N. Walters: Mark of the Bear

Darkness wove around the Lady of the Beasts like a cloak. The air was too hot to breathe. It flayed her flesh, leaving it tender and sore. If she were mortal, she would have long since perished. Her feet were raw and bleeding from stepping on jagged rocks, bits of bone and fiery brimstone. Hunger gnawed at her backbone like a ravenous beast.

Yet, she smiled.

One of her warriors had triumphed. That it was Roric, her white tiger, was no surprise. He’d always been a master tactician and unyielding on the field of battle. But it was only the beginning. There was still much work to be done. Three more of her immortal warriors remained imprisoned in their animal state. Marko, Arand and Leander—the bear, wolf and lion. Only the fates knew which one of them would be next and how soon it would happen.

She had a feeling it wouldn’t be long.

Events seemed to be escalating, hurtling toward a finish line none of them could see. The Lady was determined to give her warriors every chance at succeeding, of breaking away from the curse that bound them and finally being free.

For more than five thousand years, they’d been prisoners, trapped on earth in their animal forms, unable to move, to fight. She’d done what she could to keep them out of Hell, but they’d all paid the price for it. Three of them were lost—Mordecai, Stavros and Phoenix. She pushed that thought aside. Now was not the time to mourn their fate. That would come later when it was the proper time to deal with such things.

A light in the distance caught her eye and she moved cautiously toward it. She knew she was ascending, but how close she was to the Gates of Hell was anyone’s guess.

Hades was watching her. She could sense whenever he turned his dark eyes toward her. He was probably enjoying seeing her stumble around his domain. She should have been more focused with her request. Whenever Hades agreed to anything there was always a catch, a loophole that went in his favor. But she’d been weakened from the vast years of her imprisonment in his domain and all her faculties hadn’t been working properly. Yes, he’d released her from her prison, but not from Hell. That was up to her to accomplish, or not.

Not that Hades had come out of their confrontation completely unscathed. So confident in his ability to gain whatever he wanted, he’d readily agreed to abide by the terms of her curse without thinking it through. That fact had not only allowed Roric to triumph, but also ensured that Hades and his minions now had to leave him and his woman alone. Forever. If Hades failed to comply, he would be destroyed. Once he’d given his word, he’d signed his fate. Even gods and goddesses had rules that governed them, and there was no escaping these dictates.

She was out of the rock prison that had served as her tomb for all these millennia. She’d survived what would have driven most mad, even a goddess. Where there was hope there was life. And Roric and his mate had given her hope, and she drew strength from their victory.

Energy renewed, she plowed forward, using her hands against the wall as a guide through the blackness that surrounded her. A light flickered in the distance and then dimmed. She moved toward it.

Hades reclined in his chair and tapped his fingers against the solid wooden arms. It was a thing of beauty, carved from one sturdy piece of mahogany. Usually, he enjoyed the feel of the polished wood, the intricate carvings of death in all its forms and incarnations. Today it gave him no pleasure.

He was alone in his private chamber, gazing into a heavily gilded mirror, his window into this or any other world. The walls were swathed in blood-red silk and the floor was covered in an ancient hand-woven rug that belonged in a museum. It amused him to walk on it. An enormous bed awaited his pleasure, silk sheets in midnight-black stretched across the down-filled mattress.

He had more designer clothes than most men’s stores. The suit he was wearing now had been handmade for him by an ancient relic of a man in Sicily. His shirt came from London and his shoes from Rome. His cufflinks were rubies and a diamond winked on his left index finger.

Rare gemstones filled his coffers and fine art covered the walls of his room. He rotated them every day, pulling works from Rembrandt, da Vinci, Van Gogh and other past masters, from his vaults. It was all his. He could snap his fingers and have anything he desired. Anything, that is, except the power he craved.

For that he needed the warriors of the Lady.

He swore and turned away from the mirror, dismissing the image of the Lady of the Beasts as she stumbled along the rocky path. Really, it should lighten his mood to see the bitch bleeding and hurt, but he was still stinging over his defeat to Roric.

That bastard had put a crimp in his plans, and because Hades had foolishly agreed to abide by the curse, Roric and his lady friend were now off-limits. Even gods had rules. It was enough to give him heartburn.

For two cents, he’d kill the Lady himself, but that wouldn’t be smart. That would take a lot of power and would cause a ripple that would spread out among all the gods and goddesses of his pantheon. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to attract his brothers’ attention. Zeus and Poseidon could be pains in the ass on a normal day with their sniveling and whining. They didn’t deserve what little power they had, which was why he was going to take it from them.

Plus, he might need the Lady at some point down the road for leverage. Just because Roric hadn’t caved didn’t mean one of the others wouldn’t.

Mordecai, the sly serpent, certainly had, and easily.

The corners of his lips curved upward, but anyone seeing it wouldn’t mistake it for a smile. It was cruel and calculating and tinged with malice. Mordecai had been his first victory and it had been sweet. Unfortunately, he’d had to destroy two of the warriors. If they weren’t with him they were his enemy.

No, he had to be honest with himself. He’d destroyed Stavros, the jaguar. The phoenix had gone up in a ball of flames, destroying himself and the woman who’d freed him rather than battle Hades and his demons. The coward.

That left three warriors, the bear, the lion and the wolf, all potentially useful to him in the secret war he was waging against the other Greek gods. Which brought him back to the problem at hand.