Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Teaser chapter

Praise for the Novels of Deidre Knight

Red Demon

“Excellent . . . urban fantasy with a terrific premise. . . . Fans will need to set aside time as this is a one-sitting red-eye special.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“A wonderful addition to the Gods of Midnight series and I hope that another installment isn’t far away.”

—Romance Junkies

“Knight does her usual terrific job building a tale of lost love, loyalty, and danger in this latest Gods of Midnight novel.”

—Romantic Times

Red Kiss

“Sensual, action-packed, steaming hot. . . . Filled with demons, Gods, immortal warriors, and unique world building, Red Kiss will leave you begging for more.”

—Armchair Interviews

“Ms. Knight did a wonderful job blending the old-world sensibilities with the modern age.”

—Eye on Romance

“Breathes life into some of history’s most amazing men . . . and spins a captivating web of honor, deceit, and the overwhelming power of love.”

—Darque Reviews

“A sensational story that packs a ton of heat, action, and fantasy into its pages, Red Kiss is an enthralling read you just can’t miss!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“A must read for any romantic at heart.”

—TwoLips Reviews

“The women are strong, and the men are hot! Deidre Knight really knows how to steam up a cold night.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

“A terrific tale that once again will have readers believing in the Knight world, where Gods and immortals intervene in the lives of expendable humans.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Action-packed and passion-filled . . . definitely a must read!”

—Fresh Fiction

“Deidre Knight has outdone herself with Red Kiss, a novel that will rest on our keeper shelf.”

—Single Titles (5 stars)

“Knight’s expertise at combining sensuality and pulse-pounding action is on full display. Make room for another ‘Knight’ on your keeper shelf.”

—Romantic Times (4 stars)

Red Fire

“Knight expertly blends scorching passion, gritty danger, and a wildly creative plot in Red Fire, the first in an edgy new paranormal series.”

—Chicago Tribune

“Exciting . . . a fantastic series.”

—Romance Junkies

“An incredible tale populated by only the most incredible characters . . . fast-paced, emotional, riveting. . . . I promise you’ll love it!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“What an exciting beginning to this new Gods of Midnight series! Very well-done by the talented Deidre Knight. I loved it!”

—Fresh Fiction

“Scorching hot, with a pace that never lets up.”

—New York Times Bestselling Author Christina Dodd

“White-hot immortal warriors, heart-pounding romance, and thrilling action. It doesn’t get any better than this!”

—New York Times Bestselling Author Gena Showalter

“Deidre Knight has created a fascinating world of gods, demons, and immortal warriors. I can’t wait for more!”

—New York Times Bestselling Author Angela Knight

“Hot Gates, hot men, myth, and magic in modern day. . . . Sign me up for more Gods of Midnight!”

—Jessica Andersen

“A fantastic and riveting new voice in paranormal fiction.”

—New York Times Bestselling Author

Karen Marie Moning

Parallel Desire

“Wonderful book . . . outstanding series.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Twists, turns . . . and scintillating romance.”

—ParaNormal Romance

Parallel Seduction

“Intriguing. . . . There’s never a dull moment in this terrific series!”

—Romantic Times

“Deep emotion, fast-paced action, characters who come alive, and a plot full of surprises.”

—Romance Reviews Today

Parallel Heat

“Powerfully sensual and mind-blowing . . . a hot romance . . . a great paranormal.”

—Romance: B(u)y the Book

“Once again Knight explodes with another compelling page-turner . . . one heck of a riveting sensual ride.”

—The Best Reviews

Parallel Attraction

“This book swept me off my feet. A fantastically original, smart, and sexy adventure.”

—National Bestselling Author Susan Grant

“At times humorous, at others heart-wrenching, but always compelling.”

—New York Times Bestselling Author Gena Showalter

ALSO BY DEIDRE KNIGHT

Gods of Midnight

Red Demon

Red Fire

Red Kiss

The Midnight Warriors

Parallel Attraction

Parallel Heat

Parallel Seduction

Parallel Desire

SIGNET ECLIPSE

Published by New American Library, a division of

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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, April 2011

eISBN : 978-1-101-51363-7

Copyright © Deidre Knight, 2011

All rights reserved

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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http://us.penguingroup.com

This book is dedicated to Eleanor Knight, my mother,

for inspiring and encouraging me to be a writer.

May I give the same gift to others every day.

And also to Angela Zoltners, who has been part

of this journey from the very beginning.

You are truly the sister of my heart, dear friend.

“A little of Leonidas lies in the fact that I can go where I like and write what I like. He contributed to set us free.”

—William Golding, The Hot Gates

“Forward, sons of the Greeks, liberate the fatherland, liberate your children, your women, the temples of your ancestral gods, the graves of your forebears: this is the battle for everything.”

—Aeschylus

Prologue

More than twenty-five hundred years ago there was a land where the bravest, most valiant warriors were hammered like bronze, forged into human weapons by years of rigorous training and sacrifice. These men were noble, heroic, and stalwart; they would willingly give their lives for their homeland and face down even the most terrifying enemy. Their home, called Sparta, lay nestled deep in the rocky heart of ancient Greece. Its people were private and plainspoken, their lives austere. The men made a life of war, always eager for the next battle.

Then there arose a threat of epic proportions: a Persian force numbering in the hundreds of thousands. The Spartans’ Greek neighbors to the north reported that this Persian war machine had trampled entire villages, left forests devastated, the land ravaged and scorched, and that their ranks numbered more than the stars in heaven. Unbeknownst to these mortal soldiers, a much more sinister force stood behind the enemy’s massacres. Djinn demons drove the bloodlust of the Persian forces and influenced the outcome of the battles on their own quest to carry darkness into the souls of mankind.

When this invading Persian army came, they seemed invincible. The Greek forces allied against them, but could not halt their advances. The Greeks were desperate for more time to plan and strategize since it was their only hope of stopping the Persian hordes. One man, King Leonidas of Sparta, announced that he would provide the necessary delay—that he would lead his three hundred most elite officers to make their stand against the invaders at the narrow spit of land known as the Hot Gates.

Thermopylae.

This pass, an opening wide enough to accommodate only a few men fighting side by side, would be the stage. There Leonidas and his Spartans would bottle up the Persian forces, using the Gates themselves as an advantage to limit the power of the Persians. They would fight to the last man in order to restrain the enemy for as long as they could—even until the very last Spartan lay dead. These three hundred would give up their lives for Sparta and Greece, for duty and loyalty, for homeland and family. And for a hero’s passage to heavenly Elysium.

And so it was that for three sweltering August days this courageous, stubborn king fought alongside his crimson-cloaked warriors. Leonidas made no distinctions among them. All were soldiers, equal in battle, and all would drink from the cup of death as the gods decreed. Beside him, his senior captain, Ajax Petrakos, led charge after charge. Together they blocked the pass, warring with swords, shields, and eventually nothing but their bare hands.

The king and his soldiers never relented, never backed down, and on the third day, when the burning sun began to slide behind the mountains that marked the pass, only a handful of Spartans remained standing. It was then that the final moments came, and one by one the last of these Spartan warriors, inseparable in life, fell together in death. With their passing the battle was lost, but their Spartan duty was fulfilled.

Captain Petrakos was the first to awake facing the River Styx, that boundary between mortal life and the mystery beyond. Next his servant Kassandros materialized beside him, the two linked together in death as they had been in life. One by one, other Spartans appeared out of the mist: Ajax’s brothers, Kalias and Aristos, then Nikos and his fellow warrior Straton. And finally their beloved King Leonidas, battered, broken, and mutilated from battle, yet standing tall among their ranks. But an unexpected being also emerged from the mist to stand beside their king. One beyond the warriors’ imaginings. Before them stood a towering golden god wearing a proud smile upon his face. It was none other than Ares, the lord of all Spartan soldiers, their god of war.

Ares had come to present an offer, one final choice, as the seven warriors stood at this place between life and death. They could lay down their swords and move on to Elysium and the afterlife that awaited them, or they could turn back to the world, take up their arms once more, and become immortal protectors of mankind for eternity.

They would fight every form of evil that threatened humanity, becoming battlers of demons and fighters of ageless wars. They would serve under Ares, in the name of mankind. With the deity’s offer, these warriors could ensure safety for their families, for Sparta, and for the sons and daughters of Sparta for centuries to come. In their immortal form, each man would possess abilities akin to those of the gods. They would be stronger than before and in the heat of battle could assume the form of hawks, with the flight, lethality, and grace of these warrior birds. They would become dark angels, saviors of the night.

The will of warriors was in their blood and in their souls, and they knew in their hearts that it was a noble quest. But it was a noble quest for a capricious god. Still, they would have followed their king to the ends of the earth, to Hades itself if he asked it of them. And when they looked into his wise eyes, they knew his decision had already been made.

Leonidas did not beseech them; the choice lay with each man alone. But these were men born and bred to fight for the glory of war. Their duty, honor, and love for one another bound the warriors in unspoken agreement. One by one, each of the seven men drank from the River Styx, binding their immortality and their vow.

There was no time for second thoughts and no place for regrets. The seven Spartans, now the immortal protectors of all mankind, turned away from what might have been and bowed down before the voice of war.

Chapter 1

The brand-new Mustang convertible was a thing of beauty, all sleek and shiny and black. Which didn’t begin to cover the way the vehicle drove, especially when Leonidas opened up the engine, gunning along the two-lane blacktop that led to his farm on the outskirts of Savannah. The car clearly possessed enough horsepower under its hood to power a small third-world country.

Well, perhaps that stretched the truth, but it felt that way to Leo, a man who was pushing twenty-six hundred years old, who’d grown to physical maturity astride a real horse—and had witnessed the advent of steam and electricity and nuclear power. He was also a man who rarely indulged in modern luxury or vanity, and who still preferred his stallion Virtue to any motor vehicle.

Yes, the sports car was a true aberration for someone as . . . well, Spartan as himself, but Leo still beamed with pride, and turned onto the driveway of his Savannah home. As he pulled up in front of the compound, he found Jamie Angel on the parking pad, busy washing his pickup truck. He turned, hose and sponge in hand, then dropped everything—including his jaw—as Leo parked the sports car.

By the time Leo climbed out of the driver’s seat, Jamie was already circling the vehicle. He whistled low in appreciation. “Damn, sir, you’ve truly outdone yourself!” he announced. “You could land a couple dozen women in the sack with this ride. As if rocking the kingship wasn’t enough . . .” Jamie lifted one highly suggestive eyebrow.

Leo coughed into his hand. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” he argued, but Jamie was already too busy sliding into the passenger seat to hear any objection.

Right then Ajax, ever Leonidas’s closest confidant among the cadre, came barreling down the front steps of the house, his dark eyes wide with shock. “Gods of Olympus!” He whistled—at least as loudly as Jamie had. “You actually bought something for yourself? Something expensive and indulgent and . . . flashy? Are you becoming slack in your old age?”

Hardly a fair assessment considering Leo still drank his wine cut with water, usually from a wooden bowl. He even disavowed his own garden tub because he feared it would make him too soft. And Jax had the gall to actually smirk at him, gloating with undisguised satisfaction.

“Soft, that’s what I’d call this kind of thing,” Jax pronounced.

Only one comeback popped into Leo’s brain. And “impulse purchase” wouldn’t do anything to restore his credibility as an austere Spartan.

So Leo decided to do what he felt like for once; he shoved both hands in the pockets of his black combat pants and admired the Mustang right along with Jax. After a silent moment of shared adoration, Ajax looked up, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Midlife crisis car, huh? Never saw it coming. Especially not from you, Commander.”

Leo’s jaw ticked. “I’m immortal,” he said in an arch tone, “which makes a midlife crisis most pointedly impossible.”

“Or long overdue,” Jamie volunteered from where he still sat inside the car, testing out buttons and examining the console. “Hell, it’s downright understandable, King Leonidas, so don’t feel too bad. We’ve all been dumped before, sir,” Jamie said sympathetically. “Well, I haven’t, of course. That would mean I’d actually kept a steady girl at some point—”

“You’re married, you pousti,” Jax admonished his brother-in-law.

“Newlywed,” Jamie corrected, “but I still remember having my heart put through the proverbial ringer now and again.” He opened the glove compartment, continuing his inspection as he rambled. “Muscle cars are the Southern man’s alter ego. Our solace in the face of heartbreak, our dick when we need to get laid.”

Leo opened his mouth, sputtering. “That’s not what I—”

“You’ve lived here a year now, sir!” Jamie laughed, waving him off. “We’ll claim ya.”

Leo’s face burned. Perhaps his feelings for Daphne had finally caused him to do something foolish and impetuous. Perhaps it was just as Jamie had intimated, and Leo’s ancient male ego was undergoing some sort of reaction to being jilted, avoided, and . . . gods above, “dumped” by their Oracle. More than two months had passed without a sign of her. But he’d not shared that fact with any of their crew, not even Ajax, so what did Jamie even know?

Leo rolled the new car key in his palm. “I . . . found it to be a most elegant vehicle.”

“You found it on the south side of town at Jerry Tice’s dealership, going completely out of your way,” Jax countered. “Doing something that is entirely atypical for you—laying down big money on a luxurious indulgence. You miss her. Period.”

Leo pressed a hand to his suddenly pounding head. “It’s not about . . . her.”

“Good thing,” Jamie said cheerily, “’cause you’re sure gonna get you some with a sweet ride like this one.”

Ajax clapped a big hand on Leonidas’s shoulder. “It is about her, and we all realize she’s not been back in months. So come on, Old Man. Let’s take this pretty thing for a test drive and get your mind off Daphne for once.”

Ajax strode to the open passenger side door, and with a jerk of his thumb, indicated the backseat. “Move it,” he ordered Jamie. “I’m riding shotgun.”

They’d driven a good fifteen miles, the spring afternoon warm and sultry enough that Leo had kept the convertible top down. The wind spiked through his bristling short curls; the sun warmed his bearded face. But neither the miles, nor the thrilling power of his new Mustang did the job Ajax had suggested.

Leonidas still thought about her.

About why she’d left him waiting without explanation, for months on end this time.

He even considered seeking counsel from Jamie and Ajax, but it was too hard to talk over the rushing wind and country music that Jamie had selected on the radio.

“Hey! Pull over up there.” Jamie pointed to a country store on the right-hand side of the road. “Let’s get some boiled peanuts. Sunny loves ’em.” Sunny was Jamie’s new wife, and although he’d been slow to settle down, Jamie had embraced marriage with the same vigor he applied to his demon hunting.

Leo turned onto the gravel driveway of the store, and up beside a gas pump. Over in the grass stood a black-bellied pot with a hand-written sign that said, HOT BOILED PEANUTS BY THE BAG.

“It’ll just take me a second,” Jamie told them. “I’ll get some for all of us.”

Leo saw nothing to recommend the Southern delicacy, which to him was nothing more than a mushy, salty mess, but Jamie climbed out of the car before Leo could object.

Jax immediately turned to interrogate him. “Now that he’s gone, talk.”

Leo stared back at his friend, a man who had fought beside him and been loyal for centuries upon centuries. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Jax scowled. “Look, last year when I was losing it, waiting for Shay . . . no longer in my right mind, you gave me some tough truth. Remember that vision? The one you forced on me?”

Leonidas turned away; he wasn’t going to have this particular conversation, not now.

Ajax leaned closer. “If anyone knows Daphne—I mean, anyone other than you,” he added in a lowered voice, “it’s me. I was the only one who could see her for more than two thousand years. So, let me tell you something, Leonidas. She loves you. Desperately. And now you tell me something . . . Why’d she leave you like this? Did you two fight? Disagree about commitment? What?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Leo traced his fingertips along the steering wheel, watching Jamie as he chatted with the old man who was selling peanuts. “You know that we had our ups and downs before admitting our feelings to each other. But she told me she wouldn’t stay away anymore, yet despite that promise, she’s not returned to me in months. It’s hard enough to court any female, but one with the god of war as a brother . . .”

Ajax growled his disgust. “Ares is a full-on bastard. You and I both know exactly what he’s capable of.”

Leo turned to him in alarm. “Do you think he might have harmed Daphne? Is that your meaning?” His mind reeled with possibilities: Daphne held captive at Ares’s palace; Daphne imprisoned somewhere far worse.

He’d been so convinced that Daphne’s feelings for him had wavered, he’d not once considered the possibility that Ares might have hurt her. She seemed so strong, and was a demigoddess herself, but that didn’t mean she was invulnerable. What had he been thinking? All this time he’d been nursing his wounded ego, and she might have needed his protection. “I’ll never forgive myself if she’s been harmed in any way.”

“No, no,” Jax rushed to reassure him. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just . . . Ares can be very convincing. That’s all. Perhaps he threatened her . . . or threatened her about you. Maybe that’s why she’s stayed away.”

Behind them, a rumbling car came rolling up, the engine old and loud. Leo glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a dusty pickup, but instead could only blink in shock. A hot pink vintage car idled by, one with massive fins and fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview.

But, he barely saw any of that. He was blind to everything except the beautiful female behind the wheel, her black hair spiking in every possible direction . . . highlighted with cobalt blue streaks.

“Is that . . . ?” Ajax leaned forward, hand on Leo’s forearm. “I mean, did she overhear us somehow?”

“Let’s pray not.” Leonidas felt his face burn beneath his beard. Knowing Daphne, she might have been watching all along, invisible to the lot of them, but not missing a single word. Which was a downright mortifying thought when Leo considered the accusations of midlife crisis, bruised male ego, and pitifully broken heart that Jax and Jamie had been bandying about for the past hour.

“Well, I hope she’s at least going to stop,” Jax continued, as Daphne’s car slowed, passing them. “And what in Hades is she driving? Is that an old Plymouth? Looks like a Delta Eight-Eight.”

She cruised all the way past, an impish smile on her petite face, and that was when Leo saw the make and model of her car. It was a Delphi Eight-Eight.

“No, Ajax, they never made a car quite like that one.”

Or a woman.

And plastered on the back end of that singular car, the only one that had never rolled out of any assembly line, on any planet, was something that gave Leo’s heart its only real hope in months. Right next to a long, gleaming fin, was a bumper sticker that read: I HEART MY SPARTAN.

Daphne planted both her booted feet on the gravel and leaned against her car, determined to seem as seductive and affecting as possible, anything to distract Leo from the reality of how long she’d stayed away this time. He was undoubtedly furious with her: She’d promised to stay in his life and then vanished on him completely. What he never would believe was that she’d done so out of devoted love for him—she could see it in his dark brown eyes.

Leonidas looked not a little bit dangerous leaning against that new Mustang convertible. He was downright smoldering, in fact. And she would do anything to make him stare at her with love in his eyes once again.

Reclining against the hot pink side of her car, she crossed one thigh-high leather boot over the other. Her miniskirt rode upward, shockingly high, and her faded Kate Bush T-shirt rode even higher above her midriff. Seduction, Oracle style.

Leonidas pushed off from the Mustang slowly, with the poised ferocity of a panther. Without looking back at Ajax or Jamie, it was almost as if he sailed in her direction, soundless, predatory.

Oh, Leo, don’t be so furious! That’s what she wanted to cry out, and run toward him, flinging herself into his arms.

Yes, she’d stayed gone too long, so many months, but she’d had her reasons—surely he should know that she’d only remain away if there were a very compelling reason to do so.

When he reached her side, he glanced back briefly at Ajax, who was sitting in the front seat of that shiny new car. Leonidas hurled the keys like a spear toward his warrior. “Drive home,” he commanded with a growl. “Now.”

And then he turned the full force of that attention right on her. Wordlessly he moved closer, his gaze flicking up and down her body with a possessive passion she’d never experienced from him before. It was a heat born of rage, and heartache, and confusion.

“Leonidas . . . please,” she began softly, but he cut her off by pressing his body right up against hers, pinning her between his body and the door of the car.

She trembled at the intimacy, and even more at the raw fury she glimpsed in his dark brown eyes. “At least let me explain,” she whispered.

“Why you stayed away? Why you left me again, knowing what it would do to me?” He framed first one hand, then the other about her waist. “The time for talking is over between us. Over months ago, wasn’t it, my lady? I have other . . . things in mind now that you’ve returned. I need more than words this time.”

She stared up at him through lowered lashes, and as angry as he was, she was certain he’d never been quite so handsome before. Or stared at her with quite as much seduction in his eyes. “Leonidas, darling . . . not here. I need to be alone with you.”

He reached a hand and ran his fingers through her hair. “Still blue, these streaks. Still for me?”

“Your favorite color, always for you.”

He fanned a few crimson strands over his fingertips, too, staring at them as if for the first time. “And the red . . . still for Spartans?”

“For my beloved king. For you, my Leonidas.” She leaned forward, pressing her mouth against his, not bothering to censor her desires. “I need you. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

He captured her mouth in a hard kiss, pushing his body against hers, owning her. He slid one hand down her thigh, toying with the zipper of her tall leather boot, working his fingertips beneath the rough material until his hand was stroking her bare skin.

Then he broke the kiss, his mouth still hovering against hers. “You’re right,” he whispered harshly. “We cannot do this here . . . I don’t have enough control over myself.” He slid a hand into the front pocket of her miniskirt, retrieving her car keys. “But let us get one thing straight.” He held up the old key in front of her eyes. “I’m driving. From now on, for the rest of this ‘visit’? I call all the shots, starting right now.”

Chapter 2

Leonidas’s “calling the shots,” it turned out, involved him driving them back to the compound at a recklessly high speed, then leading Daphne down to the pasture in search of his horse. He wanted to take her riding in the far fields, away from the madness of the big house. She managed a quick flick of her fingertips, a surge of supernatural power that instantly had her wearing a more appropriate outfit for riding: faded blue jeans instead of the miniskirt.

Leo didn’t even seem to notice. He all but dragged her through the grass, squeezing her hand tight in his own as they made their way across the pasture. His harsh hold on her would have smarted—as would his rough treatment of her, so different from his usual deference and gentle respect. Except his atypical behavior, and the pain in his dark eyes, confirmed one thing: she’d hurt him terribly this time, staying gone for so long. He didn’t know, couldn’t understand her reasons or all that their separation had cost her, as well.

And so, in a silence that matched his own intense one, she waited as he located his stallion. She stood patiently as he mounted the horse with swift, youthful grace; she acquiesced when he swung her upward, sliding her onto the horse’s back just in front of him.

All of this, Leo did mutely. Not that he was ever a man of many words—he was one of the quietest males she’d ever encountered. In this particular instance, however, the blazing silence between them made Daphne’s eyes tear up. But that reaction lasted only one moment. In the next, Leo drew her close between his legs, the strong muscles of his thighs gripping her own.

He was as he’d been at the country store, possessing, hungry for her with a heat that transcended words or propriety. It was a kind of raw, hushed honesty that never should have surprised her, not coming from Leonidas—a man who spoke volumes without uttering a syllable.

Still, as Leo murmured to his horse, Virtue, and they began a gentle gait that would take them much farther away from the house, her heart began to beat faster inside her chest. He slid a snug hand over her belly, securing her tightly between his thighs, and all the tension between them changed like a sudden, unexpected spring storm. His fury and silence gained focus and energy, and heat swept from the crown of her head all the way into her chest.

He meant to take her. Out here, in the field, away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of the compound, he finally planned to claim her. Completely. That blush in her cheeks heightened sharply—right as he intentionally pushed his hips against hers, bringing her even closer to his groin.

And it wasn’t as if he meant to cuddle or charm her, getting close enough that she could feel his heartbeat reverberate inside her own body. No, Leo was behaving as threateningly seductive and physical as a cobra. Clearly he meant to wind and wrap his supple, very masculine body about hers until she whimpered and moaned. Until she glimpsed floating stars, until she lost herself in him.

Leo’s broad chest pressed against her much smaller back; his thick arms tightened about her torso. The two of them tangled together: one body, one breath, one heartbeat. She was drowning in that embrace, losing her breath, her sanity. He pulled her even closer, strong forearms around her lower waist, his mouth against her nape.

Leonidas. King of the Cobras.

Somehow, that seemed like a perfect title for her beloved at the moment. Or, perhaps his own leonine name was most accurate of all, and he planned to devour her, consume her whole—lick by lick, caress by caress, making a fine meal of her.

It was a tantalizingly slow exploration, with his true urgency more than obvious, as his fingers found the snap of her jeans and worked it open. Really, it was amazing that he could keep the reins in his grasp at all, given how his callused hands roamed over her body, feeling every inch of her that he could possibly reach. They might as well have been tumbling in the open, empty field because his attention was focused solely on her, not on guiding Virtue.

She nearly burst out laughing at the irony in that noble name. Perhaps Leo should call her “Sin”? Or even better, “Wanton” to complete the scenario.

“Virtue seems of little interest to you,” she commented, barely managing to keep a straight face. “You neglect him in favor of me.”

“There is greater virtue in tasting you, my lady, than attending to my mount. Although,” he added lazily, “mounting is certainly of keen interest to me at the moment.”

She flushed at the innuendo, visualizing Leonidas lying with her in the field, his heavy, solid body atop her own. Mounting . . . ah, it was a wicked, sublime image. They’d never come that close to making love before, and she flushed at the thought. His mighty body nude in the grass; he would be splendid, natural as he claimed her in the open meadow.

“Yes,” she half moaned, the word escaping before she could stop it.

Yes, I want you atop me. Yes, I want to feel you between my legs, deep inside me. To hold you in my very center until we can only inhale each other’s souls and thoughts and desires.

She whimpered just imagining it. “Ah, please, Leonidas . . . yes.”

“So you’re ready for me to take you, my Daphne? Right here in the open, where any of my warriors might see?” He thumbed the metal zipper of her jeans suggestively. “Where the Highest God himself would certainly spy us during such a joining?” He growled a low exhalation against her nape and half whispered, “My lady, Daphne, many lonely nights I’ve imagined holding you just that way, with no barriers at all between our bodies.”

Her eyes slid shut, and she bit back the words that tumbled to mind: begging words, pleading words. Cries of desperation and desire that she’d been swallowing for months now—and for all the thousand years that she’d watched him, invisible and unknown to the man she loved in silence.

He clearly sensed her need and frustration. Bending forward, he brushed his mouth along her cheek, nuzzling her wavy hair out of the way. His warm lips made contact with that sensitive skin, and she could feel the roughness of his scarred lower lip. The intimacy caused her body to tighten, and she trembled slightly.

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 sank 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.

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.

Then she stared down at him again, studying the way Leo’s long, dark lashes lay against his weathered cheeks. His eyes had always been the most erotic and sexy aspect of his appearance, sometimes hooded and full of natural sensuality—other times so sharply intelligent and filled with suggestion that she was aroused just by gazing up at him. She loved everything about Leo’s appearance, even the short-trimmed beard along his jaw and the way it curled slightly like the hair atop his head. It was strange, to watch that beard faintly change hues before her very eyes, a few strands already silvering. She wondered if the bracketing lines she noticed at the edges of his lips had always been there, concealed by the beard, or if they too were part of Ares’s handiwork.

She pressed her lips against that mouth again, savoring the warm, vital feel of it. With her fingertips, she outlined the familiar length of his aquiline nose, which had always been somewhat inelegant because of how many times it had been broken in battle. But now, as she kissed him and felt the soft exhalation of his breath, she blinked back tears knowing that soon—any day, perhaps—she might never see his imperfect nose again. Or touch him, feel his lips against hers.

Closing her eyes, she kissed his hooked nose—right on the awkward bump in the middle—then fluttered soft kisses down to his lips. He moaned low, stirring beneath her, and one sleepy hand came about her waist, securing her atop him before she could move.

“What’re you doing atop me, my lady?” he asked, his voice rough and groggy. He sounded still half-unconscious, even as his body sprang to life beneath hers. Immediately she felt him grow hard against her belly.

“My silly king, did you think to play Sleeping Beauty?” she teased, even though her heart was heavy.

Leo pulled her all the way down atop his chest, burrowing his face against the crown of her head. “You smell nice. Peaches . . . always like peaches,” he observed drowsily. “That’s why I planted a grove of them in the side pasture . . . so I’d always sense you near me.” He inhaled her scent again, and she never wanted the moment to end. She wished to stay here, suspended in reality—Leo so sleepy and dreamily romantic, the truth obviously forgotten for one heartbreaking moment.

He grunted, shifting beneath her stiffly. “I feel as if I’ve been drugged . . . or have taken a great blow to the head. And why are my shoulders so very sore?” He tried to sit up, but Daphne pressed a staying palm against his chest.

“Not so fast, my lord,” she cautioned, urging him to lie back down. “You should take it a little more slowly.”

“What happened? My whole body aches. . . . I feel as if I’ve battled for days.” He glanced about the room in confusion. “We were in the meadow . . . weren’t we? How did we come to be in my study?”

She rubbed her thumb against his bearded jaw, soothing him. “You must rest, darling. You’re not feeling well.”

He gave her a bleary-eyed glance, and then gazed out of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room. “It’s almost nightfall. I’ve lost time.”

She sat up, poised on the edge of the sofa and stared into her beloved’s dark eyes. “My brother came to us. Do you not remember?”

Leo’s head sank heavily into the pillows. “Bastard. Of course, now I recall.” Then he laughed darkly. “Don’t worry. He’s not made me senile just yet. But he worked dark magic on my body . . . I feel horribly hung over. And that cloak of his has left my shoulders bloody sore.”

“Let me give you a massage.” She tried to urge him to roll over, but he caught both of her wrists in one hand.

He leveled her with a serious stare. “We must talk, Daphne. About all your brother’s revelations in the field.”

“First, let me tend to you. I know that you’re in pain.” She babbled quickly, hoping that Leo wouldn’t ask her the one question he poised next.

Softly he said, “You knew about Ares’s plans for me?”

So he did remember everything—including her brother’s statement that she’d kept the truth a secret.

He kept her wrists in his hands, and for one long moment rubbed his thumbs across the pulse points. “Your heart is racing, I can feel it.” He fixed her with a weighty stare. “Daphne, we’ve never concealed anything from each other before.”

She sighed, staring at her lap. “I wanted to believe he would change his mind,” she admitted quietly.

“How long did you know?”

She closed her eyes, bracing for his reaction. “Months, several.”

“How many months?” His tone was chilly and he squeezed her wrists in his hands.

She shook her head, blinking at tears. “I don’t know . . . six or so? Since October.”

Leo released his hold on her sharply. “Six long months and yet you said nothing?” His ordinarily quiet voice grew even softer, lethally so. His gaze became desperate, beseeching. Looking into his eyes was like staring into a sweltering furnace, knowing fully that if you moved any closer, you might be consumed and turned to ash. “The few times you’ve come to me, you should’ve warned me, given me a fighting chance. Why would you keep Ares’s secret? Why would you betray me this way?”

“Leo! How can you even say that?” She grasped for his hands, but he yanked them out of her reach.

He shook his head. “If you’d told me the truth, perhaps I’d have been given an advantage—not been overrun by your foul brother.” The words spilled out of him, harsher than any she’d ever heard him use before. He delivered the accusations without ever raising his voice, which only made them all the more painful.

She could only look away, feeling as betrayed as he claimed to be. Every choice, every decision regarding Ares had been to safeguard her king.

With a jerk, she disengaged her body from his, bounding to her feet. She began pacing the hardwood floor, back and forth, agitated. “If you think me capable of such treachery, I can’t imagine how we could ever have a future together.” She strode to the far side of his study, staring out the window at the setting sun. She turned back to face him. “You obviously don’t know my heart if you’d believe me disloyal and deceiving.”

His dark eyes filled with bleakness, a stark pain she’d never seen in his expression before. He looked up at her suddenly. “Were you protecting him? Was that it?”

Daphne stared at him, aghast. Speechless. And Leo didn’t rush to fill the silence.

“I honestly cannot believe that you’d even suggest such a thing. That I’d be in league with Ares or try and . . . that I’d choose him over you.”

Leo gave a single nod. “I grant that it was a ridiculous accusation. I’m simply trying to understand why you’d have kept the truth from the man you love.”

“I do love you!” Daphne stifled a sob, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm. She wished to hide there, to fade to nothing—be removed from her beloved’s sight. “You know how much I love you,” she moaned.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “I do.”

And then he said nothing more. He simply sat there on the sofa, watching her, waiting for some explanation of her rationale during the past months. Never could he understand the level of control and fear her brother had exercised over her, throughout her immortal years. She knew more than anyone ever could exactly what Ares was capable of.

She held her hands out imploringly. “I was protecting you. Ares might have sped up the process if I’d warned you. And you’ve stayed young! Until today, you’ve been as youthful as ever. Why should I have troubled you or placed you in any greater danger?”

Leo stood, clasping her by the shoulders. “But I have aged, you know it. You’ve noticed, during these recent months.”

She said nothing, blinking back tears.

He squeezed her shoulders, his touch gentle again, loving. “Have you seen?” His hushed voice was like the low rumble of a distant, very threatening storm.

She had no idea how to answer, not without making matters far worse. She also knew that Leo, like any man, had his moments of vanity.

“And so you have.” His tone was grim, resolved. “As I said, perhaps if you’d warned me, the progression might have been stopped or slowed.”

She gaped at him, teary-eyed, feeling as if he’d just slapped her. This man whom she had loved for so long, a paragon of calm strength and quiet patience, had never lashed out at her or been cruel. Until now.

“Well, it seems that I’ve failed you in every regard, my lord,” she said stiffly, trying to gain control of her quavering voice. She moved away from him and began summoning her power. She couldn’t stay, had to find higher, safer ground—emotionally. Leo believed that she’d betrayed him, and perhaps he was correct. Perhaps her actions had been unforgiveable.

Leo strode after her, his heavy footsteps swift and certain behind her. “I’m sorry for speaking so callously. I simply want to understand.” He took hold of her arm, forcing her to face him again. He searched her face, apology and regret in his almost black eyes. He opened his mouth and then closed it, squeezing her arm in reassurance. “I . . . I should not . . . I did not mean to say . . .”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Oh, but you did. Or you wouldn’t have said it, would you? And you’re right. I should’ve done more, told you or warned you. But I’m not like you, Leonidas of Sparta. I’m no brave warrior . . . when it comes to the thought of losing you, I’m a coward.”

She lifted her hands, preparing to teleport, but Leo lunged toward her. “No!” he howled. “Don’t leave, no!”

But it was for the best this time. She’d hurt him, deeply—and perhaps placed a death sentence upon his head. She had to go.

A whirlwind began in Leo’s study. She lifted her hands higher. Leo wrapped his arms about her, holding on as if his next breath depended on it, trying to anchor her to his world.

“Daphne! Talk to me. Don’t leave, not like this.”

“I’ll return . . .” she reassured him. But she did not say when, or make empty promises.

His cries and pleas began to sound like distant voices at the end of a tunnel, but they did not stop her from leaving. As she moved away from Savannah and into the dimensions, the last sound in her ears was Leonidas crying her name.

Chapter 5

What a fool. Leo had gotten Daphne back and managed to lose her again in the space of an hour. Yes, he’d felt betrayed, but he never should have lashed out or blamed her. There was no way Daphne could ever betray him, not to anyone, least of all her wicked brother. Yet what had Leo done with his asinine accusations? Driven her to leave him this time; ensured her abandonment. And he’d done so now of all times, right when they were running out of time together.

“Here, drink this.” Ajax plunked a heavy goblet full of uncut red wine in front of Leonidas. “Always helps me with problems of the female persuasion.”

Leo propped both elbows on the dining table and stared miserably into the glass. Naturally, Ajax thought to cure his ills with alcohol. His best friend had indulged in near-constant drink prior to meeting his wife, Shay, a year ago, attempting to douse his loneliness with booze.

Unfortunately, Leo’s predicament had nothing to do with “the female persuasion” in general and everything with one gorgeous, petite Oracle in particular. Yes, she’d promised to return, but when?

In two more months? Three, perhaps? Leo groaned, burying his face in both hands. He might well be dead by then, borne to his grave upon his bronze shield as befit any fallen Spartan—without ever having held Daphne again. There was no way of knowing what the exact expiration date on his life would be.

He groaned again, rubbing the top of his head, which felt like it might split open at any moment. Ajax nudged his arm, and Leo glanced sideways at his friend, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Go on, man.” Ajax pushed the full goblet a few inches closer.

Jax straddled the empty chair beside him, rotating it backward and resting his chin on the frame. It was obvious the warrior wouldn’t be satisfied until Leonidas partook of at least a few sips of the wine.

He reached for the goblet, his hands shaking so badly that the crimson liquid sloshed onto the tablecloth. Leo stared as two deep red stains soaked into the snow-colored fabric, seeping into it like blood from a battle wound. The image caused his tremors to increase; they seemed a horrible premonition of the fate Ares had prescribed to him.

Lifting the wine to his lips, Leo consumed several inelegant gulps. Shots of whiskey would’ve been easier, more merciful—he needed to take the edge off, Spartan discipline be damned.

He couldn’t stand the thought of Daphne seeing him this way, and yet he couldn’t help praying that she would return immediately anyway.

“I need to get my head on straight.” Leo drained the rest of the wine from the glass. “Before Daphne comes back.”

Jax dropped his voice low. “What exactly happened on that ride? Why did she leave? And . . . are you all right, my lord?”

Leo looked up sharply. “Do I not look well?” Perhaps the change was overtaking him faster than he’d imagined. He studied Jax’s reaction, trying to gauge how much the warrior had already surmised. How much he might see now, written plainly on Leo’s aging features.

Jax reached for his own glass of wine. Perhaps avoiding the topic, perhaps unaware. “You seem awfully spooked,” was all the Spartan said.

Leo shook his head. “No, Jax, not spooked.” Leo rubbed his shoulders, still sore from the weight of Ares’s unearthly cloak. “It’s what he did to me . . . he . . .”

“He?”

“Ares. He was here at the compound. In the field,” Leo admitted, surprised by how gravelly his voice sounded. Was that yet another sign of the transformation occurring inside his body?

Jax sat upright in the chair, dark eyes growing shrewd and intense.

“He has plans for me,” Leo confessed.

Leonidas could feel Jax’s piercing gaze on his face, and felt the weight of that stare—but if his friend saw signs of transformation, he said nothing.

Leo stared into the near-empty glass, sloshing the dregs of the wine. “It tastes better from a wooden bowl. Cut with water.” The old ways, the ways of his father and his father’s father. He’d kept them all these centuries; his own men were yielding to modern practices, losing something sacred. “One day, you’ll have sons with Shay, no doubt. And daughters. Be sure to teach them the traditions,” Leo said, swirling the red liquid again. Perhaps, if he stared long enough, he’d receive a vision from the depths of his glass.

“Leonidas. You’re not going anywhere.” Jax laughed and slugged him on the shoulder. “You’ll be with us, leading us, for ages to come. Just as you’ve always been.”

Leo cocked an eyebrow. “Almost sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of that fact, adelphos.” Brother.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Jax repeated, his Greek accent becoming thicker, always a sign of his strong emotions. Then in their ancient tongue, added, “Yes, you are my adelphos, brother of the heart. I won’t let you leave us.”

The expression in Jax’s eyes changed, too, becoming less certain. It also seemed that his gaze roved about Leo’s face, studying it curiously, searching for something.

Or maybe noticing the changes that Ares had promised.

Leo touched his beard self-consciously. “Jax, friend, what do you see?”

“My king. My commander. My dearest friend.” Ajax kept his gaze steady, but it appeared to require some effort, and after a moment, he reached for the wine bottle.

Leo sat upright. “Bring me a looking glass. A mirror of any sort.”

Ajax blinked back at him, seeming confused by such an extraordinary request from his commander.

“Surely you have something,” Leo pressed sharply. “A well-polished pot, anything which will capture my reflection.”

“My lord, I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

So Ajax did know; the transformation was already becoming apparent.

Leo rose wordlessly, not waiting or arguing further, and hurried toward the long hall, feeling weightless. The guest bathroom held a massive floor-length mirror, one that would not lie or distort the truth. The familiar photographs and paintings on the walls were nothing more than a blur of color and nonsensical imagery as he forced himself to move along the wood-floored corridor. He held the target in his sights, knowing that once he entered that bathroom, he might never view himself the same way again.

What would he see in the room’s colossal mirror? Would his visage be shocking, revealed as the true reason Daphne had fled in such frenzy, and that Ajax had refused to supply him with a looking glass? Or would it somehow be soothing to discover himself finally mortal again, after so many eons?

“Leonidas, wait!” Ajax called out from behind him in the hallway. His steps were hurried, as if he hoped to keep Leonidas from a grave mistake. “What are you . . . ?”

Leo entered the bathroom, slamming and locking the door decisively behind him. Flicking on the light, he slowly pivoted and faced himself in the mirror.

The reflection that greeted him, however, took several much longer moments to comprehend fully. At last, with reality staring him starkly in the eye, Leonidas squared his shoulders. Bending over the sink, he went about his regular life, the mundane sort of daily rituals that made him feel as if he might never die.

He methodically washed his hands, and then methodically dried them. He straightened the hand towel, making it appear untouched. Strength and stoicism under duress were his hallmark qualities. Now, if only he could summon a pithy joke or two, then he could open the damn bathroom door and face his men. His friends. And maybe, crazy long shot that it was, the woman he loved. If she ever returned, that was.

Bracing his hands along the marble edge of the sink, he leaned forward and looked himself square in the eyes again. The same dark, almost black irises stared back, but they appeared different because of the fine lines at the edge of his eyes, the slight shadowing underneath. Or perhaps it was his beard, now shot through with silver, that caused his eyes to seem so much darker. Almost the color of midnight.

Old Man. How true the warriors’ nickname for him had turned out to be. He wasn’t that much older, not yet, but he no longer appeared his perpetual thirty-five. No wonder Ajax had stared at him so strangely; no wonder Daphne had fled him.

He tilted his chin upward, and braced his shoulders back. Perhaps she would come to think of his new look as distinguished. Wasn’t that how women often described men with gray in their hair and lines on their faces? Of course, those men weren’t scarred and less than handsome to begin with.

He studied the silver at his temples. Thankfully, his hair remained mostly dark brown, the tight curls only streaked with occasional gray. And at least he still had hair! That was more than might be said for many men in their forties. If he was in his forties—how could you actually mark your age progression when you were nearing twenty-six hundred years? If he had to guess, he appeared some five or six years older than he had at the day’s outset, before Ares had touched him with his vile cloak.

Old. He’d been old for so long. Ares had merely worked his dark power to reveal that plain fact. With a last look in the mirror, he wondered what he would see the next time he gazed in its reflective surface. The thought made his hands tremble as he reached for the doorknob.

Daphne stood on the edge of Eros’s eternal pool, watching red rose petals drift lazily toward a waterfall on the far side of the water. Eros leaned against the smooth rocks that lined the pool’s edge, shoulder deep in the magical waters. His long blond ponytail floated behind him, and his face glowed with the pool’s mystical power.

She’d not known where to go at first, after leaving Leonidas. So she’d come to Mount Olympus and wandered the rocky trails, thinking. Knowing there had to be a way to help Leonidas, she could only return to him, really, with some solution. He’d been furiously hurt with her—even as he’d then apologized, begging her to stay. But she understood his wrath and sense of betrayal. She should have told him months ago, but a part of her had been ashamed that her own flesh and blood could be so monstrous, and equally afraid that if she told Leonidas, then Ares would strike him down immediately.

All those decisions had been mistakes, but she could rectify things now by offering solutions. That was why she’d come to Olympus, knowing that if an answer to Leo’s plight existed, it would be here.

Among the pantheon of gods there were only two whose assistance she might realistically hope to obtain. The first was Eros. He was the god of love, after all, and as Ares’s son, he naturally worked at cross-purposes to his father’s warring nature. And Eros doted on her because she’d always been kind to him, defending him to Ares who held his son in disdain.

The second god who might help them was far more of a mystery to her, even though he was the one she’d always served as a Delphic Oracle. Apollo was remote, usually unreachable at the high peak of Olympus, his palace invisible, his moods inscrutable. She knew, as had all the Oracles throughout the ages, that Apollo safeguarded his own, that no one dared touch or harm the Daughters of Delphi without fearing his punishment. But what she did not know was how to gain an audience with him, especially being only a demigoddess and half human, so much less than the mighty Apollo. Truthfully, she’d always been enamored of his mystique and indomitable supremacy, but also too intimidated by him to engage in more than the simplest syllables when in his presence.

So Eros had been her most logical choice. He’d helped them all recently, when Ari’s beloved Juliana had been bound to a demon—and he’d given Juliana immortal life by allowing her to swim in this powerful reflecting pool.

She came here now hoping that Eros would offer the same healing salve to Leonidas. He smiled up at her lazily, seeming—if she honestly admitted it—almost half-drunk off the pool’s magic. His eyes were a bit dazed, his smile a bit too languid.

“Aunt Daphne,” he purred, sliding deeper into the water. “What a pleasure! But why are you here, and not with your beloved?” His grin broadened, his eyes drifting shut. “That love you share with the king is divine. A true thing of beauty. If I were you, I’d never leave his side.”

A sob built in her throat. Even the God of Love himself acknowledged that what she shared with Leo was rare and special. Rushing to the side of the pool, she dropped to her knees. “Oh, Eros! You’re the only one I could think of, the only one who might be able to help.”

He sat up on the rocks, the dreamy expression on his face replaced by alertness and concern. “Aunt Daphne, please explain.” His tawny eyes, so much like his father’s, gazed back at her sharply.

She bowed her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know how he hates Leonidas.”

“Ares,” he pronounced in a chilled voice.

“He’s made Leo mortal. Aging him . . . quickly. That’s what he said.” She buried her face in both hands. “Oh, why is he so cruel? Why must he hate me so much?”

“He despises us both, Daphne.”

She felt his damp hand brush against her cheek, but kept her face averted, not wanting him to see her painful tears.

“Leonidas is the only true happiness I’ve ever known. And so Ares takes pleasure in killing him . . . destroying me.”

“It’s because family—those of us he should love—accuse him of being what he truly is. A hateful, warring monster. Incapable of love. Incapable of care. We are the worst in him . . . that’s what he believes.”

She let her hands fall away from her face. “You can help Leonidas. That’s why I’ve come. He could bathe in your pool, like Juliana did . . . and become immortal again.”

Eros shook his head. “I wish it were so, Daphne. But in this, I am powerless to help.”

She gaped in disbelief, but he only climbed out of the pool, concealing his nude body behind a large rosy-colored towel, and turned away from her.

He was refusing her request?

“But . . . but you helped Juliana,” she stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Eros turned to face her, standing tall and wrapped in the towel. His golden eyes were filled with profound sadness, a palpable grief. “I would do anything to save him for you . . . to preserve your love. But, Daphne, I am powerless against my father’s dark arts.”

“You warred against him mere months ago! When he was trying to destroy my Spartans by setting that female Djinn against them!”

“But that attack was not from the direct use of his power or magic. He specifically enlisted my help, and in the end, I specifically chose not to aid him—and to help all of you instead.”

“Then choose to help us now. Specifically go against him again.”

“I cannot. In the case of your Leonidas, I am impotent, unable to reverse this curse. The king was made immortal by my father—and now he will return to dust by his hand, as well. His fate is sealed.”

Daphne seized hold of the god’s hands, squeezing them imploringly. “Leo is not dust. He’s alive and vital. I know that you could help him and restore his youth. His immortality could be made permanent again. I know it, Eros.”

Eros stared past her, toward the peak of Olympus where Ares’s own palace gleamed beneath perpetual sunlight. “My father’s curse will work quickly. He never waits long when he’s this jealous and angry.” Slowly Eros’s gaze drifted back to her. “I’m sorry, Daphne, but your Leonidas is as good as dead already. Go to him now, for you don’t have long.”

Chapter 6

Leonidas paced the hardwood floor of his study. By now, his captain, Ajax, had most likely informed their warriors about the changes he’d observed; the Spartans and perhaps even the humans were probably gathered and waiting in the great room. Still, Leo needed time to think. Ajax would understand and anticipate that, as well.

This had always been Leo’s leadership style: to quietly contemplate strategy and battle plans, then bring those ideas to his captains for discussion. The only problem was that he didn’t fully understand what Ares had done to him. The god claimed to have stripped away his immortality: the evidence of that was written plainly enough in Leo’s features and body. Already his right knee had begun throbbing much more painfully than it had in the past months, which was saying quite a lot.

So the question wasn’t whether Ares had sped up the aging process that he’d clearly begun months ago. It was another—how did Leo, now a mortal, go about reacquiring immortality? There had to be some way of stopping Ares’s plan. They’d managed to thwart the war god repeatedly in the past year. This situation, too, could surely be reversed . . . They needed only to find a way.

But could Leo retract the harsh, unkind words he’d spoken to Daphne? He groaned, burying his face in both hands. What a bastard he’d been! His predicament was no excuse for how cruelly he’d treated her; not even his frustration with her for staying gone all those months was reason enough for the way he’d behaved.

He raked a hand over his hair, growling in frustration. “Daphne! Why do you leave when you know I cannot follow? Cannot come to you and apologize or change things?”

From nowhere, his sense of powerlessness bubbled up into fury. He wanted to hurl a spear, charge an army of enemies, rout a legion. He searched for a weapon, anything to use for venting the explosive emotions that warred inside of him. A pottery vase was the first thing he clapped his gaze on. Grabbing the damn thing, he hurled it against the fireplace with an agonized roar. The smashing sound was surprisingly loud, and shards flew back at him. He averted his face, closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, preparing to inspect the damage, he found Daphne standing in his strike zone. He was afraid to move, lest he discover that he’d only imagined her.

But she looked real as always, staring at him with an expression of flushed shock. And then she smiled, forgiveness in her gaze. “My lord, such an outburst isn’t at all like you.” She glanced down at the shattered pieces of the vase. “And that was a lovely piece of pottery.”

“It was because of you.” He gestured helplessly. “I was such a damned fool to accuse you of those things. And you left, knowing that I couldn’t follow you and apologize.”

“You need only have summoned me.” She moved much closer, smiling tenderly at him. “You said you were sorry. I knew that you were.”

That wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to fall to his knees before her, longed to shower her with penances. And then make everything right between them, not with words or excuses—but with his body. “All I could think about was what a bastard I’d been to you.” He inclined his head as if she were his queen. “My lady, please forgive my horrid conduct. It was entirely unworthy of you.”

“Look at me, Leo,” she urged softly, moving much closer. But he was too ashamed—of how he’d treated her, or for her to get a decent look at his changing features. All of it kept his head bowed, but she clasped his face in both her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Their eyes locked and she searched his features for one long moment. He glimpsed unmistakable grief in those lovely water blue eyes.

“Daphne, I understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“My brother is a cruel god. I couldn’t run the risk that he’d harm you any further . . . or faster.”

Leo gave her a regretful glance. “I’m already older. Since the field . . . it is happening fast. But that’s not your doing.”

Wordlessly, she kept his face cupped in her palms, drawing it to her own, and began rubbing her cheek back and forth against his silvering beard. “I’ve always loved the feel of your face against mine,” she whispered. “How rough, how masculine . . . and yet your silky beard tickles my cheek.” She stilled as if savoring the moment. Was she thinking how much she’d grieve when he died? Or perhaps memorizing the feel of him, the scent, so that in future days she’d always have this moment?

“You’ve never been a bastard to me,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “I was upset. . . . I needed to regain my equilibrium. And I had an errand to run.”

He quirked a smile. “Right then, of all times?”

“I had an idea.” She shrugged, stepping out of his embrace, and he saw sadness in her eyes. “It was just a thought . . . besides you needed time to cool down. We both did.”

He clasped her by the shoulders. “Daphne, I don’t want to argue or waste valuable time. I just want to be with you, hold you. I want . . .” He shook his head, grasping for the right words. “Time is precious now, and we shouldn’t be foolish or argue. I want to take you as my lover, once and for all.”

She flushed deeply at his admission. “Okay, the word lover, from your lips like that? So very, very sexy.”

“Lovers . . . you and me,” he murmured, bending lower so he could kiss her throat. He kept his mouth against that hot, fluttering pulse. She tasted sweet, perfect. Oh, by the gods, he did plan to claim her as lover. Tonight, not later. “In every way, together. Lovers, Daphne . . . yes.”

She never so much as shifted in his arms—yet instantly her outfit changed to something much sexier, a black dress that dipped low in front, outlining the swelling shape of her breasts and her very feminine figure. It flowed with all the sensuality of an ancient Greek gown, but the fabric and color were far more tempestuous. Daring. Seductive.

She gave him a demure smile. “I said you needed to cool down. But Leo? There are some ways in which I prefer you very worked up and in a fever.”

She leaned back against the bookshelf, studying him. After a moment, she cocked her head sideways, her smile widening. “Those combat pants look most handsome on you, but do you know what I’ve always loved? The idea of you nude, wrapped in your crimson cloak.” She released a slow, dreamy sigh. “And then very slowly, I take my hands, and peel that fabric away.” Her fair cheeks suddenly grew rosy as she demonstrated with her hands. “Fold by fold, I expose your godlike body to my virginal eyes, unfold you like a mighty, masculine flower. Yes, that is what I’ve dreamed of . . . for many lonely nights.”

“By Olympus, Daphne,” he barked, his pants tenting sharply. “Careful what you wish for.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s my damned cloak when I need it?”

Again, she snapped her fingers, and the folded garment appeared right in her hand. They’d lain on it in the meadow earlier, and she’d obviously forgotten to bring it when she teleported them into the study.

“Looking for this?” Her pale blue eyes sparkled with lust and mischief. And then just as suddenly, she appeared shy, holding the cloak against her chest. “I suppose it’s very forward of me, my lord, to describe wanting you thusly . . . to be so bold about my desires.”

Leo advanced on her, his mind rapidly calculating how fast he could undress himself and fulfill her intimate fantasy. Where would he lie and cover himself for her? On the sofa? No, too bland. Perhaps he would pose on the edge of his desk, as if awaiting an artist’s sensual rendering. He wanted her . . . to want him. He was still somewhat young—for now—and he yearned for her to appreciate his honed, warrior’s physique while she could. There was one physical trait he had epic amounts of confidence in: the strength and shape of his nude body.

Wordlessly, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Tossing the garment aside, he faced Daphne wearing only his combat pants and boots. She sagged against the bookshelf, still clutching his cloak to her breasts. Very slowly, she raked her gaze down his chest, lingering for a moment on his abdomen, at the tightly defined muscles that rippled there.

“You approve,” he said, his voice as husky as it ever got.

She replied by allowing the crimson cloak to unfurl in her grasp. He, in turn, began unfastening his belt, lingering on the gesture to make it as tantalizing as possible. Her gaze never left his hand as it worked.

Then he addressed his pants, eyeing her sensually as he lowered the zipper over his prominent erection. Her own eyes grew wide, fiery lust infusing her face with a crimson that rivaled that of his cloak. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward, wrapping the garment about his shoulders.

“Like this, Adonis,” she murmured, spreading the crimson material about him. “I want to see you this way, adorned for me.”

He finished the work of unfastening his pants, then toed his way out of both boots. The pants slid to his ankles, pooling there until he kicked them away. Never one for underwear, he now stood before her in his full glory of nature.

She didn’t dare glance down, not this time, her gaze riveted on his face.

He held his head high. “I’m supplying every component of your fantasy, my lady. So tell me—where would you have me stand? Or lie?”

She swallowed, her pink lips parting softly on a light groaning exhale. Then she took his cloak from about his shoulders, draping it about his full body—including his protruding erection. Her hand lingered there for a moment, as she slid the material about his cock and began to rub it with exquisitely slow pressure. Back and forth, the rough fabric created an aching pleasure from the base of his arousal to the blunted tip.

“My lady, this is your fantasy?” He groaned, pressing his eyes shut.

Suddenly her lips were at his ear. “I’m good at improvising.”

He caught her face in one palm, dragging her mouth to his. “And like every good military commander, so am I.” He slid his other hand behind her upper thigh, hiking the dress up as he did so. He brought it above her hips, only to discover that like him, she wore no form of underwear. There was only sweet Daphne, mere inches away from his jutting shaft.

She lifted onto her toes, deepening the kiss, pulling him even closer. And then shocked him by bursting into light giggles. She leaned her head back, staring up at him. “Oh, Leo! You naked on the desk? That’s quite the temptation!”

Daphne couldn’t help smiling at Leo’s vivid and erotic imagination. She’d seen into his mind the moment their kiss had grown so heated, glimpsing a series of flashing images and desires. Including the various ways he was contemplating presenting himself fully nude, wrapped in his cloak. The edge-of-the-desk flash was endearing and funny, but also as sexy as anything she’d ever dreamed up on her own.

“You read my thoughts,” he acknowledged in a gravelly voice filled with need. “Not entirely fair, my love.”

She shrugged, beaming up at him. “Hazard of the Oracle’s profession . . . and of taking one as lover.”

“I’m willing to accept those risks.” He chased her mouth, capturing it once again. This time he thrust his tongue between her parted lips, sweeping it against hers with sensual pressure.

And then she caught another image, vivid and sinful. He wanted her spread out before him, on the floor and naked atop his cloak. A role reversal; he wanted her to lie on the floor before him like an offering to the gods, a king’s bounty.

She grasped his face between both hands, breaking the kiss. “Yes.”

“Yes . . . what?” He pressed his forehead against hers, obviously trying to steady his breathing.

She rubbed both thumbs across his bearded jaw. “Spread the cloak on the rug. And I’ll lie there, just like you want.”

He barked a laugh. “Did I say I was willing to accept the risks of loving an Oracle of Delphi?”

“You did, my lord.”

“Then I wish to restate the matter. I am willing, most infinitely willing, to accept the rewards of this venture. Of loving you, my Daphne, my spritely nymph.”

He kissed her almost chastely on the forehead, and then seemed to be considering something. She held her breath, unsure of what he planned. All at once, she found herself swept into his powerful arms, cradled against his brawny, bare chest. He was beautiful, almost painfully so, just standing there, holding her that way.

“Perhaps male nymphs exist in the form of ancient Spartan kings,” she murmured as he slowly moved with her across the floor.

“No, only ancient kings who dream of making love to impossibly beautiful, ever evasive and mysterious females. Kings who were lonely until they found their one true beloved nymph.”

He adjusted her in the crook of his arm, freeing his other hand. With a flourish, just as he’d done in the meadow, he unfurled his cloak and it sailed to the floor, spreading wide atop his antique Oriental rug. “There,” he proclaimed.

She clung to his neck, searching his face. Sometimes he could be frustratingly laconic. “There” didn’t exactly paint the full portrait of what he wished her to do next, especially since he didn’t seem to have any intention of releasing her.

“My lord?”

Gracefully, he allowed her to slide to her feet, but not before he caught the hem of her dress in his hands. Without a word, he lifted it, pulling it over her head until she stood nude as he was, revealed.

“You saw my fantasy,” he explained, pointing to the red blanketing fabric. “I wish to admire you without apology.”

She swallowed hard, nodding, and had to fight the urge to cover her naked body from his keen gaze. It was a vulnerable feeling to be so exposed, especially with Leonidas, a man she’d longed for and wanted for so many centuries and years. All that pining and unspent desire led to this moment, unencumbered by clothing or pretense, and to simply presenting herself to Leonidas, not a king now, not a ruler or a warrior . . . just the man she loved.

She slid to her knees, keeping her back to him for a moment. She trembled all over, a mixture of fear and excitement causing her heart to leap inside her chest. All this time, she’d wanted this. To become his lover, to belong to him. But no man had ever seen her nude, much less claimed her physically. Now that the moment was here, she found it hard to fight a slight sense of terror, even as her heart raced and thrilled at what was happening.

Resolved, she lay down on the cloak, curled on her side protectively at first, and then with a smile, she rolled onto her back. She kept her hands across her breasts, staring up at him shyly. “They’re not very big,” she said by way of explanation.

“They’re perfect.” Leo beamed at her, taking several appreciative steps backward. “You’re the most ideal woman I’ve ever glimpsed. In any century, in any country. Anywhere. You are the arista! The very best, my love.”

“Don’t let Aristos hear that,” she teased lightly.

Leonidas scowled back at her. “Don’t even mention another male, not now. Now, when I alone am offered this pleasure, this honor of seeing you like this. You are mine,” he proclaimed.

Daphne flushed at his possessiveness, something new in Leo that she’d never really experienced. Things were changing between them, becoming forever altered.

“You are mine, as well,” she countered, knowing she was being cheeky, “so perhaps you should start satisfying my own fantasy. You, nude with the crimson folds about your body. That could be most handily accomplished if you come and lie with me here.”

Leo gave a single nod and knelt beside her. She noticed that he hesitated briefly, the slightest frisson of pain passing across his features. It was his right knee; it had always hurt and bothered him, the one old injury that hadn’t been truly restored in Styx.

But that grimace almost instantly passed, and Leo was there beside her, kissing her. And then, glorious surprise, he mounted her. Big as a bull, bare as he’d been made, her Leo slid atop her body. For one suspended moment they stared into each other’s eyes. Would he take her now, just like this? She wasn’t even sure how long lovers prolonged things, just kissing and touching before actually making love.

Her uncertainty was resolved when Leo gave her a wicked, lusty smile. “I have an idea.”

Spreading her legs beneath his hands, he snaked downward, trailing kisses across her breasts, and then her abdomen. He lapped at her belly button with his tongue until she giggled in aroused delight.

Cradling her hips in his palms, he gave her a questioning glance. “I have an idea,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me if you like it.”

Leo dipped his curly head lower, right between her thighs and kissed her slowly, sweetly against her most intimate place. He lapped at her there as he had with her belly button, light, teasing strokes.

The Oriental rug prickled Daphne’s back and buttocks, but she paid no heed. Her only real awareness was of Leonidas’s beard bristling against her upper thighs, rubbing between her legs, making her even more damp. She savored the rough pleasure, squeezing her thighs and lifting upward. Then she jolted, shocked and surprised when she felt the slick warmth of his tongue sweep over her slick folds. It was a quick thing, a flick, a moment of tasting.

Then he raised his head, meeting her gaze. There was a question in his eyes. Should he continue? Did she indeed like it?

“Yes, yes!” She moaned and then thrust her hands into his hair, urging him downward again. She stroked his curls roughly and he began to lick all about her dampness, an exquisite sensation unlike any she’d ever known. Pressure built inside her core; the longer he tasted and stroked her with his tongue, the more intense that sensation became, building, making her lift and thrust her hips in reaction.

She squeezed her thighs until Leo’s face was cradled tightly between them, needing more, desperate to find release. Right then, he stilled, removing his tongue from against her intimate place. He couldn’t stop, not now! But she held those words inside, poised on the brink, expectant.

And then the world turned to liquid fire, as he blew against her opening, the lightest breath of a touch. The match that sparked her full inferno, setting her core ablaze.

She rode up against him, crying out his name, shuddering deep inside. She would be forever changed, and she felt herself falling into him, becoming more alive than ever before.

Trembling between her legs, the explosive waves turned liquid, too. Slower, less intense, until all she could do was collapse against the floor and moan the most beautiful name she’d ever heard. Leonidas. Leonidas.

“My love, you are the aristos. The very best.”

“Ah, well, so long as you’re not calling out my warrior’s name, I won’t object.” He moved upward again, lying beside her. She felt rubbery inside, all spent even though they’d not attended his needs. She felt his erection bob against her hip, too, as he rolled closer.

Wasn’t it now the moment when he should take her? Enter her and release his seed? Yet he seemed relaxed, aroused but settled beside her.

She rolled to face him. “My lord, I am inexperienced in these matters. You know that. But . . . what of you? What shall I do to pleasure you?”

He gave her a thoughtful look, stroking a fingertip along her eyebrow. “This is but our first intimacy. I plan to spend hours making love to you tonight, but not on the floor. In my chambers, on my bed . . . perhaps in that obscenely lavish garden tub. There will be countless ways, and I will be your tutor. Teach you in the ways of physical love.”

“Like just now,” Daphne said dreamily. She let her eyes drift shut, remembering. “I never knew of such a thing.”

“Imagine all the other . . . explorations we shall make together.”

She opened her eyes, laughing, and caressed his cheek. For a moment, she just drank in the sight of the man she loved, with adoration shining in his eyes—and also love for her. But then her gaze wandered to the edges of his eyes. The silver in his beard had been obvious after her return from Olympus. But she’d not noticed that faint lines had appeared at the edges of his eyes. He was aging, as they both knew he was going to do. But still the slight alteration in his appearance made her throat tighten.

She blinked, not wanting him to notice, and burrowed her face against his bare chest. As she stroked his back, she felt the rough puckering of his war scars. She couldn’t help thinking how miraculous it was that he’d evaded death’s final call so many years ago. Surely, he could do so again.

“We’re on limited time now,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Everything stands in unique perspective. Nothing matters; everything does.”

She kept outlining his thickest scar, tracing her fingertip back and forth along the span of it. “Sort of like that timeless question,” she said. “If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?”

He pulled back and gazed at her seriously. “There are two things. One of them would be to rally my warriors and allies, which means I need to gather them all tonight. The other, fair Daphne, is to love you with all my heart and soul and body. And I’ve already begun that. I intend to make you mine. Fully mine. While I still can. But first, I must summon everyone. Not just my immortals, every human, too. Time is fading now, and we must strike quickly if we’ve any hope of changing that fact. For stopping your brother and his curse is the only way that I can hold you, just like this, forever. No death or separation. Just me loving you throughout eternity.”

Together. No threats, no curses from Ares. No separation, ever again.

Nothing had ever sounded closer to Elysium than those very words, and she prayed that Leonidas, in all his wisdom as a warrior, would find a way to defeat her brother.

Chapter 7

The sun hovered low on the horizon; nightfall was coming soon. Sable searched the open fields of the Spartans’ compound, making sure he wasn’t observed. Then, cursing himself a full-on idiot, he trotted into Leonidas’s barn in search of a grooming brush. Instantly the horses began blowing and shuffling in their stalls. They might be stupid beasts, but they were damned brilliant at recognizing a grotesque, unnatural creature when they spotted one.

He clomped across the barn’s shaving-covered floor toward one of the more agitated beasts and scowled at it. Just for plain meanness’s sake. It blinked big, sad eyes back at him, jerking its head and blowing air.

“I’m not just a centaur.” He stared at it with menace. “I’m a demon. A wicked, base, torturing demon.” Gods of Olympus, the creature was worse than his one-time minion, Mirapish! It only gazed back at him, dumb as any of the fence posts out in the pasture. Of course these horses couldn’t understand him; they were only disturbed by how abnormal he was. Half man, half horse. He stared down at his front hooves, switched his tail angrily, then rubbed a trembling hand over his bare, human chest. No wonder they were terrified—he was an ungainly, hideous sight.

He took a few careful steps backward, angling his rear so as not to bump the stalls directly behind him. Those horses became more unsettled by his proximity, one even kicking at its door.

“I’m the big bad wolf come in horsey form,” he murmured to them, lingering on the fear he tasted in his mouth. It had been too damned long since he’d indulged his junkie’s habit of sipping on terror or anxiety. Months, even. He excused his current indulgence as less dark because these were horses, not humans, and the emotional cocktail was far less complex.

Yes, that was why his mouth tasted bitter and he could feel his big horse’s belly roiling.

Just keep fooling yourself, Sable, you horse’s ass. The truth was he couldn’t stomach being cruel, not anymore. Not since he’d begun to move from darkness and into the light—a freewill choice that belonged to every Djinn demon. And he cursed himself a moron for having made it, but the transformation was nearly complete. It had begun almost six months ago, even before he’d aligned with the Spartans to defeat Ares and his demonic cousin Layla. There wasn’t much point in backing off from it now.

Besides, a quiet voice taunted, you’d hurt Sophie if you went dark again. Break her.

Sable hissed angrily, growing tense from the mere act of thinking about Sophie Lowery. An utter nitwit, like most humans, that’s what Sophie was. She also loved animals, and often visited this barn to dote on the horses. She’d be annoyed with him that they were all shuffling and unsettled by him, that he’d upset them intentionally.

The horse in front of him jerked its head some more, and Sable sighed, having gained no pleasure from tormenting the creature. “Shh,” he soothed, trying to mimic River, the Spartan who cared for all the horses on the farm. “I’m not so bad. Just ask . . .”

Sophie. He’d almost said her name. Just ask the woman who was worse than any thorn he’d ever borne along his flank or side. Without his permission, she’d healed all those horned protrusions—a curse he’d received from Ares—until none remained. Even though healing him always brought her pain and suffering because she wasn’t just a healer, she was empathic, as well.

She was stupider than the horses in this stable, unable to keep away from him no matter how many times he explained that he was not her beloved. And no matter how many times he lurked around her, determined to make sure that she didn’t come to harm. She was utterly naïve, especially about the forces of danger in the world . . . demons like himself who longed to rape and soul suck and possess.

But, no, he didn’t care about that female, or feel any desire or attraction. She held no appeal to him at all, with her springy, thick black curls and blue eyes that were almost too big for her heart-shaped face. Her pale skin was the color of alabaster, so ivory cream that sometimes when she talked to him, splotches of red appeared on both her cheeks. Still, Sophie meant nothing to him . . . less than nothing.

Which was exactly why he’d come to this barn in pathetic search of a brush, because he didn’t care about Sophie, or about how he might appear to her, with his dirty horse’s coat and tangled tail. It was only out of simple pride and vanity that he wished to maximize one of his greatest assets: his shiny black coat.

His minions wouldn’t come near him anymore—he reeked too much of light and decency. Damned inconvenient, that was, even though he couldn’t stand the stench of his former associates, Mirapish and Krathsadon. He’d nearly retched all over the addle-brained duo on the few occasions when they’d harassed him, taunting him for having “gone light.”

How did the Spartans stand it, the sulfuric odor of demonhood and evil? All these years and they’d battled and fought every form of darkness—including some run-ins with Sable himself, yet he didn’t recall them ever whining about the bloody awful smell.

He trotted farther into the stable, searching for the grooming supplies. Saddles hung on the wall, along with bridles, and Sable shivered at the thought of them. Imagining some human trying to saddle and ride him was almost as distasteful as admitting he was turning light. He might be half horse, but he’d never be tamed. Not even by petite, wispy little Sophie Lowery. Oh, but how she’d been trying, with her healing touch—she’d even restored his blasted scalp! She’d tricked him and gotten her healer’s palms there, erasing the scars that had prevented his hair from growing.

Now, almost six months later, and he finally had a head full of thick black hair, for the first time in several thousand years. It wasn’t long, not as he’d once worn it in ancient times, all down his back and to his hips. It wasn’t even past his ears. But it was silky and healthy and he’d seen the way Sophie looked at him now when she thought he wasn’t watching. When she believed he wouldn’t see desire in her water blue eyes.

She wanted him. Badly. So she wasn’t quite as good and pure as he’d once believed. No way would any untainted creature long to take a Djinn demon in her arms. As if such madness were even possible, with he in centaur form because of how Ares had cursed him so long ago. Why hadn’t she seen him as he’d once been? Glorious, with multicolored wings and unblemished skin.

He stamped at the dirt floor, angry. How could he ever hold her in earnest, or take her to his heart or arms . . . much less into bed?

He closed his eyes, picturing the other way she often looked at him: with genuine kindness and caring in her gaze. As if he were human, not a beast. As if she might love him. Sighing, he opened his eyes again and searched out the brush. He began stroking it across his upper legs, and dried dirt lifted into the air, the late sun catching the cloud in a lazy beam of light.

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 to 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 him, 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.”

Ari grinned. “This is why you’re king and I’m the jester.”

“A jester with the power of life and death in his hands. I shudder to consider the potential ramifications.” Leo shook his head with mock exaggeration, then added, “Oh, and Daphne stays.”

“Of course,” Ari said, a bit of a gleam in his dark eyes. He knew—they all knew—that Leo was in love with their Oracle, even though he’d worked to keep the relationship a secret. Ari had discovered the truth months ago, but Leo had asked him not to share with the others—and he hadn’t. No, Leo himself had given the secret away because he’d been unable to hide his true feelings anytime Daphne was nearby—or far away, for that matter—when he’d mooned like a lovesick pup.

Leo turned to face the cadre. “It seems that our surgeon general is going to operate on me,” he said. “Hopefully he won’t saw off my head in the process. Nevertheless, given what we know of Aristos’s power, all of you should leave until he’s finished working his dark art.” Leo gestured toward Daphne, who had begun, along with the others, to rise and leave. “Daphne, please,” he said simply, and she moved right to his side.

Leaning up onto her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if Ari solved our problem so we could keep our date? The one scheduled for your chambers later tonight?”

“Why do you think I rushed everyone out of here?” he murmured under his breath.

After a moment, the others had filed out of the library, and Ari closed the double doors behind them. It was strange, but now that he and Daphne were alone with the other warrior, Leo’s heart began to beat rapidly. He feared that the process wouldn’t work, and almost as much he feared that it would, and he’d begin to hope too soon.

Ari strode to where Leo sat at the antique desk, tensed and waiting. “I’m going to be quick about it.” Ari rubbed his hands together. “Shouldn’t hurt. But can I just tell you, sir? It’s gonna feel mighty good to do this for you. I’m bucking to trounce Ares’s wicked ass. That god is like the Swiss Army knife of evil . . . soon as you beat him at one thing, another screwy plan pops out.”

Ari placed his big palms atop the crown of Leo’s head, his eyes drifting shut. “Won’t hurt at all, sir,” he repeated, his voice more distant, practically humming with energy.

A strange warmth began at the very top of Leo’s head, like warm bathwater, just as soothing. The power that came rolling from that touch, however, was anything but gentle or timid. It was like a roaring avalanche begun by hurling a tiny snowball, growing, expanding, gaining strength.

Leo began to shake so hard in that seat that his teeth chattered, his skin alternately blazing hot and freezing cold. Daphne knelt at his feet, gathering his trembling hands into her steady ones. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s just a lot of power to receive at once. But you’re fine. Everything will be all right.”

He swallowed and nodded. His face burned, the skin suddenly tighter, especially about his eyes. He blinked at the sensation, squeezing Daphne’s hands to settle himself. She was his lifeline; he would focus all his attention on her. That way the shockwaves spiraling through his body wouldn’t be so intense.

The sensations changed then, becoming milder as the otherworldly heat began to subside. He didn’t lose the erection, however, and he briefly wondered if Ari had spiked him there as a joke.

“Okay. We’re done! Let’s have a look at you,” Ari said, moving from behind Leo.

The Spartan beamed, whistling. “A regular beauty queen! Damn, I’m good.” Ari gave Daphne a triumphant glance. “I’d say he’s more like thirty-two now that I’ve worked him over, wouldn’t you? Who needs face-lifts when Aristos Petrakos can give you a life lift? Bet I could make serious money in Hollywood . . .”

Daphne beamed just like Ari did, only even more so, and her eyes shimmered with tears. “He’s as gorgeous as always.” She stood, wrapping her small arms about Ari’s massive torso. “Thank you, Aristos. Thank you so very much.”

Ari looked a little bashful and muttered something about going to find Juliana, leaving them alone once again as he vanished through the library’s double doors. Leo sat in the chair, staring down at his hands. Even they looked younger. “Dare I look in a mirror,” he laughed.

Daphne slid onto his lap, kissing him. “No, my love. You need only look into my eyes.”

He felt . . . alive. Like a tiger, with energy coiled and hot inside his veins. He was still highly aroused, but it wasn’t as if the library was the place to do anything about it. He was entertaining the idea of hauling Daphne down to the glass gazebo by the water, when a dreadful thought occurred to him.

This was too easy. Ares would never allow himself to be defeated by any method as simple as this one. How many times a day would he need to ask Ari to revive him? And how long would Ari’s power even remain effective against Ares’s curse?

History and military strategy had taught Leo many things, and chief among them was to be leery of overly simple solutions. They almost always brought even bigger problems. But for now, at least, this cure had given him more time with Daphne—an opportunity he intended to take advantage of before reconvening the meeting.

Chapter 9

Leo had always been an excellent planner, which could be an immense help in matters of romance, especially when it came to improvising with said plans. After Ari had given Leo what he jovially termed a “life lift,” they’d received an urgent call. Turned out that one of Jamie’s Shades had spotted a demon legion in the historic district, a regular gang, on foot and terrorizing Bay Street.

Jamie and his crew needed to deal with the threat expeditiously, before mortals were harmed or even killed. With Leo’s aging currently arrested, the group had agreed to suspend the meeting for a few hours. And that was when Leo had instigated his plan, one that he’d dreamed up during the long months while Daphne was away. It involved the perfect destination, one that didn’t even require leaving the Angels’ property.

He clasped Daphne’s hand now, leading her through the dark bushes and rangy overgrowth that surrounded the path. He wondered if she even knew about the glass gazebo, hidden down by the winding river. It wasn’t far from the dock, yet it was hidden in the forestlike trails of the Angels’ wandering property, so clandestine that few of their cadre had ever heard of it.

“Where are you taking me?” Daphne asked behind him now. “You’re being so mysterious.”

He laughed, guiding them through a particularly knotty section of the path. “No. I’m simply withholding our destination.”

She squeezed his hand. “Have I ever remarked on your Spartan economy of words? That I’d be fine if you wanted to use at least a few more syllables in daily life?”

“No.”

“Ha! You illustrate my point precisely.”

Leo grinned in the dark. “Yes.”

She swatted him on the rump and he spun to face her. “Careful how you tease me.” He wrapped her close within his arms. “I’m a man of two and thirty now, remember? Younger than you’ve ever known me. And full of raging appetites to match my newfound youth.”

Nothing but the darkness and the night sounds enveloped them, the plants and bushes on either side of the path creating even more privacy—as did the leggy live oaks surrounding them. Spanish moss swayed in the thick night air, some draping almost to the top of Leo’s head.

Daphne pressed close against him. “I can feel those appetites. Most impressive.” She slid a delicate hand and shocked Leo by giving him a single, slow stroke through his pants. His cock leaped at her erotic touch, which she obviously hadn’t expected. Her gaze snapped to his, a little wide and surprised.

He nodded his encouragement, swallowing.

With a coy smile, she stroked him once again—and he leaped again, his groin so tight with desire that he was amazed he didn’t lose himself right inside his combat pants.

“I think I like Aristos giving you some of his power.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.

He couldn’t help frowning slightly. “Let’s hope I don’t need to ask for it again.”

Daphne’s smile didn’t fade, but her expression grew slightly somber. She always tried to put on such a brave show, no matter what trouble they faced.

She lifted a hand to his beard, lightly rubbing her thumb along his jaw. “Your beard is as dark as it’s ever been, my lord. Your hair as well. And your eyes.” Her smile broadened. “I have always loved your beautiful, sad eyes.”

“Sad eyes?” He snorted. “That hardly sounds attractive.”

She lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed him on first his left eye, then the right. “I used the wrong word. I’m trying to say that your eyes are lovely, but also wise . . . and a bit wistful. You’ve seen so much in your years, so of course that shows. There’s a reason for the cliché, about the eyes being the window to the soul. You know, maybe that’s the word I wanted. Your gaze is soulful.”

Taking her face within his palms, he tilted it upward until their eyes locked. “What do you see in my soul right now, fair Daphne?”

She grinned up at him. “Ah, so you’re asking me to speak your mind? Saving your words again, are you?”

He brushed a kiss across her lips, clasping her upper arms and dragging her much closer. “I’m asking an Oracle for a reading.”

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced away. “Your eyes are filled with heat, Leonidas. Heat and . . . something else.”

He knew he should stop the teasing, but for some reason he wanted to hear her say it. “And that is . . . ?”

“There is love in your glances, my lord.” She still wouldn’t look at him.

“Love for you, Daphne. You. As long as I’ve lived, as much as I’ve endured in my centuries of roaming this earth . . . I have never cared for another as I do you. I fear it a sin, sometimes, the way I love you beyond reason.” He slid fingertips beneath her chin, tilting it upward until their gazes locked again, wanting her to remember the words, always. “No matter my fate, even if I am walking the fields of Elysium soon, my love, I will take those feelings with me. I will not forget you if I am forced into the next life, beyond the one we share here now. No matter the distance, I will hold you in my heart.”

Daphne buried her face against his chest with a sharp cry. “Leo, please don’t talk like this.”

He stroked a hand over her twining braids, tenderly toying with one of her ribbons. “I don’t want to upset you, only for you to know my feelings. I may not be with you much longer, that’s a fact. There are things I must say . . . you must know the depth of my love, before I go.”

“No!” She stepped out of his embrace, shaking her head adamantly. “No. I refuse to believe that we won’t solve this problem.”

“The possibility of defeat is a consideration in any military campaign.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Why do you think I took my three hundred bravest and strongest to Thermopylae? Defeat was inevitable, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t turn that fact to our advantage.”

“This isn’t a battle—this is your life, Leonidas.” She placed an earnest palm over her heart. “And my life with you. We can fight together.”

Leo smiled. “Fight? So then it is a battle.”

“Oooh, don’t be so frustrating.” She stomped on the sandy path. “I am saying that we are not powerless here. I’m a demigoddess; you are one of the greatest warriors who has ever lived. We have tools and comrades and even Olympian gods we can beseech.” She lifted both hands toward the night sky. “And the Highest God himself! He of all, Lord of all, might take mercy.”

“I’ve prayed that He would bring us together for a year now.” Leo grasped her hand, slowly beginning to lead the way to the gazebo again. “And for most of that time, I’ve been without you.”

“But we are together, a couple, so He did answer your prayers.”

Leo wanted to confess it to be the cruelest fate of all that God had given him Daphne, only to reveal that he would lose her for eternity. But a part of him still held faith that perhaps there was a grander design, one in which he would indeed have Daphne for good. And that maybe, if they were blessed enough, Ari’s handiwork could stanch the flow of mortality’s tide.

But he told her none of that. For once they were happy and together. He planned to capitalize on that boon.

“I’ve upset you and that wasn’t my intention. I have something beautiful to show you.” He led her farther along the path. “Come with me now.”

Daphne stared at the moonlit structure, blinking in surprise. Never in all her time visiting the Angel Plantation had she seen the gazebo. It was bathed in pale light from the nearly full moon overhead, gleaming and twinkling like a crystal chandelier. It had turrets at the top and seemed to be made entirely of glass, like something out of a fairy tale.

“Leo, it’s magical. Breathtaking.” It was like a small diamond temple, here in the deepest part of the American South, a mysterious place where it seemed anything might happen. “Maybe wood nymphs dwell inside it.”

“Ah, this would explain my urge to show it to you, my lovely nymph.” He slid a hand about her waist from behind, splaying his big palm along her belly. “Do you want to go inside?”

She turned in his arms. “Can we? Or should we ask the Angels first?”

“Jamie is the one who showed it to me.” Leo smiled faintly. “Told me of its romantic appeal, and of its useful location . . . so far removed from the house.”

She laughed. “In other words, he brings Sunny down here.”

“Apparently our young newlyweds visit rather frequently,” he answered, stepping around her. “But not tonight, as our host is away. So we will be all alone, out here in the darkened woods.” He gave her a significant look, then opened the door and held it for her.

Inside was just as breathtaking, with shards of light dancing off the river and onto the glass panes, then reflecting that moonlight in every direction. She stared up at the high, pointed ceiling. “It’s like an ice castle. That’s what it reminds me of.”

Leo’s arms came around her from behind. “I have you where I wanted you all night . . . alone and in my embrace. That’s the best part of all.”

“You’ve been randy as a bull ever since Ari healed you.” And she liked that fact. Very much. His arousal pressed into her backside, and the strong hands he held about her waist moved easily upward. He cupped her breasts in both hands, just holding them for a moment. She heard him draw in a tight, excited breath; he slowly released it against the top of her head.

He said nothing aloud, in his usual hushed Leonidas kind of way, but spoke volumes with his touch and his body. With shaky hands, he slid the sleeves of her gown off her shoulders. The garment, loose to begin with, cascaded to the floor. She stood naked in the moonlight, Leo breathless and poised behind her. Closing her eyes, she waited for what he would do next, and was answered with the scratchy, tickling bristles of his beard along her nape. He kissed her at that tender spot, which was fully exposed because of how she’d worn her hair atop her head.

He trailed hot kisses from her neck and down across her right shoulder, bending low from behind her. “Your skin tastes like the morning dew . . . or what I’d imagine it would be like. Fresh, sweet . . . exhilarating.” He rested his cheek against her bare shoulder, sighing lustily. “And you still smell like peaches.”

He was clearly eager to touch and arouse her, but she wanted to give him something, make his body sing as he’d done hers earlier in his study. A glass gazebo in the woods wasn’t precisely the best place to make love for the first time, but it was a grand spot for pleasuring a man. And given how he was already trembling with intense arousal, she could only imagine how he’d respond in her arms.

Without worrying about her nakedness, she spun in his grasp, facing him. His eyes were like dark pools, gleaming in the moonlight, filled with a kind of raw lust she’d never seen in his gaze before. Desire she’d glimpsed there, yes. Longing, too—sometimes even painful longing. But right now there was an almost primal hunger blazing in Leo’s dark eyes, perhaps because the two of them were finally so close to making love. Or perhaps because his body still hummed with supernatural power. Either way, she loved how overheated he’d become.

But he still wrestled to keep himself under command, she could see it in the way he struggled to regulate his ragged breathing. But the thing was, she didn’t want him to calm down, or rein himself in.

For once, she wanted Leonidas of Sparta to do something he so rarely did. To lose control of his senses, his reactions, his words. She wanted to take him beyond the place where he kept himself disciplined. She wanted to love and pleasure him until he became loud. Loud in his moans, loud in his need . . . and loud as he cried out her name.

Leo, of course, wasn’t yet privy to her plan. In fact, he cupped her cheek, and bent downward as if to kiss and pleasure her some more. She pressed lightly against his chest. “No, Leo,” she told him huskily, “this time it’s your turn.”

His dark brown eyes flew open, filled with shocked excitement. He swallowed, hand still touching her cheek. “My turn?”

“Turnabout is fair play, my king,” she said with a flirtatious smile, already reaching for his belt.

Daphne was in command of him. A new experience, a highly charged one: Leo was allowing a female to rule him in an act of intimacy. He, a king, ruled by a woman. Not just any woman, of course, but the one he’d desired for more than a year now. She’d made quick work of his pants and shirt, and then indicated a wicker settee with cushions. It was a lounging chair, unusually large, and now he lay sprawled across it, as she’d requested.

His legs were slightly parted, his thick cock pointing upward like a compass to the stars in the sky above.

“There. You’re just where I wanted you,” she whispered, settling beside him. He tensed immediately, his body barely held on the tightest leash of desire. Any moment and he knew he’d lose it, perhaps before she touched him.

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 important 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.”

Chapter 11

Leo cuddled Daphne close, stroking her hair as he held her. She lay sprawled atop him, her cheek against his chest. Both of them were still naked, and it felt so very right, to be with her this way, staring up at the moon and stars through the glass roof of the gazebo. Like being back in the fields of ancient Sparta, where things were natural and real. When life had been simple and pure, he and his wife, Gorgo, had sometimes made love up in the hills overlooking the Eurotas River, and they would lie in the sun-touched grass afterward.

It wasn’t that he’d never loved Gorgo, for he had, and she’d been a good wife. It was that he loved Daphne in a different way; she gave his weary heart joy and lightness. She made him feel young again, not like a man of more than twenty-five hundred years.

She’d been his only real hope in centuries, as year after year had mounted upon another. He’d not realized his own loneliness until the day she’d appeared as if from a mist on the moors behind his castle in Cornwall.

That morning, just finishing his walk, he’d felt his ancient heart beat faster than it had in eons. When she left, he’d barely been able to contain his hopes that she’d appear again . . . and again.

Even now, his heart beat powerfully in his chest. Daphne would claim that it was because of Aristos’s handiwork, Leo knew it was actually Daphne herself. Having her back, even for the past few hours, had infused him with life.

She sighed happily, snuggling closer atop his chest. “We should go back soon,” she whispered.

“Yes, I notice you seem eager to move from atop me.” He laughed.

She made a point of burrowing even closer. “I’m too stunned by all the talking you did earlier. You’ve left me helpless in your arms.”

He smiled, feeling reflective. He’d meant what he said about wanting to share everything in his heart, now, while he was still with her. They had no guarantees past this moment.

He toyed with one of her braids, rubbing it gently between his fingertips. “When I’m with you, I always feel so alive, Daphne. From that very first day when I spied you on the moors . . .”

“Oh, you wouldn’t imagine how surprised I was that day. After all those years, praying and hoping you might see me . . .”

“And you appeared from a mist like the Lady of the Lake, and me your King Arthur. From that moment onward . . .” He thumped his hand against his chest. “You made my heart beat strong, and my heart love true. Alive,” he said. “Very alive.”

She beamed at him, blushing beneath his words of praise. But then her light blue eyes grew very wide. She bolted upright, her braids and ribbons half-loose and tumbling across her shoulders.

“That’s it.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her palm. “So obvious that I hadn’t even thought of it.”

He watched her in confusion, then nodded, encouraging her to explain.

“What if I could give you some of my demigoddess’s power?” she blurted excitedly. “You say you feel alive with me, maybe it’s because of what I am . . . maybe there’s something that you actually draw from me. Some kind of life.”

“I was speaking about love,” Leo said plainly. “Not your demigoddess nature.”

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Daphne trying to give him her power because it seemed like a dangerous prospect. How could it not be, for her to meddle with Ares’s curse? He could only imagine what sort of punishments her brother might dream up if he learned about that.

She shook her head. “But you touched on a possible truth, Leo,” she said. “A way we might be able to lift your curse by letting me feed you some of my own energy.”

“And then Ares would feed you to his wolves.”

She narrowed her eyes. “My brother doesn’t have any wolves.”

“Well, then, to his fire-breathing stallions. Or better yet, he’d hurl you off Olympus, lock you in his castle. Any number of endless punishments, and I’m sure he could dream them up most creatively.” Leo scowled. “I won’t risk your life to save mine.”

“You do realize it is a shared decision. I’m the one who would have to live here without you if . . .” She glanced away quickly.

“And then what of me? Suppose your power saves me, but Ares retaliates? Harms you or locks you away from me. I’d spend eternity without you—and all that while I’d know you were suffering. At least if I pass away, you can take comfort in knowing I’m in Elysium.”

Daphne covered her face with her hands. “I cannot live without you,” she said, her voice tight. “Allow me to at least try this. For all Ares will know, you were supplied by Aristos, not me.”

Leo sighed. Her anguish was palpable, and he had to ease it. “How would you go about it?”

She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know precisely. Maybe when we reconvene the meeting, the other Daughters of Delphi could prophesy or receive some instruction to tell us how.”

Leo liked the plan even less now that he realized she had no idea how to enact it. Anything might go wrong. But he’d heard heartbreak in her voice as she spoke about losing him, and all the complications if they couldn’t beat Ares at his own game.

So he held his tongue. “Here,” he said, “let’s rise and dress. See what the Daughters advise.”

Too bad that the best associates often lurked in dank, gloomy dungeons like this one. Ares searched the pulsating crowd, many of whom were already high on drugs or drunk out of their minds, and it wasn’t even past ten yet.

Didn’t they realize that a god walked among them? Deigned to wear human clothing—common clothing when he loved to let his golden energy radiate, from the jewelry on his fingers to the cloak upon his back. But glowing like that in a subterranean demon den would only attract unwanted attention, so tonight Ares had donned black jeans and a black T-shirt, and shod himself in black cowboy boots.

The labyrinthine club was at the seedier end of River Street, out of the lights, more toward the shadows, in the cellar area of an old cotton warehouse. Ares felt as if he’d entered a lurid cave, and it was insulting that he even had to tread such dirty ground.

Disgusted, he wished to be rid of the filthy place. He flicked a hand against his T-shirt-clad chest—his one fashion concession had been with that shirt, which bore only the word WAR, applied with gold dust.

The sooner he looked after business, the sooner he could restore his visual glory. Keeping it muted was exhausting, and if he was going to be mucking about in lowly places, he preferred to attract some decent worship and attention while he was at it.

He could smell his quarry and knew that it was here in the bar. Not in this room, but the next. Ares moved like liquid, tuning out the hammering, monotonous bass beat of the dance music, honing his senses until he could find the one he sought.

As he rounded the corner of the bar, the overhead spotlights gleaming on bottles and glasses, Ares spied his business associate. The creature—for to call Caesar Vaella a man was entirely laughable—was leaning against a barstool. A human female stared up at him, giggling. She was fully deceived as to his appearance: that much was obvious from the way she blushed and gestured. She couldn’t possibly see the demon trader’s sunken cheeks and near-lifeless eyes. The last he’d heard, Caesar was pushing almost two hundred years old. Not a demon, not an immortal—a human who subsisted on the power he received from trading human souls, enslaving them to demons. Making them turn dark. For every transaction, Caesar gained another year.

And he clearly had plans for the pretty blonde, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two in human years. Ares sighed. He’d have liked to teleport her to his palace, and he’d be polite to her . . . for a time. At the very least, he didn’t enjoy the image of her being bound into soul slavery.

With a snap of his fingers, he used his god’s power to reveal Caesar’s true face. Ares laughed at his cohort’s reaction the moment Caesar knew his game was up. Pretty Blond Girl screamed and knocked over a stool as she tried to get away. Caesar looked up and met Ares’s stare, shrugging. Clearly losing interest in the transaction he’d nearly made.

He pushed off the barstool and sauntered in Ares’s direction. “Thanks for spoiling the action, brother.” The trader glanced around to see if Ares had come alone.

“Just me, of course,” Ares told him irritably. After his earlier exchange with Sable, which had been riveting . . . downright inspiring, Caesar already bored him. But Ares required Caesar’s assistance, so he forced himself to behave. “I have a job for you.”

“Yeah? What makes you think I’ll take it?” Caesar’s empty gaze fixed on him.

“What makes you think I won’t strike you dead for disrespecting me?” Ares slanted his eyes at the creature angrily. “I’m a god, you fool. You’d best show the proper respect.”

To emphasize the point, Ares moved his fingers and at once Caesar’s demonic horns and tail emerged. He’d earned them fair and square—by converting enough human souls to darkness, and by gaining the trust of demonkind. But he didn’t like to show them in public, even in a den of depravity like this one.

He barked at Ares, trying to take hold of his tail and shove it back into his pants. The horns, of course, were an impossible effort.

Ares grabbed those horns and pulled him close. “Now, old friend,” he said in a silky tone, “shall we try this again? I have a job for you.”

Caesar met Ares’s gaze, all defiance gone from his malevolent stare. Then, just as he’d said from the beginning of their association more than a hundred years ago, the trader asked submissively, “How may I serve you, Lord Ares?”

Ares relaxed his grip, and led the trader toward a darker corner. Once they were removed from sight, he began to reveal his plan. “It’s about some former associates of mine . . . and yours.”

Sophie pulled into the circular parking area in front of her cousins’ family home. She’d been driving Emma’s Volkswagen Bug lately because nobody thought it was exactly wise for a woman almost nine months pregnant to be jetting around town in little more than a tin can. Emma was the best, too, because Sophie hadn’t even had to ask to borrow the fantastic convertible. Her big sister had straight-up offered, dangling the keys from her fingertips with a huge grin. So Emma was now driving their mama’s Volvo, Sophie had taken over the VW, and their mother was motoring around downtown in Sophie’s old Impala.

Sliding the car into park, Sophie turned to the passenger seat, grabbing her crochet bag. She knew firsthand that these big team meetings ran on and on until her eyes nearly crossed; she might as well work on Emma’s matching baby blankets during the coming hours.

Besides, her thoughts were in an epic, crazy whirlwind ever since The Kiss. All this time, she’d waited and wanted Sable to kiss her, but never once in those daydreams had the scene ended with him galloping off across a field, without looking back at her even once.

That was okay. She refused to let it discourage her or bring her down; she’d seen their future and she knew the goodness in his heart. That kiss, hot and sexy as it had been—oh good lord had it been a scorcher—it was only the beginning. She sat still in the driver’s seat now, touching her lips for a moment, reliving the way his full mouth had felt against hers. Shockingly gentle, that’s what he’d been with her, yet unapologetically sensual. And what guy had ever kissed her like that? As if he meant to reach all the way inside her and rearrange every notion she had of what a kiss should be. Like he knew what it was to worship a woman—and knew just as well to offer her only a quick, addicting taste.

The jerk. He’d done all that and left her standing in that field with a damn curry brush in her hand. She blushed at the memory, cringing in embarrassment. She closed her eyes, trying to forget the ending, wanting to remember only the beginning and the middle of that moment.

That reverie was interrupted by a loud rapping on her car window. She yelped, jumping in her seat. All she could see from her low-riding VW were four muscular black horse’s legs—and one impatient hand, lifting to knock on the window again.

“Hang on. All right, already.” She rolled down the window, poking her head out. “You about gave me heart failure, just so you know, Romeo. And please mind the hooves around my sissy’s paint job.”

Sable placed a forearm on the convertible top, slanting his torso downward to stare into her window. It was like being pulled over for a ticket by the ultimate mounted police.

“Could you please get out, Sophie, so we can talk? You’re practically sitting on the ground in that thing.”

“Well, if you didn’t stand almost seven feet tall, then it wouldn’t matter so much.”

He grunted. “I’m not that tall.”

“Whatever. Back away from the vehicle so I don’t hit you with the door.”

He grunted again, trotting past the car and cutting a circle. As she climbed out, he stood bare-chested as always, arms folded in an impatient gesture. What did he have to be pissy about, anyway? She hadn’t pulled a runner on him after their first kiss.

“What’s up?” She flung her crochet bag over her shoulder, determined to exude as much impatience as he was.

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, that takes nerve,” she shot back, starting toward the house. He immediately cut her off, and it was hard to get around Sable when he wanted to block you.

“I came to apologize . . . for earlier.” He didn’t quite look at her, his blue eyes fixed first on her shoulder, then her crochet bag, then on her other shoulder.

“What part of earlier?” Hell no, she wasn’t going to make it easier on him. Nothing gave her more pleasure than forcing Sable to squirm over anything—especially his feelings for her. Which was probably a tad perverse, but he had to acknowledge things. Not just their relationship, not just his feelings for her, but the overall transformation taking place inside his soul.

He rolled his pale blue eyes. “Damn it, woman! You know what part of earlier.”

She couldn’t help smiling. He was absolutely adorable when he warred internally like this, hell-bent on being mean, and yet unable to keep up the pretense that he didn’t care about her.

“Well, I think in this instance, if you’re issuing apologies, you should be specific.”

He released a slow, agonized breath, kicking at the sandy drive with first one hoof, then another. “I’m sorry that I kissed you,” he said at last.

Her heart skipped a beat, clenching. She honestly hadn’t thought that was what he was going to say—she’d been sure he wanted to apologize for the leaving afterward part of what happened.

“Oh. Okay. It’s like that, is it?” She brushed past him, heading toward the house without another glance.

“Sophie, stop.” She heard his hoofed feet crunching on the sand and pebbles behind her. But she didn’t turn to face him. “Would you please . . . look at me?” His voice was rough, his tone uncertain.

With a sigh, she spun to face him. “You know, I never asked you to kiss me, so it’s not like it was my fault. I mean, I can’t help it that you’re always everywhere I go—who even asked you to do that, anyway? You seem to despise me, constantly pick at me . . . and then you go and kiss me. It’s like living inside a blender. A romantic Cuisinart, where you just keep slicing and dicing and you’re on one moment, off the next—”

He cut her off by leaning down and kissing her again. Silenced her completely with that wickedly sensual mouth, which tasted inexplicably tangy, but in the best possible way.

She reached all the way up, wrapping her arms about his neck and holding him as close as she could. She dared to touch his hair again, loving the silky texture, adoring the fast beating of his heart that she could feel in her own chest. The entire moment was so deliciously wonderful, that before she could stop herself, she moaned right into his mouth.

Which, naturally, was the stupidest thing she could’ve done, because he froze right in her arms. His tongue halfway in her mouth, one arm around her back, he stood still as a marble statue. She managed to disengage from the kiss, although he still held her.

“Oh good lord, it’s only a kiss,” she gasped, pushing against his chest. He didn’t budge, and he didn’t remove that arm he had about her.

He looked her dead in the eyes. “I’m not sorry,” he admitted. “I lied. I lied like the demon that I am. I’m not sorry for either one of those kisses, and not for wanting it . . . you . . . the kiss . . .” He gave his head a clearing shake. “What I actually came to apologize for, Sophie, was the way I left you earlier. That was rude.”

“Rude, unromantic, ungallant, dorky, and so totally the wrong thing to have done.” She ticked the adjectives off on her fingers, grinning up at him. “Good news, though. You’re getting smarter, the lighter you get. Me? Not so much, seeing as how I’d kiss you again in a freaking heartbeat. And that’s not really so brilliant on my part. I mean, kiss and gallop—I can see how you are, although I guess it’s better than not calling the next day.”

He planted both hands on her shoulders. “Sophie, for the love of Ahriman, would you stop rattling on and on? I’m concerned about you. That’s the other reason I’m here. I’ve sensed something . . . some danger around you.” He glanced up at the brightly lit home. “Around all of you.” He seemed to struggle a moment, staring at his hooves and blinking rapidly. “I don’t know how I can help, but I need to be here. Leonidas has obviously called a big meeting. I’d like to . . . perhaps they’d allow me to join.” He wouldn’t look at her or meet her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered why he seemed so uncomfortable. There was the niggling sense that he was still lying, only about something much more important than a kiss.

She tried to get a glimpse of his eyes, afraid she might see red, but when he did finally gaze at her again, their clear depths were still the lightest, most beautiful shade of blue.

“I realize it is an unusual request, especially given my history with the Spartans,” he added stiffly.

So that was it! He was uncomfortable because he didn’t think they would trust him—now she got it. He worried that he’d come to offer help, but his intentions would be misunderstood.

“You did help us defeat Layla,” she reassured him. “They know you’ve turned light. You’ve given them tons of reasons to trust you in recent months.”

He hesitated and then asked, “Would you see if they would have me come inside?” He pointed down at his hooves apologetically. “I’ll be very careful on their floors and carpets.”

She couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy imagining you inside the house. I think we’d have to bring the meeting to you.”

He actually looked affronted. “I’m not entirely a beast, you know. I once lived in a palace.” Like a fast-rolling wave, she felt his emotion at that moment, knew it in her empath’s heart and soul. Shame. He felt deep, horrible shame that he most likely couldn’t go inside the house. He hated her knowing him like this, with his half-horse body.

She wanted to cry. Right then and there, she felt the tears prickle at her eyes in response to the heavy pain he carried. Without waiting for his encouragement, she flung her arms about him and gave him a long hug, wanting him to feel her acceptance. And knowing that she’d move heaven and earth now, whatever it took to gain him an invitation inside her cousins’ home.

Chapter 12

Daphne had worked her magic to restore her clothing and hair to pristine condition; some days it was certainly helpful to be a demigoddess. Like when you weren’t prepared for all of your friends and comrades to know you’d nearly made love with their king.

Which raised another question: Was it even going to be possible to keep their love affair a secret for much longer? She’d have wagered a decent sum that they all knew about them anyway. Ari had figured things out a while ago. And, according to Leo, Ajax had learned the truth earlier today. This group gossiped worse than the ladies at Delphi had done back in the day—and she meant the men in the bunch. She supposed these warriors had learned the habit at an early age, leaving their homes at seven and going through the rigorous Agoge until they reached manhood.

At any rate, Leo’s current predicament was breaking her heart, and she doubted that was something she could hide from anyone should things take a turn for the much worse. But for now, here again in the library, she wanted everyone to believe that she was their stalwart Oracle, concerned for the king they all loved. Nothing more—and certainly nothing less—than the formal relationship they’d always maintained throughout the millennia.

Leonidas took position in front of all their comrades, immediately silencing the few whispers that were going on. Daphne had chosen to stand in the back of the room, wanting to blend in; she wasn’t sure that the flush had left her cheeks yet, even if she had righted her overall appearance. But Leo’s first words put an end to any shyness on her part.

“Daphne, our Oracle.” He waved her toward the front of the room. “Come join me as we discuss your plan with the group.”

She’d have sworn that his eyes stayed on her overly long, a significant warmth in the way he watched her move past everyone else, around the occupied sofas and chairs. Reaching him, she took her place by his side, primly settling the folds of her gown. But Leo caught her hand midgesture, seizing it in his own, and drew it to his lips. Without taking his eyes off her, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles, even though they were standing center stage.

“Leo,” she gasped quietly.

He only smiled at her, that scarred, half smile of his. Then turned to face the Spartans and the humans, still holding her hand in his own. “I believe you are all familiar with my lady love,” he announced quietly. “Daphne of Delphi. Our Oracle.”

There were grins and murmurs of acknowledgment, but Daphne barely heard them. In fact, her vision swam a bit, making it hard to focus on everyone around her. She thought she’d faint dead on the spot, so unprepared was she for this moment. Leonidas hadn’t whispered a hint that he was ready to reveal their relationship, not when they’d agreed months ago to maintain things in secret. She was their Oracle, he their king. It hadn’t even been much of a discussion point that they not make a public display of their feelings, not when so many obstacles stood between them.

Leo gave her hand a squeeze, continuing, “Some of you have surmised the truth of our relationship. What none of you know”—Leo turned to face her, taking her other hand in his—“is that I wish to make her my queen.”

All around them were sounds of uproarious delight. Daphne’s face burned as she looked up into his mischievous, love-filled eyes.

“You wished me to become more loquacious,” he laughed in explanation, his words nearly drowned out by the cheers of excitement. “I need but one word from you now. Will you be my queen, fair Daphne?”

“You know that I will.” She’d already said as much earlier, even though they’d been teasing and intimate.

“Yes?” He smiled at her.

“Yes!” She burrowed her face against his chest, holding him as tight as she could. “Yes, yes, my love.”

They were soon parted by their many friends who swelled about them excitedly, offering hearty congratulations and blessings.

Shay and Emma rushed Daphne, squealing in delight. “We’ll plan the most rockin’ ceremony ever,” Shay promised. “Hey, maybe I’ll even get my band to play.”

Emma didn’t like that idea. “Your band is way too modern and loud,” she said, placing an unconscious hand on her large pregnant belly. “We’ll have to think of something more elegant.”

Before Daphne knew it, the cousins were taking over, planning a wedding that had only been announced five minutes earlier. She’d really have to talk to Leo about when and where she preferred him to be less quiet and circumspect—and when she favored bluntness.

With a stolen glance, she could see that he was surrounded by his warriors, all of the Spartans exchanging embraces among one another.

Ajax, though, was already making his way toward Daphne, a gleam in his dark eyes. “So my Goth girl snagged the prize among all of us, did she?” Jax bent, brushing a chaste kiss against her cheek. “You are worthy of him, dear friend,” he whispered, low enough that nobody else could hear. “He’s been lonely for so very long. Until you appeared in his life.”

She pressed her face close to his ear. “We must save him.”

He seemed ready to answer, but jerked upright when his brother slapped him on the back of the head. “Get your married paws off our Oracle,” Aristos teased, then swept her into one of his huge Ari-sized hugs, lifting her right off her feet. “Damned happy for you both!” he declared, and she thought she actually would faint this time, because Aristos had choked all the air out of her lungs.

Thankfully, he released her with just as much enthusiasm, and she caught hold of his wife Juliana’s arm to steady herself.

“Aristos doesn’t always know his own strength,” Juliana declared, giving Daphne a quick, more formal embrace. Her Victorian era manners had certainly begun to alter now that she lived in the twenty-first century, but certain things about her remained old-fashioned, including her etiquette.

“Dude, what’s all the excitement about?” Sophie asked from behind them. Daphne turned to find that she had arrived in the midst of the chaos. The young woman glanced about in confusion. “Looks like my timing is as good as ever. So go on and tell me . . . what did I miss?”

Sophie’s sister, Shay, waved her closer. “You’re here just in time.” Shay put an athletic arm around Daphne’s shoulders and grinned. “Daphne and Leonidas are going to marry. She’s to be his queen!”

Sophie squealed, launching herself at Daphne. It was like being tackled by a fawn, both graceful and awkward at the same time. Sophie had a tendency to rush at life and the people she loved with almost more enthusiasm than the world could handle.

Daphne held her close for a minute, expecting Sophie to release her, but suddenly the fey girl pulled her much closer, holding on to her as if it were an urgent matter. “I’m so sorry,” Sophie murmured, and Daphne felt dampness against her own cheek.

Why was Sophie crying? How could she go from being so ebullient, to sudden tears and regret? Unless . . . as a Daughter of Delphi, Sophie had just sensed something about Leonidas and their future together. She’d not been in the room earlier for his announcement about Ares’s curse.

Daphne pulled back in alarm. “What did you see, Sophie? Or sense?”

She wiped at her eyes, guiding Daphne off to the side. “Does everyone know?” Sophie asked. “About Leonidas and . . .” She didn’t finish, but wrapped her arms about herself as if chilled.

“Sophie, did you see his fate? His destiny?” Daphne couldn’t keep urgency out of her voice.

“I sensed your grief. That you believe he’s dying . . .” Sophie’s kind, lovely eyes welled with tears again. “You don’t know how to save him, either.”

Daphne’s shoulders slumped, a sense of hopelessness washing over her. If Sophie’s prophetic reading of their situation was this grim, would they even be able to help Leo? She was their other healer, after all, another avenue that they might explore to help Leonidas—although he’d probably never allow it. He’d already expressed concerns about her mortal body; asking Aristos was one thing. Sophie, though, was always severely weakened after using her healing gift.

Still, Daphne would’ve hoped for positive visions from Sophie, not such sadness. It didn’t bode well for Leo’s fate.

Sophie misunderstood the pain that must’ve filled Daphne’s eyes. She bowed her head, sniffling loudly. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a freak . . . and so embarrassed. You’re the one who’s hurting . . .”

Daphne shushed her, sliding a comforting arm around her shoulders. Sophie’s particular prophetic gift was empathy, which meant that she literally felt strong emotions from others—if those feelings were messy or painful, she received a direct hit right in her heart. Sometimes she couldn’t even withstand the assault physically, and became drained or fainted.

Daphne guided her toward the sofa. Emma had caught sight of what was going on with her sister and rushed to help. “She’s going to be okay,” Daphne reassured Emma, but she didn’t seem fully convinced, hovering over her sister like the mother she was soon to be.

The others had begun filing back to their seats, and Leo again turned to address the group. His first words chilled Daphne to the core. They were stark, true, but almost more reality than she could handle right now.

“And so you see the full ramifications of my predicament. If I’m to wed,” Leo announced softly, looking right into Daphne’s eyes, “then I must find a way to live.”

His words were met with a fearsome silence. Their group could often be rowdy, with everyone sharing opinions and fighting to be heard. Not now. The only audible sounds came from the house itself. The slow ticking of the grandfather clock by the door; the familiar vibrating hum of the attic fan in the hallway. Spring night sounds drifting in from the veranda.

But not one warrior uttered so much as a word.

If I’m to wed . . . then I must find a way to live.

Daphne could have spoken the very same words herself. For if Leo did indeed die, she knew her soul would perish with him.

Sable trotted back and forth in front of the plantation house. He’d begun wearing a groove in the sand, he had paced so long. Sophie should’ve returned long ago, either to invite him inside or to say that Leonidas had forbidden his participation in their meeting. But this protracted absence concerned him, and it wasn’t just about the arrangement he’d struck with Ares.

Sable didn’t want Sophie healing the king because she might get hurt—a prospect that caused his heart to beat wildly and his palms to sweat. He’d meant everything he’d said earlier: She was a walking disaster, so thoroughly naive that it was a wonder she’d lived as long as she had without tragedy befalling her.

And now that Ares had noticed her, Sable’s sense that she might come to harm was stronger than ever—yet another reason for his dastardly bargain with the god. He’d sealed the arrangement, not just so he could regain his body, not just to have his wings again . . . not even because he hoped for Sophie’s love. But because Sable feared that if he didn’t take the offer, Ares would knock Sophie off the chessboard without so much as blinking his golden eyes.

It was an untenable situation, no matter how he weighed things.

He stared up at the brightly lit house, longing to be within and at Sophie’s side like a normal male. Not necessarily human, but definitely a man with two legs and zero equine parts among his anatomical traits. But how would he ever keep from losing Sophie in the process after lying to her and working against the Spartans?

A noise from the thick forest instantly had Sable summoning his swords. He stood poised, silent and still, listening. Whoever it was, they weren’t bothering to tread very quietly, instead crunching leaves and brush just off the main drive.

Sable lifted his nose, sniffing . . . and nearly retched. Demon scent, but it wasn’t a demon. The wards hadn’t been compromised, so it couldn’t be a diabolic entity. No, it was definitely a human, he could tell from the odor—but a human who’d spent far too much time among demonkind.

He trotted closer, weapons summoned and ready.

“Sable,” a rough male voice called. “Sable . . .”

“Who are you?” He raised both swords even higher. No fiendish associate of his would’ve ever made it inside the compound, and he couldn’t think of any human filth who might know his name. Whoever this man was, he definitely had some nasty acquaintances to convey a stench like that—it carried all the way from the trees.

“Our common associate sent me,” the voice rasped. “He has a gift for one of the warriors.”

“Not good enough. Who are you?” Sable repeated, growing impatient. The common associate could well be Ares . . . or this might be a trap of some sort.

“It is an item of great interest to those inside the house,” the male said. His voice was strange, almost hollowed, as if there was no one really there. Sable heard danger in its unearthly, icy tone.

Moving closer to the trees, he knew he needed to prevent this man from getting any closer to Sophie, no matter who he was. “Show yourself now,” Sable demanded, “or I will charge you. I’m assuming that being trampled by a stallion holds about as much appeal as being run through by my swords.”

A man emerged from the brush, human in form, but unlike any male of that species Sable had ever seen. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of him. He didn’t appear to be elderly, not precisely, but his face was sunken and vacant, his limbs grotesquely spindly. He almost looked like a sack of bones with a tight veneer of skin wrapped about it.

“Your name.” Sable pointed a sword at him in accusation. “And place your weapons at your feet.”

The man held up empty hands. “I am unarmed. And I’m Caesar. Caesar Vaella.”

“Why do you have demon scent all over you?” Sable sniffed at the night air. “You’re human, I can see that.”

Caesar smiled and Sable really wished he’d not done that. His rotten teeth looked like the man smelled. “I traffic in souls. Trade them to demons.” For the briefest moment, horns sprouted atop Caesar’s head, the kind a human could only obtain after long association with demonkind. He tapped one of the horns proudly. “They like me . . . the demons do. And they like what I offer even more.” The horns retracted again, his point made. He had powerful, dark associates who’d respected him enough to crown him with their mark.

Caesar stepped closer, extending one bony hand. “Took this off a female when I was working a trade back in 1893.” Something gleamed in the center of his withered palm. “That item’s of great value to the warrior Aristos . . . and his new bride.”

So this trader knew that Ari had recently married. Interesting. Sable kept his swords drawn. “Who sent you?”

“The god you serve.”

So he was one of Ares’s lackeys. Sable didn’t like that fact one bit because the last thing he wanted was a creature like this—one under the power of the god—sniffing around Sophie.

Sable nodded toward the creature’s palm. “What is that?” he asked, although he could plainly see a bobble sparkling in the moonlight, antique by the look of it. “It’s a ring, but what’s the significance?”

“Go to the warrior Aristos.” Caesar’s pale, lifeless eyes narrowed. “Present this to him. Tell him you’ve seen me . . . and that you know how to find me.”

“Find you? And how would I do that? Why would I do it? I have concerns here that require my attention.” The last thing he’d do right now was abandon Sophie, or abandon the assignment Ares had already given him. Why would the god pull him off the case, anyway? That alone made this trader’s motives entirely suspect in Sable’s opinion.

“The order comes from Ares himself,” Caesar announced. “A trail has been created . . . you’re supposed to get them started on it and after me.”

Ares’s words from earlier rang in Sable’s ears. Don’t worry about Aristos . . . I have plans for that warrior.

This chase would lead Aristos far away. Ares was up to something—when, apparently, the Spartan king most needed healing. Surely Aristos would see through this ruse.

Sable shook his head. “Aristos won’t leave his king at a time of need. There’s not a chance in Hades that he will be torn from Leonidas’s side.”

Caesar handed Sable the ring. “I took this from his Juliana’s hand the night I drove her to suicide. I didn’t get to trade her soul to the demons that night. I was robbed. Tell Aristos that I want what’s my due. Tell him that I plan to claim her soul . . . that I can still control her mind, and I promise you, Sable, that Spartan will follow you.”

Sable stared down at the antique ring, at the intricate curio design—it was the image of a Roman warrior. He supposed Aristos hadn’t been able to locate a Greek one. He weighed the jewelry in his hand as if measuring his own fate. He could feel Ares’s trap tightening about him—a part of him craved the thrill of deceiving Aristos this way. Closing his eyes, he could taste the intoxicating brew of murder and suicide and suffering. He’d stay high for weeks if he drank that long, cool elixir.

His hunger for evil was an ancient addiction, so much stronger than the compulsion to be good and noble. As he stared at the ring, it seemed to redden, and he knew it was his demon’s fire and rage, igniting again. He stood on a precipice, teetering . . . still in the light, at least somewhat. Yet so very close to being consumed by evil once again.

He closed his hand around the ring, forming a fist. “Where will I find you next?”

Chapter 13

Shay guided Leo and Daphne to the largest sofa in the center of the room, and it was strange, but Leo found himself oddly at peace. Perhaps it was because the Daughters had all gathered: Sophie, Emma, Shay, and Juliana—and he trusted their divine gifts. They were each going to prophesy over Daphne and himself, seeking insight into how he could regain his immortality. Unfortunately, Daphne wasn’t exactly happy to sit this one out, but the Daughters all concurred that this time she should be on the receiving end of their ministry.

“My love,” Leo told her when she balked about not participating. “Every good commander must know when to fight alongside his warriors, and when to lead from safe ground.”

So Daphne had capitulated. “I only want to do what’s best for you, Leo. Whatever leads to solutions,” she had said, settling beside him on the sofa.

Behind them stood one of their group’s newest members, Sunny—Jamie’s bride. Although not a Daughter herself, Sunny was a fallen angel, a one-time resident of heaven. Because she’d been made mortal and human, she couldn’t receive any sort of direct guidance, but she believed in the power of prayer and relied on it regularly. Her memories of her life as an angel, although hazy, were strong—she had faith enough for all of them at times like this one.

Daphne shifted beside Leo uncomfortably. She kept toying with her bracelet, spinning it round and round her wrist. She scooted closer to him, but then, adjusting her gown, put more distance between them. Leo reached and put his arm around her shoulders, settling her against him. Hopefully his body’s warmth and vitality would reassure her a bit, remind her that for now, he was still alive and well.

“Oh! I forgot my sketch pad,” Shay announced, marching off in search of it.

Daphne made an impatient sound, watching Shay leave the room. “Good grief. Are we going to get started anytime soon?” she asked Emma pointedly. Daphne didn’t get irritable, not ever.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I know you’re ready. It’s just that with everyone here, there’s a lot to coordinate. You know how this group can be. You capture four eggs and a fifth and sixth roll out of the basket, and you have to start all over again.” She hurried off in the direction Shay had gone, undoubtedly to tell her to speed things along.

Sunny leaned down from behind Daphne, giving her a light squeeze. “It’s gonna be all right, sweetie. I’m praying real hard for you and King Leonidas.”

Daphne gave her a half smile. “I shouldn’t have been so disagreeable.”

“You didn’t do a thing. Just focus on finding your breakthrough.” Sunny gave her a loving pat on the arm, then moved back to her vigilant position behind the pair. Leo had heard Jamie describe Sunny as a “prayer warrior” on more than one occasion. Watching her now, swaying slightly, her lips moving with unspoken words, gave him peace. He hoped it would help Daphne, too.

“I don’t understand why I’m so anxious about the prophesying.” Daphne cast a miserable glance at him. “I should be happy! I just got engaged.”

“You look exactly like a bride-to-be.” Leo stroked her hair. “Glowing and ecstatic.”

“You know what I mean,” she told him under her breath. “I want to be happy about it, but . . .”

Ajax walked near and started to laugh. “Leonidas, I think I know what’s wrong with your bride-to-be.”

Daphne looked up curiously.

“I’ve been observing you from the other side of the room, Daphne. You’re twitching more than a June bug in butter—learned that one from Shay.” Jax dropped down to his haunches, right in front of Daphne. His nearly black eyes gleamed and he took her hand. “Don’t like being on the receiving end, do you, Oracle?”

Daphne gave him an exasperated look. “Ajax, please don’t mock me, especially now of all times.”

He laughed softly. “It will be fine. And I know it’s bloody frightening, waiting and wondering.” Jax drew her hand to his lips, kissing it respectfully. “All these years and you’ve spoken to me in riddles. All these years and I’ve been in agonies over what you might proclaim.”

“That’s not been my fault,” Daphne said. “You can blame my brother for setting that particular arrangement in motion.”

Jax inclined his head. “How could I ever blame you for being our one true guide?”

Until very recently, Ajax had been the only one in their midst who could hear her prophetic words—it had been an honor, but also a difficult burden for the Spartan at times. Leonidas understood that Jax was only trying to tease Daphne to alleviate her fears, but perhaps the timing was a bit ill-conceived.

Ajax gave her hand a light squeeze. “It will be all right, Daphne,” he promised, serious now. “I would sooner trade my own immortality than allow anything to befall this man. Your man.” Jax then grasped Leo’s forearm, embracing him. “I will pray that the Highest grants the words we all wish to hear,” he said, and rose to his feet once again.

“Here we go!” Shay plopped down on the floor in front of them, her sketch pad and pencil in hand, but also a notebook, which she handed to Emma. Emma, so very pregnant, slowly lowered herself onto the sofa beside Daphne. Leo smiled faintly, wondering if she’d be able to stand again without help—it was a deep couch and it looked as if Emma’s babes might be born at any time. Leo felt a pang of sadness at the thought. River, their youngest warrior, had always been like a son to him; he wanted to live long enough to see River and Emma’s twins born . . . and grown.

Leo rubbed his eyes, wrestling away the doubt. There’d be time for those kinds of regrets if their plan didn’t work. For now, he needed to focus on the problem at hand. Approaching the dilemma was a step-by-step process, and he couldn’t focus on the fifteenth step when they were at but step two or three.

Their final prophetess, Juliana, appeared at last, her auburn hair swept into a long ponytail. She greeted them both with a quiet smile and settled on the floor beside Shay.

“And now we’re ready to roll.” Shay stared down at her sketch pad, tapping it thoughtfully with her pencil. “I think the best thing is for all of us to pray and meditate quietly at first . . .”

“I’m going to be capturing everything with this.” Juliana placed an electronic voice recorder on the arm of the sofa. “It’s got an excellent mic, so even if the messages we hear come forth quietly, it will capture everything.”

Sophie laughed, cutting her eyes at the woman who until recently, had lived only in the Victorian era. “Jules, you’re way more modern than I’ll ever be.”

Juliana grinned back at her with a shrug. “I’m a techie! Who knew? I always loved inventions in the old days; now they’re simply amazing. Although sometimes I do miss the more old-fashioned devices.”

“You’re such a steam punk,” Sophie muttered affectionately.

Daphne made a little impatient sound beside Leo, clearing her throat, and Shay got back on track.

Leo leaned toward Daphne. “No matter what we learn, we will face things together.”

Daphne nodded, and in a thin voice said, “I feel so powerless. I’ve always been the one who could offer guidance.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I want to help you, Leo, not just sit here, doing nothing. Sensing nothing. You need me, but I’m on the receiving end.” She wiped at her eyes. “I realize that may seem utterly foolish, to even worry about such a thing at a time like this one, but I want to do something.”

Shay grabbed Daphne’s other hand. “But you are helping, Daphne. You’re the strongest one of us all! We’re counting on you so we can really hear the prophecies. You’re not useless—you’re critical to completing this circle. Your energy and power are key here.”

Daphne nodded again, obviously working to compose herself. “I’m ready,” she said at last.

Shay picked up her pencil again. “Daphne, before we start . . . do you have any specific questions? Particular guidance you’re hoping to receive in the prophecies?”

Daphne drew in a breath, holding it for a nervous moment, then slowly blew it out. “I want to know if there’s a way I can feed my demigoddess power to Leonidas. If what I am—who I am—can save his life. That’s the question I bring before the Highest God today.”

Sophie rubbed her hands together, eyes sparkling. “This is gonna rock. Maybe I’ll hear something for once, not just feel things . . . I mean, it’s not like I mind the feeling part, but it just seems so much sexier and cool to draw or hear prophetic stuff and—”

Shay silenced Sophie by popping her lightly on the forehead with her charcoal pencil. Sophie mouthed the word, “Sorry,” then obediently bowed her head. Everyone else followed suit, an electric hush falling over the group.

Really, it didn’t feel any different from the myriad times when Daphne had been the one prophesying. The energy in the center of her spirit built in the same way, the whirlwind of sensation in her body escalated, catching on like wildfire. Her hold on her physical form began to feel tenuous, as if she might leave it behind her on the sofa and take flight about the room.

The thread that bound her to Earth began to feel just as ephemeral, as divine energy began to course through her body. To pulse through her with every heartbeat, like the blood in her veins.

This was easy, utterly familiar. Of course she could tap into her own prophetic power, so the other Daughters could access it. Why had she even been afraid or nervous at all?

Except, right as she was getting into the rhythm of things, the experience became something wholly alien and new. It reminded her of the time when she’d brought a prophecy to Ajax and Shay in the underground tunnel—her spirit teleporting, but not her body. Like then, she was leaving the physical world behind, traveling at the speed of thought, no longer in that great library at all.

She found herself standing at the base of Olympus. The library, her friends . . . Leonidas, all had vanished. She stared down at her hands, confused, only to discover that they weren’t entirely solid: she could see straight through her hands. She was in spirit form, being granted a vision, a powerful one. She was being shown her desired answers, made to witness them firsthand.

Glancing upward, she searched the high vistas of Olympus. As was often the case, golden clouds and mists obscured the highest peak, and she watched a spectacular firebird circle upward in the sky. Its tail of gold and scarlet gleamed in the morning sun.

She smiled, watching and shielding her eyes until the bird sailed into a cloud. Why had she always been so unwelcome here? So unloved by her own family. Every time she visited Olympus, she felt her heart surge inside her chest. It was part of her, she felt it instinctively, and yet she always trod the paths and hillsides as an outsider. Well, except when she visited Eros; his palace could feel like home.

What do I do? Where do I go? She wasn’t here physically, so should she seek out Eros? Or remain here at the base of the hiking trail . . . and wait for guidance?

Follow me, a warm, powerful voice advised. Daphne clutched her chest, glancing in every direction. She saw nothing, but she’d heard that same voice once before, she was almost certain. That too had been in the tunnel with Ajax. She could hardly breathe with excitement and fear and honor that the very Highest God had chosen to speak to her.

I know the plans I have for you, young one.

She stared at the path along the base. “But . . . but what do I . . . do?” Her teeth were chattering because she was trembling so hard. She fell to her knees. “I mean no disrespect . . . you ask me to follow . . . do I climb this path? Or will you tell me as I go?”

Faith is the evidence of things unseen. It has always been this way.

That was the moment when she knew—beyond any doubt at all—that this was no Olympian god. This was the Highest God of all. The Nameless One.

The one Leo had been praying to for a year.

“You’re answering Leonidas’s prayers, Lord?” She searched all about for Him, seeing nothing but the golden, sparkling light of Olympus. Perhaps He hid in a burning bush somewhere, or was farther up the trails?

She stared upward toward the top of the sacred mountain, but saw no sign of Him. “Why are we here if you’re the Highest God?” she asked in a meek, respectful voice.

Even in this place, I have dominion. I am God of the Universe. The Highest. All other gods bow before me.

She thought about what He had just said. Even in this place . . .

“Then my brother must bow to you as well!” she said excitedly.

And even here, there are those who serve me. Come to Olympus again . . . the answers begin here, my little daughter. Your heart is good and pure. I have heard your prayers. You are in the fire, but you will not perish.

“What about Leo?” she blurted, distressed and unable to hold back. “I’m sorry! I’m not trying to be rude. Leo . . .”

Is he not the desire of your heart?

Tears welled in her eyes, and she bowed her head with a sob. “I love him with all that is in me.”

Love comes from the Highest. It begins and ends with me. Faith, child. Faith.

She fell to her knees, overwhelmed with gratitude, wanting to ask so many questions but terrified to voice any of them. But she didn’t have time anyway; the roaring wind began about her again, a whirling motion that caught her braids and gown.

She felt herself falling and cried out sharply, only to find herself grasping at the front of Leo’s shirt. He had her in his arms, rocking her, holding her.

Blinking at him, confused, she couldn’t recall where they were. He smiled down at her, his eyes bright. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to come back.”

“How long was I gone?” she gasped, leaning against Leo weakly.

He stroked her hair, cradling her on his lap. “More than an hour.”

She jerked backward in surprise. “That can’t be possible!” For her, it had been only moments.

He smiled, glancing at his black military watch. “No, seventy-eight minutes to be precise.”

She placed both hands on his chest, facing him. “We have to go to Olympus, Leo. You and I must teleport there as soon as I’m strong enough.”

Shay piped in. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we got during the prophesying.”

Shay and the other Daughters gathered around her. Something in their eyes made Daphne’s heart leap—because they were beaming, absolutely glowing with excitement.

Shay nodded, answering the question in Daphne’s eyes. “Just wait till you see and hear what happened while you were gone. What you said about Eros not helping?” Shay handed Daphne a sketch. “You were wrong. Look.”

On the page was a drawing of his rose-filled pool, a bow and a quiver full of arrows on the rocks beside it. “What do you mean?” Daphne wondered aloud. “He’s not in the picture.”

Leo held her closer. “We need to see your nephew and ask him about this weapon.” He tapped the sketch. “You see? Eros isn’t in the drawing, but his bow and arrows are.”

Daphne laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth in awe. “His weapons of love.”

Leo studied the sketch. “I’ve spent enough years learning to decipher your prophetic messages to know . . . we need to investigate this angle.”

Daphne grew somber again. “I should tell you, my lord, that Eros was not very encouraging when I visited him earlier.” She decided to leave out Eros’s dire predictions about Leo’s future; perhaps they’d be met with a more encouraging reception if they returned together.

Daphne glanced around the group. “Did you hear anything or receive anything about me in particular? About there being some way in which I could feed Leo my own power to strengthen him?”

Juliana reached for the audio recorder, planting it on the arm of the sofa beside Daphne. “Only this. Have a listen, and tell me what you think.” She hit a button and immediately Emma’s soft Southern accent spilled out.

I’m hearing the word ‘reversal’, Emma said. That’s all I get, over and over. Reversal. Wait . . . A static sound crackled through the recording. Wait . . .

What’s she doing? came Sophie’s questioning voice from the tape.

It’s a trance, Shay explained intently. She’s becoming entranced for some reason . . .

Really? Sophie said, I thought she only did that when she channeled a spirit.

There was silence and Daphne met Leo’s eyes. Reaching for her hand, they threaded fingers together, waiting as one for whatever would come next.

The tape kept rolling, but there wasn’t anything except ambient noise until suddenly Emma moaned, a low, mournful sound that caused gooseflesh to rise on Daphne’s arms. It was an eerie, disembodied sound. Then in an equally sorrowful voice, Emma said, She must sacrifice . . . at Olympus. A sacrifice is required. That’s the holy word for her. Sacrifice. To share her power, she must sacrifice . . . Then suddenly, Emma began coughing, her voice returning to a more normal tone. What happened? she asked. I blacked out for a minute.

The tape abruptly cut off.

For a moment, nobody spoke at all. Finally, Sophie put words to what Daphne had been feeling. “I think that seems kind of creepy,” she said. “I mean, the lead on Eros and his arrows and all that? Made of awesome. But Em moaning and sounding like she’s some voodoo woman? Not so much.” Sophie cast Daphne a quick, apologetic look.

Daphne rubbed her eyes tiredly. Instead of feeling her energy return, she was weaker than when she’d first awoken back here at the house. She had to focus, for Leo’s sake. “Sacrifice of what?” she wondered aloud, thinking about the words and what they might mean. “As in an offering of sorts? To one of the gods or the Highest?”

“Do they sacrifice goats and stuff at Olympus? Really?” Sophie’s eyes grew wide and horrified. “’Cause, eww, that’s awful. Poor, defenseless animals being harmed like that.”

Leo smiled in Sophie’s direction. “In the old days, it was considered an honor, not just for the gods, but even for the sacrificial beasts.”

Sophie blushed and stared down at her lap; she frequently became uncharacteristically shy around Leo. Daphne understood the feeling well.

“Before our battles, we often sought favor by sacrificing to Apollo or to Ares”—Leo got a look of extreme distaste on his face—“looking back, that wasn’t the best idea, though, was it?”

Daphne tapped her forehead. “But in this instance, it has to be something different. Sacrifice isn’t conducted at Olympus—it’s received.” She remembered her own prophetic vision. “I should tell you—all of you—that when I was passed out, I teleported to Olympus. My spirit did. And . . . the Highest God came to me.” She looked up into Leo’s eyes significantly. “He says our prayers will be answered. That we’re in the fire, but we will survive. He’s the one who told me we must go to Olympus. Perhaps that’s where we’ll understand the meaning of Emma’s prophecy. I want to leave tonight; I don’t want to wait.”

She started to rouse herself from Leo’s lap, but her vision grew dark and swimmy, and for a moment she was afraid she’d faint. Leo caught her against his chest, holding her tightly.

“Not so fast,” he cautioned, “you need to rest if you’re going to be strong enough to teleport us. We’ll wait till morning.”

Daphne swept her gaze across his features. Was he continuing to age? If so, she didn’t want to wait so many hours. Except for the trace of silver that had returned to his beard, he seemed mostly as he had before Ares touched him.

“I have time,” he reassured her, clearly sensing her thoughts. He rose to his feet, still holding her in his arms, and never even swayed in the slightest. He grinned down at her, beginning to carry her toward the hall. “See how strong I remain?”

She slid her arms about his neck, kissing his bearded face. “What I see . . . is you showing off.”

He grinned. “Bah, it’s every Spartan male’s birthright to try and impress his female with feats of outrageous courage.”

She blinked up at him, wondering if he even understood what he’d just said. Outrageous courage . . . was what it took for a man of some twenty-six hundred years to face his end, and do it resolutely, stoically. Daphne saw those traits in Leo’s dark eyes, and just as much bravery—a resolute determination that, no matter his fate, he would face it with honor.

She’d never loved him more than at that moment. Like the honorable warrior he was, he stared death in the eyes without even blinking.

And to Daphne, that made Leonidas the very definition of outrageous courage.

Chapter 14

Sophie watched as Leo carried Daphne out of the library, cradling her close, and couldn’t help releasing a dreamy sigh. Oh, to be cherished like that by the man you loved—by a man like Leonidas, who had no trouble letting you know that you were the moon and stars to him. Especially if that man were a certain centaur, and if maybe he’d place you gently on his back and carry you to some place romantic, a hidden forest or meadow where no one else would see . . . and then he’d gallantly help you to the ground and kiss you, his hands tangling all in your hair.

But it would all start with the way he looked at you—that same way that Leonidas always looked at Daphne. One day, some day, Sable would gaze at Sophie like that.

She wasn’t going to kid herself, though. In a minute, she’d be getting nothing but visual daggers from him. He was going to be straight up totally pissed that she’d left him out in the drive for so long, even though it was hardly her fault. Prophesying wasn’t exactly primo Djinn time.

She hadn’t figured it would go over well if she’d blurted, “Uh, yeah, and by the way? I’ve had a Djinn demon hanging in the driveway the whole time we were praying and all that. Can I let him in? I promise to keep him downstairs and make him wipe his hooves off before he comes inside!”

Yeah . . . no. Just no.

With one last look over her shoulder, she stole out onto the veranda. She walked quietly across the warped floorboards, not wanting to startle Sable, and not wanting to attract attention from those inside. She reached the railing and found him standing at the base of the steps, arms folded across his chest, a totally prickly expression on his face.

She whistled softly and he whipped his gaze in her direction. Trotting to just below where she stood, he craned his neck to look up at her. “Sophie!” he bellowed irritably.

She put fingertips to her mouth, shushing him.

He waved at her in silent exasperation, holding both hands out in one of those what-in-hell-is-going-on kind of motions.

She returned it by bugging eyes at him and mimicking his gesture, but adding more of a what-am-I-supposed-to-do nuance to it. He swore viciously, then glared up at her, muttering something she couldn’t quite make out.

Geez, she really did wish he’d just get a cell phone so they could text like normal people. She imitated a phone, holding a finger to her ear. “You need to go to AT&T,” she hissed down at him. “I could’ve texted you.”

He stomped a hoof, giving her a murderous glance. “They don’t exactly have a FRIENDS AND CENTAURS plan, Soph,” he stage-whispered back at her. “Are you going to let me in the house or not?”

She leaned over the railing. “I haven’t figured out how to bring you into the conversation yet,” she whispered.

Now that really enraged him. He let loose with a few words in ancient Persian; she was convinced they had to be profane. He made his hand gesture again, something between a shrug and a “what in the hell now” kind of thing.

So annoyed. So irritable. So frustrated.

Adorable.

She knew exactly how to answer his furious little motion. With one hand on the porch railing, she swung outward slightly, doing a Gene Kelly Singin’ in the Rain imitation. She placed her other palm over her heart and swooned. “Romeo!” she mouthed.

He cut his eyes at her, and she could feel the blast-wave of fury all the way up on the balcony.

She stuck her tongue out at him, starting back inside the library, but something made her turn around. Some strange sense that he still had something left to tell her. Slowly she walked back toward the railing, stealing a peek from the shadows, standing where he couldn’t possibly see her, not at night.

If Earth had done a U-turn on its axis, she’d probably have been less surprised. She stared down at him, trying her darnedest to breathe, but it honestly felt like her heart had stopped in her chest.

Sable stood below, gazing up at the balcony unself-consciously, one palm over his own chest. It was a show of adoration, a pledging of his heart to hers . . . and his eyes were filled with undisguised feeling. Something akin to love, but mixed with a strange kind of suffering that shocked her. That tortured look in his eyes immediately kicked her empathic gift into overdrive.

He cared about her deeply—she sensed it—and much more than he ever wanted her to know. But there was something else coursing below that emotion. Something she couldn’t pinpoint, a darkness, a confusion. She tried sorting through his emotions, wanted to isolate them, but it was like trying to catch a bunch of raindrops and line them up in a row—impossible.

He was filled with regret and conflict . . . but the dominant emotion was entirely different. It was so intense it stole her breath, slamming into her body with raw, very physical force.

He had fallen in love with her.

He despised himself for it, wanted to stop it, but he was powerless to smother the feelings that were coming alive inside his closed-off heart.

Oh, Sable, I’m simple, I’m right. Just . . . love me! You needn’t suffer so much over something so obvious.

And yet, that intense torment and conflict raged inside him like a gale wind. Perhaps if he saw that she was here, glimpsed how she accepted his offering of devotion, he might find peace. She dared to move out of the shadows and into the light where he could see her, praying it wouldn’t break the spell.

The moment he glimpsed her, Sable yanked his hand away from his bare chest as if he’d been scalded. He glared up at her accusingly, but her heart knew the truth. She’d seen it with her own eyes in the way he stood, pledging his heart to hers—and she’d felt it in the core of her empath’s soul.

And that’s why she was going to make him understand that she had faith enough for both of them.

She darted back inside the house, before she lost her nerve.

Sophie strolled inside, hands in her pockets, attempting to act all casual-like. Most everyone was still hanging around in the library, waiting for Leonidas, she guessed, because the meeting wasn’t over. There was always a moment of formal dismissal, most of it in ancient Greek—she was never sure whether the king recited a poem or a prayer or what. But none of that had happened tonight, so he’d undoubtedly be back.

Which was both good and bad. It meant she could ask one of the other Spartans about Sable without feeling that weighty, kingly stare of Leonidas’s. On the other hand, he was the only one who could actually grant her request.

She decided to try the plan out on Aristos, since he’d had such a good experience with Sable during the Juliana crisis. He was over at the big desk, hunched over a laptop, working intently on some project.

She sauntered up to him. “Uh, Ari. Hey, listen, got a question,” she said, hoping she wasn’t interrupting anything important.

He kept his eyes riveted on the screen, dark eyebrows cranked down into a scowl. “Uh . . . huh?” She had the feeling he hadn’t really heard her. Maybe she shouldn’t bug him.

But then she remembered Sable, out in the drive—first pretending to be so furious with her, and then secretly pledging his heart once she’d turned away.

“It’s kinda important,” she tried.

One black eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “Give me . . . a minute. Just hang on.”

He was making feverish movements with the keyboard, but it didn’t exactly sound like typing. She slid around the side of the desk and behind him.

“Skata!” he bellowed. “I almost had high score!” She looked down and saw a Bally’s online pinball game.

He snapped the laptop shut, looking like a kid whose mom had just said, “The answer is still no.”

Blowing out a breath, he swiveled to face her. “So what’s up?”

She hesitated a moment. The idea had seemed so logical when she was with Sable, but now? Not so much.

“I know this might be . . . unconventional.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s going to seem really, really out of the ordinary. Trust me, I do . . . but Sable’s outside and he’s on our team now, and because of that, I was thinking that, well, maybe he should join us. He worked with Ares for a long time . . . he might have knowledge or some ideas. Like how he knew the magic word for getting rid of Layla, that kinda thing. So I’m wondering. That’s all. Wondering.”

“Layla was a Djinn, his own cousin,” Ari answered. “That was a very specific circumstance, kiddo.”

She bounced onto her toes, recalling something else. “And he fought for y’all down in Hades. Remember, Emma rode out of the River Styx on his back! While she had River’s sword form in her hand. So, see—three of the most important people in your life—Sable saved each one of ’em.” She folded arms over her chest and grinned. She had him, she so totally did, and he knew it.

Ari began to laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, what is it with you and that demon?” He sized her up for a long moment, just staring at her until she started shifting around on the balls of her feet. “It’s because you healed him. That’s what I heard . . . that you two share a bond because of how you helped him.”

Sophie went bug-eyed. “You Spartans gossip worse than the ladies at my mama’s Bible study.”

He gave her a sideways grin. “Actually, I heard it from Emma. She says you consider Sable a ‘friend,’ which I say is madness, but it’s your call ‘cause you’re right—he’s helped us in a few critical spots. I think he can be trusted. If I didn’t, I’d have friend-blocked him out of your life by now, little sis.”

It wasn’t necessarily the right time to give him grief, not with him signing on to her Sable plan, but she couldn’t resist. “You know, Ari, I’m not exactly sure why you think you get to call me sister.”

He cranked back in the swivel chair, making his voice sound elderly. “Technically speaking, I’m your great-great-uncle.” Which was true—he’d married her great-great-aunt Juliana. “So run along now, little girl, and get me my worry beads and a flagon of ouzo . . .” He reached for her butt, making like he was going to pinch it. “And back in Greece, you know what we doddering old fellas like to do with a young lady’s behind . . .”

She laughed, swatting him on the arm. “All right, old man! Don’t get outta line on me.”

“Old man? Talking about me?” Leonidas joined them and she instantly blushed. Somehow she always did that around the famous king, even if she said nothing, but especially if she’d just attracted his unwarranted attention.

“Uh, no, sir. No . . .” She stared down at her black high-tops. Anywhere but up into Leonidas’s intimidating eyes. It wasn’t just that there were books and movies about the guy—

It was that he was totally, completely hot in a Russell Crowe sort of way. Scorching, flame-broiled hot.

“I was reminding my great-great-niece to respect her elders.” Ari gave the chair a spin, turning off the laptop. He tapped it for a minute, clearly thinking. “Hey, Commander, little girl here had a pretty solid idea. I want to know what you think.”

She groaned. He really was such a big brother type, managing to mortify her in Leonidas’s presence. “I am not a little girl.”

The king turned to her, and for once, she managed to return his gaze without blushing like a freak show. He smiled, inclining his head slightly. “Sophia, trust me when I say that there is a house full of males here, all of whom realize you are very much a grown, beautiful woman.”

Her mouth fell slightly open and damn, she did blush, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just turned to Ari and asked, “Now, which one of you wants to outline this idea?”

“What has Ares enlisted you to do?” Leonidas demanded, calling out to Sable before he’d even reached him. The centaur stood at the base of the steps to the house, where Sophie had apparently left him waiting. He looked surly and impatient, drumming his fingers along the tops of his forelegs.

Leo continued, jogging down the steps. “I saw you enter the stable earlier when I was out riding with Daphne. I know you were there . . . and you must have seen Ares yourself. So tell me—what are you attempting?”

Sable gave a half bow. “Quite lovely to see you again, as well, King Leonidas. Pleasant night out, isn’t it?”

Leo jabbed a finger into the center of Sable’s bare chest. “I don’t believe you would offer to help us without an agenda of your own,” he told the Djinn. “It’s too convenient . . . you and Ares in nearly the same place at almost the same time, earlier today. It can’t be a coincidence that you come now, seeking to join our ranks. So tell me, Sable,” Leo asked pointedly. “What do you intend by showing up here?”

Sable arched an eyebrow. “You’ll recall that I helped you defeat my cousin Layla—I revealed her secret demon name.”

That was true, and Leonidas hadn’t fully understood Sable’s motivation at the time. He knew the Djinn was turning light—light enough that even now he could stand on the warded property, a feat no fully dark demon could accomplish.

“Yes, you’ve sided with us several times recently,” Leo agreed, although that didn’t answer the question of Sable’s motivation in wanting to participate in their strategizing tonight. “But tell me why you’ve volunteered your assistance now? We aren’t in the midst of a battle at present.”

Sable walked closer, his hooves loudly crunching the gravel of the drive. “Leonidas, we have known each other for a very long time,” he said smoothly. “We are both old men at this point. Ancient and weary of the endless games that Ares plays with us. But that’s not why I’ve come to you.” Sable’s voice suddenly became low and intense. “My only interest is in protecting Sophie. That’s why I’m here.”

Leo frequently discovered the Djinn near her, sometimes lurking in the shadows where her human eyes couldn’t see. He’d worried at first, until he’d started to realize that at some point, the demon had clearly appointed himself as her protector. It was the one reason that Sable might have named that Leo didn’t doubt.

“You care about Sophie a great deal. I can see that.”

Sable scowled back at him as if accused of a hideous crime. “I should never have gotten tangled up with that deranged little pixie or worried a whit about her well-being,” he snarled, jabbing a finger in Leo’s direction. “She’s all but impossible to keep out of harm’s way, absurdly naive, too kindhearted for her own good, but . . .” Sable gave Leo a downright hopeless glance and sighed heavily. “Damn the woman. I’m here because I want her safe.”

Leo recognized the look reflected in Sable’s eyes, the emotion—it had to be similar to the look in his own eyes when discussing Daphne’s protection.

It was a fight to the death, lay-your-body-before-the-gods kind of desperation—a primal, utterly male need to protect the one you loved. But it raised a serious question of its own.

“You believe Sophie might be in danger of some sort?” Leo asked.

Sable began swatting his tail in obvious agitation. “Tremendous peril, Leonidas. And although that foolhardy female would trip over her own shadow if someone didn’t watch out for her, this time I truly believe her to be in grave danger.” Sable hesitated, then squaring his shoulders, announced, “I didn’t see Ares earlier tonight in the field. By Sophie’s honor, that is true.” The Djinn placed a fist over his chest. “I went to the barn to groom myself. Sophie will attest to my whereabouts. But I did see someone else tonight, someone dangerous . . .”

Sable trotted forward a few light steps, extending his hand. “The man’s name is Caesar Vaella. He says that Aristos will recognize this.” Leo gazed down into the center of the demon’s palm.

“A ring?” Leo reached for it. The band was a simple curio design, popular during the Victorian Era.

“Caesar claims to have taken it from Juliana’s hand . . . the night he drove her to commit suicide.”

Leo’s gaze snapped upward, and he was instantly at full attention.

Sable continued, “He’s a demon trader, Commander. A particularly vile one. I still smell his stench. He says he plans to kill Juliana again, for good this time—and Aristos himself.”

Leo needed this added complication about as much as he needed a force of a hundred thousand Persians to swarm through the gates of the Angels’ plantation. He rubbed his beard, thinking through what Sable had just told him. If Juliana was at risk, that meant that all the Daughters of Delphi might be at risk; it certainly meant that Sophie could be, just as Sable had surmised.

One thing was bloody well sure: If Leo was soon to pass from this world into Elysium, he didn’t want to depart with any dangerously unfinished business. He wanted to know that his bride was safe; he wanted to ensure that the Daughters were protected, not vulnerable to a psychotic killer.

A thought occurred to him, and he spun back to face the demon. “Why did he bring you this now? Why is he surfacing after more than a hundred years?”

Sable shook his head and said nothing. Leo watched him carefully—at the first sign of red in his demon’s eyes, the entire conversation would be ended. So far, the telltale light blue was all that stared back at him, the one true sign of Sable’s spiritual change. It was the exact hue of all the Daughters of Delphi’s eyes because Sable’s own mother had lived at Delphi as a prophetess . . . and been raped by his demon father. It was the Scylla and Charybdis of Sable’s situation, making him difficult to trust, and yet possibly a very valuable ally.

For one long moment, the demon seemed to wrestle internally, one large fist clutched against his belly. “This . . . is difficult to say for me. I hope you understand,” Sable said, his voice thick and deep. “Caesar didn’t tell me why he’d surfaced now, but I have a guess. It’s that he knows his victim, Juliana, lives once again.” Sable paused, kicking at the gravel with a hoof. “Speaking as someone who has enjoyed the taste of murder”—he hesitated, swallowing visibly—“as a demon who once reveled in the flavor of it, I can understand the temptation . . . to revisit a crime. One that might be committed twice . . . therefore tasted twice. I can absolutely understand the trader’s motives.” Sable glanced away sharply, averting his face. “For the same ones have lived in me.”

“But you’ve changed, or you would not have come to me now,” Leo pointed out, not sure why he wanted to reassure a creature who had once been his enemy. But the urge was there.

Sable cut a glance at him. “But that darkness is still in me,” he said, and for the briefest moment, his eyes turned beady red, almost as if Sable intended to make a point. Just as instantly, the blue returned.

“Perhaps your mixed heritage makes you the very best kind of ally,” Leo observed. “I’d rather have you inside the tent pissing out, as they say . . .”

Sable trotted closer, blue eyes blazing. “Caesar Vaella laid down a gauntlet tonight, Leonidas. He’s left a trail . . . I can help. I won’t take your men far—I refuse to be gone from Sophie for long, not with a killer stalking this house. But I can get them started.”

Leo stared down at the ring, then closed his fist about it. “Aristos will want his revenge—and this trader’s life. But he can’t go alone. Nikos has the tracking skills. He’s the only one with the supernatural gift to trail a quarry like this one. You’ll go with them?”

“As far as Atlanta, no more,” Sable said. “And, Commander? I’m trusting you to keep an extra eye on Sophie for me. She gets these ideas sometimes, about her healing abilities . . . be sure she doesn’t take on anything too complex.” Sable gave him a significant look, and Leo found himself wondering yet again if the Djinn knew of his mortal fate.

“I’ve seen firsthand how healing anyone or anything drains her. With me . . .” Sable looked away quickly. “She did too much, went too deep . . . and she suffered.”

Leo nodded, and briefly clasped Sable by the shoulder. “I’m trusting you. I don’t know that I should, but your feelings for Sophie are sincere, I’m sure of it. I’m counting on you to do right by her.”

Sable’s eyes grew wide. “Right by her?”

“With your intentions. Don’t break her heart by turning dark again. And don’t betray my trust in you for allowing you near that mortal girl.”

Leo shoved past the centaur before the stubborn male could argue or deny, and jogged up the steps. Aristos wasn’t going to be a very happy man in a moment. Neither was Daphne once she learned that Leo was sending away his only source of healing—Aristos himself. But at least this way, he could go to Olympus with Daphne in the morning, assured that his people were protected in his absence—not vulnerable to a stone-cold killer.

Chapter 15

Before talking to Aristos or Nik, Leo made a left turn at the second-story landing, then jogged up to the top floor of the house. He needed to check on Daphne before chatting with Ari. That conversation was going to be a difficult one, and probably lengthy as well. As wan as Daphne had been, he definitely wanted to reassure himself that she was all right before tackling the Caesar Vaella problem with Ari.

He found Daphne sitting up in bed, resting against fluffed pillows, with a copy of Immortelle in her lap. The minute she saw him enter her room, she tossed the magazine aside and adjusted herself, tall against the pillows. He settled gingerly on the edge, but she’d have none of that; she scrambled onto her knees, wrapping her thin arms about him. His body reacted with all the vigor of a healthy, youthful male—surely a good sign. His cock punched upward inside his combat pants, almost as if trying to reach up inside of Daphne herself. And his body wasn’t too far off the mark, what with her sitting pretty much on his lap this way.

“I feel that, my lord,” she told him, staring at him through sensually lowered lashes. “You know, I was just reading a piece in Immortelle. About pleasing your man. It gave me some ideas . . .”

“Did it now?”

She took hold of his face, massaging her thumbs along the edges of his jaw. She stared at him a long moment, the desire in her eyes warring with some other unnamable emotion. She sighed, releasing him. “Much as I want to kiss you now, we really need to go on to Olympus.”

He shook his head. “No, Daphne. You must rest first, you’re not strong enough.” For some reason, he thought of Sable’s words about Sophie, how her own gift exhausted and drained her.

Daphne wrapped her arms about him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Leo, we can’t wait,” she said quietly. “The problem is . . . Ari’s power, you’re not holding on to it. It’s not enough.”

She traced the edges of each of his eyes, silent as she inspected him. “Since the prophesying started, my love . . . you’ve lost ground.”

Leo gently moved her from his lap, and strode to the dresser. As he stared into the mirror, his beard was a blend of dark and silver, and this time the hair on his head was turning gray faster than the beard.

“Apparently you can’t age the same way twice,” he murmured, combing at his wiry curls with his fingertips.

He turned toward her, bracing his back against the dresser. He forced a smile. They’d barely managed to halt the process at all—and although Ari’s power had helped, Leo wondered how long that would be effective. Might he even develop a kind of immunity to the power infusion? No, they needed a permanent solution if he was to have any future with Daphne at all.

“I’d say that I’m thirty-nine or so,” he assessed, desperately trying to sound jovial. “So long as I don’t acquire forty years, will you still marry the Old Man? Become my child bride?”

She pointed to an article in the magazine. “It says in here that older men make fabulous lovers. There’s this formula, how to calculate the right age of a man for you . . .” She reached for the magazine, flipping through the pages.

He climbed onto the bed, and nipped the collar of the gown Shay had lent her, pulling on it with his teeth until the ribbon came undone. “I am perfectly virile, love.”

She stroked his hair silently, and he could practically hear her thinking—whenever Daphne grew so quiet, that was usually the cause. Her hand paused, half tangled in his curls.

“I want to go tonight, Leo,” she insisted. “To Olympus. Not in the morning.”

He rolled out of her arms and onto his side, facing her. “What if you’re so drained when we arrive there, that you can’t guide us? Or perhaps not even teleport us to Eros’s, only to the base of the mountain? We must wait.”

“I am fine!” Daphne moved in front of him on the bed, kneeling. “In fact, the only thing that’s draining me at all right now is that you’re being so horribly stubborn.”

He considered her words, weighing the best course of action.

She reached for his hands. “This is your life, Leonidas—and therefore it’s mine as well.”

He sighed; she had him. They would go tonight, rather than possibly allow a dangerous amount of time to pass.

He drew her hands to his lips, kissing the center of each palm. “I need to see Aristos and Nik off first.”

“Where are they going?” she asked in surprise. She sat straight up on the bed, her words carefully spoken. “Why would Aristos be leaving now, of all times?”

And he dreaded answering, because he knew exactly the reaction he would receive. But he wasn’t about to keep the truth from her, so he explained the entire situation. When he finished, she sat in complete and stony silence, her expression as unrevealing as a statue’s.

He wanted a reaction, even if it was an angry one, anything but for her to shut down on him. “You’re never this difficult to read, you know. You make your emotions obvious . . . with your eyes, your expressions. Very transparent . . . either that,” he said, “or you’re simply transparent to me.”

All at once, her featureless expression vanished; her fair cheeks turned ruddy; her eyes watered. “I could reach out and slap you right now, Leonidas. I could just take this hand of mine . . .” She flattened her palm, staring at it. “Oh, I could take it, and absolutely . . . Sending Ari, your only cure, far away. When we don’t have any other manner in which to keep you alive! Why aren’t you thinking about yourself right now? You’re looking after everyone else, all of us, but not you.”

“The Daughters’ lives are important as well,” he stated softly. “We still have Olympus.”

“We have nothing,” she cried out. “Nothing. Beyond Ari, we have no sure way of reversing your curse. And now you send him away.” She bounded off the bed without another look in his direction. Then, just as abruptly, she spun to face him, furious tears in her eyes. With a pleading hand over her heart, she said, “Even if you don’t value your own life, please respect the fact that it means something to me.”

“Daphne, you’re not thinking clearly,” he argued gently. “Ari will remain in constant contact with our base. It’s hardly a risk—you could teleport me to wherever he is at any point.”

She buried her face in both hands. “I’m so scared,” she whimpered unexpectedly. “I feel like I’m thrashing around, grasping at any hope, any possibility.” She looked up at him, hot tears streaming down her face. “Of course you must look after the Daughters. It’s part of why I love you . . . that you always put others first. But because you love me, may we please, for the love of the Highest, leave for Olympus tonight?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Sometimes, when it came to pleasing your beloved, simple answers could make them happiest of all. Daphne flung herself at him with such relief that she knocked the breath out of him.

The cock-sucking, motherfucking bastard. That’s what Ari wanted to shout, loudly enough to make the windows of the upstairs library rattle with his rage. For Caesar to surface now, after all these years, and threaten Juliana’s life? To bring proof of his crime, and hand it over like war booty—and to one of their more questionable allies, at that?

“When do we leave?” Aristos growled in Nik’s direction, never taking his eyes off his king. “And, sir, with all respect—do you honestly believe we can trust Sable?”

Leonidas smiled faintly. “Just earlier, you were arguing that we should do that very thing.”

“I know, I know.” Ari scraped his hands over his face, trying to calm down. He could feel the white-hot roar of his demigod’s power coming alive inside him. Any minute, if he didn’t gain some control, he’d short-circuit—and neither Leo nor Juliana needed that. They needed him calm, levelheaded.

“This is really crap timing. You need me here, sir, healing you. Helping you with my life-jobs,” he said. But what he didn’t say was that the Old Man looked like he was going to need another dose and stat. He’d already added on what looked like a decade in the past few hours. He was at least as old—if not more so—than when Ari had healed him initially.

Ari looked into his king’s eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t go, sir. Maybe we should strengthen the security perimeter, keep the Daughters safeguarded, and first solve your problem. Then I can go after Caesar.”

Leo shook his head. “I’m leaving for Olympus as soon as you depart. Daphne and I are working on my problem—you focus on taking out this enemy for me. For all of us. We don’t want Caesar’s trail to grow cold, so you need to act now.”

Just the thought of that demon trader’s name caused rage to boil up inside of Ari. He fisted his hands, and as he stared down at them, watched his power surge. Bright silver began coursing through his veins like liquid lava; he watched the power snake through his body, unable to stop it.

The fury needed release; he was desperate for it, but he refused to break any of the Angels’ appliances or windows. He tossed his head back and roared, a long, brutal war cry. “How dare he threaten my Jules?”

Leo took hold of Ari’s violently trembling hands, and just held them, and peace enfolded Ari. Leonidas’s entire demeanor, even in the face of this storm, was stoic, strong. Something about how solid their king was right now enabled Ari to dial down his power surge. After a few seconds, his vision returned to normal.

He was embarrassed, to be so uncontrolled and emotional when his king was the one with a death sentence on his head. “My lord . . . thank you.” Ari inclined his head. “It’s a good thing you’re the king . . .”

“Yes, but we all need our jester, Ari.” Leo patted his cheek affectionately. “Happy hunting. And be safe.”

Nikos rose from the sofa where he’d been silently listening. He clasped Ari on the shoulder. “Brother, I’ll find this Caesar. I’ll promise you I will . . . and then you’ll do the honors.”

“I’ll serve him his balls on the end of my spear, that’s what,” Ari snarled, rubbing his hands together. Then he turned to Leonidas. “But first, my lord? I need to give you another dose of Styx’s finest. One for the road, okay?”

Chapter 16

Daphne stepped gingerly around the side portico of Eros’s palace. It was so unlike his father’s home, which perched high atop Olympus, grandiose and gaudy. Eros’s place was simple. Elegant. He’d constructed the dwelling so that it received fine breezes from the east, and yet the wading pool and its tropical foliage were hidden by the long portico, creating something of a lee along the side of his palace.

No doubt, Eros had created his sensual pool with privacy in mind. She’d never fully understood the magic behind the mystical waters, but she knew it involved Eros himself bathing regularly in it. Perhaps his god’s power flowed out of him and into the water itself; she wasn’t sure.

“Any sign of him?” Leo asked, holding her hand as they strolled across neatly trimmed green grass, and around the side of the palace.

“He tends to favor his bathing pool in the late day,” she answered, leading them in that direction.

“What time is it now?” Leo asked curiously, glancing at the bright, cloud-filled sky. The sun never set at Olympus. There were only early morning, midday, and late afternoon; the whole process started over after that.

“You wouldn’t guess it, but it’s actually quite late.” She pointed at the sun’s position, how it crested the peaks of the mountain.

Leo gave her a wry smile. “In other words, it’s like me. I’ve always appeared to be, shall we say, midday . . . until . . .”

He didn’t finish the statement, but she knew the direction of his thinking: Ares was trying to force Leo’s perpetual sun to set. It would be like darkness falling on Olympus. She squeezed his hand, and led him toward the tropical pool. When they reached the end of the flagstones, she thoroughly expected to see Eros reclining in those waters. Instead, the pool was undisturbed, the only sound the splashing of the waterfall that spilled into it.

She searched all around the area, craning her neck for any sign of her nephew, but he was not to be found. “Where is he?” she asked in frustration. All this tension and expectation—the arguments with Leo about whether to teleport tonight or tomorrow—and now there was no sign of Eros at all. “I don’t understand why he’s not here.” It had never even occurred to her that he’d be gone—not after she’d seen the prophetic drawing.

She groaned hopelessly, a thought forming. “Oh by the Highest. Eros wasn’t in that drawing. Only this place and his arrows were in Shay’s sketch.”

Leo released her hand and walked to the edge of the pool. He stared into its dappled surface, watching a rosebud that had become caught in a whirlpool, spinning endlessly around. He squatted low, just studying the crimson bloom—an image of futility. “What if I bathed in this pool now? I can only assume it would be the gravest insult . . . to act without his approval or authority.”

She shook her head vigorously. “We don’t understand the power in that water, Leo. It wouldn’t be worth the risk.”

“I know,” he said, reaching toward the rose as if he meant to pluck it from the surface. “Perhaps he will return in time.”

“Return? Of course he will. You make it sound as if all hope is lost.”

Leo planted both palms on his knees, looking up at her. “He might be out exercising his gift, Daphne.”

She thought for a moment. “He swore off lovespelling for a time, hoping to please my brother. But maybe you’re right . . . they’ve reached the end of their road, so he could be away on business.”

“And how long might that take?” Leo posed the question without emotion, as if it were mundane, hardly worth thinking about. But she caught his reasoning.

She glanced at him in panic. “He might stay gone for weeks, for all we know.” She sank hopelessly onto the edge of an ottoman that sat by the pool. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to think. “I’d been so certain he was the one to help us . . .”

“And Shay’s drawing indicated that he was. Remember that.” Leo slowly rose to his feet, and for a moment froze. She saw the frisson of pain cut across his features, even though he tried to mask it from her.

“Is it your knee?” she asked, watching him take several faltering steps before his gait became normal again.

“That injury has always been a problem,” he said, walking past her. “Nothing new.”

She didn’t buy his casual dismissal; it was clear he was in more pain than he wanted her to know. He began prowling the area, his gaze searching for any sign of Eros.

They’d already wandered the palace interior, the porticos, and now the wading pool area. But they hadn’t really searched the rambling lawns to their far perimeters.

Daphne glanced up, about to suggest that very thing to Leo, and noticed something. On the farthest slope of the lawn, overlooking the mountainside, a near-naked figure lay prone on the grass.

“Leo!” She leaped to her feet, pointing toward her nephew. “Over there. He’s over there.”

Eros lay sprawled on his belly, a quill in one hand, an unrolled parchment in the other. He was so intent on his work that he’d not noticed them arrive. He scribbled furiously for several moments, and then hesitated, the tip of the quill poised at his lips.

“Whatever he’s writing, he seems very intent about it,” Leo observed, as they walked quickly toward the god.

She barely suppressed a giggle. “Don’t say a word to him about it, please. It’s an erotic novel. He started it when Ares tried to bar him from lovespelling. Apparently Eros’s gift became . . . well, a tiny bit uncontrollable during that dry spell. So he turned to writing as an outlet. Now he’s consumed with finishing Dominick and Adrianne’s story. He told me recently that they feel like real, living people to him. He can’t bear to deprive them of a happy ending.”

“Well, the God of Love is certainly devoted to his gift,” Leo observed.

When they were close enough, Daphne called out to Eros, who was so startled by their sudden arrival that he almost knocked over his inkpot. He gave them a wave, blowing on his unfurled parchment, then rose to greet them. He wore nothing but a lightly draped towel, which hung low about his muscular waist. Eros wasn’t as big as his father was, but he had a lean grace to his body that was breathtaking. No wonder love was such a beautiful thing; the god of it was certainly stunning himself.

His long blond hair was still damp, and it was evident that he’d recently availed himself of the very same pool that she hoped might help Leo.

“Beloved Daphne,” Eros said brightly, moving to kiss her hand. “My darling aunt, always a pleasure.” He glanced at Leo, taking his firm hand, as well. “King Leonidas, I am honored to have you as a guest at my palace. Greatly honored.” Eros then drew Leo’s hand to his mouth, giving the knuckles a brief kiss.

To his credit, Leo didn’t flinch at the gesture. It was Eros’s custom to kiss the hands of both lovers when greeting a couple, a show of respect for their bond—and also a way of solidifying the union.

She felt that strengthening now. A strange shiver of power shot between Leo and herself, a current of electricity that roared to life. She saw the king swallow hard, his eyes watering in reaction.

Next Eros joined their hands together, clasping them beneath his own. “You two love well, I can see it all over you.” A joyous expression lit his mischievous golden eyes. “The most beautiful glowing crimson hue encircles you. Ah, too bad you found each other on your own and I can’t claim the handiwork! I so admire the rare, precious love you two share.” He glanced at Leo, his expression growing melancholy. “King Leonidas, I was saddened to hear that my father continues to plague you.”

Leo inclined his head. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. Eros beamed beneath the quiet deference, just as he’d done the last time he’d met with Leo.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with the great Leonidas of Sparta calling me ‘my lord,’ ” Eros argued, blushing slightly.

Leo clasped Eros on the shoulder. “Ah, but I’ve come seeking help, so it is perfectly appropriate, Lord Eros.”

“Help?” Eros cut his eyes in Daphne’s direction curiously. “I assumed Daphne had explained. . . .”

Daphne nodded eagerly. “I know, but there’s been a development. We’ve had a prophecy, and I think you might be able to help more than you think.” Daphne handed him Shay’s sketch and the god examined it in contemplative silence.

After a moment, his golden eyebrows lifted as a slow, impish smile formed on his face. “Aunt Daphne, you do realize that nothing would please me more than hindering my father’s diabolical plans. So, come.” He slid arms about them both, strolling across the lawn. “Let’s have some wine and enjoy the afternoon breezes along my portico. It seems we have much to discuss.”

Eros had settled them at an elegant wicker table and chairs on his portico, yet the seating arrangement was a tad unearthly. By comparison to the usual Pottery Barn setup she saw around Savannah, these pillows were somehow more downy, the glass-top table more reflective, the color of the fabric more vivid.

Eros, of course, took their surroundings in stride. With a wave of his hand, a young female servant arrived at their table, and she and Eros murmured together. It seemed odd that he wouldn’t boldly request whatever wine he wished to serve them, and Daphne had a feeling that the playful god might be up to something more than simply solving their dilemma.

The young woman gave him a light bow, then turned to leave. Daphne smiled to herself when she noticed Eros subtly watching her go, his gaze tracking her all the way inside the palace before he turned his attention back to them. The servant was an odd contrast to Eros and his goldenness, possessing dark, lustrous brown hair, and large eyes almost the same shade.

Daphne couldn’t resist a little mischief of her own. “Someone special, is she?”

Eros’s tawny eyes flicked to her, widening. “She is my servant,” he said in a downright indignant tone.

Daphne smiled back at him. “It’s been a long time since Psyche, you know. Maybe . . . maybe you should think of trying again with someone new.”

He shook his head vigorously, his tanned cheeks growing ruddy. “She was the end for me. I make love for others, I don’t partake myself.”

He flicked a hand, dismissing the topic, and reached for Shay’s sketch. As he stared at it, his embarrassment faded, his eyes beginning to gleam with unmistakable excitement. Something in his expression made Daphne’s heart beat faster, and she experienced her first real sense of hope about solving Leo’s crisis.

Eros tilted his head sideways, studying the picture. “I find the sketch most fascinating. I’m sure you’ve noticed that there are two parts to this prophecy.” He glanced significantly at Leo as he spoke. “You see these weapons, obviously, my bow and the quiver of rare arrows. And then there is my bathing pool.” He continued gazing at the drawing, his eyes alight with interest. “Seeing it here, in a prophetic picture, and with these very specific weapons, makes me speculate. I do think it’s at least worth trying my pool after all.”

Daphne wondered about the weapons, why Eros was making such a point of their significance. She was about to ask, but the servant returned. With a slight bow, she deposited a crystal decanter of red wine on the glass table, along with three silver drinking bowls.

“Thank you, Agathe.” He dismissed the servant quickly—a little too quickly, in Daphne’s mind, which told her she’d been right about his interest in the gorgeous young woman. He stood, reaching for the flask of wine. “Ah, but let’s share a toast before we try the wading waters. Sometimes loosening up a bit can make the pool’s power more . . . effective.”

Daphne wasn’t much of a drinker, and she wasn’t sure how alcohol might magnify Eros’s magic, but she didn’t want to be rude. He extended a full bowl of red wine toward her. “Drink, Aunt Daphne,” he urged, and there was a devilish glimmer in her nephew’s eyes.

Perhaps the wine, like the water in the pool, was imbued with his Olympian power. She tipped the bowl backward, taking several quick sips. Almost immediately, her body became infused with a softer, fuzzier feeling. Peace, yes, but it seemed something more erotic . . . her entire body awakening, even as she relaxed.

“Where do you acquire your wine?” Leo asked politely as he accepted his own bowl.

Eros left the table and reclined on a nearby settee, tucking his feet beneath him in a languid pose. “The grapes we grow upon my south lawn; the wine we ferment at Dionysus’s vineyard. He is the master of fine vintage, and”—Eros gave them each a wicked grin—“he understands my special, extra processing.”

So that explained the warm buzz that had begun all over Daphne’s skin, seeping into her most intimate parts. With one glance at Leo, she drank deeply of the bowl’s remnants. “How soon might we take a swim in your pool, my nephew?” she asked, not even ashamed of the husky, carnal tone in her voice.

It was almost midnight, yet the Angel plantation was hopping, everyone in a flurry of action. Sophie sat on the front steps of the house, watching people come and go as if it were ten in the morning. Leo and Daphne had left for Olympus an hour ago, and now any minute Sable would be taking off with Ari and Nikos after the demon trader who had driven Juliana to her death. Pretty big quarry. If it wasn’t a lie.

Quick night. Ridiculously fast-changing odds. A few hours ago, Sable had been trying to gain entrance to the inner circle. Now, Sophie could only stand by and watch as he prepared to lead two of the Spartan brothers against a dangerous foe.

None of it sat right with Sophie. Her empath’s Brink’s Security alarm was blaring, full alert.

She found herself reviewing all the conflicted emotions she’d sensed in Sable earlier—trying to square those with his request to sit in on the meeting. All she could come up with was a bushel full of doubts, especially now that this enemy had just conveniently “surfaced.”

Did. Not. Compute. Certainly not in any way that didn’t cast Sable’s motives in doubt.

And just like Sable hated himself for falling in love with her, she despised herself for losing even a little bit of faith in him. But it was there. Like it or not, she really wondered if he was up to something twisted and dangerous.

So she decided to confront him. Because really, when you loved someone, even if they were the craziest choice your heart and soul could ever make, you put the truth right out there. That’s just what you did.

Standing on the front porch, she discovered Sable a good twenty yards down the long drive, pacing about in agitation. Before he spotted her, she just watched him, trying to gauge his demeanor. Talk about game change! Just an hour ago she’d hidden in the shadows while he pledged himself to her—now, she wasn’t sure why he was leading Ari and Nikos on the hunt for Juliana’s killer. If. If he was leading them there, and not into some trap. Despite Leonidas’s obvious trust in Sable, she couldn’t help putting all the crazy pieces together and doubting everything he’d told her tonight. And everything she’d perceived in his heart.

He must’ve sensed her, because at once he whipped his gaze in her direction. His black eyebrows lowered into a scowl, but he trotted closer. Great, they were going to do this, weren’t they? Have a discussion that she knew might set them back by months . . . if he was even on the level at all. She met him at the bottom of the steps.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he told her coolly.

She planted her hands on both hips. “Oh really? And why not?”

“It’s late. Bedtime for empathic pixie types.” He lifted a foreleg and began picking at his hoof. She could see a sharp rock protruding from the sole. Sure, it had to hurt, but wasn’t this a fine time for him to focus his attention away from her? Avoidance tactic, clearly.

He scowled, not making any headway with the stone. In exasperation, she slapped his hands out of the way, taking hold of the hoof. “Geez Louise, let me, will you?” She worked at the stone. “And you think I’m a hot mess? Always getting into trouble? What about you, huh? Mister I-Don’t-Need-Anyone. Mister I-Won’t-Let-You-Brush-Me,” she huffed, surprised at the bubbling anger she suddenly felt toward him. “You’re too stubborn to ever willingly accept help, not for the simplest problems. You wonder why I forced my healing on you all those times. Because you’d have died before letting anyone else take care of you, especially me.”

She picked the rock right out of the center of his hoof and hurled it toward the trees irately.

He stood taller now, clearly taken aback. After a moment he said, “You are not yourself.”

She glared up at him, her eyes wide and accusing. Very slowly, she slid a palm right over her chest in imitation of his earlier pledge. Reminding him, telling him like it was. Their eyes locked for one burning moment. “I saw you,” she said. “You know that I did.”

He instantly glanced past her shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You always prattle on about so many useless things.”

The resentment built inside of her; all the frustration about their past months, all his denials and mixed messages. “You really are such a liar, and I’m sick to death of it.”

“I’m a demon, Sophie.” His tone was shockingly gentle. “Whatever else did you expect?”

She swatted him hard on the chest. “Never for you to use me. Duh. For you to be honest about your motives, at least. Liar! God, such a liar!”

“I . . . used you?” He searched her face, his confusion obvious. She didn’t even have the energy to try for an empath’s reading. Her shoulders slumped and all the life went out of her.

“You wanted in on the meeting. And now? Suddenly the tables have turned, nothing’s the same . . . you’re not yourself, either, I can see it in your eyes.” And she could, the way he kept glancing about, seeming jumpy and nervous.

“My vision is not demon-red, Sophie. I don’t know what you mean.”

She flung her hands out in exasperation. “No, your eyes are still blue. But you won’t look at me.”

He slid his gaze to hers forcefully, but something still wasn’t right. She couldn’t say what it was, couldn’t pinpoint it. But just like earlier, she could feel the conflict in him; it was radiating toward her like a heavy, drowning tide. “Doubt,” she began, counting off on her fingers. “Guilt . . . despair.” She gave him a sad glance, unable to fight the sense that he was doing something wrong here. “That’s what I see in you. Tell me, Sable—should I warn Ari and Nik? They’re my friends, you know. I care about them. So if this is a trap, if that’s why you’re so conflicted—”

He seized her by the arms. “Sophie, I’m about to lead the Spartans into the midst of my fellow demons, some of whom are former associates of mine. Of course I have mixed feelings! And . . . I kissed you for the first time today. Twice.” His grip on her gentled, but he didn’t let go.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, kissing me was apparently such a hardship that now you’re in a state of despair. And you feel guilty about it because you took advantage of me, a woman you consider a fool and an idiot. And you have doubt . . . let’s see why, why, why?” She tapped her chin melodramatically. “Oh! Because you actually liked the kiss, so you’re questioning your own sanity. So that covers all three emotions I was reading off you. Riiiight.”

His breathing was heavy and he had her close against his body, still holding tight to her. His chest rose and fell with desperate gulps of air, his light blue eyes filled with pain. “You may be an empath, Sophie,” he ground out, “but you’re not reading my emotions nearly as well as you think.”

He seemed to be challenging her, gripping her so hard and close that her high-tops tangled with his hooves. She splayed both palms flat against his warm chest, right over his heart, and for once, he didn’t push her away. She pressed further into his spirit, ferreting, trying to gauge his emotions with fine-tuned accuracy. And she discovered something new, an intense emotion that she’d not noticed before: an absolute siren-blast’s worth of fear.

“What are you afraid of?” she whispered. “This Caesar Vaella? That’s not like you. You don’t ever fear a thing. Why now?”

“He’s very dangerous. He all but killed Juliana, drove her to suicide in 1893.” Sable stared upward into the dark treetops as he spoke, perhaps because his eyes suddenly had assumed the beady glow of a dark demon, and he didn’t want her to see?

“I worry that he’s targeting all the Daughters now. You included,” he admitted thickly. “Especially you.”

He was worried about her? She reviewed the emotions that she’d sensed in him: fear, doubt, despair. All of those could be explained away by his concerns for her safety.

Except one.

“But that doesn’t explain guilt.”

“I thought you trusted me.” He switched his long silky tail in agitation. “You . . . have always believed in my potential.” He lowered his voice, staring at the house beyond them. Anywhere, it seemed but at her. “You’ve always believed in us.”

“Please, Sable . . . just look at me.” If he’d do that, her own doubts might be assuaged.

Very slowly, his beautiful blue eyes, the color of summer sky, fixed on her. Not a glimmer of beady-demon-red in the house. Maybe she really was losing it. After all, it was late, and they’d had all sorts of shocks today—not to mention that she’d worn herself out during the prophesying.

She had always believed in him, in the visions she’d seen of their future, of the deep down goodness she’d glimpsed in his transforming soul. Raking a hand through her curls, she suddenly felt like a paranoid jerk. She’d spent all these months trying to convince him that she had faith in him . . . and then tanked in two minutes’ time.

She leaned into him, sliding both arms about his back. Shockingly, he didn’t become skittish, didn’t bolt away. She could feel the lightly prickling hair of his withers beneath her hands as she held on to him. “I believe you. It’s hard to be empathic, you know. You get all these cross-wired signals, and sometimes you’re not sure what to believe. You find yourself reading the subtlest facial expressions . . .” Lightly she massaged his back, amazed that he didn’t pull away.

In fact, he didn’t resist at all. Very gingerly, his warm arms came about her, too, as he held her against his bare chest. Not dodging her, not raging—cradling her so very close. “Do me a favor, Sophie,” he said. “Don’t read me all the time.”

“You don’t give me enough to go on otherwise. You’re hardly honest with me about anything you feel.”

“I’m honest about this.” He reached for her chin, and bending low, brushed a light, gentle kiss across her lips. “The truth? I hate leaving you now because I worry that some harm might come to you . . . that I won’t be here to stop it. To watch over you and protect you. It is absolutely killing me to go.” He kissed her once again, his warm, full mouth remaining against hers. “Honest enough, Sophie Lowery? Damningly honest enough?”

She nodded, swallowing. For once, she had nothing to say, especially when he stroked her cheek, looking deep into her eyes.

“Please,” he said seriously, “try to stay out of your usual whirlwind of danger. For me?”

She leaned her cheek against his bare chest. “My demon is begging me to keep safe. I think I might faint. Or swoon.”

“Just promise me you’ll be cautious.” He growled and took a step back, but not before he ran his fingers through her curls like a lover would. That was the first time she noticed—his claws were gone. When had that happened? How had she missed the change? They must’ve disappeared just like his horns had, all but permanently vanishing as he’d turned light.

He threaded his very human-seeming fingers together with hers, but before she could ask about his claws, Aristos and Nik came barreling down the steps. He released her, trotting in their direction, and for one stupid minute, she actually wondered which vehicle the three of them would go in. Unless they had a horse trailer hidden somewhere nearby, this would be a teleportation scenario.

Sable cast her one last look, and mouthed the words, “Promise me.”

She flushed a little, then gave him an obedient salute, but he never saw it because he was already joining the others.

Promise me, too, Sable. Promise me you’ll be safe . . . and stay light.

Chapter 17

Daphne felt like a wildcat. Whatever magic had been in that bowl of wine raced through her veins, and she had to fight the urge to strip out of her gown before she’d even reached the pool’s edge—even with Eros trailing behind her fast steps.

Her nephew had absolutely dosed her! And Leo, as well, it seemed, gauging by the heated look in her Spartan’s eyes, the sensual way he kept glancing at her, his lashes lowered to half-mast. Eros had a devilish streak, for sure, and she knew that he took pleasure in seeing others fall sway beneath his gifts. But in this particular instance, she suspected that the god hoped to strengthen Leo by unleashing his power—at least for a bit longer, if not for eternity.

They reached the pool, and Eros stepped into her path, blocking her. “Daphne, darling, wait just one moment.” He turned, addressing Leo. “Sir, I can make no promises about these waters’ effect upon you—as you well know. But I will say that you should be prepared for, ah, participating in the process. You see, my pool’s power is most effective . . . when making love. I sense that you’ve not sealed your union.” He cast a quick glance at Daphne, who must’ve turned the shade of all the rose petals floating in the pool. Good grief, there were some things you didn’t want to discuss with your family members, even if this one happened to be the God of Love.

Leo coughed. “We’ve . . . not yet taken that step, Lord Eros. But we are ready. We . . . I . . .” Leo stammered, falling to silence. He scraped a hand across his beard, clearly searching for exactly the right words.

“You want it,” Eros finished for him. “You both do.”

Daphne’s blush—if you could call an inferno blast on your skin a blush—deepened even more. “Eros . . . must we talk about this? You’re my nephew.”

“I had to be clear. You must join by making love within the waters, if there’s any hope of breaking my father’s curse.” He waved a regal hand toward the pool. “Disrobe, avail yourself now,” he encouraged, but didn’t make a move to leave.

She pushed at his chest in mortified exasperation. “Please?”

Eros threw his head back, laughing. “I was only teasing with you, dearest.” He turned away toward the lounging chairs, and at once, a matching pair of crimson towels appeared. “There, for drying after.” Eros gave them a slight bow, becoming much more somber. “King Leonidas, whatever happens—whatever result—know that I am on your side. I will do everything in my power to assist you in defeating my father. My dear ones,” Eros proclaimed, “love well today!”

Finally alone with Leo, Daphne turned toward him, hardly understanding the raw lust she felt humming in her body. Yes, it was Eros’s lovespelling, but it was far more than that. Leonidas was stunning, with his rugged features and dusky skin—and that athletic, bearlike body that she so adored. He was broad through the chest, thick through the thighs, all of it pure, granite muscle, earned from years of fighting and training. His physique was the very definition of perfection, and never could’ve been earned in the sterile confines of a gym.

He’d worked his body, hard. Taken it to the limits of what it could endure, and yet now—with his trademark gentleness—he was going to work her body, too. But in such a splendid, erotic way.

She clutched at the front of her gown, bunching it in her hands—wanting him more desperately than she ever had, yet feeling strangely shy to strip naked before him, even though she’d done so earlier.

His shirt came over his head—he glanced at her wordlessly. He stripped his pants off, and she received another silent look from her king, one that begged her. Pleaded, even, for her to do likewise so he might gaze upon her, with her as naked as he was. The only word he uttered was her name, said with such raw urgency that she immediately stepped out of the simple gown. He finished undressing by tossing his military watch onto the ottoman, and that action gave her a splendid eyeful of his large, muscular buttocks. Leo was thick and strong all over, possessing the body of a bull. She now saw—with perfect clarity—that his rear was no exception.

Perfect. She giggled to herself. Shay would’ve commented bluntly on the view. Daphne stifled the urge to do the same. Then chucked the hesitation.

“Leonidas, fine king of Sparta,” she called out to him, “you have one fabulous ass.” As soon as she said it, she squeaked in embarrassment. “Sorry! No disrespect intended at all, my lord,” she apologized, clamping a hand over her mouth.

He turned to her, laughing . . . beaming. “First of all, I’m your lover now, not your king.”

“My lover,” she repeated, feeling her whole body awaken.

“Second, I understand the importance of a fine ass . . . uh, asset.” His eyes crinkled at the edges, the lines deeper than they used to be. “I’ve often thought mine almost too . . . big. Muscular, you know?”

“Oh, God no!” she blurted. “It’s just like the rest of your body—which is perfect, perfect, by the way.”

His smile deepened, the scar along his lower lip becoming more pronounced. With his more mature look, the thin white scar stood out starkly against his olive skin. The effect was downright sinful, what it did to her. “You look like a pirate,” she said, touching her own lips. “A very sexy, ravaging Greek pirate.”

He clearly loved that she found him handsome—it lit him up as nothing else ever did or could. Stripped down to his bare body, standing there, eager for her, waiting, she’d never found him more deliciously lovely. His proud erection jutted out, thick and ready, and as her gaze drifted to it appreciatively, it gave a slight jerking bounce. All of Leo was ready for their joining.

That’s when it really hit her: He was going to be inside her . . . in a matter of moments. That beautiful cock, the one she’d taken in her mouth earlier—what felt like a lifetime ago, now that they were here on Olympus—was going to penetrate her completely.

“Get in the pool, Daphne,” he commanded in a guttural voice. “I can’t wait, not now.”

She nodded, stepping onto the slick rocks that led into the waters. Instantly, warmth like she’d never known suffused her body—this pool was life. It was filled with it, brimming with it . . . surely Leo would experience some benefit.

She watched as he climbed down the steps, more slowly than she had, favoring his knee. But then he slid right into the pool, his big body sending water surging up against the sides. He moved toward her, and even here in the water, it was as if she were being stalked by a hungry lion. In matters of intimacy, it was becoming clear that his leonine manner was an absolute part of who he was.

He pulled her into his arms with a rough growl. “I’ve never wanted you like this . . . it’s a frenzied feeling. I’m tight . . . hungry. Daphne, I . . . can’t wait,” he repeated, trembling almost as much as she was.

She felt the surging of his heart against her body, his pectorals rising and falling with huffing breaths. Daphne swallowed, licking her lips. It was nearly impossible to restrain herself from Leo, whose hard-on was now sliding against her belly as he cradled her close. All she wanted was to take hold of that erection, to stroke it, then guide it between her thighs.

The rocks were apparently an intentional part of the pool’s design. They provided a splendid altar for lovemaking. With Leo’s knee throbbing so badly, he couldn’t kneel or lever himself atop Daphne, but that was probably just as well. This, her first time, he needed to be gentle; he also needed to give up some control.

He sprawled backward on the stone seat, submerged in the warm, erotic waters, and pulled Daphne astride his lap. “This way,” he explained, “you can direct the pressure.”

He hated thinking of her experiencing any pain at all. But would a demigoddess have some remedy, perhaps—some way to ward off the lancing sting that ordinary virgins experienced?

“Can you . . .” He tried to find the right words, fumbling. “Daphne, for a human female, the first time is painful.”

She settled atop his lap, digging fingers into his shoulders. “I can work my magic,” she told him huskily, grasping his meaning. “The pain won’t impact me.”

He leaned back against the smooth rocks, studying her with lust-filled eyes. “How do you do that?”

She bent down, kissing him. “Like this,” she said, snapping her fingers. “But I didn’t, even though I could. Because I want to experience everything about our first time, even the pain. All the reality. All of what it means to become your lover.”

Leo cupped her cheek. “Can you do that with emotions, as well? Protect yourself against a moment of extreme pain?”

She clearly saw where his reasoning was headed. “Leo, you are not going to die. And, no, I can’t do it with emotions . . . if I lose you, I’ll grieve for the rest of my days.”

This was not the conversation he wanted to be having now. In fact, he didn’t want to talk at all—he wanted to have his Daphne, at last. She opened her mouth to say more, but he kissed her before she could speak. And not an ordinary kiss, either—it was the most erotic kiss he’d ever experienced, or given to any female.

He began by clasping her face; it was almost even with his for once because she sat astride him. He pulled her toward him, reclining more fully against the rocks. She climbed up his body, following the kiss, and he plumbed the inside of her mouth with his tongue. As she surged with him, his erection poked her in the lower abdomen. Then, without breaking the kiss, he did what he’d craved for so long.

He moved his manhood between her thighs, brushing it against her intimate place. Even in the water, he could feel how slick she was for him—a thrilling sign of how much she wanted him. She did. Somehow, the fact that Daphne genuinely longed for him was still such a welcome surprise. His body no longer young now, his hair silvering—and his face as unattractive as it had ever been—still, she loved him. Yearned for him.

The kiss grew hotter then, she digging her fingers into his scalp, he seizing hold of her nape so he could kiss her even more deeply.

Gods of Olympus, he had to be inside her. He ached for it, needed it. Every instinct in his body—from his natural human ones, to the part of him that was still, at the deepest level, a hawk warrior—screamed for him to claim her as his own. If Ares hadn’t taken away his shape-shifting abilities, Leo had no doubt that, submerged in water or not, his hawk nature would have come screeching and clawing to the surface, territorial to the extreme.

In this instance, perhaps it was a good thing that he’d been robbed of his transformation, he thought, pressing upward between Daphne’s legs. He felt the slick warmth again; she was as ready as he was, and it was time. He couldn’t endure the wait any longer, not with the surging supernatural energy of the waters—and whatever extra dose Eros had added. The combination had Leo aching, his sacs drawn tight like wire, his seed bursting for release.

Daphne broke their kiss and sat up tall, straddling him, her thighs locked about his hips. He was half reclined and half sitting himself, and the position gave her all the power. Even that aroused him, the idea of his petite Oracle, mastering him sexually, or perhaps it was simply the thought of her taking him all the way inside her.

She smiled slowly at him, and then rose up onto her knees, adjusting his tip against her opening. And then, never taking her eyes off him, she lowered herself onto his hardened cock. Her expression changed, emotions moving like wildfire across her face—and for a moment as he hit that one point of resistance, he braced to see pain. It was the last thing he wanted, but she hadn’t wanted to mute any part of the experience.

He surged upward with a cry, pulling on her hips at that same moment. He drove all the way inside of her then, and her eyes went wide, wild blue, welling with tears of pain, he thought at first. But the beaming smile on her lovely face told him otherwise.

She caught her breath, leaning forward for one moment. “You’re inside me. All the way inside,” she murmured wondrously.

Oh, just you wait, my darling. Just you wait, he thought, grinning at her like the very devil. Seizing hold of her small waist, he helped her establish the rhythm, moving her atop him even as he worked his way in and out. The wide-eyed wonder was instantly replaced with something much more wanton: Daphne tossed her head back, riding him shamelessly, their thrusts and movements urgent. In unison. Frantic.

She cried his name, moaned it, groaned it; each time a discovery as he slid to the outer edge of her entry then plunged deep inside anew.

His groin seized forcefully, drawing his balls upward. The pressure was immense; he was right on the crest of release. He imagined his seed, thick and hot, spurting inside of her, and a primal need overtook him. She was his—he was marking her, branding her. His seed would complete that fact.

At once, he felt her tighten about him, a tensing as she sped her friction and motion against him. Up and down her hips moved as pistons, and she cried out loudly. “Oh, Leonidas . . . my Leo . . . oh gods . . .” She dug her fingernails into his pectorals, arching her back. The sight of her orgasming for him, her wet hair wild and plastered against her cheeks, was the most beautiful thing he’d glimpsed in all his immortal years. And the sexiest. It was his absolute undoing.

A sharp sensation in his groin answered her, and he spurted jets of his seed deep inside her.

He dragged her down for another kiss. “You are mine,” he told her fiercely, capturing her mouth. The primal, territorial cry rose up like a wave inside of him.

He would never let Ares part them. He would not allow that jealous god to touch his Daphne . . . if it took his dying breath, he’d make sure that the god understood one thing. He might rob Leo of his life, might steal away his youth—even revoke his hawk nature. He could do all of that, and still, one truth would shine from the top of Olympus to heaven itself.

Daphne of Delphi completely, thoroughly, belonged to only one man in the universe: Leonidas of Sparta.

Daphne traced her fingertips over Leo’s strong chest, feeling the matted hairs so damp with water. They were sprawled together against the side of the waterfall, each of them sated and breathless in the other’s arms.

Leo had flung his thick arm along the pool’s edge, and cradled her against his side. His breathing was still heavy, and her body hummed with the joy of what they’d done. She never wanted the moment to end, wanted to stay here, making love to Leo forever because she feared looking up into his eyes. When she did, they’d learn whether the pool’s healing properties had helped him—or not. And the Highest God knew she didn’t have the heart to see him unchanged.

Yet, still she prayed that when she did slowly lift her eyes, Leo would appear renewed and youthful once again. That’s what she had to believe.

He cupped her cheek with his scarred right hand. “My love.” His voice was deep, rough as sandpaper. “Tell me what you see.”

She closed her eyes, and he obviously understood her hesitation. Very tenderly, he tilted her chin upward, forcing her to face the truth. She knew what she must do, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.

If this avenue didn’t work, what would their next step even be?

Leo stroked her damp, waving hair, soothing her a little. “You must look at me, Daphne,” he encouraged. “I need you to be my mirror.”

With a steeling breath, she opened her eyes and faced their truth. His almost-black eyes were filled with hope, the lashes damp from the water. Unconventionally handsome as always—downright ruggedly so.

And yet what she glimpsed on Leo’s face speared her heart. Nothing had changed in his visage, at least not yet. He was exactly as he’d been when they first submerged in Eros’s powerful pool. Her vision blurred and she blinked at the tears, willing herself to be stronger for Leo, stalwart—to display outrageous courage, just as he always did. That was what her beloved deserved.

He gazed upon her, the hopeful look in his eyes fading to resignation. All she could do was slowly shake her head. He was as beautiful and handsome as he’d always been, but he hadn’t regained any youth from the pool—or from making love with her in it. If anything, he was already a bit older.

“Perhaps it simply takes more time,” she suggested in an overly bright voice, “for the pool’s magic to work and take effect.”

Leo captured her with a rough kiss, pulling her down atop him. “So be it,” he growled. “I hardly care at the moment—I want you too badly right now, right here, to worry about the future.”

“But we should think of those things.”

Leo growled a complaint, thrusting his tongue deep within her mouth. His thick thighs fell open, and he cradled her close against his groin. He might be older in some regards, but sexually? He was an inferno, his body poised and already ready again. He still wanted her and badly. Despite being spent, despite them having just joined for the first time—he was downright desperate to take her all over again.

Her own reaction was a war unto itself—she grieved that the pool had failed them, yet she was hungry for him beyond anything she’d ever known, beyond reason or control. She burned inside, the sensation so strange, so unfamiliar—and yet even more wonderful than she’d imagined. It seemed so mystical that he had literally entered her, leaving a part of himself behind, a gift that might even give them a babe. She could still feel him, all inside her, and she wanted him there again.

“Perhaps,” she said, breaking the kiss for a moment, “it takes more than once. For the pool’s power to affect you.”

Leo growled, “I’m happy to find out,” and kissed her again, deeper. His hand was all in her hair, the other was clasping her buttocks, squeezing. He’d reclined all the way back on the rocks, the water sloshing over the pool’s edge as they fell into each other’s arms.

For one endless moment, they were sealed together, chest to chest, hip to hip. Leo needed to possess her, to move into her deepest, sweetest warmth once again, only this time without that moment of flinching pain as he breached her barrier. This time—he wanted to make her even more intoxicated by the pleasure he offered.

“Daphne, love.” He grasped her face in his palms, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I want you desperately.”

With a predatory sound, Leo cradled her by the waist, placing Daphne on the edge of the pool. The ledge positioned them at the perfect level; as he slightly bent his knees, his hips became flush to hers. He eased between her parted thighs, and cupping her hips, drew her forward to the very lip of the pool. The blunt head of his cock brushed against her slick thigh, and before he could center it against her opening, Daphne took him in hand. With a fiery, long gaze into his eyes, she guided him between her slick folds of skin, urging him to enter. She even cocked her hips slightly, angling upward encouragingly.

Tensing, expectant, he squeezed her hips and pressed his erection inside her. At first, he met resistance because they weren’t lined up perfectly. She was barely more than a virgin, after all. With a rumble, he stood a little taller, pushing forward again.

This time, all that sleek dampness welcomed him, and he slid easily into Daphne—and deeper, even, than he’d done the first time.

She groaned, throwing her head back, even as she clung feverishly to his neck. Damp black curls clung to her face, one long lock falling over her eyes. The expression of ecstasy on her face was unlike any he’d ever seen there before. New land, new territory . . . conquered together.

Hitching both hands beneath her bottom, he lifted her, thrusting in deeper, faster. Harder.

“Leonidas!” she gasped, eyes growing dazed with wonder and pleasure. He had her at the brink, almost there.

But he wanted more—he’d not given her nearly enough.

“Sweetest Daphne,” he murmured against her wet cheek, trailing kisses along her jawline. “Tell me what you want.”

She whimpered, a sound both bewildered and eager at once.

“Say it,” he urged again. More forceful this time, an aural mirror to the increasing friction and pressure he exerted inside of her.

She clung to his shoulders tightly and began meeting his every motion, their wet bodies slapping together, slick, beautiful. Creation itself, the erotic magic they were making together.

“Leonidas . . .”

Gods above, he was aching and primed, but he wanted to hear her ask. No, that wasn’t right: It was a command he sought, a cry not quite short of begging.

Even as his cock strained and his balls cinched tight, he poised and waited like an archer holding his arrow. The thought of her saying the words—the whisper of them across her parted lips—was the sexiest fantasy he’d ever imagined. Only this wasn’t a fantasy; she was his now, in his arms, as he claimed her.

“Tell me,” he finally rasped against her mouth, “to come inside of you.”

Practically riding upward on his hips, she burrowed her face against his chest. “Gods, yes! Leo, please . . . come!”

“Why my lady,” he moaned, releasing sharply, exquisitely, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 18

Leo had carried Daphne to the oversized settee beside the pool, wrapping her in the rosy bath sheets that Eros had left for them. They lay together covered in only that terrycloth, lost in the quiet afterglow of lovemaking. In Daphne’s case, that glow . . . well, he’d have sworn it was literal. It was as if by the very act of their joining, some bit of her Olympian nature had been released. Her skin was somehow more lustrously ivory, her dark hair shinier under the dappled sunlight. Her beauty appeared even more luminous and breathtaking, from the tips of her blue-painted toenails, to the damp ends of her crimson streaked hair.

He gazed down at her, comparing his own dusky, weathered body to her nubile one. He’d lived and warred so long and hard. By contrast, she seemed to embody everything that was pure and perfect in the universe—and as she’d been from the beginning, she remained far too young for him. He sucked in a breath, caught between feeling horridly inadequate and admiring his Daphne for what she was: a piece of creation itself, some microcosm of all the goodness the Highest had ever made at the beginning of time.

And that was when it hit him. So hard that he jolted with the realization. His heart seemed to stop inside his chest, then slammed back into a faster beat.

He had just taken a demigoddess as his lover. The daughter of Zeus himself—he’d taken her twice, and not even gently the second time, begging her like a barbarian during the act.

She turned, nestling closer in the crook of his arm, and he stiffened as he caught sight of a delicate pearl bracelet she wore. Pure. Pearls. It was the color of an Oracle’s aura, he’d heard that before. A sign of their chastity of spirit, the trueness of their heart.

All the past year, he’d dreamed of this moment . . . and all the ones that had just led to it, and not once had he anticipated what he felt now, lying here, holding her. That he, a man who’d shed enough blood to drown in, was far too soiled for a demigoddess of Delphi. How could he ever, possibly, be worthy of this woman he loved?

She made a soft murmuring sound, and he realized that she was half-asleep, dozing in and out of slumber. With a light laugh, she whispered, “I really wish we could do that.”

He petted her hair. “Do what, love?”

She stirred in his arms. “I was dreaming. And we had children. Oh, Leo, they were so beautiful, with dark curls just like yours.”

I really wish we could do that.

As did he. He, Leonidas of Sparta, dark vanquisher of man and demon, wished with all the power in him that he could make those dreams come true. That he could come close to being good enough to give her those children and that life.

If he could even live long enough to do so.

She smiled up at him—a dazzling glance full of unbridled love and adoration. He nearly withered beneath the innocent admiration in that long-lashed look. She must’ve seen the doubt in his own eyes.

She sat up slightly. “Leo? Are you all right?”

He managed a smile, forcing himself to focus on the warm hum he still felt from making love to her. “Perfect.”

A furrow appeared between her brows. “Are you sure?”

He swallowed, then nodded, drawing her back down to him. “Just sleepy. Let us rest a moment.”

Seemingly satisfied, she burrowed close against him, sighing happily. Leo held her, and stared at the long Olympian shadows dancing along the pool, fighting a chill that seemed to have settled in his bones.

Daphne was still half-drowsy when a polite coughing sound interrupted her dreamy thoughts. She and Leo looked up at the same moment, and found Eros standing beside the pool.

He quickly averted his eyes from their scantily clad bodies. “As delighted as I’d be for you to avail yourself of my pool for hours, I know you’d both agree that we must assess the king’s progress. We know how fast and lethal my father can be. If this has not worked, we must know now.”

Leo spoke for them both. “Eros, thank you. But if the effect was to have been immediate . . . I am unchanged.”

Eros strode to the far edge of the pool. “King Leonidas, I couldn’t be filled with more regret.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “As I suspected, I’m powerless to help you end my father’s curse. How ironic that he’s immune to what he sired in me. And how unfortunate, in this particular case. I’m sorry, dear ones.”

He thinks Leo’s fate is sealed now.

Daphne crumpled then. All those dreams she’d just had of children and a life together—were they only a mist? Submersing themselves in Eros’s pool had been her best, strongest hope for changing Leo’s fate, and it hadn’t helped at all. Now they might only have hours together—perhaps not even weeks or months, as she wanted to believe.

She pressed her face into her hands and began to weep. Ugly, loud sobs shook her body, and Leo’s hold on her became a caress, a soothing touch. “It’s all right, Daphne. Shh, now,” he reassured her softly. “It will be all right.”

She swiped at her tears. “How can you say that? I’m going to lose you!” She cried out in despair. “If I can’t stop my brother, that’s what will happen. There has to be somewhere to turn. I’ve got to do something, find a way.” She paused, growing still as an idea formed. It was one she’d dismissed earlier, but that had been before this plan had failed. “Sometimes the way out may look impossibly grim, but it doesn’t mean it won’t work,” she said, a tiny flutter of hope stirring inside. “Leo, perhaps it’s time you met my father.”

His eyes grew wide. After all, there was meeting your fiancée’s father—and then meeting her father, who just happened to be one of the most epic gods of Olympus.

“I don’t know what Zeus might do to intervene,” she said, “but I will fall upon his altar and beg. I am not above pleading or . . . bargaining. Maybe he could show me how to feed you some of my own power.”

She gazed up at Leo hopefully, her thoughts coming out in a rush. “Perhaps having you come with me, if we beseeched him together.” She seized hold of Leo’s hands, desperate. “Zeus has little interest in me, true, but even he has been angered by my brother’s recent folly.”

Leo shook his head, a shadow crossing his countenance that she didn’t understand, one that matched whatever unnameable emotion she’d seen in his eyes earlier.

Not quite meeting her gaze, he said, “I don’t see how your father would ever approve of me—or our union.”

“You’re Leonidas of Sparta! He should welcome you proudly as my husband.”

Leo forced a laugh. “Surely he’s always had some Titan or other in mind for you. Some long-lost descendant of Apollo.”

She glanced at Eros for support, but he held his tongue, wearing a dubious expression that rivaled Leonidas’s. She wasn’t about to be daunted.

“Remember how enraged Zeus became over Ares’s abuse of the Looking Glass of Eternity?” she reminded them brightly. “Perhaps if Leo and I make our case to him. Plead with him about—”

Eros cut her off. “Daphne, darling, be realistic. You honestly think Zeus will help you? Why, he’s the one who allowed Ares to control you for thousands of years before finally intervening!” He planted hands on both hips, incredulous. “Why do you think Ares inherited such darkness in his soul . . . it didn’t come from the ether, but from Zeus himself.”

“Eros, it’s worth a try!” Daphne snapped sharply. “I would think you’d have more spirit about fighting back against your father, with all that he’s done to you.”

Eros’s golden-warm gaze grew distant, flicking toward the top of Olympus. Slowly he adjusted his cloak about his shoulders, straightening with dignity. “I’ve finally given up on seeking his approval.”

She rose from the settee, walking toward him. “Eros, I’m talking about taking a stand. Not simpering for crumbs of affection that he will never give you!”

Eros shook his head remorsefully. “War and love . . . cannot mix. What I am, my own father will always despise.” He glanced at her, weariness and grief fleeting in his warm eyes. “It seems the gods amused themselves when Ares sired me.”

She instantly felt ashamed for lashing out. Like her, Eros had spent eons under Ares’s cruel domination, watching his father favor his other sons, particular Phobos, the god of Terror. Eros was as lost as she was within their family tree, and had suffered at least as much at Ares’s hand.

“Eros, I spoke harshly . . .” She turned to Leonidas, seizing his hand significantly. “Because I love this man. I know that you, out of anyone, gods or mortals . . . truly understand what that love means.”

Eros’s somber expression brightened for one flickering moment. “It’s as I told the two of you earlier. You share something rare, precious. I recognized it the first time I spied you kissing, in his library.” Eros smiled at them both. “Such a fine elixir of love, I’ll admit that even I couldn’t have bested it with my own arrows or lovespelling. To that end, I do believe I can solve the second part of your prophesy. And provide you with the tools to take your proper next step.”

But as Daphne glanced at Leo in excitement, that unreadable, dark expression still remained in his eyes. What she glimpsed wasn’t the joy of lovemaking, or the hope of Eros’s solution—just a stark distant look in his brown eyes that she didn’t recognize.

Chapter 19

Eros led them to his hall of weapons, and Leo’s eyes grew wide when he saw the spectacular collection of bows and arrows and crossbows lining both walls. There was an array of magnificent quivers, too, some tooled from leather, some adorned with intricate wooden carvings, even a few lined with fur.

But the most beautiful quiver of all hung in the center of the wall, displayed like a trophy, obviously a particular point of pride. Eros took that bejeweled quiver down off the wall, and Leo got a closer look at it. Instantly, he recognized it from Shay’s drawing, although her monochromatic sketch could never have captured the vivid rubies and emeralds, nor the black fur lining, so plush. It was a quiver worthy of a god—or the most pampered and spoiled king or prince.

As much as Leo admired it, even reaching to touch that soft fur, nothing could have prepared him for Eros’s announcement.

“Leonidas,” he said boldly, extending the valuable item to Leo, “this quiver is now yours, as are the arrows within.” The god retrieved a particular arrow from within, placing it in Leo’s palm. “Leonidas, great king of Sparta, meet my captain . . . Karanos.”

The name fairly sang in Leo’s mind, familiar. Powerful. But he couldn’t think or understand why that would be.

“Karanos,” Eros explained reverently, “has served me well for centuries. He is an honorable warrior.”

“You name your arrows?” Leo asked, surprised. It seemed an odd habit, as did personifying any weapon at all. He turned the mighty arrow in his palm, and would’ve sworn that the thing began to shiver within his grasp.

Eros reached out and gave the arrow an appreciative stroke. “These are not simply tools of war. They are men,” he said somberly. “Men cursed by my father, just as you’ve been . . . only in a different way.”

Daphne moved closer, leaning in and studying the arrows herself. “This quiver, it’s from the prophecy,” she said.

“Yes,” Eros agreed respectfully. “The best in my arsenal . . . are apparently meant to serve you, King Leonidas. A loss to me, for sure, but fate is at work here.”

Again, the fine arrow all but sang in Leo’s grasp.

“My captain there, and his brothers—the others in the quiver . . .” Eros dropped his voice, as if not wanting the weapons to overhear. “Were once brave Spartan warriors, perhaps even in your own army.”

Leo glanced upward in shock, his hand closing about the arrow’s shaft. “What are you saying? They are men of rank, men who lived and fought when I was mortal?”

Eros’s eyes became filled with raw emotion, a blend of admiration and regret. “My father turned them to standing stones. I found them overlooking the Straits of Salamis.” The god hesitated, clearing his throat, “So brave, so frozen, but I was unable to return them to human form. Even then, try as I might, I couldn’t break Ares’s curse. But I could work my own magic on the eight men. I knew that, naturally, warriors would want to be utilized, not left lifeless, voiceless. So I did the only thing within my power—I conscripted them to my own service. Transformed them to the quiver and arrows you behold now. They have been valiant and bold, enacting my love spells among thousands of couples the world over.”

Karanos. Yes, Leo remembered a Spartan captain by that very name. The warrior had been young—too young to die at Thermopylae, at least in Leo’s mind. So he’d not selected the warrior to serve among that final force of three hundred. Undoubtedly, Karanos and these others had made a stand at the Straits of Salamis, not long after Thermopylae, perhaps even spilled their blood protecting Sparta and fair Greece. And for such heroism, Ares had punished them? Left them standing perpetually on that battlefield, silent and stony?

Leo pressed the warrior against his heart, remembering Karanos’s eager brown eyes, the way he’d stood among the first hoping to serve at Thermopylae—and recalling the disappointment in the young warrior’s gaze when Leo had passed him over that day.

The arrow all but leaped against his chest, the warrior still as willing, still as honorable as he’d been so many centuries ago. “You know this captain’s name.” Leo cleared his throat gruffly. “But what of the others?”

Eros reached into Leo’s new quiver, removing several more arrows, each slightly unique and beautiful in its own right, from the arrowhead to the fletching. “Kiros, Balios, Agapias.” He introduced the weapons. “As my father’s son, I understood who and what these brave men were, and what they once had been. I did what I could for them. Yes, I know all their names and will introduce you to each man, tell you of his qualities and character.”

Daphne moved to her nephew’s side, embracing him reassuringly. “You obviously care greatly for them.”

Eros nodded. “They are my most loyal and my finest.” Then, he lifted bright eyes to Leo. “I hope you know what it costs me to place them under your command. But it is where they belong, where they’ve always belonged. The sketch only confirms it.”

Daphne turned excited eyes upon Leo. “Perhaps they are the key to breaking your curse. That might be why they were in the drawing.”

Leo rolled Karanos in his palm, remembering the man he’d once been. Two sons, he’d had, young though he was. Why had he denied the warrior the glory of Thermopylae?

He swallowed hard. “What . . . do these arrows do, precisely? What sort of magic is involved?”

Eros lifted his chin, but it obviously wasn’t easy. “The curse my father placed upon these warriors,” he said softly, “was one of . . . compliance. Whatever way you choose to enlist them, they will serve eagerly. Obediently. But they have no will of their own. That’s the cruelest part of what Ares did to them.”

Leo shook his head, adamant. “I can’t abuse these warriors that way,” he said. “They must want to serve me; I won’t compel it.”

Eros smiled at him. “Do you not see how Captain Karanos thrums in your hand? He is more than eager. Like you and your immortals, these warriors were bred to fight. Would you deny any Spartan their vengeance? They’ve counted the days, faithfully believing this time would come—isn’t that what you’d have done, King Leonidas?” Eros met Leo’s eyes significantly. “If Ares is destroyed, so their curse will be.”

Leo hoisted the quiver over his shoulder, staring down at Karanos. “If we strike back together, old friend,” Leo told the arrow, “all our curses shall be broken. If you are willing, I will use you in this war.”

Karanos hummed in Leo’s palm, vibrating excitedly. “You communicate well, Karanos,” Leo told the arrow. “Like any Spartan—with economy of language and perfect clarity. I like it.”

Leo gave Daphne a sideways grin, sliding Karanos into the quiver with the other arrows.

Eros then handed him a simple yet elegant bow. “You’ll need these weapons for what comes next,” he advised.

Daphne looked at her nephew curiously. “Why would we need bow and arrows for visiting Zeus?”

“Not Zeus, Daphne. No.” Eros shook his head. “You know in your heart that your father will only waste valuable, precious time—time that you can’t afford to squander. There is a much more obvious and clear choice . . . after all, darling Daphne, you are one of his own,” Eros told her cryptically.

Daphne’s clear blue eyes grew wide. “You can’t mean Apollo. No one knows the way inside his palace.”

Eros beamed, indicating the quiver. “Ah, but I’ve just given you the key.”

The quiver and bow made sense—Apollo was the archer of the sun, the god of the bow. Yet how would those weapons be useful in appealing to that god? Locating him, too, apparently. But how?

Leo voiced the question. “Lord Eros, how shall we use these weapons with Apollo? We are seeking favor, not to make war with him. And if it’s impossible to get inside Apollo’s palace, how can we go to him?”

Eros glanced at Leo significantly. “It’s not a matter of getting inside, King Leonidas,” he said. “It’s a matter of being able to see his palace at all. He’s hidden, high, very high atop the mountain, and keeps his palace cloaked in mists and sunlight.” Eros reached inside Leo’s new quiver, and placed Karanos in his grasp. “Daphne knows the general vicinity. When you near the fabled location, fire the bow and command this arrow to part the mists.”

Daphne said nothing, disengaging from them. She strolled along the hall of weapons, examining each one as if she planned to make a selection. Leo knew the truth—she was deliberating, buying time.

She finally turned back to face her nephew. “I admit, I find your suggestion far more daunting than visiting my own father.”

What was it about Apollo that was so intimidating to his Daphne, she who was made of courage and boldness? Apollo was of the most powerful gods, yes, but she was the daughter of Zeus and one of Apollo’s favored ones—a Daughter of Delphi.

She smiled sheepishly. “It’s ridiculous, but . . . he intimidates me. He’s so enigmatic, so hidden away. He’s the god I served, and yet I know him so very little. At Delphi, he was a mystery to all of us. Always kind, always caring for us . . . but we were in awe of him.”

“But as a Daughter, he will fiercely protect you,” Eros reminded her. “He will not let another god harm you—and Ares has hurt you far too much.”

Leo wrapped his arms about Daphne, pulling her close. “We’ll go together, as you’d wanted to do with your father. We Spartans often offered and sacrificed to Apollo . . . he will remember that. Hopefully honor it by helping me to break Ares’s curse—or even battling him alongside us.”

Leo called to Eros. “Before we go, please introduce me to all of my new warriors—name by name, rank by rank.”

Ari and Nikos had assumed their hawk forms for the mission, wearing nothing but their leather Spartan loin coverings and the broad wings upon their backs. Oh, and sporting their claws, too—always good for shredding an enemy on first strike. They’d figured shape-shifting now, rather than later, was the best course of action. Sable couldn’t fly, but he could gallop like the wind, and they would keep up with him from overhead.

The Djinn definitely had the enemy’s trail, too, and seemed as intent as they were on locating this trader. When Ari thought about all the years he’d been forced to live without Jules—and all the time she had wandered as a ghost, so lost and lonely—he could hardly tamp down his boiling rage. He wanted at Caesar Vaella’s throat and he wanted first strike; just thinking about finally getting justice for Juliana’s torture had Ari’s power roaring in his veins.

Ari only hoped that Sable truly could be trusted. He’d certainly given Sophie one helluva a soulful look right as he was leaving her, his emotions plain as the hooves on his feet. A look that was probably no different from the one Ari had given Jules right then. One of those prebattle moments, a kind of sear-your-woman-into-your-mind glance, as you wondered if you’d ever see her again.

Or, in the case of Nik and Mason, a sear-your-maninto-your-mind type of gaze. That pair had fallen as hard for each other as Ari and Jules had; they just weren’t quite as obvious about it, except at critical, potentially life and death moments. At times like tonight, they didn’t bother concealing what they felt, their love for each other shining obviously in their eyes—no matter who was around or watching.

And this was exactly why Ari felt they could trust Sable: That centaur had given Sophie one last glance, packed with enough power to light up the night sky. Yep, ole Sable had it bad for the girl, which meant he had a real stake in getting back home . . . and absolutely no reason to betray the Spartans.

Ari glanced at the Djinn now, wondering why he was suddenly slowing his pace down there on the ground. Ari had been shadowing his movements from overhead for roughly twenty minutes, aware of Nikos behind him, matching Ari’s own wing beats. But for the first time since they’d started out, the demon was no longer galloping; he’d assumed a slow trot alongside the river, glancing in several directions.

Oh, man, Ari hoped Sable hadn’t lost that demon trader’s scent. Ari clenched his clawed hands, practically tasting Caesar’s blood; he was that ready to take the trader out, once and for all. Sable glanced up at them, and then waved them back into the thick forest of live oaks and palms that covered most of the Angels’ land.

Nik rounded to the left of Ari’s wing, arcing upward. Ari glanced sideways, ducking past a branch and several dangling clumps of Spanish moss.

With their supernatural hawk’s sight, and their keen sense of smell, they would still be able to follow Sable from farther above. Ari climbed higher, his chest pumping and surging with every beat of his midnight wings. Another branch caught him in the thigh; he had to clear the tops of these ancient live oaks or this flight would become bloody annoying and fast. He reached upward, speeding, and was brought to a dead, tangling halt. It was like flying into one of Sophie’s huge crocheted blankets.

He released a piercing hawk’s cry, trying to move his arms, but silk cording mashed into his face, his wings. His claws became entangled in the woven cords, the leather fastenings of his loin covering caught in the webbing, too.

Oh, gods of Olympus, he’d been snared in a net, a giant trap, strung up in the highest treetops. He grunted, feeling his wings spike with sharp pain; the right one was folded partially back the wrong way. He was trussed up like a prize turkey, dangling helplessly in the massive woven sack. Local hunters, maybe? What had they been after, anyway? Turkey . . . but up this high, that didn’t make any sense. A cold sickening dread filled his heart. There wasn’t any kind of bird or creature that would be flying so high up in the treetops—not one as large as he was.

“Nikos!” he bellowed, working his claws against the thick netting. The material, whatever it was, proved far too strong, made of reinforced, triple-ply cording—and utterly resistant to Ari’s razor-sharp claws. And he was too enmeshed to even reach his dagger or effectively summon one of his swords.

They were in a world of shit. And where the hell was Nik? Was Sable still galloping on without them? “Nikos Dounias!” Ari howled, the sound muffled by the thick mesh that enfolded him.

Nik’s pained, screeching hawk’s song returned to him, followed by a second shriek, a shrill sound that ricocheted into the night. The sound of Nikos in anguish.

They had Nik, too. That was when a cool sheen of sweat broke out on Aristos’s forehead. He and Nikos had sprung the trap, exactly as had been planned. Not only that . . .

Sable had set them up.

Chapter 20

Daphne directed Leonidas along the rocky incline toward where she thought Apollo’s palace might be. She’d never met any Daughters of Delphi or priestesses who knew the site’s exact location, and even with her particular status as a demigoddess, she remained as clueless as the rest of her fellow Daughters.

The palace, it seemed, was as much of an enigma as the god she’d once served. She could remember the first time she’d glimpsed Apollo as if it were only days ago. The whispers had begun among the temple priestesses at breakfast that morning, murmurs that they’d be graced by a visit from their god. For months, she’d hoped and waited to meet the one she served. What should she expect? Would he look like all the fine statues of him in the temple’s portico?

As she waited eagerly all morning, so eager to meet him, she’d expected someone like Ares, all golden blond and luminously beautiful—just like their father was. Nothing could have prepared her for just how wrong she’d be. When Apollo finally did appear much later that day, he emerged from a glowing mist. All at once, he stood there in the temple, lyre in hand—the very antithesis to her pretty brother’s goldenness.

He wore black hair, cut short as a cap, and his sun-darkened skin was swarthy as any Greek man’s ever got. His eyes were black as well, like gleaming pools of ebony peering out from his dusky face. But the contrast to Ares didn’t end there: of all the things she’d never imagined Apollo to be it was . . . burly. A broad barrel chest surged forth from beneath his open cloak, and he clutched the lyre with big, beefy hands. Yet despite his hefty size, there was a shocking gentleness to him, as he met them each, one by one, in a long receiving line.

He was nothing like she’d dreamed . . . and perhaps that was why, when it came her turn for an introduction, she could only gape and blush until he laughed, patting her on the cheek. “Daphne, I have nothing in common with your brother,” he told her kindly, perceiving her thoughts in his godlike way.

And she hadn’t had a single word to offer in return, nothing but mute acknowledgment for the only Olympian god, other than Eros, who’d ever mattered to her. But by the time she’d finally stolen her nerve to speak, he’d already turned to move down the line.

She only prayed that today would go differently, that she wouldn’t be so stupidly tongue-tied if, indeed, they found Apollo. That she could speak plainly, and plainly make a case for Leo’s salvation. Because if she could not, it might be the end of the line; where else did she have to turn at this point?

She stared at Leo’s broad back as they climbed now, praying that Apollo would have mercy on him. It struck her as odd that, in some ways, they bore a physical resemblance to each other, with their brawny builds and darkly handsome good looks. Maybe that similarity would cause Apollo to identify with Leo, here on this mountain of blond gods and goddesses and golden light.

Leo stepped up onto a rocky, uneven surface and immediately came to a jerking halt, catching himself against the base of a tree. He stood, back to her, breathing heavily for a moment, and she rushed to him. “Leo, what is it? Your knee again?”

He nodded mutely, barely managing to mask the obvious pain he felt in the joint.

Oh, gods, the climb had to be killing him, drawing out even more suffering from the old injury.

He bent over and rubbed the knee, not even bothering to hide his agonized grimace. He drew in several harsh breaths. “I . . . will be okay. Just give me a moment,” he gasped, his expression drawing tight.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” She knelt in front of him, tenderly placing her palms against the joint. Even through his combat pants she could feel how swollen it had become, thick and knotty, heated, too. “Oh, darling, no. I will teleport us, you can’t do this. It makes no sense for you to climb, not when I have the power to take us to the general vicinity of Apollo’s palace. None at all.”

He cut a pointed glance at her. “I am a Spartan. I’ve borne up under far worse conditions and injuries than this one.”

Oh, the blessed male ego, a dangerous path into stupidity and stubbornness. But she was smart enough not to say that.

“It’s not a good strategy,” Leo insisted, obviously seeing her doubt. “Isn’t your brother’s palace also near the top of the peak . . . not far from Apollo’s?”

She nodded. “Not the very top, some feet below, but yes.”

“Then if you transported us, it would undoubtedly place us dangerously near Ares’s camp. It’s far better to cling to these side trails and make our way stealthily. We can keep out of your brother’s crosshairs that way. It’s our best chance of arriving at Apollo’s undetected.”

“So long as Ares doesn’t observe our approach.” She glanced up the mountain, squinting at the bright light. “You do realize he’s going to try to head off any plan to save you. Any thought we’ve had, he’s already had it. He must’ve known Eros couldn’t help us—or he’d have been there waiting. But he’s bound to guess that I’ll appeal to Apollo as a Daughter of Delphi.”

Leo considered her words. “I still think teleporting puts us . . . you . . . in too much danger because we can’t be sure of Apollo’s location. At least this way we can proceed with our eyes wide open. I’d prefer to wait for nightfall, but since that won’t ever come . . .” He hesitated, touching the top of her head. “I will do what I must to protect you.”

“You should think more of yourself, Leo. Your knee is brutally swollen.”

“I am still strong,” he said simply.

She sighed at his obstinacy and kept her hand against the joint, praying silently for some reprieve for him. “When we do get to Apollo’s, I’ll ask him to heal this. He can, you know . . . and I believe he will.”

Leo nodded, slowly standing upright again. “Let’s keep hiking.” He shielded his eyes as he stared up at the sunlit peak, covered in mists and clouds. The angle of the light indicated it was morning again on Olympus. “We don’t have much farther to go.”

Huge, tremendous understatement, but she didn’t say that, either.

Leo took one formidable step forward on the path, hesitated slightly, and then took another. Soon he’d resumed his former pace—but not quite.

She wanted to argue against the pointless absurdity of his making the full climb—she could snap her fingers and they’d be almost to their destination. But right now, she knew he was feeling far less capable than he by every right should; she also saw his logic about steering clear of Ares’s sights.

Praying that they were literally on the right path—and figuratively, too—she followed in Leo’s careful footsteps, trying to ignore the unevenness of his gait, and the way he favored that blasted knee.

Ares began to laugh, and not just a light giggle, or a girlish chuckle—a heart-deep snicker. The sight that greeted him, far up in the treetops, was one of the most wickedly amusing things he’d witnessed in years. Well, there’d also been Leonidas rolling around in that field the other day, weighed down by a mere cloak. Ares had wanted to roll around, too—in fits of uproarious laughter. That moment probably trumped this one, but not by much.

He grinned in pride; he was such the comedian of late, so very droll in the punishments he meted out. And this high-wire act up in the treetops was particularly delicious.

He planted hands on both his hips, surveying the beautiful carnage overhead. Two hawk men caught in nets like plump, overgrown moths. Wasn’t it just a perfect day when you orchestrated something so flawlessly horrid? With a lifted eyebrow, he studied the way Aristos’s net spun and swayed with the warrior’s struggling, kicking efforts.

“There’s no way out, dear boy,” he murmured under his breath. “I’ve got you where I need you for the next few days.”

A shrieking sound pierced the darkness some twenty yards south and Ares beamed.

So he’d caught the other one, too! Nikos, so big and smart and strong, with natural tracking abilities to boot, and yet he’d flown into that net like a mind-numbed pigeon. Well, he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, not even to return to that human marine he was so moonstruck by.

The two Spartans were irrevocably fastened in those nets, at least until Ares deigned to free them. The meshing had been formed from silk, a rare type that only came from bees living along the banks of the River Styx. Native to the underworld, the fiber was indestructible. There was no way for either trapped warrior to claw, cut, or gnaw their way out. Prayer wouldn’t help a whit either, not with Ares’s dark magic involved.

These Spartans were indefinitely contained, period—and right where Ares wanted to leave them for the coming days. The thing of it was, he could have hauled them down and tortured them fully, played with their minds, ended their immortality. But that wouldn’t have been interesting. He already had plenty to occupy him right now, what with ending Leonidas’s pathetic life. These two winged dunderheads, well, he’d savor their demise later . . . and it wouldn’t be long, because the feeble Spartan king was almost out of time.

And now, where was that centaur of his, and why wasn’t the beast here, at the scene of the crime, as he should be? Ares frowned; he didn’t like the scent of rebellion he detected on the night winds. He held his head high, sniffing, and the acrid odor grew stronger.

Sable had led them here, not realizing—of course—what Ares had planned. And the demon had not liked it at all, once the nets were sprung and the Spartans captured.

The demon’s dull thoughts began to come clear in Ares’s own mind.

Sable had signed on only to keep Sophie away from the king . . . this was more than the centaur had ever intended—and it wasn’t a plot he planned to see through to the end. He was done, unwilling to go this far into the darkness again.

“You are not light!” Ares hissed, a flash of furious fire shooting out of his fingertips.

With another snap of his power, he instantly held his riding whip in hand, the one with the barbed spurs, always useful with his team of fire-breathing horses, probably just as good for taming wayward centaurs.

It was apparently time to show a certain horse-demon exactly who was the glorious god . . . and who was the demon slave.

Leo’s breathing came in tight gasps, and he hoped to Hades that Daphne couldn’t tell, not from her position behind him. When had he ever been so winded during a simple climb? Not a time that he could recall. He kept forging ahead, thankful when the steep incline leveled out a bit. Yes, Daphne could’ve teleported them, but he didn’t like that idea because it left them vulnerable. The last thing he wanted was for her to come to any harm because of his weakness; he’d die here and now before seeing that bastard brother of hers hurt her, not in even the smallest way.

And he wasn’t kidding himself that they were in safe or even neutral territory here on Olympus. Ares was undoubtedly lurking about, as were his minions. The god might even have a sneak attack planned, anticipating that they might seek Apollo’s help. Well, at least by approaching the mountain’s peak via this overgrown trail, with their advance semiconcealed, they had a shot at getting past Ares’s invasive gaze.

And they had to be getting close by now, based on their position along the trail. Pausing, he looked out through the dense foliage at the far side of the mountain. Every palace was unique, gleaming like a gemstone in the dappled sunlight. But where would Apollo’s citadel be?

Daphne joined him, wrapping her arms about him from behind. “I think we are close enough now.”

He turned curious eyes on her. “The peak is still a bit farther.”

She nodded, pointing out past the trail. “But see that absurdly large palace? The one with the ostentatious, solid gold pediment? That’s Ares’s home. So that means”—she reached into Leo’s new quiver of arrows—“it is time for your good captain to go to work.”

“What if Eros wasn’t correct . . . what if this fine weapon can’t part the mists?” Leo rolled the arrow within his palm. “Perhaps Karanos lacks that particular skill.”

Daphne laughed. “Eros commanded him for centuries, don’t you suppose he’d know what the captain can and cannot do?”

Leo smiled, and by answer, the arrow itself hummed in his palm. “Fair enough, Spartan,” he said with a grin. “Fair enough. This is quite the first run together, my friend.”

Leo hoisted the bow upward, sliding the arrow into position, and was about to release the arrow when a thought occurred to him. However, would he be able to bring the captain home?

Their curse is one of compliance. . . . He practically heard Eros’s words in his head.

“Captain Karanos, go thee forth and part the mists,” he commanded, “revealing the palace of Apollo. And when you are done, good warrior, return to me!”

With a singing noise, the mighty arrow sailed into the clouds—farther and more powerfully than any mortal arrow could ever have done.

Daphne clutched his hand, leaning closer, neither of them releasing a breath. This had to work, everything was riding on the plan.

“I can’t see him . . . I lost him in the clouds.” Daphne became distressed, lifting onto her toes. “We should be able to see!”

Leo took a step forward, shielding his eyes as he stared upward at the sunlit peak—yet making sure he stayed concealed on the trail. Daphne moved with him, holding his hand like a lifeline. Seconds ticked off, became several minutes.

“Give him time,” Leo murmured under his breath. He could practically feel her panic, it was that palpable.

“Oh, by the Highest,” she groaned. “What if . . .”

Her words trailed to nothing as a gorgeous, multicolored light exploded at the very top of the mountain. In a tableau of color and radiance, a pearl-white palace emerged from the mists, bringing lilting, tinkling music along with the visual display.

“That’s it! That’s it!” Daphne bounced on her feet, then flung her arms about him. “We’re almost there, my love!”

“Yes,” he agreed with a huge grin, “so we are.” Maybe they were closing in on real help, an actual method for battling back Ares’s deathly blow.

Daphne leaned her cheek against his chest, seizing him as if she never meant to let go. “I can teleport us now. Just hold on to me, I’ll take us.”

“We can’t go yet.” Leo clutched her waist with staying hands. “We must wait for Karanos. I ordered him to return.”

A hissing sound answered that concern, as the arrow landed squarely by Leo’s boot, piercing the earth with a downright cocky hum.

Leo couldn’t help laughing. Talk about personality. No wonder Eros knew this Spartan so thoroughly; the captain was as blunt and obvious as Aristos, mute though he was. “Well done!” Leo praised the warrior, retrieving him from the ground. “Karanos, extremely well done. A very good first day together, indeed.”

He slid the arrow back into the jeweled quiver, and then turned to Daphne. “Now I’m ready to go.” From experience, he knew that for them to teleport together, they needed to be physically close. Extremely so. He gave her a devilish grin, pulling her right into his arms. She responded in turn, wrapping both arms fast about him, burrowing her face against his chest. There was barely any separation at all—he’d not held her very much closer when they’d made love in the pool. She found a way, though, to move even farther into his physical space, one leg hitching up about his, her hands wandering along his back.

“Closer is better,” she murmured after a moment, but he had the distinct feeling that there was far more than traveling logistics on her mind.

“I like teleporting, I think,” he laughed. “If it means holding you this close.”

In answer, Daphne hiked her other thigh about Leo’s hips, and he clutched her waist, fastening them firmly together.

She gave him one long, lusty look. “I can’t wait until we’re home, the curse broken—”

“And I’m tupping you like mad,” Leo finished in a husky voice.

Daphne planted a wet, slow-burning kiss on his lips, and he felt the earth vanish from beneath his feet. What a way to travel, he thought, falling with her, into her . . . and into the rushing wind of the dimensions.

Chapter 21

“It’s not everyone who succeeds in parting my mists,” Apollo told Daphne, a gleam of approval in his coal-black eyes. He stood waiting for them on his front lawn, only a few yards from where they’d materialized. Leo and she might as well have been meeting him on a train platform, he was that unsurprised by their arrival.

“Daphne, you’ve always been a particularly capable Daughter. Welcome”—he indicated his palace entry with a magnanimous sweep of one robust hand—“please, come into my home. Luncheon is nearly served.”

Daphne gaped at him as she’d done all those centuries ago. It was as if he’d been expecting them—as if nothing about their arrival or their success in penetrating his fortress had surprised him at all. While she stood frozen, Leo waiting for her to follow the god, Apollo finally turned to her again.

“Why are you waiting, Daughter? Come!” he boomed cheerily. “It is a happy day, to entertain one of my finest ones here.”

She was speechless. Again. There was something about Apollo’s very nature that silenced her completely, despite how normally talkative she tended to be. He was . . . unlike any other god she’d ever seen, a contradiction in that alone. Would she even be able to make him understand her need for help, when he was so utterly alien to her?

Apollo smiled, seeming to read her thoughts as he’d done long ago. He gathered her pale hands in both of his dark ones. “My Daphne, still no words for me, not even now?” A twinkle came into his eyes. “You’ve kept me waiting for so many years.”

She blushed furiously, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry about that. . . . I was . . .”

As he’d done before, he patted her cheek with surprising gentleness, “You were but a child.” Apollo glanced sideways at Leo, lifting an arch eyebrow. “But not anymore, I see.”

Then the god did the unthinkable—he bowed to Leonidas, deeply, reverentially. “I am honored, great king of Sparta. Humbled. How pleased I am that you’ve chosen one of my very own for your bride. She’ll satisfy you well . . . she already has, I sense it.” Apollo rose and cuffed Leo’s broad neck, grinning from ear to ear. “As it should be!” he declared heartily. “A balance . . . strength. I approve!”

Daphne feared she might actually faint on the spot, her legs turning rubbery as noodles, her vision swimming with dark splotches. Thankfully, Leo anticipated her reaction—or at the very least sensed it—because one of his muscular arms shot out, encircling her waist.

Apollo released a belly laugh, as unexpectedly loud and deep as everything else about him. “Daphne, my Daughter, save the swooning for your fiancé. Congratulations are in order.” He turned, waving them toward the entry portico. “We must uncork the wine . . . and I’ll play you a wedding piece.”

For a minute, she just stood watching Apollo stroll forward, swinging his heavily muscled arms as he hummed his way back inside his palace. And she’d have sworn she heard gentle rolling laughter from somewhere around them . . . the garden? The palace interior? Deep, masculine, husky laughter.

She shook her head, disbelieving. “He does it on purpose,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips in amazement.

Leo only looked at her, quirking an eyebrow, but after so many years, she’d solved a riddle—Apollo enjoyed unsettling her. He did it out of pure mischief, a desire to loosen her up . . . simply because he cared about her, and a great deal, at that. He was full of heart, an outrageous abundance of it; she’d just been too young to appreciate that fact before. So all the myths and rumors were indeed true: Apollo cared greatly for his own.

She grabbed Leo’s hand with a radiant smile because she knew with absolute certainty that Apollo, god of Delphi, would move Olympus itself to help her if he possibly could.

Sable concealed himself in supernatural shadows, knowing that at any moment Ares might detect him. The barbed horsewhip in the god’s hand was menacing enough to send Sable galloping into the night, except for one fact: the unfolding scene was not what he’d signed on for. He’d agreed to lead Aristos and Nik after Caesar’s trail as a distraction, a way to keep Aristos from healing the aging king. But he’d never agreed to help Ares capture these two warriors.

He used his demon’s sight to zero in on those two giant nets up in the treetops. Both Spartans kept struggling, their traps spinning as they fought against the restraints.

What had he been thinking? How could he not have realized that Ares ruined everything he ever touched or planned?

Sophie would never forgive him, Sable was sure of it. Whatever nascent love they shared, whatever tenuous relationship, if he couldn’t make this right, they were finished. And Sable’s conviction about that point only intensified as Aristos’s net spun, giving him a better view. From Sable’s vantage point on the ground, it almost looked as if Ari’s right wing might be broken; it was bent back at a terrible, unnatural angle. He heard the warrior groan in pain, the sound an aural blend of a hawk’s wounded cry and a man’s utterance.

Caesar emerged in that clearing, and Sable slid farther into the brush and shadows, as quietly as his hooves and big body would allow. He narrowly missed ramming into a boulder with his rump, and grimaced in pain as one of his rear legs caught the large rock painfully. A jagged edge tore into his fetlock, always a tender spot. Wincing, he held his breath, hoping against all odds that the slight noise hadn’t drawn attention from Ares or Caesar. And that they wouldn’t catch the tangy scent of the blood he’d just drawn.

This was his worst weakness as a centaur—his legs, which could so easily be broken or shattered, rendering him lame. He’d always taken care, best he could, so that he didn’t wind up in any situation where he was unable to walk or rise up on his four legs. With his horse’s heft, he couldn’t be down for long, not without the situation quickly becoming deadly.

He tried to ignore the pain in his rear leg, and heightened his hearing, hoping to learn something about what Ares had planned.

“The foul Djinn’s rebelled against me, again—I scent it in the air,” Ares said, his voice filled with seething anger. “I want you to find him. I have a punishment in mind . . .” Suddenly Ares stopped talking.

“What are you going to do?” Caesar asked, in that eerily hollowed-out voice of his.

“Silence, you imbecile,” Ares hissed, lifting a hand. “I sense something . . .”

And then Ares issued venomous curses in ancient Greek. He was livid—beyond the pale, for sure. Whatever he’d perceived, it had enraged him.

“Get them strung down,” Ares hissed furiously. “Now. I can’t leave them here . . . I have an important errand to make. They need to be secured.”

“Where are you going, my lord?” Caesar asked obsequiously. “I’ll do whatever you wish, of course.”

Ares ignored him, lifting both hands high and toward the captured Spartans. An explosion of sparks and electric power shot toward both nets, and a wretched burning smell filled the night air.

Sable tried to hold his breath, hoping against hope that the god hadn’t just scorched the warriors to death. That, he was certain, was truly something Sophie wouldn’t forgive—if the two Spartans died by his own treacherous actions.

“There,” Ares announced, as the nets lowered under the thrall of his power. “I just weakened them. Enough that they won’t possess power or strength to escape. I want you to take them downtown,” Ares hissed at Caesar. “The club. There’s a panic room in the back; it’s got walls that not even immortals’ powers can penetrate. Go now!” Ares raised his epic arms and in a shower of golden light, the captured warriors and the demon trader vanished, presumably rematerializing at whatever club Ares had referred to.

Ares vanished in the next blast of light. Sable buried his face in his hands, shaking; he’d failed Sophie—failed himself, and even the Spartans. All he’d wanted was to be in human form again, a true man who could give her a normal—or at least somewhat—life with him. But even in this one thing, he’d managed to find the path of ruin.

But if he could just make this right, then maybe he and Sophie still had hope, maybe he could redeem himself. Downtown. That’s where he had to go, and somehow trail Caesar to the hidden location, the prison that Ares had just ordained.

He had to save Aristos and Nik; it was the only way to still save himself . . . and his love for Sophie.

Chapter 22

Daphne watched Apollo ladle gravies and beef and several types of pudding onto his moon-sized plate. Next, he plopped at least three bread rolls onto the platter, along with big swaths of butter and honey—but apparently even that wouldn’t suffice. The god craned his neck toward the sideboard searching for coddled eggs with goat cheese, as well as poached salmon, declaring that it simply wasn’t luncheon without at least a taste of fish. And where, by balls, was his favorite baklava?

Apollo was, quite plainly, a gargantuan eater. Which explained how solid and immense he was—or perhaps it was the other way around and his brawn created such a raging appetite, it clearly had to be serviced. At any rate, Daphne felt bashful as she took only a small piece of curried chicken, along with a serving of rice and stewed peas.

Apollo noticed, frowning. “My Daphne, can you find nothing else here that suits your tastes?” He made as if to rise from the table and seek out his chef.

“Lord Apollo!” She rose, too, stopping him. “This is fine, really. It’s lovely, all that I could possibly need.”

His frown lessened. “I know each of my Daughter’s likes and dislikes,” he told her. “These items”—he indicated the banquet—“were most certainly on your list.”

But not all at one time! She managed to bite back the words. Without a glance in her direction, Leo took up his own epic-sized plate and began mirroring what Apollo had done, serving up heaps of food, lest their host become truly offended. And Daphne giggled, because when Leo, ever the Spartan diner, reached the puddings, his eyes gleamed like a little boy’s.

Apollo made a great show of unfolding an extremely large dinner napkin over his lap; everything in his world was oversized to the extreme. He glanced up at Daphne, reaching for yet one more bread roll. “So let us talk. Ares has revoked Leonidas’s immortality, has he?”

Daphne swallowed, and for some reason wanted to weep. It was something about how warm and solid Apollo was; just being here, in his presence, made her believe that Leo would be saved. “He’s aged . . . a bit,” she admitted, intentionally fixing her eyes on the god and not Leo.

Leo laughed darkly beside her. “My bride-to-be understates my case so sweetly. I’ve added at least a decade to my years at this point. We managed to briefly set back Ares’s plan when one of my immortals gave me a power boost, but I’ve regained all those years . . . and then some.” Leo ran fingers through his curls, seeming a bit self-conscious. He’d not asked her in the past few hours about his appearance, but she had no doubt that he wondered how old he now looked.

“It’s no more than a decade, Leo,” she reassured him. “But the process must be stopped. It’s why we’ve come, Lord Apollo.”

The god leaned back in his oversized chair. “So, Daphne, your brother”—he paused, bathing one of his dinner rolls in a sweep of soft butter—“is a pain in my Olympian behind, to put it more politely than I’d like . . . a bur in my epic drawers.” Apollo glanced at Leo, incredulous. “How in Hades did you ever manage to abide him for so long?”

Leo scowled. “There’s a reason we’re in this predicament today—in short? I couldn’t endure him for another moment. I took a stand against him and that, along with . . . other things, landed me on his bad side.”

“Ah, yes,” Apollo bellowed with an appreciative smile. “The sweet taste of rebellion when the sovereign is a nasty sort.” He cast a quick glance at Daphne. “The bugger’s gone too far this time, and it won’t be tolerated. He knows the rules when it comes to my Daughters, and I’m sick of his arguing with me.” Apollo rolled his eyes, his deep voice becoming a whiny falsetto. “She’s my sister . . . This is what he tells me. She’s my own blood, not your daughter . . .”

Again, the god rolled his eyes, and then took a huge bite out of his bread, consuming more than half of it with one healthy mouthful. He stabbed his butter knife in their direction, making a point. “I’m stronger and more powerful than he is,” he said. “And he’s challenged my patience for far too long. I comprehended everything the moment you appeared on my lawn—exactly what he’s done to Leonidas, how he’s tormenting you both.” Apollo tossed his head back and growled like a bear, then began work on a second roll, buttering it as he lifted it to his lips. “So we need to talk about how to combat his foulness.”

Daphne could only listen. The god boomed and talked—and ate—for several minutes, barely pausing for a breath. But his revelations were invaluable, as was the offer of assistance he easily made.

Apollo flung a thick arm along the back of the empty chair beside him. “You must inventory Ares’s weaknesses because the only way a god of his stature can be beaten, truly, is if he does the deed himself.”

Leo leaned forward. “I don’t follow.”

Apollo dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “You’ve got to lay a trap, one he’ll spring himself. And trust me; Ares loves his snares, so you must be smart about it, lest he sniff out the plan. So, the thing is,” he said, “your strategy must be an intricate one that Ares won’t recognize. This is why, ultimately, you must use his own nature to defeat him. His own flaws shall form the noose.”

Apollo lifted a hand and with thick fingers, began to tick off Ares’s weaknesses. “His vanity . . . his insatiable bloodlust . . . his own son Eros, who represents everything that Ares despises”—Apollo held three fingers up, then very quickly counted off more—“and his vanity, vanity, vanity, vanity.”

The god sank back in his chair, rubbing his belly. “Your trap? It must combine all three of those weaknesses if it’s to be truly effective. Make war with war, as it were.” Apollo grew subdued for the first time since their arrival. “Something that I, unfortunately, cannot do on your behalf. I’d certainly enjoy it, but my hands are tied by the laws of Olympus, which forbid me from warring against Ares. But someone else, here in our midst, can take him on, and far more effectively than I ever could.” Apollo turned his black eyes on Leo, smiling slyly. “But you must meet kind with like kind, King Leonidas.”

Daphne scraped a hand over her tired eyes. More riddles, more questions. Meet kind with like kind? What did that even mean?

Leo spoke. “Consider how he’s bested us in the past, the methods he’s used, and then contrive to bring him to that very battlefield?”

“Yes! Precisely, King Leonidas!” Apollo looked imminently pleased. “Consider your strategy well, then make your attack.”

Leo shoved back from the table, setting his napkin aside. He sat there, quiet and contemplative. “With Ares, it’s always been about the underworld,” he said softly. “Demons. Darkness. That’s why it’s been such a coup to win a Djinn, Sable, to our side.”

Apollo groaned. “Be forewarned, Ares has a particular distaste for turncoats—as you can plainly see in your own case. And an equally ugly habit of turning them back to his side.”

“I will never serve him again,” Leo said in a lethally low voice.

“I wasn’t thinking of you, but this Sable you mention. If he’s a demon who was once in Ares’s service . . . well, he may have the best of intentions, but can’t be trusted completely.”

Daphne didn’t like that—they’d just placed important faith in Sable tonight, lives in his hands. But there wasn’t time to think about it.

Leo stood, leaving the table, and paced. He was deep in thought, and she could see his intelligent, quick calculations; his eyes flicked back and forth, gazing at some unseen battlefield, perhaps. Measuring an invisible enemy.

After a quiet moment, he spun to face them both, chin held high. “I must raise an army, but not just my Spartans and the Shades. As you say, Lord Apollo, we must meet ‘kind with like kind.’ I need an army of the underworld.”

Leo planted both hands on the table, his eyes level with theirs. “A demon army. A month or two ago, I’d have had no more clue about doing such a thing than arranging these utensils into a battalion.” Leo took his silverware, lining them into a formation on the table. “No longer. We have a secret weapon now.” He plunked down a gravy boat at the head of the fork and knife and spoon. “We have Sable; his obvious love for Sophie makes him someone we can trust. He can lead us into the underworld, or at the very least help us organize a ragtag group of demons . . . Sable can’t be the only fiend that Ares has long abused.”

Apollo took a long drag directly from a carafe of wine. “You listen and learn well, brave Leonidas. No wonder history loves you well.”

“You inspire well, Apollo.” Leo sat back down at the table, and the god slid him the container of wine. “Drink up, the battle lies ahead.”

Leo shook his head. “My work’s cut out for me, and time is of the essence. I must get to Sable as soon as possible.”

Daphne disagreed. “We aren’t done here. Apollo, he needs mending, his knee . . . can you help?”

“I am the god of healing, of course.” Apollo resumed eating. “But first, we must finish our spread.” He waved down the server, who was eagerly depositing more meat, and managed to lay his hands on a leg of lamb. “King Leonidas, I’m as aware of your worldly myths as humans are the Olympian ones,” he said between bites. “I’ve heard tales that you are a direct descent of Olympus’s own Heracles.”

Leo barely hid a blush. “Only a fable, circulated by my loyal people.”

“But many rumors have their source in fact.” The god’s onyx eyes gleamed, and he slid his gaze to Daphne. Something in that keen look—from god to demigoddess—brought so many things into sharp focus.

Suddenly she saw the truth, an unexpected connection between Apollo and Leo. The similarity in their robust builds, the sameness to their dark, unconventionally handsome looks. Her own bizarre shyness whenever she’d been around Apollo—the same sort of timidity she’d first felt with Leo that day on his moors, and before that, long ago in Hades when they’d initially met. Maybe she’d been shy with Apollo because, on some level, she recognized Leo in his olive-skinned countenance.

“Leonidas,” Apollo announced. “You do have the blood of gods in your veins.”

Leo jerked his gaze upward, meeting the god’s pointed stare. He said nothing, simply waited for Apollo to reveal more.

Daphne grabbed hold of Leo’s hand. “See? My father will have to welcome you!”

Leo’s lips thinned out, but he continued to remain silent, waiting for Apollo to reveal more.

Apparently, Apollo found Leo’s reticence highly amusing, because he tossed his head back and rumbled with laughter. “Only a leader like you, good king.” He slapped a hearty hand against the table. “Any other human would’ve been begging me to state my meaning, but you have far too much discipline for that. And too much humility.”

Leo inclined his head. “I did not want to be presumptuous . . . or arrogant like a certain god we know.”

Apollo chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Hardly a chance. But I’ll speak plainly. There’s a bit of my blood in your veins, Leonidas. I knew it the moment you first set foot on my land. It’s distant, generations removed, and I’m afraid”—Apollo stabbed at one of his puddings, averting his eyes—“there was a time when I was most indiscriminate with my seed. So I can’t say how, or who, or when . . . but even if I didn’t have my god’s insight, one look at you and anyone could see the physical resemblance. I’m bigger, broader, true, but the similarities are undeniable.”

“I’d been thinking the exact same thing,” Daphne agreed, trying to comprehend the full implications. “But Leo’s not a demigod.”

“Not even close.” Apollo gave Leo a downright apologetic smile, and then turned back to Daphne. “But he does have some extra power—witness his spectacular military career, his indomitable feats of bravery in ancient Sparta. I suspect Ares recognized the Olympian strain in your king’s blood, and that’s part of why he made the offer of immortality in the first place. It was a strength he could capitalize on, manipulate.”

“But Leo looks so much like you,” Daphne argued, wishing that somehow Leo might possess stronger Olympian heritage. It could help him, save him. “Surely the connection is closer than you suggest.”

Apollo nodded gently, seeming to understand Daphne’s grasping hope. “Sorry, little Daughter. It’s been many thousands of years since I’ve gone out among mortals and . . .” He coughed into his hand. “Uh . . . cavorted that way. My seed simply runs strong. Generations pass and the traits don’t dilute. Which means your sons, darling Daphne, will probably resemble me.” He thumped his thick chest proudly. “Which is fitting, just as I said when you arrived, that you and Leonidas should join.”

Sons. If Leo lived beyond the next few days—if they even had a life together. She bowed her head, battling tears. “How can he use that heritage? Is there some way?”

She heard heavy footsteps, and suddenly Apollo’s hand cradled her chin. “Daphne, yes, it can be used. That’s why I told you of it.” He stroked her cheek very kindly. “You must stay strong. Your brother smells weakness like a shark scents blood, you know it.”

Daphne looked up into Apollo’s eyes, blinking back tears. He scowled furiously. “He’s hurt you, and I will do everything in my power to stop that.”

Right then, one of Apollo’s servants came running into the room, frenetic. “My lord,” she cried, glancing over her shoulder, “we can’t stop him. He’s insisting . . .”

“And so he has come.” Apollo braced his shoulders, planting himself in front of Daphne like a massive live oak. Leo reached out for her and stood, too, so that both males shielded her. It was obvious who “he” was, and just as obvious that Ares wasn’t interested in her—so why was Leo protecting her?

She slid out of her chair, and to her feet, and Leo worked her behind him again.

“You’re the one Ares is after!” she cried, holding on to him from behind.

“And you’re the one this battle is really about.” She flinched, pained to hear him state so bluntly what she never wanted to put in words.

She couldn’t see past the two large men, but she heard the moment her brother entered the room. “Oh, how quaint. A light luncheon on Olympus,” Ares sneered. “Save any morsels for me, portly Apollo? I realize you don’t possess the restraint, not with your appetites.”

“I’m sure I could round up a few rotten quail eggs,” Apollo replied coolly. “Shall I have them poached for you?”

“Save them for your breakfast. I’m not a natural-born glutton like you.” Ares grunted. “I’ll get to the point. I’m here to claim my sister.”

Judging by the ear-shattering roar that answered, Apollo would have none of that. The god’s gentle, calm restraint had given way to ferociousness. “Out!” Apollo thundered. “Now, Ares! Out.” She could hear scuffling footsteps, as if the gods were struggling. Leo shielded Daphne with his body still, keeping her nestled behind his back and out of her brother’s sight.

“No one touches one of my own,” Apollo hissed. “Not a hair on Daphne’s head, I tell you. Go, swine!”

Perhaps to rile Apollo more, Ares suddenly became genteelly polite. “She’s mine, too, Apollo—my sister.”

Another roar, so epic that the tureens and platters on Apollo’s table rattled, the columns in his great dining hall quaked. “By my rights and authority, you cannot harm her,” her god bellowed. “You know the rules.”

It was amazing how Apollo, such a gentle giant, morphed into an incensed protector when provoked. It made the firestorm she was listening to all the more intense. Daphne leaned her cheek against Leo’s broad back, feeling how his heart slammed in his chest, how on edge he was . . . just like her.

“From the beginning, my Delphic compact has made one fact clear,” Apollo howled, his voice a raging calm. “No harm shall befall a single Daughter of my temple, or the descendants of any who have ever served me there.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Fine,” her brother said at last. “I hear and acknowledge your point.” Another pause, a sinister one as Ares laughed low in his throat. “But, Apollo? A reminder of some importance. The Olympian codex said nothing, absolutely nothing, about me harming the Spartans . . . or not.”

Daphne shoved past Leo right then. He lunged, trying to block her from Ares’s sight, but she moved with a demigoddess’s swiftness. Leo had never stood a chance at stopping her; just as he wanted to protect her, she was absolutely determined to save him from Ares’s wrath.

She waltzed right up to her cat-eyed brother. “It’s me you want.” She leveled a hot gaze on him. “So it’s me you shall have. But only if you restore Leo’s immortality.”

“Daphne, I don’t want you bartering on my behalf,” Leo insisted. He came right up behind her, his hands cradling her shoulders protectively. She had no doubt that at the first sign of real threat, he would fight to the death on her behalf . . . if it came to that.

Ares strolled forward cockily, assessing her up and down. “Not sure how I feel about used goods.”

Leo’s grip tightened on her shoulders silently; she could practically hear her lover’s unspoken words, railing in her mind.

“Nothing to say?” Ares goaded him.

“Plenty.” Leo’s grip on her grew sharper, but he said no more, waiting like the rest of them for whatever pronouncement her brother would issue next.

Apollo, unlike Leo, wasn’t a man of reticence. “Ares, you vile ass,” the god barked, “speak your piece, then be gone from here.”

Ares stroked his golden goatee, studying Daphne at length. “I’d been so sure that by stripping away your king’s lingering youth, he’d lose his sway over you, but I never imagined that he’d be stripping away your virginity.” He pulled a face, shaking his head in disgust. “Apparently, the Spartan’s allure for you is so strong that even greater action is required. I obviously didn’t spend enough time on my handiwork.” Ares swung his deadly, horrid cape off his shoulders. “Easy enough to rectify.”

Apollo rushed her brother, shoving him hard in the chest. “Out of my palace! You’ll pay if you don’t leave,” the immense god roared.

But it was too late; that diabolical cape had already sailed through the air with majestic, mystical authority—and found its target.

Leo vanished from before Daphne’s very eyes.

Ari supposed that the sweltering, boxy cell was at least somewhat more comfortable than that tangled net. His wing had been bruised, but not broken, allowing him to retract it; it would hurt like a mother for a while whenever he shifted to hawk form, but at least he wouldn’t spend a month with the wing on a splint. Also, here in the safe room, as opposed to dangling from the treetops, he and Nik could talk freely. But from his position, huddled on the cement floor of the dimly lit space, the goodies ended there.

Ares had worked some dark mojo on them in the woods, too, neutralizing Ari’s strong demigod’s power. He still felt it humming in his veins, could hear the rush of it in his mind, but he couldn’t access that power. It was strange, too, but he had a feeling that this cell was far more than a safe room in the back of a club. Because it hummed, from the low ceiling, to the deathly gray walls; not a human kind of noise, a supernatural one that twitched in Ari’s immortal ears.

It was as if some kind of power grid had been enforced on them by Ares, something that both neutralized their abilities while also hemming them in and preventing any hope of escape. It was unlikely that their comrades could ever pick up their trail, not behind this impenetrable fortress. Walls were one thing; a supernatural barrier created by a god, quite another. They were invisible, hidden captives; at Ares’s and Caesar’s mercy, maybe even awaiting execution. With one look into Nik’s stark eyes, he knew his Spartan brother was tracking with all those same thoughts.

Ari huddled on the floor, arms wrapped about his knees. His chest was bare—he’d not bothered to shape-shift into clothing after ditching his wings. He rocked back and forth, thinking.

Nik wasn’t much of a talker, not like Ari, yet the guy was first to speak. “We need to face facts, Aristos.”

“Current events aren’t too pretty, brother.” Ari laughed dully. “Can’t we face something else instead?”

Nik sighed, leaning back against the smooth wall; the entire room was painted in a grim, steely gray. “We may never see anyone again, not even . . . the ones we love most.” Nik gave him a bleak look.

“It’s not helpful to think that way, man.” Ari experienced the urge to be strong for his friend, found purpose in it. “You’ll see Mace again, of course you will.” Ari touched his own wedding ring, turning it on his finger. “We’ll both make it home, brother.”

Nik’s eyes drifted shut and he sagged against the wall. “You once told me that I tend to be too reserved about my feelings. You were right. That advice changed everything between Mason and me.”

“I’m not saying to clam up or anything.” Ari slid across the floor, leaning across the opposite wall from Nikos.

His friend held silent a moment, then, “There is a very real possibility that you will never return to Juliana, and that I won’t see Mason again, not in this world. We should make sure our hearts are clear.”

Ari didn’t understand what he meant. Nik gave him a meaningful glance and instantly exposed his claws. “We can scratch a message onto these walls, onto the floor. Maybe they’ll never see it . . . maybe we’ll make it home,” he said thickly. “Or perhaps it is our last chance to let them know how we feel. We must be realistic.”

Realistic. With one look around at the tight container of a room, feeling barely able to breathe because of the heavy heat and lack of clean air, Ari knew that Nikos was right. They needed to leave last words to the ones they loved.

The thing was, he, a man who never lacked for anything to say, wasn’t sure what to tell Jules—or Leonidas, or his brothers. He had nothing.

Nikos, on the other hand, had already begun scratching out a message, moving a sharp claw harshly across the floor. He huddled over the message, cupping his other hand over his work, hiding what had to be a heartfelt note. The man’s brow was knit, his eyes shimmering even in the dim light.

Ari sighed, racking his brain; he was a musician, but never a poet. Starting, he slowly scratched out, My Jules, my love.

How could he ever give permanence to the feelings in his heart? Well, he’d just have to give it his best shot.

I wish to have seen us have babes together, a family . . . to walk into the unknown future of eternity as one.

He began with that, and continued scrawling, trying to put into words all the hopes and dreams he held for them. When he was done, he felt inadequate about the heart of his message, and craned for a look at Nik. His friend gave him a sharp glance, cupping one clawed hand over what he’d already written.

Maybe Ari was punchy by then, maybe terrified and just unable to face it, but he groaned. And laughed. And groaned again. “Brother, really?” he snorted. “Don’t be such a malaka! I know you’re in love with Mason. I’m sure even thick-headed Straton’s figured that out by now.”

Nik kept his clawed hand over the words, bent low. “Yes, Straton is aware. He is like me, you know.”

Ari went wide-eyed. “Skata! Seriously? I had no idea.”

“And he’s as alone as I used to be.” Nik shook his head ruefully, muttering. “The idiot.”

“You mean he’s missed a chance?” Ari leaned back against the wall, drinking in the revelation. It was a welcomed distraction, much easier than trying to pen his last will and testament to Jules, and to admonish Kalias and Ajax to keep their asses in line with him gone.

“There is . . . someone,” he said after a moment. “But Straton takes no action, nor does he make his feelings known.”

Even in the midst of crisis—even facing death—Ari couldn’t help wanting to gossip. Maybe because the mundane act of trading stories about the ones they loved felt like a salve to his anxieties—and took his mind off his fears of never holding Jules again. Beyond that, they were going to be locked in this windowless cage for a while, so they might as well settle in for the long haul and distract themselves. That was the Spartan way; it always had been, to make morbid and bawdy jokes, to tell tales, even as you faced down death.

“All right, all right.” Ari raked a clawed hand through his sweaty hair. The room was muggy and probably at least ninety degrees—with zero air circulation. Diversion. That’s what they needed, not to focus on the fact that they might expire in this cramped, miserable space.

“Dude, seriously . . . Straton?” Ari asked again, incredulous. “Who’s the ole pit bull into? And who, by the gods, would ever have a thing for him?” Ari’s mind whirled, but he couldn’t think of any male of their acquaintance who could possibly fit the bill. Well, there was one of Jamie’s Shades who popped to mind.

“Is it Evan? Emma’s buddy? He’s gay as a three-antlered reindeer, huh?”

Nikos slid back against the opposite wall, and with their long legs extended, their boots abutted. The space was doubly small because of how mammoth the two of them were.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Nikos sighed.

Ari mopped his forehead. “Just spill. We may never get out of this place anyway.”

“But if we do? Straton would have my balls for talking. His secret, not mine.” Nikos bent back over the floor, scratching out more words. Slow progress, when you only had your hawk’s claws for the job.

Ari hated it, but he started humming that old Paul McCartney and Wings song . . . If we ever get out of here . . . gonna give it all away . . .

No, he’d get home to Jules, if he expired blasting his way out of this room. If his wings broke in the process, he and Nik would find a way home to their loved ones. No more last words, no sitting on death row. Action. They had to make a move of some sort, even from within this claustrophobic space.

Ari planted his face in both hands. “Nikos, my brother.” He sighed wearily. “We’ve got to overtake Caesar, not just leave our last thoughts. We’ve gotta fight, man.”

Nik sat up tall, wiping rivulets of sweat away from his brow. “Yes, we must. But first, I need to make sure I leave this for Mason. In case we don’t succeed. There’s something important I never told him.”

Sophie hadn’t wanted to head back home to her carriage house on West Jones Street, not with Sable out on the mission with Ari and Nik. She was too on edge, unable to sleep, so she’d crashed in the downstairs cellar of her cousins’ house, curled up on an air mattress with a pile of books on Djinn lore by her side. There were several guest bedrooms, but she’d always loved the cellar, the Shades’ base. The musty smell of books was a comfort to her, a reminder of their shared childhood and simpler times.

It had to be at least three in the morning, but no matter how she tossed and turned, her spirit was unsettled. She had faith in Sable, knew in her heart that he did love her—and believed that his motives surely had to be true, but no matter how she sliced it, she didn’t have a good feeling about his mission tonight.

Flinging onto her back, she reached for the floor lamp, turned it back on, and resumed reading the book that the Shades most relied on, The Final Crossing. It wasn’t the original volume, which was kept in a temperature and moisture-controlled case in the wine cellar. This was a rough translation from the original Ancient Greek, a portable volume that Mace had been working on ever since last year.

She’d been reading a section about Djinn and freewill. Mace had discovered it about six months earlier, which had helped them understand Sable’s unique battle. The text stated that any Djinn could choose the path of light, but it was a struggle to transform, an excruciatingly painful process, impacting every part of their being: spiritual, physical, and emotional.

No wonder Sable was grumpy so much of the time. It had to be like when Sophie picked up smoking while an art student, and then abruptly quit. Cold turkey. Her skin had been on fire, as if every nerve ending was prickling painfully; her head had hurt, and she’d spent months in a mental fog even worse than the one she’d been seemingly born with.

Crossing her ankles, she sank back into the pillows and studied the few etchings of Djinn that had been copied from the book. Oh, those demons were glorious, all right. And they had wings! Had Sable ever told her about that? She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember, but it was late. Maybe she’d grown so accustomed to him with hooves and a tail that the concept of wings had never fully registered.

She flipped through the pages and a new section caught her eye, a half chapter entitled, “Sensuality of the Djinn.” The hair on her nape stood on end, and she touched her lips, remembering those earlier kisses she’d shared with Sable. She glanced toward the stairs, feeling as if she were stealing a look at a porn magazine or something. Was it even right for her to study up on Sable’s sexual side?

Humph, she didn’t care; he knew all about her, even things she never wanted to reveal—and he’d followed her around town without telling her. Fair was fair, wasn’t it? She darted her eyes toward the stairs one more time, sliding down beneath her blanket, and began to read.

Male Djinn are marked by a proclivity for all things sensual, without regard for male or female, or type of entity—the fey, the underworld, and humankind alike, all appeal to a healthy Djinn male of age, and he will manipulate at length to gain his way in sexual matters with any or all of them.

She blushed right down to the roots of her hair. Maybe that’s all it was with Sable; maybe he used emotion and affection only to maneuver his way toward what he wanted. What he lusted for.

But then she remembered that stolen, moonlit moment when he’d gazed up at the balcony, not seeing her in the shadows, and all that she’d sensed while probing him with her empath’s nature. He did love her, there wasn’t any doubt.

She jolted when the sound of footsteps appeared on the rickety stairs that led down to the cellar. Sitting up, she clutched the translation against her chest, as if it could protect her from whatever would come next.

“Soph?” It was Shay . . . but why was she coming down here in the middle of the night? Her cousin appeared in the thin light at the base of the steps. Sophie reared back against the pillows. “You still up, hon?” Shay asked softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her cousin was trying to act calm, but Sophie had known the girl her whole life. Shay’s clear blue eyes were wide and filled with worry.

“What’s happened?” Sophie clutched her blanket.

Shay, dressed in Jax’s boxers and a T-shirt, came closer. “You’re awake?”

“Obviously. Duh. Now tell me what’s wrong. Is it Sable?”

Her cousin walked to the far edge of the room, making a show of pulling volumes out of the shelf. “You heard from him yet?”

Sophie leaped out of the makeshift bed, and wheeled right on her cousin. “No. Of course not. He doesn’t have a cell phone. It’s not like he can go to AT&T! Geez. Now what, pray tell, is going on?”

Shay turned slowly, her eyes filled with regret and worry. “The boys . . . we haven’t heard from them. Ari and Nik should’ve texted us, but there’s been no contact yet . . . nothing at all. Jax thinks they might be missing.”

“Missing,” Sophie repeated, recalling all of Sable’s pledges and promises.

“It might be nothing.” Shay shrugged. “Then again . . .”

“You think they’re in danger. You think Sable might be part of it.” Sophie tried to keep her warbling voice steady.

Shay reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Nobody’s accusing him of that, sweetie.”

But she didn’t have to say more; Sophie understood. The man she loved, the one she’d placed fragile faith in . . . might just have failed his first and only test.

Sable trotted carefully along the cobblestones of River Street, lingering in the alleyway shadows as he progressed. He had that damned demon trader’s scent choking up his nostrils, nauseating him until his eyes watered. But, the upside of the demonic stench, was that it made it damned easy to nail Caesar’s location, and by proxy, the location of Nikos and Ari.

The trail ended on the far end of River Street, in the lower level of one of the old cotton warehouses. Sable could hear the thumping of bass notes, some hypnotic and monotonous dance beat that hammered inside the club. The trail of sulfur led right up to the open door where a bouncer sat, texting someone on his cell. That the human was distracted was a good thing—it meant Sable didn’t have to cling so hard to the otherworldly shadows, lest the fool’s mortal eyes catch a glimpse of him. If he didn’t have the sight, he’d never spot Sable at all.

But for some reason, Sable had a feeling that this club wasn’t just an ordinary sleaze joint; Ares had referred to it as “the club.” As in the club. The only one they frequented, apparently, and that tipped Sable off that it had to be a den of iniquity, with a variety of supernatural and demonic types as regular clientele. And he’d never heard of it, not in his days of mayhem and dark mischief, so the joint had to be newer than six months—which had been the last time Sable had trod anywhere near a place like this one.

Anyway, if the club was what he thought it was, it would be filled with underworld and supernatural types, and so he didn’t dare try to enter undetected. He needed reinforcements; it was the only way they stood a chance of helping Nikos and Ari break out.

What he specifically needed, in fact, was someone with human legs and feet, who could waltz in the bar like a local, and breeze out like a commando.

He needed Mason Angel.

Chapter 23

The cloak had been the last thing Leo saw, unfurling like a great sailing ship in the air, headed right for his shoulders . . . once again. After that, there’d been only crushing blackness as he’d been teleported. Yet unlike when Daphne transported him, the process had lacked vital energy, been more like a draining, sucking void, emptying him of life.

He had no idea how long he’d spent in that whirlwind, but it was now morning in Savannah, the tiniest rays of light lining the carpet where he lay. He’d been face-first on the floor of his chambers for a while now, the soft pile carpeting abrading his cheek, wondering if he’d experienced something other than teleportation. Perhaps something far more deadly. His body felt the weight of whatever the god had done. It ached with a bone-deep kind of pain he’d only known once before in his life—the day he’d died at Thermopylae. The muscles felt raw, the scars along his back throbbed.

That damned cloak, it was gone, but its effect still lingered. And where, by the gods, had Ares hurled Daphne? Or had she remained at Apollo’s palace? Leo had no doubt that anywhere he went, she would follow. No hesitation. So, then why wasn’t she here now?

He had his answer the moment her tender, loving hands touched him on the shoulders. “Leo, are you awake?”

Keeping his face averted from her, he worked his way to his knees. “I’m . . . all right,” he lied. Across the room, a full-length mirror hung on the back of the closed bedroom door. Even in the dim morning light, he could see the truth glaring back at him. He was truly old now. The cloak might be gone, but his body was irrevocably changed. In that one horrific moment, Ares had managed to age Leo by nearly another decade . . . perhaps more.

Horrified, all he could think to do was flee her presence. She couldn’t see him, not like this, not with a head full of silver hair, and a snowy beard upon his face. Not with eyes that were wrinkled at the corners, not just faintly lined . . .

Not like this, never like this.

Wasn’t it bad enough that he was so dark, and she so pure and good? All the blood on his hands, he could practically see it as he stared down at his weathered palms. So many lives taken, so much destruction wrought. It hardly mattered that he’d been on the side of virtue—he was stained, and she was unblemished.

Now he realized the truth. He had to protect her from this curse . . . and himself.

“Leo, just look at me.” Daphne bounded to her feet, but before she could behold the wicked horror, he scrambled for the quiver and arrow. Then, summoning his fading youth, he leaped to his feet as he’d done in younger days . . . and bolted right out of that room.

Daphne glimpsed the damage her brother had inflicted, caught it in Leo’s reflection at the same moment he had.

The pain of it she understood. The tragedy of their love, she comprehended that, too, but not his humiliation about his altered physical appearance. The problem was that Leo had never fathomed his inherent handsomeness; she’d realized that from almost the first. Where she adored his hooked nose with its broken bump, he saw disfigurement. She’d heard him mutter about being shorter than the other warriors and witnessed his shy self-consciousness about his many scars, especially the one that slashed through his lower lip.

But all she’d ever seen was one gorgeous male who possessed a body like Adonis’s, and lit her up with desires and hungers that she’d never known. Now? After this most recent touch by her brother? Leo had only become more exotically handsome than ever to her, and the pulse of longing she felt as she stared at his reflection was even more powerful. She had to make him understand the reality of her feelings for him.

The thing was, they were on limited time . . . this most recent transformation only proved it. He couldn’t waste these moments by hiding himself away from her. His body was changing, but that wasn’t a sign of weakness. It signified his humanity, and that was a beautiful thing; after all, she was half-human herself. He’d once pledged himself in service to mankind, to battle every evil, and the years he’d held at bay were finally taking hold. If it didn’t mean them parting forever, it would’ve been a blessing to enter Elysium at last and simply rest. He’d more than earned it.

She truly prayed that if they failed in their efforts that he would find peace in heaven. That he’d embrace old friends and comrades—kiss his sons and daughters. And, yes, he’d hold Gorgo once again. Daphne’s throat closed up at that thought. But why should her beloved be alone? If she loved him, and she truly did, then she should rejoice that he wouldn’t be alone in Elysium, but rather with his human family.

But the thought brought no comfort, only gut-wrenching, choking pain.

Kneeling there on the floor of his chambers, all energy left her. Tears came, hot, painful ones, but she barely allowed them because she had to be strong—for Leo, for both of them. If they were indeed at the end, then it was something to face together, for whatever small amount of time they had left.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she rose to her feet. Normal. She needed things to seem as normal as possible between them when he finally returned to his chambers. With a flash of her power, she replaced her demigoddess’s gown with a miniskirt and her favorite Sex Pistols T-shirt. She turned toward his mirror, knowing how much he loved her all punked out. She changed her hair, too, making it short and spiky, filled with lots of vivid blue streaks just for him.

Her eyes still shone, and were a bit puffy, and she wished her power could fix that, too. Alas, this was the best she could do, and she stood staring into the mirror. She could’ve been any cool Goth chick roaming the streets of London, a look that Leo had unabashedly admitted turned him flat on.

As she tugged on her miniskirt, a panicky thought occurred to her: her getup, always one of his favorites, might backfire this time. It might make him seem too old for her. Absolutely ludicrous, considering she was most likely older than he. She’d never been sure—but it was a fact. Still, her very youthful appearance might undermine her plans to make him feel sexy and desirable, so she needed to rethink the current outfit.

She frowned, and with a quick surge of power, was clothed in a soft flowing sundress, cut just above the knees. More demure, perhaps even more desirable, on this particular day than the more edgy outfits she tended to wear for him. She considered leaving his chambers and walking into the hallway, roving the compound until she located him. But he had such pride, even as he was one of the most humble men she’d ever known; but in this one thing, she understood that it would have to be his terms, Leo coming to her when he was ready.

But she could wait only so long . . . her heart couldn’t handle much more.

Sable stood at the edge of the pebbled drive, watching Mason Angel lock up his family’s home. It wasn’t even six a.m. yet, and he had figured on waiting till at least seven before knocking on the man’s door.

Mason jogged down the front steps, his face a mask of fierce concern as he strode toward his truck. So the memo had gone out—Mace knew his lover was off the radar. Sable braced, preparing for what he knew would probably begin with a full-on assault, and stepped out of the shadows.

“Angel,” he called out.

Mason spun, putting his back against his truck, deathly still. Lethally so. But his surprise downshifted quickly, and the hunter launched himself at Sable in less than two seconds.

Mace wasn’t short, not by any stretch, but he had a difficult time delivering the punch he served up. Sable ducked, rearing slightly, and Mace went after his belly, hitting him several times in rapid succession. “Where the fuck is he?” the hunter roared, eyes white with fury. “Tell me what you did to him. Tell me!”

Mace socked him hard in the gut again, and enough was enough. Sable caught hold of the marine’s hands, pinioning them. “Listen to me, Mason Angel. I didn’t do anything,” he snarled, the words rasping. “He was taken; Nikos and Ari both were. But I can bring you to them—I think I’ve found the place where they’re being held.”

Mason struggled to catch his breath, relaxing a bit in Sable’s grasp. “You mean that you’ll tell me where he is?”

“Of course,” he promised, releasing the hunter. “That’s why I’ve come to you.”

Mason staggered backward, sagging against the truck. “He was taken,” he repeated numbly. “He’s alive.”

Sable nodded. “Yes . . . for now.”

Mason snapped an angry gaze at him. “What the hell did you do?” he accused again, coming back to life.

“It was Ares, not me.” Sable shook his head vigorously. “I thought . . . I didn’t do it. I didn’t know.”

Mace glared at him. “Hell, you didn’t! You came to us, gained our trust. Sophie’s trust. You know, my cousin’s one of the sweetest, most guileless people on the planet. No wonder you targeted her.”

“No! I did not,” Sable snapped ferociously. “Sophie isn’t part of this. She has nothing at all to do with current events.”

Mace jabbed a finger at him. “She’s everything to do with this because she’s the one you managed to snooker. You wove her into your web and look where the hell it’s landed all of us.”

“I love her.” The words escaped before Sable could zip them inside. “Sophie,” he added, as if he weren’t fool enough.

“You what?” Mason took a step closer, his eyes growing wide in disbelief. He started to laugh. “Oh my God, it must be early, because I thought I just heard you say . . .”

Sable squared his shoulders boldly. This was her family; he had to redeem himself, make sure that everyone knew his intentions. “I love your cousin,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn hot. “I’ve not told her yet . . . not declared . . .”

He gaped down at his hooves, grappling for the right words. “I would never have set Nik or Ari up, but even if I’d wanted to . . . I would never have hurt Sophie that way. I did not intend this outcome.” He dared to look up, briefly. “In fact, as I said, I believe I’ve tracked down the location where they’re being held.”

Mason blinked once, twice. Then with a shake of his head, he opened the truck door. “So, I guess monkeys might fly out of your ass next, huh? I’d probably be less surprised.” Mace gestured. “Where are we heading? I’ll drive, you teleport—and be quick about it. Because I’m in love, too, only my guy’s among the missing.”

Sable gave a firm nod. “I realize. That’s part of why I chose you; I knew you’d have a personal stake in bringing the warriors home.”

As soon as he’d given Mace the address, Sable moved into wind and air, teleporting as fast as he could.

Chapter 24

Leo quietly entered his chambers, and with one look, Daphne knew what he’d come to say—she saw the resignation on his face. She sat up from where she’d been curled atop his large bed, hugging his pillow to her chest. The entire time, she’d drunk in the scent, that earthy, husky smell of her beloved.

“I keep pretending that I’m holding you,” she told him, her voice muffled against the pillow. “I’m afraid I’ve cried so hard that your pillowcase is soaking wet.”

“Daphne, love.” He strode slowly closer, favoring his right leg. “We must talk.”

With another look, Daphne was sure—she’d read him right, about what he’d come to tell her. She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want to have this particular chat.” She pulled the thin comforter up to her chin. “I don’t want to talk right now at all. Not about this.”

Leo walked to the bed where she lay, his eyes full of unfathomable regret. “You know that we must.”

She rolled onto her back, still clutching the coverlet like a lifeline. From the expression on his face, the haunted look in her lover’s eyes, she knew he was here for only one ghastly purpose. “So you can tell me that you give up? That you won’t fight anymore?” She shook her head again, plastering herself against the pillows. “I think not, my lord.” Perhaps the honorific, no longer appropriate between them, would bring him to his senses.

He settled beside her on the edge of the bed. “We’ve exhausted our options,” he said evenly. “Aristos can’t heal me for forever, and your brother has now made it profoundly clear that he plans to win this battle. I think he only allows me to linger so he can enjoy my struggle. He has always loved watching me . . . all of us squirm.”

Daphne flung back the covers, scrambling to Leo’s side. “Look where we are, my king! Here, together . . . alone in your bedroom.” She rose up onto her knees, right in front of him on the edge of the mattress. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to be here? Oh, let us think back to the very beginning when my brother cast me into invisibility. That is how long!”

She slapped the mattress with angry, flat palms. “I watched you throughout every ancient battle or skirmish you fought, and onward, throughout all the ages. I saw you at Bannockburn, hovered near you at the Marne. By the time I stood beside you at Chosin Reservoir, unseen and faithful, you were no more aware of my existence than you’d been in the very beginning.”

“You . . . you were there?” he asked in a stunned voice. His expression became bleak, haunted. “All the blood . . .”

“I always watched over you. Never left you. All that you endured? I endured it, too.”

He buried his face in both hands, and she’d have sworn he’d begun trembling. “You should not have been forced to see . . . all that I’ve done.”

“I saw a brave warrior, a man who would lay down his life for his people, for humanity. And I suffered with you. For you, Leonidas.”

He dropped his hands away, a devastated, pale expression on his face. “I’d do anything to blot all of that ugliness and death from your memories.”

She gave him a bittersweet smile. “But then I’d forget all those moments of you.”

He shook his head fiercely. “What I’ve lived—you should not have endured it also!”

“I didn’t want you to be alone. Sure, you had your warriors and friends. But I saw the grim loneliness in your eyes, and so I kept vigil over you. But that is why,” she said softly, “you may not choose your fate alone now, without my say. Not after all the centuries when I loved you in silence.”

Leo blew out a mournful sigh, planting solid palms on her shoulders. “If I’d known you were there . . . beside me, you wouldn’t have been alone. In silence. I’d have answered resoundingly. I had no idea.”

“But you know me now,” she whispered. “You realize that we are losing time. With every argument, every debate. Let’s stop, and just love each other.”

With a long, sultry glance at him, she licked her lips, wanting the truth to be obvious: her desire for him remained and was undiminished. She cupped his face in her palms, lightly stroking his gray beard; the contrast with his dark skin was breathtakingly beautiful. Exotic, even. “Can’t you see how my body responds to you? I want to have you inside me again, feel you deep . . . the warmth of your seed.” She blushed, unable to help feeling shy, and added, “I want you to taste me again, your head between my thighs . . . and I want to take you in my mouth, too.”

“Oh, gods, Daphne,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “The thought is almost more than my heart can take. Because I want that, too . . . but if I don’t end this now, you will hurt so much more when I die.”

“No! You’re hurting me right now! You’re breaking my heart, Leonidas.”

“I am protecting you!” He thundered, more loudly than she’d ever heard him speak before.

He wrenched out of her grasp, and stormed to the other side of the room. “I was thirty-five at the Hot Gates. How do you reckon my years now?” Leo strode back toward her, favoring his right knee more than he’d done at Olympus, more than she’d ever witnessed. “I suppose we could call the bet at fifty.”

“You are so beautiful to me. More than ever. The lines on your face, the age written across your features . . . they arouse me. The silver in your hair beguiles me, makes me want to touch it. Touch you.” She had to reason with him, make him see the truth of their situation. “You are still young enough,” she told him fiercely. “Still strong and vital and—”

He cut her off with a harsh laugh. “What were you, eighteen at the time of our bargain?”

She said nothing; he was correct. To a point . . . she’d been frozen immortally at that age by Zeus and even now was unsure exactly how many years she’d been alive.

“As I suspected. I’ve always been far, far too old for you, Daphne.” He turned, walking slowly toward the window, seeming worn down. But savagely beautiful, still. “In the throes of immortality, we both simply chose to ignore that fact.”

“You’re wrong.”

He glanced back at her, dark eyebrows lifting. “Am I? Wrong that I’m old enough to have fathered you? I think not.” He laughed, a hollow, haunted sound that made tears fill her eyes. “Now it’s anyone’s guess how much that gap will widen in the coming days.”

“No, you’re wrong about us. About us not being right together.”

He cast a raw glance at her. “I’ve always been less than worthy of your love.”

“No! No, Leo, there is only one thing that you have always been, and that is mine. I was a fool to stay away, to fear my brother when we could have been together. Ares may have placed this curse upon us—”

“Upon me,” he corrected in a whisper, sadness filling his dark eyes. “He has touched me eternally, once again. But this time . . . my hours are fading.”

“We’ll bring Aristos back. He can help you! A life lift,” she said frantically. “He can give you another. And there’s Sophie—we can try Sophie.” She was grasping, desperate, determined to make him see reason.

“You and I both know that she’s too new in her gift, and that touching me in this state would put her in grave danger. No, I won’t risk young Sophie’s mortal life. Every avenue is closing to me and it is time to accept reality.”

A thick lump lodged in her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t find her voice at all. “But we still have right now,” she whispered. “What more do any lovers ever have? Look at all that Ari and Juliana have endured just to be together now. How long Ajax waited for Shay, to find her in this century and time. Like them, we must love now.”

“Now, Daphne? Now it is I who must protect you, who must say that we have no future. For I have nothing to offer you, love.”

“You’re being as cruel as my brother,” she said, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “When I stayed away from you, when I said we could not be, it was to save your life.”

He smiled faintly, love filling his entire expression. “You think my motives are not the same? You believe that I don’t love you?”

She began shaking, couldn’t stop the rush of shock and emotion that engulfed her. “If you did, you’d keep me here, for whatever time is left.”

“I’m sparing you even more death and destruction. You’ve already seen enough of it, delivered by my own hand. I would’ve spared you all those other battles had I known—and I can at least spare you from watching my own terrible end. Here, now at the end of your brother’s epic sword.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. I never wanted anything but to be near you. That’s all I want now.” She began to sob, hot rushing gulps of air drawing into her lungs. “I want to hold you, even if it’s as you die. I would be the last person you look upon. Leo, I’m begging you.”

“I won’t have you watch me wither away . . . turn frail and feeble. The change inside me cannot be undone; your brother cannot be thwarted in this attack. But I won’t have you see me turn, quite truly, into an old man.” He laughed grimly. “Perhaps my nickname was always a bit of prophecy.”

She moved toward him, hands outstretched. “We don’t know how much time we have, Leo. No one in the real world ever does. You once told me that you prayed to claim me. To make love to me. To take me beneath your body and make me yours. I am willing, my lord. I am still . . . have always been . . . yours.”

His lean body was as sculpted, as muscular and fit, as it had always been, and she saw that it still reacted to her with the fervor of a very young man. The khakis that he wore bulged prominently in front, betraying how desperately he still wanted her despite all his claims about sending her away. His words were one thing; his visible need quite another.

She stood in front of him, and pressed a shy, tentative hand against his groin, allowing her fingers to stroke his most intimate place. Leo jolted in reaction, clasping her wrist with a groan.

“Daphne, stop.”

“I see how you still react to me. I felt your manhood, your longing with my own hand.”

He growled, onyx eyes flashing in the semidarkness. “You should not have done so.”

“We don’t know how fast my brother’s curse will work. You could still give me a babe, if you wanted. Several, even . . . and live long enough to watch them grow. Live long enough to love me for years, for us to have a family, a whole life together despite what Ares has done.”

“We do not know that.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “We don’t know. But all you and I have ever had is the unknown.” She fell to her knees, mirroring the way she’d once begged her own brother to spare Leo this fate. “Do not send me away, Leo. Make me your mate, your wife. Whatever days we have, they will be more than enough.”

Suddenly he was kneeling before her, moving slowly. When they were face-to-face, knee-to-knee, he slid rough fingers beneath her chin, stroking her slowly. Treating her as his beloved. “Am I to let you watch me die?” He smiled softly. “With the way I love you, would I do that to you, sweetness? No. I would not. You must go and be young forever. That is your portion. Mine is to lead my men against your brother, to raise that demon army . . . and fight until I’m no longer able to do so. But not with you watching.” He shook his head firmly. “Not with you suffering on my behalf. I can protect you in this one final way . . . and I will.”

He drew her tight into his arms, petting her hair with long soothing strokes. She wanted to believe he’d heard her and would relent in his decision. Her hopes were dashed with his next words. “I can protect you in this one last thing. Leave me, my love. Please, go now, before neither of us is strong enough to make the break.”

He rose to his feet without another word. Without looking back, he left her kneeling in the middle of his bedchamber. She heard his heavy footfalls fade down the hallway, listened to the power of total silence that came after.

And still she knelt and waited. Waited and prayed, supplicating every power of the universe, their Highest God, that he would return. That he would fall before her and claim her, finally.

But, long as she waited and prayed . . . Leonidas, king of Sparta, did not return. So she made herself invisible, lingering in his bedroom like a ghost. If this was all she had of him, the only way to be near him until the end, she’d take the bitter blessing.

Chapter 25

Ari buried his face against his knees, trying for at least a bit of sleep. Nobody had returned to them, not Caesar, not even Ares, as the foul demon trader had threatened. It had been hours now, the cell’s confines growing only tighter, the smell of their sweat and anxiousness palpable in the heavy air. There was nothing but waiting and endlessly staring between Nik and himself, all the while their fears becoming more tangible.

They may never get out of this supernatural prison.

At least he’d left a proper farewell message for Jules, scrawled and nearly illegible though it was. Ari glanced sideways at Nik’s own epistle. The big guy had conked out against the wall, his jaw slack, and he was snoring—loudly. It brought back memories of those long nights at Thermopylae, the smell of blood and piss and death so strong, all they could do was prop against each other and try for at least a bit of sleep, waiting for death in the morning.

He’d be damned if that’s what they were doing now. He’d lost Jules once; he didn’t want to lose her a second time by stepping into the afterlife.

Glancing at the floor, he stole a glance at Nik’s note; yeah, the warrior had been all protective, but that’s because somehow the lug didn’t get that everyone already knew that he and Mason were lovers. That secret had come out of the bag, so to speak, months ago—the first time Nik had slept over at Mace’s house, and returned home the next morning grinning and rumpled and red-faced.

The fact that Nikos was finally happy—insanely happy—made Ari grin, too. The brother had been way too uptight and dour for a long time before Mace came along.

He stole a look at Nik’s writing on the floor, part of it obscured by one massive boot.

. . . was the first time when I believed, dared hope, that you might return my feelings. That is where I wish to take you as my husband, by the river, the flowing ebb of eternity. Your home, too, the land that’s in your blood. I wish to marry you there, not by the laws of this world, but by authority of our king, all that matters . . . that, and my love for you.

Damn, even Ari blushed after reading that. Nikos wasn’t just with Mason; he didn’t just love the guy. What ole Nik had going was an all the way smitten, totally overboard kind of emotion—the forever sort of love.

Way to go, brother, he thought, watching Nik snore. You got yourself a good guy, too.

Briefly, and he hated himself for it, but Nik wondered how Mason Angel would ever handle losing yet another man he loved . . . if their situation came to that. The guy had to be climbing the walls right now, he was sure of it—and that gave Ari a pang of hope. Mace wasn’t just Nikos’s boyfriend, wasn’t just the guy Nik loved; Mace was a full-on recon Marine, trained to break captives out of cells just like this one.

With that thought, he sank against the wall, and like Nik, slid into slumber.

Sable kept near the river while Mace walked by the warehouse club, baseball cap pulled low, doing a great imitation of someone who was extremely hungover and only now finding their way home. Early morning on the river like this, there was mostly trash from the partying the night before, a few steamers moving past on the water, and a motley crew of homeless people. Mace, for all his clean-cut military demeanor, somehow managed to blend right in.

The hunter did a double-pass by the club, and then cut back in Sable’s direction. Mace, of course, could see him even though Sable was cloaking his form—such were the benefits of having supernatural sight like that human did.

“Man, it’s shut down cold,” Mason hissed. “Not a peep coming from there. You sure it’s the spot?”

Sable jerked a nod. “Trail ends right at that front door. I can smell them, and especially Caesar. Ari and Nik were taken inside there . . . and not brought back out.”

Dead or alive.

Mace shivered at the words, obviously tracking with Sable’s thoughts.

“Let’s plan to keep the place under surveillance all day. You can park your hooves here without being spotted—”

“Only by humans; other demons will mark me from half a mile away,” Sable disagreed. “You’re the better choice.”

Mace gave him an incredulous look. “You do realize that I’m, uh, a bit infamous with this set, right? If they see me loitering around, we’ll never stand a chance of getting in there.”

“All of you Shades are infamous with the demon hordes about town. Doesn’t mean we can’t get in there.”

“What are you suggesting?” Mace asked, leaning against the railing along the dock.

Sable rubbed his jaw. The Spartans had been taken inside—there had to be a way to get them out. “We wait till late tonight, when the bar is crowded; keep an eye on it discreetly until then. I’ll position myself farther down River Street. We can get Leonidas and others to blend in, too. We’ll have clear eyes on the entry and exit point, and that means we’ll see if they try and haul Nik and Ari out. Then about midnight, we go in blazing.”

Mace thought a moment. “Sound plan,” he agreed. “But you do realize there’s only one reason they’re holding them, right?”

To keep Ari from healing Leonidas . . . He almost volunteered the information because Sable had little doubt of one fact: Ares would never honor their deal, Sable would never gain human form again, not if he helped free the Spartans. But if he didn’t? He’d never have any kind of hope with Sophie, and it wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t human . . . she’d hate him, revile him as the traitor he was.

Still, for now, he didn’t see any reason to reveal that he knew why Ares had kidnapped the pair.

Mace tapped his foot impatiently, clearly waiting for a response, so Sable said, “I don’t really know why they’d keep them prisoner.”

“I do,” Mason said, expression grim. “I saw enough of it in Iraq . . . for intel. They’re being worked over for whatever goods Ares can get ’em to cough up. Ain’t gonna be pretty.” Mace looked away. “Nightfall can’t come fast enough.”

Leo called out drills, working the warriors harder than he had in months. His armor felt like deadweight on his body, but he’d be damned if he eased up now. Perhaps by training even harder, he could keep the transformation at bay, something he desperately needed to do because he had a plan.

He was going to raise that demon army and, along with these spectacular warriors who were drilling for him now, would rout Ares once and for all. It was the one lasting gift he could give Daphne, even if he couldn’t give her himself.

She would be safe, free from the dominion of her sadistic brother, and as he stepped into eternity, he’d take that peace with him. The assurance that his greatest love would no longer suffer.

He strode to a training table. River kept it supplied with bowls and fresh, clean water, as well as a modern concession: white terry cloth towels for mopping the sweat and grime off. Leo poured himself a bowl of water, thankful that it had been chilled—more of an indulgence than he typically liked, but this morning his throat was parched.

As it slid down his gullet, Leo closed his eyes. Perhaps Apollo would look after Daphne; he’d seemed taken with her, and certainly to care for her as protector. Yes, that was the added assurance he could count on—that the god would protect Leo’s beloved.

Ajax lumbered toward the table in his full armor, helmet propped against his hip, long black hair slick with sweat. That warrior was always particularly striking in full battle dress. Today he looked as if he’d spent hours battling the Persians. “Working us hard today, aren’t you, my lord?” Jax plopped down his helmet, reaching a grimy hand for the water pitcher. “Trying to punish us for current events?” Jax’s gaze slid to Leo’s wizening features.

Leo scrubbed his beard. “Let’s see . . . two of my warriors are missing, my age now past fifty . . . and my beloved gone for good.” He tossed the bowl back, draining the rest of his water. “Wouldn’t you be looking for some results?”

“I think I’d be out searching for my lady love.”

Leo shook his head. “No. I’ve asked her to leave and she’s heeded my request. It will stay that way.”

Jax spun to face him, glaring incredulously. “Then, my brother, you’re not just an old man, you’re an old fool! Daphne is the light of your life, she gives you the strength for every fight,” Jax told him hotly. “She’s always been our guide, and of late, she’s been your particular sustenance. And so now, you send her away! When she might help you solve this bloody crisis.” Jax glowered at him, pacing in front of the bench angrily. “Leonidas, you’ve been my closest friend for more years than I could count, but I never thought to see you behave like such an ass.”

Leo busied himself with adjusting his breastplate. It felt off-kilter, as if with his body’s changes, it no longer fit quite right. “I did it to protect her,” he admitted quietly.

Jax came right up on him, seizing hold of Leo’s breastplate with both hands. “You did it to protect your ego—and your heart.” The warrior released him with a light shove. “And if you want to beat that disrespect out of me, Commander, have at it. But I’ll be damned if I won’t tell you the truth.” Jax stared at him long and hard. “You summon her. Today. Not tomorrow, not later. But you fall to your knees and beg the Oracle of Delphi to return to your side.”

Leo rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I have to focus. There’s something I must accomplish before I die.”

“Loving your female isn’t good enough?” Jax demanded, still angry.

“It’s because I love her that I must do this, don’t you understand?”

They stared each other down for a long moment, and then Jax sighed, long and hard. He busied himself with adjusting his ponytail at first—he always kept his long hair swept out of his eyes when training. Then after a moment, he met Leo’s gaze, composed again.

“I love you, my lord,” he whispered hoarsely. “Seeing you go through this . . . I shouldn’t have been so harsh or disrespectful.”

“You’re the brother of my heart, Ajax. I need you right now, perhaps more than I ever have.”

“Of course, Commander. You need only tell me . . . as always.”

Leo strode forward, clasping Jax by both shoulders. “I’m going to raise a demon army. And you’re going to help me lead them . . . to defeat Ares.” Leo faced the training ground. “When Sable returns—when we have Aristos and Nikos back—we’re going to begin the plan. For now, we prepare and train, for the battle of our lives is at hand.”

As soon as the warriors left the training ground, Leo sagged against an old live oak, allowing the tree to prop his own old body upright. It was as if his very bones needed the support, as if his frame were as knotted and weathered as the oak behind him.

Gripping his eight-foot spear in his right hand, he shoved it into the ground. A spear for a cane, almost unthinkable for any Spartan warrior. But the ruse had worked and better that than for his men to see how weak he’d become in the past days. The process inside his body was escalating; he sensed it. The throbbing pain in his right knee was almost unbearable, seeming to pulse with every beat of his heart. The ice wasn’t even helping anymore. His left wrist had gotten in on the action at breakfast, beginning to swell and burn, adding its own dull pain to the arthritic symphony in his right knee.

Extending that left hand, he studied its gnarled, ugly appearance. Two fingers gone, vanished some time during the training exercises. No idea how many he’d been missing upon his death, couldn’t recall. He only prayed that he wouldn’t lose the whole hand as Ares’s curse worked its dark magic over his body. Rotating his wrist, he felt the sharp burn of pain. He did remember that injury. He’d broken the wrist, snapped it back with a painful crack, on that third day of fighting at the Hot Gates. He’d fought on; there’d been no other choice.

With a weary sigh, he gripped his spear and lifted himself away from the tree.

And his knee gave out completely, dropping him to the ground like a felled giant oak.

With a cry, he spat sand from his mouth, feeling out to his side for the spear, but he’d snapped it when he’d fallen. It was a mockery of real battle, his spear broken into shards, his body flailing and defeated upon the ground. Rolling onto his back, he gasped, his lungs sucking at the air until he laughed darkly. The irony was almost comic, if he weren’t too lost in despising his helpless state. Reviling what he’d become.

With a weary groan, he forced himself into a sitting position, hands braced beside him on the loamy earth.

“This Old Man must rise again,” he muttered, stretching to lay hold of his broken spear. The lower half of it still protruded from the ground, and he could use that to hoist himself to his feet—if he were lucky. If not, well, he’d strip out of the heavy armor and do his best to crawl up onto his knees, then his feet.

Only one problem with that plan: the knee was pure misery.

And another problem, too: he could not reach the broken spear. With a blistering set of curses, he began stripping off the brass greave that covered his ruined knee. The swollen, aching joint nearly sang with relief as he freed it. Rubbing his fingertips over the hot flesh, he let his eyes close at the temporary pleasure.

But then cooler fingertips pushed his own out of the way. “Let me, sir,” the gentle voice prompted.

His eyes flew open, and he was shocked to see Sophie Lowery kneeling beside him. “Sophie, I don’t—”

“Shh, sir. Our secret. I won’t tell. I promise.” She skimmed her small hands all across his aching joint, below it, beneath.

He blushed at the contact; not out of attraction, but at the sheer awkwardness of being touched so intimately by any female other than Daphne—especially one who had found him at such a vulnerable, appalling moment of weakness.

He swallowed. “You won’t tell . . .”

“The others,” she finished quietly, squinting as she stared down at his knee. She worked like a professional, as if she were a battalion medic, someone they’d brought along to tend their war injuries.

“Sir, this is very aggravated. You should have sought some sort of care before now.”

“Nothing to be done, Sophie.” He sighed as relief swept into his bones and leg and joint. “Oh . . . yes, very nice. Thank you.”

“Something can always be done. There’s me, for one thing,” she pointed out, brushing a lock of curls from her eyes. “I’m a healer—obviously. You know how I helped Sable.”

He shook his head. “Any relief will be short term.”

“I don’t believe that this is terminal. I believe you’ll defeat Ares.”

He shook his head. “I am cursed, Sophie.” He dropped his gaze to his breastplate, reaching to adjust it again. The blasted armor was so tight and painful today.

She lifted onto her knees, moving to his side. “Here, let me help you out of this,” she said, and he shivered.

Daphne. Daphne’s words; Daphne’s gesture the first time they’d wound up kissing. It should be his love tending him, his love helping him.

But he was a stubborn, vain fool. Just as Daphne and Ajax had both accused—and they knew him far too well to be wrong on that point.

Before he could stop Sophie, she was working her hands over the leather side bindings. He reached to prevent her, their fingers tangling together. “Don’t.”

“You’re in pain. Uncomfortable,” she argued, looking up into his eyes. Her blue, eerily beautiful gaze reminded him so much of Daphne’s. So did her determination to help him.

“I . . . it’s not appropriate for you to undress me.”

Her eyes widened and a high blush hit her cheeks. “It’s only armor, sir.”

“And only my linen shirt just beneath.” For a brief moment, he feared that Daphne might be nearby, watching unseen. Even now, he didn’t want to do anything to give her the wrong impression, or make her believe he had interest in young Sophie.

“Hasn’t our Oracle done the same for you?”

This time he was the one to blush, the heat of it crawling all beneath his beard and up across his cheekbones. “My relationship with our lady is . . .”

“Beautiful.” Sophie practically sighed the word, clutching her hands over her heart.

“Pardon?”

Sophie nodded vigorously. “You love her so much. Every time you even mention her, your voice changes. That’s the real problem with this knee, you know.”

“I don’t know . . . what you mean.”

She slid back to her ministering position, and as she began moving her hands over his leg again, he was shocked to see that the swelling had reduced by half.

“You’re denying what heals your soul. By denying her. By keeping her from your side.”

“You know about that,” he said flatly. There were no secrets in their mixed cadre, the gossip as loud as any henhouse.

“I saw it, just now while healing you. Oh, that was a dumb thing to do, good golly Molly.” Sophie shook her bent head, her curls bouncing. “Mistake. Big one . . . sir.” She tacked on the term of respect as an afterthought.

“Should I take love advice from you? A mortal of how many years? Twenty?”

She snapped a sharp gaze at him. “I’m twenty-five. Sir. Don’t make Ari’s mistake—I’m not a little girl.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Forgive my blunder.”

“I’m no kid, even though my family tries to act like I’m one,” she said. “And Sable . . . he treats me like I’m breakable or something.” She glanced away quickly. “Well, who knows now? He may never really come back.” Her expression became despairing, even as she tried to hide her face from him.

He touched her gently on the arm. “Sophie, he went to Mason, and he’s helping us find Nikos and Ari.”

“I know. I heard.” She sighed. “I just don’t know how things went so wrong.”

“You’re losing faith in him? Now?” Leo himself had felt doubts in the past hours, but Sable’s determination to help them locate the missing warriors had assuaged those hesitations. Especially because he needed Sable to be trustworthy; he was going to seek the Djinn’s help with raising the demon army.

Sophie slid her gaze to him, her eyes bright. “It’s hard to love someone who’s always running away . . . or pushing you out.” That gaze became pointed, and far wiser than any twenty-five-year-old’s should be.

“I believe you’re speaking to me.”

“I am,” she said, and her voice sounded tremulous suddenly. Slumping forward slightly, she pressed the back of her right hand against her temple, and Leo noticed that a sheen of perspiration had formed across her brow. Only then did he remember how she’d collapsed after healing Sable.

“Sophie, you have helped me,” he said firmly, reaching out to stop her from touching him any further. She shocked him by gathering both his hands in her much smaller ones.

“Don’t keep her away. It’s killing you, King Leonidas. I see it in your bones . . . feel it as I touch you.” She squeezed his hands emphatically. “This curse? It’s not what you think. I can’t explain what I mean, maybe one of the other Daughters can. All I know is . . . denying your love for her is a slow poison inside your skin.”

Chapter 26

Daphne watched from within the small peach grove, the copse of trees that Leo had apparently planted in her honor. The saplings were young, but strong. Her beloved, however, wasn’t thriving . . . he was suffering.

And seeing sweet Sophie apply her tender healing gift to him, so eager and desirous of helping her stubborn lover, only brought more tears to Daphne’s eyes. It should be her, stripping him out of that weighty armor, her touching him and restoring his beautiful but tortured body.

But she had to respect his wishes, so to the mists she clung, hoping that he might change his mind and realize that now, above any other time, they should be together. But that didn’t make watching him, hurting with him, any easier.

He ambled slowly toward the house, his knee better—at least for now—and it was all she could do not to rush after him, to materialize in his path and simply demand that he love her. That he accept her love for him.

But she would not do that. He’d told her his wish: that she let him die alone. So she would do that . . . and die more than a little bit herself in the process. Which left her with seemingly nowhere to turn, except here, unseen and grieving with him. But she knew that wasn’t what he’d intended; in fact, it explicitly violated his request.

She leaned against the same tree that Leo had sagged against, pressing her cheek against the aged bark. Tears that she’d been choking back for a full day finally spilled.

There had to be an answer.

There was only one last place to turn. Even if it was the last thing her beloved wanted.

Leo approached the riverfront dock, dressed in all black. It was after ten p.m., and although he wasn’t necessarily needed for this mission, he couldn’t stay away. These were his men who’d been taken prisoner, and until he saw them home safely, he’d never be able to rest. His knee was much improved thanks to Sophie’s handiwork, and he walked with barely a hitch in his gait.

That did nothing to steer his thoughts away from Daphne. She was everywhere, nowhere, with him nonetheless. To see things through with Ares was his only other desire, apart from making sure that Aristos and Nikos made it home safely. Other than that, every urge within him was about annihilating Ares, so that the wicked god would never threaten his beloved again.

And that was the other reason he was here, to corner Sable and present his plan; they didn’t have much time, not given how fast he was aging. So sitting at home and nursing his swollen knee wasn’t on the docket.

At the entrance to the club, the one where Sable claimed Nik and Ari were being held, a crowd was gathered. Mostly young art students ambled about, some of them smoking, a few drinking beers as well as some stronger drinks in this, an open container city. Leo scanned the perimeter, searching for his own people. At approximately three o’clock, he spotted Mason, decked out in a preppy button-down shirt and khakis, looking for all the world like nothing more than a tourist.

Another quick scan of the perimeter, and Leo located Jamie, too, just as prepped out, and waiting just as stealthily. Then, much farther down toward the water, stood a stalwart form that none of those mortal art students could possibly see, an edgy centaur who kept stomping his hooves, obviously ready to get into the fight.

Leo made a beeline for that male, ignoring Mason and Jamie, as well as the other Shades who had ringed that club like a garland. Sable caught sight of him, too, glancing up, his light blue eyes filled with shocked surprise.

Before he’d even reached the demon, Leo called out, “Sable. Elblas of Persia, I need a moment. I need . . . your help.”

The Djinn hesitated, rubbing his chest, then replied softly, “Of course, Leonidas of Sparta. Tell me the word.”

Sable gazed down at the king, working his hardest to hide his shock at the male’s changed appearance. The Spartan stood proudly, gathering his thoughts as Sable had often seen the man do. After a moment, Leonidas gazed up at him. “I want to destroy Ares.” Simple, to the point. But why, by Ahriman, would the man trust him now?

“And you think I can help?” Sable didn’t bother trying to conceal his shock.

Leonidas’s dark gaze became shrewd. “I know that you can.”

Sable glanced in Mason’s direction; the marine stalked the club with subtle vengeance, eager for the moment when he and his brother would go in and save the captured Spartans.

He turned back to Leonidas. “You actually trust me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Economy of words, always, with this one, but Sable respected that trait in the king as much as he loved Sophie’s prattling. For each, it signified their character, a rare goodness that for some reason, some keen, powerful reason, Sable didn’t want to disappoint in Leonidas. Not tonight, not ever again.

“Or, perhaps . . .” Sable shifted his hooves. “Maybe you should. Trust me. Tell me what you need, Leonidas.”

The king raked a thoughtful hand over his snowy-white beard. “Do you have associates, ones like you who might be . . . disaffected? Winnable, as it were, to my own side of things . . . against Ares?”

“What are you scheming?”

“My time is ending,” the king said softly, indicating his weathered face. “As you can plainly see. But before I depart for the afterworld, leaving all of you behind—my Daphne, your Sophie . . .” He gestured toward the club, his voice growing even quieter. “My warriors . . . and you. I want to ensure that all of you are safe from Ares’s cruel hand.”

Sable couldn’t meet the noble man’s gaze. He worried about Sable’s own safety, as well? He bothered to list him in that gentle litany?

Staring past the king’s shoulders, Sable murmured, “I might know some . . . who would follow. Understand a plan such as yours.”

Leonidas reached upward, clasping his shoulder in a gesture of fidelity and friendship. “I knew that I could count on you. I’ve been banking on it. The god has held all of you, us, under his sadistic hand for far too long. I want to lead a mutiny, meet kind with like kind.”

Sable didn’t understand those words, and his confusion must have showed.

Leonidas elaborated. “Ares has always used the underworld against us. He harnessed your demonic power. He bartered with us in Hades itself. We must meet him with the same weapons. Even the playing field, that’s the warfare that’s needed.”

Sable thought of his one-time minions Krathsadon and Mirapish, and how despite their recent mockery of his transformation, they’d seemed to miss his leadership, too. Not only that pair, but his mind riffled through at least two dozen other demons of his acquaintance, some of them antsy in the past years, wanting more than servitude and humiliation.

“I know some creatures.” Sable met the king’s gaze steadily. So strange, but his heart surged in his chest, a strange pride taking hold. For a man of Leonidas’s stature to believe in him, place faith? He wanted to live up to that responsibility. “I believe I can help,” he offered quietly.

The sturdy Spartan gave only one nod. “Good,” he said. “Let’s meet again tomorrow. At the compound training field. We can strategize then, once tonight is behind us.” Leonidas glanced toward the club entrance. “Once we’ve freed two good men.”

“Yes,” Sable heard himself agreeing. “We must secure them first.”

The Spartan began to walk away, but Sable couldn’t help calling after him.

“How is Sophie?” He raked a jittery hand over his short hair, pretending it was only the most casual of questions. “I’ve not seen her today.”

The king turned back, gracing him with another genuine smile. “Waiting for you to come home,” he said, his scarred lower lip pulling awkwardly. “Sophie is waiting for you.”

Somehow, mystically so, Sable heard the words that Leonidas of Sparta didn’t utter: Sophie was waiting for his light side to truly emerge. For the realest part of him to stand tall.

Chapter 27

Leo arrived home from downtown, weary, and hoping that Nik and Ari would be freed from captivity later tonight. Jamie had urged him to go home and get rest, promising to text a report.

When he’d come home, he’d gone straight to his chambers, and found a present waiting for him. Hanging from the knob was a small pouch, filled with a delightfully smelling mixture. A note was attached, penned in simple, broad strokes, and all it said was “Seek our Oracle once again. And please, please use these bath salts to help your knee.”

Sophie, he’d known it in a moment. Something about the sweet wisp of a girl made him want to be obedient to her care. So now he poured the healing salts into his garden tub, the one he almost never used. He stood there naked, watching them fizzle and dissolve in the warm waters, afraid of catching a glimpse of his changing body in the full-length mirror along the bathroom wall.

At last, drawing in a strengthening breath, he rotated slowly to examine the day’s damage. The usual, lifelong scars were still there, a parade of victories and losses engraved upon his skin, but new ones had emerged, as well. Wounds that had been healed in the waters of Styx now appeared as scars. Biggest of all the marks was the scar from the long belly-knifer that had disemboweled him after his death. The Persians had taken great pride in parading and abusing his fallen body—for hours they’d tossed him upon their spears and shoulders and shields. The worst damage had never even healed in the waters of Styx upon his bargain.

He touched that scar along his abdomen tentatively, not surprised to find it hotter than the surrounding flesh, but he was shocked, however, to discover how tender it was to the touch. That was a new effect. It seemed every day and hour held its own perverse surprise.

He faced the mirror again, letting his gaze travel the length of his body, noting another new scar now sketched the width of his upper thigh, looping it like a tourniquet.

That one he remembered, he thought with a wry laugh. He’d gotten it while training with Ajax long before Thermopylae. The Spartan had been horrified, apologizing the entire time he’d watched Leo being stitched up. Those had been carefree times, looking back upon them. Simple days. No demons; no gods; no weight of eternity. No loving a woman whom he could never really deserve. Oh, Daphne, why couldn’t I have known you in those ancient days?

You fool of a king, even then she was a demigoddess and you a blood-soaked warrior. You’ve always been too tarnished for someone as pure as she.

He stretched his arms overhead, turning to face his bath and yelped like a woman when he discovered Daphne sitting on the edge of the tub.

“Daphne!” he clapped his palms over his privates, heat crawling all over his body. She’d seen him when they’d become lovers, of course—all of him—but he’d evolved for the worse since then. He hated the thought of her glimpsing the horrific truth of him, nothing concealed, and every striated battle mark proving all the death and darkness that he’d lived through.

“You . . . you . . .” He had no words, especially because his ugly, disfigured body was naked and she wore only a bath towel for covering. “You . . . should not . . .” His chest heaved, his lungs sucked at desperate gasps of air. “I am . . . naked.”

“We are lovers, Leo.”

“We were.” Past tense; two wondrous joinings. But lovers no more.

She ignored that comment, instead tilting her head, studying him through flirtatious eyes. “When have Spartans ever minded nudity? You used to race that way on the open tracks of Sparta.” She smiled, lowering her lashes. “Too bad I wasn’t there.”

“I . . . I was a young man then,” he blustered. “And you were not, most decidedly, there.”

“I bet you let Gorgo watch you. With satisfaction.” There was no jealousy in the statement, only honest observation.

His jaw tightened at the memory, at recalling how he had once been proud of his masculine, honed body—a body that was vanishing before his very eyes with every passing day. Oh, how he ached for Daphne to see him as he’d once been.

“No snappy comeback, my king?” Her smile widened, dazzling him with its rare beauty. It seemed she’d grown even more beautiful during their absence. He dropped his gaze to the tiled bathroom floor, more ashamed than ever of what he’d become—of how ugly he must appear to her.

“As I said, Oracle. I was a young man, then. I’d not lived through wars and battles and mutinies. I was innocent in my own way, full of youthful vanity and stamina.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost either,” she whispered huskily, and he glanced up, aroused. Heated for her, through and through.

“You can plainly see that I have.” He adjusted his hands, attempting to conceal his rapidly lengthening erection.

Her gaze tracked with the motion. “Yes, quite the stamina you display, dear Leo.” She laughed huskily. “Won’t you let me take you on for a race? Or a wrestling match, perhaps?”

He shook his head. “Not when I’d emerge the loser, my lady. The shame would be too great.”

“Ah, but the thrill is in the challenge, no?” She adjusted her towel and for a moment, his hands itched to strip it right off of her—for it to be his hands moving across the fabric, unwinding the towel, not tightening it as she was doing.

“The thrill with you, Daphne, is in just beholding you,” he admitted softly, unable to bite back the confession.

“Then why do you keep me away?”

He shook his head. “You already know my reasons,” he growled. “I won’t hurt you. Won’t have you watch me . . . change.”

“Change is life, Leo!” she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “That’s part of love, you know that. You are not new to this; you had a wife, a family. I have never loved another besides you, and even I know that patience and acceptance and change are all part of any love affair that matters.”

“You’re asking for the impossible, my lady!” He shouted, slamming a palm against his chest. “I won’t have you see me die! Allow me my pride . . . my warrior’s honor. I wish you to remember me as vital and strong and, gods help me, at least passably handsome, in my own perverse way.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He blinked back at her. “I don’t understand. You know precisely what I mean.”

She shook her head vigorously. “You wouldn’t turn me away, not for this. Something’s not adding up here. With as much as you hurt when I left you, you’d never try and push me away like this unless there was something else. Something more than male vanity.” She squared her shoulders. “Like you said, we’ve never had secrets between us. So tell me, Leo.”

He wouldn’t tell her the rest, couldn’t—his growing awareness of all that separated them, not just their age difference. The darkness he’d been exposed to and carried with him when she was all that would ever be pure and lovely. If she wouldn’t listen to his more immediate objections, she definitely wouldn’t heed those. But it was more than that, too. He didn’t even want to dishonor her by speaking of the things he’d lived and seen.

Daphne stood in the bath, facing him. Waiting for him to explain.

When he kept silent, she sighed wearily. “All I have ever lived for was to grant your desires. It’s been my nectar for more than a thousand years, my sustenance. But no longer; not in this.” Her eyes were sad as they met his. “You’re in too much pain for me to stay away any longer, my lord.” She shivered slightly, drawing the towel about her a little more tightly. “I refuse to obey your order. Refuse to serve your need to protect me.”

“You do not know of my pain,” he ground out accusingly. “You cannot fathom my suffering.”

“I know every ounce of it, Leonidas,” she countered with just as much resolve. “You forget what I am.”

He trembled. A demigoddess. He loved and cherished and desired a woman with the power of Olympus in her veins. “It is easier to forget.”

“Oh, and why is that?” She tossed her hands in the air. “Because then you can forget me? Is that how it is?”

“Because then my love for you, already so terrifying, is at least something I can reason with.” Because then I can pretend I might be worthy enough of you, one day.

Backing against the counter, he continued using his palms to cover his manhood like some pitiful fig leaf, but what he most wished to hide from her was his face.

“You honestly think I haven’t come to you before now?”

“You wouldn’t have betrayed my wishes,” he said, his hands trembling. What if she’d already seen? Already known how far gone he was? For all he knew, she’d witnessed him flailing around on the ground earlier today, had seen his pathetic helplessness. “Daphne, tell me you’ve not come to me when I plainly asked you to stay away.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you’d have done that to me.”

“You know me very well.” She glanced away, pain written across her features. “I have used my power to feel your pain, to know your heart and mind. But I have stayed away as you asked, my king . . . mostly.”

“Thank you.”

She tossed her black hair over her shoulder defiantly. “You were cruel to ask it, however. And I never thought you a cruel man . . . until this. Until you drove me from you. Now I know that you do have a fault, and it is this terrible, unfeeling part of you that would torture me thusly.” She sobbed, bowing her head, still averting her gaze. “And yet I love you for your pride. For your strength. For being willing to do what I could never have done . . . drive you from my presence.”

He forgot all about propriety, rushing to the edge of the tub. “Daphne. Love. My dearest. You do not understand my motives.” He splashed water wildly as he stepped toward her, needing to be right at her side. She turned away, sliding to the edge of the tub; he settled next to her, facing her back. Now she was the one hiding her face, turning away. He liked it even less than having to push her out of his life. She released a horrible, choking sob. With tentative fingers, he reached to stroke her hair away from her nape.

“Daphne, I’m sorry. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have asked—”

“Don’t. Leonidas, please. You have your pride? I have mine as well.” She sobbed again, her small, delicate shoulders heaving. He slid his arms about her waist, wrapping her tightly within his grasp. The rough fabric of the towel shifted slightly as he embraced her, drawing her right up against his chest. He pressed his mouth against the top of her head, loving the scent of her, the silky feel of her black hair against his face.

“No blue?” he murmured, rubbing his nose against the crown of her head, locking her tight in his bearlike hold. Her delicate shoulders slumped and she bowed her head, still crying.

“I only ever wore my hair streaked for you, my king. Gone from your presence, I could not continue to do so.”

He reached a hand toward her cheek, although he couldn’t see her face. Not with the way he held her from behind, nor how she kept her head bowed. But he felt the dampness of her tears along his scarred hand; he’d forgotten and used his left. The dampness burned his skin like a guilty accusation. How he’d broken her, he realized, perhaps for the very first time. He’d been so afraid of losing her, so afraid of hurting her by dying, that he’d speared her with the greatest pain of all. His neglect and banishment.

“I am a selfish bastard,” he murmured against her ear, still trailing his gnarled hand across her cheeks, wishing he could stanch her tears. Heal the pain. “I love you. Daphne, with all that has ever been in me or ever will be, you must know how much I love you.”

“You keep me away,” she said, sniffling loudly, and emitting a staggered sob. “Love, Leonidas, does not do that.”

He froze. Did she truly doubt his feelings for her? Could they be that far gone, the two of them, because of his choices? In his heart, he knew it to be impossible.

“You know why I told you we could not be together. You once told me the same, in order to protect me. That’s why I’ve broken things off between us. Not because I don’t care about you.”

“It should have been my choice.”

“You didn’t let me choose when you ended things.”

She twisted and struggled in his grasp, but he pinioned her hard against his chest. “I’m keeping you here right now,” he said forcefully. “Until we are clear.”

“You make the rules. You say when and how,” she cried, squirming more, but he only tightened his hold. “Quite the king. And how like my own brother and father you are in that!”

The words were cold water on his face and he instantly released her. “I’m . . . you don’t mean that.”

She pivoted to face him, staring up at him with blazing, tear-filled eyes. Holding the towel tight about her chest, she stared at him with true fury in her blue gaze. “You are exactly like them, at least if you intend to keep me from you for another hour, another day. Because you know how much I love you . . . therefore you know how it’s killing me to stay away from you . . . especially when you—” She sobbed, bowing her head.

He reached his good hand and slowly tilted her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. “Especially when I what, my love?” he whispered gently. “Please tell me.”

She winced, pressing her eyes closed tight. “When you’re in so much pain. I’ve felt some of it, but Sophie told me more. The full extent of your suffering. About your knee . . . your body.” She looked at him then. “It’s not just aging, but it’s all your war injuries, isn’t it? They’re manifesting.”

All at once, her anger vanished, replaced by the sweetest, most loving look of compassion that he’d ever seen in her eyes. She reached both hands to his face, cupping it, stroking it slowly as if she were appreciating a fine work of art. She trailed her right thumb along his bearded jaw and he flinched, knowing how snowy it had become, but she didn’t stop there. She dragged that thumb over his lower lip, rubbing the ruinous scar that split through it. Smiling, she sighed, holding his face in both palms.

“I love this face,” she said worshipfully. “It is so beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

He blushed so thoroughly, she must have felt the heat of it beneath her fingertips. “I am . . . not very handsome, my lady. You see me with your own eyes. You always have.”

“No.” She shook her head with a determined expression. “No. You are as you’ve always been. Gorgeous. Magnificent.”

He forced himself to hold her gaze with strength; she might as well face the unabashed precision of his transformation. His chest rose and fell with heavy pants, his whole body tightened with need and crashing lust for her, but he would not fall victim to his needs. This was their moment. She had to see the truth.

She reached her palm toward his abdomen, slowly rubbing it. Only then did he recall his nudity, but too late—she kept stroking him, lingering lower with that hand until it was tangled up in his pubic hair. “All black hair here,” she murmured, teasing him with her strokes. “As sinful as midnight, as tempting and lovely.”

His cock jutted upward at the words, brushing against her palm. His groin tightened in reaction, which only caused his erection to leap again. Slowly she rubbed her thumb across the tip until a bit of dampness formed. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, then she bent lower, amazed as she kept stroking him. “I’ve never touched any other man intimately. You are mightily formed . . . amazing.”

He seized hold of her hand, forcing it away from his groin. “Stop,” he commanded.

“You liked my touch, didn’t you?” She blinked up at him, looking uncertain and worried. “Did I hurt you? Was that why you leaked?” With as long as she’d been around the Spartans, and as highly sexed as most of them were, she’d never been privy to this kind of intimacy. And when they’d made love, it had been in the water.

He barked a laugh. “Lovely Daphne, that was my seed. Yes, I loved your touch, but it was wrong, too.”

“It couldn’t be wrong if you liked it.”

He pressed her hand against his chest. “I was making a point.”

“So was I.” She smiled wickedly, but he refused to be diverted. He rubbed her palm across his pectorals, fanning it over the wiry chest hair that blanketed it. “Even my chest is now peppered with silver,” he told her harshly. “See for yourself. Touch this hair that you might finally see the truth.”

She obeyed, languidly stroking her hands over the thick hair that curled all across his chest, then moving to caress first his right nipple, then his left. Both drew tight with arousal, and his heart inside that chest absolutely hammered with craving for her.

“All body parts are clearly in very youthful, working order, Leo,” she declared, smiling. “I fail to see what point you wish to prove. Except that you want me as much as you ever did, perhaps—I swear it seems—even more.”

He swallowed, his throat tight as a bowstring. Forcing her palms to his face again, he managed, “See the lines about my eyes. Don’t you?”

She peered up into his face, and somehow, some way, she moved much closer as she did so. He didn’t have time to stop her. All at once, she’d settled herself upon his lap, wrapping her thin arms tight about his neck. The position put her above him and she bent lower, seizing his mouth in a frantic, plumbing kiss.

Leo surged out of the water, holding Daphne in his arms, and had to smile—maybe she was right, maybe he was still young enough. And as he carried his love across the slippery bathroom floor, both of them soaking wet, then on to his massive bed, his body definitely responded with pulsing, youthful vigor.

His erection bobbed with every step he took, as if cheering him onward to the bed. The pool at Eros’s had been a wonder, their first joining sensual and otherworldly, but the thought of taking Daphne in his own bed, here in his chambers as he’d dreamed of doing for months, was even more intoxicating.

Daphne reached upward, stroking his beard. “I want you,” she said. “More than at Eros’s, more than any time before.”

Leo growled, lowering her onto the bed. His simple linens were white, but he indulged in soft sheets . . . the truth was, he’d ordered them especially for Daphne months ago, hoping for this moment. As for himself, he’d have been just as happy sleeping on the hay out in the barn, but he wanted Daphne to be treated like a queen.

He wouldn’t think of marriage now, not of the future that he didn’t believe they would have. Nothing but this moment existed, and there was no reason that they shouldn’t live in it.

Daphne rolled onto her back, sliding beneath the sheets, and he sat in bed and indulged in studying her body. She flushed, brushing wet tendrils of hair away from her damp cheeks. She could’ve been a painting, some sensual Baroque rendering of a Greek goddess. With her alabaster, creamy skin, touched with pink, her black lustrous waves.

He laughed. “You could be a heroine from some classical, sweeping painting.” He bent down and began kissing one ripe breast. “Except, what would Caravaggio have made of your blue streaks? Or the crimson for that matter.”

“He’d have begged to paint you, too. Like this, with me. The two of us wrapped about each other.” She arched back into the mattress, and he reclined beside her, hungry. “The great Leonidas with his lover,” she finished. “Imagine the scandalous showings.”

He captured her mouth in a kiss, sucking on her lower lip. “There would have been rioting in the streets, like after Rites of Spring,” he murmured. “Only it would be the gentlemen, riding a tide of envy that you were mine.”

She giggled, threading her hands all through his hair. “Oh, help me, but you’re even sexier now, Leo.”

“I’ll show you sexy, my young nymph.” He reached between her thighs. Slowly, one stroke, then another, he brushed a fingertip. Each time she grew more and more wet, so ready for him. Eager. Her small hips rising and pumping with his caresses, which grew firmer with each caress.

When she ground her hips upward and into his hand, he couldn’t wait any longer. With a growl, he pinioned her, climbing atop her. To hell with his knee. The salts had helped—he wanted to mount her, to ride these aching surges of hers to completion. Once he’d slid between her thighs, he levered his hips so he could position himself perfectly against her opening. She would still be tight, almost a virgin.

She reached between their hips, angling him perfectly. “I’m a worldly woman now, Leo. Take me. Now.”

He drove into her, harder than he perhaps should have, but he’d never needed to be inside of her more than tonight.

Leo lay flat on his back, slick with a sheen of sweat, still breathing heavily from the intense sexual release he’d just experienced. Daphne, sweet love of his life, curled against him, half-asleep already. He had no doubt that the past days had been torture for her, and casting a tender glance at her, was glad she could get the rest.

His heart hammered a harsh beat inside his chest. It had never taken him so long to recover from lovemaking, not in mortal life, not even the other day at Eros’s pool. A sudden pain in his chest caused his breath to catch. Leo leaned up slightly, and saw a fresh scar, ripped across his pectorals—and the hair there was almost entirely silver.

His hands . . . they began to shake, and he knew where he had to go. He dreaded it, didn’t want to know the truth, but his body was on a rapid-fire escalation right now. Perhaps Ares knew they’d made love, and this was the punishment. Why else would he feel his body becoming so much a stranger to him and right at this particular moment?

After struggling out of bed, he walked toward the bathroom. The man gazing back across the mirrored sink was not one he would’ve recognized.

Oh, gods of Olympus, his beloved deserved far better than what he’d become. Closing his eyes, he thought of her young, supple body. The way her skin had seemed to gleam with her goodness and Olympian power. Then he compared that image with his own ruined one.

He’d never been nearly good enough. And now? Her brother had written that fact across his face and body. If he left her now, he could protect her—save her—from suffering this end with him. Nothing had ever been more important to him than this one final act of devotion.

Chapter 28

Jamie and Mason had told Sable to take off for a bit. With their planned time for the raid in two hours, they didn’t want him lurking around outside the club, possibly tipping off Ares or Caesar or any of their minions. So, trotting down Abercorn, his hooves quite naturally led him toward Sophie’s carriage house. He’d been there so many times, there were probably grooved tracks forming a trail.

Maybe it was Leonidas’s veiled comment, but he couldn’t stay away from her, not if he’d tried. He’d failed in his plan to redeem his body—a scheme that had been doomed from the beginning, if only he’d not been too much of a nitwit to realize it. But he could still be worthy of her love. That was one area where he refused to let her down.

Trotting onto West Jones Street where she lived, he picked up his pace and his heart did, too. Because farther down the street, he glimpsed something that sent him into a tailspin of panic. Sophie was slumped on the curb, collapsed against her car, and appeared to be unconscious. He bounded into a gallop, reaching her side in only seconds.

“Sophie!” He bent low, trying to rouse her. She was pale, so very pale, and his heart lodged in his chest. Reaching for her wrist, he felt for her pulse; it was thready seeming, and didn’t do nearly enough to calm him.

Damn it. Sophie had done the one thing he’d hoped to prevent: she had healed Leo, he knew it then and there. The result had been that she was weaker than he’d ever seen her. More drained than after any of the times she’d healed Sable.

“My Sophie, why are you so determined to harm yourself?” he whispered gently, scooping her up into his arms and searching for somewhere to go.

He couldn’t squeeze his colossal centaur’s body through the tiny alley that led to her carriage house, and he wasn’t powerful enough to teleport them both there. Where could he take her until she recovered? He decided on nearby Monterrey Square, which was only a few blocks away. So long as she was in his grasp, his demon’s power concealed them both.

He began a plodding, rolling gait, taking great care not to jostle her too much. As they walked, he gazed down at her sleeping face; it was the first and only time he’d really been able to look at her without trying to guard his feelings. He loved the way her nose turned up just the tiniest pinch, and her too big, wide-set eyes, and the delicate heart shape of her face. There was a reason he tended to think of her as a pixie: she looked quite like one. But she needed so much protection, and that scared him to the core of his Djinn’s tortured soul.

What if he’d not found her just now? What if another demon had, using her unconscious body for a free ride straight to the worst kinds of iniquity? Or if a dangerous human had discovered her, slumped there on the cobblestone street? It chilled Sable to think what harm might have befallen her.

He would not, could not let her heal Leonidas again. The toll this healing had taken was unlike any other that he’d seen her face.

They passed several shops, and the bakery where she bought a croissant every morning along with her coffee, and always chatted overly long with the owner. Those visits often annoyed him—well, in his heart he knew that what actually irritated him was standing outside the bakery, feeling shut out of her world. Not that she knew he followed her then; it was his secret. He could describe a thousand little habits of hers, if pressed.

It was one of the reasons he so longed to be human: so he could accompany her in those countless little excursions that meant so much to her. The dog breeder on Drayton, an elderly man to whom she often brought the paper and a cupcake from the bakery. The real estate office on Oglethorpe where, for reasons unknown to him, she often stood and studied the recent listings out on Tybee. All the little things of her life, he would give anything to be a part of their regular rhythm. To just sit outside on the sidewalk at Mellow Mushroom and have a slice of pizza, share a pitcher of beer.

Carrying her into the square, he thought of all the times she’d sat here on a bench with her camera, waiting for children to come along. When they did, she’d take candid shots, smiling as she watched them leave. He supposed she wanted children of her own one day, and his heart clenched at the thought. Because that was just one more, highly important thing that a centaur Djinn would never be able to give her.

He found a soft spot of moonlit grass in the southeastern corner of the square, and depositing her gently, settled on the ground beside her. He folded his legs and lowered his immense horse’s body onto the ground, taking special care with his legs. He blew out a big, winded sigh, grunting as he settled. His centaur’s body was ungainly and awkward, but for once he didn’t even care.

The only thought, flaring in his mind like a fever, was that when Sophie awoke he had to convince her that she could not, must not try healing King Leonidas again. If this had been the result, it was far too dangerous.

Sophie moaned slightly, and he twisted his torso to get a better look. She shifted, sat up slightly, and then slumped against his big horse’s side. She sighed, her cheek resting against his flank, her fingers working back and forth over his coat. Was she asleep? Half out of her mind?

He didn’t dare touch her to find out, not with her cuddled up against his horse’s body like he was her prize teddy bear—he might terrify her, if he startled her too suddenly.

But her eyes fluttered open after a moment, and when she realized that she was snuggled up against him, she appeared mildly amused. “Don’t even tell me how I got here,” she said groggily, struggling to sit up.

He caught her, holding her against his side. “Sophie, you are weak. You must rest a bit longer. I would’ve taken you into your carriage house, but . . .” He was ashamed to admit that he couldn’t squeeze his bulky form through the narrow alley to her apartment.

She scooted across the grass until she faced him. “I guess I passed out or something. You found me?” She touched him briefly on the hip. “Thank you, Sable. Always my protector—the police might’ve thought I was a tourist who got drunk and passed out. Oooh, that would’ve been a bad one.”

“Sophie, listen. You can’t heal the king again. That’s how this happened. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, the power that Ares wields.” He gestured toward his centaur’s body. “Trust me, I learned firsthand exactly what that vengeful god can do. If you heal Leonidas, you’re interfering with his supernatural curse—”

She flushed, aghast. “You did not just tell me that I can’t heal Leonidas when he’s in so much pain. Oh no you didn’t.”

He planted his palms on her small shoulders. “What is it with you? Do you have a death wish? You live to court the worst kind of danger? Yes, I told you not to heal the king because it puts you squarely in the path of a killer—namely the God of War.”

“I’d think that you of all people would understand by now,” she said, “that I have to heal. It’s in me, can’t be stopped . . .”

He squeezed her shoulders harshly. “You are weaker than I’ve ever seen you—do you realize you were unconscious when I found you by your car? I have no idea how long you lay in the street before that, anyone might have harmed you. You must not touch the king again.”

“Must not?” She barked a laugh. “How imperious of you.”

He thrust his chest outward. “It is too dangerous.”

“Why does it matter?” She threw her hands outward. “You’re the one who is always saying that I need to stop pestering you, that I’m so much of a bother, that I’m too hard to watch out for—”

“That was before.”

She looked at him dazedly. “Before . . . what?”

“Things have changed between us for good. You know it, and so do I.” His voice became low and deep. “A curse on my soul, but Sophie, you make me want to be everything . . . all the things you claim to see in me.”

Her pale eyes grew wide with surprise, wonder—and, yes, he was sure, with love.

He continued, “Last night when you were on the balcony, I meant what you saw me do.” He adjusted his right foreleg, moving it sideways so he could pull her closer against his chest. He wanted to hold her, cherish her. “I pledged my heart to you then.”

Without a word, Sophie rose up onto her knees and knelt before him, stroking his hair. And without a word of his own, he wrapped his arms about her, pulling her into his embrace. He’d never been able to hold her so close before, chest to chest, because he’d always towered over her. This one time, here in the grass, it actually felt . . . like they could become lovers. Like he was human, with her in his human arms. He tried to forget the rest of his body, focusing on the feeling of her, so close, so sweet.

Stroking his fingertips along the column of her throat, he gently tilted her head back, kissing her at her pulse point. Dragging languid kisses over her collar bone, then slowly making his way toward her mouth.

“Promise me,” he murmured, feeling her hands all in his hair. “Promise me that you won’t heal Leonidas again. If anything happened to you, Soph . . .” He framed her face in his hands, just staring down into her water blue eyes. “I’d never be able to stay light. Not without you. If you died, I’d go ragingly dark because of the pain.”

It was manipulative, and he knew it; but a hope had flared to life, holding her in the grass. That somehow, some way, if he fulfilled his original promise to Ares, he might still be made human. Perhaps the god had no idea that he’d taken Mason and the others to the club—after all, Sable had satisfied the task, leading those warriors to Caesar.

But then he caught a mental image of that barbed horsewhip Ares had held in his hand. No, the god knew of his betrayal.

And he caught another mental image right after that one: King Leonidas’s aged face, at the moment the commander had placed such faith in Sable. He didn’t want to disappoint that trust, any more than he wanted to fail Sophie.

But the thing was, no matter how badly Leonidas might need her healing, Sable needed her more. And he clutched to the failing hope that Ares might yet return him to human form, if he kept her from helping the king.

Hating himself, he pressed his forehead against Sophie’s. “Promise me,” he hissed. “You’re not strong enough to tackle Ares. Leonidas’s fate is his own.”

He’d do anything to protect this small, delicate human, and he knew it.

Reluctantly she gave a single nod, her eyes welling with tears, no doubt for the dying king.

Sable nodded, too. “Good,” he said. “You’ve made the right choice.”

And he’d never hated himself more.

“Get up, bitch.” Caesar kicked Ari in the shin. He’d made the mistake of nodding off, and the demon trader had seized the opportunity to come into the tight space, guns blazing.

He had a SIG SAUER in one hand, and a . . . was that a horsewhip in the other? A barbed horsewhip? Only Ares, Aristos thought, rising to his feet.

“Look, bitch,” he said back. “You may think you’re a big swinging dude with that SAUER in your hand—but a SIG SAUER Mosquito? Who the fuck packs a pistol with a bug’s name? Oh!” Ari slapped his forehead. “Oh, that’s right! Only a tiny little man who drives innocent women to their deaths.”

And right then, before Caesar could move, Ari got in the first blow, a right hand slam to the trader’s hollow cheek that sent the smaller man reeling. Ari took advantage of having Caesar off-kilter, and managed to kick the pistol from his hand, sending it sliding across the floor. Nikos lunged for it, but as he dove, that horsewhip flashed, striking him across the cheek and throat.

Nik’s face exploded in a mess of blood and torn flesh that Ari had to force himself to ignore. Nikos didn’t need a Florence Nightingale moment with him right now—he needed Ari to nab that gun. The only problem was that in the cramped space, and with Nikos temporarily blinded by the blood in his eyes—and in his way—Ari just couldn’t get to the weapon.

Caesar got to it first, squatting on the floor and training the weapon on Ari.

“You Spartans,” Caesar hissed, chambering a round. “Just never seem to learn.”

The trader gave his whip a healthy crack. “Nikos. Up against the wall, face forward.”

Caesar gave the barbed horsewhip another pop, his eyes locked on Ari. “But you will learn, Petrakos, that I have a way with the people you care about.”

Keeping his SIG SAUER trained on Ari, the trader gave Nik a shove, forcing him to splay both palms against the wall. That put Nik’s broad, bare back in prime target range for the sadistic whipping Caesar apparently had planned.

Ari’s mind whirled as he tried to think of a way to stop the attack. But he was tired, his power depleted by whatever Ares had done to contain it . . . and he couldn’t seem to think fast enough. That whip shot out and across Nik’s big back with a sickening slap; the tangy scent of the Spartan’s blood filled his nostrils.

Fuck that pistol, Ari wouldn’t stand by and watch this shit without a fight. That anger caused a simmering sensation to boil through his veins, down in his core. For the first time since Ares had done that number on them, Ari’s power began to ramp up. A flash of silver rippled down both his forearms, and Ari had to swallow a delirious laugh. He held still, fighting the urge to jump Caesar. Any moment, and Ari’s demigod’s power would take down the supernatural protections concealing the room. And then Caesar would get his due . . . in spades.

For his part, Caesar was too involved in torturing Nikos to even notice the change in Ari’s power. The trader’s whip came up, but before he could lash Nik again, an explosion rent the room. Lightning seemed to spear outward from Ari’s fists, piercing the heart of the holding cell.

Caesar turned, his sallow face twisting into a horrified grimace, and behind them came a crashing sound. All three of them turned to see the panel door cracking open, and all at once Mason Angel stood there.

Mace’s green eyes ratcheted on the wicked trader, and he pointed to the whip. “I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” he warned lethally. “Not if you don’t want me cutting your balls off and shoving them down your throat.”

Behind Mason, Jamie and Kalias came rushing in, weapons drawn, and after a quick look among them all, Caesar threw down his whip.

Mace cuffed him hard around the neck, shoving him into Kalias’s waiting grasp. “Go ahead, my Spartan brother,” he said. “Take out this trash.”

For one long moment after that, Mason and Nikos just stared at each other, wordless. Nik’s ugly mug of a face was covered in blood, shredded on the right cheek. Mace shrugged out of his T-shirt, and blotted it against the wound. “Come on, big guy,” he said gently, “let’s haul you home so I can clean you up a bit. Okay?”

Nik nodded, and then without another word, walked right into Mace’s arms. Ari saw the moment that Mason noticed the scrawled message on the floor. He pointed at it over Nik’s shoulder, and mouthed to Ari. “What’s that?”

Ari grinned. “It’s a proposal. Dude wants to marry your ass.” He slapped them both on the shoulders. “But first, let’s go home. Maybe it’s the way you two are looking at each other right now, but I’m dying to see my wife.”

Ari’s big brother Kalias came barging back into the cell, and for a minute stopped in his tracks and stared at Nik and Mason embracing. “Uh . . . we’ve got Caesar cuffed in the back of your truck, Mace,” he muttered, and the two men stepped apart. “Figure Leo might want to grill him,” Kalias continued. “See what we can learn.”

“I want a piece of him, trust me,” Mace said, glancing toward his boyfriend’s brutalized face.

“You know I do,” Ari agreed, thinking of Jules. All those years of wandering and pain. Delivering a little payback to Caesar would be a welcome opportunity.

They all filed out of the cell, and Ari couldn’t get a lungful of fresh river air fast enough. But as he pushed his way out to the cobblestone street, he noticed Nikos pulling Kalias aside, having some private word with Ari’s big brother.

And private, well, didn’t have a lot of meaning in their henhouse, so he strained to hear what big Nik was saying.

“Anything can happen, and if Straton won’t do it . . .” he thought he heard. “Stop wasting time.”

About what? Ari almost stalked right up to Kalias and asked him what their fellow warrior was talking about. But something in the way his normally unflappable big brother reacted, how he kept running a jittery hand back and forth over his military cut, gave Ari pause. So did the way Kalias flushed deeply enough that it could be seen under the streetlamp. All of his reactions, including the naked emotion in his brother’s eyes, well, it caused at least one or two light bulbs to go off in Ari’s shocked head.

And told him, that for just this once, he’d better keep his trap shut.

Chapter 29

Daphne woke, sleepy-eyed and sated. She’d never felt more alive than she did right now, with Leo’s seed deep inside her. They might even have made a babe this time, created life out of nothing except the enduring truth of their love. The future was theirs, any obstacles easy to overcome; they’d vault them, crush them. Being together, so close like this, was all that mattered.

Perfect. That’s what last night had been. She rubbed her eyes, fluffing the pillow beneath her cheek, and reached for her beloved. She stretched toward his side of the bed, expecting the feel of his muscular, broad body beneath her palm. Her hand patted down against a cool sheet.

She sat up with a start and discovered that Leo’s side of the bed was empty; she saw only rumpled, sexed-up bedsheets at first, and then an ivory envelope, sealed with his royal crimson insignia. The letter rested against his empty pillow, far too formal, almost as if it were some fancy invitation to a ball. Instantly, she knew better, her heart slamming in her chest.

She pulled the sheet up over her bare body, staring down at the plain card. Turning it in her hand, a stupid part of her romantic heart dreamed that it might be an invitation to their pending wedding, the one that Leo had barely spoken of again, not since Olympus. She pressed the vellum to her lips, smelling his earthy scent on the folds of paper.

Not an invitation, not a promise.

This creamy white envelope was death wrapped in formality; her Oracle’s mind knew it right then. Angrily, resolved, she ripped open the seal, tearing into the note that she knew would tear apart all of her dreams.

A simple sheet of paper with Leo’s elegant, familiar scrawl unfolded; she stared at it for several moments before the words began to sink in. The lettering swam like raindrops, blurred, but she forced herself, made herself, focus on each carefully rendered word.

My Beloved Daphne,

Last night was the closest to Elysium that I might ever hope to reach while still here on Earth. If I could unfurl my wings and seize the moon upon my feathers, I would be no closer to embracing beauty than I came while holding you last night, my love.

No, I’ve never known true magnificence until these cherished days; until I beheld you, splendidly naked astride me, beneath me, ah, and about me, my love. The taste and scent of you linger upon my body, my very senses, making this letter all the more painful to compose.

I woke this morning . . . and found you in my arms, my bed. The happiest man alive, immortal, or dead, was I, stirring from slumber to discover you still within my arms.

Yet I awoke this morning to another fact, a startling one. As I drew you up against my chest, I discovered that the blight upon my body had escalated during my sleep, transforming me like some demon’s poison draught. Your brother, it seems, has tightened his noose about my neck, clear punishment for our joining last night. I am sure he is laughing within the walls of his palace, knowing that he’s made me a man who can never proudly join with you again, dear Daphne.

I know you well, my love, you are right; you would stay with me until the bitterest of ends. Therefore it is I who must leave this time. I am sure you could prevail upon your powers to discern my location, but I ask you to let me protect you in this. You must not suffer with me; you are young—too young to watch me die.

Please respect this old man’s remnants of pride and courage. For truly it took the latter to leave you at all, much less sleeping in my bed, believing me still beside you. But my love for you, my need to stand between you and this pain, empowers me.

Know this, my darling: I will always, throughout time and eternity, love thee.

Yours, forever,

Leo

Daphne stared at the letter, at the swimming scrawl; for how long, she did not know. The only thing she was thoroughly convinced of, sitting there in Leo’s rumpled bed, smelling his sex and love, was that her brother, so determined to kill her—body, soul, and spirit—would pay.

She just wasn’t sure how to bring about that death, not yet. But give her time, she thought. Give her an eternity’s worth of time, and she would see the deed done.

Leo paced the stony floor of his great hall, talking to Ajax on his cell. Cornwall had been the only place he could think to go after Ares’s most recent work over. In those hours after making love to Daphne, he’d been punished thoroughly. He now appeared to be a man of about sixty, a walking imitation of Sean Connery—when he was well past his Bond days, and without nearly as much in the good looks department.

“We’re still interrogating Caesar, and Mason’s taking his time about it . . . Nikos took a pretty nasty hit,” Jax was explaining, but Leo only halfway listened. After a moment his warrior asked, “Leo, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“The main thing we’ve learned from Caesar is that Ares was using him to lure Ari away from you, to prevent him from healing you. That was how he figured into the plan.”

“Good,” Leo said distractedly as he caught sight of himself in the massive mirror that hung over the fireplace. It dated back to the 1700s, and its surface was unreliable, but as he paced, he could see the facts—more scars exposed now, along his throat, his jaw, beneath his eye. His hair and beard had not even a single dark hair left in them.

“Leo, are you all right?” Jax persisted. “I don’t understand why you’ve gone to Cornwall . . . especially now.”

“This will be our battleground,” Leo rasped. His voice had deepened, become rougher, in the past hours. “The demons will train and fight with us here; we will draw Ares into a trap . . . and this is our stage.”

He’d grasped desperately for anywhere to go in the aftermath of his lovemaking with Daphne. And that was when the idea had formed: Cornwall was home to him. Nearly as much as Sparta at this point, after so many years when he’d lived on the craggy moors, when he and the men had trained and quartered here.

It was also remote enough that they could bring down hellfire itself on the place, and no mortals would be the wiser. The perfect stage for his own personal Armageddon.

He was going down, that much was obvious, but Ares was going right down with him, if it was the last thing Leo did in this life. After holding Daphne last night, the passion of it unlike any he’d ever known—and realizing new depths to his love for her—he was more determined than ever to leave this world knowing Ares was gone. Daphne had to be safe.

“Jax,” he said into the phone, “bring all the men here. In the next hours, once all are strong enough. I need everyone, the humans, too. And Sophie.” He thought of the help she’d been able to give him with the knee. “I absolutely require Sophie. One of you can bring her, right?”

The warriors would fly the heavens, a strange mix of teleportation and actual flight. The travel time from Savannah to Cornwall would be roughly thirty to forty minutes, draining to carry a human, but not undoable.

“I’ll see to it that she comes, my lord,” Jax said. “But Emma’s obviously out, and I think Jules should stay with her in case the babes come. Shay and Sophie, Mason and Jamie . . . we’ll get them there.”

“Good.” Leo stroked his beard. “But we need Sable, too. I can’t do this without him.”

Jax groaned into the phone. “Commander, I know you’re dead set on this demon army, but are you sure about Sable?”

Leo considered the statement. “He led us to Nikos and Ari,” he said. “That was a loyal move. He and I spoke last evening, as well. We came to an understanding.”

There was a long crackling silence, and Leo knew it had a lot to do with the history Jax and Sable shared, none of it good. “All right, sir. I’ll make sure we corral him, too,” Jax said with a snide laugh. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

Leo snapped the phone shut and walked out of the great hall. He took uneven footsteps all the way to a giant set of wooden doors that had hung there for centuries. Beside the door were umbrellas and even a couple of canes that some footman or another had relied upon over the years. Scowling, but knowing it necessary, Leo chose the least offensive of the walking sticks and headed out onto the moors.

One last look, perhaps, at the craggy hillsides and waterfalls. Or maybe he’d have a few more last looks after today. Whatever the case, he’d come home—like some old dog, he’d returned to a beloved place so he could die. And so he could touch the memories that hung about these moors. Beginning his hike out into the misty landscape, he strode purposefully toward the one place he had in mind, the spot that he absolutely needed to see.

The high and windy spot behind his castle where he’d first glimpsed Daphne.

There was only one place left to turn—and only one where Daphne had unfinished business, unsatisfied optimism. Using her mental map, she teleported to her most recent position on Olympus, Apollo’s palace. She hurled through gray mist, and slowly everything became solid, until she stood facing that broad oak table and the tasteful ivory columns of the god’s dining hall. Here they had eaten of Apollo’s feast, drank of his wine . . . and dreamed of an unwinnable victory.

She’d believed it all.

That had been before her brother’s true skills of treachery had shined like Olympus’s midday sun. She’d learned better since then. And now, for some reason, the fact that Apollo’s polished table stood empty caused tears to well in her eyes; it was such an image of all her dashed hopes. Bounty gone, replaced by famine and nothingness.

She stepped toward the wooden expanse, planting palms against it, and released her first unhindered tears in days. Hope was lost, sustenance was gone. All that remained for her in the years to come was a future of nothing, where once there had been joy and abundance and love.

She sank to her knees, still clutching to that vast wooden slab. Even Apollo was absent, painfully vanished from his palace of life and nurture.

I am alone in this. There is no one to help or aid me.

“Daughter, rise.”Apollo’s voice was full of authority—more commanding than she’d ever heard from the god. But she couldn’t find strength enough to face him. She sank farther down upon her knees and pressed her forehead against the table’s polished surface.

A large, rough hand stroked her cheek. “Have you given up so easily, dear Daphne, mine?”

“He is lost to me,” she cried, hiding her face, lest her god see such ugly tears. “It is over, all of it. Every wish I ever cherished, finished for good.”

Another voice interrupted her grief, tinkling as chimes and just as soothing. “Oh, Aunt Daphne, you haven’t let him win?” Eros. Her beloved nephew.

She’d never felt more ashamed than at that moment, huddled against the table like it was an altar for her grief, knowing that her hopes were spent. All washed down like rain, a river to nothingness.

She sensed Apollo behind her, her nephew, too. Both of them, here and waiting for her; as if they’d been expecting her all along.

Apollo patted her cheek like a father. “I knew you’d return—come back to me for the right answers.”

She sank back onto her haunches, gasping for breath. Hiding her tear-stained face in her hands, she whispered, “Are there any answers in this?”

The god cupped her cheek, much harder this time, forcing her to turn and face him. Apollo squatted beside her, one beefy forearm along his table. “You left to follow your love, before I had a chance to explain.”

She swiped at her ugly tears, avoiding his stare. “Explain . . . what?”

Apollo glanced past her, nodding, and she felt a gentler set of hands begin stroking her hair. “Aunt Daphne, you can bring my father to heel. Why do you think you received the prophesies? Karanos and his brethren? Why do you think,” he asked boldly, “that the Highest has made you my father’s greatest weakness?”

She buried her face against the table again, not wanting either of these good-hearted, kind gods to know how truly weak she was. “I have nothing left.”

Incongruous as it was, Apollo released a booming, belly-deep laugh right then. He petted her atop the head. “Oh, Daughter, you have everything,” he said. “But first, let me serve you dinner. And I’ll tell you the secrets of the universe as we dine. You’ll know, then, the truth . . . that you have the world in your hands, and your love’s life, too. You only think it’s the end . . . when it is the beginning.”

Within moments, it seemed, Daphne found herself staring at a plateful of dates, figs, and chicken with rice, all of it making her stomach turn. Apollo, shockingly enough, did not eat at all; he merely sat watching her, concerned with every bite she took.

“You need your strength,” he warned, staring at her untouched plate. “For what’s to come.”

She drank a small sip of water, feigned interest in a fig. “And what’s that?”

Eros, lounging languidly beside her in his own chair, chimed in, “You had a prophetic word. Before you came to see me the other day. Tell us of it.”

Daphne’s head pounded. What did they want from her, these Olympian gods who clearly cared so deeply?

“I . . . don’t recall.”

Apollo shifted in his chair, his big body barely contained by the frame. “I do. I know everything that concerns my Daughters, especially prophesy.” He waved his arms. “Eat! You are going to require all of your strength.”

Daphne nibbled on a small piece of bread, her stomach roiling. “The word came through Emma,” she said quietly. “It was sacrifice.”

Apollo beamed, and rose, ladling a bowl of steaming chicken soup out for her. “This will ease your stomach,” he soothed, and she wondered if she was entirely transparent to the powerful god.

“The sacrifice you will make,” Apollo explained, settling his big body beside her once again. “Relates to your original question. You wondered if you can somehow feed your power to Leonidas? The answer is yes. Because he has my blood in his veins”—Apollo put a fist to his heart—“you can make this exchange. You’ll add years to his life . . . but it cannot be accomplished without a cost from you. That is the sacrifice.”

Chapter 30

Daphne had her plan now. She strolled into the main dining room of the compound, and as she’d hoped, found most everyone gathered around breakfast. Shay was serving it up, heaping platters of scrambled eggs and bacon and grits.

For a moment, Daphne held in the doorway, just listening to the chatter.

“Well, it’s not like him to take off, not like this,” Kalias was saying.

Straton nodded his agreement. “He’s not thinking straight right now. The last thing he needs to do is run off to Cornwall, his tail between his legs.”

Jax sat down beside his elder brother. “That’s not it. He has a plan, he told me of it yesterday and again on the phone a little while ago. He wants all of us to join him in Cornwall, then he’ll tell us the strategy.”

So Cornwall, was it? Not a surprise—she’d already sensed him there, alone in his towering castle, pacing the halls.

She stepped into the room. “Well, our king isn’t the only one with a plan,” she announced firmly.

Ajax rose to greet her, and they exchanged a quick kiss, first on one cheek, then the other. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said low enough that only she could hear. “He can’t do this without you, Daphne. Not what he has planned.”

She smiled up at her long-term, dear friend. “I know.”

She took a seat at the table, and although Shay began to serve her, Daphne held up a hand. “Oh, gods, no! I just ate.” And ate, and ate. Apollo hadn’t been satisfied until he’d stuffed her silly.

Jax sat across from her and gave her a significant look. “He wants Sable. Says he’s a key part of this plan.”

Sophie yelped, a strange little sound, her face alight with excitement. “He’s asked for Sable? Really?” She grew more serious, her hands paused midclap. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him this morning . . . and you know how he can be, here one minute, gone for hours.”

“I can find him, Sophie,” Daphne reassured her. “Not a problem there for me.”

Ajax let out a long weary sigh. “I just hope Leonidas is right in trusting him.” He cast Sophie an apologetic glance. “No offense to you, Sophie. Leo trusts him, so that’s going to be good enough for me.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, and my opinion’s not good enough?”

Mason leaned back in his chair, pushing his finished breakfast plate back. “Cuz, you’d let a wounded grizzly take up residence in your carriage house if you thought it needed you. You’re too compassionate for your own good.”

“It’s not compassion that she feels in this instance, Mason. You of all people should know that,” Daphne said gently.

Mace gave her a curious look. “What’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

Daphne didn’t reply, but let her gaze travel pointedly to the far end of the table and rest on Nikos. Sophie instantly flushed, understanding the implication—that like Mason had done with Nik, she’d fallen in love with Sable.

Ajax patted her hand. “You’ll be riding with me, kid,” he told her. “Hawk style.”

Daphne agreed. “Leo will need you and your healing gift, Sophie. So the sooner we get you there, the better. I will teleport Sable and Shay.”

Sophie stared out the window toward the pasture. “I’m gonna go look for him in the pasture and at the stable,” she said. “Might as well let him get his tantrum done with—because you know there’s gonna be one. Some rage about why he shouldn’t bother helping Leonidas, all that normal routine.”

Daphne smiled at her. “You might be surprised, actually. But yes, please see if you can gain his participation.”

On instinct, Sophie entered the barn, searching for Sable. She pulled a giant bull’s-eye on her hunch, too, because in the far corner of the barn, near the saddles and grooming gear, she found him. He didn’t say a word when she entered, and that surprised her. He’d been so mortified when she discovered him here in the barn the other day.

Walking closer, she realized the reason for his silence: He was sound asleep, standing tall, but with one shoulder leaning into the wooden wall. She’d never even seen him sleep before! He didn’t seem to need rest, always living on his boundless Djinn energy.

She moved right up beside him, tiptoeing, and was amazed by how innocent he seemed, asleep like that. All the anger washed out of his face, all the annoyance and rage. He seemed downright serene, lightly snoring, one hand folded against his belly.

She hated to wake him, but they had work to do. Very gingerly, she reached out and touched his hand. He jolted, barking a curse, going wide-eyed. “What in Hades? Sophie?” he glanced around, confused as he woke.

“We’re all going to Cornwall,” she explained quietly. “Leonidas has asked for you to come.”

He blinked back the sleep in his eyes, rubbing his face. “To Cornwall?”

“Yes, to his castle and training grounds there. He says you’re critical to his plans.”

He nodded. “He seems convinced of that for some odd reason. He told me the same thing.”

“So you’re gonna come, then? With all of us?”

“You’re going?” He didn’t like that, not one little bit. She saw the spark in his eyes.

“Just in case . . . I’m needed,” she explained, knowing he’d figure out why. And with the promise she’d made, he wouldn’t be happy about the reason for her participation.

He blew out a weary sigh. “Here we go once again,” he snarled. “You placing yourself directly in harm’s fucking way.”

“Crabby. Remind me to avoid you first thing in the morning from here on out.”

“Remind me to give up protecting you,” he snapped back at her.

She planted hands on both her hips. “Are you coming or not?” she blurted, irritable herself for once.

“How am I supposed to accomplish that?” He glared at her. “I can’t teleport that far . . . don’t possibly have that much power.”

“Homeland Security’s a bitch, isn’t it?” Sophie laughed, popping him on the shoulder. “Daphne said she’d get you there.”

“And how will you go?” Sable studied her through narrowed eyes. She had a strong feeling that the answer wouldn’t make him happy.

“Jax is going to take me.”

“Jax.” The centaur’s jaw ticked, the word barely more than a grunt.

“Ajax. He’s going to fly me there.”

“You. Fly you there.” The ticking became much more pronounced.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got to get there somehow, and Leonidas needs me there because I can help alternate the healing when Ari’s spent. We’ll tag-team it, so you shouldn’t worry because it’s not like I’ll be healing him on my own now, not like before. Which is why I got so worn out, really,” she rambled, hoping that if she talked long enough, that livid expression would vanish from Sable’s eyes.

No doing on that count. He slammed a rear hoof into one of the stalls, the impact so hard that the wood splintered into pieces. Sophie flung out a hand, pressing it into his chest. “Whoa there, stallion! You’re getting a little out of control, don’t you think?” She peered up at him.

He snorted, steam blowing out his nostrils. “Ajax. Ajax Petrakos. You. With him.” He stomped one front hoof, then a hind one. “I don’t like it.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not with him. He’s my cousin’s husband. Geez, you plodder, what’s really wrong?”

“Plodder?” he thundered back at her, switching his tail irately.

“You deserved an insult for being so vile. Here I am, leaving, and you’re going full-deal demon on me. Thanks a whole heap of daisies for that. I mean, it’s not like I know what to expect during this journey. No peanuts, no Diet Coke, just wings and air, I’m told.” She looked up into his eyes. Still such a pretty blue. “And I’ll see you there, of course,” she reminded him softly.

“Your fine Spartan is not someone to trust.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like I’m taking pointers from you on that front.”

He bent even lower, blowing hot breath against her face. “You should heed my warnings. I’ve told you to stay away from me. You don’t listen. And now you ignore my caution as to that warrior’s nature and his capacity to do harm.”

She cocked her head, studying him. “Did he harm you?”

He reared back. “Go. Now. Take your leave.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? He harmed you in some way.”

Sable fixed his eyes on the far side of the barn, avoiding her gaze. “Go with him and be gone from here.”

“Okay, so maybe I’m wrong. But what’s your beef with him? Other than his being a Spartan? Because a little catch-up moment here—you’re the one who told me you wanted to join them. Just a current events update. Maybe I should tweet it? Put it on my Facebook wall?” She raked a hand through her curls. “And for Leonidas to request you? That’s a pretty fine compliment. And seeing how Jax is his captain and all that, maybe you should start being a little more respectful toward the guy.”

He turned from her. “I was not always this way.” His admission came out as a hiss. “Hideous. Ruined.”

She said nothing, and at first, Sable thought she never would, but then the soft, cool flesh of her hand splayed against his chest. He would not look at her. Would not turn and allow her to see the emotions he was certain were evident on his face. He ground his teeth together. “Ajax robbed me of my wings. Ask him. He will enjoy the tale, I am certain.”

Sophie shook her head adamantly. “I don’t believe that. He’s not a guy who enjoys making anyone suffer.”

“No one . . .” Sable gave her a hard look. “Except his enemies.”

“Then why blame him for what he did?” she asked, and his horns, dormant recently, sprang free. This past, his past, still could bring out the darkness in him.

Sophie glanced at the top of his head, noting his transformation, but to her credit, her tone never changed. “I mean, you weren’t on the same team, right?” she continued.

He pressed his eyes shut, remembering the glory that had once crowned his back—imagining Sophie seeing him as something beautiful. Rare. Handsome.

“Sophie, go,” he begged, not looking at her. He felt his horns lengthen, wrapping viciously into a tangled mass atop his head. “Now.”

“What kind of wings?” she persisted. “Lovely ones?”

He swung a red-eyed gaze right on her. “What do you think?” he snarled.

She smiled at him, seemingly unaware of the menace in his tone and behavior. As she always was. “I read about them the other night in one of Mace’s books, but . . .” She got a faraway expression in her eyes. “I can see them in my mind!” she exclaimed, both hands flying to her chest. “Oh, wow. Wow. You were . . .” She closed her eyes, swaying. “I have a vision of exactly what you were. You were . . . oh, wow!”

“I was what?” he barked.

Her pale eyes flew open, filled with wonder. “The most handsome, beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. You were breathtaking. With all that I’ve seen about who you were . . . I never saw your wings. Until now.”

Her words lanced his soul, pierced his spirit; destroyed him, birthed him.

“You can be that man again, Sable,” she whispered, reaching a gentle hand to his bare abdomen, such an intimate touch. “I’ve seen it, like I’ve told you before.”

For one long moment, he believed; she did that to him, brought out hope, cracked open a sliver of his dead humanity. But then he glanced down at her palm, caught a glimpse of their fingers twining together—a half demon and a mortal, a deadly match. A tragic one, for Sophie.

“Leave with him,” he hissed. “Out of my sight. I won’t go with you, and I won’t help your king.”

Daphne refused to accept that Sable wouldn’t help. If Leo needed him, she was bound and determined that the demon would go with them to Cornwall. Whatever was holding him back, it had to be a good reason, especially for him to disappoint Sophie like this.

She’d used her Oracle gifts, and sensed that he was lurking around Forsyth Park. She found him staring morosely at the giant fountain, just watching the water shoot in the endless arcs.

“Unfortunately, I know what you’re feeling all too well,” she told him. He jerked a gaze in her direction, then went back to the listless staring act.

“She hates me now, doesn’t she? I don’t blame her,” he said gloomily.

“Of course not. She loves you, Sable. Even you know that—particularly you.”

“Why’d she have to go with him? Ajax of all people.” He shook his head. “It brought out the rage in me, that part that I’m trying to learn how to control. The part that’s the most unpredictable.”

She reached and touched his arm, gently. “Sable, it’s okay. You’re in a very difficult transition, one that Sophie understands.”

He turned anguished eyes on her. “Does she? I’m not so sure she has any idea of the torment I’m in.” With a moan, he whispered, “Neither does Leonidas. I’m not the best man for him to count on right now.”

“Maybe you’re right. You tell me.”

Again, he turned toward her and there was sheer agony in his light blue eyes.

“It must be hard for you, this in-between place. You can’t find home in the cemeteries, can’t stomach the smell of sulfur and ash.” She faced the fountain beside him. “Yes, you’re in a very vulnerable position right now. The sort a bloodthirsty god like Ares might try to manipulate. We can’t leave you behind.”

He glanced at her and the anguish in his eyes grew more intense.

“Or . . . perhaps that’s exactly what we should do. You tell me.”

“He’s been using me,” he said dully. “To keep Sophie from healing Leonidas . . . he promised me that if I could keep her from helping the king, he’d return me to my human form.” He stomped a hoof. “That’s the true reason I won’t go to Cornwall; I don’t trust myself not to manipulate her, to try and block her from healing the king. Of course, now with Ari back . . .”

His unspoken words explained so much. Too much, really, as she considered Ari and Nikos’s recent capture and how Sable had led them into that trap.

“Ares would never have been true to his word, you know,” she told him sadly. “Wouldn’t lift this curse off of you, even if you fulfilled your end of things. My brother’s cruelty knows no bounds, and for some reason, he takes perverse pleasure in keeping you . . .”

“Debased. Reviled. Bestial.”

“No, no, that’s not what I was going to say.” She stared at him significantly. “My brother revels in making you believe that you are trapped by his hand. A slave to how he changed you, when, I am certain . . . there must be some way out from under your curse.”

He blinked at her. “Do you really believe that?”

She nodded vigorously. “You keep some powerful company, you know.” She thought of Apollo and his bighearted goodness. Among them all, wasn’t there some way to help Sable? There had to be.

“But you’ve got to tell Sophie what you were doing, otherwise the lie will burrow between you . . . and she’ll eventually learn the facts. As tenderhearted as she is, so dear and gentle, finding out about that deception would break her heart. It could easily destroy what’s begun between you.”

Sable hung his head. “How do I even start to make things right?”

She slid an arm about him, trying to give him at least a bit of a hug. “Come with me. Now. To Cornwall. Serve Leo, help us all. That’s the only thing you can do, Sable.”

He stared into the fountain for a long, silent moment, then simply nodded his head.

“And now,” she said, “let me tell you that we won’t be going alone.”

“The demon army,” he muttered.

“You already know?”

Sable gave her an odd look, one filled with a strange kind of pride. “Leonidas asked me himself. For the help.” He laughed. “I can’t promise my troops will be the brightest darklings in the universe, but . . . give me a few hours.”

Chapter 31

Leo paced the great hall, feeling more energized than he had in hours. The sight of his warriors and friends, gathered here at his old estate, knowing they had rallied behind his battle plan, filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. They were going to succeed; he felt it in his bones.

Sophie came bounding up to him, then stopped and stared, a slight gleam in her eyes. Oh, what she must be thinking, he thought, but she surprised him completely. “So, Mr. Bond,” she asked with a sweet smile, “shaken not stirred?”

He grinned back at her, and she flung her small arms about him. “I think you look fabulous,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ve always had a secret crush on you anyway.”

“Sophie!” he blurted, but she only hugged him harder.

Then just as quickly, she released him. “Just wait till Daphne sees you, sir.”

He glanced around self-consciously as the young mortal wandered off to talk to Shay, but he took cheer in her kind words. Daphne was yet to arrive—she’d yet to see him since their lovemaking. Perhaps, somehow, she might react the same way as Sophie had just done?

He had his answer when the massive wooden doors opened, and the love of his life stood there, backlit by the midafternoon light. She had finally arrived. His heart was in his throat, as she quietly closed the door behind her. The others gave them a wide berth, thank the gods, and she slowly walked closer.

“I should be very, very angry, you know,” she said, her eyes locked with his.

Neither of them looked away from the other. “So you should,” he agreed softly.

She walked even closer, seductively beautiful in her flowing Oracle’s gown. “In fact, I should be downright furious.”

Her gaze flitted across his transformed face, and he swallowed hard, waiting for a reaction. “Probably very much so,” he said as she neared even closer.

“But I want to believe that you left me for a good reason.” She paused, locking eyes with him. “You said it was to protect me.”

“It was.”

She shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes. “How could leaving me ever be for my protection?”

Leo turned his face from her, wincing as he closed his eyes. “I am too old and too fallen . . . to be right for you.” The admission was spoken through gritted teeth, whispered at great price.

She gaped up at him. “What?”

He wouldn’t open his eyes. “All this blood on my hands. The killing, the slaughter. Thousands, Daphne. Thousands of lives. Demons, humans. And here you stand.” He slowly turned and glanced down at her. “Offering me everything. Your soul, your sweetness. Your demigoddess power. How can we be together? My darkness could corrupt you.”

In one shocking moment, one that sang with dark clarity, she realized the truth. “This is why you’ve been pushing me away? Because you think . . . you think I’m too pure for you?”

He moved a few steps across the room, putting his back to her. “I’m not good enough. I can’t possibly be. I’m a mortal and you’re born of Olympus. I’m a killer and a warrior . . . you bring light and love and power into the world. I am soiled beyond redemption, even if we can save my life.”

She followed after him, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Are you telling me, that all this time . . . you’ve believed I’m too good for you?”

He kept his back to her. “I am but a man, and you’re the daughter of Zeus! You’re forever eighteen, and I am . . . who knows now. But too old for you.”

“And so you left me with nothing but a ‘Dear Oracle’ letter? I’d never thought you would run from a fight.”

That accusation, finally, had him turning to face her. His swarthy face grew flushed with emotion. In a low, growling voice, he said, “You know that’s not true.”

“Really? You left me . . . twice.”

He raked frenetic hands over his curls, clasping the top of his head in surrender. “I love you,” he nearly moaned. “I love you and it’s all I could think of . . . my need to keep you from enduring my fate with me. I have to protect you. It’s the only reason, ever, that I would leave you, Daphne.”

“Then hear this,” she said, walking right up to him. “If you want to protect me? Stay. No more trying to decide what’s best for me when I already know—it’s having you in my life, my arms. For whatever time is given us, we must be together. Do you understand? Together!”

Leo didn’t reply; his answer was to sweep her into his arms, lifting her right off her feet. He buried his face against her cheek. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry, love. I . . . won’t go. If you’re sure. We’ll be together, from now on.”

They held each other, hands skimming each other’s bodies, breaths held and released as one. Every separation that had been forming between them dissolved, and they melded. None of their misunderstandings or doubts or fears mattered now—they vanished in the warmth of simply holding each other. After a long moment, Leo released her, slowly lowering her to her feet. When he did, she saw how bright his dark eyes had become. He didn’t cry, but the tears shimmered there nonetheless.

Daphne realized then that her own cheeks were damp. She swiped at the tears. “I really should be livid, you know? For almost depriving me of this.” She gestured at his body, his face, then broke into a huge grin. “Good sweet Elysium, Leo! You’re even hotter than you’ve ever been! Which, quite frankly, I never imagined possible.”

He growled, glancing about to ensure they weren’t being observed. “You shouldn’t talk like that in public, my lady. Dangerous. Very much so.”

She reached up, observers be damned, and pulled him down for a long, intense, heated kiss. At last she half released him, although she still held his linen shirt bunched within her hands. “I want to take you out on the moors,” she whispered seductively. “We had a date recently, in a meadow. I still want to fulfill that plan.”

He swallowed hard. “Where’s . . . Sable? I should . . . there’s work . . .”

She waved him off, seizing hold of his hand. “Sable’s outside, and he’s brought some friends. It took a bit of work on my part, getting them teleported past the wards, but . . . well, you asked for demons, and it’s demons you’ve got, my king. But first? You’re all mine, my lord.”

Sable trotted back and forth, sizing up his gathered demons. Their stench wafted on the winds of the moors, taking what was an otherwise fresh and brisk scent and polluting it. But the crew—from Mirapish and Krathsadon to a motley assortment of minor minions—had at least shown up. You couldn’t exactly count on demons to do what they promised; oftentimes they lied just for the petty fun of it. So to have a good twenty-five or so darklings, and even an old Djinn compatriot, Cishpi, was a fairly good showing in Sable’s mind.

Still, despite Sable having persuaded them to join this mutinous cause, some still bleated and complained. Questions of, “Why should we care about Ares?” and “What’s in it for me?” rang out on the misty hillside.

Sable faced them, head high, shoulders back. He knew he cut a noble figure as a centaur—the fact that he resented the form had never been about whether he was striking or not. Even scarred and ruined as he’d been until recently, he’d never doubted that the stallion part of his anatomy was quite stunning. Now, cast into makeshift role of commanding officer, he strove to appear even more impressive. As he sized up the demons, he stepped high with every clomp of his hooves.

“Sable, what’s the plan?” Cishpi asked in ancient Persian.

“King Leonidas will explain,” Sable told him, folding both hands behind his back. He rested them along his withers, thrusting his chest out proudly. Leonidas, the greatest king of all time, had entrusted him—him, a lowly fallen Djinn—with an important part of this plan.

“The same Leonidas who routed so many of our Djinn brethren at Thermopylae?” Cishpi asked, his voice like rasping leaves as he spoke in their native tongue.

Cishpi, unlike Sable, still had his wings, but that was the only attractive element to the creature. From his face to his voice to his hulking body, the male was nothing short of ugly, with a hawkish, beaklike nose that was far too big for his plain face. His red eyes seemed to burn like coals, giving him a deadly, cruel appearance. When Ahriman had been handing out the gifts of beauty, old Cishpi had been most decidedly overlooked.

“Yes, Leonidas of Sparta.” Sable had waited until getting Cishpi to Cornwall to reveal that minor detail.

“I don’t see why this fight concerns us, then,” the other Djinn said hotly.

“Because Ares, God of War, has manipulated each and every Djinn at some time or another—me, you, all our brethren. For his own pleasure and gain.”

Cishpi growled, but assumed a physical stance of compliance—only his wings hummed softly along his back, the sign of a reluctantly agreeable Djinn.

“You’ve done well, Sable.” He turned and found Leonidas striding toward him, one hand gripped about a gnarled walking stick. But the king wasn’t feeble or defeated; his head was held high, and he drove that cane into the ground like a spear with every step he took. Beside him, Daphne hurried to keep pace, her gaze riveted on her lover. Sable blinked for a moment; it was the way he wished for Sophie to look upon him, with pure and unmitigated adoration. Here the king was aged and gray-headed, but the Oracle stared at him as if he were a youth of five and twenty. It was as if she couldn’t see the imperfections, the years lined into his weathered face.

But didn’t Sophie gaze upon him in just that way sometimes? As if she were utterly unaware of how large his horse’s rump was, and as if she’d never seen his hideous horns and beady red eyes.

That was what love did; he didn’t understand the emotion, not yet—but he knew it looked a lot like the way Daphne beheld her king.

Leo reached his side and surveyed the ragtag band of demons. “My troops, it seems.” Leo drove his walking stick into the ground as if marking the land, claiming it as yet another acre that belonged to him in every way—and claiming these demons as his soldiers.

Leo studied them shrewdly, then one by one, he walked down the line and introduced himself. At the end of the formation, he announced, “Now, let me tell you of the battle plan, and the role you shall play.”

The moors were blanketed in a late-afternoon, crawling mist, one that crept over the craggy rocks and grasses, moving like a surreptitious warrior. It was just the kind of Cornish mist that Leo loved most of all; the sort that could hide many a hidden act . . . including a bit of clandestine lovemaking. He had no interest in grieving over their destiny with Daphne, or in arguing over the mistakes that he’d made in the past days. He was on the most limited kind of time now, feeling his age deep in the marrow of his bones. All he wanted in these hours leading up to the battle was to hold his beloved. The woman who would’ve been his wife . . . should’ve been, had fate not been so cruel.

She held his free hand, guiding him across the thick heather and grass to a hidden place. It was obvious that she had the same plans in mind as he did: for them to make love beneath the open sky. The very thing they were robbed of doing when Ares had appeared to them the other day.

“My lady,” he said, still surprised by how husky his voice had turned in the past day, more of a growl with as deep as it had become. “It seems you’ve a destination in mind.”

She stopped, spinning to face him. “I do. You know I’m always planning.” She gave him a devilish, downright impish smile.

“And that plan . . . involves me.”

She reached a hand and slowly stroked his beard, leaning up onto her toes. “Very much so.” With the tip of her tongue, she licked the scar along his bottom lip. “Every part of you, my love.”

He growled in earnest then, and she tugged on his hand, leading him beyond some rocks and into a clearing that was hidden by standing stones. “Here,” she pronounced, and Leo saw a large picnic spread. Blankets and even throw pillows and flagons of wine.

“You prepared ahead.”

She smiled again, tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder. With a suggestive glance—and never taking her eyes off of him—she lowered onto the blanket, kneeling before him. She held out a hand. “Come, my king.” She didn’t move to assist him, or to make over his knee; she waited with perfect confidence that he remained youthful enough to accommodate the request.

Leo issued a quick prayer to the Highest God, and was grateful when he managed to kneel without fumbling. And then, she launched herself into his arms, all formality gone, and they fell together onto the blanket, twining together. His hands were all in her hair, skimming over her body; he’d never needed her as much as he did then. After telling her good-bye forever, she’d still come to him. Despite all the ways in which he’d hurt her and tried to drive her away, she’d still come rushing to his side.

“You won’t be able to keep me away, Leo,” she murmured against his lips, unbuttoning his simple linen shirt. It fell open, exposing his still very muscular chest to the chill air of the late day. But it was the only cool thing between them because he was sweltering, burning up for her with a primal heat. It flowed in his blood, pulsed in his loins.

Fumbling with his pants, he moved atop her right as she hiked her gown up. This was no leisurely taking, not today; they needed to join and quickly. To be as one, no separation between them at all.

If he’d worried that he was moving too quickly for his love, she ended that question by taking hold of his erection and guiding it toward her opening. “Take me,” she urged, eyes drifting shut. “Now, Leonidas. Please.”

He growled in her ear, thrusting into her deeply. “No need to ask twice,” he said, sinking all the way inside of her.

Daphne sprawled beneath him, one hand drifting into the high heather beside the blanket, the other gripping his shoulder. How in Elysium’s name had he thought to forego loving her this way. . . .

“I’m an idiot,” he panted against her cheek. “I’m sorry for leaving you, for hurting you.”

“Just remember”—she drew in a sharp breath as he plunged deeper inside of her—“that I am your wise guide. When it comes to us, don’t act without seeking my counsel.”

“I’m seeking it now, between your thighs, atop your gorgeous, exquisite body.” He squeezed his eyes shut, a cascade of pleasure washing over his body.

She shifted beneath him, wrapping both thighs about his lower back. The position allowed him to sink more deeply inside of her, until they both were gasping, tensing. “I need more,” she cried, arching beneath his big body. “Come for me!”

Anything else, and he could have held back his orgasm. But those words, well, they were his utter undoing. He burrowed his face against her shoulder and released and thrust until he had nothing left. Until there was only the two of them, breathing heavily, sated, and surrounded by the whistling wind along the moors.

Leo had always heard it said that there was healing power in love, and lying naked amid the heather, Daphne nestled and sleepy in the crook of his arm, he believed there must be truth in that statement. His strength felt more renewed than it had in days, his sex drive raring at full throttle. It was as if he were a man of many younger years—perhaps no more than fifty!

“Daphne,” he whispered, “you’ve renewed me.”

“You should never have tried to part from me.” The words were muffled, her face hidden against his shoulder, her body curled up against his side as if they’d been made to fit together this way.

“You’ll keep telling me that, won’t you?”

“Until you admit I’m right.”

“You, my brilliant, gorgeous Oracle, are right—we belong together. And I won’t leave again.”

She grinned sideways. “You are wise, after all.”

He stroked her hair and stared up at the slate-gray sky; the fog was creeping in much more forcefully now. Soon they should head back to the castle, but he was greedy, and wanted a few more moments of holding her in his arms, the two of them alone like this.

As he threaded his fingers through her hair, he happened to glance at his hand. It was younger, much more so, the wrinkles vanished. He gaped in delight, studying first one, then another. Perhaps Daphne had been right all along! It seemed that she could feed him her demigoddess’s power, simply from the act of making love.

“Daphne,” he said excitedly. “Please, love, look at my face. Tell me what you see.”

She kept her own face averted, snuggling closer. “There’s time for that soon enough,” she told him sleepily.

“Daphne, I believe . . . I’ve youthened. My hands are those of a much younger man. My body—my energy—I feel fully transformed.” He urged her to sit up. “Please, tell me what I look like.”

Finally, with a sigh, Daphne rolled out of his arms and sat slowly to face him. Leo gaped back, dismayed—panicked—by the sight that greeted him as she looked up into his eyes. She no longer appeared eighteen, but more a young woman of twenty-five, at least. Perhaps even older.

And then, as she searched his face, he realized the truth.

He seized hold of her shoulders. “You’re not surprised. You knew this would happen . . .”

She swept her long hair over one shoulder, shrugging. “I had a plan, Leo. Just as you wanted to protect me, don’t think I wouldn’t want to do the same for you.”

He stared at her, unable to even find the words. But then he recalled one very important word, and it didn’t escape him at all. “Sacrifice,” he whispered. “That’s what the prophecy meant. This. For you to give me your strength, your youth . . . your life. You knew what you were doing when you led me out here to make love. You knew.”

“I’d hoped to take on some of your years, yes,” she said softly, brushing a long lock of hair out of her eyes. “Apollo had given me the knowledge.”

“It never happened any of the other times we made love.”

“Because I hadn’t been taught how to access this power.” She smiled impishly. “Didn’t mean it wasn’t there inside me, all along.”

“Apollo told you that, too,” he said, understanding the full weight of her decision. “Your love for me has, once again, cost you so much.”

She stared past his shoulder, seeming very vulnerable. “Tell me I’m still beautiful to you.”

He dragged her into his arms. “As gorgeous as ever! More so, even.” Leo’s vision blurred with tears. “But I won’t let you do this again. Not for me. Not with your own life and youth . . .”

“Leonidas, I’ve appeared eighteen for thousands upon thousands of years. What does it matter if I age a little?”

He shook his head, clasping her by the bare shoulders. “I won’t rob you of your life in exchange for mine.”

She flung herself into his arms. “We will meet in the middle! Perhaps we’ll both become thirty-five. You’ll never have to claim you’re too old for me, not this way.”

“You could die. There’s no controlling this, and you know it.” Leo bounded to his feet. “I won’t risk your life for mine. That’s not a trade I will ever be willing to make. Not again.”

Daphne leaped to her own feet, following after him. “In this one thing, you won’t be able to make a unilateral decision. I want to help you, and I’ll die before I let you stop me. You promised me that you’d listen to me from now on!”

He spun to face her, gripping her elbow in his hand. “Is that what you want? To die? Because of me?”

Daphne’s pale blue eyes swam with tears. “If it means I follow you? Into Elysium? That I spend eternity with you? Yes, then maybe that is what I want.”

He stared at her for one long moment, and at first, he thought to make her promise that she’d never do such a thing again. But there was something in the way she stared up at him, waiting. The acceptance and love he saw in her eyes swept away any fear or hesitation. He knew then, beyond any doubt, that whatever cost it required, they had to be together. Even if they stepped into the afterlife holding hands.

He reached for her wordlessly, and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll face your brother together,” he promised quietly. “Even if it brings our end.”

Chapter 32

The next morning everyone gathered at Leonidas’s massive dining table; someone murmured something about it having once belonged to King Arthur—just as the castle had. Sophie barely managed to restrain herself from squealing. Wasn’t it crazy enough that she was on a first-name basis with one of the greatest kings and leaders of all time? To find out that said king’s castle had once belonged to one of the other great kings of history, well, it was almost more than her enthusiastic little heart could bear.

Shay managed to silence the outburst by wrangling Sophie back into the kitchen. “Not polite to gape,” her cousin murmured under her breath, then loudly announced, “Sophie and I are going to cook up some breakfast, y’all. Hang tight a bit.”

Leo followed after them, offering to call in his former cook to do the work, but Shay pushed him—not exactly softly—back out of his own kitchen. “Let a Southern woman take care of this part,” Shay shushed him, and immediately Sophie found herself playing breakfast sous-chef to her cousin.

As they began working in the old stone kitchen, Sophie had to rethink all her usual habits. Seriously, Leonidas needed to consider upgrading and modernizing the primitive cooking space, or at the very least adding a Jenn Air dishwasher like his Savannah home had.

She got busy slicing tomatoes and mushrooms for the omelets Shay was working on, and her thoughts drifted to Sable. She’d barely seen him since they’d arrived here at Leonidas’s castle, and even now as she stared out the window over the sink, he wasn’t on the training ground as he’d been yesterday afternoon. They’d ended on such a nasty note, with Sable jealous of her friendship with Jax, that she wanted to make things right. But then, despite all that, he’d come after all, a fact that truly touched her; she knew that aligning with his one-time enemies took a toll on him—she wanted nothing so much as to thank him. No, who was she kidding? She was desperate for another one of his smoldering, shockingly gentle kisses.

No dice, though, because whenever she tried to near him, he scowled and looked pointedly at the demons he was training. The one time she’d walked up to him boldly, he’d hissed at her that even if these demons were fighting on their side, he didn’t like the idea of her mixing it up with their wicked company.

“They’re fighting on our side,” she’d argued, noticing that one olive-skinned demon in particular bore wings on his back. They were brightly colored, majestic, and for a moment she wondered if Sable’s own wings had looked something like them. Sable busted her staring at the demon’s wings and seized hold of her hand, all but dragging her back toward the house. “Don’t look at him,” he’d snarled, even nastier than he occasionally got with her. There was only one reason he’d be so defensive . . . and possessive about a demon’s wings.

“He’s a Djinn,” she said, “isn’t he?”

But Sable didn’t answer, only muttered something about how even here, on the isolated moors, she managed to wander into hazardous situations. She knew his issues at the moment were far more than that, however.

Shay startled her out of her recollections, popping her with a kitchen towel. “Daydreaming about a certain centaur?” she asked, noticing the way Sophie stared toward the open training ground where the demons had been fighting and working since yesterday. When Sophie went back to work, quietly chopping the vegetables, her cousin seemed determined to draw her out. “He did a great job raising that demon army,” she said.

“Like I’d know,” Sophie said.

Shay laughed. “Ajax told me so last night. Haven’t you been out there to watch?”

Sophie paused, knife against the chopping block. “Seriously? You got to watch them? He let you out there?”

Shay composed her face into a casual expression, shrugging. “Oh, it’s just that we all trained together last night . . . which was, well, interesting.”

Sophie released a weary, frustrated sigh. “I don’t get him. He was all pissy about coming along and helping in the first place. And now that he’s here, he’s even more protective of me than usual. No, I haven’t gotten to watch them train or even talk to him at all, really. He’s pushing me out of the whole damned thing.”

Shay spoke slowly, carefully. “You know, sweetie, Sable may not mind being around his old associates himself,” she observed, “but that doesn’t mean he wants you anywhere near them . . . because he loves you.”

“I know he does, damned empathic gift of mine!” Sophie cleavered the knife angrily through the center of a tomato. “I just wish he’d act like it for once!”

Shay brushed a loose hair out of her eyes. “But, Soph, he is acting like it,” she disagreed. “That he’s even here at all, working with Leonidas—you’re the only reason he’d do that, I’m sure of it. Especially with the bad blood he’s shared with Jax in the past.”

“Yeah, heard about that. He blames your hubby for taking his wings.”

Shay gave her a slightly guilty look. “Well, Jax did stake him to the side of a mountain . . . through those wings. Apparently Sable had to consume himself in demon fire to escape. But on the other hand, Sable had done some pretty wretched things to Ajax and the other Spartans.”

Sophie’s heart clenched at the image of Sable’s demon fire, burning him up. Those horrible scars, the ones she’d healed, had been evidence of that immense pain and suffering.

She closed her eyes, and swore that she could smell that fire, some supernatural remnant of it that her empath’s gift detected. “I hate thinking of him in that kind of horrific pain.”

Shay gave her a quick, comforting hug. “That’s the past, sweetie. Try not to think about it.”

But Sophie began to tremble and shake. For some reason, that terrible smell, the awareness of Sable’s pain—it didn’t feel in the past. It felt imminent.

Leonidas stepped into his chambers, hoping to freshen up briefly before breakfast. Ever since making love with Daphne on the moors the day before, it seemed that every direction he turned, she was there—and looking more ravishing than ever. The few years that she’d added to her physique had only matured her in the most beautiful of ways, slightly girlish hips becoming rounded, her pert breasts supple and larger.

So it was no surprise when he lumbered into his bedroom and found Daphne—ah, by the heavens, his gorgeous Oracle—spread out on his bed like a prize. A very naked, delicious, and sensual prize.

She stretched lazily. “You’re looking absolutely handsome today, my lord,” she said brightly, patting the place beside her on the bed.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Trying to distract me, love? Or is it that you want me to make love to you—and feed me years off your own life?”

She stroked a languid hand across both breasts, circling first one nipple, then the other, with delicate fingertips. He immediately imagined suckling those pert nipples, lathing them with his tongue. “Maybe I just mean to give you my body. Ever think it might be that simple?”

He settled on the side of the bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his dresser. He’d been feeling randy ever since she’d served him that liberal dose of her own youth as they made love. He possessed the vigor of a very young man, and his groin stirred anew, forcing the leather binding of his loin covering to tighten.

One delicate hand came about his wrist, encircling it. Capturing him. She might be a gorgeous female, but she had Olympian strength when required, and he could tell that she had no intention of allowing him to move from her side.

“Not so fast, my lord,” she warned, and that other hand came up under the skirt of his loin covering. “I have plans for you today.”

She slid graceful fingertips along the leather bindings that restrained his groin and cock.

He sucked in a tight breath. “I . . . I can make no promises about my self-control.”

Daphne unfastened part of the covering with a deft movement of her fingers. “Why bother at all?” She moved onto her knees, right beside him, and began nibbling along his neck, even as her hands worked against his bindings.

As he sprang free, the cool air of his bedroom kissed his heated, masculine flesh—right as a loud rapping sound thundered against his chamber door. “My lord?”

They both jolted, Daphne sliding atop his naked lap, and he struggling to compose his armor.

“My lord, are you in there?” It was Ari’s booming voice, and that meant only one thing—something important had happened because they’d left Ari and Mason in Savannah, interrogating Caesar as to his role in current events.

Daphne snapped her fingers, becoming fully clothed. “One moment!” Leo called out, right as Ari and Mason came storming into the room—and before Leo could compose himself at all.

“Oh, sir!” Ari blurted, turning away sharply. “So sorry, Commander. Shay said you’d just entered . . . and we’ve learned some important intel. From Caesar.” Ari kept facing the door as he spoke. “Information that impacts what you’re doing here, in Cornwall, sir.”

Leo stood, letting his leather skirt cover his loin, but it sagged, revealing far too much of his lower anatomy. Mason blushed, glancing away with an awkward, “Uh . . . will wait outside.”

“Me, too,” Aristos agreed, practically shoving Mason Angel out of the way.

Leo glanced over at his shoulder at Daphne as he fastened the bindings. “I didn’t notice you snapping your fingers and helping me, my lady.”

She grinned, rising to her feet and taking his free hand. “I enjoyed watching you flush and stammer far too much to offer help. Now come, my shy king,” she said, “let’s see what news your warriors bring.”

Sophie was bringing a casserole dish of cheese grits into Leo’s massive dining hall, but stopped short when she realized that Ari and Mace had just arrived from Savannah. The duo’s voices rose and fell in urgent discussion as they gave King Leonidas an update.

She wasn’t sure why, but for some reason she didn’t enter the great room. She lingered in the hall, hoping she might learn more that way because, of course, one could often pick up the best tidbits while eavesdropping. Her instincts were confirmed when she heard Sable’s name, mentioned in low whispers, as if they hoped to keep something about him a secret.

Or maybe they just didn’t want her to know. And that wouldn’t do. She boldly marched into the dining room, bearing the breakfast casserole, and abruptly the conversation stopped cold.

Mace gave her a guilty, sympathetic glance. “Hey, cuz,” he said. “Miss me?”

“Oh, keep on talking.” She plunked the serving dish on the table in front of her cousin. “I mean, why stop because of me?” Aristos glanced significantly between Mason and Leonidas. She huffed out an impatient breath, blowing a loose curl out of her eyes. “You were saying?” she prompted, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

Leonidas leaned back in his massive carved dining chair, forming a temple with his hands as he gazed at her. “Sophie, why don’t you join us?”

Oh-kay. The king asking her to sit in on a powwow? Couldn’t be good news for Sable . . . or for her. Apparently she’d stood gaping for a few seconds because Leonidas rose halfway out of his seat, gesturing toward an open chair. “Come now, Sophie.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, and was aware that her chest literally hurt, her heart was beating that hard. Very slowly, she pulled out a chair and slid into it, never uttering a word.

Mace cleared his throat, then with one last guilty look in her direction, resumed reporting to the king. “So, my major question was why Caesar would have an interest in Aristos right now, after so many years. The timing was too damned convenient.”

Ari chimed in. “I’d had a vendetta against that wicked trader for more than a century. Then bam!” He slammed a fist on the table, jarring the plates and platters of food. “He’s on our doorstep right as Ares has raised the stakes.”

Sophie’s throat grew tight, a solid lump wedged there like a thick piece of bread. She couldn’t swallow past it, could barely breathe. It had been Sable who had led Ari and Nik after Caesar. Sable who had appeared with the news of his whereabouts and trail.

“And Sable was the one who knew where Ari and Nik were being held,” Mace added.

“But . . . he helped free you,” Sophie blurted in a tight voice.

Mason turned toward her. “Soph, we suspect he was part of Ares’s plan all along. The idea, as we gathered it from Caesar, was for Sable to lead Aristos away so that he couldn’t heal Leonidas or help counteract his aging.”

Ari scowled. “Yeah, with me out of the picture, our commander’s best hope for survival was eliminated. Same with you, Sophie. He had to keep you from healing Leonidas.”

The room seemed to spin as she recalled Sable begging her not to heal or help Leonidas. She’d thought it was out of concern for her—he had seemed legitimately worried about her safety. “But I did heal him,” she offered weakly.

“How many times?” Mason asked her and she didn’t dare answer—it would only make Sable seem more guilty.

She rubbed her forehead, which had begun pounding. The whole room swam and pulsed with the rush of her own blood. “Only . . . once.”

“Why only once?” Mason asked her pointedly.

Because Sable begged me not to touch the king—convinced me that I shouldn’t.

But that couldn’t have been his motive, not when he’d expressed concern and worry for her well-being for months on end. There had to be more to his actions . . . hadn’t there?

She felt a sob building in her chest, but refused to let everyone realize her faith in Sable was wavering. That was when Daphne softly cleared her throat.

“Sophie, the boys are right. I spoke with Sable in Savannah,” she explained softly, glancing at Leonidas as she spoke. “He did try and prevent you from healing Leo. Ares enlisted him and offered . . . quite a reward. But he regretted it and he’s here to faithfully serve Leo. That’s why he’s raised the demon army, that’s why he’s here, ready to fight at our king’s side.”

“You’re sure I can trust him, Oracle?” Leonidas asked, his dark brows cranking downward. “That he should be here, leading those diabolical creatures? It could all be a trap.”

Daphne became adamant. “It’s not, Leo. I sense his motives and they are pure . . . now. I’m sure of it.”

Sophie’s face flushed violently. He’d been lying to her. All along—when she’d had faith and belief in him, also all along. What a fool she’d been! He was all the things everyone had warned her he might be.

“I’ve got to go,” she blurted, excusing herself and heading outside in search of Sable.

Chapter 33

Daphne watched Sophie vanish out the front door and her heart clinched in pain for the young woman. Sable should’ve done as Daphne had cautioned him back in Savannah—told Sophie the truth.

Leo had his gaze on her. “I honestly believed I could trust that Djinn.”

“The only reason for his betrayal was he believed Ares would return him to human form. My brother can be very persuasive in his lies. From what I gathered talking to him, Sable began to second-guess his actions almost immediately—that was the reason he helped Ari and Nikos escape.”

“So I can trust him as a captain in the coming battle then.”

Ari leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t trust Mr. Ed farther than I could throw him. But that’s just me. My wing still hurts like a mother from being caught in that net.”

Mace cast a glance at Nikos, his green eyes flashing with anger. “Maybe I’m funny this way, but I don’t like anyone who hurts the people I care about.” Mason’s eyes locked with Nik’s for a significant moment, until the Spartan blushed slightly. “Yeah, so I won’t be trusting Sable’s equine ass anytime soon, but I don’t think we have much choice about fighting with him. He’s the only one among us who can truly control that demon horde out there. They’re loyal to him.”

Daphne understood Mace’s outlook, but there was only one opinion she cared to hear at the moment—that of her beloved, their king and commander. “Leonidas, tell us what you think.”

Leo raked a hand across his silver beard and waited a moment to reply. “I believe in Sable’s potential,” he said softly. “He loves Sophie, that much is obvious. And he did lead us in the rescue of Aristos and Nikos, a sign of loyalty. Sometimes everyone deserves another chance, and I believe that Djinn has earned it. For Sophie’s sake, if nothing else.”

Ajax gave one resolute nod. “Much as I hate that thorny demon, and much as I never thought I’d say it—I agree that Sable should be trusted. The stench of demon sulfur out there is enough argument for me, because I don’t have particular interest in trying to organize that fiendish lot into our Spartan formation. Sable’s got to lead that charge.”

Leo rose from the table. “Speaking of which, it’s time to drill. I want us to have as much time as possible working with Sable’s team before the battle.”

“Leo, how do you plan to lure Ares here when the time is right?” Daphne stood to follow the others who were filing out to the training ground.

He gave her a sardonic smile, fastening his breastplate. “Love, we both know the battle will come at the time of his choosing, not ours. So we prepare as if we plan to meet him this hour, and dig into camp as if for a long campaign.”

Ajax followed the last of the warriors out through the doors of the great hall. Leo paused, turning back to her, and booted the door shut as he pulled her into his arms. “And we kiss as if it’s our last for a while.” He growled in her ear, raking strong hands through her curls. Capturing her mouth with his, he worked his thumbs down to her nape, angling her head upward to meet his hungry kiss. As always, he tasted masculine, earthy, exactly as he smelled.

He pressed her backward, up against the closed wooden door, pinioning her there with his bulky body. “Tell me that if I kiss you, I won’t rob you of any more years,” he asked, his breath hot against her cheek.

She cupped his face, tugging it downward so she could kiss him again. “Only when making love.”

He released a sigh, one that was fraught with sexual frustration. “But I’m not sure I can hold back from that once night comes.”

“You can plan on me making it very, very hard on you, Leo.”

His mouth opened to her again and she sank against the door, as the kiss grew deep and hard and urgent. As she lost herself in the sensations, feeling his heat all along her own skin, a slight vibration began along her back. At first she thought it was her demigoddess’s power, building explosively in reaction to her arousal, but the tremors grew more pronounced. A rumbling sound began, growing louder.

Leo froze, his hold on her tight. Cocking his head, he listened sharply, his alert gaze never leaving hers. The door began to rattle on its hinges, a sound like an earthquake growing much louder.

“He comes,” Leo whispered at last, already reaching for the door. “Be safe, my darling Daphne—our battle is now.”

“You lied to me!” Sophie cried, blinking up at Sable. Those summer-blue eyes hadn’t changed, but his jaw ticked, revealing his guilt.

“You know what I am,” he told her smoothly. “I’ve told you before: demons are made of lies. We live on them, bed down with them. Deception is as vital as the dark blood in our veins.”

She shook her head. “But you’ve never lied to me,” she half whispered. She kept hoping he’d reassure her. Explain that they had it all wrong—that he was on their side, not Ares’s.

He said nothing, only studied her with a fathomless stare until she began to tremble with rage and heartbreak. “You’ve been working for him—Ares—all along, then. You’re a traitor to me and everyone I care about here?”

Sable trotted away from her, bucking furiously until several of his demon soldiers began snickering at him, obviously amused by the argument—and Sable’s apparent distress.

“Only fools love,” they sneered, wings beating excitedly. “Commander Sable! Are you a fool?” More tittering and uproarious backslapping among the crew.

“Shut up!” Sable roared back at them. “I am your commander in this battle and you will not mock me!”

He cut a turn back toward Sophie, his expression suddenly both grim and resolved. For one long moment they stared at each other, neither speaking.

He sighed, stomping at the earth with first one hoof, then the other. “I did it for you,” he said at last. His expression was downright tortured, his eyes bright. “To protect you from Ares’s curse. I feared you touching the king and what it might do to you. Ares only played to that weakness, that worry in me.” He sucked in an agonized breath. “And I bargained with Ares so we could be together . . . it was the only way. He promised to cast me out of this unholy form.” He slapped himself on the withers. “How could I ever be a man for you . . . when I am half beast?”

She couldn’t answer, not that question. Her heart was too busy breaking, shattering into jagged shards inside her chest. It didn’t matter that Sable had chosen his path out of care for her; he’d been willing to sacrifice everyone and everything dear to her—and never told her the truth about it until he was confronted.

She shook her head, backing up, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Gotta go,” she mumbled, taking another step away from him. “Must get moving here.”

Sable bounded forward, reaching for her desperately. “I did it for us, Sophie,” he cried, still trying to explain.

She only shook her head, and turned, running toward the castle. She didn’t stop to look back, or to see if he cantered after her—she just barreled toward her friends and family, aching for the emotional safety they’d provide.

But as she reached the fortress, everything was in chaos. Spartans were moving in every direction, arming themselves, and the humans were doing likewise. Mace came barreling up to her, semiautomatic in one hand, his chest covered in Kevlar. “Ares has brought the battle to us. Now, not later. Get inside there, okay? We’re at war, Soph.”

Mace chambered a round in his GLOCK, starting to holster the gun, but Sophie extended a hand. “I’m not waiting this out like a good little empath,” she told him firmly. “I shoot a weapon nearly as well as you, Mason Angel. So arm me. We’re going to need every fighter we’ve got.”

Before he could argue, a thundering voice sang across the open field and moors. “The battle is at the time of my choosing, not yours, feeble ones!” Ares. She shivered, and Mace stood stock-still, staring like the rest of them.

“I need a weapon, Mace. Nobody else is going to protect me—y’all have to fight.”

The earth and sky opened then, a bloodred color infusing the entire earth and air around them. Then a sooty blackness rolled over the moors, chased by a horde of demons—ones none of them had ever seen. It poured onto the field like acid rain, sending demon troops scattering and falling back toward the castle out of uncertainty.

Sophie found herself being shoved from behind, Kalias nearly plowing her down as he charged forward onto the field. She lost sight of Mason, sidestepping as Nikos sprinted in his wake, and leaned against the craggy castle stones for shelter. For one moment, she blinked and stared at the apocalyptic destruction, a sickly odor wafting through the air, making her cough. Mason surged toward her again, tossing her the GLOCK. He launched himself into the fray without another look, leaving her huddling beside the castle alone.

No one would protect her; she had to watch out for her own life. She spun, about to seek refuge inside the castle—which she had no doubt would be ransacked first of all—but where else was there to go?

Chapter 34

Leo slashed his way through advancing demons—Ares’s minions, not his own. So the god had called his bluff, mounting his own hellish army to meet Leonidas’s. And he’d also brought down the hellfire early—too early for Sable to have gained enough control over his troops.

Ajax flew overhead, his massive hawk wings spread wide as he soared toward Leonidas. Leo began clearing a spot for his captain to alight, slaying half a dozen of Ares’s demons in the process.

Landing roughly, his captain began to breathlessly assess the damage. “Ares is on the far hill,” Jax informed him, pointing a clawed hand toward the rocky cleft where the god apparently hid himself.

“Lure him out,” Leo said coldly. “I won’t allow him to cower while the battle wages.”

Jax shook his head, panting from the exertion of battle. “Commander, I don’t think he’s hiding—he’s readying for battle. I flew over his position briefly, didn’t want to spend much time as he might’ve fired on me. But he’s in full armor, surrounded by warriors of his own who are equally well armed. I have the feeling that he has something spectacular planned.”

“Then he shall fail spectacularly.” Leo raised his sword, advancing into the fray without another glance back.

Sophie was trapped. A wall of demons was advancing on her, shrieking and cackling in anticipatory pleasure. “Ours!” the throng squealed. “Tastes so pretty! Pretty, ours!”

She spun, ready to flee as fast as she could, and remembered her GLOCK. She turned, lifting the weapon and sighting it. “I’ll show you pretty, freaks!” She fired a few rounds, but they only seemed to bounce off one particularly ugly creature’s leather wings.

Again, she fired, and again, emptying the chamber of the gun. Nothing was left. The demonic horde began encircling her, hissing and drooling. Pressing her eyes closed, she tried reminding herself that Earth was only a temporary holding place anyway. That heaven was where she would go, and it would be a far more wondrous place.

You’ll never see Sable again. He can’t enter heaven.

She sobbed in panic, murmuring his name as the first claw scraped at her arm.

With a scream, she staggered back, kicking at the advancing demon, but it shoved her down to the ground. She closed her eyes, bracing for whatever would happen next—but strangely, no attack came.

But a sound made her turn. It was familiar, and she wanted to weep in relief as Sable came galloping up toward the castle steps. He sliced dual swords, routing several demons as he cut a swath toward her. Ajax fought beside him, agile despite the wings upon his back, and as powerful as she’d ever seen him.

“Sophie!” Sable cried out, thundering right toward her.

He loved her. She saw it in his eyes. No matter what he’d done, the only thing that really mattered was that he was here now, when she needed him.

“Take her with you. To safety,” Jax shouted to Sable above the din. “I’ll keep them at bay. Just protect her any way you can!”

“You can count on it,” Sable said, briefly clasping Jax by the shoulder. Then, with an angry stomp of his front hooves, he reached down for her. “In a mess again, are you, my Sophie?”

She took hold of his hand and he swung her atop his back in one fluid move. “I’ll ride you to safety,” he promised. “I won’t let these bastards harm you. If it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let them touch you.”

He galloped like the wind itself, eating up the ground in long, graceful strides until they finally reached an empty clearing. But no sooner had he slowed to a gentler gait, huffing heavily as he surveyed the battlefield, than an acrid wind blew over them. A strange battle call accompanied that hot, desertlike wind.

“It’s Ares,” Sable told her under his breath. “He’s raising his troops, directing them.”

“Toward what?” she hissed, wrapping her arms about Sable’s chest and holding tight.

After a heartbeat of a pause, he answered simply. “Us.”

The god’s voice answered, rumbling over the moor. “Kill them. Both of the infidels.”

“Fuck that,” Sable cursed, launching into a frenzied pace once again. He galloped harder, so hard she feared she might get thrown off, and yet he managed to keep her steadily upon his back.

After several long moments, she realized he was headed toward a rocky incline. She kept her arms fastened about his waist as he poured on the heat with his gallop. She could feel his entire body heaving with the exertion, and tried to push her terror aside. His heart hammered crazily beneath her hands—too hard.

She told herself none of that mattered with a demon—a beautiful, complicated demon whom she loved with all her heart. Who was being hunted down and chased by a rabid band of murderous demons.

“Hold tighter!” He shouted the words over his shoulder. “Jump ahead. Hold me.”

Oh, my Djinn, when this is over, I’m never going to let you go.

Burying her face against his sweat-slicked shoulder, she kept her eyes shut. The “jump” actually looked more like a treacherous drop-off, a craggy set of rocks that led to a stream down below at the base of the incline.

She felt the rise of his forelegs, the lift as he took the jump gracefully, carrying her with him on that familiar ba-dum-dum rhythm of a horse jumping. Only, with a sickening crack—an audible one that seemed a second too late—Sable’s forelegs buckled beneath him. Or maybe only his right foreleg? There was just the horrible sense of his massive body rolling forward, almost an accordion effect as he slid and slipped, taking her down with him.

Only the fall didn’t stop; it became a roll that threw her down into the flowing water—but sent Sable struggling down the large drop-off that neither of them had seen. Sable scrabbled at the mud with his hands, trying to stop his horrible fall. But the force of momentum was too much. He was too big, weighed too much, and kept rolling and skidding until he finally landed at the bottom of the drop.

Sophie screamed, struggling to her feet, the mud suctioning her shoes deep and in place. “Sable! Sable, oh my God! Are you all right?”

No answer. Then a hideous cry from down below, a groan, another cry.

She scrambled to the edge of the waterfall, peering over; she nearly became ill when she realized it hadn’t been a five foot drop at all. The drop had been at least ten feet, if not more, and Sable lay on his side, his forelegs buckling with every attempt he made to rise. His eyes were haunted, his gaze filled with more pain than she’d ever glimpsed on any creature’s face. “Sable,” she said softly, “I’ll get down there.” She glanced quickly around, trying to see the best way to scramble to his side.

“Be . . . careful.” The words were gasped, and again he tried to lunge upward with his huge body, but crumpled down with a garbled cry of pain.

“Stay still. I’m coming! I’m coming right now, Sable. Just stay down.”

“My leg . . . my foreleg, Soph. I think . . . it’s shattered.”

She slid down the muddy embankment and landed near him in a tumbling heap. Rushing to where he lay on his side, she realized that his forelegs were destroyed, not just one—both. Unless he had some demonic regenerative power, he would never walk again. The bone of his right leg jutted outward, raw and hideous in how badly it was mangled.

“I’ll stand. I will.” He kept shoving at the ground, trying to get up, but wrestling his monumental body upward proved a failing effort. With his right hand, he reached for his leg, skimming his fingers over the protruding bone. He sucked in a pained breath, his eyes wide before rolling back into his head for a brief moment. Sophie searched the cliffside, hoping their enemies weren’t already upon them.

“You’ve got to get moving,” he rasped, but she pushed his hand away from his leg and began examining it.

Placing her hands squarely on the hideously broken leg, she began releasing her healing power, but nearly blacked out from the pain. He was experiencing a horrific level of it—more than even she could take on or attempt to mend.

“I can do this,” she said resolutely, but Sable caught her hands in his.

“Soph, no. Leave me and get to safety.” His own gaze tracked up along the steep hillside that he’d fallen down. “Any minute and that horde will descend on us. Go while you can.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she removed her white T-shirt, tearing it into large strips. “I’ll wrap it. We’ll get you going. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

“Have . . . to. They’ll tear you to pieces . . . Soph, go!”

Any minute now and Ajax would realize they weren’t following behind him. He’d come back—they all would. “Stay still.” She began working with the fabric, using the strips as a tight binding on Sable’s mangled foreleg. “I’ve done this before, and I’m going to take care of you.” She kept her voice assured, confident when inside she was falling apart. He would never walk again, even if she could get him out of this crisis.

Far more important at the moment, however, was that his worst enemies were closing on them. Fast.

She shoved every fear, every clawing, deathly fear, far from her mind and focused on the task at hand. Deftly her fingers moved, cinching the broken leg as tight as she could in the soft fabric of her shirt, then tying it in a knot. With another look overhead and behind, she pushed against the long barrel of his side. “Try again. Try to stand, I’ll help you.” She scrambled toward his rear, putting all her weight in a forceful shove as he lunged upward . . . only to break the bandage into shreds and to stumble forward in a horrible, ugly dive. He cried out, in a ripping scream of pain that made her eyes fill with tears. For a moment, he buried his head in both hands, then dropping them away, twisted his torso to face her.

“Sophie,” he told her in a shockingly calm voice. “I am stuck. I’m not getting up. I can’t get up. You have to get out of here and now, damn it. By the gods, I won’t let you die here, not for the likes of me.”

“I love you.”

He doubled over in sudden pain, bracing both palms on the sloshing mud. “Just . . . go, sweetness.”

“Tell me you love me.”

The night was suddenly rent by the sound of beating wings—several of them, and Sophie looked up just in time to see Ajax and Kalias swooping down. They hit the ground at a run.

“What happened?” Ajax asked breathlessly, but with a quick look she could tell he already knew.

“I can’t get him up,” she whispered, feeling utterly helpless and lost. The tears began in earnest. “He fell from up there . . . his forelegs are broken.”

“Gods damn you, Sable,” Jax murmured, dropping beside the fallen centaur.

Sable laughed softly. “You’ve finally got me where you always wanted me. Dead in the water.”

“I don’t want you dead, man. Don’t talk that way. We’ll get you up and out.”

“He can’t stand, Jax. He’s right about his condition. I’ve worked with horses all my life . . . you won’t be able to get him up.”

Jax sprang suddenly to his feet. “I smell the horde. They’re on us. . . .”

“I’ll hold them off. Go,” Sable said, his whole body now quaking with tremors.

“You’re in no condition to battle them,” Jax said. “We’ll fight here, and keep them off of you.”

“Will you get her out of here, man?” Sable insisted. “You love Shay, you understand. Take her with you . . . I’ll handle the rest.”

Jax stared into the demon’s eyes for a long, silent moment. Sophie wrapped her arms about Sable’s waist. “Tell me what you’re planning. Why would you do this?”

“Just go.” Then to Jax. “Now, you understand? I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

Finally, pulling Sophie upward and into his arms, Jax gave a brisk nod and his wings unfurled—and he flew them both heavenward. The last thing she smelled was singeing flesh and hair. With a downward glance, she saw a blaze like a funeral pyre. Sable’s demon fire.

She screamed, thrashing in Jax’s arms.

Jax said nothing at first, and she slapped at his arms.

“He knew the only way to block those demons . . . was with his own demon fire.”

Sophie struggled, nearly free-falling out of Jax’s arms, but he held her fast, forcing her to look away from the inferno that was spreading like wildfire on the moors below. Sable’s fire, let loose, on himself, and raging free.

Chapter 35

Leo fell back with his warriors, dropping behind the protection of the phalanx formed by his Spartans’ shields. It allowed just enough time to regroup against the god’s unrelenting assault. The demon army swarmed ahead of them, creating a barrier. Jax squatted beside him, “Commander, what next? He’s barely broken a sweat . . . but he’s breaking our demons. Many are already fleeing.”

He nodded, knowing his captain was right. Their forces were beleaguered from the Olympian barrage, but Ares seemed to only be hitting his stride. “We need something else. Something we’ve not tried yet,” he told Ajax.

“I know what that is,” came Daphne’s unexpected, tinkling voice. Leo jolted at her sudden appearance in their midst. She huddled along with him behind his shield, and then wordlessly passed over the bejeweled quiver of arrows. “You left these in your chambers.”

The battle had come so quickly, he’d not even thought to take Eros’s arrows with him.

She beamed at him. “I think you’ll find these prophesied weapons are just what you’re missing.”

“Seven more Spartans added to the fray,” he agreed. “Who could ask for more?”

“What?” Jax asked in disbelief.

“No time to explain now. But this could give us the break we need.” Leo notched the arrow in his bow, preparing to aim. “On my mark, drop your shields,” he told his warriors, and the command was murmured down the line until all were ready.

“Ready!” Leo thundered. “Mark!”

With the epic clanking of bronze, the phalanx came down around them.

What was this madness? Ares stared down at his thick, muscular thigh as if stung by a bee. For that was the pain the arrow had inflicted upon entering his leg. Nothing but a sharp and quick sting, nothing more. With a laugh, he reached down and yanked the offending weapon out of his leg.

“You think to fell me with weapons made by man? I can’t be killed! No god can!” He laughed, hurling the weapon toward Leonidas’s feet like a casual thunderbolt. “Surely you’ll bring me better than that. Measly effort.”

“That weapon was not made by a mortal’s hands,” Leonidas called out, striding toward him as if he were still immortal. “But by a god!”

Ares laughed. “Oh, which god would even try to forge a weapon against me? Don’t tell me it’s Eros, my weak-willed, lily-hearted son? By what power? Sonnets and verse?”

“No, Ares, someone you value more than your own son,” Leonidas told him, still striding forward, appearing untouchable. His band of demons clearly thought otherwise, surging toward the king. But Ares raised a hand, staying them. This riddle intrigued him.

And, he had to admit, the tiny prickling wound in his leg . . . had begun to throb. Not with pain, but something—some feeling—he could not name nor recognize.

Ares swatted at the tiny wound. “There are many, many gods and creatures that I value more than Eros. Be more specific, King Leonidas. Who forged this weapon of yours?”

The king raised his bow, suddenly firing another arrow—how had Ares not anticipated that? The weapon pierced his other thigh, and this time, the entry did hurt, burning Ares’s muscle like fire. With a cry, he stumbled and sank to his knees.

“No, it’s not Eros who forged these weapons,” Leonidas told him.

“Eros . . . where is he?” Ares fell to his side, an unfamiliar emotion flooding him. Where was his son? He should be here, now. It was suddenly more important than winning the battle, than learning the truth about the arrows.

“Where is my son?” he pleaded, as Leonidas towered over his felled form. “I . . . need him.”

Leonidas took another arrow from the quiver, and bending over Ares, jabbed it hard into his chest. “Now do you recognize these weapons?”

Ares hid his eyes, unable to comprehend the rush of emotions filling his heart. He’d abandoned his son; he’d turned his back on his family . . . his own sister, he’d tortured her.

The weapons were spelled, they had to be. They were controlling him, weakening him more than any force that had ever been waged against his god’s form.

“You made these weapons, Ares. This is your handiwork. Turned back . . . upon you.”

A wave cascaded through Ares’s core. All the love that any good man should feel, it beat in his chest—all the care a father should naturally have toward his son, it sang in his veins.

“Tell me . . .” he gasped, struggling for his next breath. “Where is my son?”

Grasping at the arrow in his chest, Ares tried to withdraw it. Searching the battlefield, he knew this was his true punishment, for his son was gone, lost to him forever. He had never appreciated him until it was too late.

A whirlwind of imagery cascaded through Ares’s mind. Eros had tried to fire these weapons against Ares before, but they’d never worked—his son’s magic was useless against him—but not when wielded by Leonidas. In a flashing cauldron of emotion, he saw every vile deed, every bad thing he’d done for his own pleasure. Hateful abominations, all of those actions, and he now understood them for what they were.

Because he understood love. Eros’s gift and the force he had commanded for centuries.

Love. The one thing his son had always longed for from Ares, and he’d denied him. The one thing it should’ve been so natural and easy to grant, he’d mocked, just as he’d mocked the purpose and calling that sang in his son’s soul.

With all the life draining from his body, Ares searched the battlefield once more, perhaps for the last time. But Eros was nowhere to be found.

Ares crumpled to the ground, his lean body covered in blood; agony was written in his face, as he weakly lifted his eyes. “Where . . . is Eros?” he gasped. “I need my . . . son.”

“Eros is gone. You had your years with him, your chance to make things right. Here in your end? It’s too late for that.”

The god groaned, rolling onto his back. With struggling effort, one by one, he began dislodging Karanos and the other arrows from his body. “These . . . are my son’s arrows,” he managed to say.

Leo began retrieving his arrows from Ares’s prone form. “They were my warriors, in ancient Sparta. You cursed them into the form of standing stones. All these years they waited for their revenge against you. And now they’ve had it.” Leo held Karanos in his hand and gestured with the arrow. “Lift the curse, Ares. Here, even at your end . . . set them free. They are valiant, truehearted men who deserve their peace. To step into Elysium, once and for all.”

Ares’s eyes slid shut. “I . . . don’t possess . . . the strength.”

Leo seized Ares by the ponytail, forcing his eyes open. “Free my men, you bastard.” He roared in the god’s face. “Now!”

Ares lifted a weak hand, reaching for Karanos, but his arm fell to the ground. It seemed that somehow, the god really was dying, despite the laws of Olympus that stated no god could ever pass away.

“Hand him . . .” Ares murmured weakly, and Leo placed Karanos gently upon his chest, followed by all the other arrows. With great effort, Ares moved his hand atop them. “Be . . . free . . .” he said, and the arrows were gone. Leo searched about them, expecting to see the warriors standing in the form of men, but they had simply vanished, to where, Leo did not know.

But he got his answer a moment later, when the heavens overhead cracked open. With an otherworldly, majestic authority, the Highest God spoke.

“Your punishment,” He declared, “is to dwell in Elysium . . . to truly understand the depth of torture and depravity you have caused others. You, son of Olympus, will spend one thousand years in peaceful Elysium, unable to taste, smell, or make any kind of war.”

“Please,” he begged, “my son . . . let me see him.”

“You finally know the love you should have felt long ago for that one,” the Highest said. “And that is your punishment, as well. To dwell apart from good Eros and consider the pain you brought him. Until the thousand years ends. Until then, consider your evil deeds and live in peace.”

Ares’s eyes slid shut, and he said not a word, and argued not at all. He clearly accepted the verdict, and Leo found the war god’s compliance and obvious regret a shock. Had it been something in Eros’s arrows themselves, some potent power?

There was no time to consider, because the sky opened even wider, revealing pinks and purples and hues the likes of which no human man had ever seen. The Highest God’s great and majestic voice echoed across the battlefield for all to hear.

“Every curse that Ares currently has in place . . . is now removed.” The words sang down from heaven, and Leo instantly felt his body come vibrantly alive. His knee no longer hurt, his muscles no longer ached. “Any blight the god ever placed, all of them are lifted. Be well, my children. Live well, immortals and mortals alike. Live long.”

Leo felt his body begin to change, immediately upon those words. Every blight Ares had ever placed. He glanced down at his left hand, and the missing fingers had returned; he felt of the deep brackets by his lips, and they, too, were gone. He felt of his hair, and plucked a quick strand—to discover it a deep, rich brown.

His youth had been restored; his immortality reestablished.

But he didn’t have time to celebrate. Ares had become consumed in a beam of golden light, a radiance so beautiful, it was unlike anything Leo had ever seen—even as he’d stepped into the afterlife after Thermopylae. Leo was almost certain he saw tears streaming down the god’s face—tears of regret, and loss, and shame, no doubt. The light became a kind of force unto itself, a whirlwind that swept Ares upward, higher and higher, right up into heaven itself.

He vanished, and the group of them stared in awe, amazed by the beauty of what the Highest was allowing them to glimpse through that opening in the sky.

And then, as suddenly as it had opened, the sky closed up like a thunderclap. The rainy battlefield stood mostly empty, nothing but the windy moors and the Spartans and humans standing together. The demons were gone, the god was gone . . . and Karanos and the other arrows were gone, too.

No one spoke at first, and the rainfall became steadier, the soft sound of droplets on rock and earth the only noise between them. And then it was Aristos, who threw his head back first and released a joyous, wolflike howl of victory. The others joined in, covered in mud and demon blood, as one by one comrades embraced.

Jamie Angel came up behind his brother-in-law and caught Jax in a big bear hug, lifting him off the ground. Straton and Kalias threw arms about each other, embracing and beating each other on the back. The expressions of joy and camaraderie were some of the best Leo had ever witnessed. He watched, beaming.

But there was one man who wasn’t celebrating—one man with seven warrior brothers. Leo found that, oddly, he grieved that fact. Karanos and his brothers had apparently been swept into Elysium the moment that Ares lifted their curse. Still, as Leo stared down at the empty quiver in his hands, he felt a sense of unexpected sadness; he’d have liked to have embraced each man, just once. He knelt to the ground and, pressing the quiver against his chest, offered a prayer for each man’s peace. That he would find his way to loved ones and kin.

Ah, yes, he wished he’d have had a few moments with each Spartan—not doing so made it feel too much as if he’d lost them in battle. But knowing he’d bought them their freedom was joy enough. And he smiled, remembering Karanos’s warm brown eyes, that day before Thermopylae.

“Brave son,” he whispered, “this battle was the most important of them all. And you served me valiantly, you served me well.”

For the briefest moment, Leo would’ve sworn he felt the familiar vibration in his palm, as if he still held Karanos in his grasp and the warrior was “talking.” He stared at the flat palm and the tingling sensation didn’t go away. A slow, joyful smile spread across Leo’s face. “Yes, Captain Karanos,” he whispered, “well done. Very well done.”

And just like that, the otherworldly sensation was gone. Leo lifted his eyes to heaven and smiled.

“Leonidas?”

It was Sophie, walking toward him across the empty field, and as she wandered up to him, her eyes were filled with despair. Leo knew with one look at her—from her overly pale face, to the red rims of her eyes—Sable was gone. He’d seen a glimpse of the demon fire himself, while knee-deep in the fight, and knew by Sophie’s countenance that she’d witnessed the same.

“Leonidas . . .” She searched his face, and Leo would’ve done anything to ease the stark pain he saw in her kind eyes.

Leo took her small, cool hand in his, squeezing it. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him,” he said. “And I really am sorry, Sophie.”

She started to walk away, then spun back to face him. “I didn’t give up on you, King Leonidas,” she said firmly. “When you needed healing, I gave it, and my faith never wavered that we’d solve your problem. So now you don’t give up on the man I love, please. I’m going to find him. He’ll be alive. I know it.”

Without another word, she marched off across the moors. Leo prayed that her gentle heart wasn’t about to be broken.

Chapter 36

Sophie ran toward the edge of the craggy hillside, the place where she’d last seen Sable. Maybe he’d survived; maybe he’d fought the demons off. And maybe, somehow, that roaring blaze she’d glimpsed, with his beautiful centaur’s form at the center of it . . . hadn’t been real.

When she reached the spot, the cleft between rock and wind, she froze. A scream stifled inside her throat, but she was too horrified to cry out. She stood there, shaking, entranced by the sight of the scorched ground and rocks before her. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tried to beat back a wave of nausea, and took tentative steps forward. The ground and the rocks were scorched a pure, evil black. The scent of the fire hung in the air all around her, and it was all she could do not to be sick.

She fell to her knees, stroking the burned up place. Instantly, images flooded her mind, the truth of what Sable had done for her. Kneeling there, she doubled over, sobbing. His death. She felt his anguish, sensed the depths of his despair. The torture he’d experienced in that fire was unspeakable, more than any person should ever have to endure. But even worse, unbelievably, than the fire itself had been his awareness that he’d never see or hold her again.

She curled on her side, beside the burnt-up place, shedding tears of grief unlike any she’d ever known. He was gone; he’d done it all for her.

She had lost him forever, to that one selfless, love-filled act.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, reaching out and touching the ashes. “I am so sorry. I love you, I . . . always loved you. From the first moment I saw you . . . it was you.”

She ran her hands timidly through the ashes. Were they some remnant of his body, some last part of the man she loved? She sat up, staring down at the charred bits, then very gently cradled a few within her palm. She brought them up, against her cheek, and mourned for the only man she would ever love. Never again; he had been the one.

Gently rocking, she cried and moaned, a keening sound that she hardly recognized as coming from herself. But then she was startled, and cried out, as a gentle hand came down upon her shoulder. The touch was warm, familiar, and it sent chill bumps down her arms. She didn’t have the heart or hope to turn and look. It had to be King Leonidas . . . or Ari, but not him. He was in these ashes, a memory now.

“Look at me, Sophie.” His voice, a lie. It couldn’t be anything else.

She shook her head forcefully, back and forth, back and forth, just rocking herself.

That warm hand captured her chin, and gently forced her to look. Pale blue eyes, the color of summer sky. And a body that was completely human.

“Oh my God,” she sobbed, dropping the ashes from her fingers. It couldn’t be, and yet he stood there, so human and gorgeous . . . and not burnt at all.

He kept that hand on her nape, his touch and scent so familiar. But she could only stare up at him, crying, and so very afraid to rush into his arms, or even hope that he was real. “Is it . . . you died. I saw you in the flames!” She pointed to the scorched earth, tears falling fiercely on her cheeks. She slammed her palms into the ashes. “This is the evidence. This is where it happened . . . I watched you die.”

You look so much like him; I so desperately want you to be him . . . I don’t dare hope. Her heart screamed the words, but she didn’t dare to believe, not with what she’d witnessed. This had to be some sort of demon, a shape-shifter . . .

Gingerly he knelt beside her, swiveling his hips sideways to conceal his groin. A demon or an enemy who worried about honoring her virginity? That didn’t compute.

“Soph, it really is me,” that familiar voice said. “Look into my eyes . . . I’m alive.”

“You’re not a centaur . . . you’re not like you were.” She shook her head insistently, swiping at her tears. “No. No, I will not believe it . . . you must be some other demon, come to trick me. Maybe one of those things that were chasing us, but not my Sable. He was consumed in those flames. Burnt to ashes and nothing.”

“Sophie, use your empathy—and just look at me. Really look into my eyes. Still blue. Because of you, I changed and I’m not dark, not ever again. It is me.”

His warm hand traced the line of her cheek, so tender, so honest. “Look at me,” he murmured, and she dared glance up.

His light eyes met her own, that particularly soft vibrant blue—offset against the dusky-rich, Persian skin. Her breath hitched, her hand came to her lips in wonder. And without censoring herself or holding back at all, she launched herself at him. He sank on his knees, and she climbed onto his very naked lap. She could feel every part of his beautiful, nude body—so human—but she was too overjoyed to feel shy.

“I . . . wanted to die, too.” She buried her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms about him. “What would I have done without you? Can you imagine what a mess I’d have been? Oh, Sable.” She sobbed, her whole body wracked with the raw feeling.

He stroked her soft curls, petting her with shocking gentleness. “Oh, my Sophia, I’d have consumed myself a thousand in times in demon fire to stop that.” Pulling back slightly, he held her face in his palms, his gaze flicking over it. “I want to kiss you, I want to hold you . . . I want to love you, here and now in the grass . . . and I have the body to do all of that.” His own eyes suddenly swam with tears. “You are the only thing I ever bothered dreaming about. The first, the only in all my thousands of years. So simple: to be a man again, to hold you as one, just like this.”

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his wordlessly. Without a murmur or a sound, face-to-face like that, she skimmed her hands lower along his body—feeling his human hips, his upper thighs . . . his buttocks. With every caress, every trailing touch, she made sure he understood her love for him, and also understood that, oh, she worshipped this gorgeous body of his, the one he’d been denied so long.

He moaned softly as she explored him, tensing as he released a slow, hot breath against her face.

She reached the end of the exploration when she slid her hands along the soles of his feet. Feet, not hooves. Such a personal thing, and probably the one that mattered to him most of all. So she was especially tender about it, massaging his soles with particular and slow care. He moaned again, a lower, more sated sound. Yes, having his feet back would undoubtedly be the most important thing of all to him.

“Oh, holy moly,” she sighed, sliding her arms about his waist. “And I thought I was in trouble when I loved you as a centaur.” She sighed again, even more dreamily. “You are . . . such a man. But how? How did you change form?”

“At the moment when the fire fully consumed me, I felt the last of my darkness burn up. It was gone, then . . . because of my love for you. I think,” he said quietly, “that Ares’s curse, it was always tied to the darkness in me. Ares’s evil . . . was held in place by my own wickedness.”

“You gave your life for me. Because you cared . . . and that broke the spell.” Sophie stroked his silky, thick hair, loving him more than she ever had. “It was a purely selfish act, and it got rid of that lingering darkness in you.”

“Not entirely true,” he said, pulling her into his arms to kiss her. “I laid down my life because I love you, Sophie. It’s your love that saved me.”

“I do love you, Sable,” she held him close, tugging his head down to her breast. Close to her heart. “I could never tell you freely, not till now.” She pressed her eyes shut, remembering that vision from months ago. “When I told you that I’d seen our future—and that you’d do anything for me to love you back? I left out one part. That even then, I knew you were the love of my life.”

“I will have to work doubly hard to keep you out of trouble now,” he laughed softly, playing with her curls. “Because you can lead me anywhere . . . into bars for cocktails, onto boats for sailing . . . even an occasional hardware store. Think of all the trouble you might find, now that you know I can follow you?”

“You know what I want?” She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. “I want to go to a diner with you. Just sit down, order a cup of coffee and have Sunday brunch. Normal people, doing normal things. We’ll even read the paper!”

He got a funny, sideways grin on his face. “Did you see into my dreams with that one?”

She shook her head. “Honest? It just feels right. To have you in my life, all parts of it now. Hey! We really can go to AT&T. The world’s gonna become three-dimensional now that we can text. You’ll hate it, of course, because it’s just another opportunity for me to talk too much. Oh, everything’s going to change and be so much more fun now that you’re human—not that you weren’t fun before, although fun . . . well, that’s not exactly the right word for it. You were just . . . everywhere. In my heart, my mind, my life, my way . . .” Then she started to laugh. “But can I admit one thing? And don’t kill me, because you’re gonna want to . . . but I’m going to miss your tail switching whenever you get mad.”

He scowled at her, cranking his black eyebrows down. “You impossible, addle-brained, danger-mongering human”—he rolled her onto the grass, pinning her—“are the best woman in the world to me. And I love you, even without my tail and hooves.”

Leo felt exhausted, but for once, not because he was older—because he’d just led a legion of demons and immortals against one of the vilest gods ever to live. But he wasn’t so tired, of course, that he wasn’t ready to finally have some alone time with his fiancée. She had followed him inside the castle, her jeans and T-shirt covered in dirt and mud. Now that they were alone in his chambers, she looked herself again, back to her Goth girl fashion and her punked out hair that turned him on so much.

“Come, my queen-to-be,” he fairly growled at her. Seizing her hand, he led her right into his royal chambers. He still wore his armor from the battle, and felt a lumbering oaf in his breastplate and greaves as he turned to close the door. She was as nubile and dewy-eyed as she’d been before the recent events, certainly no more than eighteen—not by outward appearances. And as he caught sight of himself in the looking glass over his dresser, he was pleased to see that his appearance truly had been restored—he was now an “Old Man” of thirty-five. No more, no less, not by visual estimation.

She worked at the straps of his breastplate, her nimble fingers doing quick work with the restraints. It was like that very first time when she’d helped him out of his armor, and he’d pulled her right down onto his lap. He’d hardly been able to breathe, and on impulse, had kissed her, his beautiful, mysterious Oracle. He’d not even known her name then, nor that she was daughter to Zeus! How far they had come since then, how well they’d come to know each other.

And yet, at this moment, as she released him from the brass breastplate, opening it along the hinge, he felt the old, uncomfortable shyness return. Once again, he was the unruly bull, longing to clutch a wee butterfly to his chest—or at the very least, the Old Man wanting to take the youthful fairy princess to bed.

He told her in exaggerated, mock concern, “I am still too old for you, even with my proper age restored.” He had to wrestle away his smile in an effort to appear chastening. “Thirty-five to your dewy-eyed eighteen.”

“Are you being shy with me? After everything we’ve experienced together?” She gave him an incredulous look as he discarded his armor, laying it on the wooden floor beside the mammoth bed. A king’s bed . . . that had not yet held a queen. Not until this night. “Leo, we’re lovers now, and we’re going to marry soon . . . why ever would you be reticent with me now?”

He rubbed his beard, searching for the best way to explain his ludicrous hesitation. “I find that . . . I find that with our status quo restored . . .” He reached for the words; they seemed to evade him like a tricky enemy. He tried again. “Daphne, the thing of it is, with the prospect of bedding you here, in my own chambers—in my very big and until recently, most empty bed . . .” He sighed, meeting her gaze honestly. “I’m obviously a bit tongue-tied with you, once again.”

She reached upward, cupping his bearded face. She forced him to look down into her liquid, pale eyes. “Can I tell you a secret, Leo, my darling?”

“Do we have any remaining secrets between us?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I think, should we investigate the facts of my birth . . . that I’m actually a little bit older than you.” She gave him an impish look. “But I was happy for you to live with your delusions until recently. We women have our own vanity, too, you know. I only tell you now so that you’ll be clear about one thing: you may be the lion, but I am the cougar in this particular relationship.”

“You little devil, you,” he said, catching her by the nape. “You never told me.”

“You always assumed! You of all people know that appearances can be most deceiving—especially when it comes to Olympian facts and curses and such.”

He cradled the back of her head, angling her face upward. “I think you should be punished.” He planned to absolutely ravage her with his mouth—the best possible punishment for the most beautiful woman he’d ever held in his arms.

“But there’s another secret,” she told him, eyes sparkling.

He gave her a first kiss, just a brushing of his lips against hers. “Umm?”

“You think you’re unattractive—but every woman who knows you, myself most of all, thinks that you’re drop-dead, insanely . . . wickedly handsome. In your own unique way.”

His face suddenly burned beneath his beard. “You love me, that’s all.”

“Uh, no. Sorry, my lord. Why do you think Sophie blushes around you all the time? Have you not seen the way Emma, even at nine months pregnant, would do the same?” Daphne pulled him down to finish the kiss. “I plan to make you understand how desirable and hot you are.”

Apparently, Leo realized, she meant to start by kissing him right in the center of his hooked, once-broken nose.

If this was her method, to worship his imperfections, he couldn’t help smiling as he thought of the long, thin scar right across the lowest part of his belly. Because, you know, one thing would naturally lead down to another.

Leo seized hold of her hand, grinning like a prize stud. “Come, my lady, let us shower.”

The darkness was gone, the evil night done; still, Leo wanted to wash them both clean—all the way. And then, only then, he planned to take Daphne into that regal bed, and in all the ways that really counted . . . make her his queen.

Epilogue

Leo scooped up tiny Angela, hoisting his daughter atop his shoulders. “Daddy’s taking you to a picnic,” he told her as they started a rolling walk from the main house out to the peach orchard in the side pasture.

His three-year-old daughter giggled, clamping her small hands atop his head. She often squealed and laughed in unbridled delight, her life so much easier than anything he and Daphne had known as children. No war, no harsh training, and certainly no lack of loving parents, just safety and nurture, in the bosom of a very large, extended—and, yes, boisterous—family.

Life here in Savannah was heaven on earth for his baby girl: fishing with Uncle Mason, boating with Aunt Emma, horseback riding with Uncle River, baking with Aunt Shay. Leo had prayed hard for this dream, but it was more than he’d ever pictured in his most private hopes.

He took careful steps toward the peach grove in the distance, excited about the day with his warriors and friends, but treasuring this brief moment. For now, he was just Daddy, with wee Angela all to himself.

Catching sight of the gathering ahead, he said, “Do you remember last year’s celebration? Your mama knows how to plan a party, little girl, let me tell you. I can only imagine what your sixteenth birthday will be like.”

Angela giggled, pulling on his curly hair. “Mama’s good at parties!” The words came out with a soft twang, probably because she was so excited.

He grinned, as he often did, when he heard his baby girl’s Southern accent. It just couldn’t be helped, not with the bevy of strong Southern women who were in her life. There was Emma, with her lilting, sophisticated accent, and Shay with her less subtle one. And then Sophie, of course, whose drawl was most pronounced of all, as she chattered away about almost anything that interested her—particularly her children and her beloved husband, the once hot-blooded Djinn whom she’d managed to tame.

“Daddy, when we gonna have the picnic?” Angela popped him on the forehead. “I’m hungry.”

Leo laughed, thinking about today’s honored guest. “You can count on your uncle Apollo for a very fine spread.”

“Apollo?” She released a downright gleeful giggle. “Oh, he’s got the yummiest food of all.”

Leo gave her spindly legs a squeeze. “Well, baby doll, he’s catering the whole affair. But nobody’s told me exactly what we’ll be having.”

One small hand came over his right eye. “It’s a surprise, Daddy!”

He grinned like a fool; his entire life was a surprise, the most wonderful blessing from the Highest God of all. The answer to every prayer he’d murmured over the years—all of those heartfelt entreaties had come to pass, and tenfold. No wonder they’d easily arrived at the name Angela for their daughter. Heavenly messenger.

Ahead in the grove, everyone else had gathered already. Children ran to the far end, weaving between peach trees as they chased each other. Emma and River’s twin boys were biggest of all, going on eight years old now, but Sophie and Sable’s eldest daughter, Leah, with her coltish long legs and natural speed was never far behind.

From slightly down the slope, Sable appeared, calling out to them. “Hey, Leo! Your wife sent me to find you.”

Not King Leonidas, or even just Leonidas, but the very familiar and friendly . . . Leo. He smiled, thinking how far he and the Djinn had come. The two of them, once sworn enemies, were unexpectedly like brothers now. Although it had been inevitable, really, as close as their wives had become, truly best friends.

“Uncle Sable!” Angela clapped her hands, practically bouncing atop Leo’s broad shoulders the moment she spotted him.

The Djinn absolutely beamed at her; he had a huge soft spot for Angela in particular and little girls in general—especially as the father of two daughters himself, with a third on the way. Ari jokingly referred to Sable as the “little babe magnet,” and he was only half teasing. Sable was like a guileless pied piper, and none of their kids could ever get enough of him. Daphne’s theory was that Sable, once so dark, was now more pure-hearted than the lot of them—Spartans and humans alike. She believed he’d been purified in that fire on the moors, and that children, with their natural innocence and sweetness, sensed that somehow.

Sable walked up to them, already extending his arms toward tiny Angela. “My Angelina,” he said, and Leo handed her down into his waiting hands. Sable hoisted her atop his own shoulders and fell into step beside Leo.

“Everyone’s here,” Sable said as they ambled toward the orchard. “Your wife’s outdone herself, of course.”

Leo laughed. “She certainly ‘hired’ the best caterer in the business.”

Sable cut his eyes at him. “Watch yourself this year, Old Man. I seem to recall seeing you on the grass after last year’s fiesta, wiped out and snoring.” Sable patted Leo on the stomach affectionately. “It took you a month to work off all those puddings.”

“He serves a damned good spread, that god,” Leo said sheepishly. “But it’s not the sort of food I generally eat.”

“Ah, the hardship, Leo, the hardship. Going without your usual rations of blood pudding, forgoing the water in your wine,” Sable said in a grave tone. “But I’m sure you’ll manage to indulge today for the sake of group morale. Button up and sacrifice just this one day a year, like any good leader.”

“I indulge at Christmas, as well, you damned Djinn.” Leo folded both arms over his chest in mock indignation. “And Sophie makes sure none of us shortchange the Fourth of July.” He thought for a moment. “Jamie’s a particular fan of New Year’s Day celebrations, and I can’t let him down then.”

Sable gave him a sideways grin. “Undisciplined and reckless, that’s what I’d call that sort of behavior. Perhaps I should apply for kingship in your stead? Your poor warriors must be faltering under such sloppy leadership.”

Leo laughed. “Last I checked, you are one of my warriors.”

“My point precisely.”

“Uncle Sable, don’t be mean to Daddy!” Angela squeezed her arms around the Djinn’s neck. “Hey, Aunt Sophie says we’re gonna play crochet. In the grove . . . after lunch.”

Leo burst out laughing. “Croquet, honeybee. It’s a lawn game.”

Angela chewed on her lip. “Uh-uh. Aunt Sophie does crochet. All the pretty blankets. She made me one, Daddy.”

Leo decided that arguing with three-year-old princesses was an exercise in futility, and that if his daughter wanted to, she could play “crochet” all afternoon.

“The celebration gets bigger every year.” Sable nodded toward their friends. Billowing silks and balloons filled the grove, and wine casks were lined up beside the picnic tables.

“That’s because with every year, we grow more grateful . . . as our blessings multiply, so do our families. There’s much to celebrate, indeed.” Leo watched Sophie as she now approached. She plodded her way up the slight incline, huffing and puffing because of how pregnant she was. Only six weeks left, but she looked ready to deliver that baby girl any moment.

Sable beamed at his wife, love shining unabashedly in his eyes. He’d recently confessed to Leo that he wanted several more children beyond even this one—or at the very least, he wouldn’t give up on siring a son.

“Gods of Olympus,” Sable muttered, adoring eyes riveted on Sophie, “is there any more beautiful female than mine? Why ever did she fall for the likes of me?” It was a rhetorical question, but the humility wasn’t a put-on.

It occurred to Leo that he’d never known any person to change quite so thoroughly, nor quite so honorably, as the male walking beside him.

“I’m proud of you, Sable,” Leo told him quietly. “And I’m proud to call you friend . . . and brother.”

The Djinn acted as if he hadn’t heard, waving at Sophie and bouncing little Angela on his shoulders. But a telltale blush hit Sable’s face, and his light blue eyes grew bright.

If he’d been going to reply—which he probably hadn’t been—Angela cut him off. “Lots of balloons,” she cried excitedly, squeezing the top of Sable’s head. “Red, red, red . . . all red.”

Leo reached up and patted one chubby leg. “Crimson, baby girl. Crimson for Spartans.”

Sable explained. “We’re celebrating, Angelina.” His voice dropped low, becoming reverential. “Every April, we mark this occasion, all of us together. It’s our Liberation Day, the time when we remember how we finally gained our freedom.”

“Freedom?” Angela squirmed atop him. Leaning down along the top of his head, she flattened both her tiny hands against his cheeks. “But what is that?”

The Djinn recaptured her hands, holding her securely atop his shoulders, and began the tale. “Once, a very, very long time ago, there was a brave and noble king—”

“My daddy!” Angela squealed.

Sable nodded solemnly, picking up his pace as Sophie neared. “Yes, and he was a good king, fair to all . . . but there was a wicked enemy. Several, in fact . . .”

Leo fell behind, loving how protected his daughter was atop Sable’s shoulders. Anyone could change, and the Djinn was evidence of that. Once the man had been that enemy in the story, now he was a brother. Leo watched as Sophie took Sable’s hand, and they strolled with Angela toward the grove.

And then, Leo walked alone, hungry to find Daphne and lay with her in the warm, spring sun, in the open grass where they often secretly made love beneath the canopy of peach trees. He’d planted them all those years ago, because she smelled like peaches, and he missed her. He’d hoped the scent of the grove would ease his loneliness for her. These days, the thick orchard of trees, which had grown with supernatural swiftness, reminded him of sweet times, the best times.

Days like this one, shared with his wife and the people he loved.

The smell of peaches was the smell of home.

The party was in full swing now, Apollo having inaugurated Liberation Day with a raised flagon of wine to all, and by playing a triumphant, whimsical piece on his lyre. Then, once finished, he’d proclaimed himself famished—and dared Daphne to actually eat more than a few grains of rice this year.

She’d leaned up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Last year, my dear Lord Apollo,” she chastised, “I gained five pounds in one afternoon thanks to you.”

He gave her a mock bow. “Then try to gain another this year, my sprite of a Daughter.”

So she’d filled her plate, indulging the bighearted god’s wishes. She’d come to realize that Apollo used rich and wonderful delicacies as a kind of love language; it was his way of doting on those he cared about.

He reclined in the grass beside her now, as bulky as ever, perhaps even more so. But that didn’t stop him from nibbling on a fourth of Shay’s pimento cheese sandwiches. “I’ll admit, I have a weak spot for this Southern cuisine.” He gestured with the sandwich. “I must tell my cook to add this recipe to our daily menu on Olympus.”

“You know, Apollo,” Daphne said, poking him in the belly, “it hardly seems fair that you’re barely overweight at all. It’s almost all muscle you carry.”

He gave her a sly wink. “There are some god’s mysteries that I won’t answer for you, Daphne love. Although . . .” Apollo nodded next to them, where Nikos was half-asleep, laid out in the grass with his dark head in Mace’s lap. “I’ll undoubtedly be doing the same as that Spartan in just a bit, what with the warm afternoon and the copious portions of grand food I just consumed.”

Mason was eating from a plate beside them, idly stroking Nik’s long hair and chatting with Jamie as he did so. True to Nik’s marriage proposal in that dark cell so many years ago, the couple had married not long after, down by the river behind Mason’s family home. Just like Nikos had envisioned, he’d worn his formal Spartan armor, crimson cloak draped proudly across his shoulders, with Mason beside him in his crisp, USMC dress blues.

It was as beautiful a wedding ceremony as any Daphne had ever witnessed, her own with Leo included. When both men had spoken briefly about their dead lovers, including them in the occasion, there hadn’t been a dry eye among those gathered. Love was eternal, but it also lived long after death, finding new ways to grow and blossom, even the most unexpected ones.

Staring at Nik and Mason now, Daphne’s heart constricted. The only sadness in their lives was how desperately they wanted children; so far, they’d been unable to successfully adopt because any background check into Nik’s past threw up ten thousand red flags. But as a group—and without Nik or Mace’s knowledge—the females had been privately plotting, talking about one of the Daughters stepping forward to offer surrogacy. One female in particular.

Daphne’s eyes drifted to Shay and she smiled conspiratorially. Yes, Shayanna Angel loved her brother Mason, and would do almost anything to secure his happiness. Even if it took a solid nine months to accomplish.

Angela scrambled up onto Daphne’s lap, nearly knocking over her lunch plate. The little girl had picked a dandelion and presented it like the most prized treasure. “Here, Mama!”

Daphne rubbed it across Angela’s chin. “Careful, you might turn yellow, buttercup.”

Leo rose then, walking to the middle of the orchard, to the center of where everyone was picnicking. He placed both hands behind his back, his stance and demeanor as regal as it had ever been.

Daphne lifted fingertips to her lips. “Daddy’s about to talk to everyone,” she explained, as the group grew hushed.

Angela cuddled close and giggled. “Funny.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

Angela tucked her knees over Daphne’s cradling arms. “ ’ Cause Daddy’s a good talker, but he doesn’t like to.”

Her little girl grinned up at her, her eyes twinkling, the private joke a shared moment between them. Leonidas didn’t speak nearly as much as the rest of them, but whenever he did, it was always powerful. Kind. Important. Tender.

Angela nodded seriously, continuing, “Daddy’s really good at quiet time.”

Dark curls spiraled atop her little girl’s head, and Daphne thought of Apollo’s words so many years ago. That Leo’s and her sons would look like the god; they’d had no sons, not yet. But there was so much magic in this one child’s soul, a universe full of mystery. It had nothing to do with Olympus or that her mother was a demigoddess, or her father an immortal.

But it had everything to do with how very, truly loved she was—and how much her mama and daddy loved each other.

“Another year has come,” Leo began. “Another year where we gather here, among family and friends. And remember . . . how far we’ve come. The twisting, harrowing paths that led to this point, we honor and recognize.” Leo glanced among each of them, taking his time. “The successes, the failures, the losses of comrades in years gone by. And, of course, today we remember the many, many blessings in our lives. Fate and the Highest have smiled upon us, and I am grateful for you all.” He fell silent, staring upward at the sky for a moment. It was such a familiar Leo gesture, a quiet pause while he gathered his thoughts. “But, most of all,” he said fiercely, returning his gaze to the group. “Let us never cease to be thankful for our freedom. What that word means, bought by the blood and history and time we share between us.”

As he continued, Daphne glanced around the grove. She saw Ajax and Shay, nestled together against the base of a peach tree. Sable leaned against the same big tree, his daughter Leah upon his lap, and he listened intently to Leo’s words. Sophie had managed to sit down beside him, pregnant and all, and was furiously crocheting a pair of baby booties in bright pink.

The rhythms of their life, the peace of it, was in every direction Daphne looked. Touching her own belly, she thought of the tiny child already growing within, one she’d not yet even told Leo about. She had been waiting until today. Liberation Day. The perfect moment to celebrate bringing another rare and beautiful life into the world. Perhaps he—the baby was definitely a boy, she felt it with her Oracle’s gift—would look like Leo, and Apollo, too, of course.

“The future is ours!” Leo declared, to a resounding cheer of applause. “We own it now, and are owned by no man”—he glanced at River significantly—“and by no god. Anything is possible, and our path wide and long. The future . . . a new beginning, every day.”

Leo finished, and as he concluded with wise words about unity and brotherhood and alliances, his gaze kept flicking back to her. She smiled, nodding him on.

Yes, any future was possible, any path an option. So long as she walked into the centuries and years with Leo by her side, forever thirty-five and hers—their—children with them, she would welcome any adventure or battle that came.

For one thing was true, on this Liberation Day and every one to come: The future, however it might be written, was theirs to own.

Read on for an excerpt

from Deidre Knight’s

RED FIRE

A GODS OF MIDNIGHT NOVEL

Available from Signet Eclipse.

Coffee. Nectar of the gods. Or at least it should be, if Ajax had any say in the matter. Which he clearly didn’t.

Strike me down for that, why don’t you? he challenged with a glance at the granite sky overhead. Come on and fight me.

No arrows or lightning bolts scorched the sidewalk café, and slowly Jax lowered his gaze.

Too bad, he thought with a dark laugh, sipping his coffee. Quite the cure when you are nursing a pounding hangover. Sure, it was a taste that he’d acquired in modern times, this era of coffee shops and triple-mocha everything, but he didn’t mind being modern on occasion. In fact, he relished it, much to his brothers’ chagrin.

He’d lumbered in heavy armor, worn a cravat when fashion had required it, had even donned a kilt for about a century. So drinking a bit of women’s coffee hardly qualified him as an impostor, he rationalized, and took another sip.

You have to live in the era where you find yourself. It was his number one rule, and so far it hadn’t misled him on his winding passage through the corridors of time.

The King’s Road bustled, shoppers from nearby Sloane Square hurrying home, with countless others making their way back toward the tube. He registered the foot traffic, the creeping chill of twilight that was so common for London in mid-April, the throngs pulsing and pushing their way past his table. And he noted every detail without once glancing up from his copy of the Evening Standard. No Independent for him. He remained a simple man to the core; it didn’t matter if his well-heeled feet now walked hard pavement and not the fields of ancient Greece.

Scanning the paper’s headlines, he could hardly focus. There was too much noise coming at him, an overload of sensory detail in every direction. And it wasn’t the usual human clamor, like car horns or rap music. No, it was the mental din that hounded Jax year after year, century after century, growing louder every day. Lately he’d been choking on it, nearly drowning beneath the mental voices of London’s entire population.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Kalias. Jax rolled his eyes as his big brother slid into the seat beside him. No invitation was ever necessary for the hulking warrior; he just took what he wanted and possessed every inch of land he walked or occupied.

“You don’t know jack about what troubles me,” Ajax answered coolly, his clipped British accent sounding particularly nasty. One good reason for having affected it during this recent London venture.

“I know that you’ve got a job to do, Brother.” Kalias’s own accent remained unchanged despite almost a century in the British Isles, as ancient and authentic as the Greek blood that pulsed through their veins.

“I know my place, and I do my work.” Ajax gazed up at his eldest brother with a cutting glare. It was like staring into a mirror: the olive skin, the long, aquiline nose, the black hair. Except Kalias wore his own hair buzzed short, military-style, while Jax kept his long and loose, free, as he had in the olden days.

Kalias gestured toward the half-consumed cappuccino. “It’s five o’clock. Surprised to see that’s not Scotch you’re drinking.”

“I only woke an hour ago,” Ajax replied, taking another lazy sip. “Even I have my standards.”

His brother leaned closer. “So the only code you’re still clinging to pertains to the satisfaction of your basest desires. Very commendable, Jax.”

Ajax rolled his eyes. “Oh, bloody hell. When you put it that way”—he waved to the server, a leggy Polish blonde—“who can resist?” Then, turning to the waitress, he said, “Irish coffee, darling.” She smiled back eagerly and he added, “A double, and heavy on the Irish.”

Kalias leaned in toward him. “You ignored our king’s summoning. Twice.”

Leonidas. Their once and future general. Their commander for eternity.

“The Old Man told you that?” Ajax ran a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. Silky as midnight, that was how his most recent lover had described it. They’d spent hours in that well-appointed Mayfair hotel room having sweaty, wall-bumping sex. Once done, she’d called him a god—and he’d answered by swiping a hand across her face, clearing every memory of the dark event from her mind.

He kept his gaze down, avoiding his brother’s blazing, angry one. If Kalias knew that he’d taken to sleeping with mortal women in his warrior form, oh, there’d be hell to pay—and straight to Hades he’d go, no doubt about that.

And then there was the matter of Ares. Always out there, hovering on his eternal horizon like a sky full of enemy arrows.

Kalias clasped his shoulder. “So, baby brother, don’t you want to know what Leonidas asks of you?”

“An assignment, no doubt.”

“Not just any assignment.” Kalias settled back in his chair, sipping from Jax’s own glass of water without permission. “The Oracle calls you.”

“Bollocks to that woman and her scheming.” Ajax muttered a few choice vulgarities, thinking of the hidden prophetess and her affection for him. Too bad he liked her so damned much—and called her a friend.

He had known her, literally, for thousands of years. Back when the Spartans were originally transformed at the River Styx, the young, black-haired beauty had been assigned to the warriors as their guide. She was the Oracle of Delphi, the youngest and purest prophetess of Apollo’s Oracles. Her prophecies assisted them in all their missions, but only Ajax was able to hear or see her.

“Something dire is afoot, or she wouldn’t be asking for you.” Kalias scrubbed a palm over his spiking hair.

“Did you tell her I’d retired from the game?”

Kalias flashed him an impatient glance. “Since you’re the only one who can hear the Oracle, no, I did not tell her that you’re on unofficial—and unauthorized, I might add—leave.”

“Well, if I stay gone a bit longer, perhaps she’ll cozy right up to you, Brother. She’s quite the looker; trust me on that.”

She had often determined how they drew their strength, their very life source, with her vague predictions. The supernatural law that she would be their guide in all things had never made sense, not from the beginning of their pledge more than twenty centuries ago. Still, immortal vows were lasting vows, and that had been one of Ares’ rules at the outset of their agreement.

Kalias eyed him hard for a long moment, then continued in ancient Greek: “Her words maintain our warrior unity, give us needed direction. Perhaps I should mention Thermopylae . . . Gettysburg . . . Berlin . . . Omaha Beach. Do you want me to go on?”

“Names, nothing more.”

“Oh, keep telling yourself that. But we share the same memories of battles waged. Of comrades lost.” Kalias sighed, his eyes filling with dark recollections. “If you won’t answer our Oracle, and you refuse our king’s summons, then try this on for size, little brother,” he said, dropping back into English. “You do remember the name Shayanna Angel?”

“Shay,” Ajax corrected hoarsely, his entire body jolting in reaction to the familiar name. Along his back, a compulsive sensation began, a ripple of power. That itchy-fingered probing of his true nature. “She goes by Shay.” The burning in his shoulders spread, began to tear across his spine, threatening to burst forth from beneath his skin.

“Calm down,” his brother cautioned, apparently seeing his darker temperament expose itself.

Ajax nodded, swallowing, and surreptitiously slid his palm over the center of his tailored slacks, where a swelling hard-on had quickly formed. It was impossible to think of Shay Angel and not feel that kind of achy, thick need—and he’d never met her or even glimpsed her. In fact, her name was just one out of many. But what the Oracle had said of the woman was far more than a simple name, and whenever he recalled the prophecy about what the promised human would mean to him, he couldn’t help but react—physically and otherwise.

“You shouldn’t talk to me about Shay out here on the street—you know better.”

“I’d have figured that more than two thousand years would be plenty of time for you to master your other nature.”

“Not when it comes to that little minx of a mortal.” Ajax groaned, shifting in his chair.

“You have no idea who she even is.” Eyebrows like winged midnight furrowed, Kalias’s fury barely contained. “So I shall repeat—calm down.”

Ajax blew out a breath, drew another. He crossed one expensive Italian loafer over his knee, watched a black taxi drive by. At last he observed, “You’re right. This isn’t about some murky future that was once foretold to me; it’s about my duties.”

“Well, I’m glad you concur with me, little brother.” Kalias leaned back in his chair, toying with a Zippo lighter that he’d retrieved from his hip pocket.

“Why must you do that? Honestly?”

“Do what?” His brother extended the lighter questioningly, his face a mask of pure innocence.

“Not the lighter, you bastard. Why must you remind me—constantly, I might add—of our birth order?”

“Perhaps because it is my only means of containing you.” Kalias’s mouth turned up at the corners in a subtle grin of triumph.

“You won’t ever contain me,” Ajax shot back, staring at the darkening sky overhead. A perfect evening for flight, for soaring above the clouds, banking like the bird of prey that he was. If this conversation didn’t right itself, then he would take matters into his own hands—or wings, as the case would be. He would shape-shift and leave his obnoxious and condescending eldest brother here on the street and rise to the very heavens.

“When our king requires your presence, Ajax, you comply. Immortality doesn’t grant you the privilege of impudence, not with Leonidas.”

“And with you?”

His brother fixed his attention on the Zippo, flicking it open and closed. “I’m not sure you ever respected me.”

“Oh, please,” Jax snarled. “Save the sorry guilt trips for Aristos. At least he still buys them occasionally.”

Ari kept himself positioned between the two of them like the rocky pass that had once determined their battle at the Hot Gates. Their middle brother’s way was always peaceful, like a trench drawn between two enemy sides.

Kalias glanced at the busy street, seeming to gather his thoughts. When he turned back to face Ajax, his expression was naked, open. “I don’t understand what happened to you over these many centuries. What went wrong? You were our strongest. Our bravest. The very best of us.”

Something savage broke loose inside of Ajax, the millennia peeling away as if time had never existed. He lunged forward, grabbing his brother’s shirt sleeve. “ ‘May eternity’s arms hold you,’ ” he pronounced coldly, repeating Ares’ words from that August day so long ago. “It was a curse, not a blessing, dear brother. We’re no better off than the slaves we once kept.”

Kalias made a grunting sound of disapproval, but Ajax blustered on. “Haven’t you ever looked at yourself in the mirror while transformed? At the blackness of your wings? At your raptor’s hands, the twisting talons? We are Ares’ own vile playthings, Kalias, and I am done—done dancing to his battle calls.”

That was why he focused on the sex, the lusty, driven need to bed human women in his transformed body. It made him feel less dirty, less abominable. That they could worship his wings, caress his curling claws—well, it was the only redemption he knew anymore. Unless he nurtured the name of his supposed and future beloved—Shay Angel. He’d never sought her out, never tried to discern which century she might live in. That it might be this current epoch, well, it wasn’t something he was ready to entertain. And yet . . .

“At Thermopylae, no one wanted to win more than you did; no man possessed a greater thirst for victory,” his brother pressed. “What happened to the warrior who helped beat back four hundred thousand Persians in just three days?” Kalias shook his head. “You have the greatest calling—the most important one. You can drink yourself into oblivion, little brother, but your destiny won’t be denied.”

“It’s not a destiny,” Ajax answered grimly. “It was a vow.”

For the first time during the conversation, Kalias beamed, his voice becoming softer. “And shall I remind you that you have always been a man of your word?”

And to that, well, there wasn’t a damned thing that Ajax could possibly say in rebuttal.

“As I thought,” Kalias finally murmured. “So, you will answer Leonidas’s summoning. You will visit our Oracle and learn what words she has for us, the Spartan cadre.”

“So why mention Shay Angel now?” Ajax persisted. “And why would the Oracle and the gods themselves have deemed her my mate? Whatever time she exists in, that’s what this entire conversation is really about. We both know it.”

Kalias’s expression transformed, morphing into a satisfied, if not devious grin. “That much is simple. Because”— he leaned much closer—“she’s the only one who might guide you back from this eternal abyss that threatens to destroy you. If only you should finally meet her.”

Jax left Kalias sitting in the sidewalk café with a quickly muttered, “I’ll do it,” and excused himself. Now, standing in the men’s restroom, he carefully tugged his cashmere sweater over his head—the last thing he wanted was to shred one of his favorite pieces of clothing when his wings unfurled. Tying the sleeves about his waist, he hoped for the best. Traveling the heavens in his Bond Street finest wasn’t his idea of great timing, but it was better just to get the visit to King Leo over and done with. Talisao, he thought, brushing nonexistent dirt off his hands. Finished.

With a final tug on the ivory sweater’s sleeves—and a last check of the restroom door’s lock—Jax stood back and gathered his energy. He folded his hands over his bare chest, let his eyes drift shut, and allowed the transformation to begin. Sometimes fast, sometimes a slow burn, the transition always started with a tingling sensation along his spine. Physically, it was one part pure ecstasy, another sharp pain, yet he never felt more whole than at this precise moment.

Pretty bloody ironic, he thought, as the first feather began to pierce through his warm skin. For someone who despised his calling as a warrior protector, didn’t it just blast all that he loved to shape-shift so damned much?

Despite his complaining to Kalias earlier, he could hardly imagine life without his true nature. He was a hawk. A guardian. A midnight angel of sorts, charged with one thing: to watch mankind and protect it from the powers of darkness and aggression. Yeah, destiny was one son of a bitch. As if in answer, his wings began to break through, the rustling sound of feathers quietly announcing that his change was accelerating, overtaking his human body. Supernatural essence was replacing his everyday guise of mortal man.

He braced both hands against the rim of the sink. Hunching forward, he gasped and, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, watched his dark eyes turn silver. Felt the blaze between his shoulder blades intensify.

Briefly he thought of his servant and friend, River Kassandros. The two of them had been specially linked for warfare by Ares on that long-ago day. Unlike the other warriors who drank from the River Styx, Kassandros was fully submerged into the fiery waters and, transformed into a gleaming silver sword, made to serve Ajax in immortality as he had in life. Ares had proclaimed him the greatest weapon he ever created.

From that moment thousands of years past, the warrior had been called River because he was forged in the flowing waters of the Styx itself. He could shift from his human form to that of any weapon that Ajax required, and in that mode River would contain a powerful ability to kill, but if necessary, also to heal.

Ajax’s right hand clenched as he recalled the feel of River in his grasp, their easy union whenever his servant was transformed into the blazing silver sword that was his preferred weapon whenever Ajax summoned him. It had been nearly a year since he’d called forth River for battle; he wondered if his powerful friend had felt useless during these months of Ajax’s own rebellion. The thought brought an avalanche of guilt with it. He had abandoned and let down every one of his six fellow immortals in the past year—especially in the past few months.

With a growl, he shook off the heavy remorse. “I am Spartan,” he murmured under his breath. “There is no pain. I do not succumb to human weakness.”

As if in answer to the firm assertions, his wings surged forth in a powerful display, black feathers spreading wide behind him. Beyond the restroom door he could hear the clank of plates and silverware. Dozens of humans were taking their supper, having their wine. But for Jax, there was no escaping his fate: He was a winged hawk protector, duty-bound to serve mankind. To protect them above all else; to stand down the evil forces that forever whispered in the darkness. This had been his one true calling since the day he’d bound himself to Ares.

What a shame that his freedom was also his bondage: that to be truly liberated meant he was a slave for all time.

ALSO BY DEIDRE KNIGHT

Gods of Midnight

Red Demon

Red Fire

Red Kiss

The Midnight Warriors

Parallel Attraction

Parallel Heat

Parallel Seduction

Parallel Desire

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Teaser chapter