The Stone Warriors: Damian (4 page)

But just as he knew that there had been technological advances in this modern age, so, too, did he know of the social changes. Women now seemed to stand equal with men in almost every arena, but he still preferred
his
women to be more biddable. Not that he’d had a woman in a very long while. He’d been a silent witness to more sexual encounters than he could remember, but none had brought him any relief.

In the beginning, when he’d been buried in the dark, when he’d still believed his imprisonment would end quickly, he’d dreamt of what he would do when he was freed. But as the decades, the centuries, and finally the millennia unfolded, he’d resigned himself to his fate. Doing otherwise was more painful than simply accepting his lot. But he’d never forgotten the soft feel of a woman’s body, the sweet fragrance of her perfume as she writhed beneath him.

With a shock, he found himself becoming erect. His first reaction was relief that he could still function, that his long imprisonment hadn’t taken away his manhood. But hard on that thought was the knowledge that this was not the time or place. He’d find a willing woman soon enough—he’d never had any problem attracting female attention—but first, he had to deal with Casey and this damn curse.

“Let us be clear,” he said, wondering in spite of himself where she was going with such determination on her face. “You agree that the blood debt is paid.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, you seem like a nice guy and all that . . . Not. But I’ve got bigger problems. I can’t let Sotiris get his hands—”

Damian reached out to touch the woman’s shoulder, halting her resolute stride. “Did you say Sotiris?” he demanded in disbelief. “He still lives?”

THE FEW DOUBTS that Casey had clung to about Damian’s identity vanished in a heartbeat. He didn’t ask who Sotiris was, he asked if he
still
lived. This was one of Nick’s stone warriors. More than once, she’d seen him eyeing the small set of statues that held the place of honor in his vault back home. It was where he kept everything of value, all of those dangerous artifacts she and the other hunters searched out for him. He’d invited her in on occasion, when she was delivering a particularly crucial device or charm, one that he didn’t want to touch himself for reasons that he’d never explained, and she’d never questioned. But she’d noticed those statues and the sadness in his eyes whenever he looked at them. She didn’t know exactly what they meant to him or even who they were, but she’d never asked, and never discussed it with any of the others, either.

That didn’t mean she’d missed the obvious, however. The connection between the statues in his vault and his prime directive about actual magical statues was too obvious to ignore. Especially now, when she was pretty damn sure that one of those statues was standing before her in the flesh. As tempted as she’d been to walk away before, there was no question of what she had to do now. She looked up at the big warrior. “You know Sotiris?” she asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

“He’s the one who cursed me and the others,” he said, seeming more hurt and confused than angry. “And you’re telling me he still lives in this time?”

“Maybe it’s a different man,” she said hopefully. “The name—”

“The name means nothing. The man you speak of is a powerful sorcerer?”

Casey nodded. “Not just powerful, but evil in the deepest sense of that word.”

“It is he,” Damian said, mostly to himself. “Are there others like him?” he asked her.

“I don’t think so. No one on his level, anyway,” she said, shaking her head. “Look, this is all beyond my pay grade. But my boss will know. He knows everything.” She intentionally avoided mentioning Nick by name. He was obviously not the Nicodemus that Damian was looking for; that man had to be long dead. She didn’t know exactly how long ago Damian had been cursed, but it was probably measured in millennia rather than centuries. Only a truly powerful sorcerer could still be alive after all this time, and as she’d told Damian, Sotiris was the only sorcerer around anymore with that kind of juice. Magic was her business; she’d know if there was anyone else. And if she didn’t know, Nick would, and he’d have shared it with his team. Power like that was a threat they all needed to know about.

On the other hand, “Nick” was close enough for anyone with a brain to make the same familial connection that she had, and she’d seen nothing to indicate that Damian was a stupid man. But if he
was
one of the statues, then it was up to her Nick to decide what happened next. She’d call him first chance she got, but right now. . . . She abruptly realized that Damian was still holding on to her arm, gripping it like a lifeline, and it occurred to her how horribly disorienting all of this must be to him. Sure, he was a big guy who could hold his own in a fight. But this morning he’d been a fucking
statue!
And then, from one minute to the next, he’d been thrust back into a world he couldn’t possibly understand, and now he’d discovered that his ancient enemy, the very sorcerer responsible for trapping him all those centuries ago, was still alive, still spreading evil.

“Look,” she told him. “Why don’t I stash you someplace safe, someplace with room service and satellite TV. You can rest up,
catch
up on the world, get something to eat . . .” Her voice trailed off. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He wouldn’t even recognize most of the food on a menu today. She’d have to walk him through it, but she didn’t have time to babysit. Every minute that passed was another mile that the Talisman traveled away from her. What the hell was she going to do?

Damian took the decision away from her. “I will not
rest up
while my enemy still lives
,
” he said disdainfully. “I may not understand everything about your world, but I can still fight and kill, and you need my skill far more than my knowledge of modern customs. You and I will travel together. We will find this
talisman
that you seek, and I will kill Sotiris once and for all. And then, I will find my brothers and together we will reunite with our leader.”

“What was your leader’s name again?” she asked, holding her breath against his answer.

He tilted his head, as if intrigued by her question. “Nicodemus Katsaros.”

Casey closed her eyes. Christ. She couldn’t let anything happen to him. Nick would kill her. Which meant she couldn’t stash him away in a hotel, no matter how tempting it was. He’d never stay there, for one thing. But for another, she’d couldn’t keep an eye on him if he wasn’t with her.

“Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll work together. But we’ll have to do something about your sword first. If a cop sees you with that . . .” Her voice trailed off as he slung the sword over his head and down his back, as if expecting a scabbard to be there. She drew breath to call out before he sliced his back open, but then the blade just . . . disappeared. She stared. “How’d you do that?” she asked, walking around him and finding no trace of the substantial weapon. Curiosity overcame good sense, and she stretched out her hand toward what looked like smooth skin over a muscular back, coming up short when she ran into what sure as hell felt like a leather scabbard.

Damian eyed her over his shoulder, his amusement obvious. “It’s magic, woman. You must be familiar with it. Nicodemus crafted this for me so that I would never have to leave the blade behind.”

“He did a good job of it,” she breathed, tracing the lines of the scabbard. So, this Nicodemus fellow was a sorcerer, too?”

“Far greater than Sotiris, which is why the bastard resorted to curses in hopes of weakening Nico enough to defeat him.”

“Obviously it worked, because Sotiris is still around, but I’ve never heard of Nicodemus,” she muttered, thinking out loud and never intending him to hear it. But the stricken look on his face told her that he had, and she hurried on, trying to soften the blow. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean. . . . I work almost exclusively in the US, so if he’s in another country. . . . I mean, it’s not like Sotiris is the only sorcerer in the world; there are others for sure. And maybe your friend is using a different name now, right?” she said, though she didn’t really believe it.

He studied her distrustfully—smart man—and she could tell he still had questions. But he also seemed to understand, with the instincts of the warrior he’d once been and clearly still was, that this wasn’t the time or place. He nodded. “We will talk more before this is over, and you will tell me what you know.”

Casey nodded. They were going to have a long talk soon. But not until she’d had a chance to talk to Nick. He was the one who’d earned her loyalty, not some sword-wielding warrior whom she’d just met. Nick had been good to her. He’d snatched her away from the FBI and given her a mission that was something only she could do. He valued not only her magic sensitivity, which was something she’d been born with, but her investigative and fighting skills as well. She was one of his top hunters, one of those he trusted with the most difficult assignments. And for that, for valuing her and giving her purpose, he had her loyalty and her affection. Besides, she’d be happy to turn the whole ancient statue thing over to him to deal with.

Chapter Two

CASEY DROVE BACK to the city, constantly checking her rearview mirror for suspicious vehicles, or familiar headlights, but found none. It was almost humiliating. Apparently, she was no threat to Sotiris at all now that they’d recovered the Talisman from her. She wasn’t even worth a little demolition-derby action. Not that she particularly wanted to be run off the road, but it would have been nice to know someone wanted her dead.

She frowned. That was a damn twisted thought. She really needed some sleep. And something to eat.

The next order of business had to be food and rest. And she needed to deal with her shoulder, which was still slowly leaking blood. It should have stopped by now, which meant either the bullet had damaged something important, or it had been enchanted to amplify the destruction. Either way, she needed to take care of it. Now that the adrenaline had dissipated from the fight, the pain nearly whited out her thoughts every time she moved the arm, and the loss of blood was making her lightheaded. Add that to the fact of her exhaustion, and it was hard to think straight. Which wouldn’t do. She’d need to be at the top of her game if she was going to figure out where Sotiris’s people would take the Talisman next, and then get it back. Assuming Sotiris was behind this, that was. But the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was.

The logical next move would be for his people to get the Talisman to Sotiris himself, but she didn’t think that was their plan. It was a dangerous artifact, probably not worth much when it had originally been crafted, but the perfect weapon in a digitized society. And Sotiris had become a broker of sorts in this century, a supplier of death and destruction rather than the destroyer himself. The buyer of record for the Talisman had clearly been a nobody, a front arranged by Sotiris to fool both customs and anyone who might look too closely. It had certainly fooled her. But he probably had a real buyer lined up, which meant his people, the ones who’d stolen it back from her tonight, would need someplace safe to store it. Someplace to keep it inert until the buyer paid for it and could accept delivery.

She glanced at Damian. He’d been quiet ever since he’d discovered that Sotiris was still alive, while Nicodemus was . . . well . . .
way
dead. He’d apparently lived long enough to produce descendants, and they, in turn, had produced more descendants, and on down the line, until
her
Nick Katsaros had inherited the family name and legend. But Damian’s
Nicodemus
was dead, and they’d clearly been close. So, of course, he was quiet.

Despite all of that, however, she wasn’t fooled by his silence. Nor by his newfound compliance. She had no doubt he’d recover quickly enough and be a big pain in her ass again. In the meantime, though, he needed a few things for his new life, like clothes. He couldn’t walk around half-dressed and looking like an extra for some medieval adventure show. And he’d probably enjoy a shower. She didn’t know exactly what kind of bathing facilities they’d had back in the prehistoric mists of time or whatever, but she was pretty sure it didn’t involve indoor plumbing. Come to think of it . . .

“How’d you eat?” she asked without turning away from the traffic, which was getting heavier the closer she got to the newer part of the city. “I mean when you were, you know, a statue.”

She felt his gaze on her a moment before he answered. “I had no need of food, or . . . other things.”

The way he said “other things,” she knew he wasn’t talking about water. Sex probably. The way he looked, he’d probably mowed down the women of his time. Shit. A few thousand years without sex. Yikes. He’d be a fucking machine. Talk about stamina. All that built-up need. . . . Whoa. She definitely needed a bed if she was lusting after former statues. A bed for sleep, that was. Of course, Damian would be there, too. She couldn’t leave him alone, and he’d probably sleep naked. . . .

Damn, Casey, think about something else!

“How come you speak English?” she demanded, almost desperately. Anything to get the image of a naked Damian out of her head.

“English?” he repeated.

“The language I’m using,” she explained. “How come you know it?” Now that she thought about it, that should have been one of her first questions. He’d talked about being trapped for millennia, and the English language wasn’t that old.

“Ah. Is that what you call this language? I’ve known many. I believe it’s part of my curse. Sotiris wanted us—my fellow warriors and I—to suffer. It wouldn’t do if we didn’t understand what was happening around us, if we couldn’t see the occasional danger and be helpless to stop it. I’ve understood every language spoken around me since I woke in my stone prison, from the scavengers who first unearthed me, to the sailors who brought me over the ocean, from the men and women who mingled in Lester Kalman’s garden estate, to those who spent time on my rooftop.” He paused thoughtfully, then turned and gave her that same wistful smile from earlier. “But your English is the first language I’ve
spoken
since the day I was cursed.”

Casey tried again to steel herself against that sad smile and failed. All of this must be so disorienting. He needed her help.

“I’m taking you back to my hotel,” she said, having just decided on that course for the two of them. There was a safe house nearby, but she’d been saving that for
after
she’d retrieved the Talisman, a place to lie low until the heat died down. In the meantime, she’d checked into a hotel, taking advantage of the gym and room service while she waited for the Talisman to turn up. All of her leads had told her it would end up in this city eventually, and it had. Until she’d lost it. She shook off the guilt that thought brought with it. She’d done her best under the circumstances.

But now she was reduced to waiting again. Listening, watching for some sign of where the Talisman would surface next. And that meant staying in this area, at least for a time. Damian might have been more secure at the safe house, rather than in a public place like a hotel. But she wasn’t yet sure enough of him to reveal the house’s location. It had taken Nick years to set up a reliable network of safe houses, places used not only by her, but by other hunters as well, and she couldn’t jeopardize all of that on a whim. So, that meant going back to the hotel.

It was close to the airport and also had a couple of big-box stores nearby where she could pick up clothes for Damian without looking suspicious. She didn’t have any familiarity with men’s clothing sizes, but she’d have to figure out something for him, because she sure as hell couldn’t take him with her to try stuff on. He’d stand out like a sore thumb, and they’d be found in no time. Sotiris’s people hadn’t bothered to tail her, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill her if the opportunity presented itself. And what about Damian? If Sotiris had cursed him, wouldn’t he want to get his hands on him again now that he was freed?

“Hotel?” Damian asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

“Like an inn, but much bigger,” she said, trying to come up with some equivalent from his life.

He chuckled. “I know what a hotel is, woman. People came to my roof for privacy quite frequently, and I’ve heard enough conversations to know what goes on in a hotel room.”

“What goes on . . . ,” she repeated, then blushed. “Okay, it’s not just for . . . um, romantic get-togethers, all right? It’s for travelers, too.”

His laugh was louder this time. “I’m aware of that.” He eyed her curiously. “Have no fear, Casey. I have no sexual expectations of you.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. “Well,” she muttered. “Anyway, we can clean up and get something to eat. I’ll go out and buy some clothes for you. My boss will reimburse me.”

“Your boss must be generous. Who is he?”

“Sorry, that’s need-to-know information.”

“I need to know.”

“You
want
to know. There’s a difference. And his name doesn’t matter; what does is the fact that he knows more about magic and magical devices than anyone I’ve ever met. And I know he’ll be interested in
you
.”

“When do we meet him?”

“I’m not sure,” she said evasively. She wasn’t sure there would even
be
a meeting, much less when it would be. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Damian would be the perfect Trojan horse, the perfect weapon against Nick and his allies. He claimed that her blood had freed him, but who really knew? Sotiris was the one who’d cursed Damian, so what was there to stop him from
un
cursing him, and sending him out to wreak destruction? Maybe even to assassinate Nick. Just because he was one of the statues come to life, that didn’t mean he was necessarily a good guy.
That
decision was for Nick to make, not her. Hell, if Nick decided he was a threat, she couldn’t even promise he’d live through the next forty-eight hours.

But he didn’t need to know that just yet. “He doesn’t live around here.”

“Where does he live then?”

“Florida. We both do. The offices are there,” she said absently, her attention on maneuvering into the right exit lane.

“Florida,” he repeated, and she immediately regretted giving him that much information. She needed to be sharper in dealing with him. He was way too shrewd.

“Okay, this is the hotel,” she said, hoping to distract him. They turned into the parking lot. “We’ll go through the side entrance. You’re not exactly average-looking, and I don’t want to draw any attention, just in case someone’s looking for us.”

DAMIAN FOLLOWED the woman across the parking lot and into the hotel, watching with interest as she slid a small plastic card through a device next to the door, which then made a buzzing noise and popped open. The card looked like a credit card; he’d seen many of those during his imprisonment, and heard enough conversations to know their function. But this one seemed to substitute for the door key. Interesting.

The woman . . .
Casey,
he reminded himself, then frowned and said, “Casey. Is that a diminutive for Cassiopeia?”

She stopped and studied him, her dark eyes muddy with suspicion, as if deciding whether he could be trusted with her true name or not. It was plain that she had doubts about him. Her concerns were unfounded, but she didn’t understand that yet. Still, she must have believed in at least some part of his good intentions, because her gaze cleared, and she said, “It’s Cassandra, and that’s bad enough.”

He smiled at this indication of some small trust on her part. “Cassandra is lovely name,” he commented as they bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. He’d never ridden in an elevator, though he’d heard the box function on his rooftop as people were disgorged behind him, and seen the boxes in action when people were delivered to the rooftop across the street. But he wasn’t eager for the experience either. The boxes were small and confining, and an enemy could be lying in wait when the doors opened. You could be dead in seconds, and all because you were too foolish to simply climb the stairs instead.

Cassandra started up first, and he couldn’t help appreciating the roundness of her ass, the strength in her long legs. She reminded him of the Amazon warriors of his time, and one in particular whom he chose not to think about unless absolutely necessary.

“This is it,” she said, sliding the same card into a slot and opening the room door.

He would have entered first, on the possibility that their enemy lay in wait, but she didn’t give him the chance. She pushed through the door without so much as drawing her weapon, which he thought was reckless.

“What if your enemy had been waiting for you?”

“They don’t know about this place.”

“Why would you assume that? You’ve obviously been staying here for more than a day,” he commented, looking around the messy room.

“They didn’t have a reason to track me before today, okay? I wasn’t on their radar until I stole the Talisman.”

He didn’t know what radar was, but he got the gist of what she was saying. There was much he was going to have to learn.

She crossed the room and disarmed herself, dropping her gun and knife on a table already littered with weapons, wincing when she reached for the gun with her right hand before switching to her left. “I have to clean up this shoulder,” she said, her voice strained.

“I can help you,” he said quietly, laying his blade on one of the two beds. From what he could see, Casey favored guns, other than a small knife. He was grateful that his own blades had made the transition through time with him. His sword had been naked in his hand at the moment of his curse, so there was a logic to its survival. But he’d worried about his knife and, above all, the charmed scabbard that Nico had created for him. But both were with him, along with the blade that had been his and his alone. He laid the gun that he’d picked up from one of their dead pursuers next to his sword on the bed, and then turned to face Cassandra. “I have a great deal of experience with wounds like yours,” he assured her.

Her eyes, when they met his, were filled with pain. “It’s a bullet wound. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have guns back when—”

“The weapon doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “The wound needs to be cleaned, the bleeding stopped, and the arm immobilized. I can do that.”

She was giving him a searching look, and there was something in her eyes that he’d never expected to see from someone as fierce as she was. Fear. “I think the bullet is still in there,” she told him. “You’ll have to dig it out.”

He held her gaze without flinching and gave a single sharp nod. “I understand.”

She swallowed hard. “All right. There’s a first-aid kit in my duffel—that’s the big bag over there. It has tweezers, but . . . you might have to use a knife.”

“I don’t know what tweezers are,” he joked, trying to lighten her fear. “But I’m very good with blades, no matter the size.”

She smiled. It was perhaps the first true smile he’d seen from her, and it made him feel strangely proud. “I need to shower first,” she said. “Otherwise, I’ll just get the bandage wet when you’re finished. Here . . .” She picked up a small black device and aimed it at a glass screen on the wall. An image flared to life. “You can watch—”

“Television,” he said delightedly. “I’ve heard so much about this. How do I select the channels?”

She gave him an amused look. “You know about channels?”

“I told you. I’ve heard conversations on just about everything over the years. Your television shows are a frequent topic of lunchtime conversations.”