CHAPTER 1
New Orleans, 2009 6,000 years later. . . Roughly
(Give or take a few centuries... )
Delphine paused to get her bearings straight as she looked around the old buildings with iron-work balconies or elaborate wood trim, many of which had boards over their windows. What a strange city... but then she wasn't used to being in the mortal realm except through human dreams. There the world of man looked entirely different.
This extremely loud and bright place baffled her. Not to mention the awful smell of something she thought might be manure of some kind. . .
She jumped as a loud, rude sound startled her while a car went speeding past.
Phobos grabbed her arm and yanked her to stand beside him on the uneven sidewalk. "Be careful. If a car hits you, it will hurt."
"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
He nodded before he glanced about the street where several cars were parked in front of a row of houses that were so close together, she wondered if they didn't share a common wall.
"The garage should be that one over there."
She looked to where he was pointing. Landry's Garage, Detail and Repair. "Are you sure he's there?"
Phobos gave her a droll stare. "His presence isn't what's in doubt, his reception of us is. We'll be lucky if he doesn't gut us both faster than Noir would." He wiped his hand over his brow to remove some of the perspiration. But it was quickly replaced by more.
She'd never been in a hotter place in her life. Poor Phobos, wearing all black clothes, wasn't exactly dressed for it, either. He looked as miserable in the heat as she felt. She'd always thought of him as one of the more attractive gods with his exceptionally dark hair and sharp features.
Tall and lithe, he moved fluidly and fast. Something that terrified his enemies and made him deadly in a fight. His job was to inspire dread, and at one time he and his twin brother, Deimos, had wreaked havoc on ancient battlefields. In more recent centuries, they'd become warriors for the Furies, punishing anyone who crossed the gods.
Until two days ago when everything had changed. ..
She shivered at the memory. Even though she should feel nothing, her stomach was still knotted over the horror she'd witnessed. They were still trying to piece their world back together after Noir's vicious attack.
"How did we get chosen for this again?" she asked him.
"We weren't there when Zeus banished him and therefore he shouldn't hate us as much as he hates the other gods." He snorted derisively. "Most importantly, we're part of the handful who is neither imprisoned nor dead."
That was comforting...
Not at all.
And it didn't mean Cratus would listen to them, never mind actually help them. "You think we stand a chance?"
"Like an icicle on the equator. But Cratus pulls his powers from the same primal Source that birthed Noir. Without him on our team, we're completely screwed."
She still wasn't sure about this. Zeus had sent them here to beg a favor from an ex-god who most likely would gut them as soon as they appeared. She'd never met Cratus, but his nasty reputation was legendary.
He had mercy on no one.
His brutality had only been matched by his single-minded determination. Even though Zeus had bound his god powers, the other gods continued to fear him. That alone said it all about his winning personality. Hephaestus himself had warned her that there was no reasoning with Cratus.
The man was angry and mean.
And that was before his punishment had driven him insane.
"Are you sure there's no other way?"
Phobos's features darkened. "Half your brethren are dead, and every time mine go out, they get their hides kicked back to the Stone Age. Believe me, belly-crawling to this asshole is the last thing I want to do."
But it was a necessary evil.
"Zeus is the one who should be doing this," she groused as she wiped the sweat from her own brow.
Phobos snorted. "You want to tell him that?"
Hardly. The father god tolerated no one to question him. She narrowed her eyes. "This was your bright idea, Phobos. You lead the way."
"What are you? Scared?"
She gave him a nasty glare of her own. With her half-human blood, she did have more emotions than most of her Dream-Hunter brethren, but they were muted compared to mankind's. "If I were capable of hate, I would probably hate you."
He sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth. "You know, you get the best sex from a woman when she's angry and hating."
"Since I've never had sex with a woman, how would I know?" She shoved him gently on the shoulder to move him forward. "We're on a mission, Dolophonos. Remember if we fail, your twin dies."
"Believe me, I haven't forgotten." He crossed the street with purpose.
Delphine followed in spite of the bad feeling she couldn't shake. This wasn't going to turn out well. She knew it.
They entered the office of the garage to find a small girl who was doodling on a sheet of paper and a woman around the age of thirty sitting at a dinged, metal desk. The woman was pretty enough, with small brown eyes and dark hair. Her smile was bright when she saw them. "Can I help you?"
Phobos stepped past Delphine to approach the desk. "We're looking for a guy named Cratus."
She frowned. "I don't know anyone by that name. Sorry. Maybe he's at the garage down the street."
Phobos scratched his head, obviously as baffled as Delphine was. "I know for a fact that he works here in this garage. Believe me, my sources are beyond reproach."
The little girl wiped her nose and pushed a pair of glasses back with her knuckle. "Did they lose their friend, Mommy?"
"Do your homework, Mollie." She turned her attention back to Phobos. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I've never heard the name Crams before. I've worked here for five years and I assure you that none of our guys are named that. It's not exactly a name you'd forget-you know?" The phone started ringing. She put her hand on it. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No." Phobos stepped over to the large window that looked out from the office into the garage area where men in gray and blue coveralls were working on various cars.
Delphine followed his lead and froze as she saw the man they sought.
Holy gods. . .
No one could miss him.
Little wonder he was the god of strength and the son of Warcraft. . . That power and formidableness bled from every pore of his body. Standing well over six feet tall, he rippled with well-defined muscles. As she watched him, he wiped grease from his hands with a dark blue cloth. His gray coverall suit had been unzipped, and the sleeves wrapped around his lean waist, leaving his torso covered by a black tank top that only made those muscles more apparent. Black tribal tattoos decorated both of his arms from the wrists to his shoulders.
But it was his face that made her gasp. She'd never seen a man more beautifully made, except for the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face, hairline to earlobe. His right eye was covered with a black patch and from the depth of the scar, she wondered if he'd lost the eye completely to whatever injury had caused it.