ADRASTEIA
Eternelles
A Prequel
Adrasteia “Adri” Dionysios laughed as the open gig came to a stop outside the mews of her country château nestled in the vineyards of Champagne in the northeast of France. At this time of the night, the stables were deserted. She had convinced Marcel, the faithful stable master, to take the night off, since she didn’t know at what time she would be getting home and she wanted the now frail old man to rest when he could. Easier to pass for a spoilt heiress with tantrums and illogical requests than a caring employer; Marcel would never tolerate pity.
At another lurid whisper in her ear, she doubled over with laughter. “Stop it!”
Her tall, darkly handsome companion released the reins and turned to her.
“Why?” he asked. “I was enjoying myself.”
She shook her head. “A bit too much, in fact.” Adri settled her back against the plump cushion of her seat.
He chuckled. “Tell me you didn’t love it when Madame de Bergeron’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she watched us dance?”
In a lightning-quick move, she rushed forward and shoved him out of the carriage. “You dirty bastard! Thank goodness I introduced you as a family friend, and not my brother. Even I am above rumors of incestuous liaisons.”
He yelped as he landed on the dirty cobbles, and drew to his full height of impressive seven feet when he stood again.
Adri simply cocked an eyebrow, not impressed by his display of superior power. Ares, the Greek god of War and the formidable warrior, had nothing over her. She’d broken through his shell when she’d been barely five years old; he wouldn’t make her cower in her shoes two thousand, seven hundred and ninety-five years later.
“ Ai sto diaolo ,” he mumbled as he returned to a more reasonable six-foot-something height and dusted the mud on his coat.
She stifled a giggle. Go to Hell ? Seriously? He came to stand next to the gig, and she squinted as she tried to make out his features in the darkened exterior. The only burning torch flamed too far to shed proper light around them. His long dark hair, slightly too shaggy to be considered fashionable, brushed his collar. Everything from his wool coat, velvet evening jacket, dark silk waistcoat, and pristine white shirt with the necessary white bow tie screamed of money and Old World splendor. The taut body brought danger and adventure to mind, and the rugged face made one too many women swoon. Tonight, she’d been glad to have him on her arm to attend this ball at the residence of the most loathed society matron in the region. She had wanted to rock the boat, as usual, but somehow, the thrill of creating a stir in society brought none of its usual pleasurable release.
In fact, she hovered strangely empty. A hollow shell....
“Hey.” Ares drew closer and lowered his voice. “What’s going on inside that pretty head?”
She shrugged. A thought crossed her mind, and she opened her mouth to voice it aloud.
“You’ve never wanted more?”
He frowned as he reached for her hand. “More of what?”
“Life. This. Everything.”
She wasn’t making much sense. How could she have gotten so overwrought all of a sudden? She had lived for nearly twenty-eight centuries on this earth, notwithstanding her first hundred years spent on Mount Olympus in the home of her foster father, Zeus. Living—thriving more than surviving—had always been a piece of cake. Adri didn’t kid herself; she wasn’t a saint. She loved manipulation, plots, secrets, affecting potential outcomes. Yes, she loved to play, and with people, at that. She didn’t run away from her maenad side, embracing it instead. Maenads held mystic power over crowds, able to bend the will of groups and mobs alike whenever it suited them.
She closed her eyes. The reality she refused to face most of the time, the one of her origins, slammed straight into her consciousness, and the energy to brace for the shock couldn’t be summoned.
Anthony Kiedis
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