The Dark-Hunters (564 page)

Urian moved to where Alexion stood off to the side, also staring at Ash as if Ash were a science experiment that had gone seriously wrong. For thousands of years, Alexion had been the only person Ash allowed in his home besides Simi. Of course that was out of profound guilt since Alexion had been Ias—one of the first Dark-Hunters Artemis created. Ash had managed to bring him back to a quasi-ghost existence by using his blood to keep Ias from being a Shade.

Too bad Savitar hadn’t explained those powers to Ash sooner. It would have saved both him and Ias a lot of grief. But at least Ias wasn’t in constant pain and misery.

“What’s the deal with the bossman?” Urian asked him.

Alexion shrugged. “I don’t know. He came in last night with a book, went to his room to read, I suppose, and then he came out here this morning and has been playing …
those
songs ever since.”

Those
songs were ballads, which Acheron never played. Godsmack, Sex Pistols, TSOL, Judas Priest, but not …

“Is that…” Urian physically cringed before he spat out the name, “Julio Iglesias?”

“Enrique.”

Urian grimaced in horror. “I didn’t even know he knew any mellow shit. Dear gods … is he ill?”

“I don’t know. In nine thousand years, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Urian shuddered. “I’m beginning to get scared. This has to be a sign of the Apocalypse. If he breaks out into Air Supply, I say we sneak up on him, drag him outside and beat the holy shit out of him.”

“I’ll let you and the demons do that. I personally like my semi-living state too much to jeopardize it.”

Ash looked up and pierced them both with a malevolent glare. “Don’t you two girls have something better to do, like pick out toe lint?”

Urian grinned. “Not really.”

Ash growled a low warning, but before he could really threaten them, his phone rang. Leaning his head back, he sighed in frustration. Damn phone was always going off. This time it better not be Artemis screwing with him or he’d hunt her down and—

His thoughts scattered as he saw a New Orleans area code. He didn’t recognize the number and it didn’t register a name. How weird. Flipping it open, he answered.

“Is this Ash?”

“Soteria?”

Tory’s throat went dry at the way he said her name. Because she was Greek, she’d never really thought Greek was a pretty language, but when he spoke it …

She could barely form a coherent thought. “Um, Tory. I go by Tory.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Can I do something for you?”

Yeah, baby, get naked and …

She shook her head. She never had thoughts like that and she didn’t know why she had them now when she had business to discuss with someone she absolutely hated. “Uh, yeah, I was wondering about the journal. Is there any chance you could meet me later and tell me more about it?”

“What time?”

Grateful he wasn’t hanging up on her after she’d tossed a hammer at him, she smiled. “I’ll be home in about an hour.”

“I’ll be there.” He hung up.

It wasn’t until Tory had closed the phone that she realized something. She hadn’t told him where she lived. “Oh my God, he’s a stalker.”

Her phone rang.

She answered it to find Ash there with that deep, mesmerizing voice. “I just realized I don’t have your address.”

Laughing, she shook her head at her overactive imagination. “I’m not hard to find. I’m at 982 St. Anne down in the Quarter.”

“I shall see you later then.”

The archaic way he said that actually sent a shiver down her spine. Hanging up, she couldn’t help but smile and she didn’t even know why.

He’s a jerk. A complete and utter ass.

Who’d sent her a rose and who appeared to know how to read a language no one else could. A language she desperately needed to understand. This was business. It wasn’t a date. She could stand his pushy arrogance long enough to get what she needed and then she was going to toss him out on his butt.

*   *   *

Ash hesitated as he flashed himself a few houses down from Tory’s. Like the woman who owned it, it blended in with the rest of the houses on the street. Really nothing about it stood out, yet it was plainly beautiful. Painted a very pale pink and trimmed in antique white, it was a typical New Orleans turn-of-the-century shotgun rowhouse. The shutters were drawn tightly closed and as he tried to see inside to find her, he saw nothing.

Nothing.

You should probably run.

But why? All it meant was that they’d be friends of some sort. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to him.

Bullshit. Even when you were destined to be friends with someone you caught glimpses of them.

With her there was nothing …

That actually scared him and yet he found himself walking up to the door and knocking on it.

He heard what sounded like something getting knocked over inside followed by a low whispered, “Shoot!” He bit back a smile at her obvious distress. There was more scrambling about before she opened the door.

Her brown hair was down today. Thick, shiny and wavy, that hair beckoned to be touched … no, it beckoned a man to bury his face in it and breathe her in. How could he have ever thought it plain? No wonder she’d worn it up the other night. Not to mention, it made her look a lot younger when it was down around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, which made her sharp, intelligent eyes glow.

And those lips …

Plump and full, they were made for a night of kissing.

But the best part had to be her glasses, which were ever so slightly askew. As if sensing it, she straightened them and blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Sorry. I have technical difficulties making it through a room without bumping into something. Thank God my clumsiness is only restricted to the ground. I’d probably kill myself diving if I was this bad underwater.”

“No problem.” Ash ducked down to enter the doorway.

Tory’s eyes widened as she watched him walk into her living room. While she knew her place wasn’t large, his presence in it seemed to shrink it down to nothing. He literally filled the room with his commanding presence. “You are freakishly tall, aren’t you?”

He arched a black brow over the rim of those sunglasses that seemed to be permanently attached to his head. “For a woman wanting my help you are ever determined to insult me. Should I make this as painless as possible and leave now before the die-painfully-you-asshole-prick stuff starts again?”

She shut the door. “I would say I’m sorry about that, but you have to admit you
were
an asshole. What would you do if someone had done that to you?”

Ash didn’t answer. It depended on if it’d been before or after his godhood had been unlocked. Before, he’d have taken it. Now … oh, they’d regret it for eternity.

He scanned the small house that was littered with ancient artifacts from Greece and Rome, as well as tons of framed photos of their ruins. Then he saw the small trash can she’d stumbled into. The contents were still half on the floor. She was a walking disaster that he found oddly charming.

“Interesting place you have here.”

“Yeah, I love old things.”

A wave of amusement went through him as he considered his own age. “How old?”

“Oh, the older the better. You can never be old enough where I’m concerned.”

Then she should worship the ground he walked on.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“You got a beer?”

She scowled at him. “Isn’t it a little early in the day for that?”

“Wine?”

Rolling her eyes, she made a sound of supreme disgust. “I swear you are such a frat boy. Are you even old enough to drink?”

The insult amused him. “Yeah. Trust me, I’m a lot older than I look.”

“I’ve heard that before. I’d ask for your license, but it’s probably fake.”

Actually, it was, but only because no one would ever believe his real birth date and if they did, they’d be trying to lock him in a cage to study his longevity.

“Don’t you want something else? Tea? Coffee?”

Ash shook his head. “I’m good, really. I don’t want any more insults. I’d like to experience three whole minutes in your presence before you lay into me again … and we really should make sure the tools are all locked up.” He pulled the sleeve of his jacket back to look at his watch. “Let me start timing…”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he held his hand up. “Wait for it. We got two minutes and fifty-five seconds to go.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Yeah … you’re not standing in my shoes.”

She looked down at his huge feet, which had to be a size fourteen or fifteen—if they even made such a thing. “And judging by the ungodly size of them, I don’t think there are many people who could.”

He tsked. “We almost made it to thirty seconds without an insult. I think we just set a new record.”

She hated the fact that he was actually charming. Worse, he was charming her. “All right, I’ll behave. If you don’t mind following me, the kitchen’s back here.”

Ash adjusted the backpack on his shoulder before he followed her through the house. As they neared the kitchen he paused at one of the pictures on the wall. It was a family photo with Tory standing front and center, but there were three people in it he knew intimately.

Geary, Arikos and Theodoros Kafieri.

No wonder he couldn’t see her thoughts or future. “Is this your family?”

She glanced back. “Yes. My papou’s the one next to me.”

Theo. Ash smiled at his old friend. Theo had been only seven years old when he’d been blinded during a World War II attack on his village that had killed his whole family. Ash had been the one who’d brought the child to America where he could start a new life and be safe. He’d been watching over Theo ever since.

So it wasn’t that Tory had anything to do with him, it was the fact she was tied to Theo and to Arik, who was married to Geary. Arik had once been a Greek god of sleep. Those connections to Tory explained so much.

Ash relaxed immediately. “You’ve got a great-looking family.”

She smiled. “Typical Greek. There’s a million relatives, but then with a name like Acheron, I’m sure you know all about it.” She cocked her head as if she thought of something. “You know, my grandfather has a dear friend named Acheron.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they met in Greece and came to America together. But that was a long time ago.” She went back to the kitchen and pulled open a drawer that held small brown packets of coffee and tea. Pulling one out, she started her Flavia coffee pot, then pointed to the kitchen table where she had a bunch of books, maps and notes littered.

Ash made his way over to it and was impressed by it. She’d been a very busy woman.

“Cop a seat,” she said, pulling her mug out before she opened the door to her fridge.

Ash widened his eyes at the sight of her extremely organized refrigerator. The shelves were lined with neatly stacked clear plastic containers that had white labels with their contents carefully catalogued. “Got enough Rubbermaid there?”

“I have a little problem with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Ignore it.” She grabbed a container from the B section. Seriously.

“That’s really beyond slightly OCD. You’ve got a major problem, don’t you?”

“Shut up, sit down and read.”

With the exception of his demon Simi, no one since his rebirth as a god had ever been so dismissive with him. “Please?”

“You need something?”

He cocked a brow at her. “You to be polite to me, Ms. I Own The World—Now Do What I Say You Pathetic Pleb.”

She scoffed at him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes orders anyway.”

“Yes, but a simple please goes a long way. I’m the one doing you a favor here.”

She set her container of baklava on the table. “Fine. Please sit down, shut up and read.”

Ash lifted his hands up in surrender. Honestly, he should be appalled by her treatment of him and yet he was strangely amused by her. Shrugging his backpack off, he sat down and pulled Ryssa’s journal over to him. “What do you want to know?”

“You claim you can read it. Read it.”

Tory sipped her coffee while she watched him and noted that his long legs barely fit beneath her table.

He turned to a random page and then started speaking in what had to be the most beautiful and fluent pronunciation of ancient Greek she’d ever heard. She could only recognize random words, but the ease with which he read and the inflections in his voice led her to believe he might actually be telling the truth about understanding the words.

“Could you try that in English?”

He didn’t even pause. “It’s raining today. I don’t know why the sound of it bothers me so, but it always has. Before it began storming, I went to see Styxx out in the covered atrium. He was with Father as usual and the two of them were learning war tactics. Even at eleven, Styxx shows a lot of promise to be a leader and warrior of great renown. I couldn’t be prouder of my brother. His blond hair has grown lighter this summer since he’s spent so much time outdoors. I tried to get him—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “You’re really translating that, aren’t you?”

He looked perplexed by her question. “Is that not what you wanted?”

Tory didn’t even know how to respond to his question. Yes, it was what she’d wanted more than anything. But no one knew this language.

Except a Goth, punk alcoholic frat boy with a stud in his nose … and a body made for sin.

How in the world was this possible?

“Where did you learn Greek?” she asked.

“In Greece.”

She couldn’t accept that. “No,
ancient
Greek. Who taught this to you?”

“I grew up with it.”

“You’re lying. I know you’re lying. No one on this planet speaks ancient Greek the way you do. I’ve consulted experts all over the world and not one of them could do what you just did.”

He shrugged nonchalantly as if her concerns were nothing. “What do you want me to say?”

She shook her head, not really sure herself. “I want you to tell me how you know ancient Greek like that.”