Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 3) (7 page)

“Wouldn't you prefer an indoor shower?” she asked.

“No.”
 

Moody bastard. Sometimes it felt like talking to a wall. But the shortness of his tone did nothing to cool the heat rushing across her skin and through her veins, a heat that coiled between her legs to form a delicious and obnoxious tension.
 

Damn earth and all its emotions. They were what she’d come here for, but it was annoying to find that they didn’t always do what she wanted them to.

Drip, drip, drip.
The sound of the outdoor shower wove around her mind like fog, curling tendrils that pulled her head around to peek over her shoulder. She really had no control over it. Truly, anyone would look, so how could she be blamed?

Her breath caught.
 

She never should have looked.
 

But now that she had, all the power on earth couldn’t drag her gaze away from the sight of a naked Cam standing with his back to her, water sluicing over the defined and flexing muscles of his shoulders to glide over the most spectacular ass and heavy thighs she’d ever seen.
 

He balanced on a beam that protruded from the side of the boat back out over the water at the stern. A shower contraption powered by a generator poured water over him and the beam, with the excess falling into the river. Clever. But the balancing made the muscles of his legs bulge and flex. She swallowed. Licked her lips.
 

Oh, hell. She was in for it.

The back of Cam’s neck prickled as he scrubbed the soap from his hair. He could fool himself into thinking it was from the cool water pumped through his shower by the generator, a luxury that he’d installed when he’d brought the boat south.
 

But no.

He’d bet anything that the prickle came from Andrasta’s gaze. Fuck. The feel of her eyes—the mere idea that she looked at him—made his cock begin to harden, stiffening and lengthening as he balanced on the sawed-off beam that had once supported the paddle wheel. There was no room for a shower in the bunkhouse, and the idea of installing the plumbing for one was ridiculous.
 

So the shower was outside. Not a problem when he was alone, as he usually was. It wasn’t hard to find an empty patch of river and scrub up quickly. But now, with Andrasta on the boat, the shower had taken on a whole new meaning.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never minded a woman’s eyes on him before. But
her
eyes, they were different. Her gaze did something to him. Something more. It always had, even though he’d never fully understood why.
 

He soaped his chest, then moved his rough hand down, stroking over his tensed abs until he reached the steel length of his cock. He stroked himself under the pretense of washing, but when his hand lingered too long, he knew it was a lie.
 

She wanted to watch? The idea shot a bolt of lust through him. He gripped his shaft, the soap suds easing the way for his too-hard hand. He imagined it was her fist and pumped it up and down his cock, restraining his hips from moving.
 

He hadn’t planned this when he’d decided to shower. But now that he was here, and she was here, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. They’d been denied more all those years ago, and there was no way that they could have it now, but there was no stopping this.

The pleasure streaked too strongly through him, spiking when a soft exclamation sounded from behind him. “
Oh
.”

His hand tightened and he gritted his teeth. Pleasure surged, enough that it broke his haze and snapped him back to reality. He was a second from coming.
 

Too far. He’d gone too far, standing here with Andrasta’s eyes on him. His fist released his cock as a crashing sound echoed from the jungle.

“What the hell?” Andrasta cried.

He spun to see her facing the jungle, her bow drawn and pointed in the direction of the oncoming noise. Cam stepped back on to the boat and yanked on his pants, wincing as the zipper hit his erection.
 

Fucking idiot.

“Oy, mate, we found it.” The rough voice echoed from the jungle just before the enormous demon broke through the trees and onto the shore. Another demon burst from the forest behind him. Both were massive, with inhuman faces and sawed-off horns.

“I’ve got this,” Cam growled, and reached for his sword. He sure as hell wished he had his old bow right now. Bastard Cotra demons always thought he was transporting some kind of treasure. The fact that he sometimes did was irrelevant, because they were never going to get it.

“No.” Andrasta’s voice had a blade of its own. “It’s mine.”
 

Within seconds, an arrow protruded from the skull of each demon. They collapsed to the muddy ground with a thud that made the jungle animals temporarily cease howling and screeching.

“What the hell? I said I had it,” he said.

“No, it was my job to watch the shore. They were
my
responsibility.” She turned to face him. Something hot and determined burned in her eyes.
 

He’d seen a shadow of it when he’d met her so many years ago. The desire to prove herself. To do the job she was assigned better than anyone had ever done it before. It was admirable at a time when he didn’t want to admire her.
 

She was a goddess stuck in Otherworld, and he didn’t believe there was a hope of her getting out. He was a demi-god stuck on earth. There was no way they had a chance and pursuing more would only end in misery.
 

He shrugged. “Fine. They’re back in the hell they came from. It’ll be a while before they can bother me again.”
 

As a Mythean, he’d always appreciated knowing that all souls are immortal. Upon their deaths, mortals would go to whatever afterlife they believed in and deserved. Belief was like a window that showed them the road they needed to take to their afterworld. Atheists were a mystery, but they ended up somewhere as well because it took some serious effort to snuff out the energy of a soul. Mytheans, the creatures of myth made real by mortal belief, were aware of the immortality of their souls.

Cam watched the bodies of the demons begin to steam. Within minutes, their earthly forms would sublimate and their souls would return to whatever hell they were from. Eventually they might get out again and come after him, because some Mytheans could cross from afterworlds to earth without death. If they did, he’d deal with them then.

“Where are they from?” Andrasta asked.

“One of the minor hells. Don’t know the name. But they like shiny things, and I occasionally carry gold. They’re not too smart, but they can recognize the sound of my engine if they’re nearby. Good shots with the arrows, by the way.”

“Obviously.”
 

The compliment seemed to insult her, like it was beyond obvious that she’d be a good shot and to say so minimized it somehow. But then, he supposed it
was
obvious that she was an excellent shot. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place.

“Enjoy your shower?” she asked, an evil grin on her face.

“Enjoy watching?”

Her grin widened, but she turned away and hopped off the boat. He watched her retrieve her arrows, telling himself to take his stupid fucking eyes off of her. Eventually he did, and returned to the shower to snap off the water.
 

Hell, what had he been thinking, jerking off in front of her? He never lost his mind like that. The Amazon required constant vigilance, but as soon as he was around her, any brains he had disappeared. It had been like that when he’d first met her, and apparently nothing had changed. Another reason to stay the hell away from her.

“Want something to eat?” he asked. As much as he wanted to chuck her off the boat, it wasn’t an option. And he didn’t want to starve her. She didn’t need to eat as often as a mortal, but she still required sustenance.

“Sure.” She was cleaning the demon blood off her arrows and repacking her quiver. The way she stroked the wood as she removed the blood spoke of how much she cared for her weapons and reminded him how much he missed his bow. He shook his head and turned toward the galley.

Quickly he threw together two sandwiches and handed one to her. He ate while untying the lines and casting off. He popped the last bit in his mouth, then climbed up to the pilothouse. It’d be best to get to Havre before nightfall.

“Need any help?” Andrasta called.
 

His gaze raked across the shore, a green monster encroaching from both sides, unknown dangers lurking within. “Keep an eye on the jungle in case there are more demons.”
 

He’d used the little dock he’d built in this tributary too often. This was the second time they’d found him here. Too many times for it to be coincidence.
 

“Sure thing.” She started to climb the ladder to the pilothouse.
 

“You can do it from the hammock in the bow.”

“I like the roof.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

She hopped lithely onto the flat roof behind him and paced back and forth. By the time they’d rejoined the main river and were headed toward Havre again, she’d leaned with her back against the wall of the pilothouse, presumably so that she could look out over the stern while he watched over the bow.
 

It put her so close to him that her scent wrapped around him. She hadn’t showered, and yet she still smelled nice? He scowled.

“Anything interesting going on in Havre? Will we be there for a bit?” she asked.

“Keep an eye out on the shore.”

“I am. I can talk at the same time, you know. So, back to Havre. Is there a bar? Lots of people?” The hope in her voice was palpable.

“I thought you were looking to escape Otherworld, not find a party.”

“That’s why I want to escape Otherworld. It’s awful there.”

“You should be more worried about the gods finding you.”

“I am. But do you have any idea what it’s like to be out of that place? I can’t help it. I’ve been trapped forever. Alone. There’s no happiness, no friendship, no love, no sex. If I can’t get out, and I get dragged back to Otherworld and chained on Blackmoor, then this is all the time I’ll have had on earth. I can’t help myself. I want to enjoy it.” She emphasized
enjoy
, and he wondered how exactly she planned to go about that. If it meant what he thought it did.

Something in his chest twinged. He knew how she felt, even if it was stupidly dangerous.
 

“You remember what it’s like, don’t you?” she asked.

He shrugged.
 

“You do. You’re nothing like the other gods. They don’t feel anything, so they don’t care what it’s like. But you know it’s awful. Perfectly perfect and perfectly awful. There’s no feeling, no emotion,
nothing.
No excitement, joy, anger, lust. Just duty and responsibility to a nearly dead religion. No one feels anything, so no one cares for anyone else. But
I
still feel, and it’s the loneliest place in the universe. I’m like a ghost there, and it just feels
wrong.
It’s been two thousand years, and it’s like I’m wasting away. I can’t take it anymore.” Heaving breaths escaped her.

His jaw clenched and he realized he was gripping the wheel too tightly. But she was right. Something had been wrong in Otherworld, and he hadn’t realized it until he’d met her. Had they never met, he’d probably have turned to living stone like the rest of the gods.
 
As it was, Ana was trapped there, and she was the farthest thing from stone. It must have been suffocatingly lonely for her. Guilt stabbed him like a sword of ice.

He’d done the best he could by her back then, but he never should have spent so much time watching her in that forest. His inability to resist her had brought her to the attention of the gods. He was directly responsible for the terrible years she’d spent there. It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to do right by her. He’d still left her in misery in Otherworld.

“But your brothers are there. You have family.” He knew he was grasping at straws.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “I wish. They’re shadows of their former selves. Automatons. Even Marrek, my favorite brother, hardly recognizes me. It just reminds me of what I’ve lost.”

Shit.
She wanted to get out, and he understood that. But escape was nearly impossible. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t as worried about the gods. She didn’t truly believe she would escape, so she wanted to enjoy the attempt.
 

He pushed empathy aside in favor of practicality. “You shouldn’t go into the bar, not if you don’t want to leave a trail that the gods could follow. Your glow is unmistakable.”
 

The glow that emitted from a god’s skin was modest, unnoticeable to mortals. But Mytheans could pick it out, and they would remember she’d been there if anyone asked about the Celtic god making her way downriver. He’d been grateful to lose his when he’d left Otherworld. It made blending in easier.

“No, it’s already fading. Look.” A slim arm appeared at his side, stuck out over the half-wall.