Each month, in my newsletter, I'll be including a short story based on one of the secondary characters in my Goddesses of Delphi series. The story will always be about the partisan, or body guard assigned to protect the Muse from the novel published the month before. This month, I'm telling Zeke Patterson's story, from Tyranny.
To see these stories first, before I publish them here, you can subscribe to my newsletter
If you decide you'd like to read more about Zeke, check out the book on Amazon
To see these stories first, before I publish them here, you can subscribe to my newsletter
If you decide you'd like to read more about Zeke, check out the book on Amazon
The minute I walked into the office for A Fighting Chance Breast Cancer Fund, the sound of an argument resonated through the closed door to my right. It distracted me long enough that I pulled up short, already on alert. When I did, someone bumped my shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. Scooting to my left, I cleared a path for the woman who’d dogged my heels all the way inside.
She ducked under the counter and hit me with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The badge clipped to her lavender sweater read Delia. “How may I help you?” She flicked her eyes to the right, glaring at the office where the sound of bickering seeped out. She pursed her lips, returned her attention to me, and pasted the same phony nothing to see, folks, move along now smile on her lips.
My gaze tracked back to the closed door. The nameplate hanging next to proclaimed it Jazmin D’Albina’s office. It was her signature scrawled at the bottom of the letter tucked into my back pocket.
Fine, two can play that ignore-the-fight game.
I grabbed the letter and the other papers, waving them in the air. “I’m Zeke Patterson. My buddies and I signed up for the Warrior Dash for Breast Cancer.” Three of my co-workers and I had decided we needed a break from the supernatural shenanigans with Pierus and his bitch daughters, the Pierides. We’d been at DefCon Five since the ancient deity showed his ugly mug a little over a month ago, challenging the Muses in a hostile take-over attempt of Olympus. Over beers last week we decided to do a charity run. Immortals tend to be generous if you do anything in the name of charity. We’d raised over twenty-five hundred bucks between the three of us. Then Zeus Thanos, president and CEO of Olympus Enterprises, had matched the donations.
“You ran last week? We just mailed thank-you notes and receipts last week.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Our form only credited donations of five hundred dollars. The paperwork is missing a zero.”
She shook her head. “That must be a mistake.”
I fought the urge to shake the letter in her face. Of course it was a mistake. I bit the inside of my cheek and then plastered what I hoped was an engaging grin on my face. “That’s what I thought. Can you look?”
“Did you bring a copy of your pledge form and the receipt?”
I slid a sheaf of papers across the battered wooden counter. Wherever the money was disappearing to, it wasn’t in facilities. “Do you mind if I wait?”
“It may take a while. Have a seat.” She nodded and pointed to a student style desk in the corner.
As long as the while wasn’t hours, I’d take the time to fill out the review form Mars had emailed this morning. After my performance when my charge, Clio Thanos, the Muse of History, went head-to-head with Tyranny and beat that bitch’s ass, I was up for a promotion. “Got a pen?”
From the cup by her computer monitor, she plucked a purple pen with a bright yellow daisy taped to the top. It just looked stupid in my meaty paw. I curbed the urge to rip the plastic monstrosity off, shrugged, and headed to the desk. Already uncomfortable with the pen, I eyed the seat. I’m six and a half feet tall. No way I’ll be able to cram my body into the tiny desk to complete their forms. I opted to do what I’d done in classes at Delphi City University. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
The argument behind closed doors escalated, which ratcheted up my tension as I propped the paper on my knee. After all the crap we’d dealt with a couple weeks ago, fights—even something as minor as the raised voices sent me straight to beast mode. When you are an immortal partisan guard, trained to protect another god, you stay alert and ready to kick ass. I don’t really have spidey senses, but my immortal hearing was excellent. I tuned into the conversation behind the barrier.
“I’m telling you something is wrong. The numbers aren’t adding up from last week’s Warrior Dash.” The raspy, sexy quality of the woman’s voice tightened everything in my hard body. I wanted to jump up, blast through the solid piece of wood between us, and locate the source.
“And I’m telling you, as the accountant, that you’re wrong. The numbers are fine. You just don’t know how to read a balance sheet.” The bitter, defensive edge to the guy’s response made me certain he was hiding something.
That fact that my donations receipt was wrong solidified my belief. I sat up straighter, flattening my shoulders against the wall. Easier to launch myself into the fray if needed.
“The board hired me because of my financial skills. I worked as an analyst for one of the three-letters. I know when someone is embezzling funds.” If she had been an employee of one of the government agencies she probably knew exactly what she was talking about. I wondered briefly which one…CIA, FBI or better, NSA. Props to her, though—she’d lowered her voice, the sexy tone holding nothing but cool accusation.
Delia hustled across the room and knocked on the doorframe. “Jazzy? You okay?” Her voice was lost beneath the yelling coming from inside.
“I’ve already notified the board of the anomaly, Stephen. They aren’t happy about the missing donations. Hey—”
The distinct sounds of a scuffle hit my ears at the same time I hit my feet.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Now, you’re gonna pay.”
Six angry strides put me at entry. I brushed Delia aside, shouldered open the door.
A gray-haired man, Stephen, I presumed, had his hands locked around the woman’s throat. She clawed at his fingers, eyes wide in fright. Her cheeks were already bright red from lack of oxygen.
Pissed as hell that the old shit laid his hands on a woman, I bellowed, “Get your fucking paws off her.” The element of surprise was on my side. I raced forward and tackled the old geezer.
He didn’t release Jazzy’s neck fast enough and we all went down hard. As we crashed to the floor, I twisted enough so that I landed mostly on Stephen. But I still managed to clip a bit of her chest. Her soft breasts flattened under my left pectoral. Her gasp tickled my ear and a heady puff of her lemon and sage shampoo hit my senses. In spite of the situation, I’m not gonna lie. I kind of dug the feel of her under me.
Shoving the feeling away, I focused on pinning Stephen’s arms under him. Jazzy scrambled to her feet with Delia’s assistance. Her wavy dark hair glinted under the florescent lights, her cheeks now a more natural, less oxygen deprived color.
Now that she was clear, I clamped one hand around the nape of Stephen’s neck. Leaping to my feet, I hauled him up, and shoved him against the wall. I didn’t have to rely on my supernatural senses to know the man was scared shitless. The acrid scent of fear rolled free of his pores.
“Listen, jackass. No matter how pissed you are, putting your hands on a woman isn’t acceptable.”
I punctuated my directive by pressing my forearm against his neck. His ashen face took a turn for the florid as I cut off his air supply. Rage at his rough treatment fogged my vision. I pressed harder, not really caring if I crushed the bastard’s windpipe. Asshat was lucky I hadn’t unleashed my immortal clobbering abilities.
I dug in harder. “How do you like that?”
“I’m just going to call the police.” Delia’s voice was breathy.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Jazzy said. She laid a hand on my elbow. The one cutting off Stephen’s breath. “Um, maybe you could let him go now?” She increased the pressure of her fingers on my flesh, dispelling the haze of anger that had threatened to consume me. A different sort of passion took over.
I eased back enough for him to suck in a deep breath. Twisting my head, I gazed into her eyes. She was so close the golden flecks deep in the velvety brown irises were visible. Although her lips were in a flat line, they were plump. Kissable.
“Truly, I can’t thank you enough.” She rubbed the reddened marks on her neck as her gaze heated under mine. “The police are probably on their way.”
For a moment, I lost myself in her gaze. They say you know…the instant you meet your match. I might have lived one hundred and fifty lifetimes, but the thrill of discovering a new mate in a new lifetime never gets old. I pushed my recognition aside, and eased back from Stephen. Jazzy’s lush lips curled into a tiny, encouraging smile.
None too gently, I grasped Stephen’s upper arm and dragged him to a chair in front of the desk.
Clamping a hand on one shoulder, I forced him to take a seat. “Stay there.” Leaving my hand in place, I offered my other to Jazzy. “Zeke Patterson.”
“Jazzy D’Albina.” Her tiny hand was swallowed in mine. And fit so right.
“I, uh, I couldn’t help overhearing your argument. I dropped by because the paperwork I’d received about my team’s donation to the Warrior Dash was wrong. I guess now I know why.” I diverted my eyes to Stephen, who cowered and whimpered under the force of my glare.
Jazzy’s soft grunt drew my attention back. “Yeah, we were just discussing some discrepancies in the balance sheet from that event. About twenty-five thousand discrepancies.”
I dug my fingers hard into Stevie-boy’s muscles, pleased to hear his moan. I contemplated doing the same thing twenty-five thousand times, once for each dollar he’d stolen from a charity. “Which three letter?”
She drew her brows together. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m guessing NSA or Homeland Security. Am I right?”
“You heard that?” Her cheeks flushed, a becoming shade of peach to match her lips.
Holy Hades, I really wanted to kiss her. Right here. Right freaking now.
I leaned toward her, but stopped short. Not the time or place. “I doubt you were aware how sound carries through those old heat ducts.” I pointed to the cold-air return grate over the doorway.
“Oh. Um, I was with the FBI.”
“Let go of me,” Stephen growled.
“Shut up,” Jazzy and I barked at the same time.
Her face lit up with a warm smile, illuminating the gold in her eyes. “We’re kind of in sync, here.”
I’d like to be in sync with her on a soft mattress. My imagination fired; my body responded to my licentious thoughts.
Stephen tried to climb out of the chair. I locked my elbow and held him in place. “Buddy, embezzling that amount of money is most likely a felony. I hope you like orange, but I doubt it’s your color.”
If he was an immortal, I’d ask Zeus to confine him in the scorpion-infested caverns in the mountains near Macedonia. But he was as mortal as they come. He’d be going to the federal corrections facility in northern Pennsylvania.
Jazzy strode behind her desk just as Delia hollered from the outer office. “The police will be here shortly. They respectfully requested that Mr. Patterson continue to contain the subject.”
“You got it,” I shouted back, delighted to help.
Stacking two file folders on top of each other, Jazzy aligned the corners, then slipped them into the middle drawer of the battered wooden desk. If their office and furnishings were a clue, I imagine the embezzling had been going on for a while. Or Jazzy didn’t care what the office looked like, as long as there were funds to help people with cancer. She locked the drawer and pocketed the key.
I maintained vigilance over Stephen, but directed my words to the intriguing woman before me. “I’m willing to testify against him, if needed. My buddies and I raised 5K for the dash. I hate that the funds won’t help who they were meant to help.” For the sake of driving my message home, I buried my fingers in Stephen’s shoulders again, and imagined claws piercing the guy’s flesh. He squirmed and whimpered.
The heavy sound of boots hit the air as two of DCPDs uniformed officers rushed into the office, followed by Delia.
I let up on the pressure. I was done torturing the mortal now. It was up to the police. I moved to Jazzy’s side as they flanked Stephen’s chair.
While they questioned Jazzy, I took a position right behind her. My protective instincts were charged and ready to act. I was close enough that my bicep brushed her shoulder blade. She leaned against me, almost as if she was happy to have me there.
When they were finished talking to her, and were finally leading Stephen away, in handcuffs to my delight, she turned to me. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a real-life hero.” The combination of her fingers on my arm, her misplaced adulation, and her brilliant smile, floated over my heart. “Can I buy you a coffee to express my gratitude?”
I could think of plenty of ways I’d prefer to have her show her gratitude.
“Thanks aren’t necessary.” I offered her my elbow, delighted when she wound her arm through the crook and laid her hand on my forearm. “But I’m certainly willing to play the hero any time you need.”
And if that meant doing it every single day for the rest of her life, I was all the way in.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. Scooting to my left, I cleared a path for the woman who’d dogged my heels all the way inside.
She ducked under the counter and hit me with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The badge clipped to her lavender sweater read Delia. “How may I help you?” She flicked her eyes to the right, glaring at the office where the sound of bickering seeped out. She pursed her lips, returned her attention to me, and pasted the same phony nothing to see, folks, move along now smile on her lips.
My gaze tracked back to the closed door. The nameplate hanging next to proclaimed it Jazmin D’Albina’s office. It was her signature scrawled at the bottom of the letter tucked into my back pocket.
Fine, two can play that ignore-the-fight game.
I grabbed the letter and the other papers, waving them in the air. “I’m Zeke Patterson. My buddies and I signed up for the Warrior Dash for Breast Cancer.” Three of my co-workers and I had decided we needed a break from the supernatural shenanigans with Pierus and his bitch daughters, the Pierides. We’d been at DefCon Five since the ancient deity showed his ugly mug a little over a month ago, challenging the Muses in a hostile take-over attempt of Olympus. Over beers last week we decided to do a charity run. Immortals tend to be generous if you do anything in the name of charity. We’d raised over twenty-five hundred bucks between the three of us. Then Zeus Thanos, president and CEO of Olympus Enterprises, had matched the donations.
“You ran last week? We just mailed thank-you notes and receipts last week.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Our form only credited donations of five hundred dollars. The paperwork is missing a zero.”
She shook her head. “That must be a mistake.”
I fought the urge to shake the letter in her face. Of course it was a mistake. I bit the inside of my cheek and then plastered what I hoped was an engaging grin on my face. “That’s what I thought. Can you look?”
“Did you bring a copy of your pledge form and the receipt?”
I slid a sheaf of papers across the battered wooden counter. Wherever the money was disappearing to, it wasn’t in facilities. “Do you mind if I wait?”
“It may take a while. Have a seat.” She nodded and pointed to a student style desk in the corner.
As long as the while wasn’t hours, I’d take the time to fill out the review form Mars had emailed this morning. After my performance when my charge, Clio Thanos, the Muse of History, went head-to-head with Tyranny and beat that bitch’s ass, I was up for a promotion. “Got a pen?”
From the cup by her computer monitor, she plucked a purple pen with a bright yellow daisy taped to the top. It just looked stupid in my meaty paw. I curbed the urge to rip the plastic monstrosity off, shrugged, and headed to the desk. Already uncomfortable with the pen, I eyed the seat. I’m six and a half feet tall. No way I’ll be able to cram my body into the tiny desk to complete their forms. I opted to do what I’d done in classes at Delphi City University. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
The argument behind closed doors escalated, which ratcheted up my tension as I propped the paper on my knee. After all the crap we’d dealt with a couple weeks ago, fights—even something as minor as the raised voices sent me straight to beast mode. When you are an immortal partisan guard, trained to protect another god, you stay alert and ready to kick ass. I don’t really have spidey senses, but my immortal hearing was excellent. I tuned into the conversation behind the barrier.
“I’m telling you something is wrong. The numbers aren’t adding up from last week’s Warrior Dash.” The raspy, sexy quality of the woman’s voice tightened everything in my hard body. I wanted to jump up, blast through the solid piece of wood between us, and locate the source.
“And I’m telling you, as the accountant, that you’re wrong. The numbers are fine. You just don’t know how to read a balance sheet.” The bitter, defensive edge to the guy’s response made me certain he was hiding something.
That fact that my donations receipt was wrong solidified my belief. I sat up straighter, flattening my shoulders against the wall. Easier to launch myself into the fray if needed.
“The board hired me because of my financial skills. I worked as an analyst for one of the three-letters. I know when someone is embezzling funds.” If she had been an employee of one of the government agencies she probably knew exactly what she was talking about. I wondered briefly which one…CIA, FBI or better, NSA. Props to her, though—she’d lowered her voice, the sexy tone holding nothing but cool accusation.
Delia hustled across the room and knocked on the doorframe. “Jazzy? You okay?” Her voice was lost beneath the yelling coming from inside.
“I’ve already notified the board of the anomaly, Stephen. They aren’t happy about the missing donations. Hey—”
The distinct sounds of a scuffle hit my ears at the same time I hit my feet.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Now, you’re gonna pay.”
Six angry strides put me at entry. I brushed Delia aside, shouldered open the door.
A gray-haired man, Stephen, I presumed, had his hands locked around the woman’s throat. She clawed at his fingers, eyes wide in fright. Her cheeks were already bright red from lack of oxygen.
Pissed as hell that the old shit laid his hands on a woman, I bellowed, “Get your fucking paws off her.” The element of surprise was on my side. I raced forward and tackled the old geezer.
He didn’t release Jazzy’s neck fast enough and we all went down hard. As we crashed to the floor, I twisted enough so that I landed mostly on Stephen. But I still managed to clip a bit of her chest. Her soft breasts flattened under my left pectoral. Her gasp tickled my ear and a heady puff of her lemon and sage shampoo hit my senses. In spite of the situation, I’m not gonna lie. I kind of dug the feel of her under me.
Shoving the feeling away, I focused on pinning Stephen’s arms under him. Jazzy scrambled to her feet with Delia’s assistance. Her wavy dark hair glinted under the florescent lights, her cheeks now a more natural, less oxygen deprived color.
Now that she was clear, I clamped one hand around the nape of Stephen’s neck. Leaping to my feet, I hauled him up, and shoved him against the wall. I didn’t have to rely on my supernatural senses to know the man was scared shitless. The acrid scent of fear rolled free of his pores.
“Listen, jackass. No matter how pissed you are, putting your hands on a woman isn’t acceptable.”
I punctuated my directive by pressing my forearm against his neck. His ashen face took a turn for the florid as I cut off his air supply. Rage at his rough treatment fogged my vision. I pressed harder, not really caring if I crushed the bastard’s windpipe. Asshat was lucky I hadn’t unleashed my immortal clobbering abilities.
I dug in harder. “How do you like that?”
“I’m just going to call the police.” Delia’s voice was breathy.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Jazzy said. She laid a hand on my elbow. The one cutting off Stephen’s breath. “Um, maybe you could let him go now?” She increased the pressure of her fingers on my flesh, dispelling the haze of anger that had threatened to consume me. A different sort of passion took over.
I eased back enough for him to suck in a deep breath. Twisting my head, I gazed into her eyes. She was so close the golden flecks deep in the velvety brown irises were visible. Although her lips were in a flat line, they were plump. Kissable.
“Truly, I can’t thank you enough.” She rubbed the reddened marks on her neck as her gaze heated under mine. “The police are probably on their way.”
For a moment, I lost myself in her gaze. They say you know…the instant you meet your match. I might have lived one hundred and fifty lifetimes, but the thrill of discovering a new mate in a new lifetime never gets old. I pushed my recognition aside, and eased back from Stephen. Jazzy’s lush lips curled into a tiny, encouraging smile.
None too gently, I grasped Stephen’s upper arm and dragged him to a chair in front of the desk.
Clamping a hand on one shoulder, I forced him to take a seat. “Stay there.” Leaving my hand in place, I offered my other to Jazzy. “Zeke Patterson.”
“Jazzy D’Albina.” Her tiny hand was swallowed in mine. And fit so right.
“I, uh, I couldn’t help overhearing your argument. I dropped by because the paperwork I’d received about my team’s donation to the Warrior Dash was wrong. I guess now I know why.” I diverted my eyes to Stephen, who cowered and whimpered under the force of my glare.
Jazzy’s soft grunt drew my attention back. “Yeah, we were just discussing some discrepancies in the balance sheet from that event. About twenty-five thousand discrepancies.”
I dug my fingers hard into Stevie-boy’s muscles, pleased to hear his moan. I contemplated doing the same thing twenty-five thousand times, once for each dollar he’d stolen from a charity. “Which three letter?”
She drew her brows together. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m guessing NSA or Homeland Security. Am I right?”
“You heard that?” Her cheeks flushed, a becoming shade of peach to match her lips.
Holy Hades, I really wanted to kiss her. Right here. Right freaking now.
I leaned toward her, but stopped short. Not the time or place. “I doubt you were aware how sound carries through those old heat ducts.” I pointed to the cold-air return grate over the doorway.
“Oh. Um, I was with the FBI.”
“Let go of me,” Stephen growled.
“Shut up,” Jazzy and I barked at the same time.
Her face lit up with a warm smile, illuminating the gold in her eyes. “We’re kind of in sync, here.”
I’d like to be in sync with her on a soft mattress. My imagination fired; my body responded to my licentious thoughts.
Stephen tried to climb out of the chair. I locked my elbow and held him in place. “Buddy, embezzling that amount of money is most likely a felony. I hope you like orange, but I doubt it’s your color.”
If he was an immortal, I’d ask Zeus to confine him in the scorpion-infested caverns in the mountains near Macedonia. But he was as mortal as they come. He’d be going to the federal corrections facility in northern Pennsylvania.
Jazzy strode behind her desk just as Delia hollered from the outer office. “The police will be here shortly. They respectfully requested that Mr. Patterson continue to contain the subject.”
“You got it,” I shouted back, delighted to help.
Stacking two file folders on top of each other, Jazzy aligned the corners, then slipped them into the middle drawer of the battered wooden desk. If their office and furnishings were a clue, I imagine the embezzling had been going on for a while. Or Jazzy didn’t care what the office looked like, as long as there were funds to help people with cancer. She locked the drawer and pocketed the key.
I maintained vigilance over Stephen, but directed my words to the intriguing woman before me. “I’m willing to testify against him, if needed. My buddies and I raised 5K for the dash. I hate that the funds won’t help who they were meant to help.” For the sake of driving my message home, I buried my fingers in Stephen’s shoulders again, and imagined claws piercing the guy’s flesh. He squirmed and whimpered.
The heavy sound of boots hit the air as two of DCPDs uniformed officers rushed into the office, followed by Delia.
I let up on the pressure. I was done torturing the mortal now. It was up to the police. I moved to Jazzy’s side as they flanked Stephen’s chair.
While they questioned Jazzy, I took a position right behind her. My protective instincts were charged and ready to act. I was close enough that my bicep brushed her shoulder blade. She leaned against me, almost as if she was happy to have me there.
When they were finished talking to her, and were finally leading Stephen away, in handcuffs to my delight, she turned to me. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a real-life hero.” The combination of her fingers on my arm, her misplaced adulation, and her brilliant smile, floated over my heart. “Can I buy you a coffee to express my gratitude?”
I could think of plenty of ways I’d prefer to have her show her gratitude.
“Thanks aren’t necessary.” I offered her my elbow, delighted when she wound her arm through the crook and laid her hand on my forearm. “But I’m certainly willing to play the hero any time you need.”
And if that meant doing it every single day for the rest of her life, I was all the way in.