Hotter Than Hell (19 page)

An eerie tingling began in his chest and fanned out to slowly consume his body as she stared at him. Then she nodded.

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “My search of your soul agrees with your words. Continue…worthy warrior. Know that in all my years of battle, you are the only one I have allowed to enter my tent.”

Her bizarre statement was accompanied by a rosy flush on her high, regal cheeks, and she looked away as though somehow embarrassed. He couldn’t fathom why or what had happened and he glanced into his challis for answers. Albeit he knew his people worked with some pretty potent hallucinogens, but whatever these chicks were plying—
man
. He just wondered what she’d spiked the arrow with because not only was he seeing strange things but he also had the irrational urge to tell this woman the truth…not that such a thing was allowed. But if telling her beliefs from his people could give her something to identify with, and maybe save a hostage’s life, make her drop her guard, then it was a tactic he’d employ.

He searched her gorgeous face, trying not to become hypnotized by the subtle beauty of her eyes or the strange innocence that seemed to hide just beneath the surface of her placid expression. Her sad, philosophical tone washed through him, reminiscent of the elders he’d listened to as a boy on the reservation when they’d orally recite the history of lands lost and treaties broken.

“You can’t win this fight,” he murmured, not meaning to allow his voice to drop the way it had. “At least not through these methods.”

He watched tears rise and shimmer in her luminous dark eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “My nymphs do not yet understand that, however. I have seen the new weapons of this era…the suns that explode against the ground and burn all that is alive for eons.”

“Nuclear bombs, daisy-cutters, napalm,” he said flatly, for some reason wanting to reach across the table and hold her hands so badly his ached. Every fiber in him knew this tone of defeat; he’d heard it all his life spoken on the reservation, spoken in French by his Haitian father, spoken by people whose history would be distorted by the conquerors.

The tears in her eyes fell. “Yes,” she said nodding. “I am not the enemy.”

“Then who is?” he asked quietly, unable to forebear reaching across the table to clasp her hands. He set his gun aside and stared at her. But it was impossible to touch her satin hands and stare into her eyes at the same time without feeling her thread throughout his system.

“You do not believe in the cause you fight, do you?” she whispered. “You know they are wrong. You know who desecrates the land.”

He nodded. “But I can’t let you execute them. There are courts, other ways…laws…”

“The words are hollow even to your own ears,” she said, squeezing his hands. “Your people heard those words and laws, too, and were betrayed by failed treaties.”

He looked away, but could not remain out of the gravitational pull of her dark irises except briefly. “Who are you?” His voice came out as a hoarse, broken whisper. The tingle that began in his chest and spread throughout his body had become a dull ache centered in his groin.

“I am Artemis,” she said, her gaze rambling over his face. “Goddess…and I have never in my existence wanted to break my vow so thoroughly. Therefore, the true question that besets me is who are you, Titan? Of what hidden Olympus do you herald? I have never felt honor as pure as yours enter my ethereal body and lay siege to it.”

He couldn’t answer that—not because his actual hometown was classified data, which it was, but simply because as she touched his jaw and allowed her fingers to gingerly explore his lips, his voice failed. “You are definitely a goddess,” he finally managed. “And I wish the world was different…wished they understood your heartbreak and mine, but they don’t.”

“Are you displaced, too?” she asked, leaning forward. “A being greater than mere mortal trapped by the disbelief of the era?”

Her question made him smile. “I am trapped by the disbelief of this era, yes, and therefore, I guess displaced.”

She sat back quickly and laid her hand over her heart, gaping at him for a moment. “I felt the earth people in your aura. I felt the reverence of the trees toward you as you passed them—the forest welcomes you, and you understand it…honor it. That is why I didn’t…” Her words trailed off as her gaze slid away. “That is why you are still standing.”

Her admission snapped him out of the haze. He had to remember that she was an adversary. Was he crazy! But,
damn
, she’d turned him on. “You felt the trees, too?” he asked, unable to hold back the question. “They hold the spirits of the ancestors, you know.”

“Yes…” She closed her eyes and he almost leaned across the table to take her mouth, but thought better of it.

“I honor the wilderness. It’s a part of me, how I was raised. Artemis, I…”

“You never looked at me like the others long ago,” she added, her voice both sad and filled with wonder. “You saw me as a hunter, an equal. You didn’t try to molest me—why not?”

“Because you had a bow and arrow, a serious squad, and obviously we’re evenly matched in a firefight. But, that wasn’t why I came here, anyway. We came for the hostages.” He had to wrest his mind back to the mission!

She nodded, her exotic eyes smoldering with something he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Your words again ring true. You saw me as an equal…none of the others did before, that is why they sealed their own fates—but that was a very long and bitter time ago.”

He stared at this beauty, a black widow that could most assuredly take lives, wondering how a gorgeous woman like this ended up as an assassin. “How many bodies?”

“If I ask you the same, could you answer?” she said evenly, no apology or defensiveness in her tone.

“Touché. We’re both soldiers.”

“Warriors,” she corrected. “To be a soldier is to take orders, hence why I rarely execute soldiers. They are only doing the bidding of those who control them. A warrior, however, is under his or her own command.”

He nodded but looked away for a moment, wishing that the times were different and that he could be a warrior.

“You may be conscripted into service by them, but you still have the presence of a warrior,” she said quietly. “I did not mean to offend.”

“No offense taken. You spoke the truth.” Again his gaze searched her face. There was something magnetic about her, something almost supernatural, like she claimed. “And you are definitely a goddess with a sound mind and decent heart…you know that no good end will come of this if you persist. Why don’t you let the hostages go or tell me your demands for them? Give us a chance to work something out before you have blood on your hands and a murder rap you can’t shake.”

She sighed. “Their bodies will return and they will not be dead. In this era of disbelief nothing I do holds together for long. The temples are now for tourists, true believers are too few against the world gone awry with carnal distractions. I just wanted them to feel the terror of being hunted for no purpose. That will stay with them forever, even as all else fades. My goal was to humble, that was all.”

The melancholy tone of her voice, the new shimmer of tears in her eyes, and the way her fingers traced his open palms was mesmerizing. Relief also wafted through him—she’d promised not to kill the hostages. Progress…even though she’d given him ridiculous wood.

“What do you want in exchange for their release?”

She looked away, and he slowly closed his hand around hers, almost swearing that he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears when he did.

“To break my vow. It is no longer of use. I have fought the good fight and now wish to take my place with the others as a distant memory.”

He wanted to tell her not to commit suicide, that she didn’t have to become a distant memory, but what promises for a good life beyond prison walls could he offer? A free spirit like this would surely die behind bars. Once she turned over the hostages, the authorities would hunt her down to the ends of the earth. He could offer her no assurances; he was in no position to cut a deal. That was the stuff of lawyers. He was just Special Forces, a soldier, and all of this was well outside his realm of expertise and comprehension. But people’s lives were at stake, so he had to set aside any personal concerns about this abductress.

“Break your vow with me, Artemis,” he said, not even sure what her vow was. “Trust me. I—”

The sound of one of his men’s tortured moans made him stand and grab his weapon. Artemis was also on her feet in a flash, but staring at the tent wall, rather than down the barrel of a gun.

“If any of my men are violated—”

She covered her heart for a moment and grabbed her bow. “Never! That was not supposed to happen. If it has, then my own have betrayed and shamed me!”

“Take me to them now!” he shouted, all previous negotiations vanished.

“As you wish,” she said, unafraid and seeming to do so from some personal sense of integrity, not from any threat he imposed.

Running in tandem, they followed the sound of the cries, barging into a very small tent that expanded inside into a huge space with floors covered in white pelts and pillows. Artemis and Vincent stood at the entrance and became very, very still. He opened his mouth and then closed it. She tried to look away, but couldn’t.

Artemis felt her face flame hot. She did not believe her eyes. Never in her existence had humiliation singed her so completely. There was no way to blame this on the barbarian; he was bound.

Deep shame made her simply give her bow over to the Titan beside her. The nymphs of her sacred grove had desecrated a body. The reign of the goddesses was surely at an end, if it had come to this.

The soldier with long onyx hair who had the likeness of a Persian barbarian was lashed to a tent post with his hands over his head, his body drawn flat against the floor pelts. His legs were splayed, each ankle bound by heavy silk cords…his manhood naked and rigid, that is, as much as one could see beyond the homage her most loyal nymphs paid to it. She didn’t need to investigate further, knowing full well the extent of the so-called torture being delivered to her captive’s men. So engrossed in their love play, the nymphs never looked up and the captive never opened his eyes.

Artemis thrust her bow at Vince and turned away. “Shoot them all,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It is your right. I would have done no less if three of your men ravished one of my maidens. Your soldier probably wants to die from this humiliation as well.”

The room went still. Nymphs shrieked and scurried away from Donovan’s body. Vincent looked at the bow in one hand, the Glock nine in the other. Confusion tore at him as he stared at Artemis’s back and then the plea on Donovan’s face. He frowned at his man for a moment—these chicks could claim they were raped in the capture, would have DNA evidence on his man, and all of this bull could compromise a case and military careers. Shit!

“Let’s, uh…let this matter go under the banner of détente and not kill anybody. There’s been enough bloodshed and I don’t think these ladies meant him too much harm while trying to extract vital information,” Vince said, returning Artemis’s bow. Without arrows what good was the partial weapon? Besides, he needed to understand what freaky trap they were laying.

“That was our only desire, goddess,” one of the nymphs said, covering her nudity with her hands as she knelt on the floor. “Throughout the ages we have remained celibate in your honor—but we were instructed not to hurt them and to extract vital information…that was our quest.”

Vince looked at Donovan and tried not to crack a smile, despite the compromising position. The man could barely catch his breath, and since Donovan was still tied up, it wasn’t like he savaged them…maybe a lie detector test would save the man if the madness ever came out.

“Can I check on my other men…just to be sure they’re not, uhmmm, being molested? And, maybe, let this one be untied so he can defend himself against further ravishment? Again, all in the spirit of dètente.” He shot Donovan a glance and his man silently acknowledged the look while trying to steady his breathing.

“What is dètente spirit? I don’t know this word. I have never heard of this entity.” Artemis stared at Vincent for a second and then looked away, appearing horrified and flushed by what she’d witnessed. She wouldn’t even dignify her nymph’s entreaties.

“It means relaxing the hostilities between warring nations, I believe.”

Artemis nodded. “In dètente, then, release that prisoner and feed and clothe him.”

She stormed out of the tent with her head held high and her back rigid. Cool forest air from the chilly spring slapped her cheeks and the sudden temperature drop was welcomed. A troubling heat had unleashed itself between her thighs…along with a thawed river that dampened her hotly swollen valley. She could barely take a step without a stab of need piercing her as though one of her arrows, and her breasts suddenly felt heavy, the very tips aching like bees had stung them. When the barbarian stood next to her, it seemed as though all the air had left the clearing, even taking the smallest amount that remained in her lungs with it. What was this magic he owned?

Not sure where to begin, and for the first time in her life feeling shaky, she glanced at the semi-circle of tents. Pointing toward one at random, she sucked in a deep breath, set her shoulders, and forged ahead. She didn’t care that the barbarian found this amusing. His customs were clearly very different from hers.

Closing her eyes briefly, she peeked in a tent, and then dipped her head out before the large warrior beside her could enter. She stopped him with both hands against his chest.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice a raw whisper. “I…I don’t know what has become of my followers.” She covered her mouth and then turned away.

“Allow me to inspect my men,” Vincent insisted, hoping that nothing crazy like a butchering would meet his eyes. If they all went out like Donovan, fine. But crazy people had a way of turning fun and games into something deadly.