Authors: Marissa Doyle
By Jove (35 page)
Theo stroked his hand. She’d spilled her guts to him in the labyrinth. It was his turn now. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. If I’d only known—”
“If you’d known, I wouldn’t have made the mistakes, would I?” His smiled was crooked.
“But what about Julian? You were his victim, too.”
“Julian.” Grant closed his eyes. “Just another mistake on my part. I should have remembered that he has always been more human than I, and that he shares something with men that I never understood or felt—the desire for revenge. No, that’s not entirely fair to men. I’m human now, and I can’t say I feel an overwhelming need to avenge myself for what he put me—us—through. I simply never want to lay eyes on him again.”
“Hear, hear,” Theo agreed fervently.
“Did—did you love him?” Grant asked, after a silence.
She took a deep breath. “No. But I liked him, once. I was flattered by his attention last semester. It’s hard for us imperfect humans not to like those who profess to admire us.” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “But he had to drug me with water from the river of forgetfulness to force me to forget whom I really loved.”
Grant shifted uncomfortably on his bed. She peered down into his face, pale against the white linen of the pillows.
“That wasn’t quite the answer you were looking for, was it?” she continued. “I’m sorry, Grant, but I won’t lie to you. Shame may be a terrible thing to feel, but it has its uses—it makes us try to do better next time. We humans are led astray by our secret needs so easily. I needed to be loved, to be thought desirable. Julian knew that, and played it for all he could.” She shook her hair over her shoulders and smiled to herself. “One good thing came of my time with Julian. It taught me the difference between infatuation and love. That’s a lesson that has to be experienced to be learned. Remember that I feel shame too, Grant. I hope we can forgive each other.”
He turned his head fretfully away from her. She turned it back and saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I don’t need to forgive you for being human. It’s why I fell in love with you. But now I’m the imperfect human one,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I want both infatuation and love. I want to hold your love in my heart like a crystal chalice, and kiss you till your lips are swollen and your breath comes short. I want to take your body and give you my soul in return. Will you let me? Can it be both?”
This was not how I’d pictured it would happen
, Theo thought as he pulled her onto the bed with him.
I thought it would be out on a mountaintop, under the stars. Or in a sunny meadow surrounded by nature. Not in a rather narrow bed in the infirmary at the unromantic hour of ten thirty on a Wednesday morning.
She looked up at his gray eyes, dark and serious with desire, and touched his cheek. He covered her mouth with his, sweet and demanding, a kiss such as she’d dreamed of for months. “Yes,” she whispered when he finally released her lips.
“Yes what?” He was making short work of her clothes.
She helped him, then pulled his t-shirt over his head and let her hand wander down to his scarred side. She caressed it and he shivered as her hand dropped lower. “It can be both.”
“Oh, Theo. My Theo.” He explored her with his fingertips, teasing, probing, stroking, until she was sure she must be glowing like a bonfire. Just when she was sure she couldn’t wait another second he slid over her, and her body hummed with anticipation…and with rightness.
“I love you, Grant,” she murmured, moving her legs up to cradle him.
“I—love you—” His voice trailed into a soft groan as he entered her, going slowly at first, tentatively inching deeper until she gently bit his lip and moved against him, pulling him hard inside her. His breath caught, and then he buried his face against her hair and met her rhythm, hard and so sweet, so very very sweet, until the sweetness rose in a flood, immobilizing her yet carrying her along in a headlong rush. She felt Grant inside her, caught in the same flood, and held him close, rocking against him until breath and conscious thought returned.
He lifted his head and kissed her, his mouth moist and soft against hers. “Oh, Theo…oh gods, I love you!”
She returned his kiss, stroking his damp shoulders and back. “I told you it could be both,” she whispered.
…
They went down to the commons for the evening meal, Grant straight-backed and proud for his first foray out of the infirmary though still pale, his hands constantly straying to touch Theo’s hand, her hair, her shoulder. Theo herself smiled and blushed at Marlowe’s cheerful, “Hey, they’re outta bed!” and accepted his loud smack on one cheek.
Others clustered around them then; Theo watched, bemused, as nine tall, handsome women, all different yet clearly related, whispered and jostled each other as they waited to greet her and Grant. She found herself exchanging pleasantries with ibis-headed Thoth and potbellied, elephant-headed Ganesha, whose small dark eyes twinkled wisely at her as he patted her head with his trunk.
“Are there other places like this and John Winthrop, where gods live?” she asked Olivia in a whisper over the meal.
“Oh, yes. A few. Mostly they’re small prestigious liberal arts schools where one department or another isn’t quite what it seems to be. I’ve heard interesting rumors about why a few of the Catholic schools do so well in football,” she whispered back.
Theo found her gaze traveling again to Thoth and Ganesha as she ate. After dinner she and Grant walked—Theo several inches above the ground—outside to sit on a low hillock and watch the sun set into the dark surrounding hills. “I wonder,” she said softly.
“What do you wonder?” Grant asked, sliding closer to her and putting his arm over her shoulder.
“If my cat Dido could handle a little ambrosia in her tuna and liver.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Seeing the animal-headed gods just made me wonder.”
Grant was silent for a few moments, then said, “I keep forgetting that we’ve changed places. Now you’re the goddess and I’m the human.”
“I don’t think you can call me a goddess. I can barely manage my own powers, as June Cadwallader so kindly pointed out.” She pointed at a pinecone lying in the grass. To her surprise, it floated up and landed in her hand. “What do you know? It usually takes three or four tries, or else it flies up and bops me on the forehead.”
“I think you’ll find that you’ll do better here. Less stress, for one thing.”
“That’s true.” She set the pinecone spinning on the end of one finger, then winced and batted it away. “Ow. Splinter. I’ve got a lot more to learn than just the mechanics of magic.”
“Then I take it you want to stay immortal?”
“Do you want me to?” She shifted and wrapped her arms around him. “Will you take ambrosia and become immortal again, or do you want me to cast it away and be mortal with you?”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that. Casting aside my immortality was a horrible process—I’m not sure I could endure watching you suffer the way I did. But I’m afraid to be a god again. How do I know I’ll be able to remember how to love you properly?”
Theo laughed and pulled him down into the soft grass with her, weaving a curtain of light from the setting sun to draw around them. He was right: using her power here
was
easier. She bent to kiss him and rejoiced at how his hands traveled hungrily over her as their lips met. “I wouldn’t worry about that, my love,” she whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment. “So long as we’re together, I won’t let you forget.”
And they lived happily ever after.
Ever
after.
Acknowledgments
Writing a romance about Latin and Greek and a classics department at a university is something I was probably predestined to do after studying Latin for eight years in high school and college. By Jove was enormous fun to write (yes, really!) and I’m incredibly grateful to my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, and to editor extraordinaire Liz Pelletier for seeing the fun and taking a chance on an unusual story. Anassa kata (that’s an ancient Greek cheer used at my college) to both of you, and to all the crew at Entangled Publishing!
Anassa kata as well to all my teachers of Latin over those eight years of study, but most of all to Mr. Guy: thank you, Magister, for the priceless gift of language you gave me.
Huge thanks and anassa kata to my friend Nancy Evans, scholar and gentlewoman, who helped me with the bits of classical Greek scattered through the book.
And my love and thanks to Hal Lorin, who told me to read Roberto Calasso’s The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony. I owe you a grappa, my friend.
About the Author
Marissa Doyle
graduated from Bryn Mawr College and went on to graduate school intending to be an archaeologist, but somehow got distracted. Eventually she figured out what she was really supposed to be doing and started writing. She’s channeled her inner history geekiness into a successful young adult historical fantasy series, and is now also happily writing contemporary romantic fantasy. She lives in her native Massachusetts with her family, including a pair of bossy but adorable pet rabbits, and loves quilting, sailing, gardening, and collecting antiques. Oh, and coffee. Visit her online at
www.marissadoyle.com
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