Goddess of Light (36 page)

“Yes, he hurt me, but that's not the part that still affects me. The hurt died with the love. What lived on was self-doubt. I didn't see it coming. I dated him for almost two years. If someone would have told me—at any time before we were married—that this man who seems so wonderful, so perfect, is really a vindictive, angry control freak who is going to try to cage you and break you and make you a frightened wreck of yourself, I would have laughed in his face. I would never have believed it. He pretended to be something he wasn't to trap me, and I didn't see through it . . .” She ended in a whisper.

“The masquerade you were talking about the night we watched the fountain dance. It was your marriage.”

She nodded.

“And when you found out that I was Apollo masquerading as Phoebus, you thought you had made yet another mistake in giving yourself to me.”

“It's not just that. You're the only man I've been with since Duane. I've been working and keeping busy and—” She broke off, not sure of her next words.

“And you have been avoiding love,” Apollo finished for her.

She gave him a quick, sideways look. “Yes.”

“Which makes finding out about my subterfuge even more disturbing.”

“Yes,” she said again.

Apollo considered what she had told him as they followed the twisting path in silence. It made sense now, her continual withdraw from him, and why she couldn't let herself admit her love for him until she was under the intoxicating influence of his sister's power. How surprising to realize that her reticence was more about her past than his—and how refreshing. He suspected that his being a god made less difference to her than his being dishonest with her.

They turned an abrupt corner in the trail and then climbed up an unexpectedly steep incline to find themselves standing atop lumps of sand-colored boulders, worn smooth by time, from the center of which a waterfall poured down into a large, clear pool.

“James was right. This is the perfect spot for a picnic,” Pamela said, looking around her in awe as she wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve. The desert heat was tamer in the canyon, but still the hike had caused a sheen of sweat to break on both of them. Pamela breathed in the water-cooled air and turned her face to catch the little breeze that lifted from the pool.

“I have a feeling James is usually right,” Apollo said. Then he motioned to a flat-topped rock that perched nearby. “Sit with me a moment?”

The climb had served to help rid her of much of the nervous tension that recounting the past had stirred up, and Pamela sat on the sun-warmed rock, curling her legs up under her. She stared down at the sparkling pool, allowing the sound and scent of the gently falling water to soothe her. Apollo sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but still he didn't touch her.

“I will not tell you that I understand what you must feel. I do not. How can I? I cannot even understand why a man would want to cage a woman. I have faults, but wanting to dominate and control women is not one of them.” He pointed to the golden coin bearing his image that still dangled between her breasts. “Remember that, whatever happens between the two of us, I have pledged my protection to you. You may rest assured that this Duane will not harass you again.”

“Thanks,” she said, “but I prefer to clean up my messes myself.”

“Now you sound like my sister.”

“I'll take that as a scary compliment.”

“It was meant as one.” Apollo grinned. Pamela met his gaze and returned his grin. He thought how much he loved her face. It was so open, and her emotions were so honest. He could watch her smile forever. And with a start he realized that she had become his sun, and the God of Light swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. He loved her dearly, and that gave her a power over him that was frightening. If she turned from him . . .

He looked away from her, collecting his thoughts and reining in his emotions. If she turned from him, he would let her go. He would not haunt her life as Duane had. His jaw clenched. She hadn't turned from him yet. And she loved him—he knew she loved him. He turned on the rock so that he could face her and spoke slowly and distinctly.

“I do not understand Duane, and what it was to live under his control and to struggle for your release, but from the first night we met I recognized within your eyes an emotion that I do understand. I know what it is like to wish for more and to feel incomplete without it. What if we were fated to be together? What if everything that has happened in our lives has served one purpose—and that is to prepare us for one another. I am a god, one of the Twelve Olympians. Who would know better the intricate threads the Fates can weave?”

Her eyes sharpened on his, and Apollo chose his words carefully. “I have existed for a very long time, and for most of that existence I have lived in a bright blaze of passion and frivolity. Yes, I have done some good. I brought healing and song and light to the ancient world, but those things were almost an afterthought to me. I always felt hungry. I tried to slake that hunger in the way many men do, be they mortal or immortal. I loved and warred to great excess. It was like I was trying to fill an unending void within me.”

“Apollo, I—” Pamela began, but he shook his head.

“No, these are things you should know. I will not masquerade to win you. I want no falseness between us. You must see me as I am if you are to accept me. I have told you that I did not know love until I knew you. It was more than that. I did not believe in the existence of love. After all, I had lived for eons without it, yet I had sampled all types of pleasures of the flesh. Love was obviously nothing more than a sham to which mortals clung. The God of Light had no use for such a sham. I could not feel it. I did not need it. I did not believe in it.”

He paused and finally allowed himself to touch her briefly as he brushed aside the dark lock of her short, glossy hair.

“Then something happened to change how I viewed my life and my world. And it happened before I met you. What do you know of the god Hades?”

Surprised by the sudden question, Pamela said, “Isn't he the God of the Underworld or something like that?”

Apollo smiled, wishing his friend could hear Pamela's response. “He is Lord of the Underworld. Hades' realm is not filled with misery and torture, like your modern version of hell. It is a place of incredible beauty. I know—I visit there often.”

“You go to Hell?”

Apollo laughed. “I go to the opulent palace of Hades, which is built on the edge of the Elysian Fields. You would like Hades. The two of you have much in common. He designed and built his palace himself.”

“Not like Caesars Palace?” she asked leerily.

“Absolutely nothing like it. I give you my word.”

“That's good to know.”

“But I didn't mention Hades because of his design expertise. I tell you about him because it is important how he and I became friends. My friendship with the God of the Underworld came about because of his wife.”

“Wait! I remember this one. Hades is married to Persephone.” Then her brow wrinkled. “But didn't he abduct her and trick her into marrying him?”

“I doubt anyone could abduct Lina.”

“Lina? So he's not married to Persephone?”

“Hades is married to his soul mate. His soul mate just happens to be a mortal woman from a place in your modern world called Tulsa. Her name is Carolina Francesca Santoro.”

“Tulsa? As in Oklahoma? How is that possible? And what about Persephone?”

“It is a rather long and complicated story. Persephone and Lina share their bodies and their identities. What began as a manipulation by an outside force, in this instance Persephone's mother, Demeter, ended with Hades finding his soul mate in Lina. But how they found each other is not important. What is important is what I watched happen to Hades as he allowed himself to love.”

“Hades didn't want to love a mortal woman?” Pamela asked.

Apollo's lips turned up in the hint of a smile. “Hades didn't want to love anyone, mortal or immortal. He had walled himself away from love, taken the possibility of it from his life. He chose his duties—you would say his job—instead.”

“He and I do seem to have a lot in common,” Pamela said softly.

“Yes, only he had longer than you to perfect his choice. You should know what a loveless life was costing him, Pamela. He had become a shadow of a god, living a numb, emotionless existence.”

“But he was safe,” Pamela whispered. “He didn't feel hurt.”

“You're right. He didn't feel hurt. He didn't feel anything. I said that he and I became friends because of his wife. That is because his love for Lina changed him, it awakened something within him. He went from a dour, humorless shadow to a vibrant god. And their love changed me, too. I watched it unfold, and as I did I began to recognize what it was that I had spent an eternity seeking.” Apollo paused and took Pamela's hand in his. “Hades says Lina is his soul mate, and that in finding her he found his place in the world. Ironically, it is the Lord of the Dead who showed me how it is I want to live.” Apollo raised her hand to his lips. “What I recognized within your eyes was that same seeking hunger I felt within my own soul before you came into my life. Our souls are mirrors, Pamela, because you are my soul mate. And whatever has happened in our lives before now has readied us for one another. I am no longer the heartless god who is able to care for nothing except his own pleasure. You are no longer the naive young woman who would rather love a fantasy than a man.”

“If only I can accept it,” Pamela said.

“Not
it,
sweet Pamela,
me.
You need only accept me.”

She looked into his blue eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath. “I have already accepted you. I just don't know what to do next.”

Then she smiled at him—that open, honest smile he had come to love so much. Apollo felt a bright blaze of joy. She was his soul mate! Mortal or immortal, to him she would always be his partner, his love, his own Goddess of Light. The brilliance of her smile rivaled anything his immortal power could produce. He cupped her face between his hands.

“Next you simply kiss me.” He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “Then we will eat the excellent meal James packed for us.” He kissed her again, this time nibbling gently at her bottom lip. “Then I believe I will make love to you in the pool below us.” This time his kiss lasted long enough to cause Pamela to sigh softly and lean into him. “Tonight when we return to the ranch house, we will spend the night in each other's arms.” He teased her mouth again, thinking that she tasted like sweet wine, except that she was much more intoxicating. “And tomorrow—”

“Shhh,” Pamela cut off his words as she slid into his arms and fitted herself against him. She would not think of the eternity that waited just beyond tonight. She would only think of him. “Do you think we could skip the dinner part and go right to the making love in the water part?”

Apollo laughed happily and stood, scooping her up in his arms. He kissed her thoroughly once more before setting her down. Executing a quick bow, he said with a flash of his brilliant smile, “If you insist.”

This time Pamela took his hand and raised it to her lips before she tugged him in the direction of the path that led down to the level of the pool.

“Wait,” she said after only a few feet. “I'm going to grab the picnic basket. I have a feeling that we're going to work up a gihugic appetite. And anyway . . .” She grinned over her shoulder at him as she scrambled quickly back up the trail to the ledge and bent to retrieve the basket from where Apollo had discarded it. “We shouldn't take James's hard work for—”

The rattling sliced off her words as Pamela's body turned to cold, immovable stone. Somewhere in her mind the thought flashed that it sounded more like the hiss of meat being seared in frying grease than the child's toy after which it was named. A terrible sinking sensation overwhelmed her, and she fought against a flood of vertigo when her eyes followed the path of the sound to find the snake coiled beside the picnic basket just inches from her outstretched hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

APOLLO knew something had gone horribly wrong before he saw the serpent. Pamela froze, midsentence, and through the silent space between them, he heard the deadly sound of the viper's warning. The god's actions were automatic. He lunged forward with his hand up, focusing all of his immortal powers on destroying that which threatened his love.

Nothing happened. He cursed himself for being an impotent, powerless god. No! It wasn't that he was powerless—it was only that he was now a man. It was as a man that he must protect Pamela. As quickly and quietly as possible, he moved into position behind her. The snake was coiled into a huge rope of anger. Its triangular head was raised and staring slit-eyed at Pamela's hand, which was well within striking distance.

“When I move forward, you must leap to the side,” Apollo said in a low, calm voice.

The snake's rattling increased, and Pamela opened her mouth to protest—to warn him away—to scream—to anything . . . but it was too late, Apollo was already moving. He shoved her aside, and with superhuman speed, he met the snake's strike. Pamela screamed as she watched the rattler imbed its fangs into the meaty part of Apollo's hand. And then, snarling an ancient curse, the God of Light grasped the snake's thick body with his other hand. Powerfully, he jerked the snake, wrenching it from his hand. Before it could strike again, Apollo spun his body, whirling the snake with him so that he could crack its head, like the deadly end of a whip, against the rocky ledge. It exploded in a shower of blood, but still the Sun God wasn't satisfied. He cracked it again and again against the rock before hurling its lifeless body over the edge of the cliff and down into the waiting pool.