Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 3) (28 page)

“Sorry.” But she didn’t feel sorry. She felt pissed. Pissed that she hadn’t had time to convince him to take her place.
 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “But you wanted out of your godhood. You’d have done anything to get that. I understand.”

“Yeah?” The bitterness rang in her voice. She’d gone from being so close to having everything that she wanted to being a broken mess in this stranger’s bed.

She struggled to stand, making it to wobbly feet. “I’ve got to get to Otherworld. To Cam.”

“First you’ve got to eat, get some strength up. Come on, I’ll feed you.” He turned and strode out of the room.

Her stomach growled, as if his words had spurred on her hunger. But he was right. Dying and reanimating had left her completely empty.

She trudged out of the bedroom to find Logan. She was in a hell of a lot better situation than Cam. Would they lock him up like they’d planned to do to her, afraid that he’d run again? Probably. They’d plotted against him before, after all. The idea gave her the extra bit of strength to pick up her pace near the kitchen.

There, she found Logan putting together a simple sandwich. He set it down on the table, a can of Tennant’s next to it.
 

“Eat.” His tone was annoyed, but at least he was helping her.

“Thanks.” The sight of it made her stomach turn, but she had to do something to regain her strength. So she took a bite. “You recognized Cam. And he recognized you. Why?”
 

Logan leaned back in his chair until two feet hovered off the ground, crossed his arms over his chest. “We met a long time ago. When he was Camulos. And I was a god.”

Holy shit.
She hadn’t seen that one coming. She forced her gaping mouth shut. “You’re kidding. Seriously? I’ve never heard of a Logan Laufeyson as a god.”

He shrugged. “Logan’s not my real name. And no, I won’t share it. This isn’t exactly my real face, either. I like to keep my secrets.”

“But Cam knows who you are.”

“Because we share blood from a vow we made long ago. As a result of that, he can’t harm me. By deed or word. You, however, aren’t bound by that promise.”

Fates, she’d been screwed all along. The brusque man across from her was already a freaking god, and a shifty one with his own mysterious agenda.
 

“Cam knew you couldn’t take my place in Otherworld.”

“No dual citizenship allowed.” He frowned thoughtfully, a clever gleam in his eye that she hadn’t noticed before. It made him a bit less scary. “Though I might have tried it.”

“I’ve got to get to Otherworld.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, considerably more stable for having eaten.

“Don’t see how you can. You’re a demigod now, so you can’t aetherwalk.”

“Can you take me?” She gripped the back of the chair.

“No. My aetherwalking has been bound.”

“Bound?”

“Long story.” His mouth flattened.

So Logan had problems of his own. Maybe that’s why he’d said he understood why she wanted out of Otherworld. Why he’d helped her, even if he’d been a moody bastard about it. But he didn’t look like the sharing type—not even a little—so she didn’t ask.

“Before I forget,” Ana said. “You have an amulet that my friend wants. You stole it.”

He shrugged. “Your friend can’t have it. I don’t even have it anymore.”

She could tell he was lying, but also that he wouldn’t tolerate more questions. She glanced out the window to see the gray light of a cloudy dawn stretching over the mountains. “How’s the weather?”
 

“Good enough for your vehicle. Got a place to go?”

“Yeah. But having a place to go isn’t the problem. Getting there is.”

Comprehension flashed across his face. “Shit. Of course you can’t drive. No cars in Otherworld.”

“Bingo. I always wanted to learn to drive, but I’m never on earth long enough. I don’t suppose you could…?”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure. To get you out of my hair.”

“Thanks, really. Let me change my clothes”—she plucked at the fabric now stiff with dried blood—“then could we get out of here?”

“In a hurry to start your life on earth?”

The opposite. “I’ve got to see a Druid priestess about a trip to Otherworld.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cam’s body lay chained to the windswept tor while his mind hurtled nearly three thousand years into the past. To a time centuries before he’d ever met Ana.
 

Or so he’d thought.
 

As fist-sized hail pelted his battered body and left bruises that would heal so that others could form, the memory of a night he’d long forgotten rose in his mind, spurred on by the sight of Ana on the floor, her chest drenched in blood from his arrow.
 

Pain and delirium fueled the hallucination. Or memory. Which, he couldn’t tell.
 

In his mind, he was no longer chained to a rock in the worst of the elements of Otherworld. He was standing in a clearing, observing the drunken debauchery of his fellow gods. It was an enormous party, and it appealed to his senses on every level. Joy and lust and other things that he’d never believed he’d felt as a god all surged through him, fueled by the wine that flowed freely.

All facilitated by the High Priestess Druantia, who he’d thought a worthless upstart following the last battle. After this night, he’d have to change his opinion of her. She was still just a servant, but one who attempted to make amends for her failures.

And oh, how she did. Wine, food, dancing. And she directed him to a nymph, a Dryad of the oak trees, who sat off to the side. Lovelier than any woman he’d ever seen, with shining gold hair and green eyes.
 

Ana. Every hair on her head, every expression on her face. It was Ana. His dream self didn’t know to find it strange that a mortal who had yet to be born was here in this forest with him. Drunk on the wine and the revelry, he gazed upon her, his eyes tracing her athletic form draped in fine blue wool and reclining against the roots of the oak.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked once he reached her.

She glanced up at him, stood slowly, and smiled. “Perhaps I will now.”

“You haven’t been enjoying the festivities?”

She shrugged. “Our presence was required by our mistress, Druantia.”

Of course. Oaks were sacred to the Druids, whom the Dryads served.
 

She turned toward the deeper part of the forest and waved her hand. “Come with me. I tire of the noise.”

He followed her as she led him back through the trees, away from the madness and revelry reaching a fever pitch in the clearing behind. Her hips swayed gracefully as she walked and her hair tumbled down her back. His eyes traced over her form, unable to look away.
 

She stopped at the base of a graceful old oak and turned to him. Her eyes were brighter now, and a smile curved her mouth.

“You prefer it here, away from the noise,” he said.

“I do.” She smiled wider, and the sight sent a jolt of pleasure through him. Good wine or victory in battle usually did that, but never the smile of a woman. Why should he care that she was happier now in the quiet of the forest?

But he did. He hadn’t cared about anyone else’s feelings in years. Maybe ever. But with her, he cared very much, though he didn’t know why.
 

“Tell me about being a Dryad,” he said, anxious to know more about her.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and after giving him an appraising glance, spoke of the spirit of the trees and midnight dances through the forest.
 

Under the light of stars and with revelry sounding in the background, he set about wooing her, coaxing a smile and a laugh that filled his chest with more light and joy. The more she spoke, the more entranced he became. It was something in the air or floating on the wind. But it was her also. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was someone special, and he liked her immensely.

His eyes traced over her face and curves as she spoke, his mind turning toward earthlier pleasures. What would her skin feel like beneath his hands? Would she taste as sweet as she looked? It became difficult to focus on her words as her forest scent wrapped around his mind.

In the distance, the sounds of the revelers increased in volume and tempo. Her words trailed off, and he realized that the heat in his eyes must be apparent.

His cock hardened when he realized that she looked at him with the same interest. She wet her lips and laid her fingertips upon his arm as the noise and energy of the other revelers rolled through the forest, carried on a dark wind.

The heat in his blood spiked, a combination of her touch and something else he’d never felt before. A push of tearing energy and need, something fierce that he recognized might be unnatural. It flowed on the wind, carried from the site of Druantia’s gathering.

With need riding him hard, he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, wrapping her arms around his neck and fusing her soft mouth to his. His cock jumped and his mind fogged with something that was more than normal lust, but he was too far gone to care. Her hands were frantic on his clothes, ripping and tearing. Through the haze, he realized that she was as caught up as he.

Unconcerned that something foreign and dark had overtaken them, they tore at each other’s clothes as the moon rose high above the sparse scatter of oaks. The noise of the party faded as they grappled in the moonlight, hands sliding over damp skin, hot and frantic for each other.

 
When he had her naked before him, he hoisted her up and pressed her back against the oak. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

He could barely see her as he thrust into the wet heat of her body, his vision darkened by the unnatural trance that had overcome him. He tried to fight it as he pounded into her. He liked her—he shouldn’t be treating her so roughly, even if her wetness and her cries of passion told him that she liked it.
 

But he couldn’t throw off the mantle of insanity that was overwhelming him, nor could he fight the pull of her. It stole conscious thought, vision, hearing, and eventually feeling. The glorious feel of her body accepting his began to fade. The joy that he’d taken in the act, in the victory of winning her affection, became hollow. Soon, his mind wasn’t there at all.

He awoke from his befogged state in a thick forest of oak trees, confused, for there had been far fewer trees before. All had been home to the Druid’s sacred mistletoe. The new trees were darker than the others, bigger and stronger, with no mistletoe hanging from their branches.
 

The sound of revelry had died, and the forest was silent. It was so quiet that he swore the other gods must have returned to Otherworld.

His gaze was drawn to the forest floor. At his feet lay the bloodied body of a beautiful blond Dryad. Yet he looked at her the same way he’d looked at the trees—with only the vaguest interest.
 

Had he killed her? Perhaps. There was a strangeness in his chest at the thought, but it too was uninteresting. As this night had become. He felt nothing and didn’t realize that it was strange.

Detached, he watched as her blood soaked into the ground and her body grew to form a great oak tree. The roots plunged deep into the black earth, while branches reached skyward as if the tree were desperate to escape the hold of the earth. But even that bit of magic held little relevance to his life, so he picked up his bow and quiver and returned to Otherworld and his duties. He really should be getting back.

Cam’s eyes snapped open, his consciousness returned to Blackmoor and the rock upon which he was chained. Madness tore at the edges of his mind.
Ana.