The Stone Warriors: Damian (19 page)

He heard the thunder of his tormentors’ booted feet as they stormed down the hallway, bypassing the door behind which he cowered like the weakling he was. He sank to the floor, his back against the door, his legs pulled up to his chest. Resting his head on his knees, he fought the tears that wanted to come. Everyone said he was special, unique. A gift to his father from the gods. But where were those gods when his brothers were slamming him against the stone fountain in the courtyard? Where was his oh-so-unique gift when they tried to drown him in that very same fountain? He hated what he was. Why couldn’t he have been normal? A warrior like his father?

A scuffed footfall made him look up, listening intently. But whoever it was continued down the hallway. Nico stared around the room he’d taken refuge in. It was a women’s parlor, one of many scattered throughout the palace. A place where his mother and her sisters, along with all of their ladies, would sit in the sun and sew, making the stunning tapestries that hung on the walls and kept out the bitter cold when winter set in. The ladies and their sewing moved from room to room, according to his mother’s whim or the season. Some rooms got more sunlight than others. Nico looked around with a small smile on his face. There was one trick he could do already. It wasn’t very useful against his brothers, but it always made his mother smile.

He called up a bit of the magic that was always within him, waiting like a great dragon to pounce the moment he lost control. Freeing just a tiny peek, like a wink from the dragon’s eye, he filled the room with sunlight. As unnatural as it was, it sought out every shadow, every nook and cranny, and filled the room with light and warmth. His smile grew . . . and then, without warning, the door behind him trembled as his oldest brother, Straton, pounded on the wood. The sunlight scattered into shadows.

“I know you’re in there, freak,” Straton bellowed. Nico couldn’t believe sometimes that their father found Straton to be a worthy successor. He was a boor, a bully who used his physical size to get what he wanted. He might make a worthy warrior, someone to throw into the midst of a battle, but he would never be a leader like their father.

On the other hand, Nico thought, as Straton’s fist collided again with the heavy door, there was something to be said for brute strength. He held his breath, but his locking spell held, and the door remained shut. He listened to his brother muttering as he stomped away down the hall, and he sighed. He couldn’t escape forever. Eventually, Straton would find him. Why couldn’t he have just one good brother? Someone who’d stand with him, no matter what.

Everyone praised his magical talent, but no one took his side, not even his parents who simply forbade him to use that magic against his bully of a brother. He glared at the fractured sunlight that he’d been so proud of just moments before. Was this the only thing his magic was good for? He didn’t want sunlight, he wanted a defender, a friend. . . . Thoughts stuttered, and his breath caught in his chest as shadows that shouldn’t have been there coalesced into a form. He froze in both fear and wonder. Fear because he’d been warned about enemy sorcerers who wanted him dead, and wonder because that was how his sorcerer’s mind worked. It was curious and analytical. And something was happening in that dark corner, something that called to the magic inside him.

He leaned forward intently, feeling the eager smile that crossed his face, all thoughts of danger gone. The shadows evaporated in a burst of sunlight so bright that Nico started to raise a hand to shield his eyes, but then the light faded as quickly as it had come. And in its place, there stood . . . a boy. Someone he’d never seen before, someone who’d inextricably entered the locked room, breaking Nico’s protective spell. The boy stumbled a little, and Nico started forward reflexively to help him, but then the boy grinned. And Nico found himself grinning back.

“Who are you?” he asked, though he had a growing feeling that he knew the answer to that. The boy only tilted his head, as if confused. Nico tried again, “What’s your name?”

The boy’s eyes widened in understanding. “Damian,” he said, but that seemed to be the extent of his words. And honestly, Nico wasn’t totally surprised by that.

“Nico,” he said, touching his own chest. “And we’re going to be friends.”

BACK AT THE SAFE house, in the American Midwest

Nick blinked out of his detour into the past and glanced nervously at Casey, wondering how long he’d been sitting there staring at nothing, and whether she’d noticed. He took a long draw off his water bottle to cover. “I hadn’t meant to call Damian that day, but that’s what I did. It was the first great magic I’d ever performed, and I’d done it completely by accident.” He smiled in remembrance. “It was days before my parents realized that there was a strange child living in their home, and by then, it was too late. We were inseparable. My father permitted him to stay, because it was obvious that Damian was warrior-born, and that was the one thing my father respected without question. Damian was only a few years older than I was, and already he could wield a sword better than boys twice his age. My father decided I’d need a bodyguard going forward, and Damian was to be that man.” He gazed out the window where Damian was sitting on a lounge chair just beyond the lights of the patio.

“And your brother Straton?” Casey asked, pulling his attention back to the present. “How did he feel about your new friend?”

Nick smiled, remembering. “Straton and Damian fought only once. My brother never bothered me after that.” He sharpened his gaze on Casey. “So, you see, Damian is far more to me than just a warrior among warriors. He is my oldest and truest friend, my brother in every way that counts.”

She nodded. “I see that, you know. When I look at the two of you. Your magic and his—”

“Damian doesn’t have any magic.”

Casey gave him a bemused look. “You really don’t see it, do you? Maybe it’s too much like your own. You look at him, and all you see is you.”

“That’s not true. Damian is—”

“I don’t mean physically. Obviously, he’s a separate person. But his magical energy derives from yours—”

Nick nodded.

“—just like certain aspects of your energy come from him.”

He scowled at that. “I told you, Case. Damian doesn’t have magic.”

“No, but he has other qualities. When you created him that day, you didn’t only wish for a friend. You wanted a different brother, one who’d defend you against all others, who’d stand by you no matter what. One who had all the traits that your warrior father would have wished for in a son. Your energies are linked, but it’s not you feeding Damian. It’s Damian feeding you. That’s why you’re stronger when he’s around, more intent on confronting your enemies. You’re like the cowardly lion, Nicky, and Damian’s your courage.”

“Let’s not get carried away. I’m not skipping down that road. It’s not like I’ve been hiding in my bedroom all these centuries.”

“And yet . . . Damian’s curse is lifted and suddenly you’re taking the fight to Sotiris. Coincidence?”

“I’m a fucking sorcerer. I don’t believe in coincidence. Not around me, anyway.”

“Exactly. Damian makes you stronger, and I think you know it.”

“Maybe I’m just more willing to take risks with someone I trust at my back. Maybe it’s the synergy of men at war.”

She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, in a tone that said she didn’t believe it for one minute.

“Smartass. Sometimes I think I should have left you sitting in that FBI classroom.”

She grinned. “You’d have missed me,” she said, and then sobered almost immediately. “What about the other warriors? You said they were different from Damian?”

He nodded. “As I grew, so did my magic. And my list of enemies. I quickly understood that I’d need men I could trust to stand with me. So I called them the same way I had Damian, albeit with greater finesse and intent. From the four corners, I drew them. Damian, I considered to be from the East, as that was where my father’s territory lay. And then there was Dragan Fiachna, a son of kings, from the West; Urban Halldor from the cold North; and Kato Amadi from the hot sands of the South. They were mine, body and soul, called by my magic, bound by my blood.”

His smile faded. “But when it mattered, when it was
my
turn to protect
them
, I failed utterly.”

CASEY RESTED HER hand on Nick’s forearm where it lay on the table between them. It felt odd to be the one comforting him, instead of the other way around. “We’ll get them back,” she told him confidently. “You have Damian already, and you know how magic works. Damian is the beginning, the unraveling of Sotiris’s spell. The others will follow.”

“You may be right.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then asked, “Does he hate me?”

Casey frowned, but then her eyes widened in understanding. “Damian? Hell, no. That’s all he’s talked about . . . getting back to you and finding the others.”

“Not the only thing,” he said shrewdly. And just like that, they were back on their usual footing, with Nick seeing far more than she wanted him to. “What are you two up to?”

She couldn’t stop the blush that heated her face. “He saved me the other night. I’d never have gotten out of there alive without him. There was a hell of a lot more resistance than I expected.”

Nick grinned. “He
is
good in a fight, isn’t he? A thing of beauty to watch.”

Casey lowered her head to conceal her reaction. “Yeah, well, I was too busy staying alive to admire his dance moves.”

He grinned again, and she had the feeling he was seeing right through her. His next words confirmed it. “Don’t be too charmed by him. Damian is a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy. So much that it formed the root of his curse. Why do you think it took your blood, a
woman’s
blood, to free him? Sotiris assumed it would never happen. He intended that curse to last an eternity, and not only for Damian. The others were similarly crafted.”

Casey nodded, desperate to change the subject. “So while the others were already alive when they came to you,” she said, forcing their conversation back to a path she was comfortable with, “Damian was different. Did he even exist before you conjured him?”

“Casey, I don’t—”

“I know it happened a long time ago, and it’s difficult for you to remember, but . . . I mean this explains so much—”

“What does it explain, Cassandra?” Damian’s flat voice broke into her spinning thoughts.

She twisted on her seat and saw him standing there, his expression bleak. Eyes that were usually so full of energy, so in love with life, were steeped in misery as he stared at her. She played back the last few words she’d said to Nick, and she nearly panicked.

“Damian,” she said, wanting to make him understand. But he strode off without a word, disappearing into the dark beneath the trees beyond the pool.

“Damn it,” she swore softly and started after him.

“Casey,” Nick said, stopping her. She paused long enough to look at him over her shoulder. “You hit a nerve, babe. If you care about him . . . you’ll have to work for this one, but he’s worth it.”

She wanted to stop the flow of words from Nick’s mouth, to tell him that he had the wrong idea. Yes, she cared about Damian and didn’t want him hurt, but it wasn’t the way Nick seemed to think. She wasn’t in love
with him or anything, she just. . . . She just what? All she knew was that she didn’t have time to consider it all now. She had to find Damian and make him understand.

Without another word to Nick, she spun around and headed past the glow of the underwater lights, and into the shadows.

“I’ll just wait here,” Nick called from behind her, but she ignored him.

DAMIAN KNEW Cassandra was following him. He’d known even before he left her sitting in the kitchen with Nico that she’d come after him. She was practical, logical, but she wasn’t cruel. She’d be feeling remorse for her cold assessment of who he was, of
what
he was. Hell, sometimes he didn’t know what he was either, but for Cassandra to wonder. . . . She mattered more somehow. What she thought of
him
mattered more.

He stood in the darkness and watched her come to him, stepping carefully over roots and around rocks. She didn’t have his night sight, and she hadn’t bothered with any sort of light for herself. He sighed and stepped into the open where she could see him.

“Damian.” His name was a relieved breath between her lips. She stretched out a hand when she came close enough and he took it, bracing her until she was right in front of him. He would have let go of her once she had her feet safely under her, but her fingers tightened, refusing to release him.

“You need to listen to me,” she said urgently. “It wasn’t what you—”

“Wasn’t what, Cassandra? You telling Nico that I wasn’t real? That I’m a figment of his magical thoughts and could disappear on a whim?”

She stared at him. “Are you insane?” she demanded. “Of course, you’re real. That’s not what I was saying at all!”

“I heard you, Cassandra. You said Nico’s tale explained everything, that it explained—”

“That it explained what I see when I look at you, at the
two
of you together. What my magical senses
feel,
you ass. It has nothing to do with you being real and everything to do with the magic inside you. The magic that turns you into that big warrior god you’re so damn proud of.”

He studied her in the dark. He could see her far better than she could see him. And she was telling the truth. There was no artifice in her manner, no lie in her earnest expression. “You heard what Nico said, about the women I bedded.”

“You’re not winning any points here, bud.”

“That’s not what I’m trying—” His lips tightened in exasperation. “All of those women, Cassandra, and not one of them ever produced a child that was mine.”

“So? Nick said his father had a spell to prevent—”

“But
I
didn’t,” he corrected her. “In my day, a warrior was judged on the battlefield, to be sure. But also on the strength of his sons.”