Red Mortal (28 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
With a singing noise, the mighty arrow sailed into the clouds—farther and more powerfully than any mortal arrow could ever have done.
Daphne clutched his hand, leaning closer, neither of them releasing a breath. This had to work, everything was riding on the plan.
“I can’t see him . . . I lost him in the clouds.” Daphne became distressed, lifting onto her toes. “We should be able to see!”
Leo took a step forward, shielding his eyes as he stared upward at the sunlit peak—yet making sure he stayed concealed on the trail. Daphne moved with him, holding his hand like a lifeline. Seconds ticked off, became several minutes.
“Give him time,” Leo murmured under his breath. He could practically feel her panic, it was that palpable.
“Oh, by the Highest,” she groaned. “What if . . .”
Her words trailed to nothing as a gorgeous, multicolored light exploded at the very top of the mountain. In a tableau of color and radiance, a pearl-white palace emerged from the mists, bringing lilting, tinkling music along with the visual display.
“That’s it! That’s it!” Daphne bounced on her feet, then flung her arms about him. “We’re almost there, my love!”
“Yes,” he agreed with a huge grin, “so we are.” Maybe they were closing in on real help, an actual method for battling back Ares’s deathly blow.
Daphne leaned her cheek against his chest, seizing him as if she never meant to let go. “I can teleport us now. Just hold on to me, I’ll take us.”
“We can’t go yet.” Leo clutched her waist with staying hands. “We must wait for Karanos. I ordered him to return.”
A hissing sound answered that concern, as the arrow landed squarely by Leo’s boot, piercing the earth with a downright cocky hum.
Leo couldn’t help laughing. Talk about personality. No wonder Eros knew this Spartan so thoroughly; the captain was as blunt and obvious as Aristos, mute though he was. “Well done!” Leo praised the warrior, retrieving him from the ground. “Karanos, extremely well done. A very good first day together, indeed.”
He slid the arrow back into the jeweled quiver, and then turned to Daphne. “
Now
I’m ready to go.” From experience, he knew that for them to teleport together, they needed to be physically close. Extremely so. He gave her a devilish grin, pulling her right into his arms. She responded in turn, wrapping both arms fast about him, burrowing her face against his chest. There was barely any separation at all—he’d not held her very much closer when they’d made love in the pool. She found a way, though, to move even farther into his physical space, one leg hitching up about his, her hands wandering along his back.
Now
I’m ready to go.” From experience, he knew that for them to teleport together, they needed to be physically close. Extremely so. He gave her a devilish grin, pulling her right into his arms. She responded in turn, wrapping both arms fast about him, burrowing her face against his chest. There was barely any separation at all—he’d not held her very much closer when they’d made love in the pool. She found a way, though, to move even farther into his physical space, one leg hitching up about his, her hands wandering along his back.
“Closer is better,” she murmured after a moment, but he had the distinct feeling that there was far more than traveling logistics on her mind.
“I like teleporting, I think,” he laughed. “If it means holding you this close.”
In answer, Daphne hiked her other thigh about Leo’s hips, and he clutched her waist, fastening them firmly together.
She gave him one long, lusty look. “I can’t wait until we’re home, the curse broken—”
“And I’m tupping you like mad,” Leo finished in a husky voice.
Daphne planted a wet, slow-burning kiss on his lips, and he felt the earth vanish from beneath his feet. What a way to travel, he thought, falling with her, into her . . . and into the rushing wind of the dimensions.
Chapter 21
“I
t’s not everyone who succeeds in parting my mists,” Apollo told Daphne, a gleam of approval in his coal-black eyes. He stood waiting for them on his front lawn, only a few yards from where they’d materialized. Leo and she might as well have been meeting him on a train platform, he was that unsurprised by their arrival.
t’s not everyone who succeeds in parting my mists,” Apollo told Daphne, a gleam of approval in his coal-black eyes. He stood waiting for them on his front lawn, only a few yards from where they’d materialized. Leo and she might as well have been meeting him on a train platform, he was that unsurprised by their arrival.
“Daphne, you’ve always been a particularly capable Daughter. Welcome”—he indicated his palace entry with a magnanimous sweep of one robust hand—“please, come into my home. Luncheon is nearly served.”
Daphne gaped at him as she’d done all those centuries ago. It was as if he’d been expecting them—as if nothing about their arrival or their success in penetrating his fortress had surprised him at all. While she stood frozen, Leo waiting for her to follow the god, Apollo finally turned to her again.
“Why are you waiting, Daughter? Come!” he boomed cheerily. “It is a happy day, to entertain one of my finest ones here.”
She was speechless. Again. There was something about Apollo’s very nature that silenced her completely, despite how normally talkative she tended to be. He was . . . unlike any other god she’d ever seen, a contradiction in that alone. Would she even be able to make him understand her need for help, when he was so utterly alien to her?
Apollo smiled, seeming to read her thoughts as he’d done long ago. He gathered her pale hands in both of his dark ones. “My Daphne, still no words for me, not even now?” A twinkle came into his eyes. “You’ve kept me waiting for so many years.”
She blushed furiously, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry about that. . . . I was . . .”
As he’d done before, he patted her cheek with surprising gentleness, “You were but a child.” Apollo glanced sideways at Leo, lifting an arch eyebrow. “But not anymore, I see.”
Then the god did the unthinkable—he bowed to Leonidas, deeply, reverentially. “I am honored, great king of Sparta. Humbled. How pleased I am that you’ve chosen one of my very own for your bride. She’ll satisfy you well . . . she already has, I sense it.” Apollo rose and cuffed Leo’s broad neck, grinning from ear to ear. “As it should be!” he declared heartily. “A balance . . . strength. I approve!”
Daphne feared she might actually faint on the spot, her legs turning rubbery as noodles, her vision swimming with dark splotches. Thankfully, Leo anticipated her reaction—or at the very least sensed it—because one of his muscular arms shot out, encircling her waist.
Apollo released a belly laugh, as unexpectedly loud and deep as everything else about him. “Daphne, my Daughter, save the swooning for your fiancé. Congratulations are in order.” He turned, waving them toward the entry portico. “We must uncork the wine . . . and I’ll play you a wedding piece.”
For a minute, she just stood watching Apollo stroll forward, swinging his heavily muscled arms as he hummed his way back inside his palace. And she’d have sworn she heard gentle rolling laughter from somewhere around them . . . the garden? The palace interior? Deep, masculine, husky laughter.
She shook her head, disbelieving. “He does it on purpose,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips in amazement.
Leo only looked at her, quirking an eyebrow, but after so many years, she’d solved a riddle—Apollo enjoyed unsettling her. He did it out of pure mischief, a desire to loosen her up . . . simply because he cared about her, and a great deal, at that. He was full of heart, an outrageous abundance of it; she’d just been too young to appreciate that fact before. So all the myths and rumors were indeed true: Apollo cared greatly for his own.
She grabbed Leo’s hand with a radiant smile because she knew with absolute certainty that Apollo, god of Delphi, would move Olympus itself to help her if he possibly could.
Sable concealed himself in supernatural shadows, knowing that at any moment Ares might detect him. The barbed horsewhip in the god’s hand was menacing enough to send Sable galloping into the night, except for one fact: the unfolding scene was not what he’d signed on for. He’d agreed to lead Aristos and Nik after Caesar’s trail as a distraction, a way to keep Aristos from healing the aging king. But he’d never agreed to help Ares capture these two warriors.
He used his demon’s sight to zero in on those two giant nets up in the treetops. Both Spartans kept struggling, their traps spinning as they fought against the restraints.
What had he been thinking? How could he not have realized that Ares ruined everything he ever touched or planned?
Sophie would never forgive him, Sable was sure of it. Whatever nascent love they shared, whatever tenuous relationship, if he couldn’t make this right, they were finished. And Sable’s conviction about that point only intensified as Aristos’s net spun, giving him a better view. From Sable’s vantage point on the ground, it almost looked as if Ari’s right wing might be broken; it was bent back at a terrible, unnatural angle. He heard the warrior groan in pain, the sound an aural blend of a hawk’s wounded cry and a man’s utterance.
Caesar emerged in that clearing, and Sable slid farther into the brush and shadows, as quietly as his hooves and big body would allow. He narrowly missed ramming into a boulder with his rump, and grimaced in pain as one of his rear legs caught the large rock painfully. A jagged edge tore into his fetlock, always a tender spot. Wincing, he held his breath, hoping against all odds that the slight noise hadn’t drawn attention from Ares or Caesar. And that they wouldn’t catch the tangy scent of the blood he’d just drawn.
This was his worst weakness as a centaur—his legs, which could so easily be broken or shattered, rendering him lame. He’d always taken care, best he could, so that he didn’t wind up in any situation where he was unable to walk or rise up on his four legs. With his horse’s heft, he couldn’t be down for long, not without the situation quickly becoming deadly.
He tried to ignore the pain in his rear leg, and heightened his hearing, hoping to learn something about what Ares had planned.
“The foul Djinn’s rebelled against me, again—I scent it in the air,” Ares said, his voice filled with seething anger. “I want you to find him. I have a punishment in mind . . .” Suddenly Ares stopped talking.
“What are you going to do?” Caesar asked, in that eerily hollowed-out voice of his.
“Silence, you imbecile,” Ares hissed, lifting a hand. “I sense something . . .”
And then Ares issued venomous curses in ancient Greek. He was livid—beyond the pale, for sure. Whatever he’d perceived, it had enraged him.
“Get them strung down,” Ares hissed furiously. “Now. I can’t leave them here . . . I have an important errand to make. They need to be secured.”
“Where are you going, my lord?” Caesar asked obsequiously. “I’ll do whatever you wish, of course.”
Ares ignored him, lifting both hands high and toward the captured Spartans. An explosion of sparks and electric power shot toward both nets, and a wretched burning smell filled the night air.
Sable tried to hold his breath, hoping against hope that the god hadn’t just scorched the warriors to death. That, he was certain, was truly something Sophie wouldn’t forgive—if the two Spartans died by his own treacherous actions.
“There,” Ares announced, as the nets lowered under the thrall of his power. “I just weakened them. Enough that they won’t possess power or strength to escape. I want you to take them downtown,” Ares hissed at Caesar. “The club. There’s a panic room in the back; it’s got walls that not even immortals’ powers can penetrate. Go now!” Ares raised his epic arms and in a shower of golden light, the captured warriors and the demon trader vanished, presumably rematerializing at whatever club Ares had referred to.
Ares vanished in the next blast of light. Sable buried his face in his hands, shaking; he’d failed Sophie—failed himself, and even the Spartans. All he’d wanted was to be in human form again, a true man who could give her a normal—or at least somewhat—life with him. But even in this one thing, he’d managed to find the path of ruin.
But if he could just make this right, then maybe he and Sophie still had hope, maybe he could redeem himself. Downtown. That’s where he had to go, and somehow trail Caesar to the hidden location, the prison that Ares had just ordained.
He had to save Aristos and Nik; it was the only way to still save himself . . . and his love for Sophie.
Chapter 22
D
aphne watched Apollo ladle gravies and beef and several types of pudding onto his moon-sized plate. Next, he plopped at least three bread rolls onto the platter, along with big swaths of butter and honey—but apparently even that wouldn’t suffice. The god craned his neck toward the sideboard searching for coddled eggs with goat cheese, as well as poached salmon, declaring that it simply wasn’t luncheon without at least a taste of fish. And where, by balls, was his favorite baklava?
aphne watched Apollo ladle gravies and beef and several types of pudding onto his moon-sized plate. Next, he plopped at least three bread rolls onto the platter, along with big swaths of butter and honey—but apparently even that wouldn’t suffice. The god craned his neck toward the sideboard searching for coddled eggs with goat cheese, as well as poached salmon, declaring that it simply wasn’t luncheon without at least a taste of fish. And where, by balls, was his favorite baklava?
Apollo was, quite plainly, a gargantuan eater. Which explained how solid and immense he was—or perhaps it was the other way around and his brawn created such a raging appetite, it clearly had to be serviced. At any rate, Daphne felt bashful as she took only a small piece of curried chicken, along with a serving of rice and stewed peas.
Apollo noticed, frowning. “My Daphne, can you find nothing else here that suits your tastes?” He made as if to rise from the table and seek out his chef.
“Lord Apollo!” She rose, too, stopping him. “This is fine, really. It’s lovely, all that I could possibly need.”
His frown lessened. “I know each of my Daughter’s likes and dislikes,” he told her. “These items”—he indicated the banquet—“were most certainly on your list.”
But not all at one time!
She managed to bite back the words. Without a glance in her direction, Leo took up his own epic-sized plate and began mirroring what Apollo had done, serving up heaps of food, lest their host become truly offended. And Daphne giggled, because when Leo, ever the Spartan diner, reached the puddings, his eyes gleamed like a little boy’s.
She managed to bite back the words. Without a glance in her direction, Leo took up his own epic-sized plate and began mirroring what Apollo had done, serving up heaps of food, lest their host become truly offended. And Daphne giggled, because when Leo, ever the Spartan diner, reached the puddings, his eyes gleamed like a little boy’s.
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