But it didn't change what he'd done to her and Medea. To this day, Zephyra could see him turning around and slinking out of their cottage to be with the woman his father had wanted him to marry. However, she'd given him her word to stay her fight and be damned if she'd break it. She was better than that.
"I hate your hair black," she snarled before she took his hand.
Stryker laughed at her capitulation and barb. She wasn't giving in and she didn't hesitate to let him know it. Closing his hand around hers, he took her into Kalosis, where he ruled.
As soon as they were safely in the hell realm, she snatched her hand away as she turned around the dark room where he held court over all the Daimons who called this place home. "Rather glum, isn't it?"
"It works for me."
She didn't comment as she returned to face him. "Where's Medea?"
"In my chambers. Come and I'll take you to her."
WAR PAUSED AS HE MATERIALIZED IN THE BACK hallway of a mansion that reminded him of an old Greek villa. The dark gray shutters were drawn tight against an unforgiving sun that spilled through the slats to highlight the breezy distance. White walls held old photos of a young boy and a very attractive woman with blond hair and laughing blue eyes.
A strange sound of foreign music drifted through the walls, along with laughter and cars from outside. But there was no laughter inside. All was silent and still.
Closing his eyes, War searched the house with his powers until he found the one he'd been sent to kill.
Nick Gautier.
But he wasn't alone. There was a woman lying in bed with him. Both naked. Both sweaty from sex.
Centuries ago, War would have slaughtered the woman without hesitation.
No doubt he still should. . . .
Lowering his head, he walked through the walls until he came to the room where a large four-poster bed housed the two of them. They were entwined in black silk sheets. A tray holding a bottle of half-empty wine was on the nightstand, where red roses were strewn as if they'd been tossed down.
The man, Nick, lay atop the woman, nibbling at her ribs while she drew circles over his back. Shoulder-length brown hair obscured the man's face. The woman, however, was beautiful. Long black hair spilled across the pillows as she arched her back and kept her eyes tightly closed.
War paused at the sight of her naked, sculpted body. He hadn't tasted a woman in centuries. Hadn't felt a kind caress since . . .
The mere thought of that bitch threw his temper into overdrive. Wanting blood, he closed the distance between them. He grabbed Nick by his throat and threw him into the wall.
"Get out," he ordered the woman, who drew back with a scream.
"Go, Jennifer. Now!"
She didn't hesitate. Wrapping the sheet around her, she scrambled from the large plantation bed and ran for the door.
Gautier straightened up to glare at him. He had three days' growth of beard on his face, which was marked by a double bow and arrow mark. The sign of Artemis.
War frowned at its presence. And its significance.
Not that it mattered. He'd been born to piss off the gods.
"Who the fuck are you?" Nick asked. Throwing his arms out, he manifested clothes on his body.
War laughed. "Call me Death."
"No offense, I'd rather call you pathetic." He slung his hand out.
War tsked as he saw the shurikens headed for him. "Talk about pathetic." He flashed himself across the room and grabbed Gautier by his throat as the shurikens planted themselves harmlessly into the bedposts. War lifted him up from the floor and held him against the wall.
Nick choked as he tried to break the man's hold on him. "What are you?"
"I told you. I'm Death. Now be a good little boy and die."