The Heart of War (45 page)

“Yes,” she moaned. “More.”

The two naked Lover clinging together at the end of the bed, Aphrodite’s normally milky white skin shimmered nearly head to toe with Apollo’s gold dust. Reaching down between her legs Apollo threw them apart as she settled down on the full length of his shaft sinking deep into that hot tight ass.

“OH! Yes!” Aphrodite cried out as she wrapped her arms around the bedpost to hold on. By the end of the night, they were satisfied and breathless as they lay together in a sweaty heap.

Each thinking not of the other, but of Ares and revenge.

2

Lounging upon his throne of carved Rowan, here in the cold hall made of heavy stone, wearing nothing more than a robe, which gaped open so the world could see the glory the Great Horned One possessed, Cernunnos began to seethe as he gazed into the crystal ball before him. Ares and his worthless band of idiots managed to slay all but one of his Druids and that was very upsetting. Most upsetting was the loss of Adrian, a man Cernunnos knew well, long, and trusted with his very life. Unlike Ares, Cernunnos liked to reward the Mortals in his service who had been loyal and true with extended life, Ares just let their pathetic little Mortal lives run their short courses. Adrian had served as the Great Horned One’s Exalted Druid for the last three hundred and seventy-five years! He knew the man another thirty before that. It had been Adrian who had performed the marriage ceremony between Cernunnos and Maggie so many years ago. Adrian who’d kept her hidden and safe, who had schooled her and made sure she grew up right before Maggie had the balls to escape from him. Now, here, today, how that same traitorous little bitch managed to end the life of one so loyal and valiant was beyond Cernunnos’ comprehension. She just blazed into battle as though she had been born to it, taking down three of his Druids in the process before she sliced off Adrian’s hand then split his guts open so wide they spilled onto the sand in a great gelatinous heap.

She’d had the nerve to claim the Staff for herself. She gave the Chains back to Ares.

Swinging his large arm back and meaning to heave the crystal ball to the floor, he stopped and struggled to get hold of himself. That was all right, Cernunnos told himself, just let it go, it’s all right. Cernunnos had an in with the Olympians and he felt certain that he would be in possession of those items once more in the not too distant future. His long fingernails stroked the crystal gently as though it were a Lover’s cheek. “Soon.”

Adrian managed to get off his bolt before she cut him down. When he sent his men off to retrieve them, he had every intention of raping and killing her before Ares’ eyes, but that did not mean it had to be swift. Although Maggie may only have another hundred or two hundred years in her, Ares and Cernunnos were Gods. Cernunnos had a thousand years ahead of him to torture Ares, so why not take advantage of it and make it last as long as possible? While doing so, why not make it as entertaining as possible? (Like the remaining Olympians, Cernunnos spent a lot of time bored off his furry butt.) To that luscious end, Cernunnos intended to hold them prisoner and watch as Ares tore her apart…under controlled circumstances, of course. There was no sense in ending the game too quickly just because Ares’ temper got out of hand.

Ares loved his devices of torture, he reveled in the screams and cries of others, so why not find out how Ares liked the anguished cries and pleas for mercy coming to his ears from Maggie’s lips? Throw in the fact that Ares would not be able to stop himself no matter how hard he tried and Cernunnos thought that was grand entertainment indeed. After all, Magdalena trusted Ares and it seemed as though she had honestly won the cold heart of the God of War.

That insult was beyond suffering and one that could not go without reprisal.

That plan was not lost, not yet. Ares would still turn against her, and thanks to the Druid in Ares’ little dungeon, Cernunnos would see it. He would watch her cringe, listen to her scream, and wait for her to run back to him for protection from the God of War. She would run to him as though Hell itself were hot on her heels once the spell took hold. Maggie would throw herself at his hooves and tearfully beg for his forgiveness, promising to do anything he wanted.

Ares.

Once Cernunnos had him, there would be seven souls left to collect before Cernunnos had them all. Seven Olympian Souls. All of the rest, every being that ever walked the face of the Earth calling itself a God and that had not already perished, Cernunnos had them bottled up nice and tight in the armoire. He had gone to considerable lengths, expended considerable energy and spent considerable time to track down all of them, lure them here, and kill them. It took him just over millennia to come so close to completing his task. When he did, Cernunnos would stand alone as the last remaining God of a bygone era and days of faded glory. When he was ready, and when he had Maggie, the Great Horned God would take all of those lovely little crystal bottles in their decorative shapes, sizes and colors. He would put them on his altar while Maggie conducted the ritual that would bring him everlasting power. One by one, he would uncap each jar and inhale the soul within. One by one, each of them would be incorporated into the ancient God of the Woods and of Death; they would make him powerful beyond belief and comprehension.

When that happened, Cernunnos would remind this pitiful little planet with its pretentious Mortal inhabitants that there were far greater things than themselves.

Until then the sights and sounds emanating from his crystal ball would entertain Cernunnos. In fact, it looked as though the entertainment was already beginning. In the ball he saw Alena, she was battle damaged and harried, but she was still walking around on her own two legs. She was in what Cernunnos surmised was Ares’ little Torture chamber as she escorted Martin to a cell. He took in the horror on her haggard but still pretty face as she gazed around at all the devices of agony, pain and death.

Cernunnos let out a little laugh as he listened to Martin tell her that Ares would soon turn against her. Maggie was a strong woman, a pain in the ass who was defiant to the end, and she would not believe him. But she soon would.

The Great Horned God called out to his remaining minions, “Bring me my favorite toy!” He bounced the heavy crystal ball in the palm of his hand knowing that he may have lost the battle but the war was not over. “And wine! Bring me wine! And food!” he bellowed, knowing he had a long active night ahead of him.

Several minutes later two Druids came into the throne room with the requested tray of food and beverage along with his toy. “Hello, Maven,” Cernunnos cooed. “How are you tonight?”

“What do you want?”

Cernunnos sighed. “Still a handful, I see, my darling Daughter.” He put down the crystal ball, as all he could see now was the Torture Chamber. “I hoped to show you something that would surprise you, maybe even delight you, but it’s gone now. However, I think it will be back so why don’t you just spend the night here and we’ll wait for it to return.”

To anyone else it may have sounded like an invitation, but Maven understood it to be a command. Few people in this world knew that Cernunnos was her Father and that was the way Cernunnos liked it. So did Maven for that matter. He was always ashamed of Maven and she of him. The fact that he had wasted his seed on her mother, a lowly but rather enticing and experienced little Fey named Willow put him off; it was embarrassing to have his noble lines mixed with wretches of the woods. But in his defense, by that time there were no more Celtic Gods as Cernunnos had killed them and captured all of their souls in little crystal bottles. Yes, he had been impetuous there, had not thought it out very well, his zeal for the Quest of Power quickly became a dark obsession. Since the Celts were the most convenient targets
to begin trying out his plan, once the first proved successful Cernunnos thought it best to capture all of them quickly before they caught on to what he was doing.

Unfortunately this left him lonely; more than that, he was horny as hell—that turned out to be a major drawback to his Master Plan. He did not leave any women of his own caliber, and he was left with Feys and Mortals.

As far as Feys go, Willow had been very sweet and very young. He still remembered the day he saw her frolicking in the forest in the dappled sunlight, she was laughing at something only she knew to be funny as there was no one else with her. He remembered how he approached her, how she had knelt before him, and how he brought her here to rob her of her innocence right here on the throne. Willow squirmed, she squealed, she cried, she begged him to stop, all of which only served to excite him further.

The fact that he was never around did not endear him to his daughter, neither did the fact that Cernunnos had the Fey Village burned to cinders when Maggie escaped. To this day the once lush and beautiful forest was only ash. Nothing grew there. All of her friends died in the blaze. Maven did not escape. She was captured by the Druids and brought back here on her Father’s orders. He had hoped to draw out Maggie when she heard of her mother’s capture but that did not happen.

Here Maven stayed prisoner to her Father and his demands, all of them, for the last two centuries. He used her, frightened her, humiliated her every chance he got. It was her sincerest hope that Maggie, if she were still alive, never discovered this hideous monster, this…this…
abomination
was her Grandfather.

Yet a small part of Maven never stopped feeling sorry for Cernunnos. If it weren’t for the antlers upon his head, from nose to waist he was a rather handsome man with long dark blonde hair and sapphire eyes. He had a well-chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, broad shoulders, strong arms, wide chest, and washboard abs. Just after those abs everything changed, human flesh gave way to stag fur. While he lacked a tail, like a stag his waist to his hooves was sweet brown on the outside and pure white on the inside. Legs that should have been covered with flesh were covered with the same fur, the knees—if one called them knees—bent backward like a deer. Cernunnos could jump great distances and over great heights with those legs. His hooves always made that hollow
clop-clop-clop
sound when he walked.

One way or the other, Cernunnos could have been an exceedingly attractive man or a well-sought-after Stag, but he was a pitifully mutated combination of both and Maven thought that had left him insane.

The God who was sprouting more than one Great Horn at the moment picked up Maven and sat her on his naked lap facing away from him. Maven had been here too long to tremble with fear. How many nights did she lie awake in her bed as a little girl crying and wondering what she had done to make her Father so angry that he never once came to see her? She would pray and barter with the Gods above telling Them she would do anything if Cernunnos would only see her. Be a Father to her. Spend time with her in the woods. Now she would do anything to get away from him. His touch was horrid, it was sleazy and cold.

“Sit here with me for a while, be a good girl, Mae. I think you’ll see something interesting very soon.”

3

After Zeus and Hera left, Ares waited for Alena to return to him but she did not. At first he thought perhaps she was intimidated by his Parents’ presence, but after waiting a considerable amount of time and she still not come to him, Ares went to look for her. He found her in her bedroom. She was under the covers reading a book; he looked at the title and then looked at her. “Why are you reading that?”

“You’re up,” Alena said with a smile as she put down the book and tossed off the covers. “Feeling better?” She slipped her arms around his waist to hug him tightly.

“The book?”

He sounded a little disgruntled and she pulled away from him. “It was the only one I found that was written in English, I’m not very talented with other languages. Most of the rest of your books are in Greek.”

“Big surprise, huh?” Ares asked with a grin as he picked up the book;
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu. “Learning anything?”

Nothing good, she thought but refrained from saying. “I was just reading it to pass the time while you slept. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But you promised to come back to me,” Ares reminded her. “I’ve been
waiting
for you.”

Perhaps it was just the thoughts the Druid planted in her head, but once more Ares did not sound pleased, in fact, he sounded quite displeased. “I’m sorry,” Alena offered quietly. “I just wanted to let you rest.” Slipping her small hands into his mammoth one, she stood on her tiptoes hoping for a kiss. “You’re looking much better.”

Ares didn’t bend down and he didn’t bestow the kiss she was hoping for. “Is that all that kept you away from my chamber? Not the things you saw in my little room?”

Alena couldn’t hide it; cringing, she slipped her hands out of his and turned her back to him as she wrapped her arms around her body to retain its warmth.

“You’re afraid of me now?”

She wanted to say ‘no’ but, “They were…difficult to look at, my Lord.”

“My Lord? What happened to ‘My Love’? Has the room turned you against me so quickly? I told you not to go, I told you to let Onya do it.”

“I should have listened,” Alena agreed sadly, as she absently held her hands to her lower abdomen and thought of the new life growing there.

“Perhaps next time you will heed my words, yes?”

“Yes.”

Alena would never come to see the necessity in such a room or in such devices, Ares respected that about her and to some degree he even liked it. She balanced him out well. “If it makes you feel any better, Alena, I haven’t used that room in over a hundred years.” The last time he did use it was purely for his own depraved pleasure, this he
would never tell her. Putting his large hands on her slender shoulders, Ares turned her around to face him. “I think it is this that frightens you most, is it not?” In the palm of his hand appeared the Pear of Anguish, and Ares watched as Alena flinched. She held one hand over her gaping mouth as she used the other to push Ares’ hand to the side and away from her view.