Red Demon (3 page)

“I’m not like Juliana. I made a bargain.” He thumped his chest as if Cecilia could see him. “Not saying it was a good one, but that’s beside the point. I made a deal with a devil, and that’s why I’m here, still treading life when I’d rather—”

“I have solid proof that Juliana’s spirit is right here in my house. You
know
that this was her home; why wouldn’t you believe that she’s here?”

“She’s running out of time, Aristos.”

The words hit him like a wall of ice. Cecilia was right—he was a coward when it came to Juliana Tiades. But his heart had been far too broken, and for far too long, to risk opening it again.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, and ended the call.

The kitchenette was secluded from the rest of the downstairs, but Ari could still hear the whoops and hollers from his compatriots playing Wii in the adjoining recreation room. With a groan, he leaned his full weight against the stainless-steel refrigerator and doubted everything. Himself. The newly acquired power in his body. His decision to ignore Cecilia and her persistent calls.

What if the eccentric woman was right? If Juliana was truly reaching out to him, then he was turning his back on her.

It was as if a million voices scrambled for attention in his mind, and he wondered how much of that confusion might be a result of his recently acquired “abilities.” Or power. Or curse. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had undergone a tremendous change in the past two months, all in the name of brotherhood and friendship.

River had wanted to become mortal in order to live a normal life with Emma, so Ari had made a new bargain, this time receiving River’s own mantle of power in a supernatural exchange. No small thing, considering Ares, god of war, had seeded the powers of life and death inside his best friend. As a result, Ari was now packing a supernatural Smith & Wesson, so to speak. He bore not only his own power, but River’s as well now, and that was one helluva dangerous brew, considering that River’s gifts had often left him torn between violent madness and raw sexual aggression.

Ari bowed his head, burying it in both hands. The energy in his body felt alive tonight, his soul on fire, even more so after talking to Cecilia. In fact, the cool, metallic surface of the refrigerator only pointed out how heated his body had become.

A firm hand clasped his shoulder, startling him; he looked up to find River’s concerned eyes fixed on him. “Why does my mother-in-law keep calling you?” his friend asked, grip tightening. “And why are you avoiding her?”

Ari sighed; he really wasn’t ready to confess all, not even to his best friend. Then again, River might already know the bitter details of his past with Juliana, at least if Emma had shared them with him. Ari knew enough about husbands and wives, especially newlyweds, to realize there weren’t usually any secrets of consequence between them.

Ari had never told any of the brotherhood, not even River, about his time during that mission in Savannah. Or about the society woman he’d loved and wooed during those sultry summer months of 1893. He’d certainly not shared the details of her death, or how he’d grieved for her—or for how blasted long. He’d told no one until that day at Cecilia’s home more than two months ago, when she’d blindsided him with a faded photograph of Juliana, he standing at her side. Emma had been with him when he’d seen it, and he’d not thought it fair to ask her to keep secrets from River.

“We never keep secrets, friend,” River prompted as if reading his thoughts. “Emma’s obviously aware of whatever this is about, but she told me to talk to you. She wouldn’t betray your confidence; you should know that.”

Ari groaned, wishing that he could dematerialize and land somewhere very far away. At least Emma had kept silent until now. “River man, look,” he said quietly, “just let this one go.”

His best friend’s answer was to give him a hard shove in the chest. “You bullheaded idiot. You’ve been moody for weeks, alternating between being a total smart-ass and a depressed moron. Something’s obviously bothering you, and I’m figuring it has to do with Cecilia’s calls.”

“We both know that’s not the only change in the past few months,” Ari said meaningfully.

River frowned in obvious concern. “Are you referring to the power exchange? Are you having side effects?”

Ari stared at the floor, wishing he’d kept his trap shut. What was it about River Kassandros that always made him blab the private shit? Well, not quite always. River had never caught even a clue of what the original Savannah mission had done to Ari.

Ari shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe . . . I dunno.”

River stared at him, hard, as if he could penetrate Ari’s mind with that single glance and know the truth. A truth River surely realized Ari would never own up to, not with the way they always watched each other’s backs. If River learned that their recent trade had begun to play havoc with Ari’s mind and soul, he’d go to Leonidas, the Oracle, and anyone else he could think of. All the way to heaven or Hades itself to reverse their situation, and Ari wasn’t about to allow that. Not when River finally had a happy, secure life; a free one, after millennia as a slave and berserker.

“Dude, how’s ’bout bugging out of it, huh?” Ari tried to laugh. “I’m cool. No worries. Everything’s copa- fuckingcetic.”

River glared at him. “So it
is
the power you assumed. Obviously, you’re having a hard time managing it.”

Ari groaned and bit back what he wanted to say, which was that the timing of the whole thing was the real bitch. Juliana reentering his life at just this moment was an added complication to an already brewing shit storm. Every time Cecilia called him, the energy in his body screamed its defiant rebellion a little more loudly.

Ari shifted under River’s intense study, but his best friend didn’t back down. “If it’s the power,” River said, dark expression intensifying, “then you need to talk to me. I had to shoulder it for more than twenty-five hundred years—”

“You think I don’t know what you fucking lived with?” Ari barked bitterly, both hands trembling violently at his sides. “Guess what,
brother
? I’m living with it now.”

River’s usually warm eyes widened, his suspicions clearly confirmed, and then his entire expression became very sad. “Ari,” he murmured, grief in his voice. “Oh, gods, Ari, I’m so sorry. I’d hoped . . . believed the current would be different inside of you.”

“Why would it? Because I’m a bigger jackass than you?” Ari tried to laugh, but River’s expression only grew more somber.

“Because you are a better man than I,” he said seriously.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. If anything, I’m far too rash, rude, and blundering to deserve what you gave me. The power of life and death? Inside of me?” He pointed at his heart. “What a joke. I’m such a perennial fuckup, even my younger brother outranks me.”

River shook his head with slow intensity. “You’re not yourself, and comments like that prove it. You’ve always been one of our bravest, most valiant warriors. That’s why Ares chose you after Thermopylae.”

“Why did
you
choose me, anyway?”

River seemed to think about the question, looking off to the side for a long, pensive moment. Finally, his gaze slid back to Ari, eyes bright. “There was no one else I’d have trusted. Not to remain uncorrupted by so much power.” River blew out a guilty sigh. “But I should have thought harder about what it might do to you.”

Ari seized his friend’s arm. “I don’t regret my decision,” he rushed to say, but knew his reassurance was too late. “River, I promise. It’s not like this all the time. Not even a lot of the time. It’s this thing with Cecilia, how she won’t leave me alone . . .”

“Her calls upset you, and you experience a power surge,” River finished knowingly.

“Yeah, it’s like an explosion, beneath my skin, down in my muscles.” Ari lifted his heavy forearms, flexing them in the air. “Like a grenade goes off inside me.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “Right down in here . . . some fucker pulls the pin, and it just explodes.”

“Trust me,” River said. “I know that feeling. Unfortunately all too well.”

Ari nodded, studying his best friend’s face. So familiar . . . and yet so very different since their fateful trade. There was a peace in River’s eyes and facial expression that had been lacking throughout their eternal years together. Ari shivered, wondering whether his own features had changed for the worse, whether the weight of what he’d accepted had transformed his appearance.

As if in reaction, a jolt of electricity sizzled through his fisted hands, and there was an answering explosion from the other side of the room.

“Damn it, Ari!” his big brother, Kalias, cursed. “That’s the third Wii you’ve fried this month.”

He gave his brother the middle-finger salute, even though he couldn’t see it from the next room. “So bill me, Kali
ass
,” he shouted irritably.

And instantly felt the burn inside his body intensify tenfold.

River clearly saw that change, because he cuffed Ari by the neck, hauling him toward the stairwell. “Move out,” River commanded.

“Why?” Ari wrenched out of River’s grasp. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Cecilia’s. We’re going to deal with whatever the problem is,” he announced, shoving Ari forward. “And you’re going to tell me the whole story.
Now
.”

The wind atop Olympus blew warm and brisk, whipping Daphne’s hair across her eyes. She stepped onto the stone portico that led to her brother’s palace, one of the most elaborate of all the gods’ homes, situated just below the mountain’s peak. From within, sheer curtains billowed in golden invitation.

Normally she preferred leather and miniskirts to the traditional white gown she’d donned for this familial visit, but things were tense enough with Ares right now. She didn’t need her fashion choices pointing out that he no longer controlled her destiny.

She entered the throne room, following one of her brother’s female servants; the woman was practically nude, clothed only in links of delicate gold chain and a diaphanous skirt that hid nothing. Ares rose from a velvet settee and greeted Daphne, drawing her uncomfortably close.

“I see those grimy Spartans haven’t corrupted you yet, sister. At least not fully.” He pressed his nose against the crown of her head, inhaling her scent. “Or perhaps you merely bathed before entering my presence. That would account for the aroma of lilacs.”

He slid one arm about her waist, walking her toward his throne. It was a monstrous, ornate slab of gold that he’d commissioned some age or two ago, engraved with images of homage and victory. They were his usual self-adoring fare: Ares astride his stallion; Ares borne aloft a shield; Ares being lavished with maidenly kisses.

He stroked a warm hand down her forearm, lingering far too long, and she jerked free as if scalded.

He censured her with a dark warning. “Not very grateful.”

“And for what should I be grateful?” she spat. “My centuries of captivity at your hand? The millennia of control, when you kept me invisible to the man that I . . . that I . . .” She bit back the rest.

Ares laughed mockingly. “
The man that you love?
” he finished in a singsong falsetto, fanning his chest. “Oh, flowers and sonnets, how touching,” he chirped, then frowned as if tasting something noxious. “By all of Olympus, love makes me
sick
. The emotion is a weakness, a blight. How disappointing that my own offspring should be the keeper of it.”

Ares had very little respect for his son Eros. In fact, she wasn’t sure how many years had passed since he’d even bothered to see the playful, amorous god of love. Her brother twisted his face nastily. “I blame Eros’s existence on Aphrodite. The weakness in her bloodline sired his foppery, not me.”

“He is your own son.” Daphne shook her head angrily. “You should care for your family, have some decency of feeling. Not torture and neglect us.”

“I have never neglected
you
, Daphne,” he answered in a tone that sounded almost sincere. “And we both know how much I care.” The last words dripped with double entendre, but she ignored their lascivious suggestion.

“If you truly care for me, Ares,” she rushed to say, stepping near him, “then
show
me. Make your words true.”

He did not reply, simply studied her with obvious interest and then gave a half nod.

She continued, daring to hope that her brother might display some compassion today. “Do not harm the Spartans,” she asked, bowing her head. “My lord, please. Do not seek revenge upon Leonidas or his immortals.”

She dared to look up, meeting Ares’ tawny-eyed gaze, and he laughed, tossing his head back as if she’d just made a delicious joke. “Oh, dearest Daphne, you charm me still. Even now, after all that’s transpired between us, you captivate me. How naive you are,” he said at last. “And how pitifully, shamefully in love you remain with that brittle old king.”

She chafed at his description of Leonidas as “old,” just as she hated it when the warrior described himself that way. Leo had been only thirty-five at Thermopylae, and the immortal years didn’t show in his features. He bore no significant lines on his swarthy face, no gray in his curling hair and beard.

She defended him softly. “Leonidas is not old. He is immortal.”

Ares mounted his throne, lounging in it with an affected, languid posture she knew was meant to intimidate her. “Our father may have granted you freedom, sister, but he issued no such orders regarding the Spartans. They will be brought to heel for their treasonous rebellion.”

She slid to her knees, assuming the most humble, beseeching posture she could manage. Tears burned at her eyes, but she didn’t care how pathetic or subservient she seemed. Not with Leo’s life suspended in the balance; not when she might be the only one who could save him from her vicious brother. “I beg of you, Ares. Please. Spare them . . . him.”