Red Mortal (8 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
“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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
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?
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.”
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.”
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
L
eonidas 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.
eonidas 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.
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.
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