Poseidon

God of the Sea? Not anymore. Mount Olympus is closed for business. Fine by me. I’ve got a sweet mountaintop hideaway, a vintage bike that roars louder than Apollo on his best day, and I’m Vice President of the Gods of Thunder MC.

All the heartache and frustration I had to deal with as one of the Gods? Gone. Don’t miss it one bit. Most of the time.

I got low. Okay? Whiskey’s great and all. But it doesn’t hold a candle to Dionysius’s wine. Which is also gone. That’s why I was standing at the edge of the cliff staring down at the surf.

And now? There’s a half-drowned, naked woman in my bed who doesn’t know who she is—or that she’s a mermaid. Someone cursed her, and by my Trident, I’m going to find them and bring the pain.

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