Ares wished he had a good answer for that, but he had none at all. “I’d do anything to protect you, do you believe me?” He watched as she smiled and nodded, felt the warmth of her hand covering his. “Then don’t worry, I’ll take care of my Father. I’ll take care of everything.”
Although there was no safer haven in the world than in Ares’ arms and she was in no condition to argue, Alena did worry. He wasn’t telling something her. “What…what is it?”
“Nothing.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “Chilly,” he remarked, feeling the tingle of her skin on his lips. “More fire.” The hearth blazed to his command. “I can’t have my Wife cold. Onya will bring us stew soon and then you will sleep here in my arms.”
Alena’s eyebrow raised and she let out a chuckle. “Sleep?” A long sighed followed. “I wish.”
“Tonight will be different,” he assured and then looked down at the Backgammon board. “Finish the game?” He was interested to see just how much better Alena might be doing now that she was down here deep in the bunker. She looked better, her eyes were a little brighter, and her speech was much improved. Perhaps Zeus lied when he said he could get her down here. Even if he did, so what? Zeus could still control her mind and that tragic accident that was spoken of could still occur. What was he to do? Keep her down here the rest of her life? Never let his Son see the light of day?
After their game and their dinner—of which Alena didn’t eat much and this worried him because she loved Onya’s beef stew—Ares asked if Alena would like to have a cup of tea and then surprised her by offering to make it himself. Less than twenty minutes after the last of the tea disappeared down her throat, Alena was asleep. Standing over his heavily sedated Wife with the empty cup in his hand, Ares watched her belly move. “No matter what you do tonight, Boy, you won’t wake your Mother.” Placing the cup on the nightstand, he leaned over his sleeping wife and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Alena, more than anything in this world, I love you.”
Summoning up his will, Ares disappeared from the bunker and materialized on Aphrodite’s doorstep just as the last of the day’s light faded from the sky.
Ares’ secret visit to Aphrodite’s door was not so secret, as Eros perched high upon his Tower witnessed it. “What are you up to, Father?” Whatever it was, Eros knew it could only go badly.
Chapter Eleven
Tainted Love
I
Aphrodite sat at her pink marble vanity brushing her long honey-blonde hair and staring into the mirror, not liking what she was seeing.
Oh, she thought herself beautiful, beguiling, bewitching even. None of that changed. Yet, a deeper part of her was beginning to honestly feel that there was something beyond outer beauty that she did not possess; something enchanting and ensnaring, something that the little Fey had but eluded the Goddess of Love. It nagged at her until she tossed the brush to the vanity and hung her head in her hands.
“Problems?”
Aphrodite looked up with welling eyes to see Apollo’s reflection in the mirror. “How did you get in here?” She turned around in the chair to look at him.
“I have my ways, we are Lovers aren’t we? You can’t keep too many secrets from me.”
Lovers? No, they were not Lovers any longer. Apollo abandoned her before Alena even woke after the Ritual. With Daphne back in his life, other than whatever the greater plan was with Zeus, Apollo had little use for Aphrodite over the last few months. She spent her nights alone in her bed. “Ares will be here any minute; you should leave.”
“I’m staying. Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet, completely out of your sight; but you will not be out of mine. That’s not a problem, is it?” Apollo cooed as he looked at his own reflection. “It’s never been before—I know how much you love to put on a show, my little viperous exhibitionist.”
“No problem.” Staring up at Apollo, Aphrodite felt a steel trap close around her. For a reason she never understood, Alena didn’t tell Ares what happened in Cernunnos’ Hall. She never told him how Aphrodite beat her mercilessly and, in her jealous rage, she tried to kill Raven. That was what Zeus held over Aphrodite’s head; if Ares ever found out, she’d be dead where she stood and everyone knew it.
Apollo leaned down and whispered, “Good. I expect it’s going to be a hell of a show; I’m looking forward to it.”
From off in the distance they heard pounding echoing through Aphrodite’s Pink Temple. “He’s here, go hide somewhere.” Not waiting for an answer, Aphrodite nearly floated out of her bedroom in a wake of pink organza. So nervous that her palms were sweating, she answered the door to see the Walking Bad Attitude standing there with freshly fallen snow clinging to his wavy raven hair.
“Let’s get this over with,” Ares sneered as he pushed past her and entered.
“Anything you say, Lover. Ready whenever you are.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? I am not here for pleasure, woman.”
Hidden inside Aphrodite’s immense closet, Apollo clasped his hands together and smiled. It was going to be a good and angry fuck; he hadn’t seen one of those in a long time. Already the excitement of it all was running wildly through him as it tingled his golden skin and made his cock twitch with life.
“Oh, don’t be so sure,” Aphrodite cooed as she wandered over to the crystal table that served as her bar. “Wine?”
“There isn’t enough wine in Rome to get me liquored up for this,” Ares spat.
Even with her back to him, she could feel Ares’ eyes throwing fire in her direction. She needed to find some way to temper him. “Believe it or not, this isn’t any picnic for me, either,” Aphrodite confessed as she poured a large chalice of red wine and then drank deeply from it, twice, before turning around to look at him. “I mean, look at me, I’m beautiful.” She cocked one hip to the side as she jutted her back, pushing those voluptuous breasts in Ares’ direction. “Do you think I really want to ruin this perfect figure with pregnancy? Oh, two AM feedings, diaper changes,” she complained, sighed, and then drank again, keeping an eye on him over the rim of the chalice, trying to gauge his response in his eyes. He could go for it; if he did, if he knew she wasn’t as keen on this as she appeared, then maybe his temper would subside and the night wouldn’t be a total merciless disaster. Ares was quite dominant when he was angry; an angry Ares was not one to mess around with. She didn’t want to end up pregnant and bruised from head to toe come morning. “No, not really, Ares.” As she drank down the last of the wine, she watched as his nostrils stopped flaring and took it as a good sign. “But, you know, while we’re here and all, why not make the best of it?”
Once they would have greatly enjoyed what was to come throughout the whole of the night and well past dawn. In that long ago place and time, Ares would have indulged himself over and over and over again, to the exquisite pleasure of both, but no more. That time was also past and it would never come again. That much was clear in the narrowed eyes staring back at her. Fleetingly, she wondered why he’d never loved her the way he loved Alena when Aphrodite gave herself so completely to him.
Then he spoke the words she did not need to hear, “I love my Wife. She’s the only woman I want in my bed.”
Not wanting him to see the hurt and jealousy winding its way within her, she turned away from him to put down the chalice. Never did she think that she’d hear those words fall from Ares’ lips, let alone so easily and with no shame. “I know, no one’s asking you to deny that or to change it.” Gathering her strength while wishing for another chalice of wine, she turned around again and slowly walked over to her ex-Lover, who was now married and expecting a boy any day now. “Does that mean we can’t just do it for old time’s sake? Once I made you happy, I brought you to the heights of ecstasy and I can do that again tonight. She need never know, Ares. I don’t want to hurt Alena.” Reaching up to run her fingers through his thick midnight hair she gave him a sad smile.
The fe
el of her hands in his hair made his stomach crawl as even as it caused his so-long untouched skin to tingle. “Then don’t do this. Tell Zeus he can’t have what he wants. Tell him he is prideful and his ego is out of control.”
“Even though I agree, you know I can’t,” Aphrodite whispered, staring into those smoldering dark eyes and remembering the insane pleasures of nights long past.
“Why not? What’s he got on you?”
Aphrodite wanted desperately to tell Ares her own secret, wanted to tell him Apollo was there, and that he should run. She didn’t. She couldn’t. “What makes you think that I don’t want the same things as Zeus?”
Staring down at the Goddess of Love with cold eyes, Ares remembered those long hot nights with her. They hadn’t been all bad; no, it hadn’t turned to ash until Helios stepped in, ensnared them in his net and dragged them naked to the Council Chamber. Aphrodite liked to remember the events differently; she liked to say that it was Ares who turned his back on her, but it was nothing of the kind. Ares never fell in love with Aphrodite, but if she had stood by his side in that heated moment then he would have stood by hers. She did not. Instead, as soon as the snare opened, Aphrodite ran to Hephaestus, threw herself at his feet, and begged his forgiveness. She’d even go so far as to tell Hephaestus Ares forced her to his bed. He was terribly cruel and did horrible things to her.
The Olympians were set to believe her; they’d believe anything dark and disgusting of Ares. That was when he spoke up declaring Eros, Anteros, Deimos, Phobos and the beautiful and delicate Harmonia as his children and not those of his Brother. In doing so, he proved Aphrodite a willing adulteress. Tracing his fingers gently along the side of her pretty face, he smiled. “Because such things as family and loyalty are meaningless to you.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Dropping one hand from his head to his chest, Aphrodite’s fingers danced along the taut ripped flesh and entwined in the thick mat of hair covering it. “I loved you once. Can’t we just…enjoy tonight as we did thousands of others?”
So beautiful and talented in so many wondrous ways, Aphrodite was the Prize of all Prizes and she knew it. She was working him, trying to charm him not just into her bed but into actually making love with her, but that wasn’t on tonight’s menu. “I know how treacherous you are. Don’t forget that.” Aphrodite went to withdraw her hands but Ares caught them and held them tightly by the wrists. “I think this is all a game to you and to Zeus and Apollo, but this is no game to me. This is my life.” To emphasize his displeasure, Ares gave Aphrodite’s wrists a harsh squeeze, causing her to let out a cry of pain. “Let’s get this over with. My Wife is in my home, in my bed where she’s sleeping; she’s dreaming of me, her faithful, loving and loyal Husband; for that I hate you. So no, I am not going to enjoy this, and neither will you.”
Aphrodite would like to say that she’d never meant for Alena—or Raven—to be hurt, but even she couldn’t lie that well. “We’ll see.” The one thing Aphrodite hoped was on her side was Ares’ ravenous sexual appetite. It had gone neglected for several months now. Despite what Ares said in Zeus’ Palace about not being able to rise to the occasion, she thought his body would have other ideas. After all, she was the Goddess of Love and Beauty; in the end, every man succumbed to her desires.
Pushing aside the heavy pink velvet curtains to enter the bedroom, Ares met with what would be a cozy scene in his bedroom with Alena. Aphrodite had candles burning everywhere; there must have been fifty of them, different colors, sizes and scents, making the room glow with romance. He wasn’t feeling very romantic; in fact, he was already feeling used and a little ill. Turning sharply on his biker-booted heels, he grabbed Aphrodite by the upper arms; again she let out a little cry, only this time it excited him just the smallest bit as he pushed her down to her knees. “If I should happen to…fall ill…during this, please, by all means, do take it personally.”
Hidden in the closet and peering out through a tiny crack with a perfect view, Apollo smiled as Aphrodite began to falter, her trembling hands undoing the thick leather belt at Ares’ waist as she prepared to take him into her mouth. “Now we’ll find out how good you really are and how much you can take, Lady of Love.”
II
In frustration and disgust, Ares rudely shoved Aphrodite away from him. “I told you this wouldn’t work.”
Landing flat on her plump ass and wiping the back of her slender hand across her chin, Aphrodite looked up at him with stunned amazement. Ten minutes on her knees, giving it all she had, and there wasn’t so much as a twitch from Ares’ cock—which he hadn’t bothered to wash for the evening. “I don’t believe this. You, you’re always horny, always!”
“I’ve changed.”
“Nobody changes that much,” she said tersely and scrambled to her knees before crawling back over to him, her back arched high in the air like a Persian cat ready to pounce upon an unsuspecting mouse. “Perhaps you’re just getting old, in spite of your looks,” she shot back. “You know I understand the mortals make pills for this problem nowadays.”
“I don’t need a goddamn pill! Perhaps you’ve lost your touch in your old age.”
“Old?”
In the closet, it was hard for Apollo to hold the boisterous laughter that wanted to burst forth from his gut. He didn’t believe any man had ever failed to get it up for Aphrodite. Usually the most she had to do was walk past a male and his cock stood at attention. Here was Ares, the Lover she’d pined for so long. The one she couldn’t get over and so plotted her revenge against, quite literally in the palm of her hand and as flaccid as an overcooked noodle. Even Apollo was surprised by his Brother’s lack of reaction. Ares was always ready, willing, and extremely able to fuck anything that moved with the most desirable woman ever born, and she wasn’t enough for him. The expression on Aphrodite’s face made Apollo yearn for a camera. Never had she come up against such an obstacle.
“I’ll show you old.” On the floor crawling toward Ares with stealth, determination, and a renewed desire, Aphrodite gazed up at him with a coy grin. “Let me try again,” she whispered in a sultry voice. Never one to shy away from a challenge, especially not when it came in such a well-toned and brawny package as Ares, Aphrodite slithered up his body, hands roaming over naked flesh, fingers kneading, gripping, flexing and clutching hard muscle from his thick calves to his wide chest. Her soft moist tongue licking every tasty inch of him as her mind fell backward to those long ago days and nights she spent lying under him in an ecstasy she would never know again. Nights when sharp fingernails clawed open precious skin as their bodies locked in a war of lovemaking, when flying high, soaring over the hilltops of their souls wasn’t nearly high enough. All those nights, all that anger and rage, suddenly Aphrodite found that she could throw it all away and get lost in Ares as she used to do, no care, no thought, just primal desire. If things were only the slightest bit different, this night could be one for the lustful history books. Her soft supple body pressed to his rugged one, Aphrodite plucked the straps at her shoulders, letting the sheer material that sheltered (but did not truly obstruct the view of) her body fall to the floor. Grabbing up his hand she planted it on her full breast just as she took hold of the other and forced it to caress the curve of her waist before descending to the roundness of her hip and holding it there. Feeling his strong fingertips begin to flex on her waiting skin and hearing Ares take in a breath, she felt goosebumps rise under her hands. They brought a welcome wave of desire to the Goddess of Love. Wild thoughts went through Aphrodite’s mind just as her moist tongue lapped along her lips. With no warning, she gave him a hard shove. “Take a load off, big guy,” she tittered as he fell to the bed. “These boots, too, they’re no good.” Gloriously naked, she knelt before him, undid the buckles on his steel-toed boots and pulled them from his feet, only to hear a familiar clink upon her shining marble floor. “Armed? You came here armed?” she asked in amused disgust as she gazed down at the dagger with its snakehead handle and let out a heavy
grunt. “Really, Ares, and you say you’ve changed.”
“I have.”
“We’ll see about that. Those have to go, too,” she mused, gazing down at the leather pants clinging to his knees before she yanked them away. “Better,” she whispered as she lifted one well-molded leg into the air to straddle him with only a pair of glimmering pink panties between them. “I always did like you best when you were completely naked and at my whim.” With great force, she pulled open the vest covering his chest and pushed it away from him just as a pair of silken bonds appeared in her hands. “You remember these, don’t you?” Tying one silken band into a slipknot and wrapping it around his wrist she asked, “You’re mine for the night, aren’t you? Just because you say you won’t enjoy it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
“In your wet drea—” Ares’ words were cut short when Aphrodite used her powers to suddenly push him down onto the feather bed and hold him there while the silk tied itself to the bedpost. The other did the same. Aphrodite’s Bonds of Love were much like the Chains of Hephaestus, not quite as strong, but they certainly did the trick when it came to holding an Olympian in place for a passionate night of sex games. “Take these off of me,” he growled.
Aphrodite’s lips turned upward as she watched Ares struggle against the Bonds of Love, knowing there was nothing he could do to escape them and the more he pulled, the more he resisted, the tighter the knots became. Ares always did like it rough. Why should tonight be any different if suddenly the tables so drastically turned on him? “No more dreams. Not tonight.” It was hard to tell if her words were those of passion, revenge, or something else, but it was clear in those sapphire eyes that she intended to make the very best of a bad situation. “Tonight you’re mine one more time…Lover, and I am going to enjoy this.” Aphrodite stood up and gazed down at her prize. Reaching out with hesitant fingertips, she drew it down through that thickly furred and deeply creviced space between his pecs. “Say you didn’t mean it,” she whispered, “say you lied.”
OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3 Page 73
