But he got his answer a moment later, when the heavens overhead cracked open. With an otherworldly, majestic authority, the Highest God spoke.
“Your punishment,” He declared, “is to dwell in Elysium . . . to truly understand the depth of torture and depravity you have caused others. You, son of Olympus, will spend one thousand years in peaceful Elysium, unable to taste, smell, or make any kind of war.”
“Please,” he begged, “my son . . . let me see him.”
“You finally know the love you should have felt long ago for that one,” the Highest said. “And that is your punishment, as well. To dwell apart from good Eros and consider the pain you brought him. Until the thousand years ends. Until then, consider your evil deeds and live in peace.”
Ares’s eyes slid shut, and he said not a word, and argued not at all. He clearly accepted the verdict, and Leo found the war god’s compliance and obvious regret a shock. Had it been something in Eros’s arrows themselves, some potent power?
There was no time to consider, because the sky opened even wider, revealing pinks and purples and hues the likes of which no human man had ever seen. The Highest God’s great and majestic voice echoed across the battlefield for all to hear.
“Every curse that Ares currently has in place . . . is now removed.” The words sang down from heaven, and Leo instantly felt his body come vibrantly alive. His knee no longer hurt, his muscles no longer ached. “Any blight the god ever placed, all of them are lifted. Be well, my children. Live well, immortals and mortals alike. Live long.”
Leo felt his body begin to change, immediately upon those words. Every blight Ares had ever placed. He glanced down at his left hand, and the missing fingers had returned; he felt of the deep brackets by his lips, and they, too, were gone. He felt of his hair, and plucked a quick strand—to discover it a deep, rich brown.
His youth had been restored; his immortality reestablished.
But he didn’t have time to celebrate. Ares had become consumed in a beam of golden light, a radiance so beautiful, it was unlike anything Leo had ever seen—even as he’d stepped into the afterlife after Thermopylae. Leo was almost certain he saw tears streaming down the god’s face—tears of regret, and loss, and shame, no doubt. The light became a kind of force unto itself, a whirlwind that swept Ares upward, higher and higher, right up into heaven itself.
He vanished, and the group of them stared in awe, amazed by the beauty of what the Highest was allowing them to glimpse through that opening in the sky.
And then, as suddenly as it had opened, the sky closed up like a thunderclap. The rainy battlefield stood mostly empty, nothing but the windy moors and the Spartans and humans standing together. The demons were gone, the god was gone . . . and Karanos and the other arrows were gone, too.
No one spoke at first, and the rainfall became steadier, the soft sound of droplets on rock and earth the only noise between them. And then it was Aristos, who threw his head back first and released a joyous, wolflike howl of victory. The others joined in, covered in mud and demon blood, as one by one comrades embraced.
Jamie Angel came up behind his brother-in-law and caught Jax in a big bear hug, lifting him off the ground. Straton and Kalias threw arms about each other, embracing and beating each other on the back. The expressions of joy and camaraderie were some of the best Leo had ever witnessed. He watched, beaming.
But there was one man who wasn’t celebrating—one man with seven warrior brothers. Leo found that, oddly, he grieved that fact. Karanos and his brothers had apparently been swept into Elysium the moment that Ares lifted their curse. Still, as Leo stared down at the empty quiver in his hands, he felt a sense of unexpected sadness; he’d have liked to have embraced each man, just once. He knelt to the ground and, pressing the quiver against his chest, offered a prayer for each man’s peace. That he would find his way to loved ones and kin.
Ah, yes, he wished he’d have had a few moments with each Spartan—not doing so made it feel too much as if he’d lost them in battle. But knowing he’d bought them their freedom was joy enough. And he smiled, remembering Karanos’s warm brown eyes, that day before Thermopylae.
“Brave son,” he whispered, “this battle was the most important of them all. And you served me valiantly, you served me well.”
For the briefest moment, Leo would’ve sworn he felt the familiar vibration in his palm, as if he still held Karanos in his grasp and the warrior was “talking.” He stared at the flat palm and the tingling sensation didn’t go away. A slow, joyful smile spread across Leo’s face. “Yes, Captain Karanos,” he whispered, “well done. Very well done.”
And just like that, the otherworldly sensation was gone. Leo lifted his eyes to heaven and smiled.
“Leonidas?”
It was Sophie, walking toward him across the empty field, and as she wandered up to him, her eyes were filled with despair. Leo knew with one look at her—from her overly pale face, to the red rims of her eyes—Sable was gone. He’d seen a glimpse of the demon fire himself, while knee-deep in the fight, and knew by Sophie’s countenance that she’d witnessed the same.
“Leonidas . . .” She searched his face, and Leo would’ve done anything to ease the stark pain he saw in her kind eyes.
Leo took her small, cool hand in his, squeezing it. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him,” he said. “And I really am sorry, Sophie.”
She started to walk away, then spun back to face him. “I didn’t give up on you, King Leonidas,” she said firmly. “When you needed healing, I gave it, and my faith never wavered that we’d solve your problem. So now you don’t give up on the man I love, please. I’m going to find him. He’ll be alive. I know it.”
Without another word, she marched off across the moors. Leo prayed that her gentle heart wasn’t about to be broken.
Chapter 36
Sophie ran toward the edge of the craggy hillside, the place where she’d last seen Sable. Maybe he’d survived; maybe he’d fought the demons off. And maybe, somehow, that roaring blaze she’d glimpsed, with his beautiful centaur’s form at the center of it . . . hadn’t been real.
When she reached the spot, the cleft between rock and wind, she froze. A scream stifled inside her throat, but she was too horrified to cry out. She stood there, shaking, entranced by the sight of the scorched ground and rocks before her. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tried to beat back a wave of nausea, and took tentative steps forward. The ground and the rocks were scorched a pure, evil black. The scent of the fire hung in the air all around her, and it was all she could do not to be sick.
She fell to her knees, stroking the burned up place. Instantly, images flooded her mind, the truth of what Sable had done for her. Kneeling there, she doubled over, sobbing. His death. She felt his anguish, sensed the depths of his despair. The torture he’d experienced in that fire was unspeakable, more than any person should ever have to endure. But even worse, unbelievably, than the fire itself had been his awareness that he’d never see or hold her again.
She curled on her side, beside the burnt-up place, shedding tears of grief unlike any she’d ever known. He was gone; he’d done it all for her.
She had lost him forever, to that one selfless, love-filled act.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, reaching out and touching the ashes. “I am so sorry. I love you, I . . . always loved you. From the first moment I saw you . . . it was you.”
She ran her hands timidly through the ashes. Were they some remnant of his body, some last part of the man she loved? She sat up, staring down at the charred bits, then very gently cradled a few within her palm. She brought them up, against her cheek, and mourned for the only man she would ever love. Never again; he had been the one.
Gently rocking, she cried and moaned, a keening sound that she hardly recognized as coming from herself. But then she was startled, and cried out, as a gentle hand came down upon her shoulder. The touch was warm, familiar, and it sent chill bumps down her arms. She didn’t have the heart or hope t
o turn and look. It had to be King Leonidas . . . or Ari, but not him. He was in these ashes, a memory now.
“Look at me, Sophie.” His voice, a lie. It couldn’t be anything else.
She shook her head forcefully, back and forth, back and forth, just rocking herself.
That warm hand captured her chin, and gently forced her to look. Pale blue eyes, the color of summer sky. And a body that was completely human.
“Oh my God,” she sobbed, dropping the ashes from her fingers. It couldn’t be, and yet he stood there, so human and gorgeous . . . and not burnt at all.
He kept that hand on her nape, his touch and scent so familiar. But she could only stare up at him, crying, and so very afraid to rush into his arms, or even hope that he was real. “Is it . . . you died. I saw you in the flames!” She pointed to the scorched earth, tears falling fiercely on her cheeks. She slammed her palms into the ashes. “This is the evidence. This is where it happened . . . I watched you die.”
You look so much like him; I so desperately want you to be him . . . I don’t dare hope. Her heart screamed the words, but she didn’t dare to believe, not with what she’d witnessed. This had to be some sort of demon, a shape-shifter . . .
Gingerly he knelt beside her, swiveling his hips sideways to conceal his groin. A demon or an enemy who worried about honoring her virginity? That didn’t compute.
“Soph, it really is me,” that familiar voice said. “Look into my eyes . . . I’m alive.”
“You’re not a centaur . . . you’re not like you were.” She shook her head insistently, swiping at her tears. “No. No, I will not believe it . . . you must be some other demon, come to trick me. Maybe one of those things that were chasing us, but not my Sable. He was consumed in those flames. Burnt to ashes and nothing.”
“Sophie, use your empathy—and just look at me. Really look into my eyes. Still blue. Because of you, I changed and I’m not dark, not ever again. It is me.”
His warm hand traced the line of her cheek, so tender, so honest. “Look at me,” he murmured, and she dared glance up.
His light eyes met her own, that particularly soft vibrant blue—offset against the dusky-rich, Persian skin. Her breath hitched, her hand came to her lips in wonder. And without censoring herself or holding back at all, she launched herself at him. He sank on his knees, and she climbed onto his very naked lap. She could feel every part of his beautiful, nude body—so human—but she was too overjoyed to feel shy.
“I . . . wanted to die, too.” She buried her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms about him. “What would I have done without you? Can you imagine what a mess I’d have been? Oh, Sable.” She sobbed, her whole body wracked with the raw feeling.
He stroked her soft curls, petting her with shocking gentleness. “Oh, my Sophia, I’d have consumed myself a thousand in times in demon fire to stop that.” Pulling back slightly, he held her face in his palms, his gaze flicking over it. “I want to kiss you, I want to hold you . . . I want to love you, here and now in the grass . . . and I have the body to do all of that.” His own eyes suddenly swam with tears. “You are the only thing I ever bothered dreaming about. The first, the only in all my thousands of years. So simple: to be a man again, to hold you as one, just like this.”
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his wordlessly. Without a murmur or a sound, face-to-face like that, she skimmed her hands lower along his body—feeling his human hips, his upper thighs . . . his buttocks. With every caress, every trailing touch, she made sure he understood her love for him, and also understood that, oh, she worshipped this gorgeous body of his, the one he’d been denied so long.
He moaned softly as she explored him, tensing as he released a slow, hot breath against her face.
She reached the end of the exploration when she slid her hands along the soles of his feet. Feet, not hooves. Such a personal thing, and probably the one that mattered to him most of all. So she was especially tender about it, massaging his soles with particular and slow care. He moaned again, a lower, more sated sound. Yes, having his feet back would undoubtedly be the most important thing of all to him.
“Oh, holy moly,” she sighed, sliding her arms about his waist. “And I thought I was in trouble when I loved you as a centaur.” She sighed again, even more dreamily. “You are . . . such a man. But how? How did you change form?”
“At the moment when the fire fully consumed me, I felt the last of my darkness burn up. It was gone, then . . . because of my love for you. I think,” he said quietly, “that Ares’s curse, it was always tied to the darkness in me. Ares’s evil . . . was held in place by my own wickedness.”
“You gave your life for me. Because you cared . . . and that broke the spell.” Sophie stroked his silky, thick hair, loving him more than she ever had. “It was a purely selfish act, and it got rid of that lingering darkness in you.”
“Not entirely true,” he said, pulling her into his arms to kiss her. “I laid down my life because I love you, Sophie. It’s your love that saved me.”
“I do love you, Sable,” she held him close, tugging his head down to her breast. Close to her heart. “I could never tell you freely, not till now.” She pressed her eyes shut, remembering that vision from months ago. “When I told you that I’d seen our future—and that you’d do anything for me to love you back? I left out one part. That even then, I knew you were the love of my life.”
“I will have to work doubly hard to keep you out of trouble now,” he laughed softly, playing with her curls. “Because you can lead me anywhere . . . into bars for cocktails, onto boats for sailing . . . even an occasional hardware store. Think of all the trouble you might find, now that you know I can follow you?”
“You know what I want?” She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. “I want to go to a diner with you. Just sit down, order a cup of coffee and have Sunday brunch. Normal people, doing normal things. We’ll even read the paper!”
He got a funny, sideways grin on his face. “Did you see into my dreams with that one?”
She shook her head. “Honest? It just feels right. To have you in my life, all parts of it now. Hey! We really can go to AT&T. The world’s gonna become three-dimensional now that we can text. You’ll hate it, of course, because it’s just another opportunity for me to talk too much. Oh, everything’s going to change and be so much more fun now that you’re human—not that you weren’t fun before, although fun . . . well, that’s not exactly the right word for it. You were just . . . everywhere. In my heart, my mind, my life, my way . . .” Then she started to laugh. “But can I admit one thing? And don’t kill me, because you’re gonna want to . . . but I’m going to miss your tail switching whenever you get mad.”
He scowled at her, cranking his black eyebrows down. “You impossible, addle-brained, danger-mongering human”—he rolled her onto the grass, pinning her—“are the best woman in the world to me. And I love you, even without my tail and hooves.”
Leo felt exhausted, but for once, not because he was older—because he’d just led a legion of demons and immortals against one of the vilest gods ever to live. But he wasn’t so tired, of course, that he wasn’t ready to finally have some alone time with his fiancée. She had followed him inside the castle, her jeans and T-shirt covered in dirt and mud. Now that they were alone in his chambers, she looked herself again, back to her Goth girl fashion and her punked out hair that turned him on so much.
“Come, my queen-to-be,” he fairly growled at her. Seizing her hand, he led her right into his royal chambers. He still wore his armor from the battle, and felt a lumbering oaf in his breastplate and greaves as he turned to close the door. She was as nubile and dewy-eyed as she’d been before the recent events, certainly no more than eighteen—not by outward appearances. And as he caught sight of himself in the looking glass over his dresser, he was pleased to see that his appearance truly had been restored—he was now an “Old Man” of thirty-five. No more, no less, not by visual estimation.
&n
bsp; She worked at the straps of his breastplate, her nimble fingers doing quick work with the restraints. It was like that very first time when she’d helped him out of his armor, and he’d pulled her right down onto his lap. He’d hardly been able to breathe, and on impulse, had kissed her, his beautiful, mysterious Oracle. He’d not even known her name then, nor that she was daughter to Zeus! How far they had come since then, how well they’d come to know each other.
And yet, at this moment, as she released him from the brass breastplate, opening it along the hinge, he felt the old, uncomfortable shyness return. Once again, he was the unruly bull, longing to clutch a wee butterfly to his chest—or at the very least, the Old Man wanting to take the youthful fairy princess to bed.
He told her in exaggerated, mock concern, “I am still too old for you, even with my proper age restored.” He had to wrestle away his smile in an effort to appear chastening. “Thirty-five to your dewy-eyed eighteen.”
“Are you being shy with me? After everything we’ve experienced together?” She gave him an incredulous look as he discarded his armor, laying it on the wooden floor beside the mammoth bed. A king’s bed . . . that had not yet held a queen. Not until this night. “Leo, we’re lovers now, and we’re going to marry soon . . . why ever would you be reticent with me now?”
He rubbed his beard, searching for the best way to explain his ludicrous hesitation. “I find that . . . I find that with our status quo restored . . .” He reached for the words; they seemed to evade him like a tricky enemy. He tried again. “Daphne, the thing of it is, with the prospect of bedding you here, in my own chambers—in my very big and until recently, most empty bed . . .” He sighed, meeting her gaze honestly. “I’m obviously a bit tongue-tied with you, once again.”
Red Mortal Page 33