“I’ll consider it.” He shoved Cara to her knees in front of him. “Take it out. And if you do anything stupid, I’ll cut off Ares’s dick and make you eat it, do you understand?”
She paled, making her bruises and scrapes stand out starkly. Her hands shook as she reached into Pestilence’s pants and removed his cock. The son of a bitch was hard already. Ares broke out in a fevered sweat.
Come on, baby. Use your gift. Rip his f**king balls off.
Her palm circled Pestilence’s shaft and slid down. He cuffed her in the head. “Your mouth, bitch. Use your mouth.”
Ares’s chest cramped, his heart jackhammered, and f**k, he wouldn’t survive this. Cara’s lips parted, and he knew his brother could feel her warm breath on him. The demon in him went crazy. Hold it together…
Cara slid her hands around Pestilence’s muscular thighs and pulled down his pants so the waistband circled his legs. Pestilence watched her, blue eyes glittering with anticipation and lust as she cupped his sac. Her tongue darted out, and Ares damn near screamed. No matter how evil he turned, he would somehow preserve the part of himself that had fallen for her, and he would avenge her.
He would destroy Pestilence for this.
Almost imperceptibly, Cara shifted, and just before her mouth made contact, she cranked her wrist so viciously that Ares heard the tear of flesh. Lightning quick, she dove toward Ares as Pestilence swung at her, blood flowing between his legs and a screech ripping from his throat.
“The bracelet,” Ares yelled. “Move it off Battle!”
Cara scrambled to her feet and ran to him, barely avoiding Pestilence’s second grab. She leaped, but her fingers only brushed the copper ring. “I… can’t… reach!”
“Climb me. Hurry.” He raised one leg, and she hopped on, straddling it as she shoved the bracelet up. “Out!”
Pestilence grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the floor as Battle formed behind him. Cara screamed, flailed, kicked out. Pestilence’s fist slammed into her jaw, and then he was smashed into the floor by Battle’s giant hooves. The horse struck over and over.
“My power… it won’t work on your brother.” Stumbling, Cara came to her feet. Her voice was mushy, her words floating on blood, but her eyes were determined. Why he’d ever thought her weak, he had no idea.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Battle’s handling it. I need you to look for a lever.”
She limped around behind him, and through the sound of the beating Pestilence was taking, he heard shouts outside the door. Pest’s reinforcements.
“Hurry, Cara…”
“Got it!”
Something metallic clicked, and he dropped to his feet, hands still bound by the length of rope. She dashed over, her fingers making quick work of the knots. The door burst open, and demons swarmed inside. Ares threw a Harrowgate, using it as a weapon to shear two of them in half. “Battle!” The stallion whirled, stood still while Ares threw Cara into the saddle and then swung up.
Pestilence’s body was ruined, his throat and face crushed, but he staggered to his feet and heaved a spiked club. It bounced off Ares’s back, but the pain was forgotten as Battle charged the swarm of demons, plowing through them like a wrecking ball, and leaped through the gate.
The second the horse’s hooves hit island sand, Ares whipped off his shirt and tugged it over Cara’s head, shielding her na**dness from his staff, who were running to meet them.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled, her entire body shaking as the adrenaline rush that had gotten them out of there began to take its toll on her.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Pressing kisses into her hair, he wrapped his arms around her, desperate to feel her warmth, her vitality, all the things she could have lost at his brother’s hands. “He should never have gotten that close to you.”
“Not that.” She stared at the Ramreels stampeding toward them. “I’m so sorry, Ares.” The scent of misery billowing from her set off his internal alarms.
The demons surrounded them, all sporting injuries. Vulgrim was there, limping, one horn sheared off. In his arms, he held a squirming little Rath. But Torrent wasn’t with him.
“My lord.” Vulgrim bowed. And when he unfurled to his full seven and a half feet, his red, watery eyes made Ares’s gut plummet.
“Don’t say it,” he growled. “Don’t. Even. Say it.”
“We lost him, tesmon,” Vulgrim said. “My son is gone.”
Twenty-two
After the news about Torrent, Ares dismounted, gathered Cara to his chest, and carried her to the bedroom. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. He started the shower for her, but when he began to strip, she asked for a moment alone. He needed time with Vulgrim, and though he protested, he finally relented, leaving Limos outside the door.
She washed carefully, her aches and pains slowing her down. Pestilence had worked her over pretty good during the hours before he captured Ares, and that last punch to the face had hurt like hell. She hoped his balls were throbbing as much as her jaw was. The bastard.
Ares returned as she stepped out of the shower, halting in the doorway. Her heartbeat had stuttered, almost painfully. The intensity in his bloodshot eyes froze her to the floor.
“You saved Vulgrim’s life.” His voice was strained. “You killed for him.” He crossed to her in three strides and hauled her against him. “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”
“Ares,” she whispered, “there wasn’t any other option. I don’t regret it, and I’d do it again.”
He let out a ragged breath, scooped her up and took her to bed. As he laid her down, his gaze mapped and logged every one of her cuts and bruises, and smoldering anger joined his grief. “You need a doctor.” He swallowed. “And the agimortus—”
“I know.” It was dusky pink now, much lighter than it had been before Pestilence grabbed her. She patted the mattress. “Lie with me.”
“I need to shower first.”
She waited while he cleaned up, and then he joined her in bed, where, when he discovered her small gift, he stared at her. “A pillow?” He ran his hand over the silk cover, and she swore she saw a slight tremor in his fingers. “When? How?”
She braced herself on an elbow and watched him. She’d never tire of looking at him, of admiring his deeply tanned skin, his chiseled features, the ropey muscles that bunched and rolled as he moved. “After we rescued Hal. While you were fighting the demons with the Guardians. I asked Vulgrim to get a pillow for you.” She put her hand over his. “It’s not much, but I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve to be comfortable when you sleep, Ares.”
He grabbed her, had her tucked up against him so fast she didn’t know what hit her. He said nothing, just held her, and instinct told her that was what he needed right now.
She drifted off, exhaustion and adrenaline crash making for a fine Valium. And if she could communicate with Hal…
She woke an hour later. She hadn’t dreamed of Hal, and Ares was gone.
Instantly, she leaped out of bed, only to have her legs go wet noodle on her. She caught herself on the chair, sparing herself a nasty fall. Damn, she was getting weak. Her entire body ached, and at some point, her skull had become a giant juicer, turning her brain into a throbbing, liquid muck.
As quickly as she could, which meant she was turtle-slow, she dressed in a pair of olive-drab capris that were a lot looser than they used to be and a blue button-down blouse that didn’t match; right now, fashion wasn’t her biggest concern.
Barefoot, she padded out to the great room, where Ares was standing in front of the fireplace, one hand braced on the mantel, head bowed so deeply his chin touched his chest.
“Ares? Are you okay?”
He didn’t look up, but he did let out a bitter laugh. “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine.”
Now he lifted his head, and she drew a startled breath at his red-rimmed eyes and his drawn expression. “You were taken prisoner, beaten, forced to kill, nearly forced to…” He trailed off, shook his head. “You are not fine.”
No, her time with Pestilence had not been pleasant. But she’d survived. She’d even fought him without breaking down into a screaming, bawling puddle. “I think,” she said softly, “that I should be the one to determine that.” She moved toward Ares, but he stepped away. “What’s wrong?”
He looked up at the ceiling fan, which was whirring madly. “I failed you. I failed Torrent.”
“There’s nothing you could have done for him. And maybe you don’t remember, but you got me away from Pestilence.”
“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” The venom in Ares’s voice made her recoil. “You got us out of my brother’s cell. I hung there like a slab of beef in a butcher’s locker.”
“I couldn’t have gotten away without you.” The agimortus etched into her chest joined the throbbing in her head, as if it wanted in on the conversation. “We did it together. And none of this would have happened if I’d transferred the agimortus in the first place.” She should have done it, and she’d regret that decision for the rest of her life… short as it might be.
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass!”
“Why are you acting like this?” She reached for him, but he wheeled away, jamming his hands through his hair and leaving them there as he began to pace.
“What did he do to you?” His voice was flayed raw. “Before he brought you into the cell.”
“It’s not important, Ares.” At his smoky growl, her heart skidded to a stop. “Oh… you think he raped me.”
“Did he?” Still raw, as if his throat was bleeding.
“Would it matter?”
“Yes.” This time, his voice was dead.
She shivered. Even though the men who broke into their house hadn’t gotten the chance to rape her, Jackson could never see past what might have happened. Though he’d never said it, not outright, anyway, he’d viewed her as damaged goods. As ruined. Spoiled. When she’d touched him, he’d shrunk away, found some way to avoid intimacy with her. They hadn’t made love even once after that night.