Spell Bound (Darkly Enchanted) (7 page)

When the hell had he become such an asshole?

He shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Connie, but not tonight. Don’t think I’ll be much fun.”

She shrugged. “Your loss, big guy.”

And swayed off toward a pair of male
versipelli
, who welcomed her with big grins.

Fuck. He was so fucking off his game tonight—

“Hey, Gabriel. That face would give a serial killer nightmares. What’s new, man?”

Not one damn thing. “Hey, Digger. Got any new toys?”

Douglass Alfieri flipped him off. He hated the nickname but had been stuck with it ever since he’d taken over his father’s work as the
grigori
armafictor
. Digger’s Goddess Gift of enhanced affinity for metal gave him one kick-ass ability for making weapons.

“Yeah, I have, actually,” Digger said. “I’ve been working on the Titus-4. I think I have the malfunction in the directional mechanism figured out. You know how the steam was getting caught in the concentration chamber? Well, I think…”

Gabriel let the guy talk, though he didn’t understand half of what he was saying. That’s why Digger made the weapons and Gabriel used them. The guy was a certified genius when it came to combining metals and crystals into killing machines.

Digger didn’t look like a genius. The guy was too…damn, the guy was too damn pretty for it. Somewhere in his ancestry lurked a Fata. Or three. All those chiseled angles in his cheekbones and nose, the pointed chin, the deep-set eyes and broad forehead…had to be a little
linchetti
or
folletti
in his genes.

“…so I adjusted the amount of pressure needed to run the pistons and…”

Gabriel let Digger ramble, listening with half an ear, while he tried to pinpoint who the hell continued to watch him. He didn’t get the sense that he was in any danger. Just that she—it was definitely a she—was curious. And intent.

“…then I shot the guy in the head, ripped his heart out with my bare hands and rubbed his blood all over my naked body.”

Gabriel’s head shot around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Digger wore a wry smile. “Huh. Guess you were listening. Amazing how you can hear exactly what I’m saying and still be a million miles away. I never learned to do that. Save me a world of hurt when my mother’s in town.”

Guilt knocked him upside the head but Gabriel didn’t have the time for it. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like an ass. “Yeah, sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”

“No luck this time?”

Beside Quinn, his brother in everything but blood, and Harry, Digger was the only other person who knew Gabriel hunted Dario. “Nothing.”

Digger clapped him on the shoulder once. “Sorry.”

And that was enough of that. Time to get the hell out of here. “You going to ritual tonight?”

Digger nodded. “Of course. You ready?”

“Might as well.”

As he turned for the exit, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A woman alone, sitting on the risers behind the band. She was far enough away that he had trouble making out more than long dark hair and a small frame in the low light.

There was something about her…something that snagged his attention. Had she been the one staring at him? She wasn’t now. Her attention seemed to be fixed on the stage. Probably one of Caeles’ groupies, a shy one.

Just his luck.

* * *

And there he went. Out the door with another guy.

A really pretty guy, Shea thought. Maybe the
grigorio
was gay.

Which would be too freaking bad because the guy was hot.

Still, that didn’t explain why the voices wanted her to follow him. Their urgent buzzing as he disappeared left her with no doubt that she should go after him.

And yes, she knew how truly weird that would sound to anyone but… Well, probably to everyone else.

When the door closed behind their supposed savior, she returned her attention to the stage, where the band was playing a funky version of Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized.”

And, wow, how fitting was that? If she were an
eteri
, she’d probably be in a mental institution right now, eating vanilla pudding and weaving baskets.

She’d been almost eight before she’d realized the constant drone that’d always been present in her head were voices, voices she couldn’t understand. She’d lived with them for so long, she’d figured everyone had them. But the horrified look on her mom’s face when she’d finally grown old enough to explain had made it clear not everyone heard voices.

She’d tried to talk about it with her mom a few times but each time her mom had gotten tears in her eyes. What little girl wanted to make her mom cry? So for several years, she hadn’t asked.

Then, shortly after the hiker incident, she’d asked again.

“So, Mom. Are we ever gonna talk about these voices in my head? Or are they just something else you’re not going to tell me about?”

Jesus, she’d been such a smart ass, so righteously indignant. Such a jerk.

“Everything we’ve done has been in your best interest, Shea. Everything we do is for your protection. The voices…they’re your curse to bear, Shea. Great Goddess protect you, but I wish they weren’t.”

And that was all she’d said.

Thanks for that, Mom.

At least her mom had taught her how to set up the mental wall to dim the voices when they began to grow in intensity as she’d gotten older.

“Hey, Shea. You okay? You look a little pale.”

Dilby stood in front of her, holding Leo’s hand. The kid looked content but tired.

Damn, she’d zoned out for a few minutes. Dangerous. “I’m fine. Ready to hit the road, bud?”

Leo darted a quick glance at Dilby before nodding. Shea figured, if he had his way, he’d stay all night. But he never complained, never objected, not to anything.

She held out her hand and he tucked his much smaller one in it.

“Then let’s go. We’ve just got to make one stop on the way.”

* * *

To look at the building, you’d think it was just another empty brick monstrosity south of Penn Street.

No
eteri
would ever believe it hid the sanctuary of an Etruscan deity.

Hell, just saying that in casual conversation would make any
eteri
cross the street to avoid you. Then again, most people didn’t believe in things like curses or
streghe
or magic. They didn’t examine lightning for predictions of future events or make predictions about their lives by which direction birds flew overhead.

They certainly didn’t slash their forearms and offer their blood in sacrifice to Laran, God of War. And they’d never believe the dark-haired man standing before Gabriel was an actual God.

“You wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

Laran stared at him with hard, gunmetal grey eyes, his sharp expression set in stone cold lines. The god didn’t look much older than thirty, but he had strands of pure white in his black hair. He stood just a few inches taller than Gabriel, but it was amazing how much bigger he seemed. His presence overpowered everyone in the vicinity.

Guess godhood did that to you.

For a brief second, Gabriel thought about not answering Laran’s question. And decided he didn’t want to take his life in his hands.

“I was checking a tip in South Carolina.”

Gabriel held his breath waiting for the next question. He figured Laran knew he hunted Dario. He was a god, after all. But he’d never said a word about it to Gabriel.

Serena had forbidden the
grigori
to hunt Dario. Something about Dario’s destiny being tied to breaking the curse.

Well, fuck that. He wanted to kill the bastard. Laran had to know that.

Gabriel stared back into the god’s eyes, deep-set in a face full of sharp angles and broad planes. If Gabriel swung that way, he’d say Laran was attractive. In a compelling, Tommy Lee Jones’ kind of way. Not a man you wanted to fuck with.

And if Laran decided he’d overstepped his boundaries, Gabriel would pay a price. The God of War suffered no fools or dissenters.

But after a few seconds of silence, during which Gabriel heard worry in the hushed voices of the other six
grigori
gathered for the ritual, Laran nodded once and turned toward the altar.

Dodged that bullet.

Gabriel released the breath he must have been holding and joined the other men at the altar as Laran began the ritual.

“Great Tinia, Father of all Etruscans.” Laran’s deep voice carried through the open space, reverberating off the brick walls enclosing the courtyard filled with a small forest of oak, pine and birch trees. “Accept the sacrifice of my blood and the blood of your mortal sons as tribute for our gratitude. Give your sons the strength to fight against those who would harm your children.”

“Accept our offering,” Gabriel and the
grigori
chanted as Laran drew the dagger he held in his right hand from his left elbow to wrist. “Bless us with your strength.”

Laran extended his arm and let his blood drip onto the breasts of the red-headed woman splayed on the altar. Though he vaguely recognized the woman’s face, Gabriel didn’t know her name. He’d never seen the same woman here twice.

In ancient times, Laran would’ve had a temple full of priestesses as well as a cadre of priests who attended his every need and performed this ritual. But over the past two millennia, as the Etruscan civilization dwindled, the old ways had adapted.

Today, Laran performed his own rituals. Which didn’t exactly look like a hardship to Gabriel, considering. A little blood for sex.

The combination was so important to the Etruscans, it fueled most of their power.