The Girl Who Ran Like The Wind (Myths Retold)

by Normandie Alleman

  Atalanta swiveled her hips and adjusted her face according to his directions.

  "Too much," he said.

  With a sigh, she made a correction back the other way.

  "Perfect!"

  It was about time. Her back ached from having to hold this position, and even though she knew posing for portraits with the technology of the day was easier than it had been centuries ago, she found it tedious.

  The sculptor known to others as Pygmalion circled her, capturing her from every angle.

  "Ian, are we almost through?" Atalanta asked, using the name she'd called her friend since childhood.

  "Almost. We can take a break soon."

  The sculpture she was posing for was to be a celebration of her turning twenty-five.

  A quarter of a century old.

  Her parents had planned an extravagant party, she'd chosen a beautiful gown to wear, and she was sure to receive the most incredible gifts from the many admirers who tried to flatter her to further their own causes. But even so, Atalanta was restless.

  "All right. You can relax."

  Releasing a big breath, Atalanta sank down onto a chaise lounge and patted the spot next to her. "Finally! Come sit with me."

  Ian set down his tools and crossed the room.

  "Can we send for tea? With those little biscuit things I like?" He plopped down next to her.

  "The ones with the jalapenos in them?" she asked.

  His eyes brightened. "Yes, let's have those. And some beer."

  She laughed as she typed an order to the palace kitchen. It was nice to have a friend who she could relax with. Ian had built his own career with his talent. He hadn't needed her nor her family to exert any influence, and that made her walls a bit more permeable with him.

  Not to mention the fact that she'd known him for so long he almost felt like a brother, so there was no sexual tension between them. Though she had noticed that he'd grown more handsome as of late.

  "Have you been working out?" she asked.

  "No more than usual. Why? Am I looking buff?" he teased.

  She giggled. "Maybe."

  Desdemona sauntered over to them then jumped onto the chaise with them.

  "No!" Atalanta said firmly. "Get down."

  The big cat rolled over on her side into Ian's lap.

  "Don't look at me, big girl. I'm allergic to you." He shifted, and Desdemona made an unhappy chirping noise before jumping down and winding her tail around a chair leg.

  "Sorry, girl. You're just too big. Go lay down on that pillow over there." Atalanta tried to appease her, then whispered to Ian, "She's due for a walk."

  "I'll bet she needs plenty of exercise." His dark hair curled like a crown on his head, and she imagined that women found him quite attractive with his deep blue eyes and the adorable little cleft in his chin.

  "Ian, you're still single right?"

  He stretched his arms lazily over his head. "Yes, why? Do you have a gorgeous friend you want to set me up with?"

  "No."

  Ian had always been a lady's man. She doubted she'd pass a friend off to him, even though, for the right girl he might be quite a catch. "I've been thinking."

  "That could be dangerous," he teased. She threw a pillow at him.

  "Shut up. I'm serious. I like being single, but sometimes I wonder if I'm missing something. Do you know what I mean?"

  His face clouded. "I like the women in my life changing with the seasons."

  "Yeah, but sometimes it gets lonely."

  "I get that. But aren't you just waiting for the right guy to come and show you up in a race? Then you'll have the man of your dreams."

  Atalanta made a face. "No one is going to beat me, silly. That's the whole point of it. This way I won't have to get married, see?"

  His brow furrowed. "But what if someone beats you?"

  "They won't."

  "But what if they do?"

  "Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "That's not the point."

  "All right. Then what is the point?"

  "The point is that I look at my parents. What they have is great. And sometimes I see couples with little children, and I think that looks kinda nice."

  "So why don't you get married?" he asked.

  Wishing she hadn't brought it up, she turned it back on him. "Why don't you?"

  He shrugged. "That's easy. Because I have yet to meet the perfect woman."

  She made a face. "You know that no one is perfect, right?"

  "What can I say? My standards are high."

  "Well, I guess we're both going to be single for a long time then."

  Two servants came in carrying trays of beer and biscuits along with other delicacies.

  Atalanta thanked them and sent them away.

  She handed Ian a beer, and they clinked glasses.

  "To independence," she said.

  "To perfection," he said.

  They sipped their beers in subdued silence for several minutes.

  Then Atalanta started up again. "But don't you get lonely? Or aren't you worried about growing old alone?"

  He frowned into his mug. "I can't say I wouldn't like to meet the right woman, if that's what you mean."

  "Right. But how do you find her?"

  "I'd like to create her, honestly."

  "Well, make me the perfect husband while you're at it."

  "Sure thing. How did your mother and father meet anyway?"

  "Arranged marriage."

  "Did they hit it off from the start?"

  "I'm not sure, but they both have a sense of duty that I don't share."

  "Our generation is too self-absorbed. At least that's what we're always hearing."

  "Maybe, but I blame it on being an only child. I'm used to being on my own. I never learned to share anything; how in the world do they expect me to share my kingdom with a stranger?" she asked, nibbling on a biscuit.

  "Those are really good." He took one and popped it into his mouth whole.

  After he finished chewing he said, "You can't look at it that way. You'd have to think of him as a partner."

  She scoffed. "Opportunists. That's all they are. How can I possibly give any of them what they're after?"

  "That's a tough one. It would be great if you could meet someone who didn't know you were a princess when he fell in love with you."

  "Exactly! But how am I ever going to find anyone like that?"

  "Good question. Have you asked Psyche if Cupid has any friends? Maybe a god would be a better match for you."

  "Ugh. No, I can't. The politics of marrying a god... that could never happen." Her friend and former mortal, Psyche, had offered to set her up with a god, but she didn't understand the family dynamics that came with being a royal and having all the responsibilities she did. Some days it felt to Atalanta like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  "I'm just sayin', Psyche's was an arranged marriage, and hers turned out okay. Same with your parents. Maybe you should have a matchmaker arrange a marriage for you."

  Psyche’s parents had essentially sold her into marriage to pay off her gambling debts. At first her friend had been terrified because she was forbidden to look at her new husband. In the end he’d turned out to be the insanely handsome god, Cupid, rather than the monster she feared.

  “I hear Cupid has opened up his own matchmaking service,” Ian added.

  "I can't trust someone else with my future like that. I need control way too much to go that route,” she sighed. “I'll probably be an old maid."

  "No, it sounds like I'm going to have to make you a husband from clay, and that's all there is to it."

  They clinked glasses again.

  "Sign me up." She smiled.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK Atalanta competed in another race. And for a moment she thought she saw a man in the stands who looked familiar. For a split second, he looked like the man from the woods.

  That guy, he'd been yummy.

  Ever since she'd agreed to let her suitors race f
or her hand, Atalanta had stopped bringing men back to the palace. If she got caught with another man in her room, her parents might question her commitment to her plan and try to force her to marry someone of their choosing.

  But if she appeared to be going along with their agreed upon method for finding her a husband, they were much more likely to leave her alone.

  The problem was that the new plan had seriously cut into her sex life. Operation Race for the Princess might be keeping her single, but when she went to bed each night she felt more single than she cared to. She longed to feel a man's arms around her. She wanted the heft of a male body on top of hers. Wanted to feel a lover inside her.

  And when she was alone in the dark of night and her fingers traveled between her legs to try to relieve at least the physical side of her desires, it was the man from the woods whose image always came to her.

  She recalled running her hands over his short blond hair, kissing his full red lips. When they'd both climaxed at the same time, he'd stared into her soul, dared her to look away from those deep green eyes of his. She'd never felt that kind of connection before.

  In the past, her sexual encounters were for one thing—physical satisfaction. And in her experience, most guys fell into one of two categories: the kind who didn't know how to please a woman, and the kind who didn't care if they did. With both types, she had to work to get her own needs met.

  But it hadn't been that way with the handsome stranger from the woods. Not only had he started out by making her orgasm his priority, but there'd been a connection between them. An intimacy she'd never experienced before.

  Thinking about it sent an exquisite shiver through her body. Her nipples hardened, and her breathing grew heavier.

  It was too bad she had a rule against not bedding the same man twice. He was so sexy she might consider a repeat performance with him.

  The announcer called out, "Runners, take your marks."

  She erased every thought from her mind and focused on running.

  Putting all her energy into the race, she soundly beat her competitors.

  After it was over, she waved to her fans and took Desdemona back to her dressing room.

  Stroking the cat’s head, she knew how fortunate she was to have such a loyal companion. But sometimes she wanted a human counterpart as well.

  When she looked in the mirror as she was changing, she didn't see the face of triumph. Instead, she saw sadness.

  She should be on top of the world; instead, all she felt was loneliness.

  And curiosity...

  Could it really have been him she'd seen at the race earlier?

  Her mind was probably playing tricks on her.

  If she were a weaker person, she'd have her people find out who he was, track him down, and have her way with him again.

  But she couldn't risk it.

  She was a princess, and she had everything to lose.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It wasn't difficult to find Sellers. The guy got his pump on every day at the same gym where Hip worked out.

  The day before he told Sellers he wanted to meet with him and Mello, to take them up on their offer to help.

  On his way to the park where Hip was supposed to meet him—because there was no way he was letting them know where he lived—he thought about Atalanta.

  He'd been to the last race she'd run, and for a moment he imagined that she saw him too in the stands. That's when he knew he'd lost his mind over her.

  Now he was preparing to do something he was convinced would be either immoral, illegal, or both to become her husband.

  He was pretty sure that anything Mello cooked up would be like making a deal with the devil. But he was desperate as well as physically and emotionally exhausted from training, and he was willing to do whatever it took to give him an edge.

  Whatever secret weapon they had—he wanted it.

  Anything to be with Atalanta.

  Mello and Sellers were already there when he arrived at the park.

  A couple rode past on horseback, and Mello waved his hand in front of his nose, offended by the odor of the animals.

  Hip ignored him. If he didn't like animals why meet in a place where they were allowed?

  "So, Hip, how's the training coming?" Mello asked.

  "Fine, except I've hit a wall. There's nothing more I can do, and I'm still not fast enough."

  "What are your times?" Sellers asked.

  Hip told him, and the two other men shook their heads.

  "I know. Not even close," Hip said.

  "Well, it's a good thing you've got friends in low places," Mello chuckled. "Cuz we know somebody who can help you win this thing."

  "Great. I need the help."

  "Yeah. You're not beating her without it," Sellers chimed in.

  "All right. Just tell me what to do," Hip said.

  "It's not exactly what you need to do. It's more where you need to go."

  "No problem. I'll go wherever it takes. Just tell me where."

  "There's just a little wrinkle in the plan."

  "What kind of wrinkle?" Hip asked.

  "You have to go to the underworld."

  CHAPTER NINE

  “What do you mean—am I pure of heart?”

  Hip stood before the hulking Greaca.

  “Are your intentions pure? Hades has closed the underworld to those who are not pure of heart. Never mind, I will be able to read you with this.” The law enforcement officer held up a thick fluorescent wand. “But I like to ask anyway, just to be polite.”

  The Greaca’s gruff voice, spiky teeth, and turtle shaped head belied his words.

  This would be Hip’s first trip to the underworld. He'd met up with quite a few suspicious characters during his time in the military, but he'd never been in a place where bad outnumbered good by such a significant ratio, and the fact he couldn’t bring a firearm raised his anxiety level.

  The Greaca officer passed the wand over Hip’s body, and he prayed the officer wouldn’t take away the knife he had strapped to his leg. He already felt naked enough without his gun.

  The Greaca growled, "You can keep the knife, but I don't want any trouble."

  "You will get none out of me," Hip responded.

  In an instant, he was whisked off into the bowels of the universe. When the door to the pod opened again, strong, hot winds slapped him in the face, and he had to lean forward to be able to proceed.

  He followed the signs, though it was difficult to see with the wind whipping sand into his eyes.

  It seemed to take forever, but he finally made it to the establishment called "Bacch’s World." The place was legendary. Ever since Bacchus took up residence in the underworld and opened up his own place, people and creatures alike flocked to it. Once Hip made it through the pat-down at the front door, he realized that all the hype surrounding the place was nothing compared to the real thing inside.

  Straightened his spine to take advantage of every inch of his six-foot-five frame, Hip crossed the crowded room to the bar.

  "What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

  Hip had almost been too busy taking in the various patrons at the bar to notice that the creature behind the bar had a mouth where his forehead should be and eyeballs where one expected to see cheeks. It was like his head was upside down. He’d heard of these creatures called Parcas, but this was his first time seeing one in real life.

  With a gulp, Hip did his best not to react to the creature's jarring appearance. "Whiskey, neat."

  The bartender dragged a rag across the bar's surface before pouring Hip's drink.

  Uncomfortable with his back to his fellow patrons, Hip shifted so he had a view of the majority of the room.

  Most of the other people there were of human descent, though there were a couple of Caudas—rat-faced creatures with tails but only two legs—laughing uproariously at a table with a severely-dressed woman wearing what looked like a nun's habit.

  Feeling as though he'd fallen through
Alice's rabbit hole, when the barkeep set the drink in front of him, Hip slammed it down and requested another.

  A clear head would be preferable, but he also wanted to fortify himself for more of the oddities he expected to encounter.

  After knocking back the second shot, he asked the bartender, "Do you know where I can find Chiron?"

  "Chiron?"

  "Yes."

  "You a friend of his?" the bartender asked, taking a step back.

  "Not exactly, but a friend of his sent me."

  "Who's that?"

  "Mello."

  The Parca grunted.

  "And Sellers." Hip tossed out the big man's name, praying that one of the two would get him anything other than murdered.

  This time the Parca's grunt had a happier tone. Like a why-didn't-you-say-so sort of groan. Then he nodded his upside-down head and pressed a small button on the back wall and came back over to Hip. "Someone will be right with you. Want another while you wait?"

  Hip exhaled and shook his head, declining the offer for another drink. As much as he wanted to dull his senses, he couldn't afford to.

  It wasn't long before an enormous Cimex emerged from a door at the back of the place and waved for Hip to follow it. On the long walk down the seemingly endless hallway, Hip divided his attention between staring at the Cimex’s horns and pincer-like hands, and trying not to imagine what was on the other side of the many doors they passed.

  The place was hellishly huge.

  Finally, they came to the end, and the bug's pincers clenched the door handle and wrenched it open then stood aside allowing Hip to enter.

  "Just a minute!" a voice came from inside the door.

  But it was too late. Hip was already inside.

  The bug buzzed his apologies, but not before Hip took in a scene that included an attractive redhead slapping a powerful-looking centaur on the face and rushing past him on her way out the door. The beast's equine legs rippled with muscles as did his human chest. His facial features were weathered by age, and his beard sported the same blue-gray as his hair.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Hip stammered, unsure exactly what he'd walked in on. It appeared the elderly centaur wasn't too old to be up to some mischief with a pretty girl.