Red Mortal

by Deidre Knight

  Leo’s own body swelled in reaction, the hard muscles of his thighs squeezing around her. And his equally hardened manhood pressed solidly against her buttocks, protruding against her softer flesh without apology. In fact, she’d have sworn he strained his hips forward even more, utterly eager for her to feel his erection—almost as if he yearned to make love to her while they were astride Virtue together.

  “Leo,” she gasped, unable to find other words. It wasn’t as if she objected. Oh, no, she wanted this man so desperately, her body burned at just the thought of him touching her. But despite her near pleading, despite his offer of sweet, sensual heaven, she knew the truth: they should never consummate this relationship. In fact, she was fairly certain that if Leo ever did claim her physically that her brother Ares would end his life with swift and final vengeance.

  She went back and forth when it came to Ares’s threats against her beloved. Poor Leo, he’d been a victim of mixed signals from her for almost a year. At the moment, he had her at a disadvantage, where her passion and love for him were winning the battle against her need to protect him. Yet, always, always, the truth was out there on the far horizon: Ares’s hatred of her beautiful king.

  You should’ve stayed away, she told herself.

  The problem was, the rational part of her mind could never win this battle, couldn’t withstand the torrent of feelings she had for Leonidas. Every time she was in his presence, it was as if her restraint unraveled, and she lost more of her will out of her sheer love for the man. So she always came back to him eventually . . . and she knew that every time she left, each new separation wounded him more than the last. But that was better than his dying because of her, because of how Ares planned to destroy him.

  It was difficult to accept fully what her brother claimed to have done—that he’d revoked Leo’s immortality and was going to age him, swiftly. Months ago, from the first moments of that threat, she’d noticed silver in Leo’s beard. Only a few curling strands, but they’d appeared there nonetheless. The next time she came to her king, she’d seen a few more. She’d even managed to pluck a few as they kissed, masking the action by tugging on his beard in a torrent of passion.

  Still, she knew the truth, and had seen the evidence quite clearly—Ares intended to make good on his threat to kill Leonidas, one mortal year at a time. And for a man who had lived an ageless span of more than twenty-five hundred years? She had no doubt that becoming mortal would prove quickly lethal, just as her brother promised.

  So she’d forced herself to keep her distance, praying that Ares would relent. And most of the time she remained strong enough, able to protect the king by her own absence. As a result, on the few occasions when she had returned to Leonidas, she’d gained a bit of hope because he’d not seemed to age any more since Ares had begun his transformation. No new silver or gray appeared in his curly dark hair or beard, no additional lines in his face. He remained startlingly handsome, forever appearing to be roughly the thirty-five years old he’d been at Thermopylae.

  Perhaps Ares had decided to be merciful after all. That’s what she kept trying to convince herself. True, he was hatefully jealous of her love for Leonidas, but surely her half brother realized that he’d never have her for himself. Not in the unnatural, debased way he clearly yearned for. It was hardly as if Leonidas had taken her from him, but envy and vengefulness pumped in Ares’s veins as surely as goodness and nobility did in Leonidas’s.

  “Daphne,” Leo murmured against her ear, pulling her back to the moment. “You’re so quiet. I’ve not left you dumbstruck, have I? I’m not overwhelming you with my . . . attentions?” As if he needed to make the point, he slid a palm over her left breast, cupping it firmly.

  She shook her head wordlessly, swallowing hard as he rolled the breast in his hand and then squeezed her nipple between his fingertips, stroking it tenderly with his thumb.

  Their bodies locked together, moved together, and all she wanted was for every separation between them to fall away. She longed to be in the grass just as he’d suggested, his gorgeous body naked and glorious . . . and still youthful. Oh, but she had to believe that Ares had relented; otherwise, she needed to leave right now.

  “My Oracle, speak your mind. Moments ago, you wanted me. Now I swear I feel your body growing chill, your desire waning.”

  She shook her head, pressing her eyes tightly shut. “No . . . no, but—but why bother with the pretense of a leisurely ride at all?” she stammered, struggling to blot out the image of the two of them, naked in the field, finally as one.

  Leo exhibited no such hesitation. “You know what I want,” he rumbled in her ear. “You know what I brought you here for. Two months you’ve left me hungry and aching for you. Two months you’ve abandoned me after promising that you’d never leave me again.” His voice was raw, agonized, and she felt her eyes burn with sudden tears.

  It took all her willpower not to blurt the true reason she’d kept her distance, but she knew full well that there might be consequences if she revealed her brother’s threat to destroy him. Consequences that could translate to Ares striking Leo down far more swiftly and violently than the incremental, wicked destruction he’d promised a few months earlier.

  Leo slid a large, rough hand beneath her T-shirt, stroking her abdomen with tantalizing lightness. He lingered at the waistband of her jeans, rubbing his thumb in a circular motion just below her naval, then slid a little lower, tracing the zipper of her jeans. With a wordless growl, he flicked open her fly and began tugging at that zipper.

  “My lord,” she gasped as Leonidas forced open the front of her jeans. Cool spring air kissed her bare belly, causing gooseflesh to rise across her skin. “Despite what I want . . . you must not . . .”

  “I have never wanted—or waited—for any woman like I have for you,” he said with quiet strength. The restrained anger in his words was obvious, and his hold on her body grew tense. “Tell me, Daphne, why must you torment me so?”

  She shook her head, blinking blindly at her unshed tears. “You know about my brother. How he despises you.” It was a feeble, flimsy explanation; Leo deserved much better. “I . . . we can’t . . .”

  “You told me that none of that mattered anymore!” he declared fiercely. “You said we belonged together. That you would no longer fear your brother or his reprisal.” Leo leaned forward and grasped her face in his palm, forcing her to look at him over her shoulder. She ducked away from him, and he moaned in anguish. “You said you would be mine, Daphne. Those were your words.”

  Yes, he spoke true; she had indeed said that very thing almost six months ago. But then she’d seen the visible signs that he was starting to age. That was when she’d realized that Ares truly did plan to rob Leonidas of his youth and vitality. Of his very life.

  All these months, she’d choked on the truth and her own lies, and she couldn’t stand the deception any longer. “My king,” she tried, her voice trembling slightly. “I should tell you. . . .”

  Except, just as every other time when she’d almost blurted the truth, her throat closed up on her. He was such a stubborn man, he’d probably vow to fight Ares, and she shuddered to imagine that outcome.

  “Tell me what, Daphne?”

  She stared out across the horizon. She’d fallen as in love with the Low Country as she had with Leo: the moody sway of live oaks and Spanish moss beguiling her, making her love affair with the king seem even more romantic and beautiful.

  At the moment, the sun slid low over the creek, creating an impressionistic painting of pinks and reds and golds that could’ve made Olympus itself envious. The grass and earth around them still held the spring day’s warmth, but a slight chill rose in the air—a definite contrast to the heat radiating from Leonidas’s body.

  In the distance, she saw the stables, and noticed River leading in one of the horses, murmuring some words of affection, no doubt. Likewise, back toward the house, Kalias and Aristos were hauling weaponry off to the armory. These scenes were part of the
daily cycle here among the cadre, comforting images of predictability and safety. Images that Daphne knew she couldn’t afford to take for granted. Not with the life-threatening danger that Leonidas possibly still faced.

  “Tell you . . . that I love it here, riding with you in the field, on your farm.” She cringed internally, cursing herself a coward. “Your land is beautiful.”

  Just like you, my dearest king.

  “Then stay this time,” he begged, his voice rough as sandpaper. “Don’t leave me, not again. Not alone, aching for you, burning for you.”

  She had no such promises to offer—even as he wound his hand beneath the hem of her panties, twining his fingers into her light curls. “Stay,” he growled, and anyone else might’ve thought it a command. Daphne knew better because she heard the desperation in his tone.

  When she remained silent, he laughed, attempting to lighten his tone—as if she’d not heard his brokenness in that one small word. Stay.

  “I shall even recite poetry, if it means I gain my way with things,” he offered playfully, then leaning forward, whispered in her ear, “For in place of steel comes the beauty of the lyre.”

  “You’re quoting Alcman.”

  “A fine Spartan poet for my fine Greek lady.” He stroked her cheek with rough fingertips. “A lady that I am indeed determined to ravish . . . and not next week or next month, Daphne. Today the lyre calls us both.”

  Leonidas was fully experienced in matters of physical intimacy. He’d been married, perhaps even taken lovers throughout the centuries, although she’d never glimpsed any—and she’d never dared ask. He certainly knew a great deal about the act of lovemaking. She, on the other hand, had never been touched intimately . . . except by the man who held her now, and they’d certainly never made love.

  “You don’t like Alcman? Perhaps he’s not romantic enough for my Oracle. Not tempestuous or sensual . . .”

  “He was before your time,” she hedged.

  “Before my time? After? What matter? I am more than a mere brute, sweet Daphne. I’m an educated man. And obviously most wise, which is why I recognized your beauty the moment I first spied you when we made our bargain in Hades . . . and again when you appeared thousands of years later on my moors.”

  Daphne felt something unfamiliar tug at her heart, a long forgotten memory bubbling to the surface, unbidden. Leonidas, lost to her after that moment by the River Styx when he’d gazed upon her, smiling as if she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And then he’d begun to appear confused, glancing around as if she’d vanished from his sight.

  Ares had grabbed hold of her arm, wrenching her away from the warriors. “They cannot see you,” he’d announced coldly. “Only Ajax. You may speak your words to him. None of the others will hear or see you, sister.”

  She closed her eyes against the recollection. “Oh, Leo, I kept hoping you’d be able to see me again, like Ajax. For so many years I kept coming to you, praying you’d know I was there,” she confessed, unable to conceal the pain that memory brought forth. “I couldn’t forget the way you’d looked in Hades. How I’d felt when you gazed into my eyes, that one moment. You . . . you were stunning.”

  “Even Styx couldn’t fully restore my body.” He pressed his face against the crown of her head. It was almost as if he were hiding his scarred face from her. “I’m sure I appeared a great monster that day in Hades. If I stunned you, it was with the horror of my ruined appearance.”

  After his death on the battlefield, Leonidas’s body had been mutilated by the Persians, tossed and paraded on the ends of spears and shields until it became unrecognizable. They hadn’t relented with their mocking, not until the king had been swept into the underworld by Ares. After the bargain was struck, each warrior bathed in Styx itself, but Leo’s own scars and wounds had been too much for even those supernatural waters to eradicate completely. His lower lip was permanently slashed through and disfigured; he had another scar that slanted across his forehead. That didn’t begin to cover the spiderweb of scars that covered his broad back and hands.

  Leo continued, “I am hardly a handsome man. I never was, not even in my youth and mortal life. And that was, uh . . . was before what was done to me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes growing wide. “You awed me. I was enthralled by you from the very first, but Ares made me invisible before I could speak to you. Perhaps my brother saw something in the way I gazed upon you. Even then he was jealous of your effect on me.”

  “You need not fear your brother any longer,” Leo told her, reining Virtue to a stop from his easy walking gait. He murmured in Greek to the horse and then swung smoothly to the ground. Reaching for her, he said, “Ares no longer controls our destiny or our feelings for each other. Whatever may come, Daphne, I am certain of one thing. I need you. Always. Today . . . tonight. Forever. No more leaving.”

  Stay.

  He didn’t beg again, but she could hear the plaintive word still ringing in her heart. Stay . . .

  Chapter 3

  Leonidas swung Daphne down off the horse and into his arms. Cradling her close, he stared into her pale blue eyes until his breath hitched. Lovely didn’t begin to cover her ethereal beauty. A demigoddess, an immortal creature of Olympus, a Delphic Oracle . . . and, of late, a Goth girl. Any sane king would’ve kept his distance and never taken on the challenge.

  But he’d come up the hardest way, in the Agoge training school of Sparta, where he’d clawed for every crumb he ever got. It had been true survival of the fittest, with Leo struggling to thrive like a desperate weed in the sundried bricks of that place. That was when he’d learned to face any challenge, physical or psychological. He’d brought that iron-willed strength to Thermopylae, to all the battles he’d waged in the old days and ever since, and he wasn’t about to start backing down now.

  Daphne belonged to him; it was only a matter of fully claiming her before the Highest God himself. In his human life, he’d loved his wife Gorgo deeply, but now, all these years later, he could no longer recall her face, much less her touch. But when he kissed Daphne, something unearthly, mystical ignited inside his heart; it was an eternal love, the kind that could survive the bonds of death and rebirth. And if that bastard brother of hers continued to separate them by intimidation, Leo wasn’t above waging war against the cruel god. He’d done so already, besting Ares in two recent battles.

  She slid both arms about his neck as he lowered her slowly onto her feet. She was light, so light, in his grasp—and yet so fully a woman that his breath hitched as her breasts pressed against his thick chest. For one long moment, their gazes locked—Daphne with her thin arms twined about him, her breath warm against his skin as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. His lips parted slightly, and he nearly pressed his mouth to hers. But no . . . Not yet.

  There was something he wanted much more than a kiss. To feel her body, that lithe, feminine body, beneath his own much larger, bulky one, just as he’d promised. Maybe it would be awkward, a bit inelegant, but he didn’t care. He always had been the bull dreaming of making love to a fairy queen, of holding a butterfly against his warrior’s chest. And he’d had plenty of practice taking Daphne without hurting her—all in his fantasies. He would be gentle with her now; he vowed it.

  Rummaging in his saddlebag, he located his crimson cape. He’d brought it intentionally, with a particular plan in mind. Keeping one arm about her waist, he unfurled the rich fabric with a romantic flourish, making a blanket for them in the crisp field of grass. He watched the Spartan cloak settle, and swallowing hard in anticipation, he turned to Daphne. Her blue eyes had grown wide, a rosy flush infusing her cheeks as she stared at the makeshift bed. She chewed on her lower lip, seeming troubled. Wasn’t this what she wanted?

  But then she turned back to him, her pale blue eyes flashing with heat and desire, all hesitation completely gone. He seized the moment, pulling her into his arms, and into a fervent kiss. Pain spiked through his right knee as they sa
nk to the ground, tumbling together—the ancient war wound had been hurting more with every passing day. But for once, he ignored the torturous injury, losing himself in Daphne’s arms. Her hands were all in his hair, tangling in his thick, short curls, grasping as if she couldn’t possibly have enough of him.

  Shifting his hips, he leveraged his thigh, parting her legs and settling heavily there. He was a large, bulky man, and she was so delicate and small by comparison. He tried to go slowly, but after all these months it was hard to rein himself in, especially when she drew her knees up about his legs. The shifting movement positioned his groin squarely against her intimate place, and he ached to feel her damp and wet with desire, to stroke her there.

  She seemed to crave that very thing because she squeezed her thighs, lifting and urging him onward with a muffled, enthusiastic cry against his neck. In response, he began a subtle rocking motion, each thrust tightening his groin even more, every motion causing her to respond in kind, the two of them mimicking the act he so desperately longed to complete.

  “Oh, gods, Daphne.” He released a low, hot groan against her neck. He could smell the sweet aroma of arousal on her skin, taste the way her pulse fluttered beneath his lips. “Daphne mine, you’re blessed torture.”

  She smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. “I want to make you hot and bothered and unable to hold back. I want you begging me . . .”

  He released a groan of frustration and desire. “So . . . that’s your evil plan. I hope you will see it through to the very end.”

  She tangled her thin arms about his neck, pulling him closer. Pressing her lips against his temple, she whispered, “I intend to rule the universe, with you my only subject.”

  He pulled back, gazing down into her eyes. “Are you saying you would consent to be my queen?” he asked, searching her face. He’d spent the past year so intent on simply capturing her that he’d never even contemplated formalizing their relationship.