The Revelation (Pandora's Harem 1) A Reverse Harem Tale(7)

I shake my head and force the thought from my mind. I’m thinking way too much about these damn mythological beasts. Sleep is what I need. A nice eight hours of uninterrupted peace.

Pulling back the pink and white striped comforter and sheet, I hop into bed. My memory foam pillow feels like heaven, which is not the same as Olympus. Bed is my domain. My gods-free domain.

My eyelids slowly close.



Heat seeps into my back and stirs me from my sleep. I move to turn over, but my shoulder has nowhere to go.

I curve my spine, feel a hunk of firm muscle resting against it.

A heavy weight drapes over my midriff.

What the hell?

I open my eyelids and come face to face with a metal helmet propped on the pillow in front of me. A Spartan helmet to be exact, and not one of those reenactment replicas, but the real deal. I know because I’ve worked with several pieces of authentic Spartan gear in the university’s collection. This one even has a dent on the skull.

Thoughts of Zeus’s book pop into my mind.

My gaze flies to the nightstand, my heart beating erratically.

Luckily, the massive volume is still in the same spot where I had left it last night, though I can’t say everything else is the same. There’s a lot more in my room now than when I went to bed, namely a pair of long legs with well-muscled thighs covered up in jeans. My gaze inches upward. I blush. The man who belongs to these legs is just as much the real deal as is the helmet sitting on my pillow. This guy has a full package and I do mean full.

Gods, there are intruders in my apartment. Even in my bed. And I’m ogling a dude’s crotch. Pandora is never going to learn.

Little imp.

I should be calling nine-one-one, but the landline is in the kitchen. I can’t even use my damn cell phone because brilliant girl that I am, I left the darn thing in my purse. In the vestibule.

Stupid Pandora.

Maybe if I shout loud enough, my neighbor will hear me. But that will also call attention to me and that might not be what I want, now that I know I’m Pandora. What would the gods do if I call the cops? Oh, crap. I just need to face it. I’m in a heap of shit with no way out.

I shut my eyes and pray the goons will just take my money and whatever measly pieces of jewelry I have in the trinket box on the dresser, and be gone. Though I doubt the guy at my back is here just to rob me.

“Of course we are not here to rob you, Pandora,” a very deep, very male, voice says.

I open my eyes. Slowly.

A tall guy—I’m guessing six two, maybe even taller—dressed in black leather pants, black sweater and matching boots, walks in to the room, his hands bearing a tray with a plate of food and a glass of apple juice.

“I didn’t know what you eat for breakfast, so I cooked you up eggs, pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage, and a serving of sliced orange.” He sets the tray on the nightstand, next to Zeus’s tome.

The other guy, the one with the nice package, saunters over to the doorway and leans against the jamb, folds his arms over his chest. He says nothing, but the pensive look in his deep brown eyes reaches into my soul. I think he’s staring right through me.

I swallow. “Who are you? And what do you want?”

“Shouldn’t we be asking you that?” Mr. Breakfast asks. “You’re the one who summoned the three of us.”

Summoned? What the heck is Adonis talking about? “I didn’t summon anyone.” I don’t even know how to summon a soul.

“You did,” the brooding guy at the door says. “Last night.”

The dude who whipped me up breakfast agrees with his friend. He even nods. “We’re your Spartans, Pandora. Here to protect you.”

Chaos’s warning about watching what I say and do, resonates through my head. Shit. I should have never said that little poem about slumber, death, and Spartans. But who would have thought my words would come into being? Now I have two massively muscled Spartans standing in my room, and probably another at my back, in my bed. Three protectors as the one dude said. This can’t be real. “When you say you’re here to protect me, you mean as in guardians? As in, to keep me safe?”

“Exactly.”

I don’t think I’m going to like this, because if I have three guardians, then that means trouble is right around the corner. And if I need three Spartans as my protectors, then that trouble has to be huge. I’m not sure what to do about this, but for now, I just keep staring at the guy who cooked me breakfast.

“I’m Leonidas,” he says. “And no, I’m not the famous Leonidas, but I did serve with him. And yes, the three of us are immortals.” He stretches over the bed and slaps the guy sleeping behind me.

The man bolts up. “Aw…fuck. I must have dozed off.”

I glance over my shoulder only to find a very sexy dude, also as tall as the other two warriors. He’s dressed almost identical to Leonidas, except his sweater is beige rather than black. He also has blond, shaggy hair, and a boyish looking face. But still, just as sinfully sexy as Leonidas and the moody guy.

I have to be dreaming. Why else would I think there are real live Spartan warriors in my bedroom? They don’t even look the part, not a single Spartan thing about any of them, save for the helmet that’s still perched on the pillow in front of me.

I gaze at the dude standing at the door.

“That’s my brother Lycus,” Leonidas says, bringing my attention back to him, his brilliant blue eyes staring right at me. “He’s wolf, so consider yourself forewarned.”