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  Mark of the Bear

  ( Hades' Carnival - 2 )

  N. J. Walters

  When the devil wants a deal, there's no bowing out gracefully.

  At twenty-nine, Hollywood scream queen Kellsie Morris is acutely aware the clock is ticking on her career. Luckily, the one big role she needs to pad her retirement fund has just come through-the story of an immortal, shape-shifting warrior trapped in a carnival run by the Devil's minions.

  When Kellsie arrives on set, she can't resist climbing aboard an amazingly realistic carousel bear-and finds herself flung into a world where the horror is real. As real as the heat radiating off the half-naked hunk in her arms.

  Marko has waited an eternity for the chance to free his goddess, the Lady of the Beasts, and his fellow warriors from an ancient curse. But once he lays eyes on Kellsie, he knows to the bottom of his soul that his purpose is to protect her life.

  But in this hellish game, it's the Devil's move. And there's no predicting when and where the final, brutal stroke will fall-and which lover will pay the ultimate price.

  Mark of the Bear

  Hades' Carnival - 2

  by

  N. J. Walters

  To my amazing husband. Thank you for always being there.

  Spell of the Lady of the Beasts

  Lion, wolf, tiger and bear,

  Be of stout heart and show no despair.

  Phoenix, jaguar and serpent, all brave,

  Be not afraid, though thy destiny is grave.

  Warriors brave deserve a much better fate.

  You shall not pass beyond Hades’ gates.

  My powers I give thee to protect and to keep

  From death and torture in the dark and the deep.

  When Olympians’ power is turned into dust

  The time will come for the righteous and just.

  A chance to escape from a prison of Hell.

  Listen closely to all that I tell.

  Feminine power will come to your aid.

  You will come to life as the curse starts to fade.

  The sands of time will begin to slip by

  And you will have but one day’s turning to tie.

  While the demons from Hell tempt and deceive,

  A life must be given, a heart received.

  One step from the path and all will be lost.

  Your souls will be forfeit. That is the cost.

  If honor and courage win the fight,

  The curse will be broken, the debt made right.

  Free you will be from harm and from strife

  Able to live your immortal life.

  Prologue

  Darkness wove around the Lady of the Beasts like a cloak. The air was too hot to breathe. It flayed her flesh, leaving it tender and sore. If she were mortal, she would have long since perished. Her feet were raw and bleeding from stepping on jagged rocks, bits of bone and fiery brimstone. Hunger gnawed at her backbone like a ravenous beast.

  Yet, she smiled.

  One of her warriors had triumphed. That it was Roric, her white tiger, was no surprise. He’d always been a master tactician and unyielding on the field of battle. But it was only the beginning. There was still much work to be done. Three more of her immortal warriors remained imprisoned in their animal state. Marko, Arand and Leander—the bear, wolf and lion. Only the fates knew which one of them would be next and how soon it would happen.

  She had a feeling it wouldn’t be long.

  Events seemed to be escalating, hurtling toward a finish line none of them could see. The Lady was determined to give her warriors every chance at succeeding, of breaking away from the curse that bound them and finally being free.

  For more than five thousand years, they’d been prisoners, trapped on earth in their animal forms, unable to move, to fight. She’d done what she could to keep them out of Hell, but they’d all paid the price for it. Three of them were lost—Mordecai, Stavros and Phoenix. She pushed that thought aside. Now was not the time to mourn their fate. That would come later when it was the proper time to deal with such things.

  A light in the distance caught her eye and she moved cautiously toward it. She knew she was ascending, but how close she was to the Gates of Hell was anyone’s guess.

  Hades was watching her. She could sense whenever he turned his dark eyes toward her. He was probably enjoying seeing her stumble around his domain. She should have been more focused with her request. Whenever Hades agreed to anything there was always a catch, a loophole that went in his favor. But she’d been weakened from the vast years of her imprisonment in his domain and all her faculties hadn’t been working properly. Yes, he’d released her from her prison, but not from Hell. That was up to her to accomplish, or not.

  Not that Hades had come out of their confrontation completely unscathed. So confident in his ability to gain whatever he wanted, he’d readily agreed to abide by the terms of her curse without thinking it through. That fact had not only allowed Roric to triumph, but also ensured that Hades and his minions now had to leave him and his woman alone. Forever. If Hades failed to comply, he would be destroyed. Once he’d given his word, he’d signed his fate. Even gods and goddesses had rules that governed them, and there was no escaping these dictates.

  She was out of the rock prison that had served as her tomb for all these millennia. She’d survived what would have driven most mad, even a goddess. Where there was hope there was life. And Roric and his mate had given her hope, and she drew strength from their victory.

  Energy renewed, she plowed forward, using her hands against the wall as a guide through the blackness that surrounded her. A light flickered in the distance and then dimmed. She moved toward it.

  Hades reclined in his chair and tapped his fingers against the solid wooden arms. It was a thing of beauty, carved from one sturdy piece of mahogany. Usually, he enjoyed the feel of the polished wood, the intricate carvings of death in all its forms and incarnations. Today it gave him no pleasure.

  He was alone in his private chamber, gazing into a heavily gilded mirror, his window into this or any other world. The walls were swathed in blood-red silk and the floor was covered in an ancient hand-woven rug that belonged in a museum. It amused him to walk on it. An enormous bed awaited his pleasure, silk sheets in midnight-black stretched across the down-filled mattress.

  He had more designer clothes than most men’s stores. The suit he was wearing now had been handmade for him by an ancient relic of a man in Sicily. His shirt came from London and his shoes from Rome. His cufflinks were rubies and a diamond winked on his left index finger.

  Rare gemstones filled his coffers and fine art covered the walls of his room. He rotated them every day, pulling works from Rembrandt, da Vinci, Van Gogh and other past masters, from his vaults. It was all his. He could snap his fingers and have anything he desired. Anything, that is, except the power he craved.

  For that he needed the warriors of the Lady.

  He swore and turned away from the mirror, dismissing the image of the Lady of the Beasts as she stumbled along the rocky path. Really, it should lighten his mood to see the bitch bleeding and hurt, but he was still stinging over his defeat to Roric.

  That bastard had put a crimp in his plans, and because Hades had foolishly agreed to abide by the curse, Roric and his lady friend were now off-limits. Even gods had rules. It was enough to give him heartburn.

  For two cents, he’d kill the Lady himself, but that wouldn’t be smart. That would take a lot of power and would cause a ripple that would spread out among all the gods and goddesses of his pantheon. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to attract his brothers’ attention. Zeus and Poseidon could be pains in the ass on a normal day with their sniveling and whining. They didn’t
deserve what little power they had, which was why he was going to take it from them.

  Plus, he might need the Lady at some point down the road for leverage. Just because Roric hadn’t caved didn’t mean one of the others wouldn’t.

  Mordecai, the sly serpent, certainly had, and easily.

  The corners of his lips curved upward, but anyone seeing it wouldn’t mistake it for a smile. It was cruel and calculating and tinged with malice. Mordecai had been his first victory and it had been sweet. Unfortunately, he’d had to destroy two of the warriors. If they weren’t with him they were his enemy.

  No, he had to be honest with himself. He’d destroyed Stavros, the jaguar. The phoenix had gone up in a ball of flames, destroying himself and the woman who’d freed him rather than battle Hades and his demons. The coward.

  That left three warriors, the bear, the lion and the wolf, all potentially useful to him in the secret war he was waging against the other Greek gods. Which brought him back to the problem at hand.

  He’d grown tired waiting for the right females to stumble across the carousel that housed the animal forms of the warriors and release them. It was taking too much time. Years. Decades. He wanted this over and done with so he could get on with his plans.

  He’d learned much from watching the other warriors being released. There was a certain type of energy surrounding these special women—strong, yet abundantly feminine, sweet and yet spicy. Invigorating. He licked his lips, almost tasting the power they contained.

  He wouldn’t kill the next one he found. No, he’d steal her energy for himself. To that end, he’d dispatched his minions all over the world, searching for any trace of this unusual energy. His scheme had paid off. Handsomely.

  This time his smile was genuine, and he threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve got you now.” He turned back to the mirror and a woman’s face filled the space. Her blue eyes were terror-filled and her ruby-red lips parted on a bloodcurdling scream.

  “Is that her?”

  Hades ignored Mordecai for a moment, simply because he could. He was enjoying the woman’s scream. When it ended, he swiveled in his chair and eyed his top general. “Yes.”

  “I got the number.”

  That was one of the things Hades found most useful about Mordecai. He was proactive, getting what was needed, anticipating what Hades would want, unlike most of his demons who wouldn’t move without specific orders. He held out his hand and Mordecai dropped a slip of paper with a name and number into it.

  Victory was close. Hades savored the sensation. But first came the thrill of the hunt. “Get ready to leave. You’re taking a little trip.”

  Mordecai cocked an eyebrow, his black eyes filled with questions that remained unasked.

  “All in good time,” Hades promised. “Now leave me.”

  Mordecai inclined his head and withdrew, his boots soundless on the carpet. Hades frowned. The serpent was good at sneaking around, maybe too good.

  The paper crinkled in his fingers and he forgot about the former warrior of the Lady of the Beasts. Mordecai belonged to him now. Body and soul.

  He plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number. He was the only one who could get cell coverage from Hell. It was one of the many perks of being him.

  The phone was answered on the other end and Hades’ skin tingled. The rush of anticipation was almost sexual. The hunt was about to begin. “I have a deal for you,” he began.

  Chapter One

  She slowly stretched out her hand into the darkness, cautiously searching for the wall. She knew it was there if she could just find it. Sweat made her thin tank top stick to her skin, molding the fabric to her breasts. In spite of the heat, she shivered. The unfinished planks of the boathouse floor were rough against her bare feet.

  He was here. Somewhere.

  Was that a creak?

  She held her breath and listened intently. The frantic pounding of her heart filled her ears, making it next to impossible to hear.

  She closed her free hand around the hilt of the kitchen knife she’d grabbed to defend herself. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She didn’t want to fight. All she wanted to do was find a way out of this godforsaken mansion and go home.

  Why had she agreed to housesit for a couple she barely knew? Because the offer had seemed too good to be true. A weekend at a private lake in a home with every amenity ever invented.

  A pity she’d never get to try out the hot tub.

  Something scuttled over her foot and she jumped back, barely suppressing a scream. A rat. Oh God, it was only a rat. Maybe he hadn’t found her. Maybe he hadn’t realized she’d left the house yet.

  The speedboat was only a few feet away. If she could get to it, she could escape to the other side of the lake to the safety of the town and the local police.

  “You can do this,” she whispered.

  One foot at a time, she warily crept toward the boat. She wanted to run, but that would be stupid. She didn’t know where the man who’d broken into the house was. He could be anywhere—in the surrounding woods, in the house or standing a few feet away from her. In the pitch black there was no way to tell. She swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in her stomach, the burning in her eyes and the sour taste in her mouth.

  Freedom was so close she could practically smell it. The sleek lines of the pleasure boat came into view as a sliver of light broke through a crack in the boathouse wall. She knew the keys were under the captain’s seat. All she had to do was get there without being detected. She cocked her head to one side, listening for any telltale sound as she moved stealthily forward.

  Almost there.

  “Leaving so soon, Amanda,” the low male voice mocked. He was right behind her.

  She whirled around, knife raised and screamed. The bloodcurdling sound was abruptly cut off as he knocked her to the ground. The strike was brutal and stole her breath. Her head hit the boathouse floor, leaving her momentarily stunned. The knife slipped from her grip and she heard a skittering sound followed by a wet splash. It had fallen over the side of the wharf and into the dark, murky water. She was well and truly helpless.

  “No. Please,” she begged, throwing her hands up in front of her. She wanted to move but terror held her frozen in place.

  His laughed and his eyes seemed to glow in the dim moonlight streaming in through the window, giving him a demonic presence. He was big. He was strong. And he was bent on killing her. It wasn’t fair. He was a total stranger. She’d never done anything to him, never even seen him before.

  The knife flashed as it descended, slicing through her top and into her flesh as easily as a hot knife cut through butter. She gasped and tried to scream as he raised the knife and brought it plunging back down, again and again.

  Her scream was cut short and she felt her life’s blood draining from her. Her vision dimmed as her eyelids fluttered and closed for the final time. Just before everything went black, she heard his chilling voice. “You’re just the beginning.”

  She gave one final sigh before her body went boneless.

  “Cut!” The director turned toward the crew. “That’s a wrap for tonight.”

  “Hey, Kells. Good scene.”

  Her murderer held out his hand and Kellsie Morris took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. “Thanks, Stan.” She and Stan were both veterans of the horror-film industry. This was the fourth time he’d killed her. He’d also been her boyfriend once and had ended up being killed in a car accident, a very violent and gruesome death.

  The special-effects guy hurried up to them. “How did the blood packs work?”

  “Great, Gus.” She’d worked with Gus before too. Heck, with more than thirty horror flicks under her belt in the past eleven years, she’d worked with just about everyone.

  He yanked up her top so it bunched beneath her breasts and examined her stomach, not taking her word for it. “Looks good,” he muttered, ignoring the mess that was seeping onto his hands. “All the packs deplo
yed.”

  Gus was a perfectionist. He was also a happily married man, and she knew his interest in her bare flesh was purely professional and not because he hoped to catch a better glimpse of her breasts.

  “Hey, Gerry was happy,” Stan reminded Gus. Gerry Grant was the director of this particular flick, The Secrets of Summer Lake. Catchy title. Too bad she was simply cannon fodder in this one—an early kill. Her work here was already done.

  She yanked her stained top back over her bloody tummy and hugged Gus. “Thanks for another great movie.”

  He frowned. “You’re gone so soon?”

  “Yup. This was the last scene Gerry needed me for. I won’t be back unless he needs to do any reshoots.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “You too. Say hi to Marcie and the kids.”

  “Will do.” With that Gus hurried off.

  “You want to get a bite to eat or something?” Stan was still standing off to the side waiting. He was a great guy. Tall, good-looking in a blond, surfer-dude way, when he wasn’t covered in blood and makeup, that is. She wished she felt something more than friendship, but there was no spark there.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just head home. It’s been a long night.”

  “Rain check?”

  “You bet.” She gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before heading off to the wardrobe trailer to change.

  Once inside, Kellsie dragged off the sticky shirt and stained jeans, handing them to the head of the wardrobe department, before squeezing herself into the tiny shower. She didn’t linger, but washed quickly, cleaning away the fake blood, dirt and makeup. When she was done, she toweled off and dressed in her own clothing. Jeans and a T-shirt. Only, this time, she wore a bra beneath her shirt. She was top heavy and liked to keep the girls in line. The director had wanted a little more bounce in her character’s step so Kellsie hadn’t worn one in shot. Wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. She didn’t bother with mascara or lipstick. She was going home and falling into bed.