Aphrodite's War

by Donna Milward

  “Sure,” Her shoulders slacked at having something else to dwell on. “Lead the way.”

  They went back through the living room and up a flight of stairs. “This is the bathroom,” Ranjan said, waving to his right. “To the left is my room. This is my office.” He opened the middle door to a simple work area. The waning sunlight exposed bookshelves full of law textbooks on one side while a glass desk dominated the other. Several photos adorned the walls. Sarah recognized Ranjan’s sister, nephews, and parents among them.

  He sat down at the tweed-covered chair and switched on the computer. He pulled up a stool for her while the monitor went from blue to a screen saver depicting a view of planet earth from space.

  “Have a seat.” She waited beside him while he typed in the University of Alberta’s home page. He spoke of the campus, scholarships and tuition, but Sarah found it hard to concentrate.

  Ranjan’s cologne mixed with the musk of a long day in the sun and his mother’s cooking. Her sights wandered to his neck. If she only leaned forward she could lick away the sweat.

  The monitor’s gleam sparkled in his eyes and hair. Sarah tried not to smile, but the butterflies in her stomach fought her efforts. He seemed unaware of her scrutiny as he babbled. She had no clue what he said. Didn’t care. She watched his lips form the words. He did a double take at her. “Sarah, are you even listening?” A blushing grin wormed across his features. He’d caught her leering.

  “Hmm? What were you saying again?” “I said we should get your transcripts as soon as…” Ranjan’s sentence petered out. Sarah could stare into those chocolate wells for hours. She wanted to press her lips against his.

  What was he thinking right now? Ranjan closed the gap between them and kissed her. His mouth began a gentle dance, his tongue exploring. Sarah’s eyelids fluttered shut as she surrendered.

  Her hands laced into his coarse hair. He ran his mouth along her throat and she arched in pleasure. Her hardened nipples brushed his chest, making her whimper.

  Ranjan dug his hands into her buttocks. She spread her legs and he dragged her over his lap until his heat bulged against her sex. He slipped her shirt over her head. She caught a whiff of perfume and the faint odor of blood. It jolted her senses, sparking aggression. She rushed to devour him. She hungered. She wanted to sink her teeth into him, to claw his back and make him hers. Ranjan grasped her shoulders, pulling her back and biting her bare nipple. Sarah yelped, struggling. The more she writhed, the harder he clamped down.

  Sarah forced herself to calm and he rewarded her with tender suckling. He shifted to its twin, giving it the same treatment. Sarah exhaled in shaky bursts as the air chilled her sensitive tips.

  “Sarah.” Ranjan’s husky whisper demanded her attention. “Spend the night with me.” He bumped against her until his erection persuaded her. “Take me to your bed.” Ranjan lifted her with him as he left the office. He kicked open the bedroom door, letting it bounce off the wainscoting. He arranged her like a breakable doll on plush duvets the color of sapphires and whipped off her capris.

  Sarah imagined she must be lounging on a cloud as she sank into the soft covers. It was heaven to watch Ranjan shed his suit to reveal a taut brown physique and strong cock.

  He retrieved a foil square from a dresser drawer. He rolled the sheath over his member, stroking it into place with a throaty growl. In one stride he’d lunged to the bed and tore at her thong. It bit into her skin before snapping into a damp scrap of cotton. He sniffed it like an animal.

  Then he eased her thighs apart and dove into her wetness. She cried out as her nerves grew to full, tantalizing alert. She lurched, but he wrapped his arms around her legs and held tight, dipping and probing without mercy.

  Ranjan took his time, bringing her to the edge of orgasm. He used his fingers, his stubble, everything. Repeatedly. His composure infuriated her. She’d brace for the rush and he would stop teasing, only to begin again when the tension subsided.

  “Ran.” She couldn’t endure any more. Her swollen pussy couldn’t wait. “Don’t make me beg.”

  He grinned at her, a devilish expression. “You’re not enjoying this?” He knelt down and Sarah squirmed at his warm breath. Time to take matters into her own hands. Sarah gathered her strength, stretched forth, and spun Ranjan on his back. She didn’t have the patience to torture him in kind. She had desires to fulfill.

  She straddled him without hesitation, gasping as she lowered onto his thickness.

  “Mmmmm…” She rode him slowly, savoring the glide of each inch. His grunting was music.

  She had to come. She was more than ready. A scream built in her throat.

  Just as her wailing began, Ranjan sat up, squeezing her nether regions against his sac, grinding her clitoris into his pubic hair. “Oh please…” Guttural shrieks echoed. Hers, she realized, but she was no longer in control of her senses. Waves of pleasure bordered on pain.

  The glimmer remained in his eyes and she was hypnotized, unable to break the link between them. He guided her onto his cock again and again. Aftershocks of ecstasy coaxed more squeals from her lips as she slowed the pace.

  “Is that all you got, Sarah? Or do you want more?” She wasn’t sure she could handle more. Her limbs ached, her heart raced, her entire body quivered.

  He tossed her, bracing her legs over his shoulders. She moaned when another jarring ripple of bliss erupted with his penetration. As agonizing as his restraint had been, his insistence proved her undoing. She gathered handfuls of linen, trying to maintain a physical hold on sanity. Faster and faster he dragged her hips into his cock, panting until the slap of flesh against flesh drowned out her howls. He wouldn’t cease.

  One more orgasm claimed her, scarier than the last with its relentlessness. Above her Ranjan snarled his release. When the last of their shouts faded, Ranjan collapsed beside her. “That was fun.” Ranjan could barely speak. “Yeah. We should do it again.” “Definitely.” He sounded wicked and playful. “First thing tomorrow.”

  A moment later, Ranjan’s snoring dimmed Sarah’s euphoria. Amazing sex like that would have been perfect with a little pillow talk and cuddling.

  No matter. Let him sleep. After all, that was exhausting. Poor guy had a right to be tired.

  Sarah extended her abused muscles and went limp. She couldn’t wait to wake up to this incredible man in the morning.

  What should she make him for breakfast? She had no idea what he had in the fridge.

  Sarah mustered the energy to get out of bed. She was thirsty anyway. She tiptoed toward the kitchen, careful not to make a racket. Even so, she knocked her shin on an end table and stifled a curse. She massaged the new bruise and straightened.

  If she could just get there without bumping into anything else… A large hand clamped over her jaw. It stank of corpses. Don’t move, Strife.

  She tried to scream, but even though she strained to escape, she understood its futility. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. Don’t make a sound, Ares said. Or I’ll kill your new lover. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Cruel truth flashed before her eyes in a muddy blur. Sarah, the young woman new to Edmonton, never existed. She was Strife, goddess of discord, minion to Ares. Her story was a tale of perpetual viciousness that spanned centuries. The revelation brought disbelieving horror.

  I should not have placed my trust in you. Ares’ telepathic fury burned. You allowed this mortal to enchant you with honeyed words and promises like a love-struck fool. You consumed the food, did you not?

  She had. Ranjan invited her to dinner when she needed more information. What did that have to do with anything? The curry. The masala and turmeric… Ares spun her around to face him, crushing her arms in a painful grip. The whites of his eyes flared in contrast to his indigo skin, his beauty as terrible as it was confusing.

  Do you not see? They are a mystic race. The spices and herbs they eat give Indians the ability to see our kind. It gives them immunity against your spells. And you, stupid girl, partook and rendered yourself impotent. Do
you remember now who you are?

  Strife licked her lips, tasting a life that didn’t belong to her. The coconut rice and succulent chicken no longer lingered. In their place, the flavor of ashes.

  She peered into the eyes of her master, her tormentor. She smelled his musk of wine and blood and longed to crawl back to bed and listen to Ranjan’s heartbeat.

  Strife realized with a pang of loss how much she’d learned to care for him. Not just the incredible sex, but the kindness he’d demonstrated, the way he’d treated her with respect. Never before had a man cherished her as Ranjan did.

  A low growl from Ares distracted her. She erased all thoughts of her lover. She was in enough trouble without further aggravating the deity. What do you want, Master? She straightened despite his bruising handprints. What must I do?

  Get dressed. He released her and waved upstairs. Your human gave me an idea. We will go across the street to the Cross Cancer Institute. Strife obeyed without a backward glance. But what could possibly be at a disease research center that could be of use to him? How would he twist tools used for the good of mankind into machines of war?

  She crept to Ranjan’s room, wincing inwardly as the door groaned, but he continued to slumber. Strife plucked her rumpled clothing from the floor and dressed. Her thong lay draped over a quaint beaded lamp. Dislodging the tattered remains of her underwear might cause the glass fringe to jingle.

  She left it. Let Ranjan have a souvenir of their night of passion. She smiled, but her heart knew regret. She would never have his love. She didn’t dare return, even if he survived whatever plot Ares devised.

  Strife took a long last look at her human lover. His perfect skin shone in the moonlight, his sweaty locks plastered his brow like seaweed. His mouth tweaked upwards in his sleep and she wondered if he dreamed of her.

  So perfect for a mortal. It grieved her to leave him like this. Strife.

  Her master beckoned. She wanted to kiss Ranjan’s bronze cheek before departing but the risk might wake him or enrage Ares. She swallowed her sadness and tiptoed away, leaving the door ajar. Squealing hinges might thwart her exit.

  Ares waited beside the front door, still bathed in azure radiance. She understood that Ares was invisible, or should have been. Not that it mattered. The effects of the Indian cuisine made him blaze like a blue star in her vision. Strife wished dal nawabi and biryani affected all his powers, like his ability to intimidate her into committing his foul deeds.

  # # #

  Adrian felt like Superman. The shoes took some getting used to. He’d spent ten dizzying minutes somersaulting until he was able to straighten out and fly right. Fly right. He never thought he’d be attempting that in his lifetime. Jetpacks were a science-fiction fantasy; he couldn’t imagine himself even bungee jumping. But he streaked through the sky hundreds of meters up, a comet with a sword pointed in front of him like a stinger. The Human Mosquito.

  Adrian developed a deep appreciation for the helmet. He wasn’t cold. He smelled the dust and greenery in the air, but his eyes didn’t water from the wind. He watched towns roll by like shimmering lakes. Rivers meandered beneath him as ribbons through velvet trees.

  The sandals changed altitude and trajectory, causing his stomach to lurch. How long had he been airborne? Hermes’s footwear had done all the work, even the navigation, permitting Adrian to enjoy the trip so much he’d lost track of time.

  Definitely descending. Face first. He hadn’t seen the mountain range closing in. Now the stone guardians of the foothills loomed. He headed straight for them, deep into the shadows of a valley.

  Panic set in. His speed decreased, and an abandoned mine shaft lay before him, darker than the coming night.

  How was he supposed to fight a god with no light? Adrian pictured himself batting at a flesh piñata. Not funny. As if commanded, the helmet clicked and a mask dropped over his eyes. Instantly, Adrian had an infrared view of the scenery and tension eased from his shoulders.

  He got some bravado back. At least until the sandals tucked him upright before depositing him on the ground. Nausea returned. He landed on gravel; crunching footfalls and scattering stones echoed throughout the crevice. Somewhere a hawk screeched. The shoes stopped humming. Adrian listened to the lonely breeze whistling a mindless tune between the rocks. Nothing else disturbed the tomblike grace.

  Daylight died, leaving Adrian to stare at the weathered struts bracing the entrance. A set of gnarled rails lay like a rusty tongue. No place he’d ever seen had such a foreboding menace to it. It looked hungry.

  A last stab of doubt dug Adrian in the gut. What the hell made him think he could use his Kendo skills against a powerful being ages old? He was just a second year kendokka, a mortal human with some skill with a katana. Well…a shinai anyway. What was he doing here?

  Adrian stroked the torque around his neck. The amber warmed at his touch, reminding him of his purpose.

  Poetry. He was the only one who could save her now. With that resolve Adrian moved into kamae. He positioned the sword in a relaxed grip with the tip directed at the throat of an opponent who would soon be all too real.

  “Hephaestus, I know you have Poetry.” Adrian muttered vulgarities when his nervous voice ricocheted from the jagged crags. Get a grip. “I’m here for you, Hephaestus.” He waited for a signal. No response. “What’s the matter, forge-god? Are you a coward?” Adrian’s confidence increased. Maybe this guy wasn’t so tough after all. “Come out and fight like a man.”

  He heard a snarl from inside the cave, shuffling lopsided steps. What would he meet? Something from a Lord of the Rings movie? A troll or an orc? Preferably something slow and stupid and easily defeated.

  His hopes died when a muscular giant emerged, his eyes gleaming with hostile intelligence. In his meaty fist he held an axe twice the size of Adrian’s head.

  “You are Adrian?” Hephaestus glared with distain. “The mortal she loves?” He snorted in disgust. “Why she would choose such a puny creature is beyond my comprehension.”

  Adrian held his stance, dismayed by the jitter of the weapon in his sweaty hands. He squeezed harder on the tsuka to steady it. “It is of small circumstance,” Hephaestus said. “Your time has come, human. You will die.”

  Hephaestus raised his axe and Adrian prepared to engage. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Clang! To Adrian’s relief, he succeeded in blocking and unbalancing Hephaestus, who growled as he slipped on loose stone. Adrian advanced in kamae, gliding forward to strike at the god’s back. Not a kendo move, but he’d take it. He wasn’t about to make this easy for the forge-god.

  Hephaestus swung upward and the sword glanced off ‘kote’, his wrists. Adrian stumbled but kept the katana steady. He ducked in time to avoid losing his head as the hatchet trimmed his hair.

  Hephaestus sneered as he hobbled sideways. “So. You have some skill with a sword.” His gleaming eyes narrowed and his grin dwindled in the infrared. “I’ve been creating weapons since long before your ancestors understood their purpose.”

  “But can you use them?” Adrian said. Maybe he could anger him, throw Hephaestus off his game. “I’ve already drawn first blood.” Adrian glanced at the stream of crimson dribbling to the ground. A cut like that would’ve taken a normal person’s arm off. On Hephaestus it was a scratch.

  “Stupid mortal.” Hephaestus drew back the axe. “Your kind doesn’t appreciate greatness.” The weapon came with a rush of air, but Adrian sidestepped it without losing his stance. “You will tire, and I will destroy you.”

  Adrian pivoted to square off with the god and collided with Hephaestus’s fist. He soared two meters before slamming against the mountain. Stars danced in his dimming vision, despite the helmet’s protection and enhanced capabilities. Adrian’s ribs seemed to crush his lungs. He gagged and spat bile. The katana slipped from his fingers as he slumped to the ground.

  A roar from above caught his attention, and he peered through bleary eyes to see Hephaestus lunge. Adrian scurried out of range on hands and knees.
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  The impact of metal meeting rock echoed through the valley and pierced Adrian’s eardrums. He heaved, trying to catch his breath, but vomited instead. He wiped his sour mouth with a shaking hand.

  Why didn’t I just bring a gun? Hephaestus grunted with effort. His blade stayed trapped. I won’t get another chance, Adrian thought. This is it.

  Adrian wobbled to his feet and fell, landing with his cheek resting on grit. The scent of moss teased his nostrils. The atmosphere radiated green from the last rays of a sun long gone.

  This would be a good place to die. I could just go to sleep and never wake up again. There wasn’t a nerve on Adrian’s body that didn’t shout in agony.

  Hephaestus snarled and swore in frustration, still wrestling with the stuck weapon. Dust and pebbles trickled from the jammed crack. But what would the forge-god do with Poetry? If Adrian didn’t free Poetry she’d be left to fend for herself. In his minds eye he saw her, quaking in fear behind the cash register at Denny’s. He couldn’t resist her then and he wouldn’t let her down now.

  Determined, Adrian slithered on his belly. His katana waited just beyond. His fingers tapped the dirt. Closer...

  Judging from the scraping and grinding noises, Hephaestus had nearly freed his weapon. Cold metal graced his fingertips and Adrian inched forward until he could carefully slide the sword alongside his body to grab the leather bound hilt.

  He labored to his knees. C’mon feet, don’t fail me now.

  The dumb cliché worked. The sandals twitched in response, and Adrian found himself vertical. The shoes hummed in expectation. Adrian shook off the dizzy spots in his sights.

  Even as Hephaestus tore his axe from the crevice, Adrian smiled. This could work. Hephaestus was clumsy and pissed off, giving Adrian the advantage.

  “You don’t look good, human,” Hephaestus said. “Neither…do…you,” Breathing became difficult for Adrian. The god’s face twinkled with greasy sweat. He stank of mold and metal. “And your fighting skills suck.”

  Hephaestus bellowed and charged. Adrian stayed in kamae, but Hermes’ sandals whisked Adrian from harm. The blade breezed past his face and nicked his sword.