Charisse’s
face was pale as she eyed Darcy with sudden empathy. No wonder Darcy was
acting so much more erratically than normal. “Goddess Darcy. How
long and… who would dare? This man you’re chasing, he put the mark on
you?”
“Nate?
No… but he can see it. He’s the one who told Hadleigh. And now…
now, that golden sun-loving, sand-eating pile of muscle, refuses to share
anything else he knows. I’ve sicked Hadleigh on his ass. I’ve
plotted, I’ve planned, I’ve stalked… and obviously now I’m desperate… that’s
where you come in. I need you to talk to Nate for me.”
“Wait,
Nate? Isn’t he one of Maat’s elite warriors?”
“Yeah,
so? He’s still a man. Just walk up to him and open your trap.
He’ll be putty in your Siren hands after the first vowel.”
“You
have such a unique turn of phrase. Why don’t you just pick up a phone and
call the guy?”
Anger
and frustration bought two spots of high colour to Darcy’s cheeks. “He
won’t take my calls. I told you. I’ve tried every approach known to
man and some I’ve made up. Every time I try to ‘oh so accidently’ bump
into him, I get within ten feet of the man, and he just up and
disappears. He’s like fricking Houdini. You wouldn’t believe how
elaborate some of the traps I’ve been setting for him have been… his instincts
are uncanny.”
“Well,
he is an immortal warrior.”
“No
one is that good.”
“Yet
he continues to roam free… must be kind of embarrassing for you?” Okay,
so she shouldn’t tease Darcy, but seriously, it was so rare to see her
thwarted… it might never happen again.
Darcy’s
eyes narrowed. “So are you going to help me or what?”
“No
way. I’m not getting between you and a warrior of Maat. There’s
bound to be bloodshed and it takes ages to get that stuff out of my hair.”
“I’m
calling the family card. Game on?”
Charisse
gave Darcy a disbelieving look before reluctantly agreeing with a nod.
“Psycho.”
“Sea
cow.”
“Loon.”
“Fish
breath.”
“Crackpot”
“Narwhale
nose.”
“Bedlamite.”
“Shark
bait.”
“Fruitcake.”
“Sea
pig.”
“Kook.”
“Blob
fish.”
“Nut
case.”
“Walrus
butt.”
“Berserker.”
“Blubber
brain.”
“Looney
Tunes.”
“Squid
legs.”
“Fl…er…
Fruitcake.”
“Hah,
repeat.” Darcy crowed triumphantly with absolutely no winner’s
grace. Thankfully, since they were in public she didn’t break out into
her usual victory dance shuffle and waggle her tush in Charisse’s face.
“Fuck…”
Charisse muttered under her breath, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“I
win.” Darcy grabbed Charisse by the shoulders, giving her an encouraging
shove. “Now go pitch some Siren woo.”
“Honestly,
that’s your idea of a pep talk?”
“No
wussing out Char. I won, now go forth and coerce.”
“Fine.”
With one hand she flung her dark auburn hair back over one shoulder before
fussing with the neckline of her dress. Why she was primping she had no
idea. The man would be an annoying, cloying, lovesick mess two seconds
after she opened her mouth and said hello. Resigned to her fate, she tossed
back the rest of her drink before handing the empty glass to her cousin. “Which
one is Nate?”
Chapter
Two
Nate
loved parties. He was especially enjoying this one celebrating the
official melding of his Captain and friend, Vaughn, to the tall, gorgeous, and
delightfully blood-thirsty Hadleigh. Lucky son of a viper.
Of
course Nate had been there when the two had
unofficially
melded; just over four months ago, when Vaughn had tied himself to a dying
Hadleigh, determined that nothing would separate them in this life or the
here-after. Witnessing Vaughn’s desperation, the depth of his
emotions for the woman he loved… well, it had been kind of a wake-up call for Nate.
Since
that moment he’d been assessing his own life and quite frankly, it had come up
lacking. Oh, he had a job he loved, friends that were closer to him than
brothers and an interfering, but ultimately well-meaning Goddess to contend
with on a daily basis. And at last count, on his cell phone contact list,
he had over eight hundred lady friends… how disheartening was that.
He
adored women. They fascinated him. Not just their lovely and widely
diverse and enjoyable packaging but their inner toughness and courage.
That was his gift, to read people, to see inside them, right to their very
souls, their psyches, to know instantly their foibles and their
strengths. And to be honest, women… well women, just blew him away.
Their empathy, well-deep core of caring, tenacity and steely determination… for
Maat sake, women birthed babies with heads the size of bowling balls and were
up and around within a few hours, sometimes minutes.
But
women also had the most fears, self-doubts and fragile self-esteem thanks to
the pressures placed on them by society, tradition and a world, still to this
day, basically ruled and dominated by the male of the species.
That
was probably the reason why he had over eight hundred female
friends
listed as contacts, because he found it almost impossible to walk past a woman
and not try to shore up her doubts or repair her self-esteem… with a smile, a
wink, a compliment, a laugh, a chat, and yes on more than one occasion - a brief
affair.
During
his recent self-assessment it had surprised, comforted and yet at the same time
depressed him to realise the exceedingly large number of his past flirtations,
who had quickly moved from his arms, into stable and loving relationships.
He should feel gratified, but after a hundred years plus of flirting, with the
best of intentions, he was getting a little… weary.
He
wanted what Vaughn and Hadleigh had - a relationship. A give and take, rough
and tumble, fights and kisses… he wanted an uncomplicated woman to laugh, live
and play with… he wanted… Her.
She
was stunningly beautiful, narrow hips, full breasts, tall, probably around
5.11ft when barefoot, skin that was like fine white china, pouty wide soft
lips, hair that fell in a waterfall of soft waves down to her shoulder blades,
the colour of autumnal leaves, a glossy dark auburn. And those eyes of
hers, green, but so clear they reminded him of the calm seas off of Thailand,
exotic and oh so tempting.
She
was wearing a dark purple strapless sundress that moulded, just this side of
tight as to be perfect, showcasing her hourglass figure.
The slit in the full skirt split as she
walked, letting anyone watching her move catch a glimpse of a beautifully toned
calf and supple thigh.
His
cock jerked to attention as a hundred, nay a thousand images of what he wanted
to do with this woman scorched through his brain. There was only one
little - barely worth mentioning - problem with the woman walking towards
him. Her inner psyche, her soul, was almost completely engulfed by
something black and weirdly scaly.
Something dark and mysterious had its hooks deep into this girl.
Maat
damn it, just his luck, this vision of beauty was about as far from
uncomplicated as a woman could get.
*
*
*
As
she walked towards the tall, sun-kissed, buff warrior, Charisse bit back a sigh
of boredom. How disappointing, his eyes were fixed on her as if she was
an all-you-can-eat sundae bar at a dieter’s convention. She probably
wouldn’t even have to open her mouth to get this one to spill his guts.
She wondered what inane compliment he’d start with. She swore to
the Goddess she would hurl, if she heard one more time that her eyes were the
colour of the first leaf of spring.
Pity,
this one was not too shabby, bordering on kind of gorgeous. If you went
for the tall muscular surfer type, his sandy coloured hair unkempt, in that all
too cool way, as it fell to his shoulders and into his eyes. And what
eyes, even from a few feet away she could see the twinkle in those whiskey
coloured orbs. Damn him and his chiselled jaw, gorgeous sexy smile and
6.8ft of lean muscular perfection encased in fitted dark trousers and a steel
grey silk shirt. He certainly was a confident looking bastard.
She
came to a halt in front of him and waited, glancing down at her nails, hmm, she
really needed a manicure. A few seconds passed, sometimes it took some of
the slower guys a while to find their voice, then a minute passed, Goddess, seriously?
Even the most tongue tied of her admirers was usually stuttering out a nervous
string of unrelated words by now.
Sighing
in exasperation she glanced up to find he was neither moon-eyed nor drooling
but glaring down at her with an angry scowl. Gulp, this was new and
unprecedented as his candlelit whiskey coloured eyes assessed her with an
almost clinical detachment.
Umm,
what was she supposed to being doing? Oh right, making conversation might
be a good start.
“Hi,
I’m Charisse, Hadleigh’s cousin.” She usually didn’t need to say more
than hi, but there was no reason not to be polite.
Let
the puddling and drooling commence. Except the warrior continued to frown
down at her as if she were some complex puzzle that he was contemplating
solving… or destroying.
Deep
inside a sharp pain shot through her as the rock yanked on their shared bond,
like an owner yanks on the choke chain of a misbehaving poodle. Luckily
she’d spent practically every moment of the last three days logging hours, no
way could ‘Bettina – the bitch rock’, as she’d come to nickname her nemesis,
demand her presence today. She wouldn’t miss out on Hadleigh’s big day
just because the she-bitch liked to keep a tight leash on her prized
possession.
Pushing
down on the pain, Charisse forced a small - didn’t want to give the guy a heart
attack or anything – smile. “And you’re one of Vaughn’s colleagues…?”
“Nate.”
He said the word gruffly. No elaborating, no gushing, no attempt to make
further conversation.
Okay,
this was a first. To be truthful Charisse wasn’t quite sure what to do
next. Based upon previous experience, usually by now she’d be back at the
bar using napkins to wipe drool off her shoes. Her eyes flicked to the
left as movement caught her attention, Darcy, scowling her way and making
shooing gestures with her hands…what? Oh right, she needed to remember
she was on a mission.
“Dance
with me?” She issued the invitation, holding out her hand, startled when
he actually hesitated.
Staring at her
hand hard with what looked like suspicion in his gaze. She couldn’t help
but laugh. A passing waiter stumbled and dropped a tray of glasses, his
gaze fixed and full of longing on Charisse. With years of practise she
ignored the calamity taking place behind them. “It’s just a dance.”
She reassured Nate.
His
large warm hand engulfed hers, Nate turned, escorting her to the dance
floor. “Every war starts with one small step.”
“Excuse
me?” She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, surprised at how
nervous she suddenly felt. When was the last time she’d danced with a man
who wasn’t a family member or gay… just danced? Maybe never.
“Nothing,
come on Cyd, let’s trip the light fantastic.” He pulled her gently into
his arms.
“Cyd?”
She queried with a passing frown.
“You
know, as in Cyd Charisse, movie star from the old Hollywood days, famous as a
dancer and considered to have the best legs in the business. You remind
me of her when you move.”
Wow,
not exactly an effusive compliment, though it was a unique one, kind of
refreshing but still, Charisse was more than a little bemused, Nate seemed to
be genuinely impervious to her Siren charms. Okay, so not every man
buckled at the knees when they first caught a glimpse of her… thank the
Goddess. But when she infused her voice with a low grade attraction lure,
well… that and a puddle of drool and a pile of napkins was the usual
result.
But
not Nate, he’d even hesitated over her invitation to dance, maybe she needed to
tap into her powers a bit more seriously. “So… Nate.” Her voice
husky, low and breathy. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about
yourself?”
For
a split second his hold on her tightened and she was sure she’d broken him, but
instead he swept her to the left, avoiding a collision with Great-Uncle Edward
and his wife Annabeth.
Nate
stared down at the lovely woman in his arms, his teeth clenched, his whole body
wire edge taut. He would not get involved with Charisse he swore to
himself, no matter how gorgeous the woman was, she came with way too much baggage.
He’d
learnt long ago, thanks to Maat’s constant harping on about free will and
choice that not everyone wanted to be fixed…. to be saved. It was a hard
reality to accept that it was not his job to interfere, to save or fight
another person’s internal battle. He could save their lives as a warrior
of Maat, but it wasn’t his job to save their souls.
True
he might flirt occasionally to shore up crumbling self-esteem, or compliment,
to brighten a bad day, but that was just his minimal do-gooder instincts coming
to the fore. When it came to the big internal conflicts of the soul, the
only person who could win that battle was the individual involved, and they had
to be the one to do the fighting, otherwise, it would prove a hollow victory.
Just
like the battle Charisse was waging with whatever inner demon had its claws
into her. From the brief glimpse of her core through the cracks of the
black entity practically engulfing her soul, he knew that she fought with
courage and integrity combined with an admirable dash of dark humour daily...
hourly. In this fight she needed to be the champion, whatever freedom or
peace she sought, had to be won on her own terms.
He
would not… could not, interfere, not with something on this scale, but at the same
time dancing with her in his arms, drinking in her lovely features, smelling
the tantalising notes of her perfume, tiare flower, passionfruit and jasmine,
feeling her full breasts brush up against the silk of his shirt, it was eating
away at his resolve to keep his distance. Fuck, why were all the really
great women so darn complicated?
And
now he was wondering what the black barrier was. Maat, would he never
learn? It wasn’t debilitating shyness or agoraphobia. No, it was
something else, more of an external influence. He ran through a list of
possible causes, crossing off drugs, alcohol and it definitely wasn’t a sex
addiction, that came with a red aura … pity.
No,
the barrier reminded him of the dark smoke like clouds he’d seen wrapped around
women who had abusive boyfriends or possessive husbands. But the damn
thing encasing Charisse’s psyche looked practically solid… it had to have some
sort of magical component, but what? The woman certainly on the outside
didn’t look as if she were suffering; confident, bright and gorgeous… it was a
mystery damn it, and now he was intrigued.
“Well?”
It
was a simple word but the way she said it had him picturing her using that
gorgeous mouth of hers on his aching cock. Pull yourself together
man. “Well what Cyd?” He frowned down at her, shaking off the
sudden urge to find the nearest dark corner and let his hands find out how much
access that split in her skirt provided.
Charisse
arched a fine dark eyebrow for a split second at the gruff abrupt tone he used.
“Um, I asked you to tell me a little bit about yourself.”
Nate
shrugged. “Warrior… elite guard… kill the mystical magical bad guys when
they step out of line… pretty much self-explanatory really.”
“Um,
okay.” Charisse bit the inside of cheek to keep from issuing a frustrated
sigh. She was beginning to get an inkling of how Darcy felt when dealing
with Nate.
Speaking of whom, off to the
left, she caught a glimpse of Darcy still hovering, her blue eyes intent and
focused their way. Lifting her hand Darcy used two of her fingers to make
scissor like cuts at long imaginary hair. Bitch, always with the threats,
couldn’t she see she was working on the problem?
And
what a problem Nate was turning out to be. The man was a complete enigma,
scowling and gruff, somehow immune to her charms. The silence that fell
over them should have felt awkward except being here in his arms, she felt…
safe, content and kind of… turned on. Through the thin silk of his shirt
the muscles of his shoulder under the flat of her palm were twitching and
jumping, and the bare skin of his throat, only a few inches away from her
fingers, looked warm and enticing. Without thinking about it too
carefully she pressed her body into his ever so slightly, thanks to her
ultra-high shoes, her breasts moulded to the hard planes of his chest, her hips
bumping up against his… hmmm, maybe the man wasn’t as immune to her as he was
acting.