“Soft, that’s what I’d call this kind of thing,” Jax pronounced.
Only one comeback popped into Leo’s brain. And “impulse purchase” wouldn’t do anything to restore his credibility as an austere Spartan.
So Leo decided to do what he felt like for once; he shoved both hands in the pockets of his black combat pants and admired the Mustang right along with Jax. After a silent moment of shared adoration, Ajax looked up, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Midlife crisis car, huh? Never saw it coming. Especially not from you, Commander.”
Leo’s jaw ticked. “I’m immortal,” he said in an arch tone, “which makes a midlife crisis most pointedly impossible.”
“Or long overdue,” Jamie volunteered from where he still sat inside the car, testing out buttons and examining the console. “Hell, it’s downright understandable, King Leonidas, so don’t feel too bad. We’ve all been dumped before, sir,” Jamie said sympathetically. “Well, I haven’t, of course. That would mean I’d actually kept a steady girl at some point—”
“You’re married, you pousti,” Jax admonished his brother-in-law.
“Newlywed,” Jamie corrected, “but I still remember having my heart put through the proverbial ringer now and again.” He opened the glove compartment, continuing his inspection as he rambled. “Muscle cars are the Southern man’s alter ego. Our solace in the face of heartbreak, our dick when we need to get laid.”
Leo opened his mouth, sputtering. “That’s not what I—”
“You’ve lived here a year now, sir!” Jamie laughed, waving him off. “We’ll claim ya.”
Leo’s face burned. Perhaps his feelings for Daphne had finally caused him to do something foolish and impetuous. Perhaps it was just as Jamie had intimated, and Leo’s ancient male ego was undergoing some sort of reaction to being jilted, avoided, and . . . gods above, “dumped” by their Oracle. More than two months had passed without a sign of her. But he’d not shared that fact with any of their crew, not even Ajax, so what did Jamie even know?
Leo rolled the new car key in his palm. “I . . . found it to be a most elegant vehicle.”
“You found it on the south side of town at Jerry Tice’s dealership, going completely out of your way,” Jax countered. “Doing something that is entirely atypical for you—laying down big money on a luxurious indulgence. You miss her. Period.”
Leo pressed a hand to his suddenly pounding head. “It’s not about . . . her.”
“Good thing,” Jamie said cheerily, “’cause you’re sure gonna get you some with a sweet ride like this one.”
Ajax clapped a big hand on Leonidas’s shoulder. “It is about her, and we all realize she’s not been back in months. So come on, Old Man. Let’s take this pretty thing for a test drive and get your mind off Daphne for once.”
Ajax strode to the open passenger side door, and with a jerk of his thumb, indicated the backseat. “Move it,” he ordered Jamie. “I’m riding shotgun.”
They’d driven a good fifteen miles, the spring afternoon warm and sultry enough that Leo had kept the convertible top down. The wind spiked through his bristling short curls; the sun warmed his bearded face. But neither the miles, nor the thrilling power of his new Mustang did the job Ajax had suggested.
Leonidas still thought about her.
About why she’d left him waiting without explanation, for months on end this time.
He even considered seeking counsel from Jamie and Ajax, but it was too hard to talk over the rushing wind and country music that Jamie had selected on the radio.
“Hey! Pull over up there.” Jamie pointed to a country store on the right-hand side of the road. “Let’s get some boiled peanuts. Sunny loves ’em.” Sunny was Jamie’s new wife, and although he’d been slow to settle down, Jamie had embraced marriage with the same vigor he applied to his demon hunting.
Leo turned onto the gravel driveway of the store, and up beside a gas pump. Over in the grass stood a black-bellied pot with a hand-written sign that said, HOT BOILED PEANUTS BY THE BAG.
“It’ll just take me a second,” Jamie told them. “I’ll get some for all of us.”
Leo saw nothing to recommend the Southern delicacy, which to him was nothing more than a mushy, salty mess, but Jamie climbed out of the car before Leo could object.
Jax immediately turned to interrogate him. “Now that he’s gone, talk.”
Leo stared back at his friend, a man who had fought beside him and been loyal for centuries upon centuries. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.
Jax scowled. “Look, last year when I was losing it, waiting for Shay . . . no longer in my right mind, you gave me some tough truth. Remember that vision? The one you forced on me?”
Leonidas turned away; he wasn’t going to have this particular conversation, not now.
Ajax leaned closer. “If anyone knows Daphne—I mean, anyone other than you,” he added in a lowered voice, “it’s me. I was the only one who could see her for more than two thousand years. So, let me tell you something, Leonidas. She loves you. Desperately. And now you tell me something . . . Why’d she leave you like this? Did you two fight? Disagree about commitment? What?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Leo traced his fingertips along the steering wheel, watching Jamie as he chatted with the old man who was selling peanuts. “You know that we had our ups and downs before admitting our feelings to each other. But she told me she wouldn’t stay away anymore, yet despite that promise, she’s not returned to me in months. It’s hard enough to court any female, but one with the god of war as a brother . . .”
Ajax growled his disgust. “Ares is a full-on bastard. You and I both know exactly what he’s capable of.”
Leo turned to him in alarm. “Do you think he might have harmed Daphne? Is that your meaning?” His mind reeled with possibilities: Daphne held captive at Ares’s palace; Daphne imprisoned somewhere far worse.
He’d been so convinced that Daphne’s feelings for him had wavered, he’d not once considered the possibility that Ares might have hurt her. She seemed so strong, and was a demigoddess herself, but that didn’t mean she was invulnerable. What had he been thinking? All this time he’d been nursing his wounded ego, and she might have needed his protection. “I’ll never forgive myself if she’s been harmed in any way.”
“No, no,” Jax rushed to reassure him. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just . . . Ares can be very convincing. That’s all. Perhaps he threatened her . . . or threatened her about you. Maybe that’s why she’s stayed away.”
Behind them, a rumbling car came rolling up, the engine old and loud. Leo glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a dusty pickup, but instead could only blink in shock. A hot pink vintage car idled by, one with massive fins and fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview.
But, he barely saw any of that. He was blind to everything except the beautiful female behind the wheel, her black hair spiking in every possible direction . . . highlighted with cobalt blue streaks.
“Is that . . . ?” Ajax leaned forward, hand on Leo’s forearm. “I mean, did she overhear us somehow?”
“Let’s pray not.” Leonidas felt his face burn beneath his beard. Knowing Daphne, she might have been watching all along, invisible to the lot of them, but not missing a single word. Which was a downright mortifying thought when Leo considered the accusations of midlife crisis, bruised male ego, and pitifully broken heart that Jax and Jamie had been bandying about for the past hour.
“Well, I hope she’s at least going to stop,” Jax continued, as Daphne’s car slowed, passing them. “And what in Hades is she driving? Is that an old Plymouth? Looks like a Delta Eight-Eight.”
She cruised all the way past, an impish smile on her petite face, and that was when Leo saw the make and model of her car. It was a Delphi Eight-Eight.
“No, Ajax, they never made a car quite like that one.”
Or a woman.
And plastered on the back end of that singular car, the only one that
had never rolled out of any assembly line, on any planet, was something that gave Leo’s heart its only real hope in months. Right next to a long, gleaming fin, was a bumper sticker that read: I HEART MY SPARTAN.
Daphne planted both her booted feet on the gravel and leaned against her car, determined to seem as seductive and affecting as possible, anything to distract Leo from the reality of how long she’d stayed away this time. He was undoubtedly furious with her: She’d promised to stay in his life and then vanished on him completely. What he never would believe was that she’d done so out of devoted love for him—she could see it in his dark brown eyes.
Leonidas looked not a little bit dangerous leaning against that new Mustang convertible. He was downright smoldering, in fact. And she would do anything to make him stare at her with love in his eyes once again.
Reclining against the hot pink side of her car, she crossed one thigh-high leather boot over the other. Her miniskirt rode upward, shockingly high, and her faded Kate Bush T-shirt rode even higher above her midriff. Seduction, Oracle style.
Leonidas pushed off from the Mustang slowly, with the poised ferocity of a panther. Without looking back at Ajax or Jamie, it was almost as if he sailed in her direction, soundless, predatory.
Oh, Leo, don’t be so furious! That’s what she wanted to cry out, and run toward him, flinging herself into his arms.
Yes, she’d stayed gone too long, so many months, but she’d had her reasons—surely he should know that she’d only remain away if there were a very compelling reason to do so.
When he reached her side, he glanced back briefly at Ajax, who was sitting in the front seat of that shiny new car. Leonidas hurled the keys like a spear toward his warrior. “Drive home,” he commanded with a growl. “Now.”
And then he turned the full force of that attention right on her. Wordlessly he moved closer, his gaze flicking up and down her body with a possessive passion she’d never experienced from him before. It was a heat born of rage, and heartache, and confusion.
“Leonidas . . . please,” she began softly, but he cut her off by pressing his body right up against hers, pinning her between his body and the door of the car.
She trembled at the intimacy, and even more at the raw fury she glimpsed in his dark brown eyes. “At least let me explain,” she whispered.
“Why you stayed away? Why you left me again, knowing what it would do to me?” He framed first one hand, then the other about her waist. “The time for talking is over between us. Over months ago, wasn’t it, my lady? I have other . . . things in mind now that you’ve returned. I need more than words this time.”
She stared up at him through lowered lashes, and as angry as he was, she was certain he’d never been quite so handsome before. Or stared at her with quite as much seduction in his eyes. “Leonidas, darling . . . not here. I need to be alone with you.”
He reached a hand and ran his fingers through her hair. “Still blue, these streaks. Still for me?”
“Your favorite color, always for you.”
He fanned a few crimson strands over his fingertips, too, staring at them as if for the first time. “And the red . . . still for Spartans?”
“For my beloved king. For you, my Leonidas.” She leaned forward, pressing her mouth against his, not bothering to censor her desires. “I need you. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
He captured her mouth in a hard kiss, pushing his body against hers, owning her. He slid one hand down her thigh, toying with the zipper of her tall leather boot, working his fingertips beneath the rough material until his hand was stroking her bare skin.
Then he broke the kiss, his mouth still hovering against hers. “You’re right,” he whispered harshly. “We cannot do this here . . . I don’t have enough control over myself.” He slid a hand into the front pocket of her miniskirt, retrieving her car keys. “But let us get one thing straight.” He held up the old key in front of her eyes. “I’m driving. From now on, for the rest of this ‘visit’? I call all the shots, starting right now.”
Chapter 2
Leonidas’s “calling the shots,” it turned out, involved him driving them back to the compound at a recklessly high speed, then leading Daphne down to the pasture in search of his horse. He wanted to take her riding in the far fields, away from the madness of the big house. She managed a quick flick of her fingertips, a surge of supernatural power that instantly had her wearing a more appropriate outfit for riding: faded blue jeans instead of the miniskirt.
Leo didn’t even seem to notice. He all but dragged her through the grass, squeezing her hand tight in his own as they made their way across the pasture. His harsh hold on her would have smarted—as would his rough treatment of her, so different from his usual deference and gentle respect. Except his atypical behavior, and the pain in his dark eyes, confirmed one thing: she’d hurt him terribly this time, staying gone for so long. He didn’t know, couldn’t understand her reasons or all that their separation had cost her, as well.
And so, in a silence that matched his own intense one, she waited as he located his stallion. She stood patiently as he mounted the horse with swift, youthful grace; she acquiesced when he swung her upward, sliding her onto the horse’s back just in front of him.
All of this, Leo did mutely. Not that he was ever a man of many words—he was one of the quietest males she’d ever encountered. In this particular instance, however, the blazing silence between them made Daphne’s eyes tear up. But that reaction lasted only one moment. In the next, Leo drew her close between his legs, the strong muscles of his thighs gripping her own.
He was as he’d been at the country store, possessing, hungry for her with a heat that transcended words or propriety. It was a kind of raw, hushed honesty that never should have surprised her, not coming from Leonidas—a man who spoke volumes without uttering a syllable.
Still, as Leo murmured to his horse, Virtue, and they began a gentle gait that would take them much farther away from the house, her heart began to beat faster inside her chest. He slid a snug hand over her belly, securing her tightly between his thighs, and all the tension between them changed like a sudden, unexpected spring storm. His fury and silence gained focus and energy, and heat swept from the crown of her head all the way into her chest.
He meant to take her. Out here, in the field, away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of the compound, he finally planned to claim her. Completely. That blush in her cheeks heightened sharply—right as he intentionally pushed his hips against hers, bringing her even closer to his groin.
And it wasn’t as if he meant to cuddle or charm her, getting close enough that she could feel his heartbeat reverberate inside her own body. No, Leo was behaving as threateningly seductive and physical as a cobra. Clearly he meant to wind and wrap his supple, very masculine body about hers until she whimpered and moaned. Until she glimpsed floating stars, until she lost herself in him.
Leo’s broad chest pressed against her much smaller back; his thick arms tightened about her torso. The two of them tangled together: one body, one breath, one heartbeat. She was drowning in that embrace, losing her breath, her sanity. He pulled her even closer, strong forearms around her lower waist, his mouth against her nape.
Leonidas. King of the Cobras.
Somehow, that seemed like a perfect title for her beloved at the moment. Or, perhaps his own leonine name was most accurate of all, and he planned to devour her, consume her whole—lick by lick, caress by caress, making a fine meal of her.
It was a tantalizingly slow exploration, with his true urgency more than obvious, as his fingers found the snap of her jeans and worked it open. Really, it was amazing that he could keep the reins in his grasp at all, given how his callused hands roamed over her body, feeling every inch of her that he could possibly reach. They might as well have been tumbling in the open, empty field because his attention was focused solely on her, not on guiding Virtue.
She nearly burst out laughing at the irony in that noble name
. Perhaps Leo should call her “Sin”? Or even better, “Wanton” to complete the scenario.
“Virtue seems of little interest to you,” she commented, barely managing to keep a straight face. “You neglect him in favor of me.”
“There is greater virtue in tasting you, my lady, than attending to my mount. Although,” he added lazily, “mounting is certainly of keen interest to me at the moment.”
She flushed at the innuendo, visualizing Leonidas lying with her in the field, his heavy, solid body atop her own. Mounting . . . ah, it was a wicked, sublime image. They’d never come that close to making love before, and she flushed at the thought. His mighty body nude in the grass; he would be splendid, natural as he claimed her in the open meadow.
“Yes,” she half moaned, the word escaping before she could stop it.
Yes, I want you atop me. Yes, I want to feel you between my legs, deep inside me. To hold you in my very center until we can only inhale each other’s souls and thoughts and desires.
She whimpered just imagining it. “Ah, please, Leonidas . . . yes.”
“So you’re ready for me to take you, my Daphne? Right here in the open, where any of my warriors might see?” He thumbed the metal zipper of her jeans suggestively. “Where the Highest God himself would certainly spy us during such a joining?” He growled a low exhalation against her nape and half whispered, “My lady, Daphne, many lonely nights I’ve imagined holding you just that way, with no barriers at all between our bodies.”
Her eyes slid shut, and she bit back the words that tumbled to mind: begging words, pleading words. Cries of desperation and desire that she’d been swallowing for months now—and for all the thousand years that she’d watched him, invisible and unknown to the man she loved in silence.
He clearly sensed her need and frustration. Bending forward, he brushed his mouth along her cheek, nuzzling her wavy hair out of the way. His warm lips made contact with that sensitive skin, and she could feel the roughness of his scarred lower lip. The intimacy caused her body to tighten, and she trembled slightly.
Red Mortal Page 2
