Warrior Lover
By
Marianne LaCroix

Prologue

    Ares had enough of women. He watched his lover Aphrodite and her once-estranged husband reunite after she convinced Hephaestus to free her from a net. Her husband had ensnared them mid-tryst, and Ares was beyond sickened at her fickle heart. He was sure she would crawl into bed with another lover as soon as Hephaestus turned his back. She did so every time.
    Women were all the same. Plotting. Conniving. Users. What good were they, other than for sport, an occasional romp to ease sexual longing? He was used by a woman for the last time. Never again will his heart guide the way. He was the god of war, not the god of love. He didn't need love to survive, he needed the fight—blood, battle and victory.
    Glancing back, Aphrodite had Hephaestus beneath her, her lovely thighs straddling his hips.
    To think, she had him between those legs only moments ago.
    Never again.
    From now on Ares would concentrate on his specialty, his purpose of creation. As long as the humans roamed the earth, there would be war. It was inevitable. With “free will” as his father Zeus decreed it, came disagreements and anger. Those were the building blocks to war, and Ares loved it.
    “After all, a god of war should love his job .”
    The call of battle screamed in his ears — Trojans crying in alarm as an army piled out of a giant wooden horse. Ares flashed out of Aphrodite's chamber and hurled his formless essence through the atmosphere, down from the heights of Mt. Olympus to his awaiting chariot below.
    “To Troy!” he cried as his godly body took form and he smacked his horses with the reins. “There's a battle to be fought!”

Chapter One

    “Les sanglots longs des violons, d'automne blessent mon couer d'une langueur montone.”
    Belle listened to the radio message with quiet excitement. This was the message they had waited for!
    “Répét. Les sanglots longs des violons, d'automne blessent mon couer d'une langueur montone.” more >>