OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  “Go and sit by the fire for a while,” Hera encouraged, still smiling. “I made a special place just for you, see it?” She pointed off toward the enormous white and gold marble hearth, which was the focal point of the dining hall.

  Alena turned and saw a new addition to the plush chairs; a chaise lounge covered with comfortable pillows. The floral print, heavy on lavender and dark green, brought the only breath of color to the room. Unknown to Alena, Hera had it moved from her bedroom explicitly for her, along with its accompanying side table. Normally the set sat below the window in Hera’s bedroom and the Queen of the Gods spent many hours relaxing upon it and daydreaming as she gazed at the world past Olympus. To Alena, whose feet were killing her, the chaise was a very welcome sight. Across from it, sitting in one of the handsome gold velvet chairs was Poseidon, warming his old bones by the fire as he sipped from a fine chalice that seemed to match the chair. The King of the Seas turned his watery eyes toward them before he raised the chalice with a smile in greeting. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

  “Of course I did,” Hera said gladly. “I want you to be comfortable here in my home.”

  They all knew comfortable was something neither Alena nor Raven would ever feel here, but it was nice of Hera to try. “Do as my Mother says, go sit. I’ll bring you something to eat.” Ares watched Alena slowly waddle off to the chaise.

  “She doesn’t look very well,” Hera remarked, watching Alena hold her hands out at her sides for balance as she traversed the short distance between them and the hearth.

  Before Ares could say anything, Eros appeared seemingly from nowhere. The winged God put his hand under Alena’s elbow to steady her as he smiled and greeted her. “Excuse me, Mother.”

  “Ares, I think you can trust your Son to walk your Wife the five yards, yes?” Hera coached gently and then prodded firmly. “She looked much better this morning; what happened?”

  Ares grimaced when Eros settled next to her and didn’t let go of Alena’s chilly hand. No doubt he was telling her how cold it was and that he would warm it for her. At a loss for just what to tell his Mother, Ares stuck with the majority of the Truth. “The walk here is getting too much for her. As you can see, she can hardly put one foot in front of the other any longer, Mother. I think this may be the last Family dinner we will be able to attend for a while.” He knew Hera was not going to welcome that news with open arms, but since she was a mother, he hoped she would be understanding of Alena’s plight.

  Hera sighed as deeply as she frowned while she laced her hands together in front of her. “Well, it won’t be long now anyway, another week or two.”

  Believing their conversation over, Ares turned to walk away and over to where Eros was sitting with Alena, who was now lounging on the chaise as they chatted by the fire. It was such a cozy little scene. Then he felt Hera’s hand on his arm and he looked down at her.

  “I thought you said you were going to get her something to eat.” She turned toward the lavish table where some of the others were already gorging themselves. “She looks hungry to me.”

  Although it was against his better judgment, Ares let his Mother lead him away from his Wife and over to the banquet awaiting them.

  “Don’t I even rate a hello?” Aphrodite’s sparkling voice pierced the silence just as Ares reached for a fine China plate.

  “He’s still not speaking to you,” Hera said hurriedly before Ares could tell her to tell Aphrodite that he still wasn’t speaking to her. This happened every Sunday night and Hera was tiring of it. “He has every reason not to.”

  Looping her arm through Apollo’s and leaning her head lovingly upon his shoulder, Aphrodite gave a sharp smile and tittered, “Whatever.” Stuffing the remnants of a large Spanakopita into her sour mouth, her delicate fingers crushed the thin phylo wrap as she shoved the last of it between her lips.

  “She eats like a pig,” Ares remarked, taking in the crumbs caught in the cleavage of her ample bosom, exposed for the evening by a pink bustier.

  “Pardon me, Hera, but if it weren’t for Aphrodite his little bitch over there would be dead,” Apollo said curtly as he stepped in to defend the Lady of Love.

  Smoldering onyx eyes turned toward Apollo. “If it weren’t for your little whore, my little bitch would never have been in danger to begin with,” Ares countered, slapping a spoonful of spinach and feta harshly onto the graceful plate before skewering the blob right in the center with a lamb kabob as though it were Apollo’s head. “Not that you give a damn, Brother.”

  “Why should anyone care about what happens to that wicked little whore of yours?”

  Ares yanked the metal skewer of the kabob so swiftly chunks of vegetable and meat flew from it into Apollo’s face. Bits of spinach and feta stuck to his chiseled cheeks and tan nose as the God of War shook the mundane item turned deadly weapon at him. “Say it again; I dare you.”

  Picking bits of spinach away from Apollo’s face, Aphrodite looked up at them with pouting lips. “Oh, you’re always so mean!” she griped, flicking a chunk of feta from her tapered pink fingernail. “Really, you’re nothing more than a brute; you never were and you never will be.”

  “Boys, now, let’s have a nice dinner, shall we?” Hera said, and although her voice was light and sweet those peacock eyes were deadly serious as she put her hand on Ares’ wrist and gently lowered it to his side. “No more fighting.”

  “He started it,” Ares said through gritted teeth.

  It was remarkable; no matter how old they got men still acted like little boys. Ares and Apollo began fighting on the day they met as toddlers and never stopped. They fought over the smallest of things, from wooden toys and then later in life to the women they wanted to bed. Always Artemis had been the sorest spot between them. The day Ares met Artemis—which was the same day he met Apollo—something in Ares turned away from Chaos. While Hera would never say that Artemis tamed her Brother, she had certainly been able to temper him. Whenever anyone had an argument with Ares, if they were wise they prevailed upon Artemis to intervene on their behalf, knowing that she always did have the good side of her Brother’s ear. “Why don’t you finish filling that plate and tend to your Wife, Ares?”

  “Yeah, just what she needs, more food. She’s big as a house already,” Aphrodite snorted. “Bet she’s not much fun to fuck now, is she?” Looking past Ares and the fiery glare he was giving her, she took in the sight of Alena cozied up with Eros. “I doubt she’ll get that willowy figure back; it’s gone now.” She looked up at Ares with the devil sparkling in her blue eyes. “But it seems Eros won’t mind.”

  Ares lurched forward but Hera put her arm in front of him to hold him back. “I said that’s enough—from all of you.”

  Wanting to drive the kabob skewer right through those twinkling sapphire eyes, Ares found it very difficult to restrain himself. “For you, Mother, anything,” he grumbled as he dropped the skewer back onto the plate. Looking behind him he saw Athena had joined the little party by the fire, with Hades swiftly making his way to them. He’d go faster if he could see beyond the heavy bowl of Dakos in his hands. Bits of tomato in olive oil dribbled down his bearded chin but Hades didn’t notice, not even as it slipped off of him and plopped onto the toe of his boot. Looking around him at his Family, Ares thought it a damn good thing that Gluttony wasn’t a sin among the Olympians. If it were, then all of them would be headed to Tartarus in a hand basket. None of them ever learned how to keep a check on their appetites, whether it be hunger or otherwise. Even Aphrodite, whom the mortals would otherwise think of as delicate and all things feminine, was stuffing Tapenade and pita bread down her pretty gullet as though food supplies would run out within the hour.

  At the head of the table, sulking as he gazed out at his dwindling Family, sat Zeus—the God of Gods, the most Supreme Being among them—swiping the back of his hand across to his lips to clear away the Nectar.

  With nothing but insults for Apollo and Aphrodite brewing within him,
Ares drew in a deep breath, held it, let it out with an unspoken purpose before kissing his Mother’s cheek once more. “Good to see you as always,” he said sincerely, retaining his composure so that he could walk away from the troublemakers to where his Wife was waiting. Yet, Ares being Ares, he couldn’t accomplish this and he turned back to Aphrodite with fire in his eyes. “On her worst day, Alena is a better Lover than you could ever conceive of being,” he spat at Aphrodite. “Not because of her skill or her experience,” he interjected as he watched her mouth drop open to speak, “but because of her passion. You fuck like no other, Goddess of Love, but my Wife makes love in ways you can only dream of.”

  “Dream of…of puh-le…”

  “Because you’re like them,” Ares pointed off to those seated around Alena, “you’re heart is cold as ice even when your body burns like the midday sun.”

  “As if,” Aphrodite retorted.

  “So, unlike Alena and me, although you may lay there breathless and spent, you’ll never know what true satisfaction—that undeniable connection—feels like,” Ares finished, ignoring her defensive but seemingly offhanded statement. Watching her eyes widen and her face fall, Ares felt a certain satisfaction wash over him just before he turned on his heels and made his way away from them.

  “No more trouble,” Hera warned seriously. “Alena isn’t well and this may be her last night with us until after the baby is born, so both of you need to be on your best behavior.” She gazed down at the two, who were looking at each other and obviously silently conversing on whether or not they could agree with Hera and yet find some way around her desire without suffering consequence. In a bladed tone Hera added, “Am I clear?”

  “Crystal as ever, my dearest stepMother,” Apollo crooned as Aphrodite picked away the last of the spinach from his face and then laid a peck upon his full lips. “We want no trouble,” he assured quietly.

  By the time Ares crossed the room to hand the plateful of goodies to his Wife, Eros had his hands on her belly. His eyes were closed but his wings were fluttering ever so slightly as his lips broke out into a shy smile. “My Brother is very strong, Maggie.”

  “Yes, he is,” agreed Ares, “now get out of my seat, boy.”

  Eros looked up at his Father, his upper lip curled and his eyes rolled in their sockets, but he rose as commanded and then gestured toward where he’d been sitting with a wave of his hand. “I was keeping it warm for you, Father.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Is that for me?” Alena piped up, feeling the tension between Father and Son. Every time Eros came around, Ares became territorial over her and the baby. Alena thought she understood why, but she was waiting until after Raven came to bring up the subject of just exactly how she washed up on Ares’ shore less than a year ago. She knew she had not been shipwrecked; in fact Alena put almost all of the pieces of her abduction and subsequent captivity together on her own, and that was why she tried to stay as far away from Apollo as possible. Snatching her from Ceres Agar had been wrong but Eros hadn’t done it out of malice. For that matter he hadn’t dropped her into the cold sea out of malice; he’d been trying to keep her safe from Apollo when things went terribly wrong with his plan. Judging from the way Ares looked and acted around Eros, Alena would bet money that Ares was fully aware of how she had landed on his shore. What or how much he knew of what happened before her landing remained to be seen.

  At least, this was what she was hoping. Otherwise this was simply the way Ares interacted with his Son, and if that were the case then Raven was in for a long bumpy life.

  Still giving his Son the Evil Eye, Ares took his seat next to Alena on the chaise and handed over the plate. “All for you,” he said softly as she took it from him. Then he looked up at Eros still standing next to them. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, boy? Bring her some Nectar, she hasn’t had any today.”

  With a sigh, Eros gave a slight bow before turning and making his way off to the buffet table.

  “Cold!” Ares called after him with authority. “She likes it cold.” He never understood why Alena liked her Nectar the same temperature she liked her Coca-Cola when traditionally Nectar was a beverage served at room temperature. He looked up again to see Athena standing by the hearth with Hades, who was finishing off the last of what was undoubtedly his third or fourth plate of appetizers. Like Aphrodite, he had crumbs clinging to his wardrobe that didn’t bother him. Poseidon was seated across from them, also enjoying the heat from the fire. Old as he was, Ares surmised that the fire felt good to his old seawater-worn bones. He gave a cursory nod to each one, who did the same in turn. While Ares wouldn’t count any of them among his allies—of which he had none—at least they were not openly hostile to Alena or to him.

  “May I?” Athena asked of Alena politely as she held out the palm of her hand toward Alena’s belly.

  “Everyone always wants to touch my stomach,” Alena sighed and then added, “sure, go ahead.”

  Behind her, Hades started to move toward them. “Don’t even think about it,” Ares warned.

  Hades took half a step back and held his hand covered by a black glove and hummus. “I wasn’t going to take off the gloves,” he said with good cheer. Noticing the hummus, he licked it from the fingers of his gloves with the unabashed glee of a child.

  “I don’t care, just back up.” Ares made a shooing motion in the air with his hand.

  Athena laid her hand on Alena’s stomach before the two began to speak. She stood there as though she were searching or listening. “He is very strong,” the Goddess of Wisdom remarked quietly as her eyes turned to her Brother, “very strong.” The boy’s heartbeat thundered inside his mother’s womb as he wiggled around in an endless but futile search for more space. His mind was alert; it wasn’t infantile at all, but lit up like a Christmas tree. If he were out here, he would be exploring everything he could get his hands on no matter how small or insignificant. When did he arrive, he might well prove to be stronger than his Father despite his muddled blood.

  From deep inside Alena, Raven let go with a forceful kick. Alena’s blue gown puffed up and Athena withdrew her hand. “Ow,” Alena cried as she reached for her belly.

  “Sorry,” Athena muttered as she stepped backward.

  “Oh, no, not….” Alena’s voice trailed off as Raven kicked again and her mind grew foggy, able to concentrate solely on the agony in her abdomen. “St-stop,” she moaned. The plate in her hand fell to the floor, its contents littering the black marble as the fine China shattered, scattering bits of sparkling white porcelain among the food. Now free of the plate, she groped blindly in the air for Ares.

  “That’s enough,” Ares said in a stern and commanding voice as his big mitt landed on top of Alena’s small hand. “Stop it.” Most of him was still convinced that Raven couldn’t hear him no matter what Alena said but his command did seem to help. The boy settled down although he didn’t stop moving. Alena let out the breath she’d been holding and drew in another as the pain subsided.

  “Well, that’s a neat trick,” Poseidon intoned darkly from his seat by the hearth. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  Happy to be relieved of the pain and feeling better, Alena looked over at the King of the Seas. “Let’s just hope he listens to his Father that well when he gets here.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Athena agreed in tone matching Poseidon’s as she turned her blue eyes to stare at her Uncle. For a long moment, they seemed to share some silent, telepathic conversation.

  Eros stealthily joined the party; he’d watched the little scene as he ventured toward them with a chalice of Nectar in each hand; one cold for Maggie and the other warm for Ares. “Everything all right over here?”

  “Just…your Brother,” Alena said easily and gave Eros a smile. Looking down at the floor she added, “I’m afraid I’ve made a mess.” She began to scoot off the lounge but Ares’ hand on her belly stopped her, as did the grunt of disgust he let out. Swiftly and quite dismissively wavin
g his hand at the food and broken plate, it all disappeared—the floor was spic and span once more. “Oh, yeah, right,” Alena muttered, easing back again. “Sorry I…br-bre-eched…the dish.” Alena bit her lip when she finished the sentence, knowing that ‘breeched’ wasn’t the word she was looking for. It was dancing on the tip of her tongue, it was like breeched, it almost meant the same, it almost sounded the same, it was—

  “I’m sure my Mother won’t care about a broken dish,” Ares said, interrupting her train of thought as he gazed around to see that her little flub didn’t sneak quietly past those gathered around them.

  Broken, yes, that was it. She was sorry that she broke the dish. Dishes couldn’t be breeched. With sadly apologetic eyes, she gazed at him and frowned. “Sorry,” she muttered in a barely audible whisper. She’d been trying to be extra good and extra mindful around his Family when it came to her slipping words. They already didn’t like her and she feared for Raven, so there was no reason to give them even more cause to look down upon her and her son.

  Over them unseen lights flickered as did the hearth and the candles on the table, signaling that it was time to gather and enjoy the evening meal—if that were possible. With Ares’ help, Alena waddled over to the table where the strict seating arrangement was boy-girl-boy-girl with couples sitting opposite each other. As such, Zeus sat at the head of the table with Aphrodite to his immediate right and Apollo to his immediate left. Next to Apollo sat Alena with Eros on her other side. Ares, next to Aphrodite, was across from her where he could keep a sharp eye on his Brother and his Son. Next to him sat Athena with Poseidon directly across from her and Hades to her side. Hera sat at the foot of the table.

  Conversation was minimal as the Muses and the Graces floated around laying trays, bowls and platters full of food on the table in front of the diners. It wasn’t as though anything new happened on Olympus any more, so hot gossip and topics of conversation were much sought after and very hard to come by. With the feast fully laid out but the plates empty before him, Zeus decided it was time to stand up and give his customary toast—a chore he never looked forward to undertaking but, if he did not, he’d hear about it from Hera until the next Family Dinner. Leaning on his Staff, the God of Gods rose to his feet, chalice of Nectar in hand, and he raised it high in the air in salute to his Ancestors as he poured a small amount onto the marble floor. Then he turned to those at the table. “To my Family, long may you gather at this table with good food, good wine, an abundance of Nectar and Ambrosia until you’ve exceeded your fill.” Raising the chalice a bit higher for a moment, “Stin iyia mas,” he said with what he hoped sounded like zest before taking the first drink. Gazing over the top of the gold rim, he saw Hera nod in approval as the response echoed.