“I was on a ship,” Maggie asserted even though her voice was already weakening, “I was…I was going…” Where? Where was I going? How did I get on the ship?
“What was the name of the ship?”
“Name? I…I…don’t know,” she stammered and tried to focus on what she knew was real. “Look, whoever you are…”
“Whoever I am?” Ares sneered and reached out quickly to snatch the necklace between her breasts. “You bend a knee to Cernunnos and I am the fable? I am not real?”
“I bend no knee to Cernunnos.” Maggie grabbed the medallion back from him. “I was in Africa,” she said trying to keep her voice under control and the jumbled thoughts straight in her head. “I am a missionary…”
“Missionary? You’re not even Christian,” Ares countered.
She ignored him. “I was helping in the refugee camp. I have been there many years; it is a terrible place, but I try to make things better for the children. I worked with Father Murphy and Sister Augustine,” she huffed, feeling her chest begin to tighten. Maggie put a hand over her heart to find it beating rapidly. It was hard to get air in her lungs; she felt as though she might pass out but she pressed onward. “I was going to…to….Rome.”
“Rome?”
“We…we…got on the ship, a cargo ship.”
Ares stood there listening and watching. He did not believe she was telling the truth but at least in her own mind, the story she was concocting was not a lie. She had been in Africa at a refugee camp but after that, behind those stormy eyes, her brain was scrambling to fill in the rather large and important missing piece of her life. Why was it missing? Who stole it?
“…people were shouting…there was a crash…then an explosion….”
“And who bound your hands? Why?”
Maggie looked down at her bandaged wrists and then her eyes began to dart around from the ocean to Ares to the bandages and the flora and fauna around her. She swam and it was hard with her hands bound. So very hard. Several times she had gone under, certain she was going to drown. “I don’t know,” she confessed in a hushed whisper. “Please, just let me off this island.”
Ares shook his dark head with a small amount of sympathy as he stared down at her. “I can’t do that, Alena. I can’t let you leave.”
“Alena?”
“I don’t like ‘Maggie’, and ‘Magdalena’ doesn’t roll off my tongue. Since you’re going to be here for, well, the rest of your life, I think I will call you Alena.”
“You must have a boat.”
“No boat,” Ares grinned. “I don’t require one.”
“Oh, yeah, right, you think you’re a God,” she muttered.
Ares was not sure what it was going to take before she believed him. “Thirsty, Alena?” he asked snidely and held his empty hands in front of her eyes. “Nothing up my sleeve—oh, that’s right; I’m not wearing a shirt,” he said cheerily as he gazed down at his own torso. “Ready? Look closely now, I don’t want you to miss anything.”
Before her bewildered eyes in one of his hands, from thin air, appeared a crystal goblet, sweat running down the glass indicating the coldness of the contents within. “How did you do that?” She looked up at him with wide wonder as he held the cup out to her.
“I am Ares. This is my home. You are my guest for a long time to come.” He watched her take the cup from his hand and hold it to her lips. She drank deeply of the water inside. “You can wander around here all you like, although if I were you I’d stay away from the south end of the island. Dangerous and wild creatures reside there. When you’re ready, you come back to my cave. When you’re satisfied that this is all real, we will talk further.”
Right in front of her he simply disappeared. Maggie dropped the crystal goblet in her hand; it crashed to the rock at her feet, shattering to bits and pieces of sharp glass. “I am crazy,” she muttered and then began to cackle wildly until the sound filled her ears and her heart with dread.
Chapter Four
This Place Sucks
1
Maggie stood staring out at the endless blue sea, trying to be mindful of the broken glass at her bare feet. The boat had to be out there. Maybe the majority of it had sunk, but still there should be…well…something. Maybe she was on the wrong side of the island. Maybe she had washed ashore on the other side.
The man who thought he was Ares God of War told her stay away from the south end. It was his island. She had no reason to doubt his word. Looking up at the sun, knowing it rose in the east, set in the west, and remembering that when she awoke the strange man had said ‘good afternoon’, the sun was past its apex. Therefore, she should not go left, as that was south. She would go in a different direction and see what she could see. Maybe she would get lucky and discover where the man stashed his boat. If she found that then she would steal it, jump in and sail away from this crazy place.
Managing to step around the remains of the crystal goblet glittering on the rocks, she made her way from the precipice, thinking that she should have asked him for a pair of shoes. Holding up the hem of the gown in one hand, she followed a narrow beaten path that looked as though it was an animal trail.
The island was beautiful. Breathtaking scenes of deep blue water, small green islands dotting the horizon met her eye at every turn. Some of those islands looked close enough to swim to should it come to that. On her journey across Ares’ island, Maggie came upon a rushing waterfall and stopped to rest while taking a drink. The water was cold and pure as it quenched her parched throat. The taste was almost sweet; she couldn’t stop drinking it as she cupped her hands again and again, slurping down the icy goodness until her stomach began to ache.
First gazing down and then darting her eyes to be sure she was alone, Maggie thought a bath might be in order. She reeked of salt. It was stuck in her hair and made her skin itch. Deciding she was alone, Maggie stripped the gown off and walked into the clear water, hoping there weren’t any poisonous snakes, snapping turtles or other nipping biting things swimming around with her.
Submerged in the chilly water, Maggie finally came to the decision this was not a dream. It didn’t seem so bad; if she had gone mad then this seemed like a nice place to do it. Here, on this island, far away from the hustle and bustle of any city and cries of refugees, and overbearing warlords. Under other circumstances she would not mind being here at all. She would build herself a little hut and live happily away from the world for the rest of her days.
Happily Ever After would not happen here. Not with that giant of a man who thought he was a God towering over everything. He was a real problem and she had to get away from here as swiftly as she could.
Diving below the surface, she ran her hands through her gray hair vigorously as she tried to free it of the caked salt and sand. When she was satisfied that the caged area was as clean as it was going to get, she surfaced into the sunshine.
The waterfall looked inviting; Maggie floated over to it and found she could easily stand beneath it. Holding herself with her hands pressed to a nearby rock jutting from the water, she let the water wash over her, pounding away the tensions of sore muscles and joints.
Standing under the rushing water, she tried to think. The man asked her the name of the ship and she couldn’t remember. Why was that? Maggie concentrated on that one thought and soon drew a picture in her mind of the stern of a boat. There was writing but it was in a language she could not read. That was why she did not know its name. When Mr. Giant Ares asked again, that was what she would tell him. Father Murphy, Sister Augustine and she had traveled far by land to get to the water; the camp was at least two hundred miles from the nearest shore. The trip had been long and dusty. They boarded the boat and they sailed off to Rome. Why, she did not know. Or could not remember.
Think, Maggie, think.
Food would be good. That would help.
She leisurely swam back to the shore where the gown was waiting for her. Wringing the water from her long hair, she pushed it back
over her slender shoulder and slid the gown over her head. The bandages at her wrists and back were all soaked through and peeling. Slowly she pulled the rest away. Not wanting to throw the trash to the ground, she shuffled her hands around the gown and found a pocket in an odd place—in front, just past her belly. Stuffing the wet gauze into it, she looked at the red rings on her wrists. They were very raw; she rubbed them lightly, trying to remember how her wrists came to be bound to begin with. Nothing came to her. It was maddening to feel as though she’d lost days from her life. Perhaps her ordeal in the ocean was simply so traumatic her mind wouldn’t let her remember. There had been a ship, there had been a wreck, and there had been an explosion.
Hadn’t there?
She wished she could be sure. The dreams that woke her in a cold sweat made her feel as though she was falling from the height of the Empire State Building, the wind whizzing by her, howling in her ears, making her heart quicken as she screamed, and made believing what her waking mind told her a bit difficult. Somehow the dreams were more real than what she believed was reality.
The scratches on her back, however, came from the brooding man calling himself Ares. Whether he had actually been a wolf when he marred her could have been a dream or a delusion. That chalice of water appearing in his hands from thin air was no cheap magician’s trick, nor was it a dream. Neither was the fact that he’d disappeared right in front of her, all seven feet of him, just faded away from her sight and then he was gone.
Head tingling and reeling, but her body refreshed both inside and out, Maggie found she was hungry, ravenous. That hunger set Maggie walking off toward the other side of the island where she hoped she would find not only food but also some small thing to prove to the handsome but arrogant man back at his cave that she had been shipwrecked.
Be nice to prove the same thing to her self as well.
There had to be some bit of wreckage that washed ashore with her. A crate. A lifejacket. Anything.
The island was larger than she had thought and she just kept walking and walking. Here and there she could see the other side, or the water off it anyway, but it seemed to be most difficult to get there. She saw several rabbits hop for cover as she neared them, a few deer grazing on the tall grass, snakes slithering past, birds chirping in the trees and gulls echoing their cries higher overhead.
Making her way along, she stepped on something that squished between her toes and looked down to see a lump of black mush. “What’s that?” she asked herself as she looked around and noticed the ground was full of black things that looked like turds. Rabbit or deer perhaps.
However, they were not turds at all.
They were olives.
Maggie looked up to see olive trees laden with full, black, ripe olives surrounded her. She grabbed handfuls and greedily stuffed them into her mouth, spitting out the pits even as she swallowed the meat. Not satisfied with what she could get into her hands alone, Maggie held up the gown and ripped the olives from their branches along with the leaves, letting them fall into the makeshift basket of the gown. When it was full, she sat beneath the shade of the tree filling her belly, wishing she had something to bring some of that fresh cold water with her. Looking around she saw wild grapes growing off to her left and beyond them was a familiar tree. Walnuts. The nuts would be raw but the meat would still be good. Clearing off some dirt from a nearby rock, she put her stash of olives on it and proceeded to grab bunches of thick juicy purple grapes from their vines before she pulled handfuls of walnuts from the branches.
If this was a dream, it could be a good one, and if she was crazy, well, at least there was plenty to eat and drink, even if she did have to put up with Mr. Pushy and his comrades. Bringing her new goodies back to her place under the olive tree, she munched on the grapes while she smashed the walnuts open with a rock. As she ate greedily, the mess dribbled out of the corners of her mouth down her chin and landed on the white linen. Maggie brushed it off quickly and swiped the palm of her hand over her face.
2
Ares lumbered around his cave at a restless pace. “Why doesn’t she believe me?” he asked Kat, who was nearby. “What do I have to do? Throw a war?”
Like the other mere human beings on the island, Kat could (begrudgingly) understand the new arrival’s reluctance to take Ares at his word. It was a difficult thing to come to grips with here in 21st century; the idea of Ancient Gods watching from high hidden places was absurd, if not a bit disturbing.
“Why let her trouble you so? This is your home, your island. If you don’t want her here….” she led and then let her voice trail off for a moment. Kat walked up to where he stood by the fire. She was a tall woman, tall enough to reach up and touch his hunched and knotted shoulders. She began to massage him. “If she’s going to cause you so much distress…” again her soft voice trailed as the unfinished thought lingered in the air between them.
Ares let out a loud grunt as he snapped his thick neck quickly to one side, his bones letting out a loud cracking sound as his upper lip started curling. He should have killed her! Yet, he was glad he did not. Once he got a look at that chastity belt and realized that she might be Fey and actually belong to Cernunnos, well, it was best to let her live no matter how frustrating she was going to turn out to be. Recklessly slaying the property of another God was just bad form. It caused all kinds of problems, and Ares would know since he did it so many times in the past. There was no love lost between the Olympians and the Celts, just a large pool of bad blood. No sense in stirring up that hornet’s nest again. If Cernunnos did send someone to come looking for her, Ares would be able to hand her over hale and hardy, without too many scratches, and not much worse for wear. It was better than giving the old bastard a corpse.
“What can I do to take your mind off your troubles, my Lord?” Kat cooed as her hands ran hungrily along his back, kneading tired, aching, and wonderfully thick muscles. “Any little thing?”
Ares glanced over his shoulder to look down at her. He knew that tone and that look in her eyes. He also knew she was trying to assert what she saw as her place. Being so stressed and feeling the need for release, Ares was apt to let her. “What did you have in mind, woman?” Now he turned around and the hands that had been massaging his shoulders were now on his bare chest.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kat teased as she traced her hand through that deeply creviced space between his pecs, letting her finger entwine in the coarse hair there as she softly blew a long breath of air out of her lungs and watched his dark skin prickle to life. “Are you thirsty? Shall I bring you Nectar?” She stared up at him with sultry eyes as she bit down on her bottom lip. “Perhaps you are hungry, my Lord?” The fingertips on his chest began making their way down his taut torso. She loved to touch him, could never get enough of touching him and having him thrust away inside of her. Kat, like everyone else who lived here, had never encountered a man anything like Ares before they met, well, Ares.
Ares put his own large fingertips under her chin to stare deeply into her blue eyes. “I think it’s you who are hungry, woman.” His eyes cast downward to take in the sight of her scantily clad breasts behind the rabbit fur halter. They heaved up and down hypnotically; one hand descended from her shoulder to grab her left breast and hold it firm. Kat let out a moan in a rush of air and those tits of hers began to rise and fall like the tide. The gentle fingertips still under her chin suddenly became talons on her shoulders as he shoved her to her knees in front of him, keeping hold of that heaving breast as she went. “Aren’t you?”
Kat did not fight him; she just sunk down to her knees as her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. “Very hungry, my Lord.” Right there by the hearth in the throne room where anyone might walk by—and she sincerely hoped that little bitch did just that— Kat unlaced the leather pants around his waist with one hand while she cupped the part of him that was coming to life below the thick material. She would show him who was boss around here, who was Top Bitch. It wasn’t that gray-headed old bat w
ho’d so unexpectedly arrived in Ares’ home to disturb Kat’s peace and threatening her pride of place. With lust-laden excitement, Kat slipped her fingers between the waistband and his skin to push the bothersome pants down to his knees. That overgrown bulge met her eye. Ares did not understand the concept of underwear and did not own a single pair. Kat liked that—it made him so much more accessible to her. Like its owner, Kat had never seen a cock like this before. On her deathbed she would swear that if one could remove it from him, they could easily use it to hit a grand slam home run out of the park and deep over the wall. Running her hands along the hardening shaft, Kat remembered the first time she came this close to it and how frightened and then how very intrigued she had been by it.
Exuding sex, power, and raw masculinity, it wasn’t enough that Ares looked and sounded as though he’d just stepped out of some Queen’s erotic dream; he had to be hung like a horse, too. If ever the Total Package walked the Earth, he was standing nearly naked in front of her right now. Kat let the raw animal heat between them warm and then fill her as her mouth descended over the shaft of his burgeoning cock. It was easy to get lost in him and do whatever he wanted with much delight.
Ares sucked in air over his teeth and his eyes closed, one hand on the back of her head and the other still cupping a heaving breast. While Onya and the others were young and sweet, there was definitely something meaningful to be said for the wisdom and skill that came with age. There was a reason he let Kat get away with so much and what she was doing now, so expertly suckling him and running her tongue along the shaft of his hard cock, was definitely on the top of his list. “You do have your uses, don’t you, woman?” Kat’s eyes opened and she looked up at him with a mouthful of cock, those eyes smiled at him as she secured her place in his life and his home. She didn’t hear the soft sounds of bare feet on dirt, but Ares did and he turned his eyes in that direction just in time to see Onya backing out of the room. “Where are you going? Come here.”
The Heart of War Page 5