The Heart of War (3 page)

Above her the clouds parted, allowing the moonlight to shine down upon the island. She took in the sight of her demise. It was not just any wolf, it had a black and gray pelt that was very thick as it lay over toned muscle. This was no mangy mutt; she thought the damn thing must belong to a gym. Certainly it was as bulky and defined as any body builder she’d ever seen.

Yet, it was its eyes that caught her attention the most. As the creature stared at her, seeming to size her up, its pitch black eyes glowed red with flames. “What kind of wolf are you?” she hissed at it as her bound hands searched the ground for anything she could use as a weapon and fell upon a rather large stone that she did not hesitate to pick up and raise.

The wolf bared its teeth; it seemed to grin at her as it settled back on its haunches, making ready to spring at her.

She had not survived the wreck and days at sea just so she could be dinner for some wild beast. “Well come on then, what are you waiting for!” She wanted the damn thing to strike while the moon was still uncovered so she could see it and hit it. If it waited much longer and struck in the dark where it had a severe advantage, she was dead for sure. “Come on!”

The wolf took her up on her offer. It leapt at her with its mouth open and claws pointed at her. She swung out at it and missed; the stone fell out of her hands. The wolf knocked her to the ground for the last time, clamped its teeth around her throat, and held her down. Feeling the warm thickness of its saliva and taking in the strange smoky scent of its breath, she groped around for the stone that had betrayed her. Her hands seized upon it as the jaws around her throat started applying pressure. Any second those sharp fangs would bite through her flesh, spilling her blood all over the ground. Turning sharply to the side, going in the direction of the bite, Maggie hit it in the side of the head with the heavy stone as hard as she could. With a yelp of what sounded like surprise mixed with pain, it rolled off her, backed up, shook its head, and made ready to strike again. With the stone in her hand thick with the blood of the wolf, Maggie scrambled to her feet, feeling the blood dripping from the small wounds at her throat. For a fleeting moment, she prayed the beast wasn’t a werewolf. Perhaps it infected her with some horrible disease that would have her baying at the moon.

It was not a werewolf. It was something…more.

In a brilliant flash of red light, the wolf turned into a man. A handsome man as strong and brawny as the wolf he had been but a moment before. “You’re a ballsy bitch, you know that? You hit me!” He held a hand to the wound at his head and came away with a palm covered in Ichor. “No one strikes me and gets away with it.”

Holding her bound trembling hands to her sore wounded throat Maggie could not believe her eyes. “Who-what… the hell are
you
?”

“
What
am I? I am Ares.
Who
the hell
are you
?” Standing here with her in the moonlight those gray eyes of her almost seemed to glow. “What are you?”

“Ares?” She asked in a cracked whisper of stunned disbelief as she looked up, up, and further upward to his face. Afraid to look him in the eye, her gaze quickly wandered down his frame. He was a brute. Just look at those arms—thicker than small tree stumps— and that chest—as wide as a twin bed. She would not want to come up against him in a dark alley. “God of War, Ares? Olympus, Ares?”

“I see you’ve heard of me,” he said with a sly grin and drew the dagger from his vest as began taking slow steps toward her. “Now that I have told you my name, I expect you will do the same, woman. How did you get to my island? Why are you here?”

Maggie backed up, one step, then two. “You’re not real; you’re a fable, a myth.” Yet, she was already starting to feel that might not be true. It was in the way he held himself. That cocky, confident, self-assured stance and those Godly good looks that led her to believe that even if he was lying, he thought he was telling the truth. Maybe he was some insane magician living on this isolated island.

“Do those feel like myths to you?” Ares countered as he pointed at her bleeding flesh. He watched as she tried to reach the wounds on her shoulder blade. “Did I make them with these nails?” He held up his neatly manicured hand to show her the short fingernails upon each long digit. “Do you think they came from the claws of a wolf? Shall I inflict more to convince you?” The God of War grinned as the moonlight shone off the metal of the blade and the jewels at the hilt of the dagger in his large hand.

Maggie didn’t hear him, didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen. What he was saying just didn’t make any sense, except…“Greece,” she stuttered, not to him but herself.

“Yes, Greece,” Ares agreed proudly, “It’s a far cry from the Celtic Lands, is it not?”

His intimidating voice was beginning to fade away from her ears even as she answered him. Those pale gray eyes turned up to meet his dark brooding stare. “Celtic? I was in Africa.”

“Africa? Hmm?” Ares stroked the goatee on his chin. She didn’t look African, she didn’t speak with that accent, either. Ares traveled the world far and wide and if he had to say where this one was from, he would pick a small region in a country known as America and the city of Boston. “What on Earth were you doing in Africa, woman?”

The refugee camp and the smiling ebony girl flashed through her mind.

She had been there. Yes, she
had
. That was real. But this…was this real?

“Who are you? How did you get here? What was the name of your ship? Tell me now!”

What was the name of the ship? How did it wreck?

“Who sent you here?” Ares asked in a voice rapidly from going from cold to curious as he watched her eyes glaze over.

“This is a dream…a nightmare…it’s not real.”

Of course, it wasn’t real. Of course, it was a dream. A hallucination or even some type of delusion brought on by all she’d suffered these last few days. That could cause anyone to hallucinate. Couldn’t it?

Perhaps she was still in the ocean. Perhaps she had drowned long ago.

(Perhaps this was her punishment for having run away from her duties.)

Everything crashed down upon her. Before she knew it, the black night went as grey as the hair on her lovely head. Maggie was out before she hit the ground.

Ares looked down at her as she fainted. He could have caught her easily, but instead let her collapse to the ground as he sighed and rubbed his wounded head. The gash would heal within a few moments, but still it was here now and that did not please him. Ares could not remember the last time a Mortal had drawn his Ichor. Yet, she had almost gotten the better of him even in her weakened state. For this reason, she bore watching or killing.

It would be easy to drag the sharp blade across her throat, merciful even. She would never feel it; she would simply stay asleep for eternity. She would not bother him any longer.

Hovering over her with the dagger in his hand, Ares made his decision. “Women,” he huffed as he cut her bonds free before tossing her limp body over his brawny shoulder and taking her back to the cave.

Chapter Two

Warm & Dry

1

Ares came upon the entrance to his cave only to find the majority of his guards standing there, chatting and smoking. Ares frowned on both activities. He enjoyed a good cigar now and then as most mortal men did but cigarettes disgusted him, as did their putrid scent. “Ares,” Nicco said with mild surprise as he saw the Lord of the Island coming upon them in the dark with something slung over his shoulder.

“Nicco,” Ares said lightly and smiled. “Do me a favor will you, Nicco?”

“Anything, my Lord.”

“In the morning,” Ares began thoughtfully, “remind me to kill each of you, hmm?” Nicco’s eyes grew wide with surprise and he took a step back. “All of you, you couldn’t find this one woman?” He pointed to the rather shapely ass draped over his brawny shoulder. “Why do I keep any of you around? I said it before and I say it again; you’re
useless
.” Turning swiftly on his heels Ares sauntered through the halls of his home with the woman slung over his shoulder bellowing for his favorite woman to come and help him. “Young One! Come now, woman!”

It was not long before her bare feet were rushing down the steps from the floor above.

“What is it, my Lord?” Onya asked as she stared at the dirt floor.

She was always so sweet, so tacit and ready to please. Ares smiled to himself. “Are you blind, woman?” he asked as he put his load down on a long rock that served as bench or lounging area in his throne room. The throne room was his favorite room in the cave, well after his bedroom and the spa in the basement. Ares spent most of his time in this room lounging upon his Throne of Bones by the gigantic hearth. “Take care of her.” Ares wandered over to his throne where he settled and stared at the sleeping woman with the gray hair. “She’s soaked to the skin, take her clothes off.”

Onya, no more than 22 and the youngest female in Ares’ stable, looked from her Lord to the new arrival and back again. “Would you like me to take her to one of the other rooms, my Lord?” she asked shyly as she thought of the stranger’s modesty and perhaps the woman did not want Ares to see her in all of her glory.

From his place on the Throne of Bones and tanned skins, Ares snickered deeply as he stared at her with those smoldering eyes. By far, Onya was the most beautiful woman in his stable. The others were pretty, but she was a true beauty with auburn hair hanging to her slender waist, sparkling emerald eyes, pale flesh, and she was petite was well. When Ares stood next to her, Onya rose to no more than his hip, which made her the perfect height. That was a fact he allowed himself to indulge in to both their pleasure. “Where did I get you from again, hmm?” he chided with a snort and then openly began to mock her. “Oh, that’s right; I found you eating out of a dumpster in a back alley after your parents threw you out for sleeping with your uncle. So, what do you say…you don’t make me sorry I saved your life, hmm? Just do it.”

Whatever Ares wanted Ares received, at least here in his home. Onya came to live with him when she was merely sixteen and she never forgot the kindness Ares showed to her. She was forever grateful to him for rescuing her. Just before her sixteenth birthday, Onya turned up pregnant. She cried as she told her mother what her Uncle Teddy had done to her, but Teddy was her father’s favorite brother and Teddy insisted it had been Onya who came on to him. How could he possibly resist? After all, she was so beautiful, young and supple. Her father took his brother’s side; her family labeled her a tramp and threw her away like yesterday’s garbage. Out on the streets of Los Angeles, it wasn’t long before she lost the baby and thought it a blessing. She couldn’t take care of herself out here in the concrete jungle, how would she ever take care of an infant? Onya spent many months on the mean streets of LA, sleeping in doorways and alleys, here and there at a shelter when there was room. She had been beaten, robbed, raped, and several times left for dead. One night this handsome stranger appeared seemingly from nowhere while she was scrounging around in the dumpster behind a local donut shop. Over the next few weeks, he won her trust and she came here to live with him and the others. Onya never looked back. “Of course not, my Lord.” The young woman tucked long strands of auburn hair behind her small ears as she bent down over the woman and unbuttoned the tattered blouse. Beneath it, was a plain white bra equally tattered with one strap held together by… a safety pin? Rolling the woman onto her side, the first thing she noticed was the back of her blouse was soaked with blood. The second thing was the sight of fresh gouges running along her shoulder blades. “Did one of the wolves get to her?” she gasped as she turned around to look at Ares.

“Yes, this one,” he returned and pointed to himself but offered no further explanation.

Why did he attack her and then bring her back here?
“She’s parched, my Lord. Her lips are so dry they’re cracked. Should I get her water?”

“Not yet.”

“She is very cold, my Lord.”

The night was chilly and the ocean water was not exactly warm this time of year. It was doubtless that Poseidon’s ocean dropped the woman’s core temperature drastically. Without really thinking about it, Ares waved his hand in front of the hearth. The dying fire sprang to life with a great roaring rush that howled through the empty cavern.

“What happened to her wrists?” Onya asked in shock as she took in the sight of the ugly wounds circling the woman’s skin. “How long do you think she was out there, my Lord? Days?”

Ares put a hand to his temple. “All this chatter, you’re giving me a headache, woman. I asked you to do a simple thing for me, so be quiet and go about your work.” Onya was sweet but she did so love to analyze everything. Ares supposed that was one of the treasures of youth, endless curiosity. If it was not for her beauty and the fact that, small as she was, she was built like the proverbial brick shit house, Ares might not be so patient with her. “Yes, days, two or three, I would think.”

Trying not to talk anymore and thinking mainly about her work, Onya slid her hands under the woman’s body to unbutton and then unzip the rather long and old-fashioned looking skirt; she pulled it down over the woman’s hips only to find a strange gold belt there. The young woman let out a rush of air at the sight. “What is this? It says something, but I can’t make it out.” Although the gold glittered, it still looked old and she had never seen anything like it.

Young people, how easily they forgot things or never learned them to begin with. “It’s a chastity belt, dear Onya. So she doesn’t lie with anyone she isn’t supposed to.” He leaned forward on his throne as he looked past his young servant to the woman lying on the stone. God of War or not, Ares abhorred the use of chastity belts; if a man could not trust his woman, then she should not be his woman. This line of thinking was probably the reason that Ares never got married; women simply could not be trusted. “Did I tell you to stop?”