Red Demon

by Deidre Knight

  “Uh, Mace,” Ari said, still holding Jules close in his arms. “We know her name now.”

  “What?” he roared. “If you do, then we can command her, hopefully exorcise her.”

  Ari shook his head. “Yeah, but I’m not sure Layla would give us her true name.”

  “Layla,” Mason repeated with a dark laugh. “Was somebody an Eric Clapton fan over in demonville?”

  “Think you got your order wrong there, bud. The Djinn are ancient.”

  “I was kidding,” Mace said. “I know Layla’s Persian, too. Any chance she’d have given us her true name?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Ari said. “That’s by trying to use it.”

  “Yeah, but we gotta work on that curse first, or she ain’t going nowhere. Trust me on that one.”

  “So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Daphne said, walking to the bookshelf in Leo’s study, thumbing over the various volumes. Such a brilliant, smart man, she thought, overwhelmed with melancholy. All his knowledge would die with him. His memories of important, heroic battles, his philosophy of leadership, all of that would vanish from the earth.

  But when would that be? Next month? Another hundred years from now? She couldn’t bear the thought of revealing what she now saw written plainly on his handsome, weathered face, the visible proof that her brother was fulfilling his threat.

  “Yes, my beautiful king,” she continued, retrieving his beloved volume of Herodotus. “A lot of thinking, and although sometimes that’s dangerous, in this case, no.”

  He was behind her then, hands snaking down to grasp her hips. “Whenever you think too much, you always decide to stay away, and that’s very dangerous,” he rumbled against her ear, trailing kisses down onto her nape. “Think with this body, my body. Let’s join those thoughts together and reach a brand new conclusion,” he told her hungrily. “One that includes more of this.”

  He pressed up behind her, and she could feel his full-on arousal, that he was hard and thick for her and not trying to hide it this time. In fact, he seemed eager for her to feel his manhood completely. “I’m done with being polite and kingly, for I am no boy. Not even a young man,” he added. “I must have you, Daphne. This man’s body has need of you, burning, aching need, and it must be slaked. Tell me you want me, too.” He nibbled on her ear and pressed his groin flush against her backside. “You feel how badly I want you.”

  His calloused hands slid up under her T-shirt, stroking the smooth skin as he moved upward until he cupped her breasts. That tender, soft flesh thrilled at his contrasting roughness. His hands were those of a warrior, a man who had handled weapons and shields, and something about that—about his life’s experience—made her crave him even more. Just as he’d said, he was a genuine, real man, not a boy, which was one reason she always felt so feminine whenever she was around him. But now that he was holding her, from behind like this? Now that he seemed even more driven to take her than ever before? Her love and need for him spiraled to a dizzying level.

  And then he lifted her miniskirt out of the way, and her reaction was so intense, her legs began shaking. He slid one palm between her thighs, stroking her languidly.

  “You like this,” he said, voice husky, filled with desire. “And I like the leather . . . the skirt, the boots. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  She relaxed into him right as he started unzipping her skirt, but then she caught his hand. “Leo, much as I crave this, your men need your guidance for the move. They’re expecting orders and instruction, aren’t they?”

  “Ajax is in charge,” he growled in her ear. “I gave him command as soon as you arrived. I’d already told myself that if you ever came back, I would no longer accept your reluctance or hesitation. I mean to make you mine this time, Daphne.”

  He moved even closer, bracing one large hand against the shelf, so she was framed against it—and against his body. “Tell me you’re here to stay. No more fleeing me, or leaving me for Olympus or Delphi, England or wherever it is you go. Tell me, here and now, that you’ll stay with me from now on.”

  She closed her eyes. “I can’t stay always, but I’m here with you now. Because of my powers and . . . other things, I can’t promise that I won’t leave sometimes.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” He panted in her ear, suddenly trailing his fingers between her thighs. He stroked them much higher and closer to her intimate place, and she gasped. Leo had never touched her there, not yet.

  He paused, rubbing his thumb along her inner thigh in a slow, sensual caress. “You won’t fight me, not anymore? Not about being together?” He groaned, parting her legs wider, and worked his fingertips beneath the silk of her panties. She felt his rough fingertips brush against her intimately, and he parted her slick folds. “Yes,” he moaned as he made that contact. “I need to be inside of you, Daphne.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, body tensing at his daring tenderness. “No resistance from me,” she whispered, feeling his beard scrape her cheek while he kissed her nape and her jaw, leaning over her from behind. “I won’t fight you, not anymore. I am yours, my sweet king.”

  “I hate to interrupt, especially such erotic, delicious interplay,” came a male voice from behind them, one she recognized. “But, Aunt Daphne? I need to speak with you a moment.”

  Leo froze, his hand still pressed into her most intimate spot, his fingers slick with her wetness.

  “Tell me who that is,” Leo said slowly.

  “My nephew,” she said, yanking her skirt back down from around her waist.

  “I gathered as much,” Leo drawled, shielding her with his big body as she reassembled her outfit. “I’m merely trying to think how many nephews you might have. And how many of them might be, shall we say, well-known.”

  “It’s exactly who you’re thinking of,” she murmured under her breath, turning.

  “Which only makes this position more awkward.”

  “Trust me,” she said, arranging her face into a bright, welcoming expression. “He’s seen it before.”

  With a flourish, she spun in Leo’s arms. “Eros! Darling of mine, what brings you to my part of the world?”

  Eros appeared deeply troubled, Daphne thought, leaning up against the shelf and studying his demeanor. The way his blond eyebrows furrowed together—something in his gaze was unsettling. He kept pacing the room, bow and quiver across his back, long blond hair drawn back at the nape, not yet telling her anything about why he’d shown up.

  She wasn’t exactly delighted that he’d witnessed her with Leonidas, not with her pressed against the bookshelf with her black leather mini hiked up, and Leo’s hands touching her down low. It was a little bit mortifying that the god of love had popped in on their heavy-petting session.

  Nope, she couldn’t stop blushing. This was her nephew, after all, and he was so oddly innocent, despite his work and trade in all things erotic. In his own life, she knew him to be . . . well, if not a virgin, very inexperienced. Rumors suggested that he kept himself celibate so that he’d be more imaginative in striking others with passion and love. And there were those occasional whisperings about Psyche. Apparently the mortals hadn’t gotten that tale even close to right.

  “You seem upset, Eros,” she said, and he cut his eyes at her with a “You noticed that?” sort of look.

  “O-kay, you are upset. I’m definitely picking up on some unhappy vibes from you.”

  Eros turned suddenly as if remembering himself. “I’ve been rude. Please introduce me to your king.” He flourished a bow toward Leonidas. “Such an admirable warrior you are, my lord.”

  Leonidas touched Eros’s shoulder, urging him to an upright posture. “Please, no bowing. Not from the god of love,” he said, with a light tone. “And certainly not to me.”

  “He’s not keen on bowing,” Daphne stage-whispered. “Too modest.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Leonidas.” Eros rose to his full stature, lifted his chin, and said to them b
oth, “But I am not here on a social visit. I have created some turmoil in your midst, and truly, I regret that now. I’ve come to change alliances, to try to mend my mistakes.”

  She shook her head. “Eros, I’m not following you.”

  He sighed, withdrawing an arrow. He held it in his palm, turning it for a moment. “My purpose, the very gift birthed in my loins, was to bring love and passion between mortals and immortals.” His face grew darker, his gaze angry. “My father’s only purpose is to turn the bow against humanity; all he craves is war. My arrows bring love; his only cause destruction.” Eros looked at her, that flash of anger intensifying.

  “Uh-oh, Eros, tell me that you didn’t . . .”

  “Ares conscripted me into his own battle—against all of you,” he said. “I am sorry, but he came to me and wanted an alliance. He also made it sound as if love spelling would be involved.” He extended the arrow that he held in his grasp. “This is Eris. She brings confusion. That’s how the demon managed to infiltrate your camp. It’s why none of you asked about how Juliana came to be here, because I wielded Eris against all of you.”

  Leonidas formed his hands into a temple beneath his chin, seeming to gather his next words. “Eros—is that what I should call you? Is that appropriate?”

  Eros beamed, a strange warmth filling his brown eyes. “Yes, good king.” His smile became even larger. “I’m honored to have you use my familiar name. And may I call you Leonidas?”

  Leo nodded. “Those closest to me sometimes call me Leo.”

  “I couldn’t,” Eros said, and actually fanned himself for a moment with his hand, as if overheated.

  He was blushing, and Daphne couldn’t quite figure it out, until she saw the admiration gleaming in Eros’s eyes. He’d never been treated with respect by his own father, and yet here was Leonidas, who by his very nature was a paternal presence, showing him kindness and deference—even in the face of Eros’s admissions about what he’d done.

  “Eros,” Leonidas ventured again, “your father despises me a great deal. I think you probably know that. So if you align with me, with all of us, is that a risk for you? Will he retaliate? I want you to understand the stakes going in.”

  Eros pressed his arrow against his heart. “I wish, truthfully, to strike back at my father. So if he decides to make a move against me, so be it. Or, as humans sometimes say in this era? I believe it is . . .” He searched about for the words he wanted.

  Daphne blurted, “Bring it on!”

  Eros bobbed his head. “Yes. My father may bring it on. I have weapons of mass seduction at my fingertips,” he declared, retrieving one beautifully feathered arrow. “I can use these arrows for love, for confusion, for brotherhood. Many arrows, many effects.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice with a glance around the room, as if Ares might somehow be just in the wings, ready to strike them all. “But I have another weapon at my disposal, one that’s far more significant. It can save Juliana.”

  “You know about her?” Daphne asked. “About Ari, all of it?”

  “I have dossiers on every romantic relationship and attachment within your ranks,” he announced proudly, and then his eyes grew sad. “Things have been going so well, for many of you. I refuse to allow my father a victory over love itself.”

  Leonidas spoke, his mind clearly working through the revelations. “What sort of weapon can you use to free Juliana Tiades?”

  Eros’s face grew less bright. “I cannot help with that. I can save her, not free her.”

  Daphne chewed on her lip. “I’m not getting that distinction; sorry.”

  “I can’t help destroy the Djinn,” Eros explained. “That must happen first, for otherwise Juliana cannot go where my greatest power lies, my greatest weapon, and that is her only hope to live a full and immortal life.”

  Daphne asked, “What is this weapon, Eros? I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled, a warm, genuine expression. “I have an enchanted pool at my palace on Olympus. I believe that Juliana, if we lead her into that pool, will live because of the love she shares with Ari. That the two of them, they must bathe together, and allow that power to join them for eternity.”

  “Why can’t we take them there now?” Daphne asked, already imagining how easy it would be to convey them. “Why can’t she go with Layla inside of her? Might that not destroy the Djinn within her?”

  Eros bowed his head. “It cannot be done. The demon would poison the pool, make its waters toxic, and that, in turn, would obliterate love from the world. Drastic, vile consequences.”

  “All right,” Leonidas said resolutely. “We will do our work. I presume that your, uh . . . your aunt knows how to reach you?”

  Daphne leaned up onto her toes and kissed Leo’s cheek with a giggle. “You funny man, we don’t need a cell phone to reach Olympus.” She held up her pinky. “You’ve got me and all the stardust in this little finger.”

  Leo grinned back. “Of course, my lady. How could I ever forget your ability to toss any and all of us through the heavens.” He held her close, brushing a kiss against her own cheek. “As always, your power enchants me thoroughly.”

  Warm, masculine laughter rang out, then a hearty, “I approve.”

  They both looked at Eros, who was still smiling when he vanished from the room.

  Chapter 36

  Juliana stared up at the sixteen- foot-high ceiling of the main entry to the Angel plantation, smiling in amazement. “It looks nearly the same,” she declared, reaching out to touch the gleaming, polished stair rail. The sweeping steps led up to a landing where a tall portrait hung of Demitri Angel himself. She laughed, pointing, “And there’s Demitri!”

  Ari growled low in his throat, taking her arm. “Come on, darling. Shay’s got us a room upstairs on the third floor.”

  He guided her up the stairs as Straton and Kalias came in the main entryway, carrying supplies across their shoulders. River followed, bearing Spartan weaponry—what looked to be a pair of bronze shields. Emma was right beside him, toting several long spears, a sight that made Jules grin as she paused on the steps to watch the crew in action. Perhaps she, too, would be given the opportunity to handle such epic weaponry.

  Ari brushed his lips against her ear. “Like what you see there?”

  She glanced at him. “Do you use such shields, as well? Fighting as you did in the old days?”

  He slipped an arm around her, walking her up the stairs. “Leonidas is old school. Our spears bear fire from the River Styx; the arrows carry elixirs that are particularly lethal to demons. Sure, we’ll handle a Kalashnikov or an M16 now and then, but mostly we do it the commander’s way. Which has always been the best.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, taking another few steps; then she paused. “Aristos, would such weapons work against Caesar Vaella? If we can find him?”

  “I’d planned to use them when I was tailing him before. Problem is, we haven’t seen or heard from him since your death. . . .” Ari caught himself, coughing. “Since, you know, back in the day.”

  “But you believe the curse can still be broken. Even if we can’t locate him?”

  Ari stroked her hair. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But Mace and the Shades? These guys understand this stuff even better than we do, which is saying a lot. If there’s an answer, it’s got to be down in their library.”

  “Can we go there now? Is that where Mason is?”

  “Might be,” he said. “But I’m worried about you. I think you need rest.”

  She shook her head firmly. “No, Aristos. I want to fight. Take me to Mason and this cellar, please. Tonight, not later.”

  Mason would be damned if Layla won this time. Then again, that was a pretty bad way to put it, he thought, kicking his father’s antique desk in frustration. To learn that there was a curse on his sister, his cousins—Juliana herself—that had given Layla the opportunity to come after those he loved? Again?

  It was like the moment in the movies, the proverbial “now
it’s personal” one. Kinda like Ripley when Newt gets taken by the alien queen. On behalf of all his family and friends he felt like shouting, “Get away from her, you bitch!”

  Reaching into one of the tall bookcases, he retrieved their best volumes on family curses. It had critical info about generational curses—which this really wasn’t, since Caesar Vaella hadn’t invoked the thing on Juliana’s descendants. Oh, no, the fuckball had marked all of her female relatives.

  It was a problem that prophetesses came by naturally because they spoke life. Their very words were life—they came from God himself. That meant that spirits of darkness waged death against them, tried to strangle and smother them so that they couldn’t speak that life.

  Flipping through the book, he sat down in his father’s creaky old chair—and he would always think of it as Daddy’s desk and chair, no matter how many years passed.

  “Thought I’d find you here,” Nikos said, his deep voice filled with concern. “I think you need rest. Jamie told me you never slept last night, that you—”

  Mace cut him off. “I’m not kicking back, not now.” He held the book up. “There’s a curse on all the women in my family; Juliana’s only got a few days left before that demon has full control. . . .” Mason stood, striding toward Nikos. “And you are in danger because of her. She saw how I feel about you, Nik. She wouldn’t have masqueraded as me, not if she hadn’t glimpsed my thoughts . . . and feelings.”

  Nik stared down at him. “Your feelings?” he asked, and before Mace could move, the guy reached out and touched his jaw. Just a quick gesture, but one that contained vast amounts of tenderness. Mace’s face burned, even as Nikos withdrew that hand. “Are you saying that you care for me?”

  “Nikos, you know I have feelings for you,” Mace said, unsure why Nik could possibly think otherwise.

  “Of friendship.”

  Mason’s face burned as he admitted, “A lot, lot deeper than that, Nik.”

  “But you said I mean nothing to you.”