The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (51 page)

He approached and scooped her in his arms. “I want her as I’ve never wanted.”

“Then we’ll take the girl,” Amymone said, a wicked smile on her pink lips. “It’s only fair. To make up for the loss of our beloved Halirrhothios, you give up your beloved Eve to Poseidon.”

“Halirrhothios got what he deserved. The court has determined justice in this case,” Eros interrupted. “The girl is free. Ares is acquitted. Aeropagos is concluded. Let us go our separate ways.”

Poseidon and Amymone, no doubt disappointed by the court’s decision, disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Ares had no recollection of leaving Eve’s bed. And now, she was limp in his arms.

Ares watched her, but Eve did not seem to be breathing. He leaned to her tender lips and offered her a breath of his own. “Breathe, my love! Live!”

Just as his heart felt squeezed to a pulp, she coughed, sputtered, and turned away from him to spew the water in her lungs to the sand. She was naked, her dress long lost, torn off in the force of the tide pool. He smiled at the coincidence. It was exactly how she’d found him, on her beach, the previous day.

“We’d better get you inside,” he said, stroking a finger down her petal-soft cheek before taking her back in his arms. “Before anyone sees you.”

He held her in such a way to protect her nudity from Eros’s observance. Not that he hadn’t already seen it all.

“Where’s inside,” she asked, once she regained her power to speak. “Where are we?”

“An island in the middle of nowhere,” Eros answered. “And if we don’t leave soon, Poseidon will send a storm to wipe us out.”

“Do you want to go back to your house?” Ares asked. “Or would you do me the honour of coming to Mount Olympus and becoming my consort?”

“Consort?” She wrinkled her nose.

“He means wife,” Eros interjected.

“You want to marry me?” Her voice lifted so that it sounded nearly angelic to Ares’ ears.

“Indeed. I wish to marry you. I wish to be with you, always.”

“And I want to go with you,” she said. “There’s nothing for me in New York. But – I promised my aunt Mae. I’m supposed to be watching her house.”

“Consider it done,” Eros said. “I’ve arranged for your cousin Candace to arrive for a surprise visit and stay with Mae awhile.”

“How did you arrange that? She’s married and living in New Jersey. Why would she just suddenly give everything up and go to Maine?”

“Her husband left her,” Eros said. “When he came home and found her in a compromising position on chatroulette.”

Eve laughed. “You don’t say.”

“I didn’t,” Ares said. “I didn’t say a word.”

Eve laughed harder. When Eve laughed, it was a lilting, lyrical sound that reminded him of cherubs singing. He could live with that laugh for eternity and consider it a blessing.

“I will marry you, Ares,” Eve said. “And I’m dying to see Mount Olympus!”

“Then let’s be off,” Ares said. “What are we waiting for?”

“For you to kiss the bride,” Eros said. “I consider you god of war, and wife.”

And as Ares leaned to kiss her, the naked blushing bride, Eve felt the earth move and shake and rock, and her toes curled, and she lost all awareness of everything else – until she opened her eyes and found herself in a honeymoon bed on the clouds of Mount Olympus, with Ares about to make love to her.

Finally, life was perfect, so perfect that it was well in the territory of the supernatural. And Eve was not the least afraid to find out what would happen next. In fact, she couldn’t wait!

Michele Hauf

One

Blackthorn Regis released the soul that clung to his aura into the sulphur-laden atmosphere. Screams echoed. He told himself it was not the human soul screaming but rather a pleasurable sound made by the mercury-slick river that consumed them.

He remained impartial. It was not his place to discern if a man had lived virtuously or had inspired dread. He simply ferried souls Above or Beneath.

His trips Beneath were more rare than mortals would guess.

“Soul-bringer.”

The Receiver of Beneath stood so high, Blackthorn could not see his face, yet he felt the menacing presence curdle his marrow. Not once had he fixed the creature in the gaping spaces where eyes should be. Blackthorn possessed no soul, yet surely he would still feel the soul-grinding weight of such darkness.

“You’re missing one.”

Blackthorn swore at the back of his throat. “It won’t happen again,” he offered, and bowed reverently before turning and shimmering away from Beneath.

There was only one way a soul went the wrong destination.

“There must be an infernal sin-eater working my territory.”

Shimmering into a small Midwestern countryside, Blackthorn spied the culprit bent over double at the edge of a meadow. Dew spangled the scattered weeds and clover heads, and sparkled on fuzzy cat-tails spiking the nearby ditch.

Thick, black sin exploded from the mouth as it repeatedly heaved. It lifted its head to keep the fluid from spilling down the dress – dress? The sin-eater was
female
. Blackthorn’s chest and throat muscles squeezed, matching the clench of his fists.

He marched purposefully across the field. “Leave it to a sin-eater to make enemies of not only Beneath but also Above.”

Viscous sin spattered sprigs of white clover. Sin-eaters involuntarily purged following an eating or would forever cloud their soul with the sins of those they’d eaten.

Gagging and spitting, she sat back on her heels, clasping thin arms across her middle. Attired all in black, her pale flesh glowed with moonlight. She was startled as he grabbed her by the throat and dragged her to stand.

Shaky legs made her wobble before Blackthorn. But she quickly grasped her bearings and, bouncing on her black high-top sneakers, fists lifted in challenge, she jounced before him like a scrawny prize-fighter.

Seething, Blackthorn prepared to match the ridiculous challenge, yet though he was not human, mortal civility reminded him that one mustn’t hit a woman. He flexed his fingers open.

The woman’s wide grey eyes, surrounded by smeary black eyeshadow, flickered. He’d never seen eyes so bright and clear. So defiant. And sad. Her eyes pleaded for understanding, and then shoved him away for seeing that weakness.

All that in a scrap of flesh and stolen sin?

Rage settling, a smirking levity emerged. She was just a bitty thing. Not unappealing, either. Blackthorn slid a hand down his waistcoat. What to do with his hands if not choke her senseless?

“Desist,” he growled darkly.

The woman stopped her aggressive bouncing. Sin dappled her lip. Starlight dived into her dark hair and waded iridescent within.

“Who the hell are you? I warn you, I can throw a mean left hook.”

Blackthorn chuckled. The utterance was so odd to him that he abruptly ceased and cleared his throat. “I am Blackthorn Regis. Soul-bringer.”

One of her dark brows assumed a chevron.

“You.” He wagged a finger at her. “Are a nasty sin-eater.”

She smacked a fist into a palm. “Sin does taste nasty, let me tell you. What do you want from me?”

“Stop eating sins.”

“Stop?” She leaned into his space, wafting the sweet scent of cherries on a sugar-high under his nose. “This is my job. It is what I do.”

“You are reviled, sin-eater.” Though he didn’t quite feel the revulsion himself. Odd.

She snapped her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “Someone’s got to do it.”

“Not in my territory.”

“Oh yeah? What’s a Soul-bringer? Where do you bring them?” She slapped her palms together and exclaimed, “Oh, I get it. You’re the guy who brings the decedent’s soul to Heaven or Hell, right?”

“Above and Beneath. I ferry the newly dead.”

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to meet a psychopomp.”

“You steal my souls!” he announced, angered at his frustration.

The woman rolled her eyes sweetly and teased her tongue across her lips. “I hadn’t considered that before. The stealing part. Of course, that’s your opinion. I like to think I give hope.”

“Every time you eat sins,” he confirmed, “you steal from me.”

“But you still get to take the soul. Just not to its intended resting place. Heaven is so much nicer, anyway – I mean,
Above.”

“I do not discern ‘nicer’.”

Blackthorn stepped closer. He ate very little, but he suddenly craved cherries, bunches of them glistening with fresh dew. Could he drink her skin as if it was the syrupy juice she smelled of? Such a delicious repast.

She thrust out her hand. “Name’s Desdenova Fleetwood. Yeah, it’s from a song. Blue Oyster Cult. But you can call me Nova. Blackthorn, right?”

“You do as I ask, Desdenova Fleetwood, and I may show you favour.”

“Really? Favour? I can’t wait.” She clasped her hands before her chest and batted her lashes. It wasn’t meant to tease but rather, mock. “You going to give me back my life? There’s nothing I can do but eat sins. Do you know how many men like to date girls who eat sins for a living? Zero.” She held up her fingers in a circle between them to emphasize.

Was she drunk? Blackthorn couldn’t be certain. Surely, expelling so much sin must weaken her. “I have no concern for your personal life.”

“Why not? Don’t you think I’m pretty? Of course not.”

“You are very pretty. Save for the sin you’ve dribbling down your chin.”

He gestured towards her face. “Perhaps that is what frightens the men off.”

She smeared the back of her hand through the black sludge. “Go away.”

“Not until you promise to stop eating sins.”

Slapping her hands together, she paced before him, kicking up dew in spittals before her. When she turned a look over her shoulder, a bright tease danced in her eyes. “I would give up sin-eating for a kiss,” she whispered.

Blackthorn studied the pleading grey irises set within blackest streaks of make-up. In his myriad centuries of ferrying souls he rarely got involved with mortals. However, he did live on the mortal realm and he was like mortal men; he could appreciate a beautiful woman, and the feel of her skin under his hand.

This little girl lost only wanted a kiss?

And what did he want?
Did
he want? It had been so long . . .

“Give up sin-eating,” he stated, “and then I shall reward you with a kiss.”

“You’re lying. Guys don’t kiss girls like me.”

“Perhaps it is because you dress to put them off.”

“What’s wrong with the garb? This is me.” She fingered the hem of the black tulle skirt, worn over white and black striped thigh-high stockings. “If the world doesn’t like it, the world can screw off.”

“Is that so?” He sensed she’d prefer the world to lunge forwards and embrace her – Blackthorn checked himself. He didn’t care. He should not care.

I want for nothing. I am . . . nothing.

“Mr Harvey’s soul shouldn’t have went Beneath anyway,” she said. “He was a nice guy. I don’t think his sins were too great.”

“Says the girl who just vomited up heinous sin all over the meadow.”

“Happens every time.”

“In such copious amounts?”

She studied the ground, apparently realizing only now the output was an oddity. “He couldn’t have done anything
that
bad.”

“Murdered a child three decades ago,” Blackthorn recited, knowing the details merely from the residue of the man’s soul that yet clung to his aura. He shook his shoulders, dismissing the sludge.

Parted lips softened. She had no idea the affects of her actions.

“Desist,” Blackthorn repeated.

“Very well,” she said, still in a daze. “I quit and you’ll kiss me?”

“That was the proposal, yes.”

She presented her hand to shake. “Deal.”

Grasping Desdenova’s hand shocked his nervous system with a tender jolt of defiance, independence and need. He actually felt her need slide up his arm and squeeze at his heart. A heart of glass that could never pulse. But it could feel. And what he felt surprised him.

Tugging his hand from hers, Blackthorn turned and marched off across the field. Why hadn’t he just punched her and threatened her life?

A kiss?

He slapped a hand over his chest. “It did not pulse. It could not have.”

Two

Nova lived in a one-bedroom apartment in the uptown district of Minneapolis. She wasn’t much of a people person, so instead of taking the elevator up to the third floor, she clattered up the iron stairs hugging the back of the building.

And no, she did not dress this way to keep people away. The Soul-bringer was wrong about her. Mostly. It was easier to keep a distance when connection seemed an impossible dream.

But what he’d known about Mr Harvey iced her blood. She had eaten heinous sins in her lifetime, but she’d known Harvey. He used to serve on the board of his church.