Free Red Mortal by Deidre Knight

was written plainly enough in Leo’s features and body. Already his right knee had begun throbbing much more painfully than it had in the past months, which was saying quite a lot.
    So the question wasn’t whether Ares had sped up the aging process that he’d clearly begun months ago. It was another—how did Leo, now a mortal, go about reacquiring immortality? There had to be some way of stopping Ares’s plan. They’d managed to thwart the war god repeatedly in the past year. This situation, too, could surely be reversed . . . They needed only to find a way.
    But could Leo retract the harsh, unkind words he’d spoken to Daphne? He groaned, burying his face in both hands. What a bastard he’d been! His predicament was no excuse for how cruelly he’d treated her; not even his frustration with her for staying gone all those months was reason enough for the way he’d behaved.
    He raked a hand over his hair, growling in frustration. “Daphne! Why do you leave when you know I cannot follow? Cannot come to you and apologize or change things?”
    From nowhere, his sense of powerlessness bubbled up into fury. He wanted to hurl a spear, charge an army of enemies, rout a legion. He searched for a weapon, anything to use for venting the explosive emotions that warred inside of him. A pottery vase was the first thing he clapped his gaze on. Grabbing the damn thing, he hurled it against the fireplace with an agonized roar. The smashing sound was surprisingly loud, and shards flew back at him. He averted his face, closing his eyes.
    When he opened them again, preparing to inspect the damage, he found Daphne standing in his strike zone. He was afraid to move, lest he discover that he’d only imagined her.
    But she looked real as always, staring at him with an expression of flushed shock. And then she smiled, forgiveness in her gaze. “My lord, such an outburst isn’t at all like you.” She glanced down at the shattered pieces of the vase. “And that was a lovely piece of pottery.”
    “It was because of you.” He gestured helplessly. “I was such a damned fool to accuse you of those things. And you left, knowing that I couldn’t follow you and apologize.”
    “You need only have summoned me.” She moved much closer, smiling tenderly at him. “You said you were sorry. I knew that you were.”
    That wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to fall to his knees before her, longed to shower her with penances. And then make everything right between them, not with words or excuses—but with his body. “All I could think about was what a bastard I’d been to you.” He inclined his head as if she were his queen. “My lady, please forgive my horrid conduct. It was entirely unworthy of you.”
    “Look at me, Leo,” she urged softly, moving much closer. But he was too ashamed—of how he’d treated her, or for her to get a decent look at his changing features. All of it kept his head bowed, but she clasped his face in both her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Their eyes locked and she searched his features for one long moment. He glimpsed unmistakable grief in those lovely water blue eyes.
    “Daphne, I understand why you didn’t tell me.”
    “My brother is a cruel god. I couldn’t run the risk that he’d harm you any further . . . or faster.”
    Leo gave her a regretful glance. “I’m already older. Since the field . . . it is happening fast. But that’s not your doing.”
    Wordlessly, she kept his face cupped in her palms, drawing it to her own, and began rubbing her cheek back and forth against his silvering beard. “I’ve always loved the feel of your face against mine,” she whispered. “How rough, how masculine . . . and yet your silky beard tickles my cheek.” She stilled as if savoring the moment. Was she thinking how much she’d grieve when he died? Or perhaps memorizing the feel of him, the scent, so that in future days she’d always have this moment?
    “You’ve never been a bastard to me,” she