Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

Ariston nodded.

“And if your uncle asks where you’ve gone, I will tell him the Goddess sent you away until that time,” Elpis said. “But I will assure him you are safe, well guarded. It is all true, Mistress. She did tell you to go – to be free. And your guard is with you. Galenus can hardly argue with Athena.”

Medusa smiled.

“You are a good friend to my lady, Elpis. Should you tire of Athens, I would have you go with her to Rhodes,” Ariston chuckled.

Elpis said, “I go where my lady goes, Master Ariston.”

Medusa watched as Ektor helped Elpis onto the horse.

Ektor and Ariston clasped forearms. “I give you my thanks, Ektor.”

“It is an honor to serve as witness for you, Ariston of Rhodes.” Ektor smiled. “It is something I might share with my children in the years to come.”

Medusa’s eyes traveled over Ariston. He was smiling as he stood back, allowing Ektor room to swing up behind Elpis. He glanced at her, his smile growing as their eyes met.

She looked away, watching her dearest friend depart. Little was said, though she waved when they reached the hilltop. As they disappeared, Medusa regarded Ariston with renewed nervousness.

He turned toward her. His jaw grew taut and his smile faded slightly.

They stood, regarding each other in the flickering light of the tapers.

He was so beautiful to her, just his presence teased flames of heat to life under her skin. His smiled brightened, fanning the flames higher.

Thea clicked, resting on Ariston’s shoulder.

“Thank you, little one,” Medusa heard him say, “for bringing me to my lady.”

Thea cooed, a soft bubbling call.

Medusa stepped closer, stroking Thea’s head. “She knew, Ariston.”

Ariston’s eyes widened. “Not soldier? Or hoplite?” She suspected he was trying to tease her, his words were hoarse.

“No. Though husband, mayhap.”

His hand came up, hesitantly resting against her cheek. “What did Thea know?”

His fingers were warm, his thumb a light caress. Breathless, she whispered, “That I would come to you.”

Thea fluffed up her feathers and flew back to her perch in the tree.

Ariston’s hand lifted from her, a small smile on his lips as he glanced at the bird. “She is wise. Like her mistress.”

The sound of a lyre floated down the hilltop, wrapping them in its sweet song. Medusa turned toward the hill, searching for the player. But there was no one to be seen. A voice rang out then, a man singing to the rapid beat of a drum.

She ached to reach out to Arist

on, to have his hands upon her.

He watched her, but made no move to touch her.

This would not do.

After all this night had brought, could she ask him for more? She walked to him, so close she could feel him, the tension within him.

“Do I not please you?” she whispered.