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he said, “Ares no longer controls our destiny or our feelings for each other. Whatever may come, Daphne, I am certain of one thing. I need you. Always. Today . . . tonight. Forever. No more leaving.”
    Stay.
    He didn’t beg again, but she could hear the plaintive word still ringing in her heart. Stay . . .

Chapter 3
     
    L eonidas swung Daphne down off the horse and into his arms. Cradling her close, he stared into her pale blue eyes until his breath hitched. Lovely didn’t begin to cover her ethereal beauty. A demigoddess, an immortal creature of Olympus, a Delphic Oracle . . . and, of late, a Goth girl. Any sane king would’ve kept his distance and never taken on the challenge.
    But he’d come up the hardest way, in the Agoge training school of Sparta, where he’d clawed for every crumb he ever got. It had been true survival of the fittest, with Leo struggling to thrive like a desperate weed in the sundried bricks of that place. That was when he’d learned to face any challenge, physical or psychological. He’d brought that iron-willed strength to Thermopylae, to all the battles he’d waged in the old days and ever since, and he wasn’t about to start backing down now.
    Daphne belonged to him; it was only a matter of fully claiming her before the Highest God himself. In his human life, he’d loved his wife Gorgo deeply, but now, all these years later, he could no longer recall her face, much less her touch. But when he kissed Daphne, something unearthly, mystical ignited inside his heart; it was an eternal love, the kind that could survive the bonds of death and rebirth. And if that bastard brother of hers continued to separate them by intimidation, Leo wasn’t above waging war against the cruel god. He’d done so already, besting Ares in two recent battles.
    She slid both arms about his neck as he lowered her slowly onto her feet. She was light, so light, in his grasp—and yet so fully a woman that his breath hitched as her breasts pressed against his thick chest. For one long moment, their gazes locked—Daphne with her thin arms twined about him, her breath warm against his skin as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. His lips parted slightly, and he nearly pressed his mouth to hers. But no . . . Not yet.
    There was something he wanted much more than a kiss. To feel her body, that lithe, feminine body, beneath his own much larger, bulky one, just as he’d promised. Maybe it would be awkward, a bit inelegant, but he didn’t care. He always had been the bull dreaming of making love to a fairy queen, of holding a butterfly against his warrior’s chest. And he’d had plenty of practice taking Daphne without hurting her—all in his fantasies. He would be gentle with her now; he vowed it.
    Rummaging in his saddlebag, he located his crimson cape. He’d brought it intentionally, with a particular plan in mind. Keeping one arm about her waist, he unfurled the rich fabric with a romantic flourish, making a blanket for them in the crisp field of grass. He watched the Spartan cloak settle, and swallowing hard in anticipation, he turned to Daphne. Her blue eyes had grown wide, a rosy flush infusing her cheeks as she stared at the makeshift bed. She chewed on her lower lip, seeming troubled. Wasn’t this what she wanted?
    But then she turned back to him, her pale blue eyes flashing with heat and desire, all hesitation completely gone. He seized the moment, pulling her into his arms, and into a fervent kiss. Pain spiked through his right knee as they sank to the ground, tumbling together—the ancient war wound had been hurting more with every passing day. But for once, he ignored the torturous injury, losing himself in Daphne’s arms. Her hands were all in his hair, tangling in his thick, short curls, grasping as if she couldn’t possibly have enough of him.
    Shifting his hips, he leveraged his thigh, parting her legs and settling heavily there. He was a large, bulky man, and she was so delicate