The Nymph's Curse: The Collection by Danica Winters Page A

realize you are holding an apple in your hand, right?”
    He looked down at the red orb he was clutching in his left hand. Funny he would ask for luck and life would hand him an apple — the symbol of evil temptation, failure, and disgrace.
    Ariadne reached over and took the orb from his numb fingers. She stood up and smiled empathetically. “Are you hungry?”
    He limply shook his head “no.” Food was the furthest thing from his mind. He needed to find the Labyrinth, he needed to find a new grant — and both things would be damned hard to find in two weeks.
    “Great, I’m starving.” She took a bite of the red, corrupted apple. A drip slipped down the corner of her mouth and she brushed it away with the tips of her fingers.
    The apple rolled from her hand and dropped into the garbage can with a thud. “What’s going on with you, Beau? Aren’t you happy about the site being opened to visitors?” she asked, but her voice was filled with a distinct edge of anger.
    “Someone called the NSF.”
    “What?” she asked, as she wiped her fingers against the hem of her yellow sundress.
    “They cut my funding.”
    Her gaze snapped up to his face as she dropped the edge of her dress. A smile flickered across her lips, but was quickly replaced by a look of concern. “What are you going to do?”
    He looked at her golden eyes and let his gaze move down to her dirt-smudged shirt.
    She hasn’t changed since we’d been together in the tent …
    He smiled, wild and menacing. “You know what, Aria? I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight ’til I find what I know is there. I’m gonna dig until my fingers bleed and I have no skin left on my knees. I’m going to change history.”
    Beau grabbed her hand and pulled her into the street. “Where are we going?” she asked, but allowed him to lead her without protest.
    He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed through the crowds of people until he finally reached the small bar he had spotted.
    Ariadne pulled back. “Let’s go somewhere else. Trust me … The Mouse Hole isn’t a great place for tourists.”
    Ignoring her, he put his hand on the door and pushed. The door opened with a loud creak and he pulled Ariadne inside. A table of ribald men looked up as they entered. The largest of the group looked past him and smiled at Ariadne with a mouth full of black teeth. The man ran his hands over his greasy hair, and Beau pulled Ariadne in the opposite direction. They had been through enough for one day; all they needed was a drink.
    A big-chested woman stomped over to their table with a begrudging sigh. She bent over as she reached for the menus at the far side of the table, and her breasts threatened to spill over the thin fabric of her grease-stained top. Ten years earlier, the woman may have been considered attractive, but with a finger of gray in her almost-black hair mixed with the creases around her lips, she bordered on disturbing. The saying “ridden hard and put away wet” came to mind as he tried to look anywhere but at her over-tanned cracking chest, which rested in front of his face.
    She thrust the menus into each of their hands. “Whatta ya want?” she grumbled.
    Crete was known for their great wines, but from the flickering lights and the dank smell of urine that wafted around them, this bar didn’t seem like the right place to order a Shiraz. “Ouzo, straight up.”
    The woman made a grumbling noise and looked at Ariadne. Ariadne shifted slightly in her seat. She turned the menu over in her hands and her tattoo came into view. The barkeep sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry, Mistress … I didn’t recognize you.” The woman wiped her dirty fingers on the thighs of her skirt, leaving a grimy trail in their wake.
    Ariadne shook her head slightly. “We’ll take two of those, in
regular
glasses.”
    The lady spun on her heel and almost sprinted back to the wooden bar.
    “Regular glasses?” he asked, confused by what had just transpired.
    She looked at him and