Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [57]
Then there had been that fun little announcement about how violence excited him. Some twisted part of her had continued to push him, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because if he was right, her lifespan had an expiration date that was coming up soon, and she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
Though she’d never been religious, she’d prayed for a full return of the strength she’d had before the home invasion. She’d spent two years hoping to be rid of the constant paranoia, the jumpiness, the terror that would reach up and grab her by the throat every time she heard a strange sound or someone knocked on her door.
Be careful what you wish for. Because, yeah, she’d finally tapped into her inner well of strength, but only because she’d been attacked, kidnapped, branded, and hunted. She wasn’t sure the tradeoff was acceptable.
No, she was sure. It wasn’t.
Dripping wet and with only a towel around her, she padded into the bedroom, and it dawned on her that the only thing she had to wear was pajama bottoms. That’s what you get for not planning a kidnapping better.
Having no choice, she pawed through Ares’s dresser until she found a shirt to sleep in. Because as much as she hated to admit it, he was right; she needed to find Hal. Now that her life was tied to his, it was more important than ever that she locate him and get him to safety. Still, the idea that her role in helping was to sleep pissed her off, to be frank.
She’d been sleeping for two years, doing just enough to survive, and she was sick of it. She wanted to be the person she’d been before the breakin, someone who made goals and then went after them. It was why she’d moved to South Carolina and started a holistic veterinary practice. She might have been hiding her ability, but that hadn’t meant she couldn’t use it as part of nature-based healing.
Frustrated, she jerked the white and red shirt over her head. The hem caught her midthigh, and the sleeves came past her elbows. Frowning, she tugged the front out to read it. Detroit Red Wings. Figured Ares was a hockey fan. A nice, violent game.
Violence excites me.
His words drew a shudder from her even as a forbidden thrill wove its way through her veins. She’d been a pacifist from birth, raised to believe that the pen was mightier than the sword, that physical force was a last resort and even then, there should be rules and fairness and minimal bloodshed. Her father had believed that war was never acceptable.
“Better to die yourself than dirty your soul by killing another,” he used to say, and she wondered how he’d feel about the intruder she’d… yeah. She wondered.
“Violence is for those who don’t have the intelligence to find another way.” Another of his favorite sayings, and one that made her smile, because her dad had never met Ares. The Horseman was far from stupid. Arrogant, brash, and oozing authority, maybe, but not stupid.
Absently, she reached up and ran her finger over the mark that had throbbed when he touched her, which was even now tingling. The tingling was different though, was more… urgent. It burned. What the…? She peered down the inside of the neckline. The mark was even brighter than before, its raised lines pulsing angrily.
So… this couldn’t be good. No, definitely not good, she thought, as a familiar odor drifted to her nose. It smelled like her veterinary office the morning she’d found it torn up.
It smelled like Hal.
A muffled growl from behind her brought every hair on her to attention. Icy terror made her clumsy as she slowly turned in an unsteady circle.
And came face to face with a rhino-sized hellhound.
Checkmate? She fucking checkmated him?
Ares paced like a tiger in a cage, steam building in his body, and not only from the frustration of Cara’s getting one up on him.
She was in the bedroom with the door closed and locked, and he was in the hallway, wanting in.