The Deep End of the Sea (36 page)

I hate to say it, especially since I’ve only been back in Olympus for a little over two hours, but I already miss Jackson.

“Of course, of course,” she murmurs. Her eyes are steeped with worry. Regret. More tears. “But ... whatever you need, darling. It’s yours. If you want us to give you space to wrap your mind around all of this, we will. If you don’t want us to leave any room you’re in unless asked to, we’ll do that, too. But just know, now that we have found you, the only thing we can’t do is give you up again.”

I’d heard their story, and get it—for the most part. Even still, I say softly, “But you did once.”

Tears track down her cheeks. “I know, and I will never be able to say to you enough how much I wish I could turn the clock back and change that. I would, darling. All these years, your father and I have tortured ourselves with the What Ifs. What if we’d refused to go along with my mother’s wishes? What if we’d stood up to Zeus, not caring we could be evicted from Olympus? What if we’d fought harder to keep you? We wish so much that we had, Medusa. More than you will ever know.”

“I believe you,” I tell her. And I do. I know her well enough by now to know that Persephone—no, my mother—would not lie to me.

“The things you’ve gone through,” my father chokes out, his voice rough with emotion. “It makes me sick, makes me want to ...” He has to look away. “I promise you this: I will make sure that nothing, no one can ever harm you again. Not even my brothers. You will never need to fear anything.”

They make these promises, these vows over and over again over the next few hours. Their sincerity and love, it strengthens me. I have a family now.

Speaking of ...

“Thank you for allowing Granny—I mean Bernie—” I sigh. It’s only been half a year, but in my heart, Bernie will forever be my grandmother. How will I ever treat her differently? “Pemphredo to live here with us once she gets back from Jackson.”

“Of course,” my mother says. “We know how much she means to you; Pemphredo will be forever welcome in this house.” She presses another kiss against my cheek. “Kore is upstairs waiting for you, too. I brought her back, just like you asked. She’s been working here the whole time.”

“Albeit fully knowing that we are watching her closely,” Hades adds grudgingly, “and that if she dares betray our household again, she will receive no further reprieves.”

This is most welcome news and a further testament to the love they had for me even before learning I was their daughter. “I’m glad. Only, Kore isn’t going to stay with me in my suite any longer. She obviously has her own room by now, right?”

Blank looks from my parents. “Why wouldn’t Kore stay with you, darling?” Persephone asks. “She’s your handmaiden.”

I scratch Matia’s head. “Weeelll ...” Hello, awkwardness. They must remember Hermes and I were basically living with one another, right? I quickly switch the subject. “Just out of curiosity, and not that I’m complaining, but why Pemphredo?”

Persephone laughs guilty, peeking over at Hades. He’s predictably rolling his eyes. “When we decided you’d have to go into hiding, we realized you needed to be guarded by only the best. Your father and Hermes insisted on Death himself, and don’t get me wrong—that was an excellent choice. Death does not break his word. But it wasn’t good enough for me. Death is ... not a nurturer, if that makes sense. And I wanted somebody there who would love you, see to your wants and emotional needs.”

I interrupt her. “Believe it or not, Jocko—I mean, Death really did do those things. There was this one time, when I was really ... depressed,” I wince, “and he made it so I could see Hermes. Hermes couldn’t see me, didn’t know I was there, but Jocko knew that it would help me.”

My parents are agog. After a moment of silence, my father mutters, “That tricky bugger.”

“Anyway,” my mother continues, mischief sparkling in her eyes, “I chose one of my loyal followers to guard you. Somebody that the rest of the Assembly had no idea was in my corner. Oh, they knew that she was in the Underworld, but none of them knew she was actively in my employ.”

I think back to the stories I’d heard as a child about the Graeae, the Gray Sisters. The ones who sometimes look like swans, other times like crones, and yet other times beauties. Universally, though, they share a commonality: “She was one of the three who share an eye?”

“As well as a tooth. And darling, this was before I knew you were
my
daughter, of my blood and bone, but part of why I selected her was that she was a matriarch of the Gorgon clan.”

I sit up. “Granny was ... is? She’s really my family?”

Persephone places her palm against my cheek. “In truth, adopted great-great grandmother. I knew she would protect you to the end. Family means everything to her. It always has.”

“So, when she told me to call her Granny, it was ... real,” I marvel. All this time, all of her loyalty toward me ... it was genuine.

Love for Bernie fills me until it spills out in happy tears.

“Plus,” Persephone continues, wiping my cheeks. “she was a minor sea deity before her powers were stripped away, and one who loathes Poseidon, to boot. She was perfect in every way to protect you.”

Bernadette is my great-great grandma. I’d lamented losing everyone, and I’d actually had family with me the entire time.

“She was,” I tell them. “I love her. I loved them both.”

The door opens, and Hermes comes in. I take a good two seconds to drink in his sight, starting at the top of his golden head to the tips of his toes and then back up to his beautiful face. “I see you found our buddy,” he tells me, reaching down to scratch Mátia’s head.

Our
. I like the sound of that very much.

I wish my parents would scoot over so he can sit with me, but as they refuse to budge, Hermes quickly kisses my cheek and sits on the couch across from us.

I don’t think it’s my imagination, but both Hades and Persephone glare at him. I love them, too, but I won’t stand for that. So I get up, taking my cat with me, and choose to sit next to Hermes.

Hades coughs. “I know we’ve said it countless times in the last few days, but, Hermes, thank you for everything you’ve done for our daughter. For being there when we couldn’t be. For believing in her when nobody else did. For bringing us into her life. You ... you’ll always have our gratitude and support. You will never need to worry about allies in the Assembly.”

Hermes looks down at me. I look up at him. Heat rises to the surface of my skin.

I wish my parents would find another room to be in for a little bit.

It’s my mother’s turn to clear her throat. “You’ll come for dinner? To celebrate?”

Do they think I’m going to let him leave my sight anytime soon? Silly parents. “Yes,” I answer for him. And then, ashamed that I’m so obvious, “Unless, you have other plans?”

“None,” he says, and I melt in the brilliance of his smile. “I’m at your disposal.”

Oh, I like the sound of that very much, too. I give him a goofy grin in return, and before long, my parents are shuffling their feet and clearing their throats repeatedly.

I figure I have a bit of leverage nowadays. So I stand up, pulling Hermes with me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Persephone protests, but I pass over my cat for her to hold and lead Hermes out of the room. We bypass the patios and the groves and head directly to my old room. We don’t say a word, don’t kiss or touch other than holding hands the entire way. We let the anticipation between us build until it’s nearly unbearable. So when we finally open the door to my suite, only to find Kore, I quickly cross the room to hug her. “Kore, I’ve missed you, I’m glad you’re here, no—don’t apologize, that’s all water under the bridge, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you are dismissed until tomorrow, effective immediately.”

Bless that girl’s heart, she leaves with a knowing smile on her face and without any protest.

The look Hermes gives me when I shut the door behind her makes my knees go weak, it’s so hot.

“I think your parents would have a fit if they knew we were up here right now,” he tells me in a low, sexy tone that sends shivers down my spine. “It’s funny how, for months, they’ve known you are my one and only love, and have fought alongside me to bring you safely back to Olympus. But now that you are here, and I am too, I get the very distinct feeling they are no longer quite so welcoming of our relationship.”

I reach behind me and lock the door. “You know what? I don’t care. Because you are
my
one and only love, and I’m pretty sure they know we’ve done more than chastely kiss before.”

And then he’s here, right in front of me, his arms boxing me against the wood. “Stars, I’ve missed you, Medusa. Let’s not do this separation thing again. It nearly killed me.”

I twine my arms around his neck. “I couldn’t have said it better.” And then, as my hands reach up to pull his face toward mine, I say, “I am a goddess now, you know. Or, at least, I’m becoming one.”

He knows what I mean. “Mortal, monster, or goddess,” he says quietly, seriously, “or any combination there in between, I love you all the same.” His mouth meets mine then, and half a year of missing and loving tear through the both of us. Our tongues tangle together as one of his hands slides down my side until it cups my bottom. My fingers twist in his hair only for a brief moment, because I need to be touching him, too. I place one hand above his heart (I love feeling it race when he touches me) and the other down to where he is already hard for me. I squeeze gently and I’m gifted with that moan of his that is the best sound in the entire world.

Six months of sexually frustrating dreams have me practically ripping his shirt off. He follows with my sweater and then my long sleeved t-shirt. I’m tugging down his jeans, he’s working on mine, and clothes and shoes are flying. He picks me up; I hook my legs around his waist so he can carry me over to the bed. It doesn’t take long before he’s exactly where I want him—deep inside me, moving in a rhythm that has me panting and reaching and needing.

This is so much better than any of those dreams.

“I love you,” I whisper as his mouth finds my breast. My back arches and drives him in me deeper. Stars above, he feels so good.

He lifts his head so his mouth can reclaim mine. “I love you,” he whispers back.

These words, like no other, have the power to send me over the edge. I dig into his shoulders as my orgasm blooms; he follows me over the edge within a matter of moments. I’m okay with this rush; I needed this, him. Next time we’ll go slow.

As I have in the past, I refuse to let him slide out just yet. Next time will be soon, if I have my way with him.

“I don’t care if Poseidon brings an army against us,” he murmurs, his breath heavy yet soft against my cheek. “Or my father, or any other person in the world. We’re never being parted again.”

I kiss the side of his face, not bothered in the least by his sweaty hair. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

His hand traces lazy patterns around my breasts, sparking renewed warmth between my legs. How he has the ability to do this to me so easily and quickly is a most welcome one. I instinctively arch my back up, only to twist my hips against his.

He lets out a gasp. “Also. Today? When you kicked the shit out of that bastard?”

My hands, tracing their own patterns on his back, still.

“That was incredibly hot.”

I stare up into his eyes—bright green in this moment—as his hips begin their own gently rhythm. Thank the heavens, he is soft in me no longer.

My hands slide down to cup his buttocks. “Yeah?”

His lips graze my collarbone. “Yeah.” He flips us, so I’m straddling him. His hands lead my hips and before long, just as I predicted, we are slowly but surely on our way to the bliss once more.

“Medusa ...”

Persephone is sitting next to me on a comfy couch in the villa’s theatre as we watch a movie, her hand on top of mine. She is uncharacteristically nervous. It is so odd to think that this woman, who appears to be no older than twenty-five, is my mother. That she carried me for nine months, only to give me over to her own mother.

I have to stop thinking of it like that. She’s here now. It may have taken us thousands of years to find one another, but my mother is here for me now. My father, too—although, at this very moment, he is downstairs in a meeting.

They’ve been hovering, which ... I get. But still, it’s hovering and, frankly, annoying. Even if they’re gods.

“Hmm?”

She taps my hand. “You and Hermes.”

Oh, stars—is this what I think it’s going to be about?

“I just want to know. Is this what you want? Because it feels like it’s moving oh-so-fast.”

“Two thousand years is not fast,” I tell her dryly. “If you want to quibble about labels, you might want to get on him for taking his sweet time.”

Of course, the same could be said for me, too.

She isn’t amused. I try again. “Earlier in the year, you were delighted that he and I were ...” Just what were we? Are we? Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounds so ridiculous, in light of our divine statuses. Do gods and goddesses even date? I screw my nose up, trying to find a proper word to use.