“I do not know whether there are gods, but there ought to be.” ~ DIOGENES
“Gamoto.” The Greek profanity slid without effort from her lips. “Remind me to kick Tom’s ass.” Carissa Alkippes glanced at her partner, John Lopez, who nodded in agreement.
“I’d be glad to help.” A sneer broke across his mouth. “The slime bag has misled us for, like, what ... the third time?”
“Closer to the trillionth, and I have better things to do than chase dead leads.” She had her share of seedy Greeks, giving her false information. I might pin his balls to the wall. Not that I want to see that part of him. Grinning, she envisaged Tom’s face when she shoved her gun up to his nostril and threatened him.
“Let’s see if there’s a party happening inside. Otherwise, I’ll buy you a burger,” Lopez said, pulling open the door to Jostlers warehouse.
The hinges creaked and echoed inside the dim, hollow abyss, breaking the fantasy playing out in her head. The minute she stepped into the warehouse, the cool darkness caressed the skin on her arms, sending goosebumps over her body.
“Something tells me we should ditch this and go for the burger. Besides, we’re off duty.”
“Does look like a waste of time,” Lopez grumbled, moving in behind her.
“I’m salivating, thinking of the burger. Did you need to put that erotic image in my head?”
“Burgers are not erotic.”
“Says you, but hell, my stomach and taste buds think they’re orgasmic.” A growl sounded from her belly.
Lopez’s laugh reverberated in the dark space. “I think your stomach has just announced we’re here.”
“Let’s get this search over with,” she uttered, trying to mask her embarrassment. The lack of vehicles and lights clicked her awareness into top gear. Her skin stung and realization carved words in her brain, the type she didn’t fancy. This has all the makings of a setup.
Light coruscated through the filthy windows and etched a path ahead as they walked further in and surveyed the bare space. Something locked her feet to the concrete. Sounds. She strained to listen between heavy breaths. Fighting. Nothing accelerated her heartbeat like a good dustup.
“You hear that?” she whispered to Lopez.
“Yup. I’m going to go check the other side.”
“Be careful,” she cautioned.
“Probably a couple of raccoons.” He walked past her and turned his head to wink at her, then made his way to the other end of the warehouse.
Her reflexes snapped into action and her hand traveled to her gun side, springing the Glock free from its holster.
Fresh grunts echoed from further inside the warehouse. Her fingers tingled before they converted to steel on the gun, becoming one with it. Recognition spiked in her chest. “Raccoons my ass. Something is going down,” she muttered.
A door slammed and disappointment bungee jumped into the pit of her stomach.
“Damn, I’m not going to get that burger,” she whispered. Her hunger would have to wait. The first order of business was to find out who or what was making the noise.
She continued with small steps toward the middle of the warehouse. A movement to her right caught her eye. Surprise punched her lungs and spread down to her abdomen. A monstrous shape materialized from the darkened depths. Dark crimson skin covered bulging muscle on his body and bare head. He snarled, showing off his chalky, razor-sharp teeth. It wasn’t the dental work, pointy ears, and pig-like nose that set her on edge. No. The reptilian yellow eyes alerted her gray matter to the fact he wasn’t human. Fear fused its way back up to her heart, sending it into a wild gallop.
She tried to focus as bile climbed up her throat. Fear gripped the soles of her feet and held her rooted to the spot. The crimson figure stalked toward her, swinging a sword in his thick, talon-like hands.
“What are you?” she whispered to the cool, dark depths. “Maybe I should lay off the baklava. It’s seriously causing sugar-induced hallucinations.”
Her grip tightened around the weapon. She blew out a breath and hoped her religious practice at the shooting range paid off. An ear-piercing boom split through the warehouse. Shell casings dropped to her feet, one smacked her in the forehead. The bullets from her Glock met their target. The crimson beast flinched and looked down to where the bullets had torn through tissue. He closed the remaining distance with speed. His height towered above her. Reaching forward, he pulled the gun out of her hand and crushed it. It landed on the concrete with a dull clunk.
His yellow eyes met hers. A roar tore from the beast’s throat and vibrated through her. The fine hair on her neck stood to attention, propelling her to retreat. Move your ass, Carissa. With measured steps, she backed away. But it was useless. The beast pointed his sword in her direction, making his intentions clear. Another deafening growl rumbled from his mouth.
“For something ugly, you sure move fast.”
A sneer broke across her assailant’s face, revealing his sharp teeth. He was in front of her again before she could inhale her next bit of moldy air.
“Gamoto.” She ducked and came up, throwing a kick to its midsection. It was unmovable and unstoppable. She pulled back fast. From the corner of her eye, she caught movement as something leaped in her direction.
“What the ... Is that a dog?” She squinted for better focus. Realization slammed into her—a wolf. “This is one epic nightmare.”
She shook her head, trying to process the scene, but her mind was lethargic in response. Impossible.
The wolf tore into the crimson beast, but he broke free and made a beeline in her direction. The sight propelled her feet into action. She turned and ran, her heart pumping wildly as she surged forward. Speed failed to put distance between her and the gruesome creature hot on her tail. He pushed into her with enough force to knock her facedown. She scrambled to right herself, nails clawing at the concrete, tearing like paper. Her body coiled tight, ready to use every martial arts move she knew. Hell, she’d even make those stupid sounds they made in the movies if she had to.
The crimson antagonist fell dead in front of her.
How? The wolf? She looked around for the furry creature, only to find him tearing at another crimson figure.
She patted her pocket for the pepper spray, but a pair of vise-like hands seized her by the throat and halted her actions. Gasping for air, she struggled, kicking and elbowing against the unbreakable granite grip of her attacker. She had four minutes to break his front choke hold before she lost consciousness. She jabbed at his throat, but he didn’t flinch. With each action she executed, her momentum waned. Her breath became labored and her last kick landed with an ineffective thump.
The fingers around her esophagus tightened. Pain slammed into her chest and lungs, squeezing out every drop of her life juice, her existence slowly slipping into the dark chasm of dissolution. She’d seen plenty of death as a police officer, and those moments shuffled through her brain like a deck of cards. They all brought her to one horrible thought—game over.
Fear gripped her. She let out a whimper. Anger rushed forth from her unconscious mind, and then she caught the light reflecting off metal. The sword sliced through the air, connecting with its target. Warm blood, thick and foul, splattered over her face, the beast’s grip no longer a threat. She fell to the ground on her ass, her body like a heavy bag of grain.
The creature’s head rolled beside her. She recoiled at the sight of its sharp teeth and open yellow eyes.
Air rushed to her lungs, causing her to cough. Twisting her body onto her hands and knees, she barked out another cough to dislodge the stab of discomfort that skewered her larynx. Slowly her erratic breathing stabilized, and a wave of adrenaline surged. Her stomach rolled and somersaulted. Bile rushed to her throat. She got it under control. Being sick wasn’t an option.
Booted feet filled her vision.
Xen Lyson scrutinized the woman at his feet. When he had scented her fear from across the warehouse, a tidal wave of possession and protection raged through his body. He smirked at the ease with which he’d eliminated the creatures that threatened her. Spikes of power emanated from her, caressing his skin.
What are you?
He probed her mind, trying to access information that would tell him who she was. It was fruitless. A wall blocked his path. The only thing he lifted from her memory was her name—Carissa.
Intriguing, he thought. He would have to study her more closely, but first, he had to get her away from the demons. The skirmish was nowhere near over. His men were fighting all around him, two of whom had his back. He studied the woman who knelt in front of him on all fours and held out his hand to her.
She appeared reluctant to take it. Her eyes darted left to right. His keen sense picked up her rapid heartbeat. It didn’t surprise him she sought a way to escape. The blood on his fangs would be a sight. He retracted them to assure her he wasn’t the monster she should fear.
Her breath hitched at his action and clued him in to her uneasiness. Her hand traveled to her throat, clasping it. He watched her swallow hard and wince. Deep red threads had emerged where the demon had her in a choke hold. His anger rose as her discomfort played out before him. Desire to wrap her in his arms hit him with an unknown force. He wanted to decapitate every demon in the warehouse.
“Give me your hand. I’m not a threat.” Emotion thickened his voice. He wanted to be her shield from the chaos that surrounded them.
He waited.
Her hand closed firmly around his. A smile broke on his lips as the coolness of her hand mingled with the heat of his own. He liked the brief connection. He hoisted her to her feet, and her body shook against him when he wrapped his arms around her to steady her.
A vibrating growl from the depths of the warehouse brought him out of his momentary daze, and the brief bond splintered.
He had a small window of time. He stepped close, placed his fingertips on either side of her head, and looked into her eyes. A low, commanding voice broke from his lips, this time penetrating to the dark recess of her mind. He had to be quick.
She shook her head beneath his grip, fighting him. Admiration flowed through him. Never had he had difficulty in using hypnosi to mesmerize and alter someone’s memories telepathically. He’d been doing this for over two thousand years. The woman in front of him presented the first challenge to his abilities. Interest—and something more—wrapped its tendrils around his mind. He began his ancient Greek chant.
“Charis, you will forget the aletheia you have witnessed, and you will do me the doxa, and remember only me, pantote. Get your partner,” he commanded.
“Yes—forgive you—forget the truth, honor you by remembering only you always, and get my partner,” she repeated under his hypnosi spell.
“Run now,” he yelled.
He pulled out his xiphos and spun around to carve an unrestricted path. The two men who had his back moved towards the new rush of demons entering the fight.
He hacked and sliced demons with his sword, clearing the way. He caught sight of her yanking the door to the warehouse open. The sheen of moonlight cocooned her body. Relief washed over him.
“Eftychos—fortunately, safe for now,” he uttered.
Bones crunched in front of his fist while his blade ruptured flesh.
Carissa ran out of the warehouse. Her thoughts resembled muddy water. All she wanted to do was find Lopez.
“Where’s the car? Lopez, you’d better not have driven off,” she yelled into the night.
Patting the pocket of her jeans for her keys. She sure as hell didn’t have them.
“How could he do that to me?” Adrenaline spurred her instincts and rushed through every nerve in her body. She needed to find Lopez. Why am I out here? She shook her head trying to get clarity.
Her legs moved and a single thought repeated in her mind. Find Lopez, find Lopez. The string of replaying words propelled her towards the rear entrance door. Pulling the handle, she yanked it open with force. Lopez’s voice reached her ears.
“Asshole,” he choked out.
She squinted, trying to adjust her sight to the darkness. When her eyes had adapted, she could see Lopez fighting. A glint of metal entered his stomach. Lopez dropped to the ground. She broke into a sprint toward him, but something hard obstructed her path. The impact catapulted her backward. With a clunk, her head connected with something solid.
Her vision blurred.
Detective Gelon Jones’s face appeared beside her when her heavy eyelids blinked open, fluttered, then closed. She could hear an ambulance siren. Some dream. She cracked open one eyelid, then tried to take in her surroundings. Jones wore a mask of stone. His crystal-clear blue gaze was fixed on her. He has the prettiest eyes. Those blues were burning a hole in her head in some weird, bizarre, Superman kind of way. Okay, he’s pissed but why?
She tried to move.
He leaned closer. She caught a light whiff of the aftershave he always wore.
“Carissa. Can you hear me?” His stone face disappeared, and concern shifted across his features.
“Argh.” The only thing she could manage in her present state sounded very much like a wild animal.
“You were hurt. We’re on the way to the hospital.”
“Skata, I’m in an ambulance?”
“Yes.”
Her mind raced, trying to stitch together what had happened, only to be met with flashes that made little sense. Her head spun and she swallowed hard.
“Gamoto.”
Gelon leaned closer. “I’d say it’s pretty fucked, as you put it.”
“Here, I thought this might help.” Carissa’s best friend, Ligi Achilles, shoved a paper cup of cocoa into her hands.
The steam beckoned her to take a sip, but it was the chocolate that lured her lips to the rim of the cup. Vending machine cocoa wasn’t her favorite, but right now it seemed better than zilch. A sudden thought halted her hand before the cup reached her lips.
“Do you think I should drink this? Maybe I should wait till after they’ve given me the hepatitis shot.” Her feet dangled as she sat there on the hospital bed in nothing but a white gown. She shivered. On the inside, she was cold, freezing. The type of chill that was arctic. Stuff like this didn’t happen to her. Pote—never.
“You’re probably right,” Ligi said, taking the cup and placing it on the over-bed table.
“Thanks for coming and bringing me clothes.”
“Don’t be silly, girlfriend. Where else would I be? I’m the only family you’ve got.” Ligi owned a little shop called Siren Music on King Street in Charleston. They had been best friends since college. Carissa had clumsily stepped on Ligi’s flip-flop and sent her catapulting into the arms of the most popular quarterback. This scored Carissa a lifelong friendship and Ligi a date. Ligi had not been impressed with the quarterback’s intellectual talent.
“Rubbing two rocks together gives off more of a spark than he does,” Ligi had complained later. “It was like looking at a brick with eyes.” She’d ranted for an hour and then swore never to date a football player again. So far, she hadn’t. The plus for Ligi was that she was so knowledgeable about everything. Yes, she was clumsy, but boy did she rock in the intelligence department. Maybe that’s why she went through men so quickly. She needed someone who would sizzle her brain.
The sound of the door being pulled open brought Carissa out of her musings.
“Officer Alkippes, I’m Doctor Curtz.”
Startled, Ligi stood up and knocked the over-bed table, spilling cocoa all over the bed where Carissa sat.
The doctor eyed Ligi, amused. Carissa watched as her friend batted her eyelashes at him.
The flame-haired vixen easily put men under her spell just by looking at them—like now. Carissa stifled a laugh, then cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
Pain sliced through her esophagus. Had someone tried to choke her? There were red and purple marks on her throat, the deep throb of the injury a constant reminder something had gripped her throat hard, yet she had no recollection of it.
“Ah yes, Officer Alkippes. How about I give you that shot so we can get on with the routine check?” His lips twitched.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Ligi retrieve some tissues from her bag. She’d spilled the cocoa and was now flapping around like a loon, trying to clean up the mess she’d made. Carissa turned her head at the same time as the doctor did, watching the spectacle unravel.
Dr. Curtz shook his head. Carissa caught the amusement that danced on his features. She beamed at her friend. Ligi and clumsiness were a marriage that couldn’t be severed.
Ligi flashed one of her smiles.
“I’d like to get it over with,” Carissa said. The spell the doctor was under broke.
He jabbed the needle in her leg. Boy, he’s heavy-handed. She bit her lip to mask the discomfort. His fingers worked quickly, using a swab to stop the speck of blood after he removed the needle. “What about my partner, John Lopez? Can you tell me anything?
“He’s in critical condition.”
“Can I see him?”
“They wheeled him into surgery, again.”
“Where?” She grabbed the doctor’s arm and shook it hard. “Where?”
“You have two police officers outside your door. It doesn’t appear that you’re going anywhere.” He gave her a smug look.
Her fist itched to plant a punch right on his nose. She clenched her hands. She lacked Ligi’s magical charm.
“I get it.”
“Good. You can see him after they’ve discharged you.”
Asshole, she mentally shouted at his back when he exited the room.
“Let’s go over this again.” Detective Gelon Jones said, raising an eyebrow. He straightened his spine, parted his muscly thighs, and then crossed his arms across his wide chest. His t-shirt stretched over bulging muscles.
Uh oh, he’s going all alpha on me. That’s his “this is shit” stance.
Tension and annoyance rolled off him in waves and slapped her hard in the face. Suspicion had ugly tentacles when it wrapped itself around one’s mind. A weighted sigh left his lips. He did not believe her. At this moment, their friendship meant nothing. This reflected his duty as a detective.
Her partner had been wounded and was fighting for his life. She’d act the same way if the tables were turned. Jones was doing his job.
“You proceeded into the dark warehouse with Lopez roughly at eight p.m. You both heard a noise and separated to investigate where it was coming from, and that’s all you remember.”
“Lame, but yes.”
“You have no recollection of how you ended up at the back of the warehouse, passed out, with blood all over you. How your car was found dumped, upside down, two miles from the warehouse, or how Lopez was stabbed?” With each enunciation his razor-sharp words hit like bullets, lashing her fatigued body with the potency of his doubt.
The vein in his neck twitched. She watched the little anger party that danced inside him. She’d tell him one more time.
“I’ve told you, Jones, I can’t remember.” She cleared her throat, trying to soothe the dryness. There didn’t appear to be any good reason to mention the tall, dark stranger with the sword. No, that little doozy had to stay close to her chest until she could connect the puzzle pieces of her fragmented memories. No point in sounding crazier, right?
“I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t because it’s not there. Tom gave us the tip-off that something was going down in the warehouse. We were going to do a routine check and call for backup if it looked suspicious, like a drug deal. When we got there, there was no movement, so we did the routine thing, and were contemplating getting a burger.” Her stomach growled on cue. She caught Jones’s quick smile and heat crept up her cheeks. “I can’t remember anything after that. Not even how I hit my head or got these lovely bruises on my neck. You know more than me.”
He let out a long breath that swam right over her, his jaw clenched, and his features hardened to stone. “You know they have declared you unfit for duty?” His lips tightened.
“I guessed as much.” She wished with all her bruises and the aches in her bones that they’d never gone into that warehouse. A thickness formed in her throat. It’s your fault your partner’s condition is critical.
He stepped closer and whispered. “Your shell casings on the floor of the warehouse tell me you hit something, but the body is missing.” He eased back and watched her with a raised eyebrow.
Her eyes widened. Nausea rolled in her stomach. “You think I killed someone,” she bit out, hushed and through gritted teeth.
“I never said that.”
“But you implied it.”
“No. I didn’t.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s suspicious, Carissa, and I’m trying hard to clear your ass.”
“I’m sorry, Jones, but I don’t remember jack. You have to believe me.”
“I do, but if you remember anything, anything at all, you call me. I don’t care where or what time it is, got it?”
“Got it.” He gave her a tight hug. Sitting on the bed made her feel so small. His acceptance of her lack of memory made the world of difference. She fought the tears that threatened to break free behind her eyes. He pulled back and walked to the door.
“Hey!” she called out. “Do you think you could speed up the process so I can get out of here?”
“You’ve got to see the psych before you can go.”
Drat, she’d forgotten about having to be shredded to pieces over her state of mind, which was already in ribbons.
“Okay. For what it’s worth, thanks for finding me.”
“Thank Lopez. He texted when you two separated.”
The intensity with which he looked at her unnerved her. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then pulled the handle on the door and disappeared.
What was that about? She drew in a breath, then expelled it.
Naturally, he didn’t really buy the bit about her not remembering anything further. She’d known Jones a long time. They’d joined the force together. He was family, and family knew when you weren’t willing to share details.
The minutes tapped into hours at a sluggish pace. The psych evaluation lasted longer than Carissa would have liked. Jones’s repetitive questioning did little but add a layer of exhaustion to her rickety nerves. Images of her comfortable bed soaked into her conscious mind. Ligi, bless her, assisted her to her beat-up VW. She opened the creaky door and tossed the rubbish on the floor into the back before helping Carissa into the seat. The cut-up vinyl stabbed her skin through the thin material of her trousers.
“You should get a new car.”
“Girlfriend, I like my car, and you should stop riding that death trap of a bike.”
Carissa loved bikes and rode hers whenever she could. “Okay, I so don’t want to do the bike argument right now.”
“I know you’re not divulging all. What really happened?” Ligi asked, shoving the key into the ignition and bringing the old girl to life. She slammed her foot on the accelerator, maneuvering around the hospital parking lot like she was on an obstacle course.
She narrowly missed a few parked cars as she wove in and out among the gaps.
“Why can’t you drive up and down the designated aisles like a normal person?”
“Because it makes me dizzy and I feel like I’m going around in circles.”
Carissa rolled her eyes, then braced herself for the scene before her. An old man strolled into their path. Her gut dropped and her muscles tightened, waiting for the impact. Her silent scream died on her lips. To her sweaty relief, Ligi swerved in time.
“I seriously wonder how you keep your license.”
“I have friends in high places.”
“Oh no, no way will I wipe your tickets from the system. You’re a menace to the population of Charleston.”
“Don’t go getting any ideas about having my license revoked. I can see those wheels in your head turning.”
“Me? Never.” Carissa put her hand to her chest for dramatic effect.
“You know, that’s not very convincing. Now stop changing the subject and tell me what happened. And I want the entire story, not the condensed version.”
She bit her lip. Time to rehash what she could remember. “How do I explain what happened without sounding like a patient who’s escaped a mental institution? It’s a little scratchy.”
“Then hit me with what you’ve got, girlfriend.”
“Remember, you asked.”
“Will you get on with it? I’m about to burst a blood vessel here.”
A long breath left Carissa’s lips. “Do you recall the weird dreams I’ve had over the years?”
“Yes, the ones about the hot-ass Greek god?”
“Well, here’s the thing, and I know I’m going to sound insane, but he was there. Like, really there.” She dragged her hands through her hair, then exhaled loudly. “I know it sounds stupid and the whole dream-into-reality thing makes little sense.” Her tone dropped a few octaves as she finished her bizarre word-regurgitation of the events that had transpired inside the warehouse. “He’s real, not a dream. I swear it’s the truth.”
Ligi’s mouth opened, then closed. She swerved and narrowly missed hitting a stray dog.
“So, let me get this straight. You don’t remember much, but you think—and this is the key—that your dream man appeared in the flesh, while you were following a dodgy lead?” Ligi narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
Carissa noted her discombobulation. “Yes.”
“Sounds to me like you hit that head of yours pretty darn hard.”
Carissa laughed. “I did hit it hard. I told you that at the hospital.” Absent-mindedly, she raised her hand to the back of her head. The golf ball-sized lump hurt when her fingers brushed over it.
“Yeah you did, and I’m just reminding you.”
“It’s surreal, Ligi.”
“Listen, your dreams have been happening more frequently. Maybe that, plus the hit on your head, is what makes you think he was there.”
“No. Ligi, you’re not listening to me. He was there, and he had a damn sword in his hands. He saved me. I know he did.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means that I remember jack shit about anything else that happened tonight, or last night if you want to be particular with time.” She caught Ligi’s amusement because her friend was a time Nazi. Ligi swerved sharply into the driveway, almost plastering Carissa’s head to the passenger window. After tonight, stunt driving would take on new meaning. “You just missed the tree and the neighbor’s cat.”
“I did not.”
“You need glasses.”
“I do not.”
Ligi killed the engine, and the car sat anything but straight in Carissa’s wide driveway.
Carissa yanked her door open and staggered out of the car. Ligi fell out of her door. They looked at each other; their laughter echoed in the quiet street.
“You know, Ligi, I’m starting to think your clumsiness is catching.”
“I’m not clumsy.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“Uncoordinated.”
“Ha, it’s the same thing—clumsy.”
“Gah, I will not win with you.”
Carissa grinned and shook her head firmly. Ligi would not win this round because, on the inside, Carissa was torn, and the banter helped keep her sane and grounded.
They walked to the front door. “Do you need me to get you anything?” Ligi asked.
“No.” Yeah, she needed a new brain, but, hey, those were scarce. “Thank you for all you’ve done. All I need is sleep, and badly.” She pulled Ligi into a hug, savoring it. This sliver of a moment provided the relief her bone-weary body needed, and the fortification only friendship offered.
“Okay, you give me a buzz if you change your mind.” Her friend headed towards her car.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
The events of the evening crept into her mind, taking it captive and smothering it in a haze of confusion. When Carissa lifted her hand to wave to her friend, she was already in her car, reversing out of the driveway. Ligi missed the trash can by a slick hairline.
Carissa unlocked her door and stepped over the welcoming threshold. Her home. Her sanctuary.
She closed the door and leaned her forehead against the hard surface. Turning, she placed her back on the cool wood and slid to the floor. I’m so screwed. None of this could have happened. I just can’t be off duty. She glanced at her black and pink Baby-G watch. The past six hours had been phantasmagorical. It bothered her that her memories were scratchy, especially the bit about who carved up her friend.
When she had seen John Lopez in the intensive care ward, it wrenched her heart. All the equipment hooked up to his body had been her undoing. Avenging him would be her sole goal. Someone would pay for this. She didn’t know how or who, but she knew she’d make them pay. Orkizome–I swear it. His wounds were deep, and it had been a sheer miracle he’d even made it out of surgery alive. Her eyes watered.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on them. Her current lack of recollection proved a major problem. A knot formed in her belly. How had they gotten blood all over them, and to whom did it belong? Detective Jones—a good friend—was one monumentally pissed man, and she couldn’t work out why. Something was off, but she’d check it out at a more reasonable hour. Right now, she had to work out that one scene that kept replaying over and over in her mind.
Those black boots that had lined her vision when she’d glanced up into the face of her savior. The blood smeared across his cheeks. His appearance was beauty personified, but his demeanor—deadly, lethal, and chilling. Not to her, though—never to her. She didn’t fear him. No, she recognized him instantly. She knew that chiseled image, those intense green eyes, and long brown hair. Her Greek god. A dream that had haunted her from the moment she’d turned sixteen. How was it possible for her oneiro—her dream—to exist?
“You’re not real, you’re only a dream.”
She’d spoken the words aloud and brought herself out of the reverie. She was pulled back into the scene that kept repeating in her mind. Her dream man sheathed his sword and helped her to her feet. The atmosphere turned potent with the stench of blood. She’d taken a step back. Even now, she twitched her nose.
He’d stood there, sizing her up, his eyes devouring every inch of her before closing the small gap between them.
That was odd. Why did he look at me like I was dinner?
His hands had darted out to hold her head and when his gaze met hers with a jolt, her pulse raced and her heart had hammered at the contact.
Maybe it was the adrenaline?
His eyes widened, and his body had tensed right before his lips began to move.
Another nugget to file away.
Ancient words had left his lips, charis ... aletheia ... doxa ... pantote. They were melodic as his chant rose and echoed inside her head. A thousand pinpricks jabbed inside her mind and seized her brain. She’d shaken her head, but he’d held her still. His hands had traveled down her arms. Recalling it now made the moment seem almost intimate. A shiver ran through her. She tried to dismiss it.
His last words when he’d leaned in close to her ear were low, and they still rang in her ears. “RUN. NOW.”
She scrunched up her nose in confusion. There were too many inconsistencies, and exhaustion had settled deeply into her bones, to make sense of it now.
Maybe a shower would help. Lifting herself from her position on the floor, she made her way up the stairs for a nice, warm shower to wash away the stickiness and fatigue that clung to her. What an ordeal, and that dream man in the flesh. I’m losing it.
When her right foot hit the top of the landing, she let out a deep sigh. The house was a present from her yiayia. Her grandmother had made her arrangements with a nursing home when she’d realized her health was declining.
I must see her soon. It’s been weeks since I visited last.
Carissa padded over to the en suite. She slid her hands under her t-shirt and unclasped her bra, then removed it and her t-shirt in one fluid motion. Wiggling out of her jeans and underwear, she tossed them into the laundry hamper. The shower sang to her in an enticing lure. She opened the glass door, stepped in, and turned on the taps. The warm tranquil spray of water cascaded down her body, the welcome solace she’d yearned for back at the hospital.
As much as she enjoyed the steamy shower, she was dead on her feet. In a lethargic motion, she turned off the taps, stepped out, and towel-dried her body. She slid her feet into her slippers and put on her pink bathrobe. The luxurious feel of the bathrobe on her skin gave her a moment of enjoyment. Silly that a piece of material can give comfort.
Satisfied, clean, and warm, she headed downstairs to the kitchen for a quick bite of whatever leftovers were in the fridge. Her stomach growled at the thought of food. Hospital cocoa did not satisfy her hunger. Then again, she hadn’t been able to think of food because of the mess she’d been in, and Lopez’s condition had become her top priority at the hospital.
She pulled open the fridge door, armed with her fork, and scanned the neatly stacked takeaway containers, all with compliments of Aunt Irene, her regular supplier of Greek cuisine.
Eyeing her favorite yemista—stuffed tomatoes and peppers with rice—she pulled them out and dug in with gusto. She shivered as the cool rice hit her tongue. Replenishment came quickly to her hungry stomach. Satisfied, she discarded the remaining contents of the container and made her way back up to her bedroom.
Her bed sang in invitation. One she couldn’t refuse. She dropped onto it, still wearing her bathrobe and not bothering to dry her hair. It would be wild and curly in the morning, but who cared?
Her thoughts lingered on the tall, dark, sexy dream man she’d seen today. Phantasma—the Greek word flitted through and etched itself in her mind. A dream began.