The Heart of War (31 page)

“Yours, only and always yours.”

The climax that had been eluding him began to grow in the pit of his tight stomach but it didn’t flood out through his hard throbbing cock in a heated rush. Instead it flooded through his entire body, toes to nose, and through his mind, where it lit up with every synapse to a fully charged position. It grabbed hold of his muscles from his neck and back to his toes, turning them to flexed hard rocks. Ares breathing stopped, his breath caught in his lungs and they seemed to forget how to work as those swollen walls around his hard burgeoning shaft became slick with rivers of juice. They froze in place before grabbing, sucking and pulling on him. Alena, like the walls of her newly christened hole, froze. Her nails sunk deep into the flesh of his back as her teeth closed down around his hard nipple. She had to close her eyes because she could no longer see straight, if indeed she was seeing at all. To her it seemed the whole world not only faded away but she’d gone blind. There was nothing but the feel and the scent of him, the weight of him, and the thrusting, grinding hardness between her legs.

A hot flow that seemed to come from some place outside of him finally let go. It ran forth in a mighty rush that would make Old Faithful jealous and spurted out in a steam that Ares thought would never stop. If the Gods should strike him dead right here and now then he would die happy. He would die fulfilled and loved in her arms.

The climax that seemed to go on for days came to an end in a shower that he had no doubt would taste like cherries if it fell on her mouth. Ares collapsed in a breathless sweaty heap. Rolling off and, to his chagrin, out of her, Ares brought her in close to him. “Virgin?” Ares mused aloud and reached down between his own legs to grab hold of his slightly flaccid cock, he brought it up again to see the blood covering his palm. “Your father was a warrior, what was your mother?”

“A whore,” Alena answered without holding back. Maven was a goodhearted woman; technically, she was an herbalist by trade. Alena loved her mother and she didn’t doubt that her mother loved her. Maven also loved men, all men, any man. She could never get enough of the feel of a man between her thighs. Under Alena’s ear, Ares’ heart was beating very rapidly and his breathing was very shallow and swift as his brawny body glistened with sweat. “Are you all right, my Lord?”

The daughter of a whore and warrior—Ares thought he’d finally lucked into the best of both worlds. “Don’t you worry about me, little Fey, you give me a minute and there’ll will be a lot more.”

Alena gazed at him with wide curious gray eyes. “So there will be more?”

“Much more.”

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, Ares was spent to his very soul. Cradling her in his weary arms, holding her naked body to his and never wanting to let her go not even for a moment, sleep crept over him. Ares surrendered to it the way he’d surrendered to her. For the first time since he could remember the God of War fell into a deep dream-filled sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

I Can See for Miles & Miles

The Great Horned God Cernunnos was having a restless night. He tossed and turned in his bed, he even tried to wake, but he was caught in the grip of something more powerful than himself. In his dream he was in a large room; the walls were made of rock, the floor nothing but dirt. There was a massive hearth churning out a blazing fire lighting up a sweaty couple on the equally large bed.

Cernunnos floated high over them, looking down, watching and feeling the heat from both flame and lust. The man was a giant; he almost completely obliterated the woman below him. If it had not been for her long slender legs wrapped around his waist and the sultry sounds of her sighs, Cernunnos might have thought the man was engaging in sex with his bed.

It was the sounds she made and her whispered pleadings for more that drew Cernunnos’ attention. The voice was familiar to him, though he had never heard it quite this way. The man, thrusting and grunting away like a pig, raised himself up on the flat of his hands. Now Cernunnos could see her.

Magdalena.

She was fading rapidly but it was her.

Rage as hot as the flames in the hearth blazed through him as he let out a roar that shook his Hall but went unheard by the fornicating couple. Cernunnos reached down to grab the man by the shoulders and pull him off her but it was useless. His hands slipped right through him. The man went right on thrusting, kissing, caressing, and
taking what did not belong to him
. The Great Horned God punched, kicked, bit and slapped, all to no avail. He even tried to use his magick to send a bolt of lightning through his hands and kill the intruding bastard in mid-thrust.

ARES!

Below the God of War Magdalena let go and surrendered.

Cernunnos sat upright and wide awake in his empty bed. The great antler-like horns on his head buzzed and tingled as a long low growl came forth from his throat while Cernunnos struggled to keep his anger and his heartbeat under control. “I’ll kill you,” Cernunnos sneered. “Both of you.”

The Great Horned God preferred a bed with a mattress of straw to one of stone; he threw his long deer-like legs over the edge, grabbed up his robe and went to the armoire sequestered in his huge walk-in closet. He had to be sure that all of his little friends were still where he had left them. Slamming the double doors to the closet closed behind him and barring the door, he lit a torch and went over to the heavy armoire. Cernunnos ripped off the necklace from around his neck. Taking the medallion, he inserted it into the receiver on the door of the armoire like a key and opened the doors.

Taking in the sight of the sixty highly decorated and very ornate little bottles in all shapes, sizes and colors, all made from nothing but the best quartz crystal, he breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken him centuries to amass the collection of souls. Looking them over he plucked one from a shelf and held it in the palm of his hand. After all these years of searching, he’d finally found Maggie. It had been close to seven years ago that she eluded them the last time. That woman was slipperier than an eel and more cunning than a fox, but he had her this time. She caused so much trouble over the years; Cernunnos had begun to wonder if she was worth all of the effort he went to for her.

Now it seemed that soon his plan would be complete. All the pretty little bottles and their powerful little souls would become part of him now that he’d found Maggie. The fact that she managed to hook up with Ares was most bothersome. How did she find him? How did he find her? Did he even know who she was? He must, yes he must. Ares must know she was the property of another God and he defiled her anyway. Whatever Ares was really doing with Maggie, it was probably all to serve the Olympians unending quest for answers about Artemis’ death. “They’re looking for you, my dear. They’ve always been looking for you.” His large hand began to caress the small bottle. Now there was a chance that they just might find her before Cernunnos could incorporate dear sweet Artemis into himself along with the rest of them. “Ares. Did you find a way to send my little Wife to him, sweet one? Somehow, did you find a way to escape this jar?” That wasn’t it, not completely anyway. Artemis’ soul was still trapped in the jar; Cernunnos could feel it beating against the glass. Still, it was difficult to believe Maggie ended up with Ares by coincidence.

It was true that the Powers of the Gods often skipped a generation, so while Mae, Maggie’s mother, couldn’t claim any special ability, little Maggie was very special. As such, he kept a good eye on her from the day she was born. At an early age, Maggie showed signs of having Talents and Powers. She could make her cup float across the room to her if she were thirsty, do the same with a favorite toy she wanted to play with. Once or twice, he swore that when Maggie cried, the skies above opened up and cried with her.

Cernunnos earnestly hoped to take her as his Queen; she would give him a long line of beautiful Daughters and fine strong Sons, heirs to fight for him and perhaps one day take his place. Together they would create a dynasty that was unstoppable.

Yet, she escaped and eluded him for centuries only to turn up with Ares. Magdalena thought she was clever, after all who better to have as a Champion than Ares God of War? It was a smart move on her part, but it would not stop Cernunnos from claiming what was his. Cernunnos hated Ares, not only because he was a pious Olympian but because Cernunnos considered Ares a traitor to his own kind. Long ago, the two were much alike—some would argue that to this day they still were—they both Lorded over the Forests, the Animals, and All Things Wild and Free. That was not enough for Ares; he turned his back on the Woods that looked to him for Protection in favor of the Siren Song of War. Everything he touched he destroyed. Ares was Chaos Incarnate and Cernunnos intended to bring a New Peaceful World Order under his Supreme Rule. When Cernunnos ruled this world there would be no room for War and the insipid resistance it brought with it.

Druids came running from every corner of the castle in different stages of dress and sleep.

“I found her; she is with Ares on his island. Come here, Adrian.”

The oldest of the Druids by far at nearly 350 years, Adrian the Exalted Druid came forward with his Staff in his hand and conferred quietly with Cernunnos, listening to his Master’s instructions. “You will go and retrieve both of them. Take as many men as you need. I will help speed you along.” Seething with jealousy, Cernunnos made another demand. “Upon sight, you will curse him. You will use the Chroí Fuar Curse and then you will put these on him and drag Ares back here on his knees.” In Cernunnos’ hand appeared a pair of shackles and he slapped them into Adrian’s open palm. “Go!” he commanded. “Show no mercy. If he has men or women, leave none alive and take whatever you want, but bring Ares and Magdalena to me.”

Chapter Fourteen

An Engraved Invitation

1

Alena lay still and silent with Ares in her arms. Once again she cursed the fact that one could not tell night from day in this place without windows. His head resting on one breast and his hand on the other, she looked down at him. The lines that made him look as though he were always scowling were eased, the skin around his eyes and on his forehead was smooth. He was devilishly handsome especially now when he was comfortable and peaceful under his hides and in the grip of sleep. She took in the little streaks of gray in his raven hair, mainly on the temples but there were a few strands nestled in the rest as well. It made him look distinguished—men had all the luck in that regard. Alena thought she just looked old with her own gray hair and wondered why he’d ever wanted her here in his bed when there were so many other more appealing women waiting for him down in the chamber. Alena wrapped her arms around his broad body and held him a little closer as she pulled one of the hides around his shoulders. “I do love you,” Alena whispered to the sleeping man. She didn’t try to fool herself into believing he would get rid of those waiting women now that she was in his bed. Alena didn’t like the idea of sharing him, in fact, she hated it, but if it had to be that way then she would do her best to live with it for as long as she lived here in his home. Stroking his hair, she kissed the top of his dozing head and let out a little sigh, wishing she could keep him all to herself. Ares once confessed to
needing
eight women, and what was one little inexperienced Fey compared to that?

It was nice to believe that what he had said last night, that he loved her, was true. Not even Onya could look her in the eye and tell the God of War actually had a heart that was good for something other than keeping his beefy body warm and upright. Apollo swore that Ares’ only interest was Ares and History backed him up. Alena made a pact with herself; she would love him, she would not deny that, but she would be cautious as to how close she got to him. She would be mindful not to invest too much in a relationship with him that went past toe curling sex.

Still, deep down Alena felt that she could just lay here until she was an old woman and that would be just fine with her. Letting her fingertips wander lightly over the bumps and ripples of the muscles on his arm, she wondered if she would get the chance to grow old and die here. Zeus wanted her on Olympus and Cernunnos wanted her in the forests. It was best to stay mindful and think of this as just a quiet stop on a very long treacherous road.

“What are you looking at?” Ares did not have to open his eyes; he could feel her stare on him as he came up through the levels of a long deep sleep.

“You,” she said softly and laid another kiss on his forehead. “You snore like a freight train,” Alena cooed.

Ares let out a little chuckle as his own words echoed in his ear. “I do not snore, woman,” Ares protested lightly. “If I did, someone would have told me by now.” Alena’s breast made the most wonderful pillow for his head and resting place for his hand. Ares was always on edge. A mind that wouldn’t shut off and a staff that wouldn’t deflate constantly nagged him. Usually he managed a few hours a week, an hour here and an hour there but never more than two in a row. Last night after making love with her Ares slept through the night.

Running her palms over his back in long soft caresses, she smiled. “I don’t know what time it is, but I think it’s rather late.”

“About noon.” A grin crossed his handsome face and he reached out to touch her cheek. The bruises on her pretty face were already beginning to fade and for that he was glad. Ares thought he could make love to her for a few more hours and then take another trip to Morpheus’ Realm. “Are you all right?” Ares tried to take it easy on her last night and thought he had done rather well, but he could be wrong and so often was about things like this.