Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1)
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
SUMMARY
WELCOME TO OLYMPUS
EDUCATION THESE DAYS
I HAVE A HEADACHE
I DON’T HAVE A HEADACHE?
LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL
OLYMPUS. . . WHERE CAR ACCIDENTS ARE NOT ACCIDENTS
THIS IS A PROBLEM, ISN’T IT?
I WONDER WHO WILL SHOW UP
ALL WOMEN HAVE DEADLY EYES
THAT’S GOT TO LEAVE A MARK
DAYS WITHOUT A TIME LOSS INCIDENT
I’LL STRAIGHTEN HIM OUT
HE’LL GET HIS, ONCE IN BUTT AND ONCE BY ME
YOU’RE LATE
HALO 5: GUARDIANS
BAD BOYS GET THE TOYS
HEPH, MY MAN
A SCOOTER?
WHAT ABOUT THE VANDERPUMPS?
BUCK UP, OLD SAILOR
FRONT-TO-BACK AND SIDE-TO-SIDE
HE’S AT IT AGAIN
LET’S GET WEIRD
THE HADES
FUCK YOU, XBOX!
I NEED SOME DICK
HELLO, HERA. HELLO, ZEUS.
ANAL RECIPROCATION?
HELLO, HERA. HELLO, ZEUS.
IT WAS ARIADNE
HE WAS JUST STUPID
HELLO, HERA. HELLO, ZEUS.
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
MINOTAUR
I AM HECATE, THE GODDESS OF MAGIC
I MERELY CAME FOR CONVERSATION
THE LIBRARY OF WISDOM
IT IS TIME
BANANA, BANANA, BANANA, BANANA, BANANA
SON OF A BITCH. . .
THERE’S, THE OLD BOY
APPRECIATIVE SEX, OF COURSE
YOU DESERVE THE WORLD, BABY
WHATEVER WILL BE. . . WILL BE
ONE FOR THE LADY, BABY
I THINK. . . I THINK I’LL KEEP YOU AROUND
FROM THE AUTHOR
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 —>
OLYMPUS
POP: A LOT OR A LITTLE
She shook her head in disbelief, reread the sign:
UNDERWORLD—>
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?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“Where’s your scanner?” She put her right hand to her forehead, and looked down, flabbergasted by the situation. The Wizard of Oz played in her head and that iconic saying repeated itself, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” This, in fact, only made things worse. She stood there realizing that not only was she stuck in a bizarre place where nothing bad had happened. . . but also, that she had no home. The road was her home. And the road had deposited her here, in this baffling place.
“Scanner?”
“To read the bar codes.”
He inspected them, turning them over and nodding at each one. “Looks good to me.”
After Rebecca, it was mystifying to Hermes that no one had asked about the scanner prior. He later stole one from a 7-Eleven ten miles from Olympus—the closest convenience store. However, it isn’t plugged into anything and he makes the “beep” sound under his breath.
Rebecca was not going to argue further. If this was how Olympus, in the middle of Illinois operated, who was she to inquire further? She had originally thought a sob story was the key to getting these items and the gas for free; although, a dollar, while it was her last dollar, seemed too good to pass up. And all her worries dissipated as she thought of the amazing deal she was getting. Something many humans are guilty of.
Rebecca decided that now, the sob story would be to get the gas. Her appearance and attire were sinful for such an action, sinful because she exuded “fuck me” with a dash of “you must help me, I’m a damsel in distress.” She had long, flowing dark brown hair with exotically bright hazel eyes. Her toned figure was amplified by her ample breasts and derriere, to which, she wore a fitted tank top and jeans combo to enhance. She took a deep breath then sighed and started the conversation with, “I’m going to need some gas too.”
He ran from the desk and was at her car before she could blink an eye. A gust of wind blew past her before she realized that he was outside.
What in the world?
He was pumping the gas as she walked outside and tried to right herself with some deep breaths. In her mind, she looked to soothe herself with reassurance: This is fine. This is fine. A dollar for everything and I’m out of here. No one’s killed me. No murder chasing me. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. Fine. It did not help. It was not fine.
“Sorry about that. . . I should’ve done that first, right?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“I think I need some rest. . . some cash too.” She said this to the wind, the air, the outdoors—the crazy place she found herself in. She didn’t expect a response.
He smirked. “The bar could use a—uh, waitress. . . bartender?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” she said startled. Figuring there to be no harm in a conversation—what she had been originally looking for along with the snacks—she continued, “I’m supposed to be going to Chicago.”
“Was that all your money?”
Rebecca scoffed. It seemed quite dubious to her with now zero dollars to be questioning how a place is letting her get everything she needs for a dollar. She decided to let it go. She responded with an emphatic, “Yeah. . .”
“Does Chicago cost nothing?”
She sighed, thinking that he was messing with her.
His question, actually, was sincere.
“No. . .” she said, defeat strangling the word.
“Going to need some money then.”
“Yeah. . .”
“Why not stay here for a bit?”
“Watch it!”
He gave a startled look at the car as the gas spewed out. He took the gas pump and put it back. He said in a natural way, “I think it’s full.” It was a cross between a statement and a question, Rebecca could not decipher which.
In her defense, Hermes could not decipher it himself; he felt like it was full, but also, needed her to reinforce his statement.
He, once again, acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “What’s your name?”
“Rebecca.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rebecca. Nice name.”
“Thanks. Hermes?”
He grinned, pointed at the tag and nodded. “I’m Hermes.”
She ignored another peculiarity. “Like the god?”
His grin broadened. “Yes. . . uh, like the god.” He paused then said, “Yes. . . that’s good.” r />
“Wait.” Hermes. . . She thought about it and conceded that her mind was semi-functional. “This like other towns in Illinois? Cairo—?”
He snorted. “Egyptians. . .” Then seeing her face, he hastily recovered, “Oh, yes, well—no not like other towns, per say. No town is like another town, right?”
“I see. You’re weird.” She guffawed—short and sweet. “Or I’m the weird one. I have no idea what’s going on.”
He resumed without commenting, “Where are you from?”
“Tennessee.”
He pondered over this. “Parents?”
“Mom is from Syria. Dad is from South Carolina.”
“Ah—”
“What?”
“You have beautiful olive skin. . . uh, reminds me of the old country.”
She said, “Thank you. . .?” His statement had been without a hint of flirtation or attraction. That, more than anything prior, really struck Rebecca as outlandish. She quickly recovered, figuring that was a terrible frame of mind for a pretty girl. “And you?”
“Greece.”
“Your parents?”
His eyes darted from the question and he nodded. “Ah, yes, they are.”
“Okay.”
“So you’ll go to the bar?”
She took a deep breath. Am I crazy? Am I stupid? Am I overreacting? These three questions went about her brain, so in the moment, Rebecca thought she was lying, “I’ll check it out.”
“Are you adventurous?”
“Are you a dating site?”
“Eros uses that. Good stuff.”
“Come again?”
“Oh”—his eyes darted again and Rebecca became more suspicious—“nothing. . . Have you felt like you haven’t belonged anywhere you’re whole life?”
“Oddly personal.”
“I’m oddly personable.”
She laughed. “That was your best crack yet.”
He bowed, holding his metal cap. She noticed the little wings on the sides; however, she did not truly notice, for that was an irrefutable hint. “Thank you.”