Destiny Bewitched (3 page)

His biggest concern was
that Samantha appeared to have more courage than brains. What kind
of woman went marching into one of the most dangerous realms in
existence with just a small sword and magic book? Her plan – or
lack of one – to rescue her sister single-handedly was brave but
bordering on madness. Was he really going to let the mortal go
through with this suicide mission?

Of course I am.

He’d spent the last one
hundred and eighty five years living on two basic rules – mind your
own business and keep your head down. He’d broken both rules just
by rescuing her from the werewolves. But he was tired of waiting
patiently for his sentence to be over.

Waiting. That’s all
he’d done the past century and a half – biding his time in this
gods forsaken hell hole, surviving, and hoping for a miracle.

But now there would be
no more sitting around waiting for the gods to remember him. In
this little witch he could see his redemption as clear as her
amber-colored eyes. He’d take her to the Games, collect on his
favor then return home without a backward glance. Callous, yes, but
he could do it. He
would
do it. If the Underworld had taught him
anything, it was that heartlessness meant survival.

He’d thought the earth
plane was harsh. The Underworld made it look like a stroll through
a child’s playground. And this was only halfway to Hades. Thank the
gods Ares had only meant to punish him, not condemn him. The
Underworld was a penance. Hades was eternity.

“Are we ready?”
Samantha’s voice cut into his thoughts and he turned to face
her.

Sword at his waist,
backpack on his back, he looked over his charge. She was so small –
at least six inches shorter than him. So vulnerable. The long pants
that covered her legs would be hot but would protect her from
insects. The last time he’d been Topside was in the early 1800’s –
women wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing men’s trousers. But
the Underworld contained a large number of modern women so he was
familiar with the concept. Samantha’s billowy sheer top covered a
tight shirt with thin straps. He was getting aroused imagining that
thin fabric stretched tight across her breasts. He subtly adjusted
himself and forced his gaze to her face. An elastic band held back
her hair, showing off her peachy skin and a spattering of freckles
across her cheeks and nose. The desert sun would not be kind to
that lovely skin.

He grabbed his cowboy
hat from the floor and strapped it on top of his pack. She wore her
sword on her back, a satchel over her shoulder, and an expression
of pure determination.

What in Hades name did I get myself
into?
He sighed. “Ready.”

Geo opened the door and
walked out into the muggy Underworld air. Samantha followed but he
stopped her with his arm, nudging her slightly behind him. “First
rule. Always wait for my signal that the area is clear.” With her
independent streak, he’d bet she was rolling her eyes.

He checked the forest
first. Thick and overgrown meant lots of room for hiding. But he’d
set enough traps and murdered enough trespassers to earn a
reputation among the inhabitants to stay far from his land. The
desert bordered his property. They were relatively safe on their
mile walk to the forest’s edge. But to be sure, he did a cursory
scan of the sky. He’d learned never to underestimate the winged
beasts from above.

The earth sun shone
through the Underworld veil, painting the sky a scarlet red. Light
enough to be called day, but a far cry from the pretty blue of
earth. The choking heat and humidity of the Underworld was because
of its nearness to hell – in the fiery center of the earth itself.
There was no moon or stars in the Underworld – just long hours of
pure darkness. No streetlights to make a path because there was no
electricity – something he’d learned about in books. Those who
didn’t bear the mark of a criminal could go Topside when they
pleased. He’d established relationships with a few vampires who’d
bring back treasures he would trade for handmade furnishings. He
was good with his hands and could build almost anything. In the god
realm, he’d been forced to make weapons for the many wars between
gods. But it gave him plenty of time in his workshop. It was his
sanctuary – his most sacred place. Other than his mother, his shop
and tools were what he missed most since falling from the
realm.

Home. It hadn’t been
perfect but it’d been pretty damn close. He missed his soft, warm
bed and the easy access to food he didn’t have to hunt down, skin,
and burn to make edible. His mother’s warm eyes and light laughter.
Friends he’d had since childhood. He even missed the flowery scent
of the air. The memory of it was fading. He’d been here too damn
long.

His attention turned
back to his task. Keep the witch safe, deliver her to the
Underworld Games and, mostly likely, to her death.

When he sensed there
was no danger, he motioned to Sam and stepped forward.

“All clear?” she asked
with a bit too much attitude in her voice for his liking.

He turned to face her
with a disapproving frown. “All clear. But it might not have been.
You just stormed out of the cabin without checking for danger. If I
hadn’t stopped you, you would have strolled merrily into the forest
without a second thought.”

He expected her to
argue, or at least huff in indignation, so she surprised him when
she hung her head and murmured, “Sorry.”

Now he felt like an ass
for chastising her. “It’s alright. You didn’t know. But next time
–”

Suddenly he fell
backward, landing hard on the ground. He looked up at the sword
pointed at his throat. The little witch had tripped him with a
simple foot sweep. He grinned.

“I think I’m plenty
prepared for any threats.” She stared down at him with a saucy
smile.

With very little effort
he kicked the sword out of her hand, grabbed her legs and flipped
her on the ground, covering her with his body. “Think again,” he
whispered in her ear.

He inhaled a lungful of
her scent. Patchouli and sage. She smelled like the herbs witches
used for spells. He should be disgusted. Everyone was mistrustful
of witches – with due cause. But this one breathed life into his
most personal places – and he didn’t just mean his cock.

She struggled beneath
him, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Several necklaces –
silver chains with various charms and a piece of leather tied
around a feather – drew his gaze to her pale, slender neck. A neck
he could sink his teeth into. He liked the look of her underneath
him far too much. Nearly two hundred years without a woman…why
couldn’t Ares just have had him flogged?

“Let me up,” she
yelled. “You’re squishing me.”

Reluctantly, he did.
“You’d be more than squished had I been someone else. Your stance
is too narrow. That’s why you fell over so easily.”

She scowled at him and
straightened her clothing. “Don’t tell me how to fight.”

“Then stay behind me
and I’ll do it for you.”

“Never.”

“Stubborn.”

“Bossy.”

Gods, she was a saucy
thing. Repressing a smile, he picked her sword up off the ground.
“Spitfire and ambition will only get you so far, Samantha.” He held
out her sword. “Knowledge and patience are the foundation for
success.”

“My sister doesn’t have
time for me to be patient.” She started to put the sword back into
its sheath.

“No.” He grabbed her
wrist, noting the bracelets adorning it. He’d heard witches often
blessed charms and wore them on their body for protection. If that
were true, Samantha had enough to get both of them to Hades and
back unharmed. He’d have to ask her about it later. Now, under her
icy glare, he positioned her sword arm out in front of her. “Widen
your stance.”

She tossed him a dirty
look but did as he said.

He walked a circle
around her. “Good. Now scan.”

She looked left then
right. “Clear.” She took a step forward but he grabbed the back of
her shirt and tugged her against his chest.

“Never forget the sky,”
he rasped against her ear.

Her breath quickened
and he could hear her heart pound wildly. She looked up then
whispered, “Clear.”

“Good. I can’t use a
dead witch so try to keep yourself alive, yes?”

“I suppose I can try,”
she answered drily.

He eased away then
stepped ahead, following the foot trail he’d used many times
before. “Let’s go.”

From behind him, he
heard a sing-songy voice. “We’re off to see the wizard…”

Just a few short months
ago, the forest was a sad, dead place. Ravaged by the Dark King,
the trees shriveled, the grass turned yellow, and the deformed
wildlife of the Underworld had been on the brink of extinction.
Then a young half-witch, half-sorceress killed the King and took
over as Queen. The halfling – Queen Eirian – packed a powerful
punch, and under her care the forest started to grow again. Green
leaves bloomed on the tips of the trees for the first time in
years.

“Tell me about the
journey,” Samantha said, keeping pace beside him. “You said
something about a desert?”

“Yes. We’ll have to
cross the
Marwolaeth Grim
.”

“What does that
mean?”

He hesitated before
answering, “The grim death.”

Her eyes widened and
she gulped. “Sounds charming. I can’t wait.”

“It’s better than the
alternative. The forest is faster but teeming with demons and
werewolves. The desert may be harsh but it’s safer.” Now probably
wasn’t a good time to mention the desert beasts. Not as deadly as
demons but still something to fear.

“Well, I’ve always
dreamt of a sandy vacation. I was thinking more like Maui or
Cancun, but, hey, the Grim Desert makes for a great postcard. Maybe
I can pick up a souvenir T-shirt. I’m thinking” – she gestured
across her breasts – “I survived the Desert of Death.”

He laughed out loud.
Damn he liked her spirit.

Her face fell. “That’s
if
I survive.”

He couldn’t understand
why but he had to touch her then. Snatching her hand in his, he
gave it a squeeze. “You’ll survive, dove. I won’t let anything hurt
you.”

She looked down at
their hands intertwined. “Uh, thanks.” She pulled away, leaving his
palm empty.

He tucked his hand in
his pocket and cursed himself for soothing her. This was no time to
get sentimental. “Right. Well, a dead witch is a useless
witch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she
mumbled.

They walked in silence
for a long time. He expected her to start prattling about
insignificant topics at any moment. One thing he remembered about
women was that they rarely stayed silent. But Samantha seemed
content in it. Each time he looked at her, she appeared lost in
thought, her forehead crinkled as she peered around them. He found
himself curious about what she was thinking.

He shook his head.
Don’t get too close.
She was a means to an end, nothing
more. He’d be leaving her in the hands of the vicious Underworld
Games guard in just a few short days.
Stay detached. Focus on
getting home.

At the border of his
property, the trees began to thin. The grass disappeared, giving
way to rocks and sand. They stepped out of the forest and gazed
upon the desert.

Samantha stood beside
him. “Oh, this is gonna suck.”

Barren land covered in
golden sand stretched as far as Samantha could see. The wind
whipped through, blowing the loose sand into shifting dunes. Other
than a few craggy cliffs in the distance, the desert was desolate.
No trees, no cover, no shade. She was going to get the sunburn of a
lifetime.

Geo pulled the cowboy
hat off his pack and placed it on her head. “Keep this on and your
eyes cast down.”

The hat she understood
but…“Why can’t I look around?”

“You’ll grow hopeless
and sit down to die.” His expression was grim. He wasn’t joking.
After he tightened the strap on her hat, he grabbed both her
shoulders and bent down to look her in the eye. “Now you need to
trust me, Samantha. I know this world. I can keep you safe but you
must do what I tell you. Can you do that?”

Could she? If it meant
survival, yes. And she always had her sword and spells to fall back
on. She took another glance at the desert. The spells wouldn’t do
much good. Maybe if her earth powers weren’t so freakin’ unstable
she could conjure some clouds for cover. Knowing her luck, they’d
end up blinded by a sand storm.

Geo squeezed her
shoulders. “Can you trust me?”

“Yes.” She bit down on
her lip.
I
think.

“Good.”

She tipped her hat down
over her eyes and stepped into the sand. She’d only ever been to
the beach once. Her family wasn’t the vacationing type. Unless you
considered a road trip to the casino, while stopping at every
7-Eleven you passed to stock up on beef jerky and slushies, a
vacation. But there had been one year she’d escaped a long summer
at the trailer park and went with a school friend to Cape Cod. Her
flip flops had sunk in the sand with each step, making it difficult
to walk to the water. But still, she’d grinned the entire time.

She looked down at her
converse sneakers. They’d filled with sand after only a few steps.
And there were no crashing waves to motivate her. This was
definitely going to suck.

“Hey, Long Legs!” Sam
called to Geo, whose powerful stride had left her behind. “Slow
down.”

He stopped and waited
for her to catch up. Sweat trickled down her forehead already. “I
gotta take some clothes off.” She handed him her sword and satchel.
“How long till we’re out of here?”

“A day and a half.”

She pulled her green
peasant top off, leaving a white tank top as her only cover. The
sun was going to scorch her bare shoulders but at least she’d have
one shirt not soaked with sweat for later that night in case it
cooled down.