Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

  Within an hour, the massive limestone cliffs appeared on the horizon. The closer they got, the more apparent the enormous scale of the rock became, rising over a quarter mile above the churning sea. Hundreds of caves and crags and caverns made up the internal structure of Gibraltar. If their suspicions were on target, within one of the most remote caverns, one not accessible to humans, they would find their father and get their answers.

  And it was about time. Less than a dozen days remained until the equinox. With each passing day, the end of Chrys’s season—and the beginning of Eurus’s—approached.

  When Gibraltar loomed before them, they plummeted toward the Mediterranean. A cave sat almost at sea level on the east-facing side. Their pathway to hell.

  Home, sweet, home, Chrys thought.

  They shot within.

  At the periphery of perception, divine energy beckoned. Triumph roared through Chrys’s psyche. Aeolus was here. Fucking finally something was going their way.

  They twisted and turned, threading an ever-narrowing needle as the caverns and tunnels gave way to steep crags and narrow, eroded passages through which water trickled. The air grew cooler, danker, more stale the further they descended.

  But that was of little consequence. What mattered was the growing strength of their father’s energy signature. They were getting close.

  Do you feel that? Zeph asked.

  Chrys concentrated. And immediately picked up on what had captured his brother’s attention. More than one energy signature radiated among the rock walls.

  Two. No, three, Boreas said. Take care.

  Getting closer did little to clarify what they were flying into. Somehow, the signatures were dulled and warped, perceptible but unreadable.

  They came through a final crevice into a long rectangular space framed by jagged stalactites and stalagmites. Not the same space in which they’d been imprisoned, at least—

  Movement. Shouts. A flash of lightning exploded through the cavern. A figure shifted into the elements, the energy vaguely familiar but not someone Chrys could identify.

  The stranger bolted from the space. Who was it? What did they have to do with his father being here, of all places? Only one way to find out. Chrys turned in pursuit.

  “Chrysander, stay.” His father’s voice echoed off the rock.

  Resentment crawling down his spine, Chrys materialized right in front of his father, Boreas and Zeph right behind him.

  “Who was that?” Chrys growled. He took in his father’s appearance. Tall and broad, the supreme storm god wore his commanding presence as if it were a second skin, which made it especially odd that Aeolus could currently give Chrys a run for his money in the battered-and-bruised department. “And what the hell happened to you?”

  “And when were you planning to tell us about your ring?” Zeph said, pointing at Aeolus’s unadorned hand.

  “Do they ever stop talking?” Someone stepped out of the deep shadows. Tisiphone.

  Damn caves. He hadn’t even sensed her. What in the hell was she doing here?

  She strolled up and took a position to Aeolus’s right. Black snakes writhed upon her head. Two twined around her neck and arms.

  Zeph glared, the blue light of his gaze shifting from her face to their father’s. “You’re the one who sent her? And you accused me of misusing divine power in the human realm. You sent a fucking Fury among people.”

  Not just any people. Laney. The danger she’d been in was like a chunk of ice in his gut.

  The snakes hissed and the sound reverberated around the room.

  “You will address her with respect,” Aeolus said, controlled anger seeping through the words. “She has offered her help and I have accepted. Seeing how Chrysander has failed to handle Eurus, we should be grateful for the assistance.”

  Heat roared through Chrys’s veins, casting off an electrical charge into the air. Around the perimeter of the cavern, trapped gases sparked. “Yeah, well, maybe if you’d shared the little nugget of joy that Eurus managed to get the goddamned firestone from you, I’d have had a better idea what the hell I was up against.” The sharp bite of his voice echoed off the rock formations.

  Uncertainty flashed through Aeolus’s green eyes. Tension crackled between the father and sons. Finally, Aeolus’s massive shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

  “That is all you have to say?” Boreas asked. “For the love of Zeus. You created this whole situation. You could at least have more to say for yourself.”

  Aeolus gave his eldest son a once-over, his gaze lingering for a moment. If he had an opinion about Boreas’s new appearance, he didn’t voice it. “I am well aware of my shortcomings, Boreas. But I think our focus should remain on how to solve the current problem, rather than assigning blame for how it came to be. There will be plenty of time for that later, if we’re lucky.”

  Boreas stared at him a long moment, the silver in his eyes flaring. He offered a tight nod. “Fair enough.”

  “Does that mean you have a plan?” Chrys asked, the cool dampness of the cave sending a shudder through him. A few degrees colder, and he’d be having a problem in here.

  He gestured to Tisiphone. “We are working on a plan.”

  Chrys frowned. Why the hell had Aeolus allied with a Fury? She and her two sisters might’ve been avenging goddesses, but they were also servants of Hades. And he could be one devious bastard.

  Her lips twisted upward in a wicked smile. “Your trust is so heartwarming, Notos.” She stroked the snake at her neck.

  “Why should I give it?”

  “Because she is on our side,” Aeolus said. “Eurus has committed so many murders—”

  “Homicide. Filicide. Attempted fratricide. Attempted patricide.” She ticked off the clipped words on spindly fingers and shook her head. “It is past time he pays. Justice demands it.” The snakes on her head writhed in a wave.

  Eurus’s crimes were many. About that, Tisiphone was absolutely right. Ella’s horrific murder last spring. The suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of Eurus’s youngest son, Farren, ages ago. The attack that left their father without the firestone ring.

  The image of Eurus wielding the lance of lightning over his own chest flashed through Chrys’s mind. Yes, even the attacks on himself, including the one that could’ve claimed Laney. Chrys ground his teeth together. These were only the tip of the iceberg of Eurus’s transgressions.

  Chrys looked at Tisiphone anew. Fierce outrage sharpened the already stark features of her face. “So you’re here solely to right these wrongs?”

  She nailed him with her black eyes. “Punishing crimes of murder and avenging the dead, these are my purpose.”

  “Why now?” Zeph asked. “Eurus’s crimes are not new.”

  “That is true,” she said. She and Aeolus exchanged a glance. What was their deal? “But they are more egregious. More frequent. And more destructive than ever before.”

  Aeolus raised his right arm, bringing his hand—minus the last two fingers—into view. He fisted and unfisted his remaining digits. Chrys stared, shocked to see his father maimed. One more crime for which Eurus had to pay.

  The silence grew awkward. “So, what’s the plan?” Chrys asked, needing the conversation to move along. The cold was sinking into his muscles and joints. “We were thinking of trying to gain the alliance of Eurus’s son, Alastor. And I have this.” He materialized the dagger in his hand.

  “Leave the sons to me,” Aeolus commanded.

  At the same time, Tisiphone hissed and jerked backward. “Where did you get that?”

  Chrys traded glances with his brothers. He spun the blade in his grip. “From a friend. It’s made of infernal iron—”

  “I know of what it is made,” she said. “It’s mined in Tartarus and laces the cave system below us. And it can temporarily paralyze or neutralize a god. Or worse.”

  It was nearby infernal iron that screwed with their powers in here? The cavern in which Aeolus had held them sat further underground—no
wonder he’d been able to confine them. The walls were a virtual cage of the power-stealing iron. Well, now he had a way to use it to his advantage. He eyed the blade and nodded. “Yes. A little odds-evener, as it were.”

  “Why do you wish us away from the sons?” Boreas interjected. “Chrysander already has Apheliotes seeing where they stand. It is a sound plan.”

  Aeolus’s eyes flared green. “Call him back.”

  Chrys caught the blade’s grip in his palm and frowned. “That ship sailed. Aphel left for the East this morning.”

  “By the gods, Chrysander. You’ll ruin everything.” Aeolus’s voice boomed through the cavern.

  Dread slinked in icy tentacles through his gut. “What the hell am I missing?”

  Aeolus spun on his heel and paced away, cursing under his breath in the ancient language. Tisiphone turned, watching him.

  For the first time, Chrys paid attention to the god’s clothing. Not the normal luxurious robes he wore when presiding over one of the ceremonial halls on his estates. Not the tunics often worn among the gods in the divine realm. Loose black pants. Form-fitting black shirt. Hair pulled back by a leather cord and damp with sweat…

  “Wait a second. Wait just a goddamned second.” On anyone else, he would’ve sworn it was workout gear. The disappearing energy signature. The flash of light just as they’d entered the cavern. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Chrys’s brain. “You were fighting someone when we came.” Aeolus hesitated a fraction of a step in his pacing. That tell affirmed Chrys’s suspicions. “Who was it? Who was here when we arrived?”

  Aeolus turned. For a long moment, he met Tisiphone’s gaze. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He drew himself up to his full height. “Not fighting. Training.”

  “Who?” Chrys asked, fighting back a shiver.

  “Eurus’s son, Devlin.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Tell me where you are right now,” Seth growled through the phone.

  Laney scanned her gaze over her borrowed bedroom. It was the third time she’d talked to him since her “disappearance” two days before, but he was no calmer now than he’d been the first time. “I can’t, but don’t worry—”

  “Don’t worry? You left the farm without any notice. Your purse, your phone, your house keys—they’re all still here. And yet I’m supposed to believe you’re just fine? You haven’t traveled by yourself since before your grandfather died.”

  Guilt washed acid into her stomach. Of course he was right. And she heard, too, what he hadn’t said—it wasn’t just that she hadn’t traveled by herself, it was that she hadn’t gone anywhere without him. Between the deterioration of her vision and the rural location of the farm, she really was trapped without someone to drive her. And Seth was always there for her.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. She shifted positions on her bed.

  “But you’re not going to tell me.”

  She shook her head, unable to turn him down for the millionth time. “Please trust me. I know I’m asking a lot, but I’ll be home soon.”

  “Trust you? How about you trust me to help you with whatever’s going on. We’ve been friends for forever. It’s my job—as your friend, as your farm manager, as the man who made a promise to your grandfather—to watch out for you. If you’re not going to tell me what I need to know to do that, for whatever reason, I’m calling the police.”

  Tension roared down the line despite the silence. Had they ever been this at odds with one another? There was only one way to fix it. She held her breath for a long moment, then let the words fly. “I’m in Fairfax, Virginia.”

  He didn’t respond right away. “Where?” he said, tone full of barely restrained anger.

  Shoulders falling, she gave him the address.

  “I’m coming to get you.”

  Her scalp prickled and her stomach seemed to take flight. “No, don’t. I—”

  “This isn’t up for debate.”

  “But—”

  “Stay put, Laney. I mean it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The line went dead.

  She gaped at the phone. “Holy crap,” she whispered to herself. How the hell was she going to explain all this to Seth? The walls of the room closed in on her at the thought. She had to get out of there, just get some fresh air to clear her head and help her figure out what to do.

  Laney eased off the bed and smoothed her hands over her borrowed T-shirt. Luckily, a few of Megan’s pre-pregnancy summer clothes had fit well enough to get by for a few days. She sighed and counted the paces to the bedroom door. In the two days she’d been there, she’d thrown herself into pacing out the distance between things so she could move around as independently as possible and not be any greater burden on the couple than she already was.

  Six steps to the door. Knob on the left. Eight steps down the hall to the top of the staircase. Thirteen steps down to a landing at the bottom, turn left, and two more steps to the living room floor.

  She crossed the living room to the kitchen. Empty. Thankful not to have run into anyone, Laney made her way to the mud room that led to the back door.

  She kicked something and froze, throwing her hands out in case she tripped. Something bounced. A ball? Maybe one of Teddy’s toys?

  Ahead of her, the light brightened. The back door.

  A few more paces, and she was opening it, stepping out onto the brick porch. The sunlight stole her remaining vision, as it always did. No matter. Chrys had told her there were three steps. She felt for the iron railing and found it.

  When she reached the grass, she stopped and allowed her sight to adjust. Underfoot, green came into focus. Laney stood there for a long moment and scanned her vision over the yard. Longer than it was wide, there didn’t appear to be any obstacles that would trip her up.

  The glare remained too bright to locate what she was looking for at this distance, so Laney set out carefully, counting the number of steps she took so she could make her way back to the porch. After twenty paces, she paused and scanned again. To her left. There it was.

  The tree under which she and Chrys had materialized after that first miraculous journey through the wind. After he’d gifted her with that amazing, whole view of the world. Under that tree, she’d kissed him.

  Heat washed over her skin that had nothing to do with the midday sun.

  She made her way toward the sprawling branches, hunching to ensure she didn’t hit her head on an unseen low-hanger. When she reached the trunk, she pressed her hand flat to the bark. Rough and craggy, she pushed her finger under a piece and pulled it away. Then she sat, her back to the tree, her knees pulled up in front of her.

  Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back as she breathed in a deep, invigorating gulp of fresh air. Already, just being out of doors lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, made it easier to breathe. She hated being a burden. She hated uncertainty. And she especially hated the feeling of helplessness. As nice as Megan and Owen were—and she truly did like them—she didn’t belong here.

  But Chrys does.

  True. But that was hardly relevant if they weren’t together.

  In her head, she heard the strained rasp of his voice. I walk out the door.

  She fingered the heavy amulet that hung around her neck. Whatever power it held worked. She bore no side effects from her attack.

  Oh, which was the truth of Chrys? The man who says he always leaves his lovers, or the man who promised to take care of her?

  And why, after a lifetime of insisting on her independence, on her ability to take care of herself, did she hope with all her heart the latter was the real Chrys?

  Because you’re falling in love with him.

  She thunked her head against the tree. Hard to believe it hadn’t even been two weeks since Chrysander Notos had fallen into her life. How could she be falling so hard for someone she’d known for such a short time? For someone she knew so little about, and who knew so little about her? She thought about Seth, who knew almost everythi
ng there was to know. She didn’t believe two people had to be that well acquainted to fall in love, but did she really feel that strongly for Chrys? If so, given his little speech, she was probably so, so screwed.

  The breeze ruffled her hair, and Laney tucked a few wayward strands behind her ear. Random memories of the time they’d spent together ran through her mind. But they were no more helpful in sorting out what to believe. For every instance she recalled of his intense brand of care and consideration, there existed an example of him pulling away or leaving.

  Why was he always pulling away?

  I restrain my lovers because I can’t stand to be touched.

  Laney’s throat tightened at the memory. Twin reactions coursed through her. Arousal stirred as she recalled every restraining grip, dominant hold, and commanding word from their lovemaking. But deep concern dampened the pleasure. Because she’d heard the pain behind the admission, behind his description of his “ugly reality.”

  Pressure squeezed her chest. Not once had she ever fully seen Chrys, but that didn’t keep her from knowing he was a beautiful, beautiful man. Inside and out. Nothing about him was ugly. Not to her. Not even the rough sex he’d warned her away from.

  She tried to recall all the times he’d pulled away…

  Their first kiss, when she’d grabbed his back. In her bedroom doorway after her shower. Before she’d ended up against the door, she’d tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he’d pushed her hands away and pinned her. He’d been totally into her until…until she wrapped her leg around his.

  Her heart kicked up in her chest. Now that she was looking for the signs, she found them everywhere. In the flinches and muscle ticks and tension when she touched him. In the way his breath caught. In the way he apologized every time he pulled away.

  Oh, Chrys.

  The more she’d thought about their night together, the more she knew to the very core of her that his sexual dominance resonated with her in a way she never would’ve expected. Maybe it was the novelty of it, or the edginess, or the rough way he handled her—like she wasn’t fragile or damaged, but strong enough to take what he needed to give her. But as much as she knew she could accept that part of him, her arms ached to hold him. Her fingers tingled with the desire to trace over his face, to explore every inch of his body.