Red Mortal by Deidre Knight Page B

together.
    “Here, drink this.” Ajax plunked a heavy goblet full of uncut red wine in front of Leonidas. “Always helps me with problems of the female persuasion.”
    Leo propped both elbows on the dining table and stared miserably into the glass. Naturally, Ajax thought to cure his ills with alcohol. His best friend had indulged in near-constant drink prior to meeting his wife, Shay, a year ago, attempting to douse his loneliness with booze.
    Unfortunately, Leo’s predicament had nothing to do with “the female persuasion” in general and everything with one gorgeous, petite Oracle in particular. Yes, she’d promised to return, but when?
    In two more months? Three, perhaps? Leo groaned, burying his face in both hands. He might well be dead by then, borne to his grave upon his bronze shield as befit any fallen Spartan—without ever having held Daphne again. There was no way of knowing what the exact expiration date on his life would be.
    He groaned again, rubbing the top of his head, which felt like it might split open at any moment. Ajax nudged his arm, and Leo glanced sideways at his friend, feeling sick to his stomach.
    “Go on, man.” Ajax pushed the full goblet a few inches closer.
    Jax straddled the empty chair beside him, rotating it backward and resting his chin on the frame. It was obvious the warrior wouldn’t be satisfied until Leonidas partook of at least a few sips of the wine.
    He reached for the goblet, his hands shaking so badly that the crimson liquid sloshed onto the tablecloth. Leo stared as two deep red stains soaked into the snow-colored fabric, seeping into it like blood from a battle wound. The image caused his tremors to increase; they seemed a horrible premonition of the fate Ares had prescribed to him.
    Lifting the wine to his lips, Leo consumed several inelegant gulps. Shots of whiskey would’ve been easier, more merciful—he needed to take the edge off, Spartan discipline be damned.
    He couldn’t stand the thought of Daphne seeing him this way, and yet he couldn’t help praying that she would return immediately anyway.
    “I need to get my head on straight.” Leo drained the rest of the wine from the glass. “Before Daphne comes back.”
    Jax dropped his voice low. “What exactly happened on that ride? Why did she leave? And . . . are you all right, my lord?”
    Leo looked up sharply. “Do I not look well?” Perhaps the change was overtaking him faster than he’d imagined. He studied Jax’s reaction, trying to gauge how much the warrior had already surmised. How much he might see now, written plainly on Leo’s aging features.
    Jax reached for his own glass of wine. Perhaps avoiding the topic, perhaps unaware. “You seem awfully spooked,” was all the Spartan said.
    Leo shook his head. “No, Jax, not spooked.” Leo rubbed his shoulders, still sore from the weight of Ares’s unearthly cloak. “It’s what he did to me . . . he . . .”
    “He?”
    “Ares. He was here at the compound. In the field,” Leo admitted, surprised by how gravelly his voice sounded. Was that yet another sign of the transformation occurring inside his body?
    Jax sat upright in the chair, dark eyes growing shrewd and intense.
    “He has plans for me,” Leo confessed.
    Leonidas could feel Jax’s piercing gaze on his face, and felt the weight of that stare—but if his friend saw signs of transformation, he said nothing.
    Leo stared into the near-empty glass, sloshing the dregs of the wine. “It tastes better from a wooden bowl. Cut with water.” The old ways, the ways of his father and his father’s father. He’d kept them all these centuries; his own men were yielding to modern practices, losing something sacred. “One day, you’ll have sons with Shay, no doubt. And daughters. Be sure to teach them the traditions,” Leo said, swirling the red liquid again. Perhaps, if he stared long enough, he’d receive a vision from the depths of his glass.
    “Leonidas. You’re not going anywhere.”