The Heart of War (52 page)

Alena began to sob and then to beg. “Please? Ares? Please? Stop. You’re hurting me.”

Alena would like to believe that he simply didn’t hear her whispered pleas, but with those ears of his that was hard to believe. He just didn’t care and
his hips just kept moving as he started putting his back into his work, sweat began to drip onto her back. The large hand so roughly twisting her right breast let go only to grab her by the throat. Air cut off from her lungs. Alena tried to pull away from him. Using the hands on the headboard she pulled forward, even though it made his grip tighter. She wriggled and squirmed until one hand came off the headboard and, in desperation, yanked on his forearm to pry it away even just the tiniest bit.

The hand that planted on her hip pushing her forward and pulling her back when it wasn’t slapping her ass now twisted in the gray hair at the back of her head. With a mighty pull, Ares yanked her jerked neck to the side. A little more force and she was sure he would have broken it. The hand at the back of her head pushed her upper body down to the mattress while the one choking off air from her lungs let go and returned her hand to the headboard before planting itself on her hip.

Alena gasped for air as the pain between her legs grew into a twinge in her abdomen and she began to fear for the baby she was carrying. He just kept thrusting away, harder, deeper, faster, until Alena could hold on to the headboard no longer, all the strength fled from her terrified body, mercifully taking her frightened mind with it. She slid down the headboard, her arms pulled in, and she curled up into a quivering little ball below him with her red stinging ass in the air.

When it was over, Ares left her there, frightened, alone, shaking on the bed. He didn’t even look back.

5

In almost a drunken haze, Ares stumbled down to the lower level naked as the day he was born, his cock still dripping spew and tinged with blood. Caught in this strange sense of euphoria he lay down on the bench and began pressing weights. He buried himself deep in Alena and gave her what-for most of the day, by now it was far too late to go outside and chop wood. Hands on the metal bar, he pushed the stack of 350 lbs. up and brought it down. Pushed it up. Brought it down. Ares repeated the pattern until all the strength in his arms fled and he could lift it no longer. His brawny body covered in a heavy sheen of sweat, the heart in his chest running at full speed and the massive lungs next to it drawing in quick deep breaths, he rolled off the beach and made his way to the steaming pool.

Sitting in the hot water, his mind finally slowing down he kept telling himself he was dreaming. This was a hallucination. He hadn’t hit Alena. He hadn’t threatened her with the axe. He most certainly did not just put the full girth of his cock to her like a two-dollar whore. No, he hadn’t done any of those things.

No matter what he told himself he couldn’t stop hearing her whimper, couldn’t stop seeing those frightened gray eyes looking up at him still laden with trust and misplaced hope. Worse than that, Ares couldn’t stop hearing the laughter of a foreign voice in his head. It laughed, it laughed, and it laughed at her pain and his misery like a rotten child. It egged him on both on the beach and in the bedroom. Whispered directly in his ear telling him how Alena was fooling him, she was using him; she was going to fly away with Eros the first chance she got and take Ares’ child with her. He had no choice but to listen and then to obey although he’d tried to fight his most base instincts, tried to restrain himself in the bedroom. The voice just kept telling him that Alena was nothing more than a lying Celtic whore. She would never love him. She had Eros waiting for her. Surely Alena would leave him for his Son just as soon as her memory returned if it hadn’t already. For her lies, her deceit and her treachery, the little Fey deserved everything Ares dished out to her and more.

She didn’t deserve such things. It was wrong. Sitting in the warm water surrounded by the steam and solitude Ares’ stomach began to heave as he thought about what he’d done. When he pulled his hands out of the water bringing them up to his face all he could envision was how they’d hit her and the terrible sound it made. He wanted to grab the nearest blade and cut them off so they could never do it again.

That nasty voice tried to soothe him. It tried to tell him that there were things Alena needed to learn about him and even if she did stay—which was altogether unlikely—then their lovemaking would not always be so soft and tender. He had needs and desires beyond those of schoolgirls.

True enough, but Ares was looking forward to slowly breaking Alena in and introducing her to the more rigorous aspects of sex.

“You’re an animal,” he muttered to his perplexed reflection in the water. Even when she surrendered completely, her body fell to the mattress and she let go of any fight, he just kept on going. All the while, in the back of his mind telling himself it would be over soon, the climax was near. He stroked harder, faster, but it eluded him. He tried to stop but he was so far beyond excitement that Ares was lost to himself and the entire world around him. Stopping wasn’t an option as a dark force he could neither see nor touch propelled him onward, but he could hear it clear as crystal and it made his heart grow cold.

She’s a whore.

That’s what it said over and over and over again in the bedroom. Alena was a whore, a CELTIC WHORE. “No, she isn’t.” No matter what the wretched voice said or how it tried to twist things, it couldn’t change the fact that Alena came to him a virgin, therefore she was no whore. The things she had done before he came along she had been forced to do or gone along with for survival—

(Just like she did today)

—not because she was in love. “She loves me, or she did.”

No woman will ever love you.

“That’s not true.”

That taunting voice, the one that seemed to be whispering straight into his ear as if it sat on his shoulder, wouldn’t let up.
Eros on the other hand is young, handsome, passionate but tender, strong but gentle…even-tempered… everything a woman could want and then some.

“I’m stronger than he is.” Ares told the voice. To prove his point he pulled his arms out of the steaming water, pumped up his 24-inch biceps to full capacity and gave each a kiss. “Stronger by far.”

Don’t fool yourself; you’re far past your prime, Old Boy. You are death and destruction incarnate. You can’t help but destroy everything you touch. She’s crying up there right now, isn’t she?

Ares turned his tired eyes away from his reflection and up to the ceiling, thinking of how he’d left her there. Alena was weeping and terrified. “What is wrong with me?”

When you bring about the evitable destruction, when it all blows up in your face, she runs to Eros, she will take whatever heart you have with her. Alena will leave you broken, battered…useless.

Useless was one thing Ares could never stand. Not knowing Truth from Lie or Fantasy from Reality, he hauled himself out of the steaming pool. One step at a time he walked out and by the time he reached the top he was fully dried and dressed in warm clothing. He didn’t know what was happening to him but he did know he couldn’t spend the night in his own home. Ares didn’t trust himself to stay here. Instead of retiring to the comfort of his stone bed, he walked out down the corridor to the entrance of the cave, passing by Alena’s room on his way to the quiet and peace of the waiting night. Beyond the door, she was still crying. She heard his footfalls coming to the door, she stopped breathing, stopped crying, in his mind he could see her pressed to the wall waiting for the door to open as fear gripped her. He had to push his feet onward and pull his hand back from reaching for the knob. When he got four or five steps past the door, he heard her start to breathe again and knew it was going to be a restless night for both of them.

Day Three

1

For the third day in a row, Alena woke alone. Feeling as though she’d been riding a horse non-stop for the last week and then been thrown off it, she was barely able to drag herself out of the bed. Her first concrete thought of the day was of the baby. Hand lovingly holding her abdomen, she closed her eyes for a moment; while there was pain down there it wasn’t agonizing. She hadn’t felt any harsh twinges beyond those of last night and while there was a trickle of blood between her legs when she rose from the bed, it was dry and not fresh. Tossing the chemise over her head, she stumbled to the door on rubbery legs. Today there was no heavy thump of a falling axe to greet her. Not knowing if that was a good sign or a bad one, she poked her head into the hall and heard nothing but silence. Using the wall to support her, Alena made her way down the hall to the Throne Room and saw no one. Perhaps they were all still sleeping. Glad for the silence and the solitude, she leaned against the rock wall all the way down to the lower level and the steaming spa, hoping a long soak in the steamy tub would soothe her muscles and take the lingering remains of Ares away from her.

She lay back in the hot water until her skin was shriveled and pruned, stretching back, relaxing and letting the steam take her mind away. Trying to soak away her troubles and fears.

Not more than three days ago everything had been so clear. They were madly in love. They were going to have a baby. A bright future awaited them. It was all slipping away. It was worse than a nightmare; it was like some perverted Grimm’s Fairy Tale where the Princess falls in love with her Prince Charming only to discover he’s a wicked Sorcerer in disguise.

Suddenly a bright light of darkness flashed before her eyes. It was so real that she looked around for the source while covering her breasts with her bare hands. There was no one in the room.

The light.

Adrian and his Staff.

Alena thought of the bolt of Dark Light that leapt from Adrian’s Staff and how it knocked the God of War off his feet. It hadn’t been any ordinary conjuring of protective energy meant to paralyze or even to kill Ares. Why would they kill him when it was obvious that they had come here with the intention of capturing him? Why else would they bring the Chains of Hephaestus with them? Cernunnos wanted Ares dragged back to him, not just captive but on his knees before him, wanted him humbled and quaking. Feeling as though he was the scorned husband, certainly Cernunnos intended to kill Ares but probably not quickly. What about her? What plans did Cernunnos have for her? What spell would he have used? What would Cernunnos have commanded of his most Exalted Druid? If not Death, madness?

Something worse?

Long ago, when she studied magick with Adrian, he’d told her of a curse that would turn a man’s heart cold to the woman he loved. He would do terrible things to her until the day he killed her. Was that what the Druid in the dungeon had been alluding to?

That seemed to be on the right track for Cernunnos, it would be the picture-perfect revenge in his twisted mind as this was Cernunnos’ idea of amusement. The Druids came to this island with every intention of bringing both of them back to Cernunnos because Cernunnos wanted to watch Ares slowly go mad and turn against her. It hadn't worked out that way and now she was stuck here with him. Alone.

If Ares was going mad then how could she stop it?

He will obliterate you. You’ll have no choice but to run to Cernunnos and beg his forgiveness before Ares kills you.

If that were the case, then yes, she’d have to go to Cernunnos to have it lifted. That would never happen. She could promise Cernunnos the world and it would do no good, he would never lift this curse.

Alena stepped back from her own thoughts and chastised herself a bit. It was a nice thought in its own way because if Ares was cursed then none of this was his fault. That could be a very dangerous path to take. Ares was Ares, no matter what he was the God of War, he was volatile, pushy, arrogant, rude, intimidating. Overall, it was just so damn hard to tell what was normal behavior for Ares and what would be over the top and caused by something beyond his control. Maybe she was just grasping at straws in the vain hope that he did love her. That she hadn’t given her heart and her body away to a stone cold monster.

Feeling as though she no longer knew up from down,
Alena climbed out of the hot spring. Wrapping a soft towel around her naked wet body and doing her best not to look down and see the bruises staring back at her, she made her way through the cave to her room to dress. Crossing through the throne room, she found Ares sitting at the table. Today instead of being covered in sweat from hard work he was fully dressed, there was dirt clinging to his shirts, pants, and even his hair, his cheeks were hollow and his face worn. All in all, Ares looked like shit. In fact, he looked a bit like Death Warmed Over, as her mother would have said. “Good morning,” Alena ventured carefully.
Ares just sat there staring at her. Not wanting to push her luck, Alena tried to skitter past the table but Ares wasn’t sitting in his customary seat at the head. Instead, he was sitting at the other end blocking the path from the Throne Room to the corridor that led to her room. Afraid and trying hard not to show it, she clutched the towel against her wet body, gave him a nod, and then tried to walk away from him.

“How many times do I have to tell you no one turns their back on me?”
Ares reached out to grab her. His hand slipped and all he got was the towel, it fell away from her. The bruises on her left butt cheek from where he’d slapped her met his eyes. It didn’t stop there, her hips were discolored from the way he’d held her down, her hips and thighs were nothing but one pawmark after the other. Her left breast, the one he so loved to rest his head at night, was nearly black.

He stood up quickly, grabbed her by the arm and pushed her face first to the wall. Swiping her wet hair away from her neck, he peered at her throat from behind. Ares reached up slowly to put his hand over it and find it a perfect match for the ring-shaped bruise around her neck.

I didn’t do that. I did not do that.