Immortal Dreams
A Mythological Romance
by
Abbie Zanders
Acknowledgements
Cover by Marissa at CoverMeDarling.
Stock photos from DepositPhotos and Pixabay.
Professional editing by Megedits.com and C&D Editing (cdediting.weebly.com).
THANK YOU to all of you for selecting this book. You didn’t have to, but you did.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
IMMORTAL DREAMS
First edition. June 21, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Abbie Zanders.
Written by Abbie Zanders.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Immortal Dreams
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Bonus Feature – What’s In A Name? ... A Note from the Author
Thanks for reading Nik and Ellie’s story
About the Author
Also by Abbie Zanders
theurgy THEE-ur-jee - the working of a divine or supernatural agency in human affairs.
Chapter 1
Ellie Cavanaugh had always been a dreamer, but she was a closet dreamer, a secret dreamer. No one ever knew when her thoughts slipped away to some foreign land of bronzed male gods and fierce heroes, where she became a woman they actually noticed. A beautiful, confident woman they courted and wooed in hopes of gaining her favor.
And what wonderful dreams they were. So realistic. And so unlike her reality.
Her unremarkable facial features, untouched but for the barest hint of cosmetics, remained serene and impassive. Her pale, almost colorless eyes—the result of a congenital anomaly—hidden beneath the much more common chocolate brown contact lenses, revealed none of the secret passions that made her heart beat fast and hard beneath her ribs as her fingers clicked and dragged over yet another PowerPoint presentation.
Hers was a duplicitous existence, but a necessary one. Dreams were her way of coping, of making it through yet another day of the mundane and dreary. Visions filled her head, so clear and detailed that they could be memories instead of mere imaginings. Tropical paradises. Steamy, erotic romances. Brutal clashes where good always triumphed over evil. Visions of people and places where life was for living, not just existing. This was Ellie’s private world, her anchor to sanity in a world ruled by the insane.
Nothing would ever come of them, of course. For as passionate and creative as she was on the inside, she was just the opposite on the outside. She had neither the courage nor the desire to share her grand visions with anyone, as some did. She would never feel comfortable taking pen to paper, or fingertips to keyboard, to capture the complicated, many-layered characters that were her closest, albeit imaginary, friends. Nor would she ever reveal the expertly-woven threads of intrigue, suspense, and romance that she continuously worked and molded on a daily basis.
Her purpose was, and always would be, to serve others. To support from the safety of the shadows. That was where she excelled.
Those fantasies, the ones that were the equivalent of Xanax to her inner self, were crafted secretly behind the façade of a plain, mild-mannered personal assistant. All of it—the luxury, the excitement, the mystery, and the romance—would remain solely within the safe confines of her mind, accessible to Ellie, and Ellie alone.
While those kinds of things did exist, at least according to the celebrity magazines and reality shows, they were not a part of her life, nor would they ever be. With, perhaps, one very notable exception.
Nikolaos Deimos, Executive Vice President of Acquisitions for the Mystikos Inc., headquartered in Greece with satellite offices all over the world. He was the personification of masculine beauty and power, wrapped in a sinfully decadent package of sensuality and cunning intelligence.
He was also her boss.
It was impossible to be a heterosexual female and not be affected by him, even for a woman as outwardly sensible as Ellie. Well over six feet of perfectly sculpted male beauty, with lightly bronzed skin, exotic golden eyes framed by thick, dark lashes, and a smile that could be the sole reason behind the melting of the polar ice caps, he was singularly responsible for more late night—and in-office—fantasies than the rest of the downtown corporate district combined.
To compound matters, even as beautiful as he was, he was also brilliant, clever, and one of the shrewdest businessmen she had ever met. And, quite possibly, he was one of the hardest men to work for.
Dozens of personal assistants had preceded Ellie, many of whom never made it past their first week, let alone the standard probationary period of three months. The man was a demanding executive who many accused of being severely bipolar.
Ellie didn’t think Nikolaos Deimos was bipolar.
Most people looked at him, at his incredible good looks and sexy smile, and formed their own opinions before even having met the man. They were drawn in by those golden eyes that were always half-shuttered as if in pleasure, the almost lazy, graceful way he held and carried himself, and leapt to conclusions.
If he didn’t live up to their expectations, how was that his fault? To Ellie, who had been misjudged all her life and who made it a point never to expect anything from anybody, he had always been brilliant, driven and, at times, downright terrifying.
True, she had seen him go from calm and charming to fierce and aggressive in the span of a heartbeat, but only when someone openly challenged him or exhibited blatant incompetence. Mr. Deimos tolerated neither, and most of the people he dealt with knew that. Those who didn’t, well, they never got the chance to make the same mistake twice.
Today was the final day of her probationary period. If she made it through without incident, the personal assistant position would officially be hers. That was, if she wanted it, which she was quite certain she did.
While Nikolaos Deimos wasn’t for everybody, Ellie had no problems with him. She found his directness refreshing. He was always very clear about his expectations, at least to anyone who bothered to listen. And Ellie had listened to every sentence, every word, every syllable uttered in that deep baritone, the one that resonated deep within her soul like the low notes on a harp or an upright bass.
Over the past three months, he could have given her the same boot he had given all the others, but he hadn’t. Ellie never gave him a reason to. She was quiet, efficient, intelligent, and skilled. In fact, they had yet to create computer software she could not master within a matter of hours.
But that wasn’t what made her so valuable. No, what set her apart from the others was her ability to remain completely composed and utterly professional no matter what her unpredictable boss threw at her on any given day.
By five o’clock this evening, the fate of her future employment would be in her hands. True to form, she remained quietly impassive; yet inside, she wanted the permanent position so badly she could practically taste it. It was delicious, like a smooth, dark, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate surrounding a juicy cherry in a decadent, sugary liquid.
“Ms. Cavanaugh.” The deep, low voice sent shivers of pleasure up and down her spine, yet she revealed nothing. When she released the mouse and turned in her chair to give the man who had spoken her full and undivided attention, her eyes were alert but expressionless.
“Yes, sir?”
* * *
Nikolaos’s eyes flicked to the screen and narrow
ed. His voice became a scathing hiss. “My presentation is in less than thirty minutes. Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”
Her only reaction was to blink. Slowly.
She did that occasionally. It fascinated him to no end, wondering what was going on behind those muddy brown eyes. He could sense something there. Feel it, like the increased electrical charge that accompanied a gathering storm, although her expression gave the impression of a perfectly calm, cloudless sky.
“Today’s presentation is on your tablet, sir. All the materials have already been delivered to the conference room. I have arranged for coffee and a continental breakfast to arrive precisely fifteen minutes before the scheduled start of the meeting.” Her voice was soft, but not weak, with not a single trace of sarcasm or resentment.
His eyes flicked to the screen again. “Then what is that?”
“Next week’s presentation for the board, sir.”
He glared at her for a long minute, seeking the source of that intangible, humming presence. She held his gaze, one of the few who could; at least without trembling, sweating, or being reduced to tears.
Well played, Ms. Cavanaugh, he thought, though he would never say so. He had a feeling it would insult her. Instead, he opted for tilting her perfectly balanced axis, simply because he could.
“I want you there.”
Another blink. Only the mildest hint of surprise.
Ellie was his ghost, his “woman behind the curtain” that magically made everything happen. Her job was to make all the arrangements, set everything up, and then disappear quietly into the shadows, leaving him to look singularly brilliant and capable. She excelled at it, while reveling in the anonymity of it. This woman wanted to be invisible, he realized. It was the why of it he didn’t know.
Her skills far surpassed those of any personal assistant he had ever had. Why wouldn’t she want everyone to know that? Wasn’t it basic human nature to be self-serving?
“In what capacity, sir?” she asked in that soft, completely professional way of hers.
His brief flash of triumph for eliciting some reaction—an ever-increasing challenge over the past several months—fizzled. He hadn’t foreseen her asking that. She rarely questioned him, always seeming to know exactly what he wanted, and usually before he knew himself. That happened so often, in fact, that he wondered if she might have a bit of Oracle in her ancestry. He had asked one of his cousins once, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the riddle-like response.
Nik couldn’t tell her the truth, that over the past couple weeks he had become somewhat fascinated by her quiet strength and unflappability. Nor could he admit that this morning’s presentation was destined to be interminably dull and he wanted her around so he would have something interesting to think about while pretending to care about sales on the East Coast or marketing strategies.
“Someone needs to make my coffee,” he snapped, wincing inwardly when it came out sounding harsher than he intended.
As usual, she took the jab with perfect grace and serenity. The oddest thing? She made it seem as though making him a good cup of coffee was every bit as important as nailing the multi-media presentation she had spent the last few weeks perfecting.
“Of course, sir.”
His inability to ruffle her intrigued him. Usually, all he had to do was look at a woman and she would be ready and willing, suffused with lust and desire. Or, if he wasn’t feeling particularly amorous, he could adjust his glare and have her running for the door in sudden panic and fear. Both skills were the result of his unusual heritage.
That was what happened when you were the child of Aphrodrite, goddess of love, and Ares, the god of war. You could just as easily go either way with equal aplomb.
Beneath the wholly unattractive reading glasses she tended to wear when working at the computer, her brown eyes remained cool and unaffected. They did not shrink in fear, nor did they expand in lust. They just stared back at him. Patient. Capable. Waiting.
He narrowed his eyes again. No mortal female should be able to control her eyes that completely, he realized with a start.
He sharpened his vision and looked more closely, the answer becoming clear a second or two later.
Contact lenses! But why would she wear contact lenses if she insisted on wearing those gods-awful spectacles every day? She couldn’t possibly be nearsighted and farsighted at the same time, could she? He never did quite understand these human shortcomings.
“Sir?” she prompted, and he belatedly realized she had asked him something and was awaiting his response. Unfortunately, as lost as he had been in her eyes, he had no idea what it was.
Annoyed at being caught, he barked, “You figure it out, Ms. Cavanaugh. That is what I pay you for, isn’t it?”
When a spark of something flashed momentarily behind the dark brown of those lenses, he felt like doing a fist pump. That was two almost reactions in the span of a few minutes. Clearly, he was getting better at reaching the part of her she kept so adroitly hidden away.
Once again, however, his triumph was short-lived when he saw the barest ghost of a smile playing about her lips and a shiver of foreboding ghosted down his spine.
Oh, hells.
Chapter 2
The basis of her query became clear a short while later when Nikolaos found himself sitting next to Alexis Worthington, the so-called “Black Widow of Wall Street.” At the human age of thirty-five, she had already managed to marry and outlive three members on the Forbes 500 top ten list. As a result, she was now on the list herself.
And currently looking at Nik as if he would be her next hostile take-over.
That would not be happening. If he had any inclination to take a dip in the pits of hell, he would give his uncle Hades a call.
Alexis excelled at her game, however, as evidenced by her careful preparation. Dressed in a designer suit, custom-made to accentuate her surgically-acquired feminine curves, her red hair a slick waterfall of silk cascading over alabaster skin, Alexis was a lethally seductive weapon, and Nik knew it. Just as he knew she had not managed to get where she was by taking “no” for an answer. He could admire that kind of tenacity, but not when he appeared to be the next item on her to-do list.
Beneath the heavy, dark wood conference table, she slipped her foot up and down his leg suggestively. When that failed to elicit a response, she made a point of leaning over to whisper in his ear, rubbing her very large, and wholly unnatural, breasts against his arm while one red-taloned claw squeezed his thigh. Her cloying perfume made his eyes water.
Had he been human, her wiles might have been effective. As it was, it was all he could do not to shudder.
In a moment of quiet desperation, Nik cast a glance toward the far side of the room where Ellie stood silent and unmoving in the shadows. It took a moment to find her, as the odd, little female had a particular knack for becoming invisible while in plain sight.
His eyes met hers in a silent plea.
She blinked.
He hadn’t expected her to actually do anything, but over the course of the last few months, he had become somewhat dependent upon her competency and clear-headedness in practically any situation. Simply looking at her provided the brief respite he needed, a modicum of calm in an otherwise turbulent sea.
Clearly misunderstanding his unspoken request, Ellie grabbed the carafe of hot coffee and stepped toward the table while the long-winded human male from sales continued his spiel.
Retaining his gaze, she glided noiselessly toward his end of the conference table. When she got within a foot or so, she tripped, sending the hot brew all over the pristine, white-silk-suited lap of Alexis Worthington.
Nik wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t just seen it with his own eyes. Ellie Cavanaugh was not a woman who tripped. Ever. She was the picture of silent grace, a wraith with only minimal substance, which could only mean her actions had been ... deliberate?
His theory was confirmed when his eyes briefly met hers and he di
d not see the surprise and mortification he would have expected, only determination and resignation; the look of a sacrificial lamb offering herself up for slaughter to save the lion.
The next few moments were chaotic. Alexis leapt to her feet, shrieking like a harpy. Ellie stuttered and apologized profusely, but Alexis would have none of it. Enraged, she pushed Ellie away as she tried to use the expensive napkins to dab at the stain.
Alexis was close to six feet tall and built like the svelte Swedish version of a brickhouse. Her shove pushed the much smaller and delicate Ellie, already off-balance, several feet backward. Arms flailing, Ellie’s head hit the wall with a sickening thud.
Nik watched in horror as her body slumped down into the thick pile carpet, her shapely legs sprawled out awkwardly before her.
* * *
“We’ll need to take her in for some tests.” The paramedic’s voice cut through the thick haze as Ellie felt her body being lifted by two sets of strong male hands.
“No,” she said, that one word slurred and thick. “I’m fine. Just give me an ice pack or something.”
“Ms. Cavanaugh.”
Oh, no. That was his voice, and judging by the quiet timbre of it, he was really angry.
Her heart dropped like a stone. She had been so close. All she’d had to do was make it through one more day and she would have been a permanent employee, eligible for benefits, health insurance, and a retirement plan. One move of incredible stupidity, and she had lost it all.
Sure, he wasn’t exactly the nicest person to work for, but she had worked for worse. Nikolaos Deimos was demanding and made her work harder than she had ever imagined, but he was never cruel. And unlike her last boss, he didn’t subscribe to the idea that being bent over his desk was part of her job description.
She had genuine respect and admiration for Nikolaos and, if she was being completely honest with herself, hadn’t cared one bit for the way that she-devil was trying to sink her claws into him during that meeting. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed interested. Quite the opposite, in fact. Nikolaos’s expression had remained impassive, but Ellie knew how to read her boss. She had seen the fire flashing in his eyes, had heard his silent plea.
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