Red Mortal (19 page)

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Authors: Deidre Knight

Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary

BOOK: Red Mortal
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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
 
S
ophie 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.

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