Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  Why had she tried to kill him? There must be some other explanation.

  He stumbled to the open window and sank to his knees. Even if he located her, how would he ever repair the damage he’d caused? It mattered not that he loved her, for surely, he’d done everything within his power to ensure Psyche would never, ever, love him.

  Eros pounded the floor with his fists and howled into the night air. “Psyche…”

  ***

  Psyche jolted awake, tense. Had the wind called her name? No, that was foolish. Only the stars greeted her view, twinkling at her in blissed ignorance. No one ever abandoned or discarded them.

  Sighing, she rose from the bed furs Alder had lent her. She couldn’t stay here any longer and abuse his kindness further. He’d shared with her the sad circumstances of his birth and how he hid in the mountains to escape his savage satyr kin. Upon learning of his nature, she’d told him about the mists. He must have stumbled through them somehow. She prayed he found his way home.

  One of them ought to.

  Psyche padded to where he slept and pressed a delicate kiss on his ruddy locks. “Thank you, dear friend. May you find the joy we both have sought and cherish it with all of your heart.”

  He stirred but did not awaken. She smiled sadly to herself. Someday, she’d repay his kindness. She set her shoulders and, huddling beneath her cloak, used the stars to guide her toward her father’s estate. The hours passed by, the sun rising and climbing high, as she neared the castle grounds.

  Shouting, the sentinels guarding its walls crossed their spears before her, blocking her path. “Halt, identify yourself, lass.”

  “I am Psyche, daughter of the King.” She raised her chin, summoning her past courage.

  The guards gawked and one spoke in hushed tones with the other. “Pray pardon, milady, but you are not permitted entry.”

  Inhaling sharply, she reared, a reprimand on the tip of her tongue, but then, her sister Eudora waved from within the frame of a window to her right.

  “Psyche?” Eudora squeaked. “You’re not dead?”

  Dead?

  “Ah, that is, we feared you…”

  Psyche fisted her hands. Of course. Her sisters’ treachery throbbed even deeper. They hadn’t wished her to kill Eros—they’d hoped her attempt would result in her death instead.

  That Eros would kill her for the betrayal.

  Ha, how little they knew.

  “I am well, as you can see. Thank you for your concern,” she grated, shuffling from the gates. This was no home to her, either.

  “Wait,” Eudora called. “If you are not dead, then pray tell, how does Eros fare?”

  Whipping around, she snapped, “Why don’t you express your concern for his welfare in person?” She didn’t wish to contemplate what would happen if Eudora did, but both deceptions stung and she couldn’t help but think…

  Those two were perfectly suited for each other.

  Two months later

  Eros pried open his eyes and smacked his dry mouth. His body ached from having spent the night on the floor. Again. Even worse, his heart panged in agonized pulses within his chest. Would this pain never end?

  His love for Psyche offered him no comfort. She was out there, somewhere, alone and in despair. The god who should have protected her had abandoned her.

  He had no means of locating her, unless she experienced any erotic fancies. He snorted. Because of him, Psyche might never attempt pleasure in intimacy again. Not only would no mortal ever compare to him, she likely wouldn’t trust any male. What a failure that made him.

  He was supposed to spread positive passions throughout the mortal realm, not destroy them.

  The hairs on his neck stiffened. Someone approached his estate.

  Psyche? He leapt to his feet and flashed to the gates. Pounding hoofbeats drummed beneath him and he caught a scent not of his beloved’s. Eudora and Sophia. Glowering, he swung his hand and bade the gates open.

  The two sisters scurried from their carriage and squealed as they caught sight of him. “My Lord Eros, we have come to offer ourselves to you,” Sophia bowed her dark head.

  Eudora knelt beside her. “Please, accept us as your humble servants. Consider us a replacement for our impious and unworthy sister.”

  “Impious?” he snarled, stalking forward. “Unworthy?”

  “Yes,” Sophia crooned. “I am appalled she would dare to attack you, my Lord.”

  “We all are,” added Eudora, tsking. “We are relieved to find you unharmed by her blade.”

  Attack? Her blade? His stomach twisted in an acidic knot. How could they know of such details unless… “You were the viper poisoning her ear,” he pointed an accusing finger at Sophia, and then at Eudora, “and you delivered the weapon intended to kill me.”

  They paled and scuffled backward, stuttering excuses and begging for mercy.

  He waved off their pathetic entreaties. Scoffing, he grimaced at the pair of them. “Go back to your husbands, you frail, weak creatures, and beg their forgiveness.” He lowered his voice and growled, “But know you shall never have mine. If you step foot on my lands again, you will perish.”

  Both females fled from his presence, but yelped as they crossed the estate. The two sisters plucked tiny arrows from the soles of their feet, scanning into the trees around them. My arrows? What troublemaker had left those laying around? A whole quiver of gilded arrows lay discarded on the path. His throat tightened. Ugh. Mother. One of these days, he was going to acquire an adamantine box in which to lock these away from her meddlesome clutches.

  As the sisters regarded the woods, a massive arachnid launched forth, hissing and screeching as it determined them its prey, casting its crimson focus on them.

  No. Eros rushed forward, but it was too late. The sisters, enamored by the creature, flung themselves toward it, and the voracious beast speared them with its spiked limbs, straight through their middles. The two females cried in bliss as the life departed their bodies. Hoarding its prey, the arachnid skulked into its lair within the forest.

  Wincing, he averted his face from the morbid scene.

  ***

  Instead of daring to find a way through the enchanted mists, Psyche had stumbled from one temple to another. First Demeter, then Hera, and finally, she arrived at the temple of Aphrodite. Eros’s mother. How blind she’d been. No wonder the goddess had interfered so greatly in her destiny.

  After several attempts at pleading with various other gods, Psyche had resolved to beg forgiveness of Aphrodite and pledge herself to the goddess. After all, she had nowhere else to go. Two months of wandering had brought her nowhere. She had no home for her unborn child. No family. And no Eros. Surely, the grandmother of her child would accept her.

  She wound through wide marble columns into a pristine and brilliant chamber, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of candles spread throughout. Her anger and resentment had dissipated. In their place, she only suffered emptiness. The child growing within her was Eros’s. Why had his mother insisted Psyche not tell him?

  The question plagued her worse than any other.

  Humbly, she treaded toward the front altar of the temple, where a statue of the goddess had been erected, and she knelt before it, struggling for the correct words. If she didn’t surrender her anger, she might suffer the goddess’s fury. Exhaling, she seized onto a sense of peace. “Mighty goddess of Beauty and Love, pray pardon your unworthy servant. If I have done aught to incur your wrath, let me make amends and present myself before you. I offer myself and my unborn babe—the child of your son—as a show of fealty. We are at your great and benevolent mercy.”

  “Psyche, my sweet child,” Aphrodite’s sonorous voice rang through the temple and her warm radiance glowed from within the statue to fall in reassurance upon Psyche. “I accept your pledge. You may seal your oath by bleeding upon my stone.”

  A dagger appeared, hovering in the air, and the jeweled ring upon the statue’s finger glimmered in anticipation.


  Wincing, Psyche sliced the blade across her palm and then fisted her hand, squeezing a few droplets of blood onto the statue’s ring. It glowed and hummed, absorbing her blood—and her vow. Whatever the goddess commanded of her now, Psyche would be bound to obey.

  “Do you recall when I bade you conceal your pregnancy from my son?” Aphrodite’s soothing voice trilled.

  Psyche nodded. “Yes, you said something most perilous would happen if I told him.”

  “Yes, and I’m afraid, nothing has changed.” Aphrodite’s features peered at Psyche through the statue she embodied. “If our enemy became aware that you carry Eros’s child, he would seek to harm both you and your babe, but there is a solution. What would you do for your child?”

  Her throat tightened and she pressed a hand to her belly. “Anything.”

  “Good.” The statue beamed benevolently down upon her. “Follow my instructions precisely, and not only shall you secure the safety of your babe, but you will fulfill your destiny.”

  She knit her brows, her lips parting in question. What did she propose?

  “My darling Psyche,” the statue smirked in triumph, “we shall make you a goddess.”

  ***

  Eros traversed to the symposium on Mount Olympus. Though his stomach twisted at having to ask the other gods for their aid, his desperation to locate Psyche was stronger. Two bloody months had passed and still he could not find her.

  Where could she be?

  He approached a pair of nymphs. “Forgive my intrusion, loves,” he offered them charming grins, “but have you come across a dark-haired female of exceptional beauty?”

  “Oh, my Lord Eros,” the one on the right writhed her voluptuous body sensuously, her red locks bleeding to brown. “No, but I could be her, if you wished.” She bit her lip in an exaggerated pout.

  “Nay, no thank you.” He reared at the force of her aggressiveness. Didn’t she realize? Seduction was an art, not an act of brute force.

  “How did you get those scars?” the other purred, snaring his arm. “They make you seem so…dangerous.”

  Dangerous? Hmm. He politely peeled off her grasp and retreated.

  A grouping of male gods gathered around a fountain, reclining on chaise longues and imbibing of flowing wine. Mayhap, he’d have better luck with them.

  “Apologies, my friends,” he coughed into his fist, “but have you heard tale of a dark-haired beauty named Psyche?”

  They gaped at him, before one broke the silence with a resounding guffaw.

  “Eros? Is that you, godboy?” A male peered around the fountain toward him. His black curled locks were shorn close to his head and several faded scars had been affected across his face and body—not real scars, but meant to intimidate nonetheless.

  Oh, hell.

  “Ah, yes, Ares, it is I.”

  “What did you do to your face? Trying to copy me, lad?”

  “No, these scars are real.” He resisted the urge to bestow Ares some real ones, as well.

  “Anything to please your new wife, eh? When shall you introduce us?”

  He shrugged. “Actually, I’m searching for her, so if you’ll excuse me—”

  “What? Have you driven her off already?” The god of war chuckled, and several other gods followed suit.

  Eros gritted his teeth. This had been a horrible idea.

  “Oh look, there’s Eros.” Ares snickered to the god beside him. “He’s lost his mortal wife, the poor lad. She’s likely searching for a god who actually knows how to pleasure a female.” He gyrated his hips in a lewd fashion.

  Eros took one fuming step toward the god, hand fisted to deliver a blow, but stopped himself. “Do not jest about my wife. Or I’ll ensure Aphrodite suddenly develops an insatiable lust for a certain god with a limp.” Hephaestus, of course.

  Ares’s molten glower confirmed he grasped Eros’s meaning. “We were only jesting, weren’t we.” As the other gods bobbed their heads, he skulked like an errant child.

  Eros scowled at them and continued winding through the chamber. He should ask those goddesses by the pond, but, no. He’d bedded too many of them and they would surely taunt him worse than Ares had.

  Shoulders deflating, he scrubbed his face into his hands. He was never going to find her.

  “My Lord?” a soft voice chimed behind him.

  He spun and viewed the goddess Demeter. Her dark locks flowed about her, framing a kind, matronly face. “I should not tell you this, but the maiden you speak of…”

  “Yes?” He slanted closer, desperate for any news of Psyche.

  “One of my temples was in disorder and a most pious mortal set everything to rights.”

  His heart pinched inside his chest. That sounded like her. His sweet, faithful Psyche. “Where is she?”

  Demeter lowered her gaze to the side. “She prayed to me for aid, but…”

  He tensed, not liking this one bit.

  “No god is able to interfere in her destiny, my Lord.” She offered an apologetic frown to him. “For your mother has claimed her.”

  ***

  A goddess? Psyche swept a broom across the temple floor, contemplating her fate. As she sighed, a light puff of air resounded behind her.

  She froze, but tentatively opened her eyes. A wondrous glow spread across her back, the illumination coming from a source other than the candles. Its soothing radiance seeped into her, easing her tense muscles. Why had Aphrodite returned? Was it time? She didn’t dare turn around, lest the goddess vanish again.

  Minutes stretched and the divine being behind her uttered not a sound. Her curiosity ate at her. Why did the goddess come without instructing her?

  Ought she to do more? Beg, grovel?

  Yes, that must be it. She slowly twisted about, keeping her head lowered. She didn’t dare speak, but as the goddess kept her tongue, Psyche tensed and squinted toward the divine being.

  Her lips parted and she gasped. That wasn’t Aphrodite.

  The masculine frame of a god cast his illumination from within the shadows of the far side of the temple. Shadows she would recognize anywhere.

  Eros.

  Psyche jolted, averting her face to the side, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had no words to speak to him.

  “Psyche,” his familiar rumble whispered a pleading tone.

  Tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Not for him would she weep. “Why have you come? To censure me? To punish me?”

  “Nay, sweet Arete. I am here to beg your forgiveness.” He emerged from the shadows, revealing first one leather-clad leg, then the other. His upper half was bare, hard-edged muscles rippling and gleaming in the soft light. Two enormous ivory wings framed him and rose above his head. And his face…

  She inhaled sharply as she beheld him wholly for the first time, his features not shadowed nor clouded by smoke.

  Eyes that gleamed a blue purer than the clearest skies, set within a face so divinely masculine it called to the deepest feminine parts of her. His brows narrowed in a predatory, seductive angle and his lips quirked with a wicked tilt that promised the most erotic pleasure from just one kiss. Yet, his flesh was not as flawless as the last time she’d viewed him. Clawed scars marred his cheek. From the fire? Her stomach churned at being responsible for harming a god.

  Her perusal roamed across him, entranced by his hard, virile body that embodied her greatest fantasies.

  He was the lover of her dreams, yet she stood before him, awakened.

  Bolts of desire and longing spun through her body, unwelcomed. She did not wish to lust after the man who had betrayed her. Psyche wrenched her gaze off him and recoiled, seeking shelter within the stone cold pillars.

  “Don’t,” he strode forward, snaring her hand and whirling her about, “don’t flee from me. Please, I beg you.”

  “Flee from you?” She scoffed and shoved at his deliciously muscled chest. “No, Eros, it was not I who fled.”

  He seized a step backward as though cut by her words
. Good. Now, he would fathom how it had been for her, to have him wrench out her heart and discard it.

  His stare poured into her, scouring her soul. “I wrongly assumed you’d intended me harm. I’ve since learned you did not. I never should have abandoned your side or doubted you.”

  “Still, you did.” She shook her head at him. “I have wandered for months, searching for a way to make amends. Pursuing any hint of solace.”

  “I have searched, too, Psyche. For you. Everywhere.” He extended his hand for her. “And yet, here you are, at this temple. I cannot help but dare to dream that you have come back to me.”

  Her shoulders dropped, weighted by the exhaustion of her tremulous emotions. “No, Eros, it is not you I come to this temple to pray to.”

  Eros fought to repair the rapidly crumbling cracks in his chest. The words Psyche spoke maimed him anew. When he’d sensed her presence here, his veins had flooded with relief.

  Now, they filled with dread.

  Psyche wandered the temple toward a statue of him. “This likeness does you no justice.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed his mother. Demeter had spoken true. He’d been a fool to hope Psyche had come to this temple for him. Or that she'd remained within the mists, just within his reach. “Can we not at least speak of that night? Will you permit me the chance to explain?”

  “Fine, speak.” She whirled about, folding her arms. “Why did you lie to me about being cursed? You’re a god.”

  “I did not lie. I am—was—cursed.”

  “How?”

  Inhaling deeply, he sought the right words. “A long time ago, my mother and I engaged in a wager. My foolish arrogance trapped me in our bet…until you.”

  “Those other maidens, they died for a wager?” She grimaced, wrinkling her small nose.

  The guilt weighted on his shoulders, hunching them. “I’m afraid yes. Please believe me, I did everything within my power to save them. Still they perished, because they viewed my face.”

  “I glimpsed your face as well. Why am I not dead?”

  He swallowed thickly. “Because you did what no one else could. You opened my heart.”