I don’t like this situation. Leonidas is the sensible man in my bunch. Not that I don’t think the other two can survive without him, but the dynamics of my trio of Spartans would change if Leonidas was no longer a member of our clan. One way or another, I am going to find out what is eating at him.
I must gain his loyalty back or who the hell knows what the gods will throw at me if I’m to fight them alone. I can handle anything, I’m sure, but I have very little memory of navigation the world of the gods from my past. And without my guys, I fear I might take a wrong turn.
And with Moros watching over me, that turn can turn out to be deadly.
5
There’s nothing like traipsing through cursed woods with a lion, a wolf and a battle-ready Spartan who also happens to be the son of Zeus. At least I have one god on my side, though the fact Ares has been dismissed by most of the residents of Mount Olympus doesn’t give us great odds when it comes to defeating the gods. But he’s loyal to me and that is the most endearing fact of all.
He reaches for my hand and winks.
“Please tell me you are not in my head right now.”
He feigns shock. “Of course not.”
Right. He is such a loveable goofball. The gods have him pegged totally wrong. He’s strong, fearless and definitely no coward. I believe Ares would face down any adversary and he’d do so with strength and dignity.
Lycus bats my leg, gently. He stops in his tracks.
As does Leonidas.
Ares grips his spear and releases my hand. “Stay behind me.”
“Why?” I do as he says, but I can’t help wanting to know what is going on since I can’t see anything out of place. The woods are calm. The air is crisp. And Phobetor is nowhere to be found, which is the best thing of all.
A light flashes in the trees, somewhere up ahead.
I inch to Ares side, just enough not to get him riled with me, but I am eager to know what the hell is going on up there.
The scent of clay, that smell of fresh washed earth that comes around after a spring rain shower, fills my nose.
My heart races.
In an instant I am flooded with thoughts of Zeus, of a large platform with him pacing back and forth.
My hand clenches, almost as if it’s holding something. Holding on to some invisible object it refuses to let go of until I die.
My box.
I don’t care the risk. I leap from behind Ares and dash into the woods.
Behind me the sound of paws slapping the ground echoes at my ears, as does the thump of bootheels pounding dirt and grass.
My guys are on my trail. I know this might cause us problems, but I can’t let my box go. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for and I don’t care the price.
I keep running.
Greens and browns—leaves and tree bark—fill my sight in a blurry haze. As do a bevy of little things—the tail of a bunny, the shell of a turtle, crops of grass with no flowers, small gardens of flowers with no grass. The ever-changing scenery is endless.
I pant. I don’t know how much more I can keep going but stopping is not an option.
A bright light fills my vision.
On a large boulder sits a vase. It’s on its side, lid intact. It’s a black urn, simple in design as it’s a solid color with no images, no decorations whatsoever. And the lid is an exact match. A small ball sits in the middle of the closed top.
I halt. Catch my breath.
Lycus and Leonidas leap for the large rock. My wolf sniffs the base while my lion gets on top, gently paws the vase, rotating it a complete turn.
I inch forward.
Ares is still at my back, the scent of sage and basil lingering.
There is no describing how I feel at the moment. I’ve waited an eternity for this very instance.
I cautiously step up to the boulder and lean in. I close my eyes and inhale a full breath, the crisp air filling my lungs like life being sucked in for the first time.
My heart beats in a frantic manner, but no fear or worry consumes me. It’s just me, my guys and my long-lost box.
I open my eyes. And reach my hand out, eager for a touch.
My fingers grace the urn’s side first, then move up to the skim one of its curved handles. A zap licks at my skin, burrows under my flesh and races through my hand and up my arm. It shuffles from my shoulder to my neck and then jolts my heart.
I gasp.
Lycus is stretches, his paws meeting the top of my right arm. He shifts to human form, a Spartan uniform gracing his finely sculpted body. “Take your hand away, Dora.”
I can’t.
“It’s not safe.”
“But it’s my box.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” He glances at Leonidas who remains as lion.
The mighty animal lifts his head and roars. His mane, gold in color with hints of dark amber, a complete contrast to his head of black hair when in human form, ripples from the force of his roar.
The vase shakes. It vibrates against the rock and slowly shimmies to the edge.
I scream.
The vase teeters closer to its demise.
It rolls off the boulder.
Leonidas does nothing to stop it. He’s still roaring with all his might and I can’t help but think he’s oblivious to what is happening at his paws.
My precious box, in urn form, which isn’t much of a surprise as historians have always argued over the shape of Pandora’s infamous container of evils, falls to the ground.
And smashes to bits.
Tiny shards of pottery fly through the air.
A bright light shoots from the vase.
It twirls and coils and spins about until it weaves itself into a barely there thread and snakes its way into my body.
But doesn’t stay. It shoots out through my back.
Ares gasps.
I turn around.
My strong Spartan is on the floor, his free hand grasping at his chest and his flesh turning the color of light ash. He doesn’t speak, the only sound coming from him is a small gurgle.
Leonidas is at his side in a flash. As is Lycus.
The thin thread that exited my body now spews forth from Ares’s chest, shoots into the air and dissipates.
A dark shadow appears to my right.
Moros.
“Don’t despair, Pandora. Our little game is not over yet.”
I don’t know how he can be so callous at a time like this. “The box is gone. You should be happy.”
“I do not seek the box but what is inside it.”
Hope. “She’s gone too.”
The God of Doom laughs, a hearty cackle that makes my ears ache. “I have not won yet, Imp. And take that as a gift that I give, as I am not often in the mood to reveal information to inconsequential humans. But I am one step ahead of you, because I know where your Hope has gone off to. She’ll find another box, another time.” He vanishes.
Ares sits up. He gets to his feet, that damn spear still grasped in his hand. “We need to get out of here, Sweet Cakes.”
“Are you sure you’re okay. I looked pretty bad a few minutes ago.”
“I’m Spartan. Only death can keep me down.”
Well, that I knew from history books, but apparently the fighting spirit lives on in Ares. And Lycus and Leonidas.
“Two of Atalanta’s apples are still out there and need to be retrieved.” A twist in my gut revs my anxiety. If Hope still exists, then why didn’t Moros fight for her? Why did he show up a second too late?
Lycus wraps his arm around my shoulders. “In Phobetor’s realm, nothing is as it seems, Dora. You need to remember that.”
“It’s why I roared,” Leonidas says. “That was not your box.”
“How do you know?” My lion is good at many things, but can he really tell my box from one sniff and a few pats with his paws?
Lycus gives me a good squeeze, a nice tight hug. “It didn’t smell like you.”
Shock course through m
e. “How do you know, you didn’t even get close to it.”
“Wolves have good noses.”
“As do lions.”
“And gods,” Ares adds in.
I shake my head. “I don’t know where I’d be without you three.” I’m still not convinced Leonidas is firmly in my camp. That debt he owes Atalanta is troubling to me. “What do I smell like?” Erasing worries from my head is probably best.
“Lavender,” Ares says.
“Rose,” Leonidas states, still in lion form. “Fresh cut.”
“Are you the flower aficionado.”
“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Pandora. One day I hope to tell you all.”
One day. I wonder if that moment will ever come.
I turn to Lycus. “So, if I smell of Lavender to Ares and Rose to Leo, what do I smell like to you?”
Lycus doesn’t answer.
“What’s the matter, wolf? Cat got your tongue.”
A slight smirk crosses his lips. “Very funny. But no. I just can’t describe your scent.”
“It’s that bad, ha?”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not what I mean. It’s literally impossible for me to say what you smell like because it’s an intense fragrance that has no name.”
I swallow. Those are the most words Lycus has spoken in one strand, the whole time I’ve known him. And it was deep. Maybe too deep. My heart beats an extra thump.
Ares reaches once more for my hand.
Lycus pulls away.
Crap. He knows what I was just thinking, but I can’t help it. As much as I love my guys, I have been a loner. Maybe it has to do with my upbringing. I’ve often thought my lack of true friends stems from my inability to relate on a deep level with people because of my hopping from one foster family to another. Maybe that’s why Leonidas’s pact with Atalanta is bothering me. My guys are different from any other people I’ve ever known, and I don’t want to lose them. I want their utmost loyalty, yet I don’t want to be disappointed by them if they leave me. Not getting close is best.
6
I leave the densely wooded forest and return to the outer edge of Phobetor’s turf, my three Spartans in tow, two in human form one remaining as lion.
Lycus is back to his usual brooding self.
I really need to get better at blocking my thoughts from these guys or we will end up with feelings that aren’t true or in the least, not sorted out yet. And I can’t have that. Causing Lycus pain is the last thing I want.
Something hits my foot.
I look down and find another of Atalanta’s apples on the ground. Bending, I retrieve it. “Only one left to go.”
Ares takes the shiny fruit from my hand. “I’ll keep this safe. We don’t know who will show up and losing any of these stupid trinkets will only leave Snippy Kitty with her panties in a bunch.”
“You’re starting to sound like me with that Stupid Kitty remark.”
He gives me one of those emerald-eyed gazes of his and winks. “Better I sound like you than like moody over there.” He nudges his chin toward Lycus who is now pacing a few feet ahead of us.
I don’t like my wolf being in so dark a place. Between the secrets he’s keeping, and the stories Leonidas has yet to disclose to me, I have to wonder if I’ll ever really get to know my guys. Not that Ares talks any more than the other two, but I know a lot more about him since he’s one of Zeus’s sons. There are pages and pages written on my surfer-dude god in the archives at Thorel H. Lane’s library.
I shake my head. My trio of Spartans are a strange bunch, but they’re mine and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I might not have known I was Pandora two weeks ago, but I am sure glad my life has changed the way it has since turning twenty-one. I think I might like being Pandy the Infamous Imp.
Storm clouds overtake the sky.
Oh, crap. Just when I think things are on the up take, Chaos has to get in on the action. Why the hell can’t that nasty goddess just keep to herself? At least for one fucking day.
Ares snorts. “Fat chance, Sugar Pie.”
I glare at him.
Rain falls in small droplets, then larger ones.
I’m soaked in a matter of seconds, my cozy pjs going from warm and comfy to water-logged and cold. I shiver.
Lycus removes his cape and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s wet as well, but it has the warmth from his body which does help stave off some of my chills.
“What’s the best bet on Atalanta’s last apple?” I haven’t a clue at this point. I’ve been deceived enough times since arriving on Phobetor’s turf, I can’t take another mishap.
“I think we should wait right here,” Ares says.
“Like Prometheus chained to a rock? I don’t think so.”
“Ares does have a point, Dora.” Lycus has finally found his voice again.
“How?”
Leonidas prances up to my feet and sinks to the ground.
Lycus leans against a tree. “We have no clue what the woods are hiding. And from what it’s already lured us in with, I don’t think going back into the forest is wise.”
“And I don’t the apples are just going to roll out to us.”
“The first one did,” Ares says. He can be so matter of fact sometimes, though I prefer him aloof.
“My hunch says that first apple was a teaser. You know, something for us to let our guard down.” Atalanta showed up too quick for that one, so I am guessing that particular apple was probably never one of her lost fruits. For all I know, none of the apples are lost, this could all be a game to the gods. And they certainly are good at playing with humans, making us their pawns or little entertainers.
The rain lets up. I shrug off Lycus’s cape and shake my hands, watch the water drip like a river from my shirt sleeves. My bare feet are sinking in mud. Just awesome.
A beam of sunlight drops down from above and captures me square center in its warmth.
Ares pulls me back.
Lycus shifts to wolf form.
Leonidas falls back onto his haunches, tail fluffed like static.
Oh, another ‘This is so not good’ moment. Why is it in the world of the gods, where anything can happen, they have to make it all bad shit and the like? After the rain Chaos poured over us, a little innocent sun would have been nice. Even appreciated to be honest and that might have even made me feel something good for the gods, rather than my usual animosity toward them. Guess I have good reason for feeling the way I do about that bunch.
A burst of sparks emits about half way up the beam of sunlight. Colorful flecks fly left and right.
Atalanta. That nasty cat just isn’t going to leave me alone.
She materializes on the ground, in lion form and swats me with her tail, then vanishes. She is beyond a tease.
An apple appears in the ray of sun.
I gasp. This one isn’t like the others, it’s all glittery and emits a gold glow the other two pieces of fruit didn’t have. I reach for it.
Ares doesn’t stop me.
Nor does Leonidas or Lycus.
I dismiss the strangeness of the situation and go for the goods.
My hand tingles the moment my fingers make contact, my flesh searing with heat. An enticing, sweet fragrance flows to my nose. This apple smells good enough to eat. I almost don’t want to give it up to the goddess as I’ve never imagined a fruit to be so enticing.
A snake coils at my feet. It slithers up my leg.
Ares backs away. He positions his spear, downward, aiming for my toes.
“If you think for one single second, that you are going to go for the slime crawling up my leg you are mistaken,” I say. “I am not losing a toe over a snake or an apple.” I shake my leg.
The snake holds on. It takes on a ghostly form and slithers up, over my pjs and my shirt. It stops only when we’re eye to eye. Its forked tongue slithers in and out of its mouth. “Scared yet, Imp?”
Phobetor.
I shake my head but keep my m
outh close. Kissing this beast is the last thing I care to do.
It dips it head, then come back with a vengeance. Its body enlarges at least ten-fold, appears more like an anaconda or some other bad ass snake. It wraps around my neck.
And tightens.
I choke.
All air is just about cut off from my lungs.
I hold on to the apple as it’s all I have left. It’s the last stand I can take against the gods.
Death is imminent.
Especially since to my left, Moros steps from the shadows.
At least I lived fully for nearly one fucking week.
7
I can’t breathe.
My world fades in and out, jumps from day to night, sunny skies to ominous storms.
Lycus is pounding at the snake’s head with one hand, trying to pry its body off me with the other.
Ares is jabbing the damn thing with that spear of his, but based on the curses falling from his mouth, I take it the slimy creature is not cooperating and he doesn’t want to accidentally jab my jugular.
The only Spartan I can’t feel is Leonidas.
Something tugs at my hand, tries to rip the apple from my fingers.
I resist. Bad Pandy is going down fighting. I will all my strength into my fingers.
A roar, not as strong as Leonidas’s, vibrates at my side.
Atalanta. Again. That bitch just doesn’t give up.
“Take him,” I say, anger flying through my veins. There is no reason any of my Spartans should be suffering like this because I unleashed hell on earth. If Leonidas stands to fare better swearing his loyalty to Atalanta, then so be it. He deserves far more than what Pandora the Imp can offer.
A heavy tail whacks my leg. That is no girl there.
Leonidas.
From the corner of my eye, what little vision I have left, I make out Atalanta’s lioness form leaping through the air, only to be taken down by my furry Spartan.
A loud thud shakes the ground.
Growls reverberate everywhere.
The force constricting around my neck, lessens. Then it drops away totally.
I suck in a huge gulp of air. I double over, the apple still in my hand. Its sweet aroma is like heaven to my flaring nostrils. I can’t get in enough of the scent or air in general, for that matter. I straighten, return to my full height, which isn’t much considering I’m only five-two. My six-feet plus Spartans tower over me.
The Pledge Page 4