Page 6

CIRCE

“ S words. Cool.” Ero grits out through clenched teeth.

Is that excitement in his voice?

Because it’s getting me all kinds of excited.

Almost like you’ve been dying to see how you two would fight together…

“I managed to get the others to turn on each other, but the Yakuza and the Mocro didn’t take the bait.” I never take my eyes off of the men circling us, fanning out around us.

Losing your edge, CC…

Annoying the fuck out of me, Arty…

Shaking my head, I glance at Ero, assessing just how fucked we are. He’s ragged, beat up. Tired. There’s more there too. He’s fraying at the edges. Looking more insane every time I find him. And as ripped and deadly as ever. How does he make everything he wears look so goddamn good?

Calm settles over him, transforming him from a rugged, worn-out fugitive, into a stone-cold, blood-smeared god. His muscles flex, igniting a fucking furnace in my core.

Sweet goddess, I wanna see him go nuts.

Still, it’s six against two. And they have katanas.

The Yakuza rush in first, snapping off sharp cries of fury.

Glimmering steel swishes past me as I spin, thrusting my dagger low, driving him back.

The tip catches in his shirt, jerking to the side and scoring a slash across his abdomen.

A shoulder to his chest sends him rolling back just in time to drop and swipe my foot, forcing my next opponent to leap.

“ Shine, kuzu yarō !” Ponytail in a navy suit barks.

I rise on the offensive, thrusting my forearms inside his reach to block his short tanto blade from skewering me. Of course it snags in my brand-new bloodred leather jacket.

“ Kisama !” I snarl, rolling back out of the tangled mess and the jacket in the same move, twirling the leather as I drag my arms out of the sleeves, catching both of his hands and disarming him as I backspin and shoulder check him into the wall.

Neither sword hits the ground.

Releasing the snared attacker, I snatch the katana, hook my foot up to catch the tanto, and immediately kick it toward Ero. Halfway through a flying spin-kick, he snips it out of the air, guiding it right into the head Yakuza’s chest.

A split second later, we’re driven back-to-back as the other three regroup and close in. Worse, the Mocro have vanished. Meaning we can expect a sneak attack any second.

“You know Japanese?”

“A little.”

“ And you know how to fight with a sword?” Ero gasps over his shoulder.

“Do you have to ask?” I snap, settling the weight of the blade in both hands as I feel him to the same behind me, taking his stance. A brush of his back against mine sends shivers down the backs of my legs. “I know how to fight. Period.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole…” Ero mumbles back. “This time.”

“First time for everything,” I snort. “Follow my lead.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

I don’t have time to analyze the comedic tone in his voice.

How out of character it is for him. The first exchange is a test, all three swordsmen surging towards us as one.

Sparks flash in the darkness, illuminating the rain-streaked walls of the buildings around us.

A rapid song of ringing steel echoes out like one note for several seconds, then they back off, a clink of one broken blade punctuating the maneuver.

“Nice job,” I offer, mostly unsarcastically.

“Well, that answers my next question,” Ero quips, “I apparently know how to fight with a sword too.”

It takes everything in me not to turn my head and glare at him in disbelief. No time to smack him upside the head. Later.

Both of us dive to the side a split second before metal tinks against the pavement where we were just standing. Nice. Throwing stars. Looks like the Mocro are making their move. Why they haven’t just gunned us both down is another question altogether.

Maybe they’re just testing the waters, waiting for the Yakuza to wear us down. Either way, the Japanese mobsters are taking full advantage of the distraction. Ero is pressed by the two still carrying katanas.

Leaving the biggest of the three lunging at me. He’s too big for close quarters. If I let him grab me, he’ll crush me with those massive arms.

I feign back, letting him overcommit. Sliding low, I slash out at the tendons on the back of his legs, the wind of his swinging fist brushing my forehead as I tip my head back. He goes down grasping at his severed hamstring, screaming.

Kicking off the ground, I’m nearly blindsided by one of the Mocro appearing from the shadows. One powerful arm yanks me out of harm’s way, pulling me against a rock-solid, tight, fever-hot chest.

I only have a second to hate it and savor it before Ero spins me around aiming me right at the guy.

Both of my boots connect with his face, shattering his mask. Ero releases me to fly along in his wake, my sword leading the way. The Mocro thug is dead before he can hit the ground.

Glancing back, I see the one swordsman down, the other stumbling as Ero tails me, catching my free hand and dragging me into a sprint. Instinct tells me to comply, hinting at way more trouble on the way behind us.

The crack of a sniper rifle confirms my worry a second later, missing us by a foot both times, spraying brick debris at our backs. Left. Right. Right again.

No other sound follows as we duck out of the gunner’s line of sight. I sense movement above us, shadowing us on the rooftops.

“Shit!” Ero’s voice turns my head back, just in time to notice the dead end looming ahead.

Two forms drop into the walkway behind us as we reach the end of the line, closing in.

“Don’t stop. I’ll go high,” I order, increasing my speed.

I take the wall at a dead run, Ero using his speed to sling me forward and counter-swinging him back the way we came. Two steps up the wall and I launch myself backward, staring straight down as I arc.

Soaring over the two masked menaces, I let my eyes droop, let the calm of practice and a lifetime of training guide me. They both react in shock, their movements tense and jerky as one looks up, the other expecting to take Ero in the back.

But I’m silk and fucking razor blades. And he’s velvet. Lightning.

My blade takes the trailing Mocro at the neck, sending his body spinning to my left, his head to my right. Leaving me a front-row seat to Ero surging right at me through the middle of the other guy.

He skids to a stop on one knee, sprayed in the glory of battle, his eyes locked on mine. I nearly come undone right then and there. A wild flare of rage and excitement swells in me, fueled by our kiss a few days ago, our bickering, and the way we fight together.

“I’ve never met anyone who could keep up with me like that,” he utters, his voice husky, rough.

“ I still haven’t.” I smirk, tilting my head mockingly.

“Is that a challenge?” He’s rising, coming right for me when the first siren echoes in the distance.

So instead, we dash for the nearest side street, throwing caution to the wind that the cops will drive off the remaining sniper and clear our escape.

“No. She’s not.” Ero’s soft protest drags me back to consciousness.

“What?” I groan, sitting up from my uncomfortable slouch in the train car seat. Must have dozed off.

“Nothing. Wasn’t talking to you.” Ero stares out the window, sitting across from me. The night train rattles on through the dark, our car emptier than before I fell asleep.

Completely empty, actually.

Leave it up to you to attract a lunatic… Artemis hums, making a face.

Leave it up to you to haunt my love life, huh? Nosy bitch.

“Telling your imaginary friends about me?” I ask.

“Reminding myself that I can’t trust you.”

“Grumpy, grumpy. Take a fucking nap. We’ve got another eight hours to go.”

Ero glares at me, the dark circles under his eyes accented by the shadow of his dark eyebrows, his jet-black eyes. If I were less experienced, less brave…

Fuck it, he still scares the shit out of me sometimes.

“Milan, huh?” He switches gears after a few moments, blowing out a long breath.

“Yeah. It’s the safest place to meet with…” I cock my head to the side, hesitating.

“With your mysterious master. Spare me the theatrics.” Something vaguely resembling a smile flickers across his face. “I won’t even address the fact that you go by Circe.”

“It’s my name.”

“Bullshit. It’s your moniker. Code name, maybe.”

“How do you know your name isn’t an identity?”

“I—” Ero starts off harsh, stuttering and catching himself. “Fuck. I don’t know. I feel like it’s right. Like it’s mine.”

“Then you know how I feel about my name too.”

“Don’t act like we’re the same. Like you’re missing pieces of yourself.”

“Don’t act like you know the first thing about me,” I clap back.

“I definitely don’t. Other than…” His gaze wavers, the smallest flinch of pain twitching in his cheek.

“Other than what? Our wedding? Our?—”

“Our past. Yeah. If that was even real. If you weren’t just using me for cover on a hit.”

“What makes you think so? What do you remember, Ero?”

Because I really do want to know what he sees when his eyes go distant. I want to compare notes, to know if he has information that I don’t.

“Not memories. Just facts. You’re a chimera, a fucking changeling.

Every time I see you, you’re someone else, ‘Circe.’” He makes air quotes as he says it, the word and his tone cutting me deeper than it should for some reason.

“You change your persona as easily as you change your shirt. Everything about you is a mask, a lie.”

Wow. Okay.

Hackles up.

It’s a sheer effort of will to keep from kicking him right in the shin across the space between us. Or opening the train window and tossing him headfirst into the Austrian countryside.

Taking a breath, I sit up, leaning my elbows on my knees.

“I guess you have a point. Suppose I am named after a myth. I brought you back from the dead more than once. Maybe I am a sorceress, a goddess.”

“A demon, more like. Or an angel sent to punish me.”

“What would that make you ? If I remember correctly, Ero was basically…Cupid?” A snort of laughter flaps my lips. “With his three cherubic brothers. Spelling mortals to fall in love with them.”

Ero’s eyes narrow, that way I’ve seen him look when he catches me slipping in what little I know of his past. Like the fact that he really did have three brothers.

I shouldn’t be so flippant with details.

Too risky. And dangerous. At least to my mission, my orders. She wants him this way, clueless. A blank slate.

For a split second, I almost feel bad.

“Well, the only desire you give me is to puke,” I snip.

“It’s mutual, trust me.”

“Can’t trust a trickster. Might try to shoot me with an arrow…” I raise my eyebrows, wanting this to go a very different direction suddenly.

“Arrow. Bullet. Whatever shuts you up.”

“Please. Put me out of my misery.”

We stay like that, eyes locked and heat searing the air between us for a second, a minute. Finally he breaks, huffing once.

“If I am any kind of angelic being, it’s the Angel of Death,” he says softly, almost to himself.

“Give me a break. And you say I’m dramatic,” I huff, using the opportunity to shift the mood. Getting too real. Too painful.

But Ero doesn’t take the bait. Like the fight’s gone out of him.

Why am I disappointed? It’s not like we were…

Flirting harder than a dog in heat?

You’re disgusting, Arty.

And you’re going to wind up a spinster hag, Cirs.