Poseidon's Addiction: (Gods of Olympus, Book Five)

by Brenda Trim

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  Trust your journey and remember that your future is filled with endless possibilities! DREAM BIG!

  Turn the Page

  and get a glimpse of Huntress of the Night

  by Rita Stradling

  Book 6 in the Gods of Olympus Series.

  Huntress of the Night

  I stood on the tree branch, balanced on my toes. The wind whipped around me, dancing over my naked skin. It licked over my legs to the curve of my hips, over my stomach and the swell of my breasts.

  While the wind on my nakedness was distracting, it was not as unbalancing as it would have been buffeting around my knee-length chiton. More than clothing, I needed to balance if I was going to win.

  As if knowing my thoughts, the branch swayed under me, and I bent my knee, extending my leg out. The air filled with the smell of pine and bark as it gusted through the forest canopy. Below, a long length of the tree stretched down a hundred feet to the forest floor, interrupted only by sparse branches. The tree had proven difficult, its branches spaced widely enough that I needed to leap to each one. It was worth it; it had the perfect vantage.

  Above, a phoenix flew in slow circles. He was breathtaking, his body five times the length of a human’s, with plumage trailing a hundred feet behind. He had a head like a massive vermillion egret, with a shorter neck and a body long and lean. Sunlight trickled over his side, lightening his red feathers to a glimmering gold.

  The entire forest seemed to form around him, the high boughs of the pines reaching up to the creature with its bright green needles. Even the purpling clouds swirled around his plumage.

  Exquisite.

  I lifted my bow. Down the shaft of my arrow, I took aim at his heart. As I followed the phoenix’s slow circles with the tip of my arrow, I decided that he was so exquisite, I couldn’t think of a word to describe him. Perhaps I would ask my twin to come up with one. As quietly as I could, I took a steadying breath and pulled the bowstring taut.

  The phoenix’s head whipped around, and he looked straight at me.

  Artemis! he said, straight into my mind. All animals could communicate directly into my mind, and as with all the animals who remained in my forest, Mishal’s voice was as familiar as my own. Yet, somehow, Mishal’s voice always struck me as more feline than avian, as if his eternal boredom had turned him into his own predator. I’ve spotted you so soon in the game, how droll.

  I grinned. I would think you would be happy to spot me at all, Mishal. Usually you’re dead and reborn without catching a glimpse of me.

  He made a distinctive sound like a laugh of derision, directly into my head. I spotted you an hour ago, I just didn’t want to defeat you too quickly and be even more bored.

  Come and get me, then, if you’re so bored. I’ll still win, I said back into his mind.

  Perhaps some other immortal heard my thought-speak, however, for the wind ended its gentle caress and slammed into me and my perch. I set my other foot on the branch as the wind rocked it up and down. Through it all, I kept my aim at the phoenix, yet the shot was not clear. Phoenixes could fly faster than the speed of water at the center of a waterfall.

  Using my new predicament to his advantage, Mishal spun in a circle and brandished his talons. Eight golden knives slashed though my vision. His tail whipped around, and he dove at me.

  I pulled back my bowstring again, finding my true-aim, but just as I was about to loose it, several of the voices of my hunting attendants filled my mind at once.

  Wolves! they screamed. Wolves, hunting in the sacred grove!

  The phoenix’s talons slammed into my skin, knives shredding my shoulders. The pain blackened my vision, momentarily unbalancing me. I wanted to scream, but centuries of training had me biting my tongue instead, immediately tasting blood. My toes curled around the rough wood, but it was impossible to keep my footing. Back first, I plummeted off the branch and into the air. I saw nothing but violet sky and the blood-soaked phoenix as my branch whipped back and smacked into him. Knowing it would increase my speed, I curled into a ball until I could manage a full flip. The ground came rushing up at me. I stared at where I would hit, and lush green underbrush stared back, welcoming me into its clutches.

  Damn, this was going to hurt.

  At the last moment, I heard a loud whooshing sound and the red-gold bird shot under me, met my weight, and changed my trajectory forward. Drops of blood spattered up around my shoulders and rained down over his feathers, but the flow slowed as the cuts healed.

  I thought you were going to let me fall! I maneuvered into a sitting position on his back. His downy feathers tickled along my bare skin as I arched low to keep my balance.

  I should have let you fall, he said, his voice holding a yawn—as if our conversation couldn’t be more tedious to him. You let me fall every day.

  Ha!

  It was a ridiculous accusation. The moment I shot him, he burst into flames only to be reborn to play the game again. If I somehow managed to catch him as he hurtled to the earth, I’d only end up embracing a small inferno. I’d take slamming into the ground from a height of a hundred feet, thank you very much.

  Fly low, I told him.

  Vibrant needles whipped at us. Soft, emerald new-growth stretched out from long, lean pine branches. We dodged through them, but Mishal’s powerful wings could not avoid them all, and with a loud cracking, many of the boughs broke loose to rain down in our path.

  Just a little more. I reached out to where my chiton flapped in the breeze like a long white flag. As we flew past, I snatched both it from a tree branch and my boots from where they hung beside it. The material and strips of leather ripped in several places, but like my skin, they mended themselves quickly. The movement of grabbing them almost sent me sliding off Mishal, but centuries of hunting—often on his back—gained me the ability to catch my balance in almost any situation, no matter how precarious. Yes, I just fell off a tree branch, but that almost never happened. It happened maybe once a century—perhaps a little more if a full-grown griffin came calling.

  Take me to the sacred grove, Mishal. There are wolves there, hunting.

  Mishal made no response, but gained height with great thrusts of his wings. I slipped on my knee-length chiton and tied up my boots as the wind ripped at me. While I dressed, I called out to my immortal animals, one by one. Most did not speak in words, I simply pressed my mind against theirs, and they pressed back. My prey animals I checked first, the woodland creatures, stallions, and herds of various Bovidae. They were safe. After, I checked my big cats, bears, and birds of prey. All safe. Many repeated the same cry, wolves hunting in the sacred grove, but when I pressed on their minds, they were more outraged than afraid.

  The wolves’ prey could only be a mortal animal who had happened into my woods. In past centuries, all wild animals passed through at one point in their lives. The wood was meant to be a place of refuge, of peace for them. Recently, fewer and fewer found the many entrances to my lands, though we still had many pass through. Their rarity made their impending demise even more of a violation. I would be very angry if these wolves brought true death to my soil—that was for me alone to do, and I had not in a millennium.

  Twisted oaks formed a wide circle around the sacred grove. Apple and pear trees offered bountiful loads and stretched out their heavy laden-branches over a flower-studded meadow. Birds of every color fled the space—their minds echoing the same message: Wolves!

  The meadow, usually filled with life, had been deserted. A glowing figure darted about the oaks at the furthest side of the grassy expanse.

  There.

  The slim form, shining a soft white in the waning daylight, leapt into the meadow. My heart plummeted. Fawn.
My Fawn. I had not even thought to reach out to her, so unfathomable was it to me that she would be the one hunted. She sprinted across the meadow, a streak of moonlight on the deep green grass.

  Dive, Mishal!

  He did.

  As air streamed around us, I felt a pulse of relief. Fawn was much too fast to be caught by any predator. As soon as the thought passed my mind, a massive and sleek wolf flew out from behind an oak, clearing its lowest branches. It was fast, impossibly fast, as it gained on Fawn.

  Pushing out my senses, I pressed against the wolf’s mind, but I felt nothing. I drove harder, trying to penetrate the wolf’s thoughts, screaming out the command, Stop!

  Nothing. It made no response; it didn’t even a flinch. It couldn’t hear me.

  We were nearly to Fawn now, and I was about to leap down between the wolf and Fawn, cutting the wolf off from his prey, when two more massive wolf bodies leapt in on either side of Fawn, effectively surrounding her on all sides. She skidded to a halt, panic clear in her movements. Her glow brightened, casting the brown wolves in a splendorous light. They stalked closer to her on all sides, their teeth bared.

  Stop! I don’t want to kill you! I tried once again, but none of them acknowledged me. I was perhaps thirty feet above them, but they were so focused on their prey, they didn’t even look up. Standing on Mishal’s back, I took aim at the largest wolf. Tears flowed from my eyes. I had no immortal gray wolves, and few visited my woods in past years. It broke my heart to end his life, but I would not lose Fawn.

  He crouched, and as he leapt at her, I released my arrow. At the last moment, I changed my shot from his head to his neck. A sob escaped me as I flipped off Mishal’s back to land on my feet between the other two wolves and Fawn.

  Fawn immediately pressed on my mind. She was not feeling panic anymore, but sadness. She knew the pain I suffered, and she took it on herself.

  I am fine, Fawn. Go rest.

  She didn’t want to, she did not speak in words but in feelings, but she followed my orders. Her moonlight form streaked away from us as I faced down the other two wolves. They stood nearly at chest height with me, far too large for timber wolves. I had not seen wolves this large in millennia. I searched and felt no God’s curse upon them, however. They were wolves—just abnormally large ones. Their eyes fixed on me as low growls rumbled through their bared teeth. They had dark gray coats, with lighter fur peeking out beneath.

  Mishal circled around us twenty feet above, fire rolling off his feathers in threat. He would not act, though. Like all of the creatures of this wood, the laws governed him too.

  I aimed for the slightly bigger one of the two. Tears flowed freely now. “Please don’t make me kill you all.”

  Their growling ceased. I saw intelligence in their eyes as they stared me down as if they could hear my spoken words even though they couldn’t hear or understand the mental-speak.

  “Are you so far from your instincts that you couldn’t hear the laws of the woods when you entered it?”

  The smaller one glanced at the bigger as if perhaps he was asking the bigger one a question with his glance. The bigger one shook his head.

  “You couldn’t, could you? The laws are simple: Be restful here. Your hunger and thirst are sated. Do not drink from the waters, unless you wish to remain forever. Do not harm another creature within these woods, on pain of death.”

  Releasing a whimper, the smaller one nodded toward the wolf that was behind me. He was still alive, I could feel his life force still strong, but fading. His breath came in wet rasps—each one struck my heart.

  I looked between the wolves before me and lowered my bow. “I do not know if I can heal his wound, but I will try. In return, I demand that you follow the laws of the forest. I will wait for your agreement.”

  They both nodded immediately.

  “Do not break this vow; I will not weep while killing you if you do.” I slung my bow over my shoulders and turned my back on the immense wolves.

  The third wolf was the same color as the other two. This close it was remarkable how much larger he was than a typical canine, perhaps six or seven talent heavy, the weight of a full grown male lion. The arrow had missed his four essential arteries and trachea, as I had intended, but blood still poured profusely.

  They’re getting closer to your back, Mishal said.

  I knew; I heard them approaching at my back, but I would trust their vow until they broke it. It is fine, Mishal, go rest, I told him.

  He harrumphed in my mind, obviously not at all pleased by the order, but a great flapping above signaled his retreat.

  I did not look up; instead, I crouched down over the great wolf’s neck. His chest heaved as he gasped in wet, whistling breaths. It would be better if he submitted to unconsciousness and the meadow’s kind dreams. Unfortunately, though, he looked to be fighting sleep and winning the battle, which meant it was likely he would move as I pulled the arrow free. That would kill him.

  “Stay very still if you want to live, wolf,” I said as I set a knee on his wide shoulder, hoping to control and immobilize him if he tried to move.

  I placed both hands on the arrow's shaft, careful to keep it perfectly still. With one steadying breath, I summoned all of the immortal strength in my body, and I broke it cleanly in two. With one quick move, I pulled the arrow from the wolf's throat. Blood spurted out, coating my dress and face. Amazingly, the animal showed incredible resilience as he stayed motionless while I pressed my fingers onto the wounds on either side of his neck. Calling upon the moon, whose ghostly face watched my forest day and night, I funneled power into the injuries. As I poured out my power, the wolf changed; thick fur retreated into smooth skin as his body shrank under mine.

  Several times in my younger years when I ventured into the world of men and played in the games of the Gods, I had in a temper turned a man into a beast. What was happening to this creature was similar to that, only in reverse. It happened so fast and unexpectedly, that as his body collapsed in on itself, I found myself pulled down with its collapse, straddling the naked chest of a very large man.

  It was a trap!

  I scooted back on his chest, realizing that my most intimate parts were touching a man’s body for the first time ever. His muscles made hard ridges under me, and it felt very strange. I pulled my bow, notched an arrow and pointed it directly under his chin.

  “Stop, please!” called out a man’s voice from behind me.

  “Please, don’t shoot,” said another.

  I was surrounded. My maidens, ready your bows! I cried the words out into the minds of all my hunting maidens. Rustling sounded from all around me. I would not send out a war cry against wolves, but men? For these intruders, I would show no mercy.

  The man under me stirred and groaned, his eyes blinking open. They were a dark, smoky gray, nearly the color of his wolf coat. His hair was dark and short, framing a face of pure masculine beauty. He had a square chin, full lips, and deep-set eyes, framed by thick dusty lashes. The beautiful ones were always the most dangerous. Likely, he was a hero seeking a sexual conquest as so many had before him. He would be very disappointed, and then he would be dead. His eyes landed on mine as his full lips parted.

  “What the fuck?” he whispered.

  The word was unfamiliar to me, but the meaning filled my head, as the definitions of all words from all languages human or animal did: fuck meant sex.

  “No fuck,” I said as I aimed down the shaft of my arrow. At this angle, my arrow would pierce straight through his brain. I was just waiting for my maidens to confirm that they were in place to take out the other two. I did not want to chance what the other two could do to me if I killed only one of them. I was immortal, but there were certain injuries no power in this world could heal.

  The other two men finally moved into my sight. They were very large as well, in every sense of the word. They were masculine and beautiful too, though not quite as much as the man I was straddling. Also, like the man under me, they were e
ntirely naked.

  The man under me raised his hands. “I surrender,” he said as he captured my gaze back to those liquid-metal colored eyes.

  We are all in place to shoot, Algea, one of my hunting attendants spoke into my mind. I took a breath, about to call the order to shoot, but hesitated. My aim did not waiver from the man’s throat, though, as I asked, “What are you seeking, hunter?”

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  About the Authors

  Neither Brenda nor Tami grew up writing stories or dreaming of one day being authors but that changed when they shared a joint dream of creating a world to bring to life the stories of a group of dangerously handsome supernaturals.

  Brenda is a Southern California girl who grew up in a chaotic house with ten siblings. Her mother is a brave, courageous woman who has successfully battled advanced stage breast cancer for two years. Brenda inherited that drive and believes with perseverance she can accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. Whether that was completing her bachelors and Masters degrees, or writing books, she is always up for a challenge.

  Brenda survived the brutal murder of her first husband, John DeCaprio, at the hands of the children he was counseling to go on and help children in similar situations. Brenda remarried years later and now lives with her husband and their three fun-loving, energetic children. She loves running, reading, cooking, and Monster Energy drinks. And, Tami's margaritas!

  Tami is a southern girl, born and raised in Georgia. She is married and has two boys, so needless to say, she is surrounded by testosterone. We are trying to bottle Tami's strength and positive outlook on life. It has helped her beat breast cancer and she is a proud three-year survivor. She loves reading paranormal romances, running at the lake near her home, watching college football (Go Dawgs!!!), and is always in search of the next best margarita.