The Stone Warriors: Damian Read online

  “I will find you.” Nico’s voice drifted through his mind as it had every day since he’d been trapped. It was that vow that had kept him sane, the absolute certainty that Nico would never give up.

  The thin sound of plastic against the door’s electronic lock had him turning, mind alert, muscles tensed and ready. But the moment the door cracked open, he knew it was Cassandra. He knew her scent by now, a combination of her soap and shampoo. Clean and feminine. It made his cock twitch, reminding him once again that he hadn’t had a woman in far too long.

  She looked up in surprise as she came through the door. “You’re up!”

  “You thought I’d lie in bed the entire morning? Your television isn’t that interesting.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, seeming sincerely contrite. “It took longer than I expected. I’ve never bought clothes for a man before, and I wasn’t sure about the sizes.” She dumped two large bags on one of the unmade beds. “I ended up buying too much, but anything that doesn’t fit we can donate. I saw a thrift store right down the road that benefits a homeless shelter.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but he liked the sound of her voice, the crackle of energy as she moved around the room.

  She swung her small backpack onto the bed, along with yet another bag, this one with boxes in it. “The boots were the hardest. I hope one of these fits.”

  Damian eyed her in amusement. “And Nico?” he asked. “What did he have to say?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise and maybe a touch of fear, before she replaced both expressions with a blank face.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Cassandra,” he said as gently as he could.

  “What makes you think I talked to him?” she said defiantly.

  He grinned. “It was a guess, but your reaction tells me I’m right. What did he say?”

  She gave him a narrow look, probably more pissed with herself than him at this moment. It only made him grin harder.

  “He was . . . happy. Nick’s usually a pretty controlled guy, but this. . . . It was genuine emotion. He’s on another job, but it’s not that far from here. About an hour’s—”

  “He’s coming here?” Damian’s heart lifted at the thought of soon seeing Nico again, but Cassandra was shaking her head.

  “I told him not to, but he didn’t listen.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Of course, he didn’t listen. But why would you do that?”

  “Because I don’t know you or what your intentions are. Who knows better than Sotiris what the terms of your curse were? Maybe you were put in my path just so I’d take you back to Nick and you could kill him.”

  Damian was furious, but underneath the fury was respect. She was trying to protect Nico. He understood that. And in any other situation, she might even have been right. But not this one. There was no way in hell he would ever betray his brother, no spell strong enough to twist him against something so intrinsic to who he was.

  “He’s fully capable of defending himself, you know,” he said tightly, unable to resist arguing, though he knew her actions came from a lack of understanding. “He’s quite powerful.”

  “But not against you,” she snapped. “He loves you. He said to tell you that. If you could have heard—” She stopped whatever she’d been about to say, but the emotion in her voice told him everything.

  “You love him,” he said, wondering why it irritated him to know this.

  She shook her head. “I’m loyal to him. He’s my boss, but he’s also a friend. He was the first person in my life to believe in me. He showed me I was unique rather than weird, that I could actually help people.”

  Damian understood loyalty. The Nico he’d known had been young and full to bursting with the tremendous power he’d been born with, arrogant and smug with all of the benefits that power brought him. But even so, he’d inspired devotion amongst those who followed him. This Nico, the one Cassandra knew, was different. Older, of course. Confident rather than arrogant. But still with that core of strength that inspired steadfast loyalty.

  “So what are your plans for me?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any plans for you,” she countered. “I’m not even sure what’s happening here. But I think we can help each other while I figure it out, and Nick agrees with me. I need to get the Talisman back before Sotiris uses it to kill a lot of people. And you want revenge for what he did to you and your friends.”

  “We were more than friends,” he said quietly. “We were brothers. We are still brothers. If I live, then they do too, somewhere in this world that your people have created. And I will find them.”

  She nodded. “I can help you with that. I don’t have magic. Not like Nick does, but I’ve made it my life’s work to understand it. And magic is . . . avaricious. Do you understand? It’s greedy and selfish, and . . . jealous in an odd way. It feeds on itself and it’s drawn to bursts of power. Your release from Sotiris’s curse will burn brightly on the magical horizon. A warrior god cursed and trapped for millennia, suddenly freed—”

  “I’m not actually a god,” he reluctantly admitted. But her reaction was a brilliant smile, bigger than any he’d seen from her so far.

  “I know. Nick told me. But you were worshipped as one, and that kind of devotion has an energy all its own. I think when you broke the curse—”

  “When you broke it,” he corrected her.

  She shrugged. “The details don’t matter. The curse was broken, and you were thrust into this time and place. If I’m right, that will set in motion a chain of events that not even Sotiris will be able to stop. One by one, your . . . brothers will break their curses until all of you are free. And then—”

  “And then Nico and his warriors will stand together again with only one goal. The death of Sotiris,” he snarled.

  He half expected her to recoil, to insist on justice, rather than revenge. To argue, as he’d heard so many in this time argue, that a criminal must be given the opportunity to answer for his crimes. But she proved him wrong again.

  “Death,” she agreed, her big, brown eyes cold and determined. “As painful and as lasting as we can make it.”

  Damian grinned. “A meeting of the minds at last, Cassandra.”

  She blushed and looked away, as if embarrassed by her own viciousness.

  “You should try on the clothes,” she said, shoving one of the bags closer to him. “If you’re going to help me hunt down the Talisman, you can’t wear that.” She pointed to the too-short robe he was wearing. The only thing he was wearing.

  Laughing privately, he untied the robe and dropped it to the floor in a single movement, leaving him completely naked as he reached for the pile of clothes. She sucked in a breath and her blush deepened to a furious red. But he noted smugly that it was a long moment before she looked away.

  “Fuck,” she swore softly. “You really . . . I’ll just, um, I’ll work over here.” She snatched up her computer and all but ran the short distance to the opposite side of the room where there was a desk and chair against the wall.

  Chuckling to himself, Damian went through the clothing choices, scowling at the stiff shirts with all their buttons, settling instead on several short-sleeved cotton shirts with colorful designs on the front. He tossed aside the package of underwear she’d bought him. No one had worn underwear like this in his previous life, and he didn’t see the need for it now. Again, he rejected the too-stiff light-brown pants with many pockets that she’d purchased, going instead with what he knew were called jeans. Soft, faded-looking blue fabric that fit well through his hips and thighs, but were looser through his calves.

  “They’re just loose enough for boots,” she said, drawing his attention and making him wonder if she’d been watching him the whole time.

  He grunted as he considered the boots she’d purchase
d, settling on a pair of black leather, with reinforced toes and a lace-up shaft. “Good design.” He stood up to take a few steps back and forth. “These are excellent,” he said in some surprise. “Very good quality.”

  She nodded. “I found an army surplus store. It’s a place that sells military-style clothing. Those are combat boots.”

  He looked up and gave her a grateful nod. “Everything fits. You did well.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

  He knew she was being sarcastic, but didn’t understand why since he’d paid her a compliment. But he’d learn. Women had always loved him. She would be no different.

  “What about weapons?” he asked, doing a series of squats to work in the new clothing. A choking noise drew his attention back to Cassandra who switched her eyes away quickly.

  “I have plenty of weapons,” she said, her voice muffled somewhat by the fact that she was studiously avoiding look at him.

  His male ego preened a little. So she wasn’t as immune as she pretended. “These?” he said, walking over to the considerable arsenal spread out on the floor where he’d moved it so he could sleep in the other bed . . . all alone.

  She nodded, still staring at her computer. “Those and others. They’re nearby. Once you’re dressed, we can go pick them up.”

  “Am I not already dressed?” he asked, holding his arms out and turning for her perusal.

  She was forced to look up then, and he could see the same appreciation in her eyes that he’d seen in the gazes of a thousand women. Her throat worked in a swallow. “It’s cold out. I bought you a jacket.”

  He spun back to the bed, his gaze taking in the various packages and bags until his eye fell on a large plastic bag with a hook protruding from the top. He picked it up, glancing at her for confirmation. She nodded, and he ripped the covering off to reveal a jacket of the softest leather, brushed brown with a quilted lining and zipped front. He picked it up and was assailed by the scent of well-cured ox hide. Finally, something familiar and welcome in this hard and unyielding world in which he’d ended up. Resisting the urge to bury his face in it, he pulled it on instead, then walked over to the mirrored closet door. It felt good on his shoulders, the weight comforting and right. How had she known?

  He turned and found her still watching him. “I figured leather,” she said. “It’s been around forever.”

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, then grinned. “Shall we go get the weapons now?”

  CASEY AGREED wordlessly, snapping her laptop shut, and all but jumping to her feet. Anything to get out of that confining hotel room and the suddenly sexy warrior god who was sucking up all of the oxygen and apparently her good sense, as well. Damian the insufferable ass was a lot easier to deal with than this new grateful and understanding Damian, not to mention blisteringly sexy. She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d discarded the package of boxer briefs she’d bought, tossing them aside with barely a glance. On the other hand, the jeans fit him like they’d been tailor-made, caressing his thighs and very nice butt, cupping his crotch like a lover. Damn. Where had that thought come from?

  “Pack up,” she said abruptly, before she came up with any more poetic descriptions for Damian and his damn cock. “Here,” she said, yanking a new duffel out of one of the bags and shoving it in his direction. “Put all of your clothes in there, and I’ll pack the gear.”

  “Perhaps I should deal with the weapons—”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “Why? Because you have a penis? I don’t think you need one of those to do this.”

  Damian gave a long-suffering sigh and began packing his new clothes, discarding as much as he packed. “What do I do with those items I won’t be wearing?” he asked, continuing his sorting.

  “Put them in one of the plastic bags. We’ll drop them off on our way,” she said, watching him shove the entire package of underwear into the discard bag. Great. Now she’d never get the picture of a commando Damian out of her head. That would be terrific for her concentration. Maybe she needed to dump him somewhere after all.

  She dropped her small cosmetics bag into a side pocket, then, with all of the gear and weapons inside the big canvas duffel, she pulled the heavy-duty zipper shut. She straightened and looked at him.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Will you at least let me carry the heavy bag? Your shoulder is still injured.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Knock yourself out.”

  He tilted his head and gave her a puzzled look.

  “It’s a colloquialism. It’s like saying, ‘Sure, go ahead.’ As for the bag, there’s no question you’re stronger than I am, and I’m always ready to use the best tool for the job.”

  “Are you calling me a tool?”

  Casey laughed. “You know that word?”

  “I’ve heard it. Did I use it correctly?”

  She nodded. “And, no. You’re not a tool. I’m just saying you’re the best man for the job, and we need to get going. I’m getting a bad feeling, and I’ve learned to pay attention when that happens.”

  Damian hefted the big, heavy bag like it weighed nothing and slung it over his shoulder. “Are you a seer, then?”

  “No, nothing that grand. I just get these warning twitches, usually when something bad is about to happen.”

  He nodded and pulled the room door open for her. “We should definitely leave, then. I serve Nicodemus Katsaros. I believe in magic.”

  Casey pulled on her winter jacket, the one she only wore when she was traveling. The hoodie she’d worn hadn’t been enough. It was nearly summer, but the days here in the Midwest were a lot cooler than where she lived in Florida, and the nights seemed positively cold. Also, it was loose enough that she was able to fit it over her bandages without adding to her pain.

  “I didn’t see you in the parking lot,” he commented as they took the stairs down. She noticed that he hadn’t said a word about using the stairs instead of the elevator. Not even the other night when they’d both been exhausted, and she’d been leaking blood. She used elevators when she had to, like during her escape at the Kalman, but she found the metal boxes too confining. She wasn’t claustrophobic, not exactly. It was just that her father’s idea of how to discipline his young daughter had mostly consisted of locking her in a closet, as if she was one of his recruits being trained to withstand interrogation. He’d wanted her to learn discipline, and she had. Along with feelings of emotional abandonment and a healthy dislike of confined spaces. The claustrophobia she could compensate for. The other . . . well, let’s just say that trust wasn’t something she gave easily.

  Besides, Damian was in such great shape that taking the stairs probably didn’t matter to him. Actually, the exercise was probably a nice change, what with him having been a statue and all.

  “I parked out back,” she told him as they clambered down the stairs, filling the hollow space with noise that echoed. She was fighting to control her breath, because he was breathing as easily as if they were on a walk in the sunshine. Good thing he hadn’t been with her coming up earlier, when she’d returned from the store. She considered herself to be in excellent shape, but eight floors with a healing bullet wound was pushing it. She’d actually waited down the hall before entering the hotel room, because she’d been panting so hard he might have been worried about her. And the last thing she needed was him trying to be the big man taking care of the little lady.

  It was bad enough that he was bigger and stronger and undoubtedly a far better fighter than she was, with or without weapons. But this was still her mission, not his. He was there to help her, not take over. Besides, he might be a natural warrior—okay, yes, he obviously was a natural warrior—but she had an advantage he couldn’t match. And that was time. As in, this was her time, her world. She understood this time period on a gut level. She’d grown up here. He
hadn’t.

  They exited the stairwell into the rear of the first floor lobby, then made a right turn for the door to the parking lot behind the building.

  “This is a different vehicle,” he noted as they crossed the blacktop toward her GMC Yukon. “The weapons are inside?”

  “Yeah,” she said, beeping the locks open. It was the second Yukon she’d owned—only one year old, and her baby. “Kind of a mobile backup unit,” she said, giving it a loving pat.

  “I’ll drive,” he said with his typical arrogance.

  She gave him a shocked look over the hood. She found the very idea of him behind the wheel of anything to be vaguely alarming, much less her beloved Yukon with its powerful V8 engine. “Again, no penis required here,” she said sarcastically. “But for the record, do you even know how to drive?”

  “No. But everyone does it, so how difficult can it be?”

  “Yeah. Maybe later,” she lied. Once he was no longer her responsibility, he could smash his way through half of the country for all she cared. But for now, she intended to keep him, and herself, in one piece.

  “This is a personal vehicle,” he reasoned thoughtfully, as she drove slowly from the lot. He tilted his head curiously. “But your home is in Florida, you said. You drove all the way here?”

  She knew she shouldn’t have told him that. Damn. Why did he have to be so sharp? And when had he’d studied a map anyway? She hated talking about this. “I like to drive,” she said simply.

  “From Florida,” he reiterated, clearly angling for an explanation that she didn’t want to provide.

  “I travel a lot,” she said, still hoping to avoid going into detail. Only her therapist knew about the closet. Nick had caught on to her claustrophobia a long time ago, and she was sure he had his theories about what had caused it. But he’d never pushed. Unlike some people. “Sometimes I feel like I live in my car,” she told Damian, making light of it.