by Staci Hart
He chuckled. “Forever is long for a mortal such as I.”
Aphrodite pulled away, her mood instantly sullen.
She took a seat under the tree again, feeling insolent as she plucked a star-shaped crocus from the grass. “Forever is the blink of an eye if you would only drink nectar.” The small violet flower spun wildly as she twiddled the stem, and she watched it rather than meet his eyes.
Adonis inspected his fingernails, equally insolent. “I will when I am ready. I have not experienced living enough to settle into eternity.”
That is true enough, she thought.
At twenty-three, he had been alive for only a moment in time, and he and Aphrodite had only been together for a few short years of that. Humans were fragile creatures — the smallest of things could end him, send him to the underworld where he would be lost to her forever. He could trip and fall, and be gone. Drown in a stream. Be eaten by a bear. Or worse — he could be killed by another man or god. He was well known, and not always well loved.
The thought of losing him so soon after having him for her own was too much to bear.
They had argued over the matter dozens of times and had never reached an understanding. In his short existence, he didn’t have the experience to understand mortality, believing it would somehow hinder him. Aphrodite found the sentiment that immortality would change what he could or would experience ridiculous on the best days and enraging on the worst.
She plucked the petals off the flower one by one and dropped them, watching as they spiraled into her lap in an attempt to bite her tongue, not wanting to say anything to anger him.
But of course she couldn’t help herself. She wanted Adonis forever, and she got what she wanted.
“You could be in danger. Do you at least admit that?” She kept her eyes on the flower.
He watched her, choosing his words carefully. “Hunting is dangerous, and I admit that truth.”
“Yes, but what is more dangerous is the attention that you’ve called upon yourself. Your mastery of hunting is unmatched by any human—”
“And this is a problem?”
“No,” she answered, using the patience she reserved for small children and the very old. “Not on its own merit. But you challenge Artemis’s rank as the goddess of the hunt. If you anger her, she will not forgive. I have seen the jealousy in her eyes and heard it in her voice. She would not hesitate to harm you.”
He laughed, which only frustrated her more. “I have never threatened Artemis, and I have never claimed to be more skilled than any other man or god. Why should she wish to punish me?”
She sighed. So sure he is of himself.
“You need to do nothing to provoke her other than possessing skill.”
He shook his head, amused. “I sacrifice to Artemis as is my duty. She would give me her blessing, would she not?”
How little he understood, and how inept she was to explain. Until he drank nectar, there would be no understanding, no convincing. She knew this for certain as he stood before her, leaning on a tree with his big arms folded across his broad chest, smiling as if he would live forever without being smart enough to ensure that he would.
There was another who would seek Adonis out — Ares.
Her fear burned brighter at the thought of his name alone. For hundreds of years, she and Ares had been lovers, their relationship consuming and destructive, like fire and tinder. He was jealous, murderous, particularly in regards to Adonis. Ares was not one to share.
But she pushed her worry away — Adonis’s safety had been secured from Ares, she hoped. She had done all she could to make it so.
With a sigh, Aphrodite stood, and the petals fell from her robes and into the grass. She spanned the distance between them, threading her arms through his to hold him close, pressing her cheek against his chest with a war aching in her ribs.
“It distresses me. But you will do what you will do. Just promise me you will be careful,” she said.
Adonis wrapped his arms around her. “I will.”
After a moment, she unwound herself and pushed up onto her toes to cradle his face in her hands. Adonis bent to brush his lips to hers, soft and tender against her own, familiar and warm and all she ever wanted.
In his arms, her worries fell away. In his arms, she was just a woman, not a goddess with domain and rules and the weight of responsibility. In his arms, the world was simple, shrunken down to the two of them, their hearts, their love.
His tongue brushed her lips, and she parted them, letting him in. He could have all of her, all he wanted. She’d give him anything.
And he took all she offered, deepening the kiss until she was breathless.
He broke away to sweep her off her feet, carrying her to the wide shade of the olive tree to lay her down in the cool grass.
His lips found her neck, his hand slipping up her thigh, and she held him close, eyes closed.
“You are mine,” she whispered as he loosened the belt holding her robes in place.
“Yours,” he said against her skin, his fingers trailing her collar bone and to her shoulder, sliding the fabric over the curve. “As you are mine.”
“And I will forever be,” she breathed and angled for his lips.
His mouth hot against hers, his strong hand palming her breast, his hungry eyes when he pulled away and opened her robes, exposing her body to him — it was all as it should be, as it would be forever, she believed with all her heart.
Her hands found his belt as the kiss went on and on, and once he was freed of his robes, she broke away with a sigh, reaching for the hard length of him.
His lips parted, lids hooded, palms pressed into the grass on either side of her as he flexed his hips into her hands.
A branch snapped in the brush nearby, and Aphrodite opened her heavy lids, confused.
“What in Hades?” she said, her voice husky.
And then she saw him.
Erymanthus, Apollo’s son, hid in the bushes on the edge of the clearing with a hand under his robes. It was not the first time she had found the lecher lurking for a glimpse of her bathing or with Adonis, but never before had she been taken by surprise, never had he seen what he’d sought. And she was so shocked in the moment, so caught off guard, that when he met her eye and leered, she filled with rage.
In an instant, his face fell, and he turned to run.
She stood, her power brimming and bounding and spilling out of her unconfined. Her hair flew around her, whipping her naked body, her eyes glowing blue-white as she paced toward him, hand outstretched, fingers splayed. Leaves danced madly in the currents of air between them, and the boy screamed, clawing at his eyes.
“Never again will you see. Never again will you spy.” Her voice echoed, amplified, as Erymanthus turned to run.
She let him go with his life, a mercy she shouldn’t have afforded.
The wind calmed as her hand dropped to her side. Adonis lay stunned, his long body stretched out in the grass, his eyes wide and afraid as she stalked to him, her heart racing furiously on the rush of her wrath.
He propped himself up, and when she reached for his face, he leaned away, emotion warring behind his eyes. “How could you?”
She was dumbstruck, her anger dissolving into confusion, her tone soft and pleading. “Truly? Do you not understand? He has tried time and again to witness my body without my consent, and this time he has succeeded. Never has he been punished, but this … this is not an offense I can ignore.”
Adonis looked to the brush where the boy had been. “What will become of him?”
“He is blind, but he is alive and lucky to be so. I am a goddess, worshipped and sacred, not to be debased or disrespected. There is order to uphold.”
His fingers brushed his lips, his head shaking slowly. “I sometimes forget you are not human.”
Her eyes stung with tears at his words. “Have you forgotten who I am? I know it is impossible for you to grasp immortality and the life of a god, but that does not
mean I am not the one you love.”
“This is why I do not wish for immortality. You say that all will be the same, but it will not.”
She touched his cheek, and he turned to face her, his eyes sad.
“Adonis, please. I have lived so long and have order to uphold. It is the way of things. It does not change my feelings for you or who I am.”
His face softened, and he leaned into her hand. “I know. I should not be so surprised, but to see your power reminds me of how different we are.”
She pulled him into her chest, filled with cold dread, and he wrapped his arms around her.
If he never accepted immortality, he would never understand the way of her world, and she wondered how long they could survive together if they couldn’t find common ground.
“I must go.” She kissed the top of his head. “Go. Hunt. Call for me when you are ready to speak again, and I will come to you.”
She returned to Olympus, sullen and exhausted. Thinking over the exchange, she soaked in a steaming bath, trying to relax, though her mind was occupied, searching for a way to bridge the gap between her and Adonis, but she found nothing. The room glowed with the dim light of candles lining the edge of the enormous marble bath, and she tried to relax, tried to forget and put the day behind her.
But as she sank into the fragrant water, he called her, his voice ragged with pain.
Adonis.
She shot up, the force spilling water over the edge, putting the candles out with a hiss, filling the room with the acrid smell of sulfur.
“Gods,” she whispered.
When she blinked, she was dressed and by his side.
The horror of what she found stole the air from her lungs, and she fell to the ground at his side. Blood was everywhere — on the grass beneath him, smudging his ashen skin. The flesh on his torso was torn open from groin to sternum, and his entrails lay all around him, pink and red slashes of death against the living green blades of grass.
She called his name, cried and gasped, disbelieving what she saw, what she felt as she tried to put him back together, her hands splayed to hold the gash. But even then, she knew it was too late.
His eyes tracked her, and he reached up to touch her with hands slick with his own blood.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Forever … was not long after all.”
“I love you,” she cried, her throat burning from the words.
But he looked away as he breathed his last, and his brilliant eyes stared at the sky, at nothing.
There was no greater pain, no greater loss that she had ever known. Her life would forever be marked by that moment as she sat in the clearing with Adonis in her arms. And in her grief, her power washed out of her and over him, through the rivulets of blood that had kept him alive, and from every drop that touched the earth sprang red anemone flowers.
She sat among the flowers with her love in her lap, weeping, rocking him, whispering the things she wished she had said until the blood on her hands and robes and hair was dry and stiff. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t leave. Couldn’t live, though she had no choice.
The brush rustled, though she barely heard the sound.
“Oh, dear Aphrodite. What a mess,” Apollo said.
She looked up at him, and shock tore through her, hot and angry. “You,” she whispered.
“Yes, me. You blinded my son. I could not let that go unpunished, could I?”
Her throat twisted closed as she realized that she was to blame for Adonis’s death. His blood was her payment. She may as well have killed him with her hands.
Her choice killed him.
The wind stirred around her as futility and regret washed over her, and her hair rose, mottled with drying blood. She breathed deeper with every beat of her aching heart, her chest rising higher and higher, until she took a deep breath, kicked her head back, and screamed, her anguish exploding out of her with such pain that she thought she would shatter.
“And now, it is done.” Apollo took a last look at her before he turned to walk away.
Aphrodite bent over Adonis and buried her face in his neck as she cried, whispering words of solemn promise.
It was far from over.
Dita bit her lip hard to keep her tears at bay. Adonis’s face in the moment when he’d died, white as snow, smeared with his blood, the tang in the air — they were all the things of her nightmares, and Apollo was the focus of her blame.
“Want to talk about it?” Perry stuffed the last bite of her criminally large donut into her mouth.
She smiled, knowing it was weak and that Perry wouldn’t buy it. “I’m okay.”
Perry licked residual chocolate from her fingers in earnest, and black Buddy Holly glasses slipped down her tiny nose. Once her fingers were licked clean, she leaned back to watch Dita over her glasses with big hazel eyes. A streak of chocolate was smeared at the corner of her mouth, and there were crumbs in the V of her shirt.
“What?” she asked around a mouthful of donut.
“Uh, you’ve got a little schmutz right there.” Dita motioned to her face.
She rolled her eyes, pawing at her face. “Jeez. Did I get it?”
“No, Perry, right there.” Dita pointed to Perry’s face from across the couch.
Perry swiped the wrong cheek. “Now?”
Dita sighed. “Yep, totally.”
They sat in silence for a moment — Perry picked up Bisoux, scratching his head quietly, patiently, giving Dita time to work through her thoughts, knowing she’d been lost in them. Dita was a talker, rarely able to process things internally, and Perry was her opposite, internalizing everything in silence, knowing when to keep her thoughts to herself.
The two goddesses had been friends since Persephone was a girl, and they had experienced eons together, through good and through bad, as close as sisters and as sworn enemies.
But, when all was said and done, there was nothing that could keep the goddesses apart, no matter how big or small.
Perry settled back into the couch as she scratched Bisoux’s ear. “So, how do you think you’ll feel if Apollo wins?”
Dita sighed, feeling the weight of thousands of years of exhaustion on the matter. “Well, he’ll ask me for Daphne, and I’ll have to help him regardless of how I feel.”
Her eyes were sad. “But do you think you’ll ever forgive each other?”
“It’s been so long, Perry, and I’m not as mad as I once was about it. How do you find forgiveness after a betrayal that feels like it’s always existed? I don’t know. But the whole conversation is moot. If Apollo wins, I won’t have a choice but to give him what he wishes.”
And she wondered, could she blame Apollo for doing whatever it took to get Daphne back?
Because she would do the same if the tables were turned.
Day Three
Apollo lay stretched out on his patio, his head resting against the cushions of his lounge chair, his eyes closed against the sun. It had been ages since he pulled the sun across the sky in a chariot, and he couldn’t say he missed it. Talk about a long day. Heff had automated it during the Industrial Revolution, freeing up Apollo’s time. So he focused all his attention on inspiring music, theater, and films. And he was glad for that extra time — Hollywood alone had him slammed.
He smiled to himself thinking about Dean, pleased with his choice of player. Dean was a rock star in the truest form: wildly talented, brooding, and damaged, which left him emotionally unavailable with a string of broken hearts in his wake. He oozed sex appeal like Jim Morrison, sans drug issues. Apollo sighed nostalgically. The Doors had been fun while they lasted.
Dean’s band was going places, and soon. Apollo would know, being the god of prophecy. Bits and pieces of the future were crisp and clear, especially when it came to the humans who had his blessing.
He stretched and sighed again, warm and content from the sun’s rays. The bigger Dean’s band got, the more opportunities he would have
for getting laid. Women would parade themselves in front of him, and he’d never refused before, so the odds of him settling down seemed slim. Surely he wouldn’t give Lex the time of day.
Maybe a night, but not more than that.
Probably.
Of course, there was also the fact that Dita had been playing the game before he even officially chose his player. The minute Travis had accepted Elliot’s spot in the band, Apollo had known. Dita had set the whole thing up with Jenny and Dean, and in doing that, she’d opened up the door for Travis to join the band, bringing Lex right along with him
He frowned and shifted in his chair.
Dita was nearly impossible to beat, a fact that pressed itself into his chest. She had a stockpile of tokens to use — since she rarely lost — and when it came to her own game? Well, no one knew love like she did. She owned it. It almost felt rigged, like an inconceivable task, but then again, challenges wouldn’t be much fun if one were not an expert in the subject matter they defended.
Of course, when it was between Apollo and Dita, it was never for fun.
The golden sun lit the tops of the clouds in oranges and yellows as the sun set several thousand years before, and Apollo stood with Eros, their feet hidden in the mist of the clouds, as Artemis aimed her silver arrow down far below. It was a game the three of them played to test their skills with the bow and arrow, each of them holding a title with the weapon — Apollo, patron of archers: his twin Artemis, the virgin goddess of the hunt: and Eros, Aphrodite’s son and wielder of love arrows.
Artemis’s target was a young woman locked in an embrace with her suitor. His hands roamed her body as they kissed in a dark corridor, and each god had an objective: Artemis to retain the girl’s virginity, Eros to have her lose it, and Apollo to tip the scales. Apollo watched his sister, her hair dark as night, with her silver bow drawn, her feet set apart as she aimed, let out a soft breath, and fired.
Her arrow hit the girl in the heart.
“Leodes, wait,” she breathed.
“Why, my love?”
“Please, it is too soon, we are not yet married. I … I must go.” She turned to go but trotted back to give him a final kiss before leaving him standing in the alcove, confounded in the dark.