Wicked (Eternal Guardians #9) - Elisabeth Naughton Page 0,6
your back, and you’ll watch mine. Isn’t that what they teach you in Argonaut training? Never to go anywhere alone?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. I do know a little of what I’m talking about, Max.”
She did. She wasn’t just a competent warrior herself, she would one day be queen of this realm. And unlike him—and Talisa—Elysia thought things through before she jumped.
“I need to get my weapons,” she said, drawing him out into the hall with its gleaming marble floors, leading him toward the stairs. “Then, we’ll go to that stupid club, get Talisa, and bring her back. Together. And no one will be the wiser.”
Max sure hoped no one was the wiser, because if Talisa’s parents or the queen or any of the other Argonauts found out what she was up to, all shit was going to hit the fan, and he didn’t want that for his cousin. Not with all the other crap she was already dealing with.
There was only so much a person could handle before they snapped, and he sensed Talisa was dangerously close to the end of her rope.
Considering he kept bouncing to the end of his own…
Zagreus blinked as he stared down at the dark-haired female standing in front of him. Blinked again to be sure.
She was still there. Still holding his gaze with those memorable, wanton, amethyst eyes. Still standing silent and waiting. Still looking at him as if she expected him to say or do something after all this time.
His senses had been right. She was definitely Argolean, and from her clothing and stance, from the strength he felt radiating from her and the fact she was alone, he could tell she was trained at least somewhat in warfare. He couldn’t see any weapons on her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hiding them somewhere. Every Argolean he’d ever met who ventured into the human realm did so armed.
As his gaze scanned her shapely body from head to toe, though, he knew he wasn’t looking for weapons. He was searching for proof she really was her.
He’d been desperate before and wasn’t about to be fooled again, especially if she was Argolean. And he definitely didn’t want a repeat of those years he’d spent locked up by the Fates. Tartarus had been bad, but the twenty-five years he’d been imprisoned by the old hags—he inwardly shuddered—had been worse than any torture his depraved father could conjure in the fires of the Underworld.
Unfortunately, she was wearing too much clothing to get a good look at her, and the dark lights in the club didn’t help. The only skin exposed was on her toned shoulders and the soft mounds of her cleavage. That didn’t stop him from trying to see through the tight-fitting top and the slim black pants that molded to her hips and thighs, though. Didn’t stop him from—
Long, feminine fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt and tugged, distracting him from his search. He caught the wicked flare in her gemlike eyes as she stepped back onto the dance floor, pulling him with her.
Her scent surrounded him—not the familiar woodsy scents of sage and lavender he remembered, but something darker, something spicier. A heady combination of cinnamon, vanilla, and orange blossom that drew him toward her like a moth to a flame.
Bodies locked together writhed around them. Her dark hair, violet eyes, and smooth skin filled his vision. She began to move to the hypnotic beat of the pulsing music, brushing against him in the dark, and he found himself moving with her—not dancing as the others around them were doing, simply trying to keep her from getting away.
His hands drifted to the soft curve of her hips, slid around her slim, toned back, and tugged her in close. A small gasp slipped from her lips as her chest crashed into his and her feminine fingers under the long bell sleeves landed against his biceps. Beneath that thin blouse she wore, her heartbeat picked up speed until it was a whir echoing in his ears.
The air grew heavy. The beat seemed to swell. She didn’t once look away from his eyes. Only continued to hold his gaze trapped with the familiar, wicked heat of her violet irises. And even though he still wasn’t completely convinced she was her, he no longer cared where she’d come from or why she’d approached him.