Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (35 page)

He smiled brightly at her, her instant scowl lightening his spirits. But not enough.

“You’re vexed?” Ares regarded him over the rim of his goblet.

Poseidon sighed, leaning against the back of his chair with practiced insolence. He shrugged but said nothing.

Aphrodite watched him too, he knew. And he was aware of her, the sway of her hips, as she made her way towards them. His loins tightened instantly.

“You found no pleasure with Sappho?” Aphrodite’s voice rippled over him.

He stared at her, not bothering to disguise his hunger for her. “I did not.”

Ares chuckled. “From the gash on your brow and the bruise on your throat, I’d like to meet this Sappho.”

“No Nereid would behave such a way.” Aphrodite leaned forward, inspecting Poseidon’s face with concern. “Who dared to cross swords with you?”

Ares snorted. “Poseidon has no use for a sword. I’ve never seen one in your hand.” Ares shook his head. “These wounds are from fists, I think. I’ve given enough in my time.”

Aphrodite’s luminous eyes turned on Ares. “Your boasts of brutality are tiresome.”

Ares’ nostrils flared as he rose from his seat. He towered over Aphrodite, his body a solid wall of muscle. “I will bore you no longer.”

Poseidon watched the hulking God of War storm from the dining chamber. “You’ve upset Ares, my dear. Is that a wise move?”

Aphrodite sighed, her eyes searching his. “You mistake me, Poseidon. I am the Goddess of Love, not wisdom.” Her cheeks flushed and her lips parted beneath the heat of his gaze.

His eyes lingered on those lips, eager to sample them, before they strayed to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples grew taut, hardening beneath the fabric and issuing him an invitation he would not ignore.

He stood, the blood pulsing hotly in his ears. “Walk with me, then. I have matters to discuss which might interest you.”

He led her to the gardens. Need raged, engulfing him as he reached for her.

The silken rush of her lips against his made him moan. He’d been too long without a woman.

She wrapped her arms about him, her lips parting beneath his. She seemed just as desperate, just as hungry.

His hands gripped her hips, lifting her as he bore her back against a column. She groaned, pushing his chiton out of the way to grasp his bare buttocks. He was eager to accommodate her, thrusting her skirts above her hips before settling himself between her legs.

Her hands tangled in his hair and her legs wrapped tightly about him as he drove into her. Again and again he filled her, exulting in the sounds of pleasure she made as he did so. It took no time for him to find his release, moaning against her neck before sagging limply against her.

She pushed him away from her, her soft face yet flushed. “And that is why you are the God of the Sea, Poseidon, selfish and fleeting. You’ve no gift for pleasing a woman.”

Poseidon cupped her cheek. “And yet, I am greatly pleased.”

She slapped his hand away, straightening her tunic with trembling hands and smoothing her tresses. “While I am left wanting. I will not keep you from…your schemes.”

Poseidon watched her retreating figure, his mood restored. He called out, teasing her.  “What? Will your husband not assist you in the matter?”

She glanced back, making him flinch beneath the pain he saw. “He would more eagerly assist you, Poseidon. As well you know.” She swept from the gardens.

Poseidon sat on a nearby bench, shaking his head.

He would never love, he vowed. It brought too fleeting a pleasure for too many trials. He’d be wise to remember his cock was just as satisfied by a Goddess, a nymph, or a mortal maid. There was no purpose in sharing any more than that with any woman.

###

Ariston blinked against the rain. He wiped his eyes, the sting of the ocean water cleansed by that of the rain.

The island, a patch of solid black atop the storm-tossed sea, was small and exposed. No one could approach it without being seen long before they reached land. He’d known he could not risk such a journey by day.

As strong a swimmer as he was, he grew weary. He’d had to anchor his ship far out at sea, along the reef. The rest he would have to do on his own. And while the storm only aided in providing him cover, it churned the waters and made his journey a greater challenge yet.

But he had cause to keep going.

She was here.

He’d learned a great deal about the happenings of this island.

“Three Gorgons live on that rock.” The old man had leaned forward, whispering through sun-baked lips and almost toothless gums. “I’ve seen only two of them, but I know of the third, Medusa. It’s her magic that takes me to the island. It’s her curse that punishes those who’ve broken the law.”

Ariston had sipped his wine with care, the tightening of his hand about the cup the only evidence of his discomfort. “Who sends these men to be punished?”

“The Gods.” The man peered about the room before he continued. His whisper was so soft that Ariston leaned closer. “I take them to the island, and my son lives in Asphodel instead of Tartarus.” The old man shook his head. “It is a bargain of sorts.”

Another bargain offered by the Gods.

“And these witches,” his voice was harsh. “Why do they do this?”

The old man waited for Ariston to refill his cup before he shrugged and continued, “I’ve heard stories. Some say the witches want immortality. Others say they have some of Hades’ gold in the temple, protecting it.” The old man shrugged again, finishing off his drink once more. “Mayhap they enjoy the suffering of others? No one speaks of them too loudly, for fear of bringing the curse to shore.”

Ariston took another sip of his wine. “But no man named Perseus has traveled through these parts?”

“Perseus of Seriphos?” The old man smiled. “Not yet. But we know of his boast, we know he will come for Medusa’s head. And all know the Gods favor him. Maybe I will be the one to take him to her? What an honor that would be.”

Ariston had left quickly, pleased he was not too late. It had taken time to make his journey, time to find her refuge, and time to track this fisherman – the only man who’d ever visited the Gorgons’ island.

He feared he had little time to reach her.

He’d purchased a small fishing boat and set sail in the direction the old man had mentioned. It took him the better part of the day, and then only the faintest break in the horizon showed Ariston where the island was.

He’d circled, remaining too far to be seen clearly, and waited until darkness fell. Now he swam in the rolling sea, battered by a thundering storm.

When his feet at last touched the sand, he crawled onto the beach and lay still beneath the storm. He did not think on the rain or thunder or lightening. He did not care that his limbs shook with fatigue or his heart raced with anticipation…

“It is Medusa’s curse,” Poseidon had said.

What had happened to her? Why would any magical being, Olympian or no, cast such a curse?

He rubbed the water from his eyes. He did not know what waited for him, what had happened to his love. But he did not fear her or her curse. How could he?

A flash of memory rose, warming him.

“Like this?” she’d called to him as she’d hefted the fishing net.

Her smile had pleased him so.

She was too tender, her heart gentle. Whatever had happened, he knew she had suffered dearly. He would do whatever he could to end her suffering.

But first he would hold her. How he ached for the feel of her arms about him – her silken hair slipping between his fingers.

Chapter Sixteen

She lay, lost in her dreams.

She dreamed she was on their beach, with the sun warm on her face and the sand beneath her bare skin. She could feel his large hand enclosing her ankle. His touch surrounded her, causing her to shiver. How she missed his warmth. His hand lifted, though he pressed a kiss to her knee. She could hear him shifting to lie beside her.

She turned slightly, pressing her face into his shoulder with a sigh.

He spoke, “My lady. How I love you so.”

She felt her heart twist, for his words seemed to stir the air beside her ear.

His lips brushed her forehead, her cheek, her chin and her throat. His head dipped down to rest on her chest. “You sleep so deeply, love. But your heart beats so I will not fear. Only wake up to me now.”

Medusa felt the tears in her eyes. What a wicked dream this was.

She could smell his scent, of sea water and fresh air, beneath her nostrils. His curls were soft and pliant, damp, beneath her grasping fingers.

Such sweet torture, that her lips could remember the feel of his lips on hers so well.

Maybe this dream, so painfully real, would finish her now. For she knew she couldn’t bear to wake.

“Medusa,” he whispered against her lips. “Wake up, love.”

And, with a shuddering sigh, she did.

The floor beneath her was hard and cold. There was no sun, no distant sound of waves or gulls. She could not bear to open her eyes for fear he would fade away…

But his lips…his lips were against hers and his breath stirred her face as he sighed.

No…no…

“Speak not, Ariston,” she begged softly.

There was silence.

It was a dream. He was not here.

Her eyes opened to the sweetest sight she had ever seen.

He lay at her side, smiling at her with unconcealed pleasure. “I will speak, my lady. For I have been too long without you and I would have you know how I have missed you.”

He was no dream.

His curls, wet from the rain, clung to his forehead. His grey eyes regarded her, an ever constant warmth. His hands clutched her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her…

Her heart filled with love, such love.

“For I have missed you, wife.”

The veil moved. She felt them, heard them, as they responded to his voice.

Her breath tore from her, but she bit back the sob. She had to hurry.

Tears poured from her eyes as she shook her head. She placed her hand to his mouth, covering it and whispering fiercely, “Peace, husband, I beg you, speak not. For I would have you leave this place, at once, of your free will…”

His lips pressed to her palm and he whispered, “I will not leave you. Not again.”

They moved, stirring the veil. They were hissing, ever so softly, in her ears.

“If you love me, you will go now. I would have you live. Please. For once they wake, I cannot stop them…” She pulled her hands free and covered the veil, pinning it in place. They began to bite, viciously, but Medusa held them tightly. “I beg you…”

“I cannot.” He spoke quickly, desperately. He searched the lines of her face, his joy and anguish tearing a whole in her heart. “I cannot.”

His lips descended on hers swiftly, silencing her pleas and breaking her heart.

“I will not part with you again, love…” His lips grew so cold upon her.

No
… She pressed her lips against his. They did not yield to her.

His hand was hard, rough, upon her cheek.

No
.

“No.” She could not breathe.

The curls she’d stroked only moments before were as solid as the slate floor beneath her. His grey eyes, closed in a kiss, would not open.

“No… No!” Her words were an angry cry, torn from her throat. “Ariston.”

She clung to him, cupping his face with trembling hands. She kissed him, wrapping herself around him as if she might warm him with her touch. Ragged sobs ripped from her chest, yet she pressed herself closer to him, as close as she was able.

He lingered there, all around her.

The floor beneath her still held his heat. The air was scented, flooding her nostrils and constricting her throat as she choked to draw him in. “Ariston…” she sobbed, pressing her lips to his ear. “I love you, my love. I love you.”

“Medusa?” Stheno called out as she ran into the temple.

“What has happened?” Euryale followed.

She pressed her cheek to his, nuzzling his ear as her tears flowed freely.

“Medusa?”

She would not look at them. She could not open her eyes. She could not look upon what she had done to him. “Leave me.”

Euryale hand touched her ankle, seeming to steal his warmth with her very touch. She shook her sister’s hand off, fitting against him so that the hard stone scraped against her skin.

“Leave me!” she cried. “Go!”

There was a moment’s silence.

“What can we do?” Stheno asked.

Euryale’s voice wavered, “Let us help you, sister, please.”

“Kill me. Kill me,” she pleaded, “so that he might be free.”

Silence hung in the cave, broken only by the sound of weeping. Whether it was her or her sisters, she cared not.

She had turned him. She had done this. And she could not bear it.

A serpent moved, slithering across her cheek – towards Ariston.

It would not touch him. She would not let it touch him.

They will never touch him
.

She reached up, grabbing the serpent with all of her strength. Never had she felt such rage, never had she felt hate. Yet it consumed her, empowering her with the strength she needed to tear the snake free from her head.

The pain was blinding, robbing her of breath and sapping the fury that drove her.

The serpents were on her then, biting and twisting and twining about her. She did not fight them, but fell back on the marble floor. They writhed, slipping and tightening about her neck. She prayed they would finish this.

But they grew slower, sluggish in their movements – becoming as weak as she was.

Her head, throbbing mercilessly, was too heavy to lift or move. And the pain…pain meant she still lived. The knowledge filled her with such anguish.

Her face felt hot and sticky, but she had no will to wipe the blood that flowed from her wound. Her hand still clutched the serpent, hanging limp and lifeless. From the weight and girth of it, it was a large serpent. She could not close her hand around the creature...surely it would leave a gaping wound – one that would bleed her heavily.

If she had the strength, she would pull them all from her… And ensure the end of this. She lifted her hand, reaching up slowly, but they were on her.