Red Mortal

by Deidre Knight

  She answered by holding him closer, drawing his mouth to hers for a kiss. He grew so aroused that he ached with it, his cock pushing painfully against the metal zipper of his pants, and his balls tightening like a bowstring.

  But she didn’t shy away; in fact, she only kissed him harder. She stroked her tongue against his in slow, tantalizing sweeps, each time seeming to taste him more deeply. Her hands roamed his back, his hair, his shoulders. In response, he cradled one palm beneath her buttocks, drawing her upward on a twin surging motion of their bodies.

  After a moment when he felt drunk with that kiss, she finally pulled away. Sinking back against the ground, her breathing came in ragged, uneven pants. “Leo, I want you . . . more than I’ve ever wanted you.”

  He stared down into her eyes, the clear blue of them like gazing into the Aegean . . . but with a tempest coming. He kept his body atop hers, suspended there, wanting her with more desperation than he’d ever felt before. And yet, an invisible force held him in check: the knowledge that she would likely leave him again after this. Every separation from her only became more unbearable—what would such parting be like once they became lovers? Unendurable, he was certain.

  “Daphne.” He leaned up on both elbows, staring at her solemnly. “Promise me you won’t vanish on me, not after this. Not if we become . . . if I take you, uh . . . make . . .” His face flushed, and finally he clamped his mouth closed, giving up on the effort. Why did his asinine shy streak always surface with Daphne, and when he most needed composure?

  “Go on, Leo,” she prompted, smiling up at him with gentle patience. She placed a cool palm against his heated face. “You know you can speak your mind with me.”

  He drew in a sharp breath and dove in again. “If we are lovers,” he managed to force out, “then you will stay.”

  She stroked his cheek, studying his face with an intensity he didn’t quite understand. As if memorizing his features, trying to ensure she knew every line, every scar. “I won’t go again, Leonidas, not this time,” she vowed, threading her fingers through his hair.

  Suddenly her eyes grew wider, panic filling her gaze. Her hand froze, still twined in one of his short, wiry curls.

  He frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head mutely, her gaze flicking over his countenance with silent intensity. What had she just seen in him? What was causing her to be so fearful that she began trembling beneath his big body?

  “Daphne, tell me,” he urged, but she responded by tugging his head downward decisively. She covered his mouth with hers and sank her tongue deep inside his mouth, as if she meant to consume him, take him into her very core and hold him captive. It was the most fervent, aggressive kiss she’d ever given him. She began pulling at the hem of his linen shirt, working it upward. He complied hungrily, only breaking the kiss long enough to strip out of the rough fabric.

  Her small, warm hands swept over his back, a smooth contrast to the hideous scars that marred his shoulders and middle back. She didn’t seem to notice, kneading her fists against his muscles, moaning into his mouth as they kissed.

  He cupped a firm hand along her nape. “Daphne,” he murmured against her lips, “I love you. I love you with all that is in me, and—”

  He wasn’t able to finish—a hard male laugh rang out, piercing the field’s mellow, late day quiet like a pistol shot.

  Daphne dug her fingernails into Leo’s back, her heart instantly slamming so hard that he could feel it against his own chest. Leo froze, positioned right between his beloved’s legs and half-naked atop her. Not the best posture to be in when confronted by an enemy of epic proportions, but at least with his prone body draped across hers, she was protected physically.

  Ares strolled right up to the edge of the cloak where he and Daphne lay. “Oh, hearts and flowers, lovemaking in a meadow!” he sang saccharinely.

  Leo didn’t hesitate to launch into action. In one fluid motion, he rolled off Daphne, and sprang to his feet. Ignoring the answering, razor pain in his knee, he spun to face the war god. Leonidas moved in on him, broad chest out, tall and proud, even though he was shirtless and without a weapon in hand.

  Ares towered over him, as always. Leo was one of the stockier members of their immortal cadre, with a thick muscularity that lent itself to their style of Spartan combat, but didn’t give him a height advantage against a tall, lean wildcat of a god.

  Ares let his tawny gaze slide past Leonidas’s shoulder to where Daphne now stood, having scrambled to her feet. She clutched Leo’s cape about herself protectively, even though she was fully dressed. That Ares could elicit such fear in her, and so easily, infuriated Leonidas. She was everything good in this world, where her half brother represented the darkest and cruelest parts of the universe. How they’d both managed to spring from Zeus’s loins was a mystery, especially since Zeus had done so little to protect his half-human daughter.

  “I’m the one you want to grapple with today.” Leonidas stepped between Daphne and Ares, shielding her body with his own. “So I’m the one you should be staring down—not her.”

  A slight smile played at the edges of Ares’s lips, but his gaze never wavered from Daphne. “Sister, you should know that, above all things, I’m a god of my word,” he said with apparent significance. “When I make a promise, I never fail to deliver.”

  Leo moved in on the god, thrusting his bare chest out defiantly. “I suppose that would apply to the bargain you made with us . . . and broke, Ares?”

  “Leo, don’t,” Daphne cautioned, touching him lightly between his shoulder blades. “He’ll only . . . lash out.” She sounded legitimately afraid, and, for the first time, Leo wondered if Ares might be holding something over her. Something that would put that kind of tremor in her voice and in the shaky hand she kept against his back.

  Ares’s golden-eyed stare fixed on Leo right then, revealing cunning calculation. Whatever was behind his sudden appearance today, the god was up to something ominous. As if to underscore that fact, a distant peel of thunder rumbled across the open field, a promise of a coming storm that the sky itself had yet to reveal.

  Ares gazed at him hard, a wicked grin forming on his face. “You’re dying, old man,” he pronounced easily. “You’re no longer immortal. You’re aging now, Leonidas, one unholy grain of sand at a time. I am robbing you of all the strength and handsomeness that she”—Ares tossed a narrow-eyed glare at Daphne—“has always admired in you. You wanted out of the bargain? I’ve kept my word.”

  “Explain your meaning,” Leo growled.

  Ares peered over Leo’s shoulder at Daphne. “Oh, but hasn’t my sister told you? I was certain that she had.” He fanned himself, smiling his liquid, perverse smile. “She’s not revealed your rather spectacular fate?”

  Leo tilted his chin upward, refusing to glance at Daphne. Perhaps she’d been keeping secrets from him, concealing some truth. But to what end?

  Oh, but hasn’t my sister told you? The mocking words clanged in Leo’s ears, goading him until he could only blink back at Ares, uncertain and bewildered.

  Could Ares truly have made him so vulnerable?

  His confusion earned him a harsh, barking laugh from the god. “Dying, yes,” Ares murmured almost lovingly. Then he clapped his hands together with relishing glee. “You’ll truly turn into an old man, while Daphne’s youthful, immortal beauty shall never fade.”

  “You . . . you couldn’t do that,” Leo tried insisting, even as he knew the god most certainly could. “I’ve been faithful in the past, served you . . . well.”

  “But you refused to serve me any longer.” Ares shrugged and gave him a condescending smile, as if humoring a disobedient child. “Come now, old king. You’re a vaguely intelligent man. Surely, you’d realized your fate already. You’ve sensed the old injuries beginning to mock you, the way your knee aches; you’ve seen the silver in your beard.”

  In fact, Leonidas had noticed—he’d noticed and tried to assuage the fears with denial. He’d
glimpsed those few silver hairs. But he’d never once suspected that Ares would rob him of his eternal life.

  Ares began to beam in cruel satisfaction. Like a lover, he reached a hand and stroked Leo’s bearded jaw. “Ah, but have you gazed in the mirror today? Alas, I fear you might notice new, more vivid changes in that dark hair of yours. Oh, and by the way, I fear that if you try transforming into your hawk form . . . well, you won’t have much luck in that regard, either.”

  Leo raked a hand through his short curls before he could stop himself. Everything the god threatened seemed to be revealed in slow, painful motion. Like a poisonous arrow, nailing him in the heart, robbing him of breath and life.

  If he died, he’d lose Daphne forever; she’d never be able to join him in Elysium. Not when she herself would never age or die. They’d be separated for eternity if he passed to the next realm. How could Daphne not have told him of his prescribed fate, if indeed she’d known? If she loved him, surely she would have broken the truth to him.

  “Daphne,” he gasped, struggling for breath. “What is he talking about?” He whirled to face her, and saw the facts written across her pale face and in her tear-filled eyes. “You knew?” he asked, feeling the weight of that betrayal.

  “I’ve wanted to confess everything. I can’t tell you how badly, but I was afraid. . . .” She glanced at her brother significantly. She’d feared him, and therefore not warned Leo of this curse.

  Ares gave him a satisfied smile. “My sister and I will still be here when your bones have turned to chalky dust. She’s smart enough to know who deserves her loyalty.”

  Daphne tried to protest, but Ares talked over her, moving right up into Leo’s space.

  “I shall offer a kindness, Spartan,” Ares volunteered brightly. “Why should you tarry here on Earth when Elysium awaits? I’ll prove that I’m not the cruel god you’ve always claimed . . . I’ll hasten this process of yours, transform you quickly, swiftly”—Ares gave Daphne a mournful glance—“but, alas, not painlessly. I’ll do so now, while it is fresh on my mind.”

  Daphne lunged at her brother. “Leave him be!” She clawed at his chest, frantic. “You may punish me all you like, but don’t make Leonidas suffer because of me.” She thrashed against him, but Ares managed to capture her about the waist, pinning her in his arms.

  He kept his gaze on Leonidas, targeting him visually, preparing to do something. Leonidas braced, dropping into a fighting stance, ready for whatever the god chose to deliver.

  Clucking his tongue, the god swept his golden cloak from about his shoulders. Leo held his breath as the gilt fabric wafted in the air, sailing toward Leonidas as if by pure magic. In that instant, Leo knew that the garment would end him. It had always carried too much power, as if it belonged to some evil sorcerer.

  Leo threw out both hands in a blocking gesture; only the darkest kind of spell could come from touching this war god’s cape. But he was too late. The glittering fabric grazed his shoulder, settling there for a moment, scalding his skin. He sidestepped, barking against the pain, but Ares’s wicked cloak became stuck like an otherworldly briar to Leo’s broad back.

  Leo staggered first one direction, then another, the cape causing pain to shoot through his veins like a toxin. With a horrible groan, he tore at the material with his hands, but it only grew more firmly attached, like a sticky spiderweb.

  “Ares!” he howled, feeling as if he’d taken a deathblow on the battlefield. “Stop this, damn you! Free me!” The words came out slurred, felt like heavy cotton in Leo’s mouth.

  Ares laughed darkly as Leo clutched at the material with shaking hands, feeling its power seep into his bones, his spine, his muscles. “Get it . . . off of me!” he bellowed. I beg of you . . .

  No, Leonidas would never plead with any enemy. The agony, he would endure it.

  “Do you beg of me?” Ares taunted as if reading Leo’s thoughts. “Why, that’s most erotic. Perhaps you’ll plead with me as you’ve often implored my sister for her affections?”

  Leo whirled blindly, trying to throw a punch at the god, but he was too dazed and missed, stumbling forward. Daphne sprang to his side, trying to help, but Leo snarled at her protectively, “Stay back!”

  “I can get it off,” she cried, yanking at her brother’s cloak. “You know the power in it; we must stop the flow . . .”

  He shoved her away from him, afraid for her life and safety. “Don’t! Daphne, no,” he groaned, staggering again in his blindness. A wash of darkness filled his vision, a tapestry of evil shifting in his mind’s eye. Still the unholy cloak remained about his shoulders and back, weighing him down like a ten-ton anchor.

  A searing pain seemed to boil within his blood, settle in his bones, agonizing him. He couldn’t fight it, didn’t possibly possess the strength to battle such a supernatural and poisonous tide within his own body.

  “Ares,” he groaned, sinking to his knees. “I . . . will . . . vanquish thee.”

  He would find a way, if it was with his last dying breath, his only remaining portion of strength, he would destroy Ares once and for all.

  The god stared down at him, deadly victory in his feline gaze. “My lord,” he corrected with a half smile, “it appears that it is I who have already vanquished thee.” He cast a look at Daphne. “Enjoy your elder days with my sister, Old Man. They shan’t last long.”

  Daphne cradled Leo’s head in her lap, holding his unconscious body protectively. She glared at her brother, trying to dislodge the cloak from about Leo’s body. No matter how hard she pried or pulled, it remained firmly attached. “Take this thing off of him,” she cried, trying to sound forceful and in command when what she really felt was pure, unadulterated terror.

  Ares shrugged. “You might as well allow it to warm him; it’s already worked its magic.”

  “How could you do this to him, knowing what he means to me?”

  Ares only cocked a lazy eyebrow. “What he means to you? Come now, Daphne, he’s stolen what is rightly mine. You.”

  “We are brother and sister!” She stared up at him in disbelief. All these years, and he’d not relented in his perverse interest in her. “And if you destroy Leo, I’ll only despise you even more.”

  She stroked her beloved’s brow with a soothing gesture; his skin burned with fever, but visibly he hadn’t changed anymore—not yet. “What did you do to him just now? What power was in your cloak?”

  Ares’s eyes narrowed, catlike and cunning. “I am the god of bloodlust. I only gave a dose of it to your frail lover, a portion of what was due him. Namely . . . death. He should thank me for the intoxication, the taste of such glory.” Ares stared down at Leo’s prone, unconscious form. “Or perhaps it was more than he could bear, in his decrepit state.”

  “He is not frail! He’s the greatest warrior ever to roam the earth. No wonder you’re so hatefully jealous.”

  “Enough!” Ares thundered, yanking the cloak from Leo’s shoulders easily. With a snap of the fabric, he swung it over his own shoulder with a regal sniff. He cocked his head as he studied Leonidas’s unconscious body. “He will age quickly. And”—he smiled, baring gleaming white teeth—“your own suffering will be quick. As for Leonidas’s torture? Well . . . at least it will be interesting.”

  Torture. Her unnatural brother had planned this, plotted a careful end to Leonidas’s life, one that would be more painful than any other.

  Still cradling Leonidas’s head in her lap, she reached with outstretched hands. “I will grant anything you want. I will do it—for him. I plead with you, brother. Whatever you ask, whatever it takes . . . please just spare him.”

  His expression grew cunning, the catlike eyes narrowing on her. “Whatever I want?”

  She pressed her eyes shut, shivering, aware of Leo’s prone form in her arms. If she gave Ares his way, it would possibly save her beloved’s life. “I . . . I will live with you on Olympus,” she offered quietly, still keeping her eyes shut. “As your sister.”

  She felt a murmur
of a touch against her cheek; her skin burned painfully. “As I suspected,” came his deadly reply. “And so your love will die.”

  Her eyes flew open, but it was already too late. Without so much as a whisper of wind or hint of eternal power, Ares had already vanished into a thin, golden mist.

  Chapter 4

  Daphne knelt beside the low sofa in Leonidas’s study. She’d teleported him here, away from the meadow, and hopefully out of Ares’s sight. She’d thought desperately as to where might be safest for Leo, and in the end knew that his study was his sanctuary. When he awoke, she wanted him to feel reassured, protected. And she knew they’d have much to discuss. He’d felt betrayed that she’d not told him the truth; she’d seen that fact reflected clearly in his eyes.

  She would have to make sure he understood her reasoning: She’d feared that by warning him she might endanger him more. Just as she had feared that loving him or being with him might harm him . . . and she’d been right. Ares had only chosen to strike Leo now only because she’d been in his arms, ready to make love with him. Here it was, almost ten minutes later, and Leonidas still hadn’t stirred, remaining unconscious on the leather couch where she’d gently teleported him. One heavy leg hung off the cushions, and he had a hand flung across his forehead, looking as if he’d passed out from heavy intoxication.

  Then a horrible thought hit her. What if he never woke again? Her breathing grew short as she considered the possibility that her brother might have cast Leo into a deep, eternal sleep as part of the overall curse.

  She panicked, reaching for one of his big hands and squeezing it between her much smaller ones. If he needed this slumber, if it was restoring some of the vitality Ares had stolen, then she didn’t want to disturb him. But it was hard not to be afraid.

  “Leonidas,” she whispered, pulling his hand against her breast. She was relieved when he stirred slightly, groaning as he resettled on the cushions. He began snoring softly, his jaw falling slack. As she watched him sleep, she’d never thought him more beautiful. She let her gaze sweep over his features, noticing the subtle transitions already taking place—and memorizing his face, knowing that they now truly lived on borrowed time. Years from now, in the ages to come, she would always remember this beautiful, rugged face: one of character and magnificence, even as it was so unconventionally attractive. Even despite the scar that split his lower lip, his mouth was full, sensual, and in this relaxed state utterly kissable. She bent forward, lightly brushing her own lips over his, savoring the feel of them.