Eurydice has a difficult decision to make-choose a brief but perfect love, foretold to end in tragedy, or resign herself to a pleasant partnership that could potentially last forever. Not only does she find herself torn between two men, but also between a friend who would be hurt by one choice and gods who would be infuriated by the other. What's a poor Naiad to do? You may think you know the tale of Orpheus and his lyre, but you've never heard it told like this, from the perspective of the woman who loved him, with an ending that will leave your heart singing. ----------- Warnings: This title contains erotic situations, graphic language, and a plethora of sex between gods and nymphs and demigods and, well you get the idea... ----------- EXCERPT: The red beauty of the rose deepens When thorn enters flesh, Freshness fades and fades then Into Death's stilling breast... Each bloom in my grasp would fall If I were to never let go So I carry the sweetness on and on And do not look back...road upon road to follow... The last note echoed, a perfectly bittersweet end. She couldn't help it-her hand cupped his cheek, her fingers trailing there. "That's so sad." His smile was sad, too. "Story of my life." "Sadness?" He nodded. "Bittersweet, remember?" "But you must be like the sailors," she teased. "A woman in every port." "Yes." His admission made her feel as if she couldn't breathe all of a sudden. The thought of him with another woman... "But never just one." "Do you want just one?" "I do." He put his lyre aside and slid his big body next to hers. "This one." "How do you know that?" It was hard to trust her feeling, her instinct, and believe he wanted her. Not because she was an irresistible nymph, not just because she was beautiful, desirable...but because she was meant to be his. It felt crazy, completely irrational, but that's what she wanted to believe. He touched his forehead to hers and his breath was sweet-like honey. "I just know." This kiss was long and lingering, and she gave herself to it completely. She didn't want to pretend anymore. All of her longing and feeling went into the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body full into his. Her passion ignited his and he groaned against her mouth, his tongue slipping between her lips, exploring the soft corners of that orifice. Her body hummed with wanting him and she gasped when he rolled full onto her, pressing her down into the ground with his weight. I dreamed this. She remembered something so like this-even the sound of the stream and the call of the colorful birds, the strange "bryyitt" call of the birds they had named bee-eaters from tree to tree, were all the same. His mouth moved down her neck, his teeth raking there, and she moaned, feeling his knee pressing between hers, the material there riding up between her legs. The heat was incredible, and she rocked with his thigh between hers, nails digging into the skin of his upper arms. He didn't seem to mind or notice as he kissed his way down to her breasts, pulling the material down to expose them to his mouth, his hands. She wanted to give herself to him completely right there at the edge of her stream. She wanted to give herself and be taken at once, rolling around until they were wet and filthy and arching with their lust in the wet recesses of her stream. She knew if it went much further, that's just what was going to happen, and there would be no stopping. His lips covered her nipples, one after the other, back and forth, driving her to distraction. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but want him.