Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 3) (2 page)

They hadn’t so much as settled at the table when a beer appeared in front of Camulos, carried by a smiling waitress whose eyes didn’t stray from him. He ignored it and spared her only a curt nod.

“How the hell did you find me?” he asked when the waitress slunk away.

His rough voice sent a shiver down her spine. That first tingle of attraction hadn’t been a fluke, after all. Damn it. This was what had gotten her in trouble so many years ago. Insane attraction that had blinded her to the danger she’d stepped into.

She dragged her mind back to the present. “More importantly, how the hell are you still alive? I thought I killed you.”

His big hand clenched on the table. Scars sliced across his knuckles.
 

She tried not to squirm in her seat as his eyes roamed from her face down to the hint of cleavage she knew peeped above the top of her leather breastplate. She always wore it, but then she spent most of her time in temperate Otherworld or Scotland. It was damn hot in the jungle.
 

Finally, his gaze dragged back to hers. The sight hit her straight in the solar plexus. Damn, he looked good, no matter how wary or how harsh his gaze. His short reddish-blond hair glinted in the dim light that struggled to illuminate the seedy bar with its sticky seats. He still looked like a damn god, no matter what he’d turned into.

“You didn’t kill me,” he said, one corner of his mouth hiked up.
 

“Then what the hell
are
you? How are you immortal?”
 

“Why would I tell you that?”

So it was going to be this way? A game of chance where neither showed their cards? But it suited her too, since she had no idea how she felt about him. She glared at him as a Jurassic-sized fly buzzed around her head, as annoying as the questions hanging in the air between them. She still didn’t fully understand everything that had happened those many years ago when she’d taken his place as a god by sending an arrow through his heart. Twice. She flinched at the mental image that came with the thought—him dying in the snow, his blood soaking through the knees of her dress.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked.

“Nope.” If she was going to be afraid of anyone, it would be him—with his huge body, scowling face, and potentially deadly grudge against her. But she wasn’t. She could take care of herself, damn it. Being afraid was a thing of the past.

“Cocky.”

“Yep.” She wasn’t the same girl he’d once cared for, however briefly. After they’d gotten caught in the crosshairs of the gods and her whole life had gone to hell, she’d changed.
 

“Anyway, it worked out for the best.” He raised his smudged glass in toast to her.
 

“Really?” Her brows shot up. He truly thought their past—trading places so that she became a god and he went to earth—had worked out for the best?

He nodded, but she had a hard time believing him.

“Why? You should have loved Otherworld. You’re a god,” she said.

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah, but you get what I mean,” she said. “Otherworld, the coldness there, shouldn’t have bothered you since you were born a god. The power, the perfection. It was all yours. Without all the downsides.”
 

Like the soul-sucking loneliness of a place with no emotion. No one could care about anyone else. She was a fluke, a god with the ability to feel because she’d once been mortal. But there was nothing to feel there. No joy, no love, no fun. No way to distract herself from the misery of being trapped. All the other gods, they were perfect for it. Automatons in their impeccable world. But not her.

“So why would it be better for you on earth?” she asked when he didn’t respond. He had less power here and had to hide from the other gods. And earth was messy and miserable compared to Otherworld. But it was that ability to be miserable, and alternately joyful, which made her want to return. “There’s nothing for you here.”

His gray eyes darkened, his expression effectively closing the subject. “That’s my business, not yours. Why the hell are you here?”

 
“I want out.”

“Are you kidding? Do you know what will happen to you when the other gods figure out you’ve tried to run?”
 

What was it about his voice that made her want to squirm in her seat? The mixed accent from his long life sounded exotic somehow and a hint of roughness dragged across her skin.
 

She shivered. “I’ve snuck out before.”

“For a few hours maybe, and not with the intent to flee.” He nodded smugly and she knew he must see acknowledgment in her eyes. “When they figure out that you’re gone and don’t intend to come back, you’ll end up chained to the most desolate tor in Blackmoor for a thousand years while ravens circle for dinner.”

Ana swallowed hard. The knowledge of the great rock formations where lawbreakers were punished was something she’d tried not to focus on when she’d decided to run. Blackmoor was the most desolate place in Otherworld, all scrubby ground punched through with granite tors and howling wind and rain. She had about a day before the other gods figured out she was gone. At that point, she’d be considered a deserter and they’d hunt her down.

“I’m aware of the risks.” She tried to make her voice hard. “I want out.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do about it?”
 

“You cared for me once.” She didn’t want to play that card—not after how it had ended between them—but she was desperate.

Truth flashed in his eyes, then his jaw hardened. “It was a long time ago.”

It had been. But seeing him was dredging up emotions she’d forgotten she’d ever had. She tried to force them to the back of her mind and focus on her goal. “I want to know how you became mortal.”

“Not mortal.”

“Damn it, you know what I mean. I just don’t want to be a god anymore. You stole my life when your obsession with me attracted the attention of the other gods. I want my life back.”
 

“I don’t owe you a thing.” He raised his glass and his strong throat worked as he swallowed, drawing her eyes to it. She couldn’t help but notice the way his worn shirt stretched over his broad chest. She scowled at her own interest. Long ago, that same interest had gotten her into trouble.
 

“Fine. I’ll just have to convince you,” she said.

He didn’t respond, just smiled and folded his muscled arms over his chest. She sighed, then tensed when he swung his feet up onto the chair next to her.
 

Her breath caught in her throat. She could almost feel the heat of his thighs close to hers. Her leg tingled, her skin prickling. Something low in her stomach tightened, and it reminded her that this was one of the reasons she wanted to be back on earth.
 

Fates, her nerves were on edge, and he wasn’t helping matters. She’d spent nearly every day of the last two millennia in Otherworld—the dullest, loneliest place in all of creation. As much as she loved the hustle and bustle of the Mytheans and mortals on earth, there was way too much of it in this bar. Her senses were on overdrive, and the air fairly buzzed with emotion from the dozens of volatile Mytheans carousing around her.

She swallowed hard and met his eyes. His smile reappeared, as if he knew what was going on inside her head. Inside her body.

“I need some air.” She jumped to her feet. “Come on.”
 

As soon as he stood, she spun and headed for the front door of the bar, hoping it would be quieter than the fighting ring out back. She had to cool down or things were going to get out of control.

CHAPTER TWO

Cam kept close behind Andrasta as they walked through the crowded bar, glaring at a couple of
lobisomems
who leered at her. Satisfaction kicked up the corner of his mouth when they turned and slunk away. Damn dogs.
 

But as soon as he looked at Andrasta's back, he felt the grin slide from his face. His heart thudded too hard, an unfamiliar pounding against his ribs.
Damn it.
It was a sensation he hadn’t recognized when he’d first met her two thousand years ago. He’d been cold and emotionless, as a Celtic god should be. Until he’d seen her.

He tried to keep his eyes on the back of her head and off the curve of her waist and hips, which rolled with an unusual kind of grace despite the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back.
 

She wasn’t dressed well for the sweltering heat of the jungle. Though her leather breastplate left her strong shoulders and arms bare, the raw leather pants that molded to her enticingly curved ass would be stifling. He tried to keep his eyes off that as well. He hadn’t seen her in millennia, and he sure as hell had never seen her in clothes like this.

They reached the rickety door and he followed her out into the sticky heat, sucking in air so humid he nearly drowned. The lonely bar sat in the middle of nowhere, the jungle pressed against its back. A small village inhabited by Mytheans was located a bit deeper in the jungle. Magic hid both from mortal eyes.

Once the door swung closed, the light dropped to almost nothing, the only illumination provided by a sliver of moon hanging over the edge of the jungle canopy. Monkeys and insects screeched in the night, vying to be the loudest in the forest.
 

Cam was on Andrasta in seconds, gripping her firm biceps and swinging her around to press her against the wall of the bar. She gasped, and he had to stifle his own. Electricity shot up his arms where he touched her, a stronger version of what he’d felt when he’d first looked up and seen her standing across from him.
 

Damn it.
It pissed him the fuck off.
 

“You have one more chance.” He bit out the words through clenched teeth. “How did you find me?”
 

He’d been wearing a cloaking charm for the last two thousand years, ever since he’d left Otherworld; it should have kept him hidden from her eyes and those of the other gods. It was a huge problem if the gods could find him. The kind of problem that would end up with him dead.

“I don’t know.” She wriggled against him. She was strong, but her struggles only pushed them together, her curves and muscles straining against him. Something dark within him surged, and he nearly groaned at the contact.
 

Fuck.
He hadn’t felt anything this powerful since he’d spent that time with her two thousand years ago. Hell, he’d forgotten it was possible to feel something so strongly.

“Settle down,” he muttered, trying to ignore the erection hardening against the front of his pants. If she could find him, then the other gods could. And if she didn’t stop her damn struggling, he’d get distracted and he’d run out of time—time he desperately needed to figure out what the hell was going on and then to get out of here.

“Do the other gods know I survived?” he asked.

Though she was cloaked in shadows, he caught glimpses of her full lips and the shine of her honey-colored hair.
Focus.

“Yes.” Her green eyes widened and she stilled, seeming to realize he’d grown fully hard against her, his cock pressing achingly into the softness of her stomach.
 

What was it about her that did this to him? He was thousands of fucking years old, he should be able to control himself. She made the idea laughable. But damn, she smelled good. Like the forest: cedar and pine and green leaves. Strange, and not particularly feminine. But so like her that he couldn’t get enough of it. It threatened to drag his mind back into the past, to when they’d first met. He resisted inhaling too deeply, deciding it was better to breathe through his mouth instead. Better yet, he released her and stepped back, inhaling deeply of the jungle air to try to clear his head.

“Do they know where I am?” Though he could take on a few of the gods at a time, if they all rose up against him, he was fucked. While the rules that kept Otherworld functioning had prohibited them from killing him when he was a fellow god, as a demi-god he was fair game.

“Not yet, but if you don’t help me, I’ll see to it that they do.”
 

“Threatening me, are you? We’ll see about that. How did you find me?”

“I had a vision of you. Here, with a bow.” She nodded to the bar. “Smaller than the one you once used.”

“Fuck.” He never should have picked up the bow yesterday, but it had been so long since he’d held one that he couldn’t resist. He hadn’t even shot the fucking thing, but his lapse in judgment had been enough. One of the conditions of his cloaking charm was that he stay away from the things that were most closely associated with his time as a god. He’d learned the tip from a witch—not the one who’d given him the charm, gods damn her—and thank fuck he had. Apparently it had been excellent advice, as just picking up a bow had put him on their radar again.

Sloppy.
He was getting sloppy after so many years on earth.

“I think I sensed you first because I sent you here,” Ana said

It made sense. Taking someone’s life, sending their soul elsewhere, was a powerful thing. It linked them. But it’d only be a matter of time before the other gods found him. He had to get his cloaking charm renewed before they did.