Cupid's Wager

by Courage Knight

  She was in big trouble!

  Mars paced restlessly, scowling at Apollo as he willed him to bring on the dawn. Larissa was down there, crying her eyes out, and he wasn't entirely certain that he wasn't part of the reason. He'd spanked her! By Vulcan's Forge, he'd spanked many women. It was his staunch opinion that women wanted it, often deserved it, and were much better lovers after having their nether regions thoroughly warmed. But their tears had never affected him so before. Each one that fell was like a knife wound, not mortal but just as painful, piercing his soul. He wanted to go to her, to kiss away her tears and make love to her until she was mindless with ecstasy. But something held him back. His confidence was oddly fragile. Perchance she was not yet ready to face him? Or worse, if she did want him, would it be only because of Cupid's arrow? How long would the arrow's magic last?

  For a certainty, he could not bring her back to Olympus. He must needs find an earthly home for the time being. Mars changed from toga to tee shirt with but a thought, encasing his thighs in the snug denim breeches so popular this age. Chugging a mug of apricot ambrosia, he crossed the great hall in a few swift steps.

  "Father! Stop," Cupid called, racing across the marble floor with youthful enthusiasm. "Wait!"

  Mars fair near growled at the youth. "What now? And be quick about it. I have a lover to woo."

  "Yes, and I have a world to save. Too much is riding on this. You may be older than me, and wiser in war, but when it comes to women, you are as ignorant as most males, mortal or im."

  "Watch your tongue, my son," Mars snapped, baring his teeth in a look that was more grimace than grin. "I was wooing your mother long before you were born."

  "Yea, but you did not hold her, did you?"

  Mars drew back his hand, but stayed it from striking his only surviving son. He had promised Cupid 't would be a fair wager. He'd best take the boy's advice. Counting back from ten in record time, he forced his lips to curve upward. "What tasty morsel of advice do you have for me this day?"

  Cupid's eyes widened in surprise at his easy victory, although he quickly concealed it. "I thought we should do a bit of research, Father. Study her ex-lovers, to see what sort of man attracted her, but ultimately failed her."

  'T was a wise course, Mars conceded. When preparing for battle, he would oft study the enemy, learn their strengths and weaknesses. And love was as close to war as, well, war. Arguing with Venus stirred his blood, thickened his man part, stiffened his spine with life surging through his veins, as if he'd just slain the barbarian hordes at Rome's gates. "Very well," he sighed theatrically, allowing Cupid to lead him to a brocade chaise where he settled comfortably.

  Cupid clasped his hands, then parted them, a ball of light sparking in the space between them. He swirled the light, until an image appeared. 'T was a man of perhaps thirty and five mortal years. His hair was dark like Mars's, but straight and oily, hanging in his face and concealing his eyes. Mars flicked a greasy lock aside to study the man's countenance.

  'T was an ordinary face. Eyes of nondescript color, other than the red that rimmed them. The jaw was dark with a day's growth of beard. He was thinner than Mars, although he was similarly attired in tee shirt and jeans, right down to the leather boots with chains. Mars muttered under his breath. 'T was a good thing Cupid had stayed him. He wanted to be nothing like this man who had hurt Larissa before.

  Cupid stirred the image and set it in motion. The man's features softened, changed, looking younger until they saw him with Larissa. Watched him kiss her, forcing his tongue down her throat while artlessly groping her bottom. Mars shoved the image away, revolted by it. The next image showed the man imbibing heavily, passing out in the bed they shared, while Larissa quietly cried herself to sleep.

  Cupid stirred the mists to reveal her next ex, although 't was hard to tell, for he was twin to the first. Same dark, oily hair. Same outfit, same habit of drink. A third was different only in that his hair was golden, but the fourth was dark again.

  "What hope is there," Mars moaned. "If she looks at me at all, 't will be only because of your arrow!"

  "Nonsense, Father," Cupid insisted. "We'll just have to change your image a little. This goes." He snapped his fingers, and the tee shirt was replaced by a white tunic with full sleeves. Instead of buttons or zippers, it laced up the front with a leather thong, although the top eyelets were undone, revealing an expanse of solid chest.

  Mars tugged at the soft cotton fabric as though it itched. " 'T is woman's clothing," he griped.

  "Nay. 'T is oft named a poet's shirt, although I've seen more pirates thus attired. Women are attracted to anachronism, to the dichotomy of the inner struggle, which is reflected in the soft fabric against a hard chest."

  "Fine. I'll wear the cursed frippery. Now, may I take your leave?"

  "Nay, Father! We've much more to discuss!"

  Mars folded his mighty arms across his chest. 'Twas a wonder that any man ever found his right love, given that such rites of fashion and frippery were so distasteful. He endured the removal of the solid chained boots, which were replaced with short boots of softest leather. The denim breeches were allowed to remain, for they were the uniform that stretched across the classes, but Cupid saw them altered, loosed a fraction, styled with extra pockets, and riding low on the hips yet not so low that the soft curve of his bottom was exposed. His hair was already clean - the gods were particular about cleanliness, but Cupid had him rinse it yet again in lavender dew. Then it was combed and pulled back behind his ears with a thong. His jaw was scraped smooth of the daily stubble. But strangest of all, his man part was tucked inside the tiniest scrap of black silk he had e'er seen. Mars was wont to storm from Cupid's chamber, but only a glance at his precious prize, her eyes still rimmed with tears, stayed his notorious temper.

  "Enough," Mars bellowed. " 'Tis me she must love, not some mockery of image."

  "Father, please," Cupid insisted. "We can be done with your appearance for now, but there is much more to learn before you can hope to woo her."

  "My studies ended long ago, before you were even a thought in the night heavens, son. What is there for me to learn?"

  "We know what Larissa has been attracted to in the past, but not the sort of man she would like to meet."

  "Women know not their own heart's desire. 'Tis a man's task to teach her."

  Cupid rolled his eyes, exasperated with his father's stubbornness. "Just like you taught my mother?"

  Mars sighed, turning his back to the child of his loins, a constant visual reminder of the love he had lost. "You mother desires desire. She will ne'er find her soul's true mate, for after a tumble or two among the sheets, desire dwindles and dies. Love, if there is such a thing, must be something more than the thickening of a man's part or the breathy pant of a woman beneath a man's caress."

  That was almost poetic, Cupid thought sadly. And what woman, pray tell, would ever truly love his father? His looks and stature had turned heads and quickened the blood of many a woman as far back as Cupid could remember, but inside that godly body lived a blockhead of an oaf.

  "Well, on with it! Or be done!" Mars boomed.

  If he survived this wager, Cupid would never, ever be so reckless again.

  Larissa patted more foundation over the bruise. She had tried a darker shade, then a lighter one, but nothing was going to conceal the hideous purple color. She took extra care with her eyes, hoping that no one would ask her about the rest of her face, although the dark circles under her eyes from the sleepless night were nearly as awful as the hand-shaped bruise on her cheek. With a quick glance at the clock, she knew she had no more time to fret. She gathered her keys and the small wallet she tucked inside a pocket, and dashed out the door.

  It was nine blocks to the small diner. Less than a mile. Usually she enjoyed the walk, setting a brisk pace and swinging her arms. She had learned that a purposeful stride and confident attitude - and the lack of a purse on her arm - were great deterrents to would-be muggers. But last night
had thoroughly frightened her. Those boys had come out of nowhere. And they had destroyed the fragile cocoon she had wrapped herself in. Now the streets seemed alien, crowded with nameless faces, strangers unwilling to lift a finger in her defense. In one evening, in a few brief moments, those thoughtless boys had ruined everything.

  Larissa shook herself, forcing away the dark thoughts. She must remain alert, now. She would not be caught off guard again. She wrapped her fist around the keys, tucking one key between each pair of fingers, to make a vicious weapon should she have need to use it. She stood tall, but kept her shoulders hunched to conceal her boobs. Maybe she'd have that reduction surgery after all. Maybe she'd go for a totally flat look. She couldn't have babies, so what need did she have for breasts?

  Two more blocks. She could make it. She quickened her stride, glancing to the left and right. Maybe he would be here again? The stranger from Olympus? Her breath caught in her throat. The keys were slick in her sweaty palm. No, she wouldn't see him again. Nut jobs came, and nut jobs went. But she went on forever. She snorted at the silly notion.

  "Morning," Sally called. "You're running late. I was getting worried! Oh-my-gosh! What happened to you!"

  Larissa sighed. Guess the make-up wouldn't fool anyone. "It's nothing," she mumbled, hanging her sweater on a hook behind the door. She clipped her nametag to her left shoulder and tied the apron around her waist. All ready for work. If only she could slow her heart rate and breathe normally again.

  "This is not 'nothing'! You picked up another loser, didn't you! I thought you were going to change. Why don't you let me introduce you to my cousin's husband's little brother? You'd like him. He's a nice guy, and he would never hit you!"

  A quick image of Marco with her flopped over his knee came to mind unbidden. Maybe she didn't want a guy who would never hit her... just one who wouldn't use her face for practice. "I'm not going out with your cousin's husband's little brother. That would make us like related, wouldn't it? Then we couldn't be friends."

  "That's ridiculous!"

  Larissa gave the other waitress a quick hug. "You are my best friend, Sally. And I changed my mind. I'll work for you on Valentine's, so you and your Mr. Almost Wonderful can go out. Okay?"

  "Oh, Honey! Thank you! But I feel bad for you. Tell me you aren't going to see that creep again! Promise!"

  "I promise." She had no doubt that if those thugs ever came looking for revenge, she would not survive.

  The breakfast rush almost kept her too busy to think about Marco. She poured coffee, spilling only a little on one customer. She served their scrambled eggs, and fried eggs, and Benedict eggs, and poached eggs with bacon, or sausage, or ham, without mixing up too many orders. Still, every time the little bell over the door tinkled, her heart skipped a beat and she looked up, expecting to see his dark eyes gazing at her. But he didn't come.

  Sally teased her. Tom, the cook, crabbed at her and told her to get her head out of the clouds, or she could find another job. It was all bark and no bite. She'd been working here longer than any other waitress, and the customers liked her. Tom had given her a raise not long ago, and she was always scheduled to work a full week, even when business was slow.

  The lunch crowd came and went. At two o'clock, she untied her apron. Sally would work the dinner shift tonight with two high school girls. Tomorrow Larissa had a six hour shift, and then the next day - Valentine's Day - she would put in a twelve hour day again. Her feet hurt. Her hands shook as she reached for her sweater. The sun was bright - maybe the thugs wouldn't be out yet? Maybe she could run home and lock her door? Or maybe she should just call a cab. Larissa swore under her breath. She was not going to let a couple of hoodlums dictate how she lived her life!

  The bell tinkled again, but it wasn't her problem. Sally could handle it. She heard Sally coo a friendly greeting to the customer and usher him to a booth. Sally always sounded like she was flirting, even though she had a boyfriend. She claimed it brought in bigger tips, but Larissa wasn't going to play that game. Her customers would tip her for good service, or they could eat somewhere else.

  "Prattle no more, you witless wench! And tell me where she is!"

  Chapter Four

  Larissa jumped, clutching her sweater to her. That sure sounded like her nut job! She peaked around the corner, wondering if she should duck out the back door. There he sat, dwarfing the solid booth with his bulk. His shoulders were every bit as broad as she had dreamed they were. His hair was neatly pulled back, so black that the highlights were nearly blue. It looked clean, and she felt her fingers curl as she imagined running them through it. There was something different about him today, though. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. He didn't look quite as dangerous as he had the day before. Maybe it was the soft white shirt he wore, or just the memory of how he'd looked when he'd rescued her. Her hero. Her nut job. Larissa gulped. Maybe he could protect her from thugs, but who would protect her from him?

  "Was that you!" Sally scolded. "You hit her, you big oaf! I'll call the cops. I'll report you! You leave her alone!"

  Marco got up from the booth and towered over her petite girlfriend. Larissa quickly rushed to stand between them. "Sally, this man saved me. He's not the one who hit me. Marco, settle down. You're scaring the customers."

  Marco swept the empty diner with his dark, sexy gaze. " 'Tis not a customer here to be unsettled, dear one, but me. And I am most unsettled. I feared you had left too soon, without a proper escort in this unsavory neighborhood."

  "Now that's a man," Sally whispered in her ear, but loud enough for Marco to have heard. Hell, the cook probably heard it. Larissa blew out a breath. "Fine. Sally, meet Marco, the nut job from Greece. Marco, thanks for coming to my rescue. Good-bye, farewell, and have a nice life."

  She spun around, but did not take more than two steps before Marco's hand clamped down on her wrist. "Let me go," she hissed.

  Fury simmered just beneath the surface of the towering god before her. Larissa felt a frisson of fear spike down her spine. She gulped, squaring her shoulders and worked up a really good glare.

  "Dear heart," he said, his deep voice deceptively calm. "I shall see you safely home. Whether I walk you there, or carry you over my shoulder after a thorough chastisement for your foolishness, the choice is yours."

  Sally giggled, then ducked into the kitchen. The traitor. She probably just wanted to make sure that Larissa wasn't going to renege on that offer to trade shifts. See if Larissa ever did her another favor!

  "You - you have no right to touch me," Larissa said coldly.

  Marco released her and made a courtly bow. "Perhaps not yet. But my heart has claimed you, and you will be mine. Not a man has been born that could keep me from you."

  "Claimed me! Argh!" That fear was blossoming into full-blown terror mixed with something else. A thrill of expectation. And desire. She wanted him. She had to be insane, but she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone or anything before in her entire life. Her pulse was racing madly. It hurt to breathe, it even hurt to look at him, yet when she closed her eyes, his face was all she could see. He was a narcotic, and she was already addicted.

  Marco took her sweater from her, and graciously helped her to put it on as if it were a fine fur coat. Then his massive fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons and he wrapped her up securely. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke more eloquently than words. He was nuts about her. And from the kitchen she could hear Sally give a little sigh, murmuring that was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen.

  Marco held the door for her. He walked beside her, adjusting his stride to match hers so he could wrap a massive arm around her waist possessively. She tried to shrug it off, but he gave her bottom a quick, decisive swat, then simply held her again. Tears clouded her vision. Larissa blinked, holding them back as she had learned to do. But the tears were not for the stinging that one slap had caused, or for her injured pride. She mourned for this relationship that was doomed before it began. Marco had no need to woo
her. She was already infatuated with him. And that terrified her.

  " 'Tis no place for a lady, my heart," Marco rambled. Larissa blinked again, trying to recall what he had been saying, but she had not been paying attention.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When we are wed, I shall bring you to my palace. You shall have servants to wait upon your servants, and you shall have no need to work again." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly.

  "Thanks, Marco. But I can't live in a palace."

  His embrace tightened slightly. She winced, and he loosened enough that he was no longer hurting her. "Why do you resist me, woman!"

  "Well, only princesses can live in a palace, and last time I checked, my princess license had expired."

  Marco chuckled. "Nay, my palace is not for petty mortal tyrants who fancy themselves in power. 'Tis forged from the bowels of Mount Olympus, out of finest marble and blessed by the god Jupiter, my father. It is filled with fine tapestries and exquisite statues, but they all pale against your beauty, my queen."

  That was lovely, whatever the hell it meant. She should just keep him talking. Maybe she could figure out where he'd escaped from, so they could take him back. "Tell me about yourself," she encouraged. Guys always like to talk about themselves.

  Marco surprised her, though. He grumbled something, and gave a shrug.

  " 'Tis not worth mentioning, for 'tis not a pretty story. I'd rather hear you speak."

  "What, are you wanted for something? Are you in trouble?"

  "Cast not your cares for me, dear one. I am in no danger."

  She walked for a time in silence, but it was not an uncomfortable one. She felt like everyone was watching her, staring at the handsome god beside her. She stood taller, although the top of her head didn't even clear his armpit.

  He walked with a deceptive calm, although she felt the tension in him. It was as if he searched vigilantly for any hint of danger. He stepped in front of her at every curb, shielding her from traffic with his bulk. He held her elbow as she stepped up on the sidewalk again. It was foolish, and undoubtedly wrong, but in his arms, she felt safe.