Red Mortal (25 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
“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.
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.
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.
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
L
eo 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.
eo 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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
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!”
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
E
ros 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.
ros 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.
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