Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Prologue

Ares climbed over the rubble of his burned-out armory, his mood black as the soot-covered remains. So much waste, he thought, kicking aside scorched artillery crates. All harmless shrapnel now. So many mortars and shells reduced to ash…so many bullets warped from the heat, deprived of their savage destiny on the battlefield. Magnificent guns destroyed without ever finding their way into the hands of even one ferocious warrior. It was a travesty. And the broad-shouldered god decided that someone should have to pay.

“Who did this?” he roared, discovering one of his vultures hovered over a dead body. At his approach, she left off tearing at the corpse’s gory innards and flapped her wings. With a rush of wind that spiraled the dust and autumn leaves around her, she rose into the form of a willowy redhead and licked the blood from her scarlet lips.

“The guards say it was a woman who blew up the armory,” his vulture explained, shoving the gutted corpse onto its back. His belt was unfastened, his pants unzipped, as if he’d died while taking a piss. “This one caught her and decided to have a little fun…”

“It doesn’t look as if he had a chance to enjoy himself.” Ares noted the dead man’s face, stiffened in shock, as if he couldn’t fathom what had happened to him. But Ares knew what had happened. Kyra had happened.

His daughter was lethal with a blade and knew how to defend herself. She was also a rebellious child with a knack for finding new and unique ways to annoy him. “What about the file on the hydra?”

His redheaded minion twitched. “It’s gone. Kyra must have taken it.”

Ares liked the look of fear in his vulture’s expression and was hungry to take out his frustrations on her. There could be pleasure in it—for him, at least. He reached for that fiery hair, yanking his vulture’s head to the side so that her throat was exposed. “And where is my daughter now?”

“I—I don’t know,” the vulture stammered. “They shot her, but she escaped.”

Bullets wouldn’t stop Kyra. As a nymph of the underworld, she crossed the thresholds of life and death at will. What’s more, she was immortal. He’d seen to that. There wasn’t a wound she could suffer that wouldn’t heal. She could appear to mortals in her own guise, or fade into the mists like an apparition. The fact that she’d let his guards see her meant that she’d wanted him to know she was responsible for this.

The unmitigated gall of the thing! For Kyra to destroy his weapons was almost too much to bear. And to add to that insult, she’d taken the file on the newest hydra—a man that Ares intended to add to his monstrous menagerie. Admittedly, the war god admired Kyra’s audacity. After all these years, most of the forgotten ancient immortals slunk away like beaten dogs to live mundane modern lives, but his daughter was still certain she was fated to do something glorious. And he couldn’t fault her for it, even if it drove her to test him like this.

Ares was an indulgent patriarch, after all. Unlike his own wine-soaked lecher of a father—Ares encouraged the fierce nature of his descendants. He’d even made war with them at his side. Oh, how mortals had trembled when Ares rode into battle with his twin sons, Phobos and Deimos, at the reigns of his chariot! How the mortals had screamed in terror when he unleashed his monsters. Fire-breathing horses, hydras, chimeras and minotaurs…Oh, how he missed those days.

He intended to relive them with Kyra at his side. If only she’d accept her true destiny. Instead, she was in open rebellion against him. Did she think he could be stopped by blowing up his munitions? If so, she was wrong. Lesser gods might fade away, but the forces of war remained eternal. No one sacrificed at Zeus’ temples anymore. The science of spindly weathermen had reduced the once fearsome sky god into an old man who spent his days in a taverna complaining about the loss of Greek culture to the European Union. Exhaustion, science and some of the newer gods of peace and goodwill had crowded the old gods off the world’s stage. Even crafty Hecate had been relegated to a fortune-telling gypsy!

But Ares was different. It had been a long time since anyone had seen him as the Greek god of bloodlust, glowering from beneath his plumed helmet, but men still worshipped him, whether they knew it or not, because war was different, too.

The new gods didn’t glorify it, and science only made it more deadly; it bankrupted the victors as well as the vanquished. War was a senselessness mankind could not explain. Warriors no longer called for Ares by name, but they still made bloody sacrifices. And whereas Zeus once ruled the gods of Olympus, Ares meant to rule now.

So how was he to deal with Kyra’s rebellion? Perhaps it was a phase that would pass. After all, his daughter was born to viciousness. Kyra claimed to abhor war, but the wreck she’d made of his armory only proved that she was bred for destruction.

The sooner he forced her to accept it, the better.

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“You’re shameless,” he finally whispered, the scent of expensive alcohol on his breath.

But I’m not shameless, she thought. There were many shameful things in this modern world but her sexuality wasn’t one of them. How was it her fault that men were so easy to arouse? “I’m shameless? What about you? You look guilty of something.”

He let the cool glass in his hand slide wetly over her shoulder. “And what do you think I’m guilty of, Angel? Give it a shot.”

Angel? Oh, she was going to enjoy killing him. “Are you telling me to guess?”

“No,” he said, his mouth finding the soft spot behind her ear. Then his voice lowered. “Unless you want me to tell you what to do.”

Her stomach fell away with arousal. Yes. Absurdly, she did want that. Just for a few minutes. It wasn’t sex with mortals that was dangerous for nymphs, after all. Just all the emotions that came afterwards. Still, best not to let him get the upper hand. “If you tried to tell me what to do, we’d only end up engaged in a fierce battle of wills.”

She felt him smirk against her neck. “Mine is hard as iron.”

His will. He meant his will was hard as iron. Trying to steady herself, Kyra fanned her fingers over the bar. They came to rest on an unopened pack of cigarettes. Marlboro Reds. Old school. “Yours?” she asked, and when he nodded, her lips curled in mock disapproval. “Bad addiction to have.”

“I’m not addicted,” he countered, one hand stroking her arm. She loved the callused feel of his fingertips on her smooth skin. “I only smoke when I’m trying to come to terms with something.”

Kyra almost asked him what he was struggling with. But she didn’t dare. She shouldn’t care. Couldn’t care. It’d only make it harder for her to kill him. . “I can quit anytime,” he said.

“How about now?”

He paused, then crushed the whole pack in his fist, tossing it behind the bar like so much trash. He looked smug at her openmouthed stare of astonishment. “Like I said. Iron will.”

He might think so, but he couldn’t resist her. She was sure of it.

“A drink for the lady,” Marco said to the bartender.

“And what if I’m not a lady?” Kyra asked, with a provocative smile.

“That’s okay,” Marco murmured, his hand grasping the nape of her neck. “I don’t plan to be a gentleman tonight.”

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

I wasn’t going to post any more of RITES OF PASSAGE but since I’ve had special requests, I’ve skipped forward a bit from Part I and Part II and Part III. This month’s snippet is from the scene in which our “hero” finds out that he’s about to be the fall guy…

Taleo was an expert when it came to beauty, and the Ista Aldrik women were all beautiful. Every, single, untouchable one of them. Petrina’s lush lips. Gellina’s auburn tresses. Junia’s ice-blue eyes. Aldrissa’s enticing curves. Even little Fidelia’s impish ears had their charm. Yes, the queen’s nieces were as lovely and unique as snowflakes, but they all had one Ista Aldrik trait in common—an unflinching ability to poison your tea and smile at you across the table as you drank it.

“I’m not thirsty,” Taleo said. “But thank you for the invitation. I’ve been riding for days and I’m no fit company for noblewomen.”

The queen swirled a jeweled spoon in a golden cup. “At least allow us to offer refreshments to your entourage.”

“I came alone,” Taleo said.

That got their attention. Six pairs of lovely eyes now fell upon him. It was the icy-eyed niece who spoke first. “My lord, do you mean to say that you rode over brigand-infested roads, by yourself, all the way from Anarinuell?”

Taleo nodded to the bevy of ambitious nieces. “Had bandits been bold enough to take me hostage, I’d have returned with useful knowledge of their whereabouts and habits.” In truth, Taleo would never allow himself to be captured alive by such men, but he watched closely for the ladies’ reactions.

The curvaceous Lady Aldrissa sputtered, walking to the balcony window and pulling back the crimson draperies as if to see if Taleo were lying. Below, he knew she’d see only ocean, sand, and his horse. “What utter foolishness!”

The rest of the queen’s nieces looked equally uninspired. But just as Taleo was beginning to think that acts of reckless bravery no longer impressed noblewomen, the queen said, “It sounds like a marvelous adventure. Sit and tell us about your journey.”

Taleo dusted himself off and took a seat at a respectable distance. He smelled of horse and needed a shave. He’d have liked to have been better groomed for this appearance, but circumstances were not entirely in his control. Which he hated. “Before I do, I wonder if you might explain why you’ve summoned me for this prestigious post when you’ve so many nieces, each eager to prove herself. Are none of them up to this task?”

“How dare you question our competence?” Lady Aldrissa demanded.

So things were going to go badly.

He’d ridden all this way to be bullied and lied to by the royal family and there was nothing he could do about it. But just then, Taleo’s luck turned. With the unraveling of a lock of fair hair, the power shifted.

Taleo’s eyes dropped to the floor and he held his silence.

“Look at me when I speak to you,” Aldrissa said.

“My lady, I cannot,” Taleo said.

“Why not?” Her tone was imperious and infuriated.

“Because you’re missing a hairpin.”

This sent the ladies all atwitter. A female soldier could be forgiven for an errant strand of hair. A common maiden in the fields wouldn’t be expected to account for her hairpins. But these were Ista Aldriks, each one vying to be the most proper and most obvious heir to the throne. One niece hissed, “Loose hair, loose woman!”

Lady Aldrissa rose quickly. “Thank you for your courtly behavior, my lord. Please forgive my misconduct.”

“It’s forgiven and already forgotten,” he said, keeping his eyes averted until she had left the room.

The missing hairpin had put the ladies on the defensive. The queen even opened the balcony windows as if to air out the stink of impropriety. When she did, Taleo tasted the ocean salt on the breeze and it made him uncomfortable. The crash of the waves below the bluff made him think of the nights he spent as a slave, listening to those waves, wishing to drown.

“Very well, then my lord. We will be frank,” the queen finally said. “The matter we want you to deal with is one that the Ista Aldrik family cannot personally touch. Our problem is a rabble-rousing priest.”

Taleo was intrigued. “A priest from which temple?”

“He doesn’t say,” the queen answered. “He tells the people to look into his eyes and they’ll know which deity he serves.”

“So they look into his eyes and see what they want to see?”

“And they believe. He gives sermons that ignite all the old, silly superstitions about twins.”

Now didn’t seem like the best time to inform his sovereign that Taleo didn’t find anything silly or superstitious about the loathing of twins. Admittedly, Taleo was no theologian; he didn’t know if twins shared a soul, if one twin was soulless, or if each twin harbored within its breast a depraved half-soul. But he did know that twins historically brought ruin to families and that was enough evidence for him.

“Are you worried for your sons, Clan Leader?” Taleo asked.

“Of course,” she said. “This priest is convincing the people to adopt the old ways. Parents of twins are told to leave one infant on the cliffs. If they don’t, the villagers break into homes and kill both babes in their cradles.”

“But your twin princes are no defenseless babes in the cradle,” Taleo said. “They’re grown warriors.”

“My sons will one day be called upon to follow in their father’s footsteps and rule the Republic. I’ll not have their futures jeopardized because of this bigotry.”

“Just how influential is this priest?” Taleo asked.

“His influence grows every day. If his sermons become a popular movement my sons will be seen as monsters.”

“So you want me to arrest him?” Taleo asked.

“Heavens no! No official action should be taken against him lest we give his followers a rallying cause.”

Taleo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then you want me to…” Was there a delicate word for it? “You want me to kill him?”

“And make him a martyr? I should think not. No, he must be destroyed. You must follow him, learn everything about him, and find a way to bring him to such disgrace that his words will never carry any weight at all.”

It was now clear to Taleo why he had been appointed. The Ista Aldriks didn’t want to be thought of as impious twin-lovers nor repressors of religion, nor even the brilliant political schemers they actually were. The task and the taint would fall to him, a lord of a distinguished, but minor house. If it all went bad, they would blame it on him. And Taleo supposed, in the scheme of things, that is what lords of minor noble houses were good for.

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

I’ve skipped forward a bit from Part I and Part II. This month’s snippet is from RITES OF PASSAGE and is the first time our “hero” (and I use that term extremely lightly) meets our heroine.

CHAPTER THREE

“Have you ever seen a lovelier ass?” Taleo asked.

The maiden pretended not to hear him, swirling her red palla over one shoulder, so Taleo urged his horse to follow. It was a bright winter’s day and the spring thaw couldn’t be far away, so Taleo was in the mood for a bit of sport.

His brother rode beside him, his horse’s bridle adorned with jingling bells. “Actually,” Kester said, his breath puffing steam in the cool air. “I have seen a lovelier ass and so have you. Yasmina’s backside is legend. Her frontside, too, truth be told.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mooning over her,” Taleo said, navigating the crowded streets of Anarinuell with the kind of authority only a mounted nobleman could bring to bear. “You’re like a lovesick cow. It’s shameful.”

“You’re one to talk.” Kester laughed. “Why not give Yasmina up? You know she loves me, so why not let me have her to myself.”

“Because Yasmina is a prostitute; you’ll never have her to yourself.” Besides, Taleo didn’t give up anything or anyone that belonged to him, even fleetingly, and his brother should know that by now. “If you’re so sure of Yasmina’s love, just ask her to refuse me.”

Kester shot him a sullen look. “For reasons that completely escape me, women don’t refuse you.”

“Probably because I give them no opportunity.” After all, he was a Firan nobleman. If he chose to press the matter, a common woman couldn’t refuse him by law nor could she invite his attention without inviting censure. The injustice of it was one of the many reasons he preferred whores, who were freer to do as they liked.

His brother, on the other hand, spoke sweet words to woo reluctant hearts, gifting common girls with jingling jewelry. Taleo saw no purpose in this kind of artifice. As was proper, he always rewarded the women upon whom he took his privilege, and even found husbands for them if need be. He wasn’t a barbarian, after all.

But when Taleo wanted a woman, he had her, and usually without sentiment. So it would be with this maiden they were stalking who glanced over her shoulder at Taleo with a flirtatious wink then hopped onto the curb, trying to blend with passersby. “She knows we’re following her, doesn’t she?” Taleo asked, listening to the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves on the paved street.

Kester nodded. “Pick up the pace or she’s going to escape to the forum.”

Well, if it was chase the maiden wanted, he was eager to oblige. Taleo laughed, wading his horse through the crowd, crop in hand. “Make way!”

They caught up with her under a fruit seller’s awning. She was holding apples, about the color of her cheeks, and about the size of her breasts, if Taleo gauged right. And he always did. Taleo met the maiden’s eyes and now she couldn’t look away.

Kester blocked off the girl’s path to the right with the bulk of his horse. When she turned to the left, Taleo used his horse to pen her in. Together, he and his brother were interrupting the flow of traffic in front of the market stalls. Merchants gave sharp stares, but didn’t dare protest the lords’ horseplay.

“You’re looking very fine today, Mes,” Taleo said to the maiden. “Did you know that red is my favorite color?”

The maiden stood silent with her apples, flashing her eyes from beneath long, alluring eyelashes. Taleo smiled at her, and the maiden bit her lower lip to keep from smiling in return. A merchant interrupted. “Ya gonna pay for those apples?”

“I’ll pay.” Taleo took a few coins from his pouch for the fruit-hawker. It was his reputation, after all.

Suddenly, with a giggle, the maiden bolted again. One of the apples fell from her hand and rolled on the ground. The girl wasn’t very fast but Taleo’s galloping horse was. He knew that this was a dangerous game in a crowded marketplace, but Taleo enjoyed dangerous games. Besides, he couldn’t disappoint the maiden. She couldn’t have run away without wanting to be caught!

People cried out with fear and leaped out of the way as his beloved mare jumped a low cart. Her back hoof clipped the side and knocked it over, but the horse easily regained her footing and rejoined the chase. So there was no reason that after a few more gallops through the street, she should so suddenly rear up.

Taleo struggled to stay mounted while his horse pawed at the air and he glimpsed the black and green of Republic armor. Taleo’s legs strained as he willed himself not to be thrown. He managed it, just barely, and calmed Daheret, who put her hooves on the ground again. Only then did Taleo see the guardsman’s spear point aimed at his horse’s heart–the same guard who obviously made her rear up in the first place.

“Halt!” the young guard cried.

“Get out of my way,” Taleo growled at the guard, keeping one eye on the fleeing form of the maiden in red, his blood hot with the thrill of pursuit. It had been a good day until now.

“You’ve smashed a cart,” the guard said with a voice that was oddly high-pitched and accented.

Why, the guard was just a girl!  He narrowed his eyes at the way she staggered under ill-fitting leather armor and noticed the smattering of freckles on her pale arms. Ticanee. A Ticanee guard? How was that possible? Knowing that the fleeing maiden was no fully away, Taleo sighed and marked the guard’s insignia. “Centurion, do you know who I am?”

“It doesn’t matter who you are,” the girl guard replied.

He heard the bells on his brother’s horse, so knew that Kester had caught up. With a smirk, Taleo leaned forward on horseback, and said, “I’m Lord Taleo Teranzik of the Bear Clan and this is my brother, Lord Kester. And if you weren’t an unschooled savage, you’d know it matters greatly who we are.”

In the middle of the marketplace, amidst the clack of the wagons and the mulling crowds, the centurion stood her ground, but her voice quavered. “You could have hurt someone playing chase in the forum. You endangered people.”

Taleo affected his best lordly glare, which he’d practiced to perfection. It usually frightened commoners, servants and miscreants alike, so it was an important skill to have. “Be that as it may, you have endangered my divine right to take Noble Privilege upon any maiden I choose.”

“My lord, that may be your right, but it doesn’t mean you can take your privilege in the forum.”

She had a point. Under other circumstances, Taleo would’ve laughed and ceded it graciously. He was generally of good humor, but this girl was arguing with him in public. A crowd had gathered around them and Taleo imagined the whispers. Has the House of Teranzik fallen so low that a savage can berate their lords without consequence? Will the Teranziks bow and scrape to a Ticanee guard, as they once bowed and scraped to the Shamibelians?

Taleo replied in what he hoped was an amused tone. “Yes, let’s speak of rights then, Centurion. What right do you have to threaten my horse? For that alone, I should thrash you.”

Someone shouted from the crowd. “Everyone knows the Teranziks love their horses . . . and their dogs.”

Someone else laughed and Taleo felt the itch of the people’s ridicule beneath his gloved hand. His fist clenched and fury bubbled up inside him. It was regrettable, but he had no choice but to take it out on the girl. “I’ll tell you what, Centurion: you can take the maiden’s place. I planned to invite her to my room, but you’re Ticanee, so a dirty alleyway will suffice for you.”

Spear in hand, the girl guard crimsoned. Not a pretty blush, like the maiden with the apples. No, this was anger. She seemed to tremble with it. “Pay the merchant for his overturned cart or…or I’ll arrest you,” she said, tilting her helmet back and staring at him with freakish blue eyes.

Taleo startled. Even his mare took three steps back. It wasn’t just the color of her eyes but her tattoos as well. A blue feathery design had been inked just above her brow, making her look like a fierce bird of prey. Yet, she held her spear as if her humanity depended upon it. Her hands, unexpectedly callused, wrapped around the wood like an overworked slave challenging an overseer with a shovel. As if he, Taleo Teranzik, was her oppressor.

It disturbed him to his very core.

Taleo took a moment regain his composure. “You’re just a little slut playing dress-up as a Republic guard. You’re not going to arrest me.”

Kester piped up with, “Taleo, just pay the fine and ride on.”

He knew he was behaving badly, but this damnable Ticanee girl had forced him into a public confrontation and he saw no room for gracious retreat now. “No, Kester. I’m going to knock that spear out of her foreign hands. She’s insolent.”

“Ticanee aren’t foreign,” the girl snapped. “And if you think you can knock my spear away, I invite you to try.”

Taleo found her hubris attractive. After all, it was always the women who issued challenges who most wanted to lose. Besides, he knew what Ticanee were like. Feral. Desperate. Filthy. He started to swing down off his horse, crop in hand, but Kester gripped his arm. “Not this one, Taleo. She’s the Oshta’s daughter.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s the Ticanee Clan Leader’s daughter. She’s a Lady.”

Taleo snorted. “Ticanee nobility?”

It was ridiculous.

Kester shrugged and his horse jingled impatiently, as if it also hated those infernal bells. “Lady Taria is their version of nobility, anyway. Her father is on the Clan Council.”

Taleo noticed the girl’s shaky knees beneath the leather flaps of her military skirt. She didn’t look noble. “You’re the Oshta’s daughter?”

“It shouldn’t matter. I’m a Republic guard.” She kept her chin up when she spoke but he could hear a tremor in her voice and that crumbling resolve was like a siren’s call. Still, the daughter of a medallion holder was trouble Taleo didn’t need. Besides, he was already giving the commoners too much gossip, so he unlaced his money pouch from his belt and didn’t bother counting the coins. “Give this to any inconvenienced merchants and the rest to charity.”

Taleo threw the pouch to the centurion who caught it with one hand, breaking the grip on her spear. Then he rode past her and out of the forum before she could stop him.