tango in Buenos Aires and attending carnival in Rio de Janeiro. One fateful day, he had mused how he wished their time together could be infinite. Imagine if they could spend all eternity together. He had read her a poem with a recipe for immortality. Rapidly approaching her mid forties, the Silver Goddess had been fearful of losing her youthful beauty. With this potion, she would remain crystallized in all her plush vitality and allure. Together, she and Pedro had ventured to the Island of Vinova and imbibed the prescribed wine and herbs. The wine promised an eternity together. Never would they grow old. Never would they die. Never would they part.
But they did part. She forced herself to relive that irreversible day when ominous gray clouds had breathed across the sky from the tip of dawn, seeping into the sunshine in their hearts. How many seasons had they spent together in genuine bliss? How many blazing sunsets before their union became mundane and colorless? She had never expected to tire of Pedro and feel the fiery flush of passion morph into arctic indifference. Each time he had looked at her in the days before she banished him, his eyes had shimmered with frost. Pedro had been gone for 99 years, and she acknowledged with an unwilling sadness that some day, buried inside the Immortality Abyss of her own making, she would inevitably lose count of how much time they had spent apart.
The Silver Goddess wrapped her arms tightly around Thaddeus, trying to drown out these memories with his body. Rhythmically, they danced the erotic tango that was balm for them both.
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California
Present Day
Like tropical rain, beads of sweat pattered down Herculea Sanchez’s face. Her kickboxing class had run five minutes over, she noted, frowning, as she glanced at the time on her cell phone. Would she have time to drive home, shower, dress, and get to the meeting at the university? She wiped a towel across her brow and jogged towards the locker room to splash her face with cold water. As she moved, she felt a pair of eyes on her. Sliding the towel off her face, she looked up and locked eyes with a man she had never seen before. Scandalized, Herculea felt his midnight brown eyes bore into hers as he appraised her shamelessly.
Suddenly aware of how horrid she must smell after the vigorous workout, Herculea felt the urge to run past him. She had lost count of how many lunges, jumping jacks, and squats she had done in the boot camp-style class. The man seemed transfixed, though, and was transfixing her as well. If she tried to run, she was sure she would stumble and fall, probably tripping over a treadmill and making a total fool of herself. So she continued the staring game with the handsome stranger, solidly muscled in his black shorts and tee-shirt. Finally, he broke the silence, but did not let up his intensive gaze.
“ Buenos días, señorita ,” he breathed like an incantation.
The Spanish words startled Herculea. Born in Peru, Herculea spoke fluent Spanish. But with the man’s unnerving stare and arresting presence, she doubted she could speak intelligibly in any language.
“Hello,” she said almost in a whisper, not sure if her heart was still pounding from the intensity of her workout or the thrill of this unexpected moment.
“Hello,” he replied in subtly accented English. “I spoke to you in Spanish because I thought maybe you are from my country.”
“What is your country?” She asked curiously.
“Argentina.” The word swept his full lips like a caress.
“Ah, Argentina. I love Argentina. I was there for work once. But I’m from Peru.” The information spilled from her lips against her will.
The stranger’s eyes widened in further interest as he asked, “What work brought you to Argentina?”
“I’m a cultural anthropologist. My research is focused on South America, and I was in Buenos Aires for a
But they did part. She forced herself to relive that irreversible day when ominous gray clouds had breathed across the sky from the tip of dawn, seeping into the sunshine in their hearts. How many seasons had they spent together in genuine bliss? How many blazing sunsets before their union became mundane and colorless? She had never expected to tire of Pedro and feel the fiery flush of passion morph into arctic indifference. Each time he had looked at her in the days before she banished him, his eyes had shimmered with frost. Pedro had been gone for 99 years, and she acknowledged with an unwilling sadness that some day, buried inside the Immortality Abyss of her own making, she would inevitably lose count of how much time they had spent apart.
The Silver Goddess wrapped her arms tightly around Thaddeus, trying to drown out these memories with his body. Rhythmically, they danced the erotic tango that was balm for them both.
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California
Present Day
Like tropical rain, beads of sweat pattered down Herculea Sanchez’s face. Her kickboxing class had run five minutes over, she noted, frowning, as she glanced at the time on her cell phone. Would she have time to drive home, shower, dress, and get to the meeting at the university? She wiped a towel across her brow and jogged towards the locker room to splash her face with cold water. As she moved, she felt a pair of eyes on her. Sliding the towel off her face, she looked up and locked eyes with a man she had never seen before. Scandalized, Herculea felt his midnight brown eyes bore into hers as he appraised her shamelessly.
Suddenly aware of how horrid she must smell after the vigorous workout, Herculea felt the urge to run past him. She had lost count of how many lunges, jumping jacks, and squats she had done in the boot camp-style class. The man seemed transfixed, though, and was transfixing her as well. If she tried to run, she was sure she would stumble and fall, probably tripping over a treadmill and making a total fool of herself. So she continued the staring game with the handsome stranger, solidly muscled in his black shorts and tee-shirt. Finally, he broke the silence, but did not let up his intensive gaze.
“ Buenos días, señorita ,” he breathed like an incantation.
The Spanish words startled Herculea. Born in Peru, Herculea spoke fluent Spanish. But with the man’s unnerving stare and arresting presence, she doubted she could speak intelligibly in any language.
“Hello,” she said almost in a whisper, not sure if her heart was still pounding from the intensity of her workout or the thrill of this unexpected moment.
“Hello,” he replied in subtly accented English. “I spoke to you in Spanish because I thought maybe you are from my country.”
“What is your country?” She asked curiously.
“Argentina.” The word swept his full lips like a caress.
“Ah, Argentina. I love Argentina. I was there for work once. But I’m from Peru.” The information spilled from her lips against her will.
The stranger’s eyes widened in further interest as he asked, “What work brought you to Argentina?”
“I’m a cultural anthropologist. My research is focused on South America, and I was in Buenos Aires for a
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