Linnea Kingsley

Title: The Hand of Ares
Author: Linnea Kingsley
Genre: mm fantasy
Summary: This short tale tells of the origin of the man known as the Hand of Ares.

THE HAND OF ARES
By Linnea Kingsley

Torches flickered along the walls as he crept from shadow to shadow, stealthily avoiding the sentries as he made his way to the temple of mighty Ares. He was fearful, not of what he planned to do, but of the possibility of rejection.

His entire life had been dedicated to Ares, and somehow that translated to a fervency he could no longer ignore.

For all the years of his life, he had felt drawn to Ares. So many had told him to give up his dreams of being a warrior, to instead devote himself to a kinder god, one that would appreciate his startling beauty and would lavish him with pleasure and comfort. But the only god he could see himself serving was Ares.

He crept past the guards and entered the temple proper, his sandals making no sound on the marble floor as he approached the altar. He was so intent on his goal that everything was blurry and indistinct.

He paid no notice to the scenes of battle decorating the walls or the offerings waiting on the smaller altars. His whole world was wrapped up in reaching the main altar and all he could feel was the pounding of his heart. His breath was a harsh rasp of sound in his ears. He held his hands out until he could press his palms against the cool surface of the marble that made up the altar.

“Mighty Ares, I can no longer resist the Call you have for me. My family means next to nothing to me nor does anything else. All I can hear is your voice speaking to me, or I think I hear you. I wish I hear you.” He leaned his forehead against the altar, a few fervid tears dripping against the stone slab.

“My love for you has grown beyond what I can bear. My entire being cries out to serve you. I dedicate myself to you, oh great Ares, body and spirit.” He stood up and pulled his dagger from its sheath, slashing it across first one cheek then the other, feeling the blade scrape bone. Blood filled his mouth, but still he spoke clearly, ignoring the pain as inconsequential: “I offer my beauty and my blood as sacrifice to you, and I vow to be your fiercest and most loyal warrior.”

He used his cupped palms to catch the dripping blood, then made to release it out across the altar.

There was a bright flare of light, then instead of his blood landing on white marble, it splashed against the bronze chest of the man suddenly languishing before him. Drops of red caught in the dark tangle of the man’s chest hair, gemlike and hypnotic.

The youth could only gape as the god ran a finger through the blood pooling against his skin and raised it to his mouth, licking it off with a sinful swipe of his tongue. “Yes, your blood is ripe and sweet. I can feel all that you are beating through your veins.” Ares opened starless eyes and stared into the boy’s very soul. “Yours is one of the purest loves I have ever felt. Truly you will be mine.”

“Great Ares, you honor me,” the youth cried, his breath coming fast. He quickly bowed, wobbling a little from shock and blood loss. His cheeks stung and there was blood running down his face to trickle down his neck to stain the collar of his tunic.

All he could see was the beautiful face of Ares, so masculine and strong. Olive skin and high cheekbones and a lush mouth framed by the dark curling hairs of his beard. He was mesmerized by that mouth, the lower lip dotted by a single drop of his blood.

He didn’t move when Ares reached out one languid hand and lifted his chin. He just stared at the god, the air thick around him with the feelings thrumming through him. He could feel his groin stir with desire and it made him gasp in a breath, his limbs trembling with want.

“The purity of your devotion has dazzled me, as does your new beauty.” Ares brushed his thumb over one of the weeping wounds; the youth refused to flinch even though it stung with pain. “Truly you have brought me great joy.”

Ares tugged the youth closer toward him. “Come to me and I will mark you as my own.”

The youth stumbled when his toes hit the low steps, but he didn’t stop. He let himself be pulled closer to Ares, then felt those large hands lift him up to lay him down on the altar. Then the god was rising over him and he was being swallowed up by the god’s eyes, pulled into that dark stare until Ares’ will was all he felt and he bowed to it gratefully.

Hands caressed up under his tunic, then there was the sound of tearing cloth and his skin was bared to the warm air. Lips touched his face, drank in his blood, then lipped their way down his neck to his chest. He made a whining sound when teeth bit his nipples, but he never thought to pull away.

The marble was hard beneath his back, but all he could feel was the god pressing down on top of him, rutting against him in animal passion. His voice escaped him in a warbling cry as Ares caressed his wounded cheeks, fingering the open gashes until the pain transformed itself into pseudo-pleasure. There was a rumble of sinister laughter, but to the youth it sounded warm and inviting.

He shed a few tears when he was breeched, but it was so transcendent that he could no longer feel the pain, only an all-consuming devotion. He could die, but it would be beautiful and perfect, as long as that was what Ares wished of him.

When it was over, the youth sprawled nude over Ares’ body, his head nestled against the god’s chest. He could feel the drumbeat of a heart beneath his cheek and it sounded like the pounding life of the world.

“You have greatly pleased me. To that end, I accept your pledge of eternal devotion.” Ares rose up and licked his tongue over the youth’s wounded cheeks, healing them to scars, leaving a perpetual sneer to pull at the corner of the youth’s lips. The youth would not be quite so pretty to mortal eyes, but to Ares he was more beautiful than ever before.

“You will live here from now on and you will be trained as my Chosen.”

“What does that mean?” He blinked his eyes clear of tears, not wanting to show that the god had hurt him. He just straddled Ares’ lap, his hips and legs crying out in pain, though he refused to even think of shifting himself away.

Ares’ looked him straight in the eye, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Prove your worth to me and you will find out.”

The youth’s whisper was fervent, “I vow it.”

Ares laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “By your blood, I Bind you. From now until your death you will be my faithful hand, carrying out my wishes without question or complaint. Prove your worth to me, and I will grant you all that you desire.”

He cocked his head. “Truly?”

“I do not lie,” Ares said easily. “Win my love through unending loyalty and service.”

“I will be your most faithful servant,” the youth promised.

Ares nodded graciously. “And when you prove yourself, I will name you my Chosen. Or fail me, and I will exile you to the depths of Tartarus where you will suffer for all of eternity.”

“I will prove myself or you can do with me as you wish,” the youth said. “I am yours.”

“Good.” Ares’ smile was full of razor teeth and his eyes swirled with something bloody and red.

To Hand, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Beautiful and mesmerizing, and he would not fail in his quest to please his lord.

=THE END=