OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3 Page 10

  Yes, they were excellent archers. Feys with their slightly enlarged eyes had great gift of sight just like their kin, the elves. “I am not a farmer or a herdsman. I am a warrior and I am the hunter here.” The meat stores were low and Ares intended to go hunting today and replenish them. “What are you going to hunt on my island?”

  She had seen many animals that were good for eating while on her walks. “There’s deer, and rabbit, I saw some boar, some turkeys.” Before she could stop herself or think of the words flowing out of her mouth, “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

  That brow furrowed a bit further as Ares stroked the beard on his chin and considered her proposal. It was interesting. After all, none of the other women hunted with him. They stayed back at the cave to clean and cook what he brought for them. “I don’t know if I have a bow small enough for you.”

  “Me either,” Alena mumbled. “But, you have guns,” she said in a brighter tone. “I can fire a gun and hit my target.”

  The woman just got more and more intriguing. “You can? Why is this? What Fey uses a firearm?”

  Alena stood there quietly explaining about the refugee camp and the lack of supplies and meat. “We hunted almost every day,” she told him. Since handguns were in ready supply that was what they most frequently used to shoot deer, elk, eland, rabbits, whatever they could find. “We also used spears and I do all right with that but,” she looked around at the weapons, “I don’t think you have a small one of those either.”

  “No, I do not. All of the spears here are mine, they are not trophies, and I used each one of them in battle as I have most of the other weapons you see.” Alena suspected that was true but she could have gone without the confirmation that the weapons around her had been used to take lives. “As for the firearms, none of them fire.”

  “Well, they would if you loaded them,” Alena ventured out of the corner of her mouth.

  Ares thought he had misheard her for a moment, surely she did not say that. His head tilted toward her. “You think I don’t know how to use a gun?” While his tone was rather light, his eyes darkened.

  “Ah, um, well, no, no, of course not.” Alena stuttered and took a step backward. “Of course you do, Lord Ares. I just meant that, well, if you put the ammunition into them then I could use them.”

  “Hmm, I see,” Ares said and sat back a small ways. “I tell you what, Alena. I was going hunting today anyway, so you may join me on my hunt. Let’s see if we can find you a suitable bow.” Getting up off his throne, he looked down at her. “Just so you know, even if you did load the firearms, they would not fire. The pins have been removed.”

  That was odd. “Why?” Alena asked quietly. “If you’re a God, of War no less, why dismantle your greatest creation?”

  Ares sighed deeply. “Here I was starting to like you. What did I tell you? Do not believe everything History teaches you…about anything. Stories become mangled and twisted over time. Humans created and perfected guns, not me,” he said strongly. “I prefer an…old school…approach to things such as killing. Besides, I cannot let these morons roam around here with loaded guns. They’ll kill each other. That’s what their kind does best and I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  Without further words, Ares found her a suitable bow hidden in a long forgotten storeroom of ancient weapons. He also found her suitable attire for the occasion. While he gave her gowns of the finest linens, cottons and satins for the long duration of her stay, today such clothes would not do. He produced a pair of small tan leather pants and a small white shirt that billowed and ruffled around the wrists and neck. This was what he wanted her to wear for their hunting trip along with a pair of knee-high brown suede boots.

  “Are you kidding?” Alena asked as she held up the pants.

  “No. Go. Put them on,” Ares coached. “It’s either them or that floor length gown you’re wearing,” he said with a long sigh when she balked.

  “Fine,” Alena huffed before disappearing into her room to change into the new outfit. “I’ll tell you what,” she said as she tossed the gown onto the bed and shouted through the closed door, “what one kills the other has to clean, how’s that?”

  On the other side of the door, Ares snickered. “Fine, little Fey. Do be careful while you’re cleaning, I wouldn’t want you to cut yourself or to get blood on your new blouse.” When next she appeared at the open door she was dressed in the clothing he gave her, her long silver-gray hair pulled tightly in a ponytail, the quiver slung crossways over her shoulders and the bow with it. He could not help but admire the way she looked. The pants were a nice fit indeed; although her hips were very slender and a bit misshapen, there wasn’t anything wrong with the rest of her. “Thank you for the boots.” It was very nice to have a pair of shoes once more.

  “You’re not merely prancing about the forest today, woman. Today you have a purpose and you are dressed for it,” Ares intoned mildly but his eyes were lit up like Christmas trees.

  4

  Outside the cave dawn was breaking over the water, and she stopped to admire the sunrise. “It’s beautiful. You really have quite the little slice of heaven here, Lord Ares.”

  Ares looked off toward the rising sun. He’d seen millions of sunrises and sunsets in his lifetime; the beauty in them was nearly lost on him as all he could see in the fireball in the sky was his brother, Apollo. The two had never gotten along—they’d been at each other’s throats since they were children. In fact, the only one of his siblings Ares had ever gotten along with was his sister, Artemis.

  There was an Olympian. There was a Goddess. Artemis had been strong and free, she was passionate, and righteous. Everything a woman and sister should be. A true Free Spirit, Ares and Artemis had much in common and shared a close relationship. More than two hundred years ago, Artemis’ went missing. Ceaselessly Ares searched for her for months until he found her remains in the land of the Celts. He found her decaying remains deep in the forest wrapped in a handmade quilt, her dead hand clutching a dried daisy. Someone raped and then beat her until her head caved in. The Olympians summoned Hades to answer to Zeus for not telling the God of Gods that his Daughter was dead. Hades pled innocence and, indeed, ignorance. He told Zeus that Artemis’ body may lay there on Olympus waiting for the pyre, but her soul was not in the Underworld and he had no idea where it had gone.

  This meant Artemis would never rest, never find peace, her soul was trapped somewhere and Zeus was determined to free it. To that end there was only one place to turn. Zeus went to Cernunnos’ fortress, stood in the Great Hall, demanding to know what happened to his Daughter. Cernunnos dismissed the King of the Olympians as though Zeus were no more than a fly. Had him escorted from his hall by his guards—the Druids Alena spoke of—and then banished from the Land of the Celts. This did not sit well with Zeus who already harbored a deep loathing of the Celts.

  “My Lord?” came the amiable voice and Ares turned toward it to see Nicco standing there. “Shall I accompany you today?”

  “I think I can handle this,” Ares returned as he slung the large bow and quiver over his brawny shoulder and walked off.

  Alena followed as Ares led the way across his island to his hunting grounds rich with wildlife. For a while they walked in silence and, unfortunately for Ares, Nicco proved as adept at tracking as the God of War believed. Careful to stay far downwind and even farther out of the line of sight of the God of War, Nicco followed them through the woods and spied upon them at Kat’s request. Unlike the little newcomer and the other women Ares kept on his island, Kat was very free with her favors. Whenever Ares wasn’t looking, she would impale herself upon anything with a stiff cock. She could suck the chrome off a bumper. Kat was always very careful to bathe herself after, ridding her skin of any lingering scent or spunk. As far as Nicco knew, Ares never suspected that his Head Bitch was an unfaithful one. In return for whatever news he could bring to her, Kat promised to repay him tenfold with whatever holes Nicco chose to indulge in. More than that
, Kat promised him Ares’ little prized Onya. Ares hadn’t shared the smallest of his women with his guards since her initiation into life on his island. Nicco was looking forward to having the little one under him again.

  Coming out of a thicket into a small stand of trees, Alena saw a deer grazing on the tall grass. It was a good-sized buck with 10 points on its antlers. “Venison for dinner?” she whispered to him and watched him nod. “You first.”

  “Oh, no,” Ares whispered quietly as he leaned down to speak directly into her ear. “Ladies first.”

  Taking him up on his challenge, Alena loaded the bow, raised it and drew it back. “You really think you’re a gentleman, don’t you?” Cautiously bringing the buck into sight, she took aim. “I hear you in the night, you’re no gentleman. You’re a misogynist.” Alena took in a breath, held it, and let the arrow fly.

  Direct hit.

  The arrow pierced through the deer just below the shoulder blade and straight into the heart. It fell dead in mid-graze. Impressive. Ares had been nearly certain that when it came right down to the moment, the little Fey would not release the arrow or, at the very least, she would miss. “Misogynist, am I?” Ares mused. “How can that be? I love women.”

  Alena rolled her gray eyes. “Being unable to control yourself and indulging with every woman you see doesn’t mean you love women. You’re just using them for your own depravity. That’s why you’re a misogynist.” She looked him up and down. “Chauvinist pig at best.”

  Ares chuckled. “These sounds you hear, tell me, do they disgust you or intrigue you, woman?” What Alena was unaware of was that for each night she had been here, Ares visited her room, just as he followed her around the island—unseen. When he was finished with his women and was mildly satisfied but far from spent, he sent them away and went to her door. Standing outside in the quiet of the sleeping cave, he would press his ear to the wood and listen. When he was certain she was sleeping, he would let himself in and stand there in the dark watching her.

  Sometimes she tucked her head deeply below her pillow, her hands pressed tightly to the sides of her head like last night. He didn’t like those nights; she would whimper in her sleep and toss restlessly. Two nights she woke screaming and muttering something that sounded like, no, no, don’t drop me. Alena sat straight up in the bed clutching at the air with desperate hands. The second time, she looked straight at him, even asked if someone was there but he remained silent and still. She pulled the blankets around her shoulders and shivered for quite some time until she fell into an uneasy sleep. On those nights her room reeked with the stench of fear. Other nights, when he was quieter about his activities, he would find her sleeping, dreaming peacefully with a smile on her pretty face. On nights such as that, the scent in the room was not fear but desire in the heady scent of honeysuckle. He would stand there sometimes for hours just gazing down at her in the dark.

  Alena was not going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, she went to inspect her kill lying still on the ground. Standing over the dead animal, holding her hands out with the palms down over it, she said a silent prayer for the departed deer and a thank you to the Gods above her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the disapproval on Ares’ face. “That’s one for me. You carry it.”

  “Nearly anyone can hit something that’s standing still, woman. Especially something that big,” Ares intoned as he looked down at the deer and knew it a good kill, quick and clean. Waving his hand in the air the deer disappeared from their sight. When she looked up at him with wide questioning gray eyes, he only smiled and told her he had sent it off to the cave. There was no sense in lugging the carcass around with them while they continued their hunt. “Why don’t you try something small and moving?” he suggested.

  “Whatever you want,” Alena said thoughtfully as she gazed down at the bloodstained grass.

  “Interesting proposition.”

  Rolling her eyes and trying to ignore his less than subtle comment, she looked up at him. “Now do you believe I have done this before?”

  “This I believe,” Ares agreed with a nod and gestured with a large hand for her to move forward ahead of him. “I also believe my home is being overrun with flowers and plants lately. I’ve no need of these things.”

  Before Ares knew it, Alena pulled an arrow from her quiver, tracked something he did not see, and let an arrow fly through the air off toward the left. His eyes followed it only to watch it pierce through a nearby rabbit running for the cover of a thicket.

  “I believe that’s another one for me, or was it not small enough or moving enough for you?” Alena said in a huff as she went to retrieve the kill. Once again he watched her stand over the dead animal for a moment, saying a silent prayer before she picked it up, pulled out the arrow, and hung it from the quiver on her back by its feet, being careful not to get any blood on her blouse. She wondered if he would have her make it into one of those fur bikinis he seemed to like. “It’s not about need,” she said quickly as she turned around to look at him and then began walking forward. “It’s about beauty and being connected to something larger than yourself.” The look that crossed his face as the last of her words spilled out of her mouth made Alena instantly regret them. He said not a single word but those eyes laughed heartily at her, reminding her keenly to whom she was speaking. Obviously Ares didn’t believe there was much larger than himself in this world not physically or metaphysically, well, other than Zeus of course. “I know, such things as flowers and beauty are frivolous in your eyes, aren’t they, Lord Ares? I will remove them when we return. I’m sorry if I offended you. Please forgive me.”

  “So sweet, so contrite,” he mused, “what’s wrong little Fey? Something more you want, other than to fill my home with the sickly sweet scent of flowers?”

  “What more could I want from someone like you?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me,” Ares dared.

  Alena sidestepped the invitation as they walked on. “You know, I would think that someone who supposedly lords over all things that are wild and free would have a small appreciation for things such as flowers.”

  “Who said I don’t appreciate them? I said I’ve no need of them.”

  Ares’ home was filled with odd things, most of which were either memorabilia of some type or were strictly designed to suit his needs. “You need eight women?” she asked without looking back at him.

  “Yes.”

  The word was so serious and final in tone that it made her stop walking. “Really?” She looked him up and down; he was extremely pleasing to the eye, yet… “I think you give yourself too much credit if you consider eight women a need.”

  “Trust me, woman, I learned to cull my wants down to my needs a very long time ago. When I tell you that I require eight women to fulfill my…needs,” his dark eyes glanced down toward his own crotch as he gestured toward the same with a wave of his hand, “you should believe me.”

  “And eight guards? What need does the God of War have of guards?”

  “While I’m more than capable of protecting myself, I am not omnipotent nor am I omnipresent, only Zeus can claim those things,” Ares said thoughtfully as they stood in the shade of several large oak trees and stroked the beard on his chin. “Besides, women aren’t enough to fulfill my needs; men need to be with other men.”

  “I don’t remember studying where you had a penchant for men, Lord Ares,” came her tittering reply.

  “Their company, Alena, their company,” he returned sternly, understanding but not liking the underlying meaning in her words. “Only men understand other men. Women have their uses but this is not one of them.”

  “Women are incapable of understanding men?” Alena mused and touched her fingertip to her lower lip, mocking the God of War. “I don’t know about that, I think we understand you perfectly. Although admittedly we do try in vain to better you.”

  Ares laughed, though he tried to stifle it so as not to frighten away any wildlife that might be eavesdro
pping on their private but quiet conversation. “What could you possibly do to better me?”

  She could start with a good pumice stone and smooth out all those rough but charming edges of his but she refrained from saying so. “If there’s nothing I can offer you, nothing I have that you want, why don’t you just let me go? Relieve yourself of my presence, take me to Athens and be done with me?”

  “I told you, I can’t let you leave this island,” Ares said sternly. “No one who comes here leaves here. Not unless they are an Olympian, and you are no Olympian, little Fey.” This seemed as good a time as any to tell her of his impending plans. “I, however, am leaving this island tomorrow, I will return in a few days or even hours. While I’m gone I want you to watch your back. If you don’t, Kat is apt to plant a dagger in it,” Ares warned.

  “Leaving?” Alena gasped. “Where are you going? Take me with you! Just drop me off anywhere! I won’t tell anyone you’re here, I swear it!” With each word, her voice grew higher in pitch and louder in tone. She had no desire to be here on this island with Kat. Ares was quite correct, the first chance the woman got she would do her best to make Alena disappear although Alena had done nothing to incur such ire. “You don’t want me here anyway!”

  “Be silent!” Ares ordered. He knew she was going to pitch a fit when she discovered he was going away. “Where I’m going is not a concern of yours. That I am going is. So watch your back.” Over the days she had been here, he had brought up the subject of her time in the water, of the pirates, and the ship bound for Rome that exploded. Each time he did, her story got bigger and bigger as she told it. It became more detailed and quite interesting. Ares decided it was time for him to know the truth of how she came to live on his island and, to that end he had to go to the refugee camp she spoke of so often in grim detail. Perhaps someone there could tell him how Sister Maggie departed their wretched little village. If so, then he would be one step closer to finding out who dropped her off in his waters.