A Titaness for the Titan (TITANS, #5)

by Lazu, Sotia

  A Titaness for the Titan

  TITANS, Volume 5

  Sotia Lazu

  Published by Acelette Press, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A TITANESS FOR THE TITAN

  First edition. February 13, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Sotia Lazu.

  Written by Sotia Lazu.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  A Titaness for the Titan (TITANS, #5)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Previous books in the TITANS series:

  Book 0 – Under (FREE)

  Book 1 – A Nereid for the Titan

  Book 2 – A Maid for the Titan

  (Sign up for Sotia’s Newsletter, and get your FREE copy of Breathe – TITANS 2.5)

  Book 3 – A Guard for the Titan

  Book 3.5 – Above: A TITANS Novelette

  Book 4 – A Seer for the Titan

  Chapter One

  “TOUCH MY ASS AGAIN, and you lose that hand.” Nikoleta bellowed the threat, to make sure it carried over the din of the crowd and the thumping of what passed for music in this bar.

  As if the migraine wasn't enough, she also had to deal with the new bartender, who thought he was God's gift to women. This was the guy's second warning. There'd be no third.

  Terence raised both arms, the innocent widening of his eyes so exaggerated, it could only be fake. “Honest mistake, beautiful. That thing is everywhere.”

  So he was calling her fat, too. “Fuck you, Terence.” She should have called in sick.

  Terence and Paris could have managed without her. Mykonos wasn’t exactly brimming with tourists at the end of September, even though all of them seemed to be at this beach bar tonight. No matter. Two more days, and she was out of this place for good. But would she survive tonight?

  The throbbing behind her left eye said things were touch and go.

  Just her luck, dying of a stroke right before her first weekend off in ages.

  “You know, I can cure that headache.” The smooth male voice reached her ears unobstructed by the cacophony, and Nikoleta raised her gaze from the shot glass she was wiping, to see a stunning man about her age smiling at her from the other side of the bar. His long blond curls and blue eyes didn’t say local, but his Greek was perfect. “My healing touch will make you as good as new.”

  “Healing touch, huh? That’s a line I’ve never heard before,” she yelled back. “So what’ll it be?” He looked like the Corona-lime type.

  The guy leaned over the bar, offering her a perfect view of his sculpted wide shoulders and hard pecs in the tight tank top he wore. Despite the cool night, almost everyone was sweaty with dancing and hormones, but he looked fresh. Probably smelled like a meadow too—and wasn’t that an odd thought?

  “I’m serious. I’m the god of love, and I can cure you. In fact, I know what’s causing the pain. It’s memories of your old life, pushing to the forefront,” he said.

  Gorgeous but nuts. Pity. Not that she’d have much use for him if he were sane. “Don’t know what you’ve been drinking, buddy, but I’m cutting you off.”

  She was turning away, when he clasped her hand. “You can thank me later.”

  In the split second it took her to face his way again, the man was gone. And so was her headache.

  Did he...? Nah. The painkillers finally kicked in. She filled a glass with bottled water and guzzled it down. Pain free, she felt like a new woman.

  Terence invaded her personal space yet again, brushing her breasts with his arm as he reached for ice in the bucket beneath the bar. Her elbow shot up reflexively and caught him square in the stomach.

  “Hey.”

  “Sorry. Can’t seem to control my body parts today.” She gave him a saccharine smile and bumped him aside with her hip, to take the next order.

  The rest of her shift flew by, as if she hadn’t been on her feet since six in the afternoon, and 4 a.m. rolled around in no time. The DJ signaled last call by dropping the decibels to a non-eardrum-threatening level, and Nikoleta hit the switch for the strobe lights positioned atop the thatched roof of the bar. A week ago, there would have been protests by kids—God, she sounded ancient—who wanted to drink and rub against each other till sunrise, but tonight only a few people lingered. A handful of couples were making out on the beach, the outlines of their bodies barely visible outside the circle of light.

  Nikoleta caught Paris’ eye, as he gathered plastic cups at the other end of the bar. She batted her eyelashes in that exaggerated way that made him chuckle every time—and couldn’t possibly be misconstrued for actual flirting.

  When Paris arched an eyebrow, she faked a yawn and used both hands to cover it.

  He shook his head, but he was smiling. “I got this. Go home. Get those long legs of yours up.”

  “Thank you,” she mouthed and patted her chest over her heart, to emphasize her gratitude.

  She locked the register and tossed Paris the key, before grabbing her denim jacket from under the bar and tying it around her waist. She slung her bag over her shoulder, bypassed Terence, who looked about to make a smarmy remark, and blew Paris a kiss. “Goodnight, babe. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll add it to the list.” He uprighted a bar stool and waved her off.

  Her rental car was where she always left it, in a well-lit part of the expansive empty lot behind the beach bar. She never felt threatened, walking to it in the small hours, but tonight—or maybe, this morning—she had the weird sense that she was being watched. It was like a tangible weight, pressing into her back.

  Paranoid? Nah. Sleep deprived.

  Still, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Nope. Nobody there.

  She picked up her pace, digging blindly in her bag for her key fob. Where was that thing? A couple feet from the car, she stopped, so she could look through the mess of old receipts, tissues, lipsticks, and other random stuff that had found their way in there. Ah huh. Key in hand, she raised her head and froze. The blond guy from earlier tonight leaned on the driver’s door, inches from her. How did he get there without her noticing?

  “Told you—I’m a god. Eros, at your service.” His dazzling smile did nothing to make her feel less threatened.

  She pressed the button on the fob that unfolded the key, and held it so it protruded between middle- and ring-finger knuckles. Holding his gaze, she took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to take you to your destiny.” His arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands empty, but his casual pose emanated power that scared her. Plus he sounded completely nuts.

  The throbbing behind her left eye started again. Perfect timing. “Please, step aside. I want to go home.” She kept her voice cool, though her pulse thrummed in her temples.

  “The pain is back, because it needs you to remember. The whole world needs you to remember.” His gaze was soft, but his ramblings still made no sense.

  She should find her phone. Call the police.
But she can’t look away from him. Yell. Yell for Paris.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound made it up her throat. What the—

  “I don’t normally do things this way, but we’re out of time. Kronos is awake, and we need you to bring Coeus out of stasis and bond with him.” The man—Eros—cupped her cheeks with both hands, so fast, she didn’t have time to react. And then the pain was back full force, carried on a blinding white light.

  Images burst through the light. No... Not images. Memories. Words, in a language she didn’t consciously recognize but understood on a visceral level. Things she hadn’t experienced—couldn’t possibly have—but that she saw through her own eyes. She was a different woman. Not a woman. A Titaness. She had the power to make the sea rise and the air swirl and the earth ripple. The elements and creation itself bowed to her. And she loved a Titan, so hard, her breath caught every time she saw him—a stunning man, larger than life, with bulging muscles and an incredibly beautiful angular face, looking down at her through a curtain of black hair, gold swirling in his warm, chocolate-colored eyes. Only back then, she hadn’t known chocolate, and they’d been the rich brown of moist earth. She loved his eyes, and she loved him, and...

  She’d lost him. There was a fight. When? So very long ago. He was taken from her by... Zeus?

  Zeus, as in the mythical father of gods, who didn’t exist outside mythology? Was Eros’ crazy contagious? Had he slipped her something?

  No. She remembered this vividly. It happened. She lived it. Coeus was her soulmate, and Zeus sent him to Tartarus before taking away her immortality. Her heart broke. The cord tethering her to Coeus snapped, and she knew he was lost to her forever.

  The pain tore at her insides, her soul reliving the trauma of being ripped from her.

  She remembered dying by her sister’s hand, for cursing Zeus. More incredibly, she could recall being reborn. She recalled every moment of her second, mortal life, from the instant she exited her mother’s womb. Not this mother she had now, though. Her previous one. And the one before that. More deaths and rebirths...

  Six times she’d regained a body since she’d been the Titaness Phoebe, only to live a lonely, loveless life or settle for much less than the passion Coeus ignited in her.

  How was this possible?

  The light blinding her slowly dimmed, until it was an aura around Eros’ body, who really was a god, though she didn’t know him personally.

  “Gods are real, and so are—were—Titans, and I’ve had previous fucking lives,” she muttered. And she said fucking, which she never did. But— “Why do this to me? Why make me remember the pain of his loss?” Because that was all that mattered. Not that her power and eternity were stolen from her, or that she had a mother and three cats and a post graduate degree waiting for her in Athens, and she somehow felt like two people at the same time. Hey, at least she didn’t feel like all seven of her lives. And the fact that she was on her seventh one could mean something. Were reincarnated Titanesses like cats, who in Greece were believed to have seven lives?

  Was this her last chance to... What?

  “You’re spiraling.” Eros slid his palms down her arms, to clasp her wrists. “Breathe. Calm down. Coeus isn’t dead, but we all may be soon, if you don’t bring him back.”

  Her head was light. Was she hyperventilating? She was hyperventilating. “You cannot tell me the love of my life is alive after... Thirty? Forty thousand years? And we may all die? But I should calm down?”

  “Well—”

  “Where am I even supposed to bring him back from? Tartarus?” Could she? Could she have done it lifetimes ago, instead of wasting away without him? Panic and guilt threatened to choke her. Could she have spared him centuries of darkness and torment? Saved herself from a meaningless existence?

  Eros let go of her with one hand, to rake his fingers through his curls. “May be better if I show you.”

  Another burst of white light, and they were no longer in the car park. Or in Mykonos, from what she could tell.

  They stood on a dark floor made of what could be polished rock, and there were people around. She heard them speak in hushed tones, though she couldn’t see them, because her view was obstructed by an enormous statue. Of Coeus.

  Her man.

  The part of her that staked a claim on him felt disjointed from reality, but the spike of sorrow lancing through her was undeniable.

  Coeus was on his knees, one fist planted on the ground and his other stretched out, palm splayed upward. Even folded like this, his body filled the room, his head almost touching the high ceiling. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hair—normally black as coal but now the pale blue-white of marble—plastered to his face and neck. It wasn’t a posture of supplication; he was throwing his power at someone. She knew, because she’d witnessed his last stand against the father of gods.

  Eyes welling up with tears, she dropped her bag and rose on tiptoe to touch his hand.

  Chapter Two

  HER FINGERTIPS BARELY touched the knuckle of his index finger.

  Coeus had expected her touch. He’d wished for nothing more since Nereus said he’d awaken him. But the jolt that sped from his knuckles straight to his unbeating heart startled him.

  It wasn’t threatening—he couldn’t be threatened—but he hadn’t felt anything against his skin in so long. Even with his eyes sealed shut, he could tell he’d been moved recently, but though he registered the difference in pressure and the lack of cold water surrounding him, a touch so gentle it warmed up his soul was something he hadn’t experienced in ages.

  Her touch.

  Nereus and another male had said they’d find his Phoebe. Return her to him, so he’d come alive again.

  Reflexively, Coeus inhaled. A female’s scent, like jasmine and lemon-grass.

  But his Phoebe smelled of sunshine.

  He reached out mentally, to read her thoughts, but all he got was a glimpse of hope. And something darker.

  Trepidation? Fear?

  Wait. He’d drawn breath? Was this working?

  “That’s it. He’s awakening. Don’t break contact.” The male voice came from further away and didn’t belong to Nereus. It was the other one. The insolent one.

  Then the woman whispered, “My love... What have they done to you?” Her voice was definitely not Phoebe’s, though its cadence wrapped around him like a caress. And she’d called him my love. He blinked his eyelids open and squinted against the first light he’d seen in... How long? It had been impossible to keep track of time in the dark.

  Coeus had thought spending eons as a decoration in his petty nephew’s garden in Olympus, listening to him gloat about defeating the mighty Titans and dooming their females to a short, human life—or whine over how humans no longer paid him the deference he was due—was torture. Then he was thrown to the depths of the sea, and he really knew agony. No stimuli reached him, and after a while, his mind gave up and shut down.

  Until Nereus and the other one fished him out and brought him here.

  His eyes adjusted to the glow, and what started off as a dark, blurry form gained shape. Even with Nereus’ disclaimers, this female couldn’t be Phoebe. She was a quarter Coeus’ current size, with gray eyes and the silliest hair he’d ever seen. It swirled outward from her head in black tufts tipped with violet. Besides, this one was mortal.

  “Who are you?” His question boomed in the room like thunder. He hadn’t heard his own voice in forever. Also, he could move his lips.

  The woman opened her mouth, but instead of answering, shook her head and pursed her lips.

  “Let me.”

  The male voice from before made Coeus look at the crowd behind her. Half a dozen males in armor and a couple females dressed in green robes framed a coral throne, watching him. They seemed fascinated but kept their distance.

  Nereus—King Nereus—sat on the throne, his torso wrapped in gold and his white hair and long beard braided. He looked exactly the same as last time Coeus had laid eyes on
him.

  But Nereus wasn’t the one who’d spoken. The man approaching Coeus with a confident stride made no effort to hide the otherworldly power emanating from him, and Coeus had learned the hard way not to trust gods.

  Before he knew he was moving, he curled his palm protectively around the woman.

  He’d moved his lips and his hand. What about the rest of his body? Was he released from his shackles? Was this really Phoebe, returned to life to free him?

  The god reached them with a smile. “I mean her no harm.”

  Coeus scowled. “Are you here for me, then? Did Zeus send you?” He wanted to scream with relief when he tested his muscles and managed to sit back on his haunches, but he had to make sure there was no threat before he could celebrate.

  “Zeus is way past ordering anyone around at this point.” Fast as lightning, the god rested one hand on Coeus’ finger.

  Coeus bit back the urge to snatch his hand out of reach, fearing he might hurt the mortal. He was about to swat the god with his other hand, but pure white light erupted in his head, and he was shot through millennia of what humans called evolution.

  The world changed before his eyes, the earth reshaping itself under the force of the elements and human influence. The Titans were defeated. The Titanesses turned mortal and perished. Phoebe—his Phoebe—wasted away. She died and was reborn. More than once. His heart broke with each of her deaths, and mended every time she breathed anew. Her last life began in a hospital, assisted by a doctor, not a healer, because life had moved on. Without him. He’d missed millennia of what could have been. Thanks to the cursed Olympians.

  He growled, as more images and sounds swarmed his consciousness—the Olympians, fading from existence; Titans, alive in this modern age; politics and economy; science and art; Kronos, raging against the same fate that had befallen Coeus and their other brothers.

  Coeus narrowed his gaze to look through the information overload, past it, at the mortal female caressing his thumb.