Fantasy Lover

Grace remained still for hours, listening to Julian breathe, calmly, peacefully, as he slept behind her. He had one thigh nestled snugly between her legs and one arm draped over her waist.

The feel of his body around hers made her throb with longing.

And his scent...

It was all she could do not to turn over and bury her nose in the warm, spicy scent of his skin. No one had ever made her feel like this. So wanted, so secure.

So desirable.

And she wondered how that could be, given the fact that they barely knew each other. Julian touched something inside her on a level that went beyond the physical.

He was so strong, so commanding. And funny. He made her laugh and he wrung her heart.

She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over his hand that lay in front of her, just below her chin. He had such beautiful hands. Long and tapered. Even when they were relaxed in sleep, the power of them was undeniable. And the magic they could work on her body...

It was nothing short of miraculous.

She ran her thumb over his general's ring and wondered what Julian had been like back then. Unless the curse had altered his physical age, he didn't appear very old. Certainly, not much more than thirty.

How had he ever led an army at such a young age? But then, Alexander the Great had barely been old enough to shave when he'd started his campaigns.

Julian must have been fabulous on the battlefield. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine him on his horse, riding out against his enemies. She had a vivid image of him in his armor, his sword raised as he fought hand to hand against the Romans.

"Iason?"

She tensed as she heard him whisper in his sleep.

Rolling over, she looked at him. "Julian?"

He tensed behind her and started speaking in a jumbled mixture of English and ancient Greek. "Don't! Okhee! Okheel No!"

He sat straight up in bed. She couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep.

Instinctively, she touched his arm.

With a curse, he grabbed her and pulled her over his body. He threw her back against the mattress. His eyes were wild as he held her down, his lips curled.

"Damn you!" he snarled.

"Julian," she gasped as his grip on her arm tightened and she tried to make him let her go. "It's me, Grace!"

"Grace?" he repeated, his brows drawing together into a deep frown as he focused on her face.

Blinking, he pulled back from her. He lifted his hands and stared at them as if they were alien appendages he'd never seen before.

He looked at her. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. Are you all right?"

He didn't move.

"Julian?" She reached for him.

He pulled back from her as if she were poisonous. "I'm fine. It was just a bad dream."

"A bad dream or a bad memory?"

"A bad memory that always haunts my dreams," he whispered, his voice laden with grief. He got out of bed. "I should sleep somewhere else."

Grace caught his arm before he could leave, and pulled him back toward the bed. "Is that what you've always done in the past?"

He nodded.

"Have you ever told anyone about the dream?"

Julian stared aghast at her. What did she take him for?

Some sniveling child that needed its mother?

He'd always borne his anguish inside. As he'd been taught. It was only when he slept that the memories were able to sneak past his defenses. Only when he slept that he was weak.

In the book, there was no one to hurt when his nightmare came upon him. But once released from his prison, he knew better than to sleep at the side of someone he might inadvertently grab while in the throes of it.

He could have accidentally killed her.

That thought terrified him.

"No," he whispered. "I've never told anyone."

"Then tell me."

"No," he said firmly. "I don't want to relive it."

"If you're reliving it every time you dream, then what's the difference? Let me in, Julian. Let me see if I can help."

Dare he even hope that she could?

You know better.

And yet...

He wanted to purge the demons. He wanted to sleep one night in peaceful slumber, free of torment.

"Tell me," she gently insisted.

Grace sensed his reluctance as he rejoined her in bed. He remained seated on the side, his head in his hands. "You asked me earlier how I became damned. I was cursed because I betrayed the only brother I ever knew. The only family I ever had."

His anguish reached deep inside her. She wanted desperately to run her hand over his back in a comforting manner, but didn't dare touch him lest it make him withdraw again. "What did you do?"

He ran his hand through his hair, then balled his fist in it. His jaw more rigid than steel, he stared at the carpet. "I allowed envy to poison me."

"How?"

He paused for a long minute before he spoke again. "I met Iason not long after my stepmother sent me to live in the barracks."

She vaguely remembered Selena telling her about the Spartan barracks where sons were forced to live away from their homes and families. She'd always thought of them as a kind of boarding school. "How old were you?"

"Seven."

Unable to imagine being forced from her parents at that age, Grace gasped.

"There was nothing unusual about it," he said without looking at her. "And I was big for my age. Besides, life at the barracks was infinitely preferable to living with my stepmother."

She heard the venom in his voice and wondered what the woman had been like. "I take it Iason lived in the barracks with you?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Each barracks was divided up into groups where we chose the boy we wanted to lead us. Iason was the leader of my group."

"What did these groups do?"

"We functioned like a military unit. We studied, performed chores, but most of all, we banded together to survive."

She started at such a harsh word. "Survive what?"

"The Spartan lifestyle," he said, his voice laced with acrimony. "I don't know how much you know about my father's people, but they didn't have the luxuries of the other Greeks.

"The Spartans only wanted one thing from their sons. They wanted us to grow into the strongest fighting force of the ancient world. To prepare us for our future, we were taught how to survive with only the barest of necessities. We were given one tunic to last us the year, and if it became damaged or lost or we outgrew it, we had to go without one. We were only permitted a bed provided we made it ourselves. And once we reached puberty, we were no longer allowed shoes for our feet."

He laughed bitterly. "I can still remember how badly my feet would ache in the winter. We were forbidden a fire or blanket to keep us warm, so we tied rags around our feet at night to keep them from frostbite. Then, in the morning, we would carry away the bodies of the boys who had died of exposure in their sleep."

Grace cringed at the world he was describing. She tried to imagine what it must have been like to live in it. Worse, she remembered the fit she'd pitched at age thirteen for a pair of eighty-dollar shoes her mother had said were too mature for her, while at the same age, Julian would have been scrounging for rags. The injustice of it cut her. "You were just children."

"I was never a child," he said simply. "But worst of all, we were never given much food to eat, so we were forced to steal or to starve."

"And parents allowed this?"

He cast a sardonic look to her over his shoulder. "They considered it their civic duty. And since my father was the Spartan stratgoi, most of the boys and teachers despised me the instant they saw me, and I was given even less food than the others."

"Your father was what?" she asked, not understanding the Greek term he used.

"The top general, if you will." He took a deep breath and continued. "Because of his position and reputation for cruelty, I was a pariah to my group. While they would band together to steal, I was left on my own to survive as best I could. Then one day, Iason was caught stealing bread. When we returned to the barracks, they were going to punish him for being caught. So I stepped forward, and took the blame."

"Why?"

He shrugged as if the matter were of little importance. "He was so weak from his earlier beating that I didn't think he could survive another one."

"Why had they beaten him earlier that day?"

"That's the way we always started our day. As soon as we were dragged from our beds, we were severely beaten."

Grace winced. "Then why would you take the beating for him, if you were sore, too?"

"Being born of a goddess, I can take quite a beating."

Grace closed her eyes as he repeated Selena's words from that afternoon. This time, she couldn't resist reaching out to him. She placed her hand against his biceps.

He didn't pull away.

Instead, he covered her hand with his own and gave a light squeeze. "From that day forward, Iason called me his brother, and made the other boys accept me. Though both my mother and father had other sons, I had never had a brother before."

She smiled. "What happened after that?"

He flexed the muscle beneath her hand. "We decided to join forces to get what we needed. He would distract and I would steal so that if we were caught, I would be the one who suffered for it."

Why? was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. In her heart, she knew the answer already. Julian was protecting his brother.

"As time went by," he continued, "I started noticing that his father would sneak to watch him in the village. The love and pride on his father's face was indescribable. His mother was the same way. We were supposed to be scrounging for food on our own, and yet every other day, he'd find something one of his parents had left for him. Fresh bread, roasted lamb, a flagon of milk. Sometimes money."

"That's sweet."

"Yes, it was, but every time I saw what they did for him, it cut through me. I wanted my parents to feel like that about me. I would gladly have given up my life to have my father, just once, look at me without contempt in his eyes. Or to have my mother care enough to come see me at all. The closest I could ever get to her was to visit her temple at Thymaria. I used to spend hours staring at her statue, and wondering if that was really what she looked like. Wondering if she ever gave me a passing thought."

Grace sat up and leaned against his back, then hugged him about the waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder. "You never saw your mother as a child?"

He encircled her arms with his own, and leaned his head back against her shoulder blade. She smiled at the gesture. Even though he was tense and stressed, he was trusting her with things she knew he'd never shared with anyone else.

It made her feel incredibly close to him.

"I haven't seen her to this day," he said quietly. "She would send others to me, but she, herself, would never come. No matter how much I implored her, she refused to come to me. After a time, I ceased to ask. Finally, I quit going to her temples altogether."

Grace placed a tender kiss on his shoulder. How could his mother have ignored him so? How could any mother not answer the plea of her child to come visit him?

She thought of her own parents. Of the love and kindness they had lavished on her. And for the first time, she realized her feelings about their deaths were wrong. All these years, she'd told herself that it would have been better to never have known their love than to have it taken away so cruelly.

But it wasn't. Even though the memories of her parents and childhood were bittersweet, they comforted her.

Julian had never had the warmth of a loving embrace. The security of knowing that no matter what he did, his parents would be there for him.

She couldn't imagine growing up the way Julian had.

"But you had Iason," she whispered, wondering if that had been enough for him.

"I did. After my father died when I was fourteen, Iason was even kind enough to let me go home with him on furlough. It was on one of those visits that I first saw Penelope."

Grace felt a tiny stab of jealousy at the mention of his wife's name.

"She was so beautiful," Julian whispered, "and promised to Iason."

She went still at his words.

Oh, this wasn't good.

"Even worse," he said, lightly stroking her arm, "she was in love with him. Every time we visited, she'd be there to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Tell him how much he meant to her. When we'd leave, she'd quietly beg him to be careful. Then, she too started leaving things for him to find."

Julian paused as he remembered the way Iason would look when he returned to the barracks with Penelope's gifts.

"You may marry one day, Julian," Iason would say as he flaunted her tokens, "but you'll never have a wife like her warming your bed."

Though Iason didn't say it, Julian knew all too well the reason why. No noble father would ever consent to give his daughter to a baseborn, disinherited man who had absolutely no family that would acknowledge him.

Every time Iason had uttered those words, they had cut him to pieces. There had been times when he suspected Iason salted the wound out of jealousy because of the way Penelope would let her gaze linger too long on him when she didn't think Iason was looking. Iason may have held her heart, but like other women, Penelope had ogled Julian whenever he came near.

It was for that reason that Iason stopped asking him to visit altogether. And it had torn him apart to be banned from the only safe home he'd ever known.

"I should have let them marry," Julian said as he cupped Grace's head with his arm, and buried his face against her neck to inhale the sweet comfort of her scent. "I knew it even then. But I couldn't stand it. Year after year, I would see her love him. I watched his family dote upon him, while I didn't even have a home to go to."

"Why?" she asked. "You said you had brothers, wouldn't they let you stay with them?"

He shook his head. "My father's sons hated me passionately. Their mother would have let me in, but I refused to pay the price she asked for it. I didn't have much in those days, but I still had my dignity."

"You have dignity now, too," she whispered, tightening her hold on his waist. "I've seen enough of it to know."

Releasing her, he looked away at her words, his jaw tense.

"What happened to Iason?" she asked, seeking to keep him talking while he was in the mood for it. "Did he die in battle?"

He laughed bitterly. "No. When we were old enough to join the army, I kept him safe on the battlefield. I'd promised Penelope and his family that I wouldn't let anything happen to him."

Grace felt his heart pounding fiercely against her arms.

"As the years went by, it was my name people whispered in awe and fear. My legend and victories recounted over and over again. And when I returned to Thymaria, I ended up sleeping in the streets, or in the bed of whatever woman opened her door to me for the night, just biding my time until I could return to battle."

Tears stung her eyes at the pain she heard in his voice. How could anyone have treated him that way?

"What happened to change it?" she asked.

He sighed. "One night, while I was looking for a place to sleep, I stumbled across the two of them in a lovers' embrace. I quickly apologized, but as I left, I overheard Iason talking to Penelope."

His entire body went rigid in her arms as his heartbeat raced even faster.

"What did he say?" Grace prompted.

The light in his eyes faded. "Penelope asked him why I never went to my brothers' homes. Iason laughed and said, 'No one wants Julian. He's the son of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, and not even she can stand to be near him.' "

Grace couldn't breathe as he repeated the cruel words, and she could only imagine what he must have felt when he heard them.

Julian drew a ragged breath. "I had guarded him more times than I could count. Had taken numerous wounds in battle to protect him, including a spear straight through my side, and there he was mocking me to her. I couldn't stand the injustice of it. I had thought we were brothers. And I guess in the end, we really were since he treated me the way the rest of my family had. I had never been anything more than a bastard stepchild. Alone and unwanted. I couldn't understand why he had so many people to love him when I only wanted one.

"Angry and hurt by his words, I did what I'd never done before. I called out to Eros."

Grace could easily guess what happened after that. "He made Penelope fall in love with you."

He nodded. "He shot Iason with a lead arrow to kill his love for Penelope, and Penelope was given the golden arrow to make her love me. That was supposed to be the end of it..."

Rocking him gently in her arms, she waited for him to find his next words.

"It took two years before I finally convinced her father to let her marry a disinherited bastard without family influence. By then, my legend had grown, and I'd been promoted. I'd finally accumulated enough wealth to house her like royalty. And I spared no expense when it came to her. We had gardens, slaves, everything she wanted. I gave her freedom and latitude that no other woman of her time enjoyed."

"It wasn't enough?"

He shook his head. "There was still something missing and I knew she wasn't quite right. Even before Eros interfered, she was always overly emotional. She would cling to Iason in a manner forbidden of Spartan women, and one time when he'd been wounded, she had shorn her hair completely off in grief.

"Then, after Eros shot her with his arrow, she would have long periods of great depression or rage. I did the best I could for her and I tried so hard to make her happy."

Grace brushed his hair back as she listened.

"She told me she loved me, but I knew she didn't care for me the way she'd cared for Iason. She gave herself willingly to me, and yet there was no real passion in her touch. I knew from the very first time I kissed her.

"I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter. Very few men in those days had love in their marriages. Besides, I was gone for months, even years, as I led my army. But in the end, I guess I had too much of my mother in me, because I wanted more."

Grace ached for him.

"And then the day came when Eros, too, betrayed me."

"Betrayed you how?" she asked anxiously, knowing this was the source of his curse.

"He and Priapus were drinking the night after I killed Livius. Eros drunkenly told him what he'd done for me. As soon as Priapus heard the story, he knew how to take revenge.

"He went to the Underworld and filled a cup with water from the Pool of Memory, then gave the cup to Iason for him to drink. As soon as the water touched his lips, Iason remembered their love. Priapus told him what I'd done, then gave him more water for Penelope."

Julian felt his lips moving, but he wasn't conscious of the words anymore. Instead, he closed his eyes and relived that wretched day.

He'd just come in from the stables and had happened upon Penelope and Iason in the atrium. Kissing.

Stunned, he'd stopped mid-stride as a wave of trepidation washed over him while he watched the heated way they embraced.

Until Iason looked up and saw him in the doorway.

The instant their eyes met, Iason curled his lip. "You worthless thief! Priapus told me of your treachery. How could you?"

Her face contorted by hatred, Penelope rushed at Julian, then slapped him. "You filthy bastard, I could kill you for what you've done."

"And I will kill you for it." Iason unsheathed his sword.

Julian tried to push Penelope out of the way, but she refused.

"Dear gods, I bore your children," she said, trying to claw his face.

Julian held her wrists. "Penelope, I-"

"Don't you touch me," she snarled, wringing her arms from his grasp. "It makes my flesh crawl. Do you honestly think any decent woman would ever want you in the light of day? You are vile. Repulsive."

She shoved him toward Iason. "Cut his heart out. I want to bathe in his blood until I can no longer smell his touch on me."

Iason swung his sword.

Julian jumped back, out of the blade's arc.

Instinctively, he reached for his own sword, but stopped. The last thing he wanted was to draw Iason's blood. "I don't want to fight you."

"Don't you? You violated my woman and sired children on her that should have been mine! I welcomed you into my home. I gave you a bed when no one else would have you near them, and this is how you repay me?"

Julian stared in disbelief. "Repaid you! Have you any idea the number of times I've saved your life in battle? How many beatings did I take for you? Can you even count them all? And yet you dared mock me."

Iason laughed cruelly. "Everyone except Kyrian mocks you, you fool. In fact, he defends you so strongly that it makes me wonder what the two of you do when you wander off alone."

Squelching the rage that would leave him vulnerable to Iason's blade, Julian barely ducked the next attack. "Stop it, Iason. Don't make me do something we'll both regret."

"The only thing I regret is that I let a thief into my house," Iason bellowed with rage, and swung again.

Julian tried to duck, but Penelope ran at him from behind and pushed him forward.

Iason's blade caught him across the ribs.

Hissing in pain, Julian drew his own sword, then deflected a blow that would have left him headless had it made contact.

Iason tried to engage him, but Julian did nothing more than defend himself while trying to keep Penelope out of the thick of the fight.

"Don't do this, Iason. You know your skills are inferior to mine."

Iason pressed his attack. "There's no way I'm going to let you keep her."

The next few seconds had happened so fast, and yet Julian saw them unfold in sharp, crisp clarity.

Penelope caught Julian's free arm at the same time Iason swung his sword. The blade narrowly missed Julian as she slung him about. Unbalanced, Julian tried to extract himself from her, but with Penelope in the way, he staggered forward at the same time Iason did.

The instant they collided, he felt his sword sink deep into Iason's body.

"No!" Julian shouted, drawing his sword out of Iason's stomach as Penelope let out a scream of pure, tormented anguish.

Slowly, Iason fell to the ground.

Dropping to his knees, Julian tossed his sword aside, and pulled his friend into his arms. "Dear gods, what have you done?"

Coughing up blood, Iason stared accusingly at him. "I did nothing. It was you who betrayed me. We were brothers and you stole my heart."

Iason swallowed painfully as his pale eyes bored into Julian. "You never had anything in your life you didn't steal from someone else."

Julian trembled as guilt and agony washed over him. He'd never meant for this to happen. Never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Iason. He'd only wanted someone to love him. Only wanted a home where he was welcome.

But Iason was right. It was all his fault. All of it.

Penelope's screams echoed in his ears. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled it as hard as she could. Her eyes wild, she wrenched the dagger from his waist.

"I want you dead! Dead!"

She plunged the dagger into his arm, then pulled back to strike again. Julian grabbed her hand.

With a feral shriek, she wrenched herself away.

"No," she said, her eyes crazed. "I want you to suffer. You took from me what I loved most. Now I will take the same from you." She ran from the room.

Overwhelmed by his grief and anger, Julian couldn't move as he watched the life drain out of Iason's body.

Until Penelope's words sank into his dazed mind.

"No!" he roared, rising to his feet. "Don't!"

He reached the door to her chambers in time to hear the children screaming. His heart shredded, he tried to open it, but she'd bolted it from the inside.

By the time he broke into her rooms, it was too late.

Too late...

Julian pressed his hands against his eyes as the horror of that day washed over him anew, and he felt Grace's soothing touch on his skin.

He would never be able to purge the sight of them, the fear in his heart. The absolute agony.

The only thing in life he'd ever loved had been his children.

And they alone had loved him.

Why? Why had they had to suffer for his actions? Why couldn't Priapus have tortured him without hurting them?

And how could Aphrodite have let it happen? It was one thing for her to turn a blind eye to him, but to let his children die...

That was why he'd gone to her temple that day. He'd planned to kill Priapus. To cleave his head from his shoulders and mount it on a pike.

"What happened?" Grace asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present.

"By the time I got there, it was too late," he said, his throat aching as raw grief tore through him. "Our children were dead, killed by their own mother. Penelope had already slashed her wrists and lay dying by their side. I called for a physician and tried to staunch the blood." He paused.

"With her dying breath, she spat in my face."

Grace closed her eyes as his pain washed over her. It was even worse than she had imagined.

Dear Lord, how had he survived it?

Over the years, she'd heard numerous horror stories, but none could compete with what he'd been through. And he'd suffered it all alone, with no one to help him. No one to care.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, rubbing her hands over his chest to comfort him.

"I still can't believe they're gone," he whispered, his voice laden with grief. "You asked me what I do while I'm in the book. I just stand there, and remember my son's and daughter's faces. I remember what it felt like when their tiny arms wrapped around me. The way they ran out to meet me when I came home from campaigns. And I relive every moment of that day, wishing I could have done something to save them."

Grace blinked back her tears. No wonder he'd never spoken of it.

Julian drew a deep, tormented breath. "The gods won't even grant me insanity to escape those memories. I'm not allowed even that much comfort."

After that, he spoke no more of it, or of anything else. He merely lay quietly in her arms.

Amazed by the strength of him, Grace sat for hours, just holding him. She didn't know what else to do.

For the first time in years, her therapist's training failed her completely.

Grace came awake to bright sunlight streaming in through her windows. It took her a full minute before she remembered the night before.

Sitting up, she reached over for Julian and found nothing but an empty bed.

"Julian?" she asked.

No one answered.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and quickly dressed.

"Julian?" she called as she went down the stairs.

Nothing. Not a single sound, other than her heart beating fiercely in her ears.

Panic began to set in. Had something happened to him?

Grace rushed into the living room where the book was lying on the coffee table. Flipping through it, she saw the blank page where Julian had been. Relieved he hadn't somehow returned to the book, she continued searching the house.

Where was he?

She went to the kitchen and noticed the back door slightly ajar. Her frown deepening, she opened it wider and walked out onto the deck.

Grace looked about the yard until she saw the neighbors' children sitting on the grass between her house and theirs. But what stunned her most was Julian sitting with them as he showed them a game with rocks and sticks.

The two boys and one of the girls were sitting next to him, listening attentively while their two-year-old sister toddled between them.

Grace smiled at the tranquil sight. Warmth flooded her, and she wondered if that was what Julian had looked like with his own children.

Leaving the deck, she walked toward them.

Bobby was the eldest of the children at nine, then his brother Tommy was a year younger and Katie was barely six. Their parents had moved in almost ten years ago as newly weds and though they were friendly enough, they had never been much more than passing acquaintances.

"So, then what happened?" Bobby asked as Julian took a turn.

"Well, the army was trapped," Julian said, moving one of the rocks over a stick. "Betrayed by one of their own. A young hoplite who had sold out his comrades because he wanted to be a Roman centurion."

"They were the best," Bobby interrupted.

Julian scoffed. "They were nothing compared to the Spartans."

"Go, Spartans!" Tommy shouted. "That's our school mascot."

Bobby shoved his brother, knocking him over. "You're interrupting the story."

"You should never hit your brother," Julian said, his voice both stern, and yet strangely gentle. "Brothers are supposed to protect one another, not hurt each other."

The irony of his words wrenched her heart. It was a pity no one had ever taught his brothers that lesson.

"Sorry," Bobby said. "So what happened after that?"

Before Julian could answer, the baby fell and scattered the rocks and sticks. The boys shouted at her, but Julian calmed them while lifting Allison up and setting her back on her feet.

He touched the baby lightly on the nose, making her laugh. Then he set the game up again.

As Bobby took his turn with a rock, Julian began the story where he'd left off. "The Macedonian commander looked around the hills where the Romans had his army cornered. There was no way to outflank them, nowhere to retreat."

"Did they surrender?" Bobby asked.

"Never," Julian said with conviction. "Death always before dishonor."

Julian paused as the words echoed in his mind. Those words had been engraved on his shield. As a commander, he had lived by them.

As a slave, he'd long forgotten them.

The boys moved closer.

"Did they die?" Katie asked.

"Some did," Julian said, trying to banish the memories that surged through him. Memories of a man who had once known no master save himself. "But not before they set the Romans back on their heels."

"How?" the boys asked anxiously.

This time, Julian caught the baby before she interrupted their game.

"Well," Julian said, giving Allison her small red ball. She sat on his bent knee and he held her in place with one hand around her waist. "As the Romans were riding down upon them, the Macedonian commander knew the Romans would expect him to pull his forces together into a phalanx, making them easy prey for the Roman cavalry and archers above. Instead, the commander ordered his men to disband, to aim their spears toward the horses, and break apart the Roman cavalry lines."

"Did it work?" Tommy asked.

Even Grace was getting interested in the story.

Julian nodded. "The Romans hadn't expected such a tactic from a civilized army. Completely unprepared for the move, their troops scattered."

"And the Macedonian commander?"

"He gave a mighty battle cry as he rode his horse, Mania, across the field, and up the hillock where the Roman commanders were retreating. They turned to attack him, but it did them no good. With fury in his heart over the betrayal, the commander cut through them, leaving only one survivor."

"Why?" Bobby asked.

"He wanted him to deliver a message."

"What?" Tommy asked.

Julian smiled at their eager questions. "The commander ripped the Roman standard to shreds, then used the cloth of it to help the Roman staunch the bleeding of his wounds. With a lethal grin, he looked at the Roman and said, 'Roma delenda est.' Rome must be destroyed. Then he sent the Roman general home in chains to deliver the message to the Roman Senate."

"Wow!" Bobby said in awe. "I wish you were my teacher in school. I might actually pass history if you were."

Julian ruffled the boy's black hair. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't care for the subject either at your age. All I wanted to do was get into mischief."

"Hi, Miss Grace!" Tommy said as he finally caught sight of her. "Did you hear Mr. Julian's story? He said the Romans were bad men."

Julian looked up to see Grace standing a few feet away.

Grace smiled. "I'm sure he would know."

"Can you fix my doll?" Katie asked, handing it to Julian.

Julian let go of the baby and took the doll. He popped its arm back in place.

"Thank you," Katie said as she threw her arms around Julian and hugged his neck.

The longing on Julian's face stung her heart. Grace knew it was the face of his own daughter he saw when he looked at Katie.

"You're very welcome, little one," he said hoarsely, pulling away from her.

"Katie, Tommy, Bobby? What are you doing over there?"

Grace looked up as Emily rounded the side of the house.

"You're not bothering Miss Grace, are you?"

"No, they're not bothering me," Grace said to her.

Emily didn't seem to hear her as she continued fussing at the children. "And what's the baby doing out here? You're supposed to stay in the backyard."

"Hey, Mom," Bobby yelled as he ran to her. "Do you know how to play Parcelon? Mr. Julian showed us."

Grace laughed as the five of them returned to the front yard, while Bobby's excited chatter echoed around them.

Julian had his eyes closed and looked as if he were savoring the sound of the children's voices.

"You're quite a storyteller," she said after he moved to join her.

"Not really."

"Really," she said emphatically. "You know, it got me to thinking. Bobby's right. You would make a great teacher."

He smirked at her. "Commander to teacher. Why not call me Cato the Elder, and really insult me while you're at it?"

She laughed. "You're not as offended as you pretend."

"How do you know?"

"I can tell by the look on your face, and the light in your eyes." She took his arm and led him back toward the deck. "You really should think about it. Selena got her Ph.D. from Tulane and she knows the faculty there. Who better to teach ancient civilization than someone who actually lived it?"

He didn't respond. Instead, she noticed the way he shifted his bare feet against the ground.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm enjoying the feel of grass," he whispered. "The way the blades tickle my toes."

She smiled at the childlike action. "That's why you came outside?"

He nodded. "I love to feel the sunshine on my face."

And in her heart, she knew he'd had way too little of it to feel. "C'mon, I'll make us some cereal and we can eat it on the deck."

She led him back up the five stairs to the deck, and left him sitting in her wicker rocker as she went inside and poured the cereal.

When she returned, he had his head lying back and his eyes serenely closed.

Not wanting to disturb him, she stepped back.

"Do you know, I can feel your presence all over my body? With every sense I possess?" he asked, then opened his eyes to pin her with a hot stare.

"No," she said nervously, handing him his bowl.

He took the bowl, but didn't elaborate on his words. He just sat there quietly eating his breakfast.

Absorbing the warm sunshine, Julian listened to the soft breeze as he felt Grace's calming presence beside him.

He had awakened at dawn to watch the sunrise through her bedroom windows, and had spent an hour just letting Grace's body soothe his.

She tempted him in a way he'd never before known. For a minute, he allowed himself to think of staying in this time.

But then what?

He only had one "skill" he could use in this modern world, and he wasn't the kind of man who could live off a woman's charity and like it.

Not after...

He ground his teeth as the memory burned him.

At fourteen, he'd traded his virginity for a bowl of cold porridge and a cup of soured milk. Even now, after all this time, he could feel the woman's hands on his body, removing his clothes, grabbing feverishly at his skin as she showed him how to pleasure her.

"Ooo," she'd cooed, "you are a pretty one, aren't you? If you ever need more porridge, you just come back and see me any time my husband's not home."

He'd felt so dirty afterward. So used.

Over the next few years, he'd spent more nights sleeping in shadows than in warm beds merely because he wasn't willing to pay that price again for a meal and temporary comfort.

And should he ever get his freedom again, he didn't want to...

Julian clenched his eyes shut. He just couldn't see himself in this world. It was too different. Too strange.

"Finished?"

He looked up to see Grace standing by his side with her hand outstretched for his bowl. "Yes, thank you," he said, handing it to her.

"I'm going to take a quick shower. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He watched her leave, his gaze lingering on her bare legs. Already, he could taste her skin on his tongue. Smell the sweet scent of her body.

The woman haunted him. It wasn't just the curse. There was something more. Something he'd never encountered.

For the first time in over two thousand years he felt like a man again, and with that feeling came a longing so profound that it sliced through his heart.

He wanted her. Body and soul.

And he wanted her love.

The thought jolted him.

But it was the truth. Not since his childhood had he felt such a gut-wrenching ache for someone to hold him tenderly. Someone who would tell him that she loved him and mean it from her heart and not because of a spell.

Leaning his head back, he cursed. When would he learn?

He had been born to suffer. The Delphi Oracle had told him as much.

"You will suffer as no man has ever suffered."

"But will I be loved?"

"Not in this lifetime."

He had walked away crushed by her prophecy. Little had he known then exactly how much suffering lay before him.

"He's the son of the Goddess of Love and not even she can stand to be near him."

He winced at the truth. Grace would never love him. No one would. His destiny wasn't to be released from his suffering. And even worse, his destiny had a tragic way of bleeding over onto those around him.

Pain lacerated his chest as he thought about something happening to Grace.

He couldn't allow that. He had to protect her at any cost. Even if it meant losing his freedom.

With that thought on his mind, he went to find her.

Grace wiped the soap from her eyes. Opening them, she jumped as she caught sight of Julian watching her through the small parting of the shower curtains.

"You scared the be-jesus out of me!" she snapped.

"Sorry."

He stood outside of her extra-large, claw-foot tub, wearing nothing but boxers and leaning back against the wall in the same pose he'd had in the book. His broad shoulders were thrown back to support him and his long arms were casually at his sides.

She licked her lips at the sight of the hard, sculpted muscles of his chest and torso. Unbidden, her gaze fell lower to the red and yellow boxers.

Well, so much for thinking no man could look good in those. Because he did. There were truly no words to describe exactly how good he looked in them.

And that devilish, half-taunting smile on his face could melt the heart of even the most frigid of women.

The man was hot.

Nervously, she realized she was standing completely naked. "Do you need something?" she asked, covering her breasts with the washcloth.

To her dismay, he removed his boxers, then stepped into the tub with her.

Her mind turned to mush as he overwhelmed her with his powerful, masculine presence. That incredible, dimpled smile hovered at the edges of his lips, making her heart race. Her body tremble.

"I just wanted to watch you," he said, his voice low and tender. "Do you have any idea what it does to me when you run your hands over your bare breasts?"

Judging from the size of his erection, she could give a good guess.

"Julian..."

"Hmmm?"

She forgot what she was going to say as he dipped his head down to her neck. Chills rippled through her as his tongue scorched her flesh.

Grace moaned at the sensory overload of his hands and the hot water running over her body. She only vaguely felt him pull the cloth from her breasts before he took one in his mouth.

She hissed in pleasure as his tongue swirled around the taut peak, flicking across her flesh and making her burn.

He lowered her down in the tub, to lean against the sloping back. The contrast of the cool porcelain at her back and his warm body in front of her while the water poured down over the two of them titillated her in a way she'd never imagined.

Never before had she truly appreciated the size of the huge antique tub, but at the moment, she wouldn't have traded it for anything.

"Touch me, Grace,'' he said hoarsely, taking her hand into his and leading it to his swollen shaft. "I want to feel your hands on me."

He shuddered as she stroked the velvety hardness of him.

Julian closed his eyes at the feelings swirling through him. Her touch wasn't just physical, it touched him on a level that was undefinable. Unbelievable.

He wanted more of her. He wanted all of her.

"I love your hands on me," he breathed as she cupped him. Oh, gods, how he ached for her. How he wished for just one moment she was really making love to him.

Making love to him with her heart.

Pain sliced through his chest. No matter how many times he had sex, the end result was the same. It always hurt. If not his body, then deep in his soul.

No decent woman would ever have you in the light of day.

It was true and he knew it.

Grace felt him tense. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, pulling her hand away.

He shook his head, then placed his hands on each side of her neck and kissed her deeply. Suddenly, his kiss intensified as if he were trying to prove something to both of them.

He slid his hand down her arm to capture her hand in his. He laced his fingers through hers, then moved his hand to cup her between her legs.

Grace moaned as he stroked her with their hands entwined. It was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.

She shook all over as he quickened the rhythm of their joined fingers against her. And when he plunged their fingers inside her, she cried out in pleasure.

"That's it," he breathed in her ear. "Feel us joined."

Breathless, Grace clutched at his shoulders with her other arm, her body on fire. Oh, he was an incredible lover!

Suddenly, he moved their hands away, then lifted one of her legs to curl about his waist.

Grace followed his lead, until she realized what he meant to do. He was preparing to drive himself into her.

"No!" she gasped, shoving at him. "Julian, you can't."

His eyes burned her with his need, his raw hunger. "I want at least this much of you, Grace. Now, let me have it."

She almost did.

Until something strange happened to his eyes. They turned a full shade darker, the pupils dilating.

Julian froze. His breathing labored, he closed his eyes as if struggling against an unseen attacker.

With a curse, he turned away from her. "Run!" he said.

She didn't hesitate.

Grace pulled herself out from under him, grabbed the towel and ran for the door. But she couldn't leave him.

Pausing at the door, she looked back and watched as he went down on all fours and writhed as if he were being tortured.

She heard him strike the tub with his fist as he growled in pain.

Her heart pounded as he struggled. If only she knew what to do.

Finally, he collapsed in the tub.

Terrified and shaking, she took three tentative steps back into the bathroom, ready to run if he reached for her.

He rested on his side with his eyes closed. His breathing ragged, he looked weak and drained while the water pelted him, plastering his dark gold hair against his face.

She turned the water off.

Still, he didn't move.

"Julian?"

He opened his eyes. "Did I scare you?"

"A little," she answered honestly.

He took a deep, tortured breath, then sat up slowly. He didn't look at her. His gaze was focused somewhere past her shoulder.

"I'm not going to be able to fight that," he said after a long pause. He looked at her. "We're fooling ourselves, Grace. Let me take you now while I'm calm."

"Is that really what you want?"

Julian ground his teeth at her question. No, it wasn't what he wanted. But what he wanted was beyond his ability to claim.

He wanted things the gods had never meant for him to have. Things he dared not name, because the naming of them made their absence all the more unbearable.

"I just wish I could die."

Grace flinched at the heartfelt words. How she wished she could soothe him. Take away his pain.

"I know," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears for him. She wrapped her arms around his sleek, strong shoulders and held him tight against her.

To her amazement, he laid his cheek against hers.

Neither said a word as they held each other.

Finally, Julian withdrew. "We'd better stop before..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but then he didn't have to. Grace had already seen the consequences and had no wish for a repeat.

She left him in the bathroom and went to dress.

Julian rose slowly from the tub, then toweled himself dry. He heard Grace in her room, opening the door to her second closet, and in his mind an image of her naked body scorched him.

A crippling wave of desire crashed through him with such force, that it almost sent him back to the floor.

He braced his arms against the vanity as he fought with himself. "I can't live like this anymore," he breathed. "I am not an animal."

He looked up and saw his father in the mirror. He glared at his reflection, hating it.

He could feel the sting of the whip as his father beat him until he could barely stand. "Don't you dare cry, Pretty-boy. Not one whimper. You might be born of a goddess, but it's this world you live in, and here we don't coddle pretty little boys like you."

In the back of his mind, he could see the look of hatred on his father's face as he knocked him to the ground, and grabbed him in a choking headlock. Julian had kicked and fought, but at fourteen, he'd been too young, too inexperienced, to loosen the commander's hold.

His face contorted by a contemptuous sneer, his father had dragged his dagger down Julian's cheek, laying it open to the bone. And all because his father had caught his wife staring at Julian while they ate.

"Let's see if she'll lust for you now."

The throbbing pain of the cut had been unbearable and the blood had poured down his face the rest of the day. By the next morning, the wound had vanished without a trace.

His father's wrath had been immeasurable.

"Julian?"

Startled, he jerked at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in over two thousand years.

He looked around the room, but didn't see anything.

Unsure if he'd heard the voice, he spoke quietly. "Athena?"

She materialized before him, just inside the doorway. Though her clothes were modern, she wore her hair in a Grecian style piled high on her head with black ringlets falling down around her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes were gentle as she smiled. "I've come on behalf of your mother."

"She still can't face me?"

Athena looked away.

Julian felt a sudden urge to laugh. Why did he even bother to hope his mother might want to see him?

He should be used to it.

Athena fingered one of her dark ringlets as she watched him with an odd half-sad look on her face. "You have to know I would have helped you had I known about this. You were my favorite general."

All of a sudden, he understood what had happened to him all those centuries ago. "You played me against Priapus, didn't you?"

He saw the guilt an instant before she shielded it. "What's done is done."

His lips curling with anger, he glared at her. "Is it? Why did you send me to that battle when you knew Priapus hated me?"

"Because I knew you could win, and I hated the Romans. You were the only general I had who could have vanquished Livius, and you did. I was never prouder of you than I was the moment you took his head."

Bitterness roiled through him. He couldn't believe his ears. "Now, you tell me you're proud?"

She disregarded his words. "Your mother and I have spoken to Clotho on your behalf."

Julian paused at her words. Clotho was the Fate in charge of lives. The spinner of destinies. "And?"

"If you can beat the curse, we can return you to Macedonia, back to the same day you were pulled into the scroll."

"I can go back?" he repeated in numbed disbelief.

"But you won't be able to fight anymore. If you do, you will change history. If we send you back, you must swear to retire to your villa."

There was always a catch. He should have known better than to think for even an instant that they would really help him. "To what purpose?"

"You will be in your own time. In a world you know." She looked around the room. "Or you could stay here, if you prefer. The choice is yours."

Julian snorted. "Some choice."

"Some is better than none."

Was it? He wasn't sure any longer.

"And my children?" he asked, wanting, no, needing his family to restore the only two people in life who had ever meant anything to him.

"You know we can't undo that."

He cursed her. The gods could only take from him. Never once had they given.

Athena reached out and touched him lightly on the cheek. "Choose wisely," she whispered, then vanished.

"Julian? Who are you talking to?"

He blinked as Grace paused in the hallway.

"No one," he said. "Just myself."

"Oh," she said, accepting his lie without question. "I was thinking of taking you back to the Quarter this afternoon. We could visit the aquarium. What do you think?"

"Sure," he said, leaving the bathroom.

She frowned, but said nothing more as she headed for the stairs.

Julian went to the bedroom to change. As he was pulling on his pants, he caught sight of Grace's photographs on the dresser. She looked so happy in her childhood. So free. He particularly liked the picture where her mother had her arms wrapped protectively around Grace's neck while the two of them laughed.

In that moment, he knew the truth. No matter how much he might want otherwise, he could never stay here with Grace. She had said it herself the night he appeared.

She had her own life. One that didn't include him in it.

No, she didn't need someone like him. Someone who would only bring the unwanted attention of the gods down upon her head.

He would beat the curse, and then he would take Athena up on her offer.

He didn't belong here. He belonged in ancient Macedonia. Alone.