Vulcan stood in Destiny’s Fine Art and Curiosities lamenting the fact that he, Hephaestus, son of Zeus and Hera, had become a damned stalker. Mortals would still live in dank and moldy caves had he not gifted them with fire. The citizens of Pompeii would not have perished had they not failed to honor him. His hands created the world’s finest armor in every realm.
But, leaning against the wall, invisible to human eyes, he couldn’t find a reason to muster an ounce of shame.
“I have no idea what the hell you see in that Vulcan guy.” Fiona, one of Destiny’s two close friends, shook herself. “Seriously, Destiny, the guy’s hot...”
Gee, thanks, but there’s always a but in there with that one.
Fiona turned to the small pine cabinet and poured herself a cup of hot apple cider from the delicate coffee pot. “Too bad it’s in the I-just-escaped-from-Supermax-and-want-to-kill-your-family kind of way.”
Coming from a woman with a full sleeve of tattoos and half of her head shaved, Vulcan considered that a compliment—sort of.
“Come on… He’s a nice guy.” Destiny continued to clean the glass case holding magical curiosities.
Destiny… Vulcan sighed. For the last two millennia, he’d waited for the treacherous soul of Amina to be reborn. But for the love of him, why did it have to inhabit this body? Destiny, with the dark brown skin, large eyes that saw beauty in everything, and wild curly hair that begged for a man’s fingers, didn’t deserve what she’d have to suffer.
Then again, who did?
“Nice? You’re kidding right?” Janice, Destiny’s other friend, stopped fingering an antique brass chess piece. “Even the bikers on the way to Sturgis don’t bother him.”
“First of all, most of those guys are hobbyists, not meth-cooking criminals. Secondly, it’s not like he wants to see me naked.” Destiny shrugged, and the yellow sweater, the color of freshly churned butter, slipped down her shoulder.
“Hello.” Fiona sat her empty cup on the tray beneath the serving station and turned to her friend and placed her fists on her hips. “I happen to know you have a banging body beneath all those hippy-dippy clothes. Murder boy would be lucky to get you out of them.”
“I do?”
“Janice, mark this day on the calendar.” Fiona dabbed her forehead with a napkin, performing a passable impression a delicate southern belle.
“What did I miss?” Janice replaced the rook on the board and looked back and forth between her friends.
“Miss Moon petal actually has a vain bone in that crazy body.”
“Crazy?” Destiny laughed.
It never failed, her laughter reminded him of a brisk breeze against his cheeks as he snowboarded through fresh powder. It left him clean and exhilarated, and unfortunately, more than a little aroused.
“Hi pot, this kettle is pleased to meet you.” Destiny curtsied.
“Whatever.” Fiona waved her hand as if she were batting away a persistent fruit fly. “It’s time to forget about volcano—”
“Vulcan.”
“Whatever.” Fiona walked closer and squeezed Destiny’s arms, and her voice softened, “you should find yourself a nice guy. Forget about him.”
“In other words, I need someone boring… safe.”
“Some of those nerds have skills.” Janice’s gaze grew distant, and her smile spoke of happy memories. “How do you think they get and keep hot women?” Janice was smoking hot, with a Korean mother and a black father, most thought her Hawaiian, and her ex was a software engineer.
“Around here? Probably because they’re loaded.” Destiny walked behind the counter to lock the display cases. “You’re right, maybe I have a little crush on Vulcan, but I don’t have a shrine dedicated to him in my closet. He and I have a good business arrangement and…”
“Okay Moon-petal, what exactly do you see when you look at your sexy psycho?” Fiona grinned. “I mean, other than the tats. Did I mention the beard?”
“I thought you didn't like him?” Destiny rolled her eyes at and looked in Vulcan’s direction.
If he were visible, Vulcan would have sworn she stared at, rather than through him. This thing, this connection with the body holding Amina both confused and angered him.
“I see someone who’s been hurt.” The left side of Destiny’s mouth curved into a sad smile before she turned to Janice. “Allowing people behind those walls of his is hard.”
“Why don’t you just take him to bed, get a few orgasms out of it, and move on.” Fiona’s tone was breezy, as if she’d just suggested they go for a hike.
Yup, that was his sign to exit. The last thing he needed to imagine was bending Destiny across one of those fancy chaises in her store, flipping up her billowing skirt, and sinking deep inside her. That path of thought was well traveled, but even he, the ugly and unwanted god, had limits. He needed to destroy Destiny but making love to her would lead to his own ruin—again.
When her lips parted to reply, he willed himself to the clubhouse at the edge of his property.
Twenty-first-century life held its inconveniences. But at least supernaturals no longer feared the threat of torch-carrying villagers. Now, people chose to live in blissful ignorance of the magical life around them. Shifters and other beings didn’t hide, but neither did they announce their gifts. But when he deeded the parcel of land to the local pack one hundred years ago, that wasn’t the case.
“What’s up V?” Leandro, alpha of the Jackson Pack, walked into the office they shared and plopped on the couch.
“The usual.” Vulcan made himself comfortable in the leather armchair across from his friend. Nice, Vulcan wasn’t, but the one thing Destiny saw true—his inability to trust. But Leandro was a good man and served as a loyal and strong Alpha the last thirty years.
“When you say the usual,” Leandro paused, then took a sip of his beer, but not quick enough to hide the smirk. When he lowered the bottle, he leaned back and stretched his arms along the top of the couch. “You mean stalking poor Mouse?”
“Eat shit.” Vulcan struggled to look pissed, which served to amuse Leandro further. With Leandro’s dark hair, dark eyes, and square jaw, he could be a telenovela star. But if one bothered to look deeper, the predator hovered just beneath the surface. A curse, followed by a chorus of male laughter broke the comfortable silence. “What’s going on out there?” He motioned with his head.
“The Laramie Pack is running with us tonight. Care to join us, or are you planning to make sure your little mouse is safe?”
“Since when do you concern yourself with my business?” Vulcan wanted a beer. Yes, he could easily conjure one, but why? Using power because of laziness seemed like a waste. As a blacksmith, artist, and expert in all things mechanical, he loved using his body. Which of course made him think of Destiny and those feminine clothes she insisted on wearing.
No, he needed to get on with his revenge and destroy everything she held dear.
“I could give a shit about you.” Leandro slapped his hands against his thighs and stood.
“Gee thanks.”
“Let’s keep it real, you can handle yourself.” Leandro downed the rest of his beer. “But her…she needs protection, a male to care for her. Destiny’s a nice girl.”
“At thirty-five, it’s safe to say she passed the girl stage a while ago.” He’d observed her long enough to know she was all woman. The body full of soft curves and toned muscles was a masterpiece he’d sculpted in his mind many a time.
“Well, aren’t we enlightened?” Leandro looked at Vulcan like he’d sprouted another head. “Listen man. There’s something innocent and sweet about her. And those skirts, I really want to see—”
“Enough.” Vulcan clenched his teeth, and when he finally had the rage tamped down enough to avoid ripping his friends head off, he glanced at the werewolf and found him grinning like an idiot.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You got it bad, man. I’ve never seen you all twisted up over a woman.”
“There is nothing more than business between Destiny and I, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Despite the craving to unwrap her like a Yule gift.
Vulcan left the office and Leandro behind and stepped out of the narrow corridor to the gathering area. The clubhouse was open, modern, and airy without making it look as though the pack had been neutered. A long wood bar and comfortable seating areas took up one side of the cavernous room, while two regulation-sized pool tables and old-school pinball machines dominated the other.
The thud of Leandro’s footsteps paused next to Vulcan, and he tried his damnedest to ignore the wolf.
Without missing a beat, Leandro resumed their conversation. “I’m thinking—”
“Your first mistake,” Vulcan muttered.
“You need to get laid. Find you someone that…” Leandro sucked in a breath. His next words sounded like a lust-filled prayer. “Dios Mio.”
Vulcan watched and chuckled at the reactions of not only Leandro, but the rest of the males as trouble covered in leather walked in Vulcan’s direction. Oshun, Yoruba goddess and his dearest friend, ratcheted the testosterone level in the room up a few degrees.
He looked at Leandro and laughed. “Are you well, my friend? Shall I retrieve the AED?”
“I am in love.”
Oshun glanced at Leandro before stopping in front of Vulcan. The grin she blessed him with was heavy with I-know-all-your-secrets and lifetimes of affection.
Damn, he missed this woman.
“Hey, sugar.” She kissed Vulcan’s cheek, then wrapped an arm around his waist and took measure of Leandro. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, her voice as rich and dark as her complexion.
“Leandro, Alpha of the Jackson Pack, at your service.” He extended a hand. Instead of shaking hers when she extended it, he rotated her wrist and placed a soft kiss on her palm.
“Pleased to meet you, Leandro,” she pronounced his name rolling the r around her mouth as if tasting it. “The pleasure is mine.”
“You two need something to drink?” Vulcan coughed twice into the side of his fist. “How about a bucket of water?”
“My dear friend, don’t you have to human-sit tonight?” Oshun batted her eyes.
“Oh, everybody has jokes.” Vulcan nodded and took a step back. “I see how it is.” How long had she been in town, watching, stirring up trouble? Yes, they were friends, but gods of most ancient pantheons tended to have a flexible sense of morals.
“We all need someone to look out for us occasionally.” She tilted her head slightly and smiled at Leandro. “Isn’t that right, handsome?”
“You can’t wear painted on leather and expect him to think.” Vulcan had never seen Leandro so instantly smitten. Then again, there was much to admire when it came to Oshun. Too bad most men didn’t see past the long legs or her…other physical assets. But when one was a goddess of birth and all things feminine, any with testosterone were rendered helpless.
“I would ask how well the two of you are acquainted,” Leandro inhaled, then let out a low growl, “but I suddenly I don’t give a shit.”
“I planned to run with the pack tonight. You want to go or hang out until I return?” As gods, they could take any form, but she usually balked at fur. Something about hairy legs and watching males have too much fun cleaning their nether parts.
“I’m game for a little physical exertion this evening.” The woman was so smooth butter didn’t melt in her mouth.
“You two catch up.” Leandro slapped Vulcan on the arm. “Oshun, I’d be honored if you ran beside me this night.” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, he gave her a low formal nod, and backed away.
Interesting. He watched Leandro speak with the members of his council, then chat with his pack. In all the years he’d known the wolf, Vulcan had only twice seen him issue a formal invitation to a woman to join him on a run.
Like in times of old, Oshun and I stood in silence, an unlikely pair, united against the world. Damn, it felt like home.
“Did you not miss me oh mighty god of fire?”
“You didn’t give me time to miss you.”
“It’s been fifty years.” Her voice was musical, even now as she whined.
That shouldn’t have made him smile, but his lips tilted upward. “What name are you using?”
“My own.” She let out a wry bark of a laugh. “It’s not like the people of Jackson Hole know much about Yoruba Goddesses.”
“They’d be so lucky. Why are you here?”
“Can't a woman just want to hang out with the only Greek worth a damn?”
“No.”
“Trouble’s coming,” she whispered, her voice flat.
“Yeah? If it’s looking for me—here I am.”