figure.
Meg understood Frost’s rage, even though it was directed at her. Because she felt it herself, the heavy mantle of guilt for pointing her finger at Galatea and declaring her Athena’s chosen. Athena spoke through Meg, but sometimes she didn’t know if it was Athena’s voice she heard or her own. She could have just as easily chosen another girl, but Galatea had been so desperate to serve. Born an Amazon, exiled at twelve for her small size and stature… Meg closed her eyes against the flood of memories.
Her power was already turning gangrenous, shifting inward toward herself, latching onto her guilt and devouring her from the inside out. Megaera had to find out who was killing the Amazons, or she’d literally destroy herself from guilt.
When she saw the glint of silver on Frost’s fingernails, she’d almost revealed herself, crying out a warning to Marcus, but from the way the two alphas regarded each other, Meg would guess they’d come to blows before. Marcus’ low growl was a caress on her skin, reverberating through her to touch secret and forbidden places. She trembled and her cunt clenched as she remembered what it had been like to have him inside her. She wanted him again.
Meg squeezed her thighs together as if that could stop the rush of heat and lust. She couldn’t let him scent her. She faded back amongst the shrubs and greenery, repeated over and over to herself that what she was doing was right and just. As long as she believed that, her power would keep the wind from carrying her scent to him.
She’d peeked into the guesthouse after she’d overheard the other detective’s comment about Kingdom of the Spiders and decided it was too obvious. Someone wanted it to look like Arachnae, but Meg knew the Arachnae were cunning rather than obvious and garish.
And wrapping the whole interior of a building in spider silk was more than a little garish.
Who would want to frame the Arachnae besides Amazons? The warrior women didn’t need an excuse to fight. They were as forward and blunt as the Arachnae were subtle. Since they were Athena’s creatures, they didn’t lie, and while they would sacrifice their own for the greater good, Meg knew in her bones they’d never kill their own ranks for a ruse.
Guilt surged again, the cadence of it in her ears beating in time with her own heart.
She returned to her car, and it wasn’t long before Marcus’ black Charger pulled out onto the street. Meg used her phone to activate the tracking device she’d slipped into the shoulder holster of his gun when she’d taken it off him that morning.
Meg knew that he’d easily leave behind a coat, but he was a cop—that gun probably had its own pillow in bed next to him.
She started her black ’70 Plymouth Sport Fury GT and followed the coordinates, but found she didn’t need to. Meg already knew where he was. Almost as if he really did belong to her. But that would mean his bite, his mark…it had taken root in her. So if he belonged to her, then she belonged to him—wholly. That wasn’t something she could accept. As a servant of Athena, she could mate with a male, even take him for her own, but she could never belong to him .
She was a Fury, one of Athena’s own. They did not belong to anyone but the goddess.
She put all thoughts of her personal bullshit out of her head. Meg was trailing him to find out what he knew, scope out his sources, not to obsess over him like a teenaged girl.
Shit. She lost her connection and had to look at the tracing coordinates again on her phone. She found him at 27 th and Sewell—right before he suddenly went off the grid.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit again.
Where had he gone that he’d take off his gun? It wasn’t—
Unless he’d gone somewhere there was no signal. Her brain twisted every scenario, fast and furious. The only thing near there was the Quindaro Ruins. What the hell was he doing there? Maybe he was going to the river. Or the caves…
The caves!
She’d
Meg understood Frost’s rage, even though it was directed at her. Because she felt it herself, the heavy mantle of guilt for pointing her finger at Galatea and declaring her Athena’s chosen. Athena spoke through Meg, but sometimes she didn’t know if it was Athena’s voice she heard or her own. She could have just as easily chosen another girl, but Galatea had been so desperate to serve. Born an Amazon, exiled at twelve for her small size and stature… Meg closed her eyes against the flood of memories.
Her power was already turning gangrenous, shifting inward toward herself, latching onto her guilt and devouring her from the inside out. Megaera had to find out who was killing the Amazons, or she’d literally destroy herself from guilt.
When she saw the glint of silver on Frost’s fingernails, she’d almost revealed herself, crying out a warning to Marcus, but from the way the two alphas regarded each other, Meg would guess they’d come to blows before. Marcus’ low growl was a caress on her skin, reverberating through her to touch secret and forbidden places. She trembled and her cunt clenched as she remembered what it had been like to have him inside her. She wanted him again.
Meg squeezed her thighs together as if that could stop the rush of heat and lust. She couldn’t let him scent her. She faded back amongst the shrubs and greenery, repeated over and over to herself that what she was doing was right and just. As long as she believed that, her power would keep the wind from carrying her scent to him.
She’d peeked into the guesthouse after she’d overheard the other detective’s comment about Kingdom of the Spiders and decided it was too obvious. Someone wanted it to look like Arachnae, but Meg knew the Arachnae were cunning rather than obvious and garish.
And wrapping the whole interior of a building in spider silk was more than a little garish.
Who would want to frame the Arachnae besides Amazons? The warrior women didn’t need an excuse to fight. They were as forward and blunt as the Arachnae were subtle. Since they were Athena’s creatures, they didn’t lie, and while they would sacrifice their own for the greater good, Meg knew in her bones they’d never kill their own ranks for a ruse.
Guilt surged again, the cadence of it in her ears beating in time with her own heart.
She returned to her car, and it wasn’t long before Marcus’ black Charger pulled out onto the street. Meg used her phone to activate the tracking device she’d slipped into the shoulder holster of his gun when she’d taken it off him that morning.
Meg knew that he’d easily leave behind a coat, but he was a cop—that gun probably had its own pillow in bed next to him.
She started her black ’70 Plymouth Sport Fury GT and followed the coordinates, but found she didn’t need to. Meg already knew where he was. Almost as if he really did belong to her. But that would mean his bite, his mark…it had taken root in her. So if he belonged to her, then she belonged to him—wholly. That wasn’t something she could accept. As a servant of Athena, she could mate with a male, even take him for her own, but she could never belong to him .
She was a Fury, one of Athena’s own. They did not belong to anyone but the goddess.
She put all thoughts of her personal bullshit out of her head. Meg was trailing him to find out what he knew, scope out his sources, not to obsess over him like a teenaged girl.
Shit. She lost her connection and had to look at the tracing coordinates again on her phone. She found him at 27 th and Sewell—right before he suddenly went off the grid.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit again.
Where had he gone that he’d take off his gun? It wasn’t—
Unless he’d gone somewhere there was no signal. Her brain twisted every scenario, fast and furious. The only thing near there was the Quindaro Ruins. What the hell was he doing there? Maybe he was going to the river. Or the caves…
The caves!
She’d