The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (50 page)

“Yes. He, um,” Amy paused and nibbled her lush lower lip. “He sleeps in the nude. It was the middle of the night. He got up for a drink of water, and just – poof. He never came back. In the morning, we found his watch near the railing.”

“So he sleeps naked. Except for his watch?” Eve raised a brow. His skin was bronzed, but she didn’t remember seeing any tan lines where his watch would be. Someone as attached to a watch as to sleep in one, when he takes off everything else, would surely have a tan line. Maybe she just hadn’t looked close enough.

Amy nodded. “And he sometimes just gets up in the middle of the night and doesn’t come back to bed right away, so I wasn’t alarmed. At first. By the time the sun started to rise, well – can you take me to him? Please? We’ll get right out of your way in no time.”

Eve paused. Maybe she should deny it, say he wasn’t here? On the other hand, what reason did she have to suspect Amy Nethans of anything hinky? Why would some strange woman just show up at her door after some strange man just washed up on her beach unless there was an honest connection?
His wife.

The word landed in the pit of Eve’s stomach like a big, barnacle-encrusted rock.

“He’s upstairs. Asleep. He seems to be in fine shape. Just a little, uh, worn-out.” Eve couldn’t meet Amy Nethans’ striking blue eyes. “And he’s suffering from a bit of amnesia.”

“Amnesia? So he doesn’t know who he is?”

Eve shook her head. “No idea.”

“And he doesn’t know who I am?”

Eve felt the blush stinging at her cheeks again. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Take me to him. Please.”

“Of course.” Eve gestured toward the staircase, around the corner from the entry hall. “Right this way.”

At the top of the stairs, Amy called his name. “Arthur.”

Arthur? It seemed weird and foreign to Eve, not the right name for him at all. She pictured some grizzle-bearded wizard from Harry Potter, though that was Albus and not Arthur. Still, Arthur? It simply didn’t fit.

“In here,” Eve said, pointing to the door of the honeymoon suite. “Why don’t you let me wake him for you?”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Wake him? You? But he’s not wearing a stitch!”

“Yeah. I noticed.” Over every inch of him. Over and over again. “But he’s all tucked in snug. He recognizes me now. I don’t want to startle him.”

“I’m his wife,” Amy said, with some fire in her voice. “Step aside.”

Eve sighed and moved out of the way.

Amy went in and shut the door. For a few minutes, Eve stood outside, trying to listen, wondering if Adam (Arthur?) would be shocked, would protest, would insist he belonged here, with Eve? But she didn’t hear a thing. After ten minutes, she felt defeated as well as out of place, and just plain nosy, and she decided to go get some clothes on and putter around the kitchen until the happily married couple would finally emerge.

Forty minutes later, Amy appeared in the door of the kitchen, holding Arthur’s hand and pulling him like a recalcitrant child along at her side. He wore a blue button-down shirt, tucked into khaki pants, with topsiders. Like a waiter at any of the seashore dives trying to pass themselves off as classy restaurants. Not what she pictured him in at all. The shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders. It barely fit.

“We would like to thank you for your hospitality.” Amy spoke for them both. “Say thank you, Arthur.”

His hair was parted in the middle, combed neatly to both sides and tucked behind his ears. Again, it didn’t fit. She wanted to run her fingers through to muss it up.

He cleared his throat, looked down. It was a bit of a surprise to see her big strong warrior, Mr Commanding, acting so sheepish and shy. It simply didn’t fit. One thing Eve, a bra designer, knew was the importance of fit.

“Adam,” Eve said loudly. She didn’t give a damn what Amy thought about the name. “Adam, look at me. Are you okay? Do you know where you are? Who you are?”

He met her gaze, the formerly brilliant eyes clouded over. “I’m Arthur. You brought me in from the beach. Thank you. I’m going home with my wife now.”

“Very well, Arthur,” Amy said. “We’ve taken enough of your time. I’ve left enough for a night’s stay on the bed upstairs. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. Now we’ll be on our way.”

Eve rushed after them as they headed for the door. “But wait – breakfast!” She’d made eggs, reheated muffins. Mae’s famous Maine blueberry muffins, fresh from the freezer.

But by the time she got to the door, they were gone. Absolutely gone. As if they’d vanished on the wind. The only thing left on her porch was – feathers? Eve crouched and picked up one of the hundreds of little black feathers that dotted the pavement. Sharp, like an arrow. And black.

“Stymphalian birds,” she said aloud. “Stymphalian birds on attack.” And she had a feeling that something was wrong, very wrong, with this picture.

That feeling was intensified when another hulking blond man suddenly appeared at the end of her driveway and made his way briskly up her walk. She stood transfixed. As he got closer, she could make out the differences in appearance between this new one and her bedtime warrior. This one was fair, while her sandman was bronzed. His hair was a dazzling platinum, while her sandman’s was golden. Her sandman had the menacing scar across his eye. This one, no scar. Ice-blue eyes, she noticed, as he drew closer, close enough to look in his eyes. Eyes wide open. And challenging hers.

“Where are they? Where did she take him?”

Eve took a step back, his proximity overwhelming.

“I don’t know.”

“But you let him go?”

“Um,” she gestured down the length of her body. She’d put on a sundress, a little cool for the weather, but it was a pretty colour that matched her green eyes, and had a flattering drape. It tied at the neck, downplayed her weight gain, and emphasized her assets, her full breasts and shapely legs. “I’m five four. How was I supposed to stop him?”

He followed her hands with his gaze. One blond eyebrow shot up. “I’m sure you would have found a way.”

She found herself blushing again. “I—”

“We don’t have much time. Give me your hand.” She hesitated. “Give me your hand,” he repeated in a more commanding tone. She gave it to him. He held it in his large warm grasp.

Suddenly she felt a shock, then a tingling sensation running up her spine to the base of her brain. And then she knew.
She knew.
“Eros.”

“That’s right,” he smiled. “I’m usually more gentle, but we’re in a rush. You’ve no idea what they’re prepared to do to him.”

“They – Aphrodite? Amy, I mean. She was Aphrodite, right? Was she jealous because I – because we – Ares and I? She knew?” She assumed Aphrodite, because she’d read about Aphrodite’s affair with Ares in the Wikipedia entry.

“Not Aphrodite.” Eros shook his head. “I guess our connection wasn’t as strong as I’d thought. I usually have no trouble with women when it comes to connecting.”

“Connecting? You mean that Vulcan mind meld trick?”

“Yes. It usually works best when there’s some mutual attraction, but it’s already too late for you. You’re a goner.”

“What do you mean?”

“For Ares. You love him. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but you couldn’t make a full connection with me because you’re in love with him.”

She was about to protest. He put a finger to her lips. “Trust me. I know.”

“Of course. You’re the god of love.”

“And you prefer the god of war.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had a thing for chaos.”

“Then you’re in for some conflict. War is order, not chaos. But the most enduring love stories are filled with conflict.”

“Enduring? Not exactly, considering he’s already off with – whoever she was. Not Aphrodite.”

“Tell me. What did she call herself? What did she look like?”

“She was tall, slender, but curved in all the right places. A beautiful face. Blue eyes. Long red hair like Ariel’s.”

“Ariel’s?”

“Disney’s the Little Mermaid? Never mind. Red, long hair. Slightly curled. She called herself Amy.”

“Amymone.” Eros nodded. “One of Poseidon’s consorts.”

“What do they want with Ares? You should have seen him, Eros. He seemed defeated and out of sorts.”

“She must have drugged him. It’s the only way he would have followed.”

“But he was lost. He didn’t know who he was.”

“He knew. He might have been a little out of it, at first. But he knew. Come. We have to go. We must rescue him before Poseidon carries out his revenge.”

“His revenge?” And before she knew it, Eros swept her into his arms and held her tightly. Time seemed to stop. Her lungs felt frozen, as if she couldn’t breathe, but yet she was not panicked. She was at peace. Complete peace. Surrounded by a soothing white light. Her mind flooded with images.

Ares, enraged. A father’s rage. And shame. He should have known. He should have been able to protect his daughter, his beautiful Alkippe. Alkippe, raped by Halirrhothios, son of Poseidon. Who could blame Ares for his brutal actions? Eve watched Ares lose control, wild with a dagger in his hand, stalking his weaker opponent, hovering over Halirrhothios. She felt his pain. He wasn’t a killer, not really. This was justice.
Justice!

She didn’t even bother to ask how it happened, how she could see it all? Feel it as if she had been there? Some sort of magic. Why question the gods?

She opened her eyes and felt breath – blessed breath! – fill her lungs. Fog had closed in around she and Eros. When it cleared, she saw that they were on a small island in the middle of the ocean, a bare stretch of sand, little more than a sandbar with one lone palm tree. Ares was across the sand, tied to that tree, his head hanging, hair falling loose. Was that blood? Blood dripped from the side of his face. He wore only a small cloth around his middle. She could see the bruises all over his body. He had been beaten!

The important thing now was that she had to get to him, to let him loose and tend his wounds.

“Ares!” She launched into a run, not even caring that her robe opened.

“Stop!” Eros called, but it was too late.

The sand in the middle of the bar dissolved into water, and she crashed into the waves as they churned into a wild whirlpool. She struggled against the water, but could not stay on the surface. Any minute now, her body would fail her. Her lungs would fill with water. She would die.

But all she could think about was Ares, and the future they would be denied. It didn’t matter. As long as he was safe.

“Ares!” she called out. “I’ll always love you.”

She heard high-pitched feminine laughter. And then she could hear no more.

Ares looked up in time to see her go under. He ripped from his bonds, ran to the narrow pool and struggled to reach for her. The pool was too small for them both. He had no idea how deep. Instinct warned him it was a cleverly designed trap of Poseidon’s. If he jumped in to save her, his weight would force her deeper and she would surely drown. All that was left, to try to reach her and pull her up and out. Eros, the fool, stood back and watched it all, a bemused observer.

“You idiot!” Ares hissed. “She’s going to die! Why did you bring her?”

“I brought her because she’s the only one who could save you.”

“Clearly.” He snorted, still struggling to grasp her hands, still reaching up through the waves. She was a fighter, his woman. How he admired her!

Admired? No. He loved her, he knew. He loved her! Ares had never known true love before. The feeling astounded him. “Make it stop! I love her! Take me, Poseidon. Take me instead!”

Poseidon and Amymone appeared at his side.

“Delighted to make the trade,” Poseidon said, and pointed his sceptre at the pool. It turned into sand, bringing Eve to the surface. She was unconscious, but she—

“She is alive?” Ares asked.

Poseidon shrugged. “She will live.”

Amymone laughed, a shrill and irritating noise. Even death would be better than a lifetime at Amymone’s side. No wonder Poseidon was such an ogre.

“I mean to keep my bargain, then. Do it, Poseidon. Take my life. As I took your son’s, the raping bastard.”

Poseidon raised his sceptrre, as if about to inflict the final blow.

At last, Eros stepped forward. “Poseidon! The court’s decision is final. You will not harm Ares on penalty of your own death. He has fulfilled our expectations. Aeropagos has concluded.”

Aeropagos! The special court formed on Mount Olympus to determine Ares’ guilt or innocence in killing his daughter’s rapist. He had been acquitted, or so he’d thought.

“It was a conditional acquittal,” Eros explained. “I was sent to see that you lived up to the condition.”

“And the condition was?” Ares raised a brow, the scarred one.

“That you showed you could set aside your warring ways and sacrifice all for love. Why else would they send Eros? I know love more than anyone. And you did. You were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, your life for hers.”

“Anything for her,” Ares nodded. “I love her. We’ve only just met, but I feel I’ve known her always, body and soul. I need her as I’ve never needed.”