Cupid's Wager

by Courage Knight

  He must hurry! She was surrounded by four young men who were unsteady on their feet as though they had tipped one too many in honor of Bacchus. The god of wine and parties would not be pleased to hear that they would use his mead's excuse to force themselves upon a woman.

  "Go away," Larissa screamed. "Don't touch me! Help!" She slapped one across the face.

  The young drunkard sneered, slapping her right back. Tears filled her eyes as a red handprint colored her cheek. "Come on, bitch. I like a woman with a little spirit."

  Mars let out a mighty roar, hurling himself recklessly into the fray. "Unhand her, thou entrails of Mithras' bulls! I'll flay you and feed you to the vultures, and heat your ballocks at the forge and serve them to her upon a silver platter!"

  "Huh?" The hoodlum shook his head, startled by Mars's sudden appearance as much as by his incomprehensible threats. "Back off, old man. If you know what's good for you!"

  Mars clenched his fist and hit the young man hard enough to lift him off the ground. He tossed him aside, then turned on the other three. In short order they lay dazed upon the ground, bruised and bleeding but still alive. It would not do to frighten the woman further. Then Mars gathered her into his mighty arms and buried his face in her hair. He drew a deep breath, her scent filling his nostrils. Love filled the empty recesses in his chest. Love stole his tongue and left him defenseless.

  "Let me go! Let me go!" Larissa screamed, trembling in his grasp.

  "Hush, my pretty maid. I'll not let these worthless peons harm one hair on your pretty head. I will protect thee, I swear it!"

  "You! You're that nutcase from the diner! Go away! Leave me alone!"

  She pushed herself free only because the spell had dulled his reflexes. Mars stared after her for several moments before he gave chase.

  "Larissa! My love, stop! 'Tis not safe for you to wander the streets alone and unprotected. I must guard thee!"

  "Nut jobs, losers, and wimps. Why can't I meet a nice guy? Look. I appreciate what you did for me, but I just need to be alone right now. Please, don't follow me, or I'll call the police."

  She shook her fist at him. It was a small fist, with delicate fingers tipped with soft pink nails. No rings adorned her fingers, Mars noted with a satisfied grunt. Her blonde hair had been cut in uneven layers, and spiked out from the single clip at the nap of her neck. She wore mannish clothing, her long legs encased in trousers and her full breasts nearly hidden behind the baggy fleece shirt, but even sackcloth and ashes could not hide her feminine charms.

  "I am escorting you home, dear heart, until I see you safe behind locked doors. You are far too daring for your own good. Your guardian should turn you over his knee for taking such risks with your virtue."

  "What the devil! My guardian! Man, I didn't think Greece was that far away, but you are really in the dark ages, buddy! Back off!"

  Mars grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder. "I see that we must do this the hard way. Tell me what direction to take you, or I shall carry you off to my palace."

  "Stop! Help me," she wailed. Mars glared at the few pedestrians, exerting his power over their feeble minds. They looked away, unseeing.

  Larissa pounded his back with her fists. She drew a deep breath and let loose a chilling scream that he felt clear down to his toes. How reassuring! He had arrived in time to save her! Still, his ears would be ringing days from now. He rested a hand on her rump and swatted it lightly.

  "Dear heart, do not vex me further. You will not like the consequences."

  "I don't give a damn about your consequences! Put me down!" Her swinging foot caught him in a tender place and he nearly dropped her. Then her fingers grabbed his hair and pulled, ripping more than a few strands from his scalp.

  That was it. Mars had been more than patient with her, but no man could tolerate such spoiled behavior in a wife for long. That she was not yet his spouse was immaterial. They would be wed by this time tomorrow, or heads would roll! Mars propped his foot up on a bench and swung the kicking, screaming bundle of woman over his thigh. With a mighty wallop, he laid into her round bottom.

  "Oh! Ow! Stop it, you beast! How dare you!" The spanking did nothing to calm her. Instead it seemed only to fuel her anger. Mars grabbed her denim breeches and tugged them down. He nearly swallowed his tongue at the scrap of satin and lace she wore beneath. But fear, lust, and anger lent strength to his arm as he resumed the spanking. Ten, twenty times his hand landed on her pert, young bottom. By the twenty-first smack, she was no longer a screaming hellcat. Her kicking and squirming stopped, and all that remained was a weeping, well-punished, submissive woman.

  He set her on her feet, his hands on her shoulders as he spoke sternly to her. "I will take you to your home now. You have only two choices - to walk on your own, or be carried. Which is it?"

  Her lovely blue eyes were swimming with tears, and the bow-shaped lips were trembling. She stepped closer, burying her face in his chest as she continued to sob. Mars chuckled, even though that had not been one of the choices available to her. He patted her head, and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

  "There, there now, my pretty one. What a busy night you've had. Let me take care of you. Hush, now." On he cooed, swaying softly from side to side, as he had once done for his infant son. The feelings stirring in his chest were similar, in that he would tear anyone apart who dared to harm his darling, but there the similarity ended. What he felt for Larissa was beyond understanding.

  Her crying lessened, and then stopped altogether. She pulled out of his embrace, fingering the tearstains on his shirt. "I can't believe you did that," she said, her voice still catching a bit. "That was positively medieval. And if I ever see you again, I'll have you arrested."

  Mars chuckled. Brave words for such a little wench. "Come, dear heart. Dawdle not a moment longer, or my hand will find your bottom much in need of further reproof."

  Her lips parted and a gasp escaped. Then she whirled around and started off down the street. Mars admired the view for a moment, the way those snug fitting breeches hugged her now swollen bottom, outlining the sway of each step as she moved. Then he closed the distance between them.

  She glared at him, then turned to face forward, pointedly ignoring him. Her shoes made purposeful clicks on the pavement. On she marched, down the street, crossing at the lights, further down, and further still. Mars was beginning to wonder if they should not hail a carriage, when at last she turned to enter a squat little building. "This is good-bye," she snapped. "And mark my words - don't ever come near me again!"

  She opened the door and tried to slam it in his face, but Mars caught it with his foot. He did not force himself inside, though. She'd had quite a scare earlier, and a thorough spanking. He would let her sulk for now. They could continue the conversation on the morrow.

  "Good night, dear heart. And don't forget to bolt your door before you sleep."

  She slammed the door as soon as he removed his foot, and he chuckled as he heard the bolt rammed into place. Women! What a wonder they could be!

  "Cupid! Arise! You've work to do," Mars bellowed, storming through the chambers where his son was currently residing. Venus had many palatial homes, but the steady stream of ex-lovers rendered them unsafe for the boy, as they often tried to punish her through harming Cupid. Once one spiteful god had struck him deaf and dumb and hid him in the land of merpeople on a floating island beneath middle earth. Cupid was missing for two months before his mother noticed. The boy was frightened and tearful when Mars rescued him, given to nightmares and temper tantrums, and unwilling to sleep in a bed of his own for nearly half a century after that. Finally he'd been sent to live with his grandparents, which Mars had to acknowledge was the reason he had grown into such a worthy young god.

  Cupid propped up on one elbow, the satin bedclothes riding low on his hips. He slept naked, the soft glow of lanterns from the hallway spilled across his smooth chest like molten gold. Mars drew in a breath at his son's casual beauty. Then he scowle
d. How like Cupid to be dreaming when the woman Mars loved more than life itself was in danger! Mars crossed the room in quick strides, aiming a swift kick at his son's pallet.

  "Get up, I say! Get up! I've chosen a woman for your wager, but while you lay dreaming, she was nearly ravished by thugs! I am placing her in your care, son! Until the wager is won, you will protect her life with your own!"

  Cupid gulped, tugging the sheet around his hips. "Father? What woman?" He fisted sleep from his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms with sensual grace. Then he rose to his feet and wrapped a garment around his loins.

  Mars passed him his quiver and bow. "The woman for the wager, Cupid. Are you awake yet? I name Larissa."

  Chapter Three

  Cupid stared at him, his mouth dropping. "Not her? Not the woman who cursed Valentine's Day? Father, no! She obviously has some issues to work through - she's not ready for a relationship!"

  "You said nothing in the wager about readiness, my son. Only that love was more powerful than war, which we both know to be a lie. Do you wish to concede so early in the game? Where's the sport in that?"

  Cupid pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it, his chin set in a stubborn angle that was so familiar to Mars because he saw it every time he looked in a mirror. "Fine! I'll do it. So who is the unfortunate fellow you claim for her life mate?"

  Mars grinned broadly. He clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, nearly driving the boy to his knees. "Why it is perfect, Cupid! I have found the perfect man for her! Only your arrows will not make him the besotted fool. You can't use your trickery to draw them together. Their love will have to be honest and true - the forever kind, I believe you said."

  "Who is it, damn you!"

  Mars held his tongue for a heavy moment. Then he jabbed a thumb to his chest. "Why, me!"

  Cupid sank to the floor, his bow and arrows clattering across the marble. "I've lost," he breathed. "How could I have been so blind?"

  Mars gathered Cupid's pitiful weapons and stuffed them into his arms. "Come on, boy! Don't waste another minute! Fire your blasted arrows at her. Fire all of them! Make her love me now!"

  "But, I can't," he whispered. "'Tis not a fair test. The arrows will only make her infatuated with you. The rest of it, the ever-after kind of love, that creates a magic all its own. You'd have to want it, as much as she. You'd have to want to lose your own bet. That's cheating, Father, and you know it."

  Mars hauled Cupid to his feet. "I've never won a battle through foul play, boy, and don't you ever forget it. If you win this bet - I'll have found my soul's mate. 'T would be one wager I'd not mind losing. And if you lose, then mankind does not deserve to live. Either way, I win."

  Cupid notched the arrow again. He followed his father to the window in a trance. He brushed aside the clouds with a wave of his hand, searching for the troublesome woman. Earth was not at the proper angle yet, so he twirled the sky and hastened night along the way. At length she came into view. She was sprawled across her bed, her face buried in a pillow, crying herself to sleep. On her cheek was a purple bruise in the shape of a man's hand. Cupid glared at his father, but Mars was not one to beat a woman. He'd tugged Venus across his lap for a well-deserved spanking a time or two, but his hand had never struck her elsewhere.

  "Isn't she lovely," Mars murmured, sounding very unlike himself.

  Cupid shook his head. Celibacy was looking better by the minute. He inscribed Mars's name on the shaft of the arrow with a mere thought, then loosed the arrow. It flew swift and true, piercing her through the heart. The arrow blended into her as if it were a part of her, spreading the magic all through her. She clutched at her heart, gasping for air, as another wail shook her thin frame. The woman's sobs were heart-rending. Someone had hurt her. He cocked his head, straining to catch the name she cursed.

  "Marco!"

  And he had but two days to fix this.

  He was going to lose.

  Larissa staggered into the bathroom to splash water on her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, her nose red and wet. She looked awful. She hated crying, hated how it made her look, and worse, how it made her feel. Achy inside, where nothing could comfort her. When her mama would cry, her father slapped her. Tears were a sign of weakness, a sign of failure. He was teaching her to be strong. At least, that's how he justified himself to his little daughter. Larissa learned to look tough, to talk tough, and never, ever let anyone see the frightened, lonely girl inside. And in one day, that big oaf from Greece had completely unraveled her!

  She hated him. She could never look at him again without being reminded of this awful night. She'd been so scared, first of the thugs, and then of the man who'd rescued her. And then he'd - he'd - spanked her! Like a little child! And it still hurt! She couldn't sit down!

  Her father had spanked her a few times. Hard, but never long. She would hold her breath, struggling not to cry, and if she succeeded, he would give her a hug and kiss, forgiving her for whatever behavior had landed her over his knee in the first place. Crying only earned her a longer spanking, no forgiveness, and the isolation of being sent to her room for the rest of the day. So when those thugs jumped her, and the one slapped her, she hadn't given in to tears. She'd hid her fear behind a wall of fury. Then suddenly, her brute was there - and the four thugs were lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, while he had not a mark on him. He was incredible!

  Argh! She was not going to think about his broad shoulders and rippling muscles. Or those trim hips and sturdy thighs. Or that he'd dispatched the thugs without even breaking a sweat, as though fighting one against four was something he did every day before breakfast, like some freaking superhero.

  Except the Incredible Hulk was nowhere near as good looking. And Superman had a supercilious smile. She loved Marvel Comics and their steady stream of unbelievable hunks, but she'd never imagined actually encountering one. Or that when she did, he would affect her quite so strongly.

  The hero archetype wasn't generally what attracted her. She dated losers. Tall, dark, dangerous, and stupid. All her ex-boyfriends had fit that description, like her life was a dime store novel written by an amateur. So where had Marco come from?

  He was tall, dark, and dangerous. But not stupid. Well, he didn't speak English all that well. At least, she didn't understand him half the time. But it was a second language for him, or maybe even a third. She didn't really know that much about him. Except that he was from Greece, and he had a really big appetite. And he could beat up four guys at once without breaking a sweat. And for some reason, he liked her. Guess he was pretty stupid after all.

  What was she going to do about him?

  Maybe he'd just go away, and she wouldn't have to face him again. She ought to call the police and report him for hitting her! Ow, it still hurt too much to sit down. She turned around, grabbing the hand mirror and angling it to try to get a better look at her bottom reflected in the larger mirror on the wall. She was instantly sorry. Her bottom was scarlet, a few small bruises forming, even a few handprints visible on the sides where his long fingers had curved around her well-padded bottom.

  The big oaf! Oh!

  But it had felt kind of nice.

  In a stupid, "I wish someone would watch over me" sort of way. A totally feminine, all emotion and no brains, stupid way.

  She did not need a father-figure! She'd had one father, and that was more than enough for one lifetime.

  There were a few TV shows and movies where the fathers were kind and supportive, encouraging their children, and she'd laughed right along with her friends at how unrealistic that was. No one really treated their children like that, or their wives. And yet, a little voice inside had felt like crying, wishing that it were true. In the perfect world of "if only".

  Larissa turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature to be slightly less than scalding. Then she stripped and stepped inside, washing the smell of hot grease and restaurant from her skin. Water pelted her tender bottom. She bent forward, exposing more o
f the sore parts to the watery massage.

  What would it be like if she did see Marco again? He'd spanked her, and he didn't even know her! Would he spank her as his girlfriend? As his lover? Oh god, as his wife? No! She was never going to marry. Marriage turned guys into bigger jerks, and robbed women of their individuality. Larissa had vowed after her last ex was incarcerated that she would do the world a favor if she remained single and kept her DNA out of the gene pool. After her twenty-fifth birthday, she'd even taken steps to ensure that she would never, ever become pregnant. She'd had her tubes tied.

  Fresh tears filled her eyes and her nose plugged. A deeper ache consumed her, making it difficult to breathe. She placed her hand on her smooth, flat abdomen, on her empty womb. Her doctor had refused to do the surgery until she'd turned twenty-five, because he wanted her to be absolutely certain that was what she wanted. And it was! She knew with her brain that she was not cut out to be a mother! What kind of a home would she give her baby, when she was the ultimate jerk-magnet? At least her father had loved her a little, although he had been a mean drunk and occasionally abusive. But there wasn't enough love in all her ex-boyfriends rolled together to raise a child for a single day, let alone a lifetime.

  Too bad her heart wasn't as smart as her brain. After all, she picked out her boyfriends with her heart. Her heart wanted something she thought they could give her. She wanted a man who was a real man. Not some confused weakling struggling to get in touch with his feminine side. A real man didn't have a feminine side. A real man would love her and protect her, but pull her over his knee for a sound spanking if he felt she deserved it, without a thought for the consequences. Damn... a real man was a hell of a lot like Marco.