Ares, Book 1

Prince of the Underworld and Lord of Fire, Ares was banished from his home by his father, Hades, two centuries ago and given a new duty and purpose—to keep our world and his from colliding in a calamity foreseen by the Moirai. Together with his six brothers, he fights to defend the gates to the Underworld from daemons bent on breaching them and gaining entrance to that forbidden land, striving to protect his home from their dark influence.

Caged by the manifestation of his power, held apart from those he loves by his own fire and starved of physical contact, Ares lives a cold existence driven by duty and the desire to return to his world.

Until his world collides with a daemon who steals his power and a mortal female who shatters the ice around his heart and awakens the true fire within him—a soul-stirring passion both dangerous and seductive.

Megan has wandered far from her home, driven from everyone she loves by the devastating realisation that she is different to them all. Unsure who to trust in the world, she keeps to herself, until a fateful stormy night brings a temptingly handsome warrior crashing into her life and into her heart—a warrior who seems to hold powers more frightening and marvellous than her own.

When the New York gate comes under threat, and Ares is put to the test, will he choose his duty and regain the power he needs in order to save his world or will he choose the desires of his heart and sacrifice his fire so he can be with the woman becoming his whole world?

Ares hoofed it through Central Park, pursuing the daemon who had made a break for it. The bastard accelerated, cutting through the patchy darkness ahead of him, and Ares pushed harder, ignoring the burn in his legs, his focus locked on his target. The lamps illuminating the path at intervals flickered over him as he sprinted, intent on running down the daemon before he escaped. Those same lights flashed over the daemon’s back, dull as they hit the dark hood of his sweatshirt but bright on the back of his leather jacket.

The slim male veered left, crashed through the undergrowth and broke out onto one of the park’s dark open fields.

Ares swore under his breath in the mortal tongue and followed him. He wasn’t in the mood to play tag, not tonight. While he enjoyed toying with his prey, he had already done that once tonight with two daemons. Blood still slid down his chest, trickling from his wounds as he moved, and dripped from the gashes on his forearms, tainting his senses with the metallic scent. He’d also had a damn good scrap with another daemon.

Number four here wasn’t going to get off so lightly. When he got his hands on the man, he was going to rip him apart.

Four daemons.

The bastards were getting cocky and persistent.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had fought so many in a single night.

Keras’s observations were wrong. The daemons were up to something and tonight proved it, and he was going to enjoy rubbing his older brother’s nose in it when he next saw him.

Ares grinned, shut out the way a thousand white-hot needles pricked his left arm with each stride, and sprinted after the remaining daemon. The man switched tactics and zigzagged towards a lake in the distance. Was he a water type? Ares hadn’t fought one of those in decades and he didn’t want to fight one tonight.

He hated water.

It really messed with his fire.

Every instinct screamed to pin the daemon down before he could reach the water.

Ares knew he shouldn’t listen to it and should conserve his energy and keep running instead. That was the sensible course of action, the one a seasoned warrior like himself should take. He needed the rest of his strength in case these weren’t the only daemons looking to pick a fight with him tonight. His mission to protect the city and the gate took priority, and he shouldn’t need to use the full extent of his powers to eliminate a single daemon.

The man began to pull away.

Ares huffed.

Keras would tear him a new one about this, pointing out that he was still rash despite his years, but he was damned if he was going to let the bastard douse him.

Ares focused on a point near the lake and the world whirled into darkness. When it came back, he stood between the dark water and his opponent.

He caught a glimpse of the daemon’s face, enough to clock a small goatee and the irritated twist of his lips as he spotted him.

The daemon skidded into a turn. His hood fell back to reveal messy short pale hair and he lost his footing. His right hand hit the damp grass and he pushed off, shooting away from Ares.

Ares cursed him again. He should have used his ability to step closer to him rather than going for the lake. As much as he wanted to teleport on top of the bastard and slam him into the ground, the last one had left him shaky and he knew his body. He couldn’t waste any more of his energy.

A twinge of pain shot down his left arm and he grimaced as he grabbed it and rolled his shoulder, cracking it back into place. He spat blood out onto the grass, huffed and focused on the pitch-black park. Clouds boiled above it, dark and foreboding, and the wind carried the scent of rain. Above that scent rose another—the coppery odour of daemon.

East.

The slippery little bastard was heading back towards the gate.

Ares kicked off and bolted in that direction, his insides swirling with the weird burning sensation he experienced whenever a full-blooded daemon was nearby. He followed the feeling as it grew stronger, leading him towards his prey. He was closing in. Had the daemon stopped running?

Rocks rose ahead of him, silhouetted by the lights from a path that ran behind them. Perhaps the daemon was trying to hide from him in the shadows. Or was he waiting to attack?

Another blast of heat ricocheted down the length of his arm and he ground his teeth against it. He could rest up and heal soon enough. Eliminating this daemon took priority.

He rounded the rocks and the swirling sensation inside him disappeared.

He frowned and quietly moved forwards, not trusting his senses. The daemon couldn’t be gone. He had to be here somewhere.

Ares scoured the darkness, squinting to see into the shadows. Thunder rumbled in the distance and rolled across the city, echoing between the skyscrapers. He lapped the rocks three times, even scaled them and walked between them. No trace of the daemon.

It wasn’t possible.

Unwilling to give up, he did one more lap.

Nothing.

The bastard was gone.

He sat on one of the lower boulders and spat more blood out onto the path under his boots. Keras was really going to rip him a new one now. Ares couldn’t remember the last time he had failed to eliminate a daemon and the taste of defeat was bitter on his tongue.

How had the daemon escaped?

The only logical conclusion was teleportation.

A daemon that could teleport?

Coupled with the strength the man had displayed during their brief tangle, it set him on edge. He had witnessed the carnage that a single strong daemon was capable of and it wasn’t pretty. He drew in a slow breath to settle the growing rage in his blood as he shoved his right hand through the tangled lengths of his dark hair, pushing it back from his face. That sort of violence wasn’t about to hit his city. He wouldn’t allow any mortal to fall prey to this daemon.

He flexed his fingers and stared into the darkness, gathering his strength. It was a waiting game now and he had to take advantage of whatever small amount of time the daemon gave him before he popped back up on Ares’s internal radar. He would tend to his wounds, regain some strength, and prepare himself. The daemon would make himself known again tonight. No doubt about that. He knew that Ares was injured and would take advantage of it.

Ares closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Thunder grumbled again, miles from the city but closing in fast.

His night had been going so well.

He had grabbed a pizza and had lined up a string of action movies, and had planned to polish his motorcycle and maybe take the engine apart too and clean it. A good night. Then he had felt the gate calling. He cursed it too and pushed off from the rock. One wasted pizza and four daemons in one night. He needed to tell his brothers because he was sure that the fiends were up to something, and he didn’t like it.

He trudged back through Central Park, following the dimly lit path that led towards where the gate remained hidden from the mortal realm.

The first two daemons had been acting as a couple out for a midnight stroll in the park. It was always easy to spot young daemons. They flouted the rules and ignored their elders’ warnings about Ares and his brothers. They wanted to be the ones to do what those elders couldn’t and successfully make it through the gate to the Underworld.

They quickly learned their lesson.

Nothing slipped past him or his brothers.

He took his mission to protect the New York gate to the Underworld seriously and that meant any daemon within his city’s boundaries was a dead daemon.

The two had fallen easily enough, little more than a warm up for what had come at him next.

The moment he had met the female Hellspawn in the park as arranged and had completed the ritual to unlock the gate, causing it to materialise in this world so she could pass through, another daemon had come out of nowhere and tried to hitch a ride to the Underworld.

Ares left the path and stalked across the wet grass, his gaze fixed on the darkness where the gate remained hidden. The taste of blood in his mouth, the pain burning in his muscles, and the white-hot lacerations on his chest and arms, all of it combined to darken his mood until he was glaring towards the gate with violence back on his mind.

The female daemon had been stronger than he had anticipated and she had fought like a rabid beast once she had realised the gate would close before she could escape him and make it to the Underworld. She had screeched and clawed at him, and had even come close to sinking fangs into his flesh.

He had crushed her in the end, but not before taking some damage.

Damage that had put him firmly in the frame of mind for some payback against all daemons, but with no sign of one on his senses, he had focused on closing the gate so he could make his way home.

That was when he had met the fourth daemon. The one who had got away.

Ares growled under his breath, his anger directed towards himself now.

That daemon had casually strolled past him on one of the paths through the park and had paid no attention to Ares or the gate, even though it had still been visible at the time. It was almost as though the daemon had thought he could slip by unnoticed. Impossible.

They had clashed and the man had given him a taste of power that had caught Ares off guard. He had been far stronger than Ares had anticipated, his power beyond the level of any daemon he’d had the pleasure of battling in the past century. It was rare for a daemon of that age and level to go anywhere near one of the gates and that was why he had pursued him when he had turned tail and bolted. A daemon that strong was dangerous and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was bad news, the harbinger of an event that oracles had foreseen centuries ago.

He needed to tell Keras and the others.

With the gate closed and safe, and no sign of his prey in the park, Ares turned north towards his apartment.

The storm in the distance grew louder and he caught a flash of lightning out of the corner of his eye.

His mood degenerated.

Rain.

The perfect end to a perfect fucking night.

The first fat drops fell, hissing and evaporating before they hit his bare skin but soaking into his black t-shirt. Those drops rose as steam from his shoulders. He hated the rain. It was up there with daemons, that disgusting feeling that they gave him, and Hellspawn who called him out to the gate and never thanked him for opening it.

Like the woman tonight.

He huffed and quickened his pace, hoping to make it back to his apartment on foot before the rain really kicked in. He could teleport himself there, but not without draining more of what little energy he had left, and he needed to conserve as much of that as possible. He reached his exit and crossed the street, mind fixed on the daemon who had got away.

What had he wanted with the gate?

Ares wasn’t about to fall for his feigned disinterest. The man was up to something and he wanted to know what it was, and he would find out before dawn broke.

The rain grew heavier, hammering the pavement and the parked cars along the road, and he moved closer to the tall brick buildings, seeking what little shelter he could find. Heavy rain was not his friend, especially when he was in a foul mood, barely retaining control over his power. It broke through the heat that constantly surrounded him and evaporated when it hit his skin.

Nothing drew mortals’ attentions like a steaming man.

A yellow taxi drove by, headlights cutting through the downpour and tyres whooshing as they sprayed water over the cars parked along the street. He tipped his head back, watching the droplets fall and sparkle in the streetlights. He wanted a shower but not this sort.

It was still another block and a half to his apartment and he wanted to be home, in the dry. He would patch himself up, throw on some fresh clothes, arm himself and use the time to centre himself again so he could pull back control over his power. Control he badly needed.

When the daemon returned, he would be ready to deal with him.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had gone into battle injured and drained, and it wouldn’t even be the worst. Life in the mortal world was making him soft. He had once battled a legion of daemons with one arm broken and several arrows lodged in his left thigh, and he had decimated them.

Ares smiled. The good old days. It had been centuries since he had gone to war together with his brothers, unleashing the hunger for violence and destruction that made the god his parents had named him after so proud of him.

He focused and the street whirled and disappeared, replaced by his apartment. He flicked the light on, illuminating the pale coffee-coloured walls and dark furniture in the open plan kitchen and living room. He looked down at his boots and the puddle already forming around them on his wooden floor, and toed them off and kicked them into the kitchen on his right. They tumbled across the tiled floor, hit one of the oak cupboards and stopped. He reached over his shoulder with his right hand, grabbed the back of his ruined wet black t-shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it onto the tiles with his boots.

The water around his feet evaporated, steam curling off his already drying black jeans. He needed to get his mood in check before something bad happened.

He closed his eyes and drew in several deep breaths, holding each one before slowly expelling the air, and reined in his temper together with his power, restoring the usual rigid control he kept over it and stopping his flames from emerging. The heat that always surrounded him settled to a more manageable, and safer, level, and he released another breath, this one more a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was set his apartment on fire. Again. It had been a shitty enough night without that added cherry on top.

When he felt calm enough to maintain control over his fire, he walked into the open living room and pushed the second door in the wall to his left open. He switched the bathroom light on, turned and frowned at his reflection in the mirrored wall on his left above the vanity unit and sink.

He looked like hell.

The female daemon had done a number on him. Long gashes darted across his chest and forearms where she had caught him with her claws. He touched the deepest one of the three on his pectorals and beads of blood broke to the surface.

He frowned and the gold flecks in his eyes darkened to red, glowing against their earthy brown backdrop.

The daemon shouldn’t have been able to land a single blow on him, let alone several. He had been too complacent tonight. He had been dealing with low level daemons for so long that he had forgotten there were stronger ones out there, just waiting for him to drop his guard.

It wouldn’t happen again.

Ares stared at the tip of his right index finger and slowly released the iron grip he had on his power, allowing his control to slip little by little until the air around his hand shimmered and he could feel the heat of it against his chest. He slammed his hold over his flames back into place, locking them down at their current level and stopping them from burning out of control.

He ground his molars together, grabbed the edge of the oak vanity unit with his other hand to steady himself and drew his finger along the first cut across his chest. Fire blazed in the wake of his finger but he didn’t stop or make a sound, not until he had reached the end of the wound and had cauterised it.

He drew a deep breath, blew it out and flexed his fingers around the edge of the unit. His arm trembled and ached, his shoulder socket throbbing madly. Two more slashes to seal and he could rest. Pain tore through him with each one but it was necessary. He needed to regain his strength as quickly as possible and that meant helping his healing process along in his own way.

His finger reached the end of the final cut and he lowered his head, breathing hard to stifle the pain as he struggled with his power, wrestling it back under control until it was nothing more than an aura of heat around him. He could leave the cuts on his forearms. They were shallow and would easily heal without his assistance.

He flicked the steel tap on, waited until the water was frigid, and then doused his chest and arms with enough of it to clean the blood away. The water heated and steamed the second it touched his skin, and would have evaporated immediately if it hadn’t been ice cold. When the blood was gone, he settled his hands on the edges of the sink, leaning over it.

The water swirled as it reached the drain, ribbons of red streaking the maelstrom. Pain pulsed through him, stealing his strength and focus.

Motionless, he watched his blood snaking down his arms as it continued to trickle from his wounds, immune to his heat because it ran as hot as the rest of him, and then the sink, sliding down it to join the running water. It mesmerised him and time slipped past him as he lost himself in listening to his steady breathing and staring at the swirling water.

The taste of iron in his mouth slowly grew stronger, drawing his focus back to the world, and he probed each tooth with his tongue. It brushed one of his molars and the flow of blood increased. He closed his eyes, reached into his mouth and tugged the loose tooth free, turned it in his fingers, feeling nothing, and then let it fall. It clattered around the white porcelain bowl and stopped in the drain. It didn’t bother him. It would grow back in time.

His temper faded, emotions falling back into place and calm washing through him at last.

He rinsed his arms again, grabbed a white towel off the ones scrunched up on the side of the oak unit and patted himself dry, careful to avoid the cuts and keeping an eye on the soft material. With his temper back under control, it should be safe but he never could quite trust himself. It just took one wrong thought, or a momentary slip in concentration, and he had to go shopping for new linen or new towels.

Or sometimes a new couch.

His hands heated and he dropped the towel next to the sink. Tiny flames flickered over his fingertips. He shook his hand, willing them to behave, and they disappeared.

Ares turned on his heel, exited the bathroom and stalked straight towards his bedroom to his left. The world beyond the bank of windows that formed the exterior wall of his apartment was dark despite the lights from the streets and the buildings surrounding Central Park.

He banked left in his bedroom and slid the oak door to the closet open. He flicked on the light and his weapons greeted him, gleaming steel and death. The sight of them always brought a smile to his lips. There was nothing more beautiful than knives and guns.

Well.

Almost.

He stepped into the closet and ran his hand over the leather and metal circular shield hanging on the back wall, and then the hilt of the matching sword that hung behind it. Metal of the gods. It was warm beneath his fingers, vibrating with power that had him closing his eyes as he absorbed it.

How long had it been since he had wielded his blade?

Too long.

He missed the feel of it in his hand. The weight of it. Only steel forged by the gods could channel his power, and his father had deemed the weapon too destructive to use in the mortal world. Ares hadn’t been pleased to hear that, and neither had his brothers.

He pulled a circular silver and black amulet from the pocket of his jeans and hung it so it lay in the centre of his shield. It would be safest here while he went out to hunt.

He grabbed his black leather shoulder holster, backed out of the closet, switched off the light and slid the door shut. Two gleaming silver knives sat in their sheaths above two equally bright guns. He slung the holster over his bare shoulder and checked each gun, sliding the clips out to check they were fully loaded before slotting them back in and ensuring he had a round chambered.

It wasn’t often that he had to rely on mortal-made weaponry to assist him in his nightly battle against the daemons in his city, but it was reassuring to have them on hand in case he needed them. In his weakened state, they were a blessing from Zeus himself. He could use them to slow daemons down and it was far easier to kill with these weapons than it was with his power. Mortals turned a blind eye when they saw people fighting with guns. They tended to stare if he used his powers.

Ares crossed his dark bedroom to the long ebony chest of drawers that lined the dividing wall, set his weapons down and grabbed a fresh t-shirt. He slipped into the black top and then settled his holster around his broad shoulders.

Dry, armed and no longer bleeding. Things were looking up.

He veered right and skirted around the short length of wall that divided his bedroom from a smaller open room on the other side, walking between it and the red armchair of his suite. The single overhead light from the living room cast pale streaks over the fuel tank of his motorbike. He ran a hand over the paintwork as he passed, promising he would polish it soon, and then opened the French doors onto the balcony.

The city stretched before him, shrouded in rain and darkness, a panorama of a world on the edge.

Only it didn’t know it.

Only he and his brothers knew how close to destruction this world was, a curse from the Moirai so they never forgot or questioned the importance of their duty.

Its fate depended on them and their mission to protect the gates to the Underworld.

Their world.

He moved forwards to the railing, his eyes scanning the city, searching it and hoping that the feeling in his gut was wrong and he wouldn’t be needed again tonight.

Lightning forked across the sky, throwing the buildings into stark relief for a split second before descending them back into darkness. With each brilliant flash, he saw a different city.

The future of this world should they fail.

It balanced on the brink of ruin, the buildings hollow shells, torn and shattered, and the trees ablaze in the fiery darkness. The hot air carried the shrieks of the creatures responsible for the horror and the wails of suffering mortals.

Ares gripped the railing of his balcony, every muscle tensing as he caught flickers of that world in each lightning strike.

Rain lashed the dark scene, falling as water in this world and fire in the next. The wind drove it hard, so nothing could escape the inferno sweeping the land.

Lightning slammed into the earth again, causing another flicker between this rain-soaked night and what he and his brothers had termed the otherworld. It was getting worse and had been for the past decade. Something was growing in the darkness, a threat he and his brothers had been waiting to take form since the oracles had spoken of it to their father centuries ago.

Time was running out. Soon their unknown enemy would reveal themselves and the battle to prevent his world and this mortal one from colliding would begin.

A boom shook the ground and his head snapped up.

The lights across the city died, as though eaten by Nyx herself, plunging the landscape into shadows that seemed unholy and spoke to his senses. He spotted nothing in the darkness though. No sign of daemons or his prey.

Silence wrapped her arms around him, comforting and tender. Ares embraced her in return, savouring this moment of quiet, all too aware of the storm that was coming and that the battle this time would be to the death.

War was on the horizon.

Bloodshed was on his mind.

It was his duty.

He leaned forwards and glanced at the street several storeys below. Cars passed in both directions, their lights the only mortal-made ones in this dark world tonight. Thunder raged overhead and lightning ravaged the land. The scent of earth and rain filled the charged air.

He waited.

A blackout of this magnitude would draw daemons out. They would want to feed on the fear it created.

He would see to it they paid for their vile hungers.

This was his city. Maintaining the peace here and protecting it were his responsibilities, ever since his father had banished him and his brothers from the Underworld two centuries ago.

A dark curse rolled off his tongue in the mortal language and the lightning struck with more force, blazing purple-white and shaking the ground.

Had they sensed his desire to speak in his natural tongue?

The gods of Mount Olympus hated it when those with his power spoke the language of the Underworld on Earth.

Tranquil silence rolled over the world in the wake of the thunder.

The sound of his cell phone ringing shattered it.

It was muffled and distant. He had probably left it with his coat in the living room when he had gone out tonight. Whoever was ringing would give up soon and peace would be his again until the first daemon surfaced to take advantage of the storm.

The phone continued to fill the apartment with a sombre melody and then stopped.

Silence.

Ares sighed and returned his attention to his city. Each explosion of light revealed it to him. Not the otherworld this time but the current one, full of perfect buildings and unharmed nature, and no daemons crawling around. For now. They would emerge soon enough.

His phone started ringing again.

He grimaced.

They were persistent. Only one person could annoy him so thoroughly without trying. His anger rose again, his temperature rising along with it.

Closing his eyes, he reached a hand out behind him and pictured his phone. It whipped into his hand. Being a son of Hades had certain advantages. The power to manipulate his surroundings and the ability to teleport were just two of them.

The bright screen of his phone held a picture of his youngest brother grinning like a fool.

Ares wasn’t in the mood for Calistos’s usual brand of mischief tonight. He swiped his thumb over the option to ignore his call and waited for it to begin ringing again. Nothing annoyed his little brother more than being ignored. Once, Ares had declined a call three times in a row and Cal had teleported from Paris to New York just to give him an earful.

The phone remained silent this time. Maybe his brother had got the message.

He tossed the phone back into his apartment, using his power to guide it back to the crimson couch. The storm began to abate but the electricity showed no sign of returning. Would it be out all night? Now that would be the perfect end to a perfect night. He would be working until dawn to keep the daemons in check.

Rain continued to sweep across the city. It beaded on the back of his hands where they grasped the balcony railing. The droplets steamed and shrank, his body too hot for them to withstand.

Being a son of Hades had disadvantages too.

The heat inside him rose until the water on his skin evaporated. He took a deep breath and reined in his anger. The last thing he wanted to do was set fire to his apartment on a miserable night like tonight. He cursed the rain.

His insides tingled.

The rain slowed at last, causing the earthy scent of the storm to thicken, but it couldn’t mask the coppery stench of evil.

The daemon was back.

Ares rolled his shoulders, stepped back from the railing and turned his hands palm up. He channelled his power towards them. Fierce pale flames rose from his fingers, casting light over the balcony.

He grinned.

Time to hunt.