Thief of Olympus (Greek Myth Series Book 3) (16 page)

“Nay, Daedalus. I did not, as she was not in the room when I entered.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairway and clanked the empty tankard down on Daedalus’s tray.

“I do not understand, my king. Are you saying, she somehow left the room without you knowing?”

“She left by means of a linen ladder, right out the window,” he explained.

“So she’s gone back to the Amazon camp?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “If I know Lysandra, she’s tried to best me once again. Have my stable boy ready my horse. I will leave tonight for Olympus, the home of Dionysus.”

Fourteen

Lysandra rode through the darkness on her stolen horse, once more up the trails of Mt. Olympus. She didn’t dare stop, for fear Zarek would be on her heels. She hadn’t planned on coming to the palace of Dionysus until the morning, but her plans had changed. Zarek would be looking for her now, and the first place he’d look would be at the location of their next challenge. Now she had no choice but to climb the mountain in the night.

She wasn’t ready for this. She’d yet to make her plans or inquiries of this god of wine. She knew naught of him, only where he resided. His stone bust was carved over the temple on Mt. Olympus that was said to be his. So all she really needed to do was get inside the gates and look for the statue to guide her to where she was going.

She thought she heard someone behind her and rode even faster. Her head dizzied from lack of food and sleep, and she wanted nothing more than a good night’s rest. One more challenge, she told herself, urging herself to continue. One more night of madness and this would all be over.

Finally, coming upon the gates of Olympus, she called out to the same two sentries whom she had knocked unconscious, “Open the gate.”

The first guard looked up, and then the other. At the sight of her, they drew their swords and shook their heads. “You are not welcome, here,” said the first, rubbing his bruised jaw. “You will not trick us again.”

“Why not let her enter?” asked the other. “We should let her in and bring her to Apollo who will have her head.” He looked directly at Lysandra. “He knows it is you who stole his golden lyre, and he will be happy if we hand you over. He will reward us greatly for what we’ve done. It is to our advantage that you have come once more right into our hands.”

“Me?” she asked, innocently. “I think you have misjudged me. For it is the king of Thrace named Zarek who disguised himself as a women who stole the lyre. I am here now to see Dionysus, so I can warn him this thief is on his way to steal from him as well.”

The guards looked at each other, still not convinced. “And how do we know what you say is true?” asked one in a gruff voice, squinting one eye in the darkness.

“If you watch closely, you will find King Zarek not far behind me. He will try to convince you it is I who is the thief, but alas, he will be lying as all thieves do.”

“Neither of you will enter,” said one, and the other nodded in agreement.

“Zarek follows me. If I leave, the king of thieves will not come to your gate. And if he does not follow, you will never be able to capture him and bring him to Apollo. I am sure the god of light and truth will not have patience for guards who do naught to catch the thief who has robbed him.”

“All right,” they finally agreed. “Go on in. But if we find you to be lying, we will come to the abode of Dionysus ourselves and tell him you’ve deceived him.”

“Then let me in,” she said, turning her horse in a full circle in anticipation. “I have need to go to Dionysus quickly.”

They nodded and let her through the gates. She looked back over her shoulder once more, hoping her plan would work. If not, she hadn’t even her weapons to protect her this time. She turned quickly and headed for the large stone statue of Dionysus, knowing what she had to do.

*  *  *

Zarek had not the time to sneak into Olympus and decided to just approach the castle guards directly, and tell them he meant to join the followers of Dionysus. Everyone knew of the god of the vine’s loyal followers who stayed by his side night and day, singing and making merry, drinking of the god’s lustful wine.

Daedalus had warned him. He’d once been in the service of the god Dionysus, and told him those who drank of the fruit of his vine, never left. Dionysus felt man was made for pleasure, and therefore all who came to see him were offered so much pleasure, they never wanted to leave. Zarek felt hesitant about going inside the abode of this god. He was a weak-willed man to begin with when it came to pleasures of the flesh. Once inside, he was not sure he would be able to leave.

But he had to go forward. Lysandra was most likely already in there, and if he did not follow, he would have no chance of beating her in stealing the chalice. He kicked his heels into the sides of his horse, and when he approached the main gate, he pulled to a halt.

“I am here to join Dionysus in drinking of his wine,” he said. “Now open the gate and let me pass.”

“We don’t open the gate for commoners who have not been advised to us by the god.”

“I am not a commoner,” he boasted. “I am Zarek, king of Thrace, now let me in.”

“Zarek?” asked one, walking closer to get a better look.

“King of Thrace?” asked the other, coming to join him.

“Aye,” he said. “You have heard me correctly. Now open these gates and let me pass.”

To his satisfaction, his title must have persuaded them to do so. They opened the gates quickly and motioned him forward.

“Without the horse,” said one, drawing his sword.

“Aye,” said another. “Get to the ground.”

Suspicion filled him, and he stayed mounted while he surveyed them.

“Good men, do tell me, have you let enter this night a raving beauty with eyes the color of the sea and hair the color of fire?”

They looked at each other and then back to him.

“Why do you care?” one asked with a raised brow. Their swords were still aimed right for him.

“Because the girl is my wife, and unfaithful I might add. She was seen dancing for the pleasures of Apollo not long ago, and tonight I believe she has come to make a fool of the god Dionysus. You see, she is an Amazon warrior, and as you know, Amazons have no love of men. She means to trick this god just as she has the last. The only reason she is here is to steal from them.”

“She said the same of you,” said one of the guards, confirming his suspicions.

“Then I suggest you let me pass, so I can stop her before she does further damage.”

He shook a pouch full of gold coins at his waist, and their eyes lit up. Pulling it from his belt he tossed it at them and it landed at their feet, the coins spilling across the dirt. They looked at each other and smiled.

They lowered their swords and let him go, but as he rode past, one of the guards called out to him. “If she hates men, then how can she be your wife?”

“Since when do men marry for love?” he called over his shoulder, leaving them in the wake of his dust.

He made his way to the abode of Dionysus, able to hear the music and laughter even though the door to his home was shut. He stopped his horse and tied it up next to Lysandra’s at the base of the stone statue of the god.

He looked up at the bust, never having seen this god before. The image portrayed there was one of virile youth and vigor, and he felt a sudden pang of jealousy within him. He hoped Lysandra had yet to drink of the god’s maddening wine. One sip is all it would take from a wench like Lysandra before she had all the men inside falling at her feet in passionate surrender.

He climbed the stairs to the palace of Dionysus, his hand subconsciously going to his sword. He’d brought it this time to protect Lysandra, since she had no weapons. But for some reason, he thought he may need it to protect himself instead.

He pulled open the door and walked inside, only to be stopped by two very large men dressed like warriors.

“Hand over your weapons,” one said, holding out his hand.

“No weapons are allowed inside the walls of Dionysus,” said the other.

He did as asked, knowing he had no choice. But as he stepped forward, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“All your weapons,” the guard said in a suspicious tone.

Zarek slipped Lysandra’s dagger from his sleeve and handed it to them.

One more step and again he was stopped, the hand opened in front of him.

He looked up to their massive forms and toyed with the idea of telling them he hadn’t any more. But he knew they’d check, and he didn’t want to make a scene, since his presence there should remain unnoticed. So he fished his own dagger from under his robe and handed it to them as well.

“All right,” they said. “Go forth.”

He nodded slightly and made his way to the open-roofed room. A celebration was at hand, with dozens of scantily-dressed women and men, and musicians playing lyres and lutes and instruments he had never seen before. They were in the midst of some kind of lush garden, with vines wrapping up the stone pillars, and flowers the size of his head bending over from tall stalks, sheltering all who walked beneath. It was a courtyard of sorts, with a stone fountain with running water directly in the center.

He walked up to the fountain, raising his eyes to see from whence the waterfall came. There were no cliffs, no rocks around them. The water fell from the clouds, with tiny silver stars moving upward inside the fast stream. He continued on, seeing the many sleeping pallets of blue and gold interspersed throughout the garden and under the trees. Some were doubled up, others single. All of them unoccupied at the time, but he knew that wouldn’t last for long.

He surveyed the people around him, men and women of every age, status and size. They danced merrily, sipping of the wine. Some stood, some sat, some sang. All of them were happy. Much too happy for Zarek’s liking.

These must be Dionysus’s followers, he realized. The ones Daedalus told him were so content experiencing the pleasures of the god that they would never leave. He watched them feeding each other, rubbing each other. One man was on his knees, while a naked woman straddled him, rubbing perfumed oils into his skin.

He chose not to watch, for fear his own need for pleasures would have him doing something he would regret. Instead he went on, trying to find the golden chalice, and trying to find Lysandra.

The moon shone down to the center of the courtyard, where atop a tall pedestal of stone was a huge table filled with food of the gods. No ambrosia graced this table, since mortals were present, but a bountiful harvest feast of meat, bread, cheese and many grapes of every size and color filled the table and spilled from a horn of plenty. A golden goblet carved with the face of Dionysus stood in the center of the table, filled to the rim with the fruit of the vine.

Zarek had a secret compartment sewed into his cloak, so when he pilfered the ornamental drinking cup, no one would be the wiser. He saw his chance, as the goblet was not guarded. So he hurried up the steps to the dais and reached out for the cup. His hand was stopped by a hand atop his own. His eyes followed the arm upward, only to meet the shining blue-green eyes of his warrior princess.

“I knew you’d come,” she said. “But this time, you will not win.”

Before he could answer, a follower of Dionysus alerted the god to their presence. The young god jumped up from the pallet where women sat feeding him grapes, and rushed to the dais table.

“What are you doing with my goblet?” he asked, and Zarek knew they had been caught. The challenge was over before it had even begun.

Fifteen

Lysandra surveyed the young, virile man standing before them, and was unable to take her eyes from his features. The man was every bit as handsome as Apollo, yet he had a boy like innocence about him. One could not tell of the age of any of the gods, since they had been given the gifts of eternal youth along with immortality from Zeus himself, but by mortal standards, she would guess him to be two or three years younger than her own age of one and twenty.

His naked skin was not bronze like Apollo’s from the hot sun, but rather dyed from the grapes he so treasured, giving his body a purplish blue tint. His dark, curly hair was cut short around the ears, and a crown of grapevines encircled his head. Clusters of grapes clung to the vines and wrapped their way down around his bare chest and arms, with a large cluster of grapes hanging precisely over his naked male parts. She looked down to his bare feet and surveyed his blue toenails dyed by the grapes as well.

“Who are you, and what are you doing with my goblet in your clutches?” he asked them both.

Zarek was about to answer, but Lysandra would not let him take control of the situation, so she answered before he could.

“We were thirsty,” she said with a smile. “And only wanted a sip of your most delicious wine.”

That seemed to please Dionysus, but by the look on Zarek’s face, she could tell it didn’t please him at all.

“Then please do,” the young god told her with a wave of the hand. “Take a sip of my wine so you too, can become my followers.”

“Of course,” she said, all but ripping the goblet from Zarek’s hands. She would not let him hold it any longer than necessary. With his quick fingers, he could have it pilfered wine and all, before she blinked.

“You don’t want to drink this wine,” he whispered, but she just ignored him. He obviously only tried to get her to return it, which she had no intention of doing. She raised the goblet to her lips, and as the wine poured over the rim, the robust flavor exploded in her mouth. The delicious rich flavor was only enhanced by the spicy, exotic aroma, so unlike any of the wines she’d ever tasted before. One sip was not enough, as she had to have more of this delicious, soothing, satisfying liquid. She raised the goblet and drank down as much as she could before Zarek thought to pry it from her grasp.

“I think you’ve had enough, Princess,” he replied, pulling it away from her.

“Princess?” asked Dionysus in his sultry voice. “Do tell me from where you come, good maiden.”

He placed his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to sit on the pallet next to him. That left Zarek holding the goblet, but for some reason she no longer cared. She felt so happy, so calm. At peace with herself, and so curious about this mysterious god of the vine and the people who came to his door and proclaimed themselves to be his followers. Mayhap she could be his follower too, if he’d let her. She had no real home to go to. She had no one who would care if she never returned. Here she would always be well taken care of. Here she would be treated as the princess she truly was.

“I am Princess Lysandra of the Amazon nation,” she told him proudly, accepting the grape he held up to her, by opening her mouth wide. He popped the fruit into her mouth and when she closed her lips around his fingers, she couldn’t help but feel a stir of excitement deep in her belly. His face came close to her, and his red lips looked so moist and warm. She closed her eyes and threw back her head when she was sure he was going to kiss her.

“Your wine, my god,” came Zarek’s voice, and she opened her eyes in frustration, at having had him ruin this glorious moment.

“Ah, yes,” said Dionysus, reaching out for it, and then stopping and snapping his fingers. “How foolish of me to forget you’ve yet to taste of my grand drink of the vine. Do take some before you release it.”

“Nay” answered Zarek with a shake of the head. “I am not worthy to drink from the cup of a god.”

Lysandra sat upright, disgust filling her with the sound of his words. What kind of game was it he played?

“Oh, what a lie,” she said, before she could stop herself. “You are always boasting how worthy you are, being the king of Thrace, so why do you act humble now?”

“You are king of Thrace?” asked Dionysus curiously.

Zarek scowled and shook his head at her, trying to convey a message of which she could not understand.

“Aye,” he said, with a small nod. “I am Zarek.”

“And you know each other?” Dionysus asked, eyeing first one of them, and then the other.

“Nay,” Zarek answered the same time Lysandra answered, “Aye.”

“Well, which is it?” asked Dionysus, getting to his feet. “It seems to me someone is lying, and I will not tolerate such disrespect in my abode. Now which of you is lying and which is telling the truth?”

“I am,” they both said at the same time, and this time Lysandra burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. Even after they’d answered, Dionysus still had no idea of the answer to his question.

“Oh, Zarek, do try the wine,” she said with a giggle, so unlike herself. ’Twill make that scowl disappear from your face.”

She’d seen enough scowls from that man to last a lifetime. What they both needed was to smile, to laugh. To enjoy being in the house of Dionysus where he and his followers had nothing but pleasure to offer. The thought of relaxing for just one night and dropping her defensive nature was a very pleasant idea indeed. As an Amazon warrior, she had never even considered such a thing. But tonight, for some reason she wished she had thought of this many years ago.

“Yes, King Zarek of Thrace,” Dionysus coaxed him. “Do try my wine or I would feel insulted. After all, unless you have come to my services to be my follower, there is no need for you to be here, is there? And if you do not belong here, then I can only assume you are the one lying, and that you are here for no other reason than to deceive me.”

Zarek looked over to Lysandra, knowing once again she’d put him in an awkward position. He tried to warn her not to drink from the cup of Dionysus, but now ’twas too late. She had had more than one sip and already the spell of the god of wine was upon her. She had not eaten, and the effect of the wine would work upon her quickly. He had planned on taking the goblet and leaving as quickly as possible, but now he’d be forced to stay. He couldn’t leave Lysandra in the clutches of this lustful god. He had to do whatever it would take to get her out of here and bring her back to Thrace.

He raised the goblet slowly to his lips and let the contents spill over the rim and down his throat.

Lysandra laughed giddily from the pallet, noticing the way Zarek’s scowl weakened with one sip, and had disappeared completely by two. He tried to hand the goblet back to Dionysus, but was convinced by the very persuasive god to take just one more sip.

“My wine is to your liking?” he asked, and she saw Zarek nod his head. Then, the minstrels struck up a lively tune, and Dionysus handed the goblet to Lysandra.

“Take my liquid between your lips once more and then I’ll take you in my arms and let you experience how it feels to dance with a god.”

She drank again from his chalice and looked down to the cluster of grapes hanging between his legs. Her head spun and her body weakened with want. Yes, she wanted to know how it felt to dance with this god, and she would not turn him down.

“Yes, I would like that,” she answered in a voice that sounded oddly too low and husky to be her own.

Zarek threw his cape over one shoulder and stalked forward, holding out his hand.

“Your goodness, if I may dance with the lady instead, I would be most obliged.”

“Of course,” said Dionysus, and guided Lysandra to him.

Disturbed by the fact he should stop her from dancing with a god, she held back at first, until Dionysus plucked a grape from his vine and placed it in her mouth. As she bit down in frustration, the grape exploded, filling her mouth with the most pleasurable sensation. A heat filled her body and she found herself stripping off the cloak she’d borrowed from Zarek’s trunk, and dropping it to a heap at her feet.

“All right, I will dance with you,” she finally agreed, and let Zarek lead her to the center of the open courtyard where the minstrels played and dozens of people embraced closely as they rocked back and forth, arms and legs entwined together.

“I’m surprised to see you’re still here,” she told him. “I thought as soon as Dionysus had turned his back, you would have disappeared with his goblet.”

“I couldn’t leave you here with a naked blue bastard,” he said, pulling her against his hard chest.

“Do I detect a bit of envy in your words?” she asked, feeling satisfied he didn’t want her dancing with anyone but him.

“I tried to warn you about the wine, Lysandra, but now that we’ve both drunk from the chalice, it is too late.”

“What do you mean?” She melted in his embrace, the feeling of the wine overtaking her, and her body craving his body next to hers. She pressed closer against him, and his arms wrapped around her sides to her back, his fingers sweeping lower as he lightly squeezed her flesh and sent a wave of desire coursing through her.

“These people around us are all followers of Dionysus,” he explained, his mouth coming to nibble her earlobe in the process.

She felt the wine warming her down to her toes, and as Zarek’s tongue flicked across her earlobe, she jolted, causing her to feel his protruding form against her stomach. A tingling spread from the spot and continued its way down between her legs.

“And how does that affect us?” she asked, her lips brushing against Zarek’s as she spoke, not really caring, only knowing the wine was affecting her in a most delicious way.

“These people are controlled by pleasure. Dionysus gives them everything they want and in return they dedicate their lives to him.”

“Pleasure,” she repeated the word, rubbing up against him. Her breasts ached for his touch, and when his mouth came down and met her lips in a kiss, she thought she was going to burst. “What’s wrong with pleasure?” She pulled him forcefully to her, embracing him in a powerful kiss, wrapping one of her legs around the back of one of his.

“We’re under his control, Lysandra. Do you not realize he is not only the god of the vine, but also the god of lust? Everyone here has been tainted by his lustful poison. They stay because though they enjoy the pleasures, they can never get enough. Always wanting more wine, more food, more dancing and merriment, and more pleasures of the flesh, they are destined to stay forever.”

She kicked off her boots and rubbed one bare foot up and down the back of his leg. Then, clamping his leg between her thighs, she rode him as they danced. With the fire burning from her nether regions, she rubbed up against him, wanting to feel the rest of him between her thighs as well.

“No one is lustful here,” she said, truly believing it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” he raised his brow, devouring her with his bedchamber eyes. “Then look around, Princess, and see for yourself.”

She turned her head and gasped. The couple next to her were embraced tightly, not wearing a stitch of clothing. Two more couples were kissing and embracing, each of them ripping at their lover’s garments until they, too, ended up naked. And yet, three more couples were already lying on the pallets, coupling vigorously with no shame as to their personal act in full view of so many watching eyes.

Dionysus approached them then, and held up the cup for them to drink once more. Lysandra shook her head, the room already spinning before her, but Zarek took it eagerly and raised it to his mouth.

“No need to hold back any longer, Lysandra. This wine is only bringing out the lust we’ve held for each other since the night of your coming-of-age.”

Why did he have to mention that night? Her head filled with fantasies of reliving every moment of the night they’d conceived Sander. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She did want him, and it only made her feel weak as a warrior, but as a woman it made her feel very, very strong.

“I want you to know, I despise you,” she said, running her fingers down his chest, past his waist and gripping his erection between her fingers. He jolted, spilling wine down the front of his tunic. His eyes opened wide in surprise, and a smile passed Lysandra’s lips to know she was in control once again. Dionysus just smiled, nodded his head and walked away.

“I despise you, too, Lysandra, for the way you keep deceiving me. But right now I lust for you and want to feel my body slamming into yours.”

She shivered at the intimate thought and pulled the goblet from Zarek. Then she downed the rest of the contents and wobbled, he reaching out to steady her. His arms closed around her and she felt his hands trailing downward, the excitement mounting within her when he thought to squeeze her bottom.

She purred in his arms and felt the kitten within her turning into a tiger. ’Twas more than she could bear. If she didn’t feel him within her soon, she would go absolutely mad from want. She reached out and ripped at his tunic, the torn material now exposing his bare, bronzed chest to her touch.

“I want you, Zarek, and I swear I will have you before this night is through.”

With that, he picked her up in his arms and hurried across the courtyard, finding a half-concealed pallet among the shrubs, and laid her down out of sight of the rest. Her fingers released the goblet and it rolled off to the side under a bush.