Soulceress (The Mythean Arcana 2) - Page 99

“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, sist

er,” 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.

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
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