A Guard for the Titan (TITANS, #3) Read online

Chapter Seven

  Atlas was pacing before her, rambling, but Iphigenia couldn’t register the words. Her mind was suffering whiplash from tonight’s events.

  Or was it last night’s?

  A gray haze lightened the sky, as dawn approached. Would the sun wake her up?

  You’re not dreaming.

  Why was her logic arguing with her? Didn’t she realize dreaming all this up was the safest, sanest option? If she was awake, she had to accept that a statue had turned human—no, Titan—that mythology wasn’t just a bunch of stories, and that the guy she had the hots for could travel with the speed of light. Oh, and he was strong enough to send men crashing through walls.

  He was imposing, the way he stared at her, fists on his hips. Like Superman. Only he wasn’t made of steel but marble. Her giggle sounded maniacal.

  “Are you listening?” he demanded with a scowl. “Rhea is dangerous. She will come after you.” His eyes were the color of honey. Pretty eyes. Pretty mouth too, even drawn into a hard line, as it was. And he was dressed now, which should make it easier for her to think, but his T-shirt was about to rip over his bulging muscles, and his jeans fit him like a glove, leaving little to the imagination.

  And she’d been kidnapped tonight. Three times, if she were technical about it. Was this Stockholm syndrome? Was she falling for her captor solely because of the power he held over her?

  Nah. That took a while. This was insta-attraction, and she would get over it as easily as she got under it.

  “You’re not.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Has what they gave you not worn off yet?”

  What they gave you. A syringe. The woman and her goons shot something into Iphigenia, and that was why she focused on the lust her Titan gave rise to, instead of the issue at hand. Which was multi-fold.

  When the morning shift showed up at the museum, they’d find a Titan statue gone and her missing. Would they assume she stole Atlas? Security footage should prove her innocence, but even if that wasn’t tampered with, they’d know she hadn’t done a good job of protecting him.

  Pfft. Like Atlas needed her protection. He was huge and strong and— Where did he find the clothes? He was almost as yummy in them as out of them.

  Focus.

  She’d need a story for the police. One that didn’t involve the guy carved in stone walking out of there by himself.

  The police. Shit. They’d be all over the museum by now. “You need to take me back to work. I must talk to the police. Give a description of the people who grabbed me.” At least of the woman, since the men’s faces were covered. And maybe she could say she saw them load the statue in a van before she passed out.

  Atlas shook his head. “We’ve been through this before. You can’t go back. It’s not safe. Especially now that Rhea knows... who you are.”

  Iphigenia sat on the ground with a huff and busied herself trying to uncover a piece of rock from the dirt. Anything, not to look him in the eye. “Is she your ex? The one you said you’re bonded to?”

  “No. She’s my brother’s...” He frowned. “His wife.”

  “Brother? As in, another Titan?” How many more were running around? Wait— “Which means she’s...?”

  He huffed. “A Titaness. Only, unlike my mate, she’s been alive all this time.”

  Shit. So his mate was dead? Or in a museum somewhere?

  She didn’t have to ask.

  “Eros told me my Pleione is long gone. Zeus turned all females of my kind mortal, after his lightning turned me to stone.” His voice went gruffer, as if it hurt to utter the words.

  His pain was so tangible, it squeezed inside her sternum. She suppressed the urge to go to him. He might mistake her offer of comfort for another pass at him, and that was the last thing he needed on the day he found out the love of his life was dead.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

  He dropped to the ground, facing her, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out toward her. “It’s odd,” he said. “I’d given up on ever seeing her again, but for a while after you brought me back, I let myself believe...” He closed his palm into a white-knuckled fist, then splayed his fingers. Iphigenia saw them tremble, before he clasped both hands together and met her gaze. “When you kissed me—”

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking...”

  “I wanted to kiss you back. Not giving in to the feeling of your lips on mine was harder than you could ever know.”

  She licked her lips, self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m still here,” she said. What was she doing? Part of her screamed that she was offering herself up as a consolation prize. She couldn’t afford an emotional attachment to someone who’d just had his heart broken. But being this close to him made her feel alive for the first time. Her senses heightened, tuning in to every detail in his posture.

  His breathing was shallow, the amber of his irises melting into gold as he shifted his position so he was on his knees. The pain in his eyes was replaced by something more primal. Raw. Hungry. And was that a hint of hope?

  No. She was seeing things.

  He crawled toward her slowly, his gaze boring into her. He emanated power, and she wanted nothing more than to yield to it. To him.

  Atlas stopped centimeters from her and cupped her face with one hand. “I am going to kiss you again, Iphigenia. Properly this time.”

  Iphigenia swallowed hard. “Uh huh.”

  Despite his words, the first touch of his lips was soft, timid, as if he was giving her the chance to break away. When she parted her lips, the gentleness gave way to a breathtaking intensity. He nibbled on her lips and massaged her tongue with his, his free hand skating its way up her back to press her to him. He devoured her moans, slipping his palm from her jaw, to twist his fingers in her hair and let her curls loose from the band keeping them in place.

  “Like silk,” he muttered against her mouth. Did he mean her hair or her skin?

  She didn’t care. She dove back into the kiss, sucking on his tongue. Her body arched into him, as if of its own accord, and moisture pooled at the apex of her thighs. She knew he’d kiss like this. And when he lowered the palm on her back, to untuck her shirt and slide his fingers beneath it, she knew his touch would light a fire in her belly she would be unable to deny.

  “I want you.”

  How did his words come out this clearly, when his teeth had her bottom lip trapped?

  She groaned, and didn’t resist when he used his body to urge her backward, until she was on her back, feeling the cool earth against her skin except where his palm burned her.

  Never breaking the kiss, he cupped one of her breasts and pinched the nipple that throbbed against the lace of her bra. She wanted to lose that bra. The cotton of her uniform shirt suffocated her, and the slacks felt restrictive. She wanted to be naked, writhing under him.

  Atlas pulled away and watched her face as he lowered his hand down her stomach, to undo her belt, and she arched her back, to drive him lower.

  When he closed his large palm over her thigh and traced the seam at her crotch, she swore she was about to come.

  He repeated the gesture with a little more pressure, making her pussy tingle. “Do you want me?” he asked.

  Yes. God, yes. Right here, in the middle of nowhere, under the brightening sky and with the echoing bells of sheep in the distance, she wanted him inside her.

  She nodded.

  His grin was feral, as he slowly undid her pants. He blew down her front, and she watched mesmerized as the gust of air wrapped around each of her shirt’s buttons and undid it, then spread the garment open.

  “So beautiful. And all mine.”

  My Pleione. The chill in the air seeped into her bones, driving out the warmth in her belly, as the words came unbidden to mind.

  Atlas didn’t want her. Not so soon after his loss. He wanted his woman, his Pleione, and Iphigenia was just a warm body. A momentary distraction, after millen
nia of loneliness.

  No no no. She should push him away. Only, when she rested her palm on his chest, fully planning to stop him, she found herself grabbing a fistful of the soft cotton and pulling him on top of her.

  “Really? I make the effort to build you an entire life, and you can’t bother not to lose it?” Eros’ voice came from above them, and when Atlas rolled off her, Iphigenia saw the god looking at them disapprovingly. He shook the brown envelop he was holding. “Other than essential info about this world, like delivery numbers, this has credit cards, ID papers, a cell phone, and a key to Prometheus’ house. Even if you ignore all my work, I doubt he’d appreciate you losing that.”

  Atlas plucked the envelope from Eros’ fingers. “I’ll make sure not to drop it next time I have to save someone from mortal danger,” he said dryly. “Now if you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of something.”

  That snapped Iphigenia out of her shock at the god’s arrival. With trembling fingers, she covered herself and buttoned her shirt over her breasts as she sat up. “No, that’s okay. I should leave, anyway. The police will be looking for me. Museum people too.”

  Eros shook his head. “Fixed that. Only one looking for you is a semi-crazed Titaness. Sticking with this guy is your safest option for now.”

  “How? How did you... fix that? Did you make people forget about me?” She raised her voice, trying to control the tremble panic infused into her words. “Does anyone remember I even exist?”

  Eros looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “I simply changed your schedule so someone else had the night shifts this week, and moved that guy to the right place. I then erased the record of your call to the cops and arranged for an actual statue of a Titan to replace him.” He hooked a thumb toward Atlas. “Though I had to convince a Nereid to give it up, so maybe it wasn’t all that simple.” He looked very satisfied with himself.

  Chapter Eight

  “This is all... It’s crazy.” Minutes ago Iphigenia was offering herself to him, and now she crossed her arms over her breasts and glowered from him to Eros.

  No world-saving activities would be enjoyed today, judging from her posture.

  The nearest village was filling with early-morning life. Soon, they’d have an audience. “Can we move this someplace more private?” Atlas asked.

  “I’ll take you to Santorini. Prometheus said you can stay at his place till the bonding stabilizes you, and it’s warded against Rhea.” Eros pointed to the brown envelop he was so obsessed with. “Don’t lose this again.”

  Iphigenia climbed to her feet, the flaps of her shirt billowing in the breeze when she planted her fists on her hips. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain. Why is he unstable? What is this bo—”

  Eros grasped both their hands and blinked them out of there.

  “—nding crap?” Her arms flew up and she stumbled back. “What the fuck?”

  Atlas wrapped an arm around her waist and held her to him. It felt right, having her in his arms, but instead of melting into him like she did before, she stood stock still, tension rolling off her in waves. “I need to sit down,” she said.

  “You got this.” Eros nodded at Atlas and disappeared.

  Atlas led her to what looked like an outdoor lounge behind them and helped her into a wicker armchair, taking the chance to assess their surroundings.

  They were on a spacious balcony, overlooking dark rocks that ended into the bluest sea. The stark white of the wall blended into the backdrop of bright-blue sky, and a wind chime and the sound of waves below them were all that disrupted the perfect quiet of the morning.

  He turned to Iphigenia, who’d propped her elbows on the table and dropped her head in her palms. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  When she raised her head, he expected an expression of despair, not the angry glare she shot his way.

  “I don’t know. Am I? Last night, my biggest problem was being stuck in Athens in the middle of August, with no boyfriend and nothing to do. Now I’m a runaway, hiding from a freaking Titaness and making out with a guy who’s been around for—oh, I don’t know—a few thousand years. And of course, a god has been tossing me from one place to the next without asking for permission.”

  Atlas sat across from her and placed the envelope on the table between them. “It was for your own good. You were in danger.” And he should be more understanding and less focused on the no-boyfriend part. He already knew she was single.

  She snorted. “Yeah, about that... Who put me in danger in the first place? I wouldn’t be a bleep on your sister in law’s radar if it weren’t for you.”

  He fumbled for the right words, but only came up with, “I didn’t choose for that to happen.”

  “Well, it happened anyway, didn’t it? And then, instead of explaining things to me, you kissed me, and you were all over me, and I don’t want to be a convenient distraction because you can’t have the one you actually want.”

  He opened his mouth to protest and clear this up, but Iphigenia cut him off with a tired shake of her head.

  “I—I can’t process this.” She looked tired now, the fight sapped out of her. “Please, take me home?”

  “If you’d only hear me out—”

  “I will. Honest. But I’ve been awake since yesterday afternoon. I’m hungry, and”—she sniffed her armpits and grimaced—“I stink. I need a shower and clean clothes. And maybe a couple hours of sleep. Then we can talk.”

  Freshening up and getting some rest would put her in a better mood. “I’ll take you to get your things, but we can’t stay long. We’ll come back here, and you can sleep for as long as you need. When you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything.” And hope she’d see reason.

  For a moment, Iphigenia seemed about to argue, but then she sighed and nodded. “Do you need to touch me?”

  Desperately. Was she offering? “What do you mean?”

  “To read my mind. Get us to my place. Do you need to be touching me?”

  He stood and rounded the table to pull out her chair. “Not necessarily, but it will ensure we don’t end up in different parts of your house.”

  “Apartment.” She held out her hand and let him pull her close. “So I just think of my bedroom?”

  “Yes. Focus on your memories in that room.” He regretted the words the moment they left his lips. What if she thought of herself naked with another man?

  But when she opened her mind to him, he got a visual of her stretched out in bed, headphones blasting music in her ears, as she petted a shaggy blond dog lying with his head on her thigh. The dog’s ears twitched, one raised and one flat to the side, and his tongue lolled happily out of his mouth.

  “You have a dog.” How come she hadn’t mentioned him?

  Sadness, thick and tangible, frayed the edges of the memory. “Ares isn’t mine. My ex kept him when I— When we broke up. He said I owed him. I think he did it to hurt me.”

  Ah, her jilted lover was vengeful. Atlas would have to fix that. For now, he focused on the feel of the coverlet under her bare legs and the smell of jasmine wafting in from the plant outside her window. He ordered their bodies to dematerialize and take shape again on her mattress.

  Or right next to it.

  They tumbled to the floor, Iphigenia on top, and Atlas allowed himself to enjoy the weight of her body against his for a heartbeat, before hopping to his feet and helping her upright. “Get what you need, but stay within sight.”

  She snorted over her shoulder, as she headed for the closet. “What? Afraid I’ll run away? Doubt I’ll get very far, before you—”

  “No, child. He’s afraid I’ll take you away.” Rhea blinked to the door, and then behind Iphigenia. Her arm was around Iphigenia’s throat before either she or Atlas could move a muscle.

  “Let her go.” He gritted his teeth. Could he blink to them before Rhea snapped his woman’s neck?

  Iphigenia threw back her elbow, that caught Rhea in the ribs, and stomped on the Titaness’ foot with her booted
heel.

  Rhea was unfazed as she stared down Atlas. “Not unless you give yourself to us. And if I feel the slightest breeze, she’s dead.”

  Us? Chaos, she wasn’t here alone.

  A red dot appeared on Iphigenia’s chest—the end of a beam Atlas followed to a scary-looking weapon in the arms of a human male by the door.

  “Drop that,” Atlas ordered in the man’s head.

  Nothing.

  Rhea cackled, the sound as crazed as her intention to awaken Kronos, and Atlas felt the walls tightening around them.

  “Don’t bother trying to influence Periandros. My men have sworn themselves to me. Only I can affect their thoughts.” She fisted her free hand in Iphigenia’s hair, stretching Iphigenia’s neck backward.

  Atlas watched, horrified, as his soulmate’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and her body went slack. Her heartbeat still tattooed a steady rhythm to his ears, but she’d passed out.

  “Let. Her. Go.” He squeezed his fists until his knuckles ached. The metal frame of the bed behind him creaked. No—wait. That was the closet doors, rattling on their hinges. Plaster fell on his head and shoulders. Got in his eyes. He didn’t care. The building might rip in half, for all he cared. “Now.”

  “Why should I, when keeping her from you will get me what I want?” The look Rhea spared him was almost kind. “You can’t get to both me and Periandros in time. Yield, and I’ll let you unravel as far from her as possible. Resist, and I’ll wait till you spin out of control and kill her as well as yourself. Try to free her, and he”—she tilted her head toward the gunman—“will shoot her through the heart. Anyway, I win.” There was no deception in her voice. She simply stated facts.

  And she was right; she won in all scenarios. Except for the one that had Eros interfering. Atlas’ best choice was to go along with her and hope the god of love would find him and help him out. To stall for time, he said, “How did you find us?”

  “I asked her boss nicely for her address. He was happy to oblige.” Rhea batted her long eyelashes, the epitome of innocence, before her expression hardened. “Enough chitchat. Are you coming, or do I rip her head off?”