Red Mortal (15 page)
Authors: Deidre Knight
Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary
A price, of course. There was always a price when bargaining with Ares.
“I’m listening.” Sable braced himself for the full revelation of what he’d just signed on for.
“I require your help. You must ensure that your Sophie does not attempt to heal the good king. I’ve . . . well, let’s say I’ve touched him rather spectacularly. With her gift, she could reverse my handiwork.”
“What have you done to Leonidas?”
“None of your concern. Your only task is to ensure that Sophie does not touch him with her power of healing.”
Sable’s heart pounded like a freight train. This plan was meant to bring him
together
with Sophie—not place her squarely in Ares’s crosshairs. He forced a snarl. “I can’t control that unbalanced female. I may lust for her, but it doesn’t mean I have sway over her.”
together
with Sophie—not place her squarely in Ares’s crosshairs. He forced a snarl. “I can’t control that unbalanced female. I may lust for her, but it doesn’t mean I have sway over her.”
Ares gave him a snide glance. “We both know that’s not true. Those images earlier—they didn’t come from me. They came out of you. Your dreams and wants; I simply conjured them from inside your soul.”
Sable stared at his hooves, hating that his heart was so transparent to the cruel god. “You know,” he pointed out, “Aristos has the same power to heal. Even if I could control Sophie—and I should advise you that I likely cannot—there remains Aristos to consider.”
Ares strode toward his chariot, swinging into it with athletic grace. “You have far more hold over your human female than you realize, Sable. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that.” The god took his seat with a lazy glance. “Or perhaps I should, as it might inspire you to be, shall we say . . . creative with Sophia. As for Aristos Petrakos? Don’t worry,” Ares promised. “I have plans for that warrior, as well.”
Chapter 11
L
eo cuddled Daphne close, stroking her hair as he held her. She lay sprawled atop him, her cheek against his chest. Both of them were still naked, and it felt so very right, to be with her this way, staring up at the moon and stars through the glass roof of the gazebo. Like being back in the fields of ancient Sparta, where things were natural and real. When life had been simple and pure, he and his wife, Gorgo, had sometimes made love up in the hills overlooking the Eurotas River, and they would lie in the sun-touched grass afterward.
eo cuddled Daphne close, stroking her hair as he held her. She lay sprawled atop him, her cheek against his chest. Both of them were still naked, and it felt so very right, to be with her this way, staring up at the moon and stars through the glass roof of the gazebo. Like being back in the fields of ancient Sparta, where things were natural and real. When life had been simple and pure, he and his wife, Gorgo, had sometimes made love up in the hills overlooking the Eurotas River, and they would lie in the sun-touched grass afterward.
It wasn’t that he’d never loved Gorgo, for he had, and she’d been a good wife. It was that he loved Daphne in a different way; she gave his weary heart joy and lightness. She made him feel young again, not like a man of more than twenty-five hundred years.
She’d been his only real hope in centuries, as year after year had mounted upon another. He’d not realized his own loneliness until the day she’d appeared as if from a mist on the moors behind his castle in Cornwall.
That morning, just finishing his walk, he’d felt his ancient heart beat faster than it had in eons. When she left, he’d barely been able to contain his hopes that she’d appear again . . . and again.
Even now, his heart beat powerfully in his chest. Daphne would claim that it was because of Aristos’s handiwork, Leo knew it was actually Daphne herself. Having her back, even for the past few hours, had infused him with life.
She sighed happily, snuggling closer atop his chest. “We should go back soon,” she whispered.
“Yes, I notice you seem eager to move from atop me.” He laughed.
She made a point of burrowing even closer. “I’m too stunned by all the talking you did earlier. You’ve left me helpless in your arms.”
He smiled, feeling reflective. He’d meant what he said about wanting to share everything in his heart, now, while he was still with her. They had no guarantees past this moment.
He toyed with one of her braids, rubbing it gently between his fingertips. “When I’m with you, I always feel so alive, Daphne. From that very first day when I spied you on the moors . . .”
“Oh, you wouldn’t imagine how surprised I was that day. After all those years, praying and hoping you might see me . . .”
“And you appeared from a mist like the Lady of the Lake, and me your King Arthur. From that moment onward . . .” He thumped his hand against his chest. “You made my heart beat strong, and my heart love true. Alive,” he said. “Very alive.”
She beamed at him, blushing beneath his words of praise. But then her light blue eyes grew very wide. She bolted upright, her braids and ribbons half-loose and tumbling across her shoulders.
“That’s it.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her palm. “So obvious that I hadn’t even thought of it.”
He watched her in confusion, then nodded, encouraging her to explain.
“What if I could give you some of my demigoddess’s power?” she blurted excitedly. “You say you feel alive with me, maybe it’s because of what I am . . . maybe there’s something that you actually draw from me. Some kind of life.”
“I was speaking about love,” Leo said plainly. “Not your demigoddess nature.”
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Daphne trying to give him her power because it seemed like a dangerous prospect. How could it not be, for her to meddle with Ares’s curse? He could only imagine what sort of punishments her brother might dream up if he learned about that.
She shook her head. “But you touched on a possible truth, Leo,” she said. “A way we might be able to lift your curse by letting me feed you some of my own energy.”
“And then Ares would feed
you
to his wolves.”
you
to his wolves.”
She narrowed her eyes. “My brother doesn’t have any wolves.”
“Well, then, to his fire-breathing stallions. Or better yet, he’d hurl you off Olympus, lock you in his castle. Any number of endless punishments, and I’m sure he could dream them up most creatively.” Leo scowled. “I won’t risk your life to save mine.”
“You do realize it is a shared decision. I’m the one who would have to live here without you if . . .” She glanced away quickly.
“And then what of me? Suppose your power saves me, but Ares retaliates? Harms you or locks you away from me. I’d spend eternity without you—and all that while I’d know you were suffering. At least if I pass away, you can take comfort in knowing I’m in Elysium.”
Daphne covered her face with her hands. “I cannot live without you,” she said, her voice tight. “Allow me to at least try this. For all Ares will know, you were supplied by Aristos, not me.”
Leo sighed. Her anguish was palpable, and he had to ease it. “How would you go about it?”
She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know precisely. Maybe when we reconvene the meeting, the other Daughters of Delphi could prophesy or receive some instruction to tell us how.”
Leo liked the plan even less now that he realized she had no idea how to enact it. Anything might go wrong. But he’d heard heartbreak in her voice as she spoke about losing him, and all the complications if they couldn’t beat Ares at his own game.
So he held his tongue. “Here,” he said, “let’s rise and dress. See what the Daughters advise.”
Too bad that the best associates often lurked in dank, gloomy dungeons like this one. Ares searched the pulsating crowd, many of whom were already high on drugs or drunk out of their minds, and it wasn’t even past ten yet.
Didn’t they realize that a god walked among them? Deigned to wear human clothing—common clothing when he loved to let his golden energy radiate, from the jewelry on his fingers to the cloak upon his back. But glowing like that in a subterranean demon den would only attract unwanted attention, so tonight Ares had donned black jeans and a black T-shirt, and shod himself in black cowboy boots.
The labyrinthine club was at the seedier end of River Street, out of the lights, more toward the shadows, in the cellar area of an old cotton warehouse. Ares felt as if he’d entered a lurid cave, and it was insulting that he even had to tread such dirty ground.
Disgusted, he wished to be rid of the filthy place. He flicked a hand against his T-shirt-clad chest—his one fashion concession had been with that shirt, which bore only the word WAR, applied with gold dust.
The sooner he looked after business, the sooner he could restore his visual glory. Keeping it muted was exhausting, and if he was going to be mucking about in lowly places, he preferred to attract some decent worship and attention while he was at it.
He could smell his quarry and knew that it was here in the bar. Not in this room, but the next. Ares moved like liquid, tuning out the hammering, monotonous bass beat of the dance music, honing his senses until he could find the one he sought.
As he rounded the corner of the bar, the overhead spotlights gleaming on bottles and glasses, Ares spied his business associate. The creature—for to call Caesar Vaella a man was entirely laughable—was leaning against a barstool. A human female stared up at him, giggling. She was fully deceived as to his appearance: that much was obvious from the way she blushed and gestured. She couldn’t possibly see the demon trader’s sunken cheeks and near-lifeless eyes. The last he’d heard, Caesar was pushing almost two hundred years old. Not a demon, not an immortal—a human who subsisted on the power he received from trading human souls, enslaving them to demons. Making them turn dark. For every transaction, Caesar gained another year.
And he clearly had plans for the pretty blonde, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two in human years. Ares sighed. He’d have liked to teleport her to his palace, and he’d be polite to her . . . for a time. At the very least, he didn’t enjoy the image of her being bound into soul slavery.
With a snap of his fingers, he used his god’s power to reveal Caesar’s true face. Ares laughed at his cohort’s reaction the moment Caesar knew his game was up. Pretty Blond Girl screamed and knocked over a stool as she tried to get away. Caesar looked up and met Ares’s stare, shrugging. Clearly losing interest in the transaction he’d nearly made.
He pushed off the barstool and sauntered in Ares’s direction. “Thanks for spoiling the action, brother.” The trader glanced around to see if Ares had come alone.
“Just me, of course,” Ares told him irritably. After his earlier exchange with Sable, which had been riveting . . . downright inspiring, Caesar already bored him. But Ares required Caesar’s assistance, so he forced himself to behave. “I have a job for you.”
“Yeah? What makes you think I’ll take it?” Caesar’s empty gaze fixed on him.
“What makes
you
think I won’t strike you dead for disrespecting me?” Ares slanted his eyes at the creature angrily. “I’m a god, you fool. You’d best show the proper respect.”
you
think I won’t strike you dead for disrespecting me?” Ares slanted his eyes at the creature angrily. “I’m a god, you fool. You’d best show the proper respect.”
To emphasize the point, Ares moved his fingers and at once Caesar’s demonic horns and tail emerged. He’d earned them fair and square—by converting enough human souls to darkness, and by gaining the trust of demonkind. But he didn’t like to show them in public, even in a den of depravity like this one.
He barked at Ares, trying to take hold of his tail and shove it back into his pants. The horns, of course, were an impossible effort.
Ares grabbed those horns and pulled him close. “Now, old friend,” he said in a silky tone, “shall we try this again? I have a job for you.”
Caesar met Ares’s gaze, all defiance gone from his malevolent stare. Then, just as he’d said from the beginning of their association more than a hundred years ago, the trader asked submissively, “How may I serve you, Lord Ares?”
Ares relaxed his grip, and led the trader toward a darker corner. Once they were removed from sight, he began to reveal his plan. “It’s about some former associates of mine . . . and yours.”
Sophie pulled into the circular parking area in front of her cousins’ family home. She’d been driving Emma’s Volkswagen Bug lately because nobody thought it was exactly wise for a woman almost nine months pregnant to be jetting around town in little more than a tin can. Emma was the best, too, because Sophie hadn’t even had to ask to borrow the fantastic convertible. Her big sister had straight-up offered, dangling the keys from her fingertips with a huge grin. So Emma was now driving their mama’s Volvo, Sophie had taken over the VW, and their mother was motoring around downtown in Sophie’s old Impala.
Sliding the car into park, Sophie turned to the passenger seat, grabbing her crochet bag. She knew firsthand that these big team meetings ran on and
on
until her eyes nearly crossed; she might as well work on Emma’s matching baby blankets during the coming hours.
on
until her eyes nearly crossed; she might as well work on Emma’s matching baby blankets during the coming hours.
Besides, her thoughts were in an epic, crazy whirlwind ever since The Kiss. All this time, she’d waited and wanted Sable to kiss her, but never once in those daydreams had the scene ended with him galloping off across a field, without looking back at her even once.
That was okay. She refused to let it discourage her or bring her down; she’d seen their future and she knew the goodness in his heart. That kiss, hot and sexy as it had been—oh good lord had it been a scorcher—it was only the beginning. She sat still in the driver’s seat now, touching her lips for a moment, reliving the way his full mouth had felt against hers. Shockingly gentle, that’s what he’d been with her, yet unapologetically sensual. And what guy had ever kissed her like that? As if he meant to reach all the way inside her and rearrange every notion she had of what a kiss should be. Like he knew what it was to worship a woman—and knew just as well to offer her only a quick, addicting taste.
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