Red Mortal (30 page)

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Authors: Deidre Knight

Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary

BOOK: Red Mortal
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“No one touches one of my own,” Apollo hissed. “Not a hair on Daphne’s head, I tell you. Go, swine!”
Perhaps to rile Apollo more, Ares suddenly became genteelly polite. “She’s mine, too, Apollo—my sister.”
Another roar, so epic that the tureens and platters on Apollo’s table rattled, the columns in his great dining hall quaked. “By my rights and authority, you cannot harm her,” her god bellowed.
“You know the rules.”
It was amazing how Apollo, such a gentle giant, morphed into an incensed protector when provoked. It made the firestorm she was listening to all the more intense. Daphne leaned her cheek against Leo’s broad back, feeling how his heart slammed in his chest, how on edge he was . . . just like her.
“From the beginning, my Delphic compact has made one fact clear,” Apollo howled, his voice a raging calm. “No harm shall befall a single Daughter of my temple, or the descendants of any who have ever served me there.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Fine,” her brother said at last. “I hear and acknowledge your point.” Another pause, a sinister one as Ares laughed low in his throat. “But, Apollo? A reminder of some importance. The Olympian codex said nothing, absolutely nothing, about me harming the Spartans . . . or not.”
Daphne shoved past Leo right then. He lunged, trying to block her from Ares’s sight, but she moved with a demigoddess’s swiftness. Leo had never stood a chance at stopping her; just as he wanted to protect her, she was absolutely determined to save him from Ares’s wrath.
She waltzed right up to her cat-eyed brother. “It’s me you want.” She leveled a hot gaze on him. “So it’s me you shall have. But only if you restore Leo’s immortality.”
“Daphne, I don’t want you bartering on my behalf,” Leo insisted. He came right up behind her, his hands cradling her shoulders protectively. She had no doubt that at the first sign of real threat, he would fight to the death on her behalf . . . if it came to that.
Ares strolled forward cockily, assessing her up and down. “Not sure how I feel about
used
goods.”
Leo’s grip tightened on her shoulders silently; she could practically hear her lover’s unspoken words, railing in her mind.
“Nothing to say?” Ares goaded him.
“Plenty.” Leo’s grip on her grew sharper, but he said no more, waiting like the rest of them for whatever pronouncement her brother would issue next.
Apollo, unlike Leo, wasn’t a man of reticence. “Ares, you vile ass,” the god barked, “speak your piece, then be gone from here.”
Ares stroked his golden goatee, studying Daphne at length. “I’d been so sure that by stripping away your king’s lingering youth, he’d lose his sway over you, but I never imagined that
he’d
be stripping away your virginity.” He pulled a face, shaking his head in disgust. “Apparently, the Spartan’s allure for you is so strong that even greater action is required. I obviously didn’t spend enough time on my handiwork.” Ares swung his deadly, horrid cape off his shoulders. “Easy enough to rectify.”
Apollo rushed her brother, shoving him hard in the chest. “Out of my palace! You’ll pay if you don’t leave,” the immense god roared.
But it was too late; that diabolical cape had already sailed through the air with majestic, mystical authority—and found its target.
Leo vanished from before Daphne’s very eyes.
 
Ari supposed that the sweltering, boxy cell was at least somewhat more comfortable than that tangled net. His wing had been bruised, but not broken, allowing him to retract it; it would hurt like a mother for a while whenever he shifted to hawk form, but at least he wouldn’t spend a month with the wing on a splint. Also, here in the safe room, as opposed to dangling from the treetops, he and Nik could talk freely. But from his position, huddled on the cement floor of the dimly lit space, the goodies ended there.
Ares had worked some dark mojo on them in the woods, too, neutralizing Ari’s strong demigod’s power. He still felt it humming in his veins, could hear the rush of it in his mind, but he couldn’t access that power. It was strange, too, but he had a feeling that this cell was far more than a safe room in the back of a club. Because it hummed, from the low ceiling, to the deathly gray walls; not a human kind of noise, a supernatural one that twitched in Ari’s immortal ears.
It was as if some kind of power grid had been enforced on them by Ares, something that both neutralized their abilities while also hemming them in and preventing any hope of escape. It was unlikely that their comrades could ever pick up their trail, not behind this impenetrable fortress. Walls were one thing; a supernatural barrier created by a god, quite another. They were invisible, hidden captives; at Ares’s and Caesar’s mercy, maybe even awaiting execution. With one look into Nik’s stark eyes, he knew his Spartan brother was tracking with all those same thoughts.
Ari huddled on the floor, arms wrapped about his knees. His chest was bare—he’d not bothered to shape-shift into clothing after ditching his wings. He rocked back and forth, thinking.
Nik wasn’t much of a talker, not like Ari, yet the guy was first to speak. “We need to face facts, Aristos.”
“Current events aren’t too pretty, brother.” Ari laughed dully. “Can’t we face something else instead?”
Nik sighed, leaning back against the smooth wall; the entire room was painted in a grim, steely gray. “We may never see anyone again, not even . . . the ones we love most.” Nik gave him a bleak look.
“It’s not helpful to think that way, man.” Ari experienced the urge to be strong for his friend, found purpose in it. “You’ll see Mace again, of course you will.” Ari touched his own wedding ring, turning it on his finger. “We’ll both make it home, brother.”
Nik’s eyes drifted shut and he sagged against the wall. “You once told me that I tend to be too reserved about my feelings. You were right. That advice changed everything between Mason and me.”
“I’m not saying to clam up or anything.” Ari slid across the floor, leaning across the opposite wall from Nikos.
His friend held silent a moment, then, “There is a very real possibility that you will never return to Juliana, and that I won’t see Mason again, not in this world. We should make sure our hearts are clear.”
Ari didn’t understand what he meant. Nik gave him a meaningful glance and instantly exposed his claws. “We can scratch a message onto these walls, onto the floor. Maybe they’ll never see it . . . maybe we’ll make it home,” he said thickly. “Or perhaps it is our last chance to let them know how we feel. We must be realistic.”
Realistic. With one look around at the tight container of a room, feeling barely able to breathe because of the heavy heat and lack of clean air, Ari knew that Nikos was right. They needed to leave last words to the ones they loved.
The thing was, he, a man who never lacked for anything to say, wasn’t sure what to tell Jules—or Leonidas, or his brothers. He had nothing.
Nikos, on the other hand, had already begun scratching out a message, moving a sharp claw harshly across the floor. He huddled over the message, cupping his other hand over his work, hiding what had to be a heartfelt note. The man’s brow was knit, his eyes shimmering even in the dim light.
Ari sighed, racking his brain; he was a musician, but never a poet. Starting, he slowly scratched out,
My Jules, my love.
How could he ever give permanence to the feelings in his heart? Well, he’d just have to give it his best shot.
I wish to have seen us have babes together, a family . . . to walk into the unknown future of eternity as one.
He began with that, and continued scrawling, trying to put into words all the hopes and dreams he held for them. When he was done, he felt inadequate about the heart of his message, and craned for a look at Nik. His friend gave him a sharp glance, cupping one clawed hand over what he’d already written.
Maybe Ari was punchy by then, maybe terrified and just unable to face it, but he groaned. And laughed. And groaned again. “Brother, really?” he snorted. “Don’t be such a
malaka
! I know you’re in love with Mason. I’m sure even thick-headed Straton’s figured that out by now.”
Nik kept his clawed hand over the words, bent low. “Yes, Straton is aware. He is like me, you know.”
Ari went wide-eyed. “
Skata!
Seriously? I had no idea.”
“And he’s as alone as I used to be.” Nik shook his head ruefully, muttering. “The idiot.”
“You mean he’s missed a chance?” Ari leaned back against the wall, drinking in the revelation. It was a welcomed distraction, much easier than trying to pen his last will and testament to Jules, and to admonish Kalias and Ajax to keep their asses in line with him gone.
“There is . . . someone,” he said after a moment. “But Straton takes no action, nor does he make his feelings known.”
Even in the midst of crisis—even facing death—Ari couldn’t help wanting to gossip. Maybe because the mundane act of trading stories about the ones they loved felt like a salve to his anxieties—and took his mind off his fears of never holding Jules again. Beyond that, they were going to be locked in this windowless cage for a while, so they might as well settle in for the long haul and distract themselves. That was the Spartan way; it always had been, to make morbid and bawdy jokes, to tell tales, even as you faced down death.
“All right, all right.” Ari raked a clawed hand through his sweaty hair. The room was muggy and probably at least ninety degrees—with zero air circulation. Diversion. That’s what they needed, not to focus on the fact that they might expire in this cramped, miserable space.
“Dude, seriously . . . Straton?” Ari asked again, incredulous. “Who’s the ole pit bull into? And who, by the gods, would ever have a thing for him?” Ari’s mind whirled, but he couldn’t think of any male of their acquaintance who could possibly fit the bill. Well, there was one of Jamie’s Shades who popped to mind.
“Is it Evan? Emma’s buddy? He’s gay as a three-antlered reindeer, huh?”
Nikos slid back against the opposite wall, and with their long legs extended, their boots abutted. The space was doubly small because of how mammoth the two of them were.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Nikos sighed.
Ari mopped his forehead. “Just spill. We may never get out of this place anyway.”
“But if we do? Straton would have my balls for talking. His secret, not mine.” Nikos bent back over the floor, scratching out more words. Slow progress, when you only had your hawk’s claws for the job.
Ari hated it, but he started humming that old Paul McCartney and Wings song . . .
If we ever get out of here . . . gonna give it all away . . .
No, he’d get home to Jules, if he expired blasting his way out of this room. If his wings broke in the process, he and Nik would find a way home to their loved ones. No more last words, no sitting on death row. Action. They had to make a move of some sort, even from within this claustrophobic space.
Ari planted his face in both hands. “Nikos, my brother.” He sighed wearily. “We’ve got to overtake Caesar, not just leave our last thoughts. We’ve gotta fight, man.”
Nik sat up tall, wiping rivulets of sweat away from his brow. “Yes, we must. But first, I need to make sure I leave this for Mason. In case we don’t succeed. There’s something important I never told him.”
 
Sophie hadn’t wanted to head back home to her carriage house on West Jones Street, not with Sable out on the mission with Ari and Nik. She was too on edge, unable to sleep, so she’d crashed in the downstairs cellar of her cousins’ house, curled up on an air mattress with a pile of books on Djinn lore by her side. There were several guest bedrooms, but she’d always loved the cellar, the Shades’ base. The musty smell of books was a comfort to her, a reminder of their shared childhood and simpler times.
It had to be at least three in the morning, but no matter how she tossed and turned, her spirit was unsettled. She had faith in Sable, knew in her heart that he did love her—and believed that his motives surely had to be true, but no matter how she sliced it, she didn’t have a good feeling about his mission tonight.
Flinging onto her back, she reached for the floor lamp, turned it back on, and resumed reading the book that the Shades most relied on,
The Final Crossing
. It wasn’t the original volume, which was kept in a temperature and moisture-controlled case in the wine cellar. This was a rough translation from the original Ancient Greek, a portable volume that Mace had been working on ever since last year.
She’d been reading a section about Djinn and freewill. Mace had discovered it about six months earlier, which had helped them understand Sable’s unique battle. The text stated that any Djinn could choose the path of light, but it was a struggle to transform, an excruciatingly painful process, impacting every part of their being: spiritual, physical, and emotional.
No wonder Sable was grumpy so much of the time. It had to be like when Sophie picked up smoking while an art student, and then abruptly quit. Cold turkey. Her skin had been on fire, as if every nerve ending was prickling painfully; her head had hurt, and she’d spent months in a mental fog even worse than the one she’d been seemingly born with.

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