The Dark-Hunters (489 page)

Don’t go soft. Don’t let down your guard.

Sooner or later, he’d be back in Tartarus at the mercy of Hades. It’d taken centuries to harden himself so that he didn’t feel the steel-barbed lashes so deeply when they beat him. Centuries of learning how to not fall for the cruel mind games that Hades played.

Comfort on this plane would only weaken him when he returned.

It would make hell even more biting. That was something he couldn’t allow. It was bad enough. To soften his existence here …

No wonder Hades had agreed to let him loose for a month. The god of the Underworld had known exactly how much worse Xypher’s punishment would be after he’d tasted freedom.

Bastard.

Curling his lip, he snatched the oyster from her hand. “I’m not an infant. I can feed myself.”

Simone cocked her head irritably at his quick reversal. There for a moment, she’d almost thought that he was learning to be … well, nice.

She must have been hallucinating.

“Fine,” she said, flinging out her hands. “Whatever.”

Angered over his gruffness, she went back to her seat and finished her food in silence.

What was his deal? She’d never before met anyone so surly that they couldn’t accept even a minimal amount of kindness. He reminded her of that awful Scott Murphy …

Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered the boy who’d been in her children’s home with her when she was eleven. Hostile and feral, he’d barely been human.

At nine years old, he’d been taken away from his parents and then put into the revolving door of foster homes because no one could do anything with him. Finally, children’s services had started sending him to various facilities that were equally quick to toss him out.

No one at the home where she’d stayed, including the staff, could stand him. He was always picking fights and mocking everyone, even Simone who’d tried to be his friend. He’d laughed at her, then bit her so hard, she’d needed stitches—she still had the scar on her left forearm. Because of that and other such tantrums and attacks, he’d spent all of his time being punished until he’d mysteriously vanished in the middle of the night.

His body had been found a few days later in the basement of the gym, still dressed in his pajamas. Apparently he’d gone there, alone, and slit his own wrists.

He’d only been eleven years old.

Simone had been sad enough over the horrible occurrence, but when she’d overheard two of the teachers talking later that day, that sadness had turned to all-out grief for the child who shouldn’t have been reduced to ending his own life.

“It’s a shame that boy ended up like that, but I guess given the trauma of his childhood, he didn’t have any hope.”

“Trauma?”

“Didn’t you know? He was taken away from his parents because his mother was a crack addict and his father a drug dealer. Scott had his skull shattered one afternoon when he interrupted Daddy doing a deal because the poor thing was starving and dared to ask for a sandwich. That’s when the state took him away. His dad’s been trying to regain custody ever since. We’d just told Scott the day he vanished that his father was coming to take him home the next morning. Guess the poor kid would rather be dead than go back to whatever hell was waiting for him…”

In that one moment, Simone had learned a valuable life lesson.
Judge no one until you know their circumstances.
No matter how awful they seemed, sometimes there was a valid reason for their behavior. Granted, some people were just mean and corrupt, but not always.

Many people were just in pain, and by acting out, they were only trying to protect themselves from being hurt more.

It was what she tried to teach her students. Anytime you entered a crime scene, the worst thing you could do for the decedent was to pass judgment on them. It clouded your professionalism and jaded your work. A medical examiner’s job was to report without prejudice.

Personal views had no place in a morgue.

It was one thing to tell someone how to live their life and what decisions to make. It was another to be the person who had to do it and live with the consequences. Just because you would do something differently, it didn’t mean they would. People rose and fell by their own life choices and experiences. The mistakes were theirs to make.

And as she thought about that, it made her curious over Xypher and his past. Why was he so defensive?

Who had hurt him?

“What are gods’ childhoods like?”

Xypher looked up from his tabbouleh to meet a pair of the clearest, most innocent eyes he’d ever seen. “Excuse me?”

She didn’t flinch at the causticity in his tone. “I was just wondering. I mean, mine was very typical until my family died. I rode my bike through the neighborhood, made mud pies, had tea parties with my friends and dolls, and fought with my brother over TV shows. What did you do?”

Like he would tell her that? It was none of her damned business. “What do you care?”

The friendliness on her face was washed away by a pained expression. “I really hate it when you ask that question … I care because you’re a person I’m stuck with until we get the bracelets off and I’d like to know something about you. Who knows? There might even be someone in there buried under all that hostility that I can actually like.”

His blood boiled to think about what she really wanted. “You won’t get my weaknesses that easily, babe. I don’t have any.”

She gaped at him. “You equate childhood memories with weakness? Dear God, what did they do to you?”

He laughed bitterly at the memories of his past. Memories he tried so hard not to think about. But one of them was clearer than all the others. It was the only time in his life he’d allowed himself to be weak and it was an experience he would never again repeat.

“I was chained to a fence where they beat me down and then cut my heart out while I fought them. Even one-handed, I made my impact on those who killed me. Suffice it to say, I will never be that helpless again.”

Simone wanted to weep at the horror he described. At the pain she saw in those clear, bright eyes. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“No kidding,” he said between clenched teeth. “But deserving has nothing to do with anything. Life and death are what they are. They have mercy for no one.”

Simone looked over at Jesse who wore the same aching expression she was sure was on her face. Xypher’s words hit her hard as she remembered her mother and brother. They didn’t deserve what had happened to them, either.

Not wanting to think about it, she didn’t try to speak to him as he finished eating. It was just too hard to try and reach someone who obviously didn’t want to be reached.

Once he was done, she tipped the waitress and headed back toward her condo.

They’d barely left the restaurant when Tate called.

“How’d it go with Julian?” he asked.

She glanced down at the bracelet on her arm. “Not really the way I wanted it to. We’re still united.”

“Man, I’m sorry.”

“It could be worse, I suppose. He could be your serial killer.”

The look Xypher gave her told her he could hear her conversation.

“Oh, damn, I have to take this call, boo. You guys be careful and I’ll check in again later.” Tate hung up before she could tell him good-bye.

Closing the phone, she saw Xypher rubbing his arm out of the corner of her eye. Even though he didn’t say anything, both of his arms were covered with goose bumps. “You cold?”

He didn’t respond.

“He’s cold,” Jesse said. “It’s all over his aura, which I can see, even if you can’t.”

Xypher sent him a glare that should have set fire to him.

Simone paused as she considered where they could get clothes for him in the Quarter. Most of the places catered to women …

Or to goths.

A slow smile curved her lips. Yeah, with his caustic personality and height, goth would look really good on him.

Without a word, she cut down Dumaine to head to Decatur Street.

“What are you doing?” Xypher asked defensively.

“Getting you some clothes.”

He pulled her to a stop on the sidewalk. “I don’t need anything.”

“Yes you do.”

His handsome face turned to stone. “I’m not taking your charity. I don’t need anything from anyone.”

She raked him with a cold stare. “And I’m not getting stuck for a month with a man who only has one shirt and one pair of pants when I’ll be forced to smell you the entire time.”

That took some of the fire out of his eyes.

Jesse scowled. “Hey, he’s a god. Can’t he just make clothes for himself?”

Xypher gave Jesse a quelling glare. “Hades is a bastard as I said earlier. My powers aren’t intact. I can use them for defense. But not for food or clothing … or shelter.” The last bit came out so low that she wasn’t even sure she’d heard it.

The ashamed expression on his face told her that she hadn’t been mistaken.

Why would Hades do that to him?

“C’mon,” she said, tugging his hand gently. “You need clothing, especially a coat or jacket.”

Xypher couldn’t breathe at the gentleness of her fleeting touch that set fire to his entire being. It wasn’t designed to hurt or to control. It was nothing more than a friendly touch any human might give to another.

He’d never been touched like that.

Awed by her kindness, he followed her into a store. Not that he was following per se. He never followed anyone. She only led because he didn’t know where they were going.

As they entered the store, he paused at the sight of a mannequin with a corset, short skirt, and striped leggings.

“Is something wrong?” Simone asked.

“I know a demon who dresses like this.”

Her face lost color. “A demon?” she whispered.

Xypher nodded. “She travels with Acheron as his companion. Simi.”

“Simi Parthenopaeus?”

Xypher was shocked by the exuberance of the clerk’s voice. Short with jet-black hair, she stood on the opposite side of a glass counter filled with jewelry and goblets.

Simone frowned at the woman. “You know Simi?”

The dark-haired woman’s smile widened. “Oh, yeah, we all know Simi and her sister. They clean us out every time they’re in town. We love them. Are you a friend of theirs?”

Xypher bit back a snort. Friend … there was a word no one had ever applied to him before. But he couldn’t exactly tell the woman that he was more an ally who once helped Acheron, Simi, and her sister hold off an army of demons and save the world.

“Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Oh, honey, then welcome to Roadkill. Any friend of the Parthenopaeuses is a friend of ours. What can I do for you?”

“We need to get him some clothes,” Simone said. She pointed to a leather jacket high up on the wall. “Can we see that?”

The woman stepped out from around the counter to get it down.

She handed it to Xypher who shrugged it on. It was all he could do not to moan at how good the warm leather felt on his skin after being cold for all these days. The jacket was heavy, but he welcomed the weight of it.

It felt really, really good.

Simone smiled as she came up to him and adjusted it. Her hands brushed against his neck, making him instantly hard. “Very nice. Looks good on you. You like it?”

He didn’t even know how to respond. “It’s okay,” he said, knowing that was incorrect. It was so much more than just okay. He wanted to hug her for the gift.

Simone stepped back as a strange wave of desire went through her and she didn’t know why. Okay, maybe she did. Xypher looked hot in the black motorcycle jacket that was painted with an anarchy symbol on the left shoulder and the Misfits face on the back. She wanted to stroke the leather and feel the hard body underneath. He looked so dangerous and feral.

Which he really was.

It was all she could do not to purr.

“How many shirts you want?” Jesse asked.

Simone blinked before she stepped back, grateful for Jesse’s interference. “At least a dozen.”

“A dozen what?” The sales clerk stared at her.

Simone blushed as she realized the woman didn’t know Jesse was standing beside her. “Sorry, I was thinking out loud.”

“Ah. I thought you were speaking in code.” The woman’s gaze slid down Xypher’s abdomen. “’Cause I’m sure he has a deadly dozen concealed.”

Simone had no idea why, but a flash of jealousy went through her. How ridiculous was that? Yet when she corrected the woman, her tone was clipped by that stupid, unexpected emotion. “Eight, actually.”

The clerk was impressed. “Really?”

She nodded.

“Damn, you’re one lucky woman. Mine’s only got a single, but I love him anyway.”

Simone laughed.

Xypher didn’t. “What are you two talking about?”

Simone patted Xypher on the arm. “Nothing, sweetie. Let’s get you a couple of sweaters and some shirts and pants.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “They’re ogling you, dude. Talking about your assets and the fact that you’re nauseatingly ripped, which I would have been had I not bit the dust at seventeen.” He puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look more muscular. “I’m forever trapped in my tall, gangly phase.”

Xypher didn’t comment on his appearance, he was more perturbed by the women. “Are they supposed to do that?” he whispered to Jesse.

“Only if you’re lucky … or if you’re going to be.” Jesse made strange clicking noises at him.

The clerk grimaced. “Are they supposed to do what?”

Simone cleared her throat. “Get his clothes. Yes, honey, they are.” She leaned closer to him. “Ignore Jesse before they throw us in a padded room.” She then gave Jesse a pointed stare.

“She’s just jealous I can go into the dressing rooms and not be seen.”

Simone mouthed the words “you are such a perv!”

“No I’m not. Perverted would be spying on you when you’re bathing or changing clothes.” He shuddered. “That’s like spying on your sister. Gag me and leave me dead.”

“I wish,” Simone muttered under her breath.

Xypher was actually amused by their exchange. It took a couple of seconds for him to realize what the emotion he felt even was.

Amused. He’d never experienced it before, but it was good. His chest was light and his stomach tickled. There was no anger or intent to harm in their tones. They were merely bantering playfully and enjoying each other.