Red Mortal (2 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
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This book is dedicated to Eleanor Knight, my mother,
for inspiring and encouraging me to be a writer.
May I give the same gift to others every day.
And also to Angela Zoltners, who has been part
of this journey from the very beginning.
You are truly the sister of my heart, dear friend.
for inspiring and encouraging me to be a writer.
May I give the same gift to others every day.
And also to Angela Zoltners, who has been part
of this journey from the very beginning.
You are truly the sister of my heart, dear friend.
“A little of Leonidas lies in the fact that I can go where I like and write what I like. He contributed to set us free.”
—William Golding,
The Hot Gates
The Hot Gates
“Forward, sons of the Greeks, liberate the fatherland, liberate your children, your women, the temples of your ancestral gods, the graves of your forebears: this is the battle for everything.”
—Aeschylus
Prologue
M
ore than twenty-five hundred years ago there was a land where the bravest, most valiant warriors were hammered like bronze, forged into human weapons by years of rigorous training and sacrifice. These men were noble, heroic, and stalwart; they would willingly give their lives for their homeland and face down even the most terrifying enemy. Their home, called Sparta, lay nestled deep in the rocky heart of ancient Greece. Its people were private and plainspoken, their lives austere. The men made a life of war, always eager for the next battle.
ore than twenty-five hundred years ago there was a land where the bravest, most valiant warriors were hammered like bronze, forged into human weapons by years of rigorous training and sacrifice. These men were noble, heroic, and stalwart; they would willingly give their lives for their homeland and face down even the most terrifying enemy. Their home, called Sparta, lay nestled deep in the rocky heart of ancient Greece. Its people were private and plainspoken, their lives austere. The men made a life of war, always eager for the next battle.
Then there arose a threat of epic proportions: a Persian force numbering in the hundreds of thousands. The Spartans’ Greek neighbors to the north reported that this Persian war machine had trampled entire villages, left forests devastated, the land ravaged and scorched, and that their ranks numbered more than the stars in heaven. Unbeknownst to these mortal soldiers, a much more sinister force stood behind the enemy’s massacres. Djinn demons drove the bloodlust of the Persian forces and influenced the outcome of the battles on their own quest to carry darkness into the souls of mankind.
When this invading Persian army came, they seemed invincible. The Greek forces allied against them, but could not halt their advances. The Greeks were desperate for more time to plan and strategize since it was their only hope of stopping the Persian hordes. One man, King Leonidas of Sparta, announced that he would provide the necessary delay—that he would lead his three hundred most elite officers to make their stand against the invaders at the narrow spit of land known as the Hot Gates.
Thermopylae.
This pass, an opening wide enough to accommodate only a few men fighting side by side, would be the stage. There Leonidas and his Spartans would bottle up the Persian forces, using the Gates themselves as an advantage to limit the power of the Persians. They would fight to the last man in order to restrain the enemy for as long as they could—even until the very last Spartan lay dead. These three hundred would give up their lives for Sparta and Greece, for duty and loyalty, for homeland and family. And for a hero’s passage to heavenly Elysium.
And so it was that for three sweltering August days this courageous, stubborn king fought alongside his crimson-cloaked warriors. Leonidas made no distinctions among them. All were soldiers, equal in battle, and all would drink from the cup of death as the gods decreed. Beside him, his senior captain, Ajax Petrakos, led charge after charge. Together they blocked the pass, warring with swords, shields, and eventually nothing but their bare hands.
The king and his soldiers never relented, never backed down, and on the third day, when the burning sun began to slide behind the mountains that marked the pass, only a handful of Spartans remained standing. It was then that the final moments came, and one by one the last of these Spartan warriors, inseparable in life, fell together in death. With their passing the battle was lost, but their Spartan duty was fulfilled.
Captain Petrakos was the first to awake facing the River Styx, that boundary between mortal life and the mystery beyond. Next his servant Kassandros materialized beside him, the two linked together in death as they had been in life. One by one, other Spartans appeared out of the mist: Ajax’s brothers, Kalias and Aristos, then Nikos and his fellow warrior Straton. And finally their beloved King Leonidas, battered, broken, and mutilated from battle, yet standing tall among their ranks. But an unexpected being also emerged from the mist to stand beside their king. One beyond the warriors’ imaginings. Before them stood a towering golden god wearing a proud smile upon his face. It was none other than Ares, the lord of all Spartan soldiers, their god of war.
Ares had come to present an offer, one final choice, as the seven warriors stood at this place between life and death. They could lay down their swords and move on to Elysium and the afterlife that awaited them, or they could turn back to the world, take up their arms once more, and become immortal protectors of mankind for eternity.
They would fight every form of evil that threatened humanity, becoming battlers of demons and fighters of ageless wars. They would serve under Ares, in the name of mankind. With the deity’s offer, these warriors could ensure safety for their families, for Sparta, and for the sons and daughters of Sparta for centuries to come. In their immortal form, each man would possess abilities akin to those of the gods. They would be stronger than before and in the heat of battle could assume the form of hawks, with the flight, lethality, and grace of these warrior birds. They would become dark angels, saviors of the night.
The will of warriors was in their blood and in their souls, and they knew in their hearts that it was a noble quest. But it was a noble quest for a capricious god. Still, they would have followed their king to the ends of the earth, to Hades itself if he asked it of them. And when they looked into his wise eyes, they knew his decision had already been made.
Leonidas did not beseech them; the choice lay with each man alone. But these were men born and bred to fight for the glory of war. Their duty, honor, and love for one another bound the warriors in unspoken agreement. One by one, each of the seven men drank from the River Styx, binding their immortality and their vow.
There was no time for second thoughts and no place for regrets. The seven Spartans, now the immortal protectors of all mankind, turned away from what might have been and bowed down before the voice of war.
Chapter 1
T
he brand-new Mustang convertible was a thing of beauty, all sleek and shiny and black. Which didn’t begin to cover the way the vehicle drove, especially when Leonidas opened up the engine, gunning along the two-lane blacktop that led to his farm on the outskirts of Savannah. The car clearly possessed enough horsepower under its hood to power a small third-world country.
he brand-new Mustang convertible was a thing of beauty, all sleek and shiny and black. Which didn’t begin to cover the way the vehicle drove, especially when Leonidas opened up the engine, gunning along the two-lane blacktop that led to his farm on the outskirts of Savannah. The car clearly possessed enough horsepower under its hood to power a small third-world country.
Well, perhaps that stretched the truth, but it felt that way to Leo, a man who was pushing twenty-six hundred years old, who’d grown to physical maturity astride a
real
horse—and had witnessed the advent of steam and electricity and nuclear power. He was also a man who rarely indulged in modern luxury or vanity, and who still preferred his stallion Virtue to any motor vehicle.
real
horse—and had witnessed the advent of steam and electricity and nuclear power. He was also a man who rarely indulged in modern luxury or vanity, and who still preferred his stallion Virtue to any motor vehicle.
Yes, the sports car was a true aberration for someone as . . . well, Spartan as himself, but Leo still beamed with pride, and turned onto the driveway of his Savannah home. As he pulled up in front of the compound, he found Jamie Angel on the parking pad, busy washing his pickup truck. He turned, hose and sponge in hand, then dropped everything—including his jaw—as Leo parked the sports car.
By the time Leo climbed out of the driver’s seat, Jamie was already circling the vehicle. He whistled low in appreciation. “Damn, sir, you’ve truly outdone yourself!” he announced. “You could land a couple dozen women in the sack with this ride. As if rocking the kingship wasn’t enough . . .” Jamie lifted one highly suggestive eyebrow.
Leo coughed into his hand. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” he argued, but Jamie was already too busy sliding into the passenger seat to hear any objection.
Right then Ajax, ever Leonidas’s closest confidant among the cadre, came barreling down the front steps of the house, his dark eyes wide with shock. “Gods of Olympus!” He whistled—at least as loudly as Jamie had. “You actually bought something for yourself? Something expensive and indulgent and . . . flashy? Are you becoming slack in your old age?”
Hardly a fair assessment considering Leo still drank his wine cut with water, usually from a wooden bowl. He even disavowed his own garden tub because he feared it would make him too soft. And Jax had the gall to actually smirk at him, gloating with undisguised satisfaction.
“Soft, that’s what I’d call this kind of thing,” Jax pronounced.
Only one comeback popped into Leo’s brain. And “impulse purchase” wouldn’t do anything to restore his credibility as an austere Spartan.
So Leo decided to do what he felt like for once; he shoved both hands in the pockets of his black combat pants and admired the Mustang right along with Jax. After a silent moment of shared adoration, Ajax looked up, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Midlife crisis car, huh? Never saw it coming. Especially not from you, Commander.”
Leo’s jaw ticked. “I’m immortal,” he said in an arch tone, “which makes a midlife crisis most pointedly impossible.”
“Or long overdue,” Jamie volunteered from where he still sat inside the car, testing out buttons and examining the console. “Hell, it’s downright understandable, King Leonidas, so don’t feel too bad. We’ve all been dumped before, sir,” Jamie said sympathetically. “Well, I haven’t, of course. That would mean I’d actually kept a steady girl at some point—”
“You’re married, you
pousti
,” Jax admonished his brother-in-law.
pousti
,” Jax admonished his brother-in-law.
“Newlywed,” Jamie corrected, “but I still remember having my heart put through the proverbial ringer now and again.” He opened the glove compartment, continuing his inspection as he rambled. “Muscle cars are the Southern man’s alter ego. Our solace in the face of heartbreak, our dick when we need to get laid.”
Leo opened his mouth, sputtering. “That’s not what I—”
“You’ve lived here a year now, sir!” Jamie laughed, waving him off. “We’ll claim ya.”
Leo’s face burned. Perhaps his feelings for Daphne had finally caused him to do something foolish and impetuous. Perhaps it was just as Jamie had intimated, and Leo’s ancient male ego was undergoing some sort of reaction to being jilted, avoided, and . . . gods above, “dumped” by their Oracle. More than two months had passed without a sign of her. But he’d not shared that fact with any of their crew, not even Ajax, so what did Jamie even know?
Leo rolled the new car key in his palm. “I . . . found it to be a most elegant vehicle.”
“You found it on the south side of town at Jerry Tice’s dealership, going completely out of your way,” Jax countered. “Doing something that is entirely atypical for you—laying down big money on a luxurious indulgence. You miss her. Period.”
Leo pressed a hand to his suddenly pounding head. “It’s not about . . . her.”
“Good thing,” Jamie said cheerily, “’cause you’re sure gonna get you some with a sweet ride like this one.”
Ajax clapped a big hand on Leonidas’s shoulder. “It
is
about her, and we all realize she’s not been back in months. So come on, Old Man. Let’s take this pretty thing for a test drive and get your mind off Daphne for once.”
is
about her, and we all realize she’s not been back in months. So come on, Old Man. Let’s take this pretty thing for a test drive and get your mind off Daphne for once.”
Ajax strode to the open passenger side door, and with a jerk of his thumb, indicated the backseat. “Move it,” he ordered Jamie. “I’m riding shotgun.”
They’d driven a good fifteen miles, the spring afternoon warm and sultry enough that Leo had kept the convertible top down. The wind spiked through his bristling short curls; the sun warmed his bearded face. But neither the miles, nor the thrilling power of his new Mustang did the job Ajax had suggested.
Leonidas still thought about
her.
her.
About why she’d left him waiting without explanation, for months on end this time.
He even considered seeking counsel from Jamie and Ajax, but it was too hard to talk over the rushing wind and country music that Jamie had selected on the radio.
“Hey! Pull over up there.” Jamie pointed to a country store on the right-hand side of the road. “Let’s get some boiled peanuts. Sunny loves ’em.” Sunny was Jamie’s new wife, and although he’d been slow to settle down, Jamie had embraced marriage with the same vigor he applied to his demon hunting.
Leo turned onto the gravel driveway of the store, and up beside a gas pump. Over in the grass stood a black-bellied pot with a hand-written sign that said, HOT BOILED PEANUTS BY THE BAG.
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