by P. C. Cast
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.
Gulping air, his head snapped around to find Pamela. She was crouched not far from him, eyes wide with shock. "Did it harm you?"
"No," she shook her head in two shaky movements.
Relief washed over him just before the pain sliced through him, driving him to his knees. His hand! He hadn't even felt the viper's strike—he'd felt only blinding fury and the need to protect Pamela. He turned his burning hand over. The agony was racing up his arm from two bloody puncture wounds near his wrist below his thumb.
"Here, let me see it." Pamela was on her knees beside him, reaching blindly for the picnic basket. Her face was ghostly, and her hands were shaking, but her voice was firm. He gave her his hand and she sucked in her breath. "Oh, God. I knew it got you." She stared up into his face, cradling his bloody hand against her body while she groped through the basket. "What are you feeling?"
"Fire," he said shortly, surprised to find that he was still struggling for breath. He tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a groan. "It feels like my hand is on fire."
"You'll be fine. You'll be fine. Here, sit back and lean against the rock." She helped guide his shoulders until they rested against the smooth stone as he almost fell back from his knees, telling herself all the while that she had to stay calm… she could not panic. "Keep sitting up." She lay his wounded hand, palm up, gently on his thigh, trying desperately to remember everything she'd ever heard about poisonous snakebites. V had forced her to read an article not long ago about hiker safety. Think! "Make sure your hand stays below the level of your heart," she told Apollo, who nodded weakly. Then she turned her full attention to the basket. "Where is the fucking cell phone!" she said through teeth that kept wanting to chatter. "Ah!" Victorious, she hastily punched star sixty-two. "Come on… come on…" she muttered. Looking back through the basket, she jerked out the two bottles of water. While she spoke into the phone, she unscrewed one of the bottles and handed it to Apollo, who drained half of it in one swallow.
"Yes, this is Pamela Gray. I'm a guest of E. D. Faust. My assistant and I are at the top of the pool in First Creek Canyon, and he has just been bitten by a rattlesnake," she spoke quickly and clearly, as if she wasn't riding on the edge of panic.
"First, are you certain it was a rattlesnake, ma'am?" the dispatcher asked in a calm, professional voice.
"Yes, I'm sure. Triangular head, dull brown body. Rattles."
"I'm sending an EMT team to you right now, Pamela."
She could hear the clicks and squawks of the dispatcher's radio in the background. Then he began firing specific questions at her.
"Where was he bit?"
"On his right hand. Below his thumb right around his wrist."
"Be sure he is sitting or lying down and that his hand is below the level of his heart."
"Already did that."
"Is he conscious?"
Pamela's eyes met Apollo's. "Yes," she said.
"In a great deal of pain?"
"Yes, he says it feels like fire." Her voice broke.
"Pamela, it is very important that you keep him calm. Do not let him panic. He needs to stay as quiet as possible."
"I understand." Get control! she ordered herself. If she fell apart, he had no one.
"Okay, do you have water?"
"Yes."
"Wash the wound, but be careful not to move his hand or arm around too much."
"I'll do that now, hang on." She put the phone on the ground next to her and grabbed the other bottle of water. "There's help on the way, but the bite needs to be washed out right away. I hope it doesn't hurt, but it might. You're supposed to stay as quiet as you can, so even if it hurts try not to jerk away."
"Do what you must. I will not pull away from you."
When she cupped his hand gently in hers, he closed his eyes, and as she poured the bottled water over the deep fang marks, the only movement he made was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
She wiped the blood-tinged water from her hands onto her shorts and picked up the phone.
"That's done. What else?"
"Remove any rings, bracelets or watch he has on that hand or arm."
"He's not wearing any."
"Good. Now all you can do is keep him calm and treat him for shock."
"Shouldn't I make a tourniquet or something?"
"No, the bite is too close to his wrist joint. Keeping him quiet and making sure that he doesn't lose any body heat will help him more. Do not let him sleep. He may have a rapid pulse or labored breathing. He may also go into seizures, or even become unconscious. Rattlesnake venom is extremely painful. Be prepared for his reaction to the pain."
"When will the paramedics get here?" It was hard for her to speak through the fear beating around inside her breast.
"They will be there in less than twenty minutes. Stay calm, Pamela. A rattlesnake bite is a serious event, but it does not have to be fatal."
The word fatal knifed her heart.
"I—I am feeling—" Apollo began, but broke off as he tilted sideways, eyes fluttering.
"Gotta go," Pamela told the dispatcher before tossing the phone aside and scrambling over to Apollo. "No!" she said, straightening him back against the boulder. "You can't pass out." She touched his face. His skin felt hot. "Don't leave me!"
His eyes fluttered once more, and then opened. He blinked rapidly, as if he was having trouble focusing on her face.
"Pamela," he said faintly.
"Apollo, stay with me," she said. Reaching into the basket, she pulled out one of the linen napkins, wet it with a little of the water left in his bottle, and gently wiped the sweat from his face.
"That feels good," he murmured, "cool… nice." He grimaced as another tide of molten lava rolled up through his arm. "So this is what it feels like to be burned. Ironic, isn't it, that it should happen to me?" he panted.
"It'll be okay," she said, wiping his brow. "The paramedics will be here any second. They'll bring the antivenin. You'll be okay. You have to be okay."
Apollo blinked again, trying to clear his vision. "You're crying." His unwounded hand tried to brush the tears from her cheeks but ended up falling weakly back to his side. "Don't cry, sweet Pamela. I already told you that the Greek Underworld is a rare and beautiful place. Like you, my soul mate, are a rare and beautiful woman."
"Don't talk about the Underworld!" Fresh tears rolled soundlessly down her face. "You can't die. You're Apollo, God of Light!"
"At this moment the God of Light is very much a mortal man." He paused. His panting was making it difficult to talk. The fire in his arm was spreading quickly. He could feel it clawing up his shoulder and spilling like hot tar into his chest. "Pamela, listen to me. Hades told me that soul mates always find each other. Life after life, they circle back together. Remember that…" The burning in his chest seemed to explode, and his face convulsed in pain. As he crumpled in on himself, Apollo closed his eyes against the agony and he slipped into black nothingness.
"No!" Pamela cried. With hands that shook so hard she could barely control them, she touched his face. Seconds ago it had felt hot; now it was cool and damp. She felt for his pulse and found nothing. No! It couldn't happen like this. It couldn't
be allowed to happen like this. She stood up and threw back her head and screamed her rage to the heavens.
"Zeus! Your son is dying! Where are you? Save him—open your damn precious portal and take him home. What kind of father are you?"
Above her, the air suddenly shimmered and then, like the fold of an invisible curtain being opened, a section of the sky parted, and a young man stepped through to hover over her. He was wearing a short tunic, much like the one Apollo had worn the night they met, and golden sandals that had gilded wings flapping at his heels—the same wings that were on his helmetlike hat and the crystal wand he held. His short, curly hair was white-blond, and his handsome face looked mildly amused.
"What? Are you suddenly struck wordless now that your shrieking has actually roused Olympus?"
Pamela narrowed her eyes at him, recognizing the same arrogant tone she'd heard countless times in Artemis' voice. "First save him," she demanded. "Then you're free to bully me."
The god raised his brows in surprise. "Do you realize to whom you speak, mortal?"
"Yes." She spat the word in frustration. "Your flying feet mean you must be Hermes. Talk later. Save him now."
Hermes huffed out a puff of indignant air. "Impertinent!" He glanced at the still body of Apollo and shook his head in disgust. "I believe he must be spoiling you."
Pamela wanted to wrap her fingers around his throat.
"Oh, there's no need for such a passionate show of concern. Zeus would not let Apollo die."
As he spoke he waved his crystal wand in Apollo's direction, and light showered down on his body like a Forth of July sparkler. The instant the first of the sparks touched him, Apollo's chest lifted as he drew in a long breath, and then his eyes shot open. He looked around in obvious confusion, but when his gaze found Hermes, he frowned.
"Oh, I know, I know," the hovering god said. "You were expecting Hades or Charon or someone equally as dreary."
"I have explained to you that Hades is my friend. Watch how you speak of him." Apollo's voice sounded rough, as if he had to struggle to speak through a raw throat. "What are you doing here, Hermes?"
"Being underappreciated." Hermes waggled his fingers delicately at Pamela. "Your mortal shrieked for Zeus. Apparently, you were dying." He sighed and looked bored.
"Zeus sent you," Apollo said.
"Of course Zeus sent me. Your father is angry with you and the delectable Artemis, but he would hardly allow you to die."
Pamela's knees felt suddenly very wobbly, and she plopped down beside Apollo, who automatically pulled her closer to him. She wanted to sob with relief at the strength she felt in the arm he put around her.
Hermes watched Apollo's show of obvious affection for the mortal woman and decided that the God of Light had more to worry about than just the anger of his father. When a god loved a mortal, there was always a price to be paid.
"You should know that although Zeus is not going to allow you to die, he has decided that you need to be taught a lesson for disobeying him. Your wound will not kill you, nor will it actually damage your body, but your father is allowing you to feel the pain of the venom. All of the pain of the venom," he finished gleefully.
"Hermes, you would do well to remember that I am only temporarily without my immortal powers." Apollo's raw voice had gone flat and dangerous.
"Obviously you're temporarily without your sense of humor, too," Hermes huffed. "Nevertheless, I'm not finished delivering the Storm God's message. Zeus will open the portal at sunset on the mortal world's Friday. He expects you and your sister to appear before him directly after that. Have I mentioned that our Supreme Ruler is not pleased?"
"It was Bacchus' scheming that caused us to be trapped here. Take that message back to my father, and tell him that Artemis and I will be pleased to formally confront the God of the Vine with his misdeeds in the Great Hall."
Hermes rolled his pale eyes. "Zeus knows all about Bacchus and his incompetent plan to wreck divine havoc in the modern world in an attempt to keep the mortal kingdom to himself, which is why it is his decision that the portal to Las Vegas be closed. Permanently. With the corpulent Bacchus banished from the modern world as a part of his punishment."
Apollo ground his teeth against the pounding pain in his body and rasped, "Zeus is closing the portal? No, he cannot. That would mean—"
"That would mean," Hermes interrupted smoothly, "that you have until Friday to decide if you want your little mortal to join you in Olympus. Unless"—he drew the word out, tapping his temple in mock contemplation—"you would rather remain here as a mortal man." Hermes made a tisking sound. "And it doesn't appear that mortality agrees with you." Then the hovering god grinned mischievously and brushed his hands together as if he had just rid himself of a bothersome task. "Well, I have delivered my message and done my good deed for the day. Rumor has it that Aphrodite is hosting a gambling party, and I am planning on losing big to her."
With a flick of his delicate wrists, the flying god disappeared back through the fold in the sky.
Hugging his pulsing hand close to his body, Apollo shifted so that he could look into Pamela's face. Her cheeks were still wet with tears.
"I wish you wouldn't cry, sweet Pamela. All is well."
"Was he telling the truth? Are you really going to be okay?" Pamela said, brushing at her wet face.
"Hermes is Zeus' messenger. His manner is caustic, but his words are true."
She sagged with relief against him. And then she suddenly straightened, took his face between her hands and kissed him with ferocity. Ignoring the blazing pain in his body, he kissed her back, tightening his arm around her so that he could feel the curve of her breast and her soft hip pressing into him.
"Don't ever scare me like that again," she said against his mouth. She started to kiss him again but pulled abruptly away when she heard the scrambling of booted feet coming quickly up the trail. She straightened her shirt and ran a hand though her short hair. "I'm supposed to be keeping you calm."
Apollo managed a fairly credible smile. "You heard Hermes. The venom can not truly harm me. So you may kiss me, and whatever else, as often as you desire."
"I may take you up on that, Mr. God of Light. Later. First things first." Pamela stood up and called down the trail, "Over here! We're over here!"
"Yes ma'am! We're coming," the disembodied yell replied.
She looked back at Apollo. His bloody hand was red and already swollen. "I think it would be a little tough to explain to them that it can't kill you; it just hurts like hell."
Apollo's handsome face twisted as another white-hot wave of pain pulsed up his arm. "It doesn't hurt like hell. It hurts like bloody buggering hell."
Chapter 29
Pamela decided that money could buy a lot more than anything. It bought attention and a definitely freaked-out level of concern, although she liked to pretend that the paramedics would have been equally as wonderful with anyone, regardless of their patron's wallet. They'd opened up an IV line of antivenin and fluids before they'd even tried to move Apollo. Pamela stepped back and let them work. Now that she knew Apollo was in no actual danger, she could appreciate the efficiency of the EMTs as they cleaned, dressed and immobilized his wound without sobbing hysterically or clutching at Apollo's unwounded hand.
She did notice that there was a lot of discussion about how good his vital signs looked, especially for a bite so close to an artery. That made Pamela's stomach tighten again, and she shut out the thought of how she had not been able to feel his pulse before Hermes had shown up.
"Snake must've not been loaded," one of the paramedics said as they helped Apollo walk the short distance down the trail and into the flatbed jeep that had been converted into an ambulance. The God of Light had, of course, refused to be lifted onto a stretcher. Insisting he could walk on his own, he stood up and began striding towards the trail, IV line in tow, when they tried to argue with him.
"Loaded?" Apollo asked.
"Yeah, poisonous snakes can cont
rol how much venom they shoot when they bite. You must have just startled this one and not pissed it off. Probably gave you a small dose. Close as it was to that major artery, a big, pissed-off rattler could have killed you."
Pamela felt like throwing up.
Apollo seemed intrigued by the paramedic's information, and the ride back to the resort was filled with lovely little tidbits of snakebite trivia she could have gone a lifetime without knowing. For instance, until then Pamela had had no idea that more than 8,000 poisonous snakebites happened in the United States each year, and that, on an average, about 10 deaths due to snakebites are reported. She also found out that horses get bitten regularly by snakes, and that they don't usually fare as well as humans because most horses are bitten on the nose when they lower their heads to investigate the snake. This is by far the most dangerous site for a bite because the resulting swelling often closes both nostrils and causes suffocation.
Pamela held Apollo's hand and tried unsuccessfully to tune out the entire conversation. Ten deaths due to snakebites kept playing around and around inside her head.
"Sir, your sister and Mr. Faust will meet us in front of the ranch house. From there they will follow us to the hospital," one of the paramedics said as the jeep crunched onto the resort's pebbled drive.
"Hospital?" Apollo frowned and shook his head. "I can assure you that there is no need for that."
"But sir, the full dose of antivenin takes several hours to be administered and monitored. It would be best if you went to the hospital and stayed the night for observation. Sometimes snakebite symptoms take several hours or more to appear."
Apollo looked out of the jeep's side window and caught sight of Artemis and Eddie standing beside the limo.
"Just take me there." He pointed.
The paramedic frowned his disapproval, but the jeep followed the driveway to pull up beside the limo. Before the EMT could touch the back doors, Eddie wrenched them open, and white-faced Artemis rushed up. She took one look at her brother, who was hooked up to an IV, had an oxygen line at his nose, and one hand splinted and bandaged, and her eyes promptly rolled up and she fainted in a full-out, gasping swoon of diva proportions.