Sable began swatting his tail in obvious agitation. “Tremendous peril, Leonidas. And although that foolhardy female would trip over her own shadow if someone didn’t watch out for her, this time I truly believe her to be in grave danger.” Sable hesitated, then squaring his shoulders, announced, “I didn’t see Ares earlier tonight in the field. By Sophie’s honor, that is true.” The Djinn placed a fist over his chest. “I went to the barn to groom myself. Sophie will attest to my whereabouts. But I did see someone else tonight, someone dangerous . . .”
Sable trotted forward a few light steps, extending his hand. “The man’s name is Caesar Vaella. He says that Aristos will recognize this.” Leo gazed down into the center of the demon’s palm.
“A ring?” Leo reached for it. The band was a simple curio design, popular during the Victorian Era.
“Caesar claims to have taken it from Juliana’s hand . . . the night he drove her to commit suicide.”
Leo’s gaze snapped upward, and he was instantly at full attention.
Sable continued, “He’s a demon trader, Commander. A particularly vile one. I still smell his stench. He says he plans to kill Juliana again, for good this time—and Aristos himself.”
Leo needed this added complication about as much as he needed a force of a hundred thousand Persians to swarm through the gates of the Angels’ plantation. He rubbed his beard, thinking through what Sable had just told him. If Juliana was at risk, that meant that all the Daughters of Delphi might be at risk; it certainly meant that Sophie could be, just as Sable had surmised.
One thing was bloody well sure: If Leo was soon to pass from this world into Elysium, he didn’t want to depart with any dangerously unfinished business. He wanted to know that his bride was safe; he wanted to ensure that the Daughters were protected, not vulnerable to a psychotic killer.
A thought occurred to him, and he spun back to face the demon. “Why did he bring you this now? Why is he surfacing after more than a hundred years?”
Sable shook his head and said nothing. Leo watched him carefully—at the first sign of red in his demon’s eyes, the entire conversation would be ended. So far, the telltale light blue was all that stared back at him, the one true sign of Sable’s spiritual change. It was the exact hue of all the Daughters of Delphi’s eyes because Sable’s own mother had lived at Delphi as a prophetess . . . and been raped by his demon father. It was the Scylla and Charybdis of Sable’s situation, making him difficult to trust, and yet possibly a very valuable ally.
For one long moment, the demon seemed to wrestle internally, one large fist clutched against his belly. “This . . . is difficult to say for me. I hope you understand,” Sable said, his voice thick and deep. “Caesar didn’t tell me why he’d surfaced now, but I have a guess. It’s that he knows his victim, Juliana, lives once again.” Sable paused, kicking at the gravel with a hoof. “Speaking as someone who has enjoyed the taste of murder”—he hesitated, swallowing visibly—“as a demon who once reveled in the flavor of it, I can understand the temptation . . . to revisit a crime. One that might be committed twice . . . therefore tasted twice. I can absolutely understand the trader’s motives.” Sable glanced away sharply, averting his face. “For the same ones have lived in me.”
“But you’ve changed, or you would not have come to me now,” Leo pointed out, not sure why he wanted to reassure a creature who had once been his enemy. But the urge was there.
Sable cut a glance at him. “But that darkness is still in me,” he said, and for the briefest moment, his eyes turned beady red, almost as if Sable intended to make a point. Just as instantly, the blue returned.
“Perhaps your mixed heritage makes you the very best kind of ally,” Leo observed. “I’d rather have you inside the tent pissing out, as they say . . .”
Sable trotted closer, blue eyes blazing. “Caesar Vaella laid down a gauntlet tonight, Leonidas. He’s left a trail . . . I can help. I won’t take your men far—I refuse to be gone from Sophie for long, not with a killer stalking this house. But I can get them started.”
Leo stared down at the ring, then closed his fist about it. “Aristos will want his revenge—and this trader’s life. But he can’t go alone. Nikos has the tracking skills. He’s the only one with the supernatural gift to trail a quarry like this one. You’ll go with them?”
“As far as Atlanta, no more,” Sable said. “And, Commander? I’m trusting you to keep an extra eye on Sophie for me. She gets these ideas sometimes, about her healing abilities . . . be sure she doesn’t take on anything too complex.” Sable gave him a significant look, and Leo found himself wondering yet again if the Djinn knew of his mortal fate.
“I’ve seen firsthand how healing anyone or anything drains her. With me . . .” Sable looked away quickly. “She did too much, went too deep . . . and she suffered.”
Leo nodded, and briefly clasped Sable by the shoulder. “I’m trusting you. I don’t know that I should, but your feelings for Sophie are sincere, I’m sure of it. I’m counting on you to do right by her.”
Sable’s eyes grew wide. “Right by her?”
“With your intentions. Don’t break her heart by turning dark again. And don’t betray my trust in you for allowing you near that mortal girl.”
Leo shoved past the centaur before the stubborn male could argue or deny, and jogged up the steps. Aristos wasn’t going to be a very happy man in a moment. Neither was Daphne once she learned that Leo was sending away his only source of healing—Aristos himself. But at least this way, he could go to Olympus with Daphne in the morning, assured that his people were protected in his absence—not vulnerable to a stone-cold killer.
Chapter 15
Before talking to Aristos or Nik, Leo made a left turn at the second-story landing, then jogged up to the top floor of the house. He needed to check on Daphne before chatting with Ari. That conversation was going to be a difficult one, and probably lengthy as well. As wan as Daphne had been, he definitely wanted to reassure himself that she was all right before tackling the Caesar Vaella problem with Ari.
He found Daphne sitting up in bed, resting against fluffed pillows, with a copy of Immortelle in her lap. The minute she saw him enter her room, she tossed the magazine aside and adjusted herself, tall against the pillows. He settled gingerly on the edge, but she’d have none of that; she scrambled onto her knees, wrapping her thin arms about him. His body reacted with all the vigor of a healthy, youthful male—surely a good sign. His cock punched upward inside his combat pants, almost as if trying to reach up inside of Daphne herself. And his body wasn’t too far off the mark, what with her sitting pretty much on his lap this way.
“I feel that, my lord,” she told him, staring at him through sensually lowered lashes. “You know, I was just reading a piece in Immortelle. About pleasing your man. It gave me some ideas . . .”
“Did it now?”
She took hold of his face, massaging her thumbs along the edges of his jaw. She stared at him a long moment, the desire in her eyes warring with some other unnamable emotion. She sighed, releasing him. “Much as I want to kiss you now, we really need to go on to Olympus.”
He shook his head. “No, Daphne. You must rest first, you’re not strong enough.” For some reason, he thought of Sable’s words about Sophie, how her own gift exhausted and drained her.
Daphne wrapped her arms about him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Leo, we can’t wait,” she said quietly. “The problem is . . . Ari’s power, you’re not holding on to it. It’s not enough.”
She traced the edges of each of his eyes, silent as she inspected him. “Since the prophesying started, my love . . . you’ve lost ground.”
Leo gently moved her from his lap, and strode to the dresser. As he stared into the mirror, his beard was a blend of dark and silver, and this time the hair on his head was turning gray faster than the beard.
“Apparently you can’t age the same way twice,” he murmured, combing at his wiry curls with his fingertips.
/> He turned toward her, bracing his back against the dresser. He forced a smile. They’d barely managed to halt the process at all—and although Ari’s power had helped, Leo wondered how long that would be effective. Might he even develop a kind of immunity to the power infusion? No, they needed a permanent solution if he was to have any future with Daphne at all.
“I’d say that I’m thirty-nine or so,” he assessed, desperately trying to sound jovial. “So long as I don’t acquire forty years, will you still marry the Old Man? Become my child bride?”
She pointed to an article in the magazine. “It says in here that older men make fabulous lovers. There’s this formula, how to calculate the right age of a man for you . . .” She reached for the magazine, flipping through the pages.
He climbed onto the bed, and nipped the collar of the gown Shay had lent her, pulling on it with his teeth until the ribbon came undone. “I am perfectly virile, love.”
She stroked his hair silently, and he could practically hear her thinking—whenever Daphne grew so quiet, that was usually the cause. Her hand paused, half tangled in his curls.
“I want to go tonight, Leo,” she insisted. “To Olympus. Not in the morning.”
He rolled out of her arms and onto his side, facing her. “What if you’re so drained when we arrive there, that you can’t guide us? Or perhaps not even teleport us to Eros’s, only to the base of the mountain? We must wait.”
“I am fine!” Daphne moved in front of him on the bed, kneeling. “In fact, the only thing that’s draining me at all right now is that you’re being so horribly stubborn.”
He considered her words, weighing the best course of action.
She reached for his hands. “This is your life, Leonidas—and therefore it’s mine as well.”
He sighed; she had him. They would go tonight, rather than possibly allow a dangerous amount of time to pass.
He drew her hands to his lips, kissing the center of each palm. “I need to see Aristos and Nik off first.”
“Where are they going?” she asked in surprise. She sat straight up on the bed, her words carefully spoken. “Why would Aristos be leaving now, of all times?”
And he dreaded answering, because he knew exactly the reaction he would receive. But he wasn’t about to keep the truth from her, so he explained the entire situation. When he finished, she sat in complete and stony silence, her expression as unrevealing as a statue’s.
He wanted a reaction, even if it was an angry one, anything but for her to shut down on him. “You’re never this difficult to read, you know. You make your emotions obvious . . . with your eyes, your expressions. Very transparent . . . either that,” he said, “or you’re simply transparent to me.”
All at once, her featureless expression vanished; her fair cheeks turned ruddy; her eyes watered. “I could reach out and slap you right now, Leonidas. I could just take this hand of mine . . .” She flattened her palm, staring at it. “Oh, I could take it, and absolutely . . . Sending Ari, your only cure, far away. When we don’t have any other manner in which to keep you alive! Why aren’t you thinking about yourself right now? You’re looking after everyone else, all of us, but not you.”
“The Daughters’ lives are important as well,” he stated softly. “We still have Olympus.”
“We have nothing,” she cried out. “Nothing. Beyond Ari, we have no sure way of reversing your curse. And now you send him away.” She bounded off the bed without another look in his direction. Then, just as abruptly, she spun to face him, furious tears in her eyes. With a pleading hand over her heart, she said, “Even if you don’t value your own life, please respect the fact that it means something to me.”
“Daphne, you’re not thinking clearly,” he argued gently. “Ari will remain in constant contact with our base. It’s hardly a risk—you could teleport me to wherever he is at any point.”
She buried her face in both hands. “I’m so scared,” she whimpered unexpectedly. “I feel like I’m thrashing around, grasping at any hope, any possibility.” She looked up at him, hot tears streaming down her face. “Of course you must look after the Daughters. It’s part of why I love you . . . that you always put others first. But because you love me, may we please, for the love of the Highest, leave for Olympus tonight?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Sometimes, when it came to pleasing your beloved, simple answers could make them happiest of all. Daphne flung herself at him with such relief that she knocked the breath out of him.
The cock-sucking, motherfucking bastard. That’s what Ari wanted to shout, loudly enough to make the windows of the upstairs library rattle with his rage. For Caesar to surface now, after all these years, and threaten Juliana’s life? To bring proof of his crime, and hand it over like war booty—and to one of their more questionable allies, at that?
“When do we leave?” Aristos growled in Nik’s direction, never taking his eyes off his king. “And, sir, with all respect—do you honestly believe we can trust Sable?”
Leonidas smiled faintly. “Just earlier, you were arguing that we should do that very thing.”
“I know, I know.” Ari scraped his hands over his face, trying to calm down. He could feel the white-hot roar of his demigod’s power coming alive inside him. Any minute, if he didn’t gain some control, he’d short-circuit—and neither Leo nor Juliana needed that. They needed him calm, levelheaded.
“This is really crap timing. You need me here, sir, healing you. Helping you with my life-jobs,” he said. But what he didn’t say was that the Old Man looked like he was going to need another dose and stat. He’d already added on what looked like a decade in the past few hours. He was at least as old—if not more so—than when Ari had healed him initially.
Ari looked into his king’s eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t go, sir. Maybe we should strengthen the security perimeter, keep the Daughters safeguarded, and first solve your problem. Then I can go after Caesar.”
Leo shook his head. “I’m leaving for Olympus as soon as you depart. Daphne and I are working on my problem—you focus on taking out this enemy for me. For all of us. We don’t want Caesar’s trail to grow cold, so you need to act now.”
Just the thought of that demon trader’s name caused rage to boil up inside of Ari. He fisted his hands, and as he stared down at them, watched his power surge. Bright silver began coursing through his veins like liquid lava; he watched the power snake through his body, unable to stop it.
The fury needed release; he was desperate for it, but he refused to break any of the Angels’ appliances or windows. He tossed his head back and roared, a long, brutal war cry. “How dare he threaten my Jules?”
Leo took hold of Ari’s violently trembling hands, and just held them, and peace enfolded Ari. Leonidas’s entire demeanor, even in the face of this storm, was stoic, strong. Something about how solid their king was right now enabled Ari to dial down his power surge. After a few seconds, his vision returned to normal.
He was embarrassed, to be so uncontrolled and emotional when his king was the one with a death sentence on his head. “My lord . . . thank you.” Ari inclined his head. “It’s a good thing you’re the king . . .”
“Yes, but we all need our jester, Ari.” Leo patted his cheek affectionately. “Happy hunting. And be safe.”
Nikos rose from the sofa where he’d been silently listening. He clasped Ari on the shoulder. “Brother, I’ll find this Caesar. I’ll promise you I will . . . and then you’ll do the honors.”
“I’ll serve him his balls on the end of my spear, that’s what,” Ari snarled, rubbing his hands together. Then he turned to Leonidas. “But first, my lord? I need to give you another dose of Styx’s finest. One for the road, okay?”
Chapter 16
Daphne stepped gingerly around the side portico of Eros’s palace. It was so unlike his father’s home, which perched high atop Olympus, grandiose and gaudy. Eros’s place was simple. Elegant. He’d constructed the dwelling so that it received fine breez
es from the east, and yet the wading pool and its tropical foliage were hidden by the long portico, creating something of a lee along the side of his palace.
No doubt, Eros had created his sensual pool with privacy in mind. She’d never fully understood the magic behind the mystical waters, but she knew it involved Eros himself bathing regularly in it. Perhaps his god’s power flowed out of him and into the water itself; she wasn’t sure.
“Any sign of him?” Leo asked, holding her hand as they strolled across neatly trimmed green grass, and around the side of the palace.
“He tends to favor his bathing pool in the late day,” she answered, leading them in that direction.
“What time is it now?” Leo asked curiously, glancing at the bright, cloud-filled sky. The sun never set at Olympus. There were only early morning, midday, and late afternoon; the whole process started over after that.
“You wouldn’t guess it, but it’s actually quite late.” She pointed at the sun’s position, how it crested the peaks of the mountain.
Leo gave her a wry smile. “In other words, it’s like me. I’ve always appeared to be, shall we say, midday . . . until . . .”
He didn’t finish the statement, but she knew the direction of his thinking: Ares was trying to force Leo’s perpetual sun to set. It would be like darkness falling on Olympus. She squeezed his hand, and led him toward the tropical pool. When they reached the end of the flagstones, she thoroughly expected to see Eros reclining in those waters. Instead, the pool was undisturbed, the only sound the splashing of the waterfall that spilled into it.
She searched all around the area, craning her neck for any sign of her nephew, but he was not to be found. “Where is he?” she asked in frustration. All this tension and expectation—the arguments with Leo about whether to teleport tonight or tomorrow—and now there was no sign of Eros at all. “I don’t understand why he’s not here.” It had never even occurred to her that he’d be gone—not after she’d seen the prophetic drawing.
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