Warrior Queen - Karpov Kinrade Page 0,27
“Any news of Clay?”
“No,” he says. “His army must still be three days away at least.” He clutches a bronze pitcher and pours himself a cup of red wine. “So perhaps we can enjoy ourselves a little longer.” A hint of a smile curves his lip. The superior glint in his eye tells me he knows—oh, he knows—just how much he’s distracted me.
Ladron and Torak join us, bringing their own sexual charisma as they arrange their long legs and muscled bodies on the couches nearby.
“You do know that Mirk is practically my son, do you not?” Persephone asks as I glance back at her. “I raised him from a babe.”
“Really,” I murmur. So, he’d been raised in the House of Hades? He never mentioned Persephone had a hand in his rearing, but then, we shared few such details.
“He was quite the handful, always escaping off into Tartarus and Elysium,” she continues, her laugh sounding like the tinkling of tiny silver bells. “Such a willful, wild child. I feared he would vanish into the woods and become one with the wild satyrs, never to return.”
“Quite the handful, were you?” I tease Mirk, turning back his way.
His eyes dance playfully across my body. He knows he’s so smoking hot. The way his leather shirt stretches across his broad shoulders is impossible to ignore, and I love his effect on me as I trail a lazy gaze down to his narrow waist and lean thighs. Every cell in my body sizzles alive. He thinks I’m not ready for him? Pah! I lift my eyes to find his latched onto mine, all honey and heat.
More servants arrive bringing platters of exotic fruits and ambrosia, and Persephone continues chatting, but I’m still drowning in those silver Fae eyes. I’m ready for him. Beyond ready. I want him. No, I need him.
The dark line of his lashes drops over his eyes and he gives me the look, the look that tells me my message has been received, loud and clear.
I suppress a shiver of excitement and I feel giddy, almost like I’m floating on a cloud. It’s then I notice Torak and Ladron watching me. Neither have missed my distraction with Mirk. Torak looks a bit primal, brooding with drawn brows and Ladron seems unusually quiet, withdrawn.
Juggling Torak and Mirk is going to be an interesting challenge, but one I can handle. The animalistic side of me can help Torak work past any reservations he might have sharing me. The wolf in my soul is his alone. Yet, there’s another part of me that only Mirk can satisfy. And another part of me that craves Ladron.
Finally, feeling relaxed, I pick up a date from the center platter before me and plop it into my mouth. The date leaves a sticky residue and as I lick my lips, I glance up to see all three men’s gazes locked on them.
The sexual tension is so thick, I feel I could reach out and pluck it like a lyre string.
I turn to Persephone.
She seems lost in her own world, sitting there, absently fiddling with her sapphire pendant. It takes her three seconds to notice my attention and when she does, she jerks a little. “You’re something of a mystery, you know. The only goddess to return without a known past,” she says.
For some reason, I’m not feeling inclined to tell her I’m Prometheus, so I deflect with, “Have you ever died here and come back?”
Her eyes take on a faraway look. “Once. For a brief time, I sojourned on Earth as a pioneer in St. Louis. Hades found out and sent the hellhounds to fetch me.”
The memory of their red eyes and sharp fangs bubbles up in my mind, and for an instant, I’m back at school, reliving my death as Lily Lemon the student, the youngest Lemon sister. The thought unleashes a myriad of emotions. What are Sarah and Melanie doing now? My parents? Have they moved on? Have they let the particular horror of my death go? It’s difficult, but I manage to shove the thoughts back into the recesses of my mind. It still hurts, though. Perhaps, someday, this pain of missing them will fade.
“I’m sorry,” Persephone says, obviously guessing the nature of my thoughts.
I shrug. “So, hellhounds, huh? Is that the standard way for a god to return?” She’d know, being married to Hades and all.
“One of them,” she answers grimly. “And one of the most brutal, of course. The hellhound reaps the souls, then