Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)
But now, in the shadows of first light, his carefully crafted armor of indifference began to crumble.
She rose to her feet, sighing with barely repressed impatience. The look on her face revealed her longing. Was she anxious to escape the walls of her uncle’s homestead – to escape whatever burdens may have found her? He would gladly go with her.
“I fear I’ll miss the
sunrise.” She lifted her head and spoke clearly, brooking no opposition. “Join me when you are ready.”
She took a few steps towards the gate.
He couldn’t let her leave, with no guard and uncovered. “It’s not safe, lady. Give me but a moment.”
She glanced at him, one finely arched brow rising high. “I am Athena’s priestess, soldier. No one would risk Athena’s anger.”
“Yet not all who reside in Athens serve the Goddess. Not all would honor your service to Athena,” he said softly, imploring her.
Her shoulders fell, exposing the dejection she felt. The urge to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, rose within him. He took a steadying breath, holding himself in check.
“You are right.” Her voice dropped. “Even those professing fealty to Olympus dismiss duty and loyalty when it serves their purpose.”
Ariston again ached from the pain in her words. He spoke quickly, seeking to cheer her. “But they are not here now. They will not ruin this fine morning, will they?”
“No.” She gazed upon him. “But, I would ask you something, soldier. Today, I am free of the temple, my veil and my robes. So let us pretend that I’m only Medusa.” She started towards the gate. “Then you’ve no need to worry over me and I’ve no need of guarding—”
He stepped into her path.
“You need my protection, with or without your priestess garb,” he insisted. “It is not safe for any woman to venture out alone. I pray, mistress, be patient and stay but a moment longer.”
“I have little patience this morning.” She made to move around him.
He raised a hand to grasp her shoulder, desperate to stop her. As his hand descended, he remembered himself. It froze a hair’s breadth from her shoulder.
She gasped and took a quick step back. Her huge eyes stared at his outstretched hand in complete shock. When her gaze found his, he swallowed against the depths of her distress. He had been kicked by his father’s mule once, knocking the air from him. He felt more startled now.
His hand dropped and his body tensed. What had he almost done? He swallowed, fighting the anger and self-loathing twisting his stomach.
Yet these emotions warred with such pleasure, such awareness, that he could only stare at her. In the depths of her Aegean blue eyes, something shifted and changed. Whatever it was affected her as well – so much that she turned from him, breathing rapidly.
He suspected the punishment might be worth it if he were able to touch her for even the briefest moment.
###
Her heart raced, her lungs gasped desperately for air. He’d reached for her. She’d wanted him to…
What had almost happened could never happen. He must never touch her. The Goddess would punish him, most severely.
Her chest tightened, a sharp, physical pain. Medusa could not abide such a thought.
He bowed awkwardly, his voice hoarse, “Lady, I beg for your forgiveness.”
Medusa stared down at him. Worry over losing him was troubling. If Ariston’s actions were witnessed her forgiveness would carry no weight.
She searched the grounds in the dim morning light, her gaze seeking out each shadow and movement. She could see no one present in the courtyard. It appeared they were alone. She prayed it was so. He would be safe. She would not lose him.
Her thoughts jarred her, and she corrected them. Athena would not lose a worthy soldier.
Her eyes settled upon him again. What had he done, really? Nothing.
His hand, so close that she’d felt his warmth upon her shoulder, had not reached her. It was her doing. She had forced him, pushed him without the wisdom or reason she should take care to use. She would not have him punished for her failings.