I’m sure he was disappointed. I wasn’t necessarily shocked, and the gears in my head were turning too busily for me to react. I put my hand up to tell him to wait, to give me a moment. The affirmation from Dad slipped the last puzzle piece into place. All the jokes, all the vague answers that Archer gave me were partial truths: how he had moved so many times that I wouldn’t believe him, the weird rules he was supposed to abide by, the military father—Ares, god of war, or Chase as they called him—it explained the matching mannerisms and the incandescent eyes. The absent mother, Aphrodite, who was the most beautiful being on earth, had to be Aroha, pretending to be his sister. If they didn’t age all these years, she would have to pretend, and her maternal, controlling tone at times confirmed it. Then Archer, their son, my Archer, the “bowman.” How obvious his name was when I knew what to look for. Ambrose, like ambrosia, the food of the gods. Archer was Eros, the god of love, the archer who shot mortals with arrows of love.
“Eros,” was all I could say to my father. I hadn’t noticed him move about, but my dad had sheets of old parchment in protective plastic in front of me.
“I believe so. It is so strange that I spent my entire life searching for the gods, and when I must give up my search to welcome death, they appear right in front of my eyes. Callie, there’s something I want you to see. It’s a letter addressed to Marshal Syches from his mother—Psyche, the goddess.”
I took up the letter and read. If it was possible that we were supposedly descended from a goddess…
My mind reeled, thinking of the myths: Cupid and Psyche. My Archer was Cupid as well, wasn’t he? If so, that meant Archer was with her, my ancestor?
“Dad?” I said, feeling sick.
“No, I am positive we aren’t related to Eros. These gods don’t seem to age, so they must have immortal children, Callie. I think Psyche had a child with a human, a demigod. Marshal wasn’t immortal, since he died. And I don’t think Archer knows about any of this either,” he continued, dispelling my sudden fears.
“Is she alive?” I tried to hide my fear, my contempt that Archer could still be married as he was according to myth, or history as my father believed. Was there a woman (well, a being) whom Archer belonged to? Would she want him back? Kill me for stealing her husband? If so, I wouldn’t let her. Then I realized my jealousy outweighed my shock or fear. I needed to see a psychiatrist, since my first concern was another woman, not the fact my boyfriend was a god.
“I don’t know, Callie. And where is Hedone as well? They might be dead.”
“Gods can die?”
“It seems possible, but how is a mystery. Why wouldn’t she come back for her son?” He sighed. “Was it wrong of me to tell you?”
How did my dad know all these things? “No, Dad, I just need to digest all of this. I can’t even believe it. What should I do?”
“Do?” He stared at me, confused. “I hope to leave you in the most capable hands possible. I couldn’t be happier.”
Of course, my dad wholeheartedly accepted things that were impossible. He would gladly leave me with Archer. I wasn’t so glad. I wasn’t at all happy to find out Archer was a…god. I was dating a god? It was so unbelievable. Then my mind kept returning to Psyche.
I went to bed, exhausted physically and mentally, but of course, I couldn’t sleep. I turned the light back on and took out my world mythology book from the closet. I flipped to the myth of Cupid and Psyche as recorded by Apulieus after the Greek gods moved to Rome—literally—as Dad had always said. The myth came quickly back to me, but I read it over completely, just the portion where the old woman tells the story about Cupid and her. In my head, I had to substitute the names with those whom I knew now.
Basically, Cupid (Archer) accidentally poked himself with his own arrow after Venus (Aroha), jealous of Psyche’s beauty, ordered him to force the girl to fall in love with a vile creature (knowing Aroha, I could definitely believe that). So Cupid stole Psyche away and secretly married her, only visiting her in the dark so that she couldn’t know who he truly was. (I felt the sting there of a sickening parallel—I was to “stay in the dark,” wasn’t I?) She stole into the room with a lamp to see his face and dripped oil on him, which woke him. He then fled from her (of course). She begged Venus for help, who tortured the lovesick girl with impossible trials, which she miraculously succeeded in with help (I was beginning to truly despise Aroha). Psyche opened Persephone’s box, which was supposed to be full of beauty, according to Venus, and fell into a deep, eternal sleep. Then Cupid finally forgave her and woke her. Jupiter (or Zeus—this controlling grandfather) made her immortal by giving her ambrosia. She and Cupid had a baby, and they lived happily ever after. (So where was she then? And the baby?)
I couldn’t help but be jealous. Psyche had been with my Archer. I was not his first love as he was mine. He had been married, had at least one child; I was just some naïve little human he was using for the moment. I believed this only momentarily, until his comments came back to me. He said he’d wait until I was ready, until we were married, forever…
I shut the light off and finally fell asleep. My dreams were haunted by the mythology I had read: Archer screaming, Aroha’s judgmental glaring, and Chase challenging the stormy lightning-streaked sky.
I shot awake in bed. My dreams hadn’t disturbed my sleep but what had? A noise. I scanned my dark room. There was a soft tap on the French doors that led out onto the balcony. I slipped out of bed and peeked out the curtain. Archer stood outside, his breath making clouds in the cold, and the wind violently whipped at his clothes.
I opened the door, letting him in. “What are you doing here?” I asked, closing the door and the cold wind out.
“I had to see you. I couldn’t wait until morning.” His gaze danced across my face.
“How did you get on my balcony?”
“The roof.” He smirked, slightly embarrassed.
I gasped. “You could have fallen.” I couldn’t fathom him as a god. He was just my Archer, so human.
“It’s only a story.” (If he only knew the story I just read.)
“With twenty-nine others below it!” I scolded.
“I’ll sneak out the front door when I leave.”
“Don’t leave.”
“Never.”
He pulled me to him, burying his face in my neck. I held him. I was scared, feeling odd and wrong to be holding a god in my arms. What should I say to him? Should I act like everything was normal, that he was like me?
“Archer,” I began but couldn’t finish a thought. Everything was surreal.
He came out of his hiding spot in the nape of my neck and gazed at me. I tried not to betray myself—my sudden insecurities and my new knowledge. Archer kissed me, pulling me roughly against him. He kissed me with a new passion, as if he were afraid this might be our last time together. It wasn’t goodbye, but there was fear apparent in his lips and in his eyes. Archer was as scared as I was, but about what?
“I don’t want to lose you,” he gasped between kisses.
“You won’t, you won’t,” I told him, my voice wavering and tears forming. I couldn’t lose him. It wasn’t an option. What he was, the fact that he was different and so much more than I, did not matter at all. Our dependence upon each other, the love between us, made us equals. God or no god, he needed me as much as I needed him.
Archer kissed me even more wildly, his hands pulling at my clothes in frustration. He was kissing his way down my neck. I tore off his shirt to trace those stomach muscles I’d had a glimpse of in the alleyway. I traced my finger along the tiny white line on his abdomen where he had been stabbed only a few hours earlier, then ran my fingers up until I wove them through his short curls.
Archer regarded me with his bright blue eyes glowing with love, passion, and fear. I am sure my eyes matched his, only humanly duller. That’s when I crumbled. My defenses came down. I loved him too much to express it with looks or words; all that was left were actions. I needed to show him how I felt.<
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Without a word, I took his hands in mine and walked him to my bed. I lay down. Archer slipped off his shoes. He followed me, his face in pain as if he had no choice but to follow me. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t walk away.
“The rules?” he asked, toying with the hem of my pajama shirt. He kissed me wildly, almost not letting me answer. His body weight crushed me in a pleasant way.
“Forget. The. Rules,” I said between kisses.
This made his hands and lips go crazy. He stopped, clutching my pillow roughly. His jaw was set, trying to suppress all feelings. I didn’t want him to. I touched his cheek.
“Okay,” he said to me, defeated.
“Okay what?” I asked, not sure where his mind was headed.
“Forget all the rules,” he said. Then he looked at me, his eyes shining more brightly than I had ever seen them. His hand cradled my cheek, and he said, “Callie, I love you. I’ve been dying to say it. I love you.” He kissed me then, a long, slowly building kiss.
I could hardly break myself away from it, but I had to. I had to give him back what he had given me. Obviously, loving me was against the ridiculous rules, his grandfather Zeus’s rules, I supposed. The puzzle was slowly completing itself in my mind.
“Archer, I love you too.” The moment I said it, it felt as if someone squeezed my heart, pulled it from my chest, and put it in his. My heart was no longer mine, but belonged to him. But it still wasn’t enough. I wanted him to know he no longer had to hide or to feel guilty about lying to me.
Archer looked at me quite sadly at first, but then he smiled and pulled me against him, kissing me. Then he kissed his way down my neck again, giving me chills.
“I love you…Eros,” I said so quietly, I wasn’t sure he heard me.
He froze. He had heard. Then his body began to quiver like he was shivering, laughing, or sobbing deep inside his body. “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice cracking, his face still hidden in my neck, his body shaking all over. I heard no laughter or smile in his voice.
“Eros,” I said under my breath.
He shook more and pulled back, his face completely in shock, his eyes wide. I touched his paling face, but he took my hand, removed it, and backed away from me up on his knees. “No,” he said sadly, his fists clenching up.
I was terrified that I would lose him, that he would slip out of my life as quickly as he had entered it. But with this new knowledge, there was no going back to a normal life. I needed him now as much as I needed air to breathe. And a growing dread in the pit of my stomach told me that my air supply was about to be cut short. I had to stop him from leaving me. I knelt up to get closer to him again. “Yes.” I pulled him closer to me, kissing him.
He remained frozen at first, but I kissed him again and again, running my fingers softly over his back. I heard a groan escape his lips, a defeated one, and before I could kiss him again, he slammed me down on the bed while he wildly tore at my clothes and kissed my neck with an unstoppable passion.
Thunder clapped in the distance.
“No,” Archer said stubbornly. Who was he talking to? He began to kiss me faster and rougher, as if he were running out of time.
The thunder clapped louder, seemingly closer.
“No, leave us alone,” I heard him beg quietly, kissing my stomach. He was moving very fast, as he had earlier in the alley. My eyes could not quite keep up with his movements. Perhaps it was a Greek god thing.
Then a deep, booming peal of thunder clapped outside, so loud that the windows shook.
Archer tore himself off me so fast that he lost his balance and fell over onto the floor; his eyes closed in concentration, and then they shot open. He had his shoes in his hands, slipping them on before I realized he had moved. “Get dressed, Callie,” he commanded.
I wasn’t sure what he meant. I was comfortable in my pajamas. “Archer,” I pleaded, scrambling to catch the sweater and jeans he tossed to me. I hadn’t seen him go into my dresser. He was moving insanely fast.
“Now, Callie, now!” he barked. He rushed from the room.
I changed quickly and slipped on my shoes and followed, almost running into Dad.
“What is he doing here at this time of night? In your bedroom?” Dad demanded. (Just great.)
I had no idea what to say, so I avoided his chastising and disappointed gaze. I wasn’t typically a rule breaker, and boys in my bedroom was definitely a big fat no.
Archer was going through cabinets and drawers, dumping and knocking things about.
“Archer!” I hissed.
“Callie?” Dad asked, pressing for an answer.
“Callie, go pack a bag right now. Necessities only. You should’ve stayed in the dark,” Archer lamented. He moved so quickly that I couldn’t see his hands. Finally, he stopped, slipping an item into each back pocket of his jeans. I hadn’t seen what they were.
“What’s going on?” Dad asked, his tone edging into a furious frustration I had never heard from him before.
“You just put your daughter on the worst hit list possible.” Archer glowered at my father.
Dad sank, paling. “And so did you.” He buried his head in his hands. “Get her out of here, then.”
What was going on? What had happened? Hit list? Then it all came back: “What if I told you I could never tell you everything about me, Callie? Would you still want to be with me? What if knowing these things would put you in danger? Could you live without knowing them?” I was in imminent danger.
“Pack, Callie, now!” Archer ordered forcefully. “Didn’t you realize what’s killing you?” Archer snapped at Dad.
Thunder clapped again.
“He is.” Archer pointed to the window. Zeus.
The idea of the god of gods wanting me dead snapped me out of my shocked state. I hurried to my room to pack. I opened the door and screamed.
Chapter 20Archer
I had crossed some unknown imaginary line, and now Zeus was furious. The third peal of thunder scared me so badly that I fell onto the floor. I closed my eyes and then saw him. How could Zeus act so rashly and send him without a proper warning? Delegations? A phone call? I had been told I had time; apparently, that was a damn lie. As I scrambled around, looking for any means of protection, Dr. Syches kept nagging and asking questions. I found lighter fluid and a BBQ lighter. They were the only weapons I could find against a god, but I hoped I wouldn’t have to use them.
Before I could formulate a hasty escape plan, Callie screamed. I flew to her doorway—immortal speed. I grabbed her and forced her behind my back before I even saw what had frightened her.
Then I saw him. Thanatos’s pale form was standing there with his sunken eyes, consumptive pallor, wax-like skin, and thin, frail frame. He was only frail in appearance. He was actually quite strong. He wore a dramatic black cloak—playing up his Grim Reaper role—and let his hood down, exposing thin wisps of mousy blond hair. The moonlight reflected in his dark gray eyes. When he came for people, his appearance was the last thing they ever saw. It was by no means comforting. And the sick creature relished this fact.
Dr. Syches came in behind us, pulling Callie close to him protectively. He could not protect her from Death. No mortal could escape him.
“Eros,” Thanatos greeted me with a greedy grin.
“Thanatos,” I snapped back without any of the politeness he used.
“Death,” Dr. Syches’s hushed voice said in awe.
Callie’s breath caught in her throat. I couldn’t let him take her. My mind whirled and panicked, searching helplessly for a way out.
Thanatos had left the doors open behind him, the wind whipping the curtains and rippling his cloak, making the scene eerie and cold. He was always melodramatic, staging his soul conquests for effect.
“So nice to see you,” Thanatos said in a hissing tone.
“Can’t say the same for you, my friend,” I told him.
He took a step closer to us. I tried not to move so as to not provoke an
attack. I, an immortal, was suddenly terrified of Death; he could take everything from me.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warned him, balling my fists to stop myself from attacking him. What could I possibly do? I thought of Chase. He would feel my panic, sense that I was in danger. Could he get to us in time to help? I willed him to feel my fear, grasping desperately at some invisible lifeline I never knew how to control.
“I’m here for the mortals. Both of them. Orders, you see. Surely, you wouldn’t harm brethren over a couple of frail toys. I’m merely…doing my job.” He steepled his fingers together and gave me a haughty grin.
I wanted to smack that grin off his face. “You sure take pride in your job, joy, some might even say.” I tried to stall him with words. It was the only option I could think of. We couldn’t run from him, or at least, Callie and her father couldn’t outrun him. I could jump far enough to safety, but he’d just find her again. It was hopeless.
“As do you.”
“Yes, but I create love. I give. I don’t take.” I fumbled with words, trying to sort out an escape route. My mind contemplated the myriad actions I could take and their possible outcomes. None of them would save Callie, and I wasn’t sure how long I could stall him. If I could only get to Chase, the strongest of us all, maybe he could protect us.
“Don’t take? Your silly, selfish behavior took her life. Rules are rules,” he sneered, stepping closer.
“I never told her anything,” I insisted, but the truth was painful to hear. I had shown her too much, been my immortal self, but how could I hide a huge facet of my being when I wanted to give all of myself to her. I loved Callie. I had to let her in.
“But she knows.” He shrugged as if that comment explained everything. “Step out of the way, Eros.”
“She won’t tell anyone.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Now, now, now, Eros, let’s play nice. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.” I feigned bravado and flashed him a smile.
Quiver Page 25
