Red Mortal (42 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

BOOK: Red Mortal

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Shay managed to silence the outburst by wrangling Sophie back into the kitchen. “Not polite to gape,” her cousin murmured under her breath, then loudly announced, “Sophie and I are going to cook up some breakfast, y’all. Hang tight a bit.”

Leo followed after them, offering to call in his former cook to do the work, but Shay pushed him—not exactly softly—back out of his own kitchen. “Let a Southern woman take care of this part,” Shay shushed him, and immediately Sophie found herself playing breakfast sous-chef to her cousin.

As they began working in the old stone kitchen, Sophie had to rethink all her usual habits. Seriously, Leonidas needed to consider upgrading and modernizing the primitive cooking space, or at the very least adding a Jenn Air dishwasher like his Savannah home had.

She got busy slicing tomatoes and mushrooms for the omelets Shay was working on, and her thoughts drifted to Sable. She’d barely seen him since they’d arrived here at Leonidas’s castle, and even now as she stared out the window over the sink, he wasn’t on the training ground as he’d been yesterday afternoon. They’d ended on such a nasty note, with Sable jealous of her friendship with Jax, that she wanted to make things right. But then, despite all that, he’d come after all, a fact that truly touched her; she knew that aligning with his one-time enemies took a toll on him—she wanted nothing so much as to thank him. No, who was she kidding? She was desperate for another one of his smoldering, shockingly gentle kisses.

No dice, though, because whenever she tried to near him, he scowled and looked pointedly at the demons he was training. The one time she’d walked up to him boldly, he’d hissed at her that even if these demons were fighting on their side, he didn’t like the idea of her mixing it up with their wicked company.

“They’re fighting on our side,” she’d argued, noticing that one olive-skinned demon in particular bore wings on his back. They were brightly colored, majestic, and for a moment she wondered if Sable’s own wings had looked something like them. Sable busted her staring at the demon’s wings and seized hold of her hand, all but dragging her back toward the house. “Don’t look at him,” he’d snarled, even nastier than he occasionally got with her. There was only one reason he’d be so defensive . . . and possessive about a demon’s wings.

“He’s a Djinn,” she said, “isn’t he?”

But Sable didn’t answer, only muttered something about how even here, on the isolated moors, she managed to wander into hazardous situations. She knew his issues at the moment were far more than that, however.

Shay startled her out of her recollections, popping her with a kitchen towel. “Daydreaming about a certain centaur?” she asked, noticing the way Sophie stared toward the open training ground where the demons had been fighting and working since yesterday. When Sophie went back to work, quietly chopping the vegetables, her cousin seemed determined to draw her out. “He did a great job raising that demon army,” she said.

“Like I’d know,” Sophie said.

Shay laughed. “Ajax told me so last night. Haven’t you been out there to watch?”

Sophie paused, knife against the chopping block. “Seriously? You got to watch them? He let you out there?”

Shay composed her face into a casual expression, shrugging. “Oh, it’s just that we all trained together last night . . . which was, well, interesting.”

Sophie released a weary, frustrated sigh. “I don’t get him. He was all pissy about coming along and helping in the first place. And now that he’s
here
, he’s even more protective of me than usual. No, I haven’t gotten to watch them train or even talk to him at all, really. He’s pushing me out of the whole damned thing.”

Shay spoke slowly, carefully. “You know, sweetie, Sable may not mind being around his old associates himself,” she observed, “but that doesn’t mean he wants
you
anywhere near them . . . because he loves you.”

“I know he does, damned empathic gift of mine!” Sophie cleavered the knife angrily through the center of a tomato. “I just wish he’d act like it for once!”

Shay brushed a loose hair out of her eyes. “But, Soph, he
is
acting like it,” she disagreed. “That he’s even here at all, working with Leonidas—you’re the only reason he’d do that, I’m sure of it. Especially with the bad blood he’s shared with Jax in the past.”

“Yeah, heard about that. He blames your hubby for taking his wings.”

Shay gave her a slightly guilty look. “Well, Jax
did
stake him to the side of a mountain . . . through those wings. Apparently Sable had to consume himself in demon fire to escape. But on the other hand, Sable had done some pretty wretched things to Ajax and the other Spartans.”

Sophie’s heart clenched at the image of Sable’s demon fire, burning him up. Those horrible scars, the ones she’d healed, had been evidence of that immense pain and suffering.

She closed her eyes, and swore that she could smell that fire, some supernatural remnant of it that her empath’s gift detected. “I hate thinking of him in that kind of horrific pain.”

Shay gave her a quick, comforting hug. “That’s the past, sweetie. Try not to think about it.”

But Sophie began to tremble and shake. For some reason, that terrible smell, the awareness of Sable’s pain—it didn’t feel in the past. It felt imminent.

Leonidas stepped into his chambers, hoping to freshen up briefly before breakfast. Ever since making love with Daphne on the moors the day before, it seemed that every direction he turned, she was there—and looking more ravishing than ever. The few years that she’d added to her physique had only matured her in the most beautiful of ways, slightly girlish hips becoming rounded, her pert breasts supple and larger.

So it was no surprise when he lumbered into his bedroom and found Daphne—ah, by the heavens, his gorgeous Oracle—spread out on his bed like a prize. A very naked, delicious, and sensual prize.

She stretched lazily. “You’re looking absolutely handsome today, my lord,” she said brightly, patting the place beside her on the bed.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Trying to distract me, love? Or is it that you want me to make love to you—and feed me years off your own life?”

She stroked a languid hand across both breasts, circling first one nipple, then the other, with delicate fingertips. He immediately imagined suckling those pert nipples, lathing them with his tongue. “Maybe I just mean to give you my body. Ever think it might be that simple?”

He settled on the side of the bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his dresser. He’d been feeling randy ever since she’d served him that liberal dose of her own youth as they made love. He possessed the vigor of a very young man, and his groin stirred anew, forcing the leather binding of his loin covering to tighten.

One delicate hand came about his wrist, encircling it. Capturing him. She might be a gorgeous female, but she had Olympian strength when required, and he could tell that she had no intention of allowing him to move from her side.

“Not so fast, my lord,” she warned, and that other hand came up under the skirt of his loin covering. “I have plans for you today.”

She slid graceful fingertips along the leather bindings that restrained his groin and cock.

He sucked in a tight breath. “I . . . I can make no promises about my self-control.”

Daphne unfastened part of the covering with a deft movement of her fingers. “Why bother at all?” She moved onto her knees, right beside him, and began nibbling along his neck, even as her hands worked against his bindings.

As he sprang free, the cool air of his bedroom kissed his heated, masculine flesh—right as a loud rapping sound thundered against his chamber door. “My lord?”

They both jolted, Daphne sliding atop his naked lap, and he struggling to compose his armor.

“My lord, are you in there?” It was Ari’s booming voice, and that meant only one thing—something important had happened because they’d left Ari and Mason in Savannah, interrogating Caesar as to his role in current events.

Daphne snapped her fingers, becoming fully clothed. “One moment!” Leo called out, right as Ari and Mason came storming into the room—and before Leo could compose himself at all.

“Oh, sir!” Ari blurted, turning away sharply. “So sorry, Commander. Shay said you’d just entered . . . and we’ve learned some important intel. From Caesar.” Ari kept facing the door as he spoke. “Information that impacts what you’re doing here, in Cornwall, sir.”

Leo stood, letting his leather skirt cover his loin, but it sagged, revealing far too much of his lower anatomy. Mason blushed, glancing away with an awkward, “Uh . . . will wait outside.”

“Me, too,” Aristos agreed, practically shoving Mason Angel out of the way.

Leo glanced over at his shoulder at Daphne as he fastened the bindings. “I didn’t notice you snapping your fingers and helping me, my lady.”

She grinned, rising to her feet and taking his free hand. “I enjoyed watching you flush and stammer far too much to offer help. Now come, my shy king,” she said, “let’s see what news your warriors bring.”

Sophie was bringing a casserole dish of cheese grits into Leo’s massive dining hall, but stopped short when she realized that Ari and Mace had just arrived from Savannah. The duo’s voices rose and fell in urgent discussion as they gave King Leonidas an update.

She wasn’t sure why, but for some reason she didn’t enter the great room. She lingered in the hall, hoping she might learn more that way because, of course, one could often pick up the best tidbits while eavesdropping. Her instincts were confirmed when she heard Sable’s name, mentioned in low whispers, as if they hoped to keep something about him a secret.

Or maybe they just didn’t want her to know. And that wouldn’t do. She boldly marched into the dining room, bearing the breakfast casserole, and abruptly the conversation stopped cold.

Mace gave her a guilty, sympathetic glance. “Hey, cuz,” he said. “Miss me?”

“Oh, keep on talking.” She plunked the serving dish on the table in front of her cousin. “I mean, why stop because of me?” Aristos glanced significantly between Mason and Leonidas. She huffed out an impatient breath, blowing a loose curl out of her eyes. “You were saying?” she prompted, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

Leonidas leaned back in his massive carved dining chair, forming a temple with his hands as he gazed at her. “Sophie, why don’t you join us?”

Oh-kay
. The king asking her to sit in on a powwow? Couldn’t be good news for Sable . . . or for her. Apparently she’d stood gaping for a few seconds because Leonidas rose halfway out of his seat, gesturing toward an open chair. “Come now, Sophie.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, and was aware that her chest literally hurt, her heart was beating that hard. Very slowly, she pulled out a chair and slid into it, never uttering a word.

Mace cleared his throat, then with one last guilty look in her direction, resumed reporting to the king. “So, my major question was why Caesar would have an interest in Aristos right now, after so many years. The timing was too damned convenient.”

Ari chimed in. “I’d had a vendetta against that wicked trader for more than a century. Then bam!” He slammed a fist on the table, jarring the plates and platters of food. “He’s on our doorstep right as Ares has raised the stakes.”

Sophie’s throat grew tight, a solid lump wedged there like a thick piece of bread. She couldn’t swallow past it, could barely breathe. It had been
Sable
who had led Ari and Nik after Caesar.
Sable
who had appeared with the news of his whereabouts and trail.

“And Sable was the one who knew where Ari and Nik were being held,” Mace added.

“But . . . he helped free you,” Sophie blurted in a tight voice.

Mason turned toward her. “Soph, we suspect he was part of Ares’s plan all along. The idea, as we gathered it from Caesar, was for Sable to lead Aristos away so that he couldn’t heal Leonidas or help counteract his aging.”

Ari scowled. “Yeah, with me out of the picture, our commander’s best hope for survival was eliminated. Same with you, Sophie. He had to keep you from healing Leonidas.”

The room seemed to spin as she recalled Sable begging her not to heal or help Leonidas. She’d thought it was out of concern for her—he had seemed legitimately worried about her safety. “But I did heal him,” she offered weakly.

“How many times?” Mason asked her and she didn’t dare answer—it would only make Sable seem more guilty.

She rubbed her forehead, which had begun pounding. The whole room swam and pulsed with the rush of her own blood. “Only . . . once.”

“Why only once?” Mason asked her pointedly.

Because Sable begged me not to touch the king—convinced me that I shouldn’t.

But that couldn’t have been his motive, not when he’d expressed concern and worry for her well-being for months on end. There had to be more to his actions . . . hadn’t there?

She felt a sob building in her chest, but refused to let everyone realize her faith in Sable was wavering. That was when Daphne softly cleared her throat.

Red Mortal (42 page)

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