Poisoned Kisses (10 page)

The vulture crowed, “Of course, if you’re really special to her, you’ll change her when you go. Everyone knows that a nymph’s lover never stays. Even she knows it. Why do you think she’s fleeing up the stairs to hide her broken heart?”

Oh, if Kyra had her knife and just a little more strength, she’d carve this vulture up like one of those New World Thanksgiving turkeys!

“That’s enough,” Marco growled.

But the vulture ignored his warning. “She’ll end up some sad plant, mark my words. Maybe she’ll go mad, like her mother.”

That was one taunt too many. Marco slammed one hand against the cage. “Shut up! Just shut the hell up.”

Kyra held her breath. Was Marco actually
defending
her? Or was it just that they both shared that special pain of losing a mother to mental illness? Marco took her arm and steadied her on the stairs. “Come on. We’re going.”

The vulture banged against the cage, her voice coming out in a series of woofs and chuffs distinct to her species. “You can’t just leave me down here!”

“Why not?” Kyra returned. “You should die slowly, suffering, waiting for the rats to pick the meat off your bones. Isn’t turnabout fair play?”

Marco helped Kyra up the last few stairs and locked the basement door behind them.

Flattening herself against the locked basement door, Kyra fastened her peridot choker around her neck where it belonged. Marco was coming toward her, impossibly close. In spite of everything, his proximity was potent. She could actually feel the heat of his body. She took a deep breath, fighting down her gratitude to him for having defended her against the vulture. Fighting her desire to be near him. Did he remember that this was the body he held in his hands, last night? That this was the skin he had kissed? That these were the eyes that guided him in the dark? Not Ashlynn’s body, but hers?

But as always, Marco’s mind was on weaponry. He thrust his hand into the pocket of the borrowed overcoat she was wearing, pulled the vulture’s gun out and tucked it under his belt with his own weapon. “Nice friends you have,” Marco said.

“I thought it was pretty obvious that vulture isn’t my friend. But that’s just the kind of person you’re going to turn out to be if you fall into the clutches of a war god. They turn their minions ugly—uglier than they were before.”

If her words were getting through to him, he wasn’t letting it show. “Ah, I see. So you only tried to kill me to save me from such a horrible fate.”

Damn him
. “Aren’t you ever going to let that go?”

“What? That you tried to kill me?” He gave an incredulous snort, lifting his hand to show off the jagged scar she’d left him that night in Naples. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to let it go. Even if I could get past it, there’s still the fact that last night I slept with a woman who looked like my ex-fiancée, but who turned out to be a homicidal maniac with Daddy issues, relationship baggage and a penchant for locking people in cages.”

“I’m not a homicidal maniac!” Every fiber of her being seemed to scream out in protest against that accusation most of all. “I’m not really going to leave the vulture down there
to die, you know. As soon as we’re both far away from here, I’ll make an anonymous call.”

Marco sighed, but didn’t argue. Instead, he took a kitchen towel and walked into the foyer, where, to her amazement, he stooped down to wipe up the blood.

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?” Kyra asked. “We need to get out of here! Ares could come looking for his vulture at any minute.”

“I’m not leaving the place all bloody like this. Besides, I need to wipe the house down so that none of my fingerprints are left behind. It’s bad enough we’re leaving her alive to give a description of me.”

Kyra was so frustrated. In her day, no one ever had to worry about things like fingerprints or DNA. Now with the humans cataloging everything and keeping track, technology was intrusive enough to make immortals despair of retaining their divine mystery. “If you’d just done what I told you, the vulture wouldn’t have seen your face.”

“I stopped following orders a long time ago,” he said.

She watched Marco methodically clean, erasing himself from the place as if he’d never been there. As if he wished he’d never touched anything, or anyone, in this house. Kyra bit her lip, an ache in her chest that went well beyond exhaustion. “I’ll finish up here, Marco. I’ll make sure there are no traces of you—I owe you that much. You can go. Get out of here before the police come or more vultures arrive.”

“I’m still waiting for my ride,” Marco said without meeting her eyes.

Kyra dug into the bullet hole in the floor with one toe. “Now who’s lying? I saw you snatch the vulture’s keys from her pocket.”

He actually looked abashed. That surprised Kyra. She wouldn’t have expected that a man like him—one who lived in a world of thieving, lawbreaking and assumed identities—could be shamed by being caught in a lie. But he was. “I’m
going to take her car and leave, but I want to make sure that you’re okay first. I don’t believe almost anything that comes out of your mouth, but it
does
sound like some guy’s got it out for you. If he finds you, what’s he going to do to you?”

“Don’t worry,” Kyra said with as much bravado as possible. “I won’t tell my father that you’re the hydra he’s been looking for. I hold up well under torture.”

“He’d torture you?” Marco’s lips thinned and he shoved his hand through his dark hair. “Look, let’s both just get the hell out of here, then. If you clean up and get dressed, I’ll take you with me as far as Toronto.”

He’d take her with him.
Kyra’s heart beat just a bit faster and she muttered a silent curse at herself. It was always this way for nymphs. Reading far too much into a man’s words. Wanting to believe they meant something they didn’t. “Marco, after the way I tricked you, why would you help me?”

“Because you helped my mother.”

M
arco put on his sunglasses to guard against the glare, then eased the SUV down the icy driveway. In the passenger seat beside him, Kyra was quiet. The only sound was the snow and glass crunching beneath the tires; they were leaving a whole lot of wreckage behind—and not just the smashed-up car in the ditch.

Underneath it all, he was still filled with rage. Last night, he’d trusted her. He’d shared with her his darkest secrets and she’d betrayed him. He’d never had an inherent distrust of women—not even after what happened with Ashlynn. But right now, everything about Kyra seemed like an embodiment of sexy feminine deceit. And as if that weren’t bad enough, she was annoying him by adjusting and readjusting the side mirror. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m watching for kettles of vultures,” Kyra said, as if this were the obvious answer. “Or really, any suspicious birds. Daddy and the other war gods like them. Eagles, owls, vultures—almost any kind of raptor…”

She sounded batshit crazy, but he was starting to believe her. Or maybe he just
wanted
to believe her because it made him feel like less of a dupe. What she’d done to him wreaked havoc on his emotions. But he’d enjoyed himself, hadn’t he? Last night he’d made her scream in pleasure and it should’ve made him feel smug, but it just made it difficult to keep his hands steady on the wheel.

He tried to forget the way her wild abandon had affected him. He tried to force out of his memory the way it had felt to be inside her. She’d been pure sex, pure need. It had felt like the most honest thing he’d ever experienced in his life, and it had wrecked him. In fact, it must have bewitched him; how else could he explain why he’d
really
taken her with him?

He wanted a cigarette. Badly. But he’d be damned if he’d let her see that weakness in him so he grabbed a stick of mint gum instead. Probably for the better—he needed both hands on the wheel. Nobody should be driving in these conditions, but that meant the roads would be empty and that was a good thing.

When he passed up the ramp to the highway, Kyra said, “I thought we were headed for Toronto.”

“We have to make one stop first.”

He could have sworn that his brusque tone made crystal clear that he wasn’t going to discuss it, but that didn’t stop her. “Marco, don’t you understand that we have to get as far away from here as possible? Do you
want
Daddy to hunt you down and turn you into one of his pets? I know I told you Ares isn’t omniscient and all-powerful, but that doesn’t mean he can’t follow a trail.”

Tension thumped behind Marco’s temples. “My mother buried her husband yesterday and I don’t know when, or if, I’m ever going to see her again. I’d like to say goodbye.”

That shut Kyra right up. He could see she wanted to argue. Her lips parted—goddamn, those killer lips of hers—but then she snapped her mouth shut again and…turned into Ashlynn
Brown. Her skin didn’t reform itself—she just looked different whenever she wanted to, and it pissed him off. “Stop that right now.”

Kyra obediently, and apologetically, shimmered back into her own form. “I just thought that if we’re going to see your mother, I should look like someone she knows. She shouldn’t have to see my real face.”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“It’s different,” she replied.

In Marco’s line of work, he’d seen a lot of unusual faces. Hell, he’d
worn
a lot of unusual faces. Faces of white men and black men. Asians and Arabs. He’d worn the faces of Tutsis and Hutus. And in the end, none of them were that different—though sometimes people treated him as if they were. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, Kyra.”

She wound her fingers in her lap. “My face frightens some people.”

Glancing sidelong at her, he supposed he could see why. Her eyes weren’t just dark, they were completely black—without pupils—like some kind of starless night. Her lashes were dark, too, as if someone had smudged them with permanent eyeliner. And when he wasn’t too busy thinking about how hot her lips felt on his body, he could see that they were shaped like an intimidating archer’s bow. But he liked them. He couldn’t imagine anybody not liking them. “You have the face of an ang—”

“Don’t say it,” she snarled, turning in the seat to face him. “You were going to say that I look like a fucking angel, weren’t you?”

He was caught off guard by her vehemence. “You sure don’t talk like one.”

She tensed in the seat beside him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So sorry that I’m not more like your demure little Miss Ashlynn in pearls and basic black with a perfect manicure.”

That was a vivid—and accurate—description of Ashlynn. And in truth, he should’ve known the difference between the two women last night. But the combination of nostalgia for his old flame paired with Kyra’s fiery personality had been so potent, he hadn’t wanted to question it. He’d just wanted to hold her down and spend himself inside her. Part of him still felt that need. He had to get it under control. “So why’d you pick Ashlynn to impersonate, anyway? If you can look like anybody, why her?”

Her silence, her reluctance to answer, hung like gunpowder in the air between them. Kyra just stared out the window, and for a moment her gaze was so intense he feared she was going to do whatever it was she did before to cause the car accident.

“Is that your mother’s street?” Kyra asked as they came to the empty intersection—the one with only a few tire furrows in the snow. “Because the police are there.”

Of course they were. Marco worked his jaw. “My sister called the authorities.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyra said, and actually sounded as if she meant it.

But Marco didn’t want her pity. “What would you know about it?”

“I have siblings, too,” Kyra confessed. “Most of them, more terrible than I could ever describe. My brothers—Deimos and Phobos—are the literal incarnation of dread and fear. I haven’t spoken to either of them in centuries…but
your
sister is actually trying to do right by you. She might not know how to express it, but she’s worried sick about you and the life you’ve chosen.”

Marco snorted.

“It’s true,” Kyra said. “I saw it when I looked at her. And I don’t just mean that I saw emotions in her eyes. I can see deeper than mortals with my powers.”

“You’re telling me you can see through people’s bullshit?”

“I can see through
anything
if I concentrate.”

Marco actually hovered at the intersection, not sure if he should let the police arrest him or not. He hadn’t chosen the life of an arms dealer to hurt his family. He’d chosen it because he’d made a promise to the victims of Rwanda. They had no real voice, no one to fight for them but the general, and even
he
couldn’t do anything for them without the weapons Marco provided.

Marco kept driving.

After Kyra left an anonymous message with authorities that there was a woman locked in a cage in the basement, Marco used Kyra’s cell phone to call Benji and tell him to turn around. As soon as they pulled into the parking garage beneath the Grand Palace Hotel, Benji was waiting with a crew, ready to dispose of the stolen car and get Marco out of the country. “We have a new mobile phone and papers for you upstairs,” Benji said when Marco stepped out of the car. “You can be at the airport and on a flight within the hour.”

“Good work,” Marco said, tossing Benji the keys—though he probably didn’t need them; Benji could hot-wire a car in his sleep, but his attention was riveted on Kyra.

“What about the pretty girl, Chief?”

Marco watched as the young West African looked her up and down and gave her a flirtatious wink. Marco didn’t like it. He also didn’t like that the nymph was in disguise again. But Benji had asked the question of the hour. What the hell
was
he going to do with Kyra?

He’d kept his promise to her—he’d taken her as far as Toronto. He’d gotten her out of immediate danger. If he had any sense, he’d part company with the woman—nymph—right here and right now. But instead, he found himself saying, “Take her upstairs.”

When Marco’s young tough opened the passenger side and hauled Kyra out, it took everything she had to keep from slamming the kid’s head against the hood of the car. But he had a gun and Kyra didn’t relish the idea of being shot again today. In fact, this was the third time in one day that someone had her at gunpoint, and the mortal hubris was starting to infuriate her. The sudden flash of murderous rage must have shown in her face because Marco said, “Careful, Benji. She’s a hellcat.”

Benji grinned at her, trying to charm, rather than frighten her. “What fun is being careful?”

The young man’s flirtation didn’t surprise her—after all, he couldn’t see her true form. When Benji looked at her, she made sure he saw some pretty thing who might welcome his attentions. What
did
surprise her was the way Marco’s eyes darkened with a possessive warning.
She’s mine,
they seemed to say. Then he actually reached out for her arm and physically yanked her away from Benji and into the elevator.

Why did that flash of petty human jealousy please her so much? She should have been offended by his blatant attempt to claim her. But if she’d learned anything about him in the past twenty-four hours, it was that the things Marco claimed as his own, he protected. The people, the places, the causes. And she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him care about her that intensely.

No.
She couldn’t let herself wonder that. That was just her nymph’s nature trying to grasp at straws and turn them into hearts and flowers. Pathetic. She had to shake it off. “Just where are you taking me?”

“Behold my innermost sanctum,” he said wryly. Just then, the elevator doors opened to a luxurious suite. A quick glance around showed that it had an excellent view of the snowcapped Toronto skyline and the retreating storm clouds. Carved
wooden masks adorned one vaulted wall, and the decor was done all in black, green and tans. The colors of Africa.

“You live here?”

He loosened his tie as the elevator doors shut behind them. “Sometimes.”

Kyra rubbed her arm—he’d yanked her away from Benji so roughly that it actually still hurt. “It’s a little extravagant, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you live in poverty up on Mount Olympus, or wherever…”

“I live in a villa apartment.”

Then she wished she hadn’t said it, because it clearly made him curious. “In Greece?”

“No. In Italy. Where we met. I was born there near a shrine to Hecate.”

One didn’t reveal such things to mortals, and with good reason. His lips twisted in mockery. “And I suppose your villa apartment is just a modest little place. Just a comfortable bed for you and whatever guy you’ve picked up at the local nightclub.”

Damn him.
“I don’t bring men there. I don’t bring
anyone
home with me. Ever.”

With that, Kyra stormed back to the elevator and punched the buttons, since it seemed to be the only way out. Unfortunately, it also seemed to need a key. “What am I? Your prisoner now?”

Marco was already pulling off his rumpled jacket. “Turnabout is fair play. Isn’t that what you said to the vulture,
Angel?
”

“Don’t call me that.” Kyra punched the elevator button again, for good measure.

“You can’t escape that way,” Marco said, pulling his tie free of his collar. She wished she didn’t like the sound the silk made as it passed over his rough hands. “Even if the doors
opened and you took the elevator to the ground floor, you’d just have to deal with one of my men.”

It struck Kyra for the first time just how extensive Marco’s organization was. He wasn’t just a lone gunrunner. He had people who worked for him—probably all over the world. He’d made for himself his own little empire. “One of your men? Like the goon who stuck a gun in my ribs? What’s his name? Benji?”

“He’s harmless. I’ve known the kid since he was a teenager in Sierra Leone. He can crack a safe in seconds. He can smuggle a crate of rockets past customs officials in any country in the world without getting caught. But at the end of the day, I don’t think he could ever hurt anybody.”

“But I could,” Kyra insisted. “I should have broken his arm.”

He unfastened his shirt buttons, one by one. Gods, she loved the way he moved. “Are you really that vicious?”

“You don’t want to find out,” Kyra said, nostrils flaring. “I didn’t have to come up here with you, you know.”

“I know,” Marco said, working at his cuff links. “But I knew you’d come peaceably.”

“That was a risky assumption on your part.”

“Not that risky.” He stalked toward her, eyes locking on hers. She tried not to stare now that he had his shirt all the way unbuttoned. His chest was bared to her. “I knew you’d come. After all, we have unfinished business between us.”

They certainly did, but the way he was closing in on her made her think that another discussion about arming the downtrodden peoples of Africa was not foremost on his mind. His hand came to rest on the wall behind her and he leaned in. His closeness was making her nervous and excited at the same time. So much so, that Kyra found her eyes dropping like some shy damsel.

He caught her by the chin and forced her to look at him.
“I know you’re not Ashlynn. You don’t have to pretend you’re demure.”

The feel of his callused fingers brought back such sharp memories of pleasure that Kyra felt weak at the knees, just like in all those mortal movies where the fair damsel swoons away. And it wasn’t just arousal; she could have handled that. No, this feeling was something different from lust, and wholly unfamiliar. She felt as if she was being turned inside out and it was more than she could bear.

He was going to kiss her. If she didn’t stop him, he was definitely going to kiss her. And she
wanted
him to. But nothing had changed. She hadn’t fulfilled her destiny. She hadn’t conquered the hydra within him. She hadn’t killed him. She hadn’t captured him. And she hadn’t even persuaded him to give up arms dealing. Everything Kyra had tried to do had failed, and she couldn’t add a humiliating love affair to the list.