So, I have for you guys another take on a classic Greek myth. I promise this one is guaranteed to put a smile on your face. I really hope you guys enjoy and don't hesitate to let me know what you think.

I'm going to try to keep up with my normal uploading schedule, but if I can't, please forgive me. I'm training a new puppy on top of being pregnant for the first time. Fingers crossed I can keep all these plates spinning effectively.

Eros waved for the bartender.

The stout man with a face that could frighten a harpy frowned. Eros had already drunk enough to kill a man, but the bartender didn't know that this customer was unlike any that had visited his establishment in the past. None of his mortal drinks could affect the god.

So why did Eros drink?

He couldn't say it was because he liked the burn of alcohol, and it didn't distract from his troubles. Nor was the company great, and the pub offered no pleasing ambiance.

Yet he was some place his mother wouldn't look for him. To have a reprieve from her constant gloating and condescension was a haven all until itself. That alone was more than enough of a reason to consume so much whiskey it dripped from his pores if that was the price to pay to remain in his seat.

To ease the bartender's concern and suspicion, Eros set a ludicrous amount of money (more than the bartender had ever seen, judging by how his perpetually squinting eyes widened) on the counter. "Whatever will suffice," he said.

The hard glint didn't leave the bartender's too alert gaze, but he reached for a bottle of gin. He glanced at a shot glass, shook his head, and slid the full bottle in front of Eros.

Eros took the bottle with a wide grin. "Many blessings on to you and your kin!"

The bartender snorted and turned his attention to another waiting bar fly.

Eros opened the gin and took a long drag from the bottle. He avoided looking to his left, but that didn't mean he didn't sense the evil eye locked on him. In time, he'd have to address the issue, but he hoped it could wait until he finished his gin.

Eutychia was not smiling on him, though that didn't surprise Eros. She'd vowed to hate him until the end of his days, and Eutychia wasn't a goddess that took vows lightly.

Argura, the water nymph that had been Eros' constant companion since his troubles began, pulled the gin bottle from Eros' hands. Her skin, magicked to hide its deep blue hue, was an amusing shade of red. She breathed through her nose so hard and fast Eros would have thought she was the Minotaur resurrected if he was blind.

Eros laughed. "I'll get you your own. No need to steal mine."

Argura poured the gin on the floor.

The bartender's back was turned, and no one alerted him to the mess, but Eros was half-tempted to tattle. All it would do is get Argura kicked out of the pub and she'd wait outside for him to resume the fight, but the prospect of momentary peace was alluring.

"You're so wasteful," Eris chided instead.

Argura shoved the bottle away. "You're being obnoxious, and we're getting dirty looks."

Eros glanced around the gloomy room.

Sure enough, at least half a dozen patrons were eyed the god and his nymph. Eros wondered when it had started. After he'd downed enough alcohol to get the Kraken tipsy or when he'd flashed too much money?

Regardless, Eros didn't care. His limbs itched for action, and though no mortal could best him, plenty in the room could give him a bit of fun.

"Oh, let me be," Eros said once his focus returned to Argura. He sounded like a young godling being denied his favorite toy. It was the tone he'd often used on his mother to great prevail.

It didn't cajole Argura to do his bidding.

Her wide mouth puckered as if she'd just bitten into a spoiled olive. "Is this how you will spend your time then?"

Eros wiggled his eyebrows. He ran his hands up Argura's right thigh. "What should I be doing?"

The over-the-top flirtatious attitude was all a put-on. For one, he'd never considered Argura a romantic interest. Not that she was unattractive (when was a nymph not tempting?), but they'd been friends for so long that he no longer considered her a romantic prospect.

Besides that, his heart had been so thoroughly stolen over two millennia ago that he craved only his love. Argura, or any attractive female, could stand in front of him naked and beg for his attention, and he'd turn away without even considering their assets.

Argura kicked him in the shin. Eros yelped, but not from the pain. He hadn't expected the nymph to resort to violence.

"This won't break the curse."

That he knew, but Eros had tried everything. And for his troubles, all he'd received were too many examples of how the mortal he loved could die. Even if he stayed away, she still perished.

What was the point?

If he was smart, he'd abandon hope.

"What if I don't that anymore?"

The words scalded as he said them, but he wouldn't take them back. Maybe if he repeated them enough, he'd believe them.

Argura's too light and stormy green eyes narrowed. "You're giving up?"

"What else can I do?"

"This is the perfect time to try Sekola's suggestion."

"Oh, yes, because that's what I want to do."

Sekola had been one of Apollo's prophetesses back eight hundred years ago, and she'd been in love with Eros. Despite it being forbidden, she had sought Eros out to deliver a prophecy about him.

She hadn't told him much, just that he needed to seek answers in "a realm that thrives the more mortals innovate". For a hint on a prophecy, it was a shamefully easy one to decipher. The lack of difficulty would insult many (half the fun of a prophecy was the vagueness that allowed for wild speculation), but Eros had welcomed the simplicity.

Yet he hadn't explored the prophecy.

Why?

Eros couldn't say for sure.

Was he afraid of the hinted destination?

Definitely. But that wasn't the sole reason. Maybe he dreaded exploring his last option. For what if he failed? What would that mean then?

"We've come too far to—"

A familiar, horrible burning sensation shot through Eros' skull and the next moment his vision tunneled to black. He lost all sense of his surroundings and his body. All that mattered was the darkness and what it would soon reveal.

The blackness seemed to last forever, but Eros knew it wasn't longer than a few seconds. Then a pinprick of light appeared, and the more Eros fixated on it, the bigger it grew until he was looking at a colored scene playing out in real-time.

A heavily pregnant woman lied on a hospital bed. A doctor sat between her bent legs, his nondescript face stoic. Two nurses flitted about like startled birds, more a hindrance than any help. A third nurse assisted the doctor and experience oozed from her every movement.

The scene did not surprise Eros. He had seen it hundreds of times. The people always looked different, but there was always a doctor of sorts, their three assistants, and a pregnant woman.

Eros was forced to witness this delicate moment right before the baby was born. Without fail, he saw the exact second the woman's heart gave out. Then there was the mad flurry of movement from the doctor as he raced to pull the baby from her mother before she suffocated; the nurses' tears as they realized the woman couldn't be saved.

Eros hated it all, though the horror of it had long ago faded. Now all he felt was a pang of elusive sympathy for the child that would grow up without her mother and as a constant reminder to her father and two older sisters of the sacrifice that had brought her into this world. Maybe this time the child's family would think she was worth it, but Eros doubted it.

The scene was mute until the competent nurse was swaddling the newborn and barking orders at the other two nurses. Then he could hear every word she said, the mutterings of the doctor, and the baby's fusing. It was all said in a language Eros hadn't come across in some cycles. The dialect was different, but that would make it easier to seek the woman the child would become.

Eros was ripped from the scene and tossed back into awareness at the pub thousands of miles away. The pain in his head grew worse and his stomach rolled, making him regret all the alcohol. It took all his willpower to not vomit on the bar.

"Don't you dare get sick!" the bartender said. His voice was as ugly as his appearance.

Argura rubbed Eros' back. "He won't."

"Not enough money in the world to get me to..." The bar-tender continued muttering as he walked to the other side of the bar.

Eros swallowed huge mouthfuls of air. That, combined with Argura's touch, helped soothe his nausea.

After a time, he sat up straight. Argura offered him her glass of water, but he shook his head. He'd lost any desire for food and drink.

"Where is she?" Argura asked.

Eros swallowed twice before answering. "Southern America."

Grim determination gripped Argura's fair features, made her look less likely to frolic in a fountain and more likely to lead a coup. "We'll leave tonight."

Eros sighed. "No, we won't."

"But we have to move now. We take forever to—"

Eros held up a hand and Argura quieted. "You will seek her out. Even without a connection to her, you find her without me."

"And you?"

Eros closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. As much as giving up tempted, the hope that he could beat his mother and break the curse overrode his cowardice. He'd made a vow, and he couldn't go back on it, not if he sought peace. Even if he couldn't be with his love, at least she would no longer suffer.

"I'm going to the Underworld."