He stood, walking without purpose.
Flashes of her, her scent, the feel of her under his fingertips, pulled upon his patience until he began to run. His feet fell in an even, rapid rhythm. He ran, faster and faster, until he came to a break in the trees.
A small cove greeted him, the silver-tipped waters rolling under the night sky.
He moved towards the inky waves, scooping handfuls of its bracing saltiness over his face. He shivered before he rubbed his face with raw impatience.
He heard a sound to his right, a slight breathy giggle, and turned to find its source. In the shadows was a woman, a nymph, mayhap, for she glowed faintly in the moonlight. She was unaware of him, distracted by her companion. Her companion, his broad back white and well formed, faced away from him.
He turned, eager to leave this couple, when the nymph ran towards him, laughing.
Seeing him, she froze. Her amusement shifted swiftly, fading to irritation.
The man drew up behind her, unaware of Ariston’s presence – or uncaring. One great hand reached about her, cupping one of her exposed breasts.
“No more games,” the man’s voice rolled over Ariston. “Come now.”
That voice… That voice haunted his dreams.
This man had said “I will have you,” to his lady.
This man had tormented and used his wife.
He knew this voice – for it haunted his dreams and chased his lady into the mist. His blood began to throb, growing hotter and hotter until it seemed aflame.
“I grow tired of playing.” The cajoling tones unleashed Ariston’s anger.
“He knows a great deal of games, lady,” Ariston said, the words helping to tamp down his rage. “But I caution you against this choice in bedfellows.” The fury that stole over him was powerful. He’d been caught in the throes of battle many times. Had he hated his enemy? He thought so. He’d been willing enough to take their lives. But this was nothing like that.
Hate did not encompass the violence that tightened every muscle of his body. He wanted blood, and suffering. He wanted death and revenge.
His mouth flooded with bile as Poseidon’s eyes met his.
Poseidon’s pale blue eyes regarded him with disinterest, raking him insolently as his hand slipped slowly from the nymph.
“Be careful, soldier,” Poseidon warned. “You’d be wise to leave this place.”
Ariston smiled, the harsh twist releasing some of his wrath. “Then I shall stay.”
The nymph, forgotten, cast a wary glance between the two before dashing into the woods.
“You cost me my prey.” Poseidon’s eyes sparkled, more amused than offended. “But you’ve made me curious. What is it you want?” He walked into the water, dousing his long dark locks with water. He sighed, turning back to Ariston. “Or do you know?”
“Your death.”
“You cannot kill a God,” Poseidon laughed. “You do know who I am?”
“I do,” Ariston bit out. “You are the great Poseidon. Your death is the only thing I want. But since I cannot kill you, I will have to be satisfied with your suffering.”Ariston pulled his xiphos from his belt, savoring the weight of the blade’s hilt in his hand. His blood continued to roar within him, tensing his body and heightening his senses. He noticed the slight quiver of Poseidon’s nostrils, the tightening of the God’s mouth, and then
, in a flicker of understanding, the God’s eyes narrowed.
Poseidon’s pale gaze fixed upon her necklace, the wooden owl resting against the Ariston’s chest.
Poseidon’s voice was low and harsh. “You are her husband?”
Ariston felt the laugh, one he’d hope would prove his virility, stick in his throat. He swallowed. “I am Medusa’s husband, yes.”
Poseidon eyed the sword. “You seek revenge?”