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Don’t think about her anymore, you nutcase. You’ll start foaming at the mouth. He resisted her because she would ultimately trample his pride, his well-being and probably even his will to live.

Did he really need another reminder of that?

He forced his thoughts back to the artifacts. Strider had vowed to recapture the Cloak. And he would. Soon. Because whoever found Pandora’s box first would win the war, and more than he wanted Kaia, not that he was thinking about her, he wanted to win the war against the Hunters.

Talk about the ultimate victory. The pleasure he would feel…gods, he could only imagine. Better than sex, drugs or rocking hos.

Anyway. Instead of all of that, he realized he’d purposely cleared his plate this morning, visiting everyone, making amends just so he could leave and… Shit! Not good. This was not good at all.

Just so he could leave and check on Kaia. He had to make sure she was okay. Even if that meant putting his obligations on hold again.

Dude. You can’t do that. And he wouldn’t. No damn way. Now that he’d realized his intention, he could put a stop to it.

“Why the hell are you just standing there?” Sabin suddenly lashed out. “State your business and leave, Stridey-Man. You’re turning Gwen into a raving lunatic.”

“You’re turning me into a raving lunatic!” she growled, removing the bullhorn from the suitcase yet again. “We don’t need all this stuff.”

“How do you know?” Sabin demanded. He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, the gold in his eyes lighter than usual. “You’ve never participated in the Harpy Games before. And goddamn it, you shouldn’t have to participate in them now!”

“You heard Bianka. Every single one of Tabitha Skyhawk’s daughters have been summoned. And even if we hadn’t, even if only a handful of clan members had been summoned, I would still be going. They’re my family.”

“Well, you’re now part of my family.”

“Actually, you’re part of my family, and as I’m the General, the Captain and the Commander, you go where I go. And I’m going!”

“Fuck.” Sabin plopped onto the edge of the bed and put his head between his knees.

“That bad, huh?” Strider asked, doing his best to sound casual. I’m not dying of curiosity. Really.

Kaia had tried to hide her fear yesterday, but she hadn’t quite managed it. He had mentioned her trip, and she had trembled, paled. He shouldn’t have noticed. He’d had his back to her. Except there’d been a crack in her curtains, allowing him to study her reflection in the windowpane. And oh, had he studied.

She had sparkled like a diamond, drawing his eye automatically, and he’d been so eager to touch her that his body had been on fire.

Harpy skin…there was nothing more exquisite. Nothing. Fu

Not that he was thinking about her anymore.

Defeat uttered another of those chuckles, and Strider tensed. When the little shit made no reply, accepted no challenge, he relaxed somewhat. Damn it. What the hell was going on with his demon?

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. “Bianka told me the games are so violent that half the participants end up dead or praying for death. And once, about fifteen hundred years ago, far more than half died. Like, nearly all of them.”

Strider straightened, his blood chilling. “What? Why?”

“She didn’t tell me more than that, so don’t look at me like you’ll cut my throat if I don’t fess up. Anyway, she wasn’t exaggerating,” Gwen continued. “Oh, wait. She did tell me a bit more. Apparently the Skyhawks haven’t been allowed to participate in centuries because of something Kaia did, not that anyone will tell me what. No one in our clan has ever spoken of it, and I was never really around other clanswomen. They’ve always shu

Strider’s mind snagged on one detail only. Kaia had caused the turmoil. What had the gorgeous troublemaker done?

“Oh, and one other thing. Bianka thinks this is a trap.” Gwen angled Sabin’s head up and sank into his lap. Automatically the warrior wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “She thinks the Skyhawks, Kaia especially, will be targets, everyone out for revenge.”

Kaia…a target for every Harpy with a grudge… Now his blood heated for a different reason, the need to rage an inferno inside him. “Men are allowed to go?”

“Consorts and slaves, yes, and they’re more than allowed, they’re encouraged. Blood is medicine to Harpies, and those consorts and slaves help the injured participants heal.”

“Does Kaia have a…slave?” He croaked the question. On one hand, he wanted her to have one, to be safe. On the other, he already wanted to murder the ugly prick.

Defeat snarled, no trace of amusement in the sound. Or his usual fear.

This isn’t a challenge, buddy. Or was his demon upset by the thought of someone besides Strider hurting Kaia?

In a sick, twisted way, that kind of made sense. His sense of possessiveness was highly developed, with his enemies especially, but even with friends. Kaia was a bit of both.

Thankfully, Defeat offered no reply. Strider didn’t need the added complication of fighting Kaia and/or anyone who challenged her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t his problem.

“No,” Gwen finally said, sadness creeping into her tone. “Kaia doesn’t have a slave.”

Relief, so much relief. “We’ll find her one, then.” Fury, so much fury.

“No.” Those strawberry-blond tresses slapped her face as she shook her head. “She thinks you are her consort.”

Yeah, once upon a time Kaia had said something like that to him. He’d believed that she believed, but he’d also believed she was mistaken, that she was letting simple attraction confuse her. Not that there was anything simple about her attraction to him. She wanted the best of the best for herself, and he couldn’t blame—

Ego check. He massaged the back of his neck with his free hand. Rephrasing: she wanted someone strong, capable and handsome. Shit. Ego check, he thought again. She’d wanted someone somewhat handsome.

No. That didn’t work. When a fact was a fact, there was no getting around it. She’d wanted someone extremely handsome, and he fit the bill. But…

Paris was handsomer.

Handsomer wasn’t even a word, damn it. Was it? Yeah, it probably was, and had most likely been coined because of Paris. “So?” he said with more force than he’d intended.

“So, she won’t take anyone else,” Sabin blurted. “Harpies are territorial, possessive and stubborn as hell. Meaning, they’re just like you and can’t compromise worth shit.”

Gwen frowned. “Hey!”

“Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” Then, “Kaia will take you or no one,” he said to Strider. “That’s just the way it’s sliced.”

“Which is why…” Gwen inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, her gaze locking on Strider with menace. “You know I love you, right?”

He gave a stiff nod. Shit, shit, shit. Him or no one. A blessing and a curse. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t spend any more time with her. Had already said goodbye to her.

A goodbye that had come close to rousing his demon. With every step he’d taken from Kaia’s home, Defeat had prowled through his head, wanting to act, to pin her and take her—victory would be so damn sweet—but not allowing himself to do so. Loss would be so damn painful.

Strider had never been happier that the demons of Pandora’s box were afraid of the Harpies. And with good reason. They were descendants of Lucifer, the master of all things demonic.

Plus, Defeat had seen Kaia fight. No matter what weapon she used—gun, blade, claws, fangs—she blazed through her opponents faster than the eye could track. Nice qualities in a date, sure, and definite aphrodisiacs. If your very existence didn’t depend on your victories, as his did.