The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

by Trisha Telep

  Eve rushed after them as they headed for the door. “But wait – breakfast!” She’d made eggs, reheated muffins. Mae’s famous Maine blueberry muffins, fresh from the freezer.

  But by the time she got to the door, they were gone. Absolutely gone. As if they’d vanished on the wind. The only thing left on her porch was – feathers? Eve crouched and picked up one of the hundreds of little black feathers that dotted the pavement. Sharp, like an arrow. And black.

  “Stymphalian birds,” she said aloud. “Stymphalian birds on attack.” And she had a feeling that something was wrong, very wrong, with this picture.

  That feeling was intensified when another hulking blond man suddenly appeared at the end of her driveway and made his way briskly up her walk. She stood transfixed. As he got closer, she could make out the differences in appearance between this new one and her bedtime warrior. This one was fair, while her sandman was bronzed. His hair was a dazzling platinum, while her sandman’s was golden. Her sandman had the menacing scar across his eye. This one, no scar. Ice-blue eyes, she noticed, as he drew closer, close enough to look in his eyes. Eyes wide open. And challenging hers.

  “Where are they? Where did she take him?”

  Eve took a step back, his proximity overwhelming.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you let him go?”

  “Um,” she gestured down the length of her body. She’d put on a sundress, a little cool for the weather, but it was a pretty colour that matched her green eyes, and had a flattering drape. It tied at the neck, downplayed her weight gain, and emphasized her assets, her full breasts and shapely legs. “I’m five four. How was I supposed to stop him?”

  He followed her hands with his gaze. One blond eyebrow shot up. “I’m sure you would have found a way.”

  She found herself blushing again. “I—”

  “We don’t have much time. Give me your hand.” She hesitated. “Give me your hand,” he repeated in a more commanding tone. She gave it to him. He held it in his large warm grasp.

  Suddenly she felt a shock, then a tingling sensation running up her spine to the base of her brain. And then she knew. She knew. “Eros.”

  “That’s right,” he smiled. “I’m usually more gentle, but we’re in a rush. You’ve no idea what they’re prepared to do to him.”

  “They – Aphrodite? Amy, I mean. She was Aphrodite, right? Was she jealous because I – because we – Ares and I? She knew?” She assumed Aphrodite, because she’d read about Aphrodite’s affair with Ares in the Wikipedia entry.

  “Not Aphrodite.” Eros shook his head. “I guess our connection wasn’t as strong as I’d thought. I usually have no trouble with women when it comes to connecting.”

  “Connecting? You mean that Vulcan mind meld trick?”

  “Yes. It usually works best when there’s some mutual attraction, but it’s already too late for you. You’re a goner.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For Ares. You love him. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but you couldn’t make a full connection with me because you’re in love with him.”

  She was about to protest. He put a finger to her lips. “Trust me. I know.”

  “Of course. You’re the god of love.”

  “And you prefer the god of war.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve always had a thing for chaos.”

  “Then you’re in for some conflict. War is order, not chaos. But the most enduring love stories are filled with conflict.”

  “Enduring? Not exactly, considering he’s already off with – whoever she was. Not Aphrodite.”

  “Tell me. What did she call herself? What did she look like?”

  “She was tall, slender, but curved in all the right places. A beautiful face. Blue eyes. Long red hair like Ariel’s.”

  “Ariel’s?”

  “Disney’s the Little Mermaid? Never mind. Red, long hair. Slightly curled. She called herself Amy.”

  “Amymone.” Eros nodded. “One of Poseidon’s consorts.”

  “What do they want with Ares? You should have seen him, Eros. He seemed defeated and out of sorts.”

  “She must have drugged him. It’s the only way he would have followed.”

  “But he was lost. He didn’t know who he was.”

  “He knew. He might have been a little out of it, at first. But he knew. Come. We have to go. We must rescue him before Poseidon carries out his revenge.”

  “His revenge?” And before she knew it, Eros swept her into his arms and held her tightly. Time seemed to stop. Her lungs felt frozen, as if she couldn’t breathe, but yet she was not panicked. She was at peace. Complete peace. Surrounded by a soothing white light. Her mind flooded with images.

  Ares, enraged. A father’s rage. And shame. He should have known. He should have been able to protect his daughter, his beautiful Alkippe. Alkippe, raped by Halirrhothios, son of Poseidon. Who could blame Ares for his brutal actions? Eve watched Ares lose control, wild with a dagger in his hand, stalking his weaker opponent, hovering over Halirrhothios. She felt his pain. He wasn’t a killer, not really. This was justice. Justice!

  She didn’t even bother to ask how it happened, how she could see it all? Feel it as if she had been there? Some sort of magic. Why question the gods?

  She opened her eyes and felt breath – blessed breath! – fill her lungs. Fog had closed in around she and Eros. When it cleared, she saw that they were on a small island in the middle of the ocean, a bare stretch of sand, little more than a sandbar with one lone palm tree. Ares was across the sand, tied to that tree, his head hanging, hair falling loose. Was that blood? Blood dripped from the side of his face. He wore only a small cloth around his middle. She could see the bruises all over his body. He had been beaten!

  The important thing now was that she had to get to him, to let him loose and tend his wounds.

  “Ares!” She launched into a run, not even caring that her robe opened.

  “Stop!” Eros called, but it was too late.

  The sand in the middle of the bar dissolved into water, and she crashed into the waves as they churned into a wild whirlpool. She struggled against the water, but could not stay on the surface. Any minute now, her body would fail her. Her lungs would fill with water. She would die.

  But all she could think about was Ares, and the future they would be denied. It didn’t matter. As long as he was safe.

  “Ares!” she called out. “I’ll always love you.”

  She heard high-pitched feminine laughter. And then she could hear no more.

  Ares looked up in time to see her go under. He ripped from his bonds, ran to the narrow pool and struggled to reach for her. The pool was too small for them both. He had no idea how deep. Instinct warned him it was a cleverly designed trap of Poseidon’s. If he jumped in to save her, his weight would force her deeper and she would surely drown. All that was left, to try to reach her and pull her up and out. Eros, the fool, stood back and watched it all, a bemused observer.

  “You idiot!” Ares hissed. “She’s going to die! Why did you bring her?”

  “I brought her because she’s the only one who could save you.”

  “Clearly.” He snorted, still struggling to grasp her hands, still reaching up through the waves. She was a fighter, his woman. How he admired her!

  Admired? No. He loved her, he knew. He loved her! Ares had never known true love before. The feeling astounded him. “Make it stop! I love her! Take me, Poseidon. Take me instead!”

  Poseidon and Amymone appeared at his side.

  “Delighted to make the trade,” Poseidon said, and pointed his sceptre at the pool. It turned into sand, bringing Eve to the surface. She was unconscious, but she—

  “She is alive?” Ares asked.

  Poseidon shrugged. “She will live.”

  Amymone laughed, a shrill and irritating noise. Even death would be better than a lifetime at Amymone’s side. No wonder Poseidon was such an ogre.

  “I mean to keep my bar
gain, then. Do it, Poseidon. Take my life. As I took your son’s, the raping bastard.”

  Poseidon raised his sceptrre, as if about to inflict the final blow.

  At last, Eros stepped forward. “Poseidon! The court’s decision is final. You will not harm Ares on penalty of your own death. He has fulfilled our expectations. Aeropagos has concluded.”

  Aeropagos! The special court formed on Mount Olympus to determine Ares’ guilt or innocence in killing his daughter’s rapist. He had been acquitted, or so he’d thought.

  “It was a conditional acquittal,” Eros explained. “I was sent to see that you lived up to the condition.”

  “And the condition was?” Ares raised a brow, the scarred one.

  “That you showed you could set aside your warring ways and sacrifice all for love. Why else would they send Eros? I know love more than anyone. And you did. You were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, your life for hers.”

  “Anything for her,” Ares nodded. “I love her. We’ve only just met, but I feel I’ve known her always, body and soul. I need her as I’ve never needed.”

  He approached and scooped her in his arms. “I want her as I’ve never wanted.”

  “Then we’ll take the girl,” Amymone said, a wicked smile on her pink lips. “It’s only fair. To make up for the loss of our beloved Halirrhothios, you give up your beloved Eve to Poseidon.”

  “Halirrhothios got what he deserved. The court has determined justice in this case,” Eros interrupted. “The girl is free. Ares is acquitted. Aeropagos is concluded. Let us go our separate ways.”

  Poseidon and Amymone, no doubt disappointed by the court’s decision, disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Ares had no recollection of leaving Eve’s bed. And now, she was limp in his arms.

  Ares watched her, but Eve did not seem to be breathing. He leaned to her tender lips and offered her a breath of his own. “Breathe, my love! Live!”

  Just as his heart felt squeezed to a pulp, she coughed, sputtered, and turned away from him to spew the water in her lungs to the sand. She was naked, her dress long lost, torn off in the force of the tide pool. He smiled at the coincidence. It was exactly how she’d found him, on her beach, the previous day.

  “We’d better get you inside,” he said, stroking a finger down her petal-soft cheek before taking her back in his arms. “Before anyone sees you.”

  He held her in such a way to protect her nudity from Eros’s observance. Not that he hadn’t already seen it all.

  “Where’s inside,” she asked, once she regained her power to speak. “Where are we?”

  “An island in the middle of nowhere,” Eros answered. “And if we don’t leave soon, Poseidon will send a storm to wipe us out.”

  “Do you want to go back to your house?” Ares asked. “Or would you do me the honour of coming to Mount Olympus and becoming my consort?”

  “Consort?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “He means wife,” Eros interjected.

  “You want to marry me?” Her voice lifted so that it sounded nearly angelic to Ares’ ears.

  “Indeed. I wish to marry you. I wish to be with you, always.”

  “And I want to go with you,” she said. “There’s nothing for me in New York. But – I promised my aunt Mae. I’m supposed to be watching her house.”

  “Consider it done,” Eros said. “I’ve arranged for your cousin Candace to arrive for a surprise visit and stay with Mae awhile.”

  “How did you arrange that? She’s married and living in New Jersey. Why would she just suddenly give everything up and go to Maine?”

  “Her husband left her,” Eros said. “When he came home and found her in a compromising position on chatroulette.”

  Eve laughed. “You don’t say.”

  “I didn’t,” Ares said. “I didn’t say a word.”

  Eve laughed harder. When Eve laughed, it was a lilting, lyrical sound that reminded him of cherubs singing. He could live with that laugh for eternity and consider it a blessing.

  “I will marry you, Ares,” Eve said. “And I’m dying to see Mount Olympus!”

  “Then let’s be off,” Ares said. “What are we waiting for?”

  “For you to kiss the bride,” Eros said. “I consider you god of war, and wife.”

  And as Ares leaned to kiss her, the naked blushing bride, Eve felt the earth move and shake and rock, and her toes curled, and she lost all awareness of everything else – until she opened her eyes and found herself in a honeymoon bed on the clouds of Mount Olympus, with Ares about to make love to her.

  Finally, life was perfect, so perfect that it was well in the territory of the supernatural. And Eve was not the least afraid to find out what would happen next. In fact, she couldn’t wait!

  The Sin-Eater’s Promise

  Michele Hauf

  One

  Blackthorn Regis released the soul that clung to his aura into the sulphur-laden atmosphere. Screams echoed. He told himself it was not the human soul screaming but rather a pleasurable sound made by the mercury-slick river that consumed them.

  He remained impartial. It was not his place to discern if a man had lived virtuously or had inspired dread. He simply ferried souls Above or Beneath.

  His trips Beneath were more rare than mortals would guess.

  “Soul-bringer.”

  The Receiver of Beneath stood so high, Blackthorn could not see his face, yet he felt the menacing presence curdle his marrow. Not once had he fixed the creature in the gaping spaces where eyes should be. Blackthorn possessed no soul, yet surely he would still feel the soul-grinding weight of such darkness.

  “You’re missing one.”

  Blackthorn swore at the back of his throat. “It won’t happen again,” he offered, and bowed reverently before turning and shimmering away from Beneath.

  There was only one way a soul went the wrong destination.

  “There must be an infernal sin-eater working my territory.”

  Shimmering into a small Midwestern countryside, Blackthorn spied the culprit bent over double at the edge of a meadow. Dew spangled the scattered weeds and clover heads, and sparkled on fuzzy cat-tails spiking the nearby ditch.

  Thick, black sin exploded from the mouth as it repeatedly heaved. It lifted its head to keep the fluid from spilling down the dress – dress? The sin-eater was female. Blackthorn’s chest and throat muscles squeezed, matching the clench of his fists.

  He marched purposefully across the field. “Leave it to a sin-eater to make enemies of not only Beneath but also Above.”

  Viscous sin spattered sprigs of white clover. Sin-eaters involuntarily purged following an eating or would forever cloud their soul with the sins of those they’d eaten.

  Gagging and spitting, she sat back on her heels, clasping thin arms across her middle. Attired all in black, her pale flesh glowed with moonlight. She was startled as he grabbed her by the throat and dragged her to stand.

  Shaky legs made her wobble before Blackthorn. But she quickly grasped her bearings and, bouncing on her black high-top sneakers, fists lifted in challenge, she jounced before him like a scrawny prize-fighter.

  Seething, Blackthorn prepared to match the ridiculous challenge, yet though he was not human, mortal civility reminded him that one mustn’t hit a woman. He flexed his fingers open.

  The woman’s wide grey eyes, surrounded by smeary black eyeshadow, flickered. He’d never seen eyes so bright and clear. So defiant. And sad. Her eyes pleaded for understanding, and then shoved him away for seeing that weakness.

  All that in a scrap of flesh and stolen sin?

  Rage settling, a smirking levity emerged. She was just a bitty thing. Not unappealing, either. Blackthorn slid a hand down his waistcoat. What to do with his hands if not choke her senseless?

  “Desist,” he growled darkly.

  The woman stopped her aggressive bouncing. Sin dappled her lip. Starlight dived into her dark hair and waded iridescent within.

  “Who the hell are you? I wa
rn you, I can throw a mean left hook.”

  Blackthorn chuckled. The utterance was so odd to him that he abruptly ceased and cleared his throat. “I am Blackthorn Regis. Soul-bringer.”

  One of her dark brows assumed a chevron.

  “You.” He wagged a finger at her. “Are a nasty sin-eater.”

  She smacked a fist into a palm. “Sin does taste nasty, let me tell you. What do you want from me?”

  “Stop eating sins.”

  “Stop?” She leaned into his space, wafting the sweet scent of cherries on a sugar-high under his nose. “This is my job. It is what I do.”

  “You are reviled, sin-eater.” Though he didn’t quite feel the revulsion himself. Odd.

  She snapped her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “Someone’s got to do it.”

  “Not in my territory.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s a Soul-bringer? Where do you bring them?” She slapped her palms together and exclaimed, “Oh, I get it. You’re the guy who brings the decedent’s soul to Heaven or Hell, right?”

  “Above and Beneath. I ferry the newly dead.”

  “Cool. I’ve always wanted to meet a psychopomp.”

  “You steal my souls!” he announced, angered at his frustration.

  The woman rolled her eyes sweetly and teased her tongue across her lips. “I hadn’t considered that before. The stealing part. Of course, that’s your opinion. I like to think I give hope.”

  “Every time you eat sins,” he confirmed, “you steal from me.”

  “But you still get to take the soul. Just not to its intended resting place. Heaven is so much nicer, anyway – I mean, Above.”

  “I do not discern ‘nicer’.”

  Blackthorn stepped closer. He ate very little, but he suddenly craved cherries, bunches of them glistening with fresh dew. Could he drink her skin as if it was the syrupy juice she smelled of? Such a delicious repast.

  She thrust out her hand. “Name’s Desdenova Fleetwood. Yeah, it’s from a song. Blue Oyster Cult. But you can call me Nova. Blackthorn, right?”

  “You do as I ask, Desdenova Fleetwood, and I may show you favour.”

  “Really? Favour? I can’t wait.” She clasped her hands before her chest and batted her lashes. It wasn’t meant to tease but rather, mock. “You going to give me back my life? There’s nothing I can do but eat sins. Do you know how many men like to date girls who eat sins for a living? Zero.” She held up her fingers in a circle between them to emphasize.