hadn’t been in residence at the home from which she’d stolen the Talisman, either. Which meant the device was still in the hands of Sotiris’s agent, and their best chance to recover it was now, before the agent delivered the artifact, and they had to go up against Sotiris himself in order to recover it.
Damian suppressed a shudder. The sorcerer had captured him once, and he’d been helpless to resist. When Sotiris realized that the curse had been broken, and Damian freed, would he try to curse him anew? Damian wasn’t afraid to admit that the idea of going up against Sotiris terrified him, especially without Nico at his side.
The thought of Nico made him frown. Cassandra was keeping something from him, holding back. He knew that had been his brother’s voice on the phone, just as he knew Nico would come the moment he learned of Damian’s freedom. Unless Cassandra persuaded him otherwise. She didn’t trust him yet. She had no trouble believing that he’d been cursed and imprisoned, but she didn’t seem altogether convinced that it had been her actions that had freed him.
His frown deepened as a thought occurred to him. Did she think he was working with Sotiris? That he’d ally with the creature who’d condemned him and his brothers to millennia of torture? He’d have to be insane to consider such a thing. His eyes widened. Maybe that was it. Maybe she feared his long ordeal had twisted his mind. It had, but not in the ways she might think. Before the curse, he’d done two things well. The first was war. He’d been the greatest warrior ever to exist, and that was not a prideful boast. No one had ever bested him on the battlefield . . . or in the bedroom.
And that had been his other accomplishment. Sex. Women had flocked to his bed, and he’d done his best to fuck as many of them as possible, taking pride in leaving them well satisfied. Including that damn Amazon queen who, for all her reputed prowess on the battlefield, had been a lousy lay. That fact only added fuel to the fire of his resentment that she’d been the catalyst of his nightmare. Though, admittedly, she’d had nothing to do with the curse itself. He and his fellow warriors had been betrayed. He still didn’t know by whom, but it had to have been someone close, someone with access to their innermost sanctum. But while he hadn’t figured out who the traitor was, he trusted that Nico had, and that the man was already suffering an eternity of torment.
Damian pulled back the curtain on the window again and looked down at the parking lot, his thoughts whirling. Nico. How was it that he happened to be here in this exact time and place? He hadn’t been cursed directly; Damian was sure of that much. Sotiris’s curses would never have worked on Nico. He had too much magic of his own, which had been the major source of friction between the two sorcerers. Sotiris had always resented the fact that Nico surpassed him in both power and skill, and that he’d done so from such a young age. Nico had been barely a teenager the first time he’d defeated Sotiris in battle.
And here they all were again. What were the chances that Damian would finally be freed in the precise time when both Nico and Sotiris were active? Was it Fate’s way of slapping Sotiris down for daring to meddle with the sands of time? Were the gods about to reunite Nico and his warriors for one final battle against their age-old enemy? A fierce desire for revenge, for justice, nearly swamped him as he stared out the window. But he wasn’t seeing the metal cars in the dingy parking lot, or even the airplanes drifting over the airport. His mind’s eye saw only that last battlefield, the great armies arranged on either side, the stench of fear mixing with the musk of courage. And before them all stood Nicodemus and his warriors, shoulder to shoulder, grinning in expectation of the battle to come, confident in their victory because as long as they stood together, no one could
Damian suppressed a shudder. The sorcerer had captured him once, and he’d been helpless to resist. When Sotiris realized that the curse had been broken, and Damian freed, would he try to curse him anew? Damian wasn’t afraid to admit that the idea of going up against Sotiris terrified him, especially without Nico at his side.
The thought of Nico made him frown. Cassandra was keeping something from him, holding back. He knew that had been his brother’s voice on the phone, just as he knew Nico would come the moment he learned of Damian’s freedom. Unless Cassandra persuaded him otherwise. She didn’t trust him yet. She had no trouble believing that he’d been cursed and imprisoned, but she didn’t seem altogether convinced that it had been her actions that had freed him.
His frown deepened as a thought occurred to him. Did she think he was working with Sotiris? That he’d ally with the creature who’d condemned him and his brothers to millennia of torture? He’d have to be insane to consider such a thing. His eyes widened. Maybe that was it. Maybe she feared his long ordeal had twisted his mind. It had, but not in the ways she might think. Before the curse, he’d done two things well. The first was war. He’d been the greatest warrior ever to exist, and that was not a prideful boast. No one had ever bested him on the battlefield . . . or in the bedroom.
And that had been his other accomplishment. Sex. Women had flocked to his bed, and he’d done his best to fuck as many of them as possible, taking pride in leaving them well satisfied. Including that damn Amazon queen who, for all her reputed prowess on the battlefield, had been a lousy lay. That fact only added fuel to the fire of his resentment that she’d been the catalyst of his nightmare. Though, admittedly, she’d had nothing to do with the curse itself. He and his fellow warriors had been betrayed. He still didn’t know by whom, but it had to have been someone close, someone with access to their innermost sanctum. But while he hadn’t figured out who the traitor was, he trusted that Nico had, and that the man was already suffering an eternity of torment.
Damian pulled back the curtain on the window again and looked down at the parking lot, his thoughts whirling. Nico. How was it that he happened to be here in this exact time and place? He hadn’t been cursed directly; Damian was sure of that much. Sotiris’s curses would never have worked on Nico. He had too much magic of his own, which had been the major source of friction between the two sorcerers. Sotiris had always resented the fact that Nico surpassed him in both power and skill, and that he’d done so from such a young age. Nico had been barely a teenager the first time he’d defeated Sotiris in battle.
And here they all were again. What were the chances that Damian would finally be freed in the precise time when both Nico and Sotiris were active? Was it Fate’s way of slapping Sotiris down for daring to meddle with the sands of time? Were the gods about to reunite Nico and his warriors for one final battle against their age-old enemy? A fierce desire for revenge, for justice, nearly swamped him as he stared out the window. But he wasn’t seeing the metal cars in the dingy parking lot, or even the airplanes drifting over the airport. His mind’s eye saw only that last battlefield, the great armies arranged on either side, the stench of fear mixing with the musk of courage. And before them all stood Nicodemus and his warriors, shoulder to shoulder, grinning in expectation of the battle to come, confident in their victory because as long as they stood together, no one could
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