by Sotia Lazu
He couldn’t even remember what color her eyes were.
You chose this. The words were in his mind, but they weren’t his. They were spoken in a soft, feminine voice with a musical lilt.
Bah. He was a deity. Nobody could project their thoughts to him when he was in his human form. He’d been rattled by almost being discovered by mortals this morning, and was being paranoid.
He had to find that female again, to give her her suitcase. And then he’d forget all about this, and go back to living with the void in his chest that was never meant to be filled.
He joined his family for their evening meal, ate and drank and laughed and joked, and all the while thought of the mortal with the short hair and gorgeous eyes.
When the moon should be high in the sky, and he wouldn’t risk being seen by humans wandering around, he returned to his room. He zipped the bag shut, but he kept the picture. With one last look at the long-haired nymph, he grabbed the suitcase and left the palace.
His legs gave way to his tail—gold, like that of his father—the moment he crossed the invisible barrier surrounding the palace. He swished it side to side and glided through the water, toward the Pylos harbor. He didn’t have to find the woman; he’d leave her things on the rocks, near where he spotted her this morning.
Chapter Five
Magda kicked away the covers and sat up. Sleep wouldn’t be coming tonight. She’d tried to drift off for hours, but her thoughts kept returning to the man with the blue-blue eyes and the velvety voice. A nice walk might tire her out enough to shut down her overactive brain.
Her clothes had dried, and end of August in Pylos made for warm nights, so she pulled on her denim shorts and billowy blouse. Her sneakers made a squelching sound when she tried them on, but nobody would notice. Not that she worried about running into someone she knew. Only tourists would be out and about at—
She checked her bare wrist, and her gut roiled at the reminder that she’d lost Grandma’s graduation gift. The back was inscribed. Be happy, my little Aphroula. I’ll always be with you.
Grandma never explained where the nickname Aphroula—foamy—came from, but Magda loved how the phr sound rolled off the old woman’s tongue, filled with love.
Tears sprung unbidden from her eyes. She missed her grandmother every single day of the past three years. It was odd, feeling her absence so intensely; Magda had only visited on Christmas, Easter, and a couple weeks in August since she moved to Athens at twenty-one. But she missed the daily phone calls, to catch Grandma up on her life and hear news about Pylos. Her link to her roots.
She wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands and rushed out of the house like she could leave the memories locked inside.
Her feet took her down the narrow streets, past the CLOSED signs of the restaurants lined up along the shore, and back to the harbor. Only a handful of cars remained in the parking lot, the streetlights creating a hauntingly beautiful glow on the condensation fogging the windows and windscreens. She should feel wary about being out here alone, in the middle of the night, but she’d been training in martial arts—first kick boxing, and then Krav Maga—since she was six, and unless someone shot at her, her chances were much better than any would-be attacker’s.
Magda rounded her car, walked to the edge of the asphalt, and took off her shoes, so she could climb on the rocks below. The expanse of water looked pitch black and foreboding, but she felt no fear as she dipped her feet in it.
This was where she and her friends escaped to in high school, to sneak a cigarette—because that was so cool back then—or make out with boys. Grandma pretended not to know Magda was sneaking out, but there was always a snack waiting by Magda’s bedside when she returned.
A fresh wave of nostalgia crushed into her chest. Did she even know who she was anymore? Her grandma had been her reference point for as long as Magda remembered herself, and after her passing, Magda poured herself into work, looking for meaning in her life. Turned out hooking people up with their dream homes wasn’t it. She was tired of being at the outside of happiness looking in. So she took the hefty commission from her last sale, which she had no recollection of finalizing, and returned here.
She shouldn’t feel homesick, when she was within walking distance from the only place she ever really considered her home, should she? It made no sense.
Home isn’t a place.
The voice in her head was amplified in the quiet. It didn’t sound like Grandma, though. It was Magda’s voice, and those were Magda’s words. Even if she didn’t remember saying them.
She forced her thoughts away from the lingering feeling of not belonging, and into her reality. She’d almost died here this morning. In the dark, it was much easier to believe her mystery stranger had come to her rescue, created an air bubble around her, and safely delivered her ashore. In the dark, she could pretend he’d come back to her.
Out of the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention. She looked to see a dark shape pushing a large box out of the water.
Not a box. Her suitcase.
“Hey,” she called out. Her heart skittered. Was it him? Had to be. “Hey. Wait.”
The man turned, and she swore the blue of his eyes gleamed even here, where the light from the street lamps couldn’t reach. He faced her for a heartbeat, and then disappeared underwater.
Without realizing what she was doing, Magda closed her eyes and jumped in after him.
Cold darkness closed in on her, her top floating for a few brief moments before the fabric clung to her skin.
Her lungs burned, as panic gripped them and squeezed.
She would drown, because of her own stupidity. Because she was chasing a phantom.
No. He would save her.
Chapter Six
What was wrong with this female? How strong was her death wish?
And this time, she wasn’t even fighting. She was sinking, her arms unmoving at her sides.
Nerites caught up with her, and like this morning, cupped her face, meaning to create a bubble around her so she could breathe. When he brought his lips to hers though, she wrapped one arm around his neck and kissed him.
No, kissed was too meek a word. She devoured his mouth, nipping at his lips and ignoring the water that entered her mouth and nostrils.
He’d been kissed this way before.
Bright light exploded behind his eyelids, and memories that had been locked away rushed in to fill his head and his heart. Aphrodite, his goddess, had melted in his arms this way. He remembered her lips searing into him the certainty that she was his destiny. The first time they came together was more than a merging of bodies. His soul was complete with her.
And yet, when she asked him to follow her to Olympus, he turned her down. Because Vythos was his home.
How could he have forgotten Aphrodite’s taste and the feel of her skin against his palms? How could he have forgotten this? It was like all memories of her that truly mattered had been taken away.
More details poured in, making his head spin. Her golden skin, contrasting against his pallor. The two of them, laughing in bed, limbs tangled together, heavy with the sweet exhaustion that followed hours of lovemaking. How her beautiful smile reached her eyes...
Her eyes. They were this woman’s eyes. Could the human be his second chance to the love he foolishly turned down? Could she be here to heal his torn soul?
No. Only Aphrodite could do that. No facsimile could take her place, and he’d never have her back, because she’d faded with the rest of the Olympians. But he could have been with her in the meantime. Maybe if he held on hard enough, she’d have stayed.
How could he have lost all this time? How could he have given her up? And who messed with his mind?
The woman gasped away from his kiss and convulsed when water filled her lungs instead of oxygen. She needed air.
He blew a bubble of oxygen around her, but it did no good when she couldn’t inhale. He should carry her ashore.
No. She might
not be Aphrodite, but she was his responsibility. His kiss had stolen precious seconds of her life. He had to take her home. But how? She didn’t have much time left.
Hating himself for resorting to this, he mentally screamed Circe’s name.
The witch appeared beside him in the blink of an eye, not in the usual haggard form of the withered crone she maintained around the palace, but as her true self, young and gorgeous forever. She hovered in the water without moving, her blue eyes warm with the smile that curved her full lips.
“You found each other,” she said in his head. “I knew you would.”
Nerites had no time for her babbling. “She’s drowning. Help her.”
Circe shook her head, long dark hair floating behind her like a cape. “She won’t die. She cannot.”
“She’s human, Circe. If you can’t remove the water from her lungs, help us to the palace or take her to a healer.” He gritted his teeth as he added, “Please.”
Circe gave him a perplexed look. “You still don’t know? I thought kissing her would—”
Nerites slapped the water with his tail and pulled the woman with him as he rushed the witch and grasped her arm. “Enough talk. Save her.”
With a small shrug, Circe freed herself from his grip. The pale golden glow of Vythos surrounded them, and Nerites was in his chambers. He stood on his human legs, in one of those horrid seaweed robes, the mortal prone in his arms, and Circe nowhere to be seen.
He laid the woman in his bed, mindless of the water soaking into his sheets and destroying the picture he now knew was a poor depiction of Aphrodite.
She remained still and far too pale for his liking. Her eyes were open and glassy. He had to revive her, but how?
Instinctively, he knelt above her and pressed his palms hard below her ribcage. Nothing. He repeated the motion more forcefully, but she didn’t move or draw breath. Was she already gone?
No.
He slanted his lips over hers and blew his breath into her lungs. No reaction. He kept trying, until his hands were tired and his heart heavy with her loss.
She was gone, and by the long-faded Poseidon, he’d have Circe’s head for this.
He was looking into the woman’s dead eyes, when they turned silver, and she blinked.
She turned her face to the side and coughed water out, while Nerites uselessly held her hand. “You... You’re him. The man of my dreams,” she muttered when she caught her breath.
A wild sense of rightness suffused him to his very core. She was alive, and not human. Those silver eyes only belonged to one type of immortal—an Olympian. And she’d been dreaming of him.
Hope, fragile and tiny but distinctly there sparked in his chest. The Titans weren’t as dead and gone as they were believed to be. Could the Olympians be returning too?
Could Aphrodite?
“I’m Nerites,” he said.
Her body spasmed so hard, he was afraid she’d injure herself. When she stretched out again, her eyes drifted shut, but she was breathing. Was she asleep?
Circe said she couldn’t die. Circe knew. How could she keep this from him? Was she the one who’d taken his memories? He didn’t want to believe it, but who else could have such power?
Why would she have done something like that, though?
He wanted to summon her again and make her tell him what she knew, but he couldn’t leave his woman. He sat beside her, caressing her hair. They’d figure it all out when she awakened.
Chapter Seven
Magda was in bed. Had she dreamed of her late-night stroll and that magical underwater kiss?
She cracked her eyelids open and took in her surroundings. Not her bedroom in Grandma’s house. Not any bedroom she’d ever seen before. She could fit her living room in what she could see of the space without moving her head. The walls were bare and looked golden, washed in the pale light. Cool, wet fabric touched her skin.
“You’re awake.”
She snapped her head up, to look at the owner of the hand smoothing back her hair, and her pulse thrummed in her ears. Her man. His blue eyes sparkled with joy, blond curls heavy with water reaching the opening of the green robe he had on. He’d said his name was Nerites, but she’d already known, though she didn’t remember till she heard him speak it.
How?
“How are you feeling?” He studied her eyes, a look of wonder on his beautiful face.
“I’m okay.” She sat up and scooted back, instantly regretting the loss of his touch. “Where am I?”
Nerites opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “My home. Do you remember who you are?”
Odd question. She hadn’t bumped her head. Had she? She gingerly traced her temples and skull with her fingertips. No soreness. Good. “I’m”—Aphrodite—“Magda.” What was that about? The other name felt as hers as Magda was. “I’m Magda,” she repeated.
Nerites’ smile faltered for a heartbeat, before stretching his lips wider. God, he had gorgeous lips. Wait. Had she kissed him? She had. And it had been incredible. As if she’d bared herself to him fully, with no fear of rejection.
As if she’d done it before.
“Magda is a beautiful name.” But he sounded sad.
She had to take away that sadness. She reached for his hand and tangled their fingers together. “You saved me. Twice.” And more times than she could count, but he’d only been really real today. “Thank you.”
He shook his head, the golden coils of his hair spraying water on her. Not that it made any difference, with how wet she already was. How come she wasn’t cold?
“Why did you jump in?” he asked. “The second time.”
Heat spread in her cheeks, and she lowered her eyelids. She’d sound like an idiot, but she couldn’t find it in herself to lie to him. “For you. I wanted to... talk to you? And I knew you’d save me.”
“Why talk to me?” Ducking his head, he met her gaze. “Did you know me?” His hopeful tone made her stomach flip. Should she know him?
“No. I mean, kinda. I’ve been dreaming of you for ten years. You come to me when I’m sad.” That sounded so lame. “When I recognized you... I had to see you again.”
He let go of her hand, and she expected him to laugh or run away from the madwoman. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and crushed her to him.
His scent was familiar, as fresh as a breeze over the sea in a warm spring morning. She could get lost in it. She rubbed her cheek against the hard muscle of his chest, through the coarse material of his robe. She’d been here before too, and not in her dreams.
When he’d kissed her, there was something. Something familiar and new and exciting and promising and heartbreaking. He’d kissed her like his life depended on it. Like he’d needed to for as long as she had.
“Kiss me again?” The question slipped from her lips but tasted right. As did his mouth, when he claimed hers.
Right. Like they were meant to kiss forever. But she wanted more than this.
As if he read her mind, he licked a trail along her jawline and nibbled on her earlobe. “I want you. For so long, I’ve wanted you.”
“Mmm...” When he skated one palm up her side and under her soaked blouse, she arched into his touch, clinging to his shoulders.
He broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “But not like this.”
What? She pushed him back and glared at his stunning blue eyes. What could she do, though? Ask him why he wouldn’t make love to her? That sounded desperate and just a little bit loony, especially after she’d told him about her dreams.
“You don’t remember”—his voice was hushed—“but you will. And when you do... Oh, the things I’m going to do to you.” His leer made her nipples pucker painfully against the unyielding material.
“Remember what?” she asked.
Nerites’ gaze shifted to her breasts, and he licked his lips. Liquid pooled at the apex of Magda’s thighs, and it had nothing to do with her unplanned late-night swim.
Nerites stood, and the
cold she hadn’t felt until now seeped into her bones. He exited through a door to her left. Was he leaving her here? When she didn’t know where here was? She turned to look behind her, and felt her jaw drop. Fish swam outside the window. Fish. Swam. Outside. The window. She hopped to her feet and approached the tinted glass. Were they in a submarine? Was Nerites part of a navy corps operating secretly in the Mediterranean? Or was he a kind of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea millionaire genius?
With her luck, he’d be a spy, and not one of the good guys.
But he was a good guy, otherwise he’d have taken advantage of what she was so clearly offering moments ago. Unless he just wasn’t interested. Which brought her back to, did he just leave her here? If she checked either of the doors, would she find them locked? Was she a prisoner?
Or just paranoid? He could be a marine biologist, on an expedition. God knew the place had a lot to explore.
Nerves rapidly fraying, she turned her back to the window and called out, “Nerites?”
What was she supposed to remember? Did they really know each other? Had she turned a latent memory into the fantasy she held on to for all these years?
No. She’d have remembered meeting him.
The door he’d left through opened again, and a woman about her age with long lilac hair entered. She wore a dark-green robe like the one Nerites wore, and carried a bundle of what looked like the same green material. “He will be right back, mistress. In the meantime, I was asked to bring you something dry to wear.” The woman met Magda’s gaze, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I’ve never seen him so excited in the eons I’ve worked for the palace.”
Eons had to be an exaggeration, but— “Palace?” Magda squeaked. She must have been out for a long time. Where did Nerites take her? Where they still in Greece?
