A Spartan's Kiss (3 page)

Gods were tricky. Battles fed Ares’ ego, perhaps even his power. The strength of his warriors fed him, as much as, if not more so than the nourishment he received from his godly meals. Aeros, and the other Spartans in his legion, were as essential to Ares as Ares was to them.

In an irritated tone, Ares said, “It won’t be quite so simple. You need to find it. And to find it? You need to be able to read the signs. The godhead protects itself.”

“Why can’t you simply go and retrieve it?”

Ares shifted on his silk cushions, looking uncomfortable for once. With a grimace, he signalled to the women to leave him. They left, but not without many sad sighs.

“Aeros, my clear-headed captain. It is not so simple. The godhead is mine, true, but I cannot go into the human realm but once every decade. I might have made a few side trips, not exactly a full entry, but because of these side trips I am unable to venture forth from my hall for another three mortal years.”

If he could have growled at Ares, he would have. The god had been ‘venturing forth’ for women. Nothing essential. Nothing that might end this world. Obviously, the wrong hands had sneaked in, right under his godly nose, and taken something that could very well kill them all.

If Ares were to be believed.

And therein lay the rub. Could Ares be trusted?

“You will have to find it, retrieve it, and bring it back here.”

Aeros took a moment to assess Ares but he could find no lie in the god’s chiselled features—only concern and, more than that, a need he couldn’t hide. A need for the godhead? Or for something more?

“Fine. We will begin after my men are—”

Flames flickered in the depths of Ares’ eyes, and he cut Aeros off with a slash of his hand. “No, actually, you need to begin now. There’s no time. Did I not mention that?”

No, he had not mentioned that, but Aeros kept quiet, seeing Ares’ legendary temper rising.

Cautiously, Aeros shifted his feet and dropped his aggressive posture. Something more was going on here. He needed Ares calm if he hoped to discover what. His instincts flared. Ares skirted the truth. Oh, his god needed this chalice, but not for the reasons he’d spouted so far.

“Ares, I have two hurt men. Three more are on downtime.”

Ares rose from his cushions gracefully and strode to the side of the room where the godhead had once rested. The empty altar held one white rose. The colour shone brilliantly, almost too bright for Aeros’ eyes. A shiver of cold threaded down his back. All around him, his world was muted, black and grey, yet the rose was crisp, clear to Aeros’ sight.

Back still turned, Ares said, “They left this. The little witches. I can’t sense who they were, they are hidden from my eyes, but they were crafty, the two ladies. They sought the godhead for another, thus were cautious with it. But those they gave the godhead to?” A deep chuckle sounded and echoed off the domed marble ceiling and vibrated through the splendour of the empty hall. “Those poor immortals are not so well off. Find the witches, hire them, and they will lead you to the godhead.”

“What? Hire the thieves?”

The grin on Ares’ face when he turned wasn’t reassuring. Aeros noticed his hand lay on the empty altar, exactly where the chalice had stood for so long. Lightly brushing his fingers over the black velvet, Ares watched him intently.

“Be cautious, Aeros. Find the witches, but beware, you just might find more than you bargained for.” Ares scowled and held up a hand to forestall any questions. “Above all else, the chalice must be back in its rightful place before the moon makes one full pass. If in one cycle of the moon, you do not do as I say? The consequences will be disastrous. Do not forget, my captain, that our lives are linked.”

Eyes suddenly glowing bright, the god grew in size and stature, his robes melted away and, once again, Ares stood in his bloody leather and golden armour. Ares, the god of war, stood before him, anger and something else, something close to madness, in his godly eyes.

“Do not let your own desires cloud your mission, Aeros. Find the witches. Find the godhead. Return it. Or we may all be doomed.”

Aeros felt his god’s words echo down his spine.

‘Do not let your own desires cloud your mission.’

Why did Aeros suddenly feel the brush of fate’s soft caress settle around him with her silken embrace?

“Your own desires,” Ares said.

The word ‘desires’ resonated with power, awakening dreams Aeros had long since forgotten.

Ares watched him closely, then turned and strode from the room without another word.

Aeros’ mission was clear. Find the witches, find the godhead, return it or else face some impending doom. Truth or lie? What was Ares hiding? Was it Ares who would be doomed if the relic were lost? Did it matter? If Ares were doomed, Aeros would not be far behind.

Logically, his existence being linked to Ares’ continued good health made sense. After all, Ares had called him back to life.

Life? Aeros took in the empty hall, his eyes falling on the brightness of that single rose lying on the black velvet. A blossom of something, excitement perhaps, sprang to life inside his chest.

The mission hadn’t even begun, but he felt for the first time in centuries. Perhaps he’d find much more on this mission than he’d ever anticipated. And that, more than Ares’ dire predictions, had him bursting with impatience to get the mission underway.

Chapter Three

Usher singing ‘Oh My God’ woke Tabithia up with a rush. Immediately, she fisted her hand on the leather handle of her knife, while she fumbled around her blankets for the offending musician. By sheer luck, she located the slim plastic and managed to flip her phone open while she took a fortifying breath to deal with her aunt’s next big adventure.

“Oi, Tabbie-cat, what’s up? Got time to go meet a hunky Spartan or six?”

Sleep still clouded Tabithia’s eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to get her brain wrapped around the question. Spartans were a rare breed, loyal to Ares—Ares, the Greek god of war. Who also happened to be the god they had just relieved of a little chalice two nights before.

Yeah, so meeting up with his guys hit the bottom of the charts for fun things to do on a Tuesday night. Actually, not much was on her list of things to do on this particular Tuesday night.

“Uh, well…” Tabithia rolled over, hitched her bare feet up on the closet wall, and wiggled until she was more comfortable. She was completely stalling, but this phone call could get tricky. “I’m thinking no. But knock yourself out. As the elder and more knowledgeable badass witch, I think you should hit the pow-wow with the Sparkies.”

Laughter tickled her ear through the phone.

“Good one. Sparkies. I like it. See? You’re a natural.”

Tabithia was so not a natural. She had to fight to sound as fun and hip as Trouble.

“They have no idea we stole the itty-bitty trophy, this is merely a job. They simply want us to find a little beaten-up chalice their god lost owing to his lack of security.” The laughter in Trouble’s voice was disturbing on several levels.

“Are you drinking a potion for decreasing brain function?”

“Hey, hey, be nice. I quit that stuff a while back. Now, come on, catch up with my speed, will ya?”

Catch up with her speed? The witch was insane. They’d stolen from a god. That god now wanted them to go fetch what they’d taken. Uh, warning, warning. This was so not good news.

“Don’t you think he kind of knows, you know, being a god and all—”

“Please. Of, like, war.”

Tabithia was so not going there. Instead, she continued on, “—that we took the blasted thing in the first place?”

“Uh, duh, no? He’s the god of war, Tabbie-cat, not intelligent thought.”

Tabithia barely stopped herself from choking on a laugh. Trouble made that sound so lame—like he was the god of dish soap or something.

“And that doesn’t include knowing who is responsible for petty theft?”

Another laugh. “Damn, we’re good enough to hit
The Late Late Show
, you know?”

“Trouble—”

“Come on, the guy has no clue. He’s willing to pay out the ass. But they want a face-to-face.”

Uh-oh, that sounded like trouble. “And you don’t think they want to, , I don’t know…kick our ass for taking the blasted godhead!”

More laughter.

Unbelievable.

“You’re too much, you know that? Someday our karma’s going to come back and kick us in the ass,” Tabithia said.

Trouble snorted. “Highly doubtful. You know as well as I do that what we fetch can’t be carried if it rightly belongs to—”

“Yeah, yeah. Technicality.” True, though. If what they were hired to take didn’t belong to the person who currently possessed it, the item was fair game. If it did belong to the one’s holding on to it, there wasn’t a chance they could snatch it. No one knew that little detail, though, so they had to carefully scope out new jobs.

“Hey, don’t dish the technicalities. Loopholes rule,” Trouble said.

Okay. Not rising to the bait.
“So they want us to find the godhead and the guys we handed it over to don’t own it either, huh?” Tabithia asked.

“Bingo! You win the balloon with the secret message tucked inside.”

Huh?
“You really are too strange.”

“Moi? You have no idea,” Trouble murmured.

The problem was Tabithia did have an idea. Her aunt might be fun-loving and pull it off most of the time, but Tabithia knew darkness lurked close to the surface of that façade. Dark recognised dark, perhaps. Or pain. The more flippant she got, the more troubled her fun-loving aunt was.

Still, Tabithia didn’t want to go talk to the Spartans. That was Trouble’s gig. It wasn’t like her aunt would open up and talk to her. Trouble had her own secret life. Tabithia didn’t pry and wanted the same respect shown to her.

“Uh, not really feeling an urge to go pow-wow. That’s your MO, remember?”

Her aunt exhaled heavily into the phone. “Didn’t you just whine about not being in on the deets? This, Tabbie-cat, is the deets.”

Whine? “Listen, I see the traps. Tag along for the ride, I don’t want to—”

“Well, too bad,” Trouble snapped. Voice softening, she said, “I’m kind of tied up at the moment, Tabbie-cat. I need you to go scope out the luscious Aeros, hottie captain of the Spartans.”

“Tied up? What does that mean?” She wasn’t touching any hottie captain comments. Eyes on her nail polish, Tabithia waited for Trouble to respond and considered the black colour she’d chosen. She turned it bright red for fun. Naw, black suited her. Short nails bled back to black except for the tips, creating a bloody-looking effect. “Waiting patiently for your answer.”

“Nothing, it means nothing.” Trouble didn’t even bother to make up a lie—not a good sign. “But, look, just have some fun, and cut the guys some sympathy. They did actually die very bravely. It wasn’t like they had a choice coming back to work for that loser Ares.”

“Loser Ares? Is this personal?”

A snort, then her aunt said, in an exasperated tone, “Please, I waste my time on men who can make a woman scream in delight, not over-greedy gods wanting theirs first. Please.”

Yep, personal. Sometimes Tabithia thought her aunt might have gone through more immortals than Hugh Hefner went through blondes. Something didn’t ring true, though. Trouble hid from the world in ways Tabithia could sympathise with. Heck, she excelled at hiding. Hiding was a tricky technique, but Tabithia felt she’d mastered it pretty well. Right up there with her spells.

“So, I’m texting you the addy. Do the meet-and-greet, get the scoop and then we’ll see from there. I got a good vibe, though, and they’re offering a great deal of money. So…” Tapping sounded through the line. From experience, Tabithia knew her aunt was tapping her nails on the steering wheel. This must be big. Trouble did that when she was planning a big job—or two big jobs. Trouble loved to double-dip. Tabithia swore they’d get killed or worse than killed one day.

She was so not doing this one, though.

Her aunt startled her by laughing suddenly, another bad sign. “Yeah, you hit the dark boys up and I’ll see into something else. We’ll check in tonight. ‘Kay?”

She was not doing this, was she? Resignation settled around her like a blanket of nettles. Exactly how could she say no? She had whined to be more onboard. This was onboard. Hell, this wasn’t onboard, this was running the show.

“Tabbie-cat?”

“Right. Later.”

How did she get into things like this? Back-seat driving was her favourite sport. She didn’t take the wheel and drive the damn car.

She practically knocked the clothes off their hangers getting up from her bedroll. One silky, black shirt fell, and she grabbed it, tucking the garment under her arm, and rolled her blankets up, trying not to panic. She could do this. A pow-wow. How hard could it be? Careful not to knock any more clothes down in the closet, she tucked her blankets and pillow into her wooden chest and closed the lid.

Under her palm, the intricate design of Gaelic lettering and flowing trees and small, very small vines all tracing the heritage of her family back to the roots soothed her. She took a moment to linger over the carved words before shrugging off her unease. The chest had been a wedding gift to her mother. Now it sat here, hidden, like so many other facets of Tabithia’s life. Her mother had been brave, a fierce witch who’d died with her father trying to save Tabithia. Such was her legacy—pain and death. Her mother never shrank from her destiny. Tabithia brushed cold fingertips over her parents’ names and blew out a long breath.

She could do this. Besides, if Trouble needed her, Tabithia had to be there.

She owed her aunt that much at least.

The good thing about Trouble? She never came over. Tabithia always went over to her aunt’s flat or wherever her aunt called home. Tabithia had made it clear when she’d left the coven that she lived alone. All alone. Her elder aunt, Sorcha, had pushed for more from the first day. Trouble had merely nodded, gripped her shoulder once, and walked off.

Yeah, she owed Trouble. Paying up might kill her, though.