Leonidas follows.
I take a step forward, but Lycus holds me back.
“Are you sure about this,” he asks.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He looks into my eyes, his stare deep and personal. “Phobetor isn’t some cheesy god like Ker or Thanatos. Those two are imbeciles. But the God of Nightmares can make your life a living hell. Are you certain you want to step into his world?”
I don’t have a choice. “I must do this. Finding Atalanta’s prized apples might lead us to my lost box. And that’s an opportunity I can’t turn down.”
“There are other things that can be done to save humanity, Dora. You don’t have to take that weight on yourself.”
But I do. I’m the one who unleashed hell on earth and I’m the one who has to pay for that sin. I also can’t deny my curiosity. She craves to know what makes Phobetor tick. Yes, Pandy is a very naughty imp. “I’m going. Even if I have to cross over alone.” I step away from Lycus and head to the bedroom.
One step forward and my heart races. I raise my hand to my chest, but slowly, so as not to alarm my wolf.
A slight tendril of energy flashes between my fingers, then vanishes.
My heart jolts.
What the hell? I really don’t know what the gods are doing to me, but whatever it is, I have no choice other than to accept it.
3
Lycus follows me into the bedroom.
I head straight for the armoire while Leonidas makes himself comfortable in the corner chair and Ares places the pitcher of drink on the nightstand, then walks out into the hall.
If I am going to embark on a nightmare, I might as well get comfy, that’s my strategy. I sort through the armoire and retrieve my favorite pair of fleece bottoms and matching top. Though I admit, the gray ensemble embellished with blue and white kittens probably isn’t the fiercest choice of clothing for an upcoming scare fest. But regardless, I am not entering the gods’ dreamland donned in armor. Which is the exact opposite of Ares who returns, his t-shirt and jeans swapped out for something more typical of a battle-ready Spartan.
I glance at him crossing the threshold and I start to panic. Not only is he carrying a spear in one hand, but he’s gone all-out with the battle garb and I do mean all-out. A red cape drapes his shoulders, a slightly dented helmet covers his blond mop of hair, and a very short crimson tunic sticks out from under one of those bronze breastplates that’s modeled after a very ripped set of abs. On Ares it’s just a copy of what lies underneath, though judging from my three hunky guardians, I imagine all Spartans have similar physique. Over his lower legs he wears a pair of shiny bronze chin guards that stop just above a pair of brown leather boots, typical of what a Spartan would wear to war.
He means business, which says this Phobetor mess is not going to be a walk in the park. But still, I’m game to go because facing the God of Nightmares is a challenge I must take in order to move forward in the search for my missing box. I cast the spell that brought Atalanta to my doorstep, now I must remedy it. And retrieving her apples is the only way to do so.
I look away from Ares. Tossing my day clothes into a heap on the floor, I then slip on my change of dress and smooth out the top as if checking for wrinkles as I stand in front of the cheval mirror.
“There are rules to visiting the dreamland,” Leonidas says.
I stare at him through the mirror. “What do you mean rules?” Keeping out of trouble is hard enough thanks to my curious nature. If I have to toe the line while on Phobetor’s turf, I’ll be doomed before getting there. Big time.
“We can only retrieve what we enter the dream world for, which in this case, will be Atalanta’s apples.”
“What about my box?”
“I’m sorry, Pandora, but the most you can hope for is a clue. We can’t engage Phobetor for two things at once. It’s not the way the gods work.”
Ares leans his spear against the wall. “Leo speaks the truth, Cupcake. But if we do learn anything about your lost box, we can go back another time. A clue is a clue. And who knows, maybe that clue won’t even have anything to do with the dream world. Moros could have found out something about the box being here on earth. After all, this is where you lost it.”
True, I had last had the box in my presence when I fell to earth, the day I was created by the gods and shucked off Mount Olympus. But I have no idea where it ended up and where it is today. For all I know, it could have found its way back to the land of the gods or elsewhere. “Fine. I’ll play by the rules and only go looking for the apples. But if anything does come my way where the box is concerned, I am not promising to ignore it.”
Lycus sits on the edge of the bed but remains quiet.
I wonder if he or Leonidas are going to do the Spartan war garb like Ares has chosen to do.
“I’m better off in wolf form,” Lycus says, clearly capable of reading my thoughts.
I glance at Leonidas. “Oh, just go on, Leo. If the wolf has invaded my head, I imagine so have you.”
“Sorry, it’s just easy to keep you safe when we know what you’re thinking. But as for the shapeshifting, I plan the same, only as lion. I think animal form might be better for searching for Atalanta’s precious little trinkets.”
Visions of shiny gold apples fill my thoughts. “She said they’re magickal. But all that I remember from my studies is that Aphrodite made them to be used against Atalanta, so she’d become infatuated with them and slow down her running, thus losing the race and gaining a husband.”
Ares walks up behind me and looks into the mirror. “That’s correct.” He raises one blond eyebrow as he glances at my clothes.
“What?”
“Are you sure you want to go dressed in an outfit splashed with puny cats?”
“Cats are not puny,” Leonidas says.
“They are against wolves.” Lycus’s voice sends a warm sensation straight to my core.
I probably should be wearing wolves rather than cats, but I only have one favorite fleece outfit. “The cats stay.”
Ares shrugs and walks away. He flops on the bed.
Lycus stretches out and falls back, his head hitting the pillow. “Nectar mixed with Ambrosia isn’t good for animals. I’ll shift just before arriving on Phobetor’s doorstep. I’m not taking any chances where that bastard is concerned, so I’ll be drinking the dream brew in human form, then shifting once I know I’m fully in Phobetor’s world.”
I don’t blame my wolf. Normal nightmares are treacherous. Who knows what the four of us will find in the land of dark dreams?
I eye Ares’s pitcher on the nightstand. “We better get this thing started.”
Four glasses appear out of thin air and bob around the mixed brew. The pitcher rises and fills each cup, which then make their way to each of us.
I lift the glass to my nose and sniff. The sweet aroma of peaches, mango and quince fills my nostrils. “For some reason I didn’t expect ambrosia to smell so good. Nectar I imagined as peachy, but not ambrosia. To be honest, just the thought of the drink makes me want to puke. I don’t know why, but it does.”
Lycus is at my back in a heartbeat, his hand on the glass before a single drop touches my lips. “You might be allergic,” he says.
“That’s ridiculous. How can I be allergic to something concocted by the gods? It’s not of this earth. Besides, despite being human, I was made by the gods. I doubt I’d be allergic to anything they can drink or eat.” I gently tug the glass away from Lycus.
He shakes his head but backs off.
I drink the beverage in a single tip of the cup fearful my wolf might change his mind and I don’t think going off to dreamland with half a dose of nectar and ambrosia will do me good.
Licking my lips, I place the glass on the side table next to the armoire. “That wasn’t so bad. In fact, I liked it more than I expected.”
“Let’s just hope you don’t have any adverse effects from it, Sugar Pie.”
I glare at Ares. “What
do you mean adverse effects?” Fine time for him to voice his concern now, after I’d down the whole glass. I know one can get drunk on ambrosia. But Ares’s tone of voice seems to imply something worse.
“You’re not like other humans, Dora.”
Now Lycus earns my angry stare. “Go on.”
“You were formed out of clay from Mount Olympus. Nectar and Ambrosia both come from Mount Olympus. The drink might affect you more than it does us.”
“A little late with that news, don’t you think?”
“I did say earlier that I felt this whole trip was too dangerous.”
“Yes. You did. But you could have given me specifics.” What was my wolf thinking? Or any of my guys thinking? The room starts to spin. “Oh, crap.”
Lycus reaches out and steadies me. “Easy, Dora. You can take it. Just don’t move too fast.”
Ares appears at my side. He grabs my arm. “Lean on us, we’ll get you to the bed, Sugar.”
I stare ahead, only to see Leonidas fluffing the stack of pillows in the center of my king-sized bed. Those are my pillows as they have the peach-colored cases on them.
The room shifts, appears as double and slightly blurry.
I inch forward. My three Spartans are looking more like six. “Whoa, this ambrosia stuff is potent.”
“Crap.”
I don’t know who just cursed, as my mind is mixing things up on me.
Leonidas is shifting from human to lion, then back again, only to start over.
Ares appears in various forms of dress from jeans to Spartan cape. I’m even seeing him as he’s often depicted in statues, practically naked save for that damn dented helmet he carries with him everywhere.
Lycus…I can’t sense my wolf, but I know he’s here, guiding me toward the bed.
Two steps more and I’m flat on the mattress, my vision fading, my mind going blank. Well, not entirely blank. I am thinking of my box. And all the vile evils that once rested inside it.
Warmth surrounds me as the bed dips.
“Keep her still,” Leonidas says. “If we don’t protect her here, we can’t guard her on the other side.”
I close my eyes. The scent of pine lingers at my nose, so I’m guessing Lycus is in front of me as I’m now on my side. He wraps his strong arms around me and I drift comfortably into his embrace. There’s nothing like being with my wolf.
Heat shimmies up my back. Leonidas.
Two hands grace the soles of my feet and start massaging my toes. Ares.
I’m protected from every angle, but for some reason a bout of anxiety fills me. A tug pulls at my core. Something is off, and I can’t quite place my finger on it.
A quick flash of Zeus’s book enters my head. It’s open to the same page as it was this morning, when I recited the dream spell. I don’t say the words now, but I see them. Line for line, letter for letter. I’m reading them in my semi-conscious state, even if it’s just to myself and not aloud.
Visions of my box pummel my brain. I’m right back to that day I fell to earth, but I have never remembered the details before so I’m not certain this is true memory or part of a dream.
I’m opening the lid, watching as the evils inside escape.
They swirl in a huge mass of gray mist.
And they envelope me, wrap their grubby hands around my wrists and ankles.
They stare at me and then in an instant lunge for me, entering my body with a force that makes me feel as if I am splitting apart into a million tiny pieces.
I scream.
Only there’s no one to hear me because I’m no longer on earth, no longer in my bedroom and definitely no longer in the company of my three Spartans.
There’s just me.
And a wild forest.
And a ghostly creature with flaming red eyes.
4
Oh, crap. Bad Pandy really has gotten herself into a deep mess this time. What was I thinking with that spell? Anything the gods toss my way needs to be approached with caution. I have to remember that.
Right. As if the curious imp in me is going to shy away from poking her nose where it clearly doesn’t belong.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up tall and face my enemy head on.
The beast with the flaming eyes walks forward. He’s ghostly with a pale blue tinge to his gossamer form.
He reaches out, brings his hand to my face. He tilts his head.
“Glad I’m amusing, but I’d appreciate if we can move on, please.” I need to find those damn apples, not waist precious minutes with Phobetor. “Look, nothing is going to stop me, so get on with the nightmare so we can move forward.” Really, but the gods are slow. I can’t think of one of them that would survive living a New Yorker’s fast-paced life.
The ghost rakes one of his see-through fingers across my cheek. Pain flairs in my face, then subsides as he pulls back.
Phobetor isn’t all that scary. He doesn’t have fangs or razor-sharp teeth. And I don’t see any weapons on his ethereal form.
A boom sounds all around me
The ground shakes.
I hold steady. One glance up and all of a sudden I’m staring into the face of a demon-like creature with fangs, razor-sharp teeth, and vest of armor so chock-full of swords and daggers, I can’t even count how many.
Phobetor laughs. “Every fear you think…I become.”
Crap. And double crap. I am really going to have to keep my head clear if I stand any chance of finding my guys and retrieving Atalanta’s little trinkets.
“Dish it out, monster. I can take it because I know this is all a dream and not reality.”
“Are you certain about that?” The voice isn’t coming from the beast standing before me.
I spin around.
Moros. “I did say we’d meet again, Pandora.”
He did. Bastard. “Let’s call a truce. I’m only here to help Atalanta get her golden apples back.”
Moros smirks. His long, midnight blue robe covers him from head to toe, the hood practically shielding his face completely. But I do see an occasional glint in his eyes as he slowly moves my way. It looks much like the glow felines give off when light shines in their eyes.
Moros stops an inch from me and then vanishes.
A huge lioness is left in his place. Atalanta.
The gods are messing with me today, which I don’t mind and can easily handle…if it was just one of them. I’ve never taken on several of them at once, save for my one encounter with Moros’s brothers, Ker and Thanatos, a few nights ago. But that was nothing compared to this. I don’t know what is real here.
Wind kicks up around me.
The trees in this ethereal forest shake, their leaves fluttering and rustling.
A small thud sounds up ahead.
From out of a tall clump of grass, rolls a single golden apple.
Atalanta swings her head in my direction. “Care to race for it, Imp?”
I can’t say no. I don’t have a choice.
I nod.
The lion takes off, doesn’t even give me the curtesy of starting at the same time.
A wolf comes running out of the trees, as does a second line, followed by Ares.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but I don’t stop. I can’t let Atalanta win this race, I need to be the one to retrieve her darn apples or the spell I uttered yesterday morning won’t be rescinded. And be shackled to Phobetor for eternity is not a pleasing notion.
I turn to Ares who is at my side, keeping up my pace. “What took you guys so long to get here?”
“Some force held us back, but I don’t know what.”
So not a good thing.
Leonidas catches up to Atalanta and smacks her with his paw.
She stumbles.
I race ahead and swipe the rolling apple. “One down, two to go.”
The lioness prances over. She shifts, returns to her human form. “Don’t think the other two will be as easy.” She snatches the fruit from my hand and vanishes it, but not before Lycus tries
to intercept it. “Sorry, wolf. This one is mine.”
Lycus howls. Coming up to my right side, he remains in animal form and steps up to me, his tail practically wraps around my leg. He bares his teeth at the goddess and gives a little growl.
Atalanta ignores him. Instead, she turns to face Leonidas who is now standing on my left, just past Ares. “Word of caution, lion, don’t claw me again or I will null our agreement.”
Leonidas shakes his head and leans back on his haunches.
“There are two more apples to find,” Atalanta says, the hem of her white chiton fluttering in the light breeze. “Don’t let them fall into the wrong hands.” She turns and saunters into the woods.
I wish I could breathe easy, but I know better.
Ares places his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t look so dour, Cup Cake. She’s just being a typical goddess.”
That might be, but I have a lot at stake here. I gaze at Leonidas. Whatever Atalanta has on him, it’s apparently troubling because I have never seen him back down against an enemy and that whole sinking to his haunches just makes me feel like I might be losing him. I need total loyalty from this bunch if I am ever to get my lost box back.
A pinch of panic fills my soul, but I say nothing. Not yet, at least as I don’t want anything to disrupt this hunt.
I glance at Lycus. “Why did you try to stop Atalanta from taking the apple?”
He doesn’t comment. He unwraps his tail from my calf and sniffs the ground. “Phobetor is in the woods, this way,” he says into my head.
Ares hikes his spear as if readjusting his hold. “We’ll follow you, wolf.” He ventures behind Lycus and heads toward the crop of densely forested land.
Leonidas hangs back. I wait until the other two are far enough away as to not to hear me. “Atalanta’s hold over you is troubling. What does she have on you?”
“It’s not up for discussion.” His voice filters into my head.
“I have to be honest, I feel like you’re sliding away from us. From the four of us.”
“My problems with Atalanta concerns another soul, someone I am not privy to talk about. I can say no more. It just is what it is.”
The Pledge Page 3
