Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  My dear Gerard,

  After a great deal of thought, I realize that our arrangement, to marry in truth, is not right for either of us. Please forgive me for telling you like this, but I don’t know how I can tell you any other way. I cannot face you and say this. You and your family have done so much to help my brother and me, and your father has offered to do more for us, find us a quiet place to live. I think that would be for the best. You are greater than me, in every way. Any further contact could damage us both. Please let your friends know I have withdrawn from our betrothal, and believe me, I wish you all the best for your future. Now it is clear, you will be able to give a fortunate woman—one of your own kind—as much as you have given to me. I will never forget you.

  Faith.

  Gerard crushed the note in his fist. His damned father. He had no doubt that somehow the old man had engineered this. He unfolded it, smoothing the crumples with a gentle hand. Rereading the note, he allowed the fury to rise in his head, in his heart.

  His father had retired early. But for that, he would have stormed his way into the duke’s chamber and demanded an explanation. Typical of the duke, to wait for Faith’s weakest moment. They had something special, and he had no intention of giving that up without a fight.

  Still in the throes of furious passion, Gerard strode out of his room and headed for Faith’s bedroom, but just before he passed Stretton’s room, the door was flung open, almost in his face.

  “I felt you coming,” said the earl. Even dressed casually his attire was elegant, a pale blue banyan sweeping around his calves. “Come in before you do anything hasty.”

  Gerard growled, but entered Stretton’s room. Stretton closed the door quietly behind him. A single branch of candles and the flickering glints from the fire dimly lighted the room.

  “Where were you going?” The question, posed casually, was actually far from it.

  “To claim my bride.”

  Stretton’s lips curled in a secretive smile. “To abduct her in the old style of the gods? Are you reverting to type?”

  “Not like that.” Gerard’s reply was instantaneous, unthinking. “The only thing that will stop me is if she rejects me. My father is scheming, using her to achieve his ends, and I will not allow it.” Fury rose when he realised he should have expected a counter-action from his scheming father. “Somehow Faith has the idea that we aren’t compatible, that we will not suit. I can guess who planted that in her head.”

  “She may believe that relations between you could be dangerous. Impossible, even.” Stretton waited until Gerard gave him his full attention. Gerard did not hide his appalled reaction, knowing it was useless to do so. Stretton would read him anyway. “Someone powerful is working against us, one of our kind. I don’t know who it is, but I’ve felt a presence in the last few days and I have my suspicions.” Stretton gripped his arm, much as he’d gripped d’Argento’s the other evening. “Think. When our forebears were gods, they mated with mortals, did they not?” Numbly, Gerard nodded. “Some of their children were mortal, some demigods, which is to say they inherited powers or had powers of their own. That is what happens. That’s all.”

  “So I can’t harm Faith by making love to her?”

  “No.”

  Relief swept over Gerard, to hear the confirmation. He already knew it wouldn’t hurt him. The creeping suspicion dawned on him earlier that day, as though suggested by someone outside him, but he hadn’t truly believed it.

  Stretton released his arm and moved away. “I believe I know who you are, whose attributes you’ve inherited.”

  “Who?”

  Stretton paused, averted his head. “My father.”

  Gerard forgot his preoccupation with Faith and spun around. “What? How can that be?”

  “My father died thirty years ago. About the time you were born. His death wasn’t accidental and your birth shortly after was not a coincidence.”

  “So you didn’t know him well?”

  “I knew him for nearly five hundred years before your father killed him.”

  “That would be why you call yourselves Ancients,” he managed. He still found it hard to believe.

  “We are not immortal, Ellesmere, but we live for a very long time. We can die from mortal wounds, or from starvation, or thirst. We may die through violence, either self-inflicted or by others. But old age and disease will not kill us. Tears misted Stretton’s eyes. “I came here for revenge, and to reclaim you. You are an Ancient, Gerard. I’m still not positive who you are yet.”

  “Who I am?”

  “Which of the Ancients. I know you’re not a Titan, but an Olympian. I can tell that much, but the gods don’t run true to the family trees, although sometimes they repeat the legends. I suspect, but I do not know.” When Gerard frowned, Stretton sighed. “I must not prejudge, much as I wish to.” He lifted his hand and in a supremely elegant gesture touched the tips of his fingers to his heart. “I know you in here.”

  Since he was obviously overwrought, the elegance must be a deep-rooted part of his nature, a part of his essence. “I won’t say more until we have the proof, which, by your intent tonight, will not be long. I’m afraid my longing may affect my judgment.”

  He walked away to the decanter on a side table. Gerard accepted a brandy, and they drained their glasses before Stretton spoke again. “If you have any doubts, I can prove everything I say. Here.” He opened his mind. Gerard saw truth. He remained silent. There were no words he could say.

  Stretton poured another drink, but Gerard refused one. “My father was a great man,” Stretton began. “The greatest of the Ancients, a natural leader. Your father learned of us and our activities. You know his nature. Once he discovered our potential, he wanted our power for himself and for his country.” He drank, staring into his glass as though he could see the events of thirty years ago.

  “How did he discover it?” Gerard’s voice, hushed, whispered through the room.

  “He married an Ancient. Your mother had the attributes of a dryad, a tree nymph.”

  Gerard felt shock streak through him. “Is that why?”

  Stretton shook his head, staring at his drink. “I’ll tell you why, how.” He paused, watching the liquid gild his glass. “Every now and then we liked to meet, as many of us as could manage it. This time we hired a house near Hill House. Your mother recommended it, and your father welcomed us. Before then we accepted him as an honorary member of our community. He’d hidden what he meant to do. So we took his offer of the castle. We thought it was an ideal place to meet.”

  “You had your meeting.” He knew what had happened, knew how. The story was part of the fabric of his childhood, how, the night before his birth, a band of thieves gathered in the old ruins when lightning struck and the place destroyed in a fire. Only there’d never been any thieves.

  “Your father had thirty pregnant women at Hill House, waiting to become the receptacles for the new race. One of them was your mother, his wife. You were the first born after the disaster. Your father ordered the cellars under the castle filled with gunpowder and he set a man there to light the slow matches and make his escape, after we’d arrived. He locked the doors and left.”

  “Could you not escape? With all your powers?”

  Stretton shrugged and took a drink before he answered. The wine glittered in the faceted glass until it resembled liquid fire. “If we had known we needed to escape, we would have done so. Most were killed in the blast. A few escaped, including me.”

  “What happened then?” Gerard realized how little he knew, about his father, about himself.

  “Those of us who escaped were damaged, mentally and in body. We rested. We can put ourselves into a state akin to hibernation. I couldn’t bear the grief, but rather than destroy myself, I chose to rest before I sought my revenge. I slept longer than I’d planned. I wanted to return at the time of puberty for the children, when they usually come into their powers, but I was delayed.” He lifted his head and stared at Gerard with
bleak, washed-out eyes. “The henchman who aided your father that night is dead. Before he died, he gave me several names, those he knew, but he was unable to tell me about the women. Many were poor women, picked with the promise of shelter in a new home for unwed mothers. Some were the wives of the conspirators, like your mother.” He paused to take a drink. “I knew I had to find you, but I wanted to make sure whose side you were likely to be on, so I had to enter society and befriend you.” He stared at Gerard in silence, asking him to open.

  Gerard opened his mind, let Stretton in. You have reservations about your father.

  He has not brought us up to show affection. “He expected more of us—of me. Deborah is five years younger than me, and I have seen her blood, from childhood scrapes and so on. It has always flowed red.”

  Stretton nodded. “I saw no evidence of any special powers in your sister. She can communicate mentally, but everyone can, if they learn to drop the barrier that prevents it. You must have taught her to do so.”

  “I suppose I did.” Gerard shrugged, his broad shoulders slipping under his silk coat. “My father is disappointed in me, I know that. Now he’s concentrated his efforts on finding me a bride so I can make an heir for him.”

  The Duke of Boscobel, determined to make Britain the most important country in the world and himself the most important man within it. How could he think anyone would go along with him? Gerard must have proved a severe disappointment to him when he had shown no gifts worth exploiting. “What made him like that?”

  “Boscobel?” Stretton shrugged. “He reminds me of our forebears, the Titans, but I’ve read him and I can’t find any evidence of that in him. It doesn’t mean he is not, but if he is, he is greatly skilled.”

  “I remember the Titans from my Latin lessons. Weren’t they the parents of the gods?”

  “In a way.” Stretton stared at his glass. “They were the earlier pantheon, and they ruled, they didn’t guide. The world was their playground. When they had children, the rumour goes that Kronos, the supreme ruler amongst them, ate his children. He may have incarcerated them and one got away.” He glanced at Gerard. “Jupiter. You.”

  “Greek or Roman?”

  “Both. The Romans approached the Ancients differently, but still regarded them as gods. They might have been different people, some were, some weren’t, but they were Ancients with the same attributes.”

  Gerard nodded, trying to assimilate everything without too much analysis. Now was the time for collecting information. He’d assess it later, but deep down he felt the truth of Stretton’s words. Felt it like a truth that made sense of the rest of his life.

  “The Titans ruled cruelly and their successors, the Olympians, ruled carelessly. They regarded themselves as gods, and proved it, using their attributes and longevity to strike awe into the rest of the population. It took a very long time for them to realize it’s not like that. We are different, not superior. We have our faults.”

  He drank again and put his empty glass down on the table beside him. “You can make love to your lady, but you must take care not to let any of your blood fall on her. Our clear blood is more accurately called ichor. It’s part of our nature, and it comes upon us at puberty, one of the first signs that we’re Olympians. But if it falls on a mortal who isn’t compatible with our nature, it will burn like acid, seep into them and kill them.”

  Gerard listened, horrified. He couldn’t do that to Faith. But he’d been lucky, rarely injured, although he had one or two scars on his person that he couldn’t explain. Probably contracted in infancy. He would take great care. Something Stretton said roused his curiosity. “Compatible?”

  Stretton leaned back. “For some reason, and I have no idea why, some mortals are compatible with us. We can convert them, or partially so, by giving them some of our blood. In order to avoid killing the ones we love, we can take a test, a simple one. We mingle our blood in a glass. If it combines and eventually runs clear, we have a compatible match. If not, if the red blood clots in the clear, then we do not. It doesn’t mean that we can’t mix, it just means that the other person cannot be converted and will remain mortal. However, it also means that our ichor is deadly to them.”

  Gerard swallowed. But if he could make love to Faith, cherish her, then that would be enough for now. He’d take great care not to allow his blood near her.

  Stretton leaned forward, his silver eyes sparkling. “I want Boscobel to stay free for now, so I can trace the people who are helping him. I want him to think he’s undetected. Either he’s in league with the Titans, or he is one, but I can’t break through his barriers. Someone helped him with that, if he didn’t do it himself. If he thinks we don’t suspect him, he won’t close down or attack us. Yet.”

  That made sense. “I can certainly help with that.”

  Stretton nodded. “And if you are the man I think, and you go without the love of a good woman, or a bad one, come to that, you’ll fade away. Die.”

  “What?” Gerard was jolted into a reminder of the present, and his intention before Stretton had interrupted him. He wanted Faith, wanted her badly, like feeding an addiction.

  Stretton grinned. “Most of us need it or we weaken. It feeds us, sustains us. If you had managed to stay celibate, you wouldn’t have lasted too much longer. Once we’ve achieved puberty, the need grows until it’s almost unbearable. God knows how you’ve managed for so long.”

  “It’s been getting worse,” he admitted

  “You would have gone into hibernation, perhaps never to wake.”

  Gerard thought of the ancient gods, of their constant amorous adventures, and the stories began to make more sense to him. “Good Lord.”

  Stretton came behind him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We both know who conspired against you and who wants you dead. Leave it for now. I will ensure no harm comes to you tonight. You need your strength, your full strength, to bear what is to come. Go to your lady. Let her cure you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Faith stirred in her sleep, feeling Gerard’s body pressed against her back. She snuggled in. Then she came fully awake.

  “What—what are you doing here? They’ll discover us.”

  “I sincerely hope so.” His voice was a low purr. With a flurry of sheet and blanket, she sat bolt upright, turning her head to stare at him. He lay back against her pillows. He was dressed in shirt and breeches, lying on top of the covers. “I’m abducting you, sweetheart.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but climbed off the bed and swept her into his arms. “I think we’ll be more comfortable in my room.”

  “Gerard, no! What are you doing?”

  He’d reached the door by now. Shifting her in his arms he managed to get the door open. He gave her a rakish grin. “I told you. I’m abducting you. Is there anything you need?”

  “They’ll discover us.”

  “Good.” He strode along the corridor, quickening his pace until they reached his room. Faith stared at his face, wide-eyed. He was happy, a rakish smile warming her heart, despite her bewilderment and determination to go through with her plan.

  “Gerard, if they discover us, I won’t be thought fit to care for George.”

  He entered his room and closed the door, leaning against it until it clicked shut. Crossing the room he laid her gently on the bed and went back to the door to turn the key. He glanced back at her. “You will be considered fit. When you leave this room, it will be to become my wife.”

  She sat up and pushed her nighttime braids away from her face. “What?”

  “I’m not letting you go. I’m marrying you, and we will have children and live forever.”

  He wasn’t making sense. He’d gone completely mad. “I don’t understand.”

  He walked to the bed and hoisted himself up on to the edge. It was a high bed, higher than hers, very grand, with the Boscobel coat of arms in padded embroidery at the head, and heavy brocade drapes at each post. He reached for her hand. “Faith, I learned a lot about myself today. I
will only die if I don’t make love regularly. It’s the abstinence that is slowly killing me. My father chose to keep me weak by making me believe that the opposite was the case.” He grinned. “I choose you. If you agree to this, you’ll cure me. The only thing that will stop me now is if you don’t want me, if you don’t want this. Like my forebears did in the past, I have abducted you, but unlike them I will keep you until they bring a special licence and a cleric. If you don’t want to do this, tell me now and I’ll return you to your room.”

  “It’ll kill you.” She had difficulty grasping this concept. Part of her wanted to run far away and have nothing more to do with this whole affair. Even while her heart was breaking, fear lurked behind her desire for Gerard.

  “No, it won’t. I have Stretton’s word, and I know it’s true. I’ve learned a lot over the past day, while you’ve avoided me. If you doubt me, let me prove it to you.”

  “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can, sweetheart. Let me, please let me show you.”

  Faith found herself enclosed in his arms, his mouth close to hers. She yearned so much to kiss him that she hurt. He was sure, and she let her instincts take over, instead of the knowledge that had come to her since her interview with the duke. This felt right, so right, and who was she to deny him what he wanted so much?

  He dropped the bare inch that separated them, and his lips met hers. At once his tongue found the seam of her lips, and she opened to him. He surged in.

  She let him take control, exploring her mouth, driving his tongue deeply into her. Faith felt the tingle, first between her thighs, rising to absorb the whole of her lower body in an ache that only Gerard could assuage. Winding her arms around him, Faith’s questing fingers found the ribbon securing his long, midnight hair. It tumbled around them, covering her face in silky strands, teasing her senses.