is fond of many things. Music, poetry, physical prowess, truth, and
love. The Pythian Games are in his honor and he attends, as a mere
mortal, to enjoy the competition… and the women. Meeting the fair
Coronis offers him his greatest delight. Her strength, her
fearlessness, and her beauty clasp his heart with an irrevocable
hold. But she wants none of him.
duty is to marry, but she yearns for so much more. She is a fierce
competitor, a hunter, skilled in strategy and reason. Those that
would court her lack both the mind and the body to rival hers – she
will settle for no less. As a mortal, Apollo was both infuriating and
tempting. But Apollo the Olympian is terrifying. She fears giving him
her heart might destroy her soul.
need for revenge pits Olympian against Olympian, forcing Apollo into
a darkness the God of Light must fight if he ever hopes to see his
breathe. Do not let him fall. She turned, her stomach tightening as
her gaze met Apollo’s. You must win. You must.
past him to the competitors’ tent. He would follow her, she knew
it. They had little time to prepare. She must help him bathe and
anoint him with oil before he met Damocles in the ring.
into the tent. She lit a lamp and drew in a steadying breath. She was
not a fretful sort, so why was she so afraid? Why did he unsettle
address the ache… the yearning that tugged her heart.
basin, grabbed the bottle of oil, and turned to him. His gaze caught
hers and he cocked his head, assessing her.
too-handsome face. “Do not fret Coronis. You’ve not broken your
word to me. You said you would never ask for my help. And you did
not.” He moved forward slowly, towering over her. His smile
faltered as he studied her, intently… possessively. “You will
never have to. I give it to you freely. I always will.”
suitors flattered her with pretty words, poetry, even song. But no
man spoke to her so plainly. Or dared to look at her as he did.
seemed to linger over every feature, tracing the arch of her brow,
the curve of her forehead, the seam of her lips, and angle of her
jaw—before pinning her gaze with his. “Do I frighten you,
Coronis?” his voice was low, almost a whisper.
and golden. What was he asking? Was she afraid of the depths of
emotion he stirred within her? Was she fearful of how her body
trembled, anticipating the moment when they might touch? Or that she
dreaded his departure so that she could neither eat nor sleep. She
shook her head, unable to answer.
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