Chapter 3
WHERE FORCED PROXIMITY TROPE IS ENACTED AND BONDS ARE TIED (THE MUSE IS INTO IT, MOSTLY)
A s Hades was dragged away, presumably to be revived by either Persephone or one of the multitude of Olympians on hand, Erato gave Demeter a long once over.
She made it a leer. Still, from under her—longest and lushest on Olympus, thank you very much—lashes, she carefully catalogued the small changes the glamour applied couldn’t hide.
Tired eyes, a chipped nail, a slight tremor in the hands hanging tense at the Goddess of Harvest’s sides. And a visible weight loss. Erato knew every single curve on this wonder of a body and the thinning of the cheeks was telling. She didn’t know yet of what, but something wasn’t quite right.
Demeter allowed her the leisurely exploration of herself for a moment longer before she pushed past Erato and made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
The generous splash of what looked like brandy in one of those fancy ass tumblers Hades probably stocked in every corner of this place, was another tell.
Again, Erato had no clue of what exactly.
She was getting tired of playing catch-up.
Demeter continued to ignore her, but Erato was determined.
“Not even a hello?”
She sauntered—as one intent on fixing things did, hips swaying and all that—closer.
Demeter ignored her and sipped her brandy.
Erato smirked. Demeter frowned. Erato lifted an eyebrow.
Demeter tsked. Then, just as Erato was about to say something unquestionably foolish, Demeter narrowed her eyes and broke the silence.
“Whatever you’re here for, you aren’t going to get it, Muse.”
Well, strike one, Erato supposed. But then she was still at bat and she rarely stroke out. Striked? Stroked? Struck? The grammar eluded her and none of the words sounded right anyway. So she tried again. Erato cocked a hip, watched Demeter’s gaze follow her move and employed her best drawl.
“What if I am not here for anything in particular?”
The roll of those golden eyes was so profound Erato was afraid Demeter would sprain something.
Then Demeter sighed and said, “I cannot believe… I just cannot believe it’s you!”
Erato stared uncomprehendingly.
“Me what?”
Demeter threw back the tumbler and poured herself another.
“You! And your blue eyes and your absence of morals and your mouth and your horrid sense of humor and your eyes and all of this…” Demeter gestured vaguely about Erato’s still hip-cocked stance before taking a gulp and proceeding with her enumeration.
“Out of a thousand cupids and gods and fucking muses, it had to be you and your mouth.”
Erato furrowed her brow.
“Well, for one, I am the actual Muse of Fucking, if you will?—”
Demeter slammed the now newly empty glass on the cabinet.
“Not happening, so what’s two?”
Erato grinned.
“You mentioned my mouth twice. I take it that I left a mark, so to speak?”
Demeter growled. Erato’s stomach clenched with anticipation.
“Why. Are. You. Here. Muse?”
This time, her exasperation was no longer tinted with anything except exhaustion.
Erato uncocked her hip and took a tiny step back.
Knowing when to retreat was a useful skill and Demeter did not look good.
Erato’s heart did the unpleasant thing it had never done until Vegas two months ago.
Back then Demeter had looked lonely and sad and, well, Erato was so very good at making women less sad and more satisfied.
“Aphrodite sent me to fix this.”
Honesty was always the best policy, except Demeter’s eyes flashed and Erato reconsidered the wisdom of age old adages.
“Aphrodite can go fuck herself.”
Hades’s earlier contempt for Erato had nothing on the level of dismissal and disparagement Demeter’s voice suddenly took on.
“The Goddess of Love should stick to her own business, having narrowly escaped Zeus’s wrath, despite making a complete mess?—”
“Pardon resorting to numbers again, but for one, Athena is taking care of the fucking. Two?—”
Demeter lifted her hand and effectively shut Erato up.
“Stop with the enumeration. Since you seem intent on being an errand girl, be so very kind and tell your mistress that there is nothing to fix, to mind her own affairs, and to leave me alone. There. This should be simple enough for you to accomplish, right?”
Hades had dismissed her, Aphrodite pretty much made decisions for her. She was used to the Gods being superior to her and behaving accordingly, so why did this particular one hurt? Why did Demeter’s dismissal feel especially acute?
Yes, they had shared a night for the ages, for the books, and Erato was sure she’d write some amazing poetry and stories once the disappointment faded, but it seemed like this one should’ve ended differently.
Why? She couldn’t say. It’s not like anything ever ended differently for the Muse of Erotic Poetry.
And so she lowered her eyes, mindful of not letting Demeter see the flash of hurt she couldn’t conceal. However, Demeter did see it and despite her cutting words, she took a step forward and her warm fingertips lifted Erato’s chin.
The sensation was electric, earth shattering. Erato half expected Poseidon to rise from the depths and complain about the unscheduled tsunami that was sure to follow such an earthquake in the middle of the sea.
But Poseidon did not rise. And Demeter continued to look at her with those deep, soulful eyes, full of secrets and pain.
It was Demeter’s pain that made Erato gulp and try to free herself from the barely there hold of the warm fingertips. Fingertips that turned into a steel grip and refused to allow her to escape the penetrating gaze.
Erato peered into the ageless ache of disrespect.
Well, Erato knew what it meant to be alone.
Shunned occasionally. But not to the level of “we will take your daughter and give her to the Goddess of the Underworld and there will be nothing you will be allowed to do about it and if you try to rebel, we shall pacify you with empty platitudes and useless promises.”
No, Erato was just a muse, an often forgotten one, despite how deep her influence and authority went.
“And isn’t that a kick in the teeth?”
She said it out loud and watched Demeter’s eyes darken with confusion, followed by regret. Then, with something sharper that edged the sorrowful veil to the side and replaced it with hunger, one that Erato had felt firsthand months ago.
A pause, another, a breath, two, and their lips met with enough force to dunk Poseidon back into the sea had he had the unfortunate curiosity to come up earlier.
The kiss was everything it had been in Vegas.
Ravenous and deep, all-consuming, unrelenting.
Erato drank like a woman possessed, giving Demeter no quarter.
But the Goddess wanted none of those quarters.
If this had been anyone else, and if the last two months had gone any other way, Erato would say that Demeter desired her.
But then again, it had already been established that she wasn’t the sharpest trident, so this couldn’t possibly be the explanation for the undeniability of the kiss.
Nope. That wasn’t it. Something else was and just as Erato lifted a hand and caressed her gorgeous cheekbone, so soft she wanted to lay her own next to it, to feel it, the door banged open.
Erato half-expected her earlier invocations of Poseidon to actually bring him in, curious putz that he was, but as both she and Demeter whirled towards the noise, she began to wish it had been the God of the Sea.
He’d mope and be a nuisance along with his mermaids and in the end leave them with some second-hand wisdom borrowed from the thousands of self-help books he secretly devoured to overcome his inferiority complex when it came to his thundering brother.
Because this particular Olympus dweller would not impart useless wisdom. And she had zero inferiority complexes.
“I see you have relinquished your duties to cavort with unsuitable creatures, sister.”
Hera stepped into the cabin with the power of twenty suns.
Helios only knew how she did it, but she radiated, all vicious light and villainous smirks.
No, this goddess had no complexes at all.
Beautiful in a decidedly evil-and-reveling-in-it way, powerful in an absolute fashion and an inconvenience in every universe, Hera reigned even after Zeus divorced her.
Even after all her schemes had failed. The aura of her presence, the fear she struck by simply standing tall and proud, blocking the entrance and hence Erato’s hasty exit, were very much overwhelming.
Erato didn’t resent her for calling her a creature. Staying out of Hera’s path had been her goal for centuries and she had managed to do so admirably. She’d not be surprised if the Goddess of Matrimony had no idea who she was. Erato preferred it that way.
Judging by Demeter’s reaction, it would no longer be possible. Erato sighed, and stepped forward. She hoped that Hera would spare her face. She was so very proud of it, after all.
“Ah, I believe Aphrodite spoke to you earlier and everything is being taken care of.”
The reactions of the Goddesses in front of her could not have been more different.
Hera lifted an eyebrow in that stupidly attractive fashion Olympians always had and finally gave Erato a full appraisal.
And Demeter? She stared, her hands now clutched at her breast. Was she surprised?
Maybe astounded by her foolishness to dare to speak to Hera?
Erato didn’t know. And she didn’t care. Hera being here, narrowing her eyes, giving the two of them her full attention was never good.
“I see the creature speaks…” Oh yeah, the low growly drawl bordered on a crime. Erato shivered but stood her ground.
“Ma’am—”
“So polite.” Hera glided closer, now a mere breath away from Erato. Cold eyes pierced and held her gaze. “Tell me sister, was it her politeness that made you bed her? What was it exactly that forced you forsake your duty, delay spring and threaten famine on half the world?”
Demeter straightened and opened her mouth but no sound came. Erato was on her own.
“With all due respect?—”
“Save it, Muse.” Hera’s tone brook for no dissent and Erato snapped her jaw shut.
“I thought this would be a pro forma visit. I’d come in, impress upon Demeter that she was being reckless in whatever sordid one night stand she allowed herself to get into. But from the looks of it, it isn’t that simple, is it, little sister?”
Erato did not appreciate the way Hera ground out the word sister. There was coldness in it, calculation. But then Hera was always calculating. Erato gulped—she’d been doing it a lot lately—and held the chilly gaze.
Hera smirked.
“Your muse has gumption, Demeter. I like that. In fact, I like that so much, I will not do what I felt was necessary to ensure my sister’s full attention is back on her duty. I will allow your muse to live.”
Yes, she was immortal and thus all of this was entirely ridiculous, but Erato still felt relief so unexpected, she swayed on her feet.
Was Hera really here because she planned to throw Erato off Mount Olympus?
Another gulp was in order. She was too beautiful, devastatingly so, to die this young.
Several millennia were not enough for all this gorgeous devastation.
“I think you’ve mistaken your place, Hera.
She has nothing to do with anything, and I know very well what I’m doing.
” Demeter’s tone did not sound all that strong, nor did it hold any of its usual calmness or authority but Erato felt it in the very center of her being.
Demeter was standing up for herself. And maybe even for Erato.
“And what pray tell is my place, little sister?” Hera turned to face Demeter fully and Erato could swear somewhere above them thunder rolled. Hera glowed with a vicious kind of hue, sucking all the light from the room.
“It’s not to instruct me what to do.” Demeter’s voice shook and Erato, on pure instinct, reached out a hand and touched her elbow. Hera’s eyes followed the movement, gleaming with malice. Surely it was malice?
“I can tell you what to do, little sister, and I will. Or have you forgotten who fixed everything the last time you were “in your feelings”?”
“She is my daughter and you allowed your husband to bargain with her like she was nothing!” Demeter’s cry was sorrow itself.
“That is the life of a woman, Demeter. The life of an Olympus Goddess. We all know what it entails. You, of all of us, know better…”
Silence reigned. Demeter’s arm grew cold under Erato’s touch. Something was coming. Something was about to be thrown their way.
Hera turned from them and moved towards the still open door. Outside, a storm was wrecking its way across the sea. The deck was empty. Just as Erato was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Hera spun around and gave her one last look.
“You will fix this, little sister. And to ensure that you do, I am binding you to the muse. Until spring arrives, you two shall never be away from each other. If, as you say, she has nothing to do with anything, and if you are in control, prove it. Spring needs to arrive. Crops must flourish like no other season, and then both of you shall be free.”
A golden ribbon latched itself to Erato and Demeter’s hands, the binding soft yet surprisingly powerful. Before she could tug and test it, Hera’s smile widened.
“And don’t make me come back and find you, Demeter. Resolve your issues, or you’ll regret it. Your little temper tantrum is interfering with my plans, and you know how I am. I never share center stage.”