Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (21 page)

“I want you.” The words floated over her and Montana already felt the long, answering pull low in her belly.

Leaning forward, seating him even more deeply inside of her, she pressed her lips to his. “I want you, too. Desperately.”

Moving back into position, she rose on her knees and fell back to him, his strong fingers on her hips like a guide.

As Montana rode him—this incredible man who bore the heart of a warrior—she allowed the moment to take her completely.

What was this between them? This raging need that grew, even as they gave to each other.

How was it possible?

And how had she ever lived without it?

Montana stumbled toward the kitchen, where the smell of coffee was a powerful lure. Dawn was just breaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ranch house, suffusing the kitchen in a warm glow.

Which was sort of how she felt.

Gloriously suffused.

The door of the kitchen’s Sub-Zero refrigerator stood open as she moved into the room, her mind already imagining the first sip of liquid gold. Goodness, had she
ever
felt this good before?

How had he managed it? In one night, Quinn had found a way to make her feel both secure in the knowledge of what was happening around her while also making her feel like the sexiest woman on the planet.

The smile spread across her face as she moved toward the open refrigerator. “Quinn Tanner, I didn’t think you had it in you, especially since I came three times last night, but I think I may actually be having an orgasm, that coffee smells so good.”

The door to the Sub-Zero closed, followed by the image of a large man with dimples, an acre of exposed chest and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. “I wasn’t aware coffee could do that. I’m going to have to have a cup myself.”

Montana screamed before she could stop herself, the realization of what she’d just announced, coupled with the very large stranger standing before her too big a shock to the system.

“Whoa!” The man’s hands went up in a “don’t shoot” gesture as he backed slowly away from her, a carton of cream held high in his grip. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Where’s Quinn?” Although her heart still hammered and she wasn’t quite ready to drop her guard, the sight of such a large man holding up dairy creamer was going a long way toward calming any sense of fear.

“He wanted to check some things on his computer. He’s in the security center.”

“Oh.” The slow burn of embarrassment crept up her face and Montana wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. Damned curse of the redhead.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He extended his free hand, his movements gentle. “I’m Rogan Black. One of Quinn’s Warrior brothers.”

She took his hand, the width of his palm nearly double hers. “Which one are you?”

That grin was back and an irresistible twinkle lit up his emerald gaze. Turning, he presented her with his back. “I’ll give you one guess.”

There, high on his shoulder, in the same place Quinn’s bull perched, was a large bow and arrow. Montana stared at it, fascinated by the sheer elegance of the mark.

“It’s not an animal.”

“’Fraid not,” Rogan said as he moved toward the counter and reached for a couple of mugs. “Now. I’m dying for some of this orgasmic coffee.”

“Look. I. Um.”

He turned, the edges of his smile going serious. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve had quite the forty-eight hours, from what Quinn’s told me. It was nice to hear a smile in your voice.”

Who was this man? Where the other Warriors had seemed…
fierce
, this man had a gentle nonchalance about him and a manner that couldn’t help but put a person at ease.

Which was funny, really, since he was about six foot four, with shoulders the width of the refrigerator and a set of muscles that could give the Terminator a run for his money. Gentle would not normally be the first word to pop to mind when confronted with a man Rogan’s size.

Rogan poured them both a cup of coffee, then handed her a steaming mug. With a glance toward the counter, he added, “Cream?”

“That’s okay.” She gazed down into the dark brew, then looked back up at the large man where he perched on a stool at the bar that ran the length of the kitchen.

“Ah, a real coffee drinker, eh? I just don’t have that skill.”

She took a few steps forward. “Is that why you just dumped about a pint of creamer in there?”

“Yep.” He reached for a sugar bowl she hadn’t noticed at first and simply picked it up, dumping a liberal amount on top of the cream. “Sugar, too.”

“Obviously.”

Montana took a seat opposite him. “So you’re the Sagittarius?”

“Guilty.”

A large plate of breakfast pastries—scones, croissants and danishes—sat at the edge of the counter and he dragged them over. “Would you like one?”

Why the hell not. If she truly was
ascending
as an immortal, Montana suspected calorie counting was about to become the least of her problems. “Sure.” As she bit into the flaky croissant, she nearly moaned in pleasure, but caught herself just in time.

The suggested coffee orgasm was bad enough.

“Where did this come from? We’re in the middle of Texas. Right?”

“Right. The Hill Country to be exact, about an hour outside of Austin. But the pastries I picked up in France.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.” There it was again, that nonchalance, coupled with a merry little twinkle in his gaze.

“I really have descended into the Twilight Zone.”

“It can be a lot to take in. It’s also a gift, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.” Rogan polished off a chocolate chip scone in three bites and was already reaching for a cheese Danish. “The thing to keep in mind every time you get surprised is that the rules have changed.”

“What rules?”

“All your life, you’ve believed in the basics of human existence. Gravity. Mortality. Cycles. I’d imagine someone in your position of wealth has also had a sense of security that’s pretty rare, even for humans.”

Was he right? Had she always felt secure? Safe?

Montana mulled it over in her mind, twisting the thought through the prism of thirty years of living. And had to admit that he was one hundred percent correct. “I guess I have.”

“Taking all this in would be difficult for anyone. But your frame of reference is even more skewed for this to seem impossible. Pay the problem to go away.”

“I haven’t done that.”

His smile was gentle, but his words were firm. “Oh no? Tell me, before you realized what was going on, that you didn’t just think Quinn and his security firm could take care of this problem and let you go back to normal.”

Damn, but he was good.

“Who are you, Rogan Black? Oh wait, let me guess. You’re the group shrink.”

His laugh echoed around the kitchen. “I am a Sagittarius Warrior, in service to the great goddess of justice, Themis. And I’m no shrink. I just call them like I see them.”

“That’s all?”

“I’ve got a few other tricks up my sleeve, just like the rest of my Warrior brothers, but playing Freud isn’t one of them.”

“Don’t let the asshole fool you, Montana.” The insult came barreling across the length of the kitchen, where Quinn stood in the doorway. “He’s as fucked up as the rest of us.”

Quinn tried desperately to tamp down on the harsh stab of jealousy that had pierced his gut the moment he walked into the room and saw Montana and Rogan having a lovely little breakfast chat.

Fuck, this was embarrassing.

“You got a problem, Tanner?”

“Quinn?” Montana’s eyes were wide as she stared at him from across the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Quinn sauntered over and grabbed a croissant from the counter. He took a large bite as the pleasant surprise of butter-based satisfaction whistled a happy tune through his taste buds. “Where did this come from?”

“Paris,” Montana and Rogan said in unison. Quinn didn’t miss the small smile that passed between them as he took another large bite of the flaky pastry.

“It’s good,” he muttered.

“Your verbal skills are amazing this morning, Quinn.” Montana leaned over from the stool where she sat next to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Mmmm. But you’re nice and buttery. Good morning, grumpy.”

“Good morning.” Quinn kissed her back, then turned a glare on Rogan. “Fuck you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh no, not you with the innocent eyes. Did he tell you, Montana”—Quinn motioned toward Rogan with a free hand as he reached for another croissant—“what he does all day?”

“We hadn’t gotten that far,” Montana admitted.

“I’ll save you the trouble of asking, Montana,” Rogan added. “I roam the globe, searching for rogue members of the Pantheon.”

Quinn noticed Rogan didn’t mention the goddess he’d yet to find in all his years of travel. “Yeah, well, you missed one, oh great one.”

“What?” Whatever merriment lingered behind Rogan’s green gaze vanished in a heartbeat.

“Arturo Veron. Former Taurus Warrior.”

Rogan shook his head as he dumped about a half pound of sugar in a fresh cup of coffee. “He’s clean.”

Quinn thought of the security video that confirmed Arturo Veron was anything but clean. “No, he’s not.”

Whatever humor had fueled Rogan’s earlier, playful remarks, it had all evaporated in the suggestion he hadn’t done his job. “Quinn. I’ve kept up with him. This life wasn’t cut out for him, so he left. It’s not a crime and clearly it was the right choice. He’s made a fucking fortune in emerging technologies.”

“He makes Steve Jobs look like a pauper,” Montana added. “That’s why he was invited to sit on the board of directors for Grant Shipping. He knows global business like the back of his hand. He was a natural fit and I was thrilled when he accepted the position.” Montana stared into the depths of her mug. “
Was
being the operative word.”

“Well, whatever intel you’ve got is wrong. Arturo broke into Montana’s home last night and killed several people very close to her.”

Rogan shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s not possible.”

“And I’m telling you,” Quinn countered, “you missed something. Arturo Veron is as dirty as Enyo.”

Enyo paced in front of the large obelisk in Central Park—Cleopatra’s Needle—as the cool air whipped around her body. She felt nothing of the cold, the long cashmere coat she wore doing much to keep her warm.

Whatever the coat didn’t take care of, her anger managed and then some.

With a brief flick of her gaze, she stared up at the obelisk. Although she had never considered herself a woman who lived in the past, this site haunted her and she visited it more often than she cared to admit.

Had the end of it all started here?

And what could she have done differently?

Enyo didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the last year had been an ass kicking. And while she might be a raging demon without a shred of decency to everyone who knew her, the one person she never lied to was herself.

Everything changed last year. The Summoning Stones were going to be the key to regaining her dominance over the Warriors, and in the blink of an eye—and because of Ava Harrison, that fucking princess with a conscience—it all evaporated.

In preparation for the battle, Enyo had increased her army of Destroyers to ensure she’d get the stones. And what did it get her? Diminished power and a group of out-of-control assholes who were increasingly going rogue.

Fuck her father and his damn bargain with Themis. Why should she be punished for it? She was the daughter of Zeus and Hera, for fuck’s sake. She was the goddess of
war
and nothing—no force on heaven or earth—should diminish her power.

But lost battles diminished it. And using her power to create Destroyers diminished it.

And it wasn’t fair.

Her father’s weird guilt complex over Themis put her in this position of weakness. And it was time it stopped.

Enyo stared up at the obelisk again and thought about her little Destroyer problem. They might have been created as soulless minions, but her evil foot soldiers smelled blood in the water, that much was clear. And lack of a soul didn’t mean complete lack of intelligence or inability to exploit an opportunity.

Which was exactly what they were doing.

“Interesting place for a meeting.” Arturo Veron materialized in front of her, his broad shoulders swathed in Armani. Despite the temperature, his only acquiescence to the weather was to shove his hands in his pockets.

Enyo refused to tell him about the latent power she still believed the obelisk held and instead shot him one of her coldest stares. “I thought you had a business proposition for me.”

“Ah, a woman with purpose. I like it.”

She flashed him one of her rare smiles before sidling up to him. “You’ll like me a lot less if you insist on continuing with the small talk.” At that, she extended one long finger and pressed it against the hard wall of his stomach. Heavy voltage assailed his taut form and Enyo took a small moment of pleasure as he fell to his knees.

Pulling her finger away, she stepped back and planted her fuck-me pumps. “Now. Tell me what the hell you want.”

Arturo waved a hand before regaining his feet. His voice held the edges of strain, but beyond that, she had to give him points for a quick recovery.

Which immediately made her wonder how he’d be in bed.

Hmmm…maybe she
was
being a bit hasty. She had, after all, been lonely since killing Ajax. There was nothing to be done for it, but if she could snag a few side benefits out of this one, she was all for it.

She’d lived a long life and some of her most favorite sexual escapades involved the bleeding edge of depraved. And this one’s dark eyes suggested a level of immorality that would be absolutely delicious.

Enyo burrowed inside the cashmere, but she made an effort to soften her tone. “So tell me, what do you want?”

“I need your help.”

“Interesting approach.”

“Themis’s boys are guarding something I want.”

“And why should I help you?”

Arturo rose to his full height and lobbed a verbal volley Enyo wasn’t expecting. “I know all about your recent losses. Maybe if you worked with me, you might have a chance to win one.”

“And what would you know about any of that?”

“You’d be surprised what I know. But, truth be told, that’s not why I’m here.”

“So what do you want from me?”

His gaze burned a path down her body, in spite of the layers she wore against the whipping wind.

“The Warriors are guarding a little prize. Two of them actually.”

Despite herself, Enyo was intrigued. “Prizes?”