Cupid's Wager

Courage Knight
(c)2010 by Blushing
Books(r) and Courage Knight
 Copyright (c) 2010 by Blushing
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Knight, Courage
 Cupid's Wager
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-147-0
Cover Design: by ABCD Graphics
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 Chapter One
"I hate Valentine's Day!"
Mars chuckled as he thumped his
grown son on the back. "Score two
points for me!"
Cupid ignored him, glaring instead
at the misty image in his crystal sphere.
The mortal waitress was shaking her fist
at a coworker and hurling yet another
epithet towards his favorite holiday.
"Why should I be the one stuck
here working, serving pie and coffee to
couple after couple as they proclaim
their undying love and devotion, when
at least half of them are going to split
up before St. Patrick's! No, I won't do
it!" She slammed a stack of dirty dishes
on the counter and stormed from the
kitchen.
"Oh, please," her friend begged,
wiping her hands on the small apron
bearing the restaurant's logo as she
hurried after her. "I'll work two
weekends for you, if you'll trade shifts
just this once! It's our anniversary!"
"Oh, yeah? Which anniversary is it
this time? The four-month anniversary
of the first time you two ate spaghetti
together? Or the nine-month
anniversary of your first kiss? Give me
a break."
Cupid made a grand gesture
towards the misty ball. "There! I did
that! I should score a bonus for that
couple. They're still together, which
considering the century, is a bit of a
milestone."
Mars shrugged, unconcerned. His
thick, black hair fell in long waves past
his shoulders, tied back with a leather
cord. He was a brave, cunning, and
brilliant war hero with but two
weaknesses. For the ladies - Cupid's
mother in particular - and a nearly manic
desire to best his equally handsome son
at any game, bet, or challenge set before
them. The last bet - begun in the mid
nineteen sixties by mortal reckoning was
that he could break couples apart faster
than Cupid could bring them together. A
sudden rash of divorces had stormed the
planet, with the modern countries who
no longer even believed in the gods
leading the way.
 "What challenge was that?" Mars
sneered at the image in the ball. "They
are a perfect match, of course they
would stay together long after the effects
of your arrows wore off. They think
alike, talk alike - by Pluto's gold! They
even dress alike. They probably would
have fallen in love even without your
divine intervention."
Cupid planted his hands on his hips
and faced the fierce warrior. "When did
you become such a cynic?"
Mars threw back his head and
laughed. "Long before you were born,
my son! Long, long ago. Love is but an
emotion, and the least honest one at that.
It is fleeting, here one moment, and then
like the flowers of spring, vanished to
only a memory. Men and women are just
too different to ever really connect. And
gods are no different from mortals where
love is concerned."
Cupid grimaced. He knew the
relationship between his parents was
strained at best. As a child he had
blamed his father completely. Mars was
arrogant, bullheaded, and insensitive. He
forgot birthdays and anniversaries -
never even sent a card. Then when he
grew bored with whatever discord he
was stirring up, he'd just drop by
unannounced and uninvited, and expect
Venus to be overjoyed at his presence,
as though he were a gift from the gods
himself.
Cupid followed in his mother's
footsteps, choosing to spread love
instead of war, which he knew annoyed
his father to no end. Mars saw love as
weakness. But Cupid wasn't a cute,
chubby little baby anymore - hadn't been
since before 300 BC, when Mars, out of
jealousy that Venus paid more attention
to their child than to him, had spread that
image among the Greeks just to
embarrass him.
Cupid could help others find love,
but had not found it himself. He knew
from experience how it hurt to have a
lover turn him away from her bed and he
could see his father's side with more
clarity. Venus was not entirely
blameless. "What do you suggest? That I
try to bring two people together who
have absolutely nothing in common?
Nothing on which to build a future?
That's a recipe for disaster!"
"Ah, precisely. Yet it is our
differences that create desire. We all
want someone who is what we are not.
Who will compliment us, be strong
where we are weak. The trouble begins
when our own insecurities kick in, and
we argue with the very person we hold
most dear, if only to protect our
shattered egos."
"Is that what happened between you
and Mom?"
Mars spun around, slinging a ball
of fire that narrowly missed Cupid's
shoulder as he let out a mighty roar. "I
have no ego to protect, you bastard!"
 "If I am a bastard," Cupid said
quietly, brushing ash from his tunic, "the
fault is yours. Not mine."
Silence hung between them like a
shroud. Cupid wisely held his breath,
but gave no outward sign of fear. Mars's
anger was legendary. He'd wiped out
entire cities - destroying tens of
thousands - with less provocation. But
then his father did something even more
frightening. He apologized.
"Forgive me. I would never mean
to hurt you."
"I am unharmed," Cupid spat.
Maybe he would remain single, if love
could turn his father into a weak-kneed
namby-pamby.
Mars thumped him on back hard
enough to drive the air from his lungs.
"That's my boy! Now, back to this
wager. Prove to me that love is stronger
than war. Take two people of my
choosing - a couple that has absolutely
nothing in common. They might not even
like each other. Make them fall in love -
and stay in love."
Falling in love was no challenge. A
couple of slings of his arrows would
solve that. But staying in love was pure
mystery. If he won this wager, 't would
be by chance at best. "It is not a fair test
of love's power."
"Sure it is! You and your mother
are always proclaiming the wonder of
love. You forget, I was the god of farms
and fertility for centuries before taking
on armor. Love is nothing more than a
means to an end. A seed must die before
the plant is born. Your mother is not the
goddess of love, but of lust. Love is not
a mystery. It is a lie. And that is it's
power."
Cupid shook with anger. His dark
eyes, so like his father's, grew hard, his
brows drew together over a finely
chiseled nose. A curly golden lock fell
over the high brow, reminding Mars
again of the cute little child he had once
been, still was at heart. He might be the
blood of his blood, the son of his loins,
but he was his mother's child through
and through.
"I accept your challenge! Choose
your victims!. And I vow they will not
only fall in love and stay in love, but the
duration of their love will not be
measured by months or even years.
Theirs will be a love that lasts forever!"
"Ha! I have won already!"
Cupid paced the marble floor of his
bedchambers. Would he never learn! His
father had goaded him with practiced
ease. He'd allowed himself to get angry,
and he knew he couldn't think clearly
when anger clouded his vision. Anger
was his father's favorite weapon. Mars
used it to wage wars and win them.
Well, he was not going to win this one!
Cupid had to win, not just for himself or
his mother, but for all of mankind. If he
failed, they would be the ones to pay the
ultimate price. The future of the planet
rested in his hands. If he won, Mars
would end his petty interference into
mortal relationships. But if Cupid lost,
he would have to sit back and watch
while Mars brought the world to the
very brink of mass destruction, total
annihilation. And all because that foolish
woman had cursed his holiday! When
this was over, he would take his revenge
on her!
He scrubbed a hand through his
hair, tugging on the golden curls his
mother adored. He'd shaved them off
once in a fit of anger - that cloudy vision
thing again. He thought the curls gave
him too youthful a look, that lovers
would never take him seriously until he
looked more man than child. His mother
had punished him severely for that. The
poet had it almost right when he'd
claimed that hell hath no fury like a
woman scorned, but he should try
dealing with an angry goddess sometime.
Cupid picked up his crystal sphere.
It had been a child's toy, a gift from his
grandfather on the third celebration of
his birthing day. It rolled and bounced
just like toys made of rubber - but then it
was hard to break something when you
lived among the clouds. Later he'd
discovered that his ball would also let
him see things. People. Places.
Problems. He'd watched through the
smoky mists when Mars had led
Hannibal's elephants to the edge of
Rome. He'd seen Pompeii buried and the
Titanic sink. But it would also show him
the lonely at heart, individuals most in
need of his special talent. He gazed at it
now, hoping to take his mind off his
fool's wager for a time. There was
nothing he could do until his father chose
his victims. With only four more days
until Valentine's, there was still time to
bring a few people together. Filling his
quiver with arrows, Cupid flew to earth
to spread a little happiness.
Mars chuckled all the way to earth.
Perhaps he'd goaded the boy too far, but
it was good to see him show a little
spirit once in a while. Venus had all but
ruined him with that love crap. Cupid
was nearly a man now - 'twas time he
started to think like one. For that reason
alone, it was imperative that Mars not
lose this wager.
That waitress would suit perfectly.
She was pretty, but then most women
were. Mars liked them thick or thin,
short or tall, leggy and brainless, or
stocky and brilliant. He liked them
young, old and in between, with hair,
without hair, with or without clothes,
jewelry, or other adornment. He liked
women, but he did not love them. Love
was for milksops and, well... women.
He stopped outside the diner,
snapped his fingers and altered his
appearance to fit in with twenty-first
century fashion. The cotton "tee shirt"
was not as comfortable as his leather
tunic, but he could get used to the denim
breeches. And the leather boots with
chains were a clear sign that mortals had
not entirely forgotten their deities. He
tucked a leather pouch filled with local
currency into his hip pocket, then
sauntered into the diner.
A few men hovered over their
coffee cups reading newspapers. An old
man nodded, a bit of drool leaking from
the corner of his lip as his equally old
wife prattled on. Poor fool. He'd gotten
what he deserved. If he'd been a real
man, he'd have died on the battlefield
before old age and a woman had him
castrated.
"Just take a seat anywhere," the
waitress snapped, gesturing at the vacant
tables with a full pot of coffee.
 Mars glared at her rudeness, but the
little twit turned her back and went about
her business without another thought in
her empty head. He could break her in
two with a mere flick of his little finger!
His fists clenched, and his teeth gnashed,
and smoke spiraled from his ears.
"No smoking, mister," the waitress
called over her shoulder.
His fury melted into a fit of
laughter. If she could irritate a god in
less than five seconds, no mortal would
ever tolerate her. Mars straddled a stool
at the counter to watch. Now all he had
to do was discover the perfect man for
her to hate.
"Larissa! How about a refill,
sugar," one of the news-readers
bellowed.
"Don't get your undies in a bunch,
Junior," she sniped. "You've had three
refills already. How about ordering
something, or I'll throw you out for
loitering."
"I'd take a mess of pancakes, but the
last time they gave me indigestion. Took
two bottles of antacids to break up the
lead bricks in my stomach. Can't risk that
now, I've got a long haul to make today."
"Well, just because the special
claims "all you can eat" doesn't mean
you have to gorge yourself. I'll bring you
three pancakes, and three pieces of
sausage, and then you get your sorry ass
out of here. Your stomach will thank me
later."
 Mars shook his head at the
encounter. Imagine! A woman telling a
man what to do, and getting away with
it! He'd largely ignored mortals and their
petty needs since that whole Bay of Pigs
fiasco, when he'd tried to wipe them off
the face of the earth. Back in the days
when men were men and women knew
it, a saucy wench like her might find
herself across her husband's lap for a
good, sound spanking! That's just what
the rude little waitress deserved. But no,
he would restrain himself. By chance, a
spanking might teach her proper
manners, which could make her a more
biddable lover, precisely the thing he
had to avoid. He drew in a deep breath
and let it out, as Minerva had suggested
when the war lust clouded his wits. It
helped, a little.
"What'll it be," Larissa asked,
sloshing hot coffee in a cup before him.
He forced a pleasant smile and
tried to reign in his irritation so he
would not frighten the wench over much.
"What do you recommend that would be
fitting for a god?"
"Good grief! Of all the arrogant - is
there a convention for conceited asses
around here somewhere that I failed to
hear about?"
"I do not understand your speech,
wench," Mars grumbled, quickly losing
his patience. "But 'tis a wonder you still
have employment with such a tongue. Set
your best fare before me now, or I'll tan
your hide to hang upon my door post!"
The wench recoiled, a flash of fear
in her pale blue eyes. Then she shrugged
her shoulders insolently. "Certifiable,
yep. Your 'fare' will be right up, oh
lordship."
Chuckles rippled around the diner.
He'd filet them all if he thought they
were laughing at him. 'Twas the wench,
most certain. Even now he could not
decide if he wanted to ravish her or
spank her senseless. She addled his wits
faster than Venus on a full moon.
She bumped a metal door open with
her hip and hollered a number to the
cook. They were nice hips. A mite on the
trim side, for she was but a maid.
Motherhood would widen them, and
with some fattening on the nectar of the
gods, she would be much improved.
Save for that shrewish tongue. Perhaps
he could have it cut out.
Larissa went about her tasks
efficiently, if a trifle brusque. More
customers came than left, and all were
served the bitter black soup she
euphemistically referred to as coffee.
Existing customers received their meal,
and bent to devour the fragrant
delicacies with little conversation.
Mars's stomach growled, juices filled
his mouth. It had not been overlong since
he'd last feasted, but if the wench did not
bring his meal soon, he just might start
eating the counter.
At last, she set a small, oval plate
before him. The scent was tantalizing,
but there was not enough of it to satisfy a
mouse, let alone a deity with a hunger
such as his! "What is this, wench," he
growled.
"'Tis your fare, my lord. And
before you turn up your nose at it, stab it
with a fork and give it a try. Here's salt
and ketchup, if you feel compelled to
ruin it."
He took the flimsy tin utensil and
stabbed. Buttery yellow sauce splashed
over his wrist. He licked the sauce, his
eyes closing in ecstasy. 'Twas sweet, yet
tangy, thick and creamy, with a hint of
lemon, and he wasn't sure what else.
"What name do you give this?" he
murmured.
 "Eggs Benedict. You can't tell me
you've never tried it before? God, where
are you from!"
"Olympus." Where else would the
gods reside? Mars cut a wedge of the
circular bread with the fork, scooped up
bread and egg and sauce and brought it
to his lips. He savored the fragrant
aroma before gobbling the entire drippy
mass. The bread was toasted, with a
light dusting of meal, but was slightly
soggy from the tangy sauce. The egg was
still drippy in the center, just the way he
liked it. The slice of ham betwixt the egg
and bread was as thin as dragonfly's
wings and not fit to be called meat, but
mayhap he would direct her to remedy
the problem when she refilled his plate.
 "Oh, sorry. That's in Greece, isn't
it? Well, F-Y-I, guys don't get away with
all that macho stuff anymore. If you're
looking for love, you'd better tone it
down before someone superglues your
family jewels."
He was enjoying his Benedictine
Eggs too much to draw offense at her
queer language. Besides, she thought his
jewels were super. He wasn't entirely
certain what she meant by that, but the
wench was not as witless as he first
thought. Nay, she was distracting him
with this fine meal when he should be
studying her more carefully. He sopped
up the last of the sauce with a soggy
wedge of bread, then shoved the plate
aside.
 More customers paid for their meal
and left. Several of the news-readers
flirted with the saucy wench, but she
paid them no heed. The war lust
simmered through his veins, though Mars
did not understand why. Perhaps 'twas
because not a one of them was worthy of
the brazen harpy. He chuckled to
himself.
"Okay, Zorba. What's your story?"
Mars jolted from his musings.
'Twas not often someone could take him
by surprise, and he was not pleased that
a mere bit of a woman had managed. "I
know not this Zorba, of whom you
speak," he snapped.
"Zorba the Greek? It's a movie.
And I'd call you by another name, if I
had one."
"Mars," he started, then cleared his
throat. 'Twould be best if she did not
know his true nature. Mortals could be
so unpredictable when faced with all-
powerful deities. "Marco. Marco Luigi
Valerius."
"Sounds Greek to me," she said,
giggling at a private joke. She was a
witless maid. It was as sound a Roman
name as he could come up with, given a
moment's notice. "So, why are you
hanging around my diner all day?"
"My purpose is not for common
revelation," he said, stroking his chin
thoughtfully. When she wasn't flinging
insults, there was a sweetness about her
face he felt deep in his groin.
 "Is that a fancy way of telling me to
mind my own business? You speak
English well - not hardly even an accent,
but I sure don't understand your meaning,
if you get my drift."
"'Tis water that flows in both
directions."
"Huh? Oh, you mean you don't
understand me, either! I got that. Okay,
big guy. Here's the scoop. If you sit in
my diner, you eat. When you're done
eating, you pay and go. Simple, huh? We
don't rent booths by the day."
"I am still fair famished," he
admitted. "The Benedictines were a tasty
morsel, but insufficient to sate a hunger
such as mine. Bring me meat. And much
of it. And perhaps you would consent to
join me while I partake? I am a stranger
in these lands, and have need of
company."
"Well," she said, with an eloquent
roll of her eyes. They were blue eyes.
Large, expressive eyes, now that she had
lowered the hardened shield she'd worn
throughout the morning as if she were
prepared for battle. "Since you asked me
nicely, I can take a fifteen minute break
when your steak is done."
She sauntered off behind those
metal doors again with a quick twitch of
those girlish hips.
Cupid shook his head disgustedly.
Kayleigh Breighton and Thomas
Renfield were perfect for each other.
He'd brought them together a year ago,
and it had been love at first sight. Then
Mars had stepped in and managed to
convince Kayleigh that Thomas was
thoughtless and inconsiderate. He then
planted the suggestion in Thomas's mind
that Kayleigh would suffocate him with
her insecurities. They'd had a terrible
spat, and it had taken Cupid months to
bring them back together. With smug
satisfaction, he'd watched Thomas slip
into an upscale jewelry store to buy a
ring, knowing he was planning to give it
to her on next Valentine's Day, yet now
the two of them were once again not
speaking to one another.
He'd love to strangle his father, and
demand to know what manner of curse
he'd put on the hapless couple, but Mars
was nowhere to be found. So Kayleigh
sat at her desk, sobbing into a box of
tissues, Thomas drove in a dazed stupor
that might result in his untimely demise,
and Mars was too busy to even enjoy
fruit of his labor. Cupid slung his quiver
across his back and snatched his bow.
They were small weapons against the
greater power his father wielded, but it
was all he had.
"Going somewhere?" The chilling
voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Grandmother," he said slowly,
dropping to one knee in obeisance. He
lowered his head and drew in a deep
breath, hoping to still the flutters in his
breast.
Juno was Goddess of the Gods,
wife of Jupiter. She was beautiful,
perhaps even more so than his own
mother. Venus's beauty was coupled
with desire. All men who looked upon
her - except her son - were driven nearly
insane with a need to fill her. She was
lovely, yes, but lust clouded mortal
vision. They could not see that she was
also vain, quick-tempered, and
possessed a malicious streak that had no
doubt been what first attracted his father.
Juno's beauty was not perceived
through lustful eyes. Her smooth
complexion, silken hair and olive eyes
were set against a backdrop of maturity
and wisdom. She could be hard, but
never cruel. Her punishments were
severe, but never unjust, and Cupid
adored her. He feared her - she made his
heart pound, the ringing of bells echoed
in his ears, and at times he felt near faint,
as though he could scarce draw breath
into his lungs.
"In what manner of sport are you
and that witless son of mine now
engaged!"
He gulped, fearful that if he were
not on the receiving end of her anger, his
father would be, and it would no doubt
trickle back to him anyway. "Tis but a
wager, grandmother," he mumbled,
trying to make light it. 'Twas the wrong
answer.
"A wager! A moment for your
amusement, but the outcome could be
disastrous to all mortal life! Have you
no shame, child!"
Child! He was not a child, why
could she not see it! Perhaps because he
had acted like one. He bowed his head,
dropped the other knee as well, and
touched his forehead to the ground. It
was the formal posture, one only the
youngest of the gods were expected to
assume, or any god who through raising
Juno's ire had cause to fear for their
continued existence.
"Forgive me, my queen," he said
sincerely. "I spoke wrongly. Yea, I know
'tis no simple matter. My heart grieves,
and if I could recant the wager, I would.
I have no wish to assume the future of an
entire world upon my youthful shoulders.
I bow to your greater wisdom,
grandmother. Speak, and I shall obey."
The formal apology was not as hard to
give as it once had been, for he had had
many eons to practice. He had been a
willful child, prankish in nature, and had
oft been required to kiss the floor at her
feet.
"Arise, child," she sighed, lifting
his chin with the tip of a finger.
 Chapter Two
Cupid stood, but he kept his eyes
averted. Mortals were forbidden to look
directly into the face of their gods, but
the restriction did not apply to gods
unless they were themselves in disgrace.
He would not gaze at her until he had
been fully forgiven.
"There may yet be a way out of this
mess," she said thoughtfully.
He heard the swish of her robes as
she paced in a circle around him. A hint
of lavender swirled around his nose, and
he fought back a sneeze. Sometimes he
missed being that cuddly little child.
Before, when she'd caught him in a
prank, she would swiftly - and painfully
- chastise him, but then she would just
hold him. He would snuggle in close,
drying his tears in her silken hair, and
play with the strand of beads she wore
about her neck. She would kiss him then,
and tell him how much she loved him. It
had been many years since he'd heard
any god speak of love. Not even his
mother. Perhaps that was what drove
him to bring mortals together.
"Has Ares yet chosen his victims?"
Cupid fought back a smile. Juno
persisted in calling her son by the name
the Greeks had given him, although she
herself preferred her Roman name. He'd
questioned her on it once, and had been
sharply cuffed for it. He suspected that it
was simply to annoy his father. The
Greeks bore little love or respect for
Ares, who represented the most brutal
and violent aspects of war, but was
believed to be not very clever. The
ancient Greeks despised war, and saw it
as a failure on their part to settle
disputes by more civilized means. The
Romans, however, adored Mars, and
worshipped him above all other gods,
for not only was he the father of
Romulus and Remus - the twin founders
of Rome, but warfare had made them
into one of the strongest, most powerful
empires of the world.
"No, grandmother. He has not. Or if
he has, he has not yet enlightened me."
"Good."
She started to withdraw then,
although she had not yet released him.
He had to stop her, or remain standing
for days - even weeks - until she
remembered him. Yet, to speak to her
out of turn could add fuel to her fury. He
gulped, wiping his palms on his thighs.
Yea, he was a child, if fear could still
turn him to such a witless lump.
"Grandmother?" he whispered.
She paused at the door. He couldn't
see her expression, but the fine hairs on
his forearms fairly sizzled under the
intensity of her gaze.
"Yes," she said coldly.
"May I ask, what is your plan?"
"You may ask," she snapped. Then
she laughed, as though something
suddenly struck her as funny. "Cupid,
may I have but one of your arrows?"
 In his eagerness to fulfill the simple
request, he nearly spilled the entire
quiver upon the floor. "Verily,
Grandmother! You know that I am yours
to command."
"Do not tell Ares about our little
chat, or my possession of the arrow, and
I shall forgive you, this once."
He let out the breath he had been
holding, feeling slightly dizzy. His relief
was short-lived.
"I shall have to think upon a
suitable punishment for your careless
treatment of the mortal realm, for you
cannot escape your culpability in this
matter. However, you are forgiven.
Now, grant me a kiss."
Dread washed through him. If he
won the wager, he would no doubt suffer
his father's wrath. If he lost, all of earth
would suffer. And win or lose, he would
face Juno's divine punishment. Briefly,
he wondered if he could just beg Jupiter
to rotate the earth backwards a day or
two, and he would not repeat the same
mistakes. Unfortunately, that had had
violent repercussions in the past,
spawning all manner of earthquakes,
volcanoes and terrible storms until the
molten core settled right again. Grabbing
his quiver that was light one arrow, he
flew swiftly to earth to bring a little
happiness to the weary world.
How long did it take to burn a
steak! Unless the foul wench had gone
out back to butcher the fatted steer first!
She ought to have warned him, or at
least brought him another plate of
Benedictines to tide him over until the
feast was prepared. He glowered at the
remaining customers, hastening them out,
and sealed the door behind them until
there was naught in the building save the
cook, the wench, and himself. And after
his meal was served, he might just send
the cook on his way, as well.
Finally the wench appeared,
bearing a plate of thick, juicy steak. In
her other hand was a tray laden with
baked potatoes, a bowl of greens,
sauces, seasonings, and a tall glass of
iced tea. Setting everything on the table
before him, she slid onto the bench
opposite.
 "You're not good for business, I'm
afraid," she said, looking around the
small diner. "Everybody took one look
at you and disappeared."
"Except you, fair wench. Has my
countenance not given you pause?"
"Eh, it's not bad. Really. But then, I
like 'em tall, dark, and dangerous. Just
ask Duke, my last boyfriend. He's only
got six more years before he can make
parole, but I'm not going to hang around
and wait."
Irritation spread through his loins at
the mention of a boyfriend, although this
parole did not sound favorable. Yea, if
she had a boyfriend already, it would
only make Cupid's task that much harder.
She would have to unlove the one to
marry the appointed target. He speared
another chunk of steak, grinning as the
red juices spilled across his plate.
"You certainly do enjoy your food,"
she commented. "I ought to tell the cook.
He likes a compliment from time to
time."
A man who did a woman's task was
unworthy of compliments. "Tell me,
maid. What has soured you on the
frivolities of Cupid's day?"
"Huh? Do you mean Valentine's
Day? What a crock. As if lovers needed
a day to remember to say, "I love you".
What are they not saying the other three
hundred sixty odd days of the year? It's
just another example of capitalism at its
worst. A way to worship the almighty
dollar. Frankly, I'd rather have a tooth
pulled."
'T would be a shame to pull such
pretty teeth. They were even and white
and not overly large. Her full lips
curved like Cupid's bow.
"But men are not often given to such
frivolities of spirit as to discuss their
feelings for their bed mate. Without such
a day, they might never utter the words.
'Tis my understanding that most women
need frequent protestations of love to
believe that it exists."
"Well, I'm not like most women,"
the waitress admitted. Her luscious blue
eyes took on an other-worldly cast, as
though she were gazing at the steps of
Mount Olympus. Perchance he would
take her there, after the wager's
favorable outcome. "Besides, if a guy
were going to spout poetry to me, I'd
rather he'd written it himself, instead of
sticking a stamp on a greeting card.
Somehow that just lacks any true
emotion."
Ah, so the wench preferred poets!
'Twas good to know. Mars would need
to chose a man's man, one of few words
and none of them tender, to win the
wager.
"Guys tend to fall into two
categories. The wimps and the losers. At
least, all the ones I've ever dated. The
butt-kisser wimps will do or say
whatever they think you want to hear,
just so they can get into your pants. And
the losers, well, they just want someone
to cook and clean and bang, at least
when they're sober enough to fool
around. Guess I'll stay single, because
the mold for Mr. Right broke a long time
ago."
" 'Tis fair strange speech, yet I get
the gist of it. And I thank thee for passing
the meal in my company. May I escort
you somewhere?"
She stood up quickly and smoothed
her hands down the front of the tiny
apron girding her trim hips. "Screw you.
Here's your bill, and just leave the
change on the table. When I come back,
you'd better not still be hanging around,
or I'm calling the cops."
Mars chuckled as she stormed back
through the metal doors. Aye, what a
wench! What a saucy, unstable woman!
She would require a firm hand on that
rounded bottom, long and hard and often.
His loins quickened, and Mars was half
tempted to name himself the target for
Cupid's arrow, except the boy's spells
would not work on a god. He would
have to find a mortal much like himself,
though, and he would greatly enjoy
watching their troubled courtship for
however brief it lasted!
Juno shook her head as she watched
the scene being played out in the diner.
Mars was making a spectacle of himself,
so besotted with the girl he was. Yet if
he felt himself unlucky in love, it was
only that he loved unwisely. While
inside he wanted a faithful wife, a loving
mother for his children, a model of
virtue and domesticity, he tended to
chase after a pretty skirt without a brain
in her head, or a shrewd self-centered
manipulator. And there was none more
self-serving than Cupid's mother! Jupiter
had wanted to annul Venus's marriage
with Vulcan and force her to marry
Mars, giving their love-child the father
and stability he deserved, but Juno had
known their relationship was doomed
from the start.
Keeping the gods in line was at
times more work than running an entire
galaxy! Mars had been a thorn in her
side for centuries. It was time to do
something about it, once and for all. If he
won this wager and endangered her
favorite planet, then she would simply
have to end his annoying existence.
Cupid would not know that not only must
he win in order to save the planet, but to
save his father, as well.
'Twas a misconception among the
immortal that they were immune to their
own magic. If they realized how easily
she could manipulate them, they would
be outraged! And their quarreling would
only escalate. No, 'twas simpler if they
continued to believe as they wished. She
could be a master of discretion. Still,
she swirled Cupid's arrow in a potent
cauldron to magnify its effect before
carefully concealing it in the swell of a
voluminous sleeve. Then she sent a
servant with her summons for Mars to
appear before her immediately.
Shortly she sensed his arrival in the
central courtroom. Juno smiled, letting
him pace impatiently for a time. It was
necessary to remind him of his position.
Mars was entirely too full of himself
these days. Then she straightened, setting
her chin at a haughty angle, and floated
onto the dais.
"It's about time," Mars muttered.
Juno let her icy glare slide over
him, and was pleased to see him wince.
He went down on a knee as was custom,
although he sprang back up without
waiting for her invitation. 'T would be
best if she made him kneel again. By the
gods, it was easy enough to annoy him.
 "Hold your tongue, my son. I'll not
tolerate your insolence."
He had the grace to blush, yet still
he stood, shoulders squared as though
prepared for battle. She drew in a deep
breath and let it out slowly, wondering
again at the turn of events that had
shaped him. Once long ago he had been
happy. Young, handsome, stalwart. The
god of farms and fertility. His broad
shoulders and burly muscles were better
suited to the plow than the sword. With
his dark, piercing gaze and wide smile,
he had turned the heads of many ladies
and not a few goddesses.
How he used to suffer when Pluto
and Neptune worked together to bring up
a storm that devastated his crops, or
when the oft-warring mortal barbarians
burned his fields. Only later, when the
Romans who worshipped him prayed
that he not only defend their farms but
lead them in victory against their
enemies had he taken up his sword. And
finally, when Venus spurned his
affections he buried whatever tender
thoughts he might have retained beneath
a thick facade of indifference.
"Why must you continue to goad my
grandson? Have you no care for the
consequences?"
"I care not for mortals," he said
with a shrug.
"But what of Cupid? You know his
foolishness cannot go unpunished."
"The boy is too old for whippings."
 "Perhaps. But not too old to clip his
wings."
Mars paled visibly. He glanced at
her, but quickly lowered his eyes.
Gulping whatever snide remark he had
been about to make, he went down on
both knees. "Please, mother. Do not treat
him so harshly. The fault is mine."
Triumph brought a smile to her lips.
Yea, his love for winning he had
inherited from her. "He is no longer a
child, Mars, but a young god. He must
accept responsibility for his actions. He
knows better than to let you manipulate
him."
"If you clip his wings, mother, I
shall not win fairly."
She laughed, but the sound was not
pleasant. "Oh, I shall not punish him just
yet. You will play out your game to its
natural conclusion. But win or lose, I
shall punish Cupid severely. So enjoy
your little wager if you can."
"Mother, please. I beg your
forgiveness. "Twas meant as a harmless
jest. But if your wrath must be appeased,
I pray you take it out on me. Spare my
son!" Finally, Mars placed his hands
upon the marble floor and lowered his
forehead in the ultimate gesture of
submission. Juno took a moment to savor
her victory. Then she drove Cupid's
arrow through the back to pierce his
heart. He gasped at the sharp sting, but
then his eyes glazed over and his will
was captured. He would remember little
of their encounter, and the stab of the
arrow not at all.
"Larissa Mirit Langdon," Juno
murmured, creating an image of the
mortal for him to gaze upon. His eyes
widened, his breath caught. His lips
parted on a quick intake of breath, even
as lust surged through his loins. "The
mortal waitress you met earlier today.
Your fondness for her will grow, filling
that empty vessel you call a heart, until
you think only of her needs and not your
own. However, she is in danger now. Be
swift! Hurry to her rescue, or you will
never know happiness again!"
Mars leaped to his feet. With
barely a nod in her direction, he sprang
to the window and soared through the
clouds, his gaze trained on earth and the
one woman who could give his eternal
existence meaning. The arrow's magic
had already overpowered him.
He must hurry! She was surrounded
by four young men who were unsteady
on their feet as though they had tipped
one too many in honor of Bacchus. The
god of wine and parties would not be
pleased to hear that they would use his
mead's excuse to force themselves upon
a woman.
"Go away," Larissa screamed.
"Don't touch me! Help!" She slapped one
across the face.
The young drunkard sneered,
slapping her right back. Tears filled her
eyes as a red handprint colored her
cheek. "Come on, bitch. I like a woman
with a little spirit."
Mars let out a mighty roar, hurling
himself recklessly into the fray. "Unhand
her, thou entrails of Mithras' bulls! I'll
flay you and feed you to the vultures, and
heat your ballocks at the forge and serve
them to her upon a silver platter!"
"Huh?" The hoodlum shook his
head, startled by Mars's sudden
appearance as much as by his
incomprehensible threats. "Back off, old
man. If you know what's good for you!"
Mars clenched his fist and hit the
young man hard enough to lift him off the
ground. He tossed him aside, then turned
on the other three. In short order they lay
dazed upon the ground, bruised and
bleeding but still alive. It would not do
to frighten the woman further. Then Mars
gathered her into his mighty arms and
buried his face in her hair. He drew a
deep breath, her scent filling his nostrils.
Love filled the empty recesses in his
chest. Love stole his tongue and left him
defenseless.
"Let me go! Let me go!" Larissa
screamed, trembling in his grasp.
"Hush, my pretty maid. I'll not let
these worthless peons harm one hair on
your pretty head. I will protect thee, I
swear it!"
"You! You're that nutcase from the
diner! Go away! Leave me alone!"
She pushed herself free only
because the spell had dulled his
reflexes. Mars stared after her for
several moments before he gave chase.
"Larissa! My love, stop! 'Tis not
safe for you to wander the streets alone
and unprotected. I must guard thee!"
"Nut jobs, losers, and wimps. Why
can't I meet a nice guy? Look. I
appreciate what you did for me, but I
just need to be alone right now. Please,
don't follow me, or I'll call the police."
She shook her fist at him. It was a
small fist, with delicate fingers tipped
with soft pink nails. No rings adorned
her fingers, Mars noted with a satisfied
grunt. Her blonde hair had been cut in
uneven layers, and spiked out from the
single clip at the nap of her neck. She
wore mannish clothing, her long legs
encased in trousers and her full breasts
nearly hidden behind the baggy fleece
shirt, but even sackcloth and ashes could
not hide her feminine charms.
"I am escorting you home, dear
heart, until I see you safe behind locked
doors. You are far too daring for your
own good. Your guardian should turn
you over his knee for taking such risks
with your virtue."
"What the devil! My guardian!
Man, I didn't think Greece was that far
away, but you are really in the dark ages,
buddy! Back off!"
Mars grabbed her and tossed her
over his shoulder. "I see that we must do
this the hard way. Tell me what
direction to take you, or I shall carry you
off to my palace."
"Stop! Help me," she wailed. Mars
glared at the few pedestrians, exerting
his power over their feeble minds. They
looked away, unseeing.
Larissa pounded his back with her
fists. She drew a deep breath and let
loose a chilling scream that he felt clear
down to his toes. How reassuring! He
had arrived in time to save her! Still, his
ears would be ringing days from now.
He rested a hand on her rump and
swatted it lightly.
"Dear heart, do not vex me further.
You will not like the consequences."
"I don't give a damn about your
consequences! Put me down!" Her
swinging foot caught him in a tender
place and he nearly dropped her. Then
her fingers grabbed his hair and pulled,
ripping more than a few strands from his
scalp.
That was it. Mars had been more
than patient with her, but no man could
tolerate such spoiled behavior in a wife
for long. That she was not yet his spouse
was immaterial. They would be wed by
this time tomorrow, or heads would roll!
Mars propped his foot up on a bench and
swung the kicking, screaming bundle of
woman over his thigh. With a mighty
wallop, he laid into her round bottom.
"Oh! Ow! Stop it, you beast! How
dare you!" The spanking did nothing to
calm her. Instead it seemed only to fuel
her anger. Mars grabbed her denim
breeches and tugged them down. He
nearly swallowed his tongue at the scrap
of satin and lace she wore beneath. But
fear, lust, and anger lent strength to his
arm as he resumed the spanking. Ten,
twenty times his hand landed on her pert,
young bottom. By the twenty-first smack,
she was no longer a screaming hellcat.
Her kicking and squirming stopped, and
all that remained was a weeping, well-
punished, submissive woman.
He set her on her feet, his hands on
her shoulders as he spoke sternly to her.
"I will take you to your home now. You
have only two choices - to walk on your
own, or be carried. Which is it?"
Her lovely blue eyes were
swimming with tears, and the bow-
shaped lips were trembling. She stepped
closer, burying her face in his chest as
she continued to sob. Mars chuckled,
even though that had not been one of the
choices available to her. He patted her
head, and brushed a stray lock of hair
from her face.
"There, there now, my pretty one.
What a busy night you've had. Let me
take care of you. Hush, now." On he
cooed, swaying softly from side to side,
as he had once done for his infant son.
The feelings stirring in his chest were
similar, in that he would tear anyone
apart who dared to harm his darling, but
there the similarity ended. What he felt
for Larissa was beyond understanding.
Her crying lessened, and then
stopped altogether. She pulled out of his
embrace, fingering the tearstains on his
shirt. "I can't believe you did that," she
said, her voice still catching a bit. "That
was positively medieval. And if I ever
see you again, I'll have you arrested."
Mars chuckled. Brave words for
such a little wench. "Come, dear heart.
Dawdle not a moment longer, or my
hand will find your bottom much in need
of further reproof."
Her lips parted and a gasp escaped.
Then she whirled around and started off
down the street. Mars admired the view
for a moment, the way those snug fitting
breeches hugged her now swollen
bottom, outlining the sway of each step
as she moved. Then he closed the
distance between them.
She glared at him, then turned to
face forward, pointedly ignoring him.
Her shoes made purposeful clicks on the
pavement. On she marched, down the
street, crossing at the lights, further
down, and further still. Mars was
beginning to wonder if they should not
hail a carriage, when at last she turned to
enter a squat little building. "This is
good-bye," she snapped. "And mark my
words - don't ever come near me again!"
She opened the door and tried to
slam it in his face, but Mars caught it
with his foot. He did not force himself
inside, though. She'd had quite a scare
earlier, and a thorough spanking. He
would let her sulk for now. They could
continue the conversation on the
morrow.
"Good night, dear heart. And don't
forget to bolt your door before you
sleep."
She slammed the door as soon as he
removed his foot, and he chuckled as he
heard the bolt rammed into place.
Women! What a wonder they could be!
"Cupid! Arise! You've work to do,"
Mars bellowed, storming through the
chambers where his son was currently
residing. Venus had many palatial
homes, but the steady stream of ex-
lovers rendered them unsafe for the boy,
as they often tried to punish her through
harming Cupid. Once one spiteful god
had struck him deaf and dumb and hid
him in the land of merpeople on a
floating island beneath middle earth.
Cupid was missing for two months
before his mother noticed. The boy was
frightened and tearful when Mars
rescued him, given to nightmares and
temper tantrums, and unwilling to sleep
in a bed of his own for nearly half a
century after that. Finally he'd been sent
to live with his grandparents, which
Mars had to acknowledge was the
reason he had grown into such a worthy
young god.
Cupid propped up on one elbow,
the satin bedclothes riding low on his
hips. He slept naked, the soft glow of
lanterns from the hallway spilled across
his smooth chest like molten gold. Mars
drew in a breath at his son's casual
beauty. Then he scowled. How like
Cupid to be dreaming when the woman
Mars loved more than life itself was in
danger! Mars crossed the room in quick
strides, aiming a swift kick at his son's
pallet.
"Get up, I say! Get up! I've chosen a
woman for your wager, but while you
lay dreaming, she was nearly ravished
by thugs! I am placing her in your care,
son! Until the wager is won, you will
protect her life with your own!"
Cupid gulped, tugging the sheet
around his hips. "Father? What woman?"
He fisted sleep from his eyes and
yawned, stretching his arms with sensual
grace. Then he rose to his feet and
wrapped a garment around his loins.
Mars passed him his quiver and
bow. "The woman for the wager, Cupid.
Are you awake yet? I name Larissa."
 Chapter Three
Cupid stared at him, his mouth
dropping. "Not her? Not the woman who
cursed Valentine's Day? Father, no! She
obviously has some issues to work
through - she's not ready for a
relationship!"
"You said nothing in the wager
about readiness, my son. Only that love
was more powerful than war, which we
both know to be a lie. Do you wish to
concede so early in the game? Where's
the sport in that?"
Cupid pulled an arrow from his
quiver and notched it, his chin set in a
stubborn angle that was so familiar to
Mars because he saw it every time he
looked in a mirror. "Fine! I'll do it. So
who is the unfortunate fellow you claim
for her life mate?"
Mars grinned broadly. He clapped
a hand on his son's shoulder, nearly
driving the boy to his knees. "Why it is
perfect, Cupid! I have found the perfect
man for her! Only your arrows will not
make him the besotted fool. You can't
use your trickery to draw them together.
Their love will have to be honest and
true - the forever kind, I believe you
said."
"Who is it, damn you!"
Mars held his tongue for a heavy
moment. Then he jabbed a thumb to his
chest. "Why, me!"
Cupid sank to the floor, his bow
and arrows clattering across the marble.
"I've lost," he breathed. "How could I
have been so blind?"
Mars gathered Cupid's pitiful
weapons and stuffed them into his arms.
"Come on, boy! Don't waste another
minute! Fire your blasted arrows at her.
Fire all of them! Make her love me
now!"
"But, I can't," he whispered. "'Tis
not a fair test. The arrows will only
make her infatuated with you. The rest of
it, the ever-after kind of love, that
creates a magic all its own. You'd have
to want it, as much as she. You'd have to
want to lose your own bet. That's
cheating, Father, and you know it."
Mars hauled Cupid to his feet. "I've
never won a battle through foul play,
boy, and don't you ever forget it. If you
win this bet - I'll have found my soul's
mate. 'T would be one wager I'd not
mind losing. And if you lose, then
mankind does not deserve to live. Either
way, I win."
Cupid notched the arrow again. He
followed his father to the window in a
trance. He brushed aside the clouds with
a wave of his hand, searching for the
troublesome woman. Earth was not at
the proper angle yet, so he twirled the
sky and hastened night along the way. At
length she came into view. She was
sprawled across her bed, her face buried
in a pillow, crying herself to sleep. On
her cheek was a purple bruise in the
shape of a man's hand. Cupid glared at
his father, but Mars was not one to beat
a woman. He'd tugged Venus across his
lap for a well-deserved spanking a time
or two, but his hand had never struck her
elsewhere.
"Isn't she lovely," Mars murmured,
sounding very unlike himself.
Cupid shook his head. Celibacy
was looking better by the minute. He
inscribed Mars's name on the shaft of the
arrow with a mere thought, then loosed
the arrow. It flew swift and true,
piercing her through the heart. The arrow
blended into her as if it were a part of
her, spreading the magic all through her.
She clutched at her heart, gasping for air,
as another wail shook her thin frame.
The woman's sobs were heart-rending.
Someone had hurt her. He cocked his
head, straining to catch the name she
cursed.
"Marco!"
And he had but two days to fix this.
He was going to lose.
Larissa staggered into the bathroom
to splash water on her face. Her eyes
were swollen and red, her nose red and
wet. She looked awful. She hated crying,
hated how it made her look, and worse,
how it made her feel. Achy inside,
where nothing could comfort her. When
her mama would cry, her father slapped
her. Tears were a sign of weakness, a
sign of failure. He was teaching her to
be strong. At least, that's how he
justified himself to his little daughter.
Larissa learned to look tough, to talk
tough, and never, ever let anyone see the
frightened, lonely girl inside. And in one
day, that big oaf from Greece had
completely unraveled her!
She hated him. She could never
look at him again without being
reminded of this awful night. She'd been
so scared, first of the thugs, and then of
the man who'd rescued her. And then
he'd - he'd - spanked her! Like a little
child! And it still hurt! She couldn't sit
down!
Her father had spanked her a few
times. Hard, but never long. She would
hold her breath, struggling not to cry, and
if she succeeded, he would give her a
hug and kiss, forgiving her for whatever
behavior had landed her over his knee in
the first place. Crying only earned her a
longer spanking, no forgiveness, and the
isolation of being sent to her room for
the rest of the day. So when those thugs
jumped her, and the one slapped her, she
hadn't given in to tears. She'd hid her
fear behind a wall of fury. Then
suddenly, her brute was there - and the
four thugs were lying on the ground,
broken and bleeding, while he had not a
mark on him. He was incredible!
Argh! She was not going to think
about his broad shoulders and rippling
muscles. Or those trim hips and sturdy
thighs. Or that he'd dispatched the thugs
without even breaking a sweat, as though
fighting one against four was something
he did every day before breakfast, like
some freaking superhero.
Except the Incredible Hulk was
nowhere near as good looking. And
Superman had a supercilious smile. She
loved Marvel Comics and their steady
stream of unbelievable hunks, but she'd
never imagined actually encountering
one. Or that when she did, he would
affect her quite so strongly.
The hero archetype wasn't
generally what attracted her. She dated
losers. Tall, dark, dangerous, and stupid.
All her ex-boyfriends had fit that
description, like her life was a dime
store novel written by an amateur. So
where had Marco come from?
He was tall, dark, and dangerous.
But not stupid. Well, he didn't speak
English all that well. At least, she didn't
understand him half the time. But it was
a second language for him, or maybe
even a third. She didn't really know that
much about him. Except that he was from
Greece, and he had a really big appetite.
And he could beat up four guys at once
without breaking a sweat. And for some
reason, he liked her. Guess he was pretty
stupid after all.
What was she going to do about
him?
Maybe he'd just go away, and she
wouldn't have to face him again. She
ought to call the police and report him
for hitting her! Ow, it still hurt too much
to sit down. She turned around, grabbing
the hand mirror and angling it to try to
get a better look at her bottom reflected
in the larger mirror on the wall. She was
instantly sorry. Her bottom was scarlet,
a few small bruises forming, even a few
handprints visible on the sides where his
long fingers had curved around her well-
padded bottom.
The big oaf! Oh!
But it had felt kind of nice.
In a stupid, "I wish someone would
watch over me" sort of way. A totally
feminine, all emotion and no brains,
stupid way.
She did not need a father-figure!
She'd had one father, and that was more
than enough for one lifetime.
There were a few TV shows and
movies where the fathers were kind and
supportive, encouraging their children,
and she'd laughed right along with her
friends at how unrealistic that was. No
one really treated their children like that,
or their wives. And yet, a little voice
inside had felt like crying, wishing that it
were true. In the perfect world of "if
only".
Larissa turned on the shower and
adjusted the water temperature to be
slightly less than scalding. Then she
stripped and stepped inside, washing the
smell of hot grease and restaurant from
her skin. Water pelted her tender bottom.
She bent forward, exposing more of the
sore parts to the watery massage.
What would it be like if she did see
Marco again? He'd spanked her, and he
didn't even know her! Would he spank
her as his girlfriend? As his lover? Oh
god, as his wife? No! She was never
going to marry. Marriage turned guys
into bigger jerks, and robbed women of
their individuality. Larissa had vowed
after her last ex was incarcerated that
she would do the world a favor if she
remained single and kept her DNA out of
the gene pool. After her twenty-fifth
birthday, she'd even taken steps to
ensure that she would never, ever
become pregnant. She'd had her tubes
tied.
Fresh tears filled her eyes and her
nose plugged. A deeper ache consumed
her, making it difficult to breathe. She
placed her hand on her smooth, flat
abdomen, on her empty womb. Her
doctor had refused to do the surgery until
she'd turned twenty-five, because he
wanted her to be absolutely certain that
was what she wanted. And it was! She
knew with her brain that she was not cut
out to be a mother! What kind of a home
would she give her baby, when she was
the ultimate jerk-magnet? At least her
father had loved her a little, although he
had been a mean drunk and occasionally
abusive. But there wasn't enough love in
all her ex-boyfriends rolled together to
raise a child for a single day, let alone a
lifetime.
Too bad her heart wasn't as smart
as her brain. After all, she picked out her
boyfriends with her heart. Her heart
wanted something she thought they could
give her. She wanted a man who was a
real man. Not some confused weakling
struggling to get in touch with his
feminine side. A real man didn't have a
feminine side. A real man would love
her and protect her, but pull her over his
knee for a sound spanking if he felt she
deserved it, without a thought for the
consequences. Damn... a real man was a
hell of a lot like Marco.
She was in big trouble!
Mars paced restlessly, scowling at
Apollo as he willed him to bring on the
dawn. Larissa was down there, crying
her eyes out, and he wasn't entirely
certain that he wasn't part of the reason.
He'd spanked her! By Vulcan's Forge,
he'd spanked many women. It was his
staunch opinion that women wanted it,
often deserved it, and were much better
lovers after having their nether regions
thoroughly warmed. But their tears had
never affected him so before. Each one
that fell was like a knife wound, not
mortal but just as painful, piercing his
soul. He wanted to go to her, to kiss
away her tears and make love to her
until she was mindless with ecstasy. But
something held him back. His confidence
was oddly fragile. Perchance she was
not yet ready to face him? Or worse, if
she did want him, would it be only
because of Cupid's arrow? How long
would the arrow's magic last?
 For a certainty, he could not bring
her back to Olympus. He must needs find
an earthly home for the time being. Mars
changed from toga to tee shirt with but a
thought, encasing his thighs in the snug
denim breeches so popular this age.
Chugging a mug of apricot ambrosia, he
crossed the great hall in a few swift
steps.
"Father! Stop," Cupid called,
racing across the marble floor with
youthful enthusiasm. "Wait!"
Mars fair near growled at the youth.
"What now? And be quick about it. I
have a lover to woo."
"Yes, and I have a world to save.
Too much is riding on this. You may be
older than me, and wiser in war, but
when it comes to women, you are as
ignorant as most males, mortal or im."
"Watch your tongue, my son," Mars
snapped, baring his teeth in a look that
was more grimace than grin. "I was
wooing your mother long before you
were born."
"Yea, but you did not hold her, did
you?"
Mars drew back his hand, but
stayed it from striking his only surviving
son. He had promised Cupid 't would be
a fair wager. He'd best take the boy's
advice. Counting back from ten in record
time, he forced his lips to curve upward.
"What tasty morsel of advice do you
have for me this day?"
Cupid's eyes widened in surprise at
his easy victory, although he quickly
concealed it. "I thought we should do a
bit of research, Father. Study her ex-
lovers, to see what sort of man attracted
her, but ultimately failed her."
'T was a wise course, Mars
conceded. When preparing for battle, he
would oft study the enemy, learn their
strengths and weaknesses. And love was
as close to war as, well, war. Arguing
with Venus stirred his blood, thickened
his man part, stiffened his spine with life
surging through his veins, as if he'd just
slain the barbarian hordes at Rome's
gates. "Very well," he sighed
theatrically, allowing Cupid to lead him
to a brocade chaise where he settled
comfortably.
 Cupid clasped his hands, then
parted them, a ball of light sparking in
the space between them. He swirled the
light, until an image appeared. 'T was a
man of perhaps thirty and five mortal
years. His hair was dark like Mars's, but
straight and oily, hanging in his face and
concealing his eyes. Mars flicked a
greasy lock aside to study the man's
countenance.
'T was an ordinary face. Eyes of
nondescript color, other than the red that
rimmed them. The jaw was dark with a
day's growth of beard. He was thinner
than Mars, although he was similarly
attired in tee shirt and jeans, right down
to the leather boots with chains. Mars
muttered under his breath. 'T was a good
thing Cupid had stayed him. He wanted
to be nothing like this man who had hurt
Larissa before.
Cupid stirred the image and set it in
motion. The man's features softened,
changed, looking younger until they saw
him with Larissa. Watched him kiss her,
forcing his tongue down her throat while
artlessly groping her bottom. Mars
shoved the image away, revolted by it.
The next image showed the man
imbibing heavily, passing out in the bed
they shared, while Larissa quietly cried
herself to sleep.
Cupid stirred the mists to reveal
her next ex, although 't was hard to tell,
for he was twin to the first. Same dark,
oily hair. Same outfit, same habit of
drink. A third was different only in that
his hair was golden, but the fourth was
dark again.
"What hope is there," Mars
moaned. "If she looks at me at all, 't will
be only because of your arrow!"
"Nonsense, Father," Cupid insisted.
"We'll just have to change your image a
little. This goes." He snapped his
fingers, and the tee shirt was replaced by
a white tunic with full sleeves. Instead
of buttons or zippers, it laced up the
front with a leather thong, although the
top eyelets were undone, revealing an
expanse of solid chest.
Mars tugged at the soft cotton fabric
as though it itched. " 'T is woman's
clothing," he griped.
 "Nay. 'T is oft named a poet's shirt,
although I've seen more pirates thus
attired. Women are attracted to
anachronism, to the dichotomy of the
inner struggle, which is reflected in the
soft fabric against a hard chest."
"Fine. I'll wear the cursed frippery.
Now, may I take your leave?"
"Nay, Father! We've much more to
discuss!"
Mars folded his mighty arms across
his chest. 'Twas a wonder that any man
ever found his right love, given that such
rites of fashion and frippery were so
distasteful. He endured the removal of
the solid chained boots, which were
replaced with short boots of softest
leather. The denim breeches were
allowed to remain, for they were the
uniform that stretched across the classes,
but Cupid saw them altered, loosed a
fraction, styled with extra pockets, and
riding low on the hips yet not so low that
the soft curve of his bottom was
exposed. His hair was already clean -
the gods were particular about
cleanliness, but Cupid had him rinse it
yet again in lavender dew. Then it was
combed and pulled back behind his ears
with a thong. His jaw was scraped
smooth of the daily stubble. But strangest
of all, his man part was tucked inside the
tiniest scrap of black silk he had e'er
seen. Mars was wont to storm from
Cupid's chamber, but only a glance at his
precious prize, her eyes still rimmed
with tears, stayed his notorious temper.
"Enough," Mars bellowed. " 'Tis
me she must love, not some mockery of
image."
"Father, please," Cupid insisted.
"We can be done with your appearance
for now, but there is much more to learn
before you can hope to woo her."
"My studies ended long ago, before
you were even a thought in the night
heavens, son. What is there for me to
learn?"
"We know what Larissa has been
attracted to in the past, but not the sort of
man she would like to meet."
"Women know not their own heart's
desire. 'Tis a man's task to teach her."
Cupid rolled his eyes, exasperated
with his father's stubbornness. "Just like
you taught my mother?"
Mars sighed, turning his back to the
child of his loins, a constant visual
reminder of the love he had lost. "You
mother desires desire. She will ne'er
find her soul's true mate, for after a
tumble or two among the sheets, desire
dwindles and dies. Love, if there is such
a thing, must be something more than the
thickening of a man's part or the breathy
pant of a woman beneath a man's
caress."
That was almost poetic, Cupid
thought sadly. And what woman, pray
tell, would ever truly love his father?
His looks and stature had turned heads
and quickened the blood of many a
woman as far back as Cupid could
remember, but inside that godly body
lived a blockhead of an oaf.
"Well, on with it! Or be done!"
Mars boomed.
If he survived this wager, Cupid
would never, ever be so reckless again.
Larissa patted more foundation
over the bruise. She had tried a darker
shade, then a lighter one, but nothing was
going to conceal the hideous purple
color. She took extra care with her eyes,
hoping that no one would ask her about
the rest of her face, although the dark
circles under her eyes from the sleepless
night were nearly as awful as the hand-
shaped bruise on her cheek. With a quick
glance at the clock, she knew she had no
more time to fret. She gathered her keys
and the small wallet she tucked inside a
pocket, and dashed out the door.
It was nine blocks to the small
diner. Less than a mile. Usually she
enjoyed the walk, setting a brisk pace
and swinging her arms. She had learned
that a purposeful stride and confident
attitude - and the lack of a purse on her
arm - were great deterrents to would-be
muggers. But last night had thoroughly
frightened her. Those boys had come out
of nowhere. And they had destroyed the
fragile cocoon she had wrapped herself
in. Now the streets seemed alien,
crowded with nameless faces, strangers
unwilling to lift a finger in her defense.
In one evening, in a few brief moments,
those thoughtless boys had ruined
everything.
Larissa shook herself, forcing away
the dark thoughts. She must remain alert,
now. She would not be caught off guard
again. She wrapped her fist around the
keys, tucking one key between each pair
of fingers, to make a vicious weapon
should she have need to use it. She stood
tall, but kept her shoulders hunched to
conceal her boobs. Maybe she'd have
that reduction surgery after all. Maybe
she'd go for a totally flat look. She
couldn't have babies, so what need did
she have for breasts?
Two more blocks. She could make
it. She quickened her stride, glancing to
the left and right. Maybe he would be
here again? The stranger from Olympus?
Her breath caught in her throat. The keys
were slick in her sweaty palm. No, she
wouldn't see him again. Nut jobs came,
and nut jobs went. But she went on
forever. She snorted at the silly notion.
"Morning," Sally called. "You're
running late. I was getting worried! Oh-
my-gosh! What happened to you!"
Larissa sighed. Guess the make-up
wouldn't fool anyone. "It's nothing," she
mumbled, hanging her sweater on a hook
behind the door. She clipped her
nametag to her left shoulder and tied the
apron around her waist. All ready for
work. If only she could slow her heart
rate and breathe normally again.
"This is not 'nothing'! You picked
up another loser, didn't you! I thought
you were going to change. Why don't you
let me introduce you to my cousin's
husband's little brother? You'd like him.
He's a nice guy, and he would never hit
you!"
A quick image of Marco with her
flopped over his knee came to mind
unbidden. Maybe she didn't want a guy
who would never hit her... just one who
wouldn't use her face for practice. "I'm
not going out with your cousin's
husband's little brother. That would
make us like related, wouldn't it? Then
we couldn't be friends."
"That's ridiculous!"
Larissa gave the other waitress a
quick hug. "You are my best friend,
Sally. And I changed my mind. I'll work
for you on Valentine's, so you and your
Mr. Almost Wonderful can go out.
Okay?"
"Oh, Honey! Thank you! But I feel
bad for you. Tell me you aren't going to
see that creep again! Promise!"
"I promise." She had no doubt that
if those thugs ever came looking for
revenge, she would not survive.
The breakfast rush almost kept her
too busy to think about Marco. She
poured coffee, spilling only a little on
one customer. She served their
scrambled eggs, and fried eggs, and
Benedict eggs, and poached eggs with
bacon, or sausage, or ham, without
mixing up too many orders. Still, every
time the little bell over the door tinkled,
her heart skipped a beat and she looked
up, expecting to see his dark eyes gazing
at her. But he didn't come.
Sally teased her. Tom, the cook,
crabbed at her and told her to get her
head out of the clouds, or she could find
another job. It was all bark and no bite.
She'd been working here longer than any
other waitress, and the customers liked
her. Tom had given her a raise not long
ago, and she was always scheduled to
work a full week, even when business
was slow.
The lunch crowd came and went.
At two o'clock, she untied her apron.
Sally would work the dinner shift tonight
with two high school girls. Tomorrow
Larissa had a six hour shift, and then the
next day - Valentine's Day - she would
put in a twelve hour day again. Her feet
hurt. Her hands shook as she reached for
her sweater. The sun was bright - maybe
the thugs wouldn't be out yet? Maybe she
could run home and lock her door? Or
maybe she should just call a cab. Larissa
swore under her breath. She was not
going to let a couple of hoodlums dictate
how she lived her life!
The bell tinkled again, but it wasn't
her problem. Sally could handle it. She
heard Sally coo a friendly greeting to the
customer and usher him to a booth. Sally
always sounded like she was flirting,
even though she had a boyfriend. She
claimed it brought in bigger tips, but
Larissa wasn't going to play that game.
Her customers would tip her for good
service, or they could eat somewhere
else.
"Prattle no more, you witless
wench! And tell me where she is!"
 Chapter Four
Larissa jumped, clutching her
sweater to her. That sure sounded like
her nut job! She peaked around the
corner, wondering if she should duck out
the back door. There he sat, dwarfing the
solid booth with his bulk. His shoulders
were every bit as broad as she had
dreamed they were. His hair was neatly
pulled back, so black that the highlights
were nearly blue. It looked clean, and
she felt her fingers curl as she imagined
running them through it. There was
something different about him today,
though. She couldn't quite put her finger
on it. He didn't look quite as dangerous
as he had the day before. Maybe it was
the soft white shirt he wore, or just the
memory of how he'd looked when he'd
rescued her. Her hero. Her nut job.
Larissa gulped. Maybe he could protect
her from thugs, but who would protect
her from him?
"Was that you!" Sally scolded.
"You hit her, you big oaf! I'll call the
cops. I'll report you! You leave her
alone!"
Marco got up from the booth and
towered over her petite girlfriend.
Larissa quickly rushed to stand between
them. "Sally, this man saved me. He's
not the one who hit me. Marco, settle
down. You're scaring the customers."
Marco swept the empty diner with
his dark, sexy gaze. " 'Tis not a customer
here to be unsettled, dear one, but me.
And I am most unsettled. I feared you
had left too soon, without a proper
escort in this unsavory neighborhood."
"Now that's a man," Sally
whispered in her ear, but loud enough
for Marco to have heard. Hell, the cook
probably heard it. Larissa blew out a
breath. "Fine. Sally, meet Marco, the nut
job from Greece. Marco, thanks for
coming to my rescue. Good-bye,
farewell, and have a nice life."
She spun around, but did not take
more than two steps before Marco's
hand clamped down on her wrist. "Let
me go," she hissed.
Fury simmered just beneath the
surface of the towering god before her.
Larissa felt a frisson of fear spike down
her spine. She gulped, squaring her
shoulders and worked up a really good
glare.
"Dear heart," he said, his deep
voice deceptively calm. "I shall see you
safely home. Whether I walk you there,
or carry you over my shoulder after a
thorough chastisement for your
foolishness, the choice is yours."
Sally giggled, then ducked into the
kitchen. The traitor. She probably just
wanted to make sure that Larissa wasn't
going to renege on that offer to trade
shifts. See if Larissa ever did her
another favor!
"You - you have no right to touch
me," Larissa said coldly.
Marco released her and made a
courtly bow. "Perhaps not yet. But my
heart has claimed you, and you will be
mine. Not a man has been born that
could keep me from you."
"Claimed me! Argh!" That fear was
blossoming into full-blown terror mixed
with something else. A thrill of
expectation. And desire. She wanted
him. She had to be insane, but she
wanted him more than she had ever
wanted anyone or anything before in her
entire life. Her pulse was racing madly.
It hurt to breathe, it even hurt to look at
him, yet when she closed her eyes, his
face was all she could see. He was a
narcotic, and she was already addicted.
Marco took her sweater from her,
and graciously helped her to put it on as
if it were a fine fur coat. Then his
massive fingers fumbled with the tiny
buttons and he wrapped her up securely.
It was a small gesture, but one that spoke
more eloquently than words. He was
nuts about her. And from the kitchen she
could hear Sally give a little sigh,
murmuring that was the sweetest thing
she'd ever seen.
Marco held the door for her. He
walked beside her, adjusting his stride
to match hers so he could wrap a
massive arm around her waist
possessively. She tried to shrug it off,
but he gave her bottom a quick, decisive
swat, then simply held her again. Tears
clouded her vision. Larissa blinked,
holding them back as she had learned to
do. But the tears were not for the
stinging that one slap had caused, or for
her injured pride. She mourned for this
relationship that was doomed before it
began. Marco had no need to woo her.
She was already infatuated with him.
And that terrified her.
" 'Tis no place for a lady, my
heart," Marco rambled. Larissa blinked
again, trying to recall what he had been
saying, but she had not been paying
attention.
"What do you mean?"
"When we are wed, I shall bring
you to my palace. You shall have
servants to wait upon your servants, and
you shall have no need to work again."
He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed it sweetly.
"Thanks, Marco. But I can't live in
a palace."
His embrace tightened slightly. She
winced, and he loosened enough that he
was no longer hurting her. "Why do you
resist me, woman!"
"Well, only princesses can live in a
palace, and last time I checked, my
princess license had expired."
Marco chuckled. "Nay, my palace
is not for petty mortal tyrants who fancy
themselves in power. 'Tis forged from
the bowels of Mount Olympus, out of
finest marble and blessed by the god
Jupiter, my father. It is filled with fine
tapestries and exquisite statues, but they
all pale against your beauty, my queen."
 That was lovely, whatever the hell
it meant. She should just keep him
talking. Maybe she could figure out
where he'd escaped from, so they could
take him back. "Tell me about yourself,"
she encouraged. Guys always like to talk
about themselves.
Marco surprised her, though. He
grumbled something, and gave a shrug.
" 'Tis not worth mentioning, for 'tis
not a pretty story. I'd rather hear you
speak."
"What, are you wanted for
something? Are you in trouble?"
"Cast not your cares for me, dear
one. I am in no danger."
She walked for a time in silence,
but it was not an uncomfortable one. She
felt like everyone was watching her,
staring at the handsome god beside her.
She stood taller, although the top of her
head didn't even clear his armpit.
He walked with a deceptive calm,
although she felt the tension in him. It
was as if he searched vigilantly for any
hint of danger. He stepped in front of her
at every curb, shielding her from traffic
with his bulk. He held her elbow as she
stepped up on the sidewalk again. It was
foolish, and undoubtedly wrong, but in
his arms, she felt safe.
"So, where is this palace," she
prodded.
"Olympus," he said. "Near my
father, and my son."
"Must be nice to have family
nearby," she said, forcing a smile,
although something inside shattered at
the mention of a child. He was married.
Or divorced. Either way, he had already
failed at one relationship.
"Yea, though I do not see them as
oft as I ought. My son has grown to a
fine young man, and I take not a whit of
credit for it. 'Tis my mother's doing, to
be sure. The boy's mother has little love
for him."
"That happens, sometimes. I always
thought it odd that you have to have a
license to own a dog in this country, but
any nitwit can have a baby." Marco had
called this woman "the boy's mother".
Not his wife, or exwife, or even his ex-
girlfriend. Maybe they had never been
serious? And Marco didn't look old
enough to have a grown son. He must
have fathered the child while still in high
school.
"Tell me about your parents?"
"Nay. This fine day is not for the
sharing of scary tales. Those are best
told around a campfire in the dark of
night."
Larissa chuckled. "That bad, huh?
Sounds a bit like my dad."
"You loved him, though," Marco
stated.
"Yes. He was abusive. He used to
hit my mom, and I swore I'd never marry
a man like that. Yet, all my boyfriends
have been like carbon copies of him. I
guess because he's the only father I have
ever known, and I did love him. And I
miss him."
Marco twined his fingers in hers
and gave a gentle squeeze. "The heart
carries its own wisdom, seldom
understood by the mind."
"I guess."
She fitted the key in her door.
"Thanks for walking me home. I really
appreciate it. I was a little scared last
night. It was nice meeting you!"
Marco tugged her, not hard, until
she was facing him. "Why do you run
from me? Have I so frightened you that
you will not share time with me?"
She blinked. "Of course I will. I let
you walk me home -"
"If you'll recall, I gave you no
choice in the matter." He gave a smug
smile.
"Fine. You bullied me into letting
you walk me home. We just spent nine
blocks together. And now I'm going to
lay down and take a nap. I didn't sleep
much last night, and I'm exhausted.
Good-bye."
"Nine blocks has only whetted my
appetite for another nine, and another
nine after that. I cannot let thee out of my
sight, fair one, until this unquenchable
thirst has been sated. If it is napping that
you require, I am fair willing to
accompany you."
Her jaw dropped on a gasp. She'd
just met the guy, and already he wanted
in her bed? What kind of tramp did he
think she was? That her entire being was
begging her to comply was beside the
point. She didn't know him. He was too
big, and too domineering, and too -
something - to let him in. "Go home,
Marco," she snapped. "Don't you have
some brainless little Greek girl yearning
for you somewhere?"
"Nay. 'Tis only you that my heart
desires."
"Disappointment. Learn to live with
it."
Again she tried to close the door,
but still he blocked it. Fear ran like ice
in her veins. Then he gave her the most
charming smile, meant to melt the ice
and turn it into a burning river of need. It
almost worked. She bit her lip, pressing
her legs together to give them strength.
"Walk with me," he asked simply.
"Where? I'm home."
"Please? Just a walk around town. I
am a stranger in these lands. I know not
a soul besides thee."
She was still afraid, but it was
midday. The streets were filled with
people. And maybe she was safer with
him out in public, rather than inviting
him into her apartment. Then she saw
something in his gaze that further melted
her fear. Loneliness. It was something
she readily recognized, for she'd seen it
in her mirror often enough.
"Fine, Marco. I'll walk with you.
But just for a while. Then I really do
need to go home - alone."
 He gave her a wicked grin she felt
clear down to her toes. "Aye, milady."
Cupid grimaced, fairly nauseated at
the scene below. Watching his father
simper over that cold harpy was just too
awful. How could the massive, all-
powerful god of war buckle beneath the
petty whims of yet another fancy skirt?
Not that the wench was even wearing a
skirt. She was most unattractively attired
in men's pants, although the soft pink
sweater with the tiny buttons was rather
sweet. Yuck! And his father had
buttoned up her sweater for her, as if she
were too incapable herself. On any other
man - a mortal man - Cupid would have
seen the gesture as sweet. But on his
father, it was disgusting. Mars was too
old for her!
Cupid shook himself. His father had
been alone for centuries. Mars would
never get back with his mother - Cupid
wouldn't want him to, anyway. Venus
was still married to Vulcan, although it
was in name only. She had not shared a
bed with the homely god since mankind
had learned the secrets of fire. She took
a steady stream of lovers, both mortal
and im, although the mortal lovers
seldom survived her peevishness.
So what if his father could find a
bit of happiness from the leggy wench
with a sharp tongue? He would not get in
their way. When it seemed that Larissa
might actually turn his father away,
Cupid swirled a little magic to push her
out the door. In his eagerness, he pushed
a might too hard, and she stumbled.
Right into Mars's embrace. He closed
his eyes before he had to watch his
father kiss the wench again. Cupid had
other business to attend to.
He fetched his glass ball and gave
it a spin. Catching it on the tip of his
index finger, he brought it to a halt. As
the mists parted, he saw yet again that
Kayleigh and Thomas were bickering.
With a sigh of frustration, he cloaked
himself with invisibility and made the
journey back to earth.
They walked down one city street
and up another. Marco had told the truth
when he'd said he was new in town and
he knew not a soul, but he had seen the
entire city from Olympus. It was larger
up close, louder, and noisier. But there
was a pleasant oasis a few blocks over,
a large park with trees and walkways,
and privacy. Yea, that was most
important. With a thought, he urged all
mortals to leave the park, as he directed
his steps to bring them there.
The dogwoods were flowering, and
rhododendrons brought spots of color
amidst the browns of early spring. Mars
smiled at the pretty maid beside him. His
chest hurt to breathe just gazing at her.
That pretty Cupid's Bow mouth with
teeth like pearls. Her eyes were luscious
blueberries, framed by lush black lashes.
And when her gaze lowered, those pretty
lashes fanned across delicate cheeks the
color of ripe peaches. She was good
enough to eat, and he was fair famished!
"So what brings you to here,
Marco? I mean, Georgia isn't really on
anyone's list of the top ten must-see
places."
"You," he breathed.
"Me? Oh, yeah. You didn't even
meet me until you sat in my diner
yesterday. I mean, why were you in my
diner? What made you leave Greece?"
"I came from Olympus," he
corrected her.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You. I came to be with you."
She shivered once. Something
about this guy was starting to creep her
out. Like how he'd never give her a
straight answer. Were all his pretty
words just another line? Maybe he was
smoother than her exes, but he was cut
from the same cloth.
"Right. You just up and packed
your bags, and came across the ocean -
by ship or by plane? Because you just
knew you were going to meet a brainless
bimbo in good old southern U.S of A?
Give me a break."
"I shall not harm one hair on your
precious head," he promised, affronted
that she would expect any less of him. "I
shall ne'er break thee."
"Come on, He-Man. What gives?"
" 'Tis miscommunication again, my
dear heart. I do not understand the
question."
 She whirled around, placing her
hands on his chest as though she could
stop his immovable force through sheer
mortal effort. "I want to know why
you're here, Marco. And I want a straight
answer. Why are you here!"
"To woo you, darling. I thought
'twas fair obvious."
"Me. You want me in particular, or
are you just hard up for a quick lay?"
He shook his head in confusion. He
was sure consistent with the ignorant
immigrant facade. Maybe it wasn't an
act.
"Thou art all I shall ever want, my
dear one. For thee I would give up my
immortality. I want to lie with thee and
fill thee with my seed, and fatten thee
with my babes. I want a half dozen at
least, more if thou art willing. They will
be mortal, like thee, but I shall cherish
every moment with them. And when age
takes thee from me, I shall ne'er lie with
a mortal woman again. On this thou hast
my most solemn promise."
Her breath caught in her throat at
the poetry of his promise, even though
his speech had turned archaic. He spoke
with such solemnity, and his eyes held
not a hint of deception. He was insane.
Madly in love with her, and madly
insane. Tears filled her eyes and
threatened to spill over. She turned away
and dabbed at them, hoping he wouldn't
notice.
"I do not mean to frighten you," he
whispered, brushing away a tear with a
tender touch. "The power of my love for
you has frightened even me. Ne'er have I
felt this before, in all my long days,
though many a woman has spread herself
beneath me. 'Tis no small vow I make.
You hold my heart in your hands. It is
yours to cherish or ruin."
"This is all too much, too soon!"
She took a step back, and then another.
He was insane, and he wanted her, and
he knew where she lived, where she
worked. Where could she go? "You can't
love me already, Marco. We just met."
"I have loved you since you first
cursed my son's holiday. I did not know
it yet, but at that moment you claimed
this small stone of ice caged within my
breast. And it was as if a thousand years
of winter had come to an end, to melt
away the cold crust around my fragile
heart." Marco went down on one knee
then, and took her hand in his, holding it
to his chest. "I beg thee, my dear one. Do
not turn it to stone again."
Excitement coursed through her, hot
and passionate. For one moment, Larissa
let herself imagine that love at first sight
could really happen, and her charming
prince had finally come to take her away
from the ashes of her dull existence. But
then she steeled herself against his
romantic nonsense and yanked her hand
away.
"I don't know who put you up to
this, Marco. Is this some stupid bet, that
you could find a bimbo, woo her and
bed her within a specific time frame? If
so, why not just say so? Hey, if you'll
split the purse with me, I'll sleep with
you. Just stop with the flowery speech
and meaningless promises. I'm not
falling for it."
She whirled around and tried to
stomp away. Of course, she only
managed two steps before he was off his
knees and after her. His massive fingers
clamped around her wrist, and he yanked
her hard enough to knock her off
balance.
"A promise is sacred, dear one, and
not to be given lightly. And you'll not
sleep with anyone, for any wager, unless
it be me! Ever again!"
 She drew back her free arm and
swung it across his cheek, rage lending
her strength she didn't know she
possessed. The slap cracked hard. Her
hand stung, and when she removed it, a
bright red print remained. For one heart-
stopping moment, neither said a word.
Then at once, they spoke.
"I'm so sorry," she blurted.
"I'll teach thee about promises. That
is one action thou shalt regret the rest of
thy mortal days!"
"Marco! No! Unhand me! I'm sorry!
You're - you're just too much. And you
scare me! Let me go!" She looked
around desperately, but not a soul was in
sight. She was all alone in the park with
an enormous crazy man, and he was in a
full-blown rage.
Marco tucked her under his arm and
carried her as if she were no heavier
than a football. She kicked and
struggled, suspecting that he intended to
spank her again. She just could not allow
that to happen. It would hurt! Damn, but
she was still tender from yesterday's
spanking, and... and it might also be kind
of nice, like he really cared about her.
Like he meant all that insane stuff he'd
been telling her. And if she started to
believe him, hell, she'd let him. She'd let
him woo her. She'd wake up tomorrow,
with another crazy man in her bed, and
she just couldn't do that to herself again.
"Put me down! If you touch me, I'll
- I'll never speak to you again! You
bastard!"
"It is wrong to make a promise you
cannot possibly keep, my dear one. A
promise is a promise. And I promise that
you'll not be sitting on that pretty rump
for a full week!"
Larissa drew in a deep breath and
screamed. Surely someone would hear
her. Her throat felt raw, but she drew in
yet another breath. Marco's heavy hand
landed on her tender bottom three times
in warning.
"Best be saving your breath, my
pretty. You'll be needing it soon
enough." He chuckled at his private joke.
She kicked, wishing she could reach a
little lower and land one in his most
sensitive area, but the brute was just too
large.
He sauntered over to a bench and
settled himself. Then he brought her
down off his shoulder to stand in front of
him. She felt about six years old,
frightened, but not terrified. She should
be. She was alone, and he could be a
serial killer, for all she knew. But she
wasn't that scared. He'd spanked her
before, and then he'd walked her home
and he didn't leave until he heard her
lock her door. Maybe he really did mean
to protect her? His large hands clasped
around her small wrists were firm, but
not hurtful. His piercing gaze was intent,
but no longer filled with fury. Instead
there was a sadness about his gaze she
did not understand.
 "I'll be spanking you on the bare,
Larissa. Only then can I know when
you've had enough. I'm spanking you for
that slap, which was uncalled for. I'm
spanking you because you do not hold
my promise sacred. But also, because
you offered yourself to me so lightly. I
want you, but I want only you. And for
you to want only me. I know you've had
other lovers in the past, but after today,
you'll give yourself to me and me alone.
My son's mother will spread her legs for
anything that breathes, and I'll not have
such faithlessness in a wife. Do you
understand?"
She should have simply nodded, but
Larissa's mouth had a mind of its own. "I
will not keep myself only for you, I don't
even know you! Of all the idiotic - "
With that, Marco yanked down her
slacks and flipped her over his lap.
Seconds later, her satin panties were in
shreds and tossed aside. He wrapped
one arm around her ribs securely, then
began to pummel her bottom with what
felt like an anvil. His hand was huge and
solid and unforgiving. Larissa squirmed
and struggled. She kicked and screamed
again, but she was powerless.
Ten, twenty times he swatted her
bottom. The stinging slaps were loud in
her ears, and much harder than the slap
she'd laid across his face. Her bottom
had to be scarlet by now. She renewed
her efforts to escape, but to no avail. On
he went, swatting her bottom with a
steady, relentless rhythm.
Thirty, forty swats. She couldn't
believe he was still spanking her. She
was coughing now, gasping for air
between each sob, unable to scream or
yell or argue. She could only endure.
Fifty, sixty swats. Surely the man
was insane! How could he keep doing
this to her? How could he keep hurting
her, when he claimed he loved her? He
was crazy! She was crazy. This was
wrong, so wrong!
And then at last he stopped.
Larissa coughed and gasped, unable
to move. Marco lifted her, settling her on
his lap and held her close. She could
feel his heart beating - fast and hard. His
shirt felt sweat-damp, and she glanced
up, expecting to see sweat across his
brow. What she did see so surprised her
that she was stunned. It was tears, not
sweat that trailed down his face. Tears
had dampened his shirt. He was weeping
almost as hard as she was. She threw her
arms around his neck and sobbed for all
the pain he had caused. She sobbed for
the horrible last two days - starting with
the thugs who had accosted her. She
sobbed for all the pretty things Marco
had told her, because she hadn't believed
him. And she sobbed because, as foolish
as it sounded, she loved him.
"I pray, my sweet, that I never have
cause to punish you like that again," he
whispered.
She hoped so, too.
 "Now, let me take you home.
Perchance after a rest, you'll feel well
enough to accompany me for dinner."
She just nodded. It was the safest
thing to do. She'd agree to anything he
said. She'd let him comfort her, and feed
her, and even make love to her. And then
tomorrow she'd have to make sure that
he never found her again.
 Chapter Five
Larissa was much subdued on their
return. Mars feared he had been a bit too
severe with her, but gods! She could
drive one crazy! He would be extra
tender with her tonight, and hope that she
recovered swiftly. He had a bit of
healing elixir in his bedchamber he
might give to her. When he got to her
apartment, he lifted her and carried her
across the threshold in the ancient
custom of man and wife.
Her apartment was small and
simple, but not spartan. Colorful pillows
and soft throws adorned the dais and
chairs. The ground cloth was soft as
lamb's wool and he yearned to claim her
upon it. He would like to claim her upon
the dais, and the eating table, and
ceramic bath, and even on the balcony,
when the weather turned a might
warmer. He longed to claim her in every
room that was hers, so that wherever she
went, she could not help but think of him.
But tonight, their first time, must be
special. He must not frighten the girl, as
he wasn't certain she realized yet he was
immortal, but only his bedchamber at
Olympus would do. So while he carried
her into her bedchamber, and set her
tenderly upon her own bed, he dimmed
the lights, swirled space, and altered
reality. It was not her bed she lay upon,
but his. The large circular bed was
clothed in silken sheets with down-filled
coverlets as soft as clouds. No electric
light could cast the delicate amber glow
of his scented oil lamps, nor could her
smelly oil furnace warm their naked
bodies as gently as the crackling fire he
lit on the stone hearth with but a thought.
Tonight would be pure magic for both of
them. He would slow time, to draw out
as much pleasure as possible, to create a
wealth of memories for her, since she
complained that they did not know each
other well enough to consider marriage.
By morning's light, she'd have to know
they belonged together, for she was not a
dimwit.
Slowly, sensually, he removed her
sweater, sucking each tiny button into his
mouth to tug it free with his tongue. As
the sweater slipped down her shoulders,
then fell to the floor, he repeated the
gesture with each button on her blouse.
And then, to his amusement, there were
two more small enclosures on the scrape
of lace and latex fair bursting with her
luscious breasts. A delicate shiver
climbed up her spine as he pressed a
tender kiss to one puckered nipple. With
a snap of his fingers, he made the fire to
burn a little brighter before treating the
remaining nipple to the same.
She moaned, her breath unsteady
from her weeping. Her small hands
tugged his hair free from the tie, then
raked through the long, loose locks and
clung to it, as to a lifeline. His scalp felt
shivery with excitement. Who could
have guessed that his hair would be an
erogenous zone? 'Twas something Venus
had ne'er discovered. But yea, she had
never tried to please him. His pleasure
was simply a byproduct, an afterthought.
Mars forced all thoughts of Venus from
his mind, to concentrate more fully on
his beloved's need.
Once again he tugged her man's
clothing lower, guiding first one long leg
free, and then the other. She winced as
her bare, battered bottom touched the
cool satin sheets, and for a moment Mars
regretted that he'd had to punish her so
severely. He rolled her onto her stomach
and began to kiss each bruise. There
were a fair lot of them. She moaned
once, and he feared he'd kissed too hard,
but then she moaned again, and tried to
part her legs. Mars let her roll onto her
back, so he could better kiss that
women's part that was fair begging to be
kissed.
Larissa gasped, her entire body
shaking with release, and he was just
getting started. His lips tugged in a
satisfied smile. The woman loved him.
She may not realize it yet, but her soul
belonged to him. He let her float a
moment on the waves of her pleasure
before he returned to pleasuring her
again. Twice more she climbed and fell
that precious precipice. The woman was
fair famished for him. He was hard with
need, and crazy from wanting her, but yet
he held himself back. He did not wish to
scare her with the size of his need.
 But the little vixen had a mind of
her own. Her slender fingers boldly
grasped his man part and began their
own seduction. Now it was his turn to
groan, and nearly shame himself with his
lost control. Larissa laughed, a light,
sensual sound. Her legs parted and she
tugged him to mount her. Mars needed no
further encouragement, yet still he
hesitated.
"I want you," she whispered.
"Yea, dear one. I can see. But it has
been so long for me. I have no wish to
harm thee."
"That's an odd thing to say, after
blistering my bottom just moments ago."
"You had that coming, and you
know it, darling."
 "So take me. Now. I want this!"
She wrapped her long legs around
his hips then, and squeezed. She wiggled
her hips, grinding against his pelvis.
Mars let out a roar, and plunged into her
honeyed depths. The woman did not
even wince, though he sank himself deep
within her. Instead she bit his ear. She
raked her fingers across his back. And
she opened herself to him wholly.
Mars had wanted to draw it out. He
had hoped to make this evening last half
of forever, but all too soon he was
thrusting furiously, rutting with the
wench like the animal he was. He
grimaced, struggling to rein back, but
Larissa tightened around him and
screamed. Yea, screamed. Then her tight
opening spasmed again. She had climbed
higher than ever before, and the orgasm
went on and on. Mars exploded within
her before she finished. He collapsed on
top of her. His bed comforted her and
kept him from suffocating her, wrapping
them both in soft down and silk.
Mars could no more move off her
than he could command the mountains
get up and walk away. He lay there,
utterly spend and completely amazed. He
sensed his seed spread inside her, but
something blocked it from completing its
course. He spread his palm across her
belly. Yea, something inside her was not
quite right. He felt a moment of distress
that his mortal lover was somehow less
than perfect, but with a mere thought he
healed her brokenness inside. His seed
found her precious core and took root.
He grinned a very satisfied grin.
'Twould be a daughter, this one. A
blessed little girl with her mother's eyes
of blueberry blue, and peaches and
cream complexion. She would have
Mars's black hair though, and
undoubtedly his temper. His mother
would be so surprised when he asked
her for guidance in how to raise such a
child! Suddenly, he wanted nothing more
of war, but only to return to his simple
life in the fields. To provide a verdant
home for his daughter and future
children.
He smelled the bitter tang of salt,
and bent to kiss the tear that leaked from
Larissa's eyes. "What is it, my dear one?
Stupid blockhead that I am, did I harm
you? I beg thee forgiveness!"
"No, it's not that, Marco. It's just
this. This was wonderful. Perfect, even.
I've never known it could be like this. I
wish I had met you first - a long time
ago. Back when I could still believe in
fairy tales."
"Believe this, Larissa. Believe
this!" He bent to kiss her again, first on
each tear that trailed down her face.
Then on her delicate collarbone, up her
neck, behind each ear, and finally upon
her full, lush lips. He kissed her
tenderly, touching each breast at though
it were made of glass, afraid that his
large fingers would leave bruises if he
weren't careful. He touched her
everywhere, and before the night was
spent, he made love to her again and
again, until they were both fair
exhausted. On his last coherent thought,
he returned them to her bedchamber, lest
she wake up first and be frightened by
his palace.
Larissa awoke before him, although
she could not move for the heavy arm
that held her prisoner. She felt sore all
over, yet strangely satisfied. Her bottom
was no doubt purple from the spanking.
Her thighs felt chaffed from the evening
of ardent love-making. That's what it had
been - love-making. Not sex. Nothing
that beautiful could be cheapened by that
crass three-letter word. All she'd ever
shared with her former boyfriends had
been sex. But what Marco had shown
her was almost holy in its simplicity. He
truly believed he was in love with her,
and she believed him. There was not a
grain of doubt in her mind. But he
terrified her. Maybe he was insane.
Maybe he was just different, because of
his foreign roots. But he was
overwhelming her, suffocating her. This
couldn't last, this incredible sex and
overwhelming love. Better to leave now,
and cherish the memories of that one
incredible evening, than to lose herself
in the intensity of his love for her. Or to
find out that he really had escaped from
a home somewhere, and had to be
committed.
 How could she leave him? He
seemed to know what she was thinking
sometimes. And now that he had her, he
would never let her go. Of that, she was
certain. And she just couldn't handle any
more spankings. Not for a long, long,
long time! No, she'd have to agree with
him this morning. To everything he said.
And she'd have to convince him she
meant everything. She would even have
to tell him how much she loved him, too.
That wouldn't be hard; she'd only have to
speak the truth.
If only she could stay with him!
Maybe it would work out all right after
all? For one magical moment, she let
herself believe that. But then she
remembered his solemn promise, and
that bit about wanting kids. A half dozen
at least. She touched her flat abdomen,
and for the first time in her life, she
honestly regretted her actions. There
would be no children between them.
When he discovered what she'd done,
would he be furious? Would he spank
her again? Would he ever stop spanking
her? And eventually, he'd hate her.
So she would agree with him, but
eventually, he'd have to leave her alone.
And then she could make her move.
"Ah, good morning, my dear heart,"
Marco cooed. His breath was hot and
sweet against her forehead. Little
shivers ran up her spine. Her heart was
already breaking - it couldn't hurt to
make love just once more?
 "Is there someone you wish to
invite to our nuptials, Larissa?"
"Huh?"
Marco chuckled. "Hast ye not been
listening? Surely you cannot doubt after
last night that we belong together. We
shall be wed before midday, or,"
"No!" Larissa gasped. Her bottom
clenched in anticipation of what was
sure to follow, but she quickly back-
pedaled. "I mean, not today, Marco. We
couldn't possibly get everything
organized so quickly!"
"Very well," he said with a long-
suffering sigh. "Tomorrow, then. And I'll
not take any answer other than "yes"."
"All right. Tomorrow."
His arm tightened around her, and
he kissed the top of her head. "We could
be wed at Olympus, but 'twould bring a
great crowd, for certain. Gawkers
mostly, nitwits, and meddlesome
nymphs. Not a friend among them. Is
there a place that has special meaning
for you?"
Larissa considered it for a few
moments. She'd never really thought
about getting married. Her exes weren't
marriageable material. But if she really
were going to marry Marco, where
would she imagine the ceremony? He
just didn't seem like the type to wear a
white tux and stand in front of preacher
while repeating the age-old wedding
vows.
But what about a garden
somewhere? And maybe they could say
their own vows. If she got a justice of
the peace, that would be allowed. But
they were booked months in advance. A
spur-of-the-moment wedding would
never work. "We just can't do it that fast,
Marco," she said sadly. "There's the
wedding license, and flowers to order,
and you have to have reservations for the
place - whether you chose the gardens or
a banquet hall. And a dress - I don't have
a dress."
"These are but trivialities, darling.
Let me take care of them all. Just ask,
and it shall be done according to your
wishes." He kissed her again, this time
on the lips. And for a magical moment,
Larissa almost believed him.
 "Fine. Then, I'd love to be wed
outside. At sunset, standing on a
mountain top. I'd like Sally to stand with
me, and I'd like Tom to give me away.
I'd like your son to be a part of it, too,
even though we've never met. But it
would be nice to meet him, and to know
that we have his blessing. Your parents
could come, too. I guess that's all. I'd
rather keep it small, too. Better a half
dozen good friends, than a crowd of
imitation well-wishers."
"Done!"
She closed her eyes, only half
listening to him as he prattled on about
where they would live, and how he
would change, now that they were to be
wed. She hoped he wouldn't change too
much - for she had fallen in love with
him as he was. He talked about a little
farm on the outskirts of some little town
with a foreign name. She guessed it was
in Greece somewhere, but on the main
land, not one of the touristy islands. He
talked about raising fields of wheat,
maize, and barley, and perhaps a few
sheep. She tried to imagine him on a
John Deere tractor, but the image just
wouldn't come. It was easier to see him
in a bar fight on Saturday night. Or
making love to her until noon. Every
day. Briefly, she wondered how he was
set, financially. He never seemed to
need anything. Except her. Tears pricked
her eyes at how hurt he would be when
he realized she'd run away. But he'd get
over it. And who knew? If he were as
crazy as she believed, maybe he
wouldn't even remember her in a day or
two.
"Shall I take you to Olympus, my
dear one?" he said at last.
Larissa shook herself, for she had
not been listening to him again. All his
pretty plans were too depressing. "Uh,
no, not today," she stuttered.
His gaze darkened, and he looked
like he might work up to a rage with
little provocation. She felt a tremor
down her spine to sting her already sore
bottom. She had to do anything to
assuage his temper, before he put her
over his knee again. "I have to go to
work," she said quietly.
 "No wife of mine has need of
employment," he growled.
"But we aren't married yet. And
Tom is depending on me. I have to give
him a two-week notice, so he'll have
time to replace me."
"He could not replace you, if he
had a thousand days to look."
"That's sweet," she said, patting his
cheek.
"Nay," he grumbled. "There's not an
ounce of sweetness in me."
"Well, you can grumble and growl
all you want, but I think you're very
sweet. The way you care for me and
want to protect me. Totally unnecessary
and archaic, and, well - sweet."
Marco chuckled, a deep, surprising
sound rumbling up from the depths of his
broad chest. Larissa twined her fingers
through the dark hair covering his broad
chest, and kissed him again. He caught
her hands before they could slip to
regions further south.
"'Tis time to arise, my darling, for
there is much to do. I will permit thee to
return to your diner for the day, and this
day only. I shall meet you there at sunset,
that we may share the evening meal
together."
"Don't you know it's supposed to be
bad luck to see the bride the night before
the wedding?"
"'Tis nonsense."
"I suppose," she said, with a great
long sigh to match the one he had uttered
earlier.
Marco rolled on top of her, pinning
her wrists easily, and rubbing his
stubbled chin against her cheek. "Ye are
not growing tired of me already, are ye,
heartless wench?"
"No! Marco! Don't do that! You'll
make my skin rough and bruised for the
wedding!"
He kissed her where he'd scratched
her, then sprung to his feet. "Arise,
precious! We've much to do - but in two
days' time when we begin our life
together, we shall stay in bed as long as
ye desire. For a month, or more, if ye
wish."
Larissa forced a bright smile,
admiring the view as Marco strode into
the bathroom in his glorious all-together.
She joined him in the shower, making a
memory of each little touch, as he
washed her back, and massaged the
shampoo through her scalp while kissing
her senseless. Then he towel-dried her,
another process that took far longer than
necessary, for everywhere he found a
drop of water, he planted a kiss. Even
after she managed to get dressed for
work, Marco still insisted on escorting
her to the diner.
"Until tonight," he promised.
"Yes, Marco." She waved at him,
as he gave her a disarming smile, then
turned and walked away.
Sally put her arm around Larissa.
"Oh, that was lovely! I'm so happy for
you! I just knew that you'd meet a nice
guy someday."
Larissa bit her lip to keep it from
trembling, but the tears she'd held back
for hours could no longer be contained.
Sally gasped, ushering Larissa into the
restroom.
"What is it? What's wrong? Did he
hurt you? Oh, honey, talk to me!"
Larissa shook her head, grabbing
the tissues Sally offered as she blew her
nose. "I don't know," she sobbed. "It's
just - too much! He scares me. I mean,
he's too much. We only just met, and he's
insisting we get married!"
"That's... uh, sweet," Sally said
without much conviction.
"Tomorrow!"
 "Tomorrow?"
"Yes! Tomorrow!"
"What's the rush?"
Larissa shook her head again. "I
can't. I just - can't. He's swallowing me
up, and I feel like there's not going to be
any "me" left. But he knows where I
live, and where I work. I have to get
away!"
"You could report him to the
police," Sally suggested.
"For what? Rescuing me from four
thugs? Escorting me home, wanting to
protect me? Right! The police can't do
anything, not even for women who really
are being abused."
"You have to go," Sally concluded.
"Right now."
 "But, I promised I'd work for you
tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it. Jeffrey will
understand. Do you have any money?"
"Not on me. And I'm afraid to go to
the bank. What if he's watching?"
"Here. Take this - it's all I have
right now. Wear my coat, and get on a
bus - it's more anonymous than a cab.
Take it anywhere - just get away. But -
call me and let me know when you get
somewhere, okay?"
"He'll be here tonight, Sally. He
wanted to pick me up after work."
"Don't worry about it. What can he
do to me? I'll call Jeffrey and ask him to
meet me here. Now Go!"
Tom yanked open the restroom
door. His expression was dark, but in
one hand he held Sally's coat, and in the
other, a wad of bills. "Take care of
yourself, Larissa," he grumbled.
Larissa didn't know what to say.
She hugged Tom, and kissed his cheek.
"If I could have chosen my father, I
would have picked you," she whispered.
He grunted, blinking his eyes
quickly as though onion juice were
stinging them. Then he whirled around
and marched back into his kitchen.
Sally helped Larissa into her coat,
tugging on the blue knit hat, and
wrapping the matching scarf up around
Larissa's face.
"It's not that cold out today,"
Larissa said, attempting to laugh in spite
of the lump lodged in her throat.
"You just keep your face covered
until you are far away. Oh, I'm going to
miss you! But let me know where you
are, and Jeffrey and I - we'll come see
you. Soon!"
Larissa hugged her friend close.
She couldn't say another word, but there
was really nothing more to say. She
gazed into Sally's big brown eyes now
filled with compassion. Then with a nod,
she left.
Gray clouds had rolled in front of
the sun, as though even the weather
could not bear to be cheerful. Larissa
walked away from the diner, away from
her apartment. At each streetlight, she
recalled how Marco put himself
between her and the traffic. She smiled
wistfully, brushing away her last tear.
She couldn't fall apart now. She had to
look anonymous, draw the least amount
of attention to herself. She couldn't do
that if she looked like a victim. She
stood taller, straightened her shoulders,
and walked briskly.
She hopped on the first bus she
saw, without even asking where it would
take her. She had to make several
connections before she wound up at the
depot downtown. There she bought a
ticket for as far as sixty bucks would
take her. Once settled in her seat, with
no luggage, no food, no idea what she
was going to do when she got there, she
shut her eyes and tried to block out all
thoughts of the handsome god-like nut
case she was leaving behind.
Mars paced restlessly in his
chamber. The wench's wishes weren't as
simple a task as it would have seemed.
He'd had to use his powers to convince
someone called a "justice of the peace"
to let them have the ceremony on the
morrow. He'd asked his son for help to
locate a garden on the top of a mountain,
and then he'd had to use more magic to
get the reservations necessary to ensure
their privacy. Getting her a dress was
not something he would have been able
to do, so he had gone to his mother,
bending low in supplication, to ask her
to see to it.
The only thing left to do, was ask
her boss Tom and her friend Sally to
attend. If they loved her, as she thought
they did, he was fair certain of their
answer. But by gods! He needed
something to fill the hours while he
waited. Perhaps he should just go to the
diner early? Nay, 't would distract
Larissa overly much, and he would not
be able to keep his hands off her.
"Cupid!" Mars bellowed. He
stormed from his chamber, in search of
the young god on his almost busiest day
of the year. "Cupid! Show thyself!"
"What, Father," the boy panted,
arriving back from earth with a quick
flutter of wings.
"Maybe she needs another arrow.
We aren't wed yet - what if she changes
her mind? What if she doesn't really love
me?"
Cupid concealed his grin by
coughing into his hand. "The arrow's
magic would have worn off shortly after
striking her, Father. If she kissed you -
and I know she did, it was of her own
volition. My magic does not force love.
It only opens one's eyes to possibilities."
"But, she is head strong. And
willful. And disobedient! Gods, why
would I fall for such a creature? My
hand is fair sore from her instruction."
Cupid could not contain his laugh.
His mirth was contagious, even if it was
directed at his father. Mars found
himself struggling against the urge to
grin.
 "Oh, Father! You are a silly goose!
You would not be contented with a
lesser woman. It took a score of
centuries to find just the right mold to
please you. You should count your
blessings, and treasure every moment
Fate deems fit to grant the two of you!"
 Chapter Six
At last, evening spread across
Larissa's village. Mars fidgeted, eager to
be off at once to fetch his lovely bride-
to-be, yet at the same time, hesitant to
go. What if Cupid were wrong, and she
didn't love him? What if all she felt was
the moment of infatuation caused by his
arrow? Oh, curses! Why had he ever
goaded the boy into that infernal wager!
If she spurned him, if she turned him
away, then the mortal realm did not
deserve to exist.
Cupid had long since abandoned
him. His son felt he had much yet to do
before his big day. It was just as well. If
the wench turned him away, 'twas not a
thing he'd wish the boy to witness. Mars
straightened the ridiculous "tie", which
felt a bit like a hangman's noose, and
smoothed back an errant lock of hair.
'Twas time. He cleared his throat, and
snapped his fingers for yet one more
journey earthward.
He appeared near the diner, then
strode purposefully inside with more
bravado than courage. Anxiously, his
gaze swept the diner for his beloved.
The diner was in chaos - many
customers awaiting their meal, and for a
moment Mars was reminded of his first
visit there. Of watching his beloved with
the sharp tongue snap orders at the
customers with brisk efficiency. But
there was none of that now. Larissa was
nowhere to be seen. Fury filled his
breast, as he imagined her walking
homeward unprotected in this vile
village!
"Where is she," he boomed.
A strangled calm settled on the
diner. Larissa's friend dropped the
serving platter she had been carrying.
Several customers quickly paid their bill
and scurried out past Mars without
stopping to collect their change. The
metal swinging door to the kitchen
opened, and Mars thought his beloved
might appear, but 'twas the man cook,
Tom.
"She's gone, buddy. And if you
know what's good for you, you'll leave
her be!"
"Gone? Why! I demand an answer!"
 Tom wiped his hands on his greasy
apron as though preparing to do battle. If
Mars weren't so furious, he might find
that amusing. Then Larissa's friend -
what was the serving girl's name? -
stepped in to the fray.
"She was afraid, Marco. You've got
her all tied up in knots - I've never seen
her like that. Larissa never cries! So she
left. And she didn't tell us where she
was going, so we can't tell you, even if
we wanted to."
His fury melted as the realization
struck him. His one and only was truly
gone. There would be no more sunrises,
no more gentle moments. He would ne'er
love again, though the mountains fell,
and the seas turned to dust. One day, he
would make good his threat and wipe
humanity from the face of the earth, but
not today. It was time to mourn. Mars
turned and left the diner in slow motion,
for all the spirit had left him.
Cupid smiled, a feeling of
contentment stealing over him as Thomas
and Kayleigh snuggled together on the
dais watching a movie. All the hurt
feelings and misunderstandings seemed
to have been worked out for now. He
had struck them each with another
arrow, rekindling the desire that had all
but sputtered out during their petty
bickering. Their love intensified and
bloomed into full-blown passion very
quickly. He turned away to allow them
some privacy, for he was not
comfortable spying on them when they
were thus engaged. The other gods
laughed at him, claiming that a good
evening's entertainment was little enough
payment for all his hard work, but they
just didn't understand. Watching
Kayleigh and Thomas through the years
as they grew closer, discovering each
other anew each and every day of their
life together, so far outweighed the little
effort he put forth to bring them together,
that it was he who should be paying
them. And now, to imagine that his father
might have found that same special love
- well! This Valentine's would prove to
be the best one ever! With an eager
flutter of his wings, he returned to
Olympus to see to the final arrangements
for the wedding.
The palace was strangely silent at
his return. The musicians he'd hired to
play for the reception were not
practicing. The decorators were not
decorating. The bakers were not baking.
All in all, it was a catastrophe of
immortal proportions! He felt a rage
build up inside, something he rarely felt,
and he longed for a target to vent the
unpleasant sensation.
"Grandmother, what has happened,"
he blurted, bursting into her chambers
unannounced and uninvited.
She did not rebuke him, but held
herself aloof. "Only what I might have
expected, child. The mortal woman has
spurned my son's affection. He sulks in
his room even now."
"No! She can't! She'll ruin
everything! Oh - now what? I must hurry
back to earth at once."
"You shall do nothing of the sort.
Ares is too full of himself. It's about time
someone took him down a notch or two."
"But, grandmother! The wager!"
She arched her eyebrows at him
disdainfully. "I could care less of your
fool's wager, Cupid. Wait in your room,
until this matter plays itself out."
Cupid opened his mouth to argue,
but she silenced him with a haughty
wave of her hand. There would be no
reasoning with her this evening. Cupid
spun around and left. He would do as
she commanded, but he would take the
long way to his room - and if he
managed to find his father first, then
there might still be hope.
Mars was not hard to find. He was,
as Juno had said, in his room sulking.
"Father," Cupid called.
"Go away." Mars sounded tired,
and strangely, very old.
"I cannot. There is much to be
done! Why do you sit there feeling sorry
for yourself? You have never walked
away from a fight in your life!"
" 'Twas not a fight I longed for, my
son. But love."
"You said it yourself. Love and war
are more alike than not. If you love this
woman, you must fight for her!"
"I'd slay dragons, destroy entire
countries, if it meant having her
affections. But 'tis the wench herself
who has turned me down. I cannot fight
that."
"Yes, you can. You can find out
why."
"She is gone."
"Find her! Demand an answer! She
owes you that much."
Mars shrugged, his broad shoulders
slumped in a very un-warlike position.
Cupid feared that perhaps his father's
heart truly had been broken. Quickly he
fetched his glass ball and swirled the
mists.
"Let us find her, Father. And at the
very least see for ourselves that she is
well?"
 He sighed, but made room for
Cupid beside him on the dais.
Larissa was not easy to locate.
Cupid tried her apartment first, then her
work place. He searched the streets of
her village, and all the places that
mortals were wont to gather. Getting
desperate, he tugged a hair from Mars's
head, crushed it and sprinkled it on the
ball. It would not work if the woman
bore no feelings for his father, but Cupid
suspected that was not the case. No one
could kiss like she did and not feel
something!
Finally the mists cleared. He saw a
large bus rattling along a dark road.
Inside the bus only a few lights were on,
as all but one of the passengers were
trying to sleep. The one was slouched
into her seat, a wad of soggy tissues
clutched in her fist, as she wept silently.
'Twas the wench.
Mars stared at the image, shedding
a tear of his own. "I have hurt her, son.
See how she weeps? Curses be the day
we met."
"Perhaps she cries because she
misses you?"
"But she was the one to leave!"
"You said it yourself. Women don't
often know their own mind. Perhaps
'twas all a misunderstanding. Perhaps
you can yet make this right."
"How? I do not think she realizes
my true nature. If I suddenly appear on
the bus, 'twould only frighten her more."
 "Then appear at the next bus stop,
and walk on that bus. Sit beside her. Get
her to talk to you. There is more to a
relationship than the physical, my father.
I can hold back the dawn, if need be, to
give you a little more time. But you two
will be wed in the morning, or I am not
the god of love and romance!"
Mars' lips quirked in a half grin.
'Twas a good sign. Then he clapped
Cupid on the back. "Now ye sound like
the son of my loins."
Cupid returned the grin. "I'll take
that as a complement."
In his haste, Mars nearly forgot to
change into modern attire. A cold rain
fell, but he was too intent on his mission
to stop and alter the weather. The bus
squealed to a stop beneath the flickering
street light. No passengers disembarked.
Mars handed the driver a paper ticket,
then strode down the narrow aisle to
reach his beloved at the rear. The bus
started again, nearly knocking him off
balance. Mars growled under his breath,
but he did not wish to wake the
passengers. To ensure success, he
scattered a sleeping spell over them.
Then he slid into the empty seat beside
Larissa.
She glanced up, her eyes wide with
fear. She bit her lower lip, that
delicious, perfect lower lip, as she had
done before when he prepared to spank
her. He felt like giving her thorough
spanking now, for the agony she had put
him through. Mars counted back from ten
a dozen times, very quickly, before he
felt he had calmed down enough to listen
to the wench.
"You left," he said, stating the
obvious.
She nodded. Her wits seemed to
have fled, for she did not offer an
explanation.
He counted to ten once more. Then
he remembered something his mother
had once told him. That true love meant
putting another's needs above one's one.
It was a novel idea, and not one the gods
often practiced. But he had seen Jupiter
defer to his wife at times, although
Jupiter was god of all. Mars gazed at
Larissa, letting everything about her fill
him. She was trembling, and not just
from the cold. She was truly afraid.
"What have I done, to make ye fear
me so?" he whispered.
Her gaze dropped. Long black
lashes rested against the pale
complexion, still wet with tears. "I, I
don't know if I can explain it," she
murmured.
"Is it because I put you over my
knee?"
"No."
"Because I told you how much you
mean to me?"
"No. Yes. I don't know! It's just
that, well, I don't really know you. And
you don't really give me a chance to talk,
you just tell me "we're getting married."
Like my opinion doesn't even count. This
is the new millennium, mister! Women
don't have to be barefoot and pregnant
anymore."
"Is it the babe? Is that what has you
so frightened?" He placed his large palm
over her belly. 'Twould hurt him greatly
to lose his daughter, almost as much as
losing the love of his life.
"Part of it. I know you want
children, you said so yourself. But I can't
have children."
"Of course you can."
"No, I can't. Believe me, Marco,
when I tell you that. I saw a doctor, and I
had my tubes tied."
"I do not understand your speech,
Larissa. But believe me when I tell you,
that even now you carry our child."
She shook her head, coughing as a
new wave of tears spilled down her
face. "Oh, I wish that were true! I never
thought I wanted kids. But ever since I
met you, I can't help thinking that a dozen
little ones all just like you, would be
almost heavenly. Sometimes this surgery
can be reversed, but it's risky at best.
And, and I'm not that young any more.
And you wanted to move to a farm - I
don't know anything about farming! And
you seem so sure of yourself, like you
don't have a care in the world. How do
you make your money? Is any of it legal?
Oh, Marco! You see what I mean - we
really don't know each other well
enough to commit our lives together."
 Mars shook his head at her. Cupid
had been right. She didn't know her own
mind. She loved him, for sure and for
certain, if the tears she shed were any
indication. But she was afraid of making
a commitment. It was up to him to set her
straight. Even if that entailed another trip
across his knee.
"Then 'tis fortunate we are on this
bus together, for we have the entire
evening to get better acquainted, my
beloved."
She shuddered, pressing into her
seat as though to put a bit of distance
between them. The seats were narrow,
and Mars was not small. Still, he tried
not to crowd her. "First off, my sweet, I
should tell you that my name has changed
over the years. I was named Ares by my
parents. Later it changed to Mars. I had
no wish to frighten you, for I am certain
you have not met many immortals in your
life, so I took on the name Marco when
we first met.
She gulped, her eyes wide, and
pressed herself further into her seat.
"Immortals?"
He shrugged his shoulders. Most
mortals could not comprehend the idea
of immortality until they witnessed it
themselves. A pang struck him at the
thought of watching her grow old, while
he would appear to remain the same.
The gods did age. They sometimes died.
New gods were born, though not so
much anymore. Cupid was among the
youngest, and he had been around for
slightly more than two millennia.
"I spoke the truth when I told you I
come from Olympus. But I do not think
you realize that Olympus is the city of
the gods, and not some mortal realm."
"You are insane. I knew it," Larissa
gasped.
" 'Twas only truth, when I spoke of
my love for you. And though you did not
speak the words, you showed me with
your heart that you have feelings for me,
as well. Together we have created a
child, and it is only fitting that we wed.
My son Cupid never had a solid home,
'tis a terrible thing to do to a child."
"Cupid? You mean your son is the
fat little baby with a bow and arrow?
And Juno - your mom. The goddess of
all? Good lord! I need to get off this
bus."
"Cupid is not a fat little baby any
more. He has grown to a fine young man.
And you will not step off this bus until
you promise to marry me."
"You cannot make me marry you,
Marco. Mars. Whatever the hell your
name is! Even among gods, some things
have to be the same. You told me that a
promise is solemn and holy. Well, I can't
promise you anything!"
"You are frightened. Would it be
better if I brought you to Olympus, to see
for yourself?"
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"
" 'Twill only take a moment. I can
return you right back here in an instant."
Larissa opened her mouth, but Mars
acted quickly, before she could voice yet
another complaint. With a thought, he
brought them both to Olympus, where it
was yet early evening. A soft glow of
evening sun warmed the horizon, and
scented oil lamps filled the palace with
their fragrance. Mars gazed at the
palace, trying to see it anew, though he
had lived there for so long. The floors
were polished marble, as were the
columns and arches. Exquisite tapestries
adorned the walls, along with fine
swords and shields wrought from
Vulcan's forge. Vases were fair bursting
with bouquets, for Juno loved her
flowers. Many years ago, Mars would
have been the one to bring them to her,
from his own garden. Now she had a
servant bring them, for he had other
things on his mind.
"Where are we?" Larissa asked,
clasping his arm, and rubbing her
forehead with her other hand. Her
coloring was ashen, and he feared she
might faint. "What is this place?"
" 'Tis Olympus, my dear one."
He guided her to a window, where
she would have the best view of Earth. It
was a large blue marble, not quite as
dirty or noisy when seen from this
distance.
"How are you doing this? Did you
slip me something? Did you drug me?"
"Believe what your eyes are telling
you, my sweet. I am the god Mars. And I
want you for my queen."
She shook her head, and her
trembling increased. She dug her
fingernails into his arm, right before she
collapsed. He caught her, alarm filling
him. "Cupid!" he bellowed. "Fetch the
physician! Come at once!"
Fog smothered her. Larissa knew
she was dreaming, but it was a
nightmare and she could not wake up.
Her arms were like dead weights. Her
legs refused to carry her. Fear speared
her heart. As adrenaline flooded through
her veins, she felt sleep fade away. She
fisted her eyes and tried to open them.
Before her sat the most beautiful
young man she had ever laid eyes upon!
His chest and legs were bare, only the
briefest of garments covered his trim
hips. A quiver was slung across his
back, and a pair of graceful wings
fluttered ever so gently, calming her with
a scented breeze. His hair was golden
and hung in ringlets about his youthful
face. It was hard to guess his age. He
was not a boy, but not yet a man. His
shoulders, though broad, would be
broader still one day and his bare chest
had not a single hair upon it. He was
absolutely breathtakingly handsome, and
yet, she was not attracted to him.
"You must be his son," she
whispered. "Mars told me about you."
Mars was insane, and now he'd dragged
her into his delusions with him. That had
to be the explanation. Either that, or he
really was a god, and she really was in
the mythical palace above the earth.
The young god smiled serenely.
There was a peace about him that she
did not recognize in his father. "You
gave us a scare, Larissa. First, when you
fled, and then when you fainted. Are you
quite done for now? I know not how
much more my father can endure."
"Okay. I'm done for now," she said
amicably. There was no reason to be a
crazy insane person. She could be
reasonable.
He smiled then, and her heart
fluttered. His beauty seemed to fill her
and warm her, calming her like a cup of
hot chocolate and a long bubble bath. If
Cupid could come to live with her and
Mars in their padded cell, eternity might
not be so bad after all.
"So, would you like to look
around? I could show you the great hall,
where we will have the reception. Of
course, the ceremony will be held on
Earth, at the peak of Mount Olympus.
But afterward you will come here for a
reception worthy of the gods. Then, the
morrow after your wedding, Father
plans to take you to his villa."
"You may show me around," she
said. His hand felt warm and real. His
grip was tentative, as though he were a
bit afraid, as well. Somehow that
comforted her.
He led her through a palace that
was grander than her grandest fantasy.
She was introduced to Diana, goddess of
the hunt, Minerva, the goddess of
wisdom, and Venus, the goddess of love
- Cupid's mother. Larissa felt her heart
harden, knowing that Venus had hurt
Mars in the past. She listened to a dozen
musicians play on ancient instruments.
The palace was strewn with roses, their
delicate petals were crushed under her
feet, perfuming the air with their scent. It
was all too much! If she were insane,
she never wanted to be cured!
"I know this can be a bit
overwhelming," Cupid said quietly. He
had the gentlest voice, almost like a
suggestion in her mind. "But my father
truly does love you. Are you convinced
of that now, enough to be his bride?"
Venus laughed, shrugging her
alabaster shoulders just enough to cause
her full breasts to pucker and strain
against the sheer fabric of her gown.
"Don't be silly, Cupid. How could this
ah, mortal, ever meet the needs of a god?
Your wager is lost. A pity, too."
Larissa didn't want to listen to her.
The other woman had a mean streak a
mile wide, but something she said had a
ring of truth to it. "Wager? What
wager?"
Cupid cleared his throat,
stammering for an explanation. " 'Tis
nothing. Mama, why are you here, you
know you weren't invited."
"Wager? Tell me, at once," Larissa
demanded.
Venus laughed, an unpleasant sound
like fingernails on chalkboard. "Why,
surely you knew. What else could a god
like Mars ever see in such a simple thing
as you? They had a bet. That Cupid
could take two people who didn't even
like each other, make them fall in love,
and get married. Isn't it delightful! And
here you are! I must say, I have been
looking forward to seeing Mars lose a
bet ever since we first met!"
Cupid put his arm around Larissa to
guide her away from his mother, but the
damage was done. Larissa knew the
truth. Anger stiffened her spine, and
made her aura change from the delicate
pink of confusion to a smoky black
inferno. No one could fix this now. If
Venus had known the conditions of the
wager, she would not have interfered,
Cupid couldn't believe she'd be that
callus. Just self-centered. She didn't care
if Mars married or not. Only that no one
should be happy unless she was. And
she was never happy.
"Take me home, Cupid. I want to go
home now," Larissa stated clearly.
"Please let me explain."
"That isn't necessary. I want to go
home. And I never want to see you, or
your family, again. Now."
"Maybe it did start as a wager,
Larissa. And I did stab you with my
arrow, to bring you and my father
together. But my arrow's magic faded
almost immediately. Anything that
happened between you and my father
was true. Love makes its own magic,
something I cannot begin to understand."
Larissa covered her ears with her
hands. "I don't want to hear any more
lies! Take me home!"
"What is going on, child!"
Cupid groaned, as his grandmother
appeared in the hall. She had confined
him to his room, and now she saw him
wandering about like a disobedient
child. How long would it take before she
would recognize him as an adult? Maybe
when Mars and Larissa's babe was
born?
"Grandmother, may I introduce you
to Mars's intended, Larissa Mirit
Langdon. Larissa, please meet my
grandmother, Juno, Goddess of the
Gods."
Juno waved him off. "Go, child.
Shouldn't you be somewhere else right
now? Larissa, come with me."
Cupid chewed the inside of his
cheek, dread pooling low in his belly.
Could this day get any worse? He
watched as Juno wrapped an arm around
Larissa. A moment of jealously pierced
his breast, wishing that he were in his
grandmother's arms again. But then he
turned and went sadly to his room.
Larissa couldn't speak. If she were
insane, then it didn't matter if she said
anything or not. But if this were true, if
Juno really was the goddess of the gods,
then she didn't dare speak and risk
offending the all-powerful deity and
quite possibly ending her very short,
mortal existence.
Juno brought her into a private
chamber that was softer and more
feminine than the elegant cold marble
beyond. Juno brought her to a window
seat, nearly smothered with soft pillows,
and together they sat. Larissa folded her
hands in her lap nervously. She wished
she could tuck her feet up under her, and
get cozy, for it had been such a long day
and she was exhausted, but she didn't
know what was appropriate.
Juno tucked her own feet up under
her. She waved her hand, and two mugs
appeared, hovering in mid air, steam
rising from the warm scent of hot
chocolate. Juno indicated the mugs.
Larissa reached out to take them, passing
one to her hostess. Then she got
comfortable, half turning in the seat to
face Mars's mother.
"I know all about this foolish
wager, child," Juno said. Her voice was
not quite as soft as Cupid's. It was gentle
and feminine, but there was strength
behind it, and Larissa sensed that no one
ever defied this woman anything. "My
son, like most males, can be quite an ass.
He is pigheaded, overbearing and
quarrelsome. My grandson is far too
impetuous, seldom thinking things
through before he acts. Both of them
should be punished severely. That my
son truly does love you is immaterial.
Now, I want you to think about what you
really want. What would make you
happy?"
Larissa gulped. "Do you mean
that?"
"I never say a thing I don't mean,"
Juno said coldly. Then her lips softened
in a smile. "You were a victim in this,
child. I want to make it right. If you wish
you had never met my son, I shall make
it so. You can return to your former life,
working at that smelly little diner, afraid
for your safety every night as you walk
to your home, and you will not
remember any of this."
 Chapter Seven
Pain stabbed her. All along she'd
believed that she'd at least have the
memory of that one perfect night with
Mars. But maybe it would be better that
way? To forget it all....
But Juno said her son really did
love her! Larissa knew she spoke the
truth, not because she told her she did,
but because Cupid was right. What
happened between them was magic.
Mars loved her, and she knew it. She
had fled, not because she doubted his
love, but because she doubted him! He'd
been larger than life, and now she knew
why. He was a god! He'd lived for
thousands of years! And he loved her.
Maybe she could have the fantasy
after all? Maybe they could be married?
And the baby! He told her she was
pregnant. She touched her still flat
abdomen. They'd only made love that
one night - although they had made love
all night long. Could it be true? How
much power did a god have?
"Mars told me I am carrying his
baby," Larissa whispered. "Is it true?"
Juno gave a curt nod. "My son is
many things. He is an oaf and an idiot.
But he is not a liar."
"What do you think I should do?"
The goddess blinked, startled by
the question. "It is not for me to decide."
"I know. For some reason, you have
granted me this power. But I'm afraid to
make a mistake, so I'm asking for your
opinion. Do you think Mars and I have a
chance? I mean, he's immortal. Suppose
I marry him, and I make him very happy.
And I give him all those children he
wants. What happens to him when I
grow old, and die? Will it be harder for
him to lose me then? If I chose to have
you wipe my memory of the past three
days, can you wipe his, too?"
Juno sniffed, dabbing delicately at
a tear that hovered on the edge of her
eyelid. "Why, such a thoughtful child you
are! Here my irresponsible progeny have
treated you shabbily, and yet you
consider their needs above your own.
Whether you care to admit it or not, you
do love my son."
"Yes. I love him. I know that. And
I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm just afraid
that we're too different, that maybe we
can't build a life together."
Juno nodded. Her eyes glazed over
for a moment, as though deep in thought.
Then she smiled. "You and Mars are not
so different, after all. I should have seen
it before, but I was not paying attention.
If you wish to marry my son, I can give
you the gift of immortality. Perhaps that
would give you enough time to figure out
how to live amicably with him?"
Larissa was speechless.
Immortality? She'd watched her mother
die. She had buried her father. She'd
gone to the funerals of her grandparents,
all four of them. Death wasn't something
she looked forward to. And now, this
stranger - this all-powerful woman who
would be her mother-in-law, was
offering her a way to escape death?
She'd be an idiot not to accept!
Cupid was summoned, and given
the message to deliver to Mars. The
wedding was on again! Cupid grinned.
Not even the fear of whatever retribution
his grandmother had planned for him
could dampen his spirits. Now if he
could just get the pair of them to the alter
before sunset! It was Valentine's Day,
after all. What an appropriate day for
their anniversary!
He flew swiftly to his father's
chamber, startled by the sounds of things
breaking inside. He opened the door,
ducking as a delicate vase sailed past
his head to crash on the marble floor.
The room inside was a larger version of
the shattered vase. Every table, dais,
vase, and sculpture was now splintered
into tiny fragments. Every tapestry,
pillow, curtain, or covering was torn to
shreds. The mighty warrior was in full
battle mode, and nothing, save a small
army was going to stop him.
"Father?" Cupid called tentatively.
Mars roared, gathering up handfuls
of broken pottery to throw them, for
there was nothing left unbroken.
Cupid gulped. He did not relish
pain, nor attending his father's wedding
bruised and broken, but there was no
time to waste. Squaring his shoulders, he
charged his angry father. He caught him
off guard and managed to tackle him to
the floor, but 'twas the last victory he
could claim for his own. Mars quickly
turned the battle in his favor, letting his
full rage break across his only son. He
tossed him about the room like an angry
dog worrying a bone. Then he got his
hands around Cupid's throat and nearly
strangled him.
"She loves you, Father," Cupid
gasped.
And that alone got through to him.
Pain filled his eyes, but his fingers
loosened.
Cupid did not move, lest he raise
the war god's ire again. "She has agreed
to marry you. It is time to get dressed for
your wedding."
 "Nay," he sighed, weariness heavy
like a shroud about him.
"Yea, Father! She has accepted that
you are immortal. She has met some of
the guests - Minerva, Diana, and she had
an audience with your mother. Even now
she is dressing for the ceremony."
"It is not meant to be, son. We are
too different. A mortal and a god - when
has that ever worked out well? And
what of me, a few score years from now,
when she grows old and passes on to the
underworld. How shall I ever recover?"
"That sounds like fear speaking.
How can you turn your back on
happiness, even knowing that your days
are numbered? As they are for all of us.
Immortality is not a guarantee of a happy
future. Reach out and grab this miracle
that is within your reach! Take her!
Make her your wife, and treasure every
moment with her! Or you are not half the
man I thought you were."
Mars glared at his son, but seeing
the purple bruises on his neck, felt
shame wash over him. He helped Cupid
to his feet, then fingered the ugly bruises.
"I am sorry," he said simply. The words
got easier to say with practice.
Cupid touched his neck, wincing
slightly. "I will heal. But if you do not
marry Larissa, you never will."
Mars straightened his shoulders.
"Perchance you are right. How did such
wisdom come out of the mouths of
babes?"
 "I am not a child!"
Mars chuckled. "Now, what is this
about a wedding?"
Cupid straightened his father's tie
yet again. Mars had been tugging on it
anxiously, and the silk was quite
wrinkled. He was quite unrecognizable
in the white tux, his ebony hair neatly
groomed and tied back. He was freshly
shaven, and his servants had fair near
dumped a bottle of scent over him, for he
reeked of aftershave.
"How mortals endure this torture,
I'll ne'er understand," Mars grumbled,
tugging on his tie yet again.
"Hold still, Father. You're worse
than a child on the eve of his birthing
day. You'll have your bride soon
enough."
"I have not seen her since she
fainted. Mama would not allow it. How
do I know this is truly her desire? What
if Juno coerced her? What if I'm making
a mistake?"
Cupid shook his head.
"Grandmother would not force a woman
into marriage. And you always make
mistakes. It's one of your more endearing
qualities, I'm told."
Mars cuffed his son, but not hard.
Cupid only laughed harder.
At last the musicians started up.
Mars had hired a more modern group
than the lutes and lyres that would attend
the reception. On a grassy plateau of
Mount Olympus was a string quartet
playing the peaceful, recently popular
canon by Pachobel. There were more in
attendance than the handful he had
personally invited, but at least Venus
was nowhere to be seen. Having his ex-
lover present was just a bit too
awkward, and poor Larissa had had
enough of awkward to last a lifetime.
Getting her two friends there in
time had been a bit of a problem. Mars
had whisked them there magically, but
they'd been so upset that he'd wiped their
memories and implanted one of an
uneventful plane ride, paid for by the
groom. Then Minerva took them away,
and he had not seen them since.
Ah, a sweet little girl came down
the makeshift aisle, scattering rose petals
as she went. She wore a full white gown
and a crown of flowers in her golden
curls. Mars smiled benignly, imagining
what his own daughter would look like
in a few short years. Behind the girl
came Sally, Larissa's friend. She too
was dressed in a full gown, but it was
the shade of ripe plums. She wore a
crown of roses, and carried more roses
in her bouquet. And then, finally, he
caught a glimpse of his bride. But only a
glimpse, for the wedding guests all stood
as a sign of their respect. Mars craned
his neck, trying to see her.
Tom blocked her from his view for
a moment, the big oaf. He wasn't quite so
oafish without his greasy apron. He
wore a tux like Mars, but 'twas black.
 "Go, get her," Cupid urged, giving
his arm a little shove.
Mars grimaced. The modern
ceremony was much changed from what
he remembered. He fair near sprinted
halfway down the aisle, where Tom
placed Larissa's hand in his. Tom
glowered at him meaningfully, and
muttered something about taking good
care of her, or else.
And then Mars finally saw his
bride.
She was in an exquisite white gown
that was so long, it trailed out behind her
as she walked. It was covered in lace
and tiny white beads that caught the
evening sun and reflected it with an
ethereal glow. Her face was covered
with a bit of lace, so he could not see
her eyes clearly, but she gave his hand a
reassuring squeeze. "Let's go,
sweetheart," she whispered.
The guests chuckled quietly. Mars
shook himself out of his stupor, and
escorted his bride back to the platform
where Tom, Sally, and the justice of the
peace awaited.
Madam Justice said some words
that were undoubtedly quite wise and
good counsel, but Mars heard nary a
thing. His gaze stayed on Larissa. His
heart beat wildly, like it did the night
before a battle. His hands felt damp, and
if this whole thing wasn't over soon, he
wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't faint
himself.
 Then Larissa spoke her vows. Her
voice was sure and strong. It carried
well, so that all present could hear. She
promised to love him forever, to be
faithful and kind, and that night would
not fall with discord between them. Then
Mars repeated his promise to her that he
had first spoken in the garden in her
village.
"Thou art all I shall ever want, my
dear one. For thee I would give up my
immortality. I want to lie with thee and
fill thee with my seed, and fatten thee
with my babes. I want a half dozen at
least, more if thou art willing. They will
be mortal, like thee, but I shall cherish
every moment with them. And when age
takes thee from me, I shall ne'er lie with
a mortal woman again. On this thou hast
my most solemn promise."
The guests were silent, waiting for
him to slip the ring upon her finger and
kiss the bride. That was all that was left
of this ceremony. But Larissa pulled her
hand away before he could complete the
ritual. Anger coursed through his veins!
If she were to spurn him, the least she
could do was do it in private, not here,
not now, in front of all their guests and
family!
"Your vows are lovely, Mars. But
they need to be updated," she whispered.
"Your mother said she will give me the
gift of immortality. So, you see, I'm not
going to age and die. Do you still want
me?"
 "What?" His voice was loud, and
the guests chuckled, perhaps wondering
if they would have their first lover's spat
while still at the altar.
"I'm going to be immortal. Juno
said she would wait until after the
ceremony, as it might make me
lightheaded and nauseous for a few
days."
"She can't!"
"Why not! Aren't I good enough for
you!"
Their voices were both loud now,
and the guests were no longer chuckling.
Instead, no one seemed to be breathing.
Cupid, as best man, was giving him hand
signals to save the argument for a more
private moment and get on with the
wedding, but Mars paid him no heed.
"Of course, you're good enough for
me. I love you, darling. Have I not oft
proclaimed as much? But immortality
cannot be given to mortals. Only those
who are of immortal descent, a half-
godling, can drink the potion and
survive. To a full mortal it is as poison!"
"Well, your mother said she'd do it.
Maybe I'm not good enough for her, if
she's already planning to kill me!"
Jupiter stormed down the aisle and
pulled the two apart like a pair of
bickering toddlers. Juno hurried after
him, protecting Larissa, ere he tried to
knock some sense into her fragile head
with his godlike strength. Mars was not
as fortunate. His head reeled back from
the blow, his ears ringing and dizziness
nearly toppled him.
"Idiot," Jupiter bellowed.
"I see where you get your temper
from," Larissa said, trying to pull away
from Juno in a foolish effort to protect
her husband.
"Children, stop this at once," Juno
commanded.
And then, all was silent.
Juno glared at the guests, her son
and grandson, even her husband. Then
she placed Larissa's hand in Mars's.
"I should not have to explain myself
to you, Ares," she scolded. "But as you
are a little dimwitted, I shall speak very
slowly. Larissa, my child. Your earthly
mother, the woman who cared for you,
loved you and raised you, was your
mother in spirit and soul. But another
was your mother in body. Mars, she is
indeed the seed of the union between a
god and a mortal, so my gift is genuine.
Now, finish this ceremony without
making a further spectacle of
yourselves!"
Larissa's head was reeling. Her
mom wasn't her mom? Was she adopted?
Fostered? Oh god! Could that explain a
few things? She had loved her mom, but
she did not respect her. The woman let
her husband abuse her, and she did
nothing to protect herself or her little
girl. But then, she would have known
that Larissa was not even her child. Why
hadn't she told her?
 And her father - was he her father?
Was he the mortal part of the union? He
had cheated on his wife... oh! If he
weren't dead in his grave, she'd like to
put him there! How could he! But she
had loved him. And her mother. Both of
them. It hadn't been much of a childhood,
but they had done their best by her. But
Juno was right. There was time enough
to sort that all out later.
Larissa gazed at her husband - for
she had spoken her vows, and though the
Justice had not yet pronounced them
wed, she knew in her heart that they
were already united in marriage. She
gave Mars a tug towards the alter.
He followed like an obedient child.
Larissa smiled. It was probably the last
time he would ever follow her
anywhere. He could be so very
pigheaded! Nerves twittered low in her
belly. She considered an eternity with
him, an eternity of spankings for
infractions both real and imagined. But it
was worth it. She would put up with
everything - all-powerful in-laws, the
ex-lover with a vicious streak, a grown
stepson who was nearer her age than her
husband, all of it was as nothing. She
took her husband's hand in hers, and
repeated her vows.
Mars slipped the ring on her finger
then. "I don't have anything prepared to
say," he whispered quietly.
"I don't need eloquence. I need
truth. Just tell me why you're here."
 He straightened then, his shoulders
squared and his expression turned
solemn. His voice grew, firm and steady
as he spoke from the heart. "I love you. I
love only you. You are my reason for
being, the breath in my lungs, the blood
in my veins. You are my passion, my
contentment, my joy, and my heartache.
Only with you do I want to live, to
argue, to kiss and make up, over and
over again. Larissa, my dear one, will
you be my bride?" Mars lifted her veil
then.
Larissa nodded. The Justice quickly
pronounced them man and wife bare
seconds before their lips met. The guests
then stood and applauded heartily, many
of them making catcalls and whistles.
Some of the women dabbed at their eyes,
including Sally.
Larissa threw her arms around
Mars's neck and returned his kiss with
equal passion. And then Cupid
interrupted, tugging them apart to remind
them that they were not alone.
Sheepishly, Mars stepped back and
invited the guests to the reception.
Mars was a perfect dancer. Larissa
was surprised, but then dancing was not
so very different from fighting - both
required concentration, balance, and a
good understanding of one's
partner/opponent.
"May I have this dance," her new
stepson asked.
Larissa smiled at Cupid, and let
him take her in his arms for a waltz. "I
guess I should be thanking you," she
said.
A blush shaded his smooth cheek.
"Without your interference, I
wouldn't be here, would I? Tell me, do
you hit mortals often with your arrows?"
Cupid stammered in coherently.
Larissa laughed, giving his hand a
squeeze. "It's okay, you know. And I
don't expect you to start calling me
"mom", either. Larissa would be fine."
He stared at her then with a look of
shock, as though he hadn't realized that
she was going to be his stepmother. It
was odd, for although he had been
around for just over two thousand years,
he did seem younger than Larissa. But
there was something oddly familiar
about him. His nose perhaps, or the
shape and color of his eyes. They were
nothing like his father's. He must have
inherited something from Venus - except!
Oh, god. Then Larissa knew! She pulled
away from him, stopping in the middle
of the waltz.
"My stepson is my half-brother,"
she stated. "Talk about a mixed-up
family tree."
Cupid started at her, confused.
Then slowly, understanding dawned. He
nodded, gulping nervously. "I didn't
know," he whispered.
"I know."
"My mother has always had a lover
or two. I learned to ignore her centuries
ago. But it would explain why your
father turned to drink. Being with a
goddess is like a narcotic. When Venus
left him, he wouldn't have been able to
cope very well."
"Doesn't matter. He had an affair
while married to my mom. He got what
he deserved."
"Still. I could understand if you did
not wish me to be a part of your family. I
will stay away..."
"Nonsense. You and I are not to
blame for our parents' decisions. You
will always be welcomed at our home.
And I hope you will be a good influence
on your new little half-sister."
Cupid's smile was deep and
genuine, warming her right down to her
toes. "I would be honored," he said
sincerely.
Mars cut in then, impatient to be
with his wife again. He was very
possessive. He endured the dancing
ritual, permitting every male guest to
half a waltz with her, but he always cut
in before the finish.
Larissa's feet grew tired. Her face
was tired from holding a pleasant smile.
Her hands were tired. She urged her new
husband to fetch her something to drink
while she rested a spell. She covered a
yawn with her hand, but was not entirely
successful at hiding it.
"Ah-ah - it's too early for that,"
Sally said, giggling girlishly. "There's
still the wedding night ahead."
 A blush colored Larissa's cheeks.
"I'm so glad you could come," she said
awkwardly.
"I wouldn't miss this! You silly
goose! I still can't believe it - you caught
such a rich, and powerful husband!
Wow! I'm so happy for you!"
Sally's ebullience was a bit more
than Larissa could handle, given her
state of near exhaustion. She just smiled
and nodded, and hoped her good friend
wouldn't notice.
"That was so nice of Marco to pay
for our plane tickets. I really wouldn't
have wanted to miss this! And Tom
closed the diner for the day. Not just
because his two best waitresses were
gone, but he had to be here, too. You
know he thinks of you like a daughter."
Mars returned, with glasses of
ambrosia for both Larissa and Sally. "I
hope you will visit us often," he said,
knowing that her finances would prevent
her from doing so. "And will we be
invited to your wedding soon?"
Sally giggled again. "Oh, yes! I'm
sure of it. He hasn't actually asked me
yet, but I just know he will. Well, don't
let me keep you!" She gave Larissa a
hug, then disappeared into the crowd.
Larissa yawned again. She leaned
into her husband. "Can we go now?"
"Hm. I suppose. There is the matter
of your spanking to attend to."
"Huh? What spanking! No, Mars!
It's our wedding day!" Larissa was wide
awake now.
"Three times you refused me. First,
when you fled on the bus. Then when I
asked you again on the bus, and finally,
at the alter when you took your hand
from mine, before I could slip the ring
on your finger. I'm not accustomed to
repeating myself!"
"Well, get accustomed to it! I want
to hear you say you love me again."
"I love you," he said simply,
kissing her forehead. He kissed her neck,
and repeated it again. "I love you. I will
say it oft, for I still canst barely believe
it."
Larissa snuggled close, wishing
they were alone.
He lifted her in his arms, turned a
full circle, and then they were no longer
at the reception, but in a bedroom. It was
dimly lit, so Larissa could see very
little, but enough to know it was not
hers. The light came from an oil lantern,
and a quiet fire burned at the hearth. The
air had a pleasant odor of wood smoke
and pine. "Where are we?"
"My villa. Our villa," he corrected.
He set her down, holding her a moment
until she got her balance. Then he
crossed to a small table where a wine
bottle and two glasses were waiting. He
held the bottle as one would a small
treasure, and offered it to her. She took
it, studying the label. It was a picture of
a fat baby Cupid, his arrow pointed at
the company name and logo - "Olympia.
Wine fit for the gods." She smiled,
wondering how her stepson felt about
the picture.
Mars took the bottle back and
opened it, then poured an amount into
each glass. "I have not made wine for
many years. But I thought, perhaps, if
you were willing, that we might reopen
the winery."
"I don't know a thing about wines.
But I have an eternity to learn," she said
eagerly. She waited to watch Mars first.
He did not take a small sip, hold it in his
mouth, swirl it around, sniff the wine, or
do any of the other affected mannerisms
of the pseudo rich and famous. He
simply drank the wine, his pleasure
clearly expressed on his face. Larissa
relaxed and took a sip as well.
It was not too sweet, not too dry. It
was dark and rich and flavorful. Larissa
felt it right down to her toes. She set the
glass down, as she didn't need it to make
her any more sleepy.
Mars took her hands in his, folding
them tenderly to his chest. "I bless the
day you cursed my son's holiday," he
said.
"I what?"
"Back in your diner, a few days
ago. You said how much you hated
Valentine's Day. 'Twas the first time I
laid eyes on you. 'Twill be a day much
remembered."
"Not for me," she said. "I think I
have a new favorite holiday. Valentine's
Day."
"Oh?"
"Yes," she said dreamily. "And
every Valentine's Day, I shall expect
flowers and a box of chocolates from
you."
"And what do I get?"
She grinned wickedly, as she
guided her husband to the edge of the
bed. He sat, and she laid herself over his
knees. "I suppose, you could spank me,"
she said teasingly, "if you couldn't think
of anything better to do to celebrate."
"Wench!" he bellowed, landing a
solid blow to her bottom. Then he
shifted her to the bed and stretched out
beside her. He placed a kiss where
moments before his hand had struck. "I
could think of a few things," he growled
playfully.
"Oh, husband! Happy Valentine's
Day!"
The End
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Nothing in this book should be
interpreted as advocating any non-
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