Kyra’s mind was fully immersed in wild speculations and heated expectations. She understood the cravings in her body but could not understand the speed and depth with which it consumed her. She laughed lightly. She had been given a slight advantage. She would scent her body and remove these cumbersome garments and await Eris in the nude—a seductive pose upon their bed. Her laughter deepened. He had boasted about the lack of speed at which he would climax. She would test the speed at which he undressed.
A deep voice halted her thoughts and steps. “Your laughter would best be suited to the confinement of my chamber, hushed by my pillow, swallowed by my mouth.”
Kyra stared at the daring man before her. She tossed her head back defiantly. “My laughter drifts where it wills and neither at the request nor command of a man.” She studied the man before her closely. He appeared very large in build, muscles bunched threateningly in affront.
“You have a wicked tongue, but it matters not. I can offer it lessons in more pleasurable arts.”
She clicked her tongue impatiently. “Mayhap you should first procure lessons for your tongue before approaching a woman. Your brash, unsweetened approach is somewhat lacking, and I find my interest not piqued at all.”
Her words seemed to enrage the man, but his reaction was quite expertly stifled. Kyra simply witnessed the darkened storm that brewed in the black pools of his eyes. His hair was long and tied back, like most warriors, and he held himself with military discipline. But Kyra could not see further than that sudden spark in his eyes. It was a spark of pure malice, and promised retribution. It was not a sound idea to provoke this man further. Kyra smiled politely and quickly changed tactics. “I am afraid I am spoken for. Please excuse me.”
The man did not budge as she carefully circled him. Kyra felt the tension in him. It radiated from his body like waves of blistering heat. But he offered no obstruction to her path. Kyra frowned at his easy retreat. She had not expected it. But just as she was about to sigh in relief, she spotted the reason for his lack in restraining her further. Her containment had been timely, seen to beforehand.
Two hard, tightly packed bodies suddenly deterred her escape. She stared at the men as they crossed their arms and refused to allow her through. She turned, seeking another way. Behind her another two men, and to the side a single giant of a man, appeared. They took up the similar intimidating poses. Kyra was forced back. She shivered uncertainly. They had surrounded her, effectively blocking all paths of her escape, and she was left to contend with the leader at the center, the man with the cruel voice and evil eyes. She faced him and squared her shoulders. She prayed her voice did not reveal the tremor within her. “Who are you? What do you want of me?”
The man’s voice grated, low and threatening. “I am a man, and I want what any man would want of you.” His look, cold and calculating as he perused her body, answered her questions more fully. They wanted her body.
Kyra hissed in anger, “You would offer insult to the Gods by performing such a heinous crime as raping an unwilling woman. You have either a lack of fear for the Gods’ strike or a wish for your soul’s premature departure from your miserable body.”
The man laughed without humor. “I would not rape, my innocent-minded, enticing little morsel. I would tickle your innermost desires until you shall plead for deliverance. You shall demand satisfaction. You shall beg.”
Kyra scowled in distaste. “Were your words more appealing to my ears or your appearance more enticing to my eyes, perhaps I would have found a glimmer of belief within me. However, at present I harbor none but distaste and shock at your uncommonly high aspirations.”
The man’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He stepped forward menacingly. “Then perhaps I shall incur the wrath of the Gods for the simple pleasure of seeing the reddened smear upon your lips, as you bite your wayward tongue while I plunder into your hot, velvety depths and possess your body forcefully.”
* * * *
Eris knew the moment his footsteps echoed through the large stables that something was gravely amiss. There were neither stable hands nor slaves about. His own slaves and warriors were out, probably getting a well-deserved rest but most likely in some alehouse getting drunk. He spun on his heels immediately without seeking his horse. This was naught but a trap, and he had fallen blindly, foolishly into it. Since no one had attacked him, he assumed he had simply been an obstacle forcibly removed, quite masterfully diverted. His heart thumped as his feet hit the ground running. The danger lay with Kyra.
He flew passed startled strollers. They quickly made way for him. Those who were not fortunate enough to avoid him were thrust unceremoniously from his path. He had not left her long, but it had been long enough. Ignoring the shouts of outrage as he trampled over unsuspecting people and ran heedlessly on, he knew one thing for certain. If someone had harmed a single hair on Kyra’s head, that someone would pay with his life—by his hand.
Finally he spotted her. She was surrounded by the same men he had failed to pay sufficient heed to, and now Kyra may pay the price for his carelessness. So great and overwhelming had his yearning for her been, he had ignored the threat that his gut had labeled as foe.
He sprinted down the crowded path, violently thrusting away any that stood in his way. His rage was complete, a healthy dose directed at himself. He should have never fallen for such a foolish trick. He should have seen her safely sheltered before leaving her. As he prepared to leap into the fray, a silent figure stepped into his path.
Eris’s feet ground to a halt with an angered shout. “You!”
The woman before him fluttered her lashes. “Well, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of knowing you—yet.”
Eris stared at her. It was the same woman who had strolled past as they had arrived at the city gates. Kyra had been fascinated by the woman, and he had labeled her a harlot, high-class and lofty in status but a harlot nonetheless. It appeared she was much more than just that.
She smiled coyly. “We can, of course, remedy that immediately.” She thrust forward her ample bust and crushed it against his chest. Eris scowled. He ignored her advances as he peered over the vibrant curls piled high on her head. The man who held Kyra captive suddenly grabbed at her.
Eris roared in rage as he cast the woman aside. She cried out as she collapsed in an inelegant heap on the ground. Eris heard and saw nothing but the man’s hand on Kyra and her scream of terror. His sickle was already swinging as he leapt into the unsuspecting group. The man turned to him in shock.
Eris had eyes only for Kyra. She seemed unharmed, albeit a little shaken. The look of relief that crossed her face upon sighting him caused his heart to squeeze painfully. She held faith in him, even though he was greatly outnumbered. The realization shone within him like a brightly lit torch, a beacon fueling his soul and kindling his heart. She trusted him to save her from this danger. And he would.
The man grunted impatiently and addressed the woman upon the ground. “Your instructions were clear. Keep him occupied.”
The woman rose and dusted her hands. She snapped as she flung bedraggled strands of hair from her face, “Do I have the appearance of one who attempted not?” She tossed her head away, affronted.
Eris used the distraction to his advantage. He grabbed the closest warrior to him and plunged his fist into his face. Expectantly, the man hardly flinched. These were seasoned warriors. He had surmised that much. Eris swirled his sickle threateningly before himself and steadily made his way to Kyra’s side. The men parted but did not disperse. Eris reached out without taking his eyes off them and pushed Kyra behind him. With her safely behind him, he was free to unleash his fury.
His sickle swung faster and faster and quick as a flash shot forward, ripping the closest opponent in the gut. The man stared at him, stunned, but he did not retreat. Eris continued to spin his weapon. His arm stretched over his head and caught an unsuspecting mark to his left. The man did not flinch as blood spewed from his severed chest. Eris drawled, “I hav
e need for exercise.” He issued his challenge, “Note I have only wounded you, by my choice. Now produce your weapons.”
The band of men did not move. They seemed to be awaiting an order from their leader. The leader stared at him venomously as he spat out, “Think you to defend your woman single handedly against these odds? She shall watch as your guts spill fodder for the vultures and your blood stains the thirsty ground.”
Eris slowed the spinning of his sickle a fraction. “She stood a female lone against a band of six men. I merely even the playing field.”
He lashed out unexpectedly, tearing the flesh of yet another’s chest. The movement was too fast for the eye, too swift for reaction. The men stood. They waited.
A single word was issued, and Eris knew he had underestimated the opponent. They were much too controlled to be a common band of cutthroats or thieves. The accent the man spoke with had also appeared vaguely familiar. Now he knew, Doric Greek. The command was clear. “Formation.”
Four quick sounds followed stealthy, decisive moves immediately—a sharp whistle of air as they banded close together, a thud as they dropped to the ground as one, the grating of metal as their shields were produced before them, concealing them from his view, and the sweet singing of blades being withdrawn. The blades shot out, piercing through the gaps between each intertwined shield. Eris stared at what had been formed within the blink of an eye. They had not scrambled, they had flowed. Now, they crouched low, hidden firmly by the strategically placed shields, relying upon the exposed blades to deliver them. They had formed a very unique but familiar structure.
Kyra gasped. “A scarab.”
The exterior, this shell of steel, would be impossible to penetrate. The command had alerted Eris as to their origin. There existed only a single place with such perfection in maneuver and phalanxes, the military formation using infantry, armed with spears and spikes. Their movement, the flow and harmony as one to form one, had alerted him as to their expertise, agoge training and education regime. But it was the weapons they thrust forward, past the protection of their shelter, that gave him pause. They did not produce the expected dory but longer, deadlier, farther-reaching blades. Sarissa. This showed their rank—the highest their place offered.
Eris hissed beneath his breath as the “beetle” upon the ground shifted. It stirred, driven by the leader at the front, as a single entity toward a single purpose—to kill. Eris pushed Kyra toward the building. “Go! Do not look back.”
He thrust her away hard. Kyra hesitated long enough to ask with a stunned expression. “Who are they?”
Eris propelled her impatiently before answering curtly, “Spartans. The highest rank they offer. Now go!” He wasted no time in watching if she complied but turned back to the battle before him. People who had stopped earlier to watch the spectacle had quickly dispensed upon seeing evidence of Sparta. Like Eris, they knew one thing. Whether it was enemy or bystander, people died hard and fast around a Sparta attack.
Eris watched the “beetle” begin to spin around faster, resembling an oval, spinning spike ball. He needed to think fast if he planned on surviving. And he did not simply wish to survive. He had to win.
The deadly ball upon the ground spun faster and closed in swiftly. Eris had to leap high in order to save his thighs from being sliced. He also had to be sure he planned where he landed wisely. The oval-shaped attack had a rhythm. Attacks from the sides remained comfortably far while the head and tail reached close, much too close. One mistake and he would be cut down fast. But he moved with confidence. He had two advantages. His weapon, the deadly sickle, capacitated him with its irregular design. They would not be able to predict his strikes accurately. And he was Erpo. The snake accepted no defeat.
* * * *
Kyra ran until her lungs burned like a gaping hole in her chest. She did not pause but ran straight to their room on the upper floor. All along her racing path, her mind scrambled to make sense of Eris’s assessment of the foe. He had clearly mentioned Sparta. From the tales she had heard they were a noble lot, fierce and bloodthirsty, but a righteous lot nonetheless. They acted justly and with reason. But there had been nothing reasonable about this attack, an attack on an unharmed woman and now six against one. These were acts of cowardice, not bravery and heroics as prophesized by the people.
She threw open the door and launched herself at the window. With her nose pressed tightly against the glass, she could clearly witness the battle below. The pathway was now deserted except for Eris and the peculiar formation on the ground. From her vantage point she could see the intent of the formation clearly. The men lay low, well hidden behind the comfort and security of the shields as they moved. They moved with practiced precision and accuracy, round and round. The protruding blades spun viciously with the movement, becoming faster and more deadly with each passing moment.
A sudden, eerie quiet descended on the battlefield. The movements continued, but there were no aggressive shouts or threats. There was no sound as each member focused inward. They moved with such surety and grace, they resembled an intricate display of dance. But this was a deadly dance. Eris could well be slain.
Kyra held her breath. Eris seemed to not do more than evade. She scrunched her nose. Why was he not fighting back? He simply leapt into the air each time the formation approached. And even that he waited until the last possible heart-wrenching moment before vaulting up. She could not understand. They were still men beneath that shell of metal. She could see their heads plainly.
Realization came slowly. Eris had not the advantage of height. His view was obscured by the shields. But she realized another fact as she watched him leap once again. He leapt late in order for the formation to be as close as possible. Each leap afforded him a view. He was trying to gauge what she saw clearly. He wanted to see above their shelter, within the heart of the attack.
Kyra silently applauded his brilliance. She admired his body as he moved, fluid and smooth. There was no hesitation, no doubt. His purpose was clear, and he patiently worked toward it. The lashing blades upon the spinning ball began to get closer and closer to slicing his unprotected thighs. But Kyra had confidence in Eris. He inspired confidence, commanded respect.
Kyra sighed in wanton wonder as she watched his body. His large frame moved with expert grace. Long, strong legs leapt with powerful thrusts and landed almost tenderly without once wavering. His torso twisted and stretched with effortless splendor as he still continued to swing his sickle. Kyra watched, fascinated. He looked relaxed. Comfortable, almost as though he was enjoying this.
She felt a strange energy shoot through her. As she watched Eris, sparks of heat coursed through her body, scorching and igniting until she felt her womb contract. The excitement spread through her loins, moistening her thighs at the junction, making her squeeze them together urgently. Her hand reached down beneath the layers of cloth desperately and cupped her weeping pussy. She could envision Eris’s body move over her, in her, with same measured mastery he now displayed. A violent shudder ran through her. She watched his thighs bunch as he sprang into the air, relaxed as he landed, certain, sure-footed. She could feel his thighs move and brush against her with the same control. On and on he moved, tireless and unerring. Higher and higher her body soared.
Without warning, Eris made his move. He sprang into the air but unlike previous occasions did not land on the ground. This time his foot vaulted straight onto the nearest shield. His leap gained the momentum he needed. His landing differed as well. He landed not outside the breech of this enemy but firmly within. As he landed he struck. His goal never wavered. His focus remained only on his target, the person at the head of the scarab. The swinging of his sickle never faltered. It spun and looped endlessly, perfectly, over his head and lashed out even as his feet sought purchase on the ground. The sickle, deceptive in its path, appeared to target one man but loped round the man next to him. Eris yanked hard. It was not hard enough to kill but severe enough to halt the enemy’s movements. Silence re
igned.
Moisture gushed forth between her tightly clenched thighs at Eris’s final mighty blow. She jerked uncontrollably as a powerful climax overcame her aroused body and release flooded, hot and glorious. Kyra whimpered against the hot glass and strengthened her trembling limbs. All she wished to do was collapse, but she remained powerlessly rooted to the spot. She watched. Kyra pressed her nose painfully against the glass as she strained to see what Eris would do next. She had expected him to have simply killed the evil, overbearing man. But Eris appeared to have other plans. By the looks of things, he appeared to want to talk.
She scowled as she watched the formation disband and fall apart. They scurried back frantically, now resembling individual scarabs drooping their burden of dung. Eris held his deadly mark against the throat of the leader. He had aimed well, patiently plotted, and been greeted with success. Kyra could not understand though why he wished to prolong the man’s passing. He would be sent speedily past Elysium, the final resting place for the noble and honorable. The underworld screamed for one such as him and would embrace him with torturous arms and devour him with greed into its infernal belly. Eris appeared to dither in his cause. There was no way of interpreting the words that had passed, but the reaction was shocking.
Eris stepped away and allowed the fallen man to gain his stance. Kyra felt a silent cry well up within her. Eris was man of honor. He would request a fair battle, a battle between just the two of them. Kyra recalled the malice and evil she had witnessed in the man’s eyes. Her silent cry gave way to a distinctly loud keeling. Eris wished to battle the devil himself.
The battle began with no warning beyond the single swing of their individual weapons. While Eris held the advantage of his unpredictable sickle, the foe possessed a further-reaching blade. The sarissa slashed passed Eris, missing his beautiful, moss-green eyes by a hair’s breadth. Kyra inhaled sharply. She watched as Eris ducked, fast and fleet, as his feet never lost momentum. He rolled in one smooth, perfect circle and sprang to his feet. He was now behind his enemy and struck quickly. The movement was too quick for Kyra. All she saw was a slash of red upon the enraged man’s chest before Eris lightly skipped away.
Tangles and Temptation Page 14