Darkness Unbound (3 page)

She hated the sound of that. It reeked of religious cult drivel.

According to the Scimitar leader, Ashor, she’d been selected to become an immortal warrior for the ancient Egyptian gods.
Right.
Like she believed that crap. Even so, she had proof these Scimitar magi could work some funky voodoo-magik, given that she’d been celebrating her arrival at death’s door two days ago. Then, the magi’s doctor stepped in and…
taa-daa
all bullet wounds magically healed. Damn it.

Ashor’s intense soldier gaze had transmitted a no-bullshit mantra she respected. The other seven alpha warriors obviously deferred to the broody leader who only softened when his small doctor wife, the one who healed her, appeared.

But to believe in
gods
? As in plural. Only a group of deluded crazies believed that. According to Ashor, she had no choice but to get on board with believing.

She preferred a double wrist slash to suicide herself into oblivion—to forget past heartache and avoid the inevitable years of lonesomeness. But she’d already tried that. And about every other imaginable way to meet her maker over the past decade. All failed. She concluded someone put a karmic fuck-you curse on her that made her immune to death. Maybe this walking clothes ad had a point. What did she have to lose with a little alcohol? She murmured, “All right.”

“Great.” Christian rolled his watch, an uber-expensive silver piece. “But we’ve got an hour to make the best DJ action. So, hurry up.” He smiled again. “Trust me, we’re going to have fun.”

That smile compelled her to move.

After a quick shower she stood nude, gazing into the bathroom mirror. She traced the six tattoos now marring her skin where she’d been shot and stabbed not two days ago. Two days! The wounds should be red, irritated, and stitched up. They should hurt. Instead, the skin was smooth, scar free, and tattooed with some funky stylized, blue symbols. The wounds had been sustained during a rescue attempt organized by her top secret government organization, the Company, to liberate a child, who turned out to be a teenage pre-magus. The kid might be minus a leg after the ordeal, but he seemed happy enough puttering around with these eight testosterone gladiators.

She pulled on the new clothes, shocked that they fit. Perfectly.
Hot damn.
Give Christian a few gold stars. The skin-tight black jeans hugged her long legs like a second skin. She knew it must’ve been hard to get extra-tall in these. At almost six feet, her size was hard to find. The black leather boots were a wow. How in the world did Christian know she wore a size ten?

What to do with the blond hair disaster? No hair dryer around. No flat iron. The strands had already started a mutinous wave. For work she usually pulled the mass scalp-tight into a ponytail or bun. She looked younger than thirty-two, and was self-conscious about maintaining an air of authority. Her life as of forty-eight hours ago had been about getting respect from the testosterones. That required taking femininity out of the picture.

She’d just resumed field duty after six months’ probation. What a relief to get off a desk. She and her field partner, Kane Langford, had been benched after screwing up an op. Bad intel. Wrong place. Wrong time. Too many on her team died as a result of their mistake. She still didn’t forgive herself.

Last month the Company sent her and Kane back into the field without explanation for the probation lift. She suspected her boss had reached maximum tolerance of her shitty computer skills. In her defense, if they’d invested in something other than second-rate Asian crap, then the computer systems probably wouldn’t have been so easy to mess up.

For now, she had no options for her hair, and left it down. The blond strands fell past her shoulders. She shrugged. Her goal wasn’t to impress tonight.

As she pushed out of the bathroom Christian emitted a whistle. “The Amazon goddess has arrived. Not bad.”

“How’d you know my sizes?” Her cheeks burned under his appreciative perusal. She resisted the urge to squirm.

He gave her a told-you-so smile that pushed her smack-him button hard. She granted him her patented fuck-off glower that had him snapping his lips closed over his teeth.

“You might say I’m a connoisseur of everything female. I knew you had the chest to fill at least a C. That bra is way better than the uni-boob look you had going on. What is it with hotties hiding themselves in ill-fitting clothes these days?” With a head shake he headed for the door. “Let’s give your new look a test drive on the other guys. The single ones. If I prance you in front of Dakar or Ashor, we’d be lucky if either noticed you were female.”

She followed him down the hallway of the colonial style house toward a staircase, dodging packed cardboard boxes. “Moving?” she asked.

“Yep. We’re going to Mexico. Hashishins found us here. They’re this Arabic black magik cult and a major pain in the ass. They keep us in business by summoning daemons. Every night they send ensorcelled snakes after us, which is one reason we’ve got to move. Those snakes are deadly to the kids and the ladies. Well, the humans, not you once you’re one of us.” He paused at the top of a massive staircase. “You just wait until you get a turn on nighttime snake duty. It sucks, especially when they bite.” He shuddered.

“Yeah, I saw one attack one of you guys while we were rescuing Cy. Why not eliminate all the Hashishins?”

“That’s against the rules. No killing humans unprovoked.”

“Seems to me like they’re the ones striking first. What if I don’t want this job?”

He snorted. “As if any of us has a choice…welcome to the biggest life fuck of all time.” He led a downward jog and paused before entering a swinging wooden door. “You can’t say no to the gods when they decide you’re the reincarnated soul of one of their half-human offspring.” He pushed into a modern kitchen where several guys stood around a central black marble counter nursing beers.

Christian announced, “We’re going out.”

“How the hell did you get her out of bed? And…whoa. What are you wearing?” asked a pierced out the wazoo magus she’d learned two days ago was an ex-Army Ranger named Nate.

“Kane, you now a part of this group?” Astrid asked, narrowing her gaze on her previous work partner whose longneck bottle sweated in his left fist. Kane wasn’t a magus. She found out on the plane ride here that his cousin, Dr. Kira, was the magi’s doctor.

Kane stared wide-eyed, giving her a head to leg once-over, not once but twice. His right fist massaged his five o’clock shadowed chin, and then combed through his spiky blond hair. He remained mute with a dumbstruck expression. Finally, he choked out, “Whaa…”

She suppressed a smile. A feminine thrill hit her stomach. She could count on one hand the number of times a hot, ex-Ranger, super spy found her brain-stuttering attractive. Once.

Right now.

She and Kane had danced the edge of get-it-on or keep-it-professional for several years, ever since a post-mission alcohol overindulgence led to an unforgettable kiss. She had slammed on the brakes, terrified of ruining their working relationship. She’d murmured to him,
This is crazy.
He’d whispered,
I know what I want. And I want you.
The thump-thump those words ignited in her previously deadened heart escalated terror into panic. She’d been running ever since.

Even so, for the past five years he’d been her oasis in a wasteland of emotional pain. Only he could make her smile when she entered one of her foulest moods. Only he recognized her suicidal martyr tendencies for what they were, and cared enough to caution her or protect her.

She long ago admitted she was susceptible to him. The alpha badass soldier mentality usually pissed her off, but not his. Although his obsession with her safety irritated, she found everything else sexy as hell. But she would never act on their attraction. She’d never give another man the opportunity to pulverize her heart.

Christian chuckled. “Round one to Astrid. I knew those clothes would be hot. Let’s get outta here.”

“Anyone else going with us?” she asked. Her gaze slid to Kane, hopeful.

“Just us,” Christian announced with finality. This was not an open invite for boys’ night out.

Too bad Kane wasn’t joining them. If so, this foray into intoxication was certain to stay professional. He’d make sure she stayed out of a stranger’s bed, not that she’d ventured into any bed since Zannis. Kane’s bed, though? No guarantees on him discouraging that. Oddly, she wasn’t opposed, even though she knew he deserved more than a meaningless one-nighter. Her head pounded. A drink sounded very good. She had to be careful. She rarely imbibed beyond a single beer. Alcohol went straight to her head. Fast. Losing control terrified her.

Later in downtown New Orleans, Christian approached their table carrying fistfuls of shots. Two women ambushed him. One whispered in his ear and the other ran her hands suggestively over his chest and then southward. A beautiful smile curved his lips. He murmured to them. The girls giggled. One pulled a card from her handbag and pushed it into his jeans’ pocket before moving away.

He slid three shots in front of Astrid across a scratched blacktop table. “Drink.”

“What are those?” She pointed at the shots.

“Please tell me you’ve done a shot before.” Christian took the seat across from her.

Astrid snorted. “Of course I’ve done a shot. What poison did you choose?”

“You’re wound tight. These’ll help you relax.” He smiled. In a smooth tone he said, “Drink.”

She smiled, somehow trusting him, needing to do what he suggested. She gulped down a shot of clear liquid.
Oh, crap. Tequila.
The expensive stuff. Smooth and lethal.

Christian said, “Did you notice all the guys in our three-sixty? They’ve got it bad for you. I think they’re jealous of me.”

Astrid scanned. Her eyes bumped into a few nearby guys, but her body shrugged a
whatever
. Obviously, they were horny and looking for the easy lay. That wouldn’t be her. A few women met her gaze. “They’re not my type. I think it’s the girls who are thinking you’re the idiot to be here with me.”

“You gay?” Christian asked.

Astrid choked on her second tequila shot and wiped at her watering eyes. “No.”

Christian shrugged. “Didn’t mean to offend. Just trying to figure you out. You’re what? Thirty-something? Single, blond, legs-to-your-chin knockout, and an adrenaline junkie based on your previous job. You know how to handle weapons. That means you’re probably...feisty in the sack.” His eyes slid to her breasts. He drawled, “You like being tied up? If you wanted to—”

“Lay one finger on me and I’ll cut it off and shove it up your ass.” She stared at him coldly. God, she hated being the new kid on a male-dominated team.

His leer disappeared. “Bad past relationship?”

Bad was an understatement. Although, few would qualify a one-night sex marathon as a relationship. She stared at Christian without replying.

He nodded. “Gotcha. Bad guy experience. Off limits subject. No prob. Let’s dance.” He smiled.

“No.” She sipped at the shot and eyed Christian. His sleek perfect physique probably had most women shedding thongs in about three seconds flat. He did nothing for her. Part of her was pissed that she couldn’t do easy sex. Christian was the perfect candidate—gorgeous, experienced, and obviously had no long-term expectations. She couldn’t go there
.

He darted his eyes toward the dance floor. “Come on. Dance with me.”

“No on the dancing. I’m warning you, bad things happen when I get drunk. Right now I’m well on my way to tipsy. Big time.” She had to stop drinking now.

“Aw, darlin’, I won’t let anything happen. We’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow.”

“I’ll be hung over.” She closed her eyes against the pulsating strobes. Her head throbbed in beat with the light flicker.

“But fun to watch.” Christian slid another shot her way.

Two shots later the world tilted when she attempted to stand. She could really use a bathroom trip, but made it as far as sliding back into her the chair, cursing her low tolerance for hard liquor. Her brain buzzed on a high of free floating. She caught sight of a magus she recognized taking a chair twenty yards away. “You invite some of the others?”

“That’s my little observing soldier. Never know.”

“That’s Khyan over there, isn’t it? Least, I think that was his name.” Despite the guy’s dark and gorgeous exterior, his uncompromising glower terrified anyone that breached his bubble. She watched Khyan push his wavy dark hair off his face and attempt to melt into the shadows.

“Yep.” Christian nodded.

“He doesn’t blend well. Little too stiff. You’ve chugged twice as much as me. Why do you seem fine? My head’s buzzing.” She bit her lip against a giggle and ordered her brain put a lid on that airheaded crap.

“Once the gods knight you a magus, drugs and alcohol don’t work well any more. Our metabolism’s too fast. That’s why you’ve got to enjoy the buzz now. I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’ll get us another round.”

“No, thanks. I’ve had enough. Really.” Had she slurred that?

He smiled with a little too much impish delight. “Stay here.”

She relaxed into the chair. Her mind drifted. For the first time in ages the past didn’t press on her brain with the memory of betrayal. And of the moment when her heart shattered into minuscule pieces so small that most remained lost.

A slick guy one table over flashed her a smile. His jeans and dark button-down suggested a forced relaxed look that was a too obvious aim for super cool. Probably a lawyer or e-trader, given his lack of tan.
You’re so harsh.
He was attractive, hitting most points on any girl’s check-off list. She should be interested. An image of naked male perfection blazed through her mind, an instant replay of the asshole that ruined her life.

Mr. Cool-wannabe raised his beer in a silent invite. She shot him a clear
not-interested.

The dance floor DJ announced a dance-off competition. Two semi-naked girls flashed thongs between limber-defying leg kicks, which drew the interest of all around, including the wannabe from the table over.