Authors: Deidre Knight
Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary
Red Mortal (37 page)
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 . . .”
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
.”
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.”
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.
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?”
“What’s that?”
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