Red Mortal by Deidre Knight

his ruination. Certainly no woman had kissed him since that terrible fall. Yet Sophie embraced him eagerly, urging him closer with . . . ardor. Her hold on him was passionate, true, her hands sweeping about his upper back, locking him close against her own body.
    Her mouth opened to his. She wanted to taste him, a part of her own body mingling with his, an intimacy that he’d only dared hope to share with her during his most private, quiet moments.
    She was pure, good . . . and a part of him would always be evil. She nibbled his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth, and her tongue darted against his. Intimacy. Tenderness. Terror. Treachery!
    All. Wrong.
    “Sophie . . .” He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers with a gasp. “I . . . this is . . . I’m too corrupt for . . .”
    She cut him off. “ No . It’s part of what I saw. From the beginning. This moment . . . this kiss.” She stroked his hair down to the nape, caressing his neck sensually. “It’s inevitable. We’re inevitable, Sable. Why do you have to fight me so hard?”
    He swallowed, still holding her close, not moving. And then he swallowed again. “Because I refuse to love you,” he finally admitted. “I won’t do it, Sophie.” Not to either of us.
    She stepped back, regarding him, and for once didn’t bludgeon him with a torrent of verbal nonsense. The look she gave him was a leveling one, as if seeing right to the core of his soul.
    “Too late to hold back, Djinn,” she said evenly. “Far, far too late, in fact. You’re in deep already.”
    That was all it took—those few simple words—to send him bolting, tearing into the pasture at a full-on gallop, as far away from Sophie Lowery as he could possibly get. He thundered over the rolling meadow, eyes blistered by the setting sun, smell of dirt in his nostrils. Every beat of his hooves put Sophie farther behind him, as she should be.

Chapter 8
     
    L eo had called the meeting of the Spartans and their human comrades at the Angels’ plantation. It might have made sense to bring everyone to the compound, except many of their cadre were already at the plantation anyway. River and Emma were living there so they could be closer to the downtown hospital when their twin babies came. And these days Nikos spent more time at the plantation than he did at the compound, ever since getting together with Mason Angel. Beyond that, the pair made excellent fighting partners, so it was logical for Nik to gravitate toward the Shades.
    Tonight their lot had convened in the upstairs library, a large room with high ceilings. Shay had told Leo that at one time it had been the ballroom, until her great-grandfather had converted it to the grand library it remained today. It was the favored assembly place in the house because despite being vast, the room was inherently cozy. Old World paintings mixed with modern leather sofas; antique desks stood side by side with twenty-first century electronics. In short, it was perfectly suited to immortal warriors who still adhered to many old traditions, yet also embraced the modern era.
    Leo stood by the massive fireplace, hands braced against the intricately carved mantel. All were gathered behind him, having taken up various seats and sofas about the room. He knew they were waiting for him to turn and address them—and they knew from much experience that he often stilled his thoughts before laying out a problem or tactical issue. However, what they did not know was that he’d assumed this position intentionally. Because the moment he spun and faced them the truth would be made bare: his graying beard and hair, his aging face. Only Ajax knew his fate, and Leo had asked discreetly that Jax not break the news, explaining that he wished to tell the warriors himself.
    It was important that he handle the revelation about Ares’s curse in a way that wouldn’t arouse fear or panic, as both were always any soldier’s potential downfall. The plain truth was that