Red Mortal (31 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
Crossing her ankles, she sank back into the pillows and studied the few etchings of Djinn that had been copied from the book. Oh, those demons were glorious, all right. And they had wings! Had Sable ever told her about that? She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember, but it was late. Maybe she’d grown so accustomed to him with hooves and a tail that the concept of wings had never fully registered.
She flipped through the pages and a new section caught her eye, a half chapter entitled, “Sensuality of the Djinn
.
” The hair on her nape stood on end, and she touched her lips, remembering those earlier kisses she’d shared with Sable. She glanced toward the stairs, feeling as if she were stealing a look at a porn magazine or something. Was it even right for her to study up on Sable’s sexual side?
.
” The hair on her nape stood on end, and she touched her lips, remembering those earlier kisses she’d shared with Sable. She glanced toward the stairs, feeling as if she were stealing a look at a porn magazine or something. Was it even right for her to study up on Sable’s sexual side?
Humph, she didn’t care; he knew all about her, even things she never wanted to reveal—and he’d followed her around town without telling her. Fair was fair, wasn’t it? She darted her eyes toward the stairs one more time, sliding down beneath her blanket, and began to read.
Male Djinn are marked by a proclivity for all things sensual, without regard for male or female, or type of entity—the fey, the underworld, and humankind alike, all appeal to a healthy Djinn male of age, and he will manipulate at length to gain his way in sexual matters with any or all of them.
She blushed right down to the roots of her hair. Maybe that’s all it was with Sable; maybe he used emotion and affection only to maneuver his way toward what he wanted. What he lusted for.
But then she remembered that stolen, moonlit moment when he’d gazed up at the balcony, not seeing her in the shadows, and all that she’d sensed while probing him with her empath’s nature. He did love her, there wasn’t any doubt.
She jolted when the sound of footsteps appeared on the rickety stairs that led down to the cellar. Sitting up, she clutched the translation against her chest, as if it could protect her from whatever would come next.
“Soph?” It was Shay . . . but why was she coming down here in the middle of the night? Her cousin appeared in the thin light at the base of the steps. Sophie reared back against the pillows. “You still up, hon?” Shay asked softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her cousin was trying to act calm, but Sophie had known the girl her whole life. Shay’s clear blue eyes were wide and filled with worry.
“What’s happened?” Sophie clutched her blanket.
Shay, dressed in Jax’s boxers and a T-shirt, came closer. “You’re awake?”
“Obviously. Duh. Now tell me what’s wrong. Is it Sable?”
Her cousin walked to the far edge of the room, making a show of pulling volumes out of the shelf. “You heard from him yet?”
Sophie leaped out of the makeshift bed, and wheeled right on her cousin. “No. Of course not. He doesn’t have a cell phone. It’s not like he can go to AT&T! Geez. Now what, pray tell, is going on?”
Shay turned slowly, her eyes filled with regret and worry. “The boys . . . we haven’t heard from them. Ari and Nik should’ve texted us, but there’s been no contact yet . . . nothing at all. Jax thinks they might be missing.”
“Missing,” Sophie repeated, recalling all of Sable’s pledges and promises.
“It might be nothing.” Shay shrugged. “Then again . . .”
“You think they’re in danger. You think Sable might be part of it.” Sophie tried to keep her warbling voice steady.
Shay reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Nobody’s accusing him of that, sweetie.”
But she didn’t have to say more; Sophie understood. The man she loved, the one she’d placed fragile faith in . . . might just have failed his first and only test.
Sable trotted carefully along the cobblestones of River Street, lingering in the alleyway shadows as he progressed. He had that damned demon trader’s scent choking up his nostrils, nauseating him until his eyes watered. But, the upside of the demonic stench, was that it made it damned easy to nail Caesar’s location, and by proxy, the location of Nikos and Ari.
The trail ended on the far end of River Street, in the lower level of one of the old cotton warehouses. Sable could hear the thumping of bass notes, some hypnotic and monotonous dance beat that hammered inside the club. The trail of sulfur led right up to the open door where a bouncer sat, texting someone on his cell. That the human was distracted was a good thing—it meant Sable didn’t have to cling so hard to the otherworldly shadows, lest the fool’s mortal eyes catch a glimpse of him. If he didn’t have the sight, he’d never spot Sable at all.
But for some reason, Sable had a feeling that this club wasn’t just an ordinary sleaze joint; Ares had referred to it as “the club.” As in
the
club. The only one they frequented, apparently, and that tipped Sable off that it had to be a den of iniquity, with a variety of supernatural and demonic types as regular clientele. And he’d never heard of it, not in his days of mayhem and dark mischief, so the joint had to be newer than six months—which had been the last time Sable had trod anywhere near a place like this one.
the
club. The only one they frequented, apparently, and that tipped Sable off that it had to be a den of iniquity, with a variety of supernatural and demonic types as regular clientele. And he’d never heard of it, not in his days of mayhem and dark mischief, so the joint had to be newer than six months—which had been the last time Sable had trod anywhere near a place like this one.
Anyway, if the club was what he thought it was, it would be filled with underworld and supernatural types, and so he didn’t dare try to enter undetected. He needed reinforcements; it was the only way they stood a chance of helping Nikos and Ari break out.
What he specifically needed, in fact, was someone with human legs and feet, who could waltz in the bar like a local, and breeze out like a commando.
He needed Mason Angel.
Chapter 23
T
he cloak had been the last thing Leo saw, unfurling like a great sailing ship in the air, headed right for his shoulders . . . once again. After that, there’d been only crushing blackness as he’d been teleported. Yet unlike when Daphne transported him, the process had lacked vital energy, been more like a draining, sucking void, emptying him of life.
he cloak had been the last thing Leo saw, unfurling like a great sailing ship in the air, headed right for his shoulders . . . once again. After that, there’d been only crushing blackness as he’d been teleported. Yet unlike when Daphne transported him, the process had lacked vital energy, been more like a draining, sucking void, emptying him of life.
He had no idea how long he’d spent in that whirlwind, but it was now morning in Savannah, the tiniest rays of light lining the carpet where he lay. He’d been face-first on the floor of his chambers for a while now, the soft pile carpeting abrading his cheek, wondering if he’d experienced something
other
than teleportation. Perhaps something far more deadly. His body felt the weight of whatever the god had done. It ached with a bone-deep kind of pain he’d only known once before in his life—the day he’d died at Thermopylae. The muscles felt raw, the scars along his back throbbed.
other
than teleportation. Perhaps something far more deadly. His body felt the weight of whatever the god had done. It ached with a bone-deep kind of pain he’d only known once before in his life—the day he’d died at Thermopylae. The muscles felt raw, the scars along his back throbbed.
That damned cloak, it was gone, but its effect still lingered. And where, by the gods, had Ares hurled Daphne? Or had she remained at Apollo’s palace? Leo had no doubt that anywhere he went, she would follow. No hesitation. So, then why wasn’t she here now?
He had his answer the moment her tender, loving hands touched him on the shoulders. “Leo, are you awake?”
Keeping his face averted from her, he worked his way to his knees. “I’m . . . all right,” he lied. Across the room, a full-length mirror hung on the back of the closed bedroom door. Even in the dim morning light, he could see the truth glaring back at him. He was truly old now. The cloak might be gone, but his body was irrevocably changed. In that one horrific moment, Ares had managed to age Leo by nearly another decade . . . perhaps more.
Horrified, all he could think to do was flee her presence. She couldn’t see him, not like this, not with a head full of silver hair, and a snowy beard upon his face. Not with eyes that were wrinkled at the corners, not just faintly lined . . .
Not like this, never like this.
Wasn’t it bad enough that he was so dark, and she so pure and good? All the blood on his hands, he could practically see it as he stared down at his weathered palms. So many lives taken, so much destruction wrought. It hardly mattered that he’d been on the side of virtue—he was stained, and she was unblemished.
Now he realized the truth. He had to protect her from this curse . . . and himself.
“Leo, just look at me.” Daphne bounded to her feet, but before she could behold the wicked horror, he scrambled for the quiver and arrow. Then, summoning his fading youth, he leaped to his feet as he’d done in younger days . . . and bolted right out of that room.
Daphne glimpsed the damage her brother had inflicted, caught it in Leo’s reflection at the same moment he had.
The pain of it she understood. The tragedy of their love, she comprehended that, too, but not his humiliation about his altered physical appearance. The problem was that Leo had never fathomed his inherent handsomeness; she’d realized that from almost the first. Where she adored his hooked nose with its broken bump, he saw disfigurement. She’d heard him mutter about being shorter than the other warriors and witnessed his shy self-consciousness about his many scars, especially the one that slashed through his lower lip.
But all she’d ever seen was one gorgeous male who possessed a body like Adonis’s, and lit her up with desires and hungers that she’d never known. Now? After this most recent touch by her brother? Leo had only become more exotically handsome than ever to her, and the pulse of longing she felt as she stared at his reflection was even more powerful. She had to make him understand the reality of her feelings for him.
The thing was, they were on limited time . . . this most recent transformation only proved it. He couldn’t waste these moments by hiding himself away from her. His body was changing, but that wasn’t a sign of weakness. It signified his humanity, and that was a beautiful thing; after all, she was half-human herself. He’d once pledged himself in service to mankind, to battle every evil, and the years he’d held at bay were finally taking hold. If it didn’t mean them parting forever, it would’ve been a blessing to enter Elysium at last and simply rest. He’d more than earned it.
She truly prayed that if they failed in their efforts that he would find peace in heaven. That he’d embrace old friends and comrades—kiss his sons and daughters. And, yes, he’d hold Gorgo once again. Daphne’s throat closed up at that thought. But why should her beloved be alone? If she loved him, and she truly did, then she should rejoice that he wouldn’t be alone in Elysium, but rather with his human family.
But the thought brought no comfort, only gut-wrenching, choking pain.
Kneeling there on the floor of his chambers, all energy left her. Tears came, hot, painful ones, but she barely allowed them because she had to be strong—for Leo, for both of them. If they were indeed at the end, then it was something to face together, for whatever small amount of time they had left.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she rose to her feet. Normal. She needed things to seem as normal as possible between them when he finally returned to his chambers. With a flash of her power, she replaced her demigoddess’s gown with a miniskirt and her favorite Sex Pistols T-shirt. She turned toward his mirror, knowing how much he loved her all punked out. She changed her hair, too, making it short and spiky, filled with lots of vivid blue streaks just for him.
Her eyes still shone, and were a bit puffy, and she wished her power could fix that, too. Alas, this was the best she could do, and she stood staring into the mirror. She could’ve been any cool Goth chick roaming the streets of London, a look that Leo had unabashedly admitted turned him flat on.
As she tugged on her miniskirt, a panicky thought occurred to her: her getup, always one of his favorites, might backfire this time. It might make him seem too old for her. Absolutely ludicrous, considering she was most likely older than he. She’d never been sure—but it was a fact. Still, her very youthful appearance might undermine her plans to make him feel sexy and desirable, so she needed to rethink the current outfit.
She frowned, and with a quick surge of power, was clothed in a soft flowing sundress, cut just above the knees. More demure, perhaps even more desirable, on this particular day than the more edgy outfits she tended to wear for him. She considered leaving his chambers and walking into the hallway, roving the compound until she located him. But he had such pride, even as he was one of the most humble men she’d ever known; but in this one thing, she understood that it would have to be his terms, Leo coming to her when he was ready.
But she could wait only so long . . . her heart couldn’t handle much more.
Sable stood at the edge of the pebbled drive, watching Mason Angel lock up his family’s home. It wasn’t even six a.m. yet, and he had figured on waiting till at least seven before knocking on the man’s door.
Mason jogged down the front steps, his face a mask of fierce concern as he strode toward his truck. So the memo had gone out—Mace knew his lover was off the radar. Sable braced, preparing for what he knew would probably begin with a full-on assault, and stepped out of the shadows.
“Angel,” he called out.
Mason spun, putting his back against his truck, deathly still. Lethally so. But his surprise downshifted quickly, and the hunter launched himself at Sable in less than two seconds.
Mace wasn’t short, not by any stretch, but he had a difficult time delivering the punch he served up. Sable ducked, rearing slightly, and Mace went after his belly, hitting him several times in rapid succession. “Where the fuck is he?” the hunter roared, eyes white with fury. “Tell me what you did to him. Tell me!”
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