The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (9 page)

He walked aimlessly down the streets. An elderly Greek woman wearing a long black dress and a black head cover came out of a shop. He waved out of habit and the old woman glared at him suspiciously. Saying something he couldn’t understand, she turned her back on him and walked in the opposite direction. Even strangers were against him now.

He came to a street market where vendors called to him in Greek and waved at him to visit their tables. He walked from table to table as he inspected everything from fresh fish to leather wallets, but he bought nothing. He passed by a small bar, its windows were filmed with grease and soot and only a yellow light could be seen from the outside.

He kept walking. One merchant’s table was covered in red, yellow, and green spices. Stopping, he leaned in and pulled in the earthy scents of the warm, freshly ground powders. In a strange way, they reminded him of Ariadne. It could’ve been their vibrant colors or the way they made his mouth water, but for a moment, he could think of nothing but the feel of her against his body.

He had screwed up with her. He should have never touched her. From the way the governor had kissed her, it was clear that she was spoken for.

Why had he let himself kiss her?

Now the one person he really knew and liked, besides his son and his crew, hated him. All because he couldn’t control his damn urges. What was he, some teenager? Was being around Kaden and Trina beginning to rub off on him?

He didn’t have time for a woman in his life, certainly not a woman who didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He was too old to go chasing after someone.

And what will happen if Ariadne is a flake like Lynda?
He shook his head. There was no way the beautiful brunette who ran the museum, was kind to a boy she didn’t even know, and was willing to help a lackluster archeologist, was anything less than amazing.

The next stand was filled with fruit and vegetables, and the man behind the table was dark from the sun. “Whatchu need?”

He looked the surly guy in the eye. “To be honest, I need a little good luck. You got any of that?”

The dark-haired man stared down at him for a moment. All of a sudden, the beefy man chuckled. His body jiggled. “Don’t we all?” The man picked up an apple and tossed it to him. “Here, this’s the best I can do.”

Beau nodded and lifted the apple. “Hey, it’s a start. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

The man laughed. “On the house. But when you find some luck, come back and find me.”

Beau smiled. “Will do … ”

He hadn’t made it far when he saw a familiar brunette head and yellow sundress. Slung on her arm was a cotton bag with an orange flower poking over the edge. She was talking to a merchant, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she smiled with her whole face made his heart shift in his chest. He had never noticed the way she talked with her hands, or the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder the moment before she laughed.

He walked toward her as if there was a magnet in his center that pulled him in her direction.

He stood behind her for a moment. “I’m glad to see you are okay.”

God … I’m so suave …

Ariadne jerked. “What?” She turned away from the merchant and faced him. “Oh … hi, Beau.”

His cheeks warmed. “I just said I was glad you were feeling okay. I mean after everything that happened. You know with the governor and everything. I was worried. I mean, I wasn’t sure how you would take it. I mean … God, I’m sorry I’m yammering.”

She smiled and there was a light in her eyes. “Don’t worry about yammering, Beau. It’s nice to see you. And I’m fine.”

“Is the governor okay?”

Ariadne stared at him with her golden eyes as questions played across her face. “I think he’ll recover.”

He could skirt around the issue, but he needed to know the truth and put an end to the fluctuating emotions that were invading his life. “What’s going on between you two?”

Her shoulders fell. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business … ”

She stepped away from the merchant’s stand. “Stavros and I’ve known each other a long time.”

Beau’s phone rang and its interruption came as a relief. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he looked down at the caller ID, George Tramp, his contact at the NSF. He looked up at Ariadne. “Sorry, I have to answer this, but don’t go anywhere.”

She smiled and turned back to the vegetable merchant.

Beau walked around the corner, opened the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Hello, Dr. Morris speaking.”

His heart raced. Hopefully George was calling him to let him know the grant had come through.

“Hello, Beau. This is Dr. Tramp, with the National Science Foundation.”

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“Well, Beau, I’m calling to let you know that we were impressed with your last find … ” There was a long pause. “However, I just received a call about the incident with Governor Kakos.”

Oh shit … how did he find out so fast?

“Safety is our number one concern for those taking part in research we facilitate, safety not only for those in the field, but for those who are influenced by their work as well. As it stands, we have enormous concerns about your work.”

No … no … no …

Beau gulped. “Well, sir, I can promise you that this was an isolated incident. I doubt that it had anything to do with our dig.”

“Either way, we are worried about your safety.”

Tramp had him backed into a corner. How was he going to get out?

He waited for the axe to fall.

“As such, I am sorry to inform you, but we will no longer be able to fund your work. And it may be in your and your team’s best interests to return to the U.S. at the end of the month.”

Two weeks.
The phone slipped in Beau’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Tramp sighed. “It would take an act of God. Beau … I’m sorry. I’ll contact Professor Ryan and let him know.”

The world around him went blurry and the sounds of the market were muffled. “Yeah … you’re sorry … ”

“Don’t be afraid to come see me when you get back. Again, I’m sorry.” The phone line went dead.

Beau’s hand fell and he leaned back into the wall, next to a garbage can. The punches just wouldn’t stop coming. Maybe it would be better to leave Crete, go back to the States, back to the school, and forget about this project. Cut his losses. The head of the college would have something to say, but what could he do? Fire him? Yeah … he could fire him all right.

Beau slid the phone in his pocket and clenched his eyes shut.
Why can’t anything go right?

“You okay?” Ariadne said, her voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.

He opened his eyes. Ariadne stared at him.

He couldn’t say anything. What could he say? He had failed? He was a loser? He stared into her glittering eyes, and for a moment, reminded himself to breathe.

Ariadne smiled. “You do realize you are holding an apple in your hand, right?”

He looked down at the red orb he was clutching in his left hand. Funny he would ask for luck and life would hand him an apple — the symbol of evil temptation, failure, and disgrace.

Ariadne reached over and took the orb from his numb fingers. She stood up and smiled empathetically. “Are you hungry?”

He limply shook his head “no.” Food was the furthest thing from his mind. He needed to find the Labyrinth, he needed to find a new grant — and both things would be damned hard to find in two weeks.

“Great, I’m starving.” She took a bite of the red, corrupted apple. A drip slipped down the corner of her mouth and she brushed it away with the tips of her fingers.

The apple rolled from her hand and dropped into the garbage can with a thud. “What’s going on with you, Beau? Aren’t you happy about the site being opened to visitors?” she asked, but her voice was filled with a distinct edge of anger.

“Someone called the NSF.”

“What?” she asked, as she wiped her fingers against the hem of her yellow sundress.

“They cut my funding.”

Her gaze snapped up to his face as she dropped the edge of her dress. A smile flickered across her lips, but was quickly replaced by a look of concern. “What are you going to do?”

He looked at her golden eyes and let his gaze move down to her dirt-smudged shirt.

She hasn’t changed since we’d been together in the tent …

He smiled, wild and menacing. “You know what, Aria? I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight ’til I find what I know is there. I’m gonna dig until my fingers bleed and I have no skin left on my knees. I’m going to change history.”

Beau grabbed her hand and pulled her into the street. “Where are we going?” she asked, but allowed him to lead her without protest.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed through the crowds of people until he finally reached the small bar he had spotted.

Ariadne pulled back. “Let’s go somewhere else. Trust me … The Mouse Hole isn’t a great place for tourists.”

Ignoring her, he put his hand on the door and pushed. The door opened with a loud creak and he pulled Ariadne inside. A table of ribald men looked up as they entered. The largest of the group looked past him and smiled at Ariadne with a mouth full of black teeth. The man ran his hands over his greasy hair, and Beau pulled Ariadne in the opposite direction. They had been through enough for one day; all they needed was a drink.

A big-chested woman stomped over to their table with a begrudging sigh. She bent over as she reached for the menus at the far side of the table, and her breasts threatened to spill over the thin fabric of her grease-stained top. Ten years earlier, the woman may have been considered attractive, but with a finger of gray in her almost-black hair mixed with the creases around her lips, she bordered on disturbing. The saying “ridden hard and put away wet” came to mind as he tried to look anywhere but at her over-tanned cracking chest, which rested in front of his face.

She thrust the menus into each of their hands. “Whatta ya want?” she grumbled.

Crete was known for their great wines, but from the flickering lights and the dank smell of urine that wafted around them, this bar didn’t seem like the right place to order a Shiraz. “Ouzo, straight up.”

The woman made a grumbling noise and looked at Ariadne. Ariadne shifted slightly in her seat. She turned the menu over in her hands and her tattoo came into view. The barkeep sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry, Mistress … I didn’t recognize you.” The woman wiped her dirty fingers on the thighs of her skirt, leaving a grimy trail in their wake.

Ariadne shook her head slightly. “We’ll take two of those, in
regular
glasses.”

The lady spun on her heel and almost sprinted back to the wooden bar.

“Regular glasses?” he asked, confused by what had just transpired.

She looked at him and smiled. “Yes. You don’t want the ones they give the tourists.”

She didn’t need to say more. “Why’d she treat you like you’re royalty?”

Just then, the waitress came back with two sparkling glasses filled to the lip with the clear ouzo. Setting down napkins, she gently placed the full glasses in front of them with a tiny bow. “These’re on the house.”

Ariadne nodded. As the woman turned, Beau noticed a small tattoo of a mouse on the woman’s ankle. In a way, it was comical, a tiny little mouse on such a brusque woman. He looked over at Ariadne’s arm, but the snake was covered — it was odd to be around two people with tattoos that in no way seemed to epitomize their personalities.

People were strange.

The man with the wide nose stared at him. Beau poured the ouzo into his mouth, and it was like a fire as it rippled down his throat. He held back the urge to cough.

The barkeep stomped over to the group of men at the other table, grabbed the empties and clanked them together. Turning away from the table, the man with an eye-patch slapped her on the ass and laughed. “You busy later?”

Beau pushed his chair away from the table, and began to rise, but Ariadne grabbed his hand and shook her head. The barkeeper laughed tiredly, as if the physical contact was nothing new, but it infuriated him. Even the tough-looking barkeep deserved a little respect.

Ariadne pushed his drink toward him and he slammed it back, banging it on the table as he brought it down.

Ariadne leaned toward him. “There’s nothing you can do. Besides, she’s tougher than she looks, the men won’t get away with anything more.”

The woman brought a bottle to the table and refilled Beau’s glass. She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Was her aversion out of embarrassment or shame for the way the men had treated her?

His anger rose as he looked over at the men and noticed that the five of them were all glaring in their direction. “Assholes,” he muttered.

“What was that?” the broad-nosed man said in a dangerous voice.

Beau forced himself to remain sitting, but he wanted to punch the ugly guy in the face. “I said
treat the woman with a little respect
.” He could only control one thing, his body or his tongue, and the tongue lost.

The lackeys turned and stared at the broad-nosed man as his eyes drew into angry slits. “You stupid Americans. You think you can come in here and tell me how to act?”

Beau couldn’t stop himself. “Being American has nothing to do with knowing how to treat a woman.”

Ariadne grasped his hand and squeezed. “Stop,” she whispered.

She was right. It was unwise to act out with so many against him. He might be able to take one, but five was outside of his range of ability. When the site opened back up, he would need both his hands, and his ass. Damn his mouth.

The man’s chair scraped on the floor as he stood up. He motioned for his friends to stay and he strode confidently to the edge of their table. He pressed his face close to Beau.

Beau could smell the scent of cheap liquor and the pungent odor of fish as it permeated from the man.

“Here in Crete, we don’t appreciate your kind. You academics come here and bring in your unchecked little students. You steal our treasures and destroy our culture with your Western ways.”