierce fellow, she didn't think he'd mind. As with the bear, the fur seemed soft when she dragged her fingertips across it.
She enjoyed the sensation, but didn't try to find a rational explanation for it, writing it off as nothing more than her overactive imagination.
Aimee finally came to a stop beside the elusive white tiger. There were hardly any left in the world. They'd been hunted for their beautiful fur pelt and their habitats taken over by man until they were on the endangered species list. This one wasn't real, but it appeared incredibly lifelike.
"Magnificent." Real or not, she had to touch him. And she somehow knew it was a male tiger. All the animals on the ride were male.
Reaching out, she stroked her palm over the creature's side. She jerked her hand back and curled her fingers inward. The tiger had felt warm, almost hot beneath her palm. Not cold like the other animals.
Intrigued, she stepped up onto the platform. The base was solid, her weight not shifting the ride in the slightest. She rested her palm against the crown of the tiger's head. Fur, soft and warm, pressed against her skin. A voice in her head urged her to sit on his back.
She furtively checked the shadows. There was no one here but her, if you didn't count the animals of the carousel. Aimee chewed on her bottom lip. What would it hurt?
She wanted to climb onto the back of the tiger, even if it was only for a second. What's the worst thing could happen? Someone would find her and kick her out of the tent. She'd planned on leaving anyway, so she had nothing to lose.
But if she left without sitting on the back of the tiger she knew she'd regret it until her dying breath. She felt a connection to the ride, to the tiger, deep in her soul.
"You won't mind if I sit on you, will you?" she asked the tiger. "Just for a minute?" She stroked her fingers over his wide forehead and down his flat nose. Soft fur brushed her fingertips. She ignored the tingling sensation that continued when she lifted her hand away.
She hooked her purse strap over her head and shifted it beneath one arm to get it out of the way and leave her hands free. "I need both hands to ride a tiger," she confided to the patient beast.
Placing her hands on either side of his thick neck, she threw one leg over his wide back. It wasn't as easy as she'd anticipated. The tiger was huge. Digging her fingers into his
heavy muscles, she grunted as she pulled herself upright.
A bell clanged, loud and clear. Aimee jerked suddenly and started to slip. Grabbing the tiger's neck, she held on and managed to keep from falling. Had she set off some kind of alarm system by sitting on the ride?
When no one rushed in to order her off the tiger, she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Whatever the noise was, it obviously had nothing to do with her. She'd sit here for a minute and then find a way out. It was time for her to go home.
Sadness filled her at the thought of never seeing the tiger or the carousel again. She wished she could somehow take it home with her. She'd fix up the old barn to keep it in so she could look at it every day. Take care of the remaining animals. Maybe even see about having the three missing ones replaced.
As much as she wanted it to happen, it wasn't going to. But the carousel would live on in her work. She planned to draw the funhouse, the carnival, the rides and all the rest as soon as she got home. But before she drew any of those things, she was going to capture the carousel on paper. It would be a pale imitation of reality, but it was the best she could do.
Music filtered into the tent. It was low at first, but got louder with each passing second. It was traditional carnival music, the type of song that had no name but was instantly recognizable as the type of music that accompanied a carousel ride.
It was pretty and Aimee found herself humming along as she settled herself on the tiger's back. "Da da da da dum," she sang, alternating between humming and murmuring aloud.
Closing her eyes, she imagined herself actually riding the carousel as it whirled around. Her eyes shot open and she jerked her arm away as she felt a ripple beneath her hand. Had the tiger moved?
"You're imagining things," she muttered. But she was no longer quite certain. She'd seen many strange and impossible things here tonight. But it was a carnival, all smoke and mirrors—the funhouse, the performances and the rides. Everything about this place, from the pounding rhythm of the music to the bright flashing lights of the rides, was designed to give the customer a sense of excitement and wonder.
But the evening was over, the carnival was closed and it was time for her to leave.
Aimee was shocked by how badly she wanted to stay seated on the tiger. It was as if a part of her was urging her to hang on to him and never let go. "He's not real," she whispered. "He's just a carved animal." Besides, if he were a real tiger, he'd probably eat her for breakfast.
With great reluctance, she started to release her grip on the tiger's neck. Just as she did, the carousel bucked and began to move.
"What the hell?" Grabbing hold to keep from falling, she looked frantically around. There was no one there. Yet the music continued to play and the ride began to circle around, moving faster and faster with each revolution until Aimee felt dizzy. With her weak leg, there was no way for her to get off without hurting herself.
"Stop." She didn't know who she was talking to, but there had to be someone out there operating the controls for the ride. "Please stop."
"It's too late to stop now," a disembodied voice from the shadows informed her. "It was too late from the moment you chose one of the beasts and climbed onto his back."
Lights flickered on, one by one, slowly illuminating the entire tent. There appeared to be benches circling the carousel, and all of them were filled with people. Aimee recognized the old man who'd sold her tickets at the main entrance, the fire-eater and the magician. All the performers and carnival workers were there. As she spun around again, Aimee saw the red-haired girl who'd taken her ticket for the sideshow and the smirking man who'd been in charge of the funhouse.
"Please let me off," she begged as the ride moved more rapidly, the background nothing but a blur. It was going so fast now that she was afraid she was going to be sick. The hotdog she'd eaten earlier churned in her stomach, and she swallowed hard to keep from losing it.
The lion in front of her turned its head and stared at her. Her eyes were watering from the sheer speed of the ride and the dust being stirred up from the canvas floor. She blinked, not believing what she was seeing. The lion opened his mouth and roared before returning to his original position on the carousel.
The wolf howled, the bear growled. Aimee wanted to cover her ears but didn't dare let go of the tiger. If she lost her grip, she'd be thrown from the ride. At the speed she was traveling, she'd at least break a limb or two, if she weren't killed outright.
The crowd began to yell and then they began to chant. They were all crazy. She was crazy. Because they all began to change before her eyes. Whether it was a trick of her eyes because of the speed she was traveling or whether she was seeing them as they truly were, she had no idea. Their faces changed, their skin growing leathery and their eyes glowing like red embers. Some of them seemed to have horns. They morphed from people into the demons from her nightmares.
She couldn't understand what they were chanting at first, but their words eventually came into focus. "Roric! Roric! Roric!" Aimee had no idea what the word meant, and she didn't care. All she wanted was to get out of this place and go home to her familiar, two-story cottage just outside town. She would be safe there. If only she could get home.
Closing her eyes, she leaned down and wrapped her arms completely around the tiger's neck. "Please. Please take me home," she pleaded.
Laughter mocked her as the ride whirled at an impossible speed. A female voice seemed to whisper on the wind, but she couldn't make out what the woman was saying. Maybe it was hope . Or it could be help . The voice was familiar, like something she'd dreamed once before.
Aimee couldn't think. The speed and the constant circling were making her dizzy. She was close to passing out, and if that happened she would fall. Memories of the car accident that took her parents' life assailed her. It was much the same—the feeling of being totally out of control, of being unable to stop what was happening even though you knew it would end badly.
Terror shot through her body and struck her soul. She was going to die.
Her vision began to dim. She closed her eyes and prayed for the madness to stop. In her dreams, the tiger always protected her. With her remaining strength, she pressed her lips against the carved tiger, ignoring the warmth and the brush of fur.
"Protect me, tiger. Take me home."
The world around her exploded in a mass of lights and screams. A kaleidoscope of color surrounded her. Even with her eyes shut tight, she could see the brilliant flashes of red, orange, yellow, green, sky blue, indigo and violet, as well as a multitude of colors she couldn't name. She wanted to reach out and touch the colors. They were so beautiful they brought tears to her eyes.
Her grip grew weaker and her body shifted. Her fingers and legs were numb from holding on so tight. She felt herself falling, but there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Her strength was gone.
She slipped, her fingers dropping away from the tiger's neck. A mighty roar split the air, the sound filled with anguish and anger. Aimee wanted to scream but the sound caught in her throat.
The world went black and silent.
Aimee moaned and rolled over onto her back, flinging her arms out by her sides. She was falling, flying through the air. There was nothing to stop her from hitting the hard ground. She could break a bone or worse. "No!" she cried, knowing words were useless. Nothing could stop her inevitable fall.
"I've got you," a masculine voice murmured into her ear. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her, anchoring her.
Dreaming. She was dreaming. Sighing, Aimee began to relax, much happier with this turn of events. She shuddered, hating the sensation of falling through the air, the pure helplessness of it.
There was something niggling at the back of her brain. Something important. Like an itch she couldn't scratch, it irritated her. She could almost remember but the next second it slipped away. It was totally forgotten as he tightened his grip around her and his lips grazed the side of her neck.
His mouth was warm and supple against her skin. Tingles skated down her neck and spread out over her breasts. Her nipples puckered, aching to be touched.
Sighing, Aimee sank deeper into his embrace, feeling safe and not so alone for the first time in years. He was so warm, his skin almost hot next to hers. He was…naked. And so was she.
The sensation jolted her. She always wore a nightgown to bed.
"Just a dream," she whispered to herself. It didn't matter that both of them were totally bare. It wasn't often she had a good dream, so she needed to enjoy this one to the max.
What if it wasn't a dream? Tension crept up her spine, disturbing her sense of contentment and bringing with it a sense of growing unease.
Of course it's a dream , she assured herself. It had to be. The only man who'd been near her bed in about a decade was the one in her dream. And even he'd never quite made it into the darn thing.
Still, she knew she would never fully relax if she didn't test her theory and find out for certain. If this was a dream, she'd be able to open her eyes and he would still be here. Carefully, she turned her head toward him and cracked one eye open. Although it was still night, dawn was breaking in the east, and the pale light illuminated the rather large man in bed with her. When he didn't disappear, she opened her other eye.
Yup, it was the same man from her previous dream, and he was even more handsome than she remembered. Even half asleep, his features appeared harsh and unforgiving. Tough was the word that described him best. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones high. His nose was broad, yet somehow suited his face. His eyes were closed, emphasizing the long, black lashes that fanned against his cheeks. They should have softened his face, but somehow they just served to call attention to his masculinity even more.
Thick, soft hair tumbled down his shoulders. Unable to resist, she reached out her hand and stroked her fingers through it. It was incredibly soft, the texture different from any other hair she'd ever touched. It felt almost fluffy, like fur. The light parts weren't blond, but white. And running through it were thin stripes of black. He had the most amazing hair color.
As she continued to stroke his hair, a rumble of pleasure rose from deep in his chest. She felt the vibration against her skin and it warmed her from head to toe. It sounded almost like a purr. She grinned. She didn't think he'd appreciate being compared to a giant housecat. No, not a housecat—that was much too tame for a man as elemental as this one. He'd be wild, like a giant lion or maybe even a tiger.
She felt a connection to the stranger, felt surprisingly safe with him. But of course, in the end, he was nothing but a figment of her very impressive imagination. She barely stifled a giggle. She felt almost punch-drunk. Well, it was her dream. She could feel any way she wanted to.
Satisfied with her assessment, Aimee continued her perusal. The quilt was tucked around his waist, leaving his impossibly wide chest and shoulders bare. She slid her fingers over the thick cords of his neck down to his immense shoulders.
Continuing her journey, she traced her fingers over his massive biceps. An intricate band was tattooed around it. Aimee had never seen anything like it. The ink was vibrant and it seemed to be ancient writing of some sort, rather than just a symbol.
She peered up at him. His eyes were still closed, his breathing even and deep.
Emboldened, she shifted again so that she was resting on her side. The perfect specimen of manhood beside her conveniently rolled onto his back, giving her unrestricted access to him. A quick glance reassured her that his eyes were still closed.
He released a slow sigh and his breathing steadied. She waited a moment or two, but thankfully, he seemed to drift back to sleep. Which was fine with her. It gave her the opportunity to explore the bounty laid out before her. Bands of muscle corrugated his torso. She'd never seen a man so ripped, not even in magazines or on television. Yet he wasn't muscle-bound.
Reaching out, she tentatively touched his chest. Sleek, supple muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as he shifted and settled himself more comfortably against the mattress. Aimee paused in her exploration, waiting until he was still once more.
He was so warm he was almost hot. Aimee flattened her palm against his chest and felt the heavy thud of his heart beating against it. A light dusting of black hair covered his torso before angling downward and disappearing beneath the quilt. It was almost exactly like the hair on his head—smooth and silky. It was ridiculous just how soft his hair was, especially when compared to the rest of him.
Aimee slipped her fingers down the center of his chest and circled his bellybutton. The quilt shifted and something nudged her hand. She glanced down and her breath caught in her throat. He was aroused. There was no mistaking the hard, thick bulge for anything else.
She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the quilt quiver in the predawn light. Should she lift up the covering and take a look? It wasn't really an invasion of privacy.
Determined, she allowed her hand to rest on the edge of the quilt. Just a quick peek , she promised herself. There was no reason why she shouldn't and every reason why she should. It was her dream after all. And how often in her life did a woman get to examine such a gorgeous hunk of man, even if he wasn't real? Tentatively, she lifted the quilt and eased it down to the tops of his thighs.
Her mouth went dry. "Oh my," she whispered. Now she knew without a doubt that this was definitely a figment of her imagination.
His cock was broad and long as it pushed upward toward his bellybutton. Deep blue veins pulsed up and down the hard length. His erection seemed to thicken before her very eyes. The head was wider than the shaft, plum-shaped and deep red. A bead of liquid pearled at the slit in the crown.
Aimee swallowed and let her gaze shift downward. A heavy sac rode low between his thighs, lightly furred like the rest of his groin. He was magnificent.
She opened and closed her hand reflexively as she reached for him. Her fingers hovered over him momentarily, almost not daring to touch him. Slowly, she lowered her hand and wrapped her fingers around his impressive erection.
Heat pulsed through her skin. His shaft jumped in her hand, flexing and expanding. Blood pounded in her ears and her breathing quickened. Heat flashed through her, and she shivered as her body reacted to his potent masculinity.
A low moan broke the silence of the room. Aimee's eyes flew upward and met a burning blue gaze. He was awake.
She jerked her hand away, but quick as lightning, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Not hurting her, but as good as an iron shackle. There was no escaping this man.
"Please." His voice was low, almost hoarse, as he guided her hand back to his throbbing erection. His eyes narrowed and his lips were set in a firm line, almost as if he was steeling himself for disappointment. Her fingers automatically closed around his shaft.
"Perfect," he moaned.
Touching him was having a definite effect on her body. Her breasts were swollen, heavy with arousal. Her nipples were taut, aching nubs. She felt restless. Unsettled. Cream flowed from her core, dampening her sex and her inner thighs. Aimee shifted her legs against the sheets, trying to find a comfortable position, but there was none to be found.
"Harder." He covered her hand with his own, almost swallowing her much smaller one. The man was massive. Everywhere. His fingers pressed hers more securely against his erection and she squeezed his shaft, eliciting a groan of pleasure.
He pumped her hand up and down his cock, and she followed his guidance until she established the rhythm he liked. More liquid seeped from the tip of his penis, and Aimee was suddenly filled with the overwhelming need to know what he tasted like. Scooting down, she tentatively licked at the slit with the tip of her tongue. He was hot and musky and slightly salty. She loved it.
His lips parted, and he emitted a low moan as his hips bowed off the bed. She could feel his shaft rippling beneath her fingers. His pleasure filled an empty spot inside her, infusing her with contentment.
She lapped at the head of his cock again, swirling her tongue around it before sucking it into her mouth. A guttural growl came from deep in his chest. Aimee released him with a wet, popping sound and blew on the damp, sensitive flesh. Her fingers skated over his shaft, squeezing and shaping his thick length.
"Enough." In one fluid motion, he removed her hand from his body and flipped her onto her back. She blinked and found herself staring up at him. He supported himself on his hands and knees as he knelt above her, the planes of his face harsh and unforgiving. She should have been afraid. Instead, a sense of anticipation thrummed through her.
She slid her hands up his massive forearms and biceps, pausing briefly to massage his thick shoulders before linking her fingers behind his neck. "Why? I was having fun."
Her question seemed to take him off-guard. He frowned and then one corner of his mouth quirked upward. The effect was devastating to her senses. He went from harsh to ruggedly handsome in a split second. She held her breath and prayed that he'd gift her with a real smile.
He shook his head and his mouth returned to its firm line, but his eyes twinkled with humor. "Most do not question me."
"Why not?" Aimee was totally relaxed as she fingered his thick, touchable hair. After all, this was her dream and she was in charge.
He shook his head again as if uncertain how to answer her question. Instead, he lowered his mouth toward hers. Aimee held her breath as his lips skimmed hers. The touch was so brief she wasn't sure it had actually happened. Her breasts tingled and her sex pulsed, vividly reminding her of the growing ache between her thighs.
For a man so hard, his lips were incredibly smooth and supple. She arched into the kiss, wanting—no, needing—deeper contact. He skimmed his tongue over her bottom lip before catching it between his teeth and nipping lightly. Aimee shivered, a combination of fear and desire.
This man was strong, elemental and totally unstoppable.
As if he sensed her unease, he pulled back and stared down at her. It took her a second to realize he was waiting. Waiting for her to decide what happened next. In unspoken words, he was letting her know she was in charge. Nothing would happen that she didn't want.
Her doubts melted away, replaced by a flood of desire so thick she had to gasp for breath. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she dragged his mouth back to hers. As if that was the signal he was waiting for, he let loose.
A low growl vibrated throughout his body as
he swooped down and captured her mouth with his. There was no tentative touching this time. No gentle caress. This was a claiming, pure and simple.
His tongue swept inward, raking over her teeth, her tongue and the walls of her mouth. Heat swamped her body as she clung to his shoulders and returned his kiss measure for measure.
He tilted his head, deepening the contact. Aimee couldn't breathe, but that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was he was touching her, tasting her, consuming her.
Her legs parted and he filled the space, his erection cradled against her mound. The shock of his hard, naked flesh against hers was overwhelming and absolutely delicious. Planting her feet on the mattress, she pushed upward, deepening the contact. Her clit brushed against his swollen length, sending bolts of pleasure rocketing throughout her. She was wet and her juices coated his shaft, making him slide more easily with each thrust.
He pulled away and peppered her face with hard, desperate kisses—her forehead, her cheeks, her nose and her jawline. No spot was left unattended. Aimee moaned as he nipped at her throat before laving the tender spot with his tongue. There was an untamed quality about her dream lover that reached deep inside her and ignited a part of her that had lain dormant until now. It surprised her that she liked the fact he was slightly rough, untamed and totally unpredictable.
He settled one of his massive hands over her right breast and squeezed. Her nipple stabbed at the center of his palm, a stark testament to her deep desire for him. He shifted lower and his hair brushed her skin, drawing another moan from deep within her. It felt exactly like the brush of fur—soft and decadent against her naked flesh. She longed to feel the sweep of his hair over other sensitive parts of her body.
He swirled his tongue around her nipple before swiping over the puckered nub. His tongue was slightly rough in texture, adding to the erotic sensations rocketing through her body. Every nerve ending in Aimee's body felt electrically charged, and her toes curled into the sheets. His mouth was warm and moist as it settled over her breast. He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled.
"Ohmygod," she groaned, tunneling her fingers through his hair to keep him close.
She felt his lips curve upward and knew he was smiling against her breast. She didn't care if he found her amusing. Just so long as he didn't stop what he was doing.
He released her suddenly and blew on her damp flesh. She tried to drag him back, but he resisted. Goose bumps formed on her skin, sending a shiver of pleasure racing across her torso and down between her thighs.
Shifting lower, he nibbled his way down her rib cage. Aimee hated the fact that his erection was no longer pressed against her, but she loved the feel of his mouth and lips and tongue against her skin. The man certainly knew how to press her buttons. She'd never felt this aroused before, every inch of her body on fire. Her skin, indeed, her entire being, cried out for completion, cried out for him.
Her fingertips dug into his shoulders, gripping him tight. Muscles rippled. Once again, she marveled at the sheer size and bulk of her lover. He was solid, something to cling to as a wild maelstrom of emotions and sensations buffeted her.
He stopped at her bellybutton and dipped his tongue inside, swirling it around. His hair tickled the sensitive skin of her stomach, and she giggled and groaned at the same time.
He did it again and Aimee laughed. He raised his head. She froze, pinned by the intensity of his icy blue eyes. But they weren't cold. No. They were hot, filled with unadulterated lust.
Aimee's head swam. This incredible-looking man really wanted her. The situation was beyond anything in her experience. Thankfully, it was a dream or she'd have been scared out of her wits and self-conscious about the scars marring her body.
For a moment, she wondered if this dream would turn bad at some point. Her other erotic dream featuring this same lover certainly hadn't, but then she'd awakened before it had gone too far. She didn't have many good dreams, normal dreams. Only the ones with her tiger in them ended without fear and terror.
She chuckled. This was simply an old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill erotic dream brought forward by her subconscious to tell her she needed a lover. No surprise there. It had been a long, long time since a flesh-and-blood male had shared her bed, and she hadn't really missed it until now.
He sat back on his haunches between her spread thighs, letting his hands roam from her knee all the way up to the sensitive juncture of her legs where her torso and thighs met. Breathless, Aimee willed his hands to go higher, to touch her where she ached the most.
A whimper escaped her as she tilted her hips toward him, silently encouraging him. He sifted his fingers through her pubic hair, the short, silken curls. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and did it again.
"Touch me," she whispered. He had to touch her or she'd go insane. She felt empty inside, and only he could fill her.
He drifted his fingers lower, skimming her slick folds. Aimee cried out, clenching her eyes shut, riding a wave of desire so intense it took her breath away. She was so close to coming.
He settled himself between her legs, his broad shoulders shoving her thighs even wider. Her eyes flew open just as hot breath caressed her tender flesh. He dragged his tongue over her swollen folds, lingering here and there—tasting, tempting, teasing.
Aimee gripped the sheets by her sides, her fingers curling, digging into the fabric. She was on the edge, ready to explode and fly apart at any second. It was too much.
It wasn't nearly enough.
Two thick fingers pushed past the initial resistance of her body and filled her tight channel. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as he eased his fingers back to the edge of her opening and pressed them inward once again, stretching her, preparing her. It hurt slightly, but it felt so incredibly good too.
When his fingers sank deep a third time, he captured her swollen clit between his lips and sucked. It was like being struck by lightning. Aimee cried out, muscles tensing. Every cell in her body exploded in a flash of light. She shivered and shook as liquid spilled over his hand and trickled down her thighs.
He made a long, purring sound deep in his throat. The vibration sent her over the edge again. She felt the sheet give way beneath her fingers, the loud rip mixing with her moan of release.
When it was over, Aimee sank deep into the mattress, totally replete from the most intense climax she'd ever experienced. Her eyes fluttered open as he lifted his head. He licked his lips and she knew he tasted her passion. The erotic gesture sent another pulse of pleasure catapulting through her.
He was big and tough and totally aroused.
"Now it's my turn." His rough voice sent a shiver down her spine.
The sweet taste of her was more potent than the finest wine, and Roric felt half drunk with pleasure. Hunger roared through him as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the thick, rich cream that had flowed from her. He had to have more.
His senses were heightened after thousands of years of imprisonment. Sounds were louder, colors were brighter, smells were sharper and the taste of sweet woman was a heady rush.
Being aware of his surroundings, but being unable to really feel, touch, taste or experience for thousands of years had almost driven him mad. He and his companions were all cognizant of the world around them, yet not a part of it. They might not have been imprisoned in Hades' domain, but they were in Hell nonetheless.
But that was over. Done with. Finished.
He'd die before he'd go back.
The woman staring up at him with expressive, passion-filled green eyes had broken the spell, releasing him from his prison. They'd all been aware of her from the moment she'd entered the tent. Her scent, her mere presence, had surrounded the carousel. He'd been able to sense the pain and hopefulness of his remaining friends, each of them wanting to be the one she was drawn to, the one she chose.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think of his fellow warriors who had gone before him. Mordecai had been the first to be released. It had shocked all of them after so many years of imprisonment. Until that moment, they hadn't known such a thing was possible. They'd all lived with the faint hope that their goddess, the Lady of the Beasts, was still alive and might someday rise up and free them. That hope had faded as the centuries had drifted into millennia, leaving them still locked in their animal forms.
Roric had known something was happening when the demons had first built the carousel and placed them upon it. All of them had felt a ripple of something in the air. Excitement. Expectation. When the first of them was released, they'd realized the demons had been expecting it, were actively searching for the right women to make it happen.
The possibility that they could escape their prison, defeat the curse and regain control of their souls and their power had sent a flood of anticipation through him and his fellow warriors. Whatever Hades' reasons for actively searching for women to free them mattered not. They had their own agenda—to escape, free the others and find their Lady.
The serpent had risen, released by a woman in Kansas. Mordecai had clutched her in his claws, spread his wings wide and flown off, never to be seen or heard from again. It had been during the time of the Vietnam conflict. Not that it truly mattered to Roric. The ongoing wars of humans were nothing compared to what was coming if someone didn't stop Hades' plan of destruction and world domination. But details like that helped him order his memories over the thousands of years he'd been imprisoned.
The Phoenix had risen next, freed by a girl who was barely a woman. He'd disappeared with her in a flash of flames and smoke. That had been in Louisiana if Roric remembered correctly. And that wasn't a sure thing. Time flowed differently for them, sometimes flowing swiftly, other times dragging on interminably. Sometimes memories mixed together.
Then Stavros had been set free. The jaguar, a proud warrior, had roared with relief when he'd been released. They'd all had such hope, but Stavros and the woman had disappeared. He'd never returned to the carnival, never found a way to contact any of them again.
None of them had.
Expectation and hope had soon turned to bitter despair, and the mutterings of the demons who ran the carnival hadn't helped. Over the decades, Roric and his fellow warriors had pieced enough together to understand that Hades was seeking to release them for his own gain. Not that any of them expected any different.
There was also a time limit involved with the curse—the turning of one full day. Not nearly enough time to figure out how to defeat the devil and break the curse for good. But it would have to be. Roric had no intentions of losing.
Defeat at the hands of Hades and his legions had burned through his body and soul for thousands of years. The taste was bitter. They had let their Lady down. They were the finest warriors to have ever lived, and they had been defeated. It could not happen again.
If only one of the others had been able to send some word, some sign of what they were up against, it would help give him the edge he needed to win. But he was on his own.
Roric didn't even know if it was possible to return, to find the carnival again now that he was free. He vowed to be the first to do so. He planned on surviving whatever trials Hades' demons had in store for him and breaking the curse. Once his soul was no longer in jeopardy, he intended to find a way to help the others and to free the Lady of the Beasts.
The woman on the bed moaned, pulling his attention back to the here and now. She was the key to his freedom, to his eternal soul. Whatever happened in the next twenty-four hours—less than that now—would either bring him freedom or condemn him to the deepest bowels of Hell. Forever.
He was determined not to lose. Not this time.
For now, they were both safe from the demons. Roric had the ability to sense their fiendish presence, and they were nowhere near. For whatever reason, he was alone with this incredible woman, and he planned to make the most of the situation.
All those years of celibacy had left him aching for the softness of a woman—her delicate touch, her soft lips, her enticing scent. But he didn't want just any woman. He wanted the woman staring up at him with such overwhelming hunger in her gaze, the one who had set him free.
She was so much smaller than him, yet he sensed no fear of him in her. Her skin was incredibly soft, her muscles sleek. She was slender, yet strong, her thighs supple. Her breasts were barely enough to fill his palms, but they were perfectly formed and tipped with tight, pink nipples. He licked his lips, remembering how they felt against his tongue.
Lifting her slightly, he leaned inward, positioning the tip of his cock at the opening of her channel. Her eyes widened, but she didn't protest. He let some of his weight fall forward, and his shaft sank into her heated depths. He met with slight resistance, as her sensitive flesh was swollen from her earlier orgasm, but he pressed forward, not stopping until her damp sheath gripped every inch of him.
Roric closed his eyes and chuffed out a breath, trying to maintain control. Her inner muscles squeezed him, rippling up and down his hard length. The urge to just slam into her over and over again until he came was almost overwhelming. He wanted to fuck her until neither of them could stand it any longer, until they both came hard and ended up in a sweaty heap of released lust. Then he wanted to do it again.
He'd been locked away and cold for so long he could barely remember any other existence. She had freed him from that prison. Now she offered him her warmth, her passion. Her generosity threatened to unman him.
It took all his willpower to slide back until only the tip of his shaft was still inside her. Slowly, he pressed inward again. His balls ached and drew close to his body. He'd loved the feel of her hands wrapped around his erection, so tentative at first, then surer and firmer. He longed to have her suck his cock. Wanted her lips around him, wanted to feel her tongue lap at him as she took him deep into her mouth.
His shaft jerked and he sucked in a deep breath. He'd had his chance earlier, but had stopped her. Just the briefest touch of her tongue against the tip of his erection had almost made him come. And he'd wanted to be inside her sweet warmth the first time he orgasmed in so long.
She moaned and the sound vibrated down his spine, making him purr with pleasure. Muscles tensed in his arms and legs as he slid in and out of her body. The urge to pound into her was overwhelming. His control started to slip, and he barely managed to leash it.
Leaning down, he gripped her in his arms and rolled. She shrieked as their positions shifted and he was flat on his back with her above him. "Ride me," he commanded. This way she was in control and he couldn't accidentally hurt her. He was on edge after being celibate for so long, and he no longer trusted himself.
Her eyes widened and she smiled. It was a sleepy, siren's smile that made his gut clench and his balls constrict to the point of pain.
Gripping her hips, he urged her upward. She raised herself above him, placing her hands on his chest for support. She bit her bottom lip and slowly lowered herself again, taking all of him.
Unable to stop himself, he arched his hips upward on her down stroke, driving impossibly deep. She cried out, but didn't stop. Her cream slid out from between them, coating her tender folds and his thick shaft. The smell of sex and woman permeated the air. Roric took a deep breath, savoring the rich scent. Exquisite.
This was life, this elemental connection between male and female. No matter what period of time in the history of the earth, this bond was the most powerful of all. Sex. Mating. Confirming life.
Roric slid his hands over her slender torso, marveling at the softness of her skin. He cupped her breasts and she leaned into him, offering herself without reservation. He thumbed her nipples, delighting in the way they puckered under his tender ministrations.
They were both close now. Even though it had been a long time, he knew himself well. He felt the familiar tightening of the heavy sac between his legs, the thickening of his shaft and the pressure gathering at the base. He could sense the changes in her body, the way her breathing quickened and her sheath clenched around him with each thrust. Roric pushed into a seated position and clamped his mouth over her breast. He sucked, pulling hard on the taut bud.
She gasped and he felt her inner muscles rippling around him. Wrapping his hands around her hips, he thrust his pelvis upward, driving deep. His balls constricted, and his cock exploded, his seed spurting from the tip to fill her. Growling, he held her close as his shaft spasmed.
Her nails dug into the slick flesh of his chest and she cried out. Her sheath clutched his turgid length, milking him until there was nothing left. Exhausted, he collapsed, his spine hitting the mattress, his head settling on the soft pillows. Such luxury, such comfort had been unheard of the last time he'd walked the earth. He allowed himself to enjoy it, even though he knew it couldn't last. She fell forward, settling against him, snuggling against his chest as if she belonged there.
Roric ignored the warmth that radiated from his heart. They'd pleasured one another. That was enough. His job was to save her, and himself, from the demons of Hell and free his soul. Once he'd accomplished that, he had to find a way to free his fellow warriors and the Lady to whom he'd pledged his allegiance. He would not believe she was dead.
There was no room in his life for a woman. No matter how soft or tempting she might be.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around her and held her to his chest, feeling the curve of her cheek rest against his heart. He'd lie here until he caught his breath. Then it was time to make plans.
Aimee's eyes fluttered open and then closed again. The sun was shining through her window, warming her bedroom, a clear signal that it was time for her to get up and start her day. She never closed her bedroom drapes, preferring to have the sun wake her naturally rather than having an alarm clock blare at her. Since she didn't have to punch a time clock and often sketched and drew at odd hours. It worked for her.
Problem was, Aimee didn't want to move. Not this morning. She didn't want to disturb the remnants of the wonderful dream she'd had. Never in her life had a dream been so real, so stirring. Considering how vivid her dreams were, that was saying something. Her body was still vibrating with pleasure from her orgasm.
It was much better than the nightmares that usually plagued her sleep. She shuddered and snuggled deeper into the mattress, reveling in the heat that surrounded her.
She frowned as a memory flickered around the edges of her awareness. Had she succumbed
to another nightmare last night? She wasn't sure. She mentally shrugged. If she didn't remember it, that was a small blessing.
She'd much rather focus on the good dream, her erotic fantasy featuring a most spectacular specimen of manhood. Definitely an improvement over her usual nightmare of being threatened with eternal damnation and the fires of Hell.
Aimee concentrated on trying to remember more from last night. Her frown deepened as memories tickled the corner of her consciousness and details came seeping slowly back.
She'd gone to the carnival with Sandra, but had lost her friend at the funhouse. After searching for her, Aimee had treated herself to a hotdog, and eventually she'd found her way to the sideshows.
She'd found a beautiful carousel with the most magnificent creatures. Had she ridden a white tiger? It was coming back to her in bits and pieces, the details few and fuzzy. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Her bed, usually comfortable, seemed lumpy this morning.
The mattress moved beneath her. Aimee froze. She splayed open her fingers and felt warmth and flesh instead of cool sheets. Lifting her eyelids, she stared at the wide expanse of male skin that greeted her. There was a man in bed with her.
There was a naked man in bed with her.
Aimee jerked upward until she could clearly see his face. Familiar blue eyes stared back at her. It hadn't been a dream. It was real.
Shoving away from him, Aimee scrambled out of bed. She got tangled in the sheet and tumbled to the floor. Her butt barely had time to register a complaint before she jumped to her feet. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, she tugged it toward her and wrapped it around her trembling body. It left him totally naked, but she didn't care. "Who the hell are you and how did you get into my bed?"
Seemingly unconcerned by her outburst, the man stacked his hands behind his head and relaxed against the pillows. She desperately tried not to notice the way his biceps bulged. She also had to work to ignore the sexy tufts of hair beneath his armpits and the bands of muscles delineating his wide chest.
She was losing her mind. There was a strange man in bed with her and she found his armpits sexy. What in the name of God had she done last night? She'd never brought a stranger home before. Where had she met him?
She desperately searched through her hazy memories for a clue. He didn't seem like a maniac or a psycho. So far, he hadn't moved except to put his hands behind his head in a non-threatening manner.
Slowly, almost lazily, he raked his gaze over her trembling body. He started at the top of her head and worked his way down. Aimee pulled the sheet tighter around her, desperately trying to ignore the way her nipples puckered against the thin fabric and the steady pulsing that began low in her belly.
She felt fully aroused, completely debauched and totally disheveled, her body a sweaty, aching reminder that she hadn't been dreaming earlier. She'd had sex with a stranger. Unprotected sex with a stranger.
"Ohmygod, I can't believe this is happening." The phone. She had to get to the phone and call the cops. She inched her way around to the end of the bed. The stranger didn't move, but his eyes tracked her every movement. He reminded her of someone.
Of course he reminded her of someone. She'd done the mattress dance with him last night. Her skin heated as memories of exactly what she'd done last night came flooding back. She might not know his name but her body was very familiar with his.
Her phone wasn't on her nightstand, which meant it was in the charger downstairs. She'd have to make a break for the kitchen and pray she got there before he caught her. Although he didn't seem to be in any hurry to stop her. With the sheet pulled away, he was totally naked and was obviously in no hurry to cover himself. Aimee swallowed hard as she noted he was also fully aroused.
The police . She shook herself from his sensual spell. She had to call the police. And tell them what? He hadn't raped her. She'd been a willing participant in their earlier sexual escapades. Even though she'd thought it was just a dream, he'd given her a chance to say no.
She nibbled on her lower lip. Her reputation wasn't the best in this town, and they'd think she was totally nuts if she called them and told them her story. She could just imagine it. Officer, there's a naked man in my bed. I thought I was dreaming but, hey, I just had to touch him. All over. And surprise, surprise, we ended up having the most amazing sex of my life. You have to come save me. Yeah, right. They'd lock her up instead of him.
She brought her attention back to the man still sprawled naked across her bed. "Look, I don't know who you are or how you got here, but you have to leave." There, that was forceful and decisive. She'd even managed to say it without drooling over his incredibly hot body.
What was wrong with her? It wasn't like her to be ogling some guy. Of course, it wasn't like her to wake up with some strange man in her bed. It hadn't happened…well, ever.
He shifted slightly, muscles rippling down his arms and across his chest. The movement was small, but there was no mistaking the controlled power behind it. His lips turned down at the corners, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she'd just disappointed him somehow. Which was absolutely crazy. And seemingly right in line with the rest of this bizarre morning.
"You don't remember."
Aimee closed her eyes and said a prayer under her breath. His voice could seduce the coldest of women. Like dark, thick chocolate, it flowed through her veins, tempting her to just crawl back in bed and throw herself at him. She shook her head, refusing to look at him. She had to get him out of her house.
Fingers stroked her cheek. Aimee's eyes popped open, and she screamed and jumped back. She hadn't heard him move. The bed hadn't creaked. The sheet beneath him had made no sound. For such a large man, he was incredibly quiet when he moved. She wished she were half as graceful. Instead, she felt her left foot tangle in the sheet. Her knee began to buckle and she started to go down.
Before she could do more than gasp, the stranger scooped her into his arms, a frown marring his rugged face. "You truly don't remember."
He seemed more than a little upset by this. She ignored the heat emanating from his massive chest as he set her back on the bed. He loomed above her, large and naked, his erection heavy and thick. She should be afraid of him, shouldn't she? He was a total stranger, and he was making himself at home in her house.
The problem was, he didn't seem like a stranger. With each passing moment, he felt like someone she knew…well. Of course, she'd had sex with the man. Couldn't get much closer than that.
But it was more than a physical connection. There was some part of her, deep in her soul, that recognized him and yearned to help him. Shaking her head, she struggled to find her voice again. "No. No, I don't remember." That wasn't exactly true. "I don't remember much." But the longer she was awake, the more she was remembering. Aimee rubbed her fingertips over her temples, trying to beat back the headache that was starting to brew.
"What do you remember?"
She ignored his demand. She had a few questions of her own. "First things first. Who the heck are you?"
He sat down on the mattress beside her, his hip brushing her thigh. The sheet separated them, but it might as well have not been there for all the protection it offered her. She could feel the heat from his body soaking into her chilled flesh.
"My name is Roric." He paused, as if waiting for some kind of reaction from her.
The name stirred a memory from deep in her subconscious. She frowned as more details came back to her. That was the word the carnival people had shouted at her while she'd taken the wild ride on the carousel. But had that really happened? Aimee was no longer certain about anything.
"You remember something," he prompted her. He narrowed his eyes. A muscle rippled in his jaw as he watched and waited. She had a feeling he was very good at waiting.
"I'm not sure of anything." She could hear the rising hysteria in her voice and struggled to keep calm and composed, which wasn't easy to do with a naked stranger sitting next to her.
He sighed and raked his hands through his hair. Strand of white and black sifted through his fingers.
It came to her then who he reminded her of. The white tiger from the carnival ride. He was also the same man from a dream she'd had two nights ago. She frowned. Or was it longer? Somewhere along the way she'd lost all sense of time and had no idea what day it was.
How could she dream about a man she'd never met? Had she seen his face somewhere, and her subconscious used that memory to bring him into her dream? Didn't seem possible. She'd certainly remember seeing a man as striking as Roric.
"I went to a carnival last night and saw some strange things there. At least I think I did. At this point, I'm not sure what's a dream and what's reality." A horrible thought occurred to her. Maybe she was the victim of some sort of scam. Had she been drugged somehow while she'd been touring the sideshows? "Did you drug me?" she blurted out.
His face darkened, his features tightening until he looked as if they'd been carved from stone. "No."
She didn't know how to respond to that. He didn't try to convince her what he said was true. He'd just said no and left it at that. She found herself believing him and relaxed slightly. Okay, she believed that Roric hadn't drugged her. That didn't mean someone else hadn't. At this point, the most important thing to figure out was what the heck had happened to her.
The carnival was very real. She and Sandra had left here last night together. She'd seen the rides and the townspeople and the carousel. The question remained, what had happened? How had she gotten from there to here? And why was Roric with her?
As if sensing her unsettled thoughts, Roric turned and stroked his fingers down the side of her face again. The pads of his fingertips were rough, but his touch was gentle. "What is your name?"
Embarrassment flooded her, and she felt her face growing warmer under his continued appraisal. God, she'd slept with a man who didn't even know her name. Not that she could point her finger just at him. She hadn't known his name until he'd told her. "Aimee. Aimee Horner."
"And where are we, Aimee Horner?"
The way he said her name made her womb clench. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide the fact that her nipples were standing at attention. "We're in my home."
He shook his head, making his hair sway. Her gaze followed its path as it brushed his shoulders. She curled her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out to touch the thick strands. She suddenly had a vivid memory of that hair brushing erotically against her breasts.
"No. What place are we?"
Her mouth dropped open, and all thoughts of his sexy hair were forgotten. "You don't know where you are?"
His eyes narrowed and his face grew grim, but he didn't respond.
Aimee realized that he truly had no idea. This was getting weirder by the second. "You're in Salvation. North Carolina," she added just in case he didn't know what state he was currently in. "Are you with the carnival?"
"Salvation." He said the name slowly and his entire body seemed to relax slightly. It was hard to tell for certain because his muscles were still rock hard. It was more an impression she had than any physical change in him.
"The carnival?" she questioned, wanting him back on track. She needed to figure out what was going on.
He came to his feet in one swift movement and slashed his arm out in front of him. She flinched away, scared by the sudden violence she sensed in him. He slowly lowered his arm back to his side. Aimee wanted to look away, but she couldn't. There was too much sadness, too much desperation mirrored in his eyes.
Roric went to one knee beside the bed and laid his right hand over his heart. "Everything that happened at the carnival was real." He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I would never hurt you, Aimee. I am one of seven warriors of an ancient goddess. It is my sworn duty to break the curse that has held me captive for more than five thousand years. You have set me free, and I must protect you from the demons that are coming for us both. Then I must find a way to free the remaining warriors and find my Lady."
"Demons? Curse? Five thousand years?" Her head was spinning. Roric was obviously confused. She didn't want to say crazy, but the word was there in the back of her mind, taunting her. Just her luck to bring home a guy who thought he'd been cursed for several thousand years and she'd set him free. He might be gorgeous, but he obviously needed help.
Not that she was in any position to criticize. There were a lot of folks in town who thought she needed help too considering the type of artwork she'd produced over the years for the comic company. No flowers and fuzzy bunnies for her. No, she'd mostly illustrated scenes of the apocalypse, vampires, werewolves and paranormal stuff. Not to mention the hellish stuff she'd been producing lately.
He shifted slightly, drawing her attention once again. "You don't believe me." His voice was flat and hard. His muscles tensed and his lips thinned.
She had to keep him calm. "Of course I believe you."
Roric narrowed his eyes as he stood and placed his hands on his hips. Damn, the man was big. He had to be at least six and a half feet, and all of it solid muscle. He was also crazy. Still, for some strange reason she wasn't afraid of him. Not really. She could sense the violence and anger swirling within him, but deep in her heart she knew it would never be turned against her.
"No, you don't." He turned and strode to the window, bracing one arm on the frame as he peered out into her backyard and the forest beyond.
Aimee sat on bed, unable to move, held captive by the vivid tattoo of a white tiger that covered Roric's entire back. How she'd missed it last night, she'd never know. Of course, she'd been busy last night. But still. This was incredible.
The beast stared back at her, familiar vivid blue eyes, broad nose and proud bearing. White fur striped with midnight black. Thick muscles and pure power, all controlled by a vast intelligence.
It was the tiger from her dreams, the one from the funhouse. The animal she'd ridden on the carousel. None of it was a dream. All of it was real. Either that or she'd completely lost her mind.
Without taking her eyes off the tattoo, Aimee slid off the side of bed. On silent feet, she padded toward him. His back muscles tensed. He knew she was behind him.
Reaching out, she tentatively touched the tattoo and stroked the tiger's head. Roric tilted his head to one side as if it were his head she'd touched. Butterflies danced in her stomach. What she was thinking was impossible. But she was beginning to believe in the impossible.
Slowly, she raked her nail across the tiger's belly. Roric groaned. She moved her nail lower. Roric growled and whirled around in a blur of motion. Catching her hand with his, he flattened it against his stomach. Aimee curled her fingers inward, feeling the brush of fine fur-like hair against her fingertips.
"You're the white tiger, aren't you?" She held her breath, barely even able to believe what she'd just asked him.
His pale blue eyes stared into her very soul. She could sense the tensing of his muscles beneath her hand. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."
Her lips parted and she licked her lower one. It was a nervous gesture, but it made Roric's cock throb with never-ending ache, a relentless need. He could all too easily imagine her sweet tongue licking his erection, sucking the head into her warm mouth. He barely suppressed a groan.
Her eyes widened as she felt the nudge of his shaft against the edge of her hand. There was no hiding the fact that he was aroused. Nor did he want to. It made him feel alive—a living, breathing man—after being held inanimate for more centuries than he cared to remember.
She moistened her lips again and, when she spoke, her words were little more than a puff of breath. "Show me."
It took his addled brain a moment to understand what she was asking. He was naked, so he wasn't exactly hiding anything. The tiger. She wanted to see the tiger, to know it was real.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently moved her away from him. "Maybe you'd better sit down." He had no idea what effect his changing might have on her. He knew that a part of her didn't believe a word he was saying about who he was and the fact he was cursed. She'd been forced to accept a lot over the past few hours. She'd handled it with great courage, but a person could only take so much. Seeing her lover morph into a giant white tiger might be more than she could deal with.
"All right." She shuffled back to the bed, keeping the damn sheet tucked around her body. He wished she'd drop it, even a little. He longed to see her firm, high breasts, her slender torso and her long, lithe legs. Even with her scars, Aimee was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
Her hair was a luxurious black, but it was shorter than any he'd ever seen on a woman. His hair was longer than hers. It should have detracted from her femininity, yet somehow it only accentuated it, highlighting her delicate features and her incredible green eyes. A lock of hair fell across her forehead, making her appear vulnerable.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and crossed her legs. The sheet parted slightly, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her trim calves and dainty feet. He wanted to see her sleek thighs spread wide in invitation. His cock flexed in agreement.
He heard the impatience, the anticipation in her voice. He wished it were an invitation of another sort, a sexual one that would lead to erotic fulfillment for both of them. But her demeanor was not one of a woman open to receiving the attentions of a more-than-willing sexual partner. It was one of expectation, but of a completely different kind.
A part of him was afraid to change into his tiger. After being held in that form for so long, he was enjoying being a man again. What if he couldn't change back?
No, he wouldn't accept that. He was a warrior and the tiger was part of him. He needed to embrace his entire self if he had even the smallest chance of coming out of this mess alive.
"Roric?" The concern in her voice was his undoing. Was he a warrior or was he a coward?
He reached deep inside himself and found his tiger waiting patiently. The creature roared and jumped forward, taking control and starting the change. The beast was impatient to be in his natural form. The tiger had been as trapped as the man, frozen and unable to move for five thousand years.
The metamorphosis was upon him now. Roric's fingers curled, the tips of his fingernails elongating into lethally sharp claws. His face changed, forehead flattening, jaw elongating and teeth sharpening.
Aimee gasped and jerked her legs up onto the bed. She clutched the shee
t tight to her chin. He wondered if she thought that would save her. He wasn't a monster hiding under the bed. He was an ancient warrior of the Lady of the Beasts—a legendary fighter of renown, a killer. There was nothing she could do to stop him if he chose to attack.
He fell forward, his hands morphing into giant paws before they hit the ground. Muscles rippled and elongated. He arched his spine, feeling the bones crack and reform as they settled into their new shape. Hair grew from beneath his skin, covering his body in thick fur.
He threw back his head and roared. The glass in the window rattled. Energy rushed through his veins. By changing, he'd somehow managed to tap into some of his power. Being released from the carousel hadn't automatically given him back all his strength. But his abilities were growing, changing with each minute he was free.
A low, frightened sound emerged from the bed. Aimee had her legs pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her face was pale, her green eyes huge. He padded toward her, feeling the wooden floor beneath the pads of his paws. It felt good to move as the beast. Powerful. Muscles flexed beneath his flesh as he stalked toward her.
He came to an abrupt halt when the acrid smell of fear surrounded him. It burned his nostrils, sharp and bitter. But beneath it was the unmistakable perfume of her arousal, thick and rich. She still carried his scent on her skin from when they'd had sex. His heavier, muskier smell overlaid her lighter, more feminine one. The tiger chuffed with pleasure. Possessiveness, raw and overwhelming, hit him in the face.
Aimee was his.
He shook his head and his whiskers twitched, but he could not get her intoxicating scent out of his head. The logical man inside the beast knew that such an attachment wasn't possible. She was mortal. He was immortal. He was a shapeshifter. She was human.
Her function was to release him from the bondage that had held him for more than fifty centuries. His debt to her was to protect her for the next twenty-four hours. He had a mission that would, in all likelihood, lead to his death. There was no place in his life for a woman.
But the beast disagreed. Vehemently. The tiger had chosen her as mate and would not listen to logic.
"You're gorgeous."
He jerked up his head, narrowed his eyes. She was still very much afraid of the tiger, but she had extended a hand toward him. Roric was once again taken aback by her courage.
Most women would run, screaming in terror if they'd witnessed what Aimee just had. She'd awakened to find a strange man in her bed, a man she'd had hot, uninhibited sex with in the dark of the night. The carnivals and demons were real. What she'd thought was a nightmare was actual fact. If that wasn't enough, he'd changed from a man to a tiger in front of her very eyes.
In his tiger form, he was huge, much larger than a normal tiger would be, more powerful and much more dangerous. He snarled, exposing his sharp teeth, unable to hold back as anger took hold and consumed him. Fury rocked him to his core. The tiger roared out his pain, his anguish, unable to hold it in any longer.
Why had Hades attacked the Lady of the Beasts? She'd been no threat to him, content to spend her time among the animals in the wild spaces that dotted this planet. Why hadn't she listened to his warnings and taken action before the minions of Hell had attacked them?
He'd asked himself the same questions all those long years ago and had never come up with any viable answers.
Aimee shifted ever so slightly on the bed, drawing his full attention. In his animal form, his senses were even more acute. He could see her more clearly, smell her more keenly and hear her heart as it pounded against her chest. She was sweating now with fear but determined to be brave.
He padded to the end of the bed and sat. He'd been wrong earlier when he'd told himself nothing Aimee could do would stop him if he chose to attack. She could stop him with nothing more than a glance. The tiger didn't want her frightened of him, and neither did the man.
Roric lowered his head and leaned in close to Aimee. Her scent was almost overwhelming. She smelled of heated female skin, a hint of flowers and sex. He licked his lips, his large, pink tongue rolling from one side of his mouth to the other. He longed to taste her.
He held himself still as she reached out and brushed the top of his broad forehead. She pulled her fingers away immediately. He turned his head so he could see her. Her fingers were curled into her palm.
"You're so soft." Tentatively, she reached out to him again. This time her stroke was surer, firmer, as she raked her fingers lightly over his head. Roric gave a low rumble of pleasure, letting her know without words how much he enjoyed her touch.
"I can't believe your hair is the exact same color as the tiger's stripes."
He could have told her they were all like that. Each warrior's eyes and hair matched that of his animal. They weren't separate, but one and the same, two creatures sharing one soul, two halves of a whole.
She scratched behind his ear, and he rolled his head to one side to give her better access. Aimee laughed and scratched harder. "You like that, do you?"
He didn't reply, but closed his eyes and simply enjoyed her gentle caress. During earlier times, people had feared the warriors of the Lady of the Beasts. And rightfully so. They were untamed, unfettered by the rules of mankind. The only thing controlling them was their love and devotion to the Lady. Back in those days, the population had been more accepting of gods and goddesses, understanding the power they and the ones bound to them wielded.
The more she touched him, the faster Aimee's fear was fading. He lifted his head and in one lithe movement jumped onto the bed beside her. Aimee screamed, jerking back toward the headboard. Her throat rippled as she swallowed. She gave a nervous laugh. "You're incredibly fast."
He could have told her that was nothing compared to what he could do. Or what he'd been able to do. He still wasn't certain of his powers. They did seem to be growing and expanding with each passing moment, but would it be enough to save Aimee and himself?
He flexed his large muscles and sprawled out next to her. He knew time was short, but he wanted a few more minutes with her like this. The fact that she accepted him so easily surprised him. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became. Had she known about him all along? Doubts crept back into his brain. Was she a tool of Hades or a gift from the Lady?
Aimee came up on her knees and crept closer. This time she used both hands, digging her fingertips into his fur and finding the flesh beneath. She massaged up and down his supple spine, wringing a yowl of pleasure from him.
She giggled. He jerked his head around but she wasn't watching his face. Her attention was centered on her hands buried in his fur. Her fascinated delight pleased him even as the sensual joy stamped on her face aroused him.
He surged up and licked her face. Her taste was sweet and salty. Aimee slapped her hand over her cheek and laughed. Delight sparkled in her eyes.
He stared at her. Happiness made her even more beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was thready. He could see the tips of her breasts pressing against the thin sheet she wore.
Lust struck him fast and hard. He'd already had her but he wanted her again.
He pounced, rolling her beneath him. His large jaw parted and he clamped down on her shoulder. Not hard enough to break the skin or bruise her, but to remind her, to remind them both, that he was a dangerous beast.
She stilled, the pleasure fading from her face, replaced by fear once again. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? He didn't want her to make him weak with her softness, enslave him with her gentle touch. He could not afford the distraction.
Yet as much as he wanted, needed, her to fear him, he couldn't bear the thought. He sat back and nudged her shoulder in mute apology. She lifted her hands and cupped his massive jaw. "It's okay." She lightly brushed his fur, accidentally touching his sensitive whiskers, sending a jolt of desire rushing through him.
Aimee figured she was either crazy, which she fervently hoped she wasn't, or this was actually happening. The second choice seemed the more probable one with each passing second. Roric had changed into the tiger from her dreams right before her very eyes.
Maybe it was drugs or hypnosis or possibly even a hallucination. Or maybe it wasn't. His fur felt so real, a sensual delight as she sifted her fingers through it, brushing the sensitive skin between her fingers and sending a shiver of pleasure rushing through her.
Overwhelming. That was the best word to describe him. The tiger was massive, powerful and intimidating. He'd scared her half to death several times. She sensed that it was on purpose. Roric seemed to be ambivalent about her. One minute he was affectionate, and the next, he was impressing on her just how powerless she was against him. With those wicked-sharp claws and teeth, he could tear her to shreds in a heartbeat.
Her skin was damp beneath the sheet she had wrapped around her, a fragile barrier at best. Her heart raced out of control. Still, as frightened as she was, Aimee hadn't been able to resist touching him when the opportunity arose. She'd dreamed of the tiger so often. Had touched him in the realm of fantasies. But this was different. This was real.
The tiger and the man were one and the same. Unbelievable. Yet she had no choice but to believe. The proof was overwhelming, and if what he was telling her was true, things were going to get ugly very fast.
But for now, it was the two of them. The fact that Roric had changed in front of her, exposing himself in such a manner, was not something she took lightly.
"I know you're not tame. I understand what a gift you've given me, letting me see you in your tiger form. And I'm not afraid. I can't be. Not after all the dreams I've had about you during my life. I've seen you roaming the high mountains of faraway countries. I've seen you prowl across windswept plains with snow whipping up around you."
She sank her fingers deeper into his fur. "I can't explain it. It's as though I've known you for a long time." She captured the tiger's large face between her hands and stared into the familiar, intelligent blue eyes. "There's a connection between us I can't explain."
How could she make him understand? Aimee released him and sat with her legs folded tailor-style, tugging the sheet into place so she remained mostly covered. "Ever since the accident that took my parents and left me with scars, I've had dreams. The doctors were surprised I lived. I was locked in a coma for days."
She'd never talked about this with anyone. Probably wouldn't have been able to even now if he wasn't in his tiger form. She still found Roric the man too intimidating. The tiger was familiar. Safe.
As if sensing her unease, the tiger scooted closer, resting his massive jaw against her thigh. She stared down at the beast. The man was still there. She could see Roric in the tiger's eyes. It was unsettling.
"Ever since that time, I've had dreams. Mostly nightmares." She raked her hand through her damp hair and sighed. "For the first few years it was snatches here and there. I didn't have them often, but when I did, they were very real."
The tiger licked her thigh where the sheet had slipped aside as if to comfort her. The heavy rasp of his tongue sent goose bumps racing down her leg.
"The only good dreams I had were the ones with the white tiger." Roric grew still next to her. She glanced down at him. "Yeah, I know. It's weird."
He chuffed as though to encourage her to keep speaking. She shook her head. Now she was an expert in tiger sounds and body language. Not . "I'd catch glimpses of the tiger in my dreams. I always felt safe then. Like I knew I wouldn't have any nightmares if he was there.
"Ironic, isn't it? If what you're telling me is true, then you've brought my worst nightmares straight to my doorstep." That wasn't quite true, and she was honest enough to admit it. "Or maybe I've been a pawn in this thing since the beginning. Just like you. Mythology shows that most of the ancient gods and goddesses really don't care much for humans. We're nothing more than collateral damage in their petty fights and wars."
The tiger reared back and jumped off the bed, clearly offended by her words. She didn't care. Somehow, through no fault of her own, she'd become stuck in the middle of some ancient feud between Roric and his fellow warriors and Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Whichever way you looked at it, it wasn't good for her.
"No one ever said life was fair," she muttered as she watched the tiger pace from one side of the room to the other. She slid off the bed, anchoring the sheet tighter around her once again. Aimee really wished she had some clothes on. Having this kind of conversation half naked wasn't the least bit comforting.
The tiger froze her with a stare. His blue eyes mirrored his frustration and anger, but smoldering beneath that, she sensed his arousal. No matter what he felt about what she'd said, he still wanted her.
She could relate. The same madness seemed to be consuming her. "Not good," she whispered under her breath. She had to remember that Roric had an agenda. This was no time for her to lose her head, or her heart.
The tiger threw back his head and gave a mighty roar before he began to change. His arms and legs shifted, muscles and bones reforming, reshaping. He pushed upward, coming to stand on two legs.
For a moment, his body was that of a man except for the long claws that tipped his fingers, the broad forehead and the sharp fangs that protruded from his gums. Fur receded, leaving tanned flesh in its wake. A thin line of hair bisected his chest, narrowing down to his groin.
Aimee wanted to glance away, but couldn't tear her gaze from the impressive erection spearing up from between his legs. His heavily muscled legs were spread wide. His hands were resting on his lean hips.
His striking black and white hair brushed against his broad shoulders, and his features took on their normal, fierce cast. Roric was back.
Muscles tensed and cock throbbing, Roric morphed back into his human form. He couldn't take his eyes off Aimee. Aimee . Just the sound of her name made him want to purr with contentment. There was something special about her that reached out and touched the bedrock of frozen emotions buried deep in his soul.
That wasn't good. Emotions weakened a warrior, caused him to make mistakes. He needed to be cool and analytical, making whatever difficult choices needed to be made.
He frowned as he thought about what she'd told him. She'd dreamed of him long before she'd seen him. Was that part of the curse? Had the Lady sent her dreams of him to encourage her to trust him, to reach out to him when she saw the carousel? Without the dreams, would she have freed him? Would she have been able to?
Maybe she was on Hades' side, a temptation sent to test his resolve, to steal his soul with soft touches and honeyed words. He couldn't sense anything evil about her, but he couldn't take the chance.
His frown deepened as her words came back to haunt him. Perhaps she was simply an unwilling pawn between Hades and the Lady. Certainly she hadn't asked to have her life ripped apart and be dragged into a war where losing meant an eternity in the bowels of Hell.
There were no easy answers. What he did know was that he would not fall victim to her feminine lure. He could sate his body with hers and protect her from the demons without allowing her to touch him on an emotional level.
He had no other choice.
After five thousand years trapped a living hell, he wasn't about to go to the real one. He was going to break the curse that had held him prisoner once and for all. When that was done, he would see about freeing his fellow warriors.
After that, if he was still alive, he would set his sights on saving the Lady of the Beasts, to whom he owed his allegiance. He would storm the very gates of Hell itself if he had to in order to rescue her.
"Are you okay?" Aimee walked toward him, her steps barely audible on the hardwood floor.
He should have been asking her that question. "Fine." His answer was brusquer than he intended, but her nearness was pure torture. He was so aroused his balls were one perpetual ache. Every muscle in his body tensed when she stopped in front of him and reached out her hand.
She brushed her fingers lightly against his stomach, sending a bolt of lightning surging to his cock. His stomach muscles rippled, and he sucked in a deep breath. He was so close to the edge, it wouldn't take much to make him spill his seed. Maybe it was because he'd been so long without a woman, but he suspected it had more to do with Aimee herself. She was like an addiction thrumming through his body, his blood. He wanted her.
His shaft pulsed in a primal rhythm, urging him to take her again. As much as he wanted to toss her down on the bed and drive himself into her heated channel, he knew they had to talk. He had no idea how long it would be before the demons found them and attacked. The fact that they hadn't already made him suspicious. Once again, he was left wondering if Aimee was on the side of the demons.
There was only one way to find out. He would share his story with her and see what she did. "There are things I must tell you."
Roric took her hand in his and led her back to the end of the bed, urging her to sit. She settled on the edge, staring up at him with her fascinating green eyes. He didn't want to bombard Aimee with too much information. Best to keep it simple. "It all started with The Lady of the Beasts," he began.
The corners of her mouth turned downward, and her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to one side. "That's what he called me in my dreams. Only he called me the lady of the beast. As in one beast."
"Who?" Roric was almost afraid to ask, but he needed to know.
Aimee shook her head. "Hades. I dreamed I was drawn into an antechamber of Hell and met the big guy himself. I researched the Lady of the Beasts online, but could only find some vague references to an ancient goddess who was basically the patron of animals." Her eyes widened as understanding began to filter in.
Unexpected pain streaked through him. The world had forgotten the Lady. Hades and the Olympians had done their job well. "In the time before cities, when man still roamed the earth, the Lady of the Beasts was revered by all—a goddess of life and fertility in the ancient world."
"I've read about goddess worship, but I didn't find any references specifically to her." Aimee tugged the sheet tighter around her, but it gaped slightly just above her breasts, giving him an unrestricted view of her cleavage.
Roric tried not to look. Not out of some long-forgotten sense of chivalry—he'd never laid claim to being anything but the beast he was—but out of a sense of self-preservation. It didn't work. His gaze was drawn to the gentle slope of Aimee's breasts, to the softness of her
skin.
He swallowed hard and jerked his attention back to the topic at hand. "The Lady was a kind but practical goddess, the guiding light of all the animals of the world, animals that provided food, shelter and indeed life for the sons of man for generations."
He broke off as he remembered those earlier times. They were happy times for all of them. Earth had been primitive and brutal, but there was much beauty and goodness to be found. He took a few steps away from the bed before turning back to face her.
"Then man settled into communities," Aimee prompted.
"Yes," he continued. "Man settled and began to plant and harvest the earth, forcing it to his will. With the settlement of people came the need for leadership and government. Wealth and power were in the hands of few. The Greeks began to worship Zeus and the other Olympians. Forgotten was the Lady of the Beasts as new gods and goddesses took her place in the minds and hearts of the people."
"Hmm." Aimee crossed one leg over the other, absently swinging her foot.
The sheet parted, revealing her long, shapely legs. Not even the scars that ran down her left leg could detract from her beauty. Roric's gut tightened with a hunger he knew he couldn't sate. There wasn't enough time to take her again, even if she would allow it.
"Zeus was the Lord of the Sky, the king of the gods, wasn't he?"
Aimee obviously knew something about Greek Mythology. "Yes." Roric could still see Zeus demanding the surrender of the Lady. The arrogance of the Greek gods still astounded him after all these years. "His brother, Poseidon, was made Lord of the Seas, while his other brother, Hades ruled as Lord of the Underworld."
Aimee nodded. "So Zeus and the crew wanted to take over."
Roric remembered warning the Lady of the rise of these new gods, but she went about her business, not concerning herself with them. He'd known it was a mistake, but he hadn't realized just how heavy a price they would all pay for it. "The Greek gods were a jealous lot. They wanted none of the older gods or goddesses to distract the people from worshipping them. Plotting and planning, they looked for ways to bring about the Lady's downfall. Hades was behind all of it, planting ideas in Zeus' brain."
Aimee sucked in a breath. "That doesn't sound good."
He prowled back and forth across the room, aware of Aimee's gaze on him as he put his thoughts into some kind of order.
For centuries, he'd replayed the battle over and over in his mind, examining what had happened. Could he have done more? Could they have defeated the Olympians? "On the command of Zeus, Hades led the attack. But he hadn't counted on the Lady's protectors—seven warriors, all fearless and loyal—being so hard to defeat. Part man, part animal, part eternal life essence, these powerful, immortal warriors fought with the strength of the beasts they represented—bear, wolf, phoenix, serpent, lion, jaguar and…"
"White tiger," Aimee completed his words in a hushed tone.
He paused by the end of the bed and stared down at her. "Yes. We fought bravely and fiercely, but were overpowered by the sheer number and power of Hades and his armies." Defeat was a bitter taste in his mouth and a burning knot in his gut. Even knowing that he and his fellow warriors had done all they could to save the Lady, they hadn't been able to stop Hades from capturing her. There had been too many demons to fight.
Roric forced himself to finish the last of the story. "Knowing her time was short, the Lady used the last of her power to cast a spell upon us, her warriors, determined that we have a chance to survive. All of us were frozen in time in our animal forms. We could not be destroyed. The Lord of the Underworld could not claim our souls. For more than five thousand years, we have been earthbound."
Aimee gasped. Her face was pale, her hand trembling as she held it out to him. "This is unbelievable."
He felt his spine stiffening at the implied slur on his honor. "All I have said is true." He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but forced his hands to remain by his sides.
Her fingers curled inward and she slowly withdrew her hand, her gaze falling to her lap. "I didn't mean I thought you were lying, just that this is such an amazing story. Like something you'd read in a book of mythological tales. My God, you've been imprisoned for thousands of years, unable to move. I would have gone mad."
Knowing she believed him eased some of the coldness in his soul and the bitterness in his belly. "I'm not sure I didn't, at least for some of the time." He didn't want to think about the long, bleak, empty years. "Our protection from Hades was also our prison. The spell she cast became more of a curse as time passed by. We were constantly guarded by demons from Hell. I think Hades feared we'd somehow get free and take our vengeance on him."
She raised her face and he saw the anguish in her eyes, and knew it was for him. He felt unworthy. "Aimee," he began.
"Some of the spots on the carousel were empty. What happened?"
He started pacing again, his mind awash with grief for his lost comrades. "I'm not certain. All I know is that about sixty years ago the carousel was built. A group of demons put together the carnival, and we've traveled all around the world. It was as though they were searching for something. Or someone."
He slanted a knowing look in her direction. He knew now that the demons had been searching for the women who could break the curse and free the warriors one by one. "The carousel remains hidden from the view of the public, always tucked away in a tent far from the other rides."
"Just like it was last night." Aimee chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, leaving it slightly red and puffy.
The action was innocently seductive. Roric felt his body respond immediately. He wanted to lean down and lick her lips before deepening the kiss. Instead, he continued his story. "Mordecai, the serpent, was the first of us to be released. It was Kansas in the late nineteen sixties. We never saw Mordecai or the woman again."
He paused in front of the window, not seeing the beautiful view beyond. His heart ached as he wondered what happened to his friends. "The next time it happened we were in Louisiana. It was Phoenix's turn. He and the girl who freed him disappeared in a flash of flame and smoke."
He turned back to face Aimee. She deserved nothing less than the entire truth from him. "Maybe thirty years ago, but I can't be certain. Time flows differently for us. Sometimes a century can fly by in the blink of an eye. Other times, a year can seem like an eternity."
Aimee pulled her legs up tight to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rocked slightly back and forth as she thought. She looked innocent, so achingly beautiful perched on the end of the bed that, for a brief moment, Roric wished she hadn't released him. As much as he'd prayed over the past several thousand years to be released, he didn't want her caught up in this war. Because that's what it was—a war for his soul and the souls of his fellow warriors. A war to save the Lady. A war to save the world from the domination of Hades. And it was now a war for Aimee's soul as well.
"That's only two. There was another empty space." Aimee rested her chin on her upraised knees. "A jaguar, if I'm remembering correctly."
"Yes. That would be Stavros. He was released soon after Phoenix."
"But how were you all released?"
Unable to resist her lure any longer, Roric strode to the bed and sat beside her. "Are your memories of last night returning?"
She picked at the sheet covering her. "Sort of. I'm getting flashes. I went to the carnival with a friend." Aimee dropped her feet back to the floor. "Sandra! She's going to be frantic wondering what happened to me. I have to call her." She started to stand, but Roric wrapped his hand around her wrist, tugging her back.
"After. I need to know what you remember. We don't have much time." He was constantly aware of the ticking of the clock and the silence of the demons. That wouldn't last much longer.
"The place creeped me out, but we went in the funhouse. I lost track of my friend and eventually went to the sideshow tents to look for her. I watched some of the performances, but got disoriented. The tent with the carousel just seemed to appear out of nowhere." She nibbled on her bottom lip again, and Roric barely suppressed a groan. His shaft was as hard as a rock, but thankfully Aimee didn't seem to notice. She was caught up in the retelling of her tale.
"What did you do next?" He was very aware of the fact that he was still holding on to her. His fingers easily wrapped all the way around her slender wrist.
"I couldn't resist the carousel. It was so beautiful I was drawn to it immediately. To you." A light blush covered her cheeks.
"That seems to be the way we are released. Some woman is drawn to find the carousel and chooses one of us." He asked the one question that had burned in his heart from the moment he'd felt her sit on his back. "Why me? Was it because of the dreams?" That was something he needed to know, to understand.
She nodded. "I told you I dreamed of you. Well, not you specifically, but the white tiger. Only I did dream about you the night before I went to the carnival." She broke off and scrubbed her free hand over her face. "It's all very confusing."
"You dreamed of me? Me, not the tiger?" Memories stirred from deep inside him, of a woman who called to him. Had that been Aimee? He struggled, but could remember nothing more.
"I've dreamed about you—" she broke off, seeming flustered, "—I mean, about a white tiger for years, but about you the night before I went to the carnival. Then I thought I saw the tiger stalking me when I got lost in the funhouse. When I saw the carousel, I couldn't resist sitting on the tiger for a moment. The machine came to life, spinning faster and faster until it was out of control. There were people laughing and yelling." She shivered, rubbing her free hand over one of her bare arms. "They all worked at the carnival. The harder I spun on the ride, the more their faces changed. They looked like the demons from my dreams."
She swiveled so she was facing him. "They were chanting your name. I didn't know what the word meant then, but it was your name. After that, things get a little blurry and I was falling from the carousel. The next thing I knew I was dreaming about making love to you, only it wasn't a dream, was it?"
"No." He rubbed his thumb over the inner curve of her wrist. She was so soft, so fragile. "None of this is a dream."
"How did we end up here?" she asked. "Back at my home and in my bed. Why didn't we stay in the tent?"
"I don't know. I think my Lady used her waning power to make sure if we were ever freed, we would be sent away from the demons who held us. A way of giving us a fighting chance to survive."
"Maybe this is Hades' doing." Aimee's fingers curled into a fist as he continued to stroke her soft skin.
Roric shook his head. "Hades wouldn't want to risk losing us after going to such trouble to find the right woman to set us free." Even as he said it, he knew it rang false. Hades would know exactly where he was. Maybe Aimee was right. Maybe Hades wanted Roric to bond with Aimee so he'd be more likely to do whatever it took to protect her. That made her a liability to him.
Aimee nodded and sucked in a deep breath. "So what happens now? What are we going to do?"
His heart skipped a beat when she said the word we . Most women would be screaming in fear, demanding he leave, or calling on the demons of Hell to come and get him. She might look fragile, but Aimee was strong-willed. The voice in the back of his head reminded him she might just be luring him into complacency to make it easier for the demons to capture him.
"Now, I figure out a way to keep us both safe. The demons will be coming for us. They have only twenty-four hours to defeat me. After that, Hades must relinquish his claim on me and my soul forever."
"That's good, right?" Aimee tugged on her wrist, and he reluctantly released her. She stood, staring down at him. "I mean, you only have to hide for a few more hours and then you'll be free."
Roric shook his head, unable to keep the truth from her. "I can't hide from them, Aimee. They know where I am. They know who you are." If she was as innocent as she appeared, he didn't want to frighten her, but she had to be fully aware of the situation. "And Aimee, they're not only coming for my soul, they're coming for yours too."
Aimee stood beneath the showerhead and let hot water pour over her. She'd scrubbed herself from head to toe and was now simply trying to drive away the chill permeating her bones. She watched as the water trickled down the drain, so ordinary, so normal. Her life had suddenly become anything but.
Demons, immortal warriors and a war with Hades—it was enough to drive a woman stark-raving mad. If she were a weak-willed person, she'd have run screaming from the house after calling the sheriff's office to report a handsome but slightly touched stranger in her bedroom.
But deep in her gut, Aimee knew this wasn't a dream, wasn't a fantasy. Somehow, some way, all of it was real. And that meant the nightmares that had been plaguing her for months had been genuine as well. On some level, she'd truly been a part of them. But that didn't bear thinking about right now.
She shuddered in spite of the heat and steam enveloping her. If she truly believed Roric, then she'd also been in the presence of Hades himself. It was enough to give a girl nightmares—if she wasn't already having them, that is.
Burying her face in her hands, she gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "This is all a nightmare. All of it."
"All of it?"
Aimee shrieked and whirled around. Her feet slipped on the tile floor and she began to fall. The shower curtain was ripped back and strong arms wrapped around her. A familiar, woodsy scent surrounded her. Roric .
She blinked, unable to quite believe what she was seeing…or feeling. Roric was in the bathroom with her. Furthermore, he was standing in front of her. Right in front of her. And she was naked. Her bare breasts were plastered against his hard chest. The man was forever catching her naked.
"Don't do that." She pulled away from him, grabbed a towel from the rod and held it in front of her. The towel wasn't large enough to wrap around her, but it was better than nothing.
"Don't do what?" One corner of his mouth twitched. If he laughed at her, she'd smack him.
"Sneak up on me. I was taking a shower. Alone," she added for emphasis. How long had he been watching her? Heat pulsed through her body, pooling between her thighs. She stifled a moan and ignored it.
"Ahh."
What the heck did he mean by that? She decided she really didn't want to know. "What are you doing in here? I told you I'd only be a few minutes."
Roric traced his index finger over her collarbone. The small caress made her blood sing. "Why so shy?" He skimmed his finger lower, dipping below the edge of the towel. "It's not as though I haven't seen you naked."
Aimee took a step back. One of them had to be sensible. "That was when I thought it was just a dream. I'm not in the habit of jumping into bed with any strange man that comes along. Especially not one who is trying to break some kind of ancient spell or curse or whatever it is."
His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. The indulgent lover was gone, replaced by the cold, implacable warrior. "You will not help me?"
"I never said that." Sighing, Aimee reached out and turned off the water, which was beginning to run cold. She had to turn slightly, exposing her naked backside to him, but there was no help for it. The large bath towel she'd laid out was just behind him on the edge of the vanity. She could feel his eyes caress her spine and lower as she turned back around.
He was leaning against the edge of the sink, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed. For the first time, she realized he was wearing a pair of dark brown leather pants that molded his muscular thighs. It also showcased the impressive bulge in the front to perfection.
Aimee shivered. She was personally acquainted with what was under those tight pants. It would be so easy to jump back in bed, but that wouldn't solve anyone's problem. "Where did you get those?" She pointed to his pants.
One corner of his mouth turned up in what might be considered a slight smile. "I'm not without some power. Although much of it was drained during my imprisonment, and it will take me some time to get back to full strength, I have some basic skills. It seems I can manifest what was mine before I was trapped."
"Good to know." She wished he'd manifested a shirt for himself while he was at it. His chest was distracting her. All that bare, tanned flesh and muscle were a distraction she didn't need. It was also a sharp reminder of how she'd spent the night. She needed him to leave. Needed to be alone for a few minutes to compose herself before she faced the day and whatever came with it.
Aimee paused for a moment, then shrugged, deciding there was no point in being subtle. "If you want a T-shirt, check in the bottom drawer of my dresser. I've still got a few of my dad's old ones there. It'll be tight, but they'll probably fit." Her father hadn't been a small man by any means, but Roric was huge. But at least they would cover him up some. Hopefully, that would make it easier for her to deal with him without getting sidetracked.
"Thank you." He inclined his head.
"No problem. I'm just going to dry off and get dressed. Why don't you wait downstairs in the kitchen?"
"I don't mind waiting here." His eyes warmed considerably as they grazed over her exposed limbs.
Heat suffused her, and it wasn't all from the steam still filling the room. Her breasts ached, and her core was damp with more than just water. So much for her not being subtle. Either he was completely dense or he was ignoring her hint. She opted for door number two. The glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she wanted him to do but was choosing to ignore her unspoken request. It was time to bring out the sledgehammer.
She took a deep breath. "Leave." She pointed to the door. "I want some privacy while I dress." She couldn't get any plainer than that.
His muscles bunched and coiled as he pushed away from the vanity. She was immune to such a display. Of course she was. She ignored the way her mouth went dry and her fingers gripped the towel until her knuckles turned white.
It didn't matter to her that he was built like a tank without being muscle-bound. His long limbs were fluid and full of grace as he moved, reminding her that the tiger lived just below the surface of the man, all power and supple strength. She stilled when he moved closer, feeling very much like cornered prey. The wrong move could make him pounce.
Would that be so bad ?
Shut up , she told that voice in the back of her head. She wasn't a sex fiend. She had much bigger worries to contend with than whether or not she should fall back into bed with a man who looked like a sex god. Like, what the h
ell was going to happen to her? Bad choice of words. Very bad.
Roric prowled closer, looking even larger in such a small space. Leaning down, he captured her chin in his hand and brushed his lips over her. "Don't be long."
When he turned away, she got a perfect view of his first-class butt, cupped lovingly by the soft, leather material. She released a long sigh, wishing her hands could replace his pants. When she realized what she was doing, she shook herself. She slammed the door closed, dropped the soggy towel into the tub and grabbed her big, fluffy bath towel.
"Don't be stupid," she admonished herself. "He doesn't care about you. He woke up in the same bed with you and took advantage of the situation the same as you did." That's all it was, two adults taking pleasure from one another.
Why that thought made her sad, she had no idea. It wasn't as though she'd invested a lot of time in a relationship with him. Aimee snorted. Their so-called relationship could be measured in hours, not days or weeks.
She dragged the towel over her body, wincing when it brushed over her sensitive breasts. Her nipples were puckered into tight buds, and they were more red than pink. She looked closer, groaning when she noticed the slight reddish marks on her flesh. Yup, she'd certainly done more than dream last night. More carefully this time, she patted her skin dry.
A quick glance in the mirror made her moan in dismay. Her hair was standing up on end. Roric had seen her like this. Not that it mattered. They weren't exactly a couple. But still, she didn't want to look like something just dragged out of a ragbag. She wanted to look poised and confident.
Grabbing her brush, Aimee dragged it through her hair until it looked fairly normal. She slathered some moisturizer on her face, but decided her skin was too sensitive for her to do the same to her body. Not knowing how much time she had, she tossed the towel into the laundry basket in the corner and pulled on her robe.
She tiptoed down the hallway to her bedroom and gave a sigh of relief when Roric was nowhere in sight. She only hoped he'd taken her up on her offer and had helped himself to one of her father's old T-shirts.
Aimee deliberately turned her back on the bed. The rumpled covers were too much of a reminder of what she'd done. The heady, musky smell of sex still lingered in the air. She'd had unprotected sex with a stranger.
She headed to the window and shoved it open a crack. A cool breeze drifted in. That should help disperse any lingering reminders of last night. Changing the sheets would be the final step. She'd get to that later, if she was still alive to worry about it.
"Stop being negative. Think positive." That old adage hadn't helped much over the years, but it was better than the alternative.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she yanked open dresser drawers and pulled out underwear and socks. "It will be fine," she assured herself. "It's not the right time of the month for me to get pregnant. That's even assuming an immortal warrior can make a human woman pregnant."
Talking to herself usually helped her sort out her problems, but this morning it wasn't helping much. "He probably doesn't have any diseases. After all, he hasn't had sex for a few thousand years." She winced. Put that way, it was no wonder he'd jumped her bones in bed. Especially since she'd been very willing to have her bones jumped.
Her favorite pair of faded jeans came next. They fit her like a glove and were even more comfortable than a pair of sweatpants. She wore them when she needed to feel confident. And this morning, she needed the boost more than ever. She topped it with a V-neck cotton sweater that matched the green of her eyes. Not that she was primping or anything.
She stopped and scrubbed her hands over her face. Oh God, she was primping. Giving a moan of frustration, she shoved her feet into a pair of canvas sneakers and left the bedroom.
It was time to find Roric and figure out what the heck was going on. Whether she liked it or not, she was caught up in this crazy situation with him. It was time for her to learn what was truly at stake. Her dreams had been terrifying, and if even half of what was in them was reality, she was screwed.
Roric's comment that her soul was on the line had frightened her worse than any of her nightmares. She didn't want to believe him, but she was sorely afraid he was telling the truth. Whatever was going on, he knew more about it than she did. Information was power, and she needed whatever extra edge she could get.
She was at the top of the stairs when she paused. She had the sudden feeling that something wasn't right, someone was here. The sound of paper shuffling reached her ears. Someone was moving around her office.
Should she call out for Roric? No, that would alert whoever was there. Better to take a quick peek and assess the situation. Creeping down the hallway, she kept to the far left, near the wall and away from the floorboards that creaked. Her palms were sweaty, her heart racing as she eased toward the open doorway.
Aimee held her breath as she inched toward the door. Moving slower than she ever had in her life, she peered around the doorjamb, half afraid of what she might see. Had the demons arrived? If Roric could be believed, they already knew where to find them. She figured that was probably the truth. After all, Hades and the gang certainly had no trouble finding her in her dreams.
Her heartbeat spiked as adrenaline shot through her veins. It was quickly followed by anger. Roric stood with his back to the door, staring down at her desk. His back was rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. She absently noted he was wearing a black shirt, whose seams were tested by the width of his shoulders and the sheer size of his biceps. Not that the fact he'd done as she'd asked would save him from her wrath.
He had her portfolio open in front of him. Drawings were strewn across every surface of the room, including the floor. All her work, her nightmares, was on display for him to see.
No one touched her work without permission. No one. "What the hell are you doing?" She stalked into the room, hands fisted on her hips. How dare he go through her stuff without asking? Her world was spinning out of control enough without this invasion. "You have no right to be looking at those."
This was even worse than waking up in bed with a stranger, knowing she'd made love to him. That was physical. This went much deeper. Her work came from her emotions, her soul.
His pale blue eyes were icy and a chill permeated the room, as though his anger had sucked all the warm air from it. "Where did you get these?"
Roric was intimidating enough when he was relaxed in bed. Angry, he was truly scary. Aimee swallowed back her fear. She was tired of being manipulated. She felt like a bit player in a theatre who didn't know her lines. Everyone else around her seemed to know what was going on, and she was sick and tired of it.
"I drew them." She took two more steps, which brought her right in front of him. A quick glance told her these were the drawings of her nightmares, not her current comic illustrations. "I told you I'd had nightmares."
Just looking at the sketches gave her the willies. Now that she knew a part of her had really been there and actually seen those creatures, it was terrifyingly real. She shoved down her fear and brought herself back to the problem at hand. Namely, Roric.
"Her." He pointed to the woman with the dirty, matted hair and tattered clothing that she'd briefly seen wandering through the cavern of Hell. "Where did you see her?"
Aimee didn't need to look at the woman to remember her. She'd only caught a brief glimpse of her, but she knew she'd never forget her eyes. Most of her face had been in shadows, but her eyes had been unforgettable—timeless, kind and wise.
Plus, there was the fact that the woman had helped Aimee escape from her nightmare. She couldn't be certain, but in her heart, she knew this woman had been the one to tell her how to escape, who had offered encouragement.
Aimee had felt guilty leaving her behind, even though she was just part of a dream and not real. Now, she wasn't sure if any of what she'd seen had been a fantasy or if all of it had been reality. Had she left this woman to suffer? It was all very confusing.
Roric was waiting for an answer, his fury growing with each passing second. She could almost feel the air thickening around her. "I told you I had nightmares. I caught a very brief glimpse of her during my last trip to Hell."
Aimee was almost afraid to ask her next question, but knew she had no choice. "Why? Who is she?"
His voice was filled with emotion, almost reverent when he spoke. "My Lady." Just two simple words, but they said so much. They managed to convey everything—awe, respect, possession and even love.
Jealousy, hot and totally irrational, raged through Aimee. She clenched her hands at her sides to keep from tearing the drawing out of his hands and shredding it. Roric was nothing to her, and it was best she remember that fact. He was a one-night stand. His purpose was to free himself from the curse. He was bound to this woman, this goddess, who'd she'd drawn.
"You can't know for sure it's her." Aimee could have bitten off her tongue the moment she'd spoken. The glare Roric sent her was filled with unsuppressed rage.
"She's gaunt and frail, but it's her. It's in her eyes." His gaze narrowed. "How long ago was this?"
Aimee felt like a small rabbit cornered by a large beast. The urge to run was great, but she knew he'd be on her in a second if she tried. He was, after all, a tiger at heart. And not just any tiger, but a white tiger, the largest of all the big cats. He was a loner and a predator by nature. This was not some domesticated kitty. She'd do well to remember that.
"A week at most." She held up her hands to stop him from questioning her further. His eyes narrowed to slender slits, but he said nothing as she continued. "I saw her for a brief second. That's it. She never spoke aloud." Technically, that was true. She didn't want to tell Roric she thought she'd heard the woman speak in her mind. What was said was between them. And none of it had any bearing on the situation facing them.
The woman had helped her escape from her nightmare, for which Aimee was eternally grateful. If she'd known it was real, she might have been able to find a way to help the woman escape. But there was no going back.
Roric looked as though he was gearing up to blast her again, but she cut him off before he could even get started. "Look, at this point, I don't even know what day of the week it is. I'm not sure about anything except the fact that I need a cup of coffee. Look at the drawings if you want. Everything is there. Me, I'm going to the kitchen." Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the room. He could follow her if he wanted answers.
She didn't hear any footsteps behind her on the stairs, but she knew he was there, prowling behind her. She could sense his presence behind her as she hit the main floor and headed toward the kitchen.
Her hands were shaking, but she managed to get the coffee in the filter and the water poured into the machine. When the coffeepot was cheerfully perking, she finally turned to face him.
"I'm having breakfast. Do you want anything?" She knew she was putting off the inevitable, but she was suddenly starving. A thought occurred to her. "Do you eat? I mean, if you're immortal, do you even need food?
He gave a curt nod. "I can survive without it, but I am stronger if I eat."
That made sense, or about as much sense as any of this did. What could she feed an immortal warrior who hadn't eaten in several thousand years? That was a challenge. On the other hand, she doubted he'd be picky.
Aimee opened the refrigerator and drew out a carton of eggs and some mushrooms and sweet peppers, deciding she wanted an omelet. The protein would give them extra energy.
Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm as she placed the last ingredient on the counter. Using her hip, she shut the refrigerator door before facing Roric. "What?"
Stunned, she replayed what he'd said in her mind. Those were the last words she'd expected to hear from him. Demands or questions, sure, but not an apology.
He released her and shoved his fingers through his hair. She missed the heat of his hand against her skin. "I haven't seen my Lady since the final day of fighting with Hades and his minions. I wasn't even certain she was still alive."
Suddenly, Aimee felt small and petty. In the scheme of things, her life had been pretty mundane, in spite of the tragedies that had marked it. Roric had spent more than five thousand years locked in a prison of his animal form, not knowing if he'd ever escape, not knowing if this was to be his fate for eternity.
She shook her head. "No, I'm the one who is sorry. It's just that all of this is a lot for me to take in."
He nodded. "I understand." He glanced around the room. "I know much about your world, was able to absorb facts from the air around me even in my animal form, but it is all very strange."
"I'll bet." She couldn't even imagine the culture shock. "Sit and tell me everything you can." If she was going to be a part of this fight, she needed to be prepared.
He ran his hand over the back of the chair, tracing the carving in the wood with his fingers, before he pulled it out and sat. Sitting at the head of the table like he was, she had a perfect view of him. She waited until he was comfortable before she began to cook. "I'm making an omelet. It that okay?" She wasn't sure what he was used to eating, but figured eggs were pretty basic.
"Whatever you make is fine."
He didn't exactly sound enthused, but he didn't sound like he wasn't looking forward to it either. Shrugging, Aimee cracked eggs, chopped and mixed. The coffeepot gurgled and sputtered as it brewed. The egg mixture sizzled when she dropped it into the large, hot frying pan.
Roric stared down at the surface of the table, seemingly lost in thought. Maybe in memories. She wasn't certain. He was as still as a statue. She narrowed her eyes, but she couldn't even see his chest rising and falling as he breathed. The stillness surrounding him was almost frightening. He'd been locked in his tiger form for so long, she wondered if being still had become second nature to him or if he'd always been this way.
She plugged in the four-slice toaster and hauled down what remained of her loaf of bread from the cupboard. There were four slices left, not including crust. Just enough for breakfast. She popped the bread into the slots and pushed down the levers.
She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched Roric, wondering if she should say or do something. Suddenly, he began to speak, his voice low and deep, yet she heard every word and the underlying despair that accompanied them.
"Our Lady was no threat to the Greek gods. All she wanted was to be left alone. Yet Hades and his demons attacked without provocation. Their sheer numbers overwhelmed us. In years gone by, the Lady would have had more than enough power to ward off such an attack. But with the rise of the Olympians, the people no longer worshipped her. A deity gains power from being worshipped, so Hades was more powerful than her."
Not wanting to interrupt his tale, Aimee folded the omelet and let it continue cooking. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought about Roric, his six warrior friends and the Lady being overwhelmed by evil demons.
"The fight raged for weeks. Months. I'm not quite sure. Time lost all meaning. We were losing. The end was almost upon us. Sensing that, the Lady used the last of her power to protect us." He thumped his chest with his fist, the sudden violence startling. "Us. Her warriors who failed to protect her."
His anguish was a living, breathing thing. Aimee wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him and offer comfort. But she knew he'd see it as pity and would reject any sign of what he thought of as sympathy.
The toaster chose that moment to pop. She grabbed the bread and spread butter over each slice. She split the omelet in half and put a section on each plate next to the toast.
Roric was still as stone, head bowed, lost in another time and place. "I wasn't certain she was still alive until I saw her in your picture."
Aimee grabbed both plates and carried them to the table. She placed one in front of Roric and the other one in front of the chair to his left. She went back to the counter and poured two mugs of coffee and dug some cutlery out of the drawer. Juggling all of it, she went back to the table.
She made another trip to the refrigerator for a bottle of strawberry jam and a carton of milk. She didn't use it in her coffee, but Roric might like it. When everything was on the table, she sat next to him. "Eat, you'll feel better."
The omelet looked delicious, but she needed caffeine first. Aimee added two spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee and stirred before taking a sip. It tasted like manna from the gods, and the only right way to start any day.
As she sipped, Aimee thought about everything Roric had told her. One question kept coming back to her time and time again. "Why now?"
Roric hadn't made any move to eat, but he raised his head at her question. "Why what?"
She picked up her fork and pointed it at him. "Why now? Why have all of you been released in the past few decades. After all this time, what does it mean? Is the curse getting weaker? Is this just part of it? What does Hades want with you?"
"He wants to kill us all and take our souls."
Aimee shook her head. "Too easy. If that were all he wanted, he'd have already done so. We were totally surrounded by his demons at the carnival. Plus, he called me the lady of the beast. One beast. Obviously, he meant you. We both know I'm tied up with this somehow."
Roric cocked his head to one side. She could almost see the wheels in his mind turning. He looked at the fork in her hand and picked up his own. It struck her then that he'd never used one. Back in ancient times, people used their fingers, carved spoons and forged knives to eat. For all she knew, Roric had hunted and eaten in his animal form, bypassing any need for utensils altogether.
Shaking her head at her wayward thoughts, she went back to her earlier point. "Then there's the fact that you're all being released one at a time and by different women. There has to be some reason for that."
"I know." His frustration was palpable. "All of us can communicate to some degree while we were imprisoned on the carousel, but it's mostly images and emotions. None of us has been able to reach those already released."
"That would be the serpent, phoenix and jaguar."
"Yes," he confirmed. "Mordecai, Phoenix and Stavros. We all hoped that one of them would be able to communicate with us, to contact us somehow and let us know what is going on." He picked up the mug, took a sip of the coffee and grimaced before putting it back on the table.
"If you don't like the coffee, you can add sugar or milk." She pushed both toward him. He shook his head. Coffee wasn't for everyone, and not many people liked it at first taste. It was an acquired addiction.
Roric picked up a piece of toast and tore a corner off with his sharp, white teeth. He chewed and swallowed. It wasn't fair. The man looked sexy even when eating.
Roric placed the rest of his bread back on t
he side of his plate. "I can only assume they are dead, their souls now in Hades' possession."
"Maybe." Aimee chewed on a piece of toast, her mind working frantically. "Maybe they can't talk to you. Maybe that's part of the curse."
"Perhaps." She could tell from the way he spoke he wanted to believe his comrades were alive but didn't hold out much hope.
"When I visited Hell in my dream, it seemed as though Hades wanted something. He told me not to disappoint him. I've already released you from your animal form. If there wasn't more to it than that, why haven't you already been attacked by demons?" It made a twisted kind of sense to Aimee. They needed more facts, but there was nowhere to go to get them.
The sound of a knock echoed down the hallway. Aimee startled, her heart racing, but then common sense kicked in and she began to relax. She didn't think demons would bother to knock. Pushing back her chair, she headed out of the kitchen. Roric was already on his feet beside her, a four-foot steel sword grasped in his right hand. She blinked, not believing her eyes. "Where the heck did that come from?"
"My power," he reminded her. "This sword has been mine since the beginning of time. I can bring it forth at will."
She stared at the long, lethal weapon. It had appeared out of nowhere. Handy skill to have, all things considered.
Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she should be freaked out by this latest show of paranormal power, but in another part of her mind, it all made a warped kind of sense. Which only proved just how weird she truly was.
A second, heavier knock landed on the front door.
"Someone is at the door." She pointed out the obvious. "Wait here."
Roric stepped in front of her. "I must protect you."
Aimee felt her heart began to swell. He must feel something for her, something beyond physical attraction. Maybe he felt the same connection toward her as she did toward him.
"Until we know your part in this, you must be kept safe."
"Of course," she muttered as she hurried toward the door, Roric by her side. She was a means to an end. Nothing more. "Wouldn't want me to be inconveniently killed until we know what you need from me."
Roric shot her a dark glance, but said nothing.
Aimee peeked out the long, narrow window alongside the door and sighed with relief. "You can relax. It's my friend, Sandra. She probably came to find out why I ditched her at the carnival last night."
Roric nodded and took a step back, but he didn't lower his weapon. At least he wouldn't be visible from the door when she opened it. She didn't think it would be easy to explain away a six-and-a-half-foot man standing in her foyer holding a very large, sharp sword.
Aimee figured the situation was as good as it was going to get. She unlocked the door and opened it. Sandra looked beautiful, as always, in a short red skirt, topped with a blazer in the same color that hugged her ample breasts and displayed her cleavage to its best advantage. It was impossible to tell if she was wearing anything under the tight-fitting jacket. Five-inch stilettos, also in flaming red, and fishnet stockings completed her ensemble.
"Sandra. I was going to call you."
Her friend put her hand on the door and tried to push her way into the house, her blood-red nails curling inward and gouging the wood. "Where is he?"
Aimee sputtered, shocked by her friend's aggressive actions. Sandra was always laid back and cool, never showing any sign of impatience. Not until this moment.
"Who?" she asked, striving for complete innocence in her tone.
Aimee stood in the entry, blocking it. There was no way Sandra could know about Roric. It was impossible. As much as she knew she owed Sandra an explanation for disappearing on her last night, she didn't want her friend inside her house, not with Roric standing just behind her. Her instincts were to protect him at all costs.
Sandra's lips twisted upward in a parody of a smile. It didn't look pleasant. Her eyes narrowed and darkened with anger. "Don't play games with me, little girl. I've truly been in hell these past months, trapped in this podunk town, waiting for one of the immortals to be set free."
She shoved against Aimee's shoulder, knocking her aside. Only Roric's hand on her back kept her upright. Sandra wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to her now that she was inside. All her attention was centered on Roric.
Sandra's eyes grew slumberous as she licked her glossy red lips. "Well, hello," she all but purred. Aimee wanted to scratch her eyes out. Jealou s! She was jealous of her friend, which was crazy. Sandra was obviously part of this madness.
"What do you mean, trapped here?" Aimee grabbed her friend's arm to get her attention.
Sandra jerked away, shooting a look of pure disdain at Aimee. "Just what I said. The big guy himself gave me this assignment after he got into your dreams and realized you might be one of the chosen ones ." She sneered as she said the final two words. "He wanted one of us to make contact with you, figured it might make things go easier and help us keep an eye on the situation. He assures me this assignment is a reward for all my loyal service. Personally, I viewed it as a cruel and unusual punishment until now."
A long, sharp blade slid between them and Aimee gasped, taking a step back away from Roric's sword. Sandra simply laughed, and the low, seductive sound grated against Aimee's nerves. She gritted her teeth to keep from slapping the other woman. She'd never felt so violent toward someone in her entire life.
"Why are you here, demon?" Roric demanded.
Demon ! Aimee took a real good look at Sandra. How had she referred to herself? One of us . That the big guy himself had sent her? Sandra was one of Hades' minions.
Sandra's smile grew sly, more inviting. Her eyes seemed to suddenly glow with red, a sickening reminder of Aimee's nightmares.
"Not just any demon." Sandra sauntered toward Roric, working her hips back and forth in a sensual motion. He slowly lowered the blade to his side, one corner of his mouth turning upward in a grin. Aimee wanted to smack it off his face. She couldn't believe he was falling for this crap.
"Succubus?" He raised one eyebrow in question as he ran his gaze over Sandra's impressive curves.
"A sex demon," Aimee blurted out. She couldn't believe this. Her only friend in the town was a succubus. Well, ex-friend now.
Sandra laughed again, but to Aimee's ears the sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Half succubus." She ran one stylish red nail down the center of Roric's chest. "I don't just inhabit men's dreams and drain them of their life-force." She pushed her finger up under his shirt and circled his navel slowly with the red tip. "Although that's fun." She laughed again.
"What else do you do?" Roric sounded interested. Too interested for Aimee's liking.
She shook herself. What did she care? This had nothing to do with her anyway. So, they had sex last night. He didn't owe her any explanations, hadn't made any promises. It had been hot, sweaty sex. Nothing more.
Aimee just wished she believed that. She, at least, had felt some kind of connection between them. But obviously, it was one-sided. Roric was looking at Sandra as if he could just eat her up with one bite. And why not? Sandra was every man's fantasy come to life.
Sandra shoved Roric's shirt up, displaying his washboard abs and muscular pecs. "I can have sex in the physical realm too." She scraped one pointy nail over a flat brown nipple. It puckered, but Roric didn't flinch, didn't groan. Sandra pouted, bringing attention to her shiny, red lips. "And there's nothing I won't do. Isn't that right, Aimee?"
The scene from the carnival flashed into her brain. Sandra naked, entwined with three men. It had happened. What she'd seen had been real. The coffee she'd drunk burned in her belly as the memories of that erotic scene bombarded her.
"Aimee likes to watch," Sandra confided mockingly to Roric. Reaching down, she slipped the two buttons of her jacket open. "She saw quite the show at the carnival last night. I had three hot, young studs at once." She made a humming sound of pleasure. "All those hard cocks filling me. All that power to claim." She shivered. "Lovely. Though I think we shocked poor, innocent Aimee."
She drew the lapels back, revealing her large, naked breasts. "I hope she learned something and was able to give you some relief." Stepping closer, she rubbed them against his chest. "Of course, it's nothing like I can give you. Why don't we give her something to look at?"
Roric did nothing to stop Sandra, and Aimee thought she might be sick. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and her breakfast churned in her stomach. She tried to keep her expression blank, but knew she'd failed when Sandra turned her head toward her and smiled.
Their whole friendship had been a lie, a ruse to insinuate her presence in Aimee's life. Starved for human contact, Aimee had been an easy mark. What she'd thought was kindness had been nothing but manipulation. She felt stupid and used and dirty. Sandra wasn't human. She was a demon—soulless, perverse and evil to her core.
Aimee didn't dare look at Roric, didn't want to see the desire, the lust burning in his eyes for another woman. Demon. Woman. Whatever the hell she was, Aimee didn't want to watch her and Roric touching one another. She could still feel the heat of his hands on her body.
Nerve-endings tingled in remembrance and Aimee swallowed a groan. Chemistry was a bitch, and there was no doubt she still wanted Roric even now. But she was stronger than that. No way would she be a part of this. Whatever this was.
She opened her mouth to tell them to get a room, but no sound emerged. Roric was staring straight at her, not Sandra, his eyes blazing, but not with lust, with anger. Grabbing a hank of Sandra's long, blonde hair in his fist, he tilted her head back. "Why are you here, demon spawn?"
Sandra just laughed and ran her hands over the hard planes of Roric's chest. His grip was so tight, she had to be in pain, but she ignored it, seemed to enjoy it.
"I like it rough, big boy." She hitched her leg over his hip. The movement shoved her short skirt up, revealing that she was wearing no underwear. She rubbed her bare sex against Roric's thigh. "Mmm…that feels wonderful. I bet you could fuck all night long."
Aimee couldn't bear this any longer and started to turn away.
"Stay!" Roric's command rang out, freezing her in place.
Sandra laughed again, her hips working frantically against Roric. "She can watch all she wants. I'll spread her thighs and make her come if you want. A lot of men fantasize about watching two women get it on. I can make her like it."
Aimee's stomach did a somersault, and she swallowed hard to keep from retching. This was sick.
Roric forced Sandra to her knees, her hair still tangled in his left hand, his sword clutched in his right. Instead of acting subdued, Sandra seemed pleased with her new position. And Aimee knew why. It brought her face in line with the impressive bulge in Roric's pants.
"Ooh, what do we have here? A present for me." Sandra's fingers went straight to the leather ties of Roric's pants. He thrust her aside, sending her tumbling to the floor. She lay on her back, her legs sprawled wide, her ample breasts exposed. "We can have a quickie on the floor if you want. I'm game."
Roric's brought his blade forward in a flash and rested the tip at Sandra's throat.
"No quickie?" Sandra sighed. "Okay, I'll just give you the message." Reaching between her thighs, she shoved two fingers inside her cunt and began to thrust them in and out. "But I need an orgasm first. You got me all worked up and then didn't deliver. I wanted your long, hard sword inside me. The one in your pants, not the one in your hand." Sandra laughed and groaned, her fingers working faster and faster.
Aimee could see the flood of cream on Sandra's spread thighs. She couldn't believe she was seeing this. It was like a bad porn movie or, at the very least, a very bizarre nightmare. It was so surreal she wasn't certain she wasn't dreaming, locked inside an endless nightmare. She looked to Roric for confirmation—of what she wasn't sure. He was watching her, not Sandra. For some reason that reassured her on some level.
Not even when Sandra writhed on the floor, her fingers pumping in and out of her pussy, her breasts bouncing, did Roric look away. Sandra screamed her release, and the pungent scent of sex filled the air. Aimee wrinkled her nose, wanting to run to the kitchen for a can of disinfectant. She knew she'd have to scrub the floor for sure. Maybe even have it replaced.
As if he sensed what she was thinking, Roric gave her a curt nod before turning back to Sandra. She was still sprawled unashamedly on the floor, licking cream from her fingers. "Sure you don't want some?" She offered herself as easily as though she'd offered someone a stick of gum or a mint.
"I'm certain." Roric's wry reply didn't dent Sandra's good humor.
"Your loss." She rolled gracefully to her feet and made a show of tugging down her skirt and buttoning her jacket. "Either way, I'm out of this crappy little town in less than twenty-four hours."
"The message," Roric prompted.
Sandra snapped her fingers and a scroll appeared in her hand. With a quick flick of her wrists, she opened it. Aimee figured it was about three feet long and twelve inches wide. The thick, beige parchment with covered in calligraphy. Aimee couldn't read the language, but it looked like some kind of ancient script.
"Hades, King of the Underworld, greatest of all the Olympians, sends his greetings," Sandra began.
"Skip the pleasantries." Roric fisted his free hand on his hip and glared at Sandra.
"Okay, but you're no fun. I figured having sex after being cooped up for a few thousand years would mellow you out."
Roric just glared at her.
Sandra shot Aimee a look of fake sympathy. "Guess you're not that good in bed, sweetie." She flipped a long lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, cleared her throat and continued. "Yadda, yadda. Okay, here we are. While the other gods from the Greek Parthenon are no longer worshipped, Hades' power has grown legion. There's no end of folks willing to pledge themselves to him in order to obtain wealth and power."
"If that is the case, what does he want with the warriors of the Lady?"
Sandra shot him a playful pout. "I'm getting to that. Now where was I?"
"Hades is all powerful," Aimee prompted, wanting this over as fast as possible. She had no idea how to get rid of Sandra unless she left on her own. None of her life experiences had given her any skills at banishing unwanted demons.
"Oh, yes. Because he's generous, he wants to extend his hand in friendship. He'll forgo claiming your soul if you'll do one little thing for him."
"And that would be?" Roric sounded almost bored with the entire proceedings. Aimee studied him carefully. His face could have been carved from stone. His lips were set in a thin, almost cruel line. His eyes were filled with the cunning patience of a predator.
Sandra shrugged as though it was of no importance. "He wants you and your friends to head up his legions so he can defeat Zeus and the rest of them once and for all."
"Ah," Roric drawled slowly. "Attacking the Lady, stripping of her of her power and imprisoning her weren't enough. Now he turns on his kin, but they are still too much for him to handle."
"It's not like that," Sandra assured him. "They're weaklings. Hades just wants someone competent at the head of his armies. Everyone still talks about the war between the Lady of the Beasts and Hades." Her gaze ran admiringly over Roric's frame. "For a while there, no one knew who would win. Hades couldn't break any of you."
"Where is my Lady now?" There was pure steel in Roric's voice now.
Sandra shrugged. "Hades set her free as part of the bargain. She told him how to free all of you, so he released her from the chains that held her all these years."
"Where is she?" Roric repeated.
"In Hell, of course." She rewound the scroll and tapped it against his chest. "If she can find her way out, she's free to leave. Last I saw of the poor dear, she was stumbling around in the dark somewhere on the fifth level. Nasty demons there."
Roric swung his sword out in an arc. Blood spurted from Sandra's neck, but in a movement almost too fast for Aimee to see, the other woman managed to arch backward, barely avoiding losing her head.
Slapping her hand to her neck, she hissed. The human form seemed to dissolve around Sandra, melting away. In her place stood a six-foot demon covered in thick, leathery skin that was a mottled blue. The blonde hair slowly changed color until it was black as midnight. Her eyes blazed red, promising retribution. "You will pay for that, beast."
A second sword appeared in Roric's left hand and he went on the attack. The demon jumped aside, crashing into the coffee table and reducing it to rubble. The sofa went askew as the demon kicked it aside. Aimee shrieked as the creature hissed again, long fangs flashing beside a double row of teeth. How in the hell did you fight something like that?
Roric showed no such hesitation, launching himself at the demon. The creature shrieked as both blades cut deep. A black hole seemed to appear out of nowhere, filling the corner of the room. Thick, black smoke roiled outward.
Aimee slapped her hand over her nose and mouth and ran for the door to open it. The scent of sulfur and fire singed her nostrils. She could taste it on her tongue. It reminded her too much of the stench from her nightmares.
The demon stepped backward, disappearing into the void. The black hole closed in on itself, leaving the room reeking of burnt flesh and fear. Aimee stared at what was left of her living room. Everything would have to be replaced, including the floor, which had been scorched black where the hole had opened.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. "That was…" Aimee didn't know quite what to say that wouldn't sound totally crazy. All of this was insane.
"Are you all right?" Roric strode toward her, the two swords disappearing from his hands in a flash.
"I'm not sure." It was suddenly all too much for her. Her vision dimmed and she shook her head to clear it. She sank to the floor beside the door, gulping in the clean, fresh air that flowed in from outside.
Roric crouched beside her, his bulk blocking most of the carnage behind him, but nothing could obliterate the stench from Hell.
Slowly, she raised her head and stared into a pair of concerned, pale blue eyes. "What are we going to do?"
"Whatever we have to," came the grim reply.
Frustration clung to Roric, much like the lingering stink from the smoke. His reflexes were slower than they used to be. He should have been able to destroy the succubus with little problem. He also should have gotten more answers out of her. His attention had been fractured between the demon and Aimee.
He'd sensed her feelings of betrayal when she discovered exactly what her friend
was. Roric had sensed Aimee's loneliness. Finding out she'd been used had to hurt.
Then there had been the way she'd reacted when the succubus had tried to tempt him physically. Aimee hadn't liked that at all. He could have easily reassured her that not even the most skilled sex demon could compare to her natural loveliness, but he didn't want Sandra or, in turn, Hades to have that kind of information. They would use it against him in a heartbeat.
Instead, he'd had to watch Aimee withdraw further from him with each passing second. Not physically. After all, there was really nowhere for her to run. But mentally and emotionally, he'd felt her slam the door between them, felt her putting up inner walls to protect herself. The beast within him had roared in displeasure. Roric had barely refrained from doing the same. He worried about what the little human thought of it all.
Which made no sense at all. He'd never worried about a human woman before. His duty was clear. He had to stay alive until midnight tonight. Once the curse was broken, he was free from Hades forever. After that, he had to find a way to release his fellow warriors and free the Lady from Hell. There was no room in his life for Aimee and the unsettling feelings she stirred within him.
Sitting on the floor, covered in black soot and sweat, she should have looked unattractive, but instead, she was beautiful to him. Roric's cock was as hard as stone. Even now, he wanted to take her to the bare floor and bury himself in her heat until the thousands of years of loneliness were nothing but a distant memory.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring the desire clawing at his insides. The animal within him growled and paced. The tiger recognized its mate and had no problem letting him know it wasn't pleased with him.
Mate.
Impossible. He was an immortal warrior and she was a human. Her lifespan was but a blink in time. No matter what he might feel for her, their being together was not meant to be.
"Are you all right?" Her soft voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck. His groin tightened and he swallowed a groan. When it came to his control, this woman was more lethal than a hundred succubae.
"I'm fine." His voice was curt, but he couldn't help it. He was in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. He yanked at the tail of the T-shirt he was wearing. It covered some of the evidence of his erection but not all of it.
He held out his hand and something inside him relaxed when Aimee placed her fingers against his. Her hands were soft and so much smaller than his. Yet there was great talent in them. And not just in the bedroom, although there was no doubt about her talent there. He barely refrained from grinning. She'd want to know what made him smile, and he didn't think she'd appreciate where his mind had wandered.
But he'd seen her artwork and was awed by the fluidity and realism she'd captured.
Her fingers tightened around his, drawing his attention. He stared at their hands, his tanned and hers light. They were very different, yet they fit together perfectly.
He'd wondered if she would touch him again of her own accord or if the appearance of the demon had made her rethink her earlier friendliness with him. Maybe that had been the point of the succubus coming here this morning—to drive a wedge between him and Aimee. It would certainly make it easier for her to betray him. That kind of manipulation was right up Hades' alley.
Tugging, he helped her up from the floor and watched as she glanced around her living room. Beneath the malodorous odor of brimstone was the unmistakable scent of Aimee. He inhaled deep, drawing it into his lungs to help drive out the stench of the demon.
"That was…" She swallowed hard. "That was impressive."
Roric snorted. "All flash, no substance."
"If that's flash, I'm glad there was no substance," she retorted. "There's no way this can be cleaned. I'm going to have to toss out everything."
"We have bigger problems than that. Sandra was only the first contact. For some reason, Hades wants me on his side. When that doesn't happen, things are going to get hot around here."
"I know." She whispered her agreement. "I'm just trying to figure out a way to deal with all of this and not lose my mind in the process." Lifting her face to him, she tried to smile, but he could see the worry etched in her eyes.
"A few days ago, I was a graphic artist, an illustrator. I lived alone, had a simple life. Sure, I had a few nightmares, but I was dealing with them, using them to fuel my creative spark. Now I'm in the middle of a supposedly ancient war, and I just found out the only friend I thought I had is really a demon."
Roric could take the separation between them no longer. He tugged her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. He buried his face in her hair. It smelled of brimstone, but beneath it was her unique perfume, a combination of vanilla and woman. "It will be fine."
She slipped her arms around his waist and held him tight. He swallowed hard, unable to remember a time when someone had just held him. There was nothing sexual in her touch. It was one person offering comfort to another. Roric tried to catalogue everything about the moment, the feel of her soft fingers against the base of his spine, the brush of her hair against his chin, the quiet sound of her breathing.
An odd feeling crept over him. It was something he hadn't felt in so long, if indeed ever, he didn't recognize it at first. Peace. Aimee brought him a sense of peace.
She let out a deep sigh, her breath brushing against his chest. Even through the fabric of the shirt he wore, he could feel the warmth from it. He barely kept from groaning aloud as the erotic caress made his skin burn. She had no idea of the effect she had on him. No one did. And he had to keep it that way.
Still, when she pulled away, he wanted to haul her back into his embrace and never let her go. Reluctantly, he lowered his arms to his sides.
"You can't promise that." It took him a second to remember what they'd been talking about. By the time he did, Aimee had resumed talking again. "If Hades wants you to lead his armies, then he must have wanted the same from the three warriors already released."
"Yes." That grim fact had crossed Roric's mind too.
"That means they're either on Hades' side or dead."
"Dead. There is no way they'd turn their back on the rest of us or the Lady."
"You can't know that for sure." Sympathy darkened her eyes, but he ignored it. She'd just been betrayed, so it was natural for her to assume others would betray just as easily. She didn't know his comrades as he did. Betrayal was not a part of the warriors' creed. Death before dishonor. It was the foundation of all they'd lived for, everything they'd done. They knew no other way.
Turning away from her, he began to pace. "Mordecai, Phoenix and Stavros are all dead." There was no way they'd face imprisonment. Not again. If there was one thing he knew, it was that they would rather die than risk spending another five thousand years or more locked away, unable to move. Death was preferable.
Roric reached the end of the room, spun on his heel and stalked toward Aimee. "They would not turn."
"Of course not." He could tell by her tone she was trying to placate him. She didn't understand the bond the warriors shared between them. The seven of them had fought side-by-side since the dawn of time. They'd spent the past several thousand years chained together in one form or another with only each other to talk to. There was no way any of them would turn rogue.
Or was there ? Roric hated the insidious voice that whispered in the back of his brain. Mordecai had always been a loner, even within the group. Stavros had pointed out on more than one occasion that the serpent looked out for himself at all costs.
No! He wouldn't think that way. That was just a trick of Hades to make him weak. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Aimee. Maybe she was an instrument of the devil, sent to divert his attention.
"You know them better than me." She gave a small, forced chuckle and wrapped her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands over her upper arms and shoulders. "I don't know them at all."
"No, you don't." His voice was brusque, his tone one of finality. As far as he was concerned, this subject was closed. He would dwell upon it no longer. It only served to weaken him. If he could not trust his fellow warriors then he could trust no one.
She shut the front door and turned away from him, but not before he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes. Roric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. This situation was more complicated than he'd imagined it would be. He was ready for a fight to the death. What he wasn't prepared for was the tangle of feelings he had for this woman.
Peering out the window, she kept her back to him as she spoke. "So what's next? Sandra's little gambit didn't work, but obviously nothing has changed. Hades still wants your help, and the demon said something about being out of here in less than twenty-four hours. That means the clock is ticking. What happens if you refuse?"
He went to stand behind her, wishing he could see her reflection in the glass more clearly. It was faint, but it was there. Barely. He couldn't make out her features, couldn't see what emotions clouded her expressive eyes.
His hands hovered over her shoulders. He wanted to touch her, but knew that would only make things worse for both of them. He needed to keep his head clear and his focus on the task at hand.
"If I refuse, Hades will try to kill me and steal my soul." He leaned closer until their bodies were touching. His chest brushed against her back. She tensed but didn't move away. He savored the heat from her skin, wanted to rub his chin against her shoulder and nip at the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. He didn't want to tell her what else would happen, but he owed her the truth. "And Aimee, he'll try to kill you too."
Aimee whirled around so fast, she clunked her head against Roric's chin. It was like hitting a chunk of stone. The man was hard everywhere. "Ouch." She rubbed the top of her head and glared at him.
"That's just great," she muttered. "Not only is my life a mess, but Hades himself wants me dead."
"I'll protect you," he promised.
"Sure." He'd do his best, certainly, but she never doubted for a moment if it came down to a choice between her and his fellow warriors, she'd be on the losing end. And why not? She was nothing more to him than a way to be released from the carousel and a hot roll between the sheets. She'd do well to remember that.
His lips were set in a grim line, his dark brows narrowed as he scowled at her. "Do you doubt me?"
She shook her head, ignoring the headache brewing behind her eyes. "You'll do your best." Aimee glanced away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. Those pale blue eyes were like laser beams cutting through every layer of her defenses. She was very afraid he'd sense her growing feelings for him, which were incredibly stupid when she thought about it. Still, there was no accounting for the human heart. Somehow, some way, he'd broken through the ice surrounding her and made her feel again. Deeply.
Maybe it was his ability to live in the moment. To enjoy their time in bed together, to savor their simple meal, to put Sandra out of his mind the moment she was gone. Perhaps it was because he was immortal and these things really were just a brief second in time to him. Not important in the grand scheme of things
To her, they were precious moments of a life that would not last more than another fifty or sixty years tops, much less if Hades and his crew had their way. She would always remember the way Roric touched her. The way he made her feel as though she was special. The fierce, yet gentle way he'd made love to her.
It's just sex , she reminded herself. You had good sex—no, phenomenal sex—for the first time in your life. Don't confuse it with love or any other tender emotions . She bit her bottom lip, thankful she wasn't blurting this stuff out loud.
Roric was watching her face intently. She stepped away from him, but he caught her arm. "Aimee…"
She shook her head, not wanting to talk about them. They had bigger problems. "There is a time limit on this, isn't there?" She was tired of dealing without all the facts.
Roric nodded. "According to the spell the Lady placed on us, Hades has the turn of one day to kill us and take our souls or bring us over to his side. If neither of those things happens, we're free from the curse and Hades cannot touch us. Truthfully, I remember little of the last part of the spell. I had begun to change into my tiger form and lost all ability to move. I know little of what she said in the end. Only that there was one day involved. I was too busy fighting to escape.
"None of us paid much attention to that part of the curse. We never expected to be set free."
"Twenty-four hours," Aimee muttered. So short a time to decide so much. "What happens next?"
He frowned and lifted his hands to her face. Tenderly, he stroked her cheekbones. "Now we figure out Hades' next move and try to counter it. We need to find out why exactly he needs us. It's not as though he doesn't have legions of demons at his disposal. I'm not buying that he simply needs us to lead his troops. There's got to be more to it than that."
His voice was hoarse as he rubbed the pad of his forefinger over her bottom lip. A zing of pleasure shot straight to her core. Her lips parted and he dipped his finger inward. She brushed her tongue against the tip of it, tasting his salty skin.
A low, purring sound emanated from deep in his chest, reminding her he was more than just a man. He was the white tiger as well. It was exciting and scary as all get out at the same time.
He angled closer and she took a step away. Her back hit the wall, and he crowded closer until his chest flattened her breasts. Aimee sucked in a deep breath, inadvertently drawing his finger deeper into her mouth. The purring sound grew louder, vibrating up and down her spine before delving deeper into her very core. Her panties grew damp.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement caused her breasts to slide against his muscular chest. Her nipples tightened and she moaned. Her skin was hot, her clothing uncomfortable. She wanted to strip naked and rub herself all over Roric.
He pulled his finger away from her lips and leaned closer. His nose brushed against hers. His long, soft hair fell forward, stroking her face in a sensual caress. He dipped hard, callused fingers beneath the band of her sweater and teased the band of flesh above her navel.
She wrapped her hand around his wrist. They had to stop. The back of her hand brushed against his erection. Even through his pants, she could feel it, hard and hot, pulsing against her skin. Unable to resist, she slowly released her grip on his arm and turned her hand slowly until her palm was pressed against him.
He growled. The sound was so much like a real tiger it startled her. She jerked her hand away as her eyes flew to his. His nostrils flared and his lips parted slightly. The blue of his eyes were almost swallowed up by the black pupils. His breathing was ragged, his features stark with need.
Aimee swallowed hard. Every cell in her body responded to him. His need was hers. Her core was soaked with cream and her breasts ached for his touch. If she didn't know better, she'd think he'd cast some sort of sexual spell on her.
The thought gave her pause. She licked her lips. His eyes followed every movement of her tongue. "Is this normal?"
He leaned down and nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. "Is what normal?" Capturing the lobe between his teeth, he tugged gently.
Aimee's legs shook and her knees turned to jelly. She clutched his biceps for support. His skin was warm and supple, but there was no give in him anywhere. "This…this sexual energy between us. Is this something you're doing so I'll be more cooperative? Some special power you have?" The thought appalled her. "I'll help you no matter what." It was important to her that he understood that.
He jerked back so fast she stumbled to one side. He clamped his hands around her upper arms to keep her from falling, but held her at arm's length. She tried to move, but he tightened his grip almost imperceptibly. He wasn't hurting her, but the intent was clear. She was going nowhere until he allowed it.
Nothing showed on his face. His features were blank again. Only his eyes gave her a clue to what he was thinking. The fire in them was unmistakable. But the lust was gone, replaced by anger.
"Is that what you think?" His voice was calm and soft, but she wasn't fooled for one second. Roric was furious with her.
She shrugged, or tried to. His hold on her made it virtually impossible for her to move her upper body. "It was just a thought."
"Well, don't think it."
Her own anger began to bubble up inside her. "What was I supposed to think? I don't exactly have men beating down my door, you know. I've got a scarred face and a bum leg. I'm not exactly a prize." Her breathing was coming faster and faster. "And you're this immortal hunk. I'm supposed to believe you just happened to be attracted to me?"
"Yes." That one word was little more than a guttural groan as he yanked her closer and slammed his mouth down on hers. Heat suffused her entire body. She stopped trying to get away from Roric and surged toward him.
His grip changed. Instead of trying to hold her at arm's length, his hands slid down her arms and over her back until he was cupping her ass. Aimee moaned as he hauled her against him. His cock was hard against her belly. Hitching one leg over his thigh, she rubbed her mound against it. She panted for breath as sexual heat began to well up within her.
Roric lifted her and she twined her legs around his waist. The motion brought her pussy hard against his straining erection. Even though there were layers of clothing separating them, the heat and force of the movement felt incredible. He was so hard, so hot. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face against the curve of his shoulder as she tried desperately to move her swollen clit against him. She was so close to coming.
Suddenly, Roric was pushing her legs down and away. She mewled her disappointment, but there was no way to stop him. He was so much stronger than she was. Her feet hit the floor and her back rested against the wall. Roric growled as his fingers went to the waistband of her jeans and tore them open. The zipper came down in a flash.
He dipped his big hands beneath the fabric and shoved it to her knees. Roric dropped to the floor in front of her, pushing her thighs as wide as they would go. With her jeans and panties caught around her calves, it wasn't far. Aimee struggled to get her clothing off, but Roric gripped her thighs in his hands, leaned forward and kissed the scars that surrounded her left knee and ran up her thigh.
Aimee froze. Her chest rose and fell with every breath she sucked into her starving lungs. He was so close a lock of his hair tickled her
inner thighs. Raising his head, he stared up at her and growled. "I don't know what's wrong with the men around here, but I want you. Only you." Leaning forward, he nipped at her flesh with enough pressure to make her jump, but not enough to hurt her. As always, he carefully controlled his strength.
"I could have had Sandra if all I wanted was a quick, hard fuck. A succubus will do anything." He separated the folds of her sex with his thumbs and flicked his tongue over her clit. Lightning bolts of pleasure shot to the rest of her body and she moaned. Not even the mention of Sandra could kill the mood, not when he was touching her like that.
Roric drew his tongue over her slick folds, delving into every one. "But she left me cold."
Okay, maybe it could dim the mood somewhat. "I don't want to talk about her," she groaned.
Then he touched her again and Aimee couldn't think. Not with his clever tongue making every nerve in her body tingle. And certainly not with his thumbs stroking over her pussy.
"Do you understand me?"
She shook her head, not understanding what he wanted from her. He growled, long and low. Aimee shivered at the barely restrained violence she sensed lurking just below the thin veneer of civility that surrounded Roric. He was as elemental and relentless as the ocean tides.
He pressed two long fingers past her opening. She was tight, but he was unstoppable, not pausing until his fingers were buried in her pussy. He pulled his fingers out slowly, curving them upward as he did so.
A cry broke from her lips as he hit an incredibly sensitive spot inside her. She was panting hard now, sweat beading on her brow. There wasn't enough air in the room for her to breathe.
"You are mine," he continued. His tone was hard and firm. "Your sweet cream belongs to me." He lapped at her core, sucking her clit until she was almost blind with pleasure. Sitting back on his heels, he blew over her heated flesh. Aimee gripped his hair in her fists, desperately trying to draw him back to her.
"Your skin is so soft." Ignoring her painful grip on his hair, he rubbed his cheek against her thigh. Her inner muscles contracted. Cream trickled down the inside of her left thigh. "Your cunt is hot and wet and mine."
"Roric," she pleaded. She needed to come or she was going to go out of her mind. The man was torturing her with pleasure.
"Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know that I want you."
"You want me," she panted.
He nodded. "What do you want?"
"You," she groaned. "I want you."
Stretching out his right hand, he drew his index finger over her clit. Aimee cried out.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" His tone was hard and unrelenting. She knew then that she'd hurt him when she'd suggested he'd slept with her to gain her cooperation. It was an odd feeling to know that she could affect him in such a way. Made her feel not quite so alone with her out-of-control emotions.
"Yes. Fuck me."
Roric stilled. She sensed every muscle within him was coiled and ready to spring. "Are you sure?"
Even now he was giving her a chance to back away. She tugged on his hair one final time. "Yes," she cried. She had to have him inside before she went mad.
He moved so fast he was nothing but a blur. Surging to his feet, he whirled her around until she was facing the wall. "Lean forward."
She did as he asked. The motion exposed her pussy to him. She was still wearing her sweater and bra. Her jeans and panties were wrapped around her ankles. Yet she felt more exposed, more vulnerable, than if she'd been totally naked. That's what Roric was demanding of her—total surrender. She trusted him with her body, trusted him not to hurt her.
The sound of leather ties being tugged open reached her ears. Then she felt the hard press of his cock head against her opening. With her legs partially hobbled, it was a tight fit. His erection was wide, the girth of it stretching her with every inch he sank into her. Keeping one hand on her belly, he flexed his hips and pushed deeper. When he was seated to the hilt, he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her steady.
Cool air flowed over her exposed skin. The stark comparison to the heat radiating from her was incredibly erotic. Her fingers stretched over the flat wall to keep herself steady. The thundering of her heart drowned out all other sound. She could smell the musk from Roric's skin, feel his hands against her body.
He pulled his shaft almost all the way out before surging inward. Aimee gasped. She was stretched to the point of pain, but it felt amazingly good . Roric set a punishing rhythm, slamming into her over and over again in short, hard strokes.
Her feet left the floor several times as he pounded his flesh against hers. His balls slapped against her pussy. She pushed back to meet him with every stroke, driving him impossibly deep. Her inner muscles clenched hard. His cock swelled and pulsed.
She fell forward, unable to hold herself upright any longer. Resting her cheek against the wall, she reached behind with her right hand, desperate to touch him. She gripped his hip, digging her short nails into his flesh
Roric growled, sliding one hand lower, letting his fingers stroke over her clit, a light whisper, barely a touch. Yet it was like adding gasoline to an already out-of-control inferno.
Everything inside her exploded in a flash of light. Aimee cried out as her orgasm overtook her. She heard Roric yell, felt the hot jets of semen spurt deep as he came, pushing her orgasm to another level. She chanted his name over and over. Her body shook uncontrollably, but his strong arms held her as wave after wave of pleasure rocketed through her.
Aimee plastered her hands against the wall, her breathing coming in hard, sharp gasps. She rested her forehead between her hands and concentrated on recovering from the shockingly powerful orgasm.
She heard Roric's heavy breath, felt it against the curve of her neck. His lips grazed her nape. His cock gradually grew less rigid and he finally withdrew, sending an aftershock of pleasure rushing through her.
Her left leg was quivering, the muscles protesting the unfamiliar activity she'd just put them through. It buckled beneath her, but she transferred her weight to her other leg and remained upright. Roric held her easily, lending her his strength as she awkwardly yanked her jeans back into place.
Now that the passion was fading, she couldn't believe she'd had unprotected sex yet again. She mentally shrugged. At this point it didn't matter anyway. He didn't have any diseases and neither did she. If she lived past today, she'd worry about the consequences of her actions. Until then, she'd take her pleasure wherever she could get it.
Taking a deep breath, she plastered what she hoped was a calm expression on her face and turned. Roric was watching her, a solemn expression on his face.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded. "You?"
He gave her a curt nod as he shoved his hand through his hair. The laces of his leather pants were tightened, but not tied. The black T-shirt he wore clung to every inch of his muscled torso. His arms and face were slick with perspiration, making it shimmer. He looked like a cover model for a sexy women's magazine. Her artist's eye catalogued every inch of him. She wanted to be able to sketch him when he was gone. Assuming they both survived, that is.
She sensed he didn't want to talk about what had happened between them any more than she did. Happy to oblige him, she once against surveyed the destruction in her living room. Right in the center of the room, on a piece of undamaged flooring, sat the scroll. How had they missed that before?
Roric saw it at the same time she did. He swore under his breath and stalked forward, grabbing up the parchment. "We need to study this. I need to know exactly what Hades wants with me. I have a feeling our grace period just ran out."
"Umm, you can help yourself to more coffee or juice or something. I'm going to get cleaned up." Before he could offer a protest, she hurried off as fast as her legs would carry her. The stairs were hard, but she made them. And not once did she look back.
She needed to get her head screwed back on straight. Sex couldn't happen again. There was no point to it. Well, there was pleasure, but it was what came with the pleasure that was the problem. With each passing moment they spent together, she felt invisible bonds closing around her, ensnaring her.
She didn't think Roric was doing anything magical to bind them together, but that didn't mean someone else wasn't. A shiver raced down her spine, leaving her feeling cold. What if Hades was somehow manipulating them, using her as a tool to distract Roric from his mission? What if she was being used as the instrument to destroy him?
Resolve filled her as she strode into the bathroom. She wouldn't let that happen. No matter what happened in the end, she would do everything in her power to help him. Even if it meant her life.
Roric's mission was important and noble. His life was important to the world. What would happen if Hades were able to take total control? Memories of her nightmares snaked through her brain. She could all too easily picture the world overrun with demons and evil creatures of all sorts. It wouldn't be pleasant by any means.
On the other hand, she had no family, no friends, no lover or children depending on her. Maybe this was the reason she'd been spared in the car accident that had taken her parents' lives. Maybe it was her destiny to be involved with Roric and the war with Hades.
And maybe she'd done the artwork for too many graphic novels and comic books. This was real. When people died it was for forever. There was no coming back. Not for her.
Her jeans and sneakers were fine, but her top was a mess. She smelled of sweat, soot and sex. She wrinkled her nose as she stripped off her sweater and bra and dumped them in the hamper, unable to believe she'd shut out the destruction, the smells and the memories of what had happened in her living room long enough to have sex with Roric. And not just any sex. Fantastic sex. It boggled the mind.
As she undressed, her mind rolled over the situation, trying to see it from every angle. She was still pondering the possibilities as she wet a facecloth and quickly dragged it over her face, arms and chest. She looked longingly at the shower, but knew this was faster.
She unzipped her jeans and washed between her thighs, being gentle with the swollen flesh. When she felt clean and fresh once again, she dried off and brushed her hair back into some semblance of order. Satisfied she was as good as she was going to get, she went back to her bedroom and hauled a clean bra and sweatshirt out of her dresser.
She'd just finished tugging the hem of the shirt to her waist when she sensed she was not longer alone. Thinking Roric had come to find her, she raised her head, ready to reassure him she was going to help him.
Only it wasn't Roric.
The stranger leaned against the wall just inside the doorway. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants that clung to the thick muscles of his thighs. The olive drab T-shirt he wore was stretched at the seams, barely containing his wide shoulders. Combat boots covered his feet. He looked like a cover model for Soldier of Fortune magazine. Even without any obvious weapons, there was no mistaking the lethal air surrounding him.
He was handsome, in a classic sense. His hair was jet black, his skin darkly tanned. But it was his eyes that both drew and repelled her at the same time. They were as dark as midnight and as cold as the dead of winter.
She knew she should be screaming bloody murder. There was a strange man in her bedroom, and a dangerous-looking one at that. But after everything else that had happened, she was beyond hysterics. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty, but other than that, she was surprisingly calm about the entire situation. She'd settled herself to the fact that she probably wasn't going to survive the next twelve hours or so. With that decision made, a sense of peace had settled over her, a sense of purpose.
"You can call me Mordecai."
Why was that name familiar to her?
One corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. "Mentioned me, did he?"
It came to her with her next breath. "You're one of the warriors."
He pushed away from the wall, all sinewy grace, and prowled toward her. She backed away from the dresser, not wanting to get hemmed in. He might be one of Roric's friends, but something about him gave her the willies.
His smile deepened, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to see. It reminded her too much of the smile Hades had given her in her dream. She shivered and shifted closer to the window. She could always jump if it came to that.
"You're smarter than I expected." His low, purring tone raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her intellect told her there was no way to outrun him. Like Roric, this man was a predator. It was in his blood.
She licked her dry lips and tried to think. "What exactly did you expect?" She tried to inch toward the door, but he casually moved to block her.
He shrugged and the muscles in his arms rippled. "Some insipid creature like the one who freed me."
Aimee frowned. "Shouldn't you be grateful to her? After all, she could have left you there."
He gave a low laugh, as if amused by her naïveté. She could see it in his eyes. "She had no choice, just as I had none. I wanted to survive. There was no way I was going to end up locked away for another five thousand years or more."
Where the heck was Roric? He needed to be hearing this. He'd never believe her if she told him one of his fellow warriors had gone over to the dark side, but that was exactly what had happened. "You took Hades' offer." It wasn't a question. She could see the truth in his eyes.
"I got smart." He cocked his head to one side, watching her intently. "I got tired of being on the losing side." For such a large man, he made no sound as he took another step toward her. "I like winning."
"I see." She didn't really, but she wasn't sure how to respond. "It was easier to turn traitor than to do what was right."
Anger burned in his dark eyes. "It's so easy for you to sit in judgment," he snapped. "You, who have never been tested. I gave my life, thousands upon thousands of years of loyalty, and what did it get me? Cursed and forgotten."
Aimee sidled a little more to the left. He was getting much too close for her peace of mind. Unlike Roric, who'd attracted her from the start, she felt no such pull to Mordecai. In spite of his good looks, he repulsed her on some deep level. "She didn't forget you. The Lady used the last of her power to keep all of you out of Hell while she went there in your stead."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Not any longer."
That didn't sound promising. "Why doesn't it matter?" Aimee resisted the urge to rub her hands up and down her arms. She was suddenly chilled to the bone.
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking totally relaxed. "Hades will have his way in the end. Stavros and Phoenix tried to defy him, tried to fight." He slanted her a look from under his hooded eyes. "They both perished, as did the women who freed them."
Aimee almost doubled over with pain. It was like being socked in the gut. She'd known her chances of coming out alive at the end of this battle were slim to none, but she realized she'd still had the tiniest sliver of hope until now. "What about the woman who freed you?" She had to know.
Mordecai smiled, and Aimee could practically feel a layer of ice encasing her even as the flames of damnation danced in his eyes. "After I fucked her, I killed her. Then I bargained with Hades for my freedom."
It was nearly impossible to breathe in the presence of such evil. "And did Hades give you your freedom?" She couldn't see the Lord of the Underworld giving something so precious so easily.
"With stipulations." Mordecai walked over the bed and stared down at the rumpled sheets. Aimee could feel her cheeks heating. With the dents in each of the pillows and the sad state of the sheets, there was no mistaking what had gone on in the bed. "I lead his army and I can have whatever I want—power, money, women."
"Everything except your honor," she whispered. He flinched slightly as though she'd hit him, but other than that he gave no indication that what she'd said had hurt him in any way. When he turned around to face her, there was no sign of vulnerability, no weakness she could discern.
"I find I'm not all that concerned about my honor these days."
She didn't believe him. There was something about him, a sadness that seemed to surround him. It made her think he regretted his choice. But maybe her imagination was running away with her, and she was seeing what she wanted to see.
Going on the offensive, she took a step toward him. After all, if he was going to hurt her, he'd had ample opportunity to do so. "What do you want?"
His cocky attitude was back in the blink of an eye, making her doubt she'd ever seen even the slightest amount of sorrow or regret. "The question is what do you want?"
He stalked toward her, circling her slowly. She felt the brush of his fingers on her spine, the puff of his breath against her ear as he spoke. "What does Aimee Horner want most in the world?"
"Nothing," she whispered.
He came to a halt in front of her. Grasping her chin between his thumb and index finger, he raised it until their gazes met. "Liar." His voice was soft and low, a lover's caress. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek. "We all want something. What would you do if I could give you back your parents? If I could turn back time to that awful day and have the drunk driver miss your family's car? What would you do? What would you give?"
Hope leapt in Aimee's breast. Her thundering heart threatened to burst free from her chest. Could he truly do that? "How?"
"All you have to do is betray Roric. And what does he really matter to you?" Mordecai smiled knowingly as he glanced toward the bed. "He might have heated the sheets with you, but believe me, he'd sacrifice your life in a second if he thought it would free the rest of those losers on the carousel or the precious Lady he's so fond of."
"I know." It hurt to say it aloud, but Roric had never lied to her. His mission was what mattered to him, his honor. She respected him for that.
"And it's not really betrayal," he continued. "It's more saving yourself and your parents. You have the power to do what's right for your family. Will you throw it all away on an immortal warrior who cares nothing for you?"
Aimee thought about how gentle Roric was with her when they made love. His strength was enormous, yet he'd never hurt her, always tempering it so she got the most pleasure possible. She thought about his struggle to stay detached from her, the way he talked about the goddess he'd faithfully served since the dawn of time, how he worried about his friends and fellow warriors. Roric was a man to respect, and his mission was a just one.
As quick as hope had bloomed, it withered and d
ied. She had to remember who she was dealing with. She was no dummy. She'd read her share of horror novels and comics, and the devil always got his due.
Slowly, she nodded, knowing she was signing her own death warrant and putting an end to all her hopes and dreams. She knew her parents would want her to do the right thing. They'd raised her to know right from wrong, and there was no doubt in her mind that what he was offering was wrong.
Mordecai pursed his lips and nodded. He thought he had her. She wanted to slap the smug look from his handsome face.
"And then what?" she added softly. "They'll die in a horrific fire a few months later. Or perhaps they'll both be drowned or shot or die of disease. If you change one event you alter a thousand more. It's like a ripple in a pond, never-ending. How many other lives will change? How many other people will die if I take your offer?"
"What do you care?" She could sense his growing impatience. "You'll have what you want?"
"How many?" She'd been watching him closely and had seen the slightest flinch. It wasn't really a flinch, more of a muscle twitch just beneath his left eye, but she knew she'd hit the nail on the head with her assumptions.
He leaned so close their noses were almost touching. "The drunk driver who hit your parents' car would hit a school bus filled with children instead." He straightened. "As to how many would die…" His shoulders moved up and down as he shrugged again. "Who knows?"
Aimee swallowed back the lump in her throat as she thought about all those children losing their lives before they'd really had a chance to live. "That's pure evil."
Mordecai shook his head. "That's choice. Think of it as collateral damage."
"Is that what your friends are to you? Collateral damage?"
His face turned to stone. "If you don't want your parents back, how about fame and fortune instead? You could become one of the biggest names in the art world."
Aimee shook her head. Reaching out, she laid her hand gently on his arm. The muscles beneath her palm quivered. "Give it up. There is nothing you can offer me that will make me betray Roric. I don't want to be famous. I don't want money. What good are they when I don't expect to live to see tomorrow?"
Something that might have been respect reflected in his eyes for a brief second, but was quickly replaced by scorn. He stepped back and her hand fell back to her side. "You'd give your life for his?"
"For hope," she corrected. "And it's mine to give."
He snorted. "It won't be yours for much longer. Soon it will belong to Hades."
"Perhaps," she acknowledged.
"Tell Roric I said hello. And tell him that this was the last offer. If neither of you will budge, the gloves are off. You'll soon see how little he values you when he tosses you to the hounds of Hell to save himself."
"Perhaps," she echoed.
Mordecai grabbed her shoulders and yanked her toward him. Before she could react, his mouth covered hers. Time stopped as he plunged his tongue into her mouth in an erotic caress that sent an icy shiver down her spine and left her cold. He banded his arms around her, fisting his hand in her hair and tilting her head to one side to deepen the kiss.
Aimee brought her hands up to his chest and shoved with all her might. It was like pushing against the side of a mountain. Like Roric, there was no give in him. Switching tactics, she brought her knee up hard and fast. Mordecai broke the kiss and managed to jump back at the last second.
He laughed. "Spunky. I like that." He licked his lips and laughed again when she swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "I'm going to ask Hades to give you to me. You'll be my personal slave for all eternity."
"Get out," she commanded. "This is my home and you aren't welcome here."
As it had in the living room, a dark circle seemed to appear out of nowhere, sucking all the light from the room. Mordecai stepped through the portal, raising his hand in farewell. "I'll be seeing you soon," he promised. "Dream of me." He blew her a kiss as the circle closed in on itself and disappeared.
Aimee whirled around. Roric filled the doorway. He looked sexy and fierce, his unusual hair falling free around his shoulders. From what she'd seen so far these ancient warriors all looked damn good. She saw the two gleaming swords clasped tight in his hands and her heart skipped a beat. He'd come ready to defend her.
She tried to smile, but it felt like more of a grimace. Roric stepped to her side and the swords disappeared in a flash. What was most shocking to her was that she wasn't surprised at all by their vanishing act. She'd already seen him do it once, and after everything she'd seen in the past twelve hours, a disappearing sword or two seemed almost tame.
"Aimee?" He strode forward, stopped in front of her and cupped her face with his hands. The action was reminiscent of how Mordecai had held her, except his grip had been impersonal and had left her feeling cold. Roric's touch was warm and heated her insides.
"I'm fine." She stepped away from him when all she wanted to do was fling herself into his strong arms and have him hold her. Time had run out. She had to be brave and smart. And that meant no more touching. They ended up having sex whenever they touched. As wonderful as it was, it had to stop. Neither of them could afford the distractions.
"Don't lie to me." His brows narrowed over his eyes and he pursed his lips. "I saw the circle closing. I can smell the brimstone."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Did you see who was in it?" Maybe he'd seen Mordecai. If he had, he'd be more likely to believe her.
He frowned and shook his head.
There went that hope. Bracing herself for the battle to come, she took a deep breath. "I had a visitor."
Roric tried to ignore the clenching in his gut, but it was no use. Hades had sent one of his minions to tempt Aimee, possibly even to hurt her. Frustration filled him. He should have been here instead of waiting for her downstairs. He didn't want to think about what could have happened to her. There was no point. It would only lead to doubts and that would simply weaken him.
From now on, he wouldn't be able to let her out of his sight. Not until this was over once and for all. He was responsible for her safety. The weight of his responsibilities threatened to break him. How could he save Aimee and himself, free his fellow warriors and rescue his goddess? It was an impossible task.
He straightened his shoulders and strengthened his resolve. Nothing was impossible. He would not fail. Could not fail. There was too much depending on him.
Roric felt the slight trembling of her body and slid his hands over her shoulders and upper arms, offering silent comfort. She resisted when he pulled her closer, but he ignored her struggles, wanting no physical space between them.
He knew it would be better if they maintained some sort of distance between them. Still he couldn't deny the twinge of regret that welled up inside him at the thought. He wanted to feel her soft hair against his chin, smell her sweet skin. He gave himself an inward shake. The time for pleasure was over. The time had come to fight.
The woman quivering in his arms was a reminder of his mission. Still, he didn't like the idea that she'd been dragged into this war between the gods. It was fine for him to face demons from Hell. It was what he'd been created to do, what he'd been doing since the dawn of time. But Aimee…he wished things could be different, that he could walk away from her and know she'd be okay. But wishing for something didn't change what was. He'd had thousands of years to come to grips with that notion.
"It's all right," he soothed as he stroked his hands up and down her back and arms. "You're okay." She was fine for now, but he was under no illusions that state would last much longer. Things were about to get tougher and much more frightening. Hades had been merely toying with them so far.
Aimee sighed and stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. His arms felt bereft without her. Yet he let her go, not reaching for her as he longed to do.
"As I was finishing getting dressed after getting cleaned up, a man appeared out of nowhere." She pointed to a spot just inside the door before tucking her hand away once again.
"A demon?" Roric strode to the area, hands stretched out, trying to feel the residual energy. Splaying his fingers wide, he ran his hands up and down the space in front of the wall. Nothing. He frowned and did it again. There should be some taint of evil there, but if it was there, it was masked. He couldn't find it.
He whirled back around. Aimee had moved to the end of the bed and was staring down at the sheets. "Who then?"
She shook her head, not answering. As he watched, she started to sit on the mattress, changed her mind and went to the window instead, staring out into the sunlight. "It looks like a beautiful day. I'd like to go out and feel the sunshine against my face."
Roric was worried now. Had this creature done something to her? Something he couldn't see? Not all injuries were physical. In some ways, physical injuries were easier to deal with than those of a mental or emotional nature. Crossing the space between them, he clasped her shoulders gently and turned her to face him. "I'll take you outside," he promised. He kept his tone low and unthreatening.
She patted his hand where it rested on her right shoulder. "I'm okay." At his skeptical look, she shook her head and gave him a sad smile. "It's just that you're not going to believe what I have to tell you."
"I will," he promised. And he realized that he meant it. He trusted Aimee. The only others he'd trusted on such a gut level were the Lady herself and his fellow warriors—Marko, Arand, Leander, Phoenix, Mordecai and Stavros. "Tell me."
She glanced out the window. A sense of sadness surrounded her. Roric wanted to make it disappear but knew that was impossible. Her life path was irrevocably tied to his now. There was no going back. Not for either of them.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be able to change the past?" There was a note of wistfulness in her voice that touched a part of him he'd thought frozen by anger and time.
Hardening himself, he ignored the ache in his heart. As a result, his answer was brusque, almost cold. "No. There is no going back, only going forward."
Turning away, she rested her forehead against the pane of glass and peered out the window. Roric looked over the top of her head, seeing what she was seeing. The mountains stood in the distance—majestic, unyielding, eternal. Below them was a sea of color. Autumn had spread its cloak over the land, coating it in brilliant yellows, reds and oranges mixed with the browns and greens of the forest. Even for an eternal warrior who'd lived for longer than mankind, it was awe-inspiring.
"I know you can't go back." She raised her hand and laid it flat against the pane of glass. "But do you ever think about it. About what if?"
He had no idea what point she was trying to make. He was a warrior. He dealt with what was, not what might be. "No. There is no point. It clouds the issue and makes you weak."
Aimee sighed and her breath fogged slightly against the glass. "It makes you human." She clenched her fingers into a fist. "I grew up playing in these mountains. My daddy would always be working out around the yard, chopping wood or fixing something in his shed. Momma would be in the kitchen cooking supper or baking a pie. I miss them."
The pain in her voice nearly brought Roric to his knees. He could feel her sadness like a living, breathing entity. The connection he shared with Aimee was unlike anything he'd experienced in his long life. Not even with the Lady did he feel such a bond.
That thought brought him up short. That was blasphemy. He could not allow himself to be swayed from his duty.
"He offered to go back in time and stop the accident from happening." She gazed out over the land. "All I had to do to make it happen was to betray you."
Roric stiffened. This wasn't good. The devil's minions were tempting Aimee with what she most wanted. He was nothing to her. Just a man, an immortal being who'd turned her life upside down. "What did you tell him?"
She laughed, but it was a sad sound. Turning, she stared up at him, her green eyes dark with pain. "What do you think I said?" she countered.
He wanted to say with conviction that she'd declined, but he couldn't be certain. Maybe she was telling him this to throw him off, only to betray him when the time was right. Roric decided he would be honest with her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, stopping him.
"No, don't tell me. I can see the answer in your eyes. You expect me to betray you."
He frowned. "I do trust you." Deep in his gut he did. "But that doesn't mean that the devil can't tempt you. Stronger people than yourself have succumbed to the lure of false promises."
A tinge of red flowed up her cheeks, driving away the paleness from her skin. Roric knew it was due to anger, but it was very similar to the flush her face took on during sex. His body responded immediately, muscles tightening, cock growing and thickening.
"Thank you very much," she replied tartly. She shoved by him and strode toward the door. "I said no, if you're interested," she tossed over her shoulder as she left the room.
Roric followed her as she hurried down the stairs. Ignoring the scorched and blackened living area, she entered the kitchen and went straight to the back door. She flung it open and stepped out onto the covered back deck that ran the width of the house.
Aimee walked to the corner and leaned against a thick post. "Of course, I could be lying to you." Her words were faint, but he heard them all the same.
He might be a fool, but he couldn't leave things like this between them. The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. "You should have on a sweater or a coat," he muttered.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You think I'm going to betray you to Hades himself, but you're worried I'm not wearing a coat?"
Put like that, it did sound silly. Still, Roric didn't back down. "I don't want you getting ill."
"Certainly not. I might not be as useful to you if that happened."
"Stop it." He grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to him. Not giving her a chance to refuse him, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with all the pent-up frustration, anger and lust that coursed through his veins. He wanted her to respond to him, needed her to respond. He had to feel the pulse of her passion mixing with his.
Even though he'd just had her, he wanted her again. He plundered her mouth, using his tongue to taste every inch of the warm cavern. She tasted like mint and that vile coffee she loved so well. He softened the caress when her lips softened beneath his and her tongue stroked over his.
Shuddering, he ended the passionate kiss. The passion between them was real, not manufactured by a curse or spell or magic of any sort. Yet it was a powerful magic in and of itself.
Aimee's lips were wet and plump, and her eyes had taken on a dazed look. Satisfaction filled him. This was truth. This wasn't a lie, no matter what else might happen.
The sensual glow faded slowly from her face, and Aimee swore under her breath. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed. Roric simply locked his hands behind her back, keeping her exactly where he wanted her—close to him.
His entire body was vibrating, his penis erect, straining to be released. Roric had no plans to give in to the sexual demands of his body, but they made him feel alive. And that was a sensation to savor.
Aimee huffed and pushed again, but he didn't relent. She glared at him. "What is it about you guys that makes you think you can take what you want?"
Everything inside Roric turned to ice. "What did the demon do to you?"
Her gaze narrowed. "I already told you, he wasn't a demon. But he grabbed me and kissed me, like you just did."
Jealousy snaked through Roric, a hot whip that flayed his skin from the inside out. Every muscle in his body coiled for action. He'd kill the other creature, even if he had to follow it to the depths of Hell. The creature had dared to touch his woman.
Roric knew his thoughts were totally irrational, but he didn't care. There was no fighting the primal urges flowing through him. He could feel the tiger pacing within the confines of his mind, roaring with anger, drowning out all rational thought. The only thing that was certain was that whoever had touched Aimee had to die.
"Hey, are you okay?" Aimee had her hands pressed against his cheeks. He could see the concern in her eyes.
A low growl escaped from his throat. "Who is he? Did he give you a name?
She nodded and slowly lowered her hands back down by her sides. Her expression went blank. "He did."
"Who?" His voice was little more than a guttural snarl. He'd run out of patience.
She swallowed hard but met his gaze unflinchingly. "He told me his name was Mordecai."
Aimee didn't know how he'd react to her unexpected bombshell. Roric's eyes were wild, his muscular body coiled for action.
"No. It couldn't be Mordecai."
She stared at him in disbelief. Was he calling her a liar or was he just in denial? "Tall guy, black hair, black eyes." And because he looked so skeptical, she couldn't resist tossing in, "Handsome too."
Roric dropped his hands from her body and she immediately felt the cold. But it was more than just skin deep. This chill went all the way to her soul. He honestly didn't believe her.
"I think you saw a demon who disguised himself as Mordecai. They're clever like that."
She'd thought about that, but she honestly didn't think it was a demon. The flickers of emotion she'd glimpsed in his eyes weren't something a demon would show. At least not any demons she'd met so far. Not that she'd met many. There was only Sandra, unless you counted the crew at the carnival. But still, she didn't think they'd be wasting time on emotions like doubt or regret, both of which she thought she'd glimpsed in his eyes.
She shook her head. "He told me the other two, Phoenix and Stavros, were dead and so were the women who freed them." Fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she ruthlessly shoved it back down. She would not give in to it. "The woman who freed him is dead too. He killed her himself before he joined Hades. Not exactly a good track record for you guys, is it?"
Aimee knew it was wrong to attack Roric's fighting skills and his honor, but she wasn't feeling real generous at the moment. Today had been a bitch so far and it wasn't even lunchtime.
She automatically checked her watch, surprised to find the morning gone. Well, a lot had happened since she'd awakened to find a man in her bed a few hours ago. Technically, it was past lunchtime, not that she felt like eating anything.
She glanced back at Roric but he hadn't moved. Watching him was like watching a statue. The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was actually alive. He didn't move a muscle, didn't blink. Finally she saw a slight tic beneath his left eye.
"I will protect you."
"Yeah, right." Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she ambled to the top of the stairs that led to the yard. There was a small grassy area that contained a woodpile and a shed. Beyond that, the forest held sway as towering pines, majestic oaks and colorful maple trees surrounded her home.
It made her sad to think that this might be the last day she'd spend here. She didn't want to think what would happen to her home after she was gone. There was no family to inherit it. The house and land would be sold and the money donated to various charities once the government took their share. It depressed her to realize her life had had such a small impact on the world.
There would be no one to mourn, no one to care. Sure, the townspeople would talk. This would be just another chapter in the sorry life of poor Aimee Horner. Aimee wasn't certain there would be a body for them to bury or if she'd just disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe her story would end up on one of those sensational televisions shows. Whatever Happened to Aimee Horner? Or maybe The Mysterious Disappearance of Aimee Horner ? Something suitably dramatic.
She shook off her morose thoughts and picked up the conversation as though it had never stopped. "You'd throw me to the wolves, or demons in this case, if you thought it would rescue your Lady or your fellow warriors. Don't deny it." She turned to face him once again, wanting to see his reaction. Hoping she was wrong.
Roric raked his fingers through his hair, the white stripes gleaming in the morning sun. "What do you want from me?"
Again, his tone was low and restrained. She wanted to break his control, penetrate the barrier that seemed to surround him most of the time. Occasionally he slipped its yoke, usually during moments of intense physical need.
"I want the truth!" she shouted, her anger bubbling over. "I want you to be honest with yourself and with me. If you thought it would free the goddess you serve, you'd hand me over to Hades yourself."
This entire situation was a mess. If she helped him, she'd mostly likely end up dead or worse. If she didn't help him—assuming she had a choice—she wouldn't be able to live with herself. If he kept her alive, he might die himself, or he might have to forfeit his own life or the lives of his friends. If he didn't keep her alive, she knew he'd feel as though he'd failed her and his honor. They were both damned if they did and damned if they didn't—literally.
Frustration poured off him in waves. He didn't fidget, didn't flinch. His lips were pursed tight together, as if to keep from yelling at her.
"Wouldn't you?" She got right in his face. There was no backing away from this. She needed to know where she stood going in.
"Yes!" he shouted. "No!" He shook his head like a wild beast, hair flying around his face. "I don't know." He met her gaze, and she could see the torture and pain that lived within him. The muscles of his jawbone flexed as he ground his teeth together. His blue eyes darkened as he watched her.
Aimee was coming to know him so well she could almost read his thoughts. Roric wanted to save them all, and that just wasn't possible.
"I understand." And the strange part was that she did understand. The man had served the goddess since the beginning of time. She'd met him yesterday. There really was no choice for him.
"I have to do this, Aimee."
She closed her eyes and savored the sound of her name on his lips. Just the fact that he was torn at all told her that she meant something to him. Besides, his loyalty to his friends meant he was capable of being loyal. How could she not admire that when there was so little loyalty left in the world?
Against all reason, against all common sense, she had deep feelings for Roric. Whether it was love or not, she wasn't quite certain. Who could be sure at a moment like this? Their time together had been filled with incredible happenings and emotional ups and downs. And it was only the beginning.
But it was also the end.
Roric would escape from Hades' clutches and live to try to free his fellow warriors and the Lady or he would die trying. For him there truly was no other choice. His honor demanded it.
And there was no choice for her either. She would help him, no matter the cost to herself.
Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand. Roric reached out, slowly closing the gap between them. His large fingers wrapped around her smaller ones, practically swallowing her hand in his. "What did the scroll say?"
"Aimee." He squeezed her fingers. "It wasn't Mordecai."
She knew he wouldn't believe her. Maybe he couldn't believe her. If one of his fellow warriors could give in to Hades, what was stopping Roric from doing the same? To believe was to doubt himself and his conviction. And that was no way to begin a fight with the Lord of the Underworld.
Still, she had to be truthful with him. It would also do him no good to bury his head in the sand and possibly get blindsided at a crucial moment. "All I know is he told me his name was Mordecai. He didn't seem concerned that he'd betrayed the rest of you, tainted his honor. I think in some ways he respects you. Deep down, he knows you'll die rather than go over to the dark side."
Roric grunted, but said nothing. She could sense the restlessness in him.
"I think that's also the reason you couldn't sense any lingering taint of evil in the bedroom. He spent thousands of years being honorable, and I don't think he's quite rotten to the core yet. Although, now that he's started down that slippery slope, there's no going back. Hades won't let him walk away from his agreement. Those contracts don't come with loopholes."
"You seem to know a lot about such things."
She noted that he didn't comment on Mordecai and let it drop. She'd done all she could. He could believe her or not. The choice was his.
"Hey, I'm a graphic-novel illustrator. I read all kinds of dark fantasy." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
"You like to read dark fantasy, do you?" One corner of his mouth kicked upward.
"Yeah, I'm a sucker for wounded warriors and hopeless quests. I guess that's why I got the job of setting you free. I've been prepping for it my entire life."
Roric shook his head. "That is fiction. This is reality."
"Believe me, I'm well aware of that."
The air around them began to shimmer. The sun dimmed as a huge black cloud rolled in front of it. The wind picked up, tugging at her sweatshirt like a hundred unseen hands, ruffling her hair.
Roric turned in a circle, the swords winking into existence in a heartbeat. He held them slightly in front of him, ready to fight. "They're coming."
Her heart began to pound. Taking a deep breath, she watched the woods. What was once safe and familiar now appeared dark and foreboding. She needed a weapon, a way to defend herself. No way was she meeting one of these creatures empty-handed again. Somehow she knew the time for negotiating, for cajoling, was done.
The battle had truly begun.
She glanced at Roric, but he wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention. He swiveled his head from side to side. His nostrils flared, and she realized he was sniffing the air. The tiger within him would be able to scent danger before it arrived.
The woodpile was just off to the left of the porch. Sticking out of the chopping block was the splitting maul. It was like an axe and sledgehammer combined. The blade end was sharp, and she knew how to swing it. Aimee gave silent thanks to her father for teaching her to take care of her tools.
She could almost see him standing by the woodpile, tall and strong, swinging the maul down in a short arc. Wood split apart, falling to the ground. He'd wait until she picked up the pieces and piled them aside before swinging again. They'd spent many an hour like that.
Daddy's little helper, he'd called her. After he was gone, she'd cherished the memories of those times spent together. She could almost hear his deep voice instructing her, "A dull blade is more of a hazard than a help, Aimee. You want to keep it sharp. You're less likely to hurt yourself and it makes the work easier."
"I hear you, Daddy," she whispered as she went down the three steps to the yard.
"Where are you going?" Roric's sharp voice broke the silence. He had been watching her after all.
"To get the maul." Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried to the woodpile. The air thickened and the sky turned so dark it seemed more like night. The sunny day of moments before vanished in the blink of an eye.
Rustling sounds came from just beyond the edge of the woods. Aimee grabbed the handle of the maul and yanked it out of the block. There was no sound behind her, yet instinct had her gripping the hickory handle and swinging it in one smooth motion. She whirled around, letting her body weight add to the momentum. The blade flashed and buried itself in the gut of a horrific creature straight from her nightmares. Blood spurted, and she knew she'd hit something vital. The shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. Aimee kept both hands on the handle to keep from losing her weapon and yanked it free.
The creature threw back its head and roared, shaking the very ground beneath her feet. Towering above her and casting a long shadow, the demon was about seven feet tall with gigantic, red-tinged eyes and a large, protruding jaw. Two rows of sharp teeth were exposed as he howled in pain. They were all pointed and looked razor sharp. He stood upright, his long fingers tipped with nails that were more like blades. This guy was a cross between Godzilla and Freddy Kruger.
This was so not good.
She heard Roric's battle cry and the crash of his swords. He yelled her name, but she ignored him. She was a little busy herself at the moment. Without hesitation, she swung again and buried the axe head in the creature's gut, jumping aside as he swung one of his great arms in her direction. Aimee ducked and fell to the ground, rolling to the edge of the woodpile, the heavy maul still in her hand. The creature was losing blood steadily, and his entrails were half spilled on the ground. Not that he seemed to notice. He just kept coming.
"This isn't fair," she muttered as she swiped her free hand over the leg of her jeans. Her palms were sweaty and covered with a combination of blood and stuff she really didn't want to identify. It burned slightly, but she ignored it. The beast advanced on her, one plodding step at a time.
"Go for the head," Roric shouted.
She risked a quick glance his way and was stunned. Roric was shirtless once again, swords moving so fast they were a blur as he chopped and hacked through the three demons attacking him. Like the one trying to make mincemeat out of her, they were like something out of a prehistoric nightmare. Their skin was thick and scaly, like alligator flesh, their jaws filled with those incredibly sharp-looking teeth.
"Look out!" he yelled.
Too late, Aimee realized she'd let her focus stray from her opponent. She jumped back and felt his lethal fingernails graze her stomach. Fabric ripped. She didn't dare glance down to see how badly she was bleeding. Her stomach was wet, yet she didn't feel any pain. Adrenaline rush. It would hurt later. If she was still alive.
A sense of calm enveloped her. She could do this. There was no other choice. Either she killed the creature or it would kill her. And she wasn't ready to die, not if she could prevent it. The woodpile was right next to her and, as she looked at it, her eyes widened as a crazy idea went through her head. It could work. It would work.
Not giving herself any time to consider the pitfalls of her half-baked plan, she moved. She took a running step and jumped, gaining the top of the woodpile. Planting her feet, she whirled. The extra three feet in height was all she needed. The creature had predictably followed her and was now in her sights.
The axe head whistled in the air as she swung with all her might. The blade bit deep into the creature's neck. She felt the slight hesitation and her stomach dropped. If this didn't work, she was dead. Before she could even complete the thought, the blade sank deeper, slicing through bone, muscle and sinew.
The creature jerked back. Aimee was dragged forward. She toppled over the edge of woodpile, falling to the ground as the maul slipped from her grip. Dirt and small rocks bit into her palms as she caught herself. The beast clutched at its neck, yanking at the blade embedded there. Inhuman sounds came from its mouth, a cross between a roar of rage and a cry of pain. Blood flowed freely down its body, spilling onto the grass and pooling slightly on the ground.
"Die already!" Aimee shouted. Panting for breath, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the various aches and pains running through her body, she staggered back to the dubious safety of the woodpile. There was no way for her to retrieve her weapon.
The creature tried to roar again, but blood filled its mouth, pouring over its bottom jaw. The sound was more of a wet gurgle, like water going down a drain. He took one plodding step toward her. Then another.
"Shit!" Won't this thing ever die? Aimee grabbed a piece of wood from the top of the pile. It wasn't quite two feet long and wasn't much of a weapon, but it was all she had. And it was sure as heck better than nothing.
The beast advanced slowly. Suddenly, it stopped. Like a great tree being cut down, it heaved to one side and toppled to the ground, raising a cloud of dust as it settled in the dirt. Its breathing was ragged as it stared at her out of hate-filled eyes. She felt sorry for it. The creature was only doing what was in its nature, what it had been commanded to do. Still, she was glad it was the beast lying there and not her.
She jerked back when a flash of steel whipped thought the air in front of her. Roric's sword cut through what was left of the creature's neck, putting it out of its misery.
"You're hurt." Roric's concern pulled her gaze from the dead demon. She glanced toward the back deck and saw three other carcasses littered across the ground like garbage. Her stomach roiled, and she dragged herself around the far end of the woodpile and lost her breakfast.
Her throat burned as she vomited several more times. Roric came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders, his deep voice murmuring words of comfort in her ear. How embarrassing. She wanted to be a strong, kickass heroine and ended up puking her guts up instead.
"Let me see." Roric shifted her away from the mess on the ground and tugged at the bottom of her sweatshirt. He examined her stomach and heaved a sigh of relief. "It's just a flesh wound."
Aimee could see the thin slash that ran right across her belly from one side to the other. If she hadn't jumped back in time, her guts would have been spilled onto the ground just like the creature who'd attacked her. It hadn't hurt at all during the fight but ironically, now that she'd seen the wound, it hurt like the devil. Which was not a good analogy, all things considered.
"Will it need stitches?" She hoped not. She didn't want to have to go to the local clinic and try to explain how she'd gotten such an injury. If she told them the truth they'd lock her up. And any explanation she could come up with left her sounding careless at best and slightly crazy and dangerous at worst. You see, doctor, the splitting maul slipped and I fell on the blade . That was so lame.
Roric placed his palm over her belly. She jerked when the warmth of his skin touched hers. She hadn't realized just how cold she was until then. Her blood seeped around his fingers.
"We need to go inside. I've got some bandages in the bathroom that we can use."
Ignoring her, Roric kept his hand on her stomach. His palm got steadily warmer as he began to chant under his breath. She didn't recognize the language, had no idea what he was saying. It did sound sexy as all get out though.
She forgot all about his sexy voice a second later as heat flashed over her skin, practically burning it. Damn, it hurt. Aimee tried to pull away from him, but with the woodpile at her back and Roric in front of her, there was nowhere for her to go.
She closed her eyes and breathed through the pain, just like she used to when she was in the hospital all those years ago. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. Her skin was hot, too hot, like she was running a fever. She thought she could smell it sizzling. She bit her bottom lip and tasted blood.
In spite of her determination to be stoic, the pain increased with each passing second. She finally broke, crying out in agony. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her legs and arms quivered and she began to sway.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The blazing heat disappeared. And so did the pain. Cool air, like a balm, blew over her flesh.
She opened her eyes and blinked at Roric. There was such a look of concern on his face she wanted to reassure him that she was fine. But talking was still too much for her. It took all her concentration and strength just to breathe.
"I'm sorry." Roric cupped her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her abused bottom lip. "I didn't want to hurt you, but there was no other way."
She thought for a moment he might kiss her, but he stepped away. When she remembered that she'd just lost her breakfast moments ago, she was glad he hadn't. The front of her sweatshirt was in tatters and covered in blood. But the slash on her belly was no longer bleeding. In fact, it looked as though it was sealed. Tentatively, she touched it. Her fingers touched the edges of a raised scar, but that was it.
"You healed me." There was disbelief in her voice as she poked at the injury.
"Yes. I'm sorry it hurt you, but that's the price for the healing."
"Wow!" She stared at Roric, wondering what other powers he had that she knew nothing about. "This is amazing."
He shrugged. "I can heal minor wounds. If he'd gotten a better swing at you there is nothing I could have done to save you."
That stark reminder of how close she'd come to dying was enough to jolt her back to reality. "I need to get cleaned up." She motioned to the demon bodies littering her backyard. "What about them?"
"Hades will claim them." Even as Roric spoke, the demons began to smolder from the inside out. Aimee watched in amazement as their bodies burst into flames, burning quickly until nothing was left but ash.
"Wow." She didn't know what else to say.
"Hades always retrieves what is his, one way or the other." As if on cue, the wind whipped up, scattering the ashes. The ground around them was scorched and black. Other than that, not a single trace of the demons remained.
Roric peered around the yard, squinting as he stared into the woods. "From now on we stay together. I go where you go."
Aimee wasn't willing to argue the point. She'd come too close to dying. In silence, they headed into the house and upstairs to the bedroom.
They needed a plan. Aimee pulled on her third top of the morning—a long-sleeved cotton jersey. At this rate, she'd need to do a load of laundry soon or buy new clothes
. The top was comfortable against her body, which was sore after the intense battle. Her skin was mottled black and blue in places. Her stomach didn't hurt as such, but the scar was tender. All in all, it was a small price to pay for coming out of the lethal confrontation alive.
Now that she'd washed up and was wearing clean, warm clothing, she felt much better. More in control again. Which was a fallacy really. Her life was so out of control it wasn't funny. No one would ever believe her if she told them she was locked in mortal combat with the devil himself for her very soul. And that she also needed to buy fabric softener. They'd give her a pitying look and lock her up in a mental ward. And she wouldn't blame them for it.
Sighing, she gave the room one final glance. All the soiled clothing had been dumped in the garbage or laundry basket, depending on if she thought it was salvageable. She hoped her favorite jeans came clean. She wasn't sure if her laundry detergent was up to dealing with demon blood.
Not that it really mattered in the scheme of things. But it was normal, and God only knew she needed some normal in her life right now, even if it was only sorting laundry.
Her room looked the same as it always had. She'd made the bed and the drapes were pulled back, letting the sunlight wash over the gleaming hardwood floors. The book she was reading sat on her bedside table. She wondered if she'd get the opportunity to finish it.
But standing here wasting time wasn't going to change anything. The problems still remained, and Aimee had to deal with them and with Roric.
It had taken some quick talking to make him leave long enough for her to get dressed. He'd insisted on waiting just inside the bathroom door while she'd grabbed another quick shower to wash away the blood and gore. She hadn't objected. The last thing she wanted was to be taken unawares while she was in the shower. Knowing he was on the other side of the shower curtain had played havoc with her hormones. It didn't seem to matter that demons from hell wanted to whoop her ass. She still wanted Roric.
She'd taken the fastest shower on record, soaping up and rinsing in under two minutes. A large bath towel had covered her decently, but there was no way she could get dressed with him in the room with her.
It was stupid really, considering he'd seen her totally naked more than once. But that was then. Now they were all business, neither of them really expecting to make it out of this day alive. At least she wasn't expecting it. It was hard to know what Roric thought or felt about the situation.
She glanced toward the open door to her bedroom. He'd given her two minutes, and she knew he meant it. If she weren't downstairs by then, he'd come and get her regardless of her state of dress or undress.
She did up the snap on her jeans and pulled on her hiking boots, lacing them tight before leaving her room without a backward glance. Her pocketknife was in her back pocket. Not that it would help much if another one or two or six of those creatures attacked. But it helped her not feel quite so defenseless. Her father's old shotgun was downstairs in the hall closet, but she didn't think it would do much to stop one of the demons. She'd have to ask Roric's opinion.
The smell of burnt wood and fabric assailed her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The living room looked no better than it had earlier. It hurt her in ways she couldn't explain to see it like that. She felt violated both on a physical and emotional level. This house had always been her safe place, her haven.
That feeling had been destroyed.
Her home had been tainted by demons, and that was something she wasn't ever going to be able to forget. Yet she knew if she survived this, she would repair and remodel. To do otherwise would be to allow Hades to win. She had no choice. This was her home.
"I made coffee." Roric's voice yanked her out of her musings. He stood, tall and handsome as ever, in the kitchen doorway watching her. He was still shirtless. He'd somehow lost the black one during the fight. He'd probably ripped it off to give himself better mobility. The shirt had been tight across the shoulders. Still, she wished he'd find a new one to wear. All that bare flesh was giving her inappropriate ideas.
She brought her focus back to the conversation at hand. "You don't like coffee." She noticed that he'd taken one sip this morning and hadn't drunk any more.
His thoughtful gesture touched her and she smiled. "Thanks."
His lips twitched. "I don't know if you should thank me or not until you taste it. I understand how modern machinery should work, but actually making it do so properly is another thing altogether. I wasn't certain how much of the coffee to put in the filter."
Aimee stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away from the slight twinkle in his eyes. At this moment, she envied him. Roric lived in the minute, had the rare ability to be in the now. You'd never know he'd just fought and killed three demons. Four, if you counted hers. And she didn't really. He'd been mostly dead by the time Roric arrived. Still, three and a half demons was quite the feat.
Yet he could make her coffee and offer her a joke, even knowing his very existence could end in a heartbeat, that he could fail his goddess and his fellow warriors and end up in Hades' clutches forever. She admired him and was determined to act as he did. The moment was all they had.
She walked toward him. At first she didn't think he would move and let her pass. At the last possible second, he turned sideways, still blocking most of the doorway. Aimee had to angle her body to get by him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and her nipples stood at attention.
Ignoring the jolt of heat that flashed through her, she hurried toward the coffeepot. A cup of the strong brew was just what she needed. Grabbing a mug, she poured. It looked more black than brown in color. She added two teaspoons of sugar and stirred. She studied it and added one more. It looked strong. She eyed the brew before shrugging and taking a sip.
Bitterness coated her tongue. She wanted to spit it out, but she swallowed instead, not wanting to hurt Roric's feelings.
"Not quite right?" He leaned against the doorjamb and cocked his head to one side, sending thick white and black waves over his shoulder.
Aimee tried to speak, but was afraid the coffee he'd made might have made that permanently impossible. She cleared her throat and coughed. "Not quite," she managed.
Eyeing the pot, she decided good manners could be damned. She needed coffee. Whisking it off the warming burner, she dumped the coffee down the sink, rinsed the pot and started another pot brewing.
"Sorry about that." Roric pushed away from the wall, moving closer to watch her.
"No problem. You have to measure the coffee grounds or you'll make it too strong."
In a matter of seconds, Aimee had another pot of coffee perking happily. She could feel the heat radiating from Roric as he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. It made her feel uncomfortable, sexy and downright hot. And that wasn't appropriate given the life-and-death situation they found themselves in. Then again, no one ever said hormones were smart.
"We need a plan." It was what she'd been thinking about all the time she'd showered and dressed.
Roric sighed and stepped away. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew the moment he moved away from her. She grew colder instantly, both inside and out. Yet she understood that separation was necessary if one or both of them was to have a chance of coming out of this situation alive.
She turned away from the counter. Roric was standing in front of the window, looking out over the yard, his eyes scanning the woods beyond. "The scroll is quite clear. Hades wants me, and the others, to lead his armies to attack the other Olympians. He wants to destroy them all and have total dominion over the world."
"He doesn't want much, does he?"
The corner of Roric's mouth turned up slightly. The sight of that partial smile made Aimee's toes curl.
He strolled back to the table and sat. "Hades wants it all. Always has. He's not evil, not really. He's more manipulative, letting others tangle themselves in his very sticky web. And once he has you, it's almost impossible to escape."
She asked the question that had been on her mind since she'd learned about the curse and Hades' plans. "Why the elaborate setup? Why doesn't Hades just send a bunch of his demons to kill the Olympians and take over the world?" It seemed to her that the Lord of the Underworld was making this much harder than it needed to be.
"It doesn't work that way." Roric's blue eyes glittered like ice. "Hades can't upset the balance of energy by sending too many of his minions to the earth. That would alert his fellow Olympians that he's up to something. They might not be as powerful as he is, but they sure as hell aren't weak. They'd band together to save themselves and nail his ass to the wall."
He paused and took a deep breath. "They wouldn't take much note of us. We've been in this realm for several thousand years and haven't caused any problems. We could make a few hard, fast strikes, and the war would almost be won by the time the Olympians figured out there was anything going on."
"Scary." Aimee shivered. "Okay, I get the power thing, but Hades already has demons here. I've seen them."
He smiled grimly. "That's true, but their power here is limited. They have to return to Hell to recharge after a short period of time. Even the gods are bound by certain laws, and there is a limit to how much Hades can interfere in this realm. Humans have to do the actual deeds themselves. Hades encourages them, tempts them. Granted, the evil of mankind has made it much easier for him to extend his reach and powers, which is part of the problem.
"It wouldn't take much to turn the tide and sink the world into darkness forever. Kill a few strategic people in power, throw in a drought or disease and the world would tumble into darkness." He sighed and shook his head. "That kind of despair feeds Hades' power, making him stronger. Unless someone stops him."
Aimee shivered at the thought. He was right. The world was closer to the edge of destruction than it realized. Hades wouldn't have to do much to push it past the point of no return.
She knew when he said someone he meant himself, his fellow warriors and the Lady of the Beasts. "Do you think the goddess is still alive?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation on his part. "I don't think he would have killed her, not until he knew our final fate. If she were dead, he'd have no possible hold over us if we ever escaped his prison. Hades is nothing if not smart. He plays every angle, never missing any possibilities. It's his greatest strength. Plus, it's no small feat to kill a goddess. That would definitely send a ripple through the cosmos, and the last thing Hades wants to do is attract attention. Not until his plan is complete."
"Why haven't the other gods realized what he's up to?"
Roric shrugged. "Who knows? The gods and goddesses spend much time bickering amongst themselves. Hades keeps himself removed from them most of the time so they know little of what he's truly up to. Plus, he has a long history of doing favors for them when they ask. He's built a lot of power that way."
"Smart." Hades might be the devil, but you couldn't fault his strategy. She could almost admire him for it. Too bad he didn't use his powers for good instead of evil.
"Very," Roric continued. "The others fear him and are happy enough to have him stay away from them."
"Not smart," she pointed out. You'd think a bunch of immortal gods and goddesses would be a little sharper than that. "How does the saying go? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
"Exactly." Roric glanced around the room, ever watchful. "Now that there are few humans worshipping them—although there are still pockets of them around the world—the Olympians don't spend much time paying attention to this world. Hades knows this. In fact, it's what he's counting on."
"Hmm." Aimee busied herself pouring up a fresh cup of coffee, adding sugar and stirring before carrying it to the table. "If he's thought of everything, how do we defeat him?"
"Like all of us, his greatest strength is also his greatest weakness." Roric leaned forward, his pale blue eyes pinning her to her chair. "He thinks he has considered all the possibilities, but he has not. He does not understand concepts such as loyalty and honor. He thinks always of himself and advancing his personal power, never of the greater good. That's a flaw most of the Greek gods and goddesses possess. They're selfish and grasping, and it ultimately led to their decline."
Aimee breathed a sigh of relief when Roric glanced aside. The man was intense, and when all that power was aimed her way it was scary and more than a bit arousing. Her panties were damp and she ached deep in her core. She wanted him.
She supposed it was the animal magnetism he exuded. It was a part of him—primitive and basic and utterly enthralling. She took another mouthful of coffee, doing her best to ignore the little pangs of pleasure jolting through her veins.
Roric looked pensive now as he stared at the scroll that was laid out on the table, studying the foreign words she couldn't understand. A flash of intuition made her ask her next question. "Does the scroll mention me?"
Muscles flexed and rolled in his shoulders as he tensed. His jaw clenched as he gave her a brief nod. Shivers raced over her skin, but they were no longer due to pleasure. They were solely brought on by fear.
"What does it say?" She had to know.
"Hades says that he will let me talk to my Lady, briefly, if I hand you over to him."
The few sips of coffee she'd taken felt sour in her stomach. Hades didn't miss a chance to try to divide and conquer. Roric was watching her intently, but there was no sensual heat behind his gaze, only cold calculation. Once again, she felt like prey being stalked by some great beast. She didn't like it.
Pushing aside her coffee cup, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. "And what have you decided?"
Roric swore in what sounded like several different languages. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but there was no doubt in her mind he was turning the air blue around them. He stood, braced his hands on the table and loomed over her, looking large and fierce. "I have said I will protect you."
Aimee shrugged, trying to look nonchalant even though her heart was threatening to burst through her chest. "You also said you'd do whatever it took to rescue the Lady and your friends."
Whirling away from the table, he paced back to the window. "It's a trick. It's always a trick with Hades. A way to taint my honor to make it easier for him to ensnare me."
Sympathy welled up within Aimee. She could feel Roric's pain, his anguish, and it hurt her in ways she hadn't thought possible. His pain was hers. Rising from the table, she walked over to stand behind him. The muscles in his back tensed slightly, but otherwise he gave no indication that he cared she was standing there.
Placing her hands on his back, she leaned in close and kissed his spine. The tattoo seemed to undulate beneath her lips, as though the tiger felt her touch. His skin was warm and salty against her lips. "I'm sorry." She slid her hands around his sides and linked them together, resting them on his stomach. The movement plastered her breasts against his back. Her nipples ached, and she barely resisted the urge to rub herself against him. This was about comfort, not sex. "What can I do to help?"
Roric's mind was spinning with possibilities. His anger simmered deep within him, but he kept it banked and under firm control. To let that fury slip its leash would be to allow Hades the upper hand. That's what the god was hoping for. A warrior did not make wise decisions when he allowed his emotions to rule him.
Cold, hard and calculating were the qualities he needed at the moment, not hot-blooded, wild emotions. Although that was easier said than done with Aimee pressed against his back, her soft breasts pillowed against him, her inviting scent permeating the air around them.
He wanted her again, but it was much more than a physical need. That would have been easy to ignore. It was her generosity of spirit that moved him in a way he'd never thought possible, her willingness to sacrifice herself for a cause that was not hers. She didn't curse him, even though she had the right. She hadn't given him up to Hades' minion to save herself. She was an enigma to him in many ways.
His existence had been about duty. Always. There had been little room for softer emotions. But Aimee made him feel things. Dangerous things.
He wanted endless days with her to find out what she liked and didn't like, what made her laugh, what made her angry. He wanted to curl himself around her in bed and listen to a cold winter wind blow outside while they remained safe and warm inside.
The tiger within him roared in agreement. Sharp talons of need pierced him. But he would never give in to them. He couldn't. Time was running out fast. There would never be an opportunity to see what might have been between them.
Anger and disappointment made his voice sharp. "Hades is toying with us." He wanted to shelter her from the worst of what was to come, but knew it was impossible.
She slid her arms from his body and stepped away. He wanted to drag her back into his arms but kept them by his sides. Turning, he watched as she swallowed hard, her throat moving up and down. "What do you mean?"
He waved his hand toward the yard. Through the window they could see the area where they'd fought for their lives. The only indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred was the scorched patches of grass and the splitting maul lying on the ground beside the woodpile. "Those demons were lesser ones, physically strong but not too smart. Hades was testing us. Testing you."
Her face paled, but her gaze never wavered. "Testing? How?"
"He wanted to see if you'd cut and run at the first sign of real trouble, or if you'd stand and fight." Roric raked his fingers through his hair, wishing Aimee weren't a part of this. He didn't mind his own death—expected it in fact—but the thought of Aimee being hurt made him want to roar with anger.
"I see," she said, her words spaced apart. A shiver racked her body, but she squared her shoulders.
Pride ripped through him. He had no right to feel it, no claim to her in any way, but he couldn't deny it. Here was a woman worthy to stand by a warrior for all eternity. She would not turn and flee, but stay by his side and fight. It made him all the more determined to protect her.
He had no idea how he was going to manage that. He simply knew he had no choice. Aimee had to survive.
"So what do we do now?" Going over to the counter, she poured what was left of her coffee down the drain. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her hand trembled slightly.
Roric took a mental picture of her. He wanted to remember her this way forever—standing in the middle of her quaint kitchen, the sunshine pouring through the window and the simple white cabinets behind her. Her short black hair was sticking up slightly, giving her a just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and her eyes were the color of spring grass.
This fragile cr
eature, this human woman, had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. Roric was part animal and didn't even try to fight his primal instincts, which were screaming that she was his. His mate. His woman. His.
If only they'd met six or seven thousand years ago, he could have shared her lifetime with her. But it was too late. Their time together was measured in hours.
He strode toward her, unable to keep away any longer. She placed her mug on the counter, her eyes widening as he kept on coming. She took a step back and was brought up solid against the counter. Stopping in front of her, he placed his hands on either side of her, caging her between his arms.
He knew he should say something, but he couldn't bring himself to voice what could never be. Instead, he leaned down and touched his lips against hers. They were soft and warm and inviting, parting immediately for him.
With no more than that tiny touch, his body was on fire, burning for her. He wanted to strip her bare, scoop her into his arms and take her to bed until they were both sated. Roric figured that would take at least a week, if not longer.
Every muscle in his arms and chest tensed as he pushed away from her without deepening the caress. Her taste was on his lips—bitter coffee and warm, willing woman. Her eyes were glazed with passion and she swayed toward him.
"Now that he knows we will fight, he'll be sending stronger, smarter demons to defeat us. If we do not give in to his demands, he will not let us live."
Aimee shook herself and licked her lips. Roric swallowed back a groan and moved away from temptation. "But there's a time limit, right?"
Ignoring how sexy and delectable Aimee looked, he picked up the scroll from the table. "Yes. The Lady used the last of her powers to save us, even if it was to lock us into a curse. Hades has twenty-four hours to sway us to his side. After that time, our immortal souls are safe from him. He cannot harm us. Ever. If he tries, whatever power he sends against us will ricochet back on him. That is why it is so dangerous to him if one of us manages to survive. He may be a god, but there are some things not even he can change."
"What will happen to you then?" Aimee wrapped her arms around herself, as though she were cold. He wanted to warm her but didn't dare. His thoughts were scattered enough as it was.
"I will continue to try to discover a way to free my fellow warriors and find out the truth about the ones already set free. One or more of them may be alive, maybe imprisoned in Hell. I don't trust Hades to tell the truth about that. He'd want to divide and conquer us. Once that is done, I will search for a way to rescue the Lady."
She nodded as if he'd confirmed what she already knew. "Then we need a plan if we hope to survive." She glanced at the clock hanging on her kitchen wall. "Until about ten o'clock tonight."
He shook his head. "Midnight. The clock started ticking at midnight."
"Figures the time would be dramatic, the witching hour. Couldn't just be plain ten o'clock?" she muttered. "That would mean we'd have two less hours we needed to evade Hades. So what do we do? We can't run. We can't hide. Can we?"
Roric wished he could stash Aimee somewhere safe until this was over, but that was impossible. Hades' minions would find her. "I want to visit the carnival."
Aimee released her arms slowly, letting them fall back to her sides. She looked at him as if she thought he'd gone mad. Her words confirmed that. "Have you lost your mind?" Her cheeks flushed as her anger grew. "That place is run by demons, in case you've forgotten."
Her tart tongue almost made him smile. "I haven't forgotten. But my friends are still there. If I can find a way to free them, it will help even the odds."
"I thought only a chosen woman could free a specific warrior."
Roric inclined his head. "That is one way we know for certain. Perhaps there is another."
Aimee began to pace back and forth across the kitchen. "Okay, if we're going to do this we need to be smart about it. We can park a ways down the road and circle around through the woods." She nodded to herself. "I can show you the tent where I think the carousel is. Maybe we can sneak in without anyone seeing us."
It was more likely the demons would be lying in wait. But he didn't tell her that, didn't want her more frightened than she already was.
"If we get that far, it will probably be a trap," she added. He knew she could see the surprise on his face because she snorted. "What? Did you think I was stupid just because I don't have a penis?"
Roric wisely kept his mouth shut.
Aimee narrowed her gaze and nibbled on her bottom lip. "They know the carousel is a temptation you can't ignore."
"And still you will go with me?"
Aimee shrugged. "It's crazy, but I don't think we have much choice. It's better than sitting around here waiting for them to attack."
Roric agreed. The warrior in him wanted to go on the offensive, to take the fight to the enemy. But the man in him, and the beast, wanted to protect Aimee. "You could stay here…" He trailed off as she shot him a look that wasn't pleasant. His Aimee had a core of steel within her.
"I repeat—do I look stupid? Everyone knows that if the woman stays behind the bad guys attack and kill her. That's a given in any bad horror flick. And that's what my life has become."
She must have seen his quizzical expression because she gave a frustrated huff. "You know, movies. Made-up stories with actors shown at the local cinema or on television?"
He nodded, even though he wasn't quite certain what she was referring to. He'd heard of television, but he'd never seen one. He understood the concept of movies. They were much like a play except the people weren't really in the room to perform. It was quite fascinating actually. He was suddenly filled with the need to experience one of these movies with Aimee.
She stalked toward him. Stopping in front of him, she poked him in the breastbone. "The best chance I have of living through this nightmare is to stay by your side. There's safety in numbers."
Roric could hear the fear beneath the bravado. His heart clenched. His chest ached. He made a vow to himself that he would somehow get Aimee out of this alive. No matter what it took.
He captured her index finger, which was currently trying to drill a hole in him. "We will stay together." He turned her hand so that their palms were touching. Their fingers twined together. It was a bond and a promise.
"Okay then."
"When this is over, you'll have to tell me more about these bad horror movies and why you watch them," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Better yet, I'll show you some. I think you'll like them." Aimee grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. For a moment, the worry was driven from her eyes. "It's a date," she promised.
Roric tightened his fingers around hers. He searched his mind for the meaning of the word. It was a social engagement between a man and a woman. He'd never actually done anything like that before. In times gone by, if he wanted a woman he simply crooked his finger and she came. He was a warrior of a goddess, and all women had been pleased by his sexual attention. And that was all it had been. He'd never had the time or inclination for anything more.
Now he found he was intrigued by the idea of spending time with Aimee. A date. He wanted it badly, but knew he'd probably never be able to have it. Another grievance to set at Hades' door. Still, he nodded in agreement. "A date."
"Whose brilliant idea was it to come this way?" Aimee scooted forward on her belly, ignoring the chill of the ground as it seeped through the legs of her jeans. Her brown wool jacket was covered in dirt and twigs and God only knew what else. She was trying not to think about bugs. It was such a girly thing to worry about, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd rather face a demon than a spider any day.
"Shhh," Roric admonished as he shifted closer, his body not making a sound as he moved. She wished she could be half as quiet as him. He seemed to glide through the undergrowth, a gift from his inner tiger, no doubt.
"It was yours, if I remember correctly," he whispered. He was so close she could feel his breath against her ear.
It hadn't taken them long to get here, that is once Roric had let her leave the yard. He'd been fascinated by her car. It was an ancient, beat-up silver Volkswagen Beetle that had seen better days, but she liked it. He'd wanted to know what every instrument did and had played with all the buttons like a little kid. The sense of wonder on his face had made her heart turn over.
It brought home to her once again just how long he'd been trapped in the prison of his own body. He'd been able to absorb information from the world around him, but knowing something and seeing it were two different things. She'd insisted on giving him a brief driving lesson, just in case they had to make a quick getaway and, for whatever reason, she couldn't drive.
They'd jolted around the yard as he tested the gas and then slammed on the brakes. He'd almost sent them into a ditch, but managed to swerve away at the last second. Aimee had given silent thanks that her car was an automatic. She couldn't imagine trying to teach him to use a standard on such short notice.
They'd taken the road to the fairgrounds, with her firmly in the driver's seat, but stopped about a half mile away. Aimee had pulled the car off the road, but she'd turned the vehicle around first. If they had to make a run for it, she wanted to be headed in the right direction.
That was an hour ago. Since then, they'd walked and then skulked through the woods. Roric had made a complete perimeter check of the carnival. The man moved like a ghost. He'd left her on several occasions, disappearing and returning without a sound. She sounded like an elephant clunking through the woods in comparison.
The carnival grounds were quiet, with only the occasional person wandering around. Aimee didn't know if they were all demons or not. Roric said they were and she trusted him. He was an immortal warrior after all, with all kinds of super senses she didn't have.
"When are we going into the tent?" Waiting around wasn't going to make it any easier. In fact, it was doing just the opposite. The longer she had time to think about it, the less of a good idea it seemed. Yet they really didn't have any other option.
Roric brushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. His touch was incredibly gentle, so at odds with such a large, rough man. "There's still time for you to return home."
She shook her head. "I told you how that story goes—single woman, home alone, eaten by demons. Not pretty." Aimee admitted to herself that she was scared to death. It would be stupid not to be. But she'd rather be here with Roric than home alone, waiting and wondering.
"Okay. Stay close to me." His blue eyes searched her face as he waited for her agreement.
"Believe me, I have no intentions of wandering off on my own." No way was she going to be one of those TSTL—too stupid to live—heroines, like some she'd read about in a few of the graphic novels and comics she'd illustrated or watched in the movies. She had an immortal warrior on her side, and she was sticking close.
"Good." He stared at her until she started to squirm. Even lying in the dirt and bugs, the man turned her on. How sad was that?
He leaned forward and kissed her. Unlike the last kiss he'd given her in the kitchen, this one was hard and deep. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her. Aimee couldn't breathe as Roric sucked the air from her lungs. She clutched his shirt—another one of her father's—and slid her hands slowly up his chest until her fingers dug into his shoulders. She was gasping when he pulled away.
"Stay behind me," he whispered before turning away and moving stealthily toward the edge of the woods.
Aimee thought about shucking her jacket. She was suddenly way too hot. The urge to hit him was overwhelming. How could he kiss her senseless and then just slip away like nothing had happened?
Muttering a few unpleasant things under her breath about men, and immortal warriors in particular, she crawled after him. It wasn't easy, but she managed to keep up without making too much of a racket. She also managed to think only once about the bugs she was probably dragging her body over. Okay, twice. She was only human.
Roric came to a halt behind the tent she'd pointed out earlier as the most likely one to contain the carousel. She'd gone over the layout in her mind repeatedly until she'd retraced her steps as best she could. If it wasn't the exact spot, it should at least be close.
He glanced over his shoulder. Whether for confirmation or just to check on her, she wasn't certain. But she nodded anyway. Without a word, he swiveled back around and crept swiftly over the open ground to the edge of the canvas tent. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he silently used it to slit through the material. Poking his head through the hole, he checked out the interior.
Once again, Aimee was reminded that he was special. He moved with a fluid grace that was mesmerizing. The tiger was hunting.
He turned and beckoned her forward. Glancing to the right and left, she left the dubious protection of the trees and shrubs when the coast looked clear. The dry grass crackled beneath the soles of her boots, and her pulse whooshed in her ears so loudly she couldn't hear anything else around her. Roric held the material apart and she slipped through the opening.
The dagger disappeared and was replaced by a sword. Aimee recognized it as one of the four-foot-long weapons he'd used to dispatch the demons earlier. Apparently, decapitation was the only sure way to kill a demon. A gunshot might slow it down or incapacitate it for a while, but it wouldn't kill it. Roric had been very clear about that when she'd asked him earlier.
She'd wanted to bring her splitting maul with her. Roric had argued that it would be too cumbersome for her to drag through the woods. Plus, he'd manifest her a sword if there was fighting. She wanted to ask him for one now, but didn't dare speak. She knew the basics on how to use one, thanks to a seminar she'd taken on medieval sword fighting at a comic book convention her agent had talked her into attending. Not that she was actually skilled with a sword, but she wasn't likely to harm herself with one either.
Her eyes were gradually becoming accustomed to the dark, but Roric was already moving. His eyes were narrowed, but she had no doubt he was seeing every square inch of the space. His superior vision was yet another reminder that he was a predator, something very different from her.
The inside of the tent looked much as it had the night she was here. It smelled slightly musty, permeated with a layer of grease and spun sugar from the concession stands.
"Which way?" His voice was almost a soundless whisper.
She glanced right and left, trying to get her bearings. She felt a distinct pull to the left. "This way."
Rather than letting her lead, he went ahead of her, sword held high and ready. The ground was hard-packed beneath her feet, allowing her to move soundlessly. She stayed close to Roric. It was so dark in the tent it would be easy for her to become disoriented if she lost sight of him.
She felt something in the air. Expectation. Anticipation. Someone or something was there. Aimee placed her hand on Roric's back. The muscles tightened, but he didn't turn around. She knew he had to be feeling it too.
Silently, he stalked forward. She heard the light brush of canvas and then they were in another room. A dim light reflected eerily off the dark walls, casting grotesque shadows around the room. There in the center of the room sat the carousel. Only this time, the tiger was no longer there. Roric had been set free.
The reality of the situation slammed home. They were really going to try to find a way to free the other three warriors. The bear, wolf and lion all waited. Aimee could feel the swell of anticipation, of anger, of fear. So much pain and emotion swirled around her.
She wanted to run, to leave this all behind her. She wanted her boring life back. She wanted to spend the day working on illustrations for her latest project. Instead, she took a step toward the carousel. She'd freed one of them by climbing on the ride. She was willing to try it again.
Roric was staring at the carousel with such a look of longing and fear that it broke her heart. So many centuries imprisoned. He knew what the rest of them were going through, had lived through it himself.
"Which one?" She kept her voice low.
He walked toward the lion and rubbed his hand over the creature's head. He did the same for the wolf before coming to a stop beside the final one. "Marko." He pointed her toward the bear.
Adrenaline raced through her system. She rubbed her damp palms against her jeans. This was it. Stepping up onto the base of the ride, she patted the bear's flank. It felt cold and lifeless, not at all like the tiger had the night she'd freed Roric. Frowning, she threw her leg over the animal, settling herself on his back.
She didn't want to look at Roric, didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes, but she forced herself to do so. He was watching the bear, sadness darkening his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, my friend."
For a brief moment, she thought she felt the ripple of muscles beneath her thighs. Then it was gone and the creature was solid once again. Aimee slid off the animal's back and placed her hand on Roric's arm. "I'm sorry." The words did nothing to convey the depth of the sorrow she felt at being unable to free his friends.
He shook his head. "It's not your fault. We knew this probably wouldn't work."
"Yet you had to try." The female voice rang out from the shadows. "You warriors are so predictable."
The lights came up, temporarily blinding Aimee. She shaded her eyes with her hand and blinked to clear her vision.
Sandra strode from a dark corner of the tent. "Stavros tried to do the exact same thing. Except we didn't let the jaguar get quite this far. Just in case, you understand. But the boss wanted to know for sure if one woman could free all of you or if a specific woman was really needed for each of you. I guess we know the answer to that question." The demon frowned and shook her head, clucking her tongue. "I expected better from you," she chided Roric. "After all, you're the leader of this motley group."
The blonde, blue-eyed demon slowly circled the carousel, stroking her hand over the three remaining animals. As always, Sandra looked good, better than good. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress that plunged to her navel, exposing more than a hint of her bountiful breasts. The sides of the dress were slit all the way to her waist, parting with each step she took, showing off her long, supple legs to their best advantage.
In her jeans, shirt and brown jacket, Aimee felt like a frump next to her. At least now she knew that those looks came from unnatural means. It made her feel slightly better. Not much, but some.
Roric kept his sword raised, but said nothing. Waiting. Watchin
Sandra stopped beside Marco and ran her fingers through his fur. The muscles beneath his skin rippled. His jaw opened, revealing long, white teeth. The bear emitted a low growl that made the demon laugh.
"Such spirit you all have. A pity it's been caged all these years." Sandra lifted her hand and the bear turned solid again, but this time Aimee swore she could see anguish in its eyes.
"What a horrible thing for your goddess to do to you after all those years of faithful service." Sandra raised her hands above her head, catching the edge of the carousel top. The move stretched her lithe form, lifting her ample breasts for better viewing. "But in the end everyone always looks out for themselves."
Aimee had no doubt the movement was a calculated one. She glanced at Roric and was pleased to note he was watching the demon's face and not her boobs. Then again, he knew what she looked like without her glamour, and it wasn't pretty.
Undaunted, Sandra slowly lowered her arms, running her hands over her breasts as she did so. "She imprisoned all of you for more than five thousand years."
"She saved us from Hell." Roric's voice was hard and deep.
The demon shrugged. "That's a matter of opinion, I suppose. I wonder what your friends would say if they had the chance. Would they turn on your goddess?" She gave the wolf a speculative glance. "Would they turn on you?"
"Never." There was not a single shred of doubt in Roric's voice. Aimee admired his conviction even as she wanted to shake him for his pig-headedness. She knew he still didn't believe that she'd talked to Mordecai. But deep in her heart, she knew she had.
Sandra laughed. The shrill sound sent shivers down Aimee's spine. The air seemed to thicken around them. "So stubborn. So sure," she taunted.
Roric's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hilt of his sword. Aimee noted that, unlike the demons that had attacked them in her back yard, this one stayed just out of the reach of the razor-sharp blade. Smart demon.
Sandra smiled, her ruby-red lips tilting upward. She looked pleased. Like the proverbial cat who'd just eaten the canary. Aimee searched the area around her for a weapon, wishing now more than ever she'd insisted on bringing her maul.
"Phoenix wasn't much fun. He went up in a ball of flames, taking the woman who'd freed him along for the ride. Not very nice of him," Sandra pouted.
Aimee quickly glanced at Roric, not wanting to take her eyes from the demon for more than a split second. She was planning something. It was in her eyes, the way they were filled with malevolent glee. Roric could have been carved from stone. Except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he didn't move a muscle.
Sandra hopped onto the platform of the carousel, standing where the jaguar used to be. "Now Stavros was more of a challenge." She licked her lips.
Aimee gasped when she saw the demon's tongue. It was forked like a serpent.
"What about Stavros?" Roric took a step toward Sandra. Aimee wanted to grab onto the waistband of his pants and pull him back. The demon was distracting him on purpose, but he was too emotionally involved to notice.
"Mmm." Sandra undulated her hips. "Now he would have been a challenging creature to ride." Laughter rippled in the air as the demon twirled in a circle. "He did his best to protect the poor creature who freed him. Such a frail little thing she was."
Aimee was getting sick to her stomach. All the women who'd freed the warriors had come to a bad end. She wasn't sure which was worse, going up in flames or death by demon.
"But Mordecai was smarter." Sandra hopped off the carousel, the slit of her dress falling back to reveal a shapely thigh and part of her bare buttocks. "He sacrificed the girl. Killed her himself as an act of good faith."
"You lie." Roric's voice was rough as though the words were torn from his throat.
"Do I?" she mocked. "Why don't you ask your little friend who she was talking to earlier today?" Sandra swiveled around to face her. "Didn't you share your little visit with your warrior?" She made a tsking sound. "Shame on you, Aimee."
Roric's lips compressed into a hard line, but he said nothing.
Sandra smiled again, a calculating expression as she glanced from Roric to her. "Well, well. You did tell him, Aimee, but he didn't believe you."
"It doesn't matter." Aimee wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She was playing right into the demon's hands by even answering her. She knew Sandra was goading them, but Aimee couldn't seem to stop herself.
"You keep telling yourself that." Pity filled Sandra's eyes. "You're willing to die for him, and he won't even believe you. These warriors care nothing for the women who free them. Why should you sacrifice yourself and your future for him? Walk away, and your part in this drama is done. In the morning, this will be nothing more than a dream that will fade with time."
Aimee blinked, not quite certain she'd heard the demon correctly.
Sandra nodded. "Hades doesn't want you." She tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling it down to cover her upper thighs and, at the same time, exposing more of her breasts. "Your soul is nothing to him. He wants the warrior."
"You should go." Roric turned to her, his eyes empty, his expression unreadable. "This is not your fight. Go back to your life, back to your comic books."
The temptation was overwhelming. She hadn't asked for this. This entire drama had been forced upon her, an unwilling pawn.
For a brief second, Aimee was tempted to turn her back and walk away. After all, this wasn't her fight. She hadn't asked to be a part of this war between gods and goddesses she hadn't even believed were real until two days ago. She should go back to her life.
Roric didn't care about her at all. Hadn't he made it more than abundantly clear this morning that he'd do whatever he had to do to free the Lady? He'd sacrifice her in a second. After all, Mordecai had already done just that. And the other two hadn't been able to protect the women who'd released them.
The carousel sat in front of her, a grim reminder of her fate. As soon as the three remaining warriors were freed, they'd probably get the women who'd released them killed. It was what they did.
Her home and her art studio beckoned to her. She had a new project to begin and a graphic novel of her own she wanted to finish. Work had always been her solace. She was alone, as always.
She didn't belong here.
Aimee turned on her heel and took a step toward the opening in the tent. Something niggled in the back of her brain. Go back to your comic books . His words struck a chord deep inside her. She had nothing in her life but her work. No friends, no family. She was alone as he was alone.
"Bye, Aimee." Sandra's sultry voice was filled with glee.
The pictures Aimee had drawn over the past few months flashed in her brain. The tiger and the warrior were one. And she loved them both.
Images from the past day flickered through her mind like a movie on fast forward. She saw the two of them loving, laughing and fighting side by side.
As if she was coming out of a dream, Aimee shook herself. She felt the compulsion slip away. The demon had played on her doubts, filling her mind with thoughts that weren't her own. Well, they were hers, but magnified a thousand times.
Her place was here. She would not desert Roric in his hour of need. The man had enough abandonment issues as it was.
She slowly turned on her heel and smiled at the demon. "You never did know when to shut up, Sandra." She faced Roric, looking into his eyes for some sign of what he was feeling. But there was nothing. She was making this decision on faith alone. Taking a deep breath, she embraced her destiny and sealed her fate. "I'm not going anywhere."
An unholy shriek filled the air as the demon displayed her displeasure. Roric kept one eye on the succubus and surreptitiously watched Aimee as well. He wished she'd gone when she'd had the chance. He wanted her safe, but selfish bastard that he was, he also wanted her with him.
He'd hardened his heart when she'd turned her back on him to walk away, although he couldn't blame her for doing so. Not that he believed everything the demon had said, but there was enough truth mixed with the lies that he wasn't certain what was fact and what was deceit.
Roric had dealt with the treacherous demons long enough to know that Aimee was being influenced by this one. He'd seen it done a thousand times. The demon magnified a person's own beliefs and fears, making it easier to manipulate them.
The fact was he had unwittingly brought her into this battle, risking her life and soul. He'd slaked his lust with her body, drank in her caring and concern like a man dying of thirst sucked in water. Her home had been damaged and violated, and she'd been attacked and almost killed by demons in her own yard. Through it all, she'd stood beside him. Yet he'd dismissed her concerns and hadn't believed her when she'd told him Mordecai had approached her.
Why wouldn't she leave him? She should leave him.
But she hadn't. She'd started to but stopped. He'd seen her shake herself, as if fighting off the compulsion. Then she'd turned to him and smiled.
Her eyes said it all. She was here to stay.
His heart swelled in his chest, threatening to burst. Power flowed into him unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Aimee wasn't leaving him.
He tried to push aside the emotions flooding him. Now wasn't the time for this. But there might never be time. That brought him up short. "You should leave." His voice sounded hoarse and rough. He drew himself up to his full height and stared down at her.
The tiger within him roared. Like him, the beast didn't know how to feel. He was angry she hadn't left to protect herself and thrilled that she'd chosen to stand and fight beside him.
His fingernails elongated into huge claws and he felt his face changing, jaw elongating and teeth sharpening into fangs as the tiger surged forward. Bones cracked and started to reform. The primal part of his soul wanted dominance.
Aimee was his mate.
It no longer mattered that he was immortal and she was not. It no longer mattered that they both might die in the next few minutes. He accepted what was and embraced it. Drawing in a deep breath, he inhaled her unique scent, letting it fill his nostrils and lungs. He let out a roar of warning. He would tear the demon limb from limb if she dared touch Aimee.
Aimee's eyes widened as his body began to change, but she didn't run, didn't cringe from him. Instead, she hurried closer. "What's wrong?"
Roric shoved the tiger back, but it took a Herculean effort. His features morphed back into those of a man. The tiger snarled inside him, pacing and roaring for release. But Roric couldn't allow the beast to have dominion. Not now.
He needed to remain in his human form, to be able to think and reason clearly. When he was in his tiger form, he was more instinctual. And it would take a combination of brains, brawn and instinct to beat Hades and his minions at their own game.
The tiger quieted when Roric silently promised to let him out if the need arose. The beast crouched, willing and ready to fight.
"Roric? Are you okay?" Aimee's concern was a balm to his battered soul, strengthening him.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, marveling in her softness. "You should have left when you had the chance."
"Yes, well, I should have done a lot of things in my life." She gave him a wry smile. "Remember what I told you earlier. Heroine. Home alone. Always ends up dead."
"I remember." No matter what happened, he would always remember the selflessness of Aimee, her sacrifice and her courage.
"Enough!" The frustrated screech filled the space around them. "This touching scene is nauseating. If you won't listen to me, perhaps you'll listen to them."
A black hole swirled in the air in front of them, growing larger and larger the faster it spun. Roric tensed, waiting to see what new horrors it would spit out. He frowned as a tall, dark-haired man and a shorter brunette woman stepped forth. They looked very familiar.
"Dad," Aimee gasped. "Mom."
"Oh, sweetie." Her mother rushed forward to embrace her. Aimee jumped back at the last second. The woman dropped her arms by her sides, looking crushed. She appealed to the man beside her.
"Aimee, honey, it's okay." The man reached out his hand to her. A low, menacing growl broke from Roric's throat. The tiger didn't want anyone touching his mate. The man hastily yanked back his hand.
"I don't understand." Aimee looked at her parents, at him and then at Sandra. "You're not real. You can't be real."
"They are," Sandra insisted. "Hades can do anything, including capture souls." Her smile was cruel. "It's up to you what happens to them."
Roric felt his heart shrivel. There was no way Aimee would choose him over her parents. She couldn't. Not with them standing in front of her. Not even he, with his powers, could tell if they were real or a demon trick.
Aimee shook her head and backed away until she hit the canvas wall of the tent. "This is impossible."
"We don't want to go back there." Several tears trickled down the older woman's cheeks. She looked so much like Aimee that it hurt Roric to see her in such pain. His guts twisted as he imagined just how tortured Aimee must feel at this moment.
"It's dark and cold and it hurts." The older woman rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Her husband stepped up behind her and wrapped her in his embrace.
"Aimee, you have to help us," the man pleaded.
Tears flowed freely down Aimee's face. "There is no way you ended up in Hell. You're good people. So you must be a trick. You're not real."
"It's me. It's Mom." The older woman reached out to Aimee. "Remember when you were six and we had the blizzard that kept us snowbound for four days? We cooked over the fireplace in the living room and camped out on the floor there."
"And remember when you were eight and crashed your bike into the apple tree on the edge of the garden?" the man added. "You cried so hard. Not because you were hurt, but because you broke your bike."
Aimee stepped forward, her footsteps hesitant. No one but her parents could know such things. "Mom. Dad." She swiped her arm over her face, drying her tears in her sleeve. Eyes red and luminous, she reached out to the woman.
Roric could feel her slipping away from him. His heart ached for her and for himself. She deserved this. She deserved to have her family reunited and to be happy.
But what about the Lady? What about his fellow warriors? Didn't they deserve to be rescued? They'd suffered for millennia. What were a few human years of suffering when compared to that?
He knew the demon was feeding his doubts and thoughts, but that didn't stop the flood of disappointment and anger that filled him. Aimee was quick to change her mind. One minute she was staying, the next she was turning her back on him to save her family.
But wasn't that exactly what he was doing?
The Lady wouldn't want innocents hurt in order to free herself, and neither would his fellow warriors. Resolve filled him. He would support Aimee, whatever her decision.
As he watched, mother and daughter drew closer, almost touching. At the last second, Aimee curled her fingers into her palm.
"No! This isn't real. This is a trick."
"You're my daughter," the man cried.
Roric stared at the man. For a moment, he thought he saw the outline of the man's body shimmer. "Aimee."
"I know." She smiled sadly, clearly hearing the warning of caution in his tone. She turned to the older man. "I wish you were my father, but you're not."
"That's not true," the woman cried.
"My parents are in heaven, and nothing you can say or do can convince me otherwise."
"You're right. You're not my daughter," the man whispered. "My daughter would save her parents, not sacrifice them for a man she barely knows."
Aimee winced but stood her ground. The black hole opened up, and the pair cried out as they were sucked back into the depths of hell. They were both screaming as the hole closed around them, swallowing them whole. Aimee cried out and stumbled forward, but Roric caught her and yanked her back against him.
Her skin was cold and clammy. She was shivering. He knew how much this had cost her. The devil had made certain she'd never know for sure if she was being tested or if she'd just resigned her parents to an eternity in Hell.
"Such a selfish creature you are, Aimee." Sandra, who'd been quiet until now, shook her head mockingly. "And here I thought you were such a good girl. You might fit in just fine in Hell after all."
Aimee couldn't stop trembling. Her teeth chattered as hard as if she were lying naked outside in the snow in the dead of winter. She felt so cold. Her limbs shook uncontrollably. It had been too real. Her parents had stood before her only moments before, and she hadn't even touched them. She'd been too afraid to. If they'd felt real, she wasn't sure what she would have done.
Would she have sacrificed Roric and his friends and his goddess for her own happiness? She was very afraid that she would have. She ached with the need to feel her father's strong arms around her, to feel her mother's tender kiss against her brow.
Nothing she'd ever done in her life had been as hard as what she'd just had to do. Not living through the accident or dealing with the death of her parents, not going home to an empty house and learning to start over had been as difficult.
She hadn't had any choice with the accident. That was fate. This had been her choice.
Anguish filled her like acid, eating away at her soul. Had it been a test? Had they been nothing more than demons in disguise? Or had they been real? She couldn't believe that, not for a second, or she'd go mad with grief.
She could still smell her father's spicy aftershave and her mother's gardenia perfume. Her chest ached as she suppressed a sob. She would not cry. Not again. That would give the demon way too much pleasure.
Roric's arms were strong and warm around her. Supporting her. Protecting her.
Yet, like her parents, his protection was an illusion. There was no safety to be found. Not anywhere. Roric had his agenda, and she'd made her decision. There was no going back. For either of them.
Sandra's words mocked her.
Maybe her actions had damned her, but that was a chance she'd had no choice but to take. As much as she wanted them to be her parents, she truly believed they were nothing more than demons, or shadows from the past.
She couldn't discount the possibility that they'd been able to pull memories out of her mind and manipulate them. She'd been vulnerable to Hades many times in her dreams, and she had no idea how much power he wielded in that realm.
That cursed black hole appeared again and began to spin. Roric released her and shoved her behind him. "Give me a sword," she hissed. She was sick and tired of being unarmed.
He manifested a three-foot blade and handed it to her. It was heavy but substantial. She gripped it tight and hefted it in front of her, ready
to face whatever appeared from the depths of the black hole.
But this time, no creature stepped out. Instead, it was like looking through a window into Hell itself. It was dark and fetid. The dank smell seeped through the opening. Rotten flesh, damp earth and sulfur coated her nostrils and throat. She swallowed, but that only made it worse.
Occasional sparks lit the shadows, illuminating the craggy rocks and oil-like puddles that riddled the path. It was very familiar, and Aimee knew she'd walked that path in her dreams. Sweat coated her body, making her clothing stick to her skin. She was scared spitless. No way did she want to go back there.
But there was no choice. The scene changed, zooming in on one particular shadow. Aimee squinted, trying to bring the silhouette into focus. It shifted slightly as a flame flared from one of the oily puddles, revealing a pale hand. Was it a demon or a person? She prayed it wasn't one of her parents. She couldn't handle any more of the psychological torture.
She frowned and looked closer. The figure was almost familiar somehow. Had she seen it during her dream visit? Several lights jumped to life, revealing a naked limb partially covered by a tattered cloak. No, not a cloak. Hair, long hanks of matted hair hung around the poor creature, covering its body. Bare feet shuffled along as the pale hand used the wall for guidance.
The figure halted suddenly, almost as if it sensed it was being watched. Slowly, the head turned toward them, and Aimee gasped as the woman stared at them. The light picked up glints of her brown hair. Her face was gaunt, but her features were perfect in every way. Her vivid blue eyes were older than time itself.
Roric fell to one knee in front of the apparition, his eyes never leaving the woman. Aimee had a sinking feeling in her stomach that she knew who it was. His next words confirmed it. "My Lady," he breathed.
Words drifted through her mind. Aimee wasn't sure if the woman said them aloud or if it was all in her head.
While the demons from Hell tempt and deceive, a life must be given, a heart received. One step from the path and all will be lost. Your souls will be forfeit. That is the cost .
Aimee had no idea what the goddess meant. Was this part of the spell she'd cast on her warriors? The demons had certainly tempted both of them. Did it mean she had to die for Roric to be set free? Was she destined to lose her soul to Hades? Not exactly a pleasant thought.
"I told you Hades set her free when she told him how to break the curse." Sandra propped an elbow on one of her hands and tapped her blood-red nails against her cheek. "Of course, he didn't release her from Hell, just her prison cell. She's free to go." The demon paused, teeth flashing as she smiled. "That is, if she can find her way out."
Aimee didn't know much about mythology, but she did know that getting out of Hades' realm was all but impossible without his help.
Roric bound to his feet and took a step forward. She knew he was going to go through the black hole and into Hades' realm to save the goddess. If he did, she knew all would be lost. This was his temptation, just as she'd been tested only moments before.
Aimee jumped forward, dropped her sword to the ground and threw her arms around Roric's waist. It didn't even slow him down. He kept moving slowly forward, as though in a trance, all but dragging her behind him.
"Stop!" She dug her heels into the dirt floor and leaned back, desperately trying to stop him. "Roric!" She called his name, hoping for some acknowledgement. Some recognition.
Trying another tack, she grabbed his hair and yanked it hard, pulling him back with all her might. At the same time, she surged forward, getting in front of him. The black hole was swirling behind her. She could feel the tug, like a vacuum wanting to suck her in.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she knew he meant to move her aside and keep going. Desperate to stop him, Aimee threw her arms around his neck, yanked his head down and plastered her lips against his.
Roric froze, every muscle in his body stiffened and locked into place. Aimee felt stupid hanging from his neck, but she didn't let go. The pull of the black hole was too great. If she released him, she'd lose him. His mouth was hard and cold against hers, but she ignored that.
Tilting her head to one side, she kissed him with everything she had. She slid her tongue over his bottom lip before taking it between her teeth and biting gently. When his lips parted, she surged inward.
His fingers dug into her shoulders so hard she knew she'd have bruises, but still she held onto him. She couldn't let him put her aside. Locking her arms tighter around his neck, she practically climbed his body, wrapping her legs around his waist. The action brought her mound into intimate contact with his pelvis. There was no mistaking the bulge in his pants. Aimee rubbed her sex against his erection as she continued to kiss him.
A low groan was pulled from deep within him. Aimee captured it in her mouth and returned it as he slid his hands from her shoulders to her butt. Roric gripped her ass cheeks in his palms, jerking her even closer.
Aimee forgot why she was kissing him in the first place. All that mattered was that he was kissing her back. As always, when they touched, the results were explosive. Aimee drank in the intoxicating scent of spice and hot male, and she broke away from their torrid kiss, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
She lapped at his skin, tasting the salt on her tongue. She wanted to eat him up. She burrowed her fingers through his amazing hair, strands of white and black sifting through her fingers.
Roric growled as he peppered her jaw and face with kisses. The heat rolling off the man was incredible. She had to get closer. Needed to feel his skin against hers.
Have to stop!
A slight movement off to the side caught her eye. Horror filled her as she watched Sandra rush toward them as if in slow motion.
"Look out!" Aimee screamed as she unlocked her legs from around Roric's hips and shoved him to one side. She dropped to her knees and rolled. She felt the whoosh of a weapon being swung. Not looking behind her, she scrabbled on the floor to reach the sword she'd dropped earlier.
Stupid!
She was behaving just like some stupid heroine in a bad movie, more concerned about sex then about saving her skin. She hadn't done it on purpose. Well, she had. It had been the only thing she could think of to keep Roric from crossing the threshold to Hades' domain. But the passion that flared between them had quickly taken on a life of its own and gotten way out of hand.
Wrapping her fingers around the hilt of her sword, she surged to her feet. But both Sandra and Roric were ignoring her as they circled one another. Once again, Roric had manifested two massive blades out of thin air. But Sandra was armed as well. The demon was carefully maneuvering Roric closer and closer to the black hole.
Fury flowed through her veins. Hades would get him over her dead body. Ignoring the irony of that statement, Aimee crept forward, staying behind Sandra. It wasn't easy trying to position herself so she didn't get too close to the black hole herself while keeping out of sight of the demon.
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. She blinked as the salt stung her eyes. She tightened her fingers reflexively around the hilt of her sword. She watched as Roric and Sandra thrust and parried. It was like watching a macabre ballet. Both had landed blows. Blood seeped from a deep cut on Sandra's left arm, while a red stain spread wider on Roric's right thigh.
The demon swung hard. Roric ducked the blow, his blade coming up in a deadly arc. Aimee didn't hesitate. As his sword pierced Sandra's belly, Aimee lifted her weapon, holding it securely with both hands, and swung. A great battle cry broke from her lips as the blade whistled through the air.
At the last second, Sandra swung around, her lips pulled back on a snarl. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth glistened in the dim light. She tried to shift out of the way, but it was too late. Aimee's blade cut into the demon's neck and didn't stop.
The shock reverberated up Aimee's arm, but she held on, grimly determined to see this through to the end. The blade sliced through sinew and bone, coming out on the other side. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating Aimee's arms, splattering her face. But still she hung onto the sword.
Sandra's eyes went blank, her red lips parting as her body crumpled and her head fell to the ground, rolling until it hit Aimee's boots. She stepped back, staring down at the face of her former friend, a succubus. Numbness crept over her. She sensed Roric beside her but couldn't think of anything to say to him.
"Let me have the sword, Aimee." It was only when he spoke that she realized he was prying at her fingers. His weapons were gone, poofed back into whatever realm he drew them from. She wished she could do that.
She knew she was in shock. It was a strange feeling. Like being separate from her body somehow. Roric's arms came around her and, for the first time, she couldn't feel his heat. She was cold, so very cold.
This was very different from killing the demon in her yard. Sandra had been her friend for almost a year. She'd known her personally. Even though Aimee knew that none of their friendship had been real, it didn't change the fact that she'd thought it had been.
She began to shake. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
Forcing herself to concentrate, Aimee pried her fingers open one by one until Roric was able to take the sword from her hand.
"I'm covered in blood." She sounded bewildered, rather than matter of fact. She shook herself. Instead of clearing her head, she only succeeding in making herself dizzy. The inside of the tent seemed to swirl around her.
She blinked and realized the tent was moving. "Roric?" She hoped he knew what was happening. She had no idea.
The black hole was getting bigger with each swirl it made. Dust kicked up from the floor, and the tent walls began to flutter. Roric was staring at the hole and the Lady just beyond. She lifted her hand, and the one word she said reverberated around them.
"We have to get out of here." Aimee tugged on his arm. In the next second, the Lady was gone and thick, inky black filled the hole.
Roric turned from the portal, grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the slit he'd cut in the canvas wall. "Hurry."
It was getting harder to walk as the wind picked up around them. They were both bent over at the waist, arms extended, reaching for the wall. The hole was trying to suck them in.
Metal creaked and groaned. Aimee shot a glance over her shoulder and watched as the carousel began to spin, the animals a blur. It was too much like the night she'd freed Roric.
"Move." He picked up her and practically threw her through the opening. He quickly followed, grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the woods. "Run!"
Her legs felt like jelly, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other. A whirring sound grew louder with each passing second, like a locomotive was bearing down on them. Aimee had heard that sound once before in her life, and it struck terror in her heart.
Tornado.
She tried to yell at Roric, but the wind ripped her words from her mouth, carrying them away. His arms locked around her like a vise, until it was hard for her to breath. Even with all his preternatural strength, the wind drove them both to their knees.
Roric fell to the ground and rolled them toward the trees. Not that there was much safety to be found there. His large body covered hers, protecting her from flying debris. Aimee buried her face against his hard chest and held on for dear life.
She had no idea how long the tempest raged around them. Eventually, the wind began to die down, but Roric didn't move, sheltering her from the dust and branches and leaves that skittered by.
Finally, the wind retreated. It was only when a crow flew by, squawking with displeasure, that Roric stirred at last. He rolled to one side with Aimee still cradled in his embrace.
The devastation should have been massive. Yet no trees were uprooted. The forest still stood the same as before. The wind had only blown around what was already on the forest floor. The only thing missing was the carnival itself. The tents were gone, the rides nothing but a memory. There wasn't even a stray piece of garbage on the ground to acknowledge the carnival had been here. Only the smell of grease and spun sugar from the concession stands lingered in the air. And within seconds, the breeze had even dispersed even that.
Aimee blinked, unable to believe her eyes. "That's impossible."
Roric pushed himself into a sitting position, lifting her into his lap as he did so. "Nothing is impossible."
Yeah, after everything she'd seen in the past day, this was just one more crazy thing. "It's gone." Her mind seemed to be having a hard time grasping the fact the entire carnival had vanished, and with it, the carousel. "I'm so sorry."
He shrugged, but she could see the pain in his eyes. "There is nothing to be done about it now." He shifted her off his lap, stood and helped her to her feet.
Aimee bit her bottom lip. Was he mad at her for stopping him from going after his goddess? "I had no choice," she blurted out. If this was going to be an issue between them, it was better to get it out in the open.
Roric turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I know." He raked his fingers through the tangle of his hair and changed the subject. "We'd better go back to your place." He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her through an opening in the trees.
Nodding, she followed as he led the way. There was no doubt in her mind he knew exactly where he was going. She desperately needed to get cleaned up, yet again, and then there was the cut on Roric's leg. Maybe he could heal it like he had the wound in her belly. She didn't mention it even though she was worried about it. She sensed he wasn't in the mood to talk.
Bone tired, she put one foot in front of the other, trying to forget the fact she was covered in demon blood. It stung her arms and face, and dirt stained her hands. When she couldn't take it any longer, she pulled her hand out of his grip. Crouching down, she plucked some moss from the ground and rubbed it against her skin. It took off some of the blood, but not all of it.
Roric said nothing as he pulled the moss out of her hand and tossed it aside. His lips compressed into a hard line as he yanked his shirt off and used the cloth to wipe the blood from her face. His motions were stiff, almost rough, as he rubbed her arms and hands and the flesh between her fingers.
Anger rolled off him in waves, although none of it showed on his face. She felt buffeted by it, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. She'd done what she had to do and wouldn't change anything if she had to do it again.
He'd just have to be mad at her.
She ignored the hard, icy lump in the pit of her stomach and chewed on her bottom lip to keep from crying. Tears were useless. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to discover the afternoon had passed while they'd been occupied. She looked around and, sure enough, darkness was closing in around them.
Once again, time seemed to pass differently inside the carnival tent with the carousel. The clock was ticking away, and there were less than six hours until midnight.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
When Roric was finished cleaning her as best he could, she didn't thank him, didn't speak. Instead, she turned and started walking. Even though there wasn't much light, she knew where she was now. She was cautious as she stepped over debris, careful of her left leg, which was shaky after everything she'd put it through. The last thing she needed was to fall and injure herself.
Roric was close behind her all the way back to the car. He tossed his bloody shirt into the back then grunted as he fitted his large frame into the front seat. Aimee opened her door and climbed into the driver's seat.
Taking a deep breath, she started the car, flicked on the headlights and started the drive home. Roric gave a low grunt. She glanced over and noticed his hand on his thigh. When he lifted it a second later the cut on his leg was closed. She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned her gaze back to the road.
Neither of them spoke while she maneuvered the vehicle over the dark, empty road. The silence lengthened between them, both of them lost in their thoughts. She gave a sigh of relief when she pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house.
They both climbed out of the vehicle and headed toward the house. Aimee finally spoke as she unlocked the front door and went inside. "I'm going upstairs to get cleaned up."
Roric put his massive forearm in front of her. "Not until I check the house."
Roric was furious with himself. He'd lost all sense of reason back in the clearing. It was insanity to enter Hell to try to rescue the Lady on his own. Hades' realm was not easily breached by those who didn't belong. If he'd managed to make it there he'd have been just as trapped as his Lady.
Because of his lapse, the carnival and his friends were gone. But worst of all, he'd almost gotten Aimee killed. A sick feeling grew in the pit of his belly whenever he thought about her throwing herself in front of him to keep him from tossing his life away in a useless effort.
He'd played right into the demon's hands. Allowed emotion to be used against him. He wasn't proud of that fact.
It was time to make things right. He had only hours to go. If he could keep Aimee alive that long, her part in this would be over. No matter what happened to him, he would not sacrifice her, not allow her to die.
The mental connection he'd managed for a brief second with the Lady had made things abundantly clear. Aimee must survive at all costs. Another innocent life must not fall to Hades.
Aimee, not he, had slain the demon named Sandra. The blood on her hands and face had been a testament to her bravery and an abomination to all that was sacred and good. He had failed to protect her. He would not do so again.
He shackled his hand around her wrist, keeping her close to him. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. From fear or anger, he wasn't sure. It certainly wouldn't be arousal. After the way he'd let her down, she'd never let him in her bed again, even if there were time for such activities.
He ignored the sense of devastation and loss that surged through him, accepting it as no less than he deserved. He was a warrior, a protector. Yet it was she who'd been forced to protect him.
He would not allow her to be put in that position again. She was his to protect and, by the Lady, he would not fail.
Locking his emotions away, he got on with the business at hand. Taking a deep breath, he let his senses flare outward. The tiger within him perceived nothing out of the ordinary. There were no foreign smells or sounds. Still, he moved cautiously through the downstairs, checking every closet a
nd room before heading upstairs.
He could hear her unsteady breathing as she walked up the stairs just behind him. Fear tinged her scent. Roric wanted to throw back his head and roar with anguish. A woman like Aimee should be safe and happy, not bloody and scared.
One by one, he checked every room. When he determined that it was safe, for now, he reluctantly released her wrist. As soon as he'd done so, he missed the connection between them.
"Um, I'm going to get some clean clothes and hit the shower." She was nervous around him now. He ignored the pain that realization caused.
He nodded, trying desperately not to think about Aimee naked, warm water running over her smooth skin. His cock stirred and his pants became unbearably tight. The muscles in his arms longed to hold her. Crossing his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out and yanking her into his arms, he watched as she gathered clean clothing and headed to the bathroom.
"Don't close the door."
She jerked slightly at his command, but nodded. "I'll leave it cracked a few inches," she promised.
Roric leaned against the wall and released a pent-up sigh. His entire body, his entire being, ached to hold Aimee in his arms. He shifted restlessly, ignoring the tiger's desire to be free to hunt his enemies. Her protection was his only goal now. If they could both live past midnight, the curse on him would be broken and his full power restored. No longer would he be bound to the carousel or to Hades. He would be free to fight to release his comrades and the Lady.
It was too easy to picture Phoenix, Stavros and Mordecai and the rest of them sitting around a campfire, sharing food, talking and laughing, enjoying one another's company. It had been like that forever. The seven of them, brothers-in-arms, serving the Lady they all loved so well.
He couldn't think about three of them being gone. Raking his fingers through his hair, he stiffened when the water began to run. The spray was broken briefly. He closed his eyes and gave a ragged sigh. That water was now coating Aimee's sleek curves, caressing her supple flesh.
Aimee was both a gift and a curse. His attraction to her yanked his attention away from the problem at hand. Hades would toy with them, letting them think they might win, might come out of this night alive, before launching an attack. The keeper of the underworld would not surrender their souls easily.
His eyes flew open, and he pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. His sword appeared in his hand. What had he heard? The noise had been low, almost nonexistent, but his acute hearing had picked it up.
Cocking his head to one side, he listened. There it was again. He jerked around, already in motion. It was coming from the bathroom.
The door hit the wall with a smack as he burst into the room. Aimee yelled. He yanked back the shower curtain, sword raised, to face…a naked Aimee.
"What the hell are you doing? You scared me to death." She glared at him, cheeks rosy, eyes flashing.
Roric tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but couldn't. His mouth was suddenly too dry. She was a vision of loveliness, totally naked and wet. The blood was gone, washed down the drain, and only sweet-smelling woman remained.
Swearing, she grabbed the edge of the shower curtain and held it against her body. He could have told her it didn't matter. The fabric might hide some of her, but her image was forever burned into his brain.
It was then he noticed that her eyes were red and not all the water on her face had come from the shower. She'd been crying. That was what he'd heard.
The sword disappeared in a thought, and he reached out to stroke her cheek. He captured some of the moisture there, brought it to his mouth and tasted the salt. "You've been crying." It came out almost as an accusation.
She shrugged, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. "Give a girl a break. It's been a rough day." Her gaze slipped away from his.
Capturing her chin between his thumb and index finger, he tipped her face upward. A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye.
"You have nothing to apologize for." He swiped at the tear with his thumb. "I'm sorry this happened to you, sorry you've become a part of this nightmare."
Sighing, she nodded. What could she say? There was nothing anyone could say to make this go away. Unable to bear seeing her so sad, he lowered his mouth to hers. He knew he shouldn't, but he did it anyway. Their lips met, clung briefly before parting.
He never took his eyes from her, watching her reaction. Her breath was warm on his face as she leaned closer. Yearning and need were etched on her face. Roric recognized it because it mirrored the growing need pounding through his blood. He needed to taste this woman one more time. If his life was going to come to an end, he wanted his last thoughts, his last moments, to be with her.
It was crazy. Insane. But he didn't care.
His fingers went to the tie of his pants and waited. He could have easily willed his clothing away, but he wanted to give Aimee a choice, a chance to object. He hardly dared to breath. After what had happened, he'd never imagined Aimee allowing him to touch her again. The thought that she would let him stroke her delectable curves, take him into the warm heat of her body, had all the blood in his veins surging toward his cock.
The shower curtain slithered over her skin as she released it. Blood pounded in his ears like a raging river, shutting out all other sound. In the blink of an eye, he willed his pants and boots away, leaving him naked.
Her wide-eyed gaze stroked him like a physical caress. His cock jerked, and a pearly bead seeped from the tip when she licked her full, lush lips. He was so ready he knew he'd come fast. There was no time for prolonged foreplay. This was a mating. A claiming.
He stepped into the shower with her, crowding her toward the wall. The water poured over his back, washing the sweat of battle and several spatters of blood from his skin. Placing his hands flat on the tiles, he caged her between the wall and his body.
With her black hair plastered to her skull and her green eyes glowing, she looked like a sexy water nymph. Not even the faint scars on her left cheek could detract from her beauty. But there was an air of sadness around her, as if she too sensed this was their last time together.
He wanted to say something soft and romantic, but what came out was, "I want you."
Her eyes widened and their color deepened. Even though their bodies weren't touching, he could feel the heat rolling off her skin. Her nipples were taut buds of desire, straining toward him, and her fingers clenched and unclenched as she shifted from one foot to another.
The sweet perfume of her arousal wafted up to tantalize him. A low, guttural growl broke from his throat as the beast within him reared up, scenting its mate. There was no doubt her body wanted his. Still, he waited. Too much had already been taken from her. It had to be her choice.
Aimee couldn't take her gaze off Roric. She didn't think he had any idea that his skin was changing color, striped like a tiger's one moment and then tanned like the warrior the next. His eyes flashed pale blue, the heat in them scorching her. Even the color of his hair seemed to deepen. The white practically shone, while the black seemed even darker.
The beast within him wanted out.
She should have been afraid. There were demons hunting them who would do their best to kill them both before the midnight deadline. The contract had been clear—if they lived past that time, Hades would forfeit their souls forever. They would both be safe from reprisals. The agreement was binding, even to a god.
Then there was Roric. He was on the verge of losing his humanity to the animal side of his nature. It was both scary and incredibly sexy to watch. He seemed to grow even larger as he loomed over her.
He surrounded her, yet he wasn't touching her. In spite of what had happened back in the tent, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd lay down his life for her. His honor demanded it.
She didn't want him to put his life on the line for her because of honor. She didn't want him to die, period. But if he was going to sacrifice himself, she wanted it to be for a very different reason. She wanted it to be because he loved her.
As she loved him.
Crazy or not, she loved him. There was no denying what was staring her right in the face. Aimee knew she would do anything to keep him out of Hades' clutches, even if it meant sacrificing her life. This cursed immortal warrior of a past time was the love of her life. And they would probably both be dead in a matter of hours.
This was her last chance to love him.
"This is usually the part of the movie where the heroine would get killed by the villains," she told him as she unclenched her fingers and placed them on his hard chest. "It's not smart to make love in the shower when there are demons after you." His heart beat a steady, heavy rhythm against her palm.
"I'll sense them before they attack," he assured her.
She wasn't so sure of that but didn't contradict him. He leaned closer, letting his chest brush against the tips of her breasts. All thoughts of reason flew out the window. Her nipples puckered even more as he shifted slowly, rubbing his skin over them.
To hell with reason. Aimee wanted to forget everything that had transpired. She didn't want to worry about gods or goddesses or demons. She wanted to celebrate life in the most elemental way possible. Roric was a man and she was a woman, and they wanted each other. That was enough. It had to be.
She groaned, letting her hands flow over his hard abs and around to his firm butt. He had the best ass she'd ever seen, firm and full. She squeezed his buns, urging him closer.
He didn't need a second invitation.
Roric swooped down and captured her mouth. His tongue swept past her lips, caressing her teeth, her tongue. His erection was warm, almost hot, against her belly, and she wiggled, wanting to get even closer. Her sex burned with need. He was a fever in her blood.
Lifting her leg, she hooked it over his thigh, bringing her mound in contact with his swollen cock. She went up on her toes, rubbing his hard length over her swollen clit. Tremors shook her as she did it again. This was what she wanted. What happened between them when they came together like this was real. And it was beautiful.
He slid his hands over the curve of her hip and lower. Long, thick fingers parted her slick folds, testing her readiness. She gasped as he pressed two of them deep. This might be crazy, but she wanted—no, needed—for it to happen.
"You're always so wet. So ready." She heard the wonder in his voice as he slid his fingers all the way out and rimmed the opening to her sheath before plunging back.
Aimee was past being embarrassed by her body's reaction to him. It was what it was. She embraced the heat, the growing need.
He shoved his hips toward her, grinding his erection against her belly. "I only have to look at you, smell your scent and I'm hard," he growled.
She loved the way he did that. His voice got low and raspy, more animal than human. She liked knowing she affected him as deeply as he affected her.
"I have to have you." Leaning down, he took the lobe of her ear between his lips and sucked on it. "I want my cock in your pussy." He nibbled on the sensitive skin just below her ear.
Aimee arched her neck to give him better access. Her entire body felt over-sensitized. Ripe. Ready.
"I want to feel you squeezing me as I pump into you."
The shower was filled with steam, giving a dreamlike quality to the encounter. Her skin was slick and she was hot, almost feverish with need.
"Yes." She dragged her fingernails over his spine, loving the way he arched into her touch. She wanted what he wanted.
His expression was hard. There was a wild and dangerous air about Roric as he pulled back and spun her around to face the wall. The abrupt shift startled her, but only for a second. She placed her hands against the moist tiles to steady herself as he eased her hips back.
"Spread your legs and push your ass toward me."
His rough command sent shivers down her spine. Cream slipped from her sheath and down her inner thighs. She cried out as he drew one thick finger down the crease of her bottom, rimming the puckered opening of her ass.
Aimee shifted, making room for him. Leaning forward, she pushed her behind toward him. A low purr of pleasure surrounded her as his hands cupped her hips. The thick head of his cock nudged at her slick channel before pressing inside.
She was breathing hard now, her breasts swaying with every lungful of air she sucked in. Moist heat surrounded her, inside and out. She squirmed, desperately trying to get him to push deeper. She needed more.
As if he'd read her mind, he shoved forward in one hard stroke, filling her.
Aimee gasped. He was so big he stretched the delicate tissue of her channel, making a place for himself within her. Roric flexed his hips, pulling out a few inches before driving deep again. Her inner muscles clenched around him as he filled every part of her—body, mind and soul.
Wrapping one arm around her waist, he flattened his free hand next to one of hers and began to thrust. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. He drove her to the very edge. She was close. She clawed at the tiles for support.
His hips slapped against her butt over and over. The wet, smacking sound and their gasps and moans were barely audible above the pounding of the shower.
She wanted it to never end, wanted to feel him inside her forever. But it couldn't last. Both of them were too close to coming.
His teeth scraped the back of her neck in an erotic caress. It stopped short of being painful, instead becoming incredibly arousing. He did it again, and she knew it would leave a small bruise. He was marking her as his.
Aimee moaned as her sheath rippled around his cock. There was no holding back. On the next stroke, she came. He yelled, and she felt the hot flood of his orgasm as he filled her. He continued to drive into her until she couldn't stand any longer.
She slumped forward and he caught her before she fell. Leaning against the wet tiles, she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding, and she felt lightheaded. Roric wasn't in much better shape. He was gasping for air, his lungs working hard.
The water was much cooler now, verging on cold. She shivered and Roric pushed away, slowly pulling his now semi-erect cock from her. Even though he was no longer fully erect, her sheath was swollen and tender and she winced as he withdrew.
He turned her gently in his arms. The expression on his face was filled with a tenderness she'd never seen before. He also looked satisfied and pleased with himself in a wholly male way. She supposed she couldn't begrudge him that. The man certainly knew how to push all her buttons.
Without a word, he twisted off the taps and shut off the flow of water. The silence was almost deafening. He tugged a towel from the rod just outside the shower and wrapped it around her before reaching for one for himself.
Holding her arm to steady her, he guided her out of the shower and onto the bathmat. "Get dried off and dressed. They'll be coming soon."
With that, he wound the towel around his waist and left her alone. So much for tender words. Not that she'd really expected them from him, but in the deepest recesses of her mind, she'd hoped.
Thankfully, the room was steamy enough to help hide the disappointment that had to be plastered on her face. She'd known he didn't love her. And that was okay. She loved him and that was her problem. He hadn't promised her anything. Just the opposite, in fact.
She took her time, slathering on her favorite body cream. Her skin was still sensitive, making it almost a sensual experience. There was no need to spare the expensive cream like she normally did. These would most likely be her last few hours alive. If that was the case, she was determined to make the most of them.
Her body still hummed from her orgasm, and a new energy filled her. She loved Roric and would do everything in her power to protect him. And if luck was on their side, maybe both of them would survive the night.
Reaching for her clothing, she put on her bra, panties and socks before sliding into a pair of clean jeans. She was just glad she owned so many pairs. The past day had played havoc with her wardrobe. She pulled on yet another long-sleeved shirt, loving the way the soft cotton hugged her skin.
She tossed the towel aside. If she survived, she'd worry about the laundry. If not, it would be someone else's problem. A sense of calm descended on her as she padded to her bedroom and pulled on her boots.
She was as ready as she'd ever be.
The clock was ticking and the night was waning fast. Leaving her bedroom behind without a final glance, she went down the stairs in search of Roric.
Roric stared out the kitchen window into the shadowy woods beyond the yard. He could sense a disturbance in the air. Their reprieve was over. He'd dressed for battle in leather pants and a fitted vest, leaving his arms free to swing his swords. His boots hugged his calves to just below his knees and gave him sure footing.
He was as ready as he'd ever be.
He heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and caught the lush smell of lavender before she entered the room. Aimee. He turned away from the window, his heart clenching as she came into view.
There was no teasing smile, no knowing glance. Her expression was serious and determined. She knew the end was at hand. One way or another, it would soon be over.
He held out his hand, and she walked across the room and took it. There was no comfort he could offer her, no promises he could make. "Aimee," he began, not quite certain what he wanted to say. He wanted her to know that she meant something to him, that she was special.
Reaching up, she placed two fingers over his lips. "There's no need to say anything."
He frowned at the sadness and resignation in her voice. Fury surged through him. He'd given thousands of years of loyal service, but none of that mattered now. Nothing would stop Hades and his minions from coming to destroy him, to destroy her.
There was no justice in that. But Roric had learned over the years that it was often that way when dealing with the gods. They were fickle, and everyone else's fate rested on their whims.
Even his own goddess, whom he honored and served, had cast a spell on her warriors, twisting their fate into what she wanted it to be. He was glad to be alive, but at what cost? His freedom was not worth the price of Aimee's life.
No more .
He would take his destiny into his own hands. He would fight, and he would protect Aimee to his dying breath. He would never give Hades what he wanted. Roric prized his honor above all things, and if he abandoned that, then he was nothing. Better to die or spend eternity rotting in Hell than to give in to the devil.
A sizzle rent the air. Sparks flew, igniting into flames. Roric grabbed Aimee's arm and shoved
her behind him. He manifested two swords and handed one of them to Aimee, wanting her to have something to protect herself with. He only wished there had been more time to train her with the weapon.
The acrid odor of sulfur filled the room as menacing laughter echoed off the walls. "Still fighting, warrior?" The smoke cleared to reveal a tall, dark-haired man with a commanding presence. Power radiated around him. Roric had seen him many times during the war.
Hades himself sauntered forward, wearing a black Armani suit and a tailored shirt, obviously designer. His shoes were black leather and his tie was red. He looked more like the CEO of one of those Fortune 500 companies he'd heard about than Lord of the Underworld. Hades paused and examined several antique dishes in the hutch next to the table.
"I will always fight."
Hades shook his head, as one might do to a recalcitrant child. "Such surety." He traced a finger over the edge of the table, leaving a scorch mark on the wood. "The Lady's time is done. She is free of her prison but not from my domain." His dark eyes glowed with the fires of the damned. "She will never be free."
The devil threw back his head and laughed. His amusement with the situation pissed Roric off, but he kept his calm. Hades' intent was to anger him so he'd do something stupid. And he couldn't afford any mistakes, not with Aimee's life hanging in the balance.
He could feel her behind him, her palm resting gently against his lower back. She was afraid, but she was standing strong. Damn, but he was proud of her. Brave men throughout the ages had disintegrated into sobbing heaps in the presence of this particular god, but not his Aimee.
"Because I'm such a generous soul, I'll give you one last chance."
Roric snorted. Hades frowned, his brow crinkling with annoyance before he smoothed his features out again.
"It's true," Hades continued. "I am generous. It's not my fault people get themselves tangled in my web."
"You trapped us with your power games. We were no threat to you."
"But games are so much fun," he taunted. "And I play to win." He leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "What would it take for you to join me, I wonder?"
"I will not lead your legions. I will not allow you to bring your realm into this one." On that point, Roric would not give an inch.
"No?" Hades seemed unconcerned by his refusal. "Everyone has a price. I just need to find yours." He tapped one long, tapered finger against his chin. "Hmm…let me think. Ah, yes. How about the freedom of your precious Lady?"
Roric's heart leapt. He could feel Aimee's tension mounting.
Hades smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant sight. "My, I'm sure she'll be disappointed when I tell her how ungallant you were."
"She would not want her freedom at such a price."
"You think not?" Hades waved his hand in the air in front of him. "No matter. How about the freedom of your fellow warriors?"
"You cannot do that or you would already have done so." Roric ignored the ache in his heart. His friends were trapped until the curse was broken. There was no shortcut to be had.
Hades' features tightened, and smoke began to seep from beneath the cuffs and lapels of his tailored jacket. "What about the woman? If you join me, I will spare her life. If you refuse, I will have her tortured in the vilest manner you can imagine for all eternity."
Roric wanted to howl with anger. Instead, he forced himself to smile. "How about I kick your ass and send you back to Hell where you belong?"
Aimee held her breath as Roric taunted Hades. She didn't think it was a good thing to anger a god, but she understood the need to fight back. It was hard to stay strong and resolved when the devil presented such a pleasing and reasonable mien. He was like a lawyer, arguing the pros and cons of a case, letting them think that they could change the outcome, when in reality, they couldn't. There was only one choice.
It would almost be amusing if the stakes weren't so high.
Roric tensed, his shoulder muscles rippling beneath the leather vest he wore. She knew he wanted her to stay behind him, but she could not. Stepping to the side, she let Hades see her. There was no way she'd let her fear show. It didn't matter that she was sweating so badly her top was clinging to her body. It didn't matter that her heart was pounding so loudly it threatened to block out all sound. All that mattered was that Roric knew she stood with him.
He didn't glance her way, keeping his eyes trained on his adversary, but she knew he sensed her there.
The tension level ratcheted up a notch.
"Well, if it isn't little Aimee Horner. Your parents send their regards."
Her stomach lurched, but she swallowed hard and refused to rise to the bait. Over and over, she reassured herself that those had been demons earlier, not her parents.
"Such courage," Hades mocked. "She is almost worthy of you, warrior. Too bad she has to die because of you." He focused all his attention on her, his dark eyes almost hypnotic. "Really, my dear, you should look out for yourself more. He's willing to sacrifice you to get what he wants."
"I know." It hurt to say it aloud, but it was true. She'd known it from the beginning.
"Aimee." Her name was a tortured whisper pulled from Roric's lips.
The sound made her ache for the possibilities that would never be. She wanted to sleep in late on a Saturday morning, loll in bed with him and make love before getting up and making brunch. She wanted to watch bad horror movies and laugh with him. She wanted to spend long days and nights with him, see the changing of the seasons as he experienced more of the world as it existed today. There was so much for him to see and do. And they would do none of it.
Even if they escaped with their lives, Roric would leave her. He would have to. His fellow warriors were still imprisoned, and the Lady was still a prisoner in Hades' realm. Unlike the graphic novels and comics she illustrated, good wouldn't necessarily win. There was no hidden advantage, no cavalry coming to the rescue. The only certainty was death.
Hades straightened away from the table, his patience at an end. "That is your final answer then."
Roric nodded.
A calculating gleam entered Hades' eyes. "Well then, I'll let one who knows you best deal with you."
With that, Hades disappeared in a huge flash, leaving the stench of brimstone and death behind.
"He certainly has a flare for the dramatic," Aimee said as she waved her hand in front of her face to clear the smoke.
Roric captured her hand and yanked her against him. "Stay behind me." His face was set like stone, his blue eyes like ice. He loomed over her, an intimidating sight. Yet she wasn't afraid.
Aimee shook her head. "I will fight by your side. This is my battle now as much as it is yours. Your Lady and Hades have seen to that." It might be painful for him to hear it, but the Lady of the Beasts was just as responsible for the predicament she was in as Hades was.
His eyes narrowed and his features shimmered, revealing the predator lurking beneath his skin. He released her hand and, as she watched, he pulled himself back from the edge.
A black hole appeared in the corner of the room, growing larger with each rotation. "Not again," she groaned.
Roric fisted her hair in his hand and pulled her to him. He slammed his lips down against hers and took her mouth in a devastating kiss. It was short, but she was breathless when he pulled away.
There was no time to speak as a tall, well-built man wearing khaki pants and an olive drab T-shirt stepped through the opening. A half-dozen grotesque creatures followed him. She recognized the man immediately.
"Mordecai." Roric's tortured whisper almost broke her heart. Roric hadn't wanted to believe one of his fellow warriors could have gone over to the dark side, but the proof was right in front of him.
"Hello, Roric." Mordecai stepped forward, swinging a four-foot sword in his right hand. "Still playing the hero."
Roric rolled his shoulders and raised his weapon in a mock salute. "It's better than playing the traitor."
For a moment, Aimee was afraid that Roric would lose his temper and do something foolish. She should have known better. He'd been a warrior since the dawn of time, the leader of the warriors of the Lady of the Beasts. His shoulders were squared, but his limbs were loose and ready to fight.
Mordecai flinched slightly, but never lost his taunting smile. "But I like to be on the winning side." He swung the sword in a tight circle by his side. "I got tired of being trapped on that damned carousel, tired of being a pawn in a game I couldn't win. Join me and we can defeat anyone."
Roric raised his sword and motioned his friend forward with his free hand. "Come and best me, if you can."
The two men seemed to surge forward at the same time. Metal met metal and sparks flew. As if that was the sign they'd been waiting for, the demons attacked. Aimee took two steps to the side. There wasn't much room for fighting. And Roric, damn him, was maneuvering himself in front of her even as he fought Mordecai.
As hard as he tried, he couldn't protect her forever. Mordecai was relentless in his attack and drove Roric away from her. One of the demons jumped in front of her. She ignored his leathery skin and the two rows of sharp teeth. The thing was hideous. Keeping the sword behind her back, she took a step away from the creature.
It smiled, sensing an easy kill. She let it come closer, knowing she'd only get one chance. It roared as it swung its long arm toward her. At the last possible second, she ducked and came up under his arm. Gripping the sword with two hands, she swung with all her might.
What she lacked in technique, she more than made up for with determination. Her instructor from Comicon would be proud. The blade bit into the creature's neck, hacking through bone and sinew. It let out a high-pitched squeal that hurt her ears. Wincing, she pulled back to avoid getting sprayed too badly by the blood and gore. The demon dropped to the floor in front of her.
Panting for breath, she whirled back to the fray. Roric was engaging several of the demons. Mordecai had abandoned the fight and was working his way toward her. Rubbing her hand against her jeans to wipe the sweat and blood from it, she gripped her sword once again, ready to fight.
Mordecai raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Not bad for an amateur." He thrust his sword forward. She automatically countered it, knocking his blade aside. She got the feeling he was toying with her as he parried and feinted from one side to the other. There was no mistaking the fact that his skill was far superior to hers. Aimee was becoming very aware of the difference between fighting a demon that was unskilled with a blade and fighting a master warrior.
There was no contest. She was going to die. For some reason, Mordecai seemed to be playing with her before he killed her. Sweat rolled down her temples and coated her palms, making her grip on the sword slip. Still, she held on and countered everything he threw at her. She knew better than to go on the offensive with a man with his skill. He'd kill her in a second if she gave him an opening. She was totally in defensive mode.
He backed her into the corner by the door. Mordecai glanced to the side, and she knew he saw the possible escape route.
He thrust his weapon forward. She slid out of the way at the last second, the motion pushing her closer to the door. His blade hit the wall and cut right through the drywall. Mordecai yanked his sword back and attacked again. She used her blade to shove his aside as she gripped the handle of the door and yanked it open.
Mordecai struck hard, his blade sliding down hers as he pressed close. The muscles in her arm screamed, but she held him off. Barely. He had to be toying with her. She was no match for him in the strength department, and they both knew it.
They were practically nose-to-nose now. His dark eyes were flat as he leaned forward. "Run."
The word was so low, she wasn't certain she'd heard it. He gave an almost imperceptible jerk of his head. Aimee didn't want to abandon Roric, but she wasn't a fool either. If she could draw Mordecai and some of the demons away from Roric he might have a chance. Jumping through the open door, she raced down the back steps and into the garden. Mordecai was right behind her. He was so close she could practically feel his breath brushing against her neck.
The sky was dark, and the only illumination in the yard was from the light spilling from the open back door. She supposed the lack of light wouldn't be a problem for Mordecai and the demons, but it would make it much harder for her to fight. She had to stay close to the house and make her stand. Aimee skidded to a stop by the woodpile and spun around to face her adversary.
An anguished roar filled the air, part beast and part man. Roric burst through the door behind them. His left arm was bleeding and so was his right thigh, but neither wound seemed too deep. He leapt from the step and raced toward her. Whirling around, he faced Mordecai and the three remaining demons that followed him from the house.
"Fight me. Not the woman. Or are you too much the coward?"
Mordecai's gaze narrowed, but he did not respond to the taunt. "Aimee and I were just passing the time until you joined us. Isn't that so?"
Before she could answer, a rumble of thunder shook the yard. "Enough." Hades appeared in a flash, dark eyes blazing with fury. He glared at Mordecai. "I thought you said you could dispatch him easily."
Mordecai shrugged. "What can I say? He's a tough bastard."
Angered further by the insolent reply, the god raised his hand. "I will do what you cannot."
"Do you think that's wise?"
Aimee could only stare at Mordecai as he continued to argue with Hades. The warrior was crazy. He had to be.
"That kind of power surge will draw attention."
Aimee could see that the god no longer cared if he brought attention to himself from the other gods and goddesses of Olympus. All he wanted was to destroy Roric, no matter the cost.
A bolt of dark light flew from Hades' fingertips, headed straight toward Roric. Aimee didn't think, didn't hesitate. She threw herself in front of the man she loved.
Pain seared through her as her body jerked as though suspended on live electrical wires. Every nerve in her body was on fire. She could smell the tips of her hair sizzling. She lost control of her muscles as they began to spasm and felt her body begin to fall. A tiger's roar echoed in her ears, followed closely by a male cry of pure anguish.
Strong arms wrapped around her, catching her before she hit the hard ground. Roric. She'd know his touch, his earthy scent anywhere. "Don't you die on me, Aimee. Do you hear me?" His voice was hoarse with pain, and she was shocked to see tears on his cheeks.
She tried to raise her hand to wipe them away, but it was no use. She didn't have the strength to move them. Licking at her dry lips, she tried to speak. She had to tell him it wasn't his fault. It was her choice. Already, she could see the blame and guilt in his eyes.
The world around her was fading rapidly. Her heartbeat was getting slower with each breath she took. Summoning the last of her reserves, she got out the words she'd longed to tell him. "Love you." Those two words took almost everything out of her, but she wasn't finished. Although it felt as though a two-ton truck was parked on her chest, she pushed on. "Not your fault. Die for you. You live."
Hades let out a roar of fury, and the world around her started to spin. She closed her eyes, but she could see him in her mind's eye. Light surrounded Roric, growing brighter with each passing second. It burst forth from within him, surrounding all of them and turning night into day. It was so bright it hurt her eyes even though they were closed.
The demons disintegrated instantly, turning to dust. Mordecai jumped away from the light, his arm shading his eyes. Hades caught him by the arm and dragged him through a black hole. It whirled around, growing smaller until it winked out of sight. She thought she saw Mordecai smiling at her as he disappeared.
Strong arms lifted her, crushing her against a muscled chest. Roric's tears dripped down her face as his light surrounded her. In the distance, she swore she could hear a clock chiming twelve times.
Midnight. He was free.
It took a supreme effort, but she managed to get her eyes to open. Her eyelids fluttered as she focused on Roric. She let him see all the love she felt for him.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "You'll be all right." She wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or her. "You have to be fine." He continued to stroke her face and arms, trying to give her his warmth. "You can't leave me, Aimee. You can't. I need you."
She held those words tight to her heart and sighed. Breathing was getting harder. The light was fading, being replaced by darkness. She didn't fear the dark now, but welcomed it. Exhaustion pulled at her, tempting her to just give in to it and release the pain once and for all. She hurt so badly.
She didn't dare look down at her chest to see the extent of the damage. It was enough to feel it. Blood seeped out of the wound and slid down her sides with each beat of her heart. It was only a matter of time now.
But it didn't matter. Hades was defeated and Roric would live to fulfill his destiny. A wisp of pride filled her. They'd beaten the devil himself.
"I love you." It sounded as though the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul. "I won't let you die."
His words gave her solace. She needed him to understand none of this was his fault. Giving her life for his was the right choice, the only choice she could have made. She tried to shake her head, but it was too heavy. Her limbs were heavy and cold.
She parted her lips but no sound emerged.
But Roric wasn't listening to her anyway. He laid her down on the ground beside him and placed his hands over her heart. Blood covered his fingers.
She wanted him to look at her one more time, but he closed his eyes, his thick lashes brushing against his cheekbones. Darkness pulled at her. Time had run out.
Her heart slowed and her lungs refused to work. Aimee let out a final gasp. A rattle came from her throat instead of the words she wanted to say. Her eyelids closed as she breathed her last breath.
A jolt of energy rocketed through her. Her eyes flew open, and her entire body jerked as though it had been zapped with electricity. A golden light surrounded Roric's hands. The light changed as she watched it flow into her, the color going from gold to purple and rose and every color in between. It swirled around her, circling her frame before entering her body.
Her lungs heaved and a rush of air flew into them. Her chest rose and her heart began to beat faster and stronger. Her limbs began to warm as the damaged tissues, cells and bones began to heal. As she watched, the jagged skin of her wound knit together until only a faint scar remained. It was the equivalent of supernatural CPR and then some.
As the pain receded and her brain began to fire on all cylinders, she understood what was happening.
Roric was giving his life essence to her.
She knew what the light was now. When the curse had finally been broken, Hades had lost. By the terms of the curse, Ror
ic was now free. All the powers he'd had but lost were restored to him. He was a being of light, of immense power.
A breath caught in her throat as the last of her internal injuries was repaired. It was an amazing and scary thing. Roric bowed his head, his body swaying. She realized that the more alert she became, the weaker Roric got.
She hadn't given her life for him just to see him kill himself saving her. Wrenching away from him, she rolled out of his reach. The band of light connecting them stretched and then snapped. Aimee cried out as the unexpected backlash ricocheted through her body.
Roric gave a yell and toppled over, hitting the cold ground with a heavy thud.
Aimee scrambled over to his side, calling his name. "Roric! Roric! Don't you do this to me," she commanded as she patted his cheeks with her hand. "If you die, I'll kill you." She knew she wasn't making any sense, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that Roric lived.
His eyes remained closed, but one corner of his mouth kicked up in a lazy grin. "I wouldn't want you to have to kill me." Then he opened his eyes and met her concerned gaze.
She didn't know whether or not to smack him or hug him. He deserved the smack, but she was so damn happy she flung herself on top of him. He caught her in his arms, closing them around her. Aimee felt as though she'd come home. She started laughing and crying at the same time. "You're okay. You're alive."
He sat up, taking her with him. Rotating his neck, he flexed his arm muscles. "So it seems. And better than ever."
"What did you do to me?"
He cupped her face in his large hands. "I shared my immortality with you. You are my mate. The tiger knew it even if I wouldn't admit it to myself."
Suddenly shy, she ducked her head downward, but Roric wasn't having any of it and tilted her head up until she met his gaze. "Did you mean what you said?"
She knew what he wanted and gave it freely. After what they'd been through, there was no place for anything but absolute honesty. "Yes." She traced her fingers over his jaw, feeling the muscle jump. "I love you."
"Be with me. Forever."
"What about the Lady? What about your fellow warriors?" She knew Roric well enough to know he couldn't just abandon them.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose and finally, her lips. "We will continue to search for a way to free them all."
We . She liked the sound of that.
"Our home base can be here. You can continue your work, and we will search for the others. Well?"
He was waiting patiently because he already knew her answer. There was only one she could give him. She'd sealed her fate when she'd climbed onto his back to ride him. "Yes. Yes, I want to be with you. Yes, I'll love you for eternity." She kissed his very sexy mouth, unable to resist.
Roric surged to his feet with her in his arms. The man's strength was incredible. He carried her into the house and kicked the door shut behind him. Aimee rested her head on his shoulder. Their life together was just beginning.
Aimee stared at the ceiling, totally exhausted. Light was beginning to brighten the room, a sure sign that dawn was breaking. Roric had been insatiable since he'd brought her up to her bedroom last night, laid her on the bed and stripped her naked. She'd lost count of the number of times they'd made love. It was as though he couldn't get enough of her.
She curled her toes and smiled. Not that she was complaining. Roric stirred beside her. She rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand, ignoring the sheet as it slithered down around her waist. She didn't bother to pull it up. He opened his eyes and she smiled at him. "Good morning."
The corners of his mouth turned up into a sexy smile. "It is a very good morning." He clamped his hand over her hip and tugged. She gave a yelp of surprise and landed on top of him.
He cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her close. His erection was hot and hard against her belly. "Now it's even better." His low, suggestive tone set her heart pounding.
Would there ever come a time when she wasn't affected by his touch, his voice? She honestly didn't think so. He regarded her through hooded eyes. He looked sleepy and sated, but she wasn't deceived, not for a minute. He was like the tiger, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.
He rubbed his hands over her butt, squeezing and shaping the mounds. She bit her lip to keep from moaning aloud. She wanted to talk. There had been no time last night.
Propping her arms on his chest, she raised herself up. The action drove her mound tighter against his erection. She sucked in a deep breath. "How can you possibly want me again?" She honestly still couldn't comprehend that this sexy, immortal warrior had claimed her as his own. Besides that, the man had to be exhausted after last night. Spent.
He lifted his hands and sifted them though her hair. Gripping the sides of her face, he pulled her down until their lips were barely touching. "I will always want you, Aimee."
Her heart melted. And that wasn't the only spot. Liquid, hot and thick, flowed from her core. Her nipples pebbled. He shifted, brushing his chest hair against her breasts.
"I want to talk," she moaned. They had to make plans, figure out what they were going to do from here. Then there was that whole comment about him sharing his immortality with her. What exactly did he mean by that? She didn't feel any different.
"Later," he promised. He kissed her lips, her nose and her chin. "Now, I have to have you." He pounced, capturing her mouth with his. He sank his tongue inside, teasing hers into tangling with his. He tasted so good, hot and male.
Aimee dug her fingers into his shoulders. The man was hard everywhere. She'd never met anyone like him in her life. Of course, he was an immortal warrior, and there weren't too many of them around.
Rational thought slipped away as he cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. The greedy crush of his lips left her breathless and wanting more. She slid one of her hands down his chest and over his hip. Levering herself up slightly, she closed her hand around his cock. It throbbed against her palm, hot and heavy. He growled a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest.
Her head shot up at the sound. His eyes seemed to gleam in the early morning light. He looked every inch the predator he was. Not that she minded being his prey. In fact, the idea of him stalking her so he could take her sexually was very stimulating.
Roric reached down and gripped her wrist, tugging her hand away from his erection. She frowned. "That's not fair."
"Fair or not, I'm too close to the edge. I want you too much." He clasped her hips and rubbed her mound against his cock.
The fact that he wanted her so badly, even after having her a half dozen times last night, was heady stuff. She spread her legs, bringing her sex in full contact with his hard length. It rubbed her swollen clit with each stroke. Breathing was becoming more difficult by the moment.
Heat radiated from Roric as he stroked himself against her. Her inner muscles contracted. She felt empty, needing him to fill her. Only he could make the growing ache go away.
She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed until she was in a seated position. The sheet slithered away, leaving them both exposed. She came up on her knees, gripped his cock in her hands and guided the broad head to the opening of her channel.
His fingers gripped her hips, but he didn't stop her. He arched his hips, pressing the flared head of his cock past the tight muscles of her slit. They both sucked in their breath at the intimate contact. No matter how many times he made love to her, the feeling of having him inside her always felt new and indescribable. It was as though he completed her in some basic way that went far beyond the physical. And deep in her heart, she knew she did the same for him.
He pushed past the initial resistance and sank into her heated depths. She hissed as he went deep. She was tender after last night, but not enough to stop. Still, he'd heard the sound she made, saw the slight grimace on her face and stopped.
"You're too sore for this. I'm sorry, Aimee." He started to withdraw. His eyes darkened with self-recrimination.
Aimee wasn't having any of it. She reached behind, found the sensitive sac between his thighs and cupped it, squeezing gently. Roric immediately groaned and stopped trying to pull away from her. She took immediate advantage, pushing down hard and taking all of him into her body.
Initially her inner muscles protested but, within seconds, she could feel them softening around his cock, accepting him.
"Aimee," he growled.
"What?" She gave him her most innocent smile.
He shook his head in mock dismay. "It is my right, my duty to take care of you. You're making it very difficult for me to do that."
"Hmm," she answered as she began to rotate slowly, rising up slightly before taking his shaft all the way back in. "Duty, is it?"
"Yes," he gritted out from between clenched teeth.
She massaged his balls on final time before releasing them. "What I need is for you to make love to me. So it's your duty to do just that. Am I right?" She closed her eyes and rose up until only the head of his cock was still inside her. Slowly, she slid over him until she was sitting on his groin once again.
He moved so fast she could barely grab a breath before she found herself flat on her back, staring up at her lover. Aimee was reminded that she wasn't dealing with a normal man.
His hair fell over his shoulders and framed his exotic face. The black and white stripes were unique, but they suited him, giving him a wild, untamed appearance. His features were hard and wholly masculine, except for the long sweep of his black eyelashes. His eyes gleamed as he hooked his arms beneath her legs and planted his hands by her waist. The motion left her wide open to him and unable to control his penetration.
"Never let it be said that I failed in my duty." He began to thrust. In and out, controlling each stroke. Aimee had awakened the sleeping tiger, but she wasn't the least bit frightened. No, she felt…smug. She was going to get exactly what she wanted.
She tilted her pelvis up to meet each sensual downward stroke. Roric leaned down and lapped at one of her distended nipples. It puckered tighter as he blew on it.
"Roric," she moaned.
"What?" he asked. "I am doing my duty, am I not?" He nuzzled his way over to her other breast, this time sucking the nipple into his mouth.
"I've created a monster."
He caught her nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged. When he released it, he lapped at the turgid bud. "No, you've released the animal."
She sensed his slight unease and sought to reassure him. She gripped the sides of his face in her hands. "I love you. All of you. Tiger and man. I love the way you want me." It was important to her that he understood that.
"Aimee." He gathered her close and rolled again. She found herself on top of him once again, looking down. "Take me. Whatever you need. Whatever you want."
There was no more time for teasing. He needed her as much as she needed him. She set a fast pace, rising and falling on his shaft. Roric cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs as she rode him hard.
His cock was throbbing, growing even larger inside her. She felt stretched and full as his erection plunged into her over and over.
Roric let one of his hands slide down her torso. His fingers pushed through her pubic hair and found the hard nub of nerves at the apex of her thighs. One touch of her clit was all it took to shove her over the edge.
Aimee cried out as she came. Her sheath gripped him, squeezing hard. He gave a raw moan, and then she felt the hot spurt inside her as he came. He grabbed her hips and drove his shaft hard and deep several more times. Her inner muscles rippled, sending shivers through her entire body, and she whispered his name like a prayer, over and over, as her orgasm consumed her.
She collapsed on top of him, confident he would catch her. He did, drawing her into his arms and tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. "Mine," he whispered, rubbing his hands over her back and arms. He snagged a corner of the sheet and tugged it over her.
They lay in bed, content simply to be in each other's arms, until the rising sun brightened the bedroom. It was Aimee who broke the silence. "What did you mean when you said you shared your immortality with me? I mean, I know you gave me some of your life essence, your power, in order to heal me. But what exactly does that mean? Am I changed in any way?"
Roric sat in bed, lifting her easily. He leaned back against the headboard and positioned her so she was lying across his lap with her head pillowed against his arm. He tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and caring. "I could not let you die, Aimee. By sharing my life force with you, I gifted you with immortality." His eyes grew dark and he shook his head. "I had no idea such a thing was even possible until I did it."
He sifted his fingers through her hair before trailing them over her neck. Tingles of pleasure followed in their wake. "I did that without asking you. There was no time to do so. I do not regret what I have done. Do you?"
She caught his hand in hers and raised it to her lips, planting a kiss on each finger. "No, I don't regret it. How could I?" The man had risked everything to save her life. That showed her the true depth of his commitment to her.
But she still had questions. "Do I have powers now? Will I heal faster? Am I the same other than the fact I'll live forever?" Her mind whirled with the possibilities.
Roric shook his head, sending several strands of his hair to brush against her face. The sensual caress stole her breath away. "I don't know. We will have to learn as we go. This is a first in my world. None of the warriors has ever done such a thing. As I said, I had no idea it could be done."
Aimee thought about that and nodded. "I guess that will have to be good enough for now." She shifted, ignoring Roric's shaft, which was stirring to life next to her hip. Honestly, the man was an animal. She almost giggled aloud at her unintentional joke. The man really was an animal. Her tiger.
She tightened her arms around him and gave him a hug. "Where do we go from here?"
She felt the change in him immediately. Tension thrummed though him, his muscles hardening beneath her touch. "I have to find the carnival and the carousel."
Aimee shook her head. "No. We need to find it."
Some of the tension seeped out of him, but he was still on alert. "Hades has lost his hold on me. He will not accept this defeat lightly. He will make it all but impossible for us to find the others."
What went unsaid between them was that they had no idea how Hades would deal with the other warriors due to the loss of the tiger. Of the four released, only one had gone over to the dark side. Two had been killed, and only one had escaped the clutches of the vengeful god.
"We'll look. In this day and age, it's almost impossible to hide anywhere. I don't care if you are an ancient god. People have cell phones and post pictures online all the time. We'll just start watching all the social networking pages and the news." There was a lot they could find out by surfing the Internet. Aimee's mind began to race with everything she'd have to do to get the search started.
Roric caught her chin beneath his fingers and lifted it until she was looking right at him. "Thank you, Aimee. You have no idea what it means to me that you're willing to take on this burden."
She swallowed hard as emotion threatened to push her to tears. The look in his eyes was almost her undoing. She could see hope and love shining through, but it was tempered by his fear and longing for his comrades and the goddess he claimed as his own.
"They're a part of you. I understand that. They came before me. You can't just forget them and you shouldn't. You wouldn't be the man I fell in love with if you could. Besides—" she gave him a watery grin, "—I didn't save your life so you could go traipsing off on your own and get killed."
He laughed and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Enough lolling in bed, woman. Time to dress and eat and get down to business"
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rose with her still in his arms. The man was as strong as an ox, treating her weight as though it was nothing. It made her feel sexy and cared for. Not exactly what an independent, modern woman should admit, but that didn't change the fact that it aroused her.
She ignored the sexual pull low in her belly. She really was too sore for another bout of lovemaking, and they did have other business to attend to. And speaking of business. "I have to finish the sketches for the comic I'm working on. If I push it, I can have it done in a few days. That check will buy me some breathing room, and I'll be able to take some time off and really dig into the search for the carnival. In the meantime, I can get the basic searches going."
Her mind was already making lists of things she had to do. Buying more groceries was a priority. Feeding an immortal warrior wasn't going to be cheap. "We'll need to go to town and do some shopping for you too." Roric would need modern clothing if he was going to fit in.
Roric paused halfway between the bedroom and the bathroom. "I know you have obligations you need to tend to. It would not be honorable to do otherwise. But, Aimee, you do not need to worry about money."
The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was more worried about money than about searching for his friends. "I'm not worried," she hurried to reassure him. "I've got savings. Plus, I don't have many expenses. I own my home outright. My parents had a good insurance policy that took care of that."
He squeezed her tight. "Thank you. It means everything to me that you would share your wealth with me. But there is no need. I will take care of you." He continued walking down the hall toward the bathroom.
"How?" She couldn't exactly picture Roric getting a job at the local gas station. He was too independent to work for anyone else. Then there was the fact that he still didn't know much about the modern world and its technology. Well, he knew about it in theory, but the practical applications were going to take him a little longer to adjust to. It was going to be a steep learning curve, but she knew he'd pick things up quickly. There was no doubting his intelligence.
Roric settled her on the top of the vanity before leaning over the tub. The white tiger tattoo that covered his back stared up at her. She could sense the beast within Roric, felt its commitment to her. She knew the tiger was as committed to her as the man was, that the beast would protect her with its life. A sense of rightness, of peace, settled over her.
A second later, it was shattered as Roric gave a roar and jerked back from the water that shot straight down on his head. He looked so disgruntled and put out that Aimee couldn't help herself. She started to laugh.
He shot her a glare, which only m
ade her laugh harder. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it didn't help much. After a moment, one corner of Roric's mouth kicked up. "Think that's funny, do you?"
Aimee jumped off the counter and gave him a quick lesson in how the center tap regulated the flow from the showerhead. "If I wanted a bath, I'd just turn off the center tap, put in the plug and let it fill."
They were both soaking wet by the time she finished her explanation, standing beneath the steady spray. Roric grabbed a bar of soap and began to lather it between his large hands. Her body began to pulse, and she began to rethink the aches in her body. Maybe she wasn't too sore after all.
Roric caught the gleam in her eye and shook his head. "I will not let you distract me this time, woman. I will take care of you."
"You certainly will," she agreed.
He shot her a distrustful look, but she just gave him an innocent smile. Then she frowned. "What did you mean when you said I didn't need to worry about money?"
Roric shrugged, totally unconcerned. "Now that my full powers are restored, I'll find some way to get whatever money we need."
That wasn't exactly reassuring. "As long as it's not anything illegal."
He chuckled. "Have faith in me, Aimee. I have a strong back and sword arm."
She had all the faith in the world in him, but the world had changed quite a lot since he'd been here last. There was nowhere for him to wield his sword as a mercenary. He'd need to learn a lot to fit into the modern world, and she was just the woman to help him.
He chose that moment to place his hands on her shoulders. The lather bubbled up as he rubbed down her arms. Her nipples puckered. She'd worry about everything else later. Now she wanted to shower with her man. Reaching for the soap, she rubbed it between her hands before dumping it back onto the ledge. Then she reached for him.
"Why is she running upstairs? That is not a good defensive position." Roric reached into the large bowl of popcorn that was resting in Aimee's lap and popped two fluffy white kernels into his mouth. It melted in his mouth. Over the past two weeks, he had discovered a passion for buttered popcorn and the horror movies Aimee seemed to enjoy so much.
He was surprised she could even watch them after everything she'd been through. When he suggested as much, she'd pointed out that she knew the difference between fact and fiction, and the movies weren't nearly as bad as her nightmares.
Thankfully, the nightmares seem to have abated, at least for the time being. Neither of them was hopeful they were gone for good. Aimee even wanted one, hoping it might give them some clues to aid their search.
"That's the whole point." Aimee snagged a couple of pieces of popcorn and started to munch. "Most of the characters are throwaways, fodder for the serial killer or monster. Otherwise it wouldn't build suspense when the heroine is under attack."
It still didn't make sense to him. "Why would they allow that? Why don't they fight harder?"
"Because it's a movie. They're not really dead, just actors who get paid to act like they're getting killed." She pointed to the woman on the screen. "That's Kellsie Morris. She's a favorite of mine. She's in a ton of horror movies. Sometimes she's the heroine, other times she's one of the victims."
He shrugged. He couldn't imagine not giving everything he had in order to win, but then again, these people were not immortal warriors. They were people doing what they had to in order to earn a living. Which was much harder to do in this modern world than he'd imagined it would be.
It was a point of contention with him that Aimee was paying for everything. It didn't bother her in the least, but it bothered him. That had to change. He'd figure something out.
He settled back against her new sofa in the freshly painted living room. It had taken them several days of cleaning to get rid of the damage the demons had wrought. Roric had enjoyed working side by side with Aimee, helping with the repairs.
He'd even helped her shop for new furniture. The sofa they were sitting on was large enough for him to lounge on comfortably. It had become their habit to sit there at the end of each day and watch a movie. A date, Aimee had called it the first time. Whatever it was, Roric enjoyed having her snuggled up close to him.
Each day they searched on the computer for information about the carousel. So far, they'd come up empty handed. It was as though the carnival had disappeared into thin air. Roric knew they were lying low, waiting for the magnetic pull to the right town where a woman lived who was capable of freeing the next warrior. Who she was or where she lived was a mystery.
Aimee had tried to talk about Mordecai and the other missing warriors several times, but he always put her off. He wasn't ready to deal with that yet. His friend's defection to Hades' side had shaken him to his very core. He'd always believed that their honor and commitment to one another and the goddess was unshakable. It brought all his other beliefs under question, and that was difficult.
He knew he'd have to talk about it to Aimee and soon. She kept pressing. She'd even managed to slip in that she thought Mordecai had actually let her go at one point instead of killing her. Roric didn't want to tell her that the warrior had only been toying with her. There was no honor, no kindness left in him now that he was in league with Hades.
"Look." Aimee brought his attention back to the present as she pointed at the screen. The scene had changed and there was now a different woman, one with dark hair and very large breasts, taking a shower.
"Wait for it." Aimee grinned and stuffed several more pieces of popcorn into her mouth and munched as they watched the latest victim, a screaming woman, get caught naked in the shower as the villain stabbed her repeatedly. Aimee turned to him and poked him in the chest with her finger.
"See, I told you the woman who stays home alone always gets it."
He caught her finger, brought it to his mouth and nibbled on it. Much tastier than popcorn. "So you did."
Aimee was much smarter than the women in these movies. Stronger too. She wouldn't give in. She'd take on the devil himself. Not only that, she'd win. He thanked the goddess every day that it was Aimee who'd freed him from his prison. She'd even insisted he give her lessons in sword fighting. Just in case, she said. He knew she expected to meet Hades and his demons again someday, and she wanted to be ready.
The search for the carnival and his fellow warriors would continue for however long it took. Neither of them would give up.
But that time was not now. And he had more pressing things to deal with. He shifted, but it did nothing to alleviate the pain in his balls. His swollen cock pressed against the zipper of the new jeans Aimee had purchased for him. He did like his new clothing. They were very comfortable, and better yet, easy to remove.
He drew her finger farther into his mouth, licking his way down to the sensitive skin at the base. Her breathing hitched and became faster. The screams from the movie disappeared into the background as he slowly released her finger, dragging his teeth over it as he did so.
She licked her lips, letting her tongue trace the plump lower one. Roric growled and yanked her to him. The bowl of popcorn went flying to the floor, forgotten, as he rolled Aimee beneath him and began to make love to her. She had claimed both him and his tiger, and Roric knew he would never get enough of his lady of the beast.
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