by Staci Hart
She spotted a lake below and dove, down, down to the surface, breaking through with a jolt. When she opened her eyes, she was in the warm, crystal waters of the Caribbean, swimming alongside the Sirens. Riadne turned and smiled, her long auburn hair like fire in the water, deep and red against the crystalline blue of the sea. Leucosia swam by like a corkscrew with bubbles in her wake, the sun twinkling from the strings of pearls and gems that lay against her breasts. The iridescent scales of their tails shimmered blue and green in the bright sun, and Teles, with raven hair, reached for her hand.
The moment their fingers touched, Dita found herself sitting in Adonis’ valley with the mountains all around her, the poppy field spread out from where she sat under the olive tree in Elysium. It was heaven, the realm where the souls of heroes went when the passed through to the underworld. She closed her eyes and sighed, mourning the end of the fantasy, though glad the dream had brought her to Adonis.
The brush rustled, and he stepped into the clearing, smiling with all of the warmth in his heart.
“Hello, love,” she crooned and opened her arms in invitation.
He lay down next to her and wrapped his bronzed arms around her waist. He rested his head against her chest, and she ran her fingers through his golden hair.
“I have missed you,” he said, and sighed. “Every moment that you are not in my arms seems to stretch forever, as if I am dreaming. As if the only time that I am alive is when you are here.”
The irony that they lived opposite existences was not lost on her, and her chest ached, though she smiled.
She kissed the top of his head. “I have news to share.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes.” She paused, not wanting to tell him, or to endure the argument that would most assuredly follow. “A new challenge has begun.”
“And who is the defending god this round? Not Ares, I trust.” The disdain was heavy in his voice.
“Actually, it is my turn.”
“Ah, well, I am certain you will win. You always do.”
“That isn’t all. The first round is against Apollo.” She felt him tense, and she frowned. “I’m fairly certain I have it in my pocket.”
“In your what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, my love. In the bag.”
“I do hope so,” he said, clearly bothered. “I could not bear that he should be freed from his pain. Not when he has caused so much for us.”
Dita bristled. “Adonis, he has suffered so long. You and I, we have each other. Apollo has no one.”
He pushed himself up to sit and glared at her. “This has been discussed.”
“But we have never agreed. It is cruel to keep them apart. If I were Apollo, and it was you that I could save, I would do anything. Can you not put yourself in his place?”
“Stop,” he said, eyes blazing.
“I cannot understand.” She huffed, and her brows pinched together. “You have heaven in your hand. You even still have me, which goes against all of the rules. And yet, you will not relent.”
“I do not wish to discuss this,” he said through his teeth and turned her face to his, leaning in to kiss her, hot and hard. When he broke away, he trailed heavy kisses from her ear to her neck, then down the neckline of her robe.
She sighed, frustrated, unfazed by Adonis’ lips, which was unusual. Apollo deserved to be liberated eventually, and she’d planned on it for ages, after her hurt and anger burned away, but Adonis wouldn’t let it go.
He sensed her distraction and nipped her breast through her robe. She gasped, her attention turning to him as he threaded his arm under the small of her back and jerked her down so she lay flat on the mossy ground. With his weight on his forearm, his free hand moved to her face and turned it to his. He covered her mouth with his own and trailed his knuckles down her neck, between her breasts, and to the tie of her robe. His fingers wrapped around it, and he pulled, disrobing her with a single, forceful tug.
His lips followed the path that his hand had taken as he kissed her dove white skin down her body. She closed her eyes in anticipation as he kissed her stomach, her breath trembling when he pulled her leg out of his way and slung it roughly over his shoulder. His hand trailed up the outside of her thighs, and he grabbed her hips, pulling hard to tilt her to him.
He dropped his lips between her legs and kissed her urgently, relaying the need to erase the dissonance between them, the want to own her. She reached down and wound her fingers in his hair, turning her head as he sent shocks up her body.
Her heart raced as she reached the edge, but he slowed, not letting her fall. She moaned as he brought her so close again, then away, over and over as her hips rolled against him.
“Please,” she begged, and he broke away.
He hovered over her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, needing him. He bent down to kiss her, and she wound her arms around his neck, flexing her legs to lift her body up to his. His arm slipped under her back, and he lifted her as he stood.
He braced her against the tree, and her mouth hung open as he drove into her. Her legs locked tight around him, her body tensing as she came, and he called out in answer. She laid her head against the tree as her heart raced in her chest, and he slowed, burying his face in her neck as he whispered in her ear, “You will always be mine.”
Dita’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped as she melted into the bed with heavy limbs in the early morning. Her heart slowed, though it broke again, as it always did when she woke alone, without him.
He’d used sex to shut her up, and as aggravated as she was about it, she was relieved their argument hadn’t gone on for very long. They’d need a minute to get used to the idea of discussing it again. At least the ice was broken, though she wished he would just come around. But that was only a pipe dream, an illusion, and she knew it.
Suddenly, she wasn’t comfortable anymore. She rolled over, and Bisoux lay curled up on the pillow next to her. He cracked an eye at her when she stirred, and Dita pulled the pillow close. She nuzzled his furry head, and he twisted around to lick her ear, which made her feel a smidge better.
The only way she could give Apollo his wish and not anger Adonis was to throw the competition, which was unimaginable under the best of circumstances. But something had to give. Having it all wasn’t an option, and it never would be.
Apollo shot up in bed, his heart pounding. He gasped and ran a hand over his face, groaning as he lay back with a thump.
Seeing the future wasn’t always easy.
Apollo rubbed his eyes and stared at the ceiling, breathing deep. Once his heart slowed down, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made for the bathroom, resting his hand on the granite countertop as he turned on the water. He cupped his hands and splashed the cool water on his face.
He glanced at his bedraggled reflection, noting the worry written across his face. The cold reality of the vision he’d had was crisp in his mind, like snow against bare skin, so cold that the burn seeped into his bones.
Apollo picked up his toothbrush, loaded it, and started scrubbing, trying for something routine to erase the dread.
It was bad news on bad news. Lex and Dean were googly-eyed over each other, and the vision was the nail in the coffin.
It came back to him in a rush. He saw Lex resting her head on Travis’ shoulder as they sat silently on their couch. He felt every emotion in the room, knowing what happened without a single word spoken. Travis cheated on her, and they had most definitely broken up.
This is bad.
His eyebrows pinched together, and he scrubbed with a little more vigor. Travis cheating on Lex could mean a number of things for her, but Apollo guessed her first reaction would be to run. And, if she ran, he didn’t know what would stop her from running straight into Dean’s arms. She could be with Dean guilt-free, if Travis was to blame for the breakup. And if she did run to Dean, Apollo was in deep shit.
Real deep, he thought and spit into the sink.
He had to
find a way to turn it around, had to come up with some way to use Travis cheating to his advantage.
Apollo ticked through Lex’s personality checklist. She was superstitious. She’d never been in love. Abandonment issues galore. And, with Dean being a player …
His face lit up. A prophecy.
He gave his reflection a sly grin as his mind turned over the beginnings of a plan.
If he could make Lex think that Dean could never be faithful to her, she would avoid him like gonorrhea. Apollo was sure of it. But the trick was that the prophecy had to cover Dean and Travis. Had to be vague enough that it could work for one and both, that it should be misconstrued to implicate Dean, but really be about Travis. That was key, because he couldn’t lie. Lying would ruin his cred as an oracle.
But he knew he could pull it off. Prophets and oracles didn’t always interpret his visions correctly. And when they didn’t, it was because he didn’t want them to.
Apollo rolled through his mental list of standard prophecy tricks. Back in the day, he would use human oracles, but through the last century, his prophecies had been delivered in the form of fortunetellers, tarot card readers, horoscope writers, and less effective methods like Ouija boards and Magic 8 Balls.
Lex was superstitious. Apollo was the god of prophecy. The ruse would be a piece of cake.
He shot finger guns at himself in the mirror and winked. If he played his cards right, he could have the whole competition in the bag.
———— New York ————
Dean tried not to stare at Lex as he sang, glad that he knew the lyrics and music so well that he didn’t have to think about it. He wondered absently if it would be weird to ask her to sit in an armchair off to the side, because with her sitting straight in front of him, looking like she did, staring at him with those eyes, he was having a hard time concentrating.
Dean had no idea what was wrong with him, but whatever it was, it had gotten worse. It was the first time reacted to a woman like she was the only thing in the world, the only thing he could see or think about. He was confused, but more than that, he was frustrated.
The song ended, and Roe turned to Travis, giving him instructions by way of mouth drums. Dean stretched his neck, trying to get his composure.
When he turned back around, Lex was gathering up her things. She stood and pulled her coat on, then waved to Travis before leaving. He couldn’t stop watching her, and got the feeling that she was avoiding making eye contact with him before she turned and left the warehouse.
Dean blinked. What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
They started the song over again, and Dean tried to get his shit together. Her face was on his mind as he wondered where she went, what she liked to do, where she worked. What did she want? Could he give it to her?
He threw on the brakes. He didn’t even know her. The whole thing was ridiculous. And to top it all, she was off limits.
But he couldn’t stop her from creeping back in like tendrils of smoke. He knew if he tried to grab her, she’d slip through his fingers. He’d lose her along with Roe and the band.
Dean had gone through much of his life not feeling, not knowing if he could feel, not sure if he wanted to. Even when his mom died, he was numb. The years of neglect warred with that thing that everyone wants, but Dean never got. Love.
Dean climbed the steps to his mother’s apartment, years before, and dread crept its way into his chest just like it did every time he went home, not knowing if she’d be there. He stayed with Roe most of the time, only going home every few days to sleep and pack a fresh bag, and each time he came back, he hoped she would be gone. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, they only spoke when necessary. She didn’t ask about him, and he didn’t ask about her. They just stayed out of each other’s way, and it suited both of them just fine.
As soon as he opened the door, he smelled the cigarette smoke. She sat on the couch with the television on, and he stared at the back of her head for a minute before closing the door behind him. She turned her head to the sound and gave him a once over, then looked back to the television and took a drag, never saying a word.
He didn’t react, just walked past her and into his room where he packed his things in a hurry, thankful that he had to go to work at the record store so he had an excuse to leave, somewhere to go. Roe would be there, and they could listen to music all night, then he could just sleep over. Roe’s mom always had dinner for them when they got in, and if he could stay there forever, he would. It was the only place that felt like home, even though he knew he didn’t really belong there.
Once his bag was packed, he headed straight for the door, but she turned to him and something was off. It was her face … she didn’t look right as her expression froze, drooping on one side. She tried to speak, but only made partial sounds, almost grunting.
His brow dropped. “What?”
She tried to speak again, but couldn’t.
“Are you okay?”
Her mouth moved, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
He dropped his bag and knelt in front of her. “Mom?”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it, and he fumbled for his phone.
“I’m calling 9-1-1. Just hang on.” His eyes didn’t leave her as he relayed what happened to the dispatcher and gave the address, but he dropped the phone when her eyes rolled back and she slipped further down on the couch.
“Mom?” He touched her face. “Mom, can you hear me?” His heart hammered in his chest as he frantically looked for his phone. “I think she just had a seizure. She’s not answering me.” He touched her neck just under her jaw and found a heartbeat.
“Does she have a pulse?”
“Yes. Yes, I just checked.”
“Okay, stay on the phone with me. You said your name was Dean?”
“Yes.”
“Paramedics are on their way. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“I don’t want you to worry, okay? We’re going to do whatever we can to help your mom.”
He stopped really listening, answering automatically as the dispatcher kept him talking. It wasn’t long before he heard the sirens, but time was a vacuum as he sat with his mother on the couch, not knowing if she would live or die, and not knowing if his life would be better or worse for it. Then the paramedics were there, putting her on a gurney. Then they were in the ambulance, the sirens blaring as he stared at his mother, her head bobbling with every bump, the motion exaggerated by the oxygen mask over her face. And then Dean sat on an uncomfortable chair in a waiting room in the hospital, staring at a stain on the industrial carpet as he listened to a doctor tell him that they did everything they could, that she had another stroke as they tried to repair her aneurysm, that they were sorry for his loss. But he didn’t know what he had lost, and didn’t know if he ever would.
Dean pushed the memory away as the song ended. He turned to Roe.
“Hey, take five.”
Roe’s brow dropped. “Yeah, okay.”
Dean walked to his bag and pulled out water and his notebook. His whole life had been empty other than Roe, who was the one good thing that had happened to him. He wondered what his life would have been like without Roe in it, and there was no scenario with a happy ending. But at that moment in his life, Dean was the closest he’d ever been to one. They had a recording deal, his dream come to life. It was their chance, their break. And he couldn’t fuck that up, not for a muse. That was all she could be, he told himself over and over.
Kara sipped a beer from Lex’s dining room table as she watched Lex zip around her kitchen, making dinner. Her long, white neck and bare shoulder peeked out of the wide collar of her oversized sweater, her hair in a loose bun as she chopped vegetables. She rambled a million miles a minute while attempting to cook, but was failing pretty miserably, by Kara’s estimation.
Lex turned to Kara, and her hand whacked the salt. The shaker skittered across the counter and toppled over, spilling salt ov
er the surface. Her eyes bugged as she grabbed a pinch and tossed it over her shoulder, then swept it off the counter with the meat of her hand into her waiting palm.
Kara laughed and shook her head. “You’re a mess.”
“Whatever. I’d like to avoid all the bad luck I can, thank you very much.” Lex dusted her hands off in the sink. “Anyway, Travis’ new band is fantastic. Dean, the lead singer, is completely mesmerizing.” She rolled her eyes. “God, that sounds so cheesy, but it’s true. Travis said that he’s a super slut, but I could see how he’d get all the ass he’d ever want.”
Kara leaned back in her chair. Oh my God, she likes him. No wonder she’s amped.
“How much coffee have you had today?” Kara asked. She threw her hands up to avoid getting hit in the face with a dishtowel. “You’re really excited about this band, Lexie.”
“They’re just so good. Travis didn’t even have to convince me to go back to practice today. I actually came from the warehouse to make you dinner á la Lex.”
“Aww, you tore yourself away on account of little old me?”
“I did. Lucky you. Oh, speaking of, did I play that song for you? I keep meaning to.”
“Yeah. You posted it on my Facebook and emailed it to me. Oh, and you sent me a text.”
“Goddammit. I’m sorry.” Lex’s hand touched her flushed cheek.
“It’s okay, I love you anyway. So,” Kara leaned forward with a smirk, “tell me more about this mesmerizing lead singer.”
“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. Travis is fantastic too. I mean, how can you not watch him when he has his shirt off?” They both giggled. “Seriously, Kara, will you please come with me to practice? You have to hear them live.”
“All right, all right. I’ll go. And this lead singer better be as captivating as you say, or you’re going to owe me one. Uh, Lex?” Kara pointed to the stove where a pot boiled over.