Cate Masters interviews Dion (or Dionysus, God of the Vine)

Cate: Thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit today, Dionysus.
Dion: Please, call me Dion. It’s my great pleasure to be here, Cate. I have all the time in the world, and am honored to be your guest.

Cate: Well, sure, as an immortal, time’s a luxury, but I know you’re busy with your vineyards… how many do you have?
Dion: My bookkeeper could tell you. I don’t annoy myself with such details. I’m more interested in how my wines pleasure people.

Cate: Hm, pleasure and sometimes… pain.
Dion: Shifting in his seat, taking a sip of water. People’s pain is mostly self-inflicted, wouldn’t you agree? Smiling, he sweeps his hand through the air. I encourage celebrations, feelings of joy.

Cate: There’s a dark side to that as well. According to my research, The God of the Vine can either be a friend or the cause of a person’s downfall.
Dion: Frowns. If nasty rumors are to be believed. His voice roils with echoing thunder. I refuse to perpetuate such nonsense. Lightning cracks in the sky. If someone drinks to excess, am I to be blamed?

Cate: I apologize if I’ve offended you. Let’s move on. I must say, you bear a striking resemblance to Antonio Banderas.
Dion: Resting his arms along the back of the sofa. Of course you mean he resembles me.

Cate: Blushing. True, since you pre-date him by centuries. Not that you look your age. My point is, you look fantastic.
Dion nods like a king. A very sexy king.

Cate: So, Dion, tell me about the Maenads. They’re a very uh, interesting group of women.
Dion: Rolling his eyes. The Maenads. Yes, they’re lovely. And I’m truly grateful for their dedication, though they tend to go… overboard. In this new millennium, some of our old ways are no longer, shall we say, appropriate?

Cate: Such as feasting on human flesh?
Dion: Points in emphasis. An excellent example.

Cate: Mm, I can see that might be more than an embarrassment.
Dion: I have no shame about their loyalty to me. They live free, true to their own ideals, singing my praises, dancing in the forest.

Cate: An idyllic existence, certainly. But since you mentioned being in the new millennium… what of their own desires? What if they wanted to pursue a career?
Dion: Of course I’d support them. In fact, I’ll probably be needing a good lawyer, maybe more than one… So long as it doesn’t interfere with their Maenad duties. Smiles sweetly.

Cate: Way to be modern, Dion.
Dion: Frowns. You don’t approve?

Cate: Let’s move on. When you met Clio…
Dion: Ahhh, Clio. A beautiful woman. The epitome of womanhood.

Cate: So you don’t deny you had a thing for her?
Dion: A thing? Do you speak of my manhood? Because I would have loved to—

Cate: Blushing. No, no, I meant you had feelings for her. In fact, you tried to steal her from her husband Jon.
Dion: He was unworthy of her love. I could have given Clio anything she desired. Not to mention, she’d have me.

Cate: Well, I applaud your graciousness in allowing her return to Jon. Not many gods would have shown such grace. Or self-control.
Dion: Now that you mention it, I’ve been wanting to ask about a rewrite. If I could have a little more time with Clio in my bedroom, I know I could convince her to leave her pitiful husband. After all, I’m a god.

Cate: As anyone can plainly see. But of all the Greek gods, you stood out for your faithfulness to your mortal wife, Ariadne.
Dion: Sniffles, tears well in his eyes. I loved Ariadne with my heart and soul, and have been in anguish these past centuries without her. So when I saw Clio, I felt sure the Fates had purposely sent her to me to take Ariadne’s place. The Fates can be such a cruel tease.

Cate: I second that. So what are your plans now, Dion? Anyone else special you have your eye on?
Dion: Many women have responded to my tweets and Facebook status updates, offering themselves to me.

Cate: But you’re still holding out for Clio? Honestly, Dion, you have to move on.
Dion: Oh, no. I’ve bedded many of them. I do, however, still hold a special place in my heart for Clio, and always will. Now, if we could discuss that rewrite…

Cate: Sorry, Dion. Clio’s Choice is already published on Amazon and Smashwords. Rewrites aren’t an option at this point.
Dion: A sequel, then. Moving closer, he caresses her knee. Surely you can understand how important it is to me. His hand moves up her thigh.

Cate: Mm, you’re very persuasive, Dion.
Dion: Nibbles her ear. I can also fill your cellar with enough bottles of wine to last a lifetime.

Cate: I’d love for you to uh, fill my cellar. That’s all for now, folks. Thanks for stopping by, but we have to cut this short.
Dion: Murmurs, Oh, no. It won’t be short.

Cate: Oh! No, it certainly isn’t. Giggles. Bye, everyone! Shoos them away. Oh, before you go, take a moment to read an excerpt, reviews, view the trailer, and more for Clio's Choice at: http://catemasters.blogspot.com/2007/12/lure-of-vine-contemporary-paranormal.html  But no peeking anywhere else…

Torn between a god and a godlike husband

What’s a girl to do? Clio’s so in love with Jon, her new hubby, she’s got that honeymoon glow. But when she meets Jon’s new client, Dion, something about him seems strangely familiar. Intimately familiar.

While I researched Greek mythology for my fantasy romance, The Duende and the Muse, I came across some interesting info about Dionysus, God of the Vine, and his followers, the Maenads.

Dionysus was madly in love with his mortal wife, Ariadne. One of the few gods to remain faithful to any woman, he mourned her for eternity. He looks a lot like Antonio Banderas, doesn't he? :)

In ancient times, Dionysus became a master marketer to push his product: wine. He enticed people to drink by any means, and could be either friend or foe to humans. Sometimes both.

The Maenads worshipped Dionysus, but also lived in complete freedom. They slept beneath the stars, sang and danced in the forests. And, oh yeah, ripped to shreds animals or humans they happened upon, and feasted on their flesh.

As an immortal, Dionysus would, theoretically, still be in existence today. Still promoting his product. And still yearning for Ariadne. Or someone very like her...

Clio’s Choice intertwines these legends in a tale of present day. I hope you'll read it and let me know what you think!

Formerly published by Freya’s Bower, Clio’s Choice is newly re-released on Amazon and Smashwords. A reviewer said: A nice SPICY read that is titillating, sexy and an ending that makes the journey worth the trip :)  What a wonderful little read that is not the typical Harry met Sally, I enjoyed the drama, the lust and the issues right until the bitter end.

Check out the book video and more here.

Here's an excerpt (warning – have ice on hand before reading!) :)

On the wall opposite his bed hung a portrait. The likeness stunned her. “Oh my God. How did you…?” When could he have had a portrait made of her?

“She’s my wife.” He sat on the bed and stared at the painting, his eyes like glass. “Ariadne.”

“Your wife?” She walked closer, the portrait almost breathing, as though she were looking in the mirror. “It’s amazing.”

“When I saw you, it was as if….” He lay back on the bed, laid his forearm across his eyes.

“Oh, Dion.” She sat next to him. Ariadne. She’d heard that name before.

“I miss her so terribly.” Pain cracked his voice.

“I’m sorry. If I had known….” She couldn’t finish – what? She wouldn’t have come here?

He sat up and held her shoulders. “Ariadne. My princess.” His voice held an unfamiliar gruffness.

“No. I’m Clio.” She pushed at his arms.

With one swift movement, he twisted her beneath him. “The Fates brought you back to me.”

The Fates. Ariadne. Dion…. Her mother had told her bedtime tales when she was growing up. The realization hit her. “Dionysus.” The God of the Vine.

It couldn’t be, didn’t make sense.

Hearing his true name, his face alighted with happiness. His mouth sought hers. A life force flowed from the portrait through Clio’s veins, overwhelmed her senses, as if she’d drunk a case of his wine. His wet lips traveled down her neck. The strap of her bathing suit fell away, revealing her breast. He suckled and nibbled at her. His fingers slid between her legs, his tongue tracing her ribs, then her hips.

With the wind in her long, mahogany hair and the moon through the palm trees, the drumbeats penetrated her luminously pale skin. She moved her feet like a tribal native, her arms and hands curved like flower petals, stronger than any hook, luring him to her. He moved like a matador to claim her.

Her unbounding love made her heart wild. She led him to their bungalow and shut the door on the last shadows of the day. 

His tongue licked and teased. With a groan, she arched her back, inviting more, but wanting nothing of him. A swirl of thoughts stormed through her mind, fighting for dominance. Her writhing body screamed for completion. Her breaths came hard and fast, a wave of passion cresting within her.

He slid his leg across hers, then hovered above her. “You are my queen again.”

His words sobered her. Two desperate needs clashed within her, to reunite with a husband for whom yearning had surpassed sanity, and to escape, to find a husband she loved more than anything.

 “I will do anything for you.” Her lips brushing his cheek, she whispered, “Anything.”

In the distance, the drums beat faster and faster.

Her words from her wedding night returned to her again: I will do anything for you.

Dancing with Fate - Excerpt #4

This is from one of the earlier chapters of the story, before Terpsichore and Myrddin meet, when she believes her mission is over - when really it is just about to begin!


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How long had it been since she was last in this place? On Olympus, time meant little to a god, but in the land of mortals it was different. Terpsichore took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and looked around. The grass seemed a little greener, the leaves on the trees darker, thicker. The season was drawing on toward summer. She studied the sky, the color of the bluebells which had carpeted the clearing when she first arrived, now replaced by blossoms of many different hues. A few wisps of cloud drifted lazily across and the air shimmered, warm and still.

Terpsichore was content. She'd travelled the length of Cymru and inspired men and women to dance again. Whenever she came across a receptive individual, she'd given her gift and they in turn encouraged others to dance. The shadows of war had lifted for a while, and once more, the land was filled with music and the delight of movement. She'd finished her task. Of course, the time would come when Cymru would again need to rise up against her oppressors and the hills would echo with the sound of fighting. Wales, land of song, would once more know sorrow. However, Terpsichore had chosen those she inspired with care. The music of Wales would not die again. This time, they would not let her down. The joy of the dance would remain whatever befell these people. Her mission completed, she could return to Olympus.

The sound of the waterfall behind her caught her attention. Oh, how she missed the spring of Hippocrene, created when Pegasus struck the rock of the Helicon Mountain with his hoof and the crystal water poured forth. Beautiful as this country was, it would be good to be home. She turned and gazed at the water tumbling down the mountainside in a frenzy of white froth, the spray catching the rays cast by Helios, making rainbows dance in the clear air. The water called to her—she was, after all, like her sisters, a water nymph. She longed to immerse herself in its cooling spray, to be as one with the living water.

"What harm can it do? Cleanse yourself—rid your body of the dust of Earth before returning to Olympus. "

The voice in her mind was all too familiar. "Dionysus! What are you doing here? Get out of my mind"

"Certainly, dear sister, would you prefer me to materialize in all my glory?"

Before she could answer, he appeared, seated upon a rock, his ever-present maenads fawning at his feet.

He held out a goblet of wine. "You seem in poor spirits, sister. Have a drink; it will put you in a better humor."

"My humor’s  fine, Dionysus. I'm about to go home. I don't need any of your wine." She turned her head away from the sight of the maenads drunkenly running their hands over his body.

All at once, the purity of the day seemed tainted. How had he found her? Was it he who had eavesdropped upon her conversation with Apollo? She sighed. Somehow, she did not think so. Dionysus in his state of permanent intoxication could hardly have moved so stealthily, nor concealed his retinue of women followers.

Dionysus hiccupped loudly, causing the vines around his neck to bounce and rustle.

Again, he held out the goblet of wine. "Oh, we are 'Miss Prim and Proper' today, aren't we? Go on, lighten up, take a sip, it won't hurt you." He learned toward her, his handsome, if somewhat effeminate features wearing an innocent expression that belied the glint in his blue eyes. "After all, you wouldn't want to upset your brother, would you?"

Terpsichore refrained from commenting that he was, in fact, only one of her many half-brothers. She pursed her lips, reached for the goblet and took a small sip, before handing it back. It did not do to offend the god. She recalled that despite his affable manner, he had a dark side and it was better not rub him up the wrong way. "Thank you. Now, I really must be leaving."

His smile was more of a smirk. "All right, I can take a hint. If I were you, I'd have a good long soak in that pool before you go. Go on, you know you want to."

He lurched unsteadily to his feet, causing one of his Maenads to loose her hold on him, and fall over, giggling. He grabbed her arm and moments later they all disappeared like mist in the heat of a summer's day.

To Hades with her demented half-brother.  She pursed her lips. The more she thought about it, the more the allure of the water drew her to it. She should never have taken that wine—not even a sip. Who knew what enchantment he'd put in it?

She shrugged. What was she thinking? She was her own goddess, wasn't she? If she wanted to bathe, she would. She certainly didn't need any charmed wine to make her decisions for her. In an instant, her Celtic clothing melted away.

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