Prophet Seeing

Author's note- This is an anthology series set in the same location of a mysterious dreamy Greek inn, yet the characters and plot differ so they can be read separately or in any order the reader chooses. Enjoy!

~The Taming of the Amazon~

"Everything always has to be your way or the highway." Phil burst through the red door marked Themis suite, a stack of Louie V's tucked under each arm.

"I just thought with all the traveling I do for work that it would be more sensible for me to make the arrangements." Phoebe sauntered past him empty handed as Phil held the door open with his foot.

"You could have at least consulted me about where we were taking

our

vacation."

Phoebe's dark eyes rolled. Consulting others was so tedious and the outcome was always the same anyway. She got her way in the end.

If you want something done right...

"Be careful with those bags," she instructed. He sighed, dropping them onto the floor with a bit more force than necessary. "Watch it! Most men would give their right arm to haul around my luggage, you know."

"Lucky me, I only had to give up my balls for the privilege."

Phoebe answered him with an icy glare. At this rate he was never getting his cojones back from her Birkin bag.

She scanned the room. Though bright and homey, it wasn't quite the 5-star accommodations she was used to. Yet something about its pastoral style didn't put her in her default business mode. Instead it made her think of long languorous afternoons of unwinding.

"It's not just the travel arrangements. You never consult me on anything." He grumbled and just like that her chill vacation vibe vanished.

Phoebe was already tired of this conversation but she could tell by the tone of his voice that Phil was just getting warmed up.

Here we go again.

With an exaggerated sigh, she slumped all 5 feet 11 inches of her frame into a nearby chair (6'3" if you count heels). Exhausted by the long flight across the Atlantic and the endless power struggle between them.

"You would have wanted to go to some tacky tourist trap. We would have fought about it for a while and then end up compromising and going somewhere neither of us would have been happy with like- Euro Disney." She shuddered. The powder-puff princesses. The fuzzy woodland critters.

The horror.

How hard was that to understand? About compromise- that is, not the princess thing. In the boardroom any form of capitulation was taken for weakness, especially in women. Once the sharks got the scent of blood in the water it was all over. One didn't become a female COO of a Fortune 500 by the age of 30 by going belly up in the face of predatory negotiators.

Yet the very same uncompromising strength she had developed to prevent from becoming corporate chum in the male driven world seemed to make her less alluring to the same men who created that world. Not a particularly funny irony. Which only added a layer of bitterness to her resentment. Bitter, resentful and bossy. Oh yeah, the men

really

love that. (Great, better add sarcastic to the list too.)

After only six months with Phil the cracks were already beginning to show. The pattern was always the same. The same power and independence that drew men to her eventually intimidated and smothered them. The trip to Greece, far away from real life pressures and prying eyes, was supposed to breathe new life into their relationship but so far it had only served to highlight their issues.

Phoebe felt her temperature rising. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. Perhaps the slinky black leather dress was not the best choice for summer in the Mediterranean, Phoebe thought. Even if it did hug her long, lean frame in all the right places like armor and made her look like a badass blend between Grace Kelly and Grace Jones.

Nah, worth it.

"Turn on the fan." She ordered perfunctorily while tucking a disobedient strand of ebony hair back into her sleek, well-tamed up do. "It's hot as Hades in here."

"You would know, my little helly bean." Phil walked to the wall mumbling under his breath. Click went the switch and... nothing. "It's broken."

"Figures." She bit out sarcastically. The laid-back Greek attitude had its advantages, but it meant little things like room maintenance and national finances tended to slip through the cracks. "You'd better call down to the front desk."

"Looks like it's only a loose connection, I think I can fix it. I just need the right tool." Phil stroked the shadow of stubble on his chiseled chin as he studied the uncooperative appliance.

"Since when did you become Mr. Fix-it." She countered. Guess no one had given Phil the memo that he was merely male arm candy. A himbo? Manstress? Whatever you want to call it. He was the young hunky tennis pro at her club. Handy on the court and in the bedroom but not much use anywhere else.

"You know I can do some things. I'm not completely useless." He argued.

Yup, he'd definitely missed the memo.

"No, you'll just break it further." She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Call the desk clerk."

"Why don't you do it if I'm so useless." A muscle in Phil's strong jaw twitched.

"That old blind lady gives me the creeps. She was looking at me funny." Just thinking about the woman made Pheobe shudder. The strange eyes, the strange clothes, the even stranger way she seemed to read her thoughts.

Phil blinked. "Looking at you? She's blind!"

"I know that. I didn't mean literally looking at me. She was considering me very strangely. I didn't like it." Almost like she had discovered all of Phoebe's old teenage diaries and knew every embarrassing secret. Then there was that outfit! A hoop skirt in July?

Well I never!

"Now you want to control the way people look at you too?"

"Oh stop it will you? It's too hot." She removed a 4-inch stiletto, fighting the urge to lob it straight at his hard head, pointy end first.

"Sorry you haven't figured out a way to control the weather... yet."

She pushed down the urge to throttle him and instead concentrated on replying as calmly as possible. The attempt was nearly successful. "I simply want someone to fix the fan."

"Why don't you just hold onto the blades and get the world to revolve around you."

"I might as well! I have to do everything myself anyway." She screeched.

That's it!

Finally letting her anger loose, Phoebe let him have it with both barrels. How he was a good-for-nothing piece of this and a spineless sack of that. She was still unloading when he mumbled something about going to find a screwdriver and a stiff drink before stomping out of the room.

Phoebe flopped down on the oversized bed, too frustrated to appreciate its enveloping softness or the elaborately carved headboard above her. The man was impossible! Men in general. Always trying to call the shots even when they didn't know how to shoot. Although a tiny part of her wondered if she had gone a bit too far this time. Spoke a bit too harshly. Micromanaged a bit too much. Maybe when he came back she could apologize. Would it be so bad to try to meet him halfway?

Screw that!

It was totally unfair. A man can be the boss and he's considered a strong leader. A woman who is a boss is immediately labeled a bitch.

Fine then. I'll wear that label in sharpie right on my chest.

Hello

my name is

Bitch

. She wore the pants in this relationship. (Perfectly tailored Chanel pants, at that.) She refused to hand over control just to appease the fragile male ego. No... This was no time to make apologies or concessions.

Phoebe's eyes were heavy but her resolve was firm. She knew what she had to do. When Phil came back she would make him understand just who held the whip hand...

Ω

The horse picked up speed as Phoebe wrapped her hand around the whip. Her long raven hair trailed in the wind. High-pitch battle cries rose up around her and she eagerly joined in. Next to war, fertility raids were her favorite. For an Amazon warrior the only thing better than killing a man was putting him in his place, which meant firmly beneath her.

The outline of a small farming village came up over the horizon just as the sun was sinking beneath it. The clan let up a cheer. With a clatter of hoofbeats and hollers her sisters broke away one by one.

Phoebe guided her horse down a quiet lane and rode along scanning the village for a promising lead. Just as the last rays of daylight were fading, a tiny cabin on the outskirts of the village drew her attention. There wasn't much about it that set it apart from any of the other humble structures except for a tall wooden post in front of the house. She sidled her restless mare next to the unusual piece of wood. Faint lettering could be seen but Phoebe couldn't read it. It almost looked like it had been worn away by the sea. But they were many miles away from the sea.

The house was made of baked mud bricks, the color of sun kissed skin. No flowers in the garden, no discarded toys in the yard. Probably the home of an unwed farmer. It'll do perfectly for her needs. Quickly tying her horse to the odd wooden post, Phoebe approached the entrance. She felt her pulse quicken and her muscles tense the way they always did before battle. She posed herself before the entrance and kicked. The flimsy wooden door gave way with a single blow.

Amazons don't knock.

Dagger raised, she ducked her tall frame through the doorway and surveyed her surroundings. The ceilings were low and the floor was nothing but beaten earth. Yet the fire in the hearth gave the space an air of warmth and comfort. Amphora filled with wine, olive oil and grain were heaped in one corner. Apart from that, furniture and adornments were sparse.

Definitely a bachelor pad.

Although a surprisingly neat one, she admitted to herself.

"Can I help you?" A low composed voice came from the corner.

She turned on her heels to meet its owner. Almost any male from the age of 18 to 80 would do for her purposes. To her tribe men were practically useless except for one biological necessity, their seed. No men- no more Amazon girls. It was a somewhat sticky irony she preferred not to contemplate. But needs must.

"I am of the Alcippe clan. I am here to take your see-..." The prepared speech caught in her throat when she saw who she was addressing.

Silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in from the now doorless doorway stood a large figure. Her eye traced the long shadow cast across the floor to its source- a man-shaped mountain of muscle. Up, up, up her gaze traveled until she reached the dark eyes that were boring back at her.

He stepped forward into the light so that she could view his face. He was handsome, with closely cropped dark brown hair and a 5 o'clock shadow dusting a well-defined jawline. The fire glinted off strong symmetrical features which were arranged in an expression of naked curiosity.

As he sized her up, she returned the favor. She let her eyes map the lines of his body. They wandered across the width of his chest, appreciating the sprinkling of dark hair. Down to a rough tunic, held in place at one very broad shoulder, which fell well north of the knee, revealing powerful thighs. Phoebe hadn't thought it possible but he managed to make a micro-miniskirt look manly. In fact she couldn't find a single feature that didn't look potent and lethal. And sexy.

Phoebe's mouth practically watered. Her body hummed with adrenaline. Biological imperative or not that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy her duty, right?

"That is hardly the custom for entering a guest's ho-"

"Fuck custom." She snarled.

Mount Man-meat ambled towards her, his legs flexing with each cocksure step as if there were wire cables beneath that taut bronze skin. He carried himself like a warrior, ram-rod straight back and a distinct air of danger.

Phoebe craned her neck upward. She was taller than most men but not

this

man. He must have eaten his Wheaties every morning and chased it with a shot of hot sauce. Before he could get any closer she raised her dagger in a defensive motion.

"I don't know, some customs have their uses. Introductions for instance. I'm Philoctetes. You can call me Phil." He held his hand out in a gesture of greeting. She stared down at the large calloused hand but left the gesture unanswered. Why was he not cowering? Everyone else did.

"I am Phoebe of the Amazons."

Enough pleasantries.

"Get on the bed, peasant."

He rubbed his 5 o'clock shadow which was looking more like 7:30 at this point. Then he removed his proffered hand and folded it defiantly across his broad chest. "No"

Phoebe's features hardened with fury. She could hardly believe her ears. She was a great and powerful warrior. Kings and generals alike had knelt at her feet. Yet this insignificant country bumpkin was refusing her. And if she wasn't mistaken he was actually chuckling. Laughing at an Amazon! That was practically a capital offense. "Are you denying a daughter of Ares?"

"Oh no, I'd gladly have you." As he spoke his gaze raked her body with an approving heat that she could almost feel. "But on my terms."

"What makes a lowly farm boy think he can dictate terms?"

"Perhaps you underestimate me. I bet you have a habit of underestimating people." His deep baritone voice rasped. Boldly, he stepped forward so that the tip of her dagger was pressed into the hard plane of his chest. His words pricked at her memory like deja-vu. Something about a

ceiling fan?

But it was hard to think straight with his potent scent surrounding her, invading her senses. He leaned in, his breath barely brushing her neck. "One day you may have to pay for it."

In a flash he reached for the dagger and ripped it out of her hands. It clattered to the ground. A well-trained sweep of the leg knocked her off balance but she recovered from the surprise attack quickly. She latched onto his shoulders as she went down, using momentum to take him with her. They grappled on the ground, rolling this way and that, knocking over tables and chairs, scattering grain and broken pottery all around.

When they finally came to rest Phoebe found herself wedged firmly under Phil's chest, his strong grip pinning her to the ground. Pressed so close he seemed even bigger, harder, more enticingly male. The feel of his warm body against hers was surprisingly good but the look of triumph in his eyes as he looked down at her was intolerable. So she did the only thing she could do. She shrieked and thrashed like a caged fury, but his grasp was too tight. Eventually she gave up, heaving a frustrated sigh.

"Shhh, shhh" He urged like he was calming a skittish mare.

Far from calming her, the gesture had the opposite effect. Phoebe launched into a tirade of obscenities that would have made even a follower of Hades blush. As she spat out a particularly biting insult he grunted and leaned in. Before she could protest his mouth was crushing down upon her. She froze for a heartbeat, too surprised for her body to react. When it finally did the response was not what she had expected. Instead of repelling him her body melted into his like she was a bar of chocolate and he was a dashboard in July.

His warm tongue worked into her mouth and the heavenly heat lured her lips open further. Her eyes flickered shut, her tongue searching for his almost on its own accord. With his firm weight pressing down and his tongue tasting, she longed to rub herself against his hard frame. To surrender to his commanding hold. But then she remembered. She was an Amazon gods-damn-it! She would not be conquered so easily.

The next time he pushed his tongue into her mouth she sank her teeth into it. Hard. He yelped and spat out a small trickle of blood. His eyes flashed for an instant with rage.

No wait.

That wasn't rage that lit his eyes with fire, it was desire. Most men would have cut their losses and gone to find more amiable playmates. But Phil wasn't most men. A little blood lust only seemed to fuel him further.

His lips curled up in a dark grin for a moment before they resumed their assault on hers. Their mouths merged violently, the bruising pressure of his lips set to devour her whole. Teeth nipped, tongues wrestled. Each surged forward and then retreated, both trying to gain the upper hand. Phoebe groaned with a mixture of excitement and frustration. His obstinacy was irritating yet some part of her was secretly thrilled to come across a worthy foe. An adversary who wouldn't buckle under her yoke, who was willing to challenge her. To fight her. To fight

for

her.

Their lips continued to battle for dominance. His weight ground against her, firm and unyielding, as if carved out of brick or steel or some other equally butch material. The hardness of her nipples rubbed against his chest, his own hardness prodding at her stomach. Shamelessly she writhed against it, making him groan. Finally he relented, allowing her complete control of the kiss.

That's more like it.

Reveling in the power, Phoebe drank it in as she plundered his mouth.

Seemingly lost in passion his hold on her wrists relaxed slightly. Big mistake. With a decisive jerk she twisted out of his grip, swinging her leg around him and tilting so that their bodies rolled together. They landed with a thud, this time with her squarely on top.

Looking down at his stunned face she felt a surge of triumph at the minor victory. Though her combatant didn't appear to mind the change in circumstance. Far from it- he groaned in response and peppered kisses down the column of her neck. She threw her head back, letting herself enjoy the seductive sensation.

Now that things were finally going her way she could relax a little, allowing her mind to wander away from combat strategy and onto the hot trail Phil's lips were making down her torso. The feel of his mouth, brushing, nipping, licking the sensitive skin along her collarbone, pushed all other concerns from her head. She barely registered what his hands were doing. Until she felt something click into place around her waist.

Snapped sharply out of her daydream, Phoebe's head shot downward. She found a thick girdle encasing her midsection. Spanning the length from ribcage to hip bones, the heavy leather belt was embellished with shining metal plates. On the plates armor clad warriors attacked a many headed serpent with raised spears. And in the middle of the central monster's forehead was a lock.

What in Hades' hairy hindquarters is this?

She scrambled to her knees. Her eyes grew wide and her fingers went up to her waist to tear into the leather bindings that pressed the belt snuggly into her flesh. Yet her nails could find no purchase on the smooth leather and the belt only seemed to get tighter the more she struggled.

Shit! Fuck! Fuckity!

She looked up at Phil unable to hide the fear and confusion written all over her face.

"It's no use. The belt can only be removed by the person who put it there." He stood and smiled down at her like the cat who ate the cockatrice.

"You're no farmer." She took a good hard look at him, her dark eyes narrowing to suspicious slits.

"Sure I am though I wasn't always a farmer. In a former life I was an Argonaut."

"What are you doing here then?" She gestured to the less than heroic surroundings. Not a likely place to find a hero of Jason's legendary crew who found the golden fleece.

He smirked, his broad shoulders shrugged. "Hero work isn't very steady employment. Quests don't come around so often anymore. So I work the land, find other ways to be useful. To be honest I thought my adventuring days were through, until you kicked down my door. Not that I'm complaining. It's been a long time since I've had such a formidable foe."

Phoebe sprang to her feet and went to throw a left hook but one word from Phil put an end to that. "Stop."