Tangles and Temptation (19 page)

His sickle swung faster and faster and quick as a flash shot forward, ripping the closest opponent in the gut. The man stared at him, stunned, but he did not retreat. Eris continued to spin his weapon. His arm stretched over his head and caught an unsuspecting mark to his left. The man did not flinch as blood spewed from his severed chest. Eris drawled, “I have need for exercise.” He issued his challenge, “Note I have only wounded you, by my choice. Now produce your weapons.”

The band of men did not move. They seemed to be awaiting an order from their leader. The leader stared at him venomously as he spat out, “Think you to defend your woman single handedly against
these
odds? She shall watch as your guts spill fodder for the vultures and your blood stains the thirsty ground.”

Eris slowed the spinning of his sickle a fraction. “She stood a female lone against a band of six men. I merely even the playing field.”

He lashed out unexpectedly, tearing the flesh of yet another’s chest. The movement was too fast for the eye, too swift for reaction. The men stood. They waited.

A single word was issued, and Eris knew he had underestimated the opponent. They were much too controlled to be a common band of cutthroats or thieves. The accent the man spoke with had also appeared vaguely familiar. Now he knew, Doric Greek. The command was clear. “
Formation.
”

Four quick sounds followed stealthy, decisive moves immediately—a sharp whistle of air as they banded close together, a thud as they dropped to the ground as one, the grating of metal as their shields were produced before them, concealing them from his view, and the sweet singing of blades being withdrawn. The blades shot out, piercing through the gaps between each intertwined shield. Eris stared at what had been formed within the blink of an eye. They had not scrambled, they had flowed. Now, they crouched low, hidden firmly by the strategically placed shields, relying upon the exposed blades to deliver them. They had formed a very unique but familiar structure.

Kyra gasped. “A scarab.”

The exterior, this shell of steel, would be impossible to penetrate. The command had alerted Eris as to their origin. There existed only a single place with such perfection in maneuver and phalanxes, the military formation using infantry, armed with spears and spikes. Their movement, the flow and harmony as one to form one, had alerted him as to their expertise,
agoge
training and education regime. But it was the weapons they thrust forward, past the protection of their shelter, that gave him pause. They did not produce the expected
dory
but longer, deadlier, farther-reaching blades.
Sarissa.
This showed their rank—the highest their place offered.

Eris hissed beneath his breath as the “beetle” upon the ground shifted. It stirred, driven by the leader at the front, as a single entity toward a single purpose—
to kill.
Eris pushed Kyra toward the building. “
Go!
Do not look back.”

He thrust her away hard. Kyra hesitated long enough to ask with a stunned expression. “Who are they?”

Eris propelled her impatiently before answering curtly, “
Spartans.
The highest rank they offer. Now
go
!” He wasted no time in watching if she complied but turned back to the battle before him. People who had stopped earlier to watch the spectacle had quickly dispensed upon seeing evidence of Sparta. Like Eris, they knew one thing. Whether it was enemy or bystander, people died hard and fast around a Sparta attack.

Eris watched the “beetle” begin to spin around faster, resembling an oval, spinning spike ball. He needed to think fast if he planned on surviving. And he did not simply wish to survive. He had to
win
.

The deadly ball upon the ground spun faster and closed in swiftly. Eris had to leap high in order to save his thighs from being sliced. He also had to be sure he planned where he landed wisely. The oval-shaped attack had a rhythm. Attacks from the sides remained comfortably far while the head and tail reached close, much too close. One mistake and he would be cut down fast. But he moved with confidence. He had two advantages. His weapon, the deadly sickle, capacitated him with its irregular design. They would not be able to predict his strikes accurately. And he was
Erpo.
The snake accepted no defeat.

* * * *

Kyra ran until her lungs burned like a gaping hole in her chest. She did not pause but ran straight to their room on the upper floor. All along her racing path, her mind scrambled to make sense of Eris’s assessment of the foe. He had clearly mentioned Sparta. From the tales she had heard they were a noble lot, fierce and bloodthirsty, but a righteous lot nonetheless. They acted justly and with reason. But there had been nothing reasonable about this attack, an attack on an unharmed woman and now six against one. These were acts of cowardice, not bravery and heroics as prophesized by the people.

She threw open the door and launched herself at the window. With her nose pressed tightly against the glass, she could clearly witness the battle below. The pathway was now deserted except for Eris and the peculiar formation on the ground. From her vantage point she could see the intent of the formation clearly. The men lay low, well hidden behind the comfort and security of the shields as they moved. They moved with practiced precision and accuracy, round and round. The protruding blades spun viciously with the movement, becoming faster and more deadly with each passing moment.

A sudden, eerie quiet descended on the battlefield. The movements continued, but there were no aggressive shouts or threats. There was no sound as each member focused inward. They moved with such surety and grace, they resembled an intricate display of dance. But this was a deadly dance. Eris could well be slain.

Kyra held her breath. Eris seemed to not do more than evade. She scrunched her nose. Why was he not fighting back? He simply leapt into the air each time the formation approached. And even that he waited until the last possible heart-wrenching moment before vaulting up. She could not understand. They were still
men
beneath that shell of metal. She could see their heads plainly.

Realization came slowly. Eris had not the advantage of height. His view was obscured by the shields. But she realized another fact as she watched him leap once again. He leapt late in order for the formation to be as close as possible. Each leap afforded him a view. He was trying to gauge what she saw clearly. He wanted to see above their shelter, within the heart of the attack.

Kyra silently applauded his brilliance. She admired his body as he moved, fluid and smooth. There was no hesitation, no doubt. His purpose was clear, and he patiently worked toward it. The lashing blades upon the spinning ball began to get closer and closer to slicing his unprotected thighs. But Kyra had confidence in Eris. He inspired confidence, commanded respect.

Kyra sighed in wanton wonder as she watched his body. His large frame moved with expert grace. Long, strong legs leapt with powerful thrusts and landed almost tenderly without once wavering. His torso twisted and stretched with effortless splendor as he still continued to swing his sickle. Kyra watched, fascinated. He looked relaxed. Comfortable, almost as though he was enjoying this.

She felt a strange energy shoot through her. As she watched Eris, sparks of heat coursed through her body, scorching and igniting until she felt her womb contract. The excitement spread through her loins, moistening her thighs at the junction, making her squeeze them together urgently. Her hand reached down beneath the layers of cloth desperately and cupped her weeping pussy. She could envision Eris’s body move over her, in her, with same measured mastery he now displayed. A violent shudder ran through her. She watched his thighs bunch as he sprang into the air, relaxed as he landed, certain, sure-footed. She could feel his thighs move and brush against her with the same control. On and on he moved, tireless and unerring. Higher and higher her body soared.

Without warning, Eris made his move. He sprang into the air but unlike previous occasions did not land on the ground. This time his foot vaulted straight onto the nearest shield. His leap gained the momentum he needed. His landing differed as well. He landed not outside the breech of this enemy but firmly within. As he landed he struck. His goal never wavered. His focus remained only on his target, the person at the head of the scarab. The swinging of his sickle never faltered. It spun and looped endlessly, perfectly, over his head and lashed out even as his feet sought purchase on the ground. The sickle, deceptive in its path, appeared to target one man but loped round the man next to him. Eris yanked hard. It was not hard enough to kill but severe enough to halt the enemy’s movements. Silence reigned.

Moisture gushed forth between her tightly clenched thighs at Eris’s final mighty blow. She jerked uncontrollably as a powerful climax overcame her aroused body and release flooded, hot and glorious. Kyra whimpered against the hot glass and strengthened her trembling limbs. All she wished to do was collapse, but she remained powerlessly rooted to the spot. She watched. Kyra pressed her nose painfully against the glass as she strained to see what Eris would do next. She had expected him to have simply killed the evil, overbearing man. But Eris appeared to have other plans. By the looks of things, he appeared to want to
talk
.

She scowled as she watched the formation disband and fall apart. They scurried back frantically, now resembling individual scarabs drooping their burden of dung. Eris held his deadly mark against the throat of the leader. He had aimed well, patiently plotted, and been greeted with success. Kyra could not understand though why he wished to prolong the man’s passing. He would be sent speedily past Elysium, the final resting place for the noble and honorable. The underworld screamed for one such as him and would embrace him with torturous arms and devour him with greed into its infernal belly. Eris appeared to dither in his cause. There was no way of interpreting the words that had passed, but the reaction was shocking.

Eris stepped away and allowed the fallen man to gain his stance. Kyra felt a silent cry well up within her. Eris was man of honor. He would request a fair battle, a battle between just the two of them. Kyra recalled the malice and evil she had witnessed in the man’s eyes. Her silent cry gave way to a distinctly loud keeling. Eris wished to battle the devil himself.

The battle began with no warning beyond the single swing of their individual weapons. While Eris held the advantage of his unpredictable sickle, the foe possessed a further-reaching blade. The sarissa slashed passed Eris, missing his beautiful, moss-green eyes by a hair’s breadth. Kyra inhaled sharply. She watched as Eris ducked, fast and fleet, as his feet never lost momentum. He rolled in one smooth, perfect circle and sprang to his feet. He was now behind his enemy and struck quickly. The movement was too quick for Kyra. All she saw was a slash of red upon the enraged man’s chest before Eris lightly skipped away.

The man, spurred on by his rage, lashed out with his weapon. The blade flew straight and true, finding its mark. Eris leapt back as the blade sliced through his tunic cleanly. He ignored the rent front and crouched low on his haunches. His sickle came from the side and loped unerringly around the enemy’s ankles. Eris yanked hard. The foe toppled. Eris placed his foot on the defeated man upon the ground and held his weapon against his throat.

The battle had been over so fast Kyra could find no response. She simply drew in her breath and waited. She longed to see the blood of this villain spray in the wind and color the earth. Her limbs began to tremble once again, overcome with anticipation, enthralled. She wished to see the ultimate might of her warrior. The ultimate defeat of the villain by Eris’s powerful blade would surely allow her floods freedom to erupt once again. She waited breathlessly, clenching her thighs tightly in expectation. Her muscles squeezed and contracted, causing her to bow over in painful need. She needed release. She needed to watch Eris slay this vermin. She longed for this final glance—her warrior the ultimate dominator.

Eris stepped back. Kyra screamed out in disappointment. The energy continued to flow through her body, restless, aimless. There was no outlet. Eris had dithered once again. She hissed in rage as she witnessed the fallen man rise. Eris showed mercy where he should not. That was a weakness, a failure she would not tolerate. She wanted to thrust him onto the bed and impale herself on his shaft. She hungered to drive home the truth. Eris would pant and plead beneath her, and she would not dither. She seethed silently as the men exchanged words. She fumed as the harlot approached Eris and blatantly rubbed her eager breasts against his bare chest. Finally she grabbed the closest object she could find, an intricately carved piece of pottery serving as the water pitcher, and smashed it against the wall. Her eyes shot sparks of malevolence, unleashed rage, and the promise of retribution at the trio lingering below. Eris glanced up just once before turning on his heels and stalking off with his company—the enemy.

* * * *

Eris had stiffened and held still just as his blade found its mark, nestled snuggly against the tender flesh of the fallen man’s vulnerable throat. Hesitation had not been due to anything the man had said, but rather the expression upon his face. He had appeared positively awestruck. The reason for the man’s reaction was abundantly clear as he stared, wide-eyed. He was transfixed by the marking upon his chest. The snake had caught and held his gaze.

Eris owed the man no explanations, no mercy. He was due this final act of vengeance upon an enemy who sought to smite his mate. Furthermore, he had allowed the man a fair and respectful footing, despite the fact that he deserved it not. He had permitted a fair one-on-one battle as was just and honorable.
And he had won.
However, for some reason he hesitated. Allowing the enemy a reprieve for the second time, he watched the man closely as he rose and inquired, “You find fascination with my beast?”