Hunting Medusa: The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1 (3 page)

“Hey!”

He shook her a little. “We need the lights back on, and I can’t trust you to stay where I put you.”

She inhaled shakily, but remained silent as he eased away from her.

He dragged her along with him, back to the door he’d left open. He could see better outside, with the stars and moon shining high above them. In the light from the crescent moon, the Medusa’s face was pale but set. Determined. He bit back a smile. She still thought she could get out of this. He admired her spirit, but he had a job to do. His urge to smile vanished.

He strode along to the side of the house where he’d shut off her power at the main box, then reversed the lever to allow electricity to flow into the house again. Even from here, he could hear the hum of appliances restarting inside. And the beeping of her alarm.

“You need to shut that off,” he said shortly, grabbing his backpack from where he’d dropped it earlier below the junction box before he dragged her back inside.

She did as he asked, then flipped on the overhead kitchen light, her bright eyes narrowed on his face. “You’re making a mess all over my kitchen.”

Kallan smiled faintly. “Whose fault is that?” He tilted his head to look at her. “Where is your tattoo?”

“I told you—on my back.”

He spun her around and used their cuffed hands to immobilize her against the wall while he yanked her shirt up.

All he could see was the tip of a red flower peeking above the waistband of her jeans.

He shut his eyes for a few seconds, steeling himself. “Unbutton your pants.”

“No.”

He glared at the back of her head. Then reached between her belly and the wall for the button on her jeans.

She bucked backward, trying to kick him, and he pressed her flat again between himself and the wall. “Get off,” she snarled.

He wrestled the button free and fumbled for the zipper as well, then wrenched the denim down.

She growled at him, making him smile as he eased away. His gaze slid down her bare spine, from where their joined hands held her shirt up, down over creamy skin to where her hips flared outward, to the highly stylized tattoo decorating the lower left side of her back. It started even below the elastic edge of her silky white panties, then reached upward, the snake almost hidden in the cluster of detailed flowers. And in the middle of the bouquet, the snake’s body coiled around the stem of the gold cup.

The amulet was in her skin.

How in Hades was he supposed to retrieve that?

He exhaled slowly, his gaze riveted to the cup. No one had ever mentioned this. And if she’d gotten this when her cousin had died, then he couldn’t take the goblet after killing this one.

But he couldn’t take it while she lived.

That was too gruesome to envision. Instead, he focused on her creamy skin, soft against his fingers when he traced the tattoo. Goosebumps rose up beneath his touch.
 

“Stop it.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting from where his finger still burned against her back to her nape. He had no right to touch her this way. He shouldn’t even want to. But he did. He let his finger slide over the warm spot again, then frowned, realizing the cup heated further at his touch. He slipped his finger over the flowers at the top edge of the tattoo. Nothing. Her skin was cool. Lower, he grazed the cup again, and her skin flared hot there.

“Ow.” She jerked closer to the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Just deciding how I’m going to take the amulet,” he murmured, though he frowned. It was an impossible task.

She shuddered, and he heard her swallow.

Kallan resisted the unexpected urge to comfort her. If she’d realized the tattoo was the amulet, then she knew what he had to do to take it.

He sighed. He would have to think about this. Nothing he’d planned for had included carving the amulet from a still-living Medusa. The method shouldn’t matter. He knew what she was. He knew what he was. He’d been taught and trained all his life to do this job, as had all of his cousins. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Not right now.

He ignored the little voice in his head that pointed out Stavros wouldn’t have the same qualms, that his cousin would enjoy her screams as his blade sliced into her skin. Kallan was not his cousin. He would find another way.

He turned her around and refastened her jeans, ignoring her pale cheeks and the questions in her wide eyes. “Reset the alarm. We need to get some rest.”

She hesitated.

“Do it, Medusa. I won’t kill you tonight.” He heard the resignation in his tone and hoped she did not.

She touched a few keys on the lighted pad, then settled her wide-eyed gaze on him again. “My name is not Medusa,” she said after a moment.

“I know what your name is.” He knew everything about her. Or he’d thought he had. Obviously, he’d missed a few things in his copious research.

“I don’t know yours.”

He lifted one brow, studying her ashen cheeks. “I am Kallan Tassos.”

Her mouth flattened. “Harvester.”

His own lips tightened. For some reason, hearing the translation of his name coming from her mouth bothered him. “As long as we each know who we are.” He tugged on their joined wrists. “Come.” He towed her along behind him, farther into the house.

Turning on lights as they went, Kallan dragged her up the stairs until they reached the bathroom. He searched for and finally found her First Aid supplies, then started to clean up his arm. The blood flow had slowed, but when he ran his arm under the hot water, rubbing his wounds gently with the soap, he hissed in a quick breath at the sting. “Vicious,” he whispered, shooting her a sidelong glance.

She glared at him, trying to keep her cuffed hand out of his way. Out of the water.

Deliberately, he tugged her wrist along with his under the full force of the water so she sputtered a protest. He hid his smile as he bent to clean his wounds. Neither cut was too deep anymore. Not deep enough to require stitches, anyway. His body was nearly the same as normal human males, but he did have a quick healing ability for most non-fatal wounds. He ignored the stinging in his arm as he shut off the faucet and reached for a towel—a move that dragged her arm across his body, forcing her nearer. “Here,” he said, putting a handful of bandages in her free hand. “Open these.”

Her glare would have turned him to stone another time.

“You made the mess—you can help clean it up.” He kept his tone light as he dabbed antiseptic cream onto his arm. Two straight gashes, one only two inches long and nearly as deep, the other about five inches long and shallow. Neat, no ragged edges. The Medusa kept a sharp blade.

Which he needed to retrieve and put out of her reach. He took a bandage and opened it himself, as she still stood there with the handful of unopened packages. “Thank you,” he said.

She growled.

Kallan didn’t bother to hide his grin this time, applying the covering to his wound, and continuing to open more bandages and stick them onto his arm until both cuts were covered.

Now what?

He’d planned this down to the smallest detail—cutting the power, disengaging the lock, finding and killing her, searching for the amulet, then making his escape before anyone was the wiser. His discovery of the amulet’s location, however, put a real wrinkle in his plans. A much bigger problem than the Medusa’s defensive attack on him in the kitchen.

He’d been told all his life he was destined to hunt and kill the Medusa. The notion bothered him somewhat. It always had, knowing his family existed to appease the angry Athena by committing murder. Cutting the amulet from Andrea’s skin while she lived— well, that bothered him quite a bit more.

He needed to think about this, and he couldn’t concentrate with her attached to him.

“Time for bed.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Kallan gave her a bland smile. “Time for bed.” He guided her out of the bathroom and steered her into the next doorway, flipping on the light as they went. Her bedroom.

The bed loomed large in the middle of the space, reminding him uncomfortably of being pressed up against her back in the dark kitchen.

She balked, then stumbled when he gave her arm a gentle yank. “I am not sleeping with you.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking you.” He pushed her toward the bed.

She tried to dig her feet in, but she didn’t get any traction with her boots on the hardwood and skidded into his side.

He nudged her onto the edge of the bed. “Boots.”

She stared up at him, appalled, for a long moment. “You are insane.”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You really don’t have a choice, Medusa.” He sat down and caught one of her knees, lifting her leg to untie the shoe and push it off.

She struggled against him, making him grunt when she elbowed one of the slash marks on his arm.

He wrestled her other shoe off and then dragged her onto the bed before stretching out beside her.

She sat up, tugging on her arm. She could go nowhere so it was a futile effort.

Kallan smiled at her. “It’s been a long night. Lie down.”

“I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. She never stopped. “I think that’s my job, my Medusa.”

“I’m not your Medusa. I’m not your anything. My name is Andi.”

He put his free hand behind his head and studied her for a long moment. “Andrea Rosakis. I know your name.”

“How did you find me?”

“I don’t think we’ll discuss that. But I suppose I should inquire as to whether there are any weapons in your nightstand I need to worry about tonight.”

Her look of disbelief made him sit up. He crawled over her, then straddled her and tried not to think about the position while he used his free hand to pull open the drawer. A flashlight, hefty enough to bash him in the head. He tossed it away so it clattered across the floor and landed near the closet. A tattered book. He flipped it over to look at the cover. A romance novel—the half-naked hero on the cover ravishing the slightly more dressed woman in his arms. The worst she could do with that was give him some paper cuts. Or another painful erection.

Kallan cleared his throat and dropped the book back into the drawer, where there were still some scattered papers, a pen—which he threw in the direction of the flashlight—a black satin sleep mask, and way in the back… He closed his fingers around something more substantial than the pen.

A vibrator, he discovered when he pulled it out of the drawer.

He shot her a quizzical glance and found her face averted, but not enough that he couldn’t see the hot color staining her cheeks. He glanced back at the toy, imagining her using it despite his best intentions. He could understand a woman like the Medusa having the same needs as other women. But why wouldn’t she indulge them with a flesh and blood man? She only suffered the effects of the curse for a few days each month. He flipped the tiny switch on the bottom of the vibrator, and the thing hummed to life.

Under him, she stiffened, turning her face further away.

He shut it off and dropped it back into the drawer. “Well, I don’t think I’d consider that a weapon,” he said lightly. He was suddenly aware of how close she was again, her breasts a scant inch from his belly, her thighs pressed tight between his knees. Her scent teased his nose—something with wildflowers and herbs. He sniffed. Basil, maybe. And sandalwood. Something else. He resisted the urge to lean nearer to find out what and climbed off her, ignoring his body’s protest. It had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his own needs if he couldn’t control these urges around the Medusa for even an hour.

“Lie down.”

When she didn’t immediately obey him, he gave her a gentle push until her head hit the pillow. She glared up at him, her cheeks still bright pink.

“You’re going to need your rest. We have work to do tomorrow,” he said.

She averted her gaze.

He had to find out if any of the lore talked about the amulet being embedded in the Medusa’s skin. And if so, why hadn’t he seen it before now? Why had no one mentioned it?

He stretched out beside her once more. “I hope you have something in the refrigerator for breakfast.” He hadn’t planned on spending the night, after all.

“You don’t really think I’m feeding you, do you?” Horror and anger mingled in her tone.

He didn’t look at her, though he really wanted to see her expression. “I have two good hands. I can feed myself. I’m just hoping you have breakfast food here for me to do that with.”

“Unbelievable.”

He grinned, restraining the laugh that tried to work up from his chest. His Medusa was a lot of fun. A lot more fun than anyone he’d encountered in a long, long time.

She huffed and shifted. “Unbelievable,” she repeated, under her breath this time. She inched away from him on the mattress—cautiously, slowly—then lay still for a long moment.

Andi tugged uselessly at her wrist, but his arm didn’t move from his side. “Hey, Harvester.”