6. Perseus #2
“Ouch.” Perseus put a hand dramatically over his chest, then reached for the end of her scarf and gave it a gentle tug.
“Hands to yourself,” she said, swatting his hand away.
“So it’s really just because I’m the only guy around?” he asked, tilting his head to study her.
“More or less,” she sighed. “If I had a mate, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d just go through it with him. But since I don’t…here we are.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a raised finger. “And I know your next question. I don’t have a mate because…he died a couple of years back in an accident.”
“Oh,” he said, his voice softening as he caught the subtle shift in her energy—he knew better than to press further. Instead, he asked quietly, “So…about your gaze?
“For us gorgons, we find our mates before our gaze goes into effect,” she explained, moving on the bed to face him fully.
“Oh, you don’t have it from birth?”
“No. It happens in our teens. We find our mate before then, and it sort of…triggers the gaze. But they’re immune to it. They can look into our eyes without turning to stone.”
“That actually sounds kind of…nice.”
“Yeah. It is,” she murmured, voice dropping slightly. “I could still fall for someone else, but they’d never be able to see my eyes. It’s not impossible, but…it’s different.”
“Right,” he said quietly.
She was silent for a moment, then asked, “How come you don’t have a mate?”
Perseus gave her a pointed look. “Look who’s being nosy now.”
“Just answer,” she demanded, poking his chest with one finger.
He let out a low laugh. “I haven’t met her. In our pack, we’re sea wolves, so we have the anami ekarde . Our souls and hearts knit together when our wolf approves of our mate.”
“Wow,” she said, eyes wide. “That sounds…beautiful. And painful.”
“Yeah, they say it is,” he chuckled.
Perseus lay on his side, one arm propping up his head, watching the droplets of water still glistening on Medusa’s skin. He reached out and traced his fingers through the droplets, spreading them into glistening trails. “So, it seems like you’re close with your family.”
“Yes,” she replied simply, but there was a subtle shift in her body, the way her shoulders tensed just a fraction.
Perseus felt the change in her energy and softened his voice. “Are you from a big family?”
“Technically…no,” she said after a second, exhaling. “I’m an only child.”
“Oh, right. You’re all raised together, though.”
She nodded. “Yeah. So it kind of feels like a big family, even if it’s not blood. Everyone we grew up with are our sisters, but we also have aunties, cousins, elders…even if they’re not your direct family, they’re yours.”
“Right.” He rolled onto his back for a second, arms behind his head, then turned back to her. “So…you’d want a big family?”
Medusa hesitated. “Technically, it would be a big family because of how the Gorgon family structure works. Whether I’d want it or not…I don’t know. I guess it depends on who it’s with.”
“Good answer.”
She gave him a playful shove. “Okay, your turn. Would you want a big family?”
“Family is everything with me,” Perseus’s grin softened into something gentler. “If I could have a big family, I’d be happy with that. And if it wasn’t big…I’d be happy with that too. As long as it was mine.”
Medusa went quiet for a moment, her snakes shifting slightly under her scarf. “That’s…actually really sweet,” she said finally. After a moment, she said, “Psyche said you’re adopted.”
Perseus blinked. “When did that come up?”
“You know…when you stormed out of our first meeting,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Oh. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah…my parents don’t know I’m a demigod.”
Medusa’s brows lifted. “Oh gods, I outed you?”
“Yeah. You did.”
She winced. “Do you know who your father is?”
A dark cloud hovered over Perseus, as it always did when that topic popped up.
Do you want to know who you really are, Perseus Gialamas?
The man with the golden curls smiled, his eyes twinkling in delight.
What do you mean who I am?
Your true identity, Perseus. Where you came from. Who you are, and more important, who you are meant to be.
The man’s voice was like honey, smooth and tempting.
Let me tell you…
Who your father truly is.
The name didn’t register at first. It seemed impossible. Surely someone else would have known.
He looked away. Instead of answering, he said, “Psyche’s been pushing me to tell our parents, but I’m not ready.”
“So…when will you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I trust Psyche. She won’t say anything unless I do.”
“And Lord Eros?”
“He’ll follow her lead.”
Medusa nodded, then smiled. “Psyche is adorable. I loved chatting with her.”
“She’s…lovable in her own way,” he said with a small laugh.
“You’re a good brother.”
He didn’t answer right away and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, his hand brushing her arm. “Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”
He hadn’t meant to touch her, not like that—but it felt natural, like easing into something he hadn’t known he missed.
“Oh, why’d you have to go do that?” she groaned, flopping onto her back with a dramatic sigh.
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
“What? That was totally innocent.”
“You really don’t get it, huh?” she muttered, sitting up.
Perseus tried not to stare, but damn—she looked incredible. Still flushed from earlier, wearing nothing but attitude and a few leftover droplets of water. Her annoyance gave her an edge that made him want her all over again.
“I don’t,” he said, goading her, because he liked it when she got like this—sharp, fiery, untamed.
She shoved him onto his back with a strength he underestimated and then slid her hand down his body, wrapping around him with a confidence that stole his breath.
“Shit,” he hissed, instantly hard under her touch.
She smirked. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to learn.”
He wasn’t sure what kind of lesson this was, but he was a damn willing student.
The snowstorm lasted three days, and so did her heat.
But she’d been right about one thing—it wasn’t twenty-four seven.
Sort of.
Medusa tried, at first, to keep her distance from him.
She holed up with her laptop, claiming she had reports to file and research to finish.
But meals went half-eaten and cold on the table, books were thrown aside, and Perseus quickly learned there was no force on earth that could keep them apart for long.
Sometimes, they only lasted an hour before sparks reignited. A glance over coffee. A brush of shoulders in the hallway. An argument that started about rationing supplies and ended with her slamming him against a wall and dragging him to bed.
By the second day, he’d given up pretending he could focus on anything else. His wolf was riding close to the surface, restless and eager. And Medusa…well, she was a temptation he couldn’t resist, no matter how many times she tried to glare him into submission from behind her mirrored aviators.
Not that she’d needed his dick the whole time—small mercies really.
She was perfectly content to ride out her heat with his mouth, his fingers, and an impressive arsenal of toys she’d apparently packed just for the occasion.
Toys she’d also used on him, much to his shock and, ultimately, his utter undoing.
He’d never imagined himself spread out and moaning for her like that, but fuck if she hadn’t made him come harder than he thought possible.
By the end of the storm, the only thing they’d properly kept track of was how many times they’d made each other come. And even that was getting fuzzy.
In between the heated moments, they’d talked, sprawled across the bed, or sitting wrapped in blankets by the window, watching the snow pile higher.
Perseus found ways to make her laugh so hard she’d slap his arm, her shoulders shaking and a grin tugging at her lips beneath the shadow of her glasses.
She told him about Vale Crossing’s traditions, her favorite coffee order, and the mischief her snakelets caused when she was a kid.
He shared stories of growing up near the ocean, of surfing and shifting, and getting into trouble with his brother.
He’d made her laugh as much as he’d made her come, and though neither said it out loud, something between them was quietly, stubbornly growing.
And so, when Qhatu texted that they could get to work bright and early the next day, Medusa read the message and tossed her phone aside.
“Okay, good,” she said, stretching like a cat. “My heat is winding down.”
Perseus gave her a wary look. “That sounds…ominous.”
But she only gave him a wicked smile. “Gotta thank you properly for all your help, don’t I?”
Before he could even make a smartass comment, she was sliding down between his legs.
“Shit,” he groaned as her mouth closed around him, hot and skilled. And he swore he could feel her smirking around his cock.
He dropped his head back with a gasp. Damn, he’d thought he’d been the one helping her out—but somehow, she always ended up in control.
By the time dawn finally broke clear and blue over Valle Trigénico, the storm was gone, leaving the world outside blanketed in dazzling white.
Perseus and Medusa managed a few hours of actual sleep—separate this time, though not for lack of Medusa crawling into his bed twice before muttering that she was “over it.”
Morning came fast. They showered and dressed before trudging through snowdrifts to where Qhatu was waiting for them in the coffee shop in the town square.
They went over logistics, supplies, and the list of areas they’d lost access to during the storm.
Medusa tried to stay focused, but Perseus noticed the way she kept checking her phone, fidgeting with her scarf, the snakelets twitching with impatience.
Finally, as they were wrapping up, she slapped her hand on the table. “Okay, we’re done here. We have to go see the artist I was talking to in the square. Right now.”
Qhatu blinked. “The…artist?”