Nectar of the Gods

By Mary Bernsen

Ambrosia has spent her life preparing for the day she would avenge her mother's death. Working undercover as a prostitute, she draws in the man who took her mother's life. Not realizing who Ambrosia is, the man admits to her that her mother is actually still alive—and he's on a quest to finish what he started twenty-three years ago. Desperate to find the mother she's never met, Ambrosia convinces him to let her help. It's a partnership of necessity and founded in deception, but Ambrosia is faced with an uncomfortable truth: this man is not the monster she has always envisioned him to be. Worse yet, she finds herself drawn to him...craving his touch. How can she reconcile these intense feelings for the man who shattered her life?
The first novel in the exciting new Beyond the Gods series, Nectar of the Gods is a fantasy romance steeped in Greek Mythology and full of passion that will leave you breathless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Nov 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781634222921

Mary Bernsen

Mary Bernsen is a southwest Florida native currently living in North Port with her two beautiful children and a third, much larger child that she affectionately calls husband. She is the Amazon Best Selling Author of Healing The Bayou, The Ganga Shift, and Beyond the Gods series.She also writes young adult romances under her pseudonym, M.E. Rhines.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Y our name certainly does you justice.

The sickening smell of liquor left his mouth before he even opened it to speak. The stench mingled with his body odor and echoed off the peeling paint on the marble walls, hitting my nostrils with an assault that could knock back a pig.

I rolled onto my side, facing my back to him, choking on the gag forcing its way into my throat. He pulled tight on the sheets that bound us together, bringing me closer to him.

Whatever does that mean, Chrysaor? I forced a flirtatious giggle.

He buried his nose in my hair and dug his fingertips into my hips. Ambrosia is said to be the nectar of the gods, and I proclaim I have never tasted a whore with skin quite as sweet as yours.

I sighed, hoping to the heavens it sounded like the sigh of a flattered, embarrassed woman and not that of one trying to bite her tongue.

I was lying in bed with my sworn enemy. This man had traveled the lands, proudly boasting his kinship to the great and powerful Medusa.

It was known she’d borne a child when Perseus took her head, and when Chrysaor stepped forward claiming to be her offspring only a few months ago, none had doubted it. Who, after all, would assert to the world that he was descended from such hated evil if it wasn’t true?

No. It was doubted by no one. Except me.

Chrysaor was pretending to be who I was. A truth that I hid from and avoided at all costs, he waved about, relishing the intimidation and fear that came with his presence because of it. I couldn’t let him get away with such an exploitation of my mother’s already muddied name. From the instant I’d heard of him, I knew it was time to begin my journey to avenge her. And I would start with Chrysaor.

In my own travels, I had found nothing made men talk like liquor and love-making. My profession was chosen for much different reasons than the other girls who were usually sold into this trade and had no choice in the matter at all.

I knew I was sacrificing my immortal soul, but mine was a path I couldn’t deviate from. Through the men who were part of Chrysaor’s company, I would find my way to Perseus. Two birds, one stone, as the adage went.

Have I upset you? His voice was gentle and almost caring.

I shook free of Chrysaor’s embrace and collected my clothing, slipping into my bright apple-red tunic and wrapping my golden breast band around the outside of my dress and across my midriff to accentuate my slim figure and leave little to the imagination as to the shape and size of my bosom.

I offered a sweet smile and brushed aside the moldy and damp white curtains that provided us with a little privacy from the outside world.

The night has fallen. I have other duties downstairs in the tavern. Would you mind fastening my brassiere? I lit a candle, though the room was small enough he shouldn’t have needed it to find me.

He pulled himself out of the tiny bed and made his way to assist me. Eying the size of him, I wondered how the both of us were able to fit on such a small bed. Though he was short, he had a very wide girth. He alone took up most of the space in the scantly furnished room where we stood.

His dark hair was still neatly pulled back, and when he smiled at me, his yellow teeth matched the necklace that sat across his hairy chest.

I do not enjoy having to share you. His fat fingers made clumsy work of the pins that tightened my belt. Won’t you run away with me tonight, Ambrosia?

I didn’t need to make myself giggle at the notion. Chrysaor you have a wife to make you miserable. What would you do with two?

Oh, yes. My wife. I don’t suppose she would be keen on the thought, and I do love the wench.

Only a man could profess his love for one just after ravishing another.

Will you be having a drink with us tonight?

He spun me around and held a tight grip on my shoulders, planting a firm kiss on my lips. To spend another moment with you, I would buy every ounce of alcohol in the tavern.

My time is not bought by alcohol, my friend. I only take coin, I teased.

And tomorrow perhaps I will buy another hour of your time, then.

You’re going to run out of money this way.

Then I will demand some more. These peasants will pay me every piece of silver they have if it means protecting them from my mother’s dark forces.

I narrowed my eyes at him, and I could feel my cheeks begin to burn at his statement. My mother was not his mother, and she certainly had no dark forces. At least none that were imposed on her willingly. Not any she would have wielded without regret. She was gone, anyway. How dare he speak such a way about the deceased?

I turned, again hiding my emotion with my back, because if I were honest about it, I had no control over my feelings showing on my face.

I think you should head down now. It was not a suggestion. I need to finish getting ready.

I had forgotten about the small mirror in front of us, and in it, his dark eyes burned into me. He knew I was not one of the peasants of which he spoke, and I thought it angered him to know I was not afraid of him.

Only for a moment did I let myself think about the potential consequences of my brash nature. This man was widely known for his short temper, and he was not afraid to become violent. Not a single citizen would care about the fate of a whore who overstepped her boundaries in a brothel.

It did not matter. It was not my fate to die here.

My stare met his with a matching intensity that told him I wouldn’t alter my request. A moment of taut silence lingered between us before he finally gave in, and his expression softened as he bent down to graze his scratchy cheek against my own.

Even the most feral of horses can be domesticated with an adept trainer on the other end of the whip, my dear Ambrosia.

And when a trainer worthy of my submission makes his presence known, mayhap I will yield, I snapped. But no such man has stepped forward.

In one quick motion, his hand was around my throat, and his putrid, unkempt nails pierced my skin. Dragging me by this grip alone, he threw me into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

My ears rang from the hard impact of the jagged marble, and I swallowed hard against the obstruction that his fist created in my airway. I looked desperately to the chair where my clothes had just been lying only moments before. I had hidden a knife under the seat, but it would do me no good if I couldn’t reach it.

Concentrating on my heartbeat, I was able to keep it at a steady pace. I kept staring through him, refusing to let him see any indication that I was afraid. But the air was running out. My chest burned, and I desperately needed to breathe. Grabbing at the curtains to my side, I tried to pull them down, hoping his fear of being seen murdering a helpless woman by someone in the streets of Greece would deter him, even if his victim was a harlot.

He laughed and pulled me away from the window before I could manage a grip on the fabric, loosening his hold on my neck just enough for a little air to trickle in. Enough to keep me alive, but not enough to stop the pain that was slicing through my lungs.

Do you know the first step in breaking a wild horse, Ambrosia? He pressed his mouth lightly against mine when he spoke, giving me no choice but to inhale his words. You have to make it fear you.

He was right, of course. But unfortunately for this sweaty bastard, there were very few people in my short life who had caused me to tremble, and he was not one of them. Eager for him to know as much, I breathed in as deep as I could, gathered liquid with my tongue, and spat hard onto his face. My lips curled into a smile when I saw my saliva dripping from his eye.

His disgust was enough for him to release me, and while he stood cursing and cleaning his face with the curtain, I scuttled to the chair, flipping it over and freeing the blade hidden underneath it.

He approached me slowly, like a hunter creeping up to his kill. He was still naked from our earlier encounter, and the sight would have been comical if it were not for the grave seriousness of the matter.

I held the blade between us, and he defensively extended his arms with his palms facing the sky.

Not another step, Chrysaor, I warned, my voice stern.

Go ahead, he taunted, pushing his chest outward to expose it. My heart is yours for the taking.

I lowered the blade only slightly, pointing it toward his manhood. I was considering a prize that dangles a bit lower.

The threat got his attention, and his brows shot to the top of his face. You’re a damned savage!

I grinned at his reaction. Get dressed, you fool. I haven’t the time to waste with you.

Tripping over his own feet, he did manage to climb into a tunic of his own, this one white with a beige sash. Between our struggle and the work it took for him to dress himself, he was thoroughly out of breath and gasping for air just as I had been when he’d had me restrained.

He did not speak to me as he left. He only hung his head in shame. He had been beaten by a petite woman, and it hurt his pride. No doubt he would recover after a drink or two.

Once he was gone, I returned to the mirror that hung on the wall and examined my wounds. A few stray strands of my disheveled golden hair clung to the already crusting blood on my neck where his nails had been. The cuts were small, but I would be lucky if they didn’t become infected.

My green eyes were surrounded with red where there should have been white. I should have killed the fat bastard. He was certainly more use to me alive for the time being, but damn it, I should have killed him.

Oh well, there was no use fretting over it any further. I needed to make myself look presentable and quick, or Hercules would be cross.

Chapter 2

When I emerged from the stairway into the musty tavern, I wasn’t surprised to see Chrysaor sitting on a stool with a drink in his hand.

He winked at me and flashed his overly smug-saturated smile. It was as I suspected—one drink, and it was as if our heated scrap had never happened. The demons of intoxication allowed his mind to only recall our pleasant moments.

You’re late.

Hercules surprised me from behind, and I jumped, spilling wine from the amphora I was carrying to the patrons. He was the only man I had met with the talent to sneak up on me. This was not a quality I cared for in him.

He had others more to my liking, however. He was a man who chose a dark trade— hustling prostitutes and serving men their spirits were generally frowned upon, even though the highest men were some of his most frequent proprietors.

But what he lacked in moral direction, he made up for with his character. He was a firm and frightening man to his enemies, but he was not like the others in his line of work. He was gentle with the women he represented and fair in his business transactions. I was proud to call him my friend.

Friend or not, he was still a man. And I knew I could quell his anger with my usual methods.

I’m sorry, Hercules. I batted my lashes and peered at him with lust written on my face. He never left a woman’s eyes wanting. It was not difficult to fake an attraction. I took extra time to be sure I was ready. How do I look?

I spun around to give him a show, and he nodded in approval. My hair was smooth and came down to the small of my back. I had painted my lips bright red and pinched some color into my cheeks. My tunic was adjusted so my left leg was exposed in its entirety, the red fabric resting coyly on the point where my thigh met my pelvis. I certainly looked the part.

You will be the star again tonight, Ambrosia. He leaned in close. You may want to reconsider always appearing so stunning. The other whores will become jealous, and there is nothing more dangerous than an envious woman.

I arched my brow and whispered seductively. Their scorn couldn’t prevent me from giving my Hercules the best on every occasion.

I watched the pink creep onto his face. I can handle myself, I assured him.

I have little doubt of that. Hercules cleared his throat. All right then, back to work.

He swatted my behind, and I squealed in delight as I was sent away, once again in his good graces. Men were far too easy to manipulate. I predicted it would be the cause of their ultimate end.

Making my rounds with wine in hand, I served the already much-too-drunk men. I smiled and winked and feigned an interest in their declarations of undying love for the gorgeous blonde prostitute waiting on them.

We come here for you, they claimed.

When I grew tired of one table’s lack-luster banter, I asked them about their wives and their children. They were suddenly much less interested in my company, so I moved along without argument.

I had become something of an expert at my profession in the few short months I’d practiced it.

You’ll lose all of your patrons if you keep reminding them of their responsibilities. Another red-headed whore tapped my shoulder.

Anemone, I tsked. Surely you can’t be that naïve. They have another drink and forget all about what I’ve said, then they will welcome me again during my next round.

You put too much faith in the alcohol.

And my dear, you don’t put enough faith in it. I linked her arm in mine and began pulling her to the center of the room. It’s time for our performance!

Gentleman! Hercules called for the attention of the room, and his deep voice commanded it even over the noises of the crowd. For your pleasure this evening, I present two of my finest girls for your bidding.

The hooting and whistling began and only grew when Anemone and I took our place on the platform that had been erected in the center of the tavern.

We were on display, and while it didn’t bother me, my heart tugged when I saw the shame on Anemone’s face. I wished I could make her see the potential power in our profession. If she only knew how to use her misfortune to her advantage, she could bring herself above her despair.

She was a beautiful girl. She could seduce a wealthy benefactor or perhaps even senator and make him think he loved her. He could whisk her from this life. She could have all the gold she ever needed to make her happy.

They come separate or as a pair, Hercules announced. And it’s for tonight only, gentlemen. You can’t keep my merchandise.

It was a lie, of course. Everything was for sale at the right price, though most of the men in attendance only had enough silver for a rental.

Let’s begin!

I shifted my hips, pouted my lips, and brushed my hair flirtatiously, finally deciding on a seductive pose that would show off my curves. Anemone stood straight as a stick and with a cross face. She didn’t understand that she was scaring away the customers.

The men began shouting offers, but Chrysaor stepped forward and threw a satchel filled with coin on the table, effectively ending the bidding.

I have no interest in the red-headed prude, he stated. But for Ambrosia, you may have it all.

I winced, partially at the insult he hurled at Anemone, but mostly at my own expense. Another night spent with this impotent goat might very well be enough to change my fate altogether.

Chrysaor, Hercules laughed. You’ve just spent the entire day with her. Surely you have had your fill!

He fixed his gaze on me, and my face tensed. When I have had my fill, you will have lost my business. None of your other whores compare to this one.

Hercules hesitated, perhaps because he saw the frown I rarely wore. But he