Amarantha. Justin hadn’t heard that name in a while. She was a post-Decline one, a merging of other goddesses, though her followers had been scanty last he knew.
Raoul acquiesced to Callista after a few more grumblings and then ordered two of his lackeys to go help Eugene out of the ring. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about him and Mae in the wake of Callista’s entrance, and Justin was surprised to see the two were in exactly the same position: Eugene pinned down, a knife against his throat. Mae stayed where she was until one of the guys tried to pull her away. In one fluid motion, she leapt up and spun toward him, shoving his body into the barbed-wire perimeter. The guy wailed, but no one really noticed because in the space of a heartbeat, Mae had punched the other guy and followed through with a rib-cracking kick. Justin heard the click of guns and Raoul shouting for reinforcements.
“Stop!” yelled Callista, her sharp eyes quickly assessing the tinderbox they were in. “Stay where you all are. You.” She leveled a glare at Justin. “You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing someone like her here.”
“I didn’t bring her here,” he exclaimed.
Callista pointed. “Go get her out of there.”
Mae had returned to a crouching position near Eugene, knife still in hand as she scanned around for anyone else who might dare to intrude. The glamour was still on her, as was that expression of dark power and need for destruction. Justin hesitated only a moment before making his way forward and slipping through the opening in the barbed wire that the others had used. Mae’s eyes tracked him as he approached, but she didn’t move.
Don’t touch her, Horatio warned him. The fight’s done. She’ll get herself back soon.
Justin knelt beside her, grateful to see that Eugene was still alive. “Mae. Time to go,” Justin told her. “You won, and we’ve got a ticket out.”
Mae didn’t even blink, and he wondered if she’d heard him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and there was savagery in her gaze.
“Mae,” he said more loudly. “Come on. We have to get out of here.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, and like that, she was in front of him, the knife at his throat. Whatever words he might have said next died on his lips.
Told you, said Horatio.
She won’t hurt me. Justin wasn’t so sure he believed that, though.
Her goddess would. She’s starting not to like you.
Swallowing, Justin looked Mae squarely in the eyes. “Put the knife down, and let’s go. I need you to protect me.”
It took several more seconds, but those were the words that penetrated the divine haze. A part of him hoped it was feelings for him that drove her, perhaps some leftover sentiment from Panama, but most likely, it was her sense of duty that triumphed. Whatever it was, she focused on him and nodded. As he squinted, the glittering around her faded, and her face once again became that of the woman he knew. When the ravens okayed it, he held out a hand and led her away. Her legs trembled, though Justin had no idea if it was from simple exertion, unmetabolized chemicals, or recovery from divine possession. Maybe a combination of all of them.
He kept his arm around her as they headed out of the ring and found the fabric of her shirt’s back wet and sticky with blood. He knew she’d recover from it and that it couldn’t be too severe, but he still felt a sickening sense of guilt knowing she’d been wounded on his behalf.
If you had cast a blessing, she wouldn’t have been injured as much, Magnus told him. Your continuing denial and refusal to learn is already having consequences. Just because you can’t fight like she does, it doesn’t mean you can’t take part in battle.
I don’t want any part of that, said Justin. I tolerate you guys. That’s the extent of my divine involvement.
Then why are you here? asked Magnus.
By the time they reached Callista, Justin could tell Mae had fully returned to herself—which meant she was still lethal and watchful, especially as she looked Callista over. Nonetheless, Mae handed over the knives and struck a protective stance near Justin.
“Now then,” began Callista. “If you’ve got a moment, we should—”
“Bastard!”
A cry behind Justin interrupted her. He turned to see what it was, but Mae was faster, of course. She spun around, reaching for her boot, and Justin was just in time to see her throw her own knife at a charging, gun-wielding Raoul. The man gasped as the knife plunged into his chest, near his collarbone, sparing him from a killing blow. He yelped and staggered back, dropping the gun. At a nod from Callista, one of her cronies dragged him away. She narrowed her eyes at Justin.
“We need to talk.”
“I would love that,” he said.
As a sign of goodwill, Callista made sure their egos and Mae’s guns were returned. She invited them back to her home, but not without first asking, “Can I expect a military raid?”