WARRIOR LOVER Read online

  WARRIOR LOVER

  Sons of Zeus series

  by

  Marianne LaCroix

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WARRIOR LOVER

  Copyright (c) 2005 by Marianne LaCroix

  ISBN: 1-59836-029-9

  Cover design (c) 2005 by Marianne LaCroix

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

  For information, you can find us on the web at,

  www.VenusPress.com

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  For the brave heroes who

  took part in the D-Day invasion,

  June 6, 1944.

  Author’s Note:

  The portrayal of D-Day in this novella is based on fact found in various sources from research. Before the troops landed upon the beaches of Normandy, soldiers parachuted into occupied France during the early morning hours to cut-off German supply lines, disrupt communication, and secure crucial transportation arteries. The French Résistance members were ready to act upon a moment’s notice for the opportunity to fight for freedom and assist the soldiers in the invasion. And interestingly enough, many of the Résistance fighters were women. The mission to destroy Toussaint Bridge is fictional, but has basis in real events that shaped the historic day of June 6, 1944.

  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.

  All women were 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 would 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 Mount 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.”

  They flipped off the Résistance radio program, and began to gather up their supplies. This was the night they had worked for, dreamed of, prayed to God to come. The Allied invasion was coming at last.

  “Belle, be careful,” her brother warned with a worried tone.

  “What, fear? Now? No, mon chou. This is no time for fear. This is our hour of freedom.” She picked up her M1 rifle and checked her rounds.

  “I know. I just hate that this happened, that you were forced to take up a gun instead of marrying a nice man…”

  “I feel more comfortable holding a rifle than a baby.” She clicked her ammunition into the rifle and swung its leather strap over her shoulder. “I wasn’t ready for that life.”

  It was true. Belle had no desire to tie herself down to the life as wife. At least, not yet.

  At seventeen, the war had invaded her back yard, the Germans marching through the country, taking everything for their own. It was hell living in France with Hitler’s S.S. running things from Paris. Leaving the house had become dangerous, and traveling to the next province over was out of the question. Having seen her parents killed before her eyes when the Germans demanded to know where a rumored fortune in gold was kept, Belle vowed to fight this battle the best way she knew how.

  There was no gold in their village. Her mère and père died for nothing. Apparently the Nazis were ill informed, and they left her and her brother, Jean-Luis, behind without parents. No apology. No compensation.

  They had left a young girl tenacious to see the invaders pay for their crimes against her family, and all the families of France.

  She was unable to join the fight directly on the front line, but then quickly decided to thwart the German army in a more subtle, yet crucial, manner. She joined the underground of loyal men and women determined to hurt the enemy in any and every way possible.

  Within a few weeks, Belle was taught the basics of bomb building and the best locations to place explosives for maximum effect. She became so good at destroying bridges and railways, she was sent to head up this division of men awaiting the order for the invasion.

  Now four years later, the Allied Forces were about to attack in a huge wave of weaponry and manpower that would surely defeat the invaders. She would get her revenge and win freedom once again. Vive la France!

  “Belle, the Americans should be flying overhead within the hour. Want to wait by the signal light while we set up the dynamite?”

  Their mission was to blow up a supply train filled with ammunition and guns. Destroying the train would put a major kink in the German defensive located near the beaches where the Allied Forces would begin their landing.

  “Everything has to pop when the two a.m. train arrives,” he continued.

  “We also have to cut those telegraph lines,” she added, stuffing a spare clip of ammunition into a garter belt on her left thigh. They had to make sure no messages—warnings or orders to and from the S.S. Headquarters in Paris—made it through. No communication meant disorganization.

  “We’ll take care of that,” piped in Jacques. He stood with his younger sister, Elise, each carrying a hand ax and a rifle.

  “Good, I’ll watch for the Americans.” A squad of soldiers was to arrive. Their mission was to help the Résistance in cutting off the German troops at the beaches from their superiors inland. In addition, they were to make sure the Germans did not rebuild the railway bridge. For what they had planned, nothing would be rebuilt for days.

  Climbing out of their crude underground bunker, Belle was met with darkness. She nodded at Jean-Luis, and headed off for the planned drop zone.

  The area the Americans were to parachute into was a small clearing off the woods approximately two miles from the Nazi lookout post and checkpoint.

  As she ran quietly through the dense woodland, Belle we
nt over the plans silently within her mind. While she led the Americans to the bridge and checkpoint, Jacques and his sister Elise would take care of cutting off communications via telegraph lines. If all went as planned, the train filled with ammunition would be derailed and in the bottom of the river by two a.m. The bridge, a major artery, would also be obliterated. If the intelligence was correct, the train carried tons of explosives. When their charges were ignited, it would set in motion a chain reaction of destruction. It would be a significant blow to the German forces.

  Arriving at the edge of the drop zone, she uncovered a hidden lamp to signal the gliders above. This would help the paratroopers to zero in on their target.

  Fifteen minutes went by and the skies remained clear.

  Then she saw the first shadow above. She lit the lamp and gave the signal.

  Her nerves were on edge, her breathing erratic. She was so excited, she wanted to scream with joy, “The Allies are here!” but she fought to remain calm. This was the moment she prayed for since the day her parents were killed.

  The first parachutes came into view. Four parachutists jumped from the low gliding craft, silent in the night. She put out the lamp and hid it again in a nearby hollow tree stump. Covering it with branches, her hands shook, a certain amount of fear welled within her soul, and she had to beat it down. This was no time for cowardice.

  She ducked into the trees as the Americans touched ground. In silence they gathered their chutes and bolted for the trees.

  As one passed her, she reached out for his arm.

  He pulled a knife in a flash, and she gasped.

  Then she saw his face.

  It was the face of a god, and she felt her body respond fiercely. Dressed in green fatigues, helmet, belt filled with ammunition, grenades, and other supplies, this man appeared well fit for the role of soldier. He was commanding in stature with broad shoulders and a powerful energy seeping from his body. She was drawn to that essence, and had to shake herself to break from its invisible grip.

  “Mademoiselle? Parlez vous Anglais?” he asked, his sea green eyes sparkling in the faint moonlight.

  “Oui. Come with me.” She stammered and turned from his gaze. Did his face have to be so appealing even when covered in dirt and grease? Grasping her rifle, she motioned for him to follow.

  “Wait, all my men—” He looked back, and three other soldiers approached from the darkness.

  “Follow me. We have a short walk to the bridge.” She watched the handsome American, wondering why he seemed so different. He had a certain aura about him that was out of the ordinary.

  Her eyes quickly scanned his form, settling on his crotch. It was bulging. A hard on? Here? Now?

  He cleared his throat, and she blushed. She was caught ogling this man’s groin.

  “Shall we go?” he asked.

  “Oui, oui.” Before she said anything more, Belle bolted off into the woods toward the bridge. She didn’t turn to see if the men followed. The sounds of footfalls and bodies brushing past low branches told her they did.

  What was she doing staring at a strange man’s crotch? She was Belle, leader of a Résistance unit, well respected and trusted. She did not get excited over a bulge. At least she’d never let a handsome face make her insides turn into tapioca. A strong virility pulled at her insides, sending her body into a hormonal overdrive. She needed to concentrate on the mission. The battle. The victory.

  The soldiers kept pace with her until they arrived nearby the bridge. They gathered on the edge of the woods across from the south end. Approximately a quarter mile long over the Merderet River, the bridge was a challenging target for the small band of Résistance fighters, which was why the Americans were dropped in as additional help.

  “There it is, Toussaint Bridge. My men are digging charges there,” she whispered, pointing out Jean-Luis from a distance. Even dressed in black, she could spot him easily. It helped that she had mapped the area down to the last pebble, and she knew exactly where to dig in explosives.

  “Marshall, Jackson, Jones…go assist.” The handsome soldier waved to his comrades. They nodded, and then crept toward the bridge.

  “I can’t tell you how we looked forward to this night,” she said. Belle was unsure what to say. His body radiated appeal, drawing her. Merde, this was no time for her panties to get drenched from want.

  He watched her face intently. She shivered despite the warm night.

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel A. Reese. You may call me Ares, everyone does.”

  “Like the Greek god?”

  He chuckled.

  She squeezed her thighs together tightly. The sound of his laugh sent a tingling awareness rushing through her, pooling at the apex of her thighs. She was unused to having such a reaction to a man. And on a night like this, the night the tides of war were to shift, she was fighting with her own sexual arousal.

  “Ares was the god of war. I have a talent for fighting. The name just fit.”

  Watching his full lips move as he talked was strangely erotic. She wondered what those lips would feel like kissing her skin.

  Glancing back to the bridge, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Calm yourself, Belle. This is not the time to give into your body’s demands.

  “Where is the check point? We may have to take care of a few Germans before the train gets here. Or do a bit of diversion.”

  Good. War talk. That would help her jumping heart. “Just up the tracks about a mile from here. The guards do routine patrols every half an hour.” She checked her watch. “They are due for the next round in ten minutes.”

  “And the plan?”

  “Eliminate before any suspicion is reported.”

  “And the telegraph lines?”

  “They will be cut as the train is about to cross the bridge.”

  “And that is how long?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Good.” He paused and leaned in. His eyes pinned her with their intensity. “Mademoiselle, you are unique. If this wasn’t a mission, I’d ask you out to the movies for a Saturday evening.”

  Her cheeks burned pink, and she was glad the darkness shadowed her blush.

  “And your name is?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Belle.”

  “Suites you, Belle.” Her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment.

  And she loved hearing him say it.

  Chapter Two

  Ares was not himself tonight. Not since he landed in France and set eyes upon the Résistance leader. She’d struck him with her dark brown eyes, and he was speechless. He—Ares, great god of war—was unable to control his body’s reaction to her.

  How long had it been since he felt a woman’s soft flesh beneath his? Had it really been several centuries since that day when he vowed to never touch a woman again? He had urges just like any other god, but his lust for battle usually trampled any whispers of desire. But now, even in the midst of war, the turning point of the entire campaign, he wanted to escape with this incredible woman to his private retreat. Sexual pleasure between her legs would be more momentous than impending blood shed.

  He watched her skirt through the woods before him, as though she’d been taught by his sister Athena. She was quick as a rabbit, silent and sure. Following behind her, he kept pace with her as she led him to the German checkpoint.

  They needed to cause some sort of diversion, and she said she had a plan. He was sure he wasn’t going to like it when she stopped and unbuttoned her blouse. Exposing more skin made him hunger for her more desperately.

  “What are you about to do?” he asked, gazing at the creamy breast spilling from the edge of a lacey bra. His mouth watered.

  “The guard here has made several indications to me in the past of wanting me. Tonight, I will give in.”

  “Oh, hell no!”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to let you do it.” He was jealous with anger. No man could touch her. He already staked a claim from the moment he saw her.
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  “You, Lieutenant, have no say in it. I know what I am doing. Do you honestly think I haven’t been raped by the likes of the enemy?”

  “This won’t be rape if you offer.”

  “My body is numb to the likes of the Nazis.”

  He paused. She’d been raped. Looking at her face, written with strength and determination, he realized there was much more to her courage than patriotism. “You’ve been hurt by them before, haven’t you?” he asked tenderly, a hand reaching for her face. He was taken aback by the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. So long since he tasted a woman. Much too long since he kissed willing lips.

  “My family was killed when the Germans marched into France. My parents slaughtered before my eyes, then…” A tear welled in her eye and he brushed it away with his thumb when it fell.

  “I can’t let them hurt you, darling.”

  She checked her watch. “With only ten minutes until the train crosses the bridge, there will hardly be time for him to do anything to me.”

  He thought on it for a moment. He hated the idea.

  “I don’t have time to argue with you, monsieur.” She sat her rifle in the bushes and turned to head on out to the guardhouse.

  He grasped her arm and was shocked by the contact. His body was on fire for her. “I’ll be watching. Any sign of that Nazi hurting you, I come in and gut him like a fish.”

  She smirked. Then she trotted out of the woods, leaving Ares behind with a rock hard cock and a rage burning to let loose upon the world. Ten minutes, and if that guard so much as brushes her skin with his hand, he’d show his true powers.

  “Ares, do you really think this is the right time and place for such emotions?”

  He didn’t have to turn to know it was his former lover. “’Dite, I don’t see how this concerns you.”