Chapter
One of Rogue Soul, book 3 in the Mythean Arcana series
The Caipora’s Den
Edge of the Amazon River, Brazil
Present Day
Andrasta, Celtic
goddess of victory, swallowed hard, her gaze transfixed by the man in the
makeshift boxing ring. Was he that handsome when I tried to kill him? Or that
brutal?
She honestly
couldn’t remember. It had been more than two thousand years since she’d seen
him last, and she barely recognized him. Dim spotlights gleamed off
sweat-slicked muscles and highlighted the feral brutality with which he pounded
his opponent. No gloves protected his big hands, just white fabric wrapped
around knuckles. They were spotted with blood.
She swallowed
hard again, unable to look away.
She’d known she
would find him here when she’d strolled up to the Caipora’s Den, a little dive
bar perched on the edge of the Amazon River. But she hadn’t expected the
outdoor boxing ring surrounded by a horde of cheering Mytheans or that her prey
would be inside it, pounding his opponent into a sack of broken bones.
She’d never before
been to the bar, which catered only to the supernatural beings who lived
secretly alongside mortals. The building itself was ramshackle, and she had a
feeling that it was just as run-down on the inside. The outdoor lot in which
she stood was pressed between the building and the river. It housed the boxing
ring and nearly a hundred Mytheans, most of whom looked human even though they
weren’t. They screamed and cheered as punches landed with fierce smacks.
“All right,
that’s enough,” hollered the ref, a big ugly brute who stepped forward to end
the fight. The man she’d come for stood over his collapsed opponent, his
heavily muscled chest heaving. He was declared the winner—no surprise,
considering his opponent didn’t look like he’d be getting off the floor anytime
soon.
She sank back
into the crowd when he turned to exit the ring. Though she wanted to watch him,
to devour every hard inch with her eyes, she didn’t want him to see her before
she could approach him on her terms.
Their past was a
pit of snakes, so confusing that even she couldn’t figure head from tail though
she’d lived through it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was pissed as hell,
considering the arrows she’d sent through his heart the last time she’d seen
him. Not that he hadn’t wronged her. He had. He’d started the nightmare that
had ended in her stealing his godhood for herself. Worse, they’d cared for each
other. Until it had all gone to shit, at least.
And now she
needed his help.
She turned and
pushed her way through the crowd, toward the small bar pressed against the
outside of the building. She needed to buy herself some time to recover from
the sight of him but didn’t want to do it inside the bar where she might lose
track of him. Seeing him again made her shaky, even though it had been so many
years. She just needed a minute to catch her breath, that was all.
She squeezed
between two Mytheans of indeterminate species and reached the bar—which was
more of a table with some liquor bottles and a cooler, but it would do.
“A beer,” she
said to the bartender, a beautiful brunette who had the slightly feral face of
some kind of shifter. Ana had never been any good at identifying Mytheans since
she rarely got away from her own kind.
The bartender
handed over a sweating glass bottle and hissed, “On the house.”
Anaconda
Incantada. The sound of her voice gave away what her features did not. She was
a snake shifter.
And it had
better be on the house. There had to be some perks to being a god, since
everything else had been a disappointment. Although Ana never tired of Mytheans
fearing or bowing to her. Some watched her warily even now, and she appreciated
it all the more for not having had it when she’d been mortal.
“How often does
this happen?” Ana asked the bartender, hiking a thumb at the ring.
The shifter
shrugged. “Every night.”
“Know anything
about the fighters?”
“Not the loser.
But the winner, he’s never lost. Fights pretty often. Seems to like it. Keeps
to himself otherwise.”
Ana nodded and
turned to look for her prey. The beer slid refreshingly down her throat, and
she sighed in pleasure at the smooth taste of the infrequently allowed
delicacy. Focusing on the taste helped calm her nerves just a bit. She was
raising the bottle to her lips a second time when she spotted him standing off
to the side of the crowd near the jungle that crept up to the dirt lot.
It had been two
thousand years since she’d seen him last, when she’d thought she’d killed him
and taken his place as a Celtic god. Those years had been kind to him,
considering that he was still alive. Almost as kind as the way-too-hot woman
draped around him, sucking on his neck while he unwrapped the bloody cloth from
his hands.
Ana stifled the
strange little twinge in her chest. She’d cared for him once, and he for her,
but that was so long ago the memories had gone to dust. Or so she told herself.
She took one last swig of the beer to chase them away.
Now or never. If
she wanted a permanent escape from Otherworld, the land of the Celtic gods and
what felt like her eternal prison, there’d be no more dawdling, no matter how
nervous she was about his reception or willingness to help her.
She needed him.
Admitting to it scraped something raw inside her. But after two thousand years,
she wanted out more than she wanted her pride.
Ana sucked in a
deep breath and wound her way through the crowd. When a lobisomem got handsy as
she passed, an elbow to the gut halted his straying paws, and a glare stopped
another. Fancy Brazilian name or not, they were dogs like the rest of their
werewolf brothers. Within moments, she’d reached the edge of the crowd and
stood before the now-kissing pair.
She squashed her
nerves as she gazed at the strong profile of the man she’d never been able to
forget—whose mouth was glued to the woman’s. He was a bruiser, even from the
side, a contrast of hard features and short ginger hair. He looked rougher than
she remembered. Bigger, too.
“Camulos,” Ana
said. She glanced dismissively at the sultry woman now trying to swallow his
tongue.
“Cam,” he said
absentmindedly as he drew his face away from the woman’s to look at Ana. His
brows shot up, his gray eyes widening the barest fraction. A scar sliced
through one of the brows.
“Recognize me?”
she asked, absorbing the fact that he no longer went by Camulos.
“Andrasta,” he
rasped, shock plain on his face.
Did she hear his
breath catch?
Hers certainly
did. He looked every inch the god he’d once been—strong and powerful, with
broad shoulders and big arms that looked like they’d been cut from steel. A man
comfortable with the mantle of worship, even if he no longer carried it.
Ana shot a
pointed glance at the other woman.
“Luciana,” he said, drawing the woman’s mouth
away from where it had suctioned onto his neck.
Ana’s eyes
zeroed in on the huge hand that cupped the back of Luciana’s neck, then looked
back to realize that he’d kept his gaze trained on her own face.
“You need to
go,” Camulos said to Luciana.
Luciana pouted
at him, then turned to look at Ana.
“A goddess?” Her
brows shot high. She no doubt noticed the small glow emitting from Ana’s skin
and marked her as one from Otherworld. Her lips twisted in a sneer. “I thought
you Celtic gods never left your cold realm.”
She’d be right,
Ana thought bitterly. Cold and emotionless, that was Otherworld, and she was
trapped there except for a few times a year when she could sneak out without
the other gods noticing. But that’s what she wanted to change.
“Beat it,
sister,” she said, trying out some earth slang she’d seen on a TV show.
Sneaking a laptop into Otherworld and firing up movies with her magic was one
of the few ways she stayed sane.
The woman
pouted, gave one last longing glance at Camulos, and then moved off into the
crowd.
Camulos gave her
a hard, searching look, his shock now masked. He didn’t make a move to kill her—which
was good. Not that she’d let him. But still, it was promising. He might have
cared for her once, but after what had happened at the end, she wouldn’t be
surprised if that had been pushed out by anger.
“Come on. Let’s
get a seat inside.” He jerked his chin toward the ramshackle bar.
Ana nodded and
turned to lead the way. This time, with the huge male of indeterminate species
following closely behind her, the crowd parted in waves to let her pass.
Camulos was so close on her heels she swore she could feel the heat of him. It
made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She tried to ignore it.
The smell of
sweat and stale beer assaulted her nose when she walked into the bar. It was
even more crowded than the outside, with dozens of volatile Mytheans partying
and fighting in the dark, smoky space lit only by bare, dangling light bulbs.
She blinked.
Wow. This was so different from Otherworld. Gross, definitely, from the smell
to the cleanliness of the occupants.
But it was
great. It was nothing like Otherworld, and she loved it. There was one small
unoccupied table in the corner, but it was far enough from the main crowd to
suit her.
They hadn’t so
much as settled at the table when a beer appeared in front of Camulos, carried
by a smiling waitress whose eyes didn’t stray from him. He ignored it and
spared her only a curt nod.
“How the hell
did you find me?” he asked when the waitress slunk away.
His rough voice
sent a shiver down her spine. That first tingle of attraction hadn’t been a
fluke, after all. Damn it. This was what had gotten her in trouble so many
years ago. Insane attraction that had blinded her to the danger she’d stepped
into.
She dragged her
mind back to the present. “More importantly, how the hell are you still alive?
I thought I killed you.”
His big hand
clenched on the table. Scars sliced across his knuckles.
She tried not to
squirm in her seat as his eyes roamed from her face down to the hint of
cleavage she knew peeped above the top of her leather breastplate. She always
wore it, but then she spent most of her time in temperate Otherworld or
Scotland. It was damn hot in the jungle.
Finally, his
gaze dragged back to hers. The sight hit her straight in the solar plexus.
Damn, he looked good, no matter how wary or how harsh his gaze. His short
reddish-blond hair glinted in the dim light that struggled to illuminate the
seedy bar with its sticky seats. He still looked like a damn god, no matter
what he’d turned into.
“You didn’t kill
me,” he said, one corner of his mouth hiked up.
“Then what the
hell are you? How are you immortal?”
“Why would I
tell you that?”
So it was going
to be this way? A game of chance where neither showed their cards? But it
suited her too, since she had no idea how she felt about him. She glared at him
as a Jurassic-sized fly buzzed around her head, as annoying as the questions
hanging in the air between them. She still didn’t fully understand everything
that had happened those many years ago when she’d taken his place as a god by
sending an arrow through his heart. Twice. She flinched at the mental image
that came with the thought—him dying in the snow, his blood soaking through the
knees of her dress.
“Aren’t you
afraid of me?” he asked.
“Nope.” If she
was going to be afraid of anyone, it would be him—with his huge body, scowling
face, and potentially deadly grudge against her. But she wasn’t. She could take
care of herself, damn it. Being afraid was a thing of the past.
“Cocky.”
“Yep.” She
wasn’t the same girl he’d once cared for, however briefly. After they’d gotten
caught in the crosshairs of the gods and her whole life had gone to hell, she’d
changed.
“Anyway, it
worked out for the best.” He raised his smudged glass in toast to her.
“Really?” Her
brows shot up. He truly thought their past—trading places so that she became a
god and he went to earth—had worked out for the best?
He nodded, but
she had a hard time believing him.
“Why? You should
have loved Otherworld. You’re a god,” she said.
“Not anymore.”
“Yeah, but you
get what I mean,” she said. “Otherworld, the coldness there, shouldn’t have
bothered you since you were born a god. The power, the perfection. It was all
yours. Without all the downsides.”
Like the
soul-sucking loneliness of a place with no emotion. No one could care about
anyone else. She was a fluke, a god with the ability to feel because she’d once
been mortal. But there was nothing to feel there. No joy, no love, no fun. No
way to distract herself from the misery of being trapped. All the other gods,
they were perfect for it. Automatons in their impeccable world. But not her.
“So why would it
be better for you on earth?” she asked when he didn’t respond. He had less
power here and had to hide from the other gods. And earth was messy and
miserable compared to Otherworld. But it was that ability to be miserable, and
alternately joyful, which made her want to return. “There’s nothing for you
here.”
His gray eyes
darkened, his expression effectively closing the subject. “That’s my business,
not yours. Why the hell are you here?”
“I want out.”
“Are you
kidding? Do you know what will happen to you when the other gods figure out
you’ve tried to run?”
What was it
about his voice that made her want to squirm in her seat? The mixed accent from
his long life sounded exotic somehow and a hint of roughness dragged across her
skin.
She shivered.
“I’ve snuck out before.”
“For a few hours
maybe, and not with the intent to flee.” He nodded smugly and she knew he must
see acknowledgment in her eyes. “When they figure out that you’re gone and
don’t intend to come back, you’ll end up chained to the most desolate tor in
Blackmoor for a thousand years while ravens circle for dinner.”
Ana swallowed
hard. The knowledge of the great rock formations where lawbreakers were
punished was something she’d tried not to focus on when she’d decided to run.
Blackmoor was the most desolate place in Otherworld, all scrubby ground punched
through with granite tors and howling wind and rain. She had about a day before
the other gods figured out she was gone. At that point, she’d be considered a
deserter and they’d hunt her down.
“I’m aware of
the risks.” She tried to make her voice hard. “I want out.”
“What the hell
do you expect me to do about it?”
“You cared for
me once.” She didn’t want to play that card—not after how it had ended between
them—but she was desperate.
Truth flashed in
his eyes, then his jaw hardened. “It was a long time ago.”
It had been. But
seeing him was dredging up emotions she’d forgotten she’d ever had. She tried
to force them to the back of her mind and focus on her goal. “I want to know
how you became mortal.”
“Not mortal.”
“Damn it, you
know what I mean. I just don’t want to be a god anymore. You stole my life when
your obsession with me attracted the attention of the other gods. I want my
life back.”
“I don’t owe you
a thing.” He raised his glass and his strong throat worked as he swallowed,
drawing her eyes to it. She couldn’t help but notice the way his worn shirt
stretched over his broad chest. She scowled at her own interest. Long ago, that
same interest had gotten her into trouble.
“Fine. I’ll just
have to convince you,” she said.
He didn’t
respond, just smiled and folded his muscled arms over his chest. She sighed,
then tensed when he swung his feet up onto the chair next to her.
Her breath
caught in her throat. She could almost feel the heat of his thighs close to
hers. Her leg tingled, her skin prickling. Something low in her stomach
tightened, and it reminded her that this was one of the reasons she wanted to
be back on earth.
Fates, her
nerves were on edge, and he wasn’t helping matters. She’d spent nearly every
day of the last two millennia in Otherworld—the dullest, loneliest place in all
of creation. As much as she loved the hustle and bustle of the Mytheans and
mortals on earth, there was way too much of it in this bar. Her senses were on
overdrive, and the air fairly buzzed with emotion from the dozens of volatile
Mytheans carousing around her.
She swallowed
hard and met his eyes. His smile reappeared, as if he knew what was going on
inside her head. Inside her body.
“I need some
air.” She jumped to her feet. “Come on.”
As soon as he
stood, she spun and headed for the front door of the bar, hoping it would be
quieter than the fighting ring out back. She had to cool down or things were
going to get out of control.
