Murdering Eve

By Kelly L Lee

Exiled to magic-barren Earth Realm, Whit Blackstone has resigned himself to never seeing his family or clan again. But when a mysterious woman appears, wielding as much power as the goddess who banished him, primal desire and his desperation to return home collide.

Immortal? After twenty-nine years of believing herself human, Eve Moore can't wrap her brain around the word. But even immortals can't always cheat death, especially if a bloodthirsty God of War threatens your soul. Betrayed and hunted by a relentless assassin, newly immortal Eve Moore has no choice but to trust the heart-stopping stranger she's been tasked to find and return to Olympus.

As their chemistry ignites, Eve discovers the depth of her emerging powers, and the inescapable connection she and Whit share. When the time comes, will Eve hand him over and walk away? Or will the long buried secrets of her past doom both their lives, and their very souls?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jul 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781509202171

Kelly L Lee

Kelly Lee is an award-winning author who lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband, two daughters, and three dogs. Kelly’s first book, Murdering Eve, won the 2011 Readers Favorite award for best Fantasy Romance, and was a finalist in the Golden Quill awards for Best First Book. She is a proud member of the Romance Writers of America, and Dallas Area Romance Authors. Kelly holds an MBA, and when her alter ego is not toiling away at a full time corporate gig, reading, or writing – she travels as much as humanly possible, drinks copious amounts of wine with incredibly supportive girlfriends, and eats as much sushi as she can realistically endure.

Book preview

Eve moved a little closer

and tilted her head to the side, unabashedly inspecting him.

You don’t look like a troll. You being a werewolf is easier to believe.

Whit laughed. If you knew any real werewolves, you wouldn’t say that. I’m curious—what do you think a troll should look like?

You know…short, squat.

She smiled, and warmth from her aura blanketed him. Whit felt their connection reopen. All traces of her fear vanished.

Actually, I am short, compared to other trolls. I’ve been called a runt before.

Trolls have warts.

He looked at her with mock solemnity. I could have warts.

She snorted. Trolls live under bridges.

I like to fish under bridges. I even camp there if I’m out too late and forget my tent.

Eve put her hands on her hips. Trolls abduct and eat children.

He grinned. Only if I’m really, really hungry.

Her small fist shot out and smacked him in the shoulder. He laughed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer to him.

Turning an angelic face up to his, she said, Trolls are ugly.

He leaned down and inhaled her scent. He couldn’t help himself. Do you think I’m ugly, Eve?

She allowed him closer, and lowered her voice to a sexy murmur. I think you’re far from ugly, Whit. But you already know that.

Praise for Kelly L. Lee’s MURDERING EVE

Kelly Lee’s breathtakingly sensual tale of adventure, love, and revenge will suck you in from page one. The first in a beautifully layered series that will have readers anxiously awaiting the next book.

~Sasha Summers

~*~

"I couldn’t put down MURDERING EVE. The book has a sexy hero, a kick-butt heroine, and just about everything required for an awesome read."

~CA Szarek, award-winning author

~*~

Ms. Lee is an author to watch! In this thrilling and enchanting beginning to a new series, readers have a chance to fall in love with a world unlike ours, one with a simple good vs. evil plot, but the elements that make up this storyline take a fresh, unique spin.

~Long and Short Reviews

~*~

"MURDERING EVE is a well-written, well-edited book with carefully structured tension that makes it a written masterpiece. Whit and Eve’s romance begins slowly and rolls right into steamy sex scenes that readers will adore. Twilight fans will love this book…"

~Reader’s Favorite Reviews

~*~

The author has come up with an interesting and invigorating new story line, drawing in the Gods of Olympus, Titans, trolls and fairies. I look forward to reading more from this author as she has infused new life into the paranormal scene.

~Night Owl Reviews

Murdering Eve

by

Kelly L. Lee

Four Realms Series, Book One

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Murdering Eve

COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Kelly L. Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

Previously published by Noble Romance, 2011

First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2015

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0216-4

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0217-1

Four Realms Series, Book One

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To those who endlessly supported,

continually encouraged,

and never doubted.

Chapter One

Eve Moore stood outside her husband’s office door, cold sweat dampening her forehead. She glanced around at the empty cubicles. Everyone knew, except her. At least her humiliation didn’t have an audience.

Motionless, she listened to the breathy moan of a woman, followed by her husband’s familiar grunt. A heavy scent permeated the air, rich and earthy, reminding Eve of incense. The air conditioning kicked on, bathing her skin in icy swirls and drying her nervous sweat. The industrial hum of the blower masked the sounds on the other side of the door. She leaned forward, rubbing at the chill bumps on her arms.

Eve envisioned throwing open the door with righteous indignation and the vengeful fury of a woman scorned. She knew that’s what a jilted wife should do. But she couldn’t work up enough—what? Nerve? Passion? Give a shit?

Steeling herself against the inevitable, she braced her hand against the doorframe and eased the door open a few inches. The door hinges creaked, and Eve jumped back, chickening out at the last moment. She needn’t have worried. A bomb could have exploded, and Eric wouldn’t have noticed.

A gorgeous woman lay across the top of her husband’s desk, her bright red hair streaming down one corner. A gasp lodged in Eve’s throat. Though Eve wasn’t surprised to see a bored facial expression, considering Eric’s sexual talents (or lack thereof), the woman’s facial features were beyond striking. Thick, dark lashes fanned out below her closed eyes onto defined cheekbones. A straight nose led to full, crimson-painted lips. Impossibly long, shapely legs wrapped around her husband. Toned, intimidating muscles strained in the woman’s shoulders, gripping Eric tightly as he banged into her. Every inch of the woman’s tall, lean body radiated power and strength. Eve abandoned the fleeting thought of barging in and kicking some slutty ass.

Eve glanced down at herself. She didn’t love the way she looked, but she liked her body—at least she had. The petite frame, generous breasts, and feminine curves she’d always been proud of suddenly felt reduced to short and soft. Where his mistress had shocking red hair, Eve’s was an average golden blonde. Even her steel gray eyes—something she considered her best feature—felt overshadowed by the mere promise of what was hidden beneath the woman’s closed eyelids. An indefinable shame settled over her shoulders like a cold, wet blanket. As if cheating on her weren’t bad enough, Eric chose to do it publicly and with someone her complete physical opposite.

A single candle burned next to his monitor in a twisted, cheap version of romance. The mingled scent of patchouli and sex pervaded the room, and Eve’s stomach churned.

I hate him.

Anger finally took hold, crowding out the soul-soaking humiliation. A hot burn started in her chest and radiated outward until her fingers tingled. How dare he stand there, with the pants she ironed bunched around his stupid, black-socked ankles, and screw another woman? She pushed the door wide and cleared her throat, prepared to confront Eric and the Amazonian harlot head-on.

The woman’s eyelids flew open to reveal electric green eyes, but Eve found no surprise or panic in them. An eerie smile curled the corners of the woman’s mouth. Eric’s head snapped up, but his body didn’t slow. Three powerful, and probably painful, thrusts later, he climaxed with a telltale grunt. Without a word, he withdrew from the woman and reached for his wrinkled shirt, which lay abandoned on the floor.

Eve couldn’t draw breath. Eric didn’t care he’d been caught. She’d expected he would be shocked, chagrined, and apologetic, as any normal husband would be. Instead, he pulled up his pants and buckled them, barely acknowledging her presence.

He’d wanted her to find him cheating, she realized. He knew she’d be picking him up because her car was at the mechanic. She drove him to work that morning in his own SUV. Eric not only wanted to be caught, but also apparently wanted her to catch him in the worst, most graphic way possible.

She balled her fists. You are a miserable piece of shit.

Eric shrugged into his shirt without a word.

Aren’t you going to say anything?

Like what? You caught me. I’m caught. It’s not like I can deny it.

So that’s it? Since you can’t deny you’re screwing around, you’ve got nothing to say? Eve crossed her arms to hide the tremor in her hands. How about, ‘I’m sorry’?

He met her gaze with a blank expression. I’m sorry.

Aghast at his lack of emotion, Eve shifted her attention to the woman sitting on top of the desk. Pulling down an appallingly tight, white tank dress over what appeared to be the world’s most perfect breasts, the woman leveled a glare in her direction. Eve shrank back a step at the utter disdain in her eyes.

The air in the room shifted, and a heavy weight pressed on her lungs. She gasped for air, horrified she might be experiencing an anxiety attack, or worse, a heart attack. She could see the headline…Pathetic woman dies from catching her husband cheating.

Oh hell no, she wasn’t that weak.

Eve dragged in a gulp of air, relieved when the agony in her chest abated. She sensed a weird pop in the air around her and felt slightly off-balance, as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff. The redhead’s eyebrows shot up, and she turned her head to look at something. Eve followed her gaze. The candle flame snuffed out on its own, and a tendril of smoke spiraled upward, forming a shape Eve felt like she should recognize but couldn’t.

Suddenly, Eric fell to his knees. The candle smoke seemed to snake over to Eric, circling his head. He reached out with one hand to the redhead, who casually hopped off the desk and shimmied her dress over her hips, sans underwear.

The woman sauntered over and placed a hand on his shoulder. You’re not sorry yet, Eric, but you’re going to be. I need you to do something for me.

Anything.

I want you to kill your wife.

Incredulous rage swept over Eve as she watched her husband blink stupidly at his mistress. How dare he pretend to consider killing her? She took a step forward, jabbing a pointed finger in the air. Are you out of your freaking mind? Get your sorry ass up off the floor.

The redhead sidestepped Eric, balling her hands into fists. If you come any closer, I’ll kill you myself.

Eve froze at the icy contempt in the woman’s voice. Scraping together her remaining shards of confidence, she snapped at the redhead in a tone of voice she hoped would sound threatening. Unfortunately, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered up her throat, and the words came out sounding like an adolescent boy’s voice in the midst of a hormone surge.

Who the hell are you?

Who I am is not important, but what I’m doing is very important indeed. She turned her head, speaking over her shoulder. Do as I say, Eric.

Eric rose to his feet. He stared at the redhead as he opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a gun.

Eve felt her body go weak, hunching over as fear punched her in the gut. Her husband didn’t love her. Long ago, she knew he cheated. But would he murder her simply because his mistress asked him to? The woman obviously had some kind of hold over Eric. Maybe she was blackmailing him. Regardless, they obviously meant to kill her. She was going to have to talk her way out of this. Fast.

Eric, please. I know things aren’t great between us, but you can’t want to kill me. She croaked out the words, disbelief burning through her veins. If this is about money, we can get a quickie divorce, and you can have everything. I’ll sign over the house, the cars, the bank accounts, our retirement savings, everything. For God’s sake, you don’t have to do this!

An expression of utter confusion passed over his face, and the gun’s aim dropped an inch. Money?

He inclined his head in a timid motion. Holly, is this about money? Do I have to kill her? It would be easier for us to get married if we could avoid a murder investigation.

Holly? My murder is being engineered by some twit named Holly?

Look at your wife, Eric. Show her.

Eric turned toward Eve. His eyes bulged, and Eve noticed an intense ring of purple in his normally medium-brown eyes.

What the hell?

In her peripheral vision, Eve saw Holly walk behind the desk. Eve didn’t divert her gaze to find out why, because she was locked onto the eerie sight of the vivid, purple halos flaring around her husband’s irises.

What’s she done to you, Eric?

Holly’s whisper floated on the air. Kill her.

The nose of the gun tilted back up.

Eve pivoted and bolted through open doorway. As she rounded the corner, the frosted glass pane beside Eric’s office door shattered with the simultaneous, ear-splitting crack of a gunshot.

****

Eve’s feet hit the pavement before the car came to a full stop in her driveway. Racing into the garage, she bee lined for her home office, sprinting through the kitchen. With her car at the mechanic, she knew she had precious little time to get things in order before calling the police. She glanced at her watch, counting the time since she escaped Eric’s office.

Yanking open the top drawer of her desk, she frantically tossed aside the myriad pens and sticky note pads. At the back of the drawer, the cold metal of a key brushed her fingertips. Eve sagged in relief. She retrieved a lockbox from the bottom drawer, hidden beneath two reams of printer paper. As she clutched the box to her chest and pocketed the key, she heard the faint click of a door open.

Not possible. He can’t be here yet, he doesn’t have a car.

She cocked her head to listen in the quiet of the house. An accordion door separated her home office, formerly a small dining room, from the kitchen. She had converted the dining room because Eve turned the extra bedroom into a nursery in those early, optimistic months of their marriage. At the moment, she was glad. With her office close to the kitchen, she could find a weapon. Pushing gently on the accordion door to prevent the hinge from squeaking, she inched into the kitchen. She tiptoed to the butcher block and withdrew a carving knife. As a means to defend herself, the blade felt woefully insufficient, but Eric already pulled the only gun they owned on her. From her spot in the kitchen, she saw the garage door hanging open. Had she left it ajar when she came in? To get to the door, she’d have to walk past a narrow opening leading into the living room.

I’ll make a run for it.

The hollow click of a cocked gun sent her stomach hurtling within her.

Where do you think you’re going? Come join the party. The mocking voice of Eric’s mistress echoed in the quiet of the house.

Gripping the knife, Eve shuffled the handful of steps to the living room. Eric stood at the mouth of the hallway, as though he’d just searched the back of the house. He looked at the redhead—Holly, Eve remembered—his irises flaring purple again, then he leveled the gun directly at Eve. Every fiber in Eve’s body screamed to escape, but she stilled when Eric solemnly pressed his lips together and slowly shook his head. She wouldn’t get away again. He’d shoot. She knew he would.

Holly sauntered around the sofa with an insolent expression, one arm hidden behind her body. Eve hugged the lockbox to her chest, wanting to shriek in frustration. She should have gone straight to the police, her crazy secrets be damned.

Swinging what appeared to be gaudy bowling trophy as she rounded the corner of the sofa, Holly placed the massive cup on the coffee table in the middle of the room. At first glance, the cup reminded Eve of something frat boys might use to drink beer from—or a sports team might use to dump water on someone’s head. But the longer she stared, the more she realized the cup was obviously antique, heavy, and probably expensive. Was it stolen? Were they trying to frame her for a crime while they murdered her? Nothing Eric or his mistress did made any sense. Eve flicked her gaze back to Eric and saw no answers there, only the bizarre purple rings circling in his eyes.

Holly moved back to her original position, triangulating the three of them in the room, and chanted softly in a language Eve didn’t recognize. The air shimmered around the cup, and waves of something colorless eddied out, like heat radiating from a sidewalk in the summer. Eve gasped as her quick, panicked breaths became shallower. Each inhalation became more difficult than the next, the same way she’d felt in Eric’s office, but this time she couldn’t draw a breath or clear her mind. Something was very, very wrong.

As Eric and Holly stared, trancelike, at the cup, Eve had no choice but to make a run for it. She tried to inch one foot backward, but it didn’t move. She looked down at her shoes. Her feet simply wouldn’t obey the command from her brain. Panic fully seized her as she found she couldn’t move. She wasn’t figuratively frozen in fear; she was literally paralyzed. She tried to wiggle her toes and failed. She still gripped the knife handle tightly in her hand, but then realized with horror she couldn’t release it even if she wanted to.

The rise and fall of her chest grew slower and more difficult with each inhalation. Her vision narrowed to a pinprick in a dark tunnel as she tried to swing her gaze and failed. Her equilibrium shifted, and she braced herself for the pain of her body hitting the floor. She said a silent prayer a split second before she heard the deceptively mild command of Eric’s mistress.

Shoot her.

Chapter Two

Eric’s wife swayed from side to side. Seconds ticked by. Eric stood motionless and unblinking, like a deer caught in headlights.

I said, shoot her, Holly shouted across the room, hoping to jolt him out of his stupor. The obsession charm she’d woven in his office seemed to be working fine earlier. He obeyed her every command, until she chanted the incantation over the Acheron Cup. What in nine hells is the matter with you, you imbecile? Can’t you follow simple instructions?

She watched Eric carefully. He gripped the gun with white knuckles, but he gave her no response. No movement. Nothing.

Holly looked back and forth between Eve and Eric’s motionless bodies, then studied the air visibly swirling above the Acheron Cup. The cup was purportedly an incredibly powerful weapon. Could they be rendered immobile by it? She prepared months in advance for her meeting with Ares, God of War, in order to gain access to the cup. But maybe she should have taken a little more time actually to learn how to use it.

Holly prowled the room and considered her options. She couldn’t compel Eric. He seemed to be caught up in the cup’s magic as much as his wife. That was unfortunate. Ares wouldn’t be happy. She muttered an oath under her breath.

Sniffing derisively at the two human statues, Holly realized she hadn’t been ambitious enough. This domestic drama was beneath her. She needed to think bigger for the next experiment, and she would. She definitely would.

Holly took the mundane carving knife out of the wife’s hand, prying the woman’s fingers loose one at a time. Damned Acheron Cup.

Once she freed the knife, Holly palmed the hilt and turned around. The wife’s death was purely a means to an end, but she looked forward to killing Eric. She should probably save him until last, but she didn’t understand the allure of the whole anticipate and savor thing. Besides, she owed him for the pounding he gave her in his office. Granted, seducing him was easy, but he only liked stupid girls, so she’d been forced to act all sweet and giggly for the past few weeks. Holly detested sweet and giggly.

With the heavy kitchen knife in her hand, she stared straight into Eric’s purple-haloed eyes.

You, my repugnant friend, are a horrible fuck. I hated every second your cock was in me. Tell Hades I said hello. She drew up the knife and without a second’s hesitation, sliced across his throat so hard his head bobbled backward.

Blood spewed across her face. She spat out the droplets that landed in her open mouth. Bright red streaks sprayed along the wall beside him and, Holly noted with some amusement, across a framed photograph of a smiling couple in tuxedo and wedding dress. Still, his body stood erect, in spite of his head lolling back like a Pez dispenser. Holly swung around to stare at the Acheron Cup. Would the magic Ares promised even work?

The air around the cup pulsed and swirled faster, then turned the color of burnt orange. An immense force pulled at her, and chilled bumps of foreboding marched down her arms. Something invisible rushed past her like a gale force wind, hurtling toward the cup. The air stilled, and energy broke around Eric’s body with an audible snap. He collapsed, and the gun clattered to the floor. She stood over the soulless shell of him, her chest pounding with excitement. He was only human, after all.

Holly waited for her heart rate to slow, then turned to face Eric’s wife, who still stood in the same place, swaying gently. A blank, unfocused stare replaced the fear in Eve’s eyes.

You’re Eve, right? She moved nearer and peered close enough to feel the woman’s shallow, labored breaths on her face. Yeah, I think that’s your name.

Holly considered the lovely blonde woman a moment, feeling a pinprick of remorse. She quickly squashed the emotion. You, my mortal friend, are the start of something incredible for me. These are the first real steps toward my journey to the Olympus Realm and my rightful place among the gods.

Holly began to understand why murderers talked to their victims before they killed them. She felt compelled to explain herself, though only the gods knew why. She never suffered the burden of a conscience before.

The air around the cup shimmied in an unsteady beat, and Holly’s gut clenched with an uneasy feeling the spell she cast over the cup would not last much longer. Oh well, I gotta wrap it up. Souls to doom and gods to feed, you understand, I’m sure.

Holly looked at Eve and felt an unexpected stab of regret. Sorry it had to be you, but it had to be somebody. Too bad you married a schmuck who screwed around on you and ultimately got you killed. If it makes you feel any better, I had to use an obsession charm on him to compel him to kill you. He didn’t have the balls to murder you on his own. But hey, life isn’t fair. And neither is your death, when I think about it.

She raised the knife to Eve’s throat, ready to slash, but a rather magnanimous idea struck. How about I do you a favor? Instead of cutting your throat, I’ll stab you through the heart. Your family can mourn you in a nice open casket.

Holly gave herself a mental pat on the back in acknowledgement of her own generosity, and then unceremoniously thrust the knife into Eve’s chest. The blade embedded completely, the black plastic handle slapping wetly against Eve’s skin. She stepped back and held her breath, waiting for the swirling air to turn burnt orange again, waiting to feel the cup’s power steal the human’s soul. Seconds ticked by.

They stood motionless, the air around the cup still swirling devoid of color. Then the temperature of the room took a nosedive, dipping several degrees every second.

Something felt very wrong. The instant Holly registered the thought, a blinding white light burst from the hole in Eve’s chest. The knife shot across the room and clanged against the opposite wall. Cold air gathered into a visible mass, smashing into Holly with the velocity of a hurricane. The shimmering around the cup dissipated, and the relic vanished, dropping into a vortex of its own energy.

Darkness blanketed the room. A deafening noise, like a crack popping in a glacier, ripped through the silence. Holly immediately recognized the sound. A portal was opening, but how? And to where? Before she could guess what was going to happen next, every cell in her body felt like it burst, and she landed on her ass, on a marble floor, with a painful bounce.

Opening her eyes, she blinked away her tears before they fell. As her blurry vision cleared, Holly’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Then—fear, a lot of fear. About ten feet away, Eve sprawled unconscious on the floor, lying prone at the foot of the Olympus God of War’s throne. Holly whipped her head from side to side, desperately searching for the Acheron Cup. The cup was gone, nowhere to be seen.

Oh, shit.

Chapter Three

At daybreak, Ares attended a duel between two of his fiercest warriors. They had some kind of dispute over a Titan woman and declared war on each other. He couldn’t understand why men fought over women to such a degree. Such trivial arguments were utter foolishness and a waste of talent in his opinion, no matter how much he enjoyed the brief but intense violence of a passionate duel. He’d rather see the two warriors take up battle together, fighting side by side to wreak their fury on an enemy.

Oh, he understood the siren call, and he certainly had sunk his flesh into many a willing female form. In the last several millennia, even Ares hungered for one or two women for years at a stretch. A wistful smile touched his lips at the thought of his beautiful Aphrodite, but he clamped down hard on the emotion. He needed to let that one go.

All other women were tiresome. No matter how fiery they appeared at the beginning, in the end, he inevitably grew weary of the comfort and tenderness to which all women eventually reverted. Ares neither wanted nor needed any of that feminine crap.

As predicted, the stronger fighter prevailed. The lesser male, skewered through the heart, was left to die as he bled out on the floor of Ares’ private arena. Many a mighty warrior and beast died honorably there. To have one’s blood mingle with theirs for eternity was a good way to die.

Ares frowned. The inferior fighter shouldn’t have claimed his death in such a magnificent place over such a minor thing as love. Ares decided on the spot he would no longer allow duels precipitated by personal reasons to be fought in his arena, hereafter. It lessened the place. If he didn’t head such petty occurrences off, the place soon would be used for midwifery.

Did you hear me, my lord? Zarendon knelt in supplication before Ares with veiled impatience on his face.

Ares gripped the arms of his throne and briefly considered whether he wanted to continue the conversation. Zarendon, an Olympus Prince somehow descended from Nyx, the Goddess of Night, claimed to be one of Ares’ many, distant cousins. There were more Olympian Princes than he could count, always attempting to gain favor for something or other.

Zarendon forever bootlicked the first-generation Olympian gods, and there were quite a few of them. Any of Zeus’ offspring were considered first-generation, since he’d defeated Cronus and the Titans, but Ares’ seemed to be Zarendon’s favorite ass to kiss.

Luckily, fate intervened when a portal opened in the ceiling of his throne room, allowing him the unexpected pleasure of ignoring the pestering, mewling prince. To his delight, Holly dropped through the portal, landing on the floor. He grinned when she bounced.

Hair the color of fire rained down Holly’s back, and Ares’ smile grew, remembering their meeting a few months before. As he recalled how her red hair looked wrapped around his fist, cascading down his forearm as she sat atop him, other parts of his anatomy stood up and took notice. Holly was as hot a sexual partner as he’d had in centuries.

She came before him to ask favor, offering a most intriguing experiment. If the scheme worked, Ares would successfully siphon power directly from Earth Realm, something the gods hadn’t attempted in thousands of years. In return, Ares entrusted her with one of his most prized spoils of war from days long past…the Acheron Cup. His expectant pleasure faltered a fraction as he saw fear and confusion in Holly’s eyes.

Another body slid through the portal and smacked against the base of his throne with a wet sound, like the thunk of a ripe melon hitting the floor. Ares spared little more than a glance at the small female supernatural he didn’t recognize. Apparently unconscious, her body was hunched over in the fetal position, hair obscuring her face.

Holly scrambled to her feet and stood before him, never raising her gaze to his. She remained silent and began to shake.

Ares huffed an impatient sigh. Well, are you going to report why you’re here, or are you just going to stand there? And who is this lump of flesh lying beneath me?

Zarendon inched back from where he knelt before Ares, his gaze locked on the unconscious woman’s body. Ares hoped he’d leave altogether.

Did you receive my offering? Terror rolled off Holly in waves, her voice trembling with undisguised panic.

What are you talking about? Ares crossed his arms. "You’ve not brought me any offerings yet. Where is the Acheron Cup? The human’s essence must be brought