At the faintest thought of the myth that was a muse’s mate, memories flashed through her brain of Chuck and of David.Of all the promises they’d made in vain.Chuck had called her his soulmate, on more than one occasion.David as well.But David also called her the devil, too.And oh, how blind she had been when it came to David and histruestdesire.
“If only I could just feel the spark,” he cried, angrily shoving the papers on the desk.The memory of him on his knees, eyes imploring her with tears pushed forth, trying to sour the perfect moment.It was a warning, a cautionary instinct.
Because Calliope knew just what could happen if she let herself forget.If she gave in too easily to the spark inside of her.She needed to protect it.
Because love—was not for muses.It was for the patrons, the men and women who desired her gifts, whoneededher love to become the philosophers and artists and musicians that were meant to change the world.
Greatness could not be achieved without the power of a muse’s praise, after all.The love she gave was never equal.It was never reciprocated.Chuck had proved that years ago, and Calliope surmised perhaps then, it was better to separate her own wants and needs from the work she had to do.
And for centuries, Calliope had accepted that fate.That no one would everloveher or desire her in the way she truly wanted.
She’d deluded herself into believing David was different.His writings and musings were captivating, and the moments she allowed herself to feel love for him, were as shattering as they were beautiful.Because no matter how much Calliope gave, she never felt whole, she never felt thespark.
She fought the urge to slip down memory lane, not wanting to think of their heated tryst the night they’d met in theDen of Sin, or their whirlwind affair, of his cursed words that would forever haunt her.But it was no use.They were too similar to Zorro’s breathless pleas.
“I’ll do anything, Callie.Please, just give me a spark to get through these pages...”
That was what Calliope’s patrons failed to understand.For every spark Calliope gave them, the more pain it caused her, the more it drained her.And when there was nothing left to give them, her job was done.And the inevitable downfall would rain on the muse and her patrons and leave her alone once more, dying to find the next man or woman to bring it back.
No one could ever sustain it, least of all Calliope.Because the universe had created her to be infinite, and a soulmate who could sustain her spark would take that away.
It was a cruel existence for a muse.To love and lose, over and over again, for the sake of humanity and its advancements.
But for the moment, Calliope was not loving or losing.She was living inside the electrified energy that existed between her and a stranger, in the most perfect kiss.She moved her mouth against his, shoving the poisonous thoughts away.His hand slid up her neck, into her hair, and he tightened his grip, holding her still.Calliope relished in the force of his grip as it grounded her.She kissed him with hunger, craving to hear those words once more.
Anything you want.
Oh, sweet devotion.Cruel, bloody devotion.It would be her undoing.
When her mysterious Zorro broke away from their heated, perfect kiss, her lips tingled, the energy between them still crackling in the air.
She gazed back at him, at his kiss-swollen, plump lips.At his jeweled gaze and dilated pupils.The energy between them was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and it was far too tempting to resist.
But that was why she came to the DeLux tonight, was it not?She came to find a muse of her own, a spark to ignite the inspiration she’d lost.A person to make her forget about the pain of her loss, the pain of love.
Was Zorro that man?She wasn’t sure.
But one thing she was sure of was that she’d never met or kissed anyone like him in her entire life, and that was enough for Calliope at the moment.Soon enough, the night would end, and reality would return.If all Calliope had was a moment to feel likethisshe wanted to live in the moment as long as she could.
“I think we should go,” Calliope said, tasting the words on her tongue.They felt foreign, but also exhilarating.
This is probably a terrible idea.I’m not entirely sober, and Zorro isn’t, either.This could end a total disaster.But something told her it was only just the beginning, and she’d had too much to drink to refute hope like that.
Zorro nodded, grabbing her hand and pulling her off her chair, toward the exit of the cafe.She let him pull her through the crowd, her hand in his palm heating like a fire.His fingers curled around hers and the spark, the energy between them, could be felt like it was an entity all its own.
“Your place or mine?”he asked, his voice breathless, yet somehow smooth and vulnerable.As if he were surprised at her boldness, but eager to continue stoking the obvious fire between them.Cars whizzed past them, but they were white noise to Calliope.
“My place,” she responded without haste.With the way she was feeling, reeling from his kiss and the magnetic energy between them, she wanted to be close to her studio, in case the inspiration she’d been looking for caught.She knew it was wishful thinking, but part of her dared to hope.Something about this man, this Zorro, made her feel that spark of hope and desire she thought she’d long forgotten.
Anything you want, Princess.
The truth struck her almost as hard as his kiss.
“Calliope,” she whispered.
“Huh?”Her charming stranger turned to look at her, his phthalo eyes catching the glimmer of the streetlights above them.Even under the lights with his kiss-swollen lips parted, hair blowing in the breeze, Calliope couldn’t deny the man was a godly sight all on his own, even with the mask he wore.
Especially with the mask he wears...
