Red Mortal

by Deidre Knight

  That was her plan, was it not? To match the earlier pleasure he’d given her.

  He panted at the thought, his throat dry and tight. “Daphne,” he groaned, crying out her name like a plea. With both hands, he reached for her, pulling her closer. He wanted her atop him, below him, near him. He didn’t care, so long as he could just touch her with his own body.

  She hiked a leg upward, and suddenly she was astride him, her hips above his own. Because of how he lay on the lounging chair, her position gave him a spectacular, almost head-on view of her breasts. How could she ever claim they weren’t large enough? They certainly weren’t overly abundant, but they were ripe and delicately rounded in a way that suited his tastes perfectly. He reached a hand to caress the right one, feeling oafishly large in comparison to her. His dark hand against her breast was more like a paw—he such a bear of a man beneath her much more petite frame.

  She covered his hand with her own, encouraging his caress, and they worked her flesh almost in unity, she guiding the pleasure, he reaching a frenzied point of need for her. He would come soon. He was already teetering on the edge, but he wasn’t ready, and wasn’t inside her.

  “Is this truly the place for our first time?” he asked on a moan, hoping to slow his body’s spiraling reaction. “Daphne?”

  Daphne moved his hand from her breast and bent low, kissing his chest. She pressed her mouth to first one of his nipples, then the other, suckling each lightly. Her hands splayed in his curling chest hair, stroking.

  “Daphne,” he groaned in reaction. “Love . . . Daphne.”

  After a moment, she sat straight up atop him. “In answer to your question, Leo, no, this isn’t the place for our first time making love. I wish to lay abed with you for hours after that.”

  Leo nodded in silent agreement.

  “However, this is the perfect place to do one thing for the first time.” She gave him a slow, wicked smile, and then slid down his body until her mouth was level with his stiff erection. With the sweetest of kisses, she brushed her mouth across the tip, then darted her tongue out for one quick touch.

  A shockwave rode straight to his groin, tightening his balls, making him release a bit of seed. He felt it, and she obviously saw, because she lapped it up with her tongue—and then she slid that sweet mouth over the blunt head of his cock.

  Deep into her mouth, she drew him, sucking and putting delicious pressure on his arousal. He rode upward into it, his hips lifting off the cushions.

  He pressed his eyes closed, moaning with unapologetic loudness, murmuring her name as she sucked and teased him. Over and over, he cried out, nearly senseless with lust.

  She moved her mouth to his tip and then released him. “My quiet and contemplative Leonidas! Hear how noisy you’ve become.” She laughed, sliding a hand to caress his twin sacs.

  “My shy and virginal Daphne,” he countered hoarsely, “see how bold you’ve become.”

  “We bring out the best in each other,” she said, then as he’d done to her earlier, whispered a breath across the damp end of his cock. She blew on it, light as a feather stroke, drawing him into her mouth again.

  Pressure built in his groin, sweet release so imminent he could taste it—and yet he half prayed that he could prolong his erection because he never wanted this moment to end.

  His mistake was in daring to open his eyes. That image of nude Daphne, bent over him and making love to him with her mouth, was a full-on assault to his restraint. The look of exquisite pleasure on her face, how flushed it was, and her eyes half-closed, was his undoing. It was the most singularly gorgeous sight he’d ever glimpsed.

  He went off like a cannon, crying out as loudly as he had in the midst of any battle. He spurted and released in her mouth, trying to pull his cock out and spare her the end. But she looked him in the eye, pulling him in even deeper. She meant to take him . . . all of him.

  And he couldn’t have stopped her if he’d tried.

  Chapter 10

  Sable sniffed at the night air. Bonaventure Cemetery after nightfall had been his prize destination when he’d first arrived in Savannah a year ago, a favorite place for feasting on the various incarnations of evil. Getting drunk off jealousy, high on murder. Whatever depravity lurked in the rancid place, Sable had relished it. Now, the stench of demon sulfur and decay was almost more than he could tolerate. Perhaps it was worse for him, having once been a dark demon, now on the light side of that pendulum.

  More on the light side. But not yet fully there. A big distinction that he was determined to cling to, especially after that foolish kiss he’d given Sophie. That’s why he’d come here tonight. In the hope that maybe if he sought out some of his former companions, mucked around in the old barnyard, so to speak, he could find his way back into the darkness.

  “Looking for something?” A silky voice whispered from behind him. “Or perhaps someone?”

  Sable whirled on his hooves. Ares stood beside his chariot, appearing from thin air as he often did. He was clad in armor cast from solid gold, his breastplate and helmet gleaming in the glow of his divine power. With an idle pat, he stroked one of his horses. “You know, I’ve been thinking that disobedient centaurs might learn a thing or two from this team of mine.” Ares pulled on the chariot’s harness. “These two magnificent horses were once unfaithful palace guards. Splendid creatures now, aren’t they? Although, I must confess, I’m not sure how well they’d take to me harnessing you in with them. And you know how they breathe fire when enraged.” Ares shrugged. “Perhaps it would be an interesting experiment to see if you could keep from being singed while pulling my chariot throughout eternity.”

  Sable’s heart began to thunder. He knew the god could easily do what he threatened—Sable had been turned into a centaur because of that same fickle cruelty. But he wouldn’t reveal any hint of fear or weakness; Ares always relished that . . . then made an example of whoever dared quake in his presence.

  “Ares, your threats no longer work on me.” Sable swatted his tail defiantly. “I’ve chosen my own destiny.”

  “So if you’ve chosen the path of goodness, why are you here?” Ares glanced about the cemetery. “Reliving the glory days? Or looking for someone in particular? Or . . . avoiding someone? A human female, perhaps?”

  Sable swallowed. Ares could not know about Sophie, of his feelings for her, because it was a flaw the god would seek to exploit—possibly by risking her well-being. For all the past months, Sable had managed to defy the god, been strong enough to resist his Olympian control by choosing his own path. But Sophie represented a lethal vulnerability, a possible avenue for Ares to reassert dominion over him.

  Sable held silent. After a moment, Ares sauntered up to his side. As if Sable were a prize mount, Ares stroked him along his flank. “You know, I truly did give you a splendid coat and stallion’s form. You’ve never understood it, but you are quite the thing of beauty. Spellbinding, really.”

  What game was the god playing at? Ares had always been about humiliation and control, not wooing friendliness or compliments.

  “Apparently your little human . . . Sophia, is it? She finds your centaur form quite breathtaking as well. She certainly kissed you with rousing enthusiasm earlier tonight, if that’s any indication.”

  Sable opened his mouth, about to rail at Ares for having eavesdropped—for having the audacity to look at Sophie Lowery—but he was so enraged, he couldn’t string reasonable thoughts together. All at once, his vision did something it hadn’t in months—it washed vivid crimson, the color of his demon’s fury.

  Ares’s eyes sparkled with triumph and amusement. “Look at your cool blue eyes change hues now. Oh, is that part of being light? I must not be current with demon physiology.”

  Sable huffed several hot breaths, trying to calm the fury that boiled in his entire body, from his human chest to his horse’s tail. “Sophie . . . isn’t part of this,” he managed to grind out.

  “Ah, but she is! Because she’s obviously very import
ant to you, and I’ve always made you my business.” Ares stepped back a few paces and gave him a considering glance. “But what I don’t quite grasp is this—how do you plan to follow up on that kiss? It seems that you’re in a bit of a bind on that point, old friend. I mean, I suppose there’s fondling of breasts and more kisses. Perhaps you could hold her to your chest. But when it comes right down to it, there’s not much of a future for you pair of ill-fated lovers.”

  The brilliant red filled Sable’s vision even more starkly, becoming so intense it nearly morphed into magenta. The retracted horns atop his head sprang forth, writhing about Sable’s crown until they tangled together. He was in a full-scale rage, the power of it combustive, building like an inferno. And all the while, Ares just smiled and quietly goaded Sable on, teasing out his dormant darkness.

  Sable stomped hard at the ground. “I swear, if you hurt Sophie, I will find a way . . . I will . . .”

  “What will you do?” Ares cast a significant glance at his team of horses, a not so subtle reminder that he was fully capable of bringing Sable to heel in the most torturous of ways.

  Sable reared, kicking at the air violently with his forelegs. “Do. Not. Hurt. Her.”

  The corners of Ares’s mouth curled upward, one of his rare genuine-seeming smiles that lit everything with its golden energy. “Sable! You misunderstand. I want to help you. I want to make it so you can be with Sophie and truly be her man.”

  Sable settled down, and eyed Ares hard. “You’ll cast me out of this centaur’s form? Break the curse?” He could hardly breathe. Perhaps his thoughts were muddled, because he’d been certain Ares was antagonizing him and threatening Sophie. “You’ll return me to my humanlike form?”

  “I am saying exactly that.”

  Sable’s mind raced. All at once, he felt that soft sweep of Sophie’s lips against his, the anguish that he’d experienced afterward, knowing that he could never be what she needed. That he could never hold and love her as a man would.

  He met Ares’s stare, the red haze easing out of his vision once again. “What is required?” Nothing with the god ever came without a high price, but Sophie . . . she was more than worth any bargains with Ares. “What must I do to earn my freedom?”

  “I have an assignment for you. Something relatively easy, in fact . . . although I’m afraid it will play havoc with your delusion about being light.”

  “It isn’t a delusion.”

  Ares reached up and flicked one of Sable’s entangled horns. “Think again.”

  Sable rubbed a hand over his face. It had been months since his horns had sprouted like this, so wild and long; it had been just as many months since his vision had washed red. Maybe Ares was telling the truth . . . maybe it had always been an illusion, the idea that he’d embraced goodness.

  But you got past the wards . . . both Leonidas’s and the Angels’.

  But Sophie has made you feel love . . .

  But you’ve fought alongside the Spartans, even against this very wicked god.

  “I . . . know that I’m turning light. Perhaps not fully transformed,” he tried arguing. It was as if Ares was weaving some potent spell designed to confuse him. “But not dark, not anymore.”

  “No, you are wrong. You’re confused,” Ares murmured.

  “I’m confused,” Sable repeated, the words like thick wool in his mouth, numbing his lips and mind.

  “It is impossible for you to be light,” Ares said in a seductive tone, ensorcelling Sable further.

  Sable shook his head. “I . . . can’t possibly be light.”

  “You’re a demon! A gloriously wicked Djinn. What a beautiful creature of the night you’ve always been.” Ares gave him an almost sensual stroke along his flank. “And I’ve only helped perfect that innate darkness, your naturally craven spirit of upheaval and ruin.”

  “Ruin,” Sable snarled, his mouth watering at the mention of the word. Destruction, pain, devastation. How had he maintained this meager, spiritual fast for so many months, living on nothing but human bread and water when his demonic spirit craved to feed and soul suck and rampage?

  Sophie. It was all her fault. She’d seduced him into the light.

  She wanted to destroy all that he was, make him weak like her, simpering, pathetic . . . good.

  It was like waking from a nightmare, the clarity with which he now saw his wayward condition.

  Ares’s gaze locked on his, his eyes flicking back and forth across Sable’s features, taking in the change, the luring of Sable’s soul back into the shadows. Slowly the god nodded, willing the transformation to completeness. “Yes,” he whispered, licking his full lips. “Yes, my powerful demon. I can offer you the universe . . . all that you’ve lost, I shall restore. If you but take up my cause and follow me.”

  Ares swept his golden cloak outward, billowing it like a shimmering thundercloud. It held suspended in the air, floating timelessly between his epic god’s body, and Sable’s hefty centaur one.

  A moment of decision; a pivotal choice. Sable couldn’t take his eyes off the majestic garment, watching it soar and hold on the breeze for seconds, perhaps a minute. Olympian time was not mortal or even demonic.

  Come now, my warrior, he heard Ares murmur in his mind. Seize your calling. I will restore . . . everything.

  Sable snapped his clawed hand out, seizing the cloak in one greedy fist. As he did so, the otherworldly fabric unfurled, sweeping out of his grip and across his back. Gold shifted then, turning to dark, tarry black.

  “Yes,” he heard Ares sing gleefully. “You are mine again. Obey me, and I will remove this half-beast form from you.”

  Sable gulped, and tried to ask if the god promised true, if Ares wasn’t offering hollow hope—but could say nothing, lost as he was, awakening to his own darkness anew. And even in that dissolution, he still loved Sophie. He felt it beat inside his heart; he couldn’t blame her for his recent transformation. He’d chosen it all because he loved her; he knew it with perfect clarity right then.

  He also knew that because he loved her, he would never embrace evil, not fully. It was an agonizing decision, an untenable choice. Become dark, and he would regain his former body, be a man she could possibly love in return.

  Choosing Ares’s path to reach that end, however, meant losing himself in evil . . . and losing her. He couldn’t hurt her, not like this.

  Reaching for Ares’s cloak, he began to remove it.

  The god sensed his hesitation, and stroked one regal hand along Sable’s withers. “I’ll even give your wings back. Imagine your Sophie, finally seeing you without hooves and tail, without such a large and lumbering rump.” Another stroke, and Sable felt his hands begin to tingle. With a quick downward glance, Sable watched as his claws melted away, his hands becoming human in appearance—unscarred, too.

  “I can make you more human than that,” Ares murmured. “The man she needs. And wants.”

  A sudden cascade of images appeared in the air, quicksilver fast, but vivid and real. Sable lay on satin sheets, nude, Sophie beneath his body. They were making love; he was human in appearance, able to satisfy her every need.

  She’d never looked more beautiful, her cheeks flushed with desire, her thin arms about him. Those thick black curls spilled across the pillow; her body was open to him, spread for him. His hair was long as it had once been, black as hers, tangling against her cheeks as she stroked it. And on his back, as perfect as they’d ever been, his multicolored, glittering Djinn wings. With every thrust he made inside Sophie, those appendages beat out the rhythm of his desire.

  She’s mine! The thought roared to life inside him, a desire so strong it overturned any of his doubts. He could accommodate Ares’s requests, do his bidding long enough to regain his former glory. It was possible to walk in both dark and light, he could do it . . . for her.

  Sophie. She was good, yes, and he wanted her. She might pity him, might even fancy him her beloved in that whimsical, innocent way of hers. But the down and dirty truth of
the matter? She would never love him as he was now. He had no choice but to accept this bargain.

  One breath, one heartbeat. One seduction. It was enough to achieve Ares’s goal. Sable stilled then, allowing the cloak to settle across his back.

  “Yes,” Sable finally whispered. “I will do as you ask . . . so that I can become as I once was . . . not as you’ve made me.”

  Ares beamed, his absurdly handsome face brightening like daybreak on Olympus. “Excellent!” He clapped his elegant hands together. “But first? I have something I need from you.”

  A price, of course. There was always a price when bargaining with Ares.

  “I’m listening.” Sable braced himself for the full revelation of what he’d just signed on for.

  “I require your help. You must ensure that your Sophie does not attempt to heal the good king. I’ve . . . well, let’s say I’ve touched him rather spectacularly. With her gift, she could reverse my handiwork.”

  “What have you done to Leonidas?”

  “None of your concern. Your only task is to ensure that Sophie does not touch him with her power of healing.”

  Sable’s heart pounded like a freight train. This plan was meant to bring him together with Sophie—not place her squarely in Ares’s crosshairs. He forced a snarl. “I can’t control that unbalanced female. I may lust for her, but it doesn’t mean I have sway over her.”

  Ares gave him a snide glance. “We both know that’s not true. Those images earlier—they didn’t come from me. They came out of you. Your dreams and wants; I simply conjured them from inside your soul.”

  Sable stared at his hooves, hating that his heart was so transparent to the cruel god. “You know,” he pointed out, “Aristos has the same power to heal. Even if I could control Sophie—and I should advise you that I likely cannot—there remains Aristos to consider.”

  Ares strode toward his chariot, swinging into it with athletic grace. “You have far more hold over your human female than you realize, Sable. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that.” The god took his seat with a lazy glance. “Or perhaps I should, as it might inspire you to be, shall we say . . . creative with Sophia. As for Aristos Petrakos? Don’t worry,” Ares promised. “I have plans for that warrior, as well.”