Except, it wasn’t the first time he’d said that was it? More confused than ever, Callie desperately tried to find one coherent thought in her mind. Before she found one, out the corner of her eye she saw the woman with the brightest glow wave her hand again, this time at Teran. Suddenly he started to glow like the rest. “Oh-kay, someone please start explaining before I decide it’s too much trouble to listen and pass out.”
Teran shot a dirty look at the woman who smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Turning from her, he approached Callie slowly with his palms open at his sides. “Callie, now before you panic, please listen, I need you to hear me out. What I have to tell you is going to sound crazy but I promise it’s the truth.”
“What is?”
“We,” he gestured behind him. “All of us are Olympians; Gods of the Greek Pantheon.” The giant cleared his throat and Teran rolled his eyes. “Okay except him, he’s a demon.”
The last thing Callie saw was tree tops.
Chapter 23
“So you really are a god.”
Anteros, afraid to tip the scales now that she seemed to be accepting what he’d told her, simply nodded his head and fought his growing need to wrap his arms around her. He couldn’t imagine a worse way for her to have found out who and what he was. She looked so fragile and alone, it was killing him.
“And he really is Cu...I mean Eros?”
Another nod and twist in his guts. What if she couldn’t accept him now? What if it was all too much and she decided to leave him after all. The twist turned into a knot.
Callie turned her head away from him and looked at his mother. “And you’re not only their mother, you’re Aphrodite.”
“Yes dear, that’s right. I really am the Goddess of Love.”
They’d brought her back to her grandmother’s cabin and started a fire hoping familiar surroundings might help. Now he wasn’t sure if it had been the right choice. Callie sat so still and took so long looking from one to another of them, a bead of sweat trickled down Anteros’s back. He wished he knew what she was thinking.
Finally a look of determination flowed over her face and she sat up a little straighter. His heart kicked his ribs both dying for the suspense to end and dreading what the outcome might be.
“Well, whew this is a lot to take in. But, okay, the way I see it, I can either accept that what you’re telling me is the truth. Or I can voluntarily have myself committed.” She lifted her eyes to him and a sly grin creased her face. “Besides I can’t deny I was dumb enough to fall in love with you, so hey, what the heck, if I’m an Amazon queen why can’t you be a Greek god?”
Anteros let out a whoop and swung her up in his arms, kissing her deeply, before Charon’s fist pump and hissed ‘yesssss’ died away.
Suddenly the lights flickered and the room filled with the sent of oranges. Aphrodite wrinkled her nose. “Oh great, here we go.”
Callie blinked and a statuesque woman in a serious pinstriped power suit and Prada shoes stood in front of the fireplace. “I wouldn’t send out the invites yet, Sister. I think there might be a problem filling the part of the groom.”
“Oh, for Hades sake Athena, are you still on that kick?” Aphrodite moved around the table positioning herself in front of the other woman. “Don't you think this is all getting kind of old?”
The expression on Athena’s face was unreadable but something in her body language didn’t seem right to Callie. Her hands were clenched and her back was stiff as a board. Looking back to her face, Callie bristled under the power of her ice blue gaze.
Her chin bobbed in Callie’s direction and Teran tucked her tighter into his side. “She is the last of them and has defied my decree.” Turning her laser gaze directly on her, Athena’s eyes narrowed. What part of ‘no descendant of Hyppolya shall give her heart to a man and not suffer the consequences’ do you woman not understand?” She looked down at the hand clutching Teran’s forearm. “She even wears the ring.” Athena pointed her finger at Teran. “He is therefore forfeit.”
Callie snarled and started to pull away from Teran. “Over my dead body—”
A tiny giggle rippled through the room and everyone turned their attention to the source. Aphrodite plopped down on the coffee table and snickered again. “You know for someone who spontaneously popped out of our father’s head, you aren’t too smart Sister-mine.”
A succession of sharp intakes of breath raced around the room and Callie stayed ready to spring on Athena if she had to – which she’d do if she could figure out how to break the hold Teran had on her and get out from under his arm.
“Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and Hearth. Ha!” Aphrodite crossed her legs and wrapped her clasped hands around one knee.
Athena’s face turned red and the tendons in her neck stuck out. “You dare mock me!” Her hand shot out and a streak of blue lightening leapt from her fingers.
Teran, Eros and Charon all moved at once to intercept, but before it could do any damage, it fizzled out.
Athena looked at her fingers with her mouth hanging open and Aphrodite stood up gently nudging the men aside. “Sister, the curse you laid on Hyppolya’s daughters states they must never give their hearts to a man, yes?”
Athena’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, and your point?”
“My point is Callista, heir to the Amazon throne and direct descent of the queens of old, did no such thing.”
“Huh?”
“Anteros son of Ares and Aphrodite the man in question is not a man, he’s a GOD!”
Stunned silence filled the room for several seconds then Charon broke into a butter churn dance. “Woo hoo. Woo hoo. Aphs, you sure you ain’t harboring a bit a demon in there somewhere?”
Anteros watched several emotions chase across Callie’s face and his heart echoed every one of them. The curse was broken. Not only was Callie free, so would her daughters be.
Athena was staring off into space and Eros helped her sit before she fell down.
Callie cautiously stepped forward giving Teran’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “But that’s only part of the problem, right? What about the fever you mentioned.”
Anteros mind rebelled and the knot in his stomach which had started to unravel tried to climb up his throat instead. How could he have forgotten? He had an appointment with a nice impenetrable cell.
Psyche walked over to her husband and took his hand in hers. Looking into his eyes she smiled. “That’s not a problem anymore either.” She turned and looked straight at Anteros and he felt a spark of hope rekindle. “You know there is no cure, but, thanks to your mother and brother you now have the next best thing.”
She shifted her attention to Callie. “For a god stricken with ambro-fever, it’s a matter of balance when they get either too much or too little of what they embody. In Eros’s case, it happens when he gives too much love out and then he gets a little trigger happy. I’m able to temper that by feeding love back to him. In Anteros’s case it started to happen when he got close to the point he’d taken too much heartache in.”
“You said started to happen, it’s not now?”
“Yes, she did, and for now the tide has turned.” Aphrodite took Callie’s hand, placed it in Teran’s and covered both with her own. “We can’t be sure that at some point it still won’t happen, but because of you his chances are far better.” She looked up at her son. “In fact as long as he has you, he may never fall.” Turning her attention back to Callie she gave their joined hands a squeeze. “And if he does, you’ll be there to catch him.”
Standing on the front porch watching all but one cloud of mist vanish, Callie and Teran held each other close. “Eros, I don’t know what to say.”
“I do.” Callie blinked a few times fast and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Eros smiled back at them and began to fade. The entire meadow started to gain a rose colored glow and the icicles on the trees lit up softly from within. Callie gasped and Anteros looked at his brother with surprise. “Mom’s no
t the only one in the family with skills you know.” He winked and gave a juvenile ‘thumbs-up’ and vanished.
Anteros tilted Callie’s chin and looked into her eyes. The spectacle his brother created around them didn’t hold a candle to the love shining there. “Who would’ve thought getting shafted by ‘Stupid Cupid’ would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
A wicked light ignited in her eyes and she momentarily chewed on her bottom lip. “Well isn’t that what he’s supposed to do? Bring you the love of your life? I mean, I know he brought me mine.” She reached up with a nibble for his ear and whispered. “And baby you can give me the shaft anytime.”
Who knew a god could blush.
THE END
Author Bio: Kymber Morgan
Living in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and having grown up with her own link to mythology through a family legend, Kymber loves nothing better than taking her imagination out for a spin often asking, among other things, what if the myths and legends we grew up on were real.
Come join the fun by visiting her web-site at www.kymbermorgan.com, follow her on twitter @kymbermorgan or check out her author page on Facebook, because you just never know who else may be dropping by.
For prizes, surprises, character updates and the latest from Carla Roma, check out Bandit Creek Books!
Coming February 15, 2012
A Stranger's Kiss by Roxy Boroughs
Chapter One
Renee's new playmate was strange.
The first time she saw him, her heart skipped. A kid her age in the neighborhood? She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a friend.
She would have preferred a girl. Like, duh. They could've drawn butterflies on their jeans, or messed around with nail polish and painted flowers on their big toes.
But a boy was better than nothing. And this one made her laugh.
She'd met him in the old gardening shed, which looked like a mini version of the house. In the olden days, before people had cars, it stored a horse and buggy. Renee fancied she could still smell hay. She'd climb on the rusted-out riding lawn mower and imagine it was her carriage, picturing herself in a long dress going for a ride, cracking her whip. She always made sure to lock the door of the shed behind her, so she wouldn't get caught. Because her mother had a thing about the place.
But a locked door didn't stop Tommy, and that was weird. One day, while she was feeding her imaginary horse, he just appeared. Told her his name when she asked. It was only later she realized his lips never moved, that she'd somehow heard his thoughts without ever having heard his voice.
That was the second strange thing.
The third came right after Renee's mother called her in to help with the painting. Tommy pointed at his chest, then in the direction of the house. He smiled, showing off the coolest set of braces, and invited himself to join her. Then he headed to the door. But he didn't bother to unlock it. Just walked right through it.
That's when Renee realized her new playmate was a ghost.
* * * * *
Amy Tesher applied the first brushstroke and shrieked.
Yes, she'd purchased cheap paint but hadn't expected it to be quite so ugly--a yellowy-brown that reminded her of splotches left on the bathroom floor after one of her mother's binges.
Maybe it would look better when it dried.
From the top of her ladder, she scrutinized the large, front room of her late grandmother's bed and breakfast with the eye of a realist. The idea of sprucing it up on a shoestring budget for a quick sale didn't seem as easy as she'd thought five days ago, when she'd inherited the home in Bandit Creek.
Nowhere, Montana, as her grandmother used to joke. The closest neighbor was an abandoned trailer.
But the natural beauty of the land more than made up for that eyesore. Cradled in the Bitterroot Mountains, Bandit Creek boasted peaks that kissed the sky. And, after a few days of renos, Amy felt as if she carried the weight of those mountains on her back. Her shoulders ached too, and she'd never shied away from hard labor. Still, she loved the place, her childhood sanctuary. Even though it looked neglected and sad. Just as she'd once been.
But that was in the past, now. And all because of Renee.
She watched her daughter from across the room, heart kicking against her breast, battling for more space. The child, who'd entered the world unwanted, had turned into a savior.
The eleven-year-old sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling to herself, while meticulously applying a strip of green painter's tape to the trim. Then she sang along with the music wailing from their portable disc player. Beyoncé telling her man to put a ring on it.
Advice like that could have saved Amy years of heartache.
She sighed, releasing the bad thoughts as she exhaled, and climbed down from her perch to inspect the paint on the wall. She lowered the volume on the player.
"What do you think, hon?"
Her daughter turned, auburn pigtails doing a half-pirouette around her head, grey eyes huge. Amy had a couple of photos of herself as a girl. If she shuffled them in with the stack of pictures she had of Renee, a trained observer wouldn't be able to tell them apart. Only the dated clothes would give Amy away.
Nowadays, there were more clues. Amy was taller, her hair shorter. And, of course, she looked older. Though not by much. When pressed, she credited her youthful appearance to good breeding.
One of her many white lies.
Renee tapped her pointed chin with her index finger as she studied the color, looking more like a pixie than a tweenie. "It's different," she announced with a grin.
Amy laughed. "Very diplomatic. You'll make a fine politician one day." She checked her watch, clicking her tongue. "If I hurry, I can get to the hardware store before they close. I'll buy a lighter color to mix in with this. A couple of cans of cream or white. If nothing else, it'll stretch the paint we already have. Don’t open the--"
"--door while you're gone," her daughter finished. "I know, I know."
Poor kid. Maybe she was overprotective--escorting Renee almost everywhere and schooling her at home--but Amy knew firsthand the dangers that awaited a little girl out in the world.
As she opened the front door, a chill wrapped around her, as if a blast of arctic wind had swooped in over the mountains. There, right outside her house, stood a man, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against a parked car.
Watching her.
Amy took a breath, willing her heart to pound a steady beat. Finding anyone on her doorstep, would have been a shock. She was a stranger here, hadn't been back to the secluded house in years. She had no friends in these parts, and now, no relatives. But this man was as out of place as any could be. Starting with the vehicle on which he was perched.
If the car was his, it was much too expensive for the neighborhood, and too posh for a mountain trek. Amy wasn't an expert on makes and models but the jaguar on the hood of the black sedan told her all she needed to know. And the flashy ride didn't match the man's attire. A nice enough charcoal suit, but the rumpled fabric shied away from his gaunt frame, as if he'd slept in a larger man's clothes.
A tangle of brown hair shadowed his eyes, dark stubble inked his jaw. He didn't look familiar, but over the years she'd learned to be cautious. Her mother had cultivated dangerous friends.
Amy locked the door behind her, keys in her fist, the longest one poking out between her index and middle fingers. Just how her aunt in Detroit had taught her.
Ready for anything.
She marched down the front walk, her runners chomping at the fallen leaves in her path. As she approached, the man straightened and used his fingers to comb the hair from his eyes.
"Something I can do for you, sir?"
Now that she was closer, Amy took a good look at her visitor, opening the mental filing cabinet of her memories and pouring over the images she kept of her mother's associates.
Jag Man was six feet or so, and on the older side of thirty. Other than his cheekbones
, made prominent by the thinness of his face, his most noticeable feature was a pair of hazel eyes--more green than brown--and highlighted by a pencil-thin scar that sliced through his right brow. That and the five-o'clock shadow gave him an outdoorsy ruggedness. In spite of the unkempt packaging, he was a good-looking man. One she knew she hadn't met before.
But good looks didn't mean a good soul. Amy kept her keys ready in her fist.
"I need a place to stay." The voice came out in a low baritone--clear, melodic, and with complete confidence. The tone of a man used to getting his way.
Amy wondered who'd pointed him in her direction. No one local. Her grandmother had retired from the bed and breakfast business a few years before she died. Amy may not have visited, but she'd exchanged emails almost daily with her Nan to keep up with life at the old house--her grandmother's socializing, gardening, even what she had for lunch. If only Nan had mentioned she was ailing, Amy would have been on the next plane. But her grandmother was feisty and independent to the end. She died obliged to no one, in her own bed, and surrounded by her collection of photographs and antiques, just the way she wanted it.
"Mrs. Turnbull runs a nice B&B further down the road--"
"Isn’t this a B&B?" Now he was smiling, pouring on the charm like a salesman. Maybe he was one. At a car lot. That would explain the Jag.
"It used to be." Amy turned to view the wooden sign on the lawn, proclaiming as much, though the lettering had seen better days. Something else to fix. "We're closed for renovations."
The man drew a wallet from his back pocket. "I can pay cash," he told her, opening it. "Three hundred a night."
Amy shook her head, wondering what her grandmother would say about turning down good money. She knew what Nan had charged for a room, even one with a private bath, and it sure as hell wasn’t that much.
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