Stone Goddess (Isabella Hush Series Book 3) Read online

  Stone Goddess

  Isabella Hush Series, Volume 3

  Thea Atkinson

  Published by Thea Atkinson, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  STONE GODDESS

  First edition. September 6, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Thea Atkinson.

  ISBN: 978-1386364443

  Written by Thea Atkinson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 1

  The man watching me was not human.

  I woke to his sky blue gaze and somewhat attractively squashed nose to some alarm at first, but the familiarity of that jaw and almost irritable stance made me fall back onto the cushions, too tired to bother to work up a lather because that would just take more precious energy in the end. Fear and trembling took a lot of juice.

  Besides, I knew who stood there. I didn't know how he got in, or what he wanted, but the fact that he loomed over me while I slept all supine on my sofa in a fit of dreams just seemed a normal state of affairs, all things considered.

  "You look like Chris Isaak," I said.

  The fuzziness of waking after such a deep sleep transformed his frowning face into something markedly more sexy than it should for a gal on her own in the middle of an urban area waking to a strange man in her house. No dogs for alarm. Just a snooty cat who attacked friend or foe alike depending on her mood.

  Except it wasn't just any man standing there.

  It was Maddox. A non-man. I still had no idea what exactly he was; I just knew he wasn't human for all he resembled one.

  "Wicked Games," I said, lifting a finger to the air and following it up with a second. "Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing." I chuckled to myself, imagining him crooning those songs out. "Except you're much ruddier and much, much bigger than he is."

  I held my hands apart at shoulder length over my chest to indicate how wide. Then they grew too heavy to hold up and I let them fall again to my sides.

  He scowled at me.

  "And apparently pissier," I tacked on when he didn't respond to what I thought was an obvious compliment. I peeked out from beneath squinted eyelids the way a drunk in trouble might.

  He was still scowling.

  "Yep," I mumbled. "Much, much pissier. Seriously. What man wouldn't want to look like Chris Isaak?"

  He sighed heavily, retracting his arms from his chest, only to jam them into his trouser pockets. He wore khakis, an unusual thing for him. The white T-shirt pulled taut over his chest in a way that would have most women sizing him up with their palms just to be sure he wasn't made of sculpted stone.

  The thought of it just made me grouchy. Especially since he obviously couldn't take a compliment.

  "What are you doing here," I mumbled out. "Anyone ever tell you monsters hide under the bed; they don't loom over a sofa while a gal is sleeping."

  It wasn't eight hours after I'd sent Scottie on his merry way with a stone capable of transporting him straight to Hell in his meaty fist.

  Not bad for a day's work, but terribly exhausting.

  Maddox blinked once and raked a hand through his hair, and seeming to realize he'd clubbed it back with what looked like a leather tie, he tugged at the short tail of it instead. He smelled of woodsmoke the way he always seemed to, and a hint of vanilla lifted from his T-shirt every time he moved.

  A gal could do worse than wake to that face, really. Not that I wanted to admit that to loudly to my psyche.

  It might get ideas.

  And I was feeling languid the way only a deep, restorative sleep can do.

  So it was particularly dangerous territory.

  He squatted in front of me, and his knees made a faint popping sound. He was so damn close and he smelled so damn good and if I was honest with myself, I just wanted to curl up in his embrace and pretend all of the last few years had been a nasty dream.

  "I have a proposition for you," he said, not saying good morning, not indicating he felt embarrassed about catching me sleeping. Not the least bit guilty that he'd barged in uninvited.

  Closer to my eye level, I could make out the trace of ruddy stubble that dusted his jaw. My sleep weary body responded by sending me an image of that stubble tickling my thighs.

  Whatever proposition he had, my body had already decided it was a yes. And that scared me.

  I tried and failed to prop myself up to my elbows. I was still groggy and gave up, flopping back down to the cushion again. It smelled of oily hair and dirt. I winced, imagining just how filthy it must be.

  Not exactly seductress material. Probably a good thing; the last thing I needed was to complicate my life by getting involved with anyone, let alone one who wasn't even human.

  My body could go screw itself.

  "Not interested," I said and made to turn over. His hands bore down on my bare legs, preventing me from moving. I stared up at him until he withdrew them, not right away, but leisurely, tickling the fine hairs on my ankle as he let go.

  I'd been propositioned a few times in my adult life. Mostly, it was men who knew nothing about Scottie Lebans or the stake he'd pounded into my psyche that claimed me as his. Those men found out pretty quickly that I was a do not touch sort of gal—some of them far too late to save themselves a black eye or broken rib.

  I'd learned that propositions were dangerous. Every single one of those poor sods who'd dared make a pass at me in the first place were testament to it.

  "Well," Maddox said, no doubt because I just sat there gawking at him as I tried to shed the remnants of a comatose sleep. a whole host of unwanted memories, and a newly awakened desire I hadn't felt in years. "You don't look the least bit curious."

  "And you don't look the least bit like my ottoman," I mumbled, tasting the gummy film of a deep sleep in the corners of my mouth. I smacked to wet my palate then rolled onto my side to see him better and feel less like a bug pinned to a corkboard.

  "How did you get in here, anyway?"

  His expression didn't shift one bit. Nope. No guilt there at all for barging in.

  "Maybe I'm a dream," he said. "A wonderful, sensual, untouchable dream."

  He smirked and damn if that grin didn't make my throat ache. I really needed to get up.

  "Can you give me a sec?" I said.

  "You can have all the secs you want."

  I gaped at him, trying to figure out if he'd just actually propositioned me after all and decided to ignore the way he owl-eyed me, waiting for a response.

  I thrust my elbow into the cushions for bit of leverage. "I've had a bit of a day."

  He looked disappointed I'd not taken the bait.

  "Take your time," he said but he tapped his fingers against his biceps the way a man does when a woman has been shopping a little too long.

  Things felt a little uneven with
me lying down and him hovering over me, and I felt a bit queasy still.

  A trip to hell will do that to a gal.

  And a visit from an ex lover like Scottie left a residue of negative energy in my apartment that reminded me of one important thing.

  No one ever escaped Scottie Lebans.

  His specter was always there, shadowing the sun and adding a deep chill to the rain.

  He kept his people safe but it was the way a cat keeps a mouse. His to play with.

  Once in, you had two choices: stay and always wait for the last playful cuff before the teeth. Or become part of the paw that clawed at everything in its path.

  "Well?" Maddox said, his patience at an obvious end.

  Everyone wanted something from me, it seemed.

  Even this very non-human, supernatural man standing in front of me.

  The last proposition I'd entertained in this apartment had ended with me hitching a ride on the hell train. Not one I wanted to repeat no matter how warm the climate.

  I heaved a sigh, reluctant to let go the sleep that took away all that dread for a few hours. I blinked the weariness from my vision, deciding right then to take my damn time getting up. Gone was the groggy, languid desire, replaced by annoyance.

  "I told you. Not interested," I said, even though his aroma of vanilla soap and woodsmoke curled around me, threatening to override my anxious annoyance and make me want to pull him close and nuzzle in.

  "I'm pretty sure you're the kind of woman who would be interested," he said, refusing to give up.

  "You mean a woman with a brain and a killer bod?" I said to cover up the flaming sensation that rode my cheeks. "Because the last woman I saw you with seemed more interested in sharing the shit out of your ass."

  The sass was just bravado. Carefully, meticulously cultivated after a decade of living with Scottie. Never let them see your interest, never look greedy.

  "I think Kerri would be offended to hear you think she's nothing more than a sex kitten," he drawled. "She's the kind of goddess who takes herself very seriously."

  "I saw how serious," I said, remembering her loud complaint outside the museum that he didn't satisfy her. "Your bedroom skills obviously leave her wanting."

  I looked him over. Teasing aside, the last few days had been hellish. Literally. I wondered how he could sit there so composed after the way he'd taken my pain and given it back to Alvin. The way he'd saved me from the vampires overrunning Fayed's bar.

  After he knew the sidhe warlord once known as ChuChulain was blackmailing me for protective glamour on my apartment.

  "So that's all you have for me?" I said. "No mention of where have you been, Isabella? What happened to you after the vampire attacked you."

  I stretched my legs out in front of me, resting my heels against the throw carpet.

  Maddox's russet eyebrows knit together at the mention of Fayed's sociopathic progeny who had tried to drain me right in front of him. When he rubbed his fingertips against his jaw, I could hear the faint rustle of that stubble.

  "Well?" I said.

  When it was clear he wasn't going to answer, I pushed to my feet and headed to my kitchenette.

  No shame. He had no shame. Now that I was awake, I couldn't imagine what I'd seen in him.

  "Whatever your proposition is," I said, fumbling my way back to what seemed to be the only thing he cared about. "It's tone-deaf."

  "Tone deaf," he said blandly and I looked at him over my shoulder.

  His hands were stuffed into his khakis and he blinked at me as though he didn't understand what I was saying.

  "This is the first time you see me since I left Fayed's and you don't even ask how I'm doing? You just go straight to a proposition. Well. No. Whatever it is, the answer is no."

  I couldn't look at him anymore. We both knew the last time I'd seen him wasn't one of those fun-loving get together where you get together with friends and meet at a bar to knock back a few drinks or laugh over a few stupid jokes. The way normal people did. The way people completely oblivious of all of the supernatural dimensions coiling around our own did.

  No. The last time he'd seen me, he was holding a starving new vampire by the throat, holding her above his head while a cluster of her bloodthirsty brethren swarmed the bar.

  I stared instead at the sink, focusing on the way the tap dribbled water at a rate that was about as enjoyable as musical jazz for the insane.

  I heard him scuffing to his feet along the throw carpet, but I didn't turn around right away. I couldn't. I didn't want to see that blank, emotionless expression he no doubt wore.

  The sound of his footsteps stopped and in its wake came a heavy sigh.

  "What makes you think my proposition doesn't include concern for your welfare?" he said from behind me.

  I swept the cat from the sideboard where she was eying my uncovered butter dish and onto the floor. I noticed long, speckled trails cutting through the creamy surface of the butter and shot her a scolding look.

  She licked her nose and shook a back leg at me before sprinting toward my bedroom.

  "First of all," I said, gathering my dignity and spinning on my heel to face him. "I don't remember inviting you in, and second of all: a man who's worried about someone doesn't proposition them before asking how they are doing."

  I watched him watching me, no doubt trying to come up with some excuse to cover both bases.

  He lifted one russet eyebrow. That adorably squashed nose wrinkled with annoyance.

  "It's obvious how you're doing," he said. "You've been snoring there for the better part of an hour, drooling onto that ratty pillow."

  He pointed at it with his elbow and I couldn't help glancing at it. There was a large wet spot on the seam.

  I bristled, thinking he'd been standing there for over an hour. It was downright disquieting, the ninja like quality he had.

  That he used it on me while I slept just burst the dam of my flooding uncertainties.

  "You have no idea what I had to go through since I saw you last."

  "Really?" he said. "Like you know what I've been through, fighting off six blood thirsty vampires while you saunter home for a mid morning nap?"

  He raked his gaze from me to the floor beside the sofa. I tracked his gaze to a pile of leather and vinyl heaped into a bloody and stinking pile. My heart clotted into a knot at sight of it. They'd been the clothes Lucifer made me wear in his boudoir and I had forgotten all about them.

  I'd left hell with that trash on my skin, and although I didn't judge some folks' penchant for S&M attire, I wouldn't ever look at it the same way again. No doubt the sidhe left it for me when he'd closed the portal to his manse and cut me off from his protection.

  Maybe he thought I wanted it for a souvenir. I squeezed my eyes closed, wishing it away.

  "No wonder you were sleeping so soundly," Maddox said. "You were plum tuckered out."

  His voice sounded tight as a nun's habit but the accusation in his tone was clear.

  "Just what do you think I was doing?" I demanded. "You know I owed the sidhe. You're the one who sent me home to repay the favor."

  "Looks like you repaid it in spades," he drawled and I noted he wouldn't look again at the heap of leather and zippers with its hood and fish-like tail. Instead his gaze seemed pinned to my throat where I knew my heartbeat was pounding an internal tattoo onto my skin.

  I peered down at the sagging T-shirt I'd pulled on after I'd sent Scottie packing. It gaped at the collar and I knew if I looked beneath the material, several bruises would have bloomed on my skin.

  The after effects of trying to fight off Lucifer's advances.

  The sidhe hadn't healed those when he'd given me the choice to leave. He'd given me a bugout bag, a pair of pants and a top, but he'd not erased the evidence of Lucifer's assault.

  My throat choked up.

  If I'd have been anywhere near that pile of disgusting material, I'd have flung it in Maddox's face. It was insulting enough, but after the things I'd
endured in Hell to get Kassie and myself back home, that inference seemed a bridge too far.

  "You broke into my apartment to insult me?" I said, hating the trembling in my voice. "Just moments ago you said you had a proposition for me. Is that what you have in mind?"

  First off," he said. "Your door was wide open, not exactly a Brinks safe up in here. I figured under the circumstances we left it at, that you might be under some threat and took it upon myself to barge in to make sure you were alright."

  He said it with all the reasonable tone of a man explaining logic, but the word barge came out as a curse.

  "Well, I'm just fine," I said, but it was a lie.

  I was rested, but I was most definitely not fine. I had the feeling I'd be suffering night terrors for the next ten years, I was so not fine.

  He headed toward me, oblivious to the precipice I was clinging to.

  "And second," he went on, "how do you know I didn't check you over while you were sleeping to be sure you were okay? I've been watching you snore on that disgusting sofa for the last hour and could pretty much tell by the way you were drooling over the cushion that whatever you escaped after you left Fayed's—safely, I might add because of me—didn't seem to keep you from enjoying a nice nap."

  I wiped my arm across my mouth to mop up any residual wetness. I had the feeling it was caked there in the corners and he was letting me wear the dross out of spite.

  I realized I had a tenuous hold on my emotions. I gripped the edge of the counter behind me and sucked in a breath. I also had to remember he had no idea what I'd gone through. He'd held back those vampires so I could retreat and run to the sidhe in the hopes of saving Kassie. Something we both wanted because the teenager was a pitiful thing in the clutches of Lucifer.

  At least, I'd thought she was a teenager. She turned out to be the Morrigan of all things. A triad goddess who had renounced her powers.

  Nothing was what it seemed anymore.

  "What is wrong with you, Isabella?" he said.

  I snapped my gaze up to his, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

  "What's wrong with me?" I blurted. "What's wrong is that I just went to Hell and back, that's what."