OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3 Page 7

  “What can you do?” Maggie said in an almost a mocking tone. “What are you going to do, Ares? What choice will you have but to give me over to him before he lays waste to this island and your people? I have run a long time and he has chased me. If he ever finds me, Zeus himself won’t be able to stand in the way.”

  Ares pursed his full lips and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, letting it out as he proclaimed, “A challenge, I like it. I haven’t had one of those in a while, not one worth anything anyway.” However, Ares was more concerned with his own kin and what the Olympians would do when they discovered she was here than he was with Cernunnos. Alena was right about one thing, those of his kind did tend to keep a silent eye on each other, and it would not take Zeus or Hera long to find out that Alena was here. They would be very interested in the Fey; they might even demand he turn her over to them. This information Ares decided to keep to himself for the time being.

  “Just let me off this damn rock! What am I to you? Nothing. Why should you care?”

  She was going to persist in this so Ares decided to lie. “I think you’ve been around the island, and have you found a boat? A plane? Anything? Yes?” He watched her shake her gray head. “While I can travel wherever I like whenever I like without the use of these vehicles, you cannot and I cannot take you that way. Only Zeus himself could do that and I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to my Father in many centuries.”

  Just as the idea was settling into her mind and she was starting to believe that was the truth, she’d never get off this island; she thought his words a lie. “Then how do you get them here? If you don’t have a boat or a plane or anything, how do you get these mere mortals to this island to serve you? If you have someone bring them by boat or by plane then someone out there already knows you’re here.”

  Ares let out a sigh and shook a finger at her. “I see you may be the challenge. You are not stupid, are you? Fine, you got me. I could take you if I liked, but I do not like. And no, no one in the outside world knows that I am here. I will keep it that way by any means necessary.”

  There was no mistaking the threat in his deep voice. They didn’t say anything more until they reached the cave where Ares led her into the throne room only to find his women still waiting for him. Kat was sprawled across his throne with her legs spread wide indulging in the feel of Onya’s tongue and fingers bringing her to ecstasy. Although Onya paused and looked up at the sound of their footsteps, Kat pushed her head back down to finish. She stared at Ares and then at his new guest with icy blue eyes.

  “Is this what you want? You’re going to turn me into one of your whores?” Maggie asked as she looked on the scene with disgust, and he smiled at the sight of it. “The way the Christians did to Mary Magdalene?”

  Ares looked down at her. “That would be difficult, don’t you think?” He looked back toward the women. “That’s enough! Get out of here now!” he demanded. Onya jumped to her feet and didn’t question him, but Kat did not. She simply lay there on his throne naked, waiting and oozing crème as those icy eyes turned sultry and inviting. The woman had a lot of balls, but Ares was not in the mood to indulge her. “You too, go.”

  “But we’re not done, we were so rudely interrupted,” Kat said snidely as she leered at Maggie. “I see you found her.”

  “I said leave us, woman!” Ares bellowed.

  At that, Kat did scramble to her feet; she gathered up her clothes and made her way out of the throne room but not before walking up to him, giving his haired broad chest a long caress and nuzzling her face into it. With a kiss, she looked at Maggie with spiteful eyes. “I’ll wait for you upstairs,” she whispered and then, with a very disgruntled and loud huff at Maggie, she slinked out of the throne room naked as the day she was born, putting an extra little wiggle into her hips. However she never took those cold eyes from Maggie. If looks could kill, the new arrival would drop dead at Ares’ feet.

  “Bring us Nectar and wine!” he shouted after her. “Our guest is thirsty!” Ares turned back to Maggie with a small sly grin. “You’ll have to excuse Kat, she’s just—”

  “Marking her territory,” Maggie finished in disgust as she watched the woman go and then turned her eyes back to him. Under different circumstances… “Perhaps I can see her point.”

  Ares’ dark eyes widened in surprise. “Is that a compliment?” he asked in genuine disbelief. “Why thank you, Alena. I do work at it, you know?” Ares showed off for a moment, after all it was his favorite things to do. Flexing those long strong muscles, bringing his arms up to near shoulder height, looking from one bulging bicep to the other with pride, he looked back at her. “I’m glad you appreciate it.”

  Yes, under other circumstances and if Ares was not Ares then Maggie could imagine a more pleasant stay. He was exceedingly handsome and well built. She had not seen any better example of the male form on a magazine or book cover, nor TV show or movie. Brad Pitt and George Clooney looked like drag queens compared to the man in front of her. “Work at it? I thought you were a God?” He certainly looked like one.

  Ares nodded his head. “You know I am. I was born with this but, at my age, I do have to work to keep it,” he admitted from his throne. “Physical labor is good for the body, good for the mind and the soul.”

  “You surprise me,” she said softly. “I would think you too arrogant to sweat.”

  Ares laughed and slapped his knee. “How much you think you know of me and how little you actually do.”

  That smile lit up the entire room and made her heart skip a beat. The ringing of his laughter filled her ears and touched her soul. How long had it been since she heard someone laugh like that? So loudly and spontaneously? All those years in the camp there was little laughter and little to laugh about. She found it hard to resist touching him but then she looked at the Throne of Bones with its skull at the head and the stains on the leather seat. Maggie remembered where she was and who was with her. “Just because you can’t fuck me doesn’t mean you can’t make me do other things for you,” Maggie countered as she watched the woman he called Kat return to the room. She was carrying a very large silver tray with two pitchers, two goblets, and smaller trays of meats, breads and cheeses. Kat put them on the large table, poured a glass of something from one pitcher and handed it to Ares who was still standing next to Maggie, too close for Kat’s liking. With much loathing she poured the second goblet from the second pitcher and handed it to Maggie although it was clear from the expression on her face that she would rather toss the contents of the goblet—and the goblet as well—at the woman. Maggie took it from her and thanked her for it but Kat just glared at her.

  “Leave us,” Ares commanded. “Sit, Alena, drink, eat, I know you must be hungry. Olives and grapes are tasty but hardly enough to call a meal.” As Kat left the room, Maggie began to take a seat on one of the long wooden benches beside the large table. Before she could sit, a pillow appeared under her. Kat looked back just in time to see it appear and let out a grunt that made Ares smile again. “Back to our conversation, yes, I can force you to do other things for me if I wish it,” Ares agreed as he thought of the scars on her thighs. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from uttering that vulgar word in my home and in my presence. Do not worry, as you can see I have more than enough women to keep me happy; I have no need of you. Not for that.” Touching a finger to his bearded chin, he looked down at her again. “You might want to keep that in mind for the duration of your stay.”

  Yes, she would keep that in mind right in the front but not just yet. “I have offended you? The God of War? Slayer of millions of men, women and children? Whoremaster? A thousand apologies, Lord Ares.”

  “Don’t mock me, woman,” Ares warned. “You’ll have to get accustomed to such sights so long as you reside in my home.”

  Maggie was not sure she could do that. The idea of walking around any corner only to find him screwing one of the scantily clad women that wandered around here almost made her ill. She looked away from
him to the throne that caught her eye. Other than the long table, it was the largest thing in the room. “Did you kill all of those people? Just to make yourself a chair?”

  Ares looked over to his throne. “A chair?” he asked with insult. “I think it is more than that and yes I killed almost all of them,” he said proudly as he seated himself upon his stained throne. Ares lay back as he looked up at the skull. “Say hello to my brother, Hercules,” Ares invited.

  “You killed him?”

  “No,” Ares said in a deep voice, “even I do not like to incur my Father’s wrath and my dear departed brother here was Zeus’ favorite child of all.” Ares stroked the large skull almost lovingly as he drank from the chalice of Nectar. “I dug up his bones and took the skull for a prize. I felt I deserved it for all of the trouble I put up with from him.”

  That did not sound right to her. “I thought your kind was burned on a pyre like my kind.”

  “Oh yes,” Ares agreed, “but Hercules, near the end of his long life, married a Christian woman and when he died she refused to burn him. Instead she had him buried in her own tradition.” Ares pursed his lips and made a sour face. “Even my bastard brother deserved better than that. So now he keeps me company.” His large hand patted the top of the skull but Ares slung one thick leg over the arm of the throne.

  “Zeus? Does he still live? What of Hera, your Mother? And the others? Why aren’t you on Olympus?”

  “So many questions,” Ares mused. “Yes, my Father, my Mother, his sister that bitch Aphrodite, my sister Athena, my brother Apollo and my son Eros still reside on Olympus. Hades and Poseidon still reside in their respective kingdoms.”

  “Bitch?” Maggie asked as her nose wrinkled. “History tells you were Aphrodite’s Lover, you had a torrid affair with her, and you flaunted it in front of the other Olympians and….”

  “Sorriest mistake I ever made,” Ares intoned darkly.

  Obviously, there was bad Ichor there so Maggie let that part of the subject drop. “And you? Why are you here on this island?”

  “Call it…a…a dysfunctional family. We have many differences of opinion.” Ares snorted and opened his arms. “I have told you a story, now you will regale me with the rest of your fascinating tale. Just how old are you, woman?” When it appeared she was not going to answer him, Ares gave her encouragement. “Come on, Alena, tell the truth and shame the devil, I know you are Fey. How old are you?”

  While Maggie was Fey it had been centuries since she had been with or even knew of the existence of another of her kind. She had lived so long under the guise of a mortal woman that she had begun to think it all dream, a hallucination, they had never been real and neither had the ancient gods. Now, here in this place reality caught up with her. “Two hundred and forty-five,” she admitted. “However, that’s certainly nowhere near as old as you, my new friend.”

  “Hardly,” Ares agreed. “Yet it is impressive nonetheless. Before you were in Africa you were in…”

  Maggie never told the tale of her life to anyone; she would have to trust him and if he was Ares—and in her heart she knew he was—then he just might believe her. Maybe not. Deciding on the middle road, Maggie took a deep breath and began to spin a tale containing a much-abbreviated version of The Truth. “I was born in Scotland, but I have lived all over this world as I’m sure you have.” Ares nodded and motioned for her to continue with the wave of his hand. “My mother was Fey, yes, it’s true, but my father was a human man. I didn’t know him very well; he died when I was young.” She took another breath, feeling her stomach turn and trying to calm it. “Feys live in the woods.”

  “I know,” Ares said absently. “You’re usually not good for much, either.”

  Maggie planted a hand on her hip and let out a grunt. “We know of trees, and flowers, and animals, we know of natural medicines, and although we do keep to ourselves we are not adverse to helping those who are in need,” she insisted. “We are not useless, a bit frivolous perhaps, but not useless.” She watched his lips purse. “I suppose you’ve no use for frivolity,” Maggie huffed but he did not say anything. She went on with her story. “When I was very young, the Druids came to our little village deep in the moors, they came for me. They took me away from my mother and told me that Cernunnos had selected me for his new wife. They put this thing on me before I could do so much as object, then they made me stay among them for several years. They were cold but kind; they schooled me in many things—art, history, literature…magick, a little. However, as I told you this is not my fate, it is not what I want, and so I ran away. I’ve been running ever since.” Maggie knew much about herbs and astrology, but she could not make fire come to life in her hand or make it do her bidding. She could not talk to the animals or hear a cry for help from miles away. She certainly could not project herself off this island. If she could, she would have done that already.

  That would explain how she’d come to wear that contraption for so long that it had deformed her hips. Ares leaned forward and put his fist under his chin. “So then, you really are…a virgin?” he asked with a hopeful lilt in his deep voice and a glint in those onyx eyes. “Don’t think me too forward, I only ask because it’s so rare to meet a virgin over the age of fifteen these days.”

  Ares’ curiosity disgusted her. “I’ve never known a man in that fashion,” she admitted.

  All that she had told to him since he met her in the forest had been the truth. There was no deception in her eyes or her voice. “But you have in…another?” Ares prodded.

  “What does it matter to you? I’m sure you’ve relieved many a woman of her flower.” A sudden chill ran through her and she got up front the table laden with food and went to stand nearer the hearth. “Why does it concern you? I thought I was guest here.”

  Believing himself helpful, Ares waved his hand in the air and the flames in the hearth sprang to and past the flue. Alena jumped and turned to look at him. “You’ll get used to it; in a year or two the things I do will cease to be so amazing to you. And just so you know, dear Alena, I do not really care for virgins, too much crying, whining and guilt afterwards. I prefer a more experienced woman in my bed.”

  If Ares meant his words to allay any fears, it wasn’t working. “Your reputation precedes you…Lord Ares. So somehow I doubt the things you say.”

  “Don’t believe everything your history books and mythology tell you. Things become muddied and unclear when there’s a few thousand years between the event and the telling of it,” Ares warned as he ignored her question. “How did you end up in Africa?”

  Maggie held her hands out to the flames to catch the warmth. She stared into the flames as she spoke. “I was living in a city called Boston for many years. That’s in Massachusetts, which is in the United States,”

  “I don’t need a geography lesson, woman.”

  Yes, right, of course he didn’t. “I was a schoolteacher. One day I looked out of the window of my classroom and I saw them standing there, so I ran.”

  “Saw who? Ran where? Look at me when you speak with me, woman.” Although his voice was low and still pleasing to the ear there was no mistaking the authority in it.

  Turning around she finished her tale. “The Druids, I saw them, they found me. I ran. The docks were close by, closer than any airport or train station and I was afraid to go home. If they knew where I worked, surely they must have known where I lived. I left through a little known service entrance and fled to the pier. I stowed away on the closest boat leaving port but I had no idea it was bound for Africa. I ended up at the refugee camp where I met Father Murphy and Sister Augustine, they took me in, and they told everyone I was Sister Maggie, one of them. We built a school and an orphanage in a war-torn hellhole where just living day to day could get you killed. Taking a loaf of bread or a shiny diamond from a mine would get you one less hand or arm depending on the offense. Robbers, rapists, thieves and thugs abounded.” She turned her eyes upward to look closer at him. “I’m sure you’d love it. You
probably incited it.”

  “Although it does sound like my kind of place, I haven’t drummed up any trouble in Africa in decades,” Ares defended himself as he teased her. But he knew the ratted conditions under which she must have been living. It explained all of the calluses that marred her. He listened, watched her closely, and again did not hear any deception. “How did you come to leave that place? You said you were going to Rome. What were you going to do there?”

  That was where the conversation turned from Truth to what Alena thought was Truth. She began to sputter and stammer as she spoke. “We…were going…to…Rome. To…the…Vatican.”

  “Vatican?” Ares asked with interest. “Received an invitation from the Pope, did you?”

  Did she? No. Why would the Pope send for her?

  “Not me, Father Murphy.” Maggie’s stormy eyes dropped his gaze as they drifted toward the floor. “He was going, he was…being honored….for his…all of his work at the camp.”

  “He must have been a very hard worker and done great deeds if the Pope wished to reward the good Father himself,” Ares led and wondered if her mind would follow.

  “Yes, very hard,” Maggie agreed readily.

  “This boat that you couldn’t read the name….”

  Her brow furrowed, she could almost see it in front of her, white letters on a black stern, but she just could not read it. “It was…a cargo ship, like the one that brought me to Africa.”

  “Why didn’t the Pope send you airplane tickets?” Ares inquired easily.

  Why not?

  “We’re poor,” Maggie stammered, “we had to…work our way over.”

  “To Rome? The Pope was going to honor this Father Murphy yet you had to labor your passage to the Vatican?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I asked you to look at me, woman. Bring your eyes up here.” It was all a lie, every word she had spoken regarding the time that she left the camp was completely and utterly false. She was not purposefully lying to him; she was lying to herself, her mind still filling in those pieces as he led her down this literary path. “You were working on this boat,” he coached, “and someone tied your hands. Why?”