“It would be helpful. Sooner would be better than later.”
She shook her head, even though denial was becoming something that wasn’t worth the effort anymore. This was all real, and she knew it.
Ares cocked an eyebrow. “You have another explanation for the mark you now have between your br**sts?”
Of course she didn’t have an explanation. If an alien spaceship landed outside the window, she wouldn’t have an explanation for that either.
“Who are you?” She took in his combat boots, black leather pants, and black AC/DC tee beneath a black leather biker jacket. “Why would you be riding a horse and wearing armor?”
“We can discuss it after I get you to safety.”
“Are you mad?” She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His hand sliced through the air in a silencing motion, and he stalked to the window. “Have you seen any rats?”
Her mind spun at the sudden shift of subject. “Rats?”
“Rodents that resemble large mice.”
“I know what rats are,” she gritted out. “Why?”
“They’re spies.” He peered through the curtains into the darkness. Thick fog diffused the yellow lamplight, creating an eerie glow on the street below. “Have you seen any?”
Rodent spies? The man might be hot as hell, but he was a loon. As inconspicuously as possible, Cara inched toward the door. “I didn’t see any furry little James Bonds.” When he leveled a flat stare at her, she added, “Yes, there were things scurrying in the shadows, but I saw a lot of weird stuff tonight.” More inching.
“You won’t make it.”
“Won’t make what?”
His voice was a curious mix of bored and amused. “You won’t make it to the door.”
Yeah? Well, she could try. She measured the distance, figured she could sprint the rest of the way, but she froze solid when his massive body went taut. “What is it?”
“I heard a horse.”
She swallowed, remembering the scary white stallion with the malevolent ruby eyes. “A… bad horse?”
“Pestilence,” he hissed. Wheeling around in a blur of motion, he came at her. “We’re out of here.”
He threw out his arm, and a strange doorway of light appeared in the center of the room. His hands clamped down on her arms, and just as an ear-shattering boom rocked the building and an explosion of heat and fire roared at them, Ares dove with her into the light.
Chased by demonic flames of infernal fire, Ares hurled himself and Cara out of the Harrowgate and into his great room.
Shit, that was close. Too close. His instincts should have warned him sooner than they had, but thanks to his limitations when in close proximity to the agimortus, he’d been hobbled like a brood mare waiting to be mounted by a randy stallion.
Heat seared his ankle, the fingers of fire nearly closing on him before the gate sealed. Ares hit the marble floor on his shoulder, rolling to take the brunt of the fall. Cara clutched him tightly, preventing her limbs from flailing and striking the hard surface.
Unlike the last time he’d had her on the ground, this time she ended up on top of him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face buried in his neck. She smelled like flowers and vanilla, and it probably wasn’t appropriate to notice, but it had been a long time since he’d had a woman’s soft body wrapped up with his.
The erection that popped in his pants was even more inappropriate, especially given that they’d almost had their skin seared off like suckling pigs in one of Limos’s Hawaiian barbecue pits.
Oh, yeah, great time to throw wood, a**hole.
“This nightmare really bites,” Cara muttered against his throat, and he hoped to hell she wasn’t saying that because she felt his hardening c*ck prodding her.
Ares pushed her off him and came to his feet. She sat there in her pink flannel pajamas that were spotted with puffy white sheep. Ares hated pink. And soft, fluffy crap. It was a miracle this woman had survived even the human world—she wouldn’t last five minutes in his. Though he had to give her credit for a couple of sharp comebacks and trying to sneak out of the hotel room.
He’d have had her pinned to the wall before her fingers touched the door handle.
“It’s not a nightmare,” he barked, and no, he didn’t feel bad at all when she flinched. She needed to toughen up, and fast. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
“Then maybe you could tell me what’s going on.” Her chin came up defiantly. Good girl. “You said you brought in the dog. You said you were visiting cousins—”
“I lied.” He crouched beside her, waved his hand in front of her face, and unlocked the memories he’d buried in her brain.
She gasped, her eyes going wide as she scrambled backward. “What did you do? Oh, my God, what… who are those men in my house?” She grabbed her head, the memories hitting hard, a flood of data that would lock up even the most advanced computer.
“They were human warriors.” He moved toward her, slowly, herding her in a pink, fluffy cloud toward the corner. “Demon slayers. I suspect they were tracking the hellhound you treated.” He practically spat that last part, unable to believe anyone would help one of those nasty-ass things.
“That’s what they kept saying. Hellhound.” She peered at her bare feet, her sandy brows pulling into a frown. “Wait. The man who came out of thin air in my office. He took Hal, and later, I saw him in the dream.” Her hand went to her chest. “He’s the one who gave me this mark.”
“His name was Sestiel. He was a fallen angel.”
“F-fallen angel?” She swallowed, licked her lips, and naturally, his gaze was drawn to her mouth. She might be soft, but when it came to females, sometimes soft was desirable. “Why did he want a… hellhound?” She stumbled over the word, licked her lips again. He wished she’d stop doing that. “Um, Hal.”
“He took the hound because proximity to them can mask a fallen angel’s whereabouts.” They were also an effective weapon against the Horsemen, but she didn’t need to know that. “I think he was hoping he could tame it and get it to bond with him. He must not have known that it had already bonded to you.”
“Bonded?”
Cold, stale hatred fisted Ares’s heart. “Hellhounds are vile, evil creatures. They live to slaughter and maim, and they feel no remorse. So whatever you did to him, saved his life or something… it made him grateful.” The very idea made Ares ill. He’d rather eat ghastbat guano for the rest of his life than be bonded to a grateful hellhound. “You’ve been dreaming about him, except they aren’t dreams. Hellhounds can communicate through the bond using astral projection. You go to him while you’re sleeping, but it can be dangerous, because in that dream world, angels and demons can capture you, keep you with them until your physical body dies.”
Cara backed up a little more. Her eyes had gone unfocused, her brain swamped with information beyond the scope of anything she could possibly understand. “And you—you grabbed me from my house. You kidnapped me.”
“I saved your life,” he pointed out. “The Guardians were going to torture and kill you.”
She buried her face in her hands, and then her head snapped up, her cheeks mottled with red. “You kissed me!”
His gaze dropped once more to her mouth, those lush lips he’d sampled. She’d tasted of mint and hellhound then, and he wondered about her flavor now. “It wasn’t a kiss, human, so don’t get excited.”
She sputtered in outrage. “I don’t know what putting your lips on someone else’s mouth means for your people—whatever they are—but humans call that a kiss.”
“Congratulations, then. You made out with a hellhound.” He raked his gaze over her body, which, though hidden under oversized pajamas, was curvy. He’d never forget the unintentional strip show she’d put on before getting into the shower. “I would avoid that in the future. Hellhounds f**k what they kill. Usually while they’re killing it. No telling what they’ll do to someone they actually like.”
Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You’re disgusting.”
He snorted. “I’m not the one who sucked face with a hellhound.”
A tremor rocked her, and for a brief—very brief—moment, he experienced the tiniest bit of remorse for taunting her, and he considered armoring up to counter it. Then she shot him a glare of utter revulsion, and so much for the rare pang of conscience. “Where are we?” When he didn’t reply within the two seconds she apparently allotted for an answer, she huffed. “Well?”
Impressive, how she could flip from looking as if she was going to collapse into a quivering puddle to demanding answers to her questions. “Greece. This is my house.”
“You mentioned Greece when you gave me your phone number,” she mused.
To her credit, she didn’t freak out again. Like any competent warrior, she surveyed her surroundings, taking note of the environment, and he had no doubt she’d logged every exit. Good girl. When she was done, she attempted to get to her feet, but he’d caged her between his body and the wall. He stood, offered her a hand, which she ignored.
So she was skittish and stubborn. Talk about a frustrating combination.
She scrambled to her feet on her own and slid along the wall to put a yard of distance between them. “This is all so crazy. Demons? Hellhounds? Fallen angels? Why am I involved in this? What did I do?”
Good questions. Too bad he didn’t have any good answers. “Wrong place, wrong time. When the hellhound gave you Hell’s Kiss—”
“He didn’t kiss me,” she ground out. “He’s a dog.”
“He’s more than a dog, and at some point, he licked you on the mouth. Do you remember that?”
Frowning, she nodded slowly. “I’d just helped him. He’d been shot and hit by a car. He healed remarkably fast once I removed the bullet, though.”