Page 45 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Medusa sat on the wooden floor, hunched over a bucket filled with a swirling rust-red mixture of blood, tears, and filth. Her hands trembled as she scrubbed at the gore encrusted beneath her nails.

Flashes of dismembered bodies passed before her eyes. She had enjoyed every moment of tearing into Linus’s goons, turning them to rubble and steaming piles of flesh, until … until she had turned to see the crew fearfully averting their eyes. When she had smelled their cold sweat, guilt had suddenly made her victory taste sour. What had she done?

One of her snakes frantically lapped at the lonely tear that rolled down her cheek. They were in a frenzy, still drunk from the violence, hissing and begging her for more as they feasted dried-up blood on her face and neck.

A wave of resentment washed over her. She had never despised the serpents, whose bloodlust she had shared throughout all these years, as much as now. Weeks ago, the sight of men trembling before her would have brought a cruel satisfaction. They deserved to feel as powerless as she had when her humanity was stolen. But when Perseus had looked away, it had pierced her heart. He had finally seen the truth, the monstrousness that lurked beneath her skin.

The hinges of the door creaked. Medusa didn’t turn; she did not need to, for his scent made her aware of his presence. She continued scrubbing at her hands, her skin turning raw.

Had he come to kill her after all? She could understand after what she had done. She would not resist.

“You probably regret sparing me now.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Then, Perseus knelt beside her, dipping a linen cloth into the bloodied water. Before she could protest, he gently began to cleanse the gore from her arms and shoulders.

Finally, he looked at her, Andromeda's veil draped over his face, his eyes shimmering with sorrow. “Why would I, Medusa? You saved me from certain death not once … but thrice now. Why would I want to harm you after all this?”

Another tear streamed down her face as her frustration bubbled to the surface. She hadn’t killed those men to save him. She had slaughtered them, drunk on their fear and gorging herself on their blood. To save Perseus, she only had to immobilise them, maybe kill Linus. Fast and efficient. Instead, she had dragged their deaths out, choosing to rip out their throats rather than granting them the quick, painless death of being petrified. She had deliberately saved Linus for last to savour the moment his hatred turned into undiluted terror.

“Because I am a monster,” Medusa choked out.

Her confession felt final. Yet, when she looked at Perseus, she could find no sign of resentment or disgust — only admiration and longing .

“Never, not once since I met you, have I believed you were a monster,” he murmured, his gaze intense. “Even when you were my captive, when I believed I had to kill you, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Because I knew ... you weren't the monster. I was ... for taking your freedom, the life you deserved.”

Medusa’s throat bobbed. “I’m a monster and a killer. ”

Even if Athena miraculously turned her back into a mortal woman, her soul had forever been stained by the countless deaths and the pain she had inflicted.

“You are a warrior. You are a survivor,” Perseus countered, his gaze unwavering. “You protect those you care about … and those that can’t fend for themselves.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed her skin, cupping her cheek.

“Your strength,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “it's the most glorious thing I've ever witnessed. No work of art could ever compare to the sight of you cutting down your enemies with fierce determination burning in your eyes. So, please, don’t ever be ashamed … not even of the wild parts. Especially not the wild parts. I see all of you, and you are beautiful, Medusa. So strong, and wild, and fearless!”

Beautiful . Medusa despised what this word meant for women. It sentenced them to a lifetime of lustful glances, unwarranted touches, and being regarded as somebody’s most prized possession. She had never understood why so many women were devoted to Aphrodite when she knew that beauty was a curse, not a blessing. Yet, when Perseus said she was beautiful, it made her feel … wonderful.

Perseus had not averted his gaze out of fear but because he could only face her with a flimsy piece of fabric between them. Even now, when he was so close that his scent engulfed her, the veil was the only thing that separated them.

She was suddenly aware of how dangerously close he was. His rough palm still cupped her cheek while Perseus’s gaze lingered on her lips. There was something ravenous in his stare that she immediately recognised as lust. Yet, it was not fear quickening her pulse but giddy excitement because he wanted her .

Medusa knew she should move away, yet all reason seemed to have left her body. She should create a safe distance between them, but instead, she returned Perseus’s heated glare, raising her eyebrow to challenge him. A warning hiss beckoned her to come to her senses, but she did not want to listen. She wanted to be as wild and fearless as Perseus believed her to be … and she wa nted to kiss him. So, she did.

She closed the remaining distance, barely brushing his lips. When her eyelids fluttered open, the longing in Perseus’s eyes had been replaced by utter shock.

Medusa recoiled, instant regret swirling in her gut. Shit. Shit. Shit. What had she done? Had she misread his expression?

Yet, Perseus remained frozen only for a second before he pulled her onto his lap to return her kiss. Even through the flimsy fabric of the veil, his mouth was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. He cradled her against his chest, sending electric currents through her body where their skin touched. She tilted her head back, offering her neck, a silent invitation. His lips trailed down her throat, igniting a fire within her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him closer, but he pulled back, his gaze suddenly serious.

“Do you trust me?”

Medusa furrowed in frustration. Why did he have to ask questions when all she wanted was to lose herself in his touch?

She meant to grab his shirt to pull him close again, but he snatched her hand away. “Believe me … all I want is to taste you, to hold you in my arms, and to worship you how you deserve. But that is impossible because of this stupid veil. So, I need you to answer me if you trust me.”

“I do,” she exhaled.

The words had escaped her mouth before she realised. She didn’t need to consider it because her heart already knew the truth. It had known since she cried herself to sleep in his comforting embrace. Maybe she had even known since when he had fallen to his death to save his crew from Cetus. He would never willingly hurt her.

Perseus scooped her up, enveloping her in his scent of thyme and leather, and gently placed her on the straw cot. When he withdrew to rise before her, Medusa hissed in protest but quickly seized as Perseus took off his linen shirt in one swift movement.

Her gaze devoured the sight of him, broad shoulders tapering to a chiselled torso, bronzed skin gleaming in the dim light.

When she had likened him with Adonis, the most beautiful man in the world and lover of Aphrodite, it had been a sarcastic jab at his vanity, but now she realised she had spoken true. Not that she would ever admit that.

Luckily, Perseus had not noticed her longing gaze as he ripped the fabric of his shirt and knelt before her.

“Close your eyes for me.”

She obeyed, and he gently tied the strip of linen over her eyes, setting her skin on fire wherever his fingers brushed against her. Darkness enveloped her once more. Then, he tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a kiss that stole her breath.

He pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled him. Medusa wrapped her legs around him and pressed herself against his bare upper body, desperate to feel him close. In the dark, she explored those glorious muscles with her hands and found his skin just as smooth as she had expected. She felt him harden beneath her. The feel of him pressed against her should have terrified her. It should have made her recoil, but instead, something wild and ravenous awoke within her core — a hunger that she had only ever felt when her snakes had craved the blood of her enemies. Only her snakes were quiet now, Perseus’s fingers entangled in her emerald curls. Still, Medusa had to obey the wicked urge that made her heart gallop.

As Medusa slowly started rolling her hips, Perseus tightened his grip on her in an attempt to control himself. Delighted by his response, she ground against him, feeling him twitch beneath her, and bit on his lower lip.

“Fuck,” he muttered and flipped her on her back. “You are driving me crazy.”

Slowly, he began trailing his kisses down her neck until he reached the neckline of her blood-splattered dress. He paused for a moment, lifting his torso off her, and Medusa snarled in frustration, trying to pull him close. Perseus restrained her as he spoke to her in a serious tone, “I am going to worship you now … with my tongue, my hands, and whatever else you want, Medusa. Whatever you want is yours, but you must tell me to stop if there is something you don’t want.”

Medusa reached for him again, but Perseus ordered, “Promise me you’ll tell me the moment you feel uncomfortable. ”

She nodded.

Perseus pulled down her dress to her navel with one swift movement and gently cupped her breast, blowing over her nipple until it was hard. When he finally caressed it with his tongue, Medusa arched her back, leaning into his touch. His mouth slowly wandered down her body, exploring every inch of her. Finally, Perseus reached her hips, gently pulling the dress further down until she lay splayed before him — wholly bare, vulnerable, but not afraid.

He spread her legs and started kissing the sensitive skin on her inner thigh, careful not to hurt the scar where the arrow had struck her. Medusa gripped onto the cotton sheet beneath her as he trailed up and up and up … until Perseus reached the apex of her thigh. She gasped as he slid his tongue across her core.

“I knew you would taste just … perfect.”

Then, he unleashed himself on her. Kissing and caressing her senseless, circling her clitoris with his tongue, worshipping her as she buckled beneath him.

“Perseus,” she moaned his name as her core tightened, pressure building within her. Medusa gripped his hair; she needed more.

He understood and slid one finger inside her. She cried out his name again, her eyes rolling back in her head. She needed release, but he would not give it to her yet.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“Say my name again, and I will give you what you want. I want you to scream my name when you come.”

“Please, Perseus.”

He slid in another finger, cherishing her clitoris … until she went over the edge. Medusa was falling through space and time, his mussed hair her only tether to reality. She cried out his name over and over again as electricity shot through her veins and her legs shook.

“Good girl.”

When she could breathe normally again, he hoisted himself up until his length pressed against her entrance. Her breath hitched, but he stroked her hair, whispering, “Only if you want me to. ”

She did. His tongue and fingers had not been enough to satiate her hunger. She wanted … she needed to feel him inside of her. So, Medusa wrapped her legs around him, nudging him close, “I do.”

Perseus kissed her fervently and slowly slid inside of her, giving her time to adjust to his considerable length.

He groaned and slowly began to move. “You feel so fucking good.”

She raised her legs back to take him deeper. Her nails dug into his skin as he slid in and out of her.

Medusa had always thought that sex was necessarily painful for the woman. That was how she remembered it. Yet, no previous sensation could compare to the feeling of Perseus inside of her. She moaned his name again as he caressed her neck and picked up the pace. In and out.

Just as Medusa started to feel another electric current buzzing in her blood, Perseus flipped her on her belly. “Lift your hips for me,” he whispered in her ear and sent a shudder down her spine. “I want to touch you while I fuck you.”

He gently slid his fingers inside her mouth for her to lick them and began massaging her core while thrusting inside her once more. She had been wrong. There was a feeling more exhilarating than feeling his cock inside of her. She groaned as he sunk deep inside her, filling up every inch of her.

Then, he pinned her wrists to the bed with his broad hand, and the world shifted. Suddenly, she was not pressed against the cotton mat in a warm-lit cabin but against the cold marble floor of Athena’s temple. Her breath grew ragged, icy water filling her lungs.

No. No. No. Not again.

She whimpered at the unforgiving pace at which Poseidon — not Perseus — thrust inside of her, claiming her against her will. Tears started streaming down her face as she lost control.

Her body was pinned beneath the god of the sea once again, as hands twice her size held her down. She could not breathe, swallowing the dark water of the panic that crashed in waves over her head.

There was nothing she could do. Even though her parents had been titans, she was born into a weak mortal body. He was a god. Medusa knew that her writhing and screaming were futile, as Poseidon took her in the sacred sanctuary of her goddess. She screamed regardless as he invaded her again and again. She wailed at the piercing pain of her maidenhead ripping as he thrust inside her without mercy. There was nothing she could do except pray that it would be over soon.

Bile rose in Medusa’s throat. She could not breathe. She could not move. She could not —

Somebody shook her shoulders, calling her name, “Medusa. Medusa. Medusa.”

Medusa curled up into a ball, making herself as small as she could — just like she had after he had taken her. She had lain there for hours, sobbing, awaiting the wrath of her goddess. Medusa knew what her bleeding had meant. She was unworthy of being Athena’s priestess once Poseidon had defiled her.

“You are safe, Medusa. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

Another sob escaped her throat. Did he not know that she was never safe? She had run to Athena’s temple to escape Poseidon’s clutches, and he had found her regardless. The walls of the temple had not been able to protect her, and he had defiled her beneath her goddess’s altar. Arms around her, she rocked back and forth, trying to banish the memory of the god of the sea invading her.

Gingerly, Perseus untied her blindfold, and Medusa squinted as the flickering light next to the straw cot blinded her.

He stroked her hair like he had during their night at the tavern, repeating the same words, “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Slowly, Medusa returned to reality as she looked around the cabin. There was no marble floor beneath her, no pillars surrounding her, no statue of Athena looming over her, and next to her was Perseus — not Poseidon.

When Medusa finally leaned into his touch, Perseus wiped her tears and curled up beside her, pulling her into his embrace.

“I am so sorry, Medusa. I … I didn’t … I never would have..”

Her lips began trembling again, but Medusa scooted closer to him, letting him envelop her in his familiar musk to drown out the scent of another. Thyme and leather instead of salt and seaweed.

They lay in silence for a while, Perseus stroking her hair.

When her breath steadied, he finally said, “You don’t have to tell me now, but I need to know … who did this to you.”