Aphrodite's War (5 page)

She cried into her linens with every wanton pulse as she fought for
control. Her heart beat faster as Ares pushed harder against her sweatslicked ass. His scrotum tapped her clitoris incessantly. His sour breath
warmed her ear and his rutting grew more frenzied. He wouldn’t stop
until she was raw.

“I know how you like it, slut. You will come like the dirty little pig
you are.”

Strife took the deepest breath her crushed lungs could spare and let
go. Another dizzying orgasm took her and she let out a throaty wail as
the rush engulfed her.

Spots appeared behind her closed lids, her body alive with sensations
of pleasure and pain. She listened to the roar and growl of Ares releasing
his seed and lay unresisting as he slammed his prick in for a final thrust
and as he pulled out afterwards, dribbling hot semen down to tickle her
sensitive folds. She waited patiently while he wiped the stickiness on her
buttocks. Only when she felt him leave the bed did she open her eyes
again. She glared at him with unabashed hatred. He either didn’t notice
or didn’t care.

He sauntered to his discarded clothing, checking through the pockets
of his pants. What was he searching for?
A white rectangle appeared in his hand, which he tossed at Strife.

“Get dressed, bitch.” Strife peeled the envelope from her cheek and
opened it. Inside she found a one way ticket to Canada. “You have work
to do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN

Poetry tossed her napkin on her plate and grinned in satisfaction. The
succulent shrimp and smooth nuttiness of the rice lingered as she sat
back to let her food settle.

“That really hit the spot.”
“Oh, yeah,” Adrian piled the last of his beans onto a crust of bread.

Poetry sipped at her Kokanee, enjoying the subtle breeze that wafted
over the patio and whispered through the surrounding hedges. The sun
hadn’t quite set, but their table sat in shade and the wind raised
goosebumps on her skin. Classical music played in the background. The
quiet murmurs of other diners added to the ambience.

“So, tell me about your job,” Poetry said. Not that she cared really,
but it made for small talk. Uncomfortable silences weren’t fun at the best
of times, but after Kevin’s appearance she needed to take her mind
elsewhere. “Why did you decide to become a lawyer?”

Adrian smiled. “I don’t know, too much TV as a child?” He chuckled
and Poetry warmed toward him. He didn’t strike her as the kind of kid
who parked his behind in front of the tube. “I used to watch a lot of cop
shows. Bad boys, bad boys. Whatcha gonna do?”

Poetry grinned into her beer and studied his body language. She liked
how he sang with his head tucked down. He had a shyness to him she
hadn’t expected.

“But you didn’t become a cop.”

Adrian jerked his head. “No. Not that I didn’t want to be part of the
justice system. Actually it’s the opposite.” His lips quirked. “This
probably sounds really arrogant, but I thought my intelligence would be
wasted on the force.”

Poetry opened her mouth to politely protest, but he held up a
restraining hand.
“Don’t get me wrong. Law enforcement is a noble calling. But in real
life perps don’t stay behind bars without a good prosecutor.”

The beers must be taking effect. That remark should have annoyed
her, Poetry didn’t like conceited men, but she loved confidence. A fine
line separated the two. Those down-turned eyes suggested modesty more
than pride.

“And the money’s better,” he said.
This time she chortled along with him. “So how did you wind up
doing defense?”

A shadow darkened Adrian’s expression as the waiter came to clear
their plates. “The firm placed me according to my talents and
compassion. Lucky me.” He rolled his bottle on the table between his
fingers and ordered them another round.

Had she said something wrong? The jovial mood switched to sour all
of a sudden and Poetry didn’t understand why. She rubbed the inked-in
grape vines trailing down her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She kept her tone casual, hoping she
didn’t hit a nerve or barge into his business.

Adrian sighed. “I shouldn’t,” he said, and swallowed the rest of his
beer in a single gulp. “But sometimes you have to do things you don’t
like to further your career. Like representing people you think might be
better off locked up.”

The waiter arrived with two more beer. When he departed, Poetry
leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“Did you hear about that guy who shot two gay men on his property?
The rancher from that little hick town west of Stony Plain?”

“I saw that one on the news.” She recalled the footage, remembered
the faces on the television screen. “Frank Fleisher, right? You’re
representing him?”

“Yep.” He took a smaller pull, regarded the bottle and pushed it a little
farther away from himself. “I shouldn’t have ordered this.”
“I won’t tell anyone anything,” Poetry said. It was an easy promise to
make--she valued privacy. “Not even Jenny.”

Adrian gave her a genuinely warm smile. She couldn’t put her finger
on it, but he seemed different from the first time she’d met him. Even
from when he’d been at Denny’s. He’d given her the impression he
didn’t like her. But here he sat, eating dinner, confiding in her like a
friend. Oddly enough, it made her skin tingle.

Huh. I’d better lay off the beer too.
“Thanks,” he said. “But Gary will probably tell her anyway.”
“Hey, mate. Buy a flower for your girl?” They both jumped as a man
appeared next to Adrian carrying a basket of roses.

Poetry’s mouth dropped. If the accent wasn’t hot enough, he had the face
and body of a god. His curls shone in the late sun and his enchanting
green eyes made her pulse pound in her throat. What a beautiful man.

Adrian shook his head. “Actually, she’s not my girl.”
“She should be,” the tanned Adonis said. “Pretty little Sheila like
that?”

Poetry giggled, but groaned inwardly. She sounded like a moron. The
only thing worse than feeling fat around good-looking guys was feeling
stupid in front of them.

The guy with the rose basket winked at her, driving butterflies around
her stomach, slightly unsettling her food. She closed her mouth and
sucked in her gut.

Please God, don’t give me gas. That’s all I need right now is to burp
in front of the hottie. Classy.
Adrian made eye contact with rose guy for a hushed tick. “Oh, what
the hell,” he said. “How about the yellow one?”
The man presented the blossom with a flourish. “Not a bad choice,”
he said, peering at Adrian sideways. “But…”
“But what? It’s the color of friendship, isn’t it? That’s what I heard.”

“Oh, it’s true,” the stranger said. He glanced over and gave Poetry a
wide, knowing twitch of his lips that made Poetry’s sensitive stomach
flip over. “But I think she’d much prefer this.”

He replaced the yellow one. In its stead he retrieved a plum rose so
dark it appeared almost black.
Poetry gasped. Her favorite. How did he know? It was a twin to the
one tattooed down her thigh.
She glanced at Adrian. He’d seen her reaction, and handed cash to the
Aussie rose guy. “Looks like you’re right. Thanks, buddy.”
Adrian passed the flower across the table. It smelled rich, like summer
in heaven.
Poetry found herself so enthralled with its beauty she didn’t hear the sexy
guy leave, but she didn’t much care.
“Thank you, Adrian.”
“You’re welcome.” Adrian shrugged. “You should have seen the way
your eyes lit up when you saw it.”
Poetry felt her mouth tugging upward until a sad thought dragged it
back down. “Kevin never gave me flowers.”
Why’d she have to think of him now? He kept popping into her mind
like a bad dream. She was sick of it.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice sounded carefully neutral. She didn’t
look up, but she heard the huffed breath across the tablecloth. She’d
ruined the mood.

“Personally, I don’t know what you saw in him.” Adrian grabbed his
beer and took another swig. “Why do girls go out with guys like that?”
Poetry shrugged. “We like to tame bad boys.” Wow, what a lame thing
to say.
“Guess that’s why I’m still single.” Adrian said. “The only thing that
changes a jackass like that is jail time.”
“I know that now,” Poetry said and sighed when she caught the edge
in her voice. “It’s not like I have a lot of practice dealing with guys.”

He held his palms up in a placating gesture. “Me neither. I mean, with
girls. Practicing.” His shoulders slumped. “If only it were that easy, huh?
If we could get a trial run or two?”

She pinched her lips shut and kept her eyes to the tablecloth to keep
from smiling. That wasn’t a half-bad idea.
She heard him shuffling. “How about if we change the subject?”
Poetry released the breath she’d been holding. “Great idea. What do
you want to talk about?”

“I’m tired of babbling about myself,” Adrian said. “What about you?
Tell me about your art. Is that necklace you’re wearing one of your
pieces?”

Relief washed over her. She never tired of discussing her work.
Hopefully it wouldn’t bore him. She lifted her fingers beneath the chain
so he could see the intricate links, when a shrill beeping interrupted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s mine.” Adrian yanked his cell phone from his
jacket pocket and gawked at the display. “It’s Gary.”
He pressed a button and placed it on his ear. “Yeah?”
A long pause ensued. Poetry couldn’t make out words, but the voice
on the other end sounded rushed and garbled.

Adrian’s face went from cheerful to alarm in less than a minute. When
he glanced her way, she counted the heartbeats in her ears. Whatever it
was, it didn’t look good.

“She’s fine,” he said. “In fact, she’s here with me. We decided to go
for a bite.” More squawking erupted from his phone. Why would Gary
call Adrian about her? She pulled her own phone from her purse, only to
discover she’d shut it off. Right. To avoid any calls from her ex after his
cameo appearance. Maybe Jenny was trying to contact her. But why? She
wouldn’t be off work yet.

“What? Why?” Adrian’s mouth dropped. “What?” He said the word
so loud, other customers turned to stare.
“We’re on our way.” He hung up and flagged the waiter. “Check
please?”
“What’s going on?”
“We have to go to your apartment. Now,” he said. “Your ex made it in
after all.”

Panic set in as Poetry gathered her things. “I’ll call a cab.” she said,
and hurried behind Adrian, dropping the rose to the brick floor in her
haste.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Strife dragged her weary bones off the Greyhound and wiped the
grime of several time zones from her face. The monotonous trip from
Germany hadn’t ended at the Toronto Airport. From there, she’d flown to
Edmonton, only to take a bus to Grey, Alberta. She’d never been a strong
deity. Strife hoarded what little power she had. She couldn’t afford to use
it on travel.

Despite the fact that Ares could magick her across the world on a
whim, he refused. Instead, he made her take human transport the entire
way. Something about her mission being secret and conserving his
strength to deal with Aphrodite.

Strife sneered. She didn’t believe him. He enjoyed making her feel
insignificant, like a dog. A lackey. Why did she let him treat her like a
slave?

She searched for a distraction to the disturbing thoughts.

A sign in need of a hose down and paint welcomed her to this mangy
town. Not much to see. But she understood why they called it Grey.
Everything from buildings to lampposts seemed to be covered in a film
of neglect. Even the parked vehicles. Apparently this dump had no car
wash.

This wasn’t a town as such. She hesitated to call it a hamlet. The
narrow street boasted a convenience store that doubled as a gas station
and a hotel-slash-cafe-slash-bar. Every community it seemed, no matter
how small, had one of these.

Strife’s spirits lifted as she made her way to the decrepit buildings.
She would start there.
# # #

The grey-haired woman across the counter scowled. Just as Ares
warned, the locals weren’t friendly. Strife’s appearance didn’t help, with
her hair the color of pitch and her tilted jade eyes.

The matron pursed her lips, trying not to call her a ‘chink’ out loud,
unaware of Strife’s telepathy. Obvious as well was her unwillingness to
rent her a room. Granny’s disapproval virtually hummed.

Strife cranked her charm; let it ooze from her skin. She batted her
lashes in the most sincere manner she could manage and licked caked
lipstick from her mouth.

“Please, ma’am,” she said. “I really need a place to stay.” Somewhere
beyond her sight rodents scurried in the walls. She heard the skitter of
tiny claws over the wheezing ceiling fan.

“Well…” Granny dropped her gaze to her paperwork, avoiding
Strife’s pleading gaze.

Strife leaned in, rubbing her wrists together before clasping her hands
in a gracious gesture. The crisp sweetness of green apple perfume carried
from the fan’s draft. She studied the bulbous beak of the old bat across
from her, waited for the tell-tale sign of flared nostrils. At last the bitch
breathed deep, taking in the chemically altered scent, completing the
influence. Strife sensed her mood change.

“Something just opened up.” Her dentures gleamed with her phony
smile. “I think we could accommodate you after all.”

Strife let her open lips spread across her face, aware that her clenched
teeth could be interpreted as menacing rather than lovely, but she
couldn’t help it. Manipulating humans made her giddy.

“That would be nice,” she said. “I have a lot of work to do.”
CHAPTER NINE
Poetry couldn’t get home fast enough. Even as Adrian paid the cab
driver she stormed the stairs like a dyslexic lemming.

And came to an abrupt halt when she saw the remains of the
doorjamb. Kindling littered the ground. The deadbolt, still in the locked
position, lay among the wreckage. Squawking radios chanted from
within.

The tall uniform guarding the door held out a hand. “Sorry,” he said.
“You can’t go in there.”

“I live here. I need to see Jenny.”
Adrian caught up behind her. “What the hell?”