“Atalanta might be right, Pandora.” Leonidas interjects much to my annoyance.
I don’t like him siding with the goddess. She could be a trickster, especially if Phantasos is working for Moros. The God of Fantasy Dreams can make anyone believe anything. He has a knack for altering reality, for making you read into things that aren’t really there. I don’t see any of this turning out good.
I slump back into my chair. “I disagree.”
Leonidas saunters into the living room, his black sweater and matching dress slacks making him look the perfect CEO, as usual. The myriad of differences between my three Spartans couldn’t be greater. Yet, somehow, they make it all work—the business guy, the moody biker, the blond-haired surfer dude—three oddballs united as one and that brotherhood includes a loyalty they’d die for. However, as to this whole Atalanta deal, I have to admit, I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t like my guys having to serve a goddess. The residents of Mount Olympus can’t be trusted when it comes to their interaction with humans, even immortal humans.
Ares and Lycus say nothing. Which makes my anxiety rise as my guys rarely are quiet on such things. I tilt my head and quirk an eyebrow. The gnawing in the pit of my stomach is telling me something isn’t right here.
I eye Ares, who by now is half way into the kitchen and is reaching for one of the oak chairs. He pulls it out and plops his firm butt on the seat but remains quiet as a mouse. A whiff of his signature sage scent including that faint hint of basil on its heel, comes my way. All three of my guys smell like heaven.
Ares winks at me.
I ignore his little flirtation as the man really needs to see the seriousness of this situation, but that’s not Ares’s style.
I shift my gaze to the living room, thankful for the open floor plan. I nibble my bottom lip.
Atalanta is pacing the small space, her gold sandals emitting colorful sparks as her feet shuffle back and forth. I don’t remember Zeus as having been so entertaining to watch. But then again, the day I left Mount Olympus was ages ago, so there’s a darn good chance I don’t remember everything correctly. And who can blame me? I’m thousands of years old, so the memory is about to be a little bit rusty. Never mind the fact I take over a new body every time the gods catch up with me. Something had to have happened somewhere over the years to make me adamant about wanting to keep one step ahead of the illustrious residents of Mount Olympus. At least I have the good sense to start over as an infant. Well, I did that this time around, twenty-one years ago. And while I don’t have any recollection of any other life, I would think I did the same in the past.
My attention lingers on Leonidas. He brushes by Atalanta but retains a very cold air about him, his usual charm completely gone. I don’t like where this is going. Irking a goddess never turns out well. He tosses his wool dress coat over the arm of my tattered sofa, then casually retrieves one of the shredded cushions and places it back in its proper spot on the couch. It does nothing to tidy up the room’s appearance. Atalanta really wrecked the place. “When we interfered in your dream, it was only for a split second. Then we were in Central Park, along with you in lioness form and very visible to the unsuspecting human world. We had no choice but to take you as you could have been caught by Animal Control. Even the burlap bag appeared out of nowhere. We acted on instinct. Then we were returned here, again for only a split second before being vanished again. Last we reappeared several blocks from here. We walked back.”
The strong goddess huffs. “With my powers, I doubt mortal dog catchers could have caged me.”
Leonidas turns around. “You always did think you were better than others.”
“I know I’m better.”
“Maybe we should get back to the apples,” Lycus says, walking toward me. The deepness of his dark gaze sends a zing through my nerves, but I need to focus on Atalanta and the hunt for her damn apples that Leonidas thinks we should take on. Warming up to my wolf will have to come later.
Atalanta stops pacing. “Maybe we should ask Pandora why she cast the spell in the first place.”
Great, the focus is back on me and my darn curiosity.
I stare Lycus in the eyes. “I didn’t have a choice. Zeus’s book opened on its own and I voiced what I read. I did nothing different than the night I called the three of you into being.”
“If that’s the case,” Leonidas says from the living room, “then Moros could very well be the mastermind behind Atalanta’s dream.” He places his hands into his pants pockets, the sound of keys jingling through the air.
What does he mean, ‘If that is the case’? Of course it’s the case, my curiosity wins out every time. If I were a mouse, I’d be the one sprawled out on one of those horrid sticky traps because I would have no choice but to go prancing about in that gooey mess. I feel like one of those poor mice right now. “The book opened of its own volition. I can assure of that.”
Leonidas doesn’t comment.
Nor does Ares.
“We are not questioning you, Dora,” Lycus says, using the name I went by before the gods revealed my true nature to me. I appreciate his sensitivity to me on the matter. “I can’t undo the spell. It doesn’t work that way.” Zeus’s book seems to have a double standard. It has no qualms about tempting me into trouble but does nothing to help me out of the fixes I get into.
Across the way, Atalanta ventures to the sofa and sits on the shredded cushion. She crosses her legs, her very long and well-toned legs.
Jealousy rocks every fiber of my being. I wish the goddess wore a longer chiton. Better yet, a pair of baggy camo pants, anything to hide her curvaceous figure and those damn model-worthy legs that would put to shame any I’ve seen in fashion runway photos.
“You can repeat it,” Atalanta says. “It might be the only way for all of us to return to the dream plane and get my apples back.”
I don’t like how she says ‘us’. As if I’d ever want to be one with the gods. We’ve never been friends, not even when they first created me, if what I’ve learned in my studies of Greek mythology is correct. “I doubt the spell will work again. You gods don’t seem to be that gracious with your powers.” I can’t help but be snarky. “Besides, I’m sure you’re more than capable of getting your apples back yourself. You don’t need us.”
Ares winces.
I’ve crossed the line. But I am not taking back my words.
Atalanta slowly rises from the sofa. “What I need, Pandy, is for you to do as I request and for Leonidas to pay up.” She stalks closer to the kitchen. “I have a lot to say about the four of you. I know dirt on each of you that no one else has been privy to.”
Ares edges off his chair.
Leonidas withdraws his hands from his pockets and balls his fingers.
Lycus springs forward like a wolf chasing the moon and lands behind Ares’s chair. “Not now,” he says. His strong right hand—claws out and sprouting fur—clamps down on Ares’s shoulder.
My surfer dude slouches, brings his spine back to resting against the chair’s spindles.
My stomach twists. What are my guys keeping from me? I can’t help by wonder, though I doubt they are going to tell me anything at this point, not with Atalanta here. This whole scenario is turning out way worse than I ever could have expected.
A thunk reaches my ears. I flash my attention back to Leonidas who now has Atalanta, once again in lioness form, pinned against the wall. “Only I owe you,” he says. “Not the other two. And certainly not Pandora. I’ll do what I must to pay you back, but one slip of any secrets you are bound to hold, and so help me gods, but I will take you on. In lion form. In a caged pen. To the death.”
Atalanta reverts to being human and shimmies out of Leonidas’s hold. “Get my apples back and we have a deal.”
These secrets must be grave if Leonidas is willing to fight for them, even die for them. Which means my guys must be in really deep with the goddess. I don’t like not knowing what I’m up against, and with Atalanta, I am totally in t
he dark.
My trust meter does a one-eighty. Maybe I am alone in this war with the gods. I just don’t know at the moment. But I am not going to let Atalanta interfere with my hunt for my lost box. Hope is inside that box and if I can get it back, I can take care of everything. Including this current mess. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we all do need to go the dream plane and at least see what is up with Oneiroi and if they are indeed working for Moros. If they are, then maybe there’s something in the dream world that will lead me to my box.” I might be an imp, but I am not about to miss out on a chance at finding Hope.
Atalanta nods. “When I was lured to the dream plane, the member of the Oneiroi whose essence came through the strongest was Phobetor.”
“What would the God of Nightmares want with a trio of gold apples?” I can’t imagine Phobetor liking anything nice. He turns the simplest dreams into full blown fright fests.
“The apples are magickal,” Atalanta says. “They got me to slow down and lose a race. Who knows what they can do in the wrong hands.”
The goddess has a point. Phobetor is capable of anything, and if he’s working with Moros, who knows how far his dark reach can go. Moros is the one god even Zeus won’t confront. I don’t like him teaming up with Phobetor. “Then I guess we need to track at least one of those two gods—Moros or Phobetor.” I can’t believe I actually want to put myself in the path of either Doom or Nightmare, but if Phobetor is up to something, and Moros is behind it, then I have no choice but to face my enemies. I can’t let anything come between me and my hunt for my lost box. I simply can’t risk losing Hope.
Atalanta toys with the gold braid at her waist. “The only way you are going to get a hold of Phobetor is to repeat that spell, then fall into a very deep sleep.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Lycus says, his brown-eyed stare bearing down on me.
I disagree. “It’s a chance I have to take. What if my box is on the line?”
Leonidas enters the kitchen. “I’ll seek him out. I’m the one who owes Atalanta.”
Ares jumps up from his chair. “I’m the one most capable. I’ll take on Phobetor, while you two keep our Sweet Pandy safe.” He gives me another of his famous winks. Even in times of despair, Ares keeps things light.
“No,” Lycus says. “I’m going.”
“Not alone you’re not.” I will not have my wolf put himself in danger for me.
Atalanta feigns a yawn, pats her bare lips with her well-manicured fingers. “All four of you will go.”
“That isn’t up to you to decide,” Leonidas says.
“It’s not my decision, but there are three apples and one God of Nightmares. No one soul can handle that menagerie. It’s the four of you or none of you.”
“We’ll all go.” I want my box, even if I have to drag my Spartans with me. They can chase down Atalanta’s apples. I’m going straight for Phobetor. I mean, really, how bad can a nightmare be?
2
Getting mixed up with the Oneiroi isn’t a turn I envisioned to take in the hunt for my missing box, but in the world of the gods, a human doesn’t always have the best options. Plus, there is the matter of my curiosity. If I am to be totally truthful with myself, I’m eager to see just how wicked Phobetor really is.
“We need to work on your inquisitiveness, Pandora,” Leonidas says, handing me a cup of hot tea.
“I wish you’d stay out of my mind. At least a tiny bit.” I take the tea and down a gulp. It’s hot, but soothing, thanks to the honey my lion added to the brew. He knows exactly what I like. It’s amazing what my guys have picked up in less than a week. I feel like I’ve known them my entire life. And who knows, maybe I have and just can’t remember if they were in my world when I occupied other bodies in my quest to keep one step ahead of the gods. They aren’t telling.
I glance around the apartment.
At least Atalanta has taken off and returned to Mount Olympus. I really don’t think I could have put up with that goddess much longer. I mean, who tears up a place and then doesn’t even offer to pay for a new sofa? So much for my Christmas fund. That money, along with my measly savings, is definitely going into a new couch fund.
A deep breath escapes me.
Leonidas sinks to the floor, takes up the space where the coffee table used to stand. Who the heck knows when that piece of furniture will be replaced.
“Don’t fret,” Leonidas says. “We’ll get this place back to normal in no time.”
“Furniture is expensive.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Lycus treks into the room, the sound of his footsteps almost silent. Sometimes I think he’s more cat-like than wolf. He drops down next to me.
I sit on the floor, Zeus’s book cradled in my lap, my cup of tea on the rug to the right of my leg.
Ares struts over from the bedroom. He’s barefoot and in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. He sits on the other side of me and pats my thigh. “Don’t worry Sweet Cakes, we’ll get through this.”
I wish I can believe him, but the twisting in my gut says otherwise.
Leonidas taps his fingers on the carpet as he reclines on his elbows. “The best way to fall into a really deep sleep is to drink a mixture of nectar and ambrosia.”
“But I thought those drinks were only for the gods?” I doubt Zeus will be happy with me downing a beverage he doesn’t think me fit to imbibe. Shit like that can get me into serious trouble with the Olympians.
“They are,” Ares says. “But that doesn’t mean a god can’t chose to share them humans.”
“And you seriously think that’s wise?” Ares has been on the outs with his father, Zeus, for ages.
“The gods have misrepresented me. I am not the coward they believe me to be, so I can do as I want. They owe me.”
That much was true, according to the history books. Which brings me to thinking about Leonidas and that debt he owes Atalanta. I shift my gaze across the room. “What did Atalanta do to help you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Gods, but it must be bad if Leonidas is being mum on the subject. He always sees reason in things like this. Apparently that attitude only applies when it involves someone else’s life. I let the topic go.
Lycus reaches for Zeus’s book. “May I?”
I nod and let him take the tome. It’s a relief to get that large volume off my legs. “The spell just appeared before, I didn’t go looking for it. I don’t know if it will come back.”
Lycus thumbs through the pages, the sound of parchment being turned scrunching through the air. “The pages are all still blank.”
My heart sinks. I can’t make the book work to my advantage as it’s all about what Zeus wants, when he wants it. “What will happen if we can’t get the golden apples back?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lycus says. “We might be able to bypass the spell if we all drink that brew Ares can offer up.”
I’m not sure the world of the gods works that way.
Leonidas remains quiet on the subject, which really is starting to worry me. “I don’t think Atalanta is going to let you out of this one. She was pretty adamant that you owed her.” I’m dying to know exactly what when on between those two and not just because I don’t like my lion owing a goddess, but because my curious nature craves satisfaction.
A cold breeze filters in from the heating vents along the floor. I rub my arms, a chill racing down my spine. “I think the furnace is out.” A vein of ice creeps up the wall.
The drapes on the balcony doors flutter as a hint of rose mixed with cinnamon fills the apartment. Chaos. I can’t stand that goddess. All she does is create havoc. What the hell does she want now?
A gray shadow swirls in the corner, then transforms to a human shape.
In a flash, Leonidas, Lycus and Ares are all on their feet, swords magickally appearing in their hands.
I slowly rise.
Chaos stays in her corner. “Drop the blades, boys. I’m here to give you all a pass.” She glares at
Ares. “You really don’t deserve this, but I am all for helping my grandsons, especially Phobetor. The nightmares he creates are almost as good as the mayhem I inflict.” She hands Ares a pitcher, but her gaze lingers on me.
I don’t know if I like the way Chaos has interfered in my life over the last week. First, she tells me all about who I really am, then she presents me with Zeus’s book, and now she comes bearing nectar and ambrosia. To say I think she’s up to something is an understatement. But we do need that brew.
“Be careful, Pandy,” Chaos says as she twirls a strand of her long, wild hair. “The world of nightmares is not a nice place.”
I’ve faced Moros and you can’t get worse than staring down the God of Doom. “I can handle it, I’m sure.”
A sly smirk crosses Chaos’s lips. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”
I’m sure the vile goddess speaks the truth because she’s Queen of Havoc and at the moment she’s enjoying this. But she could also be doing her little skit hoping I’ll cave. She’d love to see me fall, to see me give up the hunt for my lost box. Not going to happen.
Lycus steps behind me. The heat from his body seeps through my shirt and licks my spine, warms my skin. All sense of cold exits my veins. I can always count on my wolf.
“I think your job here is finished,” Lycus says to Chaos.
He leans closer to me and gives a slight growl, the noise stemming from his gut. The vibration tingles against my back.
I close my eyes, take in all that he offers.
A crack of lightning strikes outside.
Thunder rumbles through the air.
My eyelids fly open and my gaze immediately focuses on the corner.
Chaos is spinning like a tornado, her hair puffed out like she’s been given a good shock of electricity.
In a flash she’s gone. All disorder leaving with her.
I sigh and slump back against Lycus. Chaos is a handful, even in a good mood and tonight was the calmest I’ve ever seen her.
Ares hugs the pitcher of the magickal drink. “I think we should take this inside.” He nudges his chin toward the bedroom doorway and heads that way.
The Pledge Page 2