OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  With his release came her own. The bubble burst just as the last of the oxygen escaped her lungs and those scratching, clawing hands of hers pulled him as close as she could possibly get him and still be underneath him this delightful way.

  Soon the air around the Lovers was thick with the scents of honeysuckle and wild cherries.

  In fact, after Ares and Alena were gone from this place, it would take the excellent cleaning staff of the Carnegie a month to rid the room of the sweet scent.

  They made love until the sun rose over the harbor. “Where shall we go today?” Ares asked as she lay in his arms with her head on his chest.

  “It’s your turn. Show me some place I’ve never been. Some place that means something to you,” Alena invited as she nuzzled against him.

  For the next few months, the world was at their feet. Hera would find them when she thought it was time for them to return to Olympus. Chances were Alena would not enjoy visiting some of the sights of his more glorious battles; talk of death and war on a honeymoon was a definite buzz-kill. The last thing he wanted was for this particular buzz to ever fade from his life. He could lay here with her forever watching the sunrise over the boats. “We’ll think about it later,” Ares said as he rolled her over onto her back.

  “More?”

  “Always more.”

  Lisa Beth Darling

  February 2010-November 2010

  CHILD OF WAR-

  (Part I)

  A GOD IS BORN

  BY

  LISA BETH DARLING

  Book #2 in the Of War Series

  Moon Mistress Publishing USA

  Moon Mistress Publishing

  New London, CT 06320

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or fictional events, locales or persons/characters, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion(s) thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Copyright 2011—Lisa Beth Darling-Gorman

  ISBN-13: 978-0615523460 (Moon Mistress Publishing)

  ISBN-10: 0615523463

  LOC: TXu-1-77-989

  Cover Art Designed by Lisa Beth Darling

  Text set in Calibri11

  Edited by: FAB

  Supporters: Tanja Hockeneer and Karen Maneely—thanks ladies! This isn’t possible without the three of you!

  The Rose-Performed by Bette Midler

  From the Motion Picture Soundtrack “The Rose”

  Words & Music by-Amanda McBroom

  Copyright 1980

  The Entire “Of War” Series Has Been Written

  In Loving Memory Of

  KTS

  1963-2002

  Gone far too soon

  As Always, this book is Dedicated To:

  Red & Andy—

  I’m still at it and I hope you are too, boys.

  Also dedicated to:

  Robin & Amanda

  Thanks for all the fish!

  Prologue

  Present Day

  The soft sound of a baby crying in her crib broke the stillness of the late night. Raven never slept very much and was already awake when the tiny cries came to his ears and Lenora began stirring in his arms. “Go back to sleep, I’ll get her.” Planting a kiss on her forehead, he slid out of their bed to draw a robe around his large athletic frame. The young man, a stranger to this land and this place, walked into his newborn daughter’s room to see her fussing in her crib, her little hands balled into fists and little legs kicking beneath the warm blanket. Two months old and she already had a thick mass of strawberry hair. With broad gentle arms, he reached in to pick her up and comfort her. “Shhhh, hush, Maggie, everything’s all right, daddy’s here.” Putting his hand under her bottom it was easy to see that she was wet, so he put her down on the changing table and gave the little girl a fresh diaper while she stared up at him in the dark. Quiet now and smiling her toothless grin for him, her gray eyes shined with mischief. “What are you thinking about, huh? You’ve got that gleam in your eye, little lady.” He wondered if his mother ever said that to him when he was a newborn and she was changing him. That brought a fresh tinge of sorrow to his already heavy heart.

  Wrapping the blanket around the baby and holding her close to his chest, Raven settled down in the rocking chair to hum an old tune he couldn’t remember the words to any longer, something about snow and roses that his mother used to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep. She sang to him in the sweetest of voices as she stroked her hand across his furrowed brow and she smiled. Alena had the most beautiful smile in the world, but Raven didn’t make her smile very often when he was growing up. No, he made her frown and cry. Sitting here in the dark, holding his new daughter and looking back on his life, he couldn’t stand the self-centered little brat he used to be. He wondered why it took so long for him to realize there was more to this life and this world than himself. How could he have been so blind to a woman that loved him with all her heart and so terribly, terribly, cruel to her?

  There was that day, that one perfect day on the island when he was no more than two. That day he caught his first fish and she beamed at him from the shore so brightly it nearly overrode the sun high above them glistening down on the deep blue sea. That day and that smile burrowed themselves deep into his heart so deep that for a long time they were hard to recall and yet so deep that he could never forget. Late at night it made his heart ache to see it again. As the choking feeling at the back of his throat turned thick and rose upward to make his eyes sting, the baby girl in his arms looked up and smiled at her daddy. “I’m going to get your grandmother, Maggie, and I want you to be good for your mommy while I’m gone. When I come home, your grandmother is going to adore you, little one. She’s going to smile again when she sees you and she’ll never stop. I can’t wait for her to meet you.”

  “So then you’re going?”

  Raven turned toward the open door to see his wife, Lenora, standing there. “I have to; I can’t leave her there any longer. I never should have left her to begin with.” No, he never should have. Lenora made her way into the room to stand by his side and run her fingers through the wide gray streak in his dark hair. “You could stay here with us. You could ascend to the throne on your own and then after you, Maggie.” The young Fae drew her fingertips across her daughter’s chubby cheek as she knelt down at her husband’s side to rest her head on Raven’s strong forearm. She sighed. “We love you and we don’t want to lose you.”

  Raven loved them too, but he would never feel worthy of this life and this great amount of unconditional love if he left his mother to suffer at the hands of his Uncle. “She never belonged on Olympus; it’s her throne, this is her kingdom and this is where she belongs.” He looked down at his wife looking back at him with fearful eyes. “I love you, Lenora. I don’t want to leave you, but everything she’s gone through is my fault and I can’t make up for all I’ve done to her, but I have to try to make this right.”

  “You have tried, Raven,” Lenora whispered through misting blue eyes and quivering lips.

  “And I failed.” Twice Raven used the Scanthan Caite—the Mirror of the Past—to reach out to his mother in desperate attempts to get her to leave Olympus before it fell apart on her. Raven had been unsuccessful in changing the past and so now he had to deal with the present. “I have to go, you know I do.”

  If he left Magdalena on Olympus to wither and die then Raven wouldn’t be the man Lenora had fallen in love with and married. “I know, but Olympus is such a dangerous place.” She took hold of his strong hand. “Just promise me that you’ll come home to us.”

  “I promise.” He held onto the hand in his with a gentle strength as he rocked his new daughter back to sleep. Lenora wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. “It’ll be all right.” The idea of facing his Father, Lord Ares God of War, King of Olym
pus, was not one Raven relished. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to take on Ares and win, but he had to go and he had to try. Every day he waited was wasted time, another day his mother spent suffering and fading away. Even here in the Dark Kingdom so many thousands of miles away from Mount Olympus, Raven felt her slipping away. Wrapping his free arm around Lenora’s trembling willowy body he said, “I’ll come home with your Queen. I’ll make everything right again.”

  Chapter One

  Whatever We Deny or Embrace

  Twenty-Two Years Earlier

  Ares’ taut stomach began to grumble as he lazed across his Throne of Bones waiting for Onya to bring him his afternoon meal. He wanted to fill up now before dinner with his Parents tonight, a dinner no one was looking forward to but all were commanded to attend. Ever since Ares and Alena returned to Olympus nearly four months ago, Hera had been going on about Family Dinners. They wouldn’t be so bad; they could even be enjoyable, if his Family wasn’t insane. Eros would be overly friendly with Alena but not overtly, so while Athena was cordial to all in attendance. Aphrodite would be her usual witty self. Hades would devour his plate and anything that rolled toward him since food not of the Underworld was such a treat for him. Poseidon would take his seat saying he hoped there wasn’t any fish on the menu. Apollo would spend the evening glaring at Ares and scowling at Alena. Zeus would sit at the head of the table pretending none of them were there. Hera would talk endlessly of her plans for the baby’s christening and his future. Alena would smile, nod and say she agreed because she was afraid to say otherwise, and when they came back to the Fortress she might ask him if they were going to raise the baby or if his Mother intended to do it herself.

  To Alena it seemed that Hera had the boy’s life already mapped out, and she was beginning to wonder if she was going to be part of it or have any say in how her Son was raised. Hera even wanted them to change the name they chose for the baby. When Ares and Alena began referring to the baby as Raven, Hera balked mightily. Ares knew she would, but he wanted to please his Wife. In Olympian and then later Greek Tradition, to those who were superstitious it was bad luck to name a child before it was born. In fact, in Olympian Tradition a newborn baby didn’t even exist until three days after its birth, when it was presented to Zeus for Acceptance into the Olympian fold. At that time, the newborn was given a name and its designation in life; from that point on a place at the Council Table would be made ready for them when they were old enough to take it.

  Ares, patiently as he could, tried to explain to Hera that Alena was Raven’s Mother and he was the boy’s Father, and together they would rear their Son. He would tell her to stop being so presumptuous; Alena was under enough stress with the pregnancy, which was not going as well as he would have hoped. Most of all he wanted Hera to stop feeding the fear Ares knew was nagging at Alena. Cernunnos and Zeus said the child would be nothing but trouble, possibly even some type of monster, and Alena was terrified. As much as she already loved her Son, the silent fear remained. Hera wasn’t helping.

  To Alena he would try to explain how overjoyed and excited Hera was at the impending arrival of her latest, and quite possibly last, Grandson. He assured her repeatedly that Hera didn’t intend to act as the boy’s Mother or to dictate the way he was reared, it was just that sometimes her exuberance ran away with her. He would try to explain their ancient traditions to his more modern Wife who, in turn, tried very hard to understand and to comply. Alena absolutely loathed the idea that three days after Raven’s birth a designation would be thrust upon him. She didn’t want Zeus or anyone else dictating the course of her Son’s life.

  Come the next Sunday night they would do it all over again.

  He didn’t look forward to telling Alena about the Five Trials Raven would face when he became a Man, five horrible trials before he could claim the place made ready for him at the Council Table. Nor did he relish telling Alena that Raven would have to face these trials simply because she was his Mother. If it were Aphrodite or Athena, the boy would be accepted without question when the time came from him to be proclaimed a Man.

  Sitting on his Throne in the silence of the Fortress, listening to nothing but the sound of his own breath and the rumbling of his stomach, Ares remembered when their whirlwind honeymoon ended. What a honeymoon it was! He hadn’t seen so much of the globe in centuries. It was exhilarating, exciting, and wondrous to watch this old world unfold before Alena’s bewildered, stormy eyes. Even more than the sparkle in her eyes, he adored the waddle in her walk as Raven became heavier within her. She went from gracefully floating about at his side, her arm looped through his—the other hand lovingly caressing the little bud growing inside her—as they strolled down the banks of the Seine, to a gait more akin to Daffy Duck than a willowy Fey.

  Alena told the baby about everything she was seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, even how things felt. Things like the sun upon her face, the sand between her toes, or the petal of a rose in her fingers. One day, just before they left France, Ares turned to her and asked what she was doing and why she was doing it.

  Alena just looked up at him and said that Raven wanted to know and so she was telling him. At night, as they lay together naked and warm, she would sing old Celtic lullabies and something called ‘The Rose’. It was a pretty tune and Ares loved to hear her sing it. Alena told Raven stories of her homeland and insisted that Ares do the same. Having no direct experience here, but understanding that expectant mothers often used their unborn children to coax expectant fathers into giving them what they wanted, Ares stroked the beard on his chin and looked at her closely. The look in her gray eyes said she was serious; Alena believed she could communicate with Raven and to her it seemed a very natural ability. Altogether unsure that Alena was communicating with Raven or that the baby could even hear him, Ares humored his wife as he regaled her tummy with tales of glorious battles won and lost. It was easy for Ares to get lost in his storytelling, so whenever his language became a bit too graphic she would nudge him by clearing her throat, thereby reminding him to keep his tale to the PG version. They would laugh.

  After all the eons of War and Battle, Peace had finally come to him and he would never cease being this happy and blissful.

  He should have known better, especially when it started to appear as though Raven were speaking back to her when she thought no one was around.

  A few weeks later, they were in a small port town in New Zealand when Alena began showing the first undeniable signs that she was falling ill. One morning Alena got out of their bed and promptly fell down. She laughed it off, telling him that he’d worn her out with their lovemaking the night before, that there was no strength left in her legs. He laughed and let it go.

  Two days after that, Ares came out of the shower to find Alena standing in the living room of their suite staring off into space with her fingertips held to her bottom lip. He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped as though he’d burned her with a hot poker while she let out a rather loud cry and jumped away from him. Then she just stared at him, her eyes blank and distant. It was clear that he hadn’t merely startled her while she was deep in thought. “Alena? I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you all right?”

  Standing away from him, fingertips still at her bottom lip, she looked him up and down with those distant eyes. She seemed to shudder when her eyes scanned only a towel around his tight waist. As her gaze continued upward, past his sternum to his chest, a thin smile started to cross her lips. By the time she got to his eyes, the distance in her gaze didn’t seem as great. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Ares whispered back with relief.

  Alena shook her head and smiled wider. “Fine, must be the hormones. They’re filling my head with fog.” She let out a sigh and held her arms to him. “Sometimes I just completely forget where I am.”

  “You’re here with me,” he reminded her as he took her into his bare wet arms and brought her close, only to find that she was trembling. “Why don’t we stay
in tonight?” They had been traveling and sightseeing nearly non-stop; perhaps it was time to take a break. They stayed in their room for the night all cuddled up and cozy while room service brought them several trays that they emptied and left outside the door dirty. The next day she seemed better, happier, more alert, but they didn’t go out again until that evening when they went to a local bar for dinner and a bit of dancing. In the middle of a tango, her knees gave out completely, and Ares caught her before she crashed to the floor. In his arms she looked up at him, eyes so dazed and distant that, for a horrible second, he was positive she didn’t know him.

  Then she smiled shyly, blushed, mumbled she was sorry and let him carry her off the dance floor. That was the second he decided they were heading home to Olympus. Alena was an extremely willful woman who, under other circumstances, would have insisted she could walk off the dance floor under her own power. The only times Ares carried her was over the threshold of the first Bed & Breakfast they stayed in their first night in Boston, and whenever he was taking her to bed; then she never put up a fight.

  Since returning to Olympus, Alena spent much time putting her mark on the Fortress. She’d turned his Throne Room into a cozy comfy parlor complete with plush throw pillows on the floor. Alena had a particular penchant for piling up the pillows into a thick mattress on the floor right in front of the blazing fire. She would stretch out and soak up the heat for hours on end, happy and content as a pregnant cat. His once cold and masculine Throne Room now also had three soft couches for lounging upon, end tables, ottomans, and even sets of fine linen drapes—mint green—hung over his windows.