Red Mortal (22 page)
Authors: Deidre Knight
Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary
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.
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.
. 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.
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