Joanna Wylde - Dancing With Dionysus

Sabiniano growled in anger, feeling that small façade of civilization he cultivated slipping away like a mask as he ran after the human woman. How dare she challenge him? He was master of this island, son of Dionysus himself.

Immortal, powerful! Yet she had felled him with a spindle. It was maddening.

When he caught her she would pay for her transgressions, he thought darkly.

He would rip her apart. No, he would fuck her until she screamed for mercy.Then he would rip her apart. He could still feel the surge of lust and triumph that throbbed through him when she'd started responding to his touch.

How dare she try to escape him? She belonged to him, as did all the humans and creatures of the island. He would teach her obedience if it was the last thing he did.

He caught a new scent as he ran—the smell of blood. He paused, picking up a delicate, worn leather sandal. She was barefoot, and something had cut her. It would slow her down, making her easier to catch. He howled in triumph, and in the distance of pack of Maenads answered. He could feel their hunger around him, and a strange possessiveness came over him. He would not share his little human with them, he decided. He didn't like the idea of them tearing at her soft flesh. She was all his and he would have to make sure the Maenads and satyrs understood that, he thought grimly.

A roaring sound grew in his ears; he realized he was coming up on a waterfall. He knew which one—the girl would be trapped on the cliff, there was no escape. He slowed his pace, allowing a smile to steal across his face. With surprise, he realized that her puny spindle was still sticking out of his side. He reached down and pulled it out, wincing slightly at the pain. He healed quickly, and the wound wasn't deep. He examined the little wooden tool, marveling at the courage it took for a woman, a mere mortal, to attack him with such a pathetic weapon. She was a feisty little thing, and he liked that.

His anger faded a bit at the thought of the fun he would have with her.

Without a thought, he threw the spindle away.

Out of nowhere, something flew out of the darkness at his face. He swatted at it, but it ducked away. It swooped back at him, powerful claws raking his flesh. The wound burned with a pain that he recognized at once as being unnatural.This is no ordinary bird, he thought grimly. It attacked again; this time he waited and struck out at it right before it reached his head. It screamed in protest as he squeezed it, then it abruptly transformed into a tall, beautiful woman with pale white skin. With a cry, he jumped away, his skin burning where he had touched her.

"Who are you to touch my child, Sabiniano?" the goddess Athena asked coldly.

Sabiniano shook his head in disbelief. How dare the goddess interfere with Dionysus' sacred rites? He had never heard of such a thing.

"I dare much, Priest," she said. Her lovely face was without expression; she seemed carved in stone. There was no compassion in those features. He could feel her power radiating across him making his skin crawl. A tiny part of his soul screamed for him to bow down before her, but he focused on resisting.

"This one was the daughter of my Priestess, and she was special to me,"

Athena said, her voice low and smooth. It compelled obedience. "You will pay the price for what you have done."

"Gracious Lady," he replied in a courteous but firm voice. She might be a goddess, capable of destroying him with a word, but he was the son of a god and ruler of the island. She had no right to interfere in his business. "I do not question your love for your priestesses, but this woman belongs to Dionysus. This is his island, and all that live here do so by right. Do you question his sovereignty?"

She gazed steadily at him, not answering. He schooled his features carefully, not wanting to show the triumph he felt; he had caught her. Surely the human woman wasn't worth challenging Dionysus over. Athena had great power, but on this island in the midst of Dionysus' festival, Zeus himself would have been hard pressed to over-power Sabiniano's god.

"I am not a pleasant enemy to have, Sabiniano," Athena said finally. She turned and walked slowly away from him. "Remember that."

In a flurry of white feathers, she transformed back into an owl and flew off into the night. Sabiniano grimaced. It was never good to have a goddess angry with you, but he had his duty to his god. As long as he was High Priest and ruler of the island, no one would take precedence over Dionysus.

He strode off in the direction where he knew the woman must be hiding, coming up short as he stepped on something. It was sharp, and it drove up into the pad of his foot, sending a shooting pain like fire up his leg. He stopped short, lifting his foot to discover the damned spindle he had discarded. With a shock, he realized why it had been such an effective weapon. Mere glamour made it appear to be wood. It was pure silver, stamped with the markings of an Athenian priestess. The goddess' power within it was almost a living thing, crackling about his fingers as he pulled it from his foot.

Shaking his head, he turned to follow the trail of her blood. Strangely, his anger was all but gone. In its place was a sense of anticipation, excitement.

She was a puzzle, one that tantalized and nipped at his brain. How long had it been since anything had interested him like this woman? A long time, indeed…

He loped along the trail sniffing the air for any sign of her. The roar of a waterfall grew in his ears, and a smile transformed his face. He knew the area well; she would be trapped by the cliff. He slowed his pace to a walk, reaching out with his senses to find her.Nothing. He stopped, forcing himself to focus solely on his target. Once again, he felt nothing. Had Athena somehow spirited her away? She would answer to Dionysus if she had, he thought darkly.

He was almost to the cliff, but there was no sign of her. The sound of the water had grown to a roar. A twinge of unease ran through him. Where was she?

Finally he was at the cliff's edge. The trail of blood ended, and he examined the soft earth for her footprints. She had still been wearing one sandal, the other foot left bare and bloody. Her toes had left little hollows in the earth; several white feathers dusted the ground. Realization came over Sabiniano. She was dead; Athena had spoken of her in the past tense. She had thrown herself over the cliff rather than face him.

Some new, terrible emotion filled him. He struggled to recognize it, confused.Grief? Did he feel grief for this human? He had never felt anything like it before; it tore through him like a rough-edged knife, slowly slicing down the length of his chest toward his stomach. He knelt down, touching her small footprint. It was not the first time he had killed. Not even the first time he had killed a human woman. But it was the first time he had killed an innocent, he realized. She was dead, as surely as if he had slain her with his own hands. A part of him seemed to be dying with her. It was unbearable…

He raised his eyes to the heavens and howled, crying out his frustration and regret. He could still feel her trembling against him, still feel the savage pleasure her fear had brought. He felt dirty, disgusting. His howl turned to a keening moan. The Maenads howled in answer, and across the island the cry went up among his people.

Sabiniano mourns, they whispered.We must appease him.

Mount Olympus

“Hello, Athena," Dionysus said languidly, leaning against the door frame.

Athena looked up with a look of cool distaste from the scroll she was carefully writing. Behind him stood the figure of her High Priestess, Mercia, wringing her hands fearfully. With a sigh, Athena waved a hand at the woman in dismissal.