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translate to Ares striking Leo down far more swiftly and violently than the incremental, wicked destruction he’d promised a few months earlier.
    Leo slid a large, rough hand beneath her T-shirt, stroking her abdomen with tantalizing lightness. He lingered at the waistband of her jeans, rubbing his thumb in a circular motion just below her naval, then slid a little lower, tracing the zipper of her jeans. With a wordless growl, he flicked open her fly and began tugging at that zipper.
    “My lord,” she gasped as Leonidas forced open the front of her jeans. Cool spring air kissed her bare belly, causing gooseflesh to rise across her skin. “Despite what I want . . . you must not . . .”
    “I have never wanted—or waited—for any woman like I have for you,” he said with quiet strength. The restrained anger in his words was obvious, and his hold on her body grew tense. “Tell me, Daphne, why must you torment me so?”
    She shook her head, blinking blindly at her unshed tears. “You know about my brother. How he despises you.” It was a feeble, flimsy explanation; Leo deserved much better. “I . . . we can’t . . .”
    “You told me that none of that mattered anymore!” he declared fiercely. “You said we belonged together. That you would no longer fear your brother or his reprisal.” Leo leaned forward and grasped her face in his palm, forcing her to look at him over her shoulder. She ducked away from him, and he moaned in anguish. “You said you would be mine, Daphne. Those were your words.”
    Yes, he spoke true; she had indeed said that very thing almost six months ago. But then she’d seen the visible signs that he was starting to age. That was when she’d realized that Ares truly did plan to rob Leonidas of his youth and vitality. Of his very life.
    All these months, she’d choked on the truth and her own lies, and she couldn’t stand the deception any longer. “My king,” she tried, her voice trembling slightly. “I should tell you. . . .”
    Except, just as every other time when she’d almost blurted the truth, her throat closed up on her. He was such a stubborn man, he’d probably vow to fight Ares, and she shuddered to imagine that outcome.
    “Tell me what, Daphne?”
    She stared out across the horizon. She’d fallen as in love with the Low Country as she had with Leo: the moody sway of live oaks and Spanish moss beguiling her, making her love affair with the king seem even more romantic and beautiful.
    At the moment, the sun slid low over the creek, creating an impressionistic painting of pinks and reds and golds that could’ve made Olympus itself envious. The grass and earth around them still held the spring day’s warmth, but a slight chill rose in the air—a definite contrast to the heat radiating from Leonidas’s body.
    In the distance, she saw the stables, and noticed River leading in one of the horses, murmuring some words of affection, no doubt. Likewise, back toward the house, Kalias and Aristos were hauling weaponry off to the armory. These scenes were part of the daily cycle here among the cadre, comforting images of predictability and safety. Images that Daphne knew she couldn’t afford to take for granted. Not with the life-threatening danger that Leonidas possibly still faced.
    “Tell you . . . that I love it here, riding with you in the field, on your farm.” She cringed internally, cursing herself a coward. “Your land is beautiful.”
    Just like you, my dearest king.
    “Then stay this time,” he begged, his voice rough as sandpaper. “Don’t leave me, not again. Not alone, aching for you, burning for you.”
    She had no such promises to offer—even as he wound his hand beneath the hem of her panties, twining his fingers into her light curls. “ Stay ,” he growled, and anyone else might’ve thought it a command. Daphne knew better because she heard the desperation in his tone.
    When she remained silent, he laughed, attempting to lighten his tone—as if