OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  “Cabhrú liom. Stad a chur leis.”

  “Stop who, Alena? Raven or someone else? Tell me how to free you from this prison.” There was no doubt in Ares’ mind that he’d walk on water or raise hell itself to the crust of the Earth if it would only bring her back. “Anything, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, anything, Alena. I swear it. Anything,” Ares asserted, torn between ripping out his Son’s throat and jumping into whatever fray would bring his Wife back to him. “What is it?”

  Alena and Rose fell silent at his plea. Rose huddled and seemed to wait for an answer when she looked up at her Father again she did so from behind her own eyes, the innocent eyes of a child. “Moon,” she muttered, “shine, shine, shines.”

  “What?”

  Then Rose’s stare turned back to her Mother as she grew sleepy. Letting out a tired sigh, she nuzzled her face against his bearded cheek and wrapped her little arms around his thick neck, “Ba mhaith liom teacht abhaile.” (I want to come home.) The prickle of electricity zooming around the room began to subside, signaling the end of this little episode.

  With a woeful heart and no way to hold on to his Wife, Ares settled his sleepy Daughter at Alena’s side. “I want that too. Come back to me, your Children need you. I need you and I miss you so very much.” Bringing the soft warm blankets up around sleeping Mother and Child, Ares thought he saw Alena’s lips turn upward ever so slightly in a delicately sad smile but he couldn’t be sure. “Get out,” he snarled over his broad shoulder, “all of you, get out of here.”

  Onya hurried Raven and Hunter out of the room.

  III

  All those gathered in the room had been so captivated by the sight and sound of the handicapped little girl speaking so fluently and with such passionate determination that they never took their eyes from the scene. If they had, they would have seen Alena’s ghostly figure in the beveled mirror across from the bed. They would have seen her reaching out to them.

  Lying on the tiny bed in the deepest darkest depths of Morpheus’ Castle, surrounded by magickal poppies that grew in the dark Alena prayed they would turn around and then took it back several times. She said as much as she could through Rose and she held out longer than she should have. Her tiny candle burned nearly to the wick. For the night, time was up. Morpheus would soon wake. If he didn’t find her in their bed, he’d be miffed and come looking for her. There was no way she could let him find her here.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to hide the sorrow in her heart, Alena slipped out of the tiny room. Taking in a deep breath she snuck a small white candle from the pocket of her robe, lit the wick from the one in the holder then squashed the flame when she jammed the fresh candle atop of the old. Holding up the hem of the long flowing black robe to free her stride she sprinted as fast she could, making it to the bedroom door just as Morpheus was waking for the night.

  It was too late to duck inside unnoticed. Here in this world of dreams nearly anything was possible and even she could conjure up whatever she liked. Holding one hand out in front of her with the palm up, she called forth a silver tray heavy with Nectar, Ambrosia, assorted fruits, and Morpheus’ favorite hearty bread with orange marmalade. Putting the candle in the middle of the tray to appear as though it had guided her way from the kitchen, she closed her stormy eyes and summoned forth a bit of calm before opening the door with a smile. “You’re awake, I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

  Morpheus propped his lithe body on one elbow as he turned toward her with a skeptical eye. “How kind of you, my darling.” He threw the covers aside exposing his slim boyish body and his evening wood. “Put the tray down and come here.”

  Trying to keep the smile adhered to her face in a natural-looking manner, Alena settled the tray on the nightstand. “You must be hungry, you were gone quite a while last night.”

  “I’m starving but not for anything on that tray,” Morpheus countered as he smiled slyly and looked deep into her eyes feeling something was amiss. “You haven’t been back to that room, have you, my darling? The room where Ares’ mind sleeps.”

  Struggling hard not falter, Alena slid into the bed next to the black-winged God. “Of course not. As you said, there’s nothing for me there. Nothing but pain and heartache, a Husband I could never trust and Son who hates me.” The smile faded to wisps of melancholy before she caught herself drifting into dreamy thoughts. Even though her stomach churned, she reached out to trace her fingertips along his hairless alabaster chest. “I think there’s something for me here, isn’t there?”

  Reaching down between her legs, Morpheus grabbed up folds of the heavy robe and brought them up quickly as he rolled Alena onto her back. Behind him, his black wings spread wide, fluttered and ruffled, bringing a light breeze to the woman on the bed. “Oh, yes, my darling, I have something for you.”

  Chapter Five

  An Old Fashioned Greek Tragedy

  I

  Ares sat with Alena over an hour just waiting for her eyes to open again and choking down his rage. “I know what you would have me do and I know what you would say if you could,” Ares whispered to his sleeping Wife. “I can’t tolerate Raven’s insolence, his arrogance, and his deceit. With total disregard and disobedience, he nearly cost me you. I can’t let that go unpunished.” Ares had been fully aware of Raven’s anger toward his Mother but he never envisioned anything like this. Over the years, as Raven remained silent, speaking only to protest his innocence, Ares wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe his Son would not do such a wicked thing and that it was all just a terrible accident. But he never did. Raven’s silence and his years of smugness grated on Ares’ nerves until they were raw and bleeding. “He’s an Olympian all right,” he snorted, “a real chip off the old block.”

  Gathering his cool, slowly standing erect, he quietly let himself out of the room, careful to shut the door tightly behind him. With anger pushing every purposeful step forward, he sauntered across the hall to Raven’s room. He kicked in the door. It flew wide and hard. The gold knob smashed against the black marble so hard the stone gave way to the force as it cracked and gaped with a large gouge. The God of War burst into the room, slamming the broken door shut behind him to block out the sound of the coming argument. “What vile thing did you say to her? What threat did you make?”

  Raven had been stretched out on his bed with Spirit Walker at his side when the door flew open and he had barely enough time to get to his feet before he was face to face with his pissed off Father. The wolf followed, frightened for its master. Spirit Walker settled on his haunches, growled as it bared his teeth, and made ready to strike at Ares. It sprung at Ares, claws outstretched, mouth open, sharp fangs dripping saliva ready to chomp through tender flesh.

  Ares just stood there sneering, his smoldering eyes fixated on the beast in mid-attack. As though he were doing nothing more than swatting a fly, Ares raised his hand, waved it across his face and let go the largest fireball Raven ever saw come from his Father’s hand. Spirit Walker went up in flames, whimpered like a newborn baby, then fell to the floor in a pile of ash.

  “NO!” Raven screamed as the smell of burnt wolf fur and charred flesh filled his nostrils. His haunting eyes filled with shock and tears as he tried to dash past his Father to get to the smoldering remains of his beloved pet but Ares stepped in the way.

  “You were right, I should have done that years ago,” Ares whispered hotly and gave Raven a harsh shove. The young man stumbled back toward the bed as Ares slowly walked toward him. “What happened to your Mother?”

  “I don’t know,” Raven returned through gritted teeth, knowing he was running out of room and deciding to stand his ground. He stopped backing up but Ares didn’t stop coming forward. The stench of burnt fur caught his throat. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t—” The swift motion of Ares’ hand clamping down over his windpipe cut off Raven’s words along with his air supply. Then his feet were no longer touching the ground.

  Ares’ eyes blaze
d fire but his voice was cool and calm as a placid lake as he increased the pressure on his Son’s throat. “She tried to run from you, run from her only Son. Why?”

  Raven struggled for air more than answers as he tried to pry Ares’ hand away from his throat. He was almost as strong as his Father but not quite; instead of brute strength, Raven summoned his command of ice to freeze his hands clamped around Ares’ wrist. Cold crystals formed on their flesh, began creeping their way up Ares’ hand as they wrapped around Raven’s fingers but then they began to melt. Steam rose in the air as Ares fought back with his command of fire. As hard as Raven tried to freeze the hand choking off his precious oxygen, Ares grip only tightened and grew hotter but his onyx eyes never showed any emotion as he stood there choking the life out of his Son. Raven felt his face flush, turning crimson, as his lungs fought for air. “I never touched her,” he croaked.

  That was how Raven had gotten away with it all these years, his subtle twisting of words. Ares knew now that it was the truth, but it was only true because, “You didn’t have to!” Ares raged, balled up his free fist, and landed it on Raven’s jaw as he let go of the boy’s throat. The force of the punch sent Raven flying across the room into the mantle of his own hearth. “What did you say! What was it?” He didn’t wait for his Son to answer before he flew at him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and thrust Raven’s body forward with so much force the hearth and marble mantle shattered like fine crystal. Shards of marble and bits of burning embers flew across the room in a fiery spray as a blazing gaping hole opened between Raven’s bedroom and his bathroom. Ares hurled his Son through the new open-floor plan of the room, Raven landing hard on the marble floor of the bathroom. Floundering and trying to get his bearings, Raven stumbled to his feet. The God of War didn’t let up, instead he charged into the room, raised his right leg, swung it out and around to connect with Raven’s jaw in a standing roundhouse that split open the boy’s lip. It sent Raven tumbling backwards into the sunk-in tub, always filled, bubbling and ready for use. Raven’s entry made a big splash as he went under the water and Ares jumped in after him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and held Raven’s head under the steaming water with a smile, feeling the boy struggle he pushed him down harder before he yanked Raven out from under the churning water. “What did you say to her?” he demanded again as he listened to Raven gasp for air. Ares repeated his question as his brawny arm and ruthless grasp threatened to push Raven under the bubbling water once more. “What?”

  “All right, all right,” Raven held up his hands, brushing water and long locks of hair away from his face. “I said…I said…” when he stuttered and stalled he felt Ares’ grip pushing him forward and down once more. “Stop! I said she was a whore, a slave, when I became an Olympian she would be my First Fey. I told her that that they’d all give her to me tonight and that you’d watch me do her.”

  “You contemptuous little bastard,” Ares railed as his cheeks burned and the Ichor in his veins boiled, releasing itself in growing wafts of steam rising from his squared shoulders. “I would never allow any man near her, never mind you! How could you tell your Mother that I would let her be the centerpiece in an orgy?”

  “How could she believe me?” Raven hissed and felt Ares’ grip on the back of his neck falter. Raven, sensing the moment of weakness, jabbed his elbow into Ares’ solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the God of War, forcing him to let go. Hauling his wet body out of the tub and away from his stunned but still angry Father, Raven looked down and faced Ares. “I knew you’d die before you let anything like that happen to her but she didn’t. She believed you would turn her over to me and that’s when she fell.” Rolling his head on his shoulders to release the tense muscles, he smiled coldly then shook his head. Raven sniffed in a deep breath and he walked around the tub putting some space between him and the angry God of War. “Face it Father, she’s a slave, not your Wife, she’s not in love with you, it’s just the bond of some ancient spell that kept her with you. Love requires Trust and she doesn’t trust you.” With a look of pity and disgust, Raven began walking away. “Why should she? Look at all you’ve done to her.”

  Cut to the quick by Raven’s words, Ares pulled his large frame out of the whirling water. His heavy battle-hardened leathers soaked stem to stern weighed him down but with a wave of his hand he was dry and agile. “Don’t you turn your back on me,” he warned, “get back here boy.”

  “I told her, I never touched her,” Raven muttered as he continued walking to the new hole in the wall his eyes fixed to the ashes of Spirit Walker. “It’s all your fault.”

  Hands balled into tight fists Ares lurched forward but was pulled back by the sharp sensation of a collar around his neck. Before the invisible rope could finish the job, it snapped. Ares raised his hand to his throat; not a rope—a necklace. “Where’s her medallion?”

  One foot through the gaping hole and near the burning embers of the fire’s remnants, Raven stopped in his tracks at his Father’s words and slowly turned around. “What medallion?”

  “I know you ripped it off her neck as you argued with her.” Ares grinned a cold little grin as he touched the side of his head indicating the vision he’d shared with her earlier. “I know, I saw, I felt it. Give it to me. Now.”

  Raven felt like hanging his head but tried to stand his ground even as he put a more distance between them by backing up fully into his room. “She stole it from you along with gold and food and…” Raven stopped protesting as considered the fire in his Father’s onyx eyes. “Whatever, man. She stole it.” Raven pulled the medallion out of his pocket. He carried it on him all of these years, never letting it off his person for fear of someone finding it. He dangled the silver pendant of the Weeping Willow tree hidden behind a thick patch of thorns in front of Ares’ angry eyes. “I took it and you know why. You know there are more Fae, don’t you? Where are they? If we find them, if we bring a few of them back here, Zeus will treat us like heroes. Like Kings.”

  “All of the Power any Mortal man could want residing in your finger tips and Immortality aren’t enough for you?”

  “No,” Raven returned coolly, “I want more.”

  “Go earn it,” Ares instructed. In his wildest dreams, Raven never anticipated just how quickly Ares could move. One second he was on the other side of the hole in the wall with the fire between them and the next he was snatching the chain from his Son’s hand and looping it around his thick neck. As the silver rested against his flesh, suddenly the whole horrid night became clear in his head. He understood how the medallion came to be in Raven’s possession.

  Believing it had the power to lead her home, to take her Children to safe haven, Alena must have searched long and hard before she came across it in the Trophy Case. How angry she must have been to find it there! To have her fears of being nothing more than his glorified slave confirmed by his carelessness, she must have been devastated. Yet she showed him no sign of it. When she went to leave him, she showed it to Raven, and told him where they were going. Instead of agreeing and understanding, Raven snatched it from her. Then Raven told her he’d take her off Olympus if she showed him where the Willow Tree grew so he could bring a few Fae back to Olympus. Ares almost had to admire the boy; with a little more seasoning he would have been sly enough to just wait. Wait, hold his tongue, be his Mother’s friend, when they got inside the Dark Kingdom spring the trap. Raven lacked patience and finesse, though his offer horrified Alena, it was as premature as it was immature. Raven was cocky and brash, overly self-assured, he probably believed his Mother would jump at his terms. If so, it was only because Raven didn’t understand the dark depths of despair that made up his Mother’s years in captivity as Cernunnos’ intended bride. Nor the years she’d spent fending off Jaquim in Ceres Agar. Alena would never trade her freedom for someone else’s enslavement.

  In her heightened state of panic and confusion, when such vile words came out of her Son’s mouth she just couldn’t take it. She turned to fle
e and that was when she fell.

  Holding the medallion firmly to his chest over his heart Ares glared at Raven, flexing his hand trying to ease the biting sting of the braided silver being yanked from his palm. “There are no more Fey in this world besides your Mother, you and your Sister.”

  “There are more,” Raven challenged. “If there weren’t she wouldn’t have said that but she wanted to go looking for them. If she was smart, she would have given that up when I told her to but she said no even when I offered her a way off this rock. A few bitches she didn’t even know in return for her freedom. I thought it was fair.”

  “You don’t know her at all,” Ares growled. “I can’t stomach the sight of you any longer so go on, get out of here boy, go get ready for tonight and sink that stinking cock of yours into every hole you can find, it could be the last you ever get. Tomorrow, you could be dead.”

  Raven couldn’t help but notice the glint of satisfaction at the prospect of his death in Ares’ eyes. “If that happens, what will you tell my Mother when she wakes?”

  “How dare you try to hide behind your Mother’s skirt after what you’ve done? Why don’t you think on this one; if she doesn’t wake, Olympian or not….”

  “Yeah, you’re gonna kill me,” Raven sneered as he looked back over his shoulder at the remains of Spirit Walker. “The bitch isn’t worth it,” he muttered under his breath before turning his back on Ares, exiting his bedroom on his way to the stairs.

  Ares couldn’t take that last act of defiance. He stood behind Raven quaking head to toe, a thick fog of steam rising from his brawny shoulders, his hands balled into angry fists. Ares’ nostrils began flaring, just before all control was lost to him, everything before his eyes glazed over red. Slinking out of the bedroom without a sound, he watched Raven reach the top of the staircase. On fleet feet, Ares ran at the boy like a raging wildfire. Turning sideways, he brought his right arm in under his body and clasped his left hand around it. When he reached Raven, the God of War let out a fierce warrior’s cry just as he hit his Son squarely in the back with his braced shoulder and rammed it forward with such bone crunching force Refrigerator Perry would have given a standing ovation. “The BITCH is my WIFE!”