Her Warriors' Three Wishes (Dante's Circle) (3 page)

Dante’s Circle could have held every aspect of the history of the town, especially with a dragon–who was god knows how old–as the owner, if Dante had desired it.

No, he preferred it to be his own little corner of the world.

Perfect for Jamie and her friends.

“Jamie! What on earth happened to you?” Becca asked. She put down the tray she’d been holding on the bar and grabbed a handful of paper towels, running toward Jamie. Her curly red hair bounced on her shoulders. 

Jamie took the towels out of Becca’s hand before her friend could mother her. As she wiped her face, she rolled her eyes. 

“Some asshat with a small penis drove by too fast and splashed me.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “I assume you know the size of his penis because of his car, not from personal experience.”

“Fuck off.”

“He must have pissed you off because you
never
cuss like that.”

Jamie’s skin tightened, and weakness spread through her. She fought off the shakes that normally came with it and she knew she must look pale. “Yeah, that’s it.” Not the fact that she’d felt out of sorts for a freaking year because a certain angel had left her alone in the human realm.

A flash of white caught her eye, and Jamie barely held back a gasp. 

Oh, that just figured.

Ambrose, the man she’d tried to forget, walked toward her, a frown on his face. The man—no, angel—seemed to always be frowning, never smiling. His face would probably crack if he ever did show a happier emotion.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, his voice deep. The rough sound shot straight through her system. She was helpless to defend herself against it. 

She knew she resembled one of the heroines in the romance novels she loved to read, standing there doe-eyed, falling in love… 

Damn the man.

No, she’d be one of those newer characters, the ones who stood tall and acted as if they didn’t care before they took up their sword and battled demons of their own.

Yeah, she’d be one of them.

Jamie squared her shoulders and nodded. “I’m fine thanks, Ambrose.” His name on her tongue caused a little rush of something she’d rather not think about to flow through her.

Damn the man again.

He looked good. Too good. He’d put his white-blond hair in a ponytail, and it only accentuated the masculinity of his features. He was built, sexy—a warrior god. Those gray eyes…she could lose herself in them if she would let herself.

He nodded, his gaze traveling over her, whether to check for wounds or because he liked to look at her she didn’t know, and she tried not to care. He didn’t have his normal aura of being a stoic man who knew all and could do all. No, something was off.

“Good to hear,” he said and then cleared his throat. Why did he look nervous? “It’s good to see you, Jamie.”

She held back the pleasure at those words.
He’s just being friendly, remember
? “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has.”

“Are you done flirting over there?” Faith yelled from the table. “Come on and sit so we can order. What took you so long?”

Jamie held back a wince at her friend’s not-so-subtle tone. Crap, talk about awkward. She looked up into Ambrose’s face, and he lifted the corner of his lip. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his smile—or at least a partial one.

God, talk about pathetic. It had been a year since she’d seen him, and she wanted to throw herself at him. The image of her doing so filled her mind and she held back a groan. She wasn’t a desperate woman; she could handle the temptation.

The laughter echoing in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Faith, could easily be ignored. 

Becca went back behind the bar while Ambrose stood back and gestured for her to walk first. That was good, that way she wouldn’t be caught staring at him like a starving dog clamoring after a bone.

A meaty, delicious, mouth-watering bone.

She blinked. That was enough of that.

Her six girlfriends and Lily’s husband, Shade, were now sitting at the table waiting for her to join them. She must have been deep in thought, and looking idiotic, if Becca had made it back to the table before she had.

She gave Faith a long look. “Thanks for that,” she said dryly.

“Anytime, doll,” Faith said, not a single glimpse of remorse in her eyes.

Jamie took her seat at the table while Ambrose took the last empty one—the one directly next to her. 

Oh, that wasn’t subtle at all, guys
.

She shifted in her chair as awareness of his presence slid over her body. Why did she want him so much? It made no sense; she hadn’t even seen the man in a year.

Why couldn’t she just get over him? Maybe she’d been wrong and he wasn’t really her true half. After all, she didn’t really know exactly what it meant to have one. She’d only learned about it through Shade and Lily. They were the only paranormals she knew. 

Well, there was always Dante, but he was tightlipped about the whole mating-power thing. He’d always been quiet and reserved with her and her friends when he wasn’t barking out orders like a normal barkeep. Plus, the man had a weird connection to her friend, Nadie, the virginal blonde of the group. She snorted at the thought. Yep, that was Nadie all right.

“Where’s your head?” the man in question asked. Dante truly was a beautiful man, his dark hair holding midnight-blue streaks that flowed down his back. He was ripped like a cover model with tattoos and piercings making him look sexy and dangerous. 

And, totally not who she wanted.

Dante sat down on a stool next to their table and cocked his head.

“Sorry, I’m just still pissed at the puddle man,” she lied. 

Yeah, like she’d tell them she’d been thinking about true mates and the sexy angel sitting next to her taking up entirely too much space.

“Hopefully he’ll get a ticket later,” Nadie said as she brushed a lock of long blonde hair behind her ear. Nadie was beautiful woman, but she never did anything about it. 

Yeah, not so much.

“You know that won’t happen,” Lily said as she leaned into Shade’s hold. They really were a gorgeous couple. His darker skin tone was like caramel to her ivory. While her eyes were big and green, his were a fractured ice-blue, uniquely amazing. While his black hair was tied back, Lily had let hers fall around her shoulders, and Shade absentmindedly played with it.

“Of course not. Asshats like that get away with everything,” Amara said before taking a drink of her beer. She ran a hand through her curly auburn hair then smiled.

“Oh, yes, the asshats of the earth,” Faith said. “Why can’t we just kill them all? Don’t you boys know something that can help?” 

Shade threw a pretzel at her, and she ducked, her chin-length black hair going into disarray.

“Stop throwing food in my bar,” Dante ordered.

Eliana threw a pretzel in his direction, and he caught it without even looking. Her brown eyes widened, and everyone froze.

“What? Should I continue to hide what I am? Maybe act like a klutzy human?” He narrowed his gaze at Becca then winked. “No, dear, that’s not all humans, just you.”

Becca glowered at the dragon. “Okay, I think we have an asshat at our table.”

Jamie laughed then took a sip of her drink Dante had delivered without an order. If it weren’t for the fact that none of them ever had more than one drink at any time, she’d be worried that the bartender knew tastes so well. 

Honestly, she was really boring. She owned a failing bookstore that she’d tried to perk up with countless signings, recommendations, book clubs, and food, but it was no use. The indie bookstore was a dying breed, and she’d have to find something else to do or she’d lose everything.

She took another gulp of her drink and tried not to think about it. Everything hurt as it was. She didn’t need to think about one more thing to add to her pain.

“So, Ambrose, why are you back?” Faith asked, a blunt curiosity in her tone.

Jamie’s attention narrowed to the angel of her thoughts. Yes, why
was
he back after all this time? Was he here to help her though her change?

She felt a blush cover her face at the thought. Uh, yeah, “helping” her through the change would require sex. So not happening.

Ambrose took a drink of his beer and settled back into his chair. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, even though she wanted it. 

Hell, she needed to get over him.

“I’ve done what I’ve needed at home,” he said, his rough voice hitting her in all the right places. “Now I’m here to fulfill my promise.”

Hurt assaulted her, sharp pains that wouldn’t fade away. Why did she have to feel bad about that? It wasn’t as if she’d had the romantic notion he’d come back to her. So, she’d thought it. That hadn’t meant it could actually happen…right?

She bit her lip and closed her eyes before taking a deep breath. She’d be okay. She’d survived before; she would now.

The conversation turned over to their various day jobs, though Jamie was only half listening. Between her body feeling weak, her bookstore failing, and the angel beside her who didn’t want her, it was all too much.

“I’m feeling a bit tired,” she said during a lull in conversation. “I’m going to head home.”

“Be careful, Jamie,” Ambrose warned.

She faced him, determined not to let her feelings show. “Always am.”

“I’m serious. We don’t know what the world thinks of your predicament. I want you to be careful. Would you like me to accompany you?”

Oh, God, how she’d want that. She could invite him in, have a drink, get naked…no. That wouldn’t be happening.

She shook her head and stood. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s been a year and we’re fine. If you were so worried, why haven’t you been here? The warning’s a bit late.” She turned to her friends who were watching them with curious glances. Great, she’d have to answer for the tension in the air. Not now, no, now she needed to leave. “I’ll call Lily when I get home.” If she’d just said she’d call any of them, then they’d all worry until she’d call
all
of them.

By the time she’d gotten to her car and driven home, her body was ready to shut down for the night. God, she was tired. She was
always
tired these days.

Jamie sank into the cushions of her couch and sighed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to see Ambrose much while he was here. As much as she wanted to see him, she couldn’t, not if she wanted to stay sane.

The window above her head shattered, sending glass all over her body, slicing into her skin as pain radiated through her. What the hell?

Instinctively, she lowered her body, but something pulled her by the hair and threw her into her wall. She crashed into pictures, bringing them to the floor with her. She raised her head, trying to see her attacker, but he kicked her in the face. She screamed as her cheekbone broke, her body growing heavy.

Oh, God, whoever he was, he was going to kill her.

“Don’t fucking kill her,” a voice said. 

She didn’t recognize it, but maybe they’d help her since he didn’t want her dead.

“Right,” another voice said, this one closer to her. “The master wants her alive for his plans. We can heal this bitch up later.”

Fear, unadulterated fear, slid over her.

She wasn’t going to die here, but it would come soon.

Jamie tried to lift herself up off the floor so she’d be able to fight back, but hands grabbed her again. She twisted and struggled, but he slapped her on her broken cheek. Tears burst from her as she fought not to vomit from the pain. 

“Oh, Master’s going to like you. You’re a fighter,” the one who’d hurt her said.

As the world blackened, all she could think of was Ambrose. He’d come when she didn’t call, right? He’d come.

Chapter 3

Metal clashed against metal as Balin Drake’s sword came down across his opponent’s blade. The sound rang out through the cavern, deep in the pits of hell. The stalagmites reached down like claws, grasping for their victims. Balin swung again, the other demon staggering back with the force of the blow. Balin gritted his teeth, his body weakening at the lack of energy, but fought on.

This may have been just a training exercise for the other demon, but for Balin, it was a way of life. In the hell realm, war, famine, loss, and torture were a norm, the only way to live as a demon. Fighting against another demon, training, killing, maiming was all part of their lives—their memories.

The other demon, Fawkes, came at Balin again, his sword too high, not protecting his mid-section. If Balin had been any other demon—the kind who relished killing and death—he would have sliced the younger demon through the belly. The flesh would slide around the blade like butter then Balin would twist, damaging and cutting every internal organ he could with just one hit.

However, Balin wasn’t any ordinary demon. No, he was a pure-blood demon who had a conscience and was sick of death and blood—a rarity if not a complete unknown in the realms of hell. So, Balin wouldn’t kill Fawkes today, maybe another day if Fawkes turned on their fragile alliance, but not today.

Balin elbowed Fawkes in the gut and cursed. “Watch your body, idiot. You’re likely to make yourself a kabob and be roasted on a spit if you continue to fight like that.”

Fawkes grinned like the teenager he was and lowered his sword. “A spit? Do you really think they still do that? We aren’t barbaric.”

Balin put down his sword on a nearby rock since he hadn’t bothered with a scabbard for the day, then threw his head back and laughed, even as a weariness slid through him. “Barbaric? Oh, son, we are. You just spend your time chasing girls with tails and horns without a scratch on them. Once you see your first war, you’ll understand. Your own father was known as the demon who picked the bones of enemies from his teeth.” 

Not to mention other things, but Balin didn’t want to mention those things to Lucifer’s youngest “late in life” son. He didn’t want to deal with the bastard’s wrath. Lucifer’s, not Fawkes’.

“That’s not really true, is it?” Fawkes asked, his face scrunching up. “I know my dad’s not the greatest guy in the world.”
That was the understatement of the millennium
. “He couldn’t really have done everything they say, right?”