Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus)

by Sasha Summers

  He felt each quiver, each spasm, buried as he was deep within her. And her release forced him over the edge. He moaned as his body stiffened – one long heated contraction of ecstasy – as he filled his wife.

  His passion left him trembling upon her. He lifted himself, to lessen her burden, but her leg tightened about his hips.

  “I’ll crush you, love,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I won’t mind,” she assured him, breathing heavily still.

  He looked down at her with a smile on his face. “I would mind. I would keep you safe and happy.”

  “Keep me here as I am…joined with you,” her voice was husky as her eyes met his.

  Her love for him sparkled in her huge blue eyes, dazzling him with its simple truth. His voice was raw, “I am favored by the Gods, my lady, to have you.”

  “As am I, to have you as my lord and husband.” Her fingers traced his jaw.

  “I please you, then?” he teased softly. He shifted, sliding from her to lie at her side.

  She frowned at him, making him laugh.

  He could not tear his eyes from her, but watched as she tilted her face towards him and let her leg slip down, as if exhausted. “You do… I did not know such pleasure existed.”

  His hand found hers and he lifted it. He kissed the tip of each of her fine white fingers before pressing another to her palm. “What would my lady wife want of this day?”

  She smiled at him. “This. Only this.”

  ###

  Poseidon was pleased.

  He had expected nothing less from Phorcys. The Titan was humbled and honored, groveling over Poseidon’s choice. But then he was offering marriage to Medusa, whom Phorcys had described as ‘his lowly mortal daughter’.

  “You’ve no need to marry her,” Phorcys had smiled. “Get a son on her. Let her bear you a child if you will. To take her as wife is more generous than I could ever have prayed for.”

  Poseidon had laughed. “You would have me sully your daughter, Phorcys?”

  Phorcys’ incredulous look had amused the God, but the Titan’s words were wise.

  “My wife is a help to me. She is a Titan, strong and fearsome in battle. She bore me strong, immortal children – except Medusa. My daughter is beautiful to be sure, but the wife of the great Poseidon? What does she have to offer the likes of you? She cannot serve as your partner, as my Ceto is to me.”

  Poseidon watched his ally. “But she will be my wife. As such I will see that she becomes immortal. And that she gives me many sons. It is a good match, Phorcys, one that suits all.”

  Phorcys bowed deeply, “You do my family great honor.”

  Poseidon did not argue. He did indeed do Phorcys a great honor. But his marriage had nothing to do with honor or finding a partner. It had nothing to do with Athena or pleasing Olympus.

  He wanted Medusa.

  His lust robbed him of sleep and wit. His temper was quick for his blood still boiled.

  Thoughts of her coming to him, beckoning him to their bed… Images of her silken locks tangled about them haunted him. He could almost taste the sweet softness of her lips, smell the fragrant bloom of her scent, and his body ached with it.

  This longing for Medusa, a lowly mortal, had become an affliction for which there was only one cure.

  If his brother had not warned him against it, he would have her already. It was not an easy choice, for he rarely heeded Zeus. But he would not jeopardize his prize or have his ownership of the girl forfeit to Athena’s prattling or Zeus’ spite.

  Medusa would be his until he tired of her.

  Once he left Phorcys, he set out on the waves, riding on their very tips as foam. He moved quickly, skimming along the shores of the sea. Mortals did many things along his shores, from fishing to bathing. He watched them with indulgent interest or played with them at will.

  And then he found a more interesting sight.

  Poseidon unfurled himself, letting his frothy fingers float and pull him towards the couple on the beach. This was a past-time he enjoyed mightily, for young lovers often found passion on the sand. They would be unknowingly wrapped in his form as he became the waves that coursed over them.

  He saw no point in depriving himself this slight pleasure, for the sea was his domain. As he was also the God of Fertility, he would appease both his duties. He would make sure that those who loved here would have evidence of their passion in due course.

  Whether or not the resulting babe was sired by him, as sea foam, or the mortal involved depended on the woman. If she was beautiful or passionate, if there was something that drew him to her beyond the need to free his seed, then the babe would be his, of that he was sure.

  Poseidon was generous when it came to women. He had many sons.

  This couple was so absorbed in one another that he wondered. If he transformed into his human form, would they be aware of his presence?

  He would not risk disturbing such a coupling. Their passion was great. Poseidon could see it, feel the current of it in the water about them. This man, whose back rippled and tightened as he knelt over his lover, was a virile sort. Yet he felt such tenderness towards the woman beneath him.

  A tenderness Poseidon could not fathom.

  He could also feel the man’s barely repressed passion.

  Poseidon felt himself tighten, wishing he was that man. He would not hold himself from this woman. He would unleash the full extent of his hunger upon her. And she, Poseidon suspected, would take it eagerly.

  For the woman’s body was both beautiful and passionate. She was writhing, naked in the sun, and so lovely that Poseidon wished his hands might reach out and stroke her. Instead he slipped forward on a wave, and washed over them.

  The sudden sharpness in his chest startled him.

  It was beyond his understanding.

  But this was more than lust. This was not mindless desire, but a joining of two people beyond their physical being. There was a giving of self here, of the heart.

  He was a God. The affections of mortals could not affect him. And yet, did they? His heart shuddered, pulled painfully tight.

  Lust he knew well, it was his constant companion. He took what he wanted, with no remorse. But this was different. He washed over them again, feeling the woman tighten and rise beneath her lover’s touch.

  And he wanted this.

  The man froze. He grew taut, expectant, and turned to search out the source of his unease. Poseidon smiled to himself. The man, handsome in the prime of his youth, had sharp senses.

  But his smile faded as the man drew the woman from the water.

  Poseidon reached for her, the tightening of his chest suffocating. His watery countenance pooled about her ankle, attempting to pull her back into the water, to him.

  He wanted this woman. He wanted to feel the release of this couple’s passion. He wanted to be this man.

  The man led his lover from the water, shielding her face from Poseidon’s sight. The man draped the wet cloth over his woman, covering her beauty. It was a shame. He might have searched her out when next she visited the shore. But she entered the cabin with the man, lost to the shadows within.

  Poseidon hurt, aching sharply – which he did not take kindly to.

  Frustration stole his breath, forcing him back, forcing the water from the warmth of the sunbaked sand.

  How dare they inspire such feelings within him. He was Poseidon. He had no reason to envy mortals.

  And he was deprived again. Once knowingly, for Zeus knew the toll this time was taking upon his brother, and again by these…selfish mortals playing at love upon his beach.

  The waves reflected his irritation, rising high and growing cold.

  He turned loathing eyes upon the sun. It was barely midday. Another day stretched out before him, before he could claim his wife, his Medusa. He would have to bide his time.

  With his anger rising, he considered drowning these lovers. He cared not that his temper was petty, that their death might be sorrowful to t
hose who loved them. They had taunted him with their bodies, so lost in one another – in the shallows of his ocean.

  A wave could crush their small cabin about them…

  It was a pity he’d not pulled them into the ocean. Watching as their lungs filled, as their faces turned blue and they thrashed about in a useless effort to rise from the depths of his ocean. He could see to it that they’d never rise… Imagining it made him smile.

  Mayhap it would appease the burning Medusa had infected him with.

  “Patience, brother,” Zeus had cautioned.

  Poseidon turned his gaze towards the cabin. The lovers were inside, no doubt wrapped about one another.

  No. To die in a lover’s arms was no punishment at all. They were not worth his time or his thoughts.

  Poseidon moved deeper into the sea. It would do to find some way to lessen the fire that consumed him, but only fleeting. For while he might lessen this painful hunger briefly, his appetite for Medusa would not be dampened for long.

  ###

  “Teach me,” she kissed him, laughing when the net had slipped from his fingers so he might pull her against him. “I’m hungry,” she teased, pulling away from him and retrieving the floating net.

  He sighed, taking the nets from her and pulling her against him again. He kissed her until her knees trembled. Only then did he set her away from him, smiling triumphantly. “Watch me.”

  She watched him gather in his nets closely, then cast it wide. He was a patient tutor, and she wanted to learn everything he would teach her.

  “Now pull it in quickly,” he said, moving forward to help her draw in the net.

  “Like this?” Medusa stood, her skirts tucked up and her hair braided from her face. She lifted the net, preparing to cast it into the rising tide.

  She glanced his way, waiting for his answer. He was smiling, a smile that almost made her lose her grip on the net. But she did not want to disappoint him, so she clung to the net’s edge and waited. When he nodded, she let the net fly into the deeper waters.

  “A good cast, my lady.” How his praise warmed her.

  They worked together, catching their dinner. She lost the net once and he tossed her into the water, diving after her. They swam together, laughing, until they reached one another.

  His hands cupped her cheek, his lips found hers and fishing was forgotten. Her limbs grew heavy, desire and fatigue warring within her. He swam, setting her upon the rocks with care.

  “The net,” he murmured with a smile, swimming after it.

  She sat, catching her breath, watching the raw power of his back and shoulders. A warrior’s body, his strength was tireless. He grasped the net and dove deep.

  When he resurfaced, there was a smile on his dripping face. He shook his head wildly, dousing her with water and causing her to shriek. Still smiling, he pulled himself onto the rock beside her and handed her an oyster shell.

  She looked at him, wiping the water from her eyes. “What’s this?”

  He shrugged. “A gift.”

  Medusa opened the shell, smiling in pleasure at the gift inside. A finely carved owl hung from a leather thread. Medusa stared at the necklace, then at her husband.

  “It’s lovely,” she whispered. “Is it Thea?”

  She would treasure his gift. Though he’d given her so much in the brief time they’d shared.

  His smile dimmed Apollo’s sun. “I know she watches over you, my lady. As I watch over you.”

  She couldn’t help returning his smile. “When will we go home, Ariston?”

  “Home?”

  “To Rhodes? Once you leave on Athens’ triremes—”

  He shook his head. “I shall not. They’ve little need of me.”

  Medusa took his hand in both of hers, gazing up at him with solemn eyes. While his declaration thrilled her, she knew it was selfish. If he took her to Rhodes, he would be turning away from all he’d fought for. Pride, honor, respect – things he valued. Things his family, his father, valued. She would never ask him to make such sacrifices.

  She spoke earnestly, “You are an honorable man, Ariston. A man I love because of your honor and duty.”

  Medusa saw his face change, growing unsettled by her words.

  He turned, staring over the open sea in silence. She squeezed his hand, holding it tightly.

  “I fear I may not be able to leave you,” he whispered. He looked at her then, his eyes haunted.

  She smiled, stifling her grief, and leaned forward to kiss him. He caught her cheek, holding her to him.

  “Then I shall leave you,” she murmured.

  He drew back, his brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Elpis will come on the morrow and take me to Athena. The Goddess has a gift for me.” Medusa smiled at the necklace, tying it about her neck. “I fear any gift will pale in comparison.”

  “And then?” His hands tightened the knot, then claimed her hands once more.

  “I may wait for you here, at my uncle’s house?” she asked. “Or I may sail, with Elpis, to Rhodes and wait for you there?”

  His hand smoothed the hair from her face. “Would you stay here?”

  Medusa’s eyes settled on the small cabin, built into the side of the rocky hillside. “Is this yours?”

  Ariston pointed to the large house set high above them on the cliff-top. “That is my Uncle Themistocles’ home…”

  “Themistocles? Athens’ statesman?” She gasped, stunned. “He is your uncle?”

  “He is. And a good man, as well.” Ariston smiled. “This is his cabin – one that will be occupied by a sentry shortly, no doubt. Themistocles has long since moved into the city, to live in her walls until this siege is finished.”

  “He has no family?” Medusa asked.

  “No.” Ariston’s eyes traveled over the length of her braid. He lifted a finger to smooth back the loose curls from her brow. “His work sustained him. I suspect now that he’s older, he regrets such loneliness.”

  Medusa nodded. It would be a lonely life indeed, with no one to share it with.

  “So where will you go, lady? I shall follow you when I am able.” His words were hoarse, betraying his emotion.

  She could not look at him, she would reveal too much. Her grief, like his, was sharp.

  Instead, Medusa’s eyes traced the shoreline. It was beautiful here. The sandy beach veered sharply up, transforming into rocky hills then higher still to become steep cliff faces. A rebellious tassel hyacinth peeked here and there, providing vibrant splashes of color between rocks otherwise sparse in vegetation. Overhead a golden eagle left its rocky nest and flew higher, its shadow sweeping across sea and sand.

  Medusa narrowed her eyes, peering into the shadows on their beach. There, head burrowed under her wing, slept Thea. Ever present, ever watchful…though today her pet had trusted Ariston to do the watching.

  She turned, settling herself closely against his side on their rocky seat. “I would be where I can feel you with me.”

  “I am always with you, Medusa.” He sighed, hesitating before he offered, “Shall I arrange for a ship to take you to Rhodes? Elpis will go with you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “My family will welcome you. And I will come back to you quickly.”

  She nodded, letting herself go soft against him.

  She would not betray the pain his words brought. She would not beg him to stay or plead with him to go with her. She could not. She would be strong. Her love demanded it.

  “When will you leave?” Her voice was soft but calm.

  Ariston shook his head. “Soon.”

  She looked up at him, her hand on his cheek. Her heart was in her throat, but she swallowed the lump that settled there. “We have this day, and this night. Our memories must bind us together until you find your way back to me.”

  She watched as his eyes closed. His jaw grew rigid, his nostrils flared, but he said nothing. She was not alone in this suffering. He felt it too.

  She reached for him, welcoming the weigh
t of his arms as they pulled her to him.

  Chapter Eight

  Ariston’s heart grew heavier the higher the sun rose. Elpis would arrive soon, if Ektor did not arrive first.

  The time for farewells had found them too quickly.

  He placed his hand over her heart and prayed that their separation would be brief. He would come back to her a greater hero, but a warrior no more.

  Medusa lay against him, her softness pressed close along the hard angles of his body. His hand cupped her breast, savoring the feel of her.

  He prayed she was with child. His hand splayed her stomach, thumb and pinkie resting on the bridge of her hip bones. A babe would be irrefutable proof of their union.

  He dismissed the knowledge that this war might tarry too long and he might miss seeing her grow round with his babe. She would give him many children.

  She stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. He smiled down at her.

  A child. What a joy that would be.

  A child would add weight to this marriage. Galenus was an honorable man. He’d be offended by the secrecy of their marriage, of that Ariston had little doubt. But Galenus would be appeased with the gifts he received. He would be pleased to know that Ariston was not just an Ekdromoi leader and servant to Athena, but heir to his oikos and his family basileus. These would serve Medusa’s family well.

  Since Poseidon was not her intended and Athena had released her, Galenus and Phorcys should find him a mighty addition to their family.

  His worries could wait. Time with her was slipping away.

  His eyes drifted over her form, soft and limp in a deep sleep. He lifted a finger to smooth a single curl from her face. She shifted in her sleep, her arm slipping across his chest as she stretched. She pressed herself against him as she did so, stirring him again.

  He kissed her, lingering over her lips until they parted for him. And his tongue slipped in, teasing her until she moaned in the back of her throat. His hands and mouth slid over her, kneading and cupping, kissing and licking the planes of her. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

  When would he next make love to her? When would he next hold her in his arms or gaze upon the curve of her face? Urgency gripped him. His chest seemed to press against itself, collapsing upon him and his heart and lungs with a leaden pain.