Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1)
Read Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1) Online
Authors: Alicia Wolfe
Dionysus: Greek God Romance
Alicia Wolfe
Copyright © 2016
Alicia Wolfe
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or article.
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SUMMARY
Olympus - a town nestled in Illinois housing all the Greek gods and goddesses relocated from Mount Olympus. Some gods and goddesses are exactly how they are portrayed in mythology, some are anything but.
Enter at your own risk.
Rebecca lived a life on the road, traveling from town to town. While heading through the Midwest towards Chicago, she is forced to make a pit stop in a town named Olympus.
Lured in by the peculiarities of Hermes Gas Station and compelled to stay due to the upsetting revelation that she is out of money, she accepts a job at the local bar where she meets Dionysus, god of wine and fertility.
Rebecca makes Olympus her home and falls for the debonair and always witty, Dionysus, while she learns about the other gods and goddesses and more often than not, she learns too much.
Unfortunately, Rebecca grabs the attention of Hera, who hates her stepchild, Dionysus.
Looking to destroy him once more in one of her malevolent, grandiose schemes, Hera seeks the Minotaur, a creature of legend and myth, to kill Rebecca.
Can she survive in the godly town of Olympus with its idiosyncratic denizens?
Will her and Dionysus make a life together, or will his past get in the way?
TABLE OF CONTENTS
OLYMPUS. . . WHERE CAR ACCIDENTS ARE NOT ACCIDENTS
DAYS WITHOUT A TIME LOSS INCIDENT
HE’LL GET HIS, ONCE IN BUTT AND ONCE BY ME
FRONT-TO-BACK AND SIDE-TO-SIDE
DON’T COME BY THE BAR ON MY SHIFT
DID YOU HEAR THAT, BEATRICE? HE’S A GOD!
THE MYTH OF THESEUS AND THE MINOTAUR
THE TRUE TALE OF THE MINOTAUR AND THESEUS
I AM HECATE, THE GODDESS OF MAGIC
I MERELY CAME FOR CONVERSATION
BANANA, BANANA, BANANA, BANANA, BANANA
I THINK. . . I THINK I’LL KEEP YOU AROUND
WELCOME TO OLYMPUS
Rebecca looked at her dashboard to see the gas gauge arrow steady on E. It lingered there, taunting her like someone wagging their index finger,
“No. No.
No.”
She sighed and took exit 290C Olympus—the most impressive highway exit sign she had ever seen. The sign was shimmering gold, and while odd, her concerns were on how to procure more gas.
Unbeknownst to her, the sign was pure gold.
Rebecca rifled through her purse to find a crumbled up dollar bill and a few quarters that spilled out—a pittance reflecting her life on the go. She looked inside the center arm rest and found only receipts for the various things that kept the car running—the same things she could no longer afford.
Where did all my money go? How did I let this happen?
But she would not let herself get depressed, the road had hardened her with its abundant attempts at derailing her goal, her lustrous destination, Chicago.
She refocused on the road, sighed once more, and drummed her hands on the wheel.
What did momma say?
Your looks will get you out of everything. But you also have a brain. . . You’ll never get a man.
Another golden sign approached on the right hand side with lettering that was boldly white and seemed more holographic, more lifelike, more 3D—if you will—than plain paint:
GAS —>
<—BAR
OLYMPUS
POP: A LOT OR A LITTLE
She shook her head in disbelief, reread the sign:
UNDERWORLD—>
<—HEAVENS
OLYMPUS
POP: DIVINE
The Olympus signs were made by Comus, the Greek god of comedy. He made it using the gold Midas had touched. Touching the sign would turn one’s head into an animal’s, and so, a few men and women roamed the outskirts of Olympus, near the sign, with heads of farm animals: sheep, cattle, pigs and the like. Comus thought it was the funniest thing.
Rebecca decided that a combination of exhaustion, heat, and stress had her reading the sign incorrectly and replaced the real words with this fatigue-induced delusion. Afraid of what she might see if she peered at it again, she decided not to look and hoped that gas was to the right.
She was correct. Gas was to the right. She was also incorrect. The Underworld was to the right, as well. Comus had initially had the directions backwards, but after a few mortals got lost—
lost,
a term used on Olympus whether a mortal died or was lost somewhere in the cracks of the world—he was forced to provide actual directions. No one on Olympus was certain if it did any good.
Rebecca took the exit and her car stuttered, as if pushing through a barrier, then resumed its prior speed. She also tried to explain that away:
I really need some rest.
She drove down the road and stopped at a gas station named Hermes. She paid no attention to the sign and walked inside to get some water, a candy bar and hopefully set her mind right with some casual human interaction— and with a little luck and an overwhelming sob story, she would not pay for any of the above.
Rebecca opened the door to the comforting sound of the chime that every gas station seems to have on the front door. Hermes also possessed the same superior dinginess that inhabited each one in the middle of nowhere. The smell, however, she noticed was. . . refreshing.
The clerk behind the counter said, “Welcome to. . .” His gaze penetrated her, making her feel naked and exposed. She put her hand on her chest and felt chills run down her body, a short exhale burst out of her mouth.
He had a youthful appearance, ice blue eyes, blond hair and clean shaven. He stood a few inches taller than Rebecca, at about six feet, and wore an odd metal cap on his head. Rebecca shook off the ominous feeling she had been experiencing since turning right at the gold sign and tried to calm herself:
You’ve had a long day. Breathe in. It’s just another gas station. Another clerk, and hopefully, another man to help you on your way.
She broke away from his gaze and glanced down the first aisle.
He cleared his throat and resumed as she walked towards an aisle, “Welcome to Hermes’ Gas Station.”
Rebecca went down the aisle and found nothing she recognized, not a brand of candy or water. She picked up a protein-type bar that read:
AMBROSIA BAR
FOR A DIVINE KICK IN THE ASS
What the hell?
She mouthed to herself, rubbing her eyes. The illusions were back, frying her brain like the egg on those weird drug commercials in the nineties. She looked around and her face filled with dread. She was surrounded by the inexplicable, nothing was familiar.
How can this be?
Her heartbeat hammered in her chest and her breath became shaky, she attempted to calm herself down once more:
Steady. Steady. Stop making this more than what it is.
The clerk rushed over. “Allow me.” He guided her over to a small stand that had Cheetos, Dr. Pepper, and a Snickers—one Snickers bar. They were caked in dust, and the Snickers bar hung loosely on the wire shelf without a box. She grimaced. She had always been a Twix kind of gal.
The clerk did a quick sniff, smelling her hair. Rebecca whipped her head around and said, “Did you just smell me?”
His eyes squinted becoming slits as his voice sounded distant, reliving a past. He said, “You smell old. . . familiar.”
“Huh?”
“Oh!”—his eyes widened and darted around—“No. . . I mean yes, I did smell you. Wait. . . No, uh, what’s the question?”
Rebecca put her face in her hands and slowly moved them down, letting her fingers pause on her eyes and rub them once more; she let them fall to her neck and stay there, breathing in heavy. Too exhausted and unhinged for these peculiarities, these oddities, she deemed everything being a bad joke. . . a mirage formed by her exhaustive state—something that went away with a good night’s rest.
The clerk slowly backed away and ran behind the counter. He brushed at his drab gray shirt, and attempted to adjust his name tag, HERMES, an odd habit—it was sewn in and not liable to move.
Rebecca feeling derailed and manic, grabbed all three items, grunted and stomped over to the counter. She closed her eyes, taking a moment, a breath, and remembered an old mantra one of the mystics employed by her mother would say:
Ham-Sa, Ham-Sa.
“Tired?” The clerk acted as if they had no interaction prior. So much so, Rebecca questioned if it had even occurred.
She gave him a forced smile and said, “Exhausted.”
He pointed over to the Ambrosia Bar. “Grab one, might do the trick.”
Rebecca turned and shrugged.
Why not?
When she returned, he asked, “What brought you to Olympus?”
“Gas.”
He nodded. “Sure. . . plans?”
“Plans?”
Hermes stared at her, saying nothing. Rebecca waited for his response then let her eyes drift around, feeling now more awkward than confused. She had to kill the silence it was clawing at her, tugging, trying to tell her that this was no dream. She cleared her throat then said, “You going to ring me up?”
“Oh! Right. . .”—he rubbed his chin as if deciding what it should be and glanced to the side—“that’ll be a dollar.”
“A dollar? Did you just make that up?” It was obvious that he had. She closed her eyes then opened them again. A voice inside her with a ghostly tone said, “
It’s all a dreaaaam”—
that lightened her mood, marginally.
Hermes frowned. “Too little?”