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

  “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 demigod 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.

  “Help me find a way out of Otherworld.” Desperation was thick in her voice. “Permanently. I renounce my godship. I need your help.”

  She needed him. How the hell was he supposed to ignore that? Their past was fucking complicated, but part of him felt like he owed her. “You can’t renounce your godship.”

  “But there has to be a way out. You found one, and I want it too.”

  “I can’t do that. I don’t have that power.”

  Ana groaned and nearly stomped her foot. She couldn’t take no for an answer, not after so much time spent searching and dreaming of a way to have a real life. If the other gods found them before she could convince Cam to help her regain her humanity, she’d be forced back to Otherworld. Failure meant a fate she’d happily trade for death if she could.

  “Someone has that powe
r, and you know who it is. Take me to them,” she demanded.

  “Or what?” His voice froze with a deadly cold.

  “Or I’ll tell the other gods where you are. I meant it when I said it. I’ve got nothing to lose. If the other gods catch me deserting, I’m worse than dead. If you don’t help me, I’ll tell them where you are. You know I can be back in Otherworld in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. It was the only card she had in her hand, and she had to make him believe her.

  He cursed, spurring the monkeys on to greater howls. The jungle had as much energy as the bar, but it didn’t bother her like that of the Mythean energy inside. What did bother her was the man who towered over her, even though he’d stepped back. She wasn’t used to feeling small or helpless. She’d left that behind along with her humanity. But he made her feel that way, and she hated the fact that it caused her blood to sing through her veins and her skin to heat.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  “Fine.” His voice carried the harshness of boulders scraping against each other as the earth moved. “Druantia created the potion that allowed me to Fall. I sought her out after meeting you, when I realized the gods were plotting against us.”

  The name was familiar. She was the most powerful Druid priestess and the one who’d facilitated communication between gods and mortals back when mortals still worshiped Celtic gods.

  “She’s your friend, so you think she’ll give me the potion?”

  “She’s not my friend. She does a job for me when I need her to, and if you pay her, she’ll do it for you too. She’s difficult and a pain in the ass, but her services can be bought.”

  “Excellent. Take me to her and I promise I’ll leave you alone. You can have your life”— she gestured to the bar and he scowled—“back to normal.”

  He thought about her offer for a moment and nodded. “I’m not actually helping you. I need a new cloaking charm, and you can tag along, but you’re on your own. I’m not taking care of you along the way.”

  She scowled at him. “Please, like I need you to protect me. I killed you, remember?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cam watched Andrasta step onto the deck of his boat, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her entering the place he’d called home these past few decades. He hadn’t had another person on his boat in years. He preferred it that way. The jungle allowed him to keep to himself, no questions asked. The towns allowed him to find the occasional woman when he wanted one, but otherwise he was left alone there as well.

  So what the hell was he doing, letting her tag along? He hated traveling with others. Not to mention that he’d expected never to see her again. Yet here they were, about to spend the next two days traveling downriver to the nearest airport. After they flew to Scotland, it’d take at least another few days to find Druantia.

  He’d fallen hard for Andrasta when he’d met her two thousand years ago. He’d been a stone-cold god, incapable of emotion—until he’d laid eyes on her. She roused things in him that were hard to control. And if he were honest with himself, he hadn’t felt like that about anyone since her.

  But he couldn’t afford to be distracted by her now, not when all his attention needed to be on getting them safely to Druantia before the gods found them.

  “You coming?” She looked back over her shoulder at him.

  He shook away the thoughts and stepped off the ramshackle dock he tied off to every time he visited the Caipora’s Den. He’d take her to Druantia, get his cloaking spell renewed, and then he could get back to the work he was meant to be doing. He had responsibilities he couldn’t screw up.

  “We’ll find Druantia in Scotland, right?” Andrasta asked.

  “Yes. It’s been two thousand years since I’ve seen her last, but she’ll be somewhere in the north.” He’d called a couple contacts on the walk to the boat, hoping they’d know where she lived now. “I’m waiting on some information about her whereabouts.”

  “I can call my friend Esha and ask. She knows a lot of high-ranking Mytheans in Scotland. She might be able to find her.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “It’s too bad we can’t aetherwalk,” Andrasta said as he moved to the stern of the boat.

  He grunted his agreement. The aether, that ephemeral substance connecting earth and the afterworlds, allowed certain Mytheans to travel through it by aetherwalking. Andrasta had the ability, and she could take him along as well. The only downside to that plan—and it was a major downside—was that the aether linked everything. If she entered it to travel, the gods could find her. And him.

  So it looked like they’d be taking the slow route.

  “How long have you had this”—Andrasta peered around with a dubious expression—“vessel?”

  “A while.” He liked the old girl, and though he wanted to defend the Clara G.’s honor, he didn’t want to give Andrasta any encouragement to keep talking. He’d always liked her voice, full of the joyous way she viewed the world. If he wanted to keep his wits about him, he couldn’t be distracted by mooning over her as he’d done so many years ago.

  Cam set about untying the lines to free the boat from the dock, the action as much muscle memory as it was conscious act. He didn’t let the dark slow his progress. Andrasta had taken the aether to get here. If the gods were looking for her, this was where they’d show up, since it was the last place her energy led. Getting out of here soon was at the top of his list.

  “You can have the bunk.” He nodded to the little cabin built onto the aft end of the boat, which housed a bed and his clothes. The rest of the boat was open air.

  With a flick of his wrist, he untied the last line at the bow, then bounded up the small ladder to the raised pilothouse situated in the forward end of the boat. The Clara G. was primarily flat deck space, with just the little cabin at the stern and pilothouse at the bow.

  He flipped on the big lights that would help illuminate the river. It was wide here, the water moving sluggishly downstream. He threw on the engine and pulled smoothly away from the dock. He’d let Andrasta explore while he got them far enough away from the Caipora’s Den that he could breathe freely again.

  “What kind of boat is this?” Her head popped up on the ladder leading to the pilothouse.

  He sighed. So much for exploring the main deck. Not that there was much to see down there. But he didn’t want her squeezing into the tiny pilothouse; she’d be too close.

  “Get on the roof.” He jerked his head backward to indicate that she should climb on top of the flat roof, which was supported by piping. It didn’t enclose any space on the main deck, but it did provide shelter from the rain.

  He could hear her climb onto the steel roof and walk around the flat space he used as a deck whenever he wanted to relax or needed a bit of extra cargo space.

  “What kind of boat is this?” she asked again. Her voice came from too close behind him.

  He glanced back to see her standing with her arms folded over the half wall of the pilothouse, staring at him. He turned to face the river, but the back of his neck prickled under her gaze. Normally he liked that the breeze flowed through the pilothouse, which was essentially just a chest-high box with a roof several feet overhead. Now, he wished for windows. Thick ones.

  “Steamboat originally. But now it’s powered by diesel,” he said.

  “An old one?”

  Always so curious. He felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth, but he stifled it. “You could say that. It’s one of the mini riverboats from the Klondike gold rush back at the end of the nineteenth century. Found it rotting away in a barn up in the Yukon Territories about fifty years ago. Couldn’t save the wooden paddle wheel, and the engines and boiler had been stripped, but the rest of the steel hull was sound. Brought it down here, gave it a couple outboard engines and some modernizing, and it’s been faithful ever since.”

  “Really?” Excitement laced her voice. “How do you think the diesel
engines compare with the original steam propulsion?”

  “You like engines?”

  “I like technology, and steam was the biggest thing to hit humanity since the wheel.”

  She was clever. “Diesel is less exciting and less dangerous, but more reliable and easier to maintain. But I do miss steam sometimes.”

  “That’s what I figured. There’s just something so romantic about steam. How’d you get it all the way down here?”

  Steam was more romantic? She was clever and weird. He’d almost forgotten how much so. He grinned as he said, “I shipped it overland, like that movie. The one where they carried the steamboat over the mountains into South America.”

  She made an impressed noise in the back of her throat. Or did he just choose to interpret it that way? He scowled.

  “Fitzcarraldo? Wouldn’t it have been easier to put it on a cargo ship?”

  “Sure, but I’ve got nothing but time and wanted the challenge. You like movies?” Fitzcarraldo was an unusual one. He had no idea they had movies in Otherworld—but then again, he hadn’t been there in two thousand years.

  “Yes. I need something to pass the time up there, don’t I? My friend Esha gave me a laptop that’s loaded with movies and television shows. It’s how I keep in touch. With earth.”

  The tinge of sadness to her voice tugged something within him that he quickly ignored.

  “How big is this steamship?”

  “Boat. It’s a steamboat. Steamships go on oceans, steamboats go on rivers.”

  “Oookay then. I guess you like boats.”

  He shrugged. But yeah, he did. About as much as she liked technology. There hadn’t been any significant bodies of water in Otherworld. Nothing other than small rivers and a few ponds. When he’d ended up on earth permanently, oceans had fascinated him, along with the lakes that were as big as seas and rivers so wide you’d have sworn you were at the beach. A passion for boats had followed shortly behind.