Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

He gasped, sucking in breath as the air fell still about him.

Ariston’s arms were heavy, full.

His hands formed against the curve of her back, clasping her softness with trembling hands. He sat forward, cradling her in his lap and pressing his face into her hair. The silken softness of her honeyed locks slipped against his cheek. Her scent tickled his nose, making him press her to him fiercely.

He was shaking, overcome.

He opened his eyes.

Her eyes were closed as she lay in his arms.

His hand moved over her face, brushing her hair – her glorious hair – back. Her cheeks were pink, her skin perfect. No scars or marks of the serpents remained.

He pulled her close again, nuzzling her neck with his nose.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose and then her lips. They were soft, velvet, beneath his. And they parted, her breath mingling with his as his hold tightened upon her.

“Ariston?” Her voice filled his ears.

“I’m here,” he whispered against her lips.

She returned his kisses, eagerly. Her hands twined about his neck as she clung to him. Then she sighed, sounding pleased, and burrowed against his chest.

He pulled back, soaking in the sight of her.

Her huge blue eyes fluttered open, dismayed. She stared at him, disoriented. “Am I dreaming?” she asked as her eyes traveled over his face. She raised a hand, her delicate white hand, and placed it upon his cheek.

He shook his head.

“You feel warm and solid beneath my touch,” she murmured, caressing his mouth with her thumb.

Her brow furrowed then, and her hand fell to her hair. She tensed in his arms, turning wide eyes upon him.

“This is no dream.” His hands cupped her face gently, his words soft. “You’ve come back to me.”

Her hand lifted slowly, stroking her neck with trembling fingers. She blinked, then took his right wrist and pressed it to her chest. She kissed his wrist, her breath hitching as she asked, “Are we…” Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled as she looked at him. “Are we in Hades’ realm?”

His hand stroked over her face again, tracing her lips. “We go to Elysium, wife. We are home.”

“Forgive me,” she murmured, her words a plea that seared his heart.

He shook his head, pressing his lips to her. “There is nothing to forgive, lady. I beg you leave it behind.”

He felt her arms slip about him as she pressed herself against him. He could not fit her close enough to him, could not stop himself from crushing her against him.

But she seemed little bothered by his unyielding hold.

“Let us stay this way,” she whispered against his throat, “until I know you are real. I cannot let you go.”

He inhaled at her temple, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I will hold you until you are done.”

She laughed, a sweet, free sound that surprised them both. “Then you will never let me go, husband.”

He laughed too, his hand cuppi

ng her cheek with tenderness. “No, wife, I will never let you go.”

Epilogue