Phantom Warriors: Linx (17 page)

Fear
and trepidation slowed her steps as the throne came into view. It was neither
gold nor silver. Instead, the seat was made up of a spider web of steel with
skulls for feet. This wasn’t the throne of a King. This was the throne of a
barbarian. Fortunately, Linx was there to keep her moving or Taylor would’ve
turned and run back out.

As
they approached, she saw that the throne was empty. A dark-haired man with a
fight-carved face sat beside it, lounging insolently against the base. He was a
study in muscle, though Taylor doubted that he'd ever stepped foot inside a
gym.

Was
this one of the King's private guards? He looked the part. Built for sheer
brute force without all the frivolousness of subtly. She had no doubt he wasn't
one to mess with. He looked like he could crush skulls with his bare hands
until all that remained was bone dust.

His
gaze started at the top of her head, resting momentarily on her full breasts
until they hardened in awareness, before proceeding to her toes. He reversed
direction without saying a word and stopped when he reached her face. Taylor shivered
under his uncompromising regard and hated that it wasn’t because of the cool,
damp air.

In
her old life, he was the type of man that she would've been attracted to. She
would’ve gone out of her way to catch his attention...but not anymore. She’d
learned her lesson and it had very nearly cost her everything she held dear.
She forced herself to meet his eyes. Something odd flared in the blue depths
before being carefully banked. The man’s unflinching gaze slowly moved from her
to Linx.

“I
thought you said the King was expecting us,” she said under her breath, hoping
that only Linx could hear her.

“He
is,” the man leaning against the base of the throne said. He rose and slowly
walked to the front of the throne and sat down in the seat, resting his hands
on the thick metal webs.

"Your
Highness." Linx gave the man a short bow.

Taylor's
mouth dropped open. This was the King. It couldn't be. Kings didn't look like
cage fighters. Kings were soft,
well-spoken
, pampered.
She glanced around the room. Okay, so maybe he did pamper himself a little, but
that was as far as the stereotype went. Her gaze returned to the fierce looking
throne.

"If
I grant you this favor, then we are even," the Dark King said.

"Thank
you, Your Highness. I will be back to retrieve her as soon as possible."
Linx gave Taylor a warning glare.

"Thank
you for allowing me to stay, Your Highness," Taylor said with a quick
curtsy.

“What
are you called?” the King asked.

“My
name is Taylor.”

“You
may call me Hades.”

Taylor
stared at him for a few seconds. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Excuse
me, did you say Hades? Is that because you live in a cave?”

“No.
It’s because it’s my name.” He shot a pointed look at Linx.

Linx
sighed. “Forgive her impertinence, Sire.”

The
King looked at her again, his blue eyes boring into her until Taylor felt
naked. "The Phantom Warrior tells me that you have given up your wild
Earth ways."

Taylor
glared at Linx, then turned back to the King. "That is correct, Your
Highness."

He
stared at her.

“I
mean, Hades,” she corrected.

"Pity,"
he said, clearly bored with the whole conversation. "I had hoped for a
distraction."

Taylor's
temper flared before she could stop it. "Well you won't find one
here," she spat.

Linx's
eyes widened and he glared at her.

The
Dark King threw his head back and laughed. "That remains to be seen."
He
looked
at Linx. "You are dismissed."

Linx
hesitated, clearly torn about whether he should stick around. He shook his
head,
then
gave the King another short bow.
"Behave," he hissed under his breath at Taylor.

He started it.
"I will." She shot him a heated
glance. "Maybe you should give his ‘Royal Badass’ the same advice. I think
he could use it."

*
* * * *

His
debt to Linx now satisfied, Hades stared at the Earth woman that he’d promised
to keep safe. Long, flowing dark red hair framed her pale face. She had oddly
colored eyes, neither brown nor green, but somewhere floating in the middle.
They bore no resemblance to the Atlantean women or the Phantoms, but they were
striking in their own way.

He’d
read her thoughts easily, when she stepped forward into the chamber. She hadn’t
believed him to be a King, but that was nothing new, since half the
Atlanteans
and Phantoms agreed and chose to follow Eros.

In
their eyes, Hades would always be a Halfling, neither Phantom nor Atlantean. A
mistake. But their opinions would change quickly, if Zaron
was
ever under attack. For Hades was good at one thing, better than anyone else—
war
.

He
knew how to fight, how to use every weapon. His strategies were beyond compare.
He’d been raised as a warrior from the start and did not fear death. Nor did he
court it. Hades would do whatever he must in order to win. Eros would never be
able to say the same.

Hades
looked at Taylor and saw the defiance in her eyes. Something inside of him rose
to take up the challenge.

Taylor
was different. She’d made that abundantly clear with her barely veiled disdain.
If he hadn’t sensed her fleeting attraction before she’d realized who he was,
Hades might have been able to let her be.

But he had sensed it.

Now
it was too late. The flash of awareness coupled with her flare of temper
intrigued him. Most women fell over themselves to please him, but not Taylor.
She wanted nothing to do with him. The question was why?

Hades
immediately began to strategize, running all the options, evaluating the
various outcomes. In the end, the answer was always the same.

Taylor
would learn to bow before the Dark King…like all the others who’d come before
her.

Who knows
, he thought.
She might even learn to like it.

Hades
gave her an evil grin infused with sheer determination. Taylor’s full breasts
quivered delectably under his unflinching regard. She shifted her long,
sensuous legs and glanced around as if she’d flee given half the chance.

He
inhaled. A rich, spicy scent tickled his sensitive nose. Hades’ eyes fluttered
closed and his head spun as he drank her in. If she tasted half as good as she
smelled, she’d be delicious. He breathed in again, this time deeper. Now there
was nowhere that she could hide that he wouldn’t find her.

“Run,”
he ordered.

Taylor
squeaked and took off in the direction from which she’d come.

Hades
watched her go, feeling his anticipation rise as he prepared to give chase. He
looked forward to giving Taylor her first lesson in obedience. He had no doubt
that when he caught her that there would be a battle of wills. Hers cast from
Earth’s soft soil and his cast from iron.

He
might bend, but the Dark King would never break.

Hades
wondered if the same could be said for Taylor. There was only one way to find
out. He surged up from the throne and roared.

To
be continued…

#
# #

ARCHANGELS
OF PUNISHMENT: DEATH ANGELS

SNEAK
PEEK EXCERPT

Ardan
Chemah
stood over the man he'd just killed, waiting for the
soul to forsake the corpse. There was a hiss, followed by a loud wail. He
listened to the soul's mournful cry slowly dissipate as it departed to circle
the globe one last time, before eventually leaving this realm.

Whether it would ascend or descend was not
his call, nor did he care. His job was done. Already the man's name faded from
his memory. Soon another would replace the name
,
then
Ardan's
time here on earth would be done.

Glass crunched beneath his black
boot-heels as he left the scene. The body would be discovered soon enough. No
need to draw attention to it. The humid exhaust-filled air smacked his face,
coating his skin in a thin sheen of sweat and grime.

He heard boisterous laughter drawing
nearer and turned to go in the opposite direction. Like all Archangels of
Punishment,
Ardan
preferred the company of shadows.
Daylight reminded him too much of the endless separation from the
Above
.

He inhaled. The scent of urine, feces, and
desperation clogged his nostrils and burned his eyes. He looked around in
disgust at the depravity. Moses slaying him lifetimes ago had not changed
Ardan’s
opinion of the species. They didn't deserve the
gifts that had been bestowed upon them. With a single order, he'd gladly wipe
out the blight that had become humanity.

Darkness closed around him. A sallow
streetlight flickered in the distance as the first signs of a new call--his
last--hit him.
Ardan
gasped. His back bowed. His jaw
clenched as heat infused him a second before his left arm burst into flames.

The invisible red and black tether that
kept him connected to Aiden Finn
Colg
,
Af
—or the Prince of Wrath as their father called
him—strained as his body contorted.

Ardan
dropped to his knees onto the filth, trembling as the powers of the heavens
surged through him. The skin on his back split, tearing the newly healed flesh
on his shoulder blades open again.

A cry ripped from his throat before he
could stop it. The seedy world around him dimmed as black wings laced with
lethally sharp feathers shredded his shirt, leaving the material in tatters.

Moisture trickled down his spine and
dripped onto the pavement. His angelic blood blended with the waste that
littered the ground, searing away the grime.
Ardan
took big gulps of air to combat the nausea that always came with a call and
slowly rose to his feet. He shuddered one last time as he absorbed the fire
into the flesh of his arm and waited for the name of his next target to appear.

In all his time on earth, he'd never
received a call so soon after dispatching another. Not that he was complaining.
Quite the opposite.

Ardan
wanted this to be over, wanted his time here to be done. The longer he remained
in this realm the harder it was to resist the temptations that mankind offered.
The pull to yield was something every archangel had to battle in this world.
Some failed. Others fell. Yet still others returned triumphant, their place in
the heavens guaranteed.

A crack-addled junkie in need of his next
fix stumbled into the alley, smelling of rot and death. He glanced at
Ardan
through bloodshot eyes, no doubt trying to determine
if he was an easy mark. His gaze landed on
Ardan's
wings and the man blinked. His eyes widened and he shook his head as if to
clear it.

Despite the drugs coursing through the
junkie's veins impairing his judgment, he was cognizant enough to sense the
danger radiating from the archangel's body. "I don't want any trouble,
Batman," he slurred,
then
slowly backed out of
the alley in search of easier prey.

Ardan
watched him go. His body shook with the urge to slay the man where he stood. He
curled his hands into fists. A few deep breaths later, the impulse slowly
receded.
Ardan
stretched his wings until the black
tips touched the sides of the dilapidated brick buildings that lined the alley,
feeling unencumbered once again. He flapped his wings, slowly at first, then
faster, building in power until his feet left the ground.

The overflowing dumpsters scattered
throughout the alley screeched as they began to move.
Ardan
flapped harder and the bins flew down the alley out into the streets before
slamming into the boarded up businesses on the far side of the road.

Within seconds, the alley was clear of
debris.
Ardan
drew his wings in and dropped to the
ground. He inhaled deeply, tasting fresh air for the first time this evening.

He glanced down at his arm. Etched deeply
in his skin like it had been chiseled into stone was the name, Paul Druthers.
It mattered not that there were many by that name in this world.
Ardan
would know when he encountered the right one.

The name would remain burned into his
flesh until Paul
Druthers's
soul had been dispatched.

Ardan
didn't care what the man had done to be marked for death. It wasn't his place
to question orders. He lifted his head, tugged at the tether that kept him
bound to his brother, Wrath in order to loosen it,
then
took to the sky. He'd find Paul Druthers, like he'd found all the others. It
might take time, but then again, time meant little to death angels.