by Rosanna Leo
She stared at her father, the man she'd trusted implicitly her whole life. The man who'd never failed her. He didn't look particularly insane. “I really hope so, Daddy. But surely you have to understand Eric had nothing to do with—"
"He was here, you know,” he cut her off. “Before the day you brought him."
"Okay. Maybe he was visiting someone he knows. I don't see what it has to do with anything."
He smiled at her, not frustrated at all, just full of warmth and acceptance. “Eric was in my room, Maia. He came to see me. And before you tell me I'm imagining things, let me remind you my mind was always sharp, even when I was sick."
Her mind railed. Why would Eric visit her father?
It hit her just then that she'd never given Eric directions when they drove to visit her father. He'd simply known where to go.
How?
Jim stared off into space as he recounted the moment. “He never said a word while he was here. But he walked over and laid his hands on my face and my body. And I swear to you I felt a deep heat course through me, like I was being passed under a huge heat lamp. And the room got really bright then. It took me a second, but I realized the light was coming from him, from ... Eric. And his light surrounded us, and I began to get the feeling back in my arms and legs. Maia, it was incredible!"
He grasped her hand tightly, and she could almost feel the same heat in him. “Dad, I don't know..."
He gripped her hands even more forcefully. “You do realize who he is? What he is?"
Maia couldn't meet his eyes. To hear her intelligent, practical, scientific giant of a father talking this way was almost too much. He was surely either sick in the head, or she was.
And yet the feelings Eric produced in her were too magical, too incredible. He looked like Eryx. He knew all about Greece and its myths. He'd caught her outside the museum when she fell and had appeared out of nowhere to do so. He seemed to understand her every dream and shared her passion. He talked like he was ageless. He'd laid hands on her sick father, seemingly to restore his health.
And, God help her for daring to remember, he'd certainly made love like the god of love. Even with her limited sexual experience, she just knew another man could never make her feel so good. So divine. In a short space of time, he had completely captured her heart.
"What is he then, Dad? You tell me."
Jim looked at her as if it all made perfect sense. “He's Eryx, Greek god of love."
She stood and readied herself to leave.
"Maia, I swear I'm not on any meds right now.” He pulled her back down to the bed to sit with him. “Look, you know the stories as well as I do; you've read all the ancient accounts. After the death of the priestess Chloe, there were no more tales told of Eryx. As far as mythology is concerned, he died along with her. Zeus, Poseidon, all the other guys took a new wife every week. Eryx simply went away. Is it so implausible he took human form and lived among mortals? Can we just discount it?"
"Yes, Dad, it's a myth! It's a lie made up by some old guy with a long white beard!"
"And would you tell a modern Christian, a Muslim, that their gods don't exist any longer? That their religions are lies? How do we know, Maia? Maybe he is Eryx."
"He called me his beloved, Dad. What am I supposed to do?” she demanded. “What does it make me? His new priestess? Am I supposed to walk off into the sunset with him, get a mortgage for a ruined temple in Athens, and set up house? This is crazy."
Jim burst out laughing. “It is crazy, but it's wonderful crazy. How many people can say they've touched a god?"
"Daddy, he's not a god. He's a very beautiful man who needs some help. He must be sick.” The tragedy of it was tearing her heart out. She longed for him, longed to gaze into his eyes, but this story was too much to bear. She curled up against her dad and fought the agony which had been tearing through her for a week.
"Do you love him, sweetie?"
"I barely know him."
"I ask again, do you love him? Maia, within minutes of seeing your mother the first time, I knew I was hopelessly in love with her."
"How nice for you,” she shot back angrily. “But your marriage didn't end very well, did it? It's nice to know you want the same misery for me."
She stood and headed for the door. She didn't want to talk to her dad anymore. Although she loved that he was healthy, she wanted her old dad back. The practical Jim Douglas who told her not to talk to strangers. The man who valued science above religion, who didn't believe anything unless he could touch it and verify it.
Of course, Eric had touched him, and his reality had changed.
He was still sitting there, the picture of health, grinning like an idiot as she reached for the door handle. “Have faith, Maia."
She turned on her heel and left.
Although it was now way past closing time, and the museum would be virtually abandoned except for the night cleaners, Maia headed there. Not to work, but to think. It had always been her favorite spot to quietly contemplate her troubles and seek resolution.
Of course, in times of uncertainty, she'd always been able to say, “What would Dad do?” She couldn't rely on his method of reasoning anymore. Her father was obviously headed for the cuckoo house, just like Eric Lord was.
It was just her now. She had to be the practical one, the methodical one.
Barely aware of the downtown traffic, she crossed the intersection of King and Yonge Streets, and meandered toward the employee entrance of the Toronto Museum. Swiping her security card, she let herself in.
As she passed like a ghost through the darkened galleries, she noticed Wally from the cleaning crew. “Hey, Wally."
"Miss Douglas, what is it with you, always working late? Girl, you need a life."
Her lips curled in a little half grin. “I won't argue with you there. Listen, I'm going to be up in Greece for a bit."
"Checking on Poseidon's privates?"
"Yeah, sure,” she said, managing a smile.
Before she reached the gallery, she passed Sheila on her way out. “Maia,” she exclaimed. “Eric was here today! He was asking for you. Man, did he look fine.” Sheila's bright blue eyes widened, as if the size of her eyes directly correlated to the depth of Eric's fineness.
Maia breathed a sigh of relief at missing him, but a huge part of her wished she'd seen him. What did it matter anyway? He probably would have just given her some ridiculous story about how he was Noah now, and wanted her to join him on the ark. “Right. Well, have a good night.” She wandered off, leaving Sheila with a questioning expression on her face.
Sheila trailed her for a moment, concern marring her friendly features. “Sweetie, do you want to talk about it? About Eric? You haven't been yourself since the gala. I know you went home with him that night. What happened?” Sheila held up a limp little finger and dangled it. “Was it disappointing?"
Maia wanted to laugh. Hell no, it hadn't been disappointing. It had been the best moment of her life until he'd told her he was a mythical being. She couldn't share that with her friends, no matter how close they were. “No. It was just ... a little intense."
Sheila's eyes rolled, as if she had it all figured out. “Oh, he's a clinger, is he? Well, you know what they say about fish in the sea, sweetie. Cut him loose, if you're not happy.” She gave Maia a little hug and made her exit.
Maia watched for a moment, relieved at not having to explain further, then turned toward the gallery. She paused outside the door and thought of the conversation with her father. He'd asked if she loved Eric. Was it even possible she could? It defied all reasoning.
But something in him had spoken to something in her. He'd felt so familiar, had awakened feelings which had seemed to lie dormant her whole life. As if everything that had ever happened was meant to lead her to him. In his beautiful face, she had seen the past and a heart-stopping present.
But did she see the future? What possible future could there be with him? Even if she suspended her every disbelief an
d allowed that he could be a god—and that was a huge if—how could it ever work? This wasn't just a case of dating a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Eric Lord was on another train altogether.
In her wildest, craziest moment of heart-thumping desire, even if she allowed herself to entertain the thought of running off with him, she didn't even know where she'd end up.
She entered and took a seat on a threadbare bench in front of the newly-reinstated statue of Eryx. He looked the same as ever. The strong body, the knowing grin. Only now, more than ever, he looked like Eric.
There was a pain in her chest. An ever-present dull ache, and all because of him.
A noise sounded behind her. She turned away from the sculpture, expecting the cleaning crew. “Am I in your way, Wally?"
No one was there.
At the same time, another noise reverberated through the gallery. The sound of heavy stone grating on stone. Alarmed, Maia turned toward the Eryx statue.
Only to see it falling. On top of her.
She froze, wide-eyed. Suddenly, two strong hands yanked her body off the bench. Within a split second, the marble artwork fell and crashed against the spot where she'd been sitting. Sickened and horrified, Maia watched as her beloved sculpture broke into several large pieces.
Marble limbs were strewn across the floor. And the decapitated head of Eryx rolled toward her feet, eyes cold and unseeing as they turned to her. In her shock, Maia could only stare.
The statue had almost killed her.
"Maia."
The deep, pained voice pierced through her consciousness, and she remembered the hands which pulled her to safety. As much as she was afraid to turn around, she did, gasping.
It was amazing Eric's presence could still rattle her so, could make her burn with longing. She had no words, didn't know what to say. It took all her strength just to return his heated gaze, the gaze now raking over her body with desire, over her face with concern. She felt her hands begin to shake and shoved them into the pockets of her jacket.
He took a step toward her. “You could have died."
"How did you...? You weren't even in the gallery."
He just looked at her sadly, as if trying to tell her she already knew the answer. “I've been around."
She backed up, fighting the impulse to jump into his arms. Her voice came out halting, a stammer reminding her of the raw ache inside her. “I have to go. I have to tell someone."
In one large stride, he was at her side, pulling her close to him. She didn't even fight him. He felt too good. Instead, she dug her face into his shirt and inhaled his scent, listening to the sound of his pounding heart.
"I've tried to stay away. God knows I tried to stay away. I even told myself I could protect you without being with you. But I can't. She has powers I don't possess. I can't see her coming. I can only react."
Maia's heart broke. It split in two, just as the statue had split into pieces. He was talking crazy talk. But he still felt so good, and she didn't want to let go.
Eric squeezed her hard, kissed her face with hungry lips, and she let him. He stared down into her eyes, and she was amazed at what she saw there.
Sanity. Shining clear as day.
His breath coming hard, he continued, “I told myself you're better off without me. One day you'll meet a nice man who will give you a nice home and a nice family. But I don't want you to be with that man. I want you to be with me."
"I can't..."
"I want to watch you wake up every morning, and I want to take you to bed every night. I want you to be mine, forever."
He kissed her again, this time on the lips. Without even questioning why she'd do so, she opened her mouth to him, inviting his warm tongue to stroke hers. He tilted her head up, deepening the kiss. Maia felt her head begin to spin. Once again, images of a long-ago time raced through her head. Images of Eric robed as a golden god. Images of the spiteful Nemesis, cursing him.
Images of Eric loving her with his body and soul. Forever.
She broke away from his hungry mouth. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, tasting him, feeling how swollen his kiss had made it.
How could she ever live without his kisses?
And still, her logical brain told her to run. “You saved me. Again. Thank you. But I can't stay with you. I have to go."
She turned. As she expected, he pulled her back by the arm into a more forceful embrace and made her look at him. “Look, Maia, I've always been a selfish bastard. But then, you know the stories, don't you?"
"That's all they are. Stories."
"Hmm.” He smiled sadly. “Isn't there just a small part of you that would like to believe? In me?"
He looked so haunted, Maia couldn't help but feel for him. Even if his tale was fabricated, he apparently believed it. She was so moved, and when he reached for her cheek, she didn't flinch or pull away. But she couldn't look at him any longer. It hurt too much. Turning her head, she said, “Look, I'm sure this feels very real to you but..."
He turned her face back, daring her to look at him. As he held her, she felt a charge go through her body like a lightning bolt. He had her full attention now.
"If you don't want to believe in me, believe this. Someone is trying to kill you, Maia. Because of me. And unless you let me stay close to you, that person will succeed. When you're safe, if you still want to walk away from me, I'll let you go. But please, please, just let me protect you right now.” He let out a deep breath. “The statue didn't fall by itself, Maia. Come with me. Let me take care of you."
Maia knew she should have run in the opposite direction with as much speed as her wobbly legs could muster.
But she didn't. She let Eric hustle her out of the gallery and ran with him into the night.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirteen
The next hour was a furious whirlwind of activity which left Maia's head spinning. They'd stopped at Eric's condo, where he retrieved a seriously dangerous-looking weapon. She'd seen such a sword before. Her dad had once unearthed an older, rusty version on a dig. This Spartan officer's sword was gleaming and vicious, and managed to look antique and brand-new at the same time. Eric slid it into an old-fashioned leather scabbard. Maia didn't even want to ask what it was for, and tried very hard not to contemplate that she was on the run with a lunatic who was as buff and well-armed as Hercules.
He then brought her to her apartment and made some calls. Specifically to museum executives and the head of security. She half listened as he gave a convincing story about her almost being squashed by a statue which had come loose from its plinth. They would find all the evidence they needed on security cameras, and he was helping Ms. Douglas get the help she needed in handling the aftermath of the terrible ordeal.
He went on to say neither he, nor Ms. Douglas, would be at the office for a while. She knew somehow their absences would never be questioned. Eric would make it okay. No one would question him.
When he finished, they sat still on the couch, looking at each other. Neither knew what to say. It was almost a relief when someone knocked on the door, as Maia was now completely spooked. When she jumped, Eric was quick to calm her.
"It's okay. I've enlisted some help from my ... family. It's just them.” He went to the door, and Maia watched as he opened it.
The first person through was a man she recognized, although she wasn't sure how. Within seconds, she realized it was the tall, dark-haired man who'd taken Sarah to the gala. He was as devastatingly handsome as he'd been that night, only he was dressed in torn jeans and a crisp Polo, instead of a tux.
He sauntered through the door and came right over to sit near her. He smelled incredible. Intoxicating, actually. Fruity and delicious. Maia's head spun a little. She had the disturbing sensation of being caressed by vines of Concord grapes.
"Hey there, gorgeous,” said the tall man. “So you're the one who snagged my cousin.” He grinned and nodded appreciatively at her breasts.
"W
atch it,” Eric growled from the door.
Confused as all hell, Maia turned back to the door and watched a couple walk through. They had to be the most beautiful people she'd ever seen in the world, a blond man and a dark-haired woman. They were holding hands and looking at her through appraising eyes. They sat down together, moving in sync, their hands always linked.
The man was dressed like a surfer, complete with board shorts. His T-shirt had seen better days, but seemed molded to his perfect figure. The woman was stylish and classy, wearing leggings which accentuated her long legs and a form-fitting tunic that was draped so well across her hourglass figure it had to be custom-designed. Like their wine-soaked friend, they were too incredibly lovely to be real.
And they, too, looked eerily familiar. Which was odd, because Maia knew she'd never met such perfect people in her life.
Until Eric.
Her sense of growing unease was heightened by the fact that the couple carried bows and arrows. Golden ones, for the man. Silver, for the woman.
Eric closed the door and looked at her with great concern. He walked over and put a hand on her still-trembling shoulder. “Maia, honey, I need to do some introductions."
"Don't bother, Eryx,” said the man who smelled like the inside of a winery. “She knows who we are. It's written all over her face.” He leaned in toward her. “You know us, don't you, sweetheart?"
Bristling because the man had called Eric “Eryx,” perpetuating the cruel game, she spoke with a defensive tone, “I don't know what you mean. I've never met you before."
"Not in person, no,” said the woman with the silver arrows. “But as a student of Greek myth, you've seen countless images of our faces. You've heard our histories ad nauseum. You know us, Maia Douglas, just as you recognized Eryx the first moment you saw him."
As much as the woman's silky voice soothed Maia, her words made her tremble with fear. “His name is Eric Lord. Stop calling him that."