Chapter 1

 

 

 

“Another. Make this one a double.”

The bartender looked at Chloe Greyson with his bushy eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. When she didn’t flinch, he tilted his head and poured her bourbon, three fingers’ worth.

“Sure you can handle much more, darlin’?” He leaned both hands against the bar and watched her throwback half of it in one gulp. He looked genuinely concerned.

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting started.” Chloe downed the rest and nodded at him to pour again, which he did, albeit reluctantly.

She’d already had two, after all.

She didn’t immediately drink that one, so he walked away to help other customers. Chloe rubbed her thumb over the glass, letting the bourbon try to warm her insides the way it burned her throat.

Still, she shivered with cold. Her hands trembled.

 

I know where you are, Chloe. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find my own wife?

 

She sipped her drink while trying to banish the ghostly voice of her ex-husband.

Norman’s voice on her phone had been a shock from which she hadn’t yet calmed down. In hindsight, she didn’t know why it surprised her. A few years without contact from her ex-husband had lulled her into a false sense of safety. She should have kept moving, changed her name again, done something more.

Most of all, she should have known from the beginning, when he’d started harassing her from prison and the police would do nothing to help, that it was going to be impossible to escape his shadow. Norman wasn’t half as clever as he thought he was, but when one’s father was the omnipotent Senator Allen Greyson, the silent figure who pulled the strings behind the curtain, one didn’t have to be clever. Money could buy anything. Power could move mountains. Power could buy loyalty.

Loyalty got everything done.

And apparently, it could find one ex-wife who’d relocated and taken a new last name because she desperately didn’t want to be found.

The bartender passed by and splashed another shot of bourbon into her still half-full glass as he passed. He winked and said, “On the house. You look like you could use a win, huh?”

She managed to smile at him and drink a little more bourbon, and had to keep herself from explaining there was no such thing as winning in her life. Chloe had been a mere infant when her mother had died, and just a sophomore in high school when her father was killed in a car accident. She’d had friends then, a social life, a promising future in business, and a sweet, attentive boyfriend in Norman Greyson.

He’d been everything she’d ever dreamed of.

After she was made an orphan, Senator Greyson insisted on taking her in, so she moved into his mansion with his cold but polite wife, Carla, and her accent that reminded Chloe of Scarlett O’Hara’s. It was wonderful living there.

At first.

By the time she graduated high school, wedding plans for her and Norman were in the works, mostly headed up by Senator Greyson, and Norman had started to change. He was possessive but neglectful at the same time. Domineering. He was going into politics like his father, and expected Chloe to be like his mother—a pampered wife who stayed at home, appeared with him at society functions to make him look good, and tended to his needs at home by making sure the servants did everything Norman wanted.

Chloe was supposed to have been his trophy wife, and most importantly to Norman, the mother of his child.

Cold shivers ran down her spine.

She scoffed at the memory and drank some more, but no amount of bourbon could ever erase the memory of Norman’s face when the doctor had said he was sorry, but they were young and could try— 

“You should slow down.”

The voice was deep and gentle, and Chloe realized it came from a man on the stool next to her. She hadn’t noticed when he sat down, and that was truly a testament to how drunk she was becoming, because he was striking.

The man was tall and looked well-built inside his jeans and long-sleeved black T-shirt, with short, straight blond hair that hung thick and carefree like he might have just rolled out of bed. It gave him a boyish quality, combined with his sculpted features and piercing green eyes. He smiled at Chloe. “Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do, but you’re getting inebriated. That seems dangerous.”

She burst out laughing. “I can handle myself, but thanks.”

“I doubt it. A delicate creature like you shouldn’t be in place like this. But since I’m here, I’ll watch out for you. But getting drunk alone…I can’t imagine why you would do such a thing.”

“You’re lucky, if you can’t imagine it.”

He’s going to watch out for me, is he? Probably watching how many drinks I’ve had to be sure I’m drunk enough to sleep with him when it’s time to leave.

She waved her hand in the air. “Bartender, a drink for my new babysitter here.” What the hell. She’d buy him a drink, and then she’d leave and get a bottle to take home so she could drown her sorrows without somebody judging her for getting a little tipsy.

“No, that’s not—” He put a hand up, but the bartender had already poured him a bourbon. He picked it up and eyed it suspiciously, then took the tiniest sip Chloe had ever seen anyone take. He made a face. His brow furrowed. “You drink this willingly?”

“Eagerly,” she said.

“This seems only suitable as a punishment.” He put the glass down and turned to face her. “We should go, Gaia.”

Chloe knew she’d overdone it, too much bourbon too fast, because she didn’t remember giving him her name to mangle like that. “It’s Chloe,” she corrected him. “I don’t remember your name at all.”

“Because I haven’t told you; my apologies,” he said with a smile that was far too bright for this bar or her mood. “I’m Jagar Anereroth.” When she frowned at him, he said, “But for you, please call me Sparrow. It’s easier to remember.”

She couldn’t suppress her laugh again. “That’s cute. Hippy dippy parents?”

He frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what—”

“Look, I’m not leaving here with you, not now, not after any number of drinks. But you’re cute, really. Another night, maybe you’d have been in luck. Not today.” She patted his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, though. Nighty night.”

Chloe turned back to her drink.

Another day, she’d have definitely considered spending some time with him. Oh, who was she kidding? Another life, maybe. She hadn’t really been able to trust anybody since Norman, and the few times she’d attempted to date had been more nerve-wracking than fun. She’d divorced him years ago, yet, each time she with another man she was seized with unexplainable fear that she was cheating on Norman.

He brainwashed you, that’s why.

He’d always lived deep in the recesses of your mind, lurking. Waiting his chance to corrupt you once more…

“Would you believe me if I said you’re the reason I came?” The man leaned in closer, heat suddenly radiating from him. His gaze hypnotic. His presence stirred a long-buried feeling inside her. “I’ve been told I’d encounter some difficulty to convince you. Ga—Chloe, I’ve been looking for you.”

She studied his face. On second thought, striking seemed like understatement. His beauty was otherworldly. Yeah, he was that good-looking. It made him out of place in this dive bar. Beautiful people didn’t belong here. “In that case, you’ve made an incredible mistake.” She said it, but as she gazed into his deep green eyes, she wished it wasn’t so. He seemed so…safe. His eyes promised safe haven.

Nah. Are you fucking kidding me?

Trick of the alcohol.

That was the reason so many people ended up in bad situations. Alcohol made everything seem okay, didn’t it? It smoothed over the rough edges of people and their personalities and said, enjoy yourself, go for it, nothing bad’s going to happen! If it feels good, do it. Trust him.

Trust me.

She looked around for the source of that whisper. It hadn’t been the man next to her. Nobody else was nearby. Ah, alcohol. Such a deceiver.

She looked at her glass and lifted it to drink the last gulp of her bourbon. He stopped her.

“I think you had enough.”

“Sugar, you’re not the boss of me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m your protector.”

“Say again?”

“Maybe it’s best if we have this important conversation elsewhere when you’re not inebriated. We should have some coffee.”

A little chuckle erupted from her throat. “Nice try.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your pick-up line. Do women always fall for that?”

He tilted his head a little. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“That protector thing. You hit on lonely, tipsy women in bars and seduce them like you’re their knight in shining armor. I bet you sweep a lot women off their feet.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He looked amused.

“Is that so?”

“Chloe, listen carefully. You don’t know this but you’re the new Gaia, Assiah’s living goddess. As the Gaia, you’re obliged to take consort. Or consorts, if you’re so inclined. The Court held a Selection tournament in order to choose the First Consort. Many of our Great House champions competed against one another through dangerous trials. I won that Selection. I came to find you to enlighten you about your true lineage and to awaken your dormant power.” His eyes were so bright and earnest.

Small chuckles escaped from her before she could hold them in, then it became a full, raucous laughter. Stitches dug her side. Tears in her eyes. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?” Chloe asked when she finally gathered her composure. She crushed the remnant urge to laugh.

If this man was offended, he didn’t show it. His expression was still earnest. “For humans, perhaps.”

“Humans?” She laughed. “Humans? Does it work? You know, your long, crazy pick-up lines?”

“I wouldn’t know. This is the first time for me. Anyway, to sum it up, you’re my goddess and I’m your consort. Once your power is awakened, you’d be expected to start your duties. Our worlds had been without Gaia for too long. The balance of power started shifting to ruin. If this situation isn’t immediately remedied, the consequences would be dire.”

She laughed again. The joke still funny the second time. As if anyone would believe it. He was either a magnificent liar, or completely batshit crazy if he thought he could pull off something like this.

“Okay, pal. I’ve had enough of this. You’re cute but I’m not that desperate. Thanks for the laughs, though. It’s been a while. I gotta bounce.” Chloe dug in her purse for her cellphone to call a cab. She swiped it and noticed she had two missed calls, and one message from a number she didn’t recognize.

She sobered instantly.

It can’t be him, can it?

She’d blocked Norman’s number after the surprise phone call earlier in the day, and the scary thing was it hadn’t been a number from the prison. Surely they weren’t allowed to have cellphones, but maybe prepaid phones were a black-market commodity in prisons just like cigarettes, drugs and alcohol? His father probably had anything Norman wanted smuggled in to him.

Maybe it was something else entirely. Something simple and innocent, maybe even a wrong number. Her hand shook as she touched the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

Her heart froze.

“I’ll be there in a couple of days, Chloe. You know the things I like. Make a nice roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions, and a cherry pie for my welcome-home dinner. And wear something nice, with something sexy underneath. We have a lot of lost time to make up for, dear.”

The phone clattered to the floor, and the man next to her grabbed her to keep her from tipping off the barstool.

“Chloe?” he called. “Are you alright?”

“He wants a roast,” she heard herself whisper, feeling slightly out of her own body, as if she were overhearing everything from the next room. “He wants me to cook him a roast.”

She blinked back tears, and let the gorgeous man whose name she couldn’t remember wrap his arms around her.