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  Zeus, she wanted to push him into the river and let the restless souls beneath the water have their way with him. However, if she kept lashing out at him, he’d know how much his presence bothered her. She’d be damned if she’d let him know how much baggage she still carried where he was concerned.

  Kyana stepped on the ferry, but she wasn’t about to let this go. “Go to Ares. When he realizes I’m the tracer assigned to work with you, he’ll pull you off duty, no questions asked.”

  Ares hated her kind, or maybe her in particular. She didn’t know for sure and didn’t care enough to ask. Normally, his contempt irritated her. Now, it might work in her favor.

  “It was Ares who assigned me to this duty when he found out who the tracer would be. He doesn’t trust you, remember? So I’m your babysitter, ready and willing to make sure you get what you’re after and leave the bad guys to me so we can figure out who all is involved in this mess.” Ryker raised his eyebrows. “Tell you what, you go to him and explain why you’re unwilling to work with me and maybe he’ll take pity on me and pull you from the job. While you’re at it, tell him why you find the idea of working with me so repulsive. He’d get a kick out of that.”

  “You want me to go to Daddy and tell him that I was desperate for a fuck and you weren’t game? It must be such a disappointment for Ares to know his son doesn’t follow in his womanizing shoes.”

  His jaw clenched. His eyes flashed red. Bingo. She’d found the nerve she’d been prodding for. Kyana put her hand on her hip, not so much because she wanted to look sassy, but because it put her fingers that much closer to the dagger hilt protruding from the back of her pants. Zeus, she wanted to hurt him. Badly. If he gave her just one reason, she’d have him flat on the ground and her dagger at his throat.

  “Just a fuck, huh? Didn’t feel like that to me when you were begging me to—”

  She wasn’t quite sure how her dagger ended up in her fist or how her dagger-wielding fist ended up at Ryker’s throat, but suddenly, she was pressed to him, nose to nose, her hand shaking with the need to slit his throat and dance in victory. But before she could so much as make another move, his eyes turned red again, and he had her pinned to the floor, his teeth buried in the tender flesh of her neck.

  She was screwed.

  Chapter Four

  Kyana was too stunned to move. She knew all the gods had fangs but they were never seen. Never used. The slight tug of Ryker’s lips caressed her neck as he took a single, long pull. It had been eons since anyone had tasted her blood. Not even the night of her Turning had the magnetic draw to surrender been this overwhelming.

  She told herself she didn’t like it.

  She was lying.

  Another, more forceful tug reminded her who was in control, and it wasn’t Kyana.

  Kyana tried to raise her dagger, but his hand tightened around her wrist, shaking it painfully until her grip loosened. Her dagger made a pathetic thud against the wooden planks of the ferry.

  He leveled himself off her, straddled her waist, and stared into her eyes. The red glow of his glare drilled into her.

  He licked her blood from the corner of his mouth. Feeding was against the rules. The Order would punish him for the assault against her. To hell with that. She would punish him herself. She gripped his arms, determined to push him aside, but his fingers bit into her shoulders, holding her hostage.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Kyana.” His voice dripped with warning. “But I will.”

  Kyana struggled to buck him off her. She growled, her fingers biting into his forearms.

  Ryker didn’t flinch . . . or move. The corner of his mouth curved into a grin, though the swirl of red in his eyes held no humor as he pushed to his feet. “You can’t beat me, Kyana.”

  No one got the upper hand on her and walked away to brag about it.

  Kyana stood. Her neck throbbed. Weakness and fatigue threatened to buckle her knees. The river swam before her eyes and she reached out to steady herself, but other than the solemn, unfazed-looking Charon, there was nothing there to offer balance.

  She struggled to stay on her feet. Gently, she touched the marks on her throat. Her fingers came away bloody.

  “Stop the flow.” If he didn’t close the wound, she would die.

  Really die.

  “You’re not going to die.”

  His reading her thoughts had nothing to do with spells, but rather the temporary mingling of her blood with his. A shiver raced through her. When she’d been a feeding Vamp, she’d always taken a bit of her victims’ memories with her after a meal. She knew things about them, felt what they’d felt. Was Ryker doing that with her blood now? The idea was too horrifying to contemplate, much less ask about.

  Until she could regain her strength, he had the power and control. But she wouldn’t give him the submission his now silver eyes said he wanted. Kyana watched him move slowly toward her.

  “Truce?”

  Not a chance. Rage poured through her veins, increasing the flow of blood down her neck. She didn’t bow to anyone. Not even when she’d joined the Order had she submitted. She stood her ground. “The gods don’t use their fangs. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  With a growl, he grabbed her head and forced it to the side. The bones in her neck crackled in protest. His lips covered the punctures and when his tongue caressed the bite marks, sealing the wounds, Kyana barely managed not to moan in pleasure.

  “I’m a demigod not a god.” Ryker released her but didn’t move away. “I do whatever needs to be done.”

  Her hand moved to her neck. Instead of blood, her fingers brushed the tiny, throbbing scabs of his attack.

  “Cover them completely,” Kyana demanded.

  Ryker shook his head. His eyes swirled. “It will do you good to have my mark on you—a reminder, so to speak since we’ll be working together so . . . intimately.”

  He’d left his mark on her ten years ago. He just couldn’t see it.

  Injured pride had Kyana reaching for where her dagger should’ve been. It still lay at her feet. She picked it up. Fisted it in her hand. Weighed the rush of her anger against her weakened state, then sheathed her weapon. She needed to gather her wits now, feed, and figure out the first step in finding the key to Hell. Kicking Ryker’s ass would have to come later.

  The ferry squeezed through the exiting tunnel that would eventually take them back to shore. Kyana might not have had the strength to take him down right then, but what little strength she’d held on to wouldn’t be wasted.

  She held out her hand. “Truce.”

  Self-satisfied smugness washed over Ryker’s face as he slid his hand into hers. “Good girl.”

  Kyana let herself enjoy the warmth of his fingers for a split second, then jerked him toward her, lifted her leg, and shoved her boot right in his belly. Ryker went overboard with an ear-splitting curse and Kyana waved at the rippling water as the ferry took its time making its escape. The tunnel was too narrow for Ryker to climb back on board. He’d be swimming his way out of here.

  Served him right.

  As his blond head surfaced and bobbed on the water, he treaded in place, sputtering the foul-smelling water as he tried to talk. “What the hell . . . did you do that for?”

  He was a strong swimmer. He nearly made it to the back end of the ferry before it turned the next corner. Ghostly hands were pawing at him, however, hindering his progress.

  “I do what needs to be done too, Ryker. And you were in desperate need of cooling off your overblown ego. Enjoy your swim while I have my dinner.”

  As she watched his bobbing body become smaller and smaller as distance separated them, her feeling of victory was washed away by the rage and self-loathing warring inside her.

  She hated Ryker, but at the moment, she hated herself more. Ryker had always been stoic, quiet, and stuck-up, and yet she’d been drawn to him anyway. Now, she saw him in a new light, and that attraction had become full-blown desire. His one show of violence aimed at he
r would have saturated her panties if she’d been wearing any. The fact that she was so hot and bothered by the strength and power he’d exuded disgusted her. She needed to cool off as badly as he had, if only to remind herself that she found Ryker obnoxious—not so damned sexy it made her breasts tingle.

  Chapter Five

  Kyana stood outside the butcher shop watching other Vampyre exit with their daily fortification. As the scent of blood filled her nostrils, her mouth watered. Her body craved fresh blood. But tonight, she needed something stronger. A lot stronger, since she knew Ryker would catch up at any moment and very likely want to start round two.

  Turning away from the tantalizing aroma, Kyana made her way down the winding, cobblestone streets to the kafenion where the bartender, Marcus, would have a bottle of raki handy. Unlike eating solid food, which was indigestible, she could drink. Human liquor like Crete’s raki was more than palatable. It was a pity she could no longer get drunk. Especially after a long day like this one. But still, the licorice-tasting drink would help thin her blood and therefore clear her head.

  Fatigue weighed down each step. She took several deep breaths. By definition, her kind didn’t require air, but the oxygen penetrating her bloodstream usually acted as an energy booster. Thankfully, that little trick was still within her power. As if coming alive, her skin tingled and her senses sharpened.

  Grateful for the reprieve, Kyana continue through Below to Spirits. The ancient tavern sat crammed between a Turkish bath and an herb shop, lending it the appeal of rich aromatic herbs on one side and a scent not unlike that of the Above’s chlorinated pool water on the other. A sense of cleanliness entered the kafenion with you, but when you left, you stunk of hookah smoke and overcooked lamb. Occasionally, if Marcus liked them, they could get their raki served fifty/fifty with fresh lamb blood, and when she decided to eat tonight, that would likely be her request.

  Kyana pushed through the semicircular door of Spirits and let it close behind her. Her entrance would have been silent if not for the sound of her boots on the freshly polished marble floor. Several heads at the bar turned to stare at her, then, deciding she deserved no further attention, returned to their drinking, eating, and smoking. Glass hookah pipes decorated every table, occupied and empty. Purple. Green. Red. The slinky tubes coiled around the bottles like bracelets, waiting to be lightly puffed upon.

  “Fifty/fifty?”

  Kyana looked up and caught Marcus watching her as he wiped down his shiny countertop. His chest-length, bushy black beard rubbed the front of his denim shirt, making him look more like a rough lumberjack than the retired Mystic he was, but his dark eyes held no menace. Vamps of the Order were welcome at Spirits, so long as they remained on their best behavior and didn’t have his customers for dinner.

  “Straight raki tonight.” She pointed toward a secluded booth in the back. Nothing in Spirits was dark enough to fit her mood, but it was the darkest corner she could find to hide in. She needed to focus on the task ahead.

  How did even a skilled tracer go about finding a damned key that could be virtually anywhere? It wouldn’t be overflowing with pheromones to track or a pulse to follow. And on top of that, the damned thing was a pentagram. In her world, the pentagram was as common as a cross to Christians.

  Whatever. She’d figure out a way. She always did.

  She leaned her head against the wall, half lost in thought, half watching the door in anticipation of seeing Ryker again. Marcus appeared and slid a tumbler of what looked like murky water in front of her.

  “Bad night?” he asked.

  Usually, he didn’t talk to Kyana much. She must have looked pretty pathetic for him to think she needed a friend.

  “Nothing unusual,” she lied.

  His attention traveled to the blood staining her T-shirt. His gaze returned to hers, waiting for her to satisfy his curiosity. She’d come in beaten and bloody before. She hadn’t explained then, and she wouldn’t do so now.

  “Hope you got a good prize for your efforts.” With that, he turned to leave Kyana to her sought-after solitude.

  “Wait.”

  Marcus had been with the Order his entire adult life. Only recently had he retired his Mystic ways to open Spirits. And from what Kyana remembered, he’d been a pretty big mover and shaker within the Order’s ranks . . . at least as far as Mystics went.

  “Yes?”

  “What do you know of Cronos?” she asked, choosing her words carefully.

  His eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. “What everyone else does. Bad god. Exiled. Dead.”

  “What about rumors? Anything about him survive all these years?” Kyana sipped her drink, trying to keep her voice casual. The last thing she wanted to do was raise interest in her mission, but she needed some clue to the god if she hoped to discover what happened to that key.

  Marcus rubbed his beard thoughtfully for several seconds. “Nothing really. Why the interest?”

  “Just curious.”

  The barkeep watched Kyana intently, as if trying to read her intentions. His fingers stroked the large angry scar visible between the open buttons of his work shirt. Mystics were human born, and it looked as though Marcus had undergone open heart surgery recently.

  “I don’t know what you’re fishing for, but you’ll have to find it in another pool. Cronos is a legend. A dead one. If there’s anything to know about anything there, I can’t help you.”

  Disappointed, Kyana sagged against the back of her booth and sighed. From the bar, Marcus kept a close watch on her. She doubted she’d just endeared herself with him and hoped it didn’t mean he’d stop serving her fifty/fifty.

  “Well now. Looks like you’ve had a good tumble.” Geoffrey’s rich, Irish lilt washed over Kyana’s shoulder. “Did it at least include a lot of sweating and panting?”

  She twisted in her seat, letting her gaze linger over the well-sculpted chest straining against his black T-shirt a moment before raising her eyes to his face. “Have you always been this nosy?”

  “Best way to find out stuff.” Geoff lifted her hair from her shoulder to get a better look at the marks on her throat. “Hmm,” he mumbled, running his fingers lightly over the still-throbbing scabs. “What attacked you?”

  Kyana shoved his hand away. “Nothing.”

  “You weren’t marked when I saw you tonight.” Geoff sat across from her, took her drink, and downed half the glass. “Those punctures are too large to be Vampyre. Too small for demon. So that leaves . . .”

  She shrugged. She wouldn’t tell Geoff whom she had a tumble with. No way would she spend eternity with him teasing her over Surfer Boy getting the best of her. “I told you. It was nothing.”

  His dark blue eyes held hers. “All right, then. Why are we talking about Cronos?”

  “You really are a nosy ass.”

  Kyana caught Marcus as he moved to tend a pair of Witches at the bar. “Bring a whole bottle instead. Otherwise Geoff will leave me with nada.”

  A moment later, he brought a full bottle of raki and an extra glass of ice, sliding it in front of Geoffrey before slipping away again.

  Geoffrey leaned forward. “I hear you’ve been assigned something big.” He ignored his glass, opened the bottle, and drank deeply.

  She eyed him, wondering how much he knew or if he was full of shit. Neither would surprise her. Geoff had ways of knowing things that left Kyana feeling more than slightly uneasy.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His eyes lit up with humor as he reached behind his head to pull loose the black queue of hair at his nape. It fell about his face like a lion’s silky mane, and Kyana’s girl parts purred. Anyone looking at Geoff could see the danger there. It was blatantly sexy, but the quiet danger lurking within Ryker made Geoff’s blatant sexuality a bit of a letdown.

  But after her run-in with Ryker, she was still hot and bothered. There was no doubt that if she offered it, Geoff would make her howl at the moon.

  Sometimes she re
ally hated the laws of the Order.

  Damn Ryker. She should be furious that he’d gotten the best of her. Instead, she was just confused by his lack of interest. Between her Vampyric allure and Lychen pheromones, how did he remain immune to her charms? Okay, so shoving him into the River Styx hadn’t been her most charming moment, but she’d been on her best behavior when she’d met him and had still failed miserably at seducing him.

  “So you’re really going to play dumb about the key, lass?” Geoff refilled Kyana’s tumbler and slid it closer to her.

  Kyana froze. How did he know? It wasn’t likely that the gods would want this tidbit of lore to get out.

  The door opened, pulling everyone’s attention. Everyone’s except Kyana’s. She knew by the slack-jawed stares who had entered. The sound of wet footsteps smacked against the marble floor, growing louder with each angry stride.

  “Looks like someone else had an altercation tonight too. And, love, he looks like he’s going to wring your pretty little neck for it.”

  Kyana took her drink and sipped, trying to appear unfazed. Ryker leaned over the table toward her so their noses were only inches apart. For the first time since she’d met him, he didn’t smell like sunshine and vanilla.

  With a grimace, she sat back and stared up at him. She smiled. “I’d offer you a drink, but maybe you should skip this round and go grab a shower.”

  Without much effort, he shoved her down her narrow booth and slid in beside her. “So, what’re we talking about?”

  That was it? No scene?

  Of course not. Never a scene for cool, calm, collected Ryker.

  Kyana sighed. She was pretty certain he wasn’t going to let the issue of his lovely swim drop, but he wouldn’t be unprofessional and bring it up now. His saturated jeans pooled water onto their vinyl booth, drenching the backside of her leather pants. She tried to scoot away, but only dragged the water with her.