by Laura Wylde
She was determined to hold my attention. She laughed softly and shook my arm again. “You think we would be releasing gods?”
I was getting tired of explaining things to her. I don’t have the best-kept temper and I don’t speak very diplomatically. Diplomacy was Orson’s area of expertise. Still, I did my civilized best to finally drum things into her head. “Listen, Miss Morrison – “
“Irene,” she corrected.
Damn it. I had to acknowledge her. I had to look into those eyes that would pull you into a dazzling blue fire and say her name. “Fine. Irene. You don’t have to believe it. I don’t have to believe it. But the people on this island do. The Greek authorities do. We respect their laws. We respect their beliefs. We don’t tamper in their lives and that is why I am here. To make sure there is no tampering.”
I thought she was going to throw a pissy fit the way I had seen her do the day before. Instead, she studied my face as though she had only just noticed me. “Do you know you’re very cute when you’re angry?” She asked.
I felt like she had just knocked the wind out of me. My knees sagged and my stomach flopped over. “You think I’m cute?” A puff of smoke escaped at the tail end of the question. I coughed and excused myself. “I’m a smoker.”
She had me cornered tighter than a SWAT team surrounding a crack house. “Don’t you think you’re cute?” She demanded.
I straightened my shirt and tucked it more firmly into my pants. “I’ve thought about it occasionally.”
That furnace in my stomach was churning up so much, I was popping out with sweat and my ears were steaming. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she said. “All your mates have been friendly, but you hold back. Why is that?”
“I follow protocol.” Even to me, my voice sounded weak.
“Even after the sun goes down?”
“If I’m on duty.”
She had taken me by the arm and was walking me toward that accursed cave. “So,” she said conversationally. “The locals think we will unleash the Titans. What is supposed to happen if we do?”
“According to the legends, hey will anoint their heirs and kill the children of Zeus.”
She pulled me closer, so I bumped against her side. “They are a little late for that, aren’t they? There aren’t any more Titans and I think the children of Zeus disappeared a long time ago.”
“As the legends go, the children of Zeus were very fond of humans. There could be many who carry the bloodline today, that is, as legends go.” I turned my head so she wouldn’t see me exhaling some smoke through my nose. I couldn’t help it. I had to relieve the pressure cooker somehow.
“Then you actually believe in the gods?” She was teasing me. Her bright eyes were dancing, and a dimple flitted under her upper lip. It was a dimple so appealing, I wanted to kiss it there on the spot.
I snatched up a water bottle and guzzled down the whole thing. That helped. I exhaled a bit of harmless steam as I secured my ropes. “There are gods. I don’t know how many I believe in, but they’re out there.”
She went over the ledge first, with the big-eared cameraman, as Heath dropped in a close race right behind her. The show-offs. I started down at a leisurely pace. I didn’t need to impress anyone with my climbing skills. Old man Schneider passed me by, along with the big-boned woman scientist.
My feet had just touched the ground when I heard a blood-curdling scream. The two teams had already started wandering off in different directions in their search for more clues as to who had inhabited the cavern. With the cry, they came running back.
The sound had come from one of the larger corridors they had been brushing for artifacts. It echoed eerily into the open cave that had been silent for so many centuries. Not a bat or small scurrying animal in sight, just our little team breathing heavily as we followed the scream to its source.
It was the big woman, Professor Arlington. She was standing over something, sobbing frantically. The doctor reached her first. He took one look at what she was crying about, then turned her away from it. She mumbled against his chest, “I just came to pick up my tools and I saw him. I don’t know what he was doing there.”
He led her away, talking to her soothingly. I scooted around between Heath and Orson to get a better look. There was a dead man on the ground. From the clothing, He was one of the locals. He was lying face down in the dirt, his arms stretched in front of him. Heath carefully drew one of the arms away from the face and pulled his shirt back with those oversized forceps he always has on hand. The face and neck were covered with large, angry welts.
If I thought this would freak-out Irene, I was wrong. She was examining the corpse as closely as we were. “What are those?” She asked, putting on a pair of disposable gloves and testing one of the welts between two fingers. “They look like bee stings.”
“Not bee stings.” Heath shook his head. “Wasps.”
She gave a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “I haven’t seen any wasps’ nests around here.” She squatted with her hands on her knees, her face thoughtful. “What’s in his hands?”
The forceps poked at the clenched fists. Sighing, Heath also put on a pair of disposable gloves and pried at the cadaver’s fingers. Rigor mortis had set in. A pained look flashed across his face. Heath does not like to handle dead bodies. He pulled one of the objects loose. “The carvings,” he said, his voice puzzled. “If he was stealing them, why did he go into the cave?”
“He wasn’t stealing.” Orson had also pried a hand open. He retrieved the object clutched inside it, then felt in the deceased man’s pockets, finding the other four. “He was taking them back.”
There wasn’t a fat chance of continuing the excavation today. It was now a police investigation. Orson collected the strange, asymmetrical pieces while Dr. Schneider contacted the local authorities from his cell phone. I text-messaged AMP. They didn’t reply immediately. After about a five-minute wait, a question floated across the screen. They wanted to know how many stone carvings we had found altogether. When I told them, I didn’t like the return message.
Orson and Heath were already gathering their equipment. Both carried around these high-tech instruments for detecting everything from soundwaves to alien bacteria. Orson was the vibrations expert - Heath was the biologist. I don’t know what happened to the days when a dragon only had to depend on its five senses. “We aren’t leaving,” I told them.
Damian nearly choked me in a neck hold. The armor plating just under his shirt rippled, causing me to almost belch a ball of fire. I bit his hand instead. “What do you mean, we’re staying?” He asked sourly, removing his arm and rubbing his hand.
I drew them away from the archeological team so they couldn’t eavesdrop on our conversation. Not that they were paying attention. They were huddled together, shaking their heads and waiting for the police commissioner. “We’ve only got six of the stone carvings,” I explained to them. “AMP says there should be ten. They said we need to find them. The text was marked urgent.”
“So, what’s so important about the carvings?” Asked a voice behind me.
“Irene!” I spun around in exasperation, and grabbed her shoulders, shaking them. “Don’t listen in on adult conversations.”
She only laughed. “Stop with it, will ya? Haven’t you ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?”
“You’re no baby,” I growled at her. “You don’t need to concern yourself with it. AMP is shutting the archeological expedition down. You and your friends can go home.”
She lifted that finely shaped head and stared at me with eyes that could freeze water. “While you and your companions blunder around, looking for four more carvings? I don’t think so. I’m staying.”
I wondered if there was a way of making her behave short of pulling her over my lap and spanking her bottom. “You can’t stay.” I hoped my voice sounded emphatic and threatening enough. She had walloped a good dose of my fire, making it very hard to remember she was just another scientist. “It has be
come too dangerous. There are too many unknown factors. We’re specialists in this sort of thing. Leave it alone, Irene.”
“But I won’t leave it alone.”
The police arrived with their usual brisk professionalism, cordoning off the area, photographing the victim and asking questions. When the captain circled around to questioning us, we flashed our AMP badges. He nodded and walked away. The Greek authorities never have any questions for us. We’ve helped them out with more escaped mythological creatures than Egypt has mummies. We once had to collect a group of maenads and send them back to Dionysus, who on a drunken binge, set them free in a Greek tourist resort. It sounds harsh, I know, but you have to understand, these women are sprites who drink and dance lusty men into madness. The entire resort fell into shambles and debauchery as even the employees and resident staff began partying themselves to death.
Dr. Schneider knew it was all over. He probably knew as soon as he saw that viper mysteriously materialize that his expedition wasn’t going to last long. He told the others he was sorry it had come to this but there was nothing he could do. Irene didn’t want to let him off so easily. “You are content with this?” She demanded. He told her he was more than content. He had done what he had set out to do – uncovered the gates to another world.
Whether she believed him or not, she stormed away. “I guess there won’t be anything more you can do today,” she told me, sidling up close. When she was near me like this, I could smell her orange blossom scent. It caused my neurons to bounce off each other in a complete fit to turn into my dragon form and unleash a stream of fire.
The only way to maintain self-control was to speak formally. “They’ll want the scene cleared for a few hours, then you can go back and pick up your gear.”
She looked at me sternly. “You’re still sending us packing. Because of a snake and a wasp’s nest.”
“Nobody’s found a wasp’s nest,” I reminded her. “Just as nobody has found a vipers’ pit. Before we can continue, these things must be explained. Suppose there is a serial killer among us?”
“You would like to explain things that easily, wouldn’t you?” She slid her arm through mine. I felt the soft bump of her hip against mine as we strolled and fought down the rising flame curling up from my belly. I don’t know what they dropped into her gene pool, but it had my taillights spinning. “A common murderer to blame. You don’t really believe that. You want us to believe that. You and your team have been itching to close us down ever since you got here. I want to know why, and I don’t want it to be some, “it’s too dangerous” mumble-jumble.”
I tried to shake her off. It was as easy as shaking off a pit bull, although a lot more pleasant. “We can’t really tell you anything right now.”
“But you do know more! Why is it so important to find all ten carvings?”
“Because in the wrong hands….”
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” She interjected. “You are beginning to sound redundant.” She watched the sad group of people getting on the bus. “Now that you have the day to yourselves, how are you AMP men going to spend it?”
“In a library,” I said curtly. “It wouldn’t hurt you to spend your day in one, as well.”
She gave a little chuckle as she boarded the bus. It made me feel very lonely to see the vehicle trundle away.
Damian
I finally got to take in some of the more interesting aspects of Heraklion. The casinos were mostly bogus – slot machines. When I put on my grandpa orthopedic shoes and wear my pants up over my hips, I’ll do slot machines. Right now, I was looking for something hotter; racier; anything involving a deck of cards.
I found my poker playing addicts in one of those neon-wrapped establishments where the men wore big, flashy rings and the women wore necklines plunging to their belly buttons. The betting was hot and furious, the stakes were high, and I dove in. I don’t gamble for the money. I gamble for the risks. Unlike those who lose their first winnings and spend the rest of the evening trying to get them back, I don’t really care if I win or lose. I gamble until I lose interest or run out of money. Either way is good.
This was a losing night. I was swimming with sharks, the cards were stacked against me, but I wasn’t ready to pull out. I pushed the boundaries, waiting for someone to bluff. Apparently, they never did, or my poker face wasn’t the best on the market. Even when I won a hand, it was only in small amounts.
And the wine flowed. Gods! How it flowed. Greek wine is deadly to dragons – the way tequila is to Mexicans and Jameson does is to the Irish. Sure, I know better. That whole forbidden temptations thing is just that much more pleasurable to me. I guess I wanted to know how far I could go before it made me weak. I think Irene answered the question.
I don’t know how she found me. She has some kind of internal tracking device that only needs to meet her target once to find it wherever it goes. If I hadn’t been drunk, I might have been surprised. If I had been surprised, I might have missed giving her a proper reception for her low-cut, sequined dress and sexy coif. Her smooth, black hair was pulled to one side and twisted together with a silver pin.
I staggered out of my chair, knocking it over, and introduced her to my poker companions, forgetting each name and substituting it with one of my own. She looked at my pitiful amount of chips. “Time to cash it in, isn’t it? Unless AMP is bleeding the gold vaults dry,” she added jokingly. This miffed me a little. Our online profile listed security as our highest level of expertise. Our academic careers were skimmed over lightly, and all antiquities investigations marked classified. Of course, this didn’t fool Irene the bloodhound in the least.
She pulled me up out of the chair by wrapping my arm over her shoulders and hitching me up by the belt with the other. She seemed rather expert at latching on to drunken men and dragging them out of the bar. She held me as securely as a police officer with a prison escapee.
All that strongarm stuff wasn’t really necessary. I wouldn’t have resisted her arrest if I had been stone-cold sober. I stumbled along beside her, liking the way she snuggled right up against my side, half-pulling me along, pausing occasionally to wait for me to regain my balance. If I had not been so drunk, or had better manners altogether, I probably would have tried to pull myself together, but in even the best circumstances, I’m not a gentleman. I nuzzled her swept back hair and whispered in her ear, “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m a bad girl, alright,” she said without breaking stride. She succeeded in getting me out to the street, where she propped me against a lamppost while she hailed a cab.
I caught a fuzzy view of our transportation as she shoved me inside. “I was going to fly,” I objected.
I laid down on the seat and she pushed my head up as she slid in on the other side. “You’re already flying.”
I let my head loll, pillowing it against the curve of her neck. It was as sweet as clover. I nuzzled closer. “I think I am.”
She reached over me and opened the window, pushing me against it. “We’re taking the long route, James Bond.” She tapped on the panel separating us from the driver and called out some directions in passable Greek. He nodded and veered his car toward the coast.
That was alright with me. The escape from the lights and noise helped quiet the roar of racing thoughts that had tormented me the entire day. Nothing could drown them out; not booze, not gambling, not loud music, but the open space where the land met the sea and the sea met the sky could quiet them. I drowsed, letting salt air refresh mer.
In that stupor of realizing you really are very drunk and trying to regain your senses, I slowly realized she was leaning over me to look out from my side of the car. I did have the better view. My window faced the moonlit ocean. She was sitting so close I could hear her heart beating. The waters sparkled in shades of white and turquoise. The light splattered into the car and spilled over face. Her short, shiny dress was hiked half-way up her thighs. I let a hand drop between her legs. When you’re drunk, you can get away
with these things.
She left it there. “What do you know about the artifacts we found?” She asked, turning her head toward me. Her lashes cast a shadow over her cheeks. I ran a hand further up her leg, finding the elastic edges of her panties.
“There are ten of them,” I mumbled.
She let her legs part just a little. I ran a finger along the warm crease as far as it would go. “And?” She straightened up, making it harder to reach her goody box.
I laid my head back dizzily, my hand still between her legs. I was so fuckin’ drunk I was falling asleep. Something began waking me but from the secondary brain up. A very warm, inviting hand was unzipping my pants and laying bare my family jewels. The hand rested at the base as old reliable came to attention all on his own. “And?”
“The children of Hyperion. There were ten of them. Hyperion and his brothers were sealed away in an underworld and his children turned to stone.”
The sweet little hand encircled the base and pushed upward, nuzzling against the head, then sliding down to my balls, cupping them before traveling up again. I groaned. Her legs opened a little wider and my hand slid triumphantly between them and found the little cookie jar. A finger went inside her panties. “Go on,” she said. “Why do these mythological stories concern AMP?”
Another finger went inside. She was dripping with honey. I pulled away her panties and slid my fingers in more deeply. The little pleasure bud was pulsing, so I massaged it with my thumb. She began to squirm. I licked at her ear and whispered, “because if Hyperion escapes his prison, he will turn his children back into demigods. The Titans will chase the descendants of Zeus to every corner of the earth.”
“That’s hot.” She moaned as my lips found their way from her ears to her mouth, my tongue searching its sweet opening. She rolled on top of me and straddled me, guiding my member up inside her. “You’re hot.”
I was a disgrace. I was drunk, dizzy, the world was spinning sideways. I came too soon. She cradled my head, zipped up my pants and straightened her dress. We had almost arrived at the resort. “Damian,” she asked. “What do you think of polymerous relationships?”
