Stone Goddess (Isabella Hush Series Book 3) Read online

  I knew Maddox was telling the truth. What I didn't know was whether it would change my decision.

  "So they zapped her into stone like God did Lot's wife and then what? Left it in some jewelery box somewhere? Skipped it across a lake?"

  I pulled open the refrigerator door and yanked out a milk carton. One shake proved it empty. I tossed it into the trash, then faced him with my hand propped on the open door.

  I thought of the sidhe who used it to send me to hell for his own benefit. Whatever kind of monks they were, they were a wee bit lax about their job.

  "If it was so valuable, they shouldn't have let just anyone have it."

  "In fact," I argued. "Maybe they should have tossed it into a lake. It worked for King Arthur."

  "Arthur was never a king," he said. "Just a lying braggart. Besides," he said. "The stone had the greatest security. It was mounted into an amulet and worn only by the stone master for safekeeping."

  "Until someone stole it, of course," I murmured, imagining a thief like myself coming across a trinket so obviously valuable that it was never taken off. What self-respecting robber would let that go?

  "So I'd rethink the whole idea of greatest security."

  That one hit a nerve, I could see. He positively bristled at the comment.

  "And so once it went missing they told you all this so you would know what you were looking for?"

  I glared at him as he sat there, his hand absently running along his ribcage, tracing the mark over his shirt.

  "Well?" I said. "How much are they paying you?"

  He leveled me with a direct stare. "Enough."

  "I thought Lilith was some religious fantasy."

  He nodded. "That's what humans were trained to think. She was a creation of incredible power at one point."

  I didn't know much about the woman, except the lore that permeated the Internet and entertainment.

  "You may have noticed that for all my brass, I'm pretty small and I hear she eats children. So if your clients worship a demon that might find me tasty, you can forget it."

  He chuckled. "You're not that small, Isabella and you most definitely do not look like a child." His gaze blazed a trail down my throat to the small hollow where my heartbeat thrummed.

  I shrugged and closed the fridge in favor of dropping into the chair. My legs were too tired to hold me up and my brain was feeling decidedly squishy.

  "You don't understand," he said. "The monks don't worship her. And the stone is not able to release her energy. Anyone who could do that is long gone."

  There was a strange note of wistfulness in his tone but it came and went with a flash of a smile that wasn't the least bit sincere but a whole heck of a lot distracting. I wished he wasn't so damned handsome. It put me off my game.

  "Gone," you said. I made my fingers do the poof thing in the air. "Like the stone, eh? These monks don't have a great track record."

  He ignored that remark even if he did look put out by it.

  "It's not just a portal," he said. "It's a key and a threshold all in one. It can send someone to hell or pull them back out again. It's forged with hell flame and her blood and it can do so much more than just act as a portal. "

  "Unless it can make me some dinner, I have no interest," I lied.

  "I don't need you to get it back, Isabella," he said. "I just want you to understand what you're shielding. It needs an owner. One that can be its keeper. If a being is sent to Hell and back on its conduit, something changes in the stone. It begins to look for its keeper. If the same creature can survive such a trip, and remains in possession long enough, the stone automatically endows its keeper with immortality so it can be protected."

  He paused for unnecessary effect because my mind was already swimming.

  If it's in possession long enough.

  I gaped at him.

  "Oh my God," I said, blinking at the sheer magnitude of the possibility. "I'm immortal?"

  He shook his head. "Have you walked in front of a bus lately?"

  He tried not to smile at the absurdity and when he knew he failed, he perched on the sofa arm, lifting a shredded sock from the floor with the toes of his shoes.

  "The sidhe warlord had it for centuries," I said testing and feeling the weight of the statement. Centuries sounded about right to me for a reward of such import.

  Maddox nodded. "Yes," he said slowly. "And he is immortal."

  "I thought Lucifer did that. Made him immortal, I mean."

  He shook his head. "Lucifer lies. That stone gave Colin his immortality and it doesn't just wear off when the possession goes away."

  "So," I said. "Just how much time are we talking?"

  He gave me a queer look. "It isn't much, Kitten."

  "In dog years, or people years?" I said, a slight unease climbing my back. "Please tell me it's people years."

  He pressed his lips together in a way that indicated neither was right.

  I felt my heart start to race. Scottie had that stone. While it would be amazing, ever so amazing, for that SOB to land himself in Hell accidentally, I couldn't, simply couldn't, risk him finding a way out and holding onto the stone.

  Because then Scottie would be immortal.

  And he would be my hell for eternity.

  CHAPTER 11

  I hung over my knees as I considered the scope of the problem. I couldn't risk Scottie touching that stone and I couldn't live under his threat any longer. There didn't seem to be a great answer that didn't involve me still in the cross hairs.

  I lifted my head and watched Maddox pinch the sock at the heel and let it dangle from his fingers. He flung it toward the bedroom door where the cat merely glared out at it.

  "How much time are we talking?" I said.

  He gave me a distracted glance, all the while keeping his attention on the cat.

  "Let's just say if a mortal man has it, better sooner than later."

  I thought about Absalom at the speakeasy and his offer to make me a replica for the right price. And of course, Errol would want his cut. I wasn't foolish enough to think he was doing it for philanthropic reasons.

  But was it even worth the risk of returning to that back room? I measured my options carefully in those moments. There was no telling what types of things Scottie would get up to if he became immortal. And if he was possessive now as a human, how more much more persistent would he be if his own demise was no longer an issue.

  I couldn't let Scottie live forever. Not just for me, but for all those nameless girls he would con, the victims he would hurt, the lives he would snuff out.

  At least this way, I'd have Maddox's help. And since he knew far more about the otherworld than I did, I'd be foolish not to use him.

  "I have a plan to retrieve it," I said and Maddox rose from his perch. He propped his elbow on one arm and ran his fingers down his chin, stroking an imaginary beard. I thought I could hear stubble rustling against his skin.

  "Are you telling me you tried to honor our bargain?" he said.

  I nodded. "I told you; there was a hiccup. We can't just storm at Scottie and grab something he considers his."

  "Why not?" he said and I gave him a sour look meant to give him all he needed to know about the state of the man he wanted to con.

  "Scottie is not fool enough to let someone just take what he believes is his."

  Maddox centered his gaze directly at me intently enough that I licked my lips nervously. "That stone shouldn't be in his hands."

  "Yes," I said. "But I can't just waltz in there and take it. I have to make him think he still has it."

  "Poppycock," he said and if I hadn't been so focused on the issue of stealing from Scottie, I would have laughed at his archaic terminology.

  Instead, I began pacing, wincing as I stepped on a bit of gravel from my visitor's boots and remembered the feel of my nerves wringing out like wet rags

  "Maybe you don't have to live in this world, but I do."

  He shrugged, as though to indicate he saw no iss
ue with the reasoning. I ignored his nonchalance. One thing I was beginning to understand about Kindred, was that they didn't live by, or worry much about human concerns.

  "We'll need a replica," I said.

  "There is no replica of the stone," he said and rubbed his chin.

  I took a deep breath. Now was the moment to spring my plans on him if ever there was one.

  "I met someone who claims he can make one."

  He canted his head at me. "Met someone? And what kinds of circles do you frequent that you would find someone able to re-create something like the Lilith stone."

  His tone wasn't exactly accusatory, but his posture was. Maybe disclosure wasn't such a good idea.

  I shrugged. "Artistic ones?"

  He smirked at me. "You were planning to shyster me weren't you? That's a dangerous proposition, Kitten, you should know that."

  I shrugged. "Not shyster, just play."

  He sat on the sofa and pulled me down next to him. He felt all too warm beside me, the scent of woodsmoke and whiskey all but swaddling me in some miasma that wasn't entirely unpleasant. I almost wanted to cuddle up next to it but the flat of his palm spread over the back of my shoulders in a way that felt too much like a man about to smack an offending piece of meat out of someone's airway.

  I sucked in a breath and let the story exhale in a rush. I told him about my short visit to Errol's shop and Absalom's offer, omitting the details that might make him predisposed to dissuade me.

  "I don't know an Absalom," he said. "But alchemists don't do anything for free."

  "Never said he would do it for free."

  "Careful, Isabella. Most Kindred are not the philanthropic type."

  "Errol is having a soiree in three days," I said, checking my watch. "Do you think Scottie will enter the land of the always living by then?"

  Maddox grunted at the subtle threat, but he acquiesced. "A few days shouldn't be too much of a problem, but I can't guarantee after that."

  "Good," I said. "Because I have a date," I said. "Errol."

  "The hell you are. I'm not sure you know what he is—"

  "Of course I do," I said. "All the more reason for him to escort me. It's his soiree. I couldn't be safer. And I have to be escorted, apparently. By a Kindred."

  He grazed my face with an angry look. "I'll do just fine as your Kindred escort," he said. "He can argue it with me, but I'm taking you."

  I thought of the time Maddox had found me negotiating with Errol and ended up saving me from the incubus's unwanted advances. It hadn't gone especially well.

  "It's invitation only," I said. "And I doubt Errol will want you there."

  "I know what pushes Errol's buttons," he said. "He wants to keep his portal into the Shadow Bazaar open. He'll let me in. Besides," he said and clipped his hooked finger beneath my chin, turning me to face him as though he needed me to see the deadly serious expression on his face.

  "You have no idea what the fire gate looks like. How will you know you've found the portal?"

  "All the bloody smoke and flames," I said and he chuckled.

  "So like a ninth worlder," he said. "No imagination."

  He leaned back on the sofa, pulling me with him. He crossed one leg over the other, bouncing his foot in the air. It was so casually intimate that I leaned against him, enjoying the sense of planning. It was always my favorite part of a heist or lift. Those moments when the only boundaries are the lines your imagination chose to color within.

  "Let's assume you're right," he said. "Let's say you locate Absalom's target and find the gate. How will you get through it?"

  "Weren't you listening?" I said. "Errol told me I just had to toss it through."

  He chuckled darkly to himself.

  "What?" I said.

  "That comment just proves you have no imagination. One doesn't just 'toss' an object through the Fire Gate."

  He tutted beneath his breath, muttering about mortals and their ignorance. I nearly chewed the tip of my tongue off to keep from chewing him out. I waited without a modicum of patience for him to finish his private rant before I declared I didn't need him at all.

  The arm that surrounded me brushed down my arm as though he thought I was cold.

  "You've never been to one of these soirees," he said with a chiding tone. "I don't think you'll be ready for what you'll see there. Face it, Kitten," he said. "You need me."

  I swung my gaze to his, scoping out a hint of tease. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having him at my side instead of Errol.

  "Then it's a date," I said and stuck my hand out to shake.

  He didn't take my hand right away. Instead he stared down at it, measuring what it might mean for him to ally himself in an honorable manner with a woman he obviously thought had none.

  "Shake," I said. "I'm good as my word."

  I looked at his hand, so close to mine and slipped my palm against his. The skin was calloused in places and silken in others. All over, it was warm and large.

  "I don't need imagination to conjure how bad this event might be," I admitted. "I saw things in the speakeasy that made my stomach churn."

  "If you didn't outright run in sheer terror, then you didn't see half," he said.

  "Doesn't matter. I have to do this."

  "Brava," he said.

  His thumb ran along my wrist, bringing a shiver to the base of my spine. I eased my eyes closed, mentally flogging myself for enjoying it so much.

  I ended up talking too fast, rambling, to cover up my nerves.

  "Errol gave me an outfit to wear."

  His eyes hooded thoughtfully.

  "I imagine," he said. "So have you looked at this outfit?"

  A specter of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, tugging the formidable line into something playful. My face heated up.

  "You haven't," he said and sighed.

  "What do I care?" I said, recalling the dominatrix outfit I used to visit the shop incognito on occasion. "What's the worst it could be?"

  His eyes trailed to the heap of leather from Lucifer's boudoir that still lay on the floor beside the sofa. I shivered and he pulled me close. I felt his lips against my hair and his warm breath cascaded down my neck.

  "Maybe it won't be that bad," he murmured. "I mean, what kind of pet would an incubus require a mortal to be dressed in anyway?"

  There was a note of teasing in his voice, but even so, I jerked away just enough to dislodge his lips from the top of my head. He looked faintly amused as he peered down at me.

  "Pet?" I said.

  He nodded. "Errol was always known for his soirees. They were...legendary."

  A dimple showed in his cheek and I knew he was playing with me. At least I thought he was until he ran his thumb across my bottom lip, and his face tightened as though he was doing something forbidden.

  "Don't worry, Kitten," he said. "Whatever he has devised, you'll be the most beautiful pet on display."

  It was an unexpected compliment and there was a throatiness in his voice that erased my censure of whatever outfit I might be wearing. I let it wash over me the way alcohol flooded your senses. I felt drunk looking at him, listening to his voice.

  Something jangled in the back of my mind, warring with the reaction my body had to his. I was supposed to be my own woman. Not succumbing to some whiskey voice and brawny shoulders. I wasn't a girl anymore to be seduced by the threat of danger or the promise of protection.

  I intended to push him away but the moment my palms landed on his chest, I felt his heartbeat against my palm and it was such a staccato drumming that I looked up into his face. Big mistake. His eyes were locked on my lips. A quiver dressed the corner.

  I realized he was holding his breath.

  And I knew those signals. My body drenched my mind with a flood of oily desire.

  There was no shouldn't. No never again.

  There was only the taste of his lips as I reached for him. I dipped my tongue in the lax center where he made a surprised sound that filled my mouth
with the taste of fine whiskey. My arms went of their own volition around his neck and my hands sought the roots of his hair. So delirious it felt in my fingers, it was soft and lush and smelled of ylang ylang, that I moaned.

  I tugged at it. I wanted to feel it curtain my skin, obliterate any visual cues that might make me rethink the rightness of what felt so dreadfully, sinfully, forbidden.

  At first he responded. Not expertly, but clumsily, as though he hadn't expected me to take initiative, and then he took control, teaching my tongue what it really meant to be kissed. However many centuries he'd lived must have schooled him in a woman's every pleasure. There was an almost tentative mastery in his touch. His hands roamed my arms, memorizing the curve of bicep and tracing the line of wrist but they never moved close to my breast, never down past my waist.

  It was chaste and steamy all at once. He explored me as though he'd imagined every curve and line in the darkest parts of night and was now testing his practice.

  I melted beneath him, every muscle a lubricated gear that sank backward, intent on pulling him with me.

  What he was doing to me wasn't enough. I needed to feel his skin on mine. I felt alive and reclaiming myself. I initiated this. I wanted this.

  I would drive it.

  I pressed both hands atop his hair and eased him, guiding him toward my breasts. He halted at the hollow above my sternum, lighting my skin with feathery kisses that made me arch upward, pressing against him with a need that remembered it hadn't been fulfilled in years. I squirmed, trying to peel off my clothes without losing touch with him.

  "Undress for me," I said. "Let me see you."

  The words must have been an icy wash of water over his skin. He recoiled and drew back, the drugged look on his face slowly swallowed up by realization.

  "I'm sorry," he said in a husky voice. He shook his head the way a dog does after a swim. "I shouldn't. I can't."

  I didn't have time to be hurt. Before I could protest or beg or even feel the shame coat me, he was off me and striding to the door.

  "I'll meet you at Errol's," he said without looking at me.

  He halted at the door, his posture rigid. I watched him ease his eyes closed as though bracing himself for something and then he yanked on the handle and pulled it open.