Tempted (36 page)

Authors: Elisabeth Naughton

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General, #Fantasy

Read on for an excerpt from

Enraptured

Next in the Eternal Guardians series…

Orpheus followed Skyla up the three flights of stairs and paused in the hall of the old building near the waterfront with its water-stained ceiling and dirty carpet while she unlocked her apartment door.

As he stared at the back of her blond head, a waft of honeysuckle met his senses. The same fragrance he’d noticed in the bar where they’d met, in the alley when they fought of the daemons, and every second since. A scent that was oddly…familiar.

The key clicked, and she pushed the door open with her shoulder, stepped inside. As he followed, he reminded himself he wasn’t here for fun. He hadn’t followed her back here for anything more than information and a place to clean up after killing off a pack of daemons hot on her trail. He’d be damned if he was going to let her out of his sight without figuring out what the hell she was. Something told him she was linked to Olympus, and if she was…a thrill bubbled through his veins. If she was then he might have his first link to that vengeance he was so close to obtaining.

After he found the Orb, of course. The Orb of Krónos, the palm-sized medallion that held the four classic elements and had the power to release the Titans from Tartarus, was key to every one of his plans. He couldn’t forget that, or be distracted away from it. Luckily, this female also knew the woman he’d been tracking for the last three months. The one who could locate the Orb for him in the first place.

Skyla closed the door once he stepped inside, flipped on the kitchen light. The place was a far cry from the Ritz. It didn’t fit her, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that this shithole was nothing more than a stopping ground. This place suited her as much as the Argonauts suited him.

She headed down the hall. He tipped his head as he watched the sexy sway of her backside in the short black skirt. He had to admit it was a nice view.

“The bathroom’s here.” She pushed open the door to the left, flipped on the light.

He followed, glanced into the small bathroom. An avocado green countertop and a mirror over the sink that reflected hollow cheeks streaked with blood, pale skin, and hair standing every which way.

He looked away from his reflection, moved into the doorway of the other room.

A full-sized bed with a disgustingly ugly burnt orange bedspread, a small dresser, a nightstand, and a lamp. He waited while she crouched in front of the dresser, pulled the bottom drawer open and extracted jeans and a T-shirt. “These should fit. While you get cleaned up I’ll find bandages for your chest.”

He didn’t bother telling her he didn’t need them. Instead he took the clothes she offered, then stiffened when she moved close. Pulling the garments against his chest so she could pass, he again smelled honeysuckle, and when her body grazed his, another burst of electricity rippled between them.

Only this was different. This wasn’t just sexual, though there was certainly enough sexual heat ricocheting off both of them to power the whole building. No, this was something else. An awareness. A déjà vu feeling. A memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus.

She hesitated, just long enough for him to know she felt it too. And his stomach tightened when her gemlike eyes found his and held.

Who was she? What was she to him? And why the hell couldn’t he figure out how he knew her?

She cleared her throat and looked away. “Take your time.”

He stood where he was while she disappeared back into the living room. Called himself ten kinds of stupid.
Mark—Orb—revenge.
Those were the only three things that mattered now.

He stepped into the bathroom and avoided the mirror. He didn’t need to see his reflection to know he looked like shit. He felt like it too. And not just from the change of shifting into his daemon form. Months of searching only to be met with disappointment were taking their toll. Though his strength was slowly coming back and his wound was already healing, he needed more than a shower to recharge him. He needed food. A couple hours of shut-eye. And to find that damn dark-haired female before someone else did. He tossed the clean clothes on the counter, kicked off his boots and pulled off his shredded garments.

Steam filled the room as he let the water beat down on his battered body. He rubbed soap all over his skin, washed his hair with shampoo from a purple bottle that smelled way too girly, then flipped off the water and dried off with a towel from the rack. As he did he caught sight of the ancient Greek text on his forearms that ran down to entwine his fingers.

Man, if the Argonauts could see him now. No, nix that. He already knew exactly what they’d say or do if they’d seen the switcheroo he’d pulled in that alley. Daemons weren’t just discriminated against in their world, they were the bitter enemy. If word got out he was half daemon, the Argonauts would be the first to crucify him, likely in Tiyrns Square for all Argoleans to see. Forget the fact he was the last living descendant of the famed hero Perseus. And never mind that he’d helped the queen and all the Argonauts more times than he could count. He tossed the towel away in disgust, jerked on the fresh jeans. To them he’d forever be nothing more than a daemon. A monster that was only useful one way: dead.

He tugged on the dark blue T-shirt that barely fit, shoved his feet back into his boots and finger-combed his hair. When he opened the bathroom door steam preceded him into the hall where the snap and crackle of food cooking and the scent of bacon filled the air.

His stomach growled, and he turned the corner to find Skyla, dressed in fresh clothes—the same short skirt, tight shirt, and kickass goth boots included—standing at the stove flipping bacon and scrambling eggs.

His vision blurred and the modern appliances faded into the background. Weathered stone, a baking hearth, and an old scarred table filled the space in front of him. And at the counter, the same female, stirring something in a ceramic bowl. Only this time she was barefoot, wearing a slip of a dress made of gauzy white and tied at her narrow waist with a woven gold braid.

The room spun. He reached out and gripped the hallway wall to steady himself.

She looked up. Her hand stopped moving. The bowl sat cradled in the nook of her other arm. A streak of flour ran across her right cheek.

A warm smile spread across her face. One filled with heat and mischief and knowledge. “Stop looking at me like that. Thou knows that is playing with fire.”

She went back to stirring. Looked back down at her work with a victorious grin. Turned to reach for something behind her.

But Orpheus felt like he’d just been sucker punched in the gut.

The air left his lungs on a gasp. The room spun again, flipped his stomach end over end. He reached for the wall with his other hand, felt himself falling. Saw shadows barreling in from all sides. And was powerless to keep from fainting like a giant pussy.

“Daemon? Shit, can you hear me?” The voice was muffled. Distant. Something hard pressed down on his chest. “Come on, already. Wake up!”

A crack echoed around him. His eyes flew open.

“That’s it. Criminy, you’re worse off than I thought. Yeah, that’s right, keep looking at me.”

He couldn’t do anything else. He stared up into amethyst eyes that sparkled like the Aegis Mountains in the early morning sunshine. And felt that rush of familiarity all over again.

“There you go. See? Not so bad after all.” Her voice wasn’t so muffled anymore. “Let’s get you up.”

He didn’t fight her when she pulled on his shoulders, maneuvering him around to lean against the wall, his legs kicked out in front of him. While his head continued to spin like a top, she went back into the kitchen, flipped off the stove, reached for bandages and other supplies, came back and knelt next to him.

Honeysuckle wafted in the air around him as she grasped the hem of his shirt and lifted it, exposing his abs and chest. The hem of her skirt rode dangerously high on her thighs, but that vision of her in that old-time kitchen wouldn’t leave his head. That and the knowing smile she’d sent him that spoke of familiarity on a personal level. An intimate level.

Her brow wrinkled as she inspected his skin. “This is…already scabbed over. I know daemons heal quickly but…well, you are not at all what I expected.”

Neither was she. Whatever the hell she was doing to him, though, he was about to put a stop to it.

He grasped her wrist, “I want…answers.”

She looked down where he held her then focused on his eyes. She pulled her hand free with a quick snap of her wrist, a motion that told him she was stronger than she appeared, then rose to her feet. “You need food. We’ll talk after you eat.”

Screw that.

He’d never fainted in his life. Couldn’t believe he’d done so now, especially in front of her. Whatever she was—witch, sorceress, immortal—she was playing some kind of mind fuck on him. Getting him to see and feel things that weren’t real. His mother had been Medean. He’d studied her craft, knew how to cast spells himself when the time was right, and was well aware the power the dark arts could harness. He wasn’t about to be manipulated by this female in any way.

He pushed to his feet. Before she reached the end of the hall he flashed in front of her, bringing her to a dead stop.

Surprise lit her eyes. Confusion followed quickly on its tail. Argonauts could only flash in Argolea. In the human realm they were limited to the same laws of nature as humans. Except him.

She dropped her supplies, took a step back. “What…? How did you do that?”

“I’m full of surprises.” He took a menacing step toward her.

She moved back more. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m tired of playing games.” He advanced until her back hit the wall. He knew his eyes were glowing green, illuminating the dark hallway around them. His daemon hovered right beneath his control, but he didn’t force it back like he normally would. Right now he wanted its strength. And the fear it instilled. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

He pressed a hand against the wall and leaned in close. Until the heat from her skin slid over his and the beat of her heart was all he could hear. “I want to know who the hell you really are.”

Coming April 2012

About the Author

A former junior high science teacher, Elisabeth Naughton traded in her red pen and test-tube set for a laptop and research books. She now writes sexy romantic adventure and paranormal novels full time from her home in western Oregon, where she lives with her husband and three children. Her work has been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA Awards of Romance Writers of America, the Australian Romance Reader Awards, the Golden Leaf, and the Golden Heart. When not writing, Elisabeth can be found running, hanging out at the ball park, or dreaming up new and exciting adventures. Visit her at www.elisabethnaughton.com to learn more about her and her books.