Red Mortal

by Deidre Knight

  I will never love you back, Sophie Lowery, he thought. I vow that I won’t.

  She’d said that he would. That she’d seen a vision and he would not only love her, but that he’d do anything in his power to make her love him in return.

  He swatted his tail, troubled. He had to reason his way out of the Sophie rabbit hole. He was trapped there, floundering like some lovesick, adolescent boy.

  Running the brush down his back, he stretched and reached. He could extend only partway—the rest would remain dirty, as it always did unless River spied him in the field and came to his assistance. It was a service the Spartan yielded silently, neither expecting nor pressuring Sable to acknowledge the gesture.

  So where was that damned groomer now? When Sable needed him to appear and help? Probably off trying to tup his fully pregnant wife. Any day and those twin babies would come. River had told him so, quietly under his breath.

  Perhaps the babes had arrived already, and that’s why River wasn’t about in the stables. Sable would just have to make do on his own, then. He was midstroke when Sophie came quietly into the barn. So softly, in fact, that he didn’t notice her in time to hide the damnable brush.

  “Sable, what on earth are you doing in here?” She walked closer, stepping through the bright beams of light that spilled across hay and oats. “What’s that in your hand?”

  He wheeled on her, knocking his rear hooves against a water trough. “What, isn’t this an appropriate place for a beast like me?” he hissed. “The stable?”

  She looked up at him, vivid blue eyes filled with an emotion that he couldn’t identify. Was it compassion? Concern?

  “Just go away, human,” he muttered bitterly.

  He hated having been caught attempting to groom himself—how helpless he’d become without his attending demonic minions. He dwelled in an in-between place, and it shamed him, for Sophie—his Sophie—to discover him debased and wandering, no real center, neither pure nor evil.

  “You’re the one who’s always rushed to tell me you aren’t a horse.” She smiled gently. “And I’m the one who always tells you I know what you are . . . a beautiful centaur.”

  She’d never used the word beautiful to describe him before. He swallowed, averting his eyes. In the stalls beside them, several horses still shuffled and complained.

  “They’re reacting to you, aren’t they?”

  Sophie never missed a thing. But for even the asinine beasts to disgrace him? To point out his freakish nature to her? That utterly enraged him.

  He stomped first one hoof, then another against the straw, then used a hind leg to slam the stall door furiously.

  “Why are you upset?” She placed a soothing, gentle palm against his bare chest. “And why, pray tell, are you even in here? Hiding out or something?” She glanced all about them, and then, damn it all, she noticed the brush in his hand.

  “Female, leave me be!” he roared, trotting past her and toward the entrance to the stable. With an angry flick of his hand, he tossed the brush into the bin where he’d found it and increased his gait as he hit the pasture. He could hear Sophie scrambling behind him.

  “Wait! Sable, come on! Hold up.”

  With a furious sigh, he halted, keeping his back to her. She placed a hand against his side, and looked up into his eyes. “You want me to help?” She extended the discarded brush. “I’d be happy to.”

  “I don’t want your concern.” He folded both arms across his chest, staring away from her. “And I definitely don’t want you touching me,” he spat in distaste. “I never should’ve come.”

  “Then why did you?” Her voice was light, pleasantly friendly—as if he hadn’t just railed at her brutishly.

  Because I am incapable of staying away from you. Because you’ve consumed me, like a fever, an addiction.

  His breathing faltered when he realized she was standing even closer, just gazing up at him, those pale eyes full of warm affection. “You always come back to me,” she whispered.

  “Because you’re likely to trip on your own shadow if I keep away.” He waved his arms in exasperation. “Kiss an incubus square on the lips! Or allow him to strip you of your obvious virginity—”

  “And you’d just love that.” She rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t you? So long as you were the one who—”

  “I’m a Djinn, not an incubus!” he said, not allowing her to finish that sentence.

  “But you understood my meaning.”

  He narrowed his eyes, feeling his horns suddenly protrude atop his head. They were fully retracted almost all the time, but not now. Not during this conversation.

  “You are danger, walking in human form,” he hissed.

  “Ohhh, so that’s why you follow me all over town. Here I was thinking that you cared about me. Worried about me. Or maybe it’s that I’m a danger to you, Sable.” She didn’t let him reply, even though a thousand arguments sprang to his dark mind. “I’m going to brush you down now,” she announced matter-of-factly.

  She moved along his left side, stroking him with light fingertips, a caress along his withers and back. “I mean, come on! We both know you’re too stupidly proud and arrogant to ask for my help. So I’ll do my thing, and you just stand there and complain while I give you exactly what you want and need.”

  Need . . . want . . . oh, Gods of Olympus, strike me now, but I do want you.

  The brush made contact with his long back. Brisk sweeping strokes were instantly pleasuring, soothing as the dirt lifted in a light cloud. And then she worked forward again, standing right up against him, so near that he could feel the human warmth of her small body. When she reached his front leg, she placed a palm against his abdomen, soft human flesh against his own smooth, unscarred skin. His belly tightened, the muscles rippling beneath her hand.

  She startled at the reaction, gazing up at him in surprise. Perhaps that was what possessed him, was the reason he lost himself—because she was so very close, her gorgeous, mortal body sweet enough to taste.

  Or perhaps it was the setting sun, coloring everything around them in a glowing, golden haze. Whatever the reason, he did the one thing he’d longed to do for all the past months.

  He bent down low, and pressed his mouth against hers. He was afraid to do anything more than that, to stroke his tongue across her lips, to daringly touch her cheek with either of his clawed hands.

  She sighed into the kiss, a swoony, aroused sound that made his chest grow inexplicably tight, and then she lifted upward and wrapped both arms about his neck, drawing him down much closer.

  And that damned female then dared to do the unthinkable: she kissed him back with all the intensity he’d ever dreamed she might feel for him. Her lips were soft as a rose petal, her palm against his cheek as gentle as the rain that gathered on such a bud. No person had ever treated him with tenderness, not even before his ruination. Certainly no woman had kissed him since that terrible fall. Yet Sophie embraced him eagerly, urging him closer with . . . ardor. Her hold on him was passionate, true, her hands sweeping about his upper back, locking him close against her own body.

  Her mouth opened to his. She wanted to taste him, a part of her own body mingling with his, an intimacy that he’d only dared hope to share with her during his most private, quiet moments.

  She was pure, good . . . and a part of him would always be evil. She nibbled his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth, and her tongue darted against his. Intimacy. Tenderness. Terror. Treachery!

  All. Wrong.

  “Sophie . . .” He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers with a gasp. “I . . . this is . . . I’m too corrupt for . . .”

  She cut him off. “No. It’s part of what I saw. From the beginning. This moment . . . this kiss.” She stroked his hair down to the nape, caressing his neck sensually. “It’s inevitable. We’re inevitable, Sable. Why do you have to fight me so hard?”

  He swallowed, still holding her close, not moving. And then he swallowed again. “Because I refuse t
o love you,” he finally admitted. “I won’t do it, Sophie.” Not to either of us.

  She stepped back, regarding him, and for once didn’t bludgeon him with a torrent of verbal nonsense. The look she gave him was a leveling one, as if seeing right to the core of his soul.

  “Too late to hold back, Djinn,” she said evenly. “Far, far too late, in fact. You’re in deep already.”

  That was all it took—those few simple words—to send him bolting, tearing into the pasture at a full-on gallop, as far away from Sophie Lowery as he could possibly get. He thundered over the rolling meadow, eyes blistered by the setting sun, smell of dirt in his nostrils. Every beat of his hooves put Sophie farther behind him, as she should be.

  Chapter 8

  Leo had called the meeting of the Spartans and their human comrades at the Angels’ plantation. It might have made sense to bring everyone to the compound, except many of their cadre were already at the plantation anyway. River and Emma were living there so they could be closer to the downtown hospital when their twin babies came. And these days Nikos spent more time at the plantation than he did at the compound, ever since getting together with Mason Angel. Beyond that, the pair made excellent fighting partners, so it was logical for Nik to gravitate toward the Shades.

  Tonight their lot had convened in the upstairs library, a large room with high ceilings. Shay had told Leo that at one time it had been the ballroom, until her great-grandfather had converted it to the grand library it remained today. It was the favored assembly place in the house because despite being vast, the room was inherently cozy. Old World paintings mixed with modern leather sofas; antique desks stood side by side with twenty-first century electronics. In short, it was perfectly suited to immortal warriors who still adhered to many old traditions, yet also embraced the modern era.

  Leo stood by the massive fireplace, hands braced against the intricately carved mantel. All were gathered behind him, having taken up various seats and sofas about the room. He knew they were waiting for him to turn and address them—and they knew from much experience that he often stilled his thoughts before laying out a problem or tactical issue. However, what they did not know was that he’d assumed this position intentionally. Because the moment he spun and faced them the truth would be made bare: his graying beard and hair, his aging face. Only Ajax knew his fate, and Leo had asked discreetly that Jax not break the news, explaining that he wished to tell the warriors himself.

  It was important that he handle the revelation about Ares’s curse in a way that wouldn’t arouse fear or panic, as both were always any soldier’s potential downfall. The plain truth was that Leonidas’s news would shake the very foundations of their existence, whether Spartan, immortal, or human.

  “Leo.” Daphne placed a tender hand on his shoulder, stepping beside him. They faced the fireplace together, her hand moving to his forearm. She gave it a squeeze. “I will stand with you, if you wish.”

  He cut a sideways glance at her. She had come to the meeting dressed with authority: her traditional Oracle’s gown of white, her hair braided atop her head with ribbons of crimson. She looked every bit his queen as well as a demigoddess. She met his gaze, searching his face. Her familiar light blue eyes were warm, unafraid. She was his lady strength, unwavering right when he most needed her support.

  “I need to do this alone,” he said. “But just looking into your eyes gives me power. Thank you for that.”

  She gave his hair a quick stroke, smiling at him one last time and then walked away. She would take a seat with the others, and he hoped that the normalcy of that positioning would ease tensions somewhat.

  With a steadying breath, he turned on his booted heels. Holding his head high, he squared his shoulders and allowed the group to look upon his features. Slowly he swept his gaze from person to person, seeing the awareness dawn, watching their eyes widen in shock. One by one, he catalogued it all, the gamut of emotions from his comrades. The reactions were as diverse as the people gathered before him.

  Jax returned Leo’s glance with a stalwart nod, he being the only one who wasn’t surprised by Leonidas’s visual revelation. Glancing past Jax to the man’s wife, Leo saw that Shay was equally unsurprised. So Ajax had told someone, but Leonidas knew from experience that husbands didn’t keep many secrets from their wives.

  Emma’s blue eyes instantly welled with tears, and she averted her face, the pregnancy hormones making her reaction impossible to mask. River stared back at his king, pain visible in his golden eyes—he and Emma were mortal, aging themselves with every passing day. The difference from Leo’s own situation, however, was that River had chosen the mortal’s path so he could live apace with Emma. Leo, on the other hand, would be forever separated from Daphne if he couldn’t find a way to reverse the aging process.

  When Leo’s gaze settled on Aristos, that warrior’s emotions were undisguised. “My lord and king,” Ari blurted. “What we see . . . it can’t be possible.”

  Jax cut his elder brother a corrective look, but said nothing. Their other brother Kalias frowned at them both and then turned to face Leo again. He was always master of his emotions, and this moment was no exception; he stared and waited with stoic calm.

  Ari looked around among the entire group, aghast. “Aren’t any of you going to say something? Are you just going to gape like idiots? Our king is in trouble.”

  “Ari, I will explain,” Leo said simply. Of all the Spartans, Ari’s heart had always been the biggest and kindest.

  “Leonidas, you are my king and I swore long ago to protect you,” Ari insisted, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Looking at you right now, I can see you’re in danger.”

  “I am dying,” Leo said softly. Bluntly. And he didn’t allow time for reaction from any of them before continuing. “Ares has chosen to revoke my immortality in punishment for . . .” He glanced briefly at Daphne. “Many things. The stand we’ve taken against him, our alignment with our Oracle. He has promised to age me swiftly and painfully—you see the first evidence of that threat in my appearance right now. I would estimate that I began this day as a man of some thirty-five years as I was at Thermopylae. Now, here at nightfall, I am more a man of forty-two or -three years. And so as you can plainly see, I am on borrowed time unless we find a way to counteract this curse.”

  Ari spoke again. “What about Eros? His bathing pool is how Juliana became immortal. So what if Ares has touched you like this—his own son can reverse that damage.”

  Daphne stood regally and addressed Leo. “My lord, I explored that avenue earlier tonight. I went on an errand,” she said, meeting his gaze significantly. “Unfortunately, Eros says he is powerless to help because his own talents and gifts don’t work on his father. I’m sorry.” She inclined her head and bowed, then sat once again.

  So that’s where she’d gone upon fleeing his study, after he’d been such a stubborn idiot, and so harsh with her. She’d left his side to attempt saving his life. He felt his throat tighten up; even at the height of their disagreement, her only thought had been to try to protect him.

  Leo struggled to find his voice, knowing that he had to remain strong and resolute for the others. “So that particular solution will not work.” He cleared his throat. “But I have faith; we are an otherworldly lot with many gifts and talents, and I believe we will find a solution. That doesn’t mean I can afford to wait. I will not leave all of you here on Earth with Ares still seeking your blood. Even if I never regain my immortality, I plan to fight Ares and destroy him. If I am on borrowed time, then let me use it to preserve all of you against the vile god. I won’t leave those I”—he swallowed, meeting Daphne’s steady gaze—“those I love vulnerable to him. So we must prepare for battle, and I do mean all of us.” Leo nodded to Jamie Angel. “I need the Shades, not just the Spartans.”

  Jamie gave him a determined smile. “You know you can count on us, sir.”

  For a moment, no one spoke at all, everyone processing the revelations. But then Ari looked up at hi
m, his eyes still bright with emotion. “Sir, about you aging. I just thought you’d been using good ole Grecian Formula all this time . . . and that maybe, well, maybe you’d just forgotten the last few months.” Ari laughed at his own joke, poking Jax in the side. “Grecian Formula? Get it?”

  Ajax socked his brother in the arm, muttering something about “irreverent pousti” under his breath.

  Aristos grew serious again, sitting up tall on the sofa. “I do still have the power of life, my lord,” he pointed out. “Let me try and help you.”

  It was such an obvious thought, Leo wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before now. None of the others had considered the possibility of Ari assisting either, perhaps because more often than not, Ari’s power of death was the one they relied on, not his ability to heal and restore life.

  “Excellent idea, Spartan.” Leo waved Aristos over to where he stood. In a low voice, he asked, “What is required for me to receive this gift from you?”

  “The problem, sir,” Ari said, scrubbing a hand over his brow, “is I still don’t have quite the proper control over it. As you well know.” Ari gave Leo a sheepish look because his power had recently ruptured the wards that protected the compound. Not only that, in the past months the warrior had burnt out televisions and Wii units, and even caused a brand-new microwave to short circuit.

  “You won’t be melting my brains now, will you?” Leo asked dryly. “If I’m meant to die, I’d prefer it not be tonight.”

  “Last I checked, Commander, you’re not an appliance or a supernatural barrier, which means we should be all right.”

  “Should be. How reassuring.” Leo clasped Ari on the shoulder. “I’m going to assume that it’s best for me to sit down—and for everyone else to clear the room.”