And Fate decided that everyone lived Happily Ever After—whether they wanted to or not.
DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES OF AVALON
Ambrosia Lane:
Book Two
1
ARTEMIS
“I didn’t wrap your gift,” Aphrodite said around a mouthful of lamb pizza.
Artemis was already wary. First, Aphrodite had invited her out to Pomegranate Pizza and she never dined out on Ambrosia Lane. Even for special occasions like her birthday. She preferred the mortal world and Brooklyn Style pizza to Cyclops-tossed crust. Aphrodite even made her a dark chocolate, caramel, and sea salt birthday cake—with mocha frosting. Aphrodite hated baking.
Artemis was sure this present was going to be a doozy of cataclysmic proportions. “What is it?” Artemis eyed her like she would a Japanese Rhinoceros Beetle, rather than her best friend.
“You’re making that face.” Aphrodite took a drink of her sparkling red wine.
“What face?”
“Like you just stepped in a pile of Kraken poo.”
“Well, they say Love stinks.” Artemis wouldn’t know, she’d never been in love. Although she took great joy in needling the other goddess.
“I do not!” Aphrodite made a big show of raising her arms and sniffing.
“You know what I mean. I adore you, but I’m suspicious of your gifts. I saw what you did to my brother and Nyx. I don’t need any part of that.” No, she didn’t need it, but part of her wanted it. Artemis was tired of being the universe’s oldest virgin.
“That wasn’t me. That was Fate. After the debacle with Ares, I’m not allowed to act in Fate’s stead anymore.” Aphrodite’s mouth tightened.
“Now who’s making a face? You’re going to get wrinkles.”
“I am not! What a wretched thing to say.” Aphrodite smoothed her skin with her fingers, as if that would stop the slow march of time. Not that her skin would ever show it anyway, but Aphrodite was a vain creature.
Although, Artemis grudgingly admitted her vanity was warranted. Aphrodite was beautiful by any standard.
“Since it’s your birthday, I’ll give you a pass. But color yourself lucky I didn’t zap you in love with Hercules for a crack like that.”
“Now you’re just being mean.” Artemis shuddered.
“I am, aren’t I? He’s such a dick.” Aphrodite flashed a serene smile. “Anyway, back to the task at hand. It’s official. You are the world’s oldest virgin.”
“Persephone—“she protested weakly.
“You know you’re older than she is. So even when she was a card carrying member of the V-Club you were still the world’s oldest virgin. Don’t you think it’s time to cash in your V-Card?”
She should have known that Aphrodite would see right through any of her protestations. It was time to face facts. “It’s been time, girl. But everyone on Olympus takes that whole virgin goddess thing so seriously. Like if I get laid there will be some kind of apocalypse. It’s not like I have a mother like Demeter threatening to smite and destroy, etc. and so forth.”
“No. Just a brother who is like, you know, the sun and will burn their faces off?”
“He doesn’t care what I do with my goddess parts.” Artemis crossed her arms. At least, he shouldn’t. She didn’t give him too much grief about his god parts. She may have told Nyx not to hurt him, but that was standard familial don’t break my brother’s heart type speech. She didn’t mention his godhood…er...parts. Gross. Whatever.
“History says otherwise, but right now he’s too busy with Nyx and their Baby of Doom.”
She narrowed her eyes. Ephie may have been a Baby of Doom—she was a titan, and her realm was nightmares—but that was still her niece.
“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Aphrodite placated her. “Just that it’s keeping him busy. So, in the interest of cashing in said V-Card, pick a god. Any god. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Any god? Any at all?” A slow smile curved her lips.
“Any.”
“What about Ares?” Artemis couldn’t held being contrary. She certainly didn’t want any part of that god and his unruly, wandering war hammer.
It was Aphrodite’s turn to narrow her eyes. “If that’s really who you want, I’ll make it happen.”
Even though Aphrodite looked like she was about to plot a murder, there was a sadness in her eyes and Artemis immediately felt guilty. “No, I’m just giving you grief.”
“Really? Because I wouldn’t even have to zap him. He’d be happy to take care of your V without any prodding.”
“No, really. He’s all yours, babe,” Artemis promised, holding up her hands, as if to ward off the vision of the pillaging war god coming to claim her V.
“That’s part of the problem.”
“Oh, whatever. I saw that laser glare of death when I suggested him. You still love him.” This wasn’t news to Artemis, but Aphrodite kept trying to deny she loved the war god.
“We’re not talking about me, Artie. We’re talking about you.”
“Sad lot that I am. I’m Goddess of the Hunt. I should be able to catch a man.”
“While all of them want to be last, a lot of them are afraid to be first, because they think you’ll expect them to be last, if that makes sense. It’s a paradox, really.” Aphrodite drummed her fingers on the table, having lost interest in her pizza.
“That’s why I need a bad boy. Someone who isn’t going to bother about all that. Someone who will take pride in ‘despoiling’ me.” Oh yeah. Artemis decided she was ready to be pillaged, despoiled, and all of that stuff.
“Hmm. There’s always Loki. He’s so hot.” Aphrodite licked her lips.
But Artemis didn’t see the allure. “Didn’t he do that thing where he turned into a horse and did horse things with…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Eh.” Aphrodite shrugged. “I don’t know what that was about.”
“He’s on the no list.”
“But he’s hot. And bad.”
“He might be a little too much for me to handle at this point in the game.” She couldn’t get past the horse thing.
“I know!” Aphrodite perked up, her smile glowing bright. “Ra!”
“No.” Definitely not.
The other goddess’s face fell like a spoiled soufflé. “Why not? He’s perfect.”
“He’s a sun god. He looks too much like my brother.” He’d even had the balls to ask her out once and she totally would have said yes if he hadn’t been almost the spitting image of Apollo.
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “What about Odin?”
“No, no and hell no. He’d think I was one of his Valkyries, bound to his every whim. No thank you.” That was an international incident waiting to happen. Artemis would put up with his crap for exactly two point five never.
“I’m fresh out of ideas.” Aphrodite shrugged and leaned back in her chair.
“No, you’re just fresh.”
“I am,” Aphrodite agreed. “But that’s not getting us anywhere.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should just pick a mortal. The next man who prays to me gets it.” Could she really do that? Maybe.
“You can’t be serious?” Aphrodite pushed her pizza around on her plate a few more times.
“I don’t know, why not?” She shrugged. “You had that game with the apples.”
“It’s not the same. You’re going to remember this first time for eternity. It should at least be with someone who can match your stamina.”
Artemis knew she was right. “Who else could we tap?”
Aphrodite giggled. “You said tap.”
Artemis smirked. “I sure did. I will tap that ass. Or will my ass be tapped?”
“Let’s not put the batteries ahead of the vibrator.”
“Is that like don’t put the cart before the horse?”
Aphrodite nodded. “But considering earlier Loki conversation…”
“Gotcha. What about Krishna? I kind
of dig the blue.” He was hot, but wasn’t really a bad boy.
“He could work. But he’s not angsty enough for you. What about Aeron? I’ve never met him, but he’s welsh. They’re very earthy, like you. He hangs out in Avalon.” Aphrodite’s eyes went wide. “Avalon!”
Aphrodite said it like she’d just found treasure. Artemis didn’t make the connection. “What’s so special about Avalon? I mean, yeah it’s an immortal resort spot of sorts, but there’s Atlantis. Or the Triangle. Or—”
“Only one of the greatest bastards known to history. Mordred, son of Morgan Le Fey and King Arthur. He brought down the mighty Camelot. He is a very dark and tortured type.” Aphrodite nodded as she spoke.
Electric current hummed through her fingertips just thinking about it. “He’ll do.”
“And if he doesn’t, there’s always Aeron. He’s the god of death, war, slaughter or something. I can’t remember. But he gives good wood, or so I’ve heard.”
“I think it’s time for an extended vacation.” Artemis grinned. Their plot had geared up to full steam.
“An island vacation. Avalon has some lovely beaches. They get satellite, but no cell coverage, what with being hidden in the mist and such.” Aphrodite tapped her finger on her chin. “Morgan has a lovely little guest house. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stayed with her. In fact, I’ll send her a golden apple to add to her collection.”
“Wait, wait.” Artemis held up her hands. She realized she’d agreed to this without even taking a look at the guy. What if he was missing his teeth and was cross-eyed?
“What?” Aphrodite harrumphed.
“What does he look like?”
“Besides tormented deliciousness?” Aphrodite waved her fingers through the air in a delicate dance and an image emerged in Artemis’s champagne.
Tormented deliciousness was exactly what he looked like. Shoulder length raven black hair, hard-angled features, with a scowl that could hold its own with Hades or Thanatos. A flutter started low in her belly and spread out through her limbs like a thousand butterflies. He was The One.
“He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“Go pack. I’m going to email Morgan. If she says no, you can always stay at the resort, but it will be good to have Mom on your side. And easier access to Mordred.”
“You could come with me, you know,” Artemis invited.
“Oh, no. Ares is getting too big for his toga. He’s in for a serious smiting.”
“Don’t you mean shagging?”
“Shut. Up. I do not.” Aphrodite pursed her lips.
“Oh, please. It’s been like this for the last five hundred years. He huffs, he puffs, and you blow him down and around.” Artemis rolled her eyes.
“What can I say? The God of War is good with guns. Especially his love gun.”
“Love gun? Really?” Artemis arched a brow.
Aphrodite kept her face a mask of innocence. “Shag stick? Velvet revolver? Manroot? Bang bong?”
The looked at each other before cackling in unison, “Purple-headed womb ferret.”
“Oh honey, you’re going to have such a wonderful time.” Aphrodite sighed. “I remember my first time. The chase is never quite the same. A word of warning though. Don’t go falling in love with Mordred. He is the baddest of the bad and will break your heart.”
“Puh-lease. This is about getting my card punched, which has nothing to do with my heart.”
“Okay, I’ll come to your temple after I hear back from Morgan and we’ll do some shopping before you go.”
The hurricane known as Artemis was about to make landfall in Avalon.
2
GWEN
Guinevere du Lac decided while staring at the back of her husband’s head that Happily Ever After was actually a big, fat, lie. She preferred the way the stories said she ended her days: in a convent repenting her sins. That she and golden boy never got together after the whole burning at the stake fiasco and that they’d never followed Arthur to Avalon and immortality. Not that she thought she had any sins to repent.
Some days she wondered if burning at the stake would have been better than spending eternity with Lance.
Just looking at him pissed her off. The way he breathed made her angry, especially when he was sleeping. Sometimes, she woke up at night and would roll over and look at him, cradled in his peaceful slumber, and wonder how he could just lay there and sleep when she was so unhappy.
His soft snores had once been endearing. Now, she’d pinch his nose closed so he’d wake up and roll over.
What she really hated was the fact his boxer briefs never made it all the way into the laundry basket. They always hung over the side like they could make a wild bid for freedom.
All that aside, he was still handsome—there was no question about that. With his wheat gold hair, tanned skin, and hard Nordic profile… Yeah, he was hot. Even sitting on the couch watching ESPN—in those same rebellious boxer briefs—his face buried in a popcorn bowl like a truffling pig.
Which pissed her off even more. They hadn’t had sex in a century. Gwen almost wished that she could accuse him of adultery because then she’d have a reason to find comfort somewhere. Pleasure in something besides toys that needed batteries or a package of cookie dough.
Gwen wondered how hard she’d have to slap the back of his head to get some of the kernels to fly out of his nose. Every crunch was a million needles jack-hammering into her spine.
“Can you please chew with your mouth closed?” she growled from the corner chaise where she was trying to read. Actually, she was pretending to read and trying to remember the last time she was actually happy. It pissed her off even more to know her archenemy had been right.
Morgan told her if she made a man betray his vows, sacrifice duty and honor for her, that she’d be miserable. But what did she know? She’d seduced a man on the word of a lake witch and still didn’t have a man of her own.
“Can you please talk with your mouth closed?” he retorted without even looking in her direction.
Of course, having a man wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, as evidenced by the behavior of the current specimen. “No wonder modern women are screwed. Look at you. Lancelot du Lac, epitome of knight in shining armor and what kind words does he have for his lady fair? Talk of courtly love and flowery odes to her beauty? No. It’s ‘talk with your mouth closed’,” she sneered. “You’re no knight in shining armor, but a douchebag in tin foil.”
“Well, if you were a lady fair, rather than a shrewish harpy…” He shrugged, still watching the game and unaffected by her tirade.
“I never should have left Arthur.” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Gwen may have thought them a million times, but she’d never said them.
He stopped eating and turned to look at her for a long moment. “No.” Lance seemed to consider her for a moment and seeming to find her lacking, added, “You shouldn’t have.”
His words cut deeper than any knife. Lance had wished away all of their centuries together. No matter that she’d just been doing the same thing. It was different to hear it from him. He was supposed bear the brunt of any of her emotions and still love her afterwards. She realized it was a double standard, but he was a man. He wasn’t supposed to have hurt feelings, and if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to react to them unless he wanted to lay siege to a castle with his bare hands or something else heroic.
She had loved him, once. And Gwen thought he’d loved her. He wasn’t supposed to say those things. In fact as the years had passed, Lance was nothing like he was supposed to be, but Gwen wasn’t what she was supposed to be either. So much for being virtuous and honest and good. She’d failed Arthur, failed Camelot.
And she wondered for the first time if all of those misogynistic scholars were right—if she’d broken him. If the fall of Camelot really was her fault? She’d always maintained they’d all made their own choices, but now she wasn’t so sure. It was easier to blame him.
“How did we get here?” Gwen asked with a sigh.
“I don’t know.” Lance turned off the game and looked at her. “But I don’t want to be here anymore, Gwen. Eternity is too long to be miserable.”
“What are we going to do about it?” She cringed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Why had she asked the question? Guinevere already knew what the answer was, but she didn’t really want it. Even though moments ago she’d been plotting his demise, imagining a life without him was terrifying.
“Honestly, Gwen? I haven’t been able to stand myself since we came to Avalon. We betrayed Arthur. We betrayed ourselves. In all the years that we’ve been here, never once have we asked his forgiveness.”
“He never asked my forgiveness for trying to burn me at the stake either. I figured we were sort of even. And you know what? I didn’t betray myself. Maybe you did because you were his friend. I was never that. I was chattel bought from my father to save a kingdom. I didn’t choose Arthur as my husband. I didn’t love him. So why should I live my life in a loveless, sexless marriage for some lines other men drew in the sand?”
“Neither of us should be in a loveless, sexless marriage.” He looked at her pointedly.
“That’s why you didn’t marry Elai—oh.” Gwen said as the impact of his words hit her. “You mean our marriage? I wasn’t trying to throw the dish out with the casserole. I thought maybe we could try some role-playing, warming lube, and counseling.”
“That’s just it, babe. It’s not going to work because I don’t want it to. I’m done. I told you I can’t stand myself. But I can’t stand you either. The sound of your voice hits a place in my spine that makes me want to gouge out my eardrums with a melon baller. There’s no getting past that or working through it.”
His words were a sword in her gut. They were horrible, and hateful. Not things you would ever say to someone you loved.
Ambrosia Lane 1-3: Saranna DeWylde Page 28