mortal anymore. That there was a world beyond the one he’d known and all the rules in it were different.
He hadn’t minded getting caught with his pants down in the alleyway with Phaedra. In that moment, he hadn’t cared about anything or anyone in the world but her. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe they were both just so disillusioned there was nothing left to do but reach out for each other.
Now that he had her, he didn’t want to let go.
More than any other place Luke had ever been, the past and present mingled here in Budva. Insufficient tap water meant that everyone drank wine. Spotty electricity meant that all the lights could go out on a hot night. Few places for parking meant that most traveled by foot on the stone walkways. Somehow, it seemed like the perfect place for Phaedra, who was a relic of the past but very much a part of his present.
Together, they ducked into the museum to admire the ancient coins, the terra-cotta platters and the ancient artifacts. Of course, to Phaedra, the artifacts weren’t all that ancient.
“I remember that vintage,” Phaedra said, glancing at the etched label on an amphora. “It was a thick wine, like syrup. Not as good as ambrosia, they said, but heady. I never had wine. But I always wanted to try it.”
“That decides it then,” Luke said. “We’re gonna get some wine and we’ll check off another box on the list of things you haven’t done before.”
They found a shop and Luke bought a dusty old bottle of port. When Phaedra was his vicious tormentor, he never wondered if she was a figment of his imagination. Strangely, now, he did. He only wondered now, when the sight of her made him less restless. When being near her made him feel protective and possessive.
Maybe he was finally going mad.
“Are you real?” Luke whispered, half-afraid to speak the words aloud. “Are you really here with me?”
“I’m real,” Phaedra said, her dark eyes filled with emotion. And he believed her. She wouldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t lie to him. Maybe she was the only person in the world who never had.
Phaedra put her hands to her cheeks and took a deep breath. “At least, I think I’m real. But I don’t know who I am. I feel like the old Phaedra has somehow been burned away and I don’t know who I am standing here in her ashes.”
Her words struck him hard. As a phoenix, each time he’d died and come back, he told himself he was the same man. After all, he’d kept his memories. The old wounds still festered. And even if all his dreams for his life were now in ruins, he was still the man who’d dreamed them in the first place. Wasn’t he?
He couldn’t be sure, so he didn’t offer platitudes. “Scary, isn’t it?”
Phaedra blinked at him, nodding. “But you never seem scared, Luke.”
He chuckled. “That’s only because you never gave me time to let myself be more afraid of anything than I was of you.”
In some strange way, she’d always been his salvation. All her attempts to kill him had been the only constant in his life. Ironic that she’d been sent to make him insane, because Phaedra was the only thing that grounded his reality. What’s more, instead of wanting to withdraw from the world, she made him want to experience all of it again.
Soon it would be dark and actors would fill the open-air stage for an outdoor production. In the old days, he wouldn’t have been able to sit still to watch it, but with Phaedra, he lingered, content. They found a marble bench to sit on, and watched the actors at their craft.
Leaning her head on his shoulder, Phaedra asked, “Do you know the legend about this place?”
“About Budva?” Luke asked. “Something about an ox.”
She laughed, cuddling closer. “All that studying at your grandfather’s knee and you never learned your Greek mythology? Budva was founded by Cadmus, who was an exiled war hero from Thebes.”
An exile . Luke could relate to that. He became more interested in this story.
He hadn’t minded getting caught with his pants down in the alleyway with Phaedra. In that moment, he hadn’t cared about anything or anyone in the world but her. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe they were both just so disillusioned there was nothing left to do but reach out for each other.
Now that he had her, he didn’t want to let go.
More than any other place Luke had ever been, the past and present mingled here in Budva. Insufficient tap water meant that everyone drank wine. Spotty electricity meant that all the lights could go out on a hot night. Few places for parking meant that most traveled by foot on the stone walkways. Somehow, it seemed like the perfect place for Phaedra, who was a relic of the past but very much a part of his present.
Together, they ducked into the museum to admire the ancient coins, the terra-cotta platters and the ancient artifacts. Of course, to Phaedra, the artifacts weren’t all that ancient.
“I remember that vintage,” Phaedra said, glancing at the etched label on an amphora. “It was a thick wine, like syrup. Not as good as ambrosia, they said, but heady. I never had wine. But I always wanted to try it.”
“That decides it then,” Luke said. “We’re gonna get some wine and we’ll check off another box on the list of things you haven’t done before.”
They found a shop and Luke bought a dusty old bottle of port. When Phaedra was his vicious tormentor, he never wondered if she was a figment of his imagination. Strangely, now, he did. He only wondered now, when the sight of her made him less restless. When being near her made him feel protective and possessive.
Maybe he was finally going mad.
“Are you real?” Luke whispered, half-afraid to speak the words aloud. “Are you really here with me?”
“I’m real,” Phaedra said, her dark eyes filled with emotion. And he believed her. She wouldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t lie to him. Maybe she was the only person in the world who never had.
Phaedra put her hands to her cheeks and took a deep breath. “At least, I think I’m real. But I don’t know who I am. I feel like the old Phaedra has somehow been burned away and I don’t know who I am standing here in her ashes.”
Her words struck him hard. As a phoenix, each time he’d died and come back, he told himself he was the same man. After all, he’d kept his memories. The old wounds still festered. And even if all his dreams for his life were now in ruins, he was still the man who’d dreamed them in the first place. Wasn’t he?
He couldn’t be sure, so he didn’t offer platitudes. “Scary, isn’t it?”
Phaedra blinked at him, nodding. “But you never seem scared, Luke.”
He chuckled. “That’s only because you never gave me time to let myself be more afraid of anything than I was of you.”
In some strange way, she’d always been his salvation. All her attempts to kill him had been the only constant in his life. Ironic that she’d been sent to make him insane, because Phaedra was the only thing that grounded his reality. What’s more, instead of wanting to withdraw from the world, she made him want to experience all of it again.
Soon it would be dark and actors would fill the open-air stage for an outdoor production. In the old days, he wouldn’t have been able to sit still to watch it, but with Phaedra, he lingered, content. They found a marble bench to sit on, and watched the actors at their craft.
Leaning her head on his shoulder, Phaedra asked, “Do you know the legend about this place?”
“About Budva?” Luke asked. “Something about an ox.”
She laughed, cuddling closer. “All that studying at your grandfather’s knee and you never learned your Greek mythology? Budva was founded by Cadmus, who was an exiled war hero from Thebes.”
An exile . Luke could relate to that. He became more interested in this story.
Similar Books
