Ensnared by Medusa (Guardians of Vale Crossing #1)

1. Medusa

Medusa

“ Y ou can do this.”

Medusa took a steadying breath as her reflection blinked back at her from the gilt-edged glass.

Her mirrored glasses were firmly in place, silver lenses opaque as moonlight on still water.

The snakelets squirmed faintly beneath the bougiest scarf she’d ever owned, a lush twist of emerald and teal cashmere.

She adjusted it one more time, ensuring not a single scale peeked out.

It was Sylvan Cashmere, the satyr salesperson had proudly explained, harvested from Satyria—a village nestled in the eastern green hills of Vale Crossing.

Apparently, satyrs there naturally shed their coats in spring.

The fibers were collected “with full consent,” the salesperson had chirped, flicking his pointed ears for emphasis.

“An easy way for us to make money, you know!”

Medusa had nodded, suppressing the awkward impulse to hiss. Ethics aside, it was the softest thing she’d ever touched. The scarf shimmered like liquid forest light, and its weight soothed her.

She leaned closer to the mirror, her breath fogging the glass for a fleeting moment. Beneath her tinted lenses, her eyes glowed faintly gold.

“You can do this,” she whispered again.

Why did I have to blow a ridiculous amount of money on the bougiest scarf ever?

She knew the answer, of course.

She needed it to look professional for a job interview with Eros, God of Love and Desire. Not just any interview, but one held at his partner’s house—a fancy-ass mansion on Vancouver Island in the Upperworld.

So, yes, she needed a confidence boost.

And what better way to present herself well than by cloaking her serpentine secrets in ethically sourced cashmere?

She exhaled sharply and tugged her phone from the pocket of her wide-legged trousers.

She checked the directions again, though they were hardly traditional.

Lord Eros had said she just had to think about the house—its location, its details—and she’d appear at its front doors.

It couldn’t possibly be that simple, could it?

Medusa wasn’t sure why she even bothered searching in a map app; the result was always the same: blank space where the Upperworld should be.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, anxiety coiling tighter than the snakelets hidden beneath her scarf.

She’d never gone to the Upperworld before.

She’d spent all twenty-five years of her life with her gorgon sisters in Serpentara, a rocky outpost just outside the capital of Vale Crossing.

Serpentara was full of hot stone, slithering shadows, and caves that whispered secrets when the wind rushed through them at night. It was safe. It was hers.

And now she was about to literally leap into another world for the chance at a job with the god of desire himself.

She glanced down at her phone screen again, thumb hovering over the black glass as if it might suddenly produce an actual ticket or a teleport button.

Instead, the reflection staring back at her seemed small and pale, framed by mirrored lenses and a swirl of expensive green cashmere.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a new text. Medusa glanced at the screen, read it quickly, and slipped the phone back into her pocket with a faint frown.

“You can do this,” she murmured one more time.

And tried very hard to believe it was true.

Medusa took another breath and closed her eyes.

Psyche Gialamas’s home, she thought firmly.

In the next instant, she felt a strange tug, like a hook catching deep in her chest and reeling her forward through invisible currents.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing on the front stoop of a modern glass mansion. For a split second, the world tilted sideways—her vision rippling like heat waves over stone—but then the disorientation faded, leaving her heart hammering in her ears.

She straightened her trench coat, brushed a stray snakelet back into place under her scarf, and pressed the sleek, chrome doorbell. You all need to behave!

The snakelets hissed with annoyance, but she knew they wouldn’t embarrass her.

Moments later, a housekeeper in a crisp uniform opened the door with a polite smile.

Medusa stepped inside and followed, unable to stop glancing around as they moved through sunlit corridors.

The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows stole her breath—a sparkling expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretching in endless blue.

The housekeeper led her down a hallway scented faintly of cedar and citrus, then paused at a doorway tucked into the back corner of the house. She opened the door and motioned Medusa inside.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to a tall blond man standing next to a petite, curvy woman in the middle of the room. The man radiated an effortless glow, like sunlight pouring through crystal, and even without an introduction, Medusa automatically sensed he was a god.

“Lord Eros,” she greeted, the s extending slightly. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Thank you for accepting it, Medusa.”

“Your name is Medusa?” the petite brunette burst out. “Like the real gorgon, Medusa? Are you immortal too?”

She recognized the woman as Psyche, matching the photos and articles she’d pored over while preparing for this interview.

A soft laugh escaped Medusa as she stepped closer.

“You’re precious. But no, I’m not the Medusa.

My parents just have a weird sense of humor.

But ye sss , I am indeed a gorgon.” Yes, you can come out.

A snakelet peeked out from under her scarf, its tongue flicking out playfully.

“So. Cool.” The she-wolf snapped her fingers twice. “I’m so excited to meet a real gorgon. I’m Psyche, Eros’s mate.”

“Can you really do what Eros says you can?” a man interjected. “Not turning men into stone, but the other thing.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing behind her mirrored lenses.

He was a man of average height, with neatly combed dark hair and a trimmed beard that gave him a polished, almost scholarly look.

His tailored suit fit him perfectly, hinting at both wealth and meticulous taste.

But there was an energy about him—a faint shimmer at the edges that told her he wasn’t human.

“If you’re talking about detecting non-mortals, yes.

” Medusa paused, sliding a finger down her jaw.

“It’s difficult to explain, really, but I’ll try.

When I meet someone, I just get this feeling.

It’s like, let’s say, a Geiger counter, but instead of radioactivity, I can detect how far away someone is from being a mortal, if that makes sense?

A pure mortal, for example, would rank as a zero.

But you, Psyche, as a shifter, you rank about a four or five on my scale, as would any creature without any active magic.

” She turned to the man. “But you, hmm…are a three.”

“J-just a three?” he sputtered.

“That’s actually pretty high for someone with mixed blood. A one or two means very diluted. Lord Eros is a ten.”

“As I should be,” he joked, though no one in the room laughed.

“So, you can help us detect if someone we meet is like Bob?” another man asked.

“Yes, I can?—”

She turned toward the speaker and abruptly stopped, her entire body going still.

He was slightly taller than her, but towered over everyone in the room, with unruly golden curls that framed a strong jaw. His olive skin seemed to glow faintly under the overhead lights, and when he met her gaze with vivid green eyes, she found herself unable to look away.

“Oh.”

Psyche cocked her head to the side. “Oh?”

“Hmm.” Medusa’s head bobbed up and down. “An eight. No, a nine.”

“Nine?” Psyche’s nose twitched. “What’s a nine?”

“Demigod,” Medusa stated. “And…oh my, quite a powerful one. Which one of your parents was a god? Do you know who he or she is?”

The atmosphere shifted all of a sudden as a dark look crossed the man’s face. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take care of something.” Turning on his heel, he strode out of the meeting room, the door slamming behind him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Medusa asked.

“Psyche, you said Perseus was adopted, right?” said Eros.

“Yeah. But we don’t know who his father is, only that he abandoned his mom even before he was born.”

“That track sss ,” Medusa hissed.

“She and my mom were best friends and were pregnant at the same time,” Psyche continued. “Theo and him were actually born a few days apart, but his mom died right after giving birth to him, which is why my parents adopted him.”

“Does he know who his dad is, perhaps?” Eros asked.

Medusa had meant to provoke him, and his reaction made her positive that he knew he was a demigod. She just needed to find out if he already knew exactly who his father was. She was glad that it seemed like she had mistakenly outed him.

“I don’t…think so?” Psyche said. “We’re not exactly close, you know. I mean, he’s my older brother, I grew up with him around, but we don’t share deep personal secrets.”

“Would you be able to tell who it was, Medusa?” Eros turned to her.

She tsked. “No, I’m afraid I can’t give you an exact name, but from his level, it has to be a very high-ranking one.”

“Hmm. In any case, Medusa, if you’re interested in the job, I’d love to offer it to you.”

“For what you’re paying me, I can hardly resist.” Her lips curved into a smile. “And besides, I like a challenge. I’ve been so bored lately.”

“Great. Welcome on board. We can start early Monday morning, and we’ll brief you on what we have so far.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Psyche said.

Eros placed an arm around his mate. “She really is excited to meet you. She’s also been bugging me to bring her to Vale Crossing, but I said not until after she eats the golden apple.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re a gorgon. Can I ask you what it’s like? Have you turned anyone to stone?”

She tried to remember more about what she had read about Psyche. “Only if you tell me all about dinosaurs,” Medusa grinned. “I heard you’re a paleontologist?”

“Yes,” Psyche said. “Paleoichnology, to be exact. With a focus on paleoclimatology.”

“The study of trace fossils and past climates. Sounds riveting.” Medusa was genuinely interested. But she had to focus on her main goal. “Um, so, will your brother be joining us for dinner?”

Psyche shrugged. “I guess? He doesn’t miss dinner when he’s here. So, were you named after the Medusa?”

“Let me get some pre-dinner cocktails for us,” Eros suggested as he walked toward the fully stocked bar cart in the corner. The group lingered in the room, drinks in hand while the sun dipped lower over the Pacific, casting golden reflections across the glass walls.

Psyche and Medusa found themselves side by side, chatting animatedly about paleontology—Psyche was a PhD student currently at a dig in Alaska—and what it was like growing up a gorgon.

Psyche listened with wide-eyed curiosity, occasionally laughing in surprise, while Medusa described her snakelets’ mischievous habits and the strict secrecy they’d maintained in Serpentara.

“…and yes, they really do have a mind of their own,” she said with a chuckle.

“That’s so amazing. I had no idea. I’m so glad you’re here.” Psyche clapped her hands together. “Right, Eros?”

“Yes, though I was surprised that you had changed your mind after initially declining my request.”

“It wasn’t personal, Lord Eros,” she replied.

“A negotiating tactic, then? To get more money from us?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Medusa drained the last of her sparkling water and set the glass on a tray. “Excuse me a moment,” she murmured.

Psyche pointed across the hallway. “Bathroom’s right through that door.”

Medusa nodded her thanks and slipped away.

She leaned against the cool marble counter inside the bathroom, letting her breath come out in a slow exhale.

She lifted her head to check her reflection, her fingers tightly gripping the marble to steady herself. Her features looked the same as ever, save for the flicker of tension tightening her mouth.

No horns. No major deformations from my…deviousness.

Medusa swallowed hard, wishing she could be back in Vale Crossing—a hidden place where only monsters dwelled, where she could walk among her own kind without disguises or secrets, without having to use her powers or deceive anyone.

She missed its safety and the sense of belonging that came from simply being herself.

She fished her phone from her pocket and pulled up the last text she’d received, reading it in silence.

Then she closed her eyes.

She had to be strong. There was too much at stake.