Authors: Deidre Knight

Tags: #Man-woman relationships, #Goddesses, #Gods, #Paranormal, #Delphian oracle, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Immortalism, #Daphne (Greek deity), #General, #Leonidas, #Contemporary

Red Mortal (49 page)

BOOK: Red Mortal

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“At Thermopylae, no one wanted to win more than you did; no man possessed a greater thirst for victory,” his brother pressed. “What happened to the warrior who helped beat back four hundred thousand Persians in just three days?” Kalias shook his head. “You have the greatest calling—the most important one. You can drink yourself into oblivion,
little brother
, but your destiny won’t be denied.”

“It’s not a destiny,” Ajax answered grimly. “It was a vow.”

For the first time during the conversation, Kalias beamed, his voice becoming softer. “And shall I remind you that you have always been a man of your word?”

And to that, well, there wasn’t a damned thing that Ajax could possibly say in rebuttal.

“As I thought,” Kalias finally murmured. “So, you will answer Leonidas’s summoning. You will visit our Oracle and learn what words she has for us, the Spartan cadre.”

“So why mention Shay Angel now?” Ajax persisted. “And why would the Oracle and the gods themselves have deemed her my mate? Whatever time she exists in, that’s what this entire conversation is really about. We both know it.”

Kalias’s expression transformed, morphing into a satisfied, if not devious grin. “That much is simple. Because”— he leaned much closer—“she’s the only one who might guide you back from this eternal abyss that threatens to destroy you. If only you should finally meet her.”

Jax left Kalias sitting in the sidewalk café with a quickly muttered, “I’ll do it,” and excused himself. Now, standing in the men’s restroom, he carefully tugged his cashmere sweater over his head—the last thing he wanted was to shred one of his favorite pieces of clothing when his wings unfurled. Tying the sleeves about his waist, he hoped for the best. Traveling the heavens in his Bond Street finest wasn’t his idea of great timing, but it was better just to get the visit to King Leo over and done with.
Talisao
, he thought, brushing nonexistent dirt off his hands.
Finished.

With a final tug on the ivory sweater’s sleeves—and a last check of the restroom door’s lock—Jax stood back and gathered his energy. He folded his hands over his bare chest, let his eyes drift shut, and allowed the transformation to begin. Sometimes fast, sometimes a slow burn, the transition always started with a tingling sensation along his spine. Physically, it was one part pure ecstasy, another sharp pain, yet he never felt more whole than at this precise moment.

Pretty bloody ironic,
he thought, as the first feather began to pierce through his warm skin. For someone who despised his calling as a warrior protector, didn’t it just blast all that he loved to shape-shift so damned much?

Despite his complaining to Kalias earlier, he could hardly imagine life without his true nature. He was a hawk. A guardian. A midnight angel of sorts, charged with one thing: to watch mankind and protect it from the powers of darkness and aggression. Yeah, destiny was one son of a bitch. As if in answer, his wings began to break through, the rustling sound of feathers quietly announcing that his change was accelerating, overtaking his human body. Supernatural essence was replacing his everyday guise of mortal man.

He braced both hands against the rim of the sink. Hunching forward, he gasped and, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, watched his dark eyes turn silver. Felt the blaze between his shoulder blades intensify.

Briefly he thought of his servant and friend, River Kassandros. The two of them had been specially linked for warfare by Ares on that long-ago day. Unlike the other warriors who drank from the River Styx, Kassandros was fully submerged into the fiery waters and, transformed into a gleaming silver sword, made to serve Ajax in immortality as he had in life. Ares had proclaimed him the greatest weapon he ever created.

From that moment thousands of years past, the warrior had been called River because he was forged in the flowing waters of the Styx itself. He could shift from his human form to that of any weapon that Ajax required, and in that mode River would contain a powerful ability to kill, but if necessary, also to heal.

Ajax’s right hand clenched as he recalled the feel of River in his grasp, their easy union whenever his servant was transformed into the blazing silver sword that was his preferred weapon whenever Ajax summoned him. It had been nearly a year since he’d called forth River for battle; he wondered if his powerful friend had felt useless during these months of Ajax’s own rebellion. The thought brought an avalanche of guilt with it. He had abandoned and let down every one of his six fellow immortals in the past year—especially in the past few months.

With a growl, he shook off the heavy remorse. “I am Spartan,” he murmured under his breath. “There is no pain. I do not succumb to human weakness.”

As if in answer to the firm assertions, his wings surged forth in a powerful display, black feathers spreading wide behind him. Beyond the restroom door he could hear the clank of plates and silverware. Dozens of humans were taking their supper, having their wine. But for Jax, there was no escaping his fate: He was a winged hawk protector, duty-bound to serve mankind. To protect them above all else; to stand down the evil forces that forever whispered in the darkness. This had been his one true calling since the day he’d bound himself to Ares.

What a shame that his freedom was also his bondage: that to be truly liberated meant he was a slave for all time.