by Multiple
“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.
Heavenly Lover
Sharon Hamilton
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Copyright © 2011 by Sharon Hamilton
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes
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Chapter 1
This was all wrong. Wrong that there was a cemetery in Heaven. Wrong that angels could die.
Claire followed behind the older Mother Guardian. A crystalline path separated multicolored hedges of rocket snapdragons, red roses, and Sweet William, framing the gardens beyond as if to hold them at bay. Afternoon sunshine reflected off the greenhouse windowpanes, warming her bare skin. A syrupy aroma from crimson lilies assaulted her nostrils, making the air thick and breathing difficult.
So peaceful.
So deadly.
The scent of the end of things and of loss surrounded her.
She’d been summoned. But instead of asking her to come to the familiar third floor office in the Administration Building, Mother Guardian had chosen this place, forbidden to young Guardians. It was a place Claire had never been.
The angel cemetery.
The messenger had spewed out the order in a rush, fracturing Claire’s afternoon reading of an erotic romance she kept tucked under the silk pillows of her lounge. “Come packed, and ready to go,” she’d said. So, Claire’s yellow transport bag was now slung over her right shoulder, hanging half empty like the flesh on an old horse.
But why was she to start her new mission at the place of unhappy endings?
Father works in mysterious ways. Mother Guardian’s anxiety-laced thoughts filled Claire’s mind.
Did they find my books? Claire couldn’t help the errant thought from sweeping through her mind, but it was too late to take it back.
At the ancient, rusted gate, Mother turned to face her but did not smile. Her gnarled hand rested on the crooked handle above an empty keyhole. Her skin was wrinkled, like a flesh-colored prune. “You shouldn’t read such things.”
Claire knew it was true. Did Mother understand how hard she’d tried?
Not nearly hard enough, Claire.
So this was it. Punishment. The consequences she’d dreaded. They’d discovered her secret. Mother pushed the gate open, and Claire jumped as the rusty gate screamed in protest, like the helpless cries of an injured animal.
A strange and eerily peaceful world colored by green grasses and brilliant white stone markers opened in front of her. A chilling breeze blew back the hairs at the sides of her face. Unseen fingers pulled at her skirts, clawed at her bodice, whispering warnings. The wind writhed through the fabric of her white gown, disturbing the silver and gold hand-stitched symbols of her station. Her badges. Each represented a troubled human life saved from suicide. Each chronicled her perfect track record.
Tall, dark trees leaned into the cemetery plot, as if bowing out of respect for the elder Guardian, then swayed backwards, signaling that Claire wasn’t worthy. Her senses were on full alert, as every leaf or blade of grass presented a threat.
As they made their way between the rows of graves, Mother’s fingers patted the tops of the marble headstones, one by one. Claire was careful not to let any part of her gown or bag come in contact with the silent markers. Another blast of cold air traveled down her spine. The gown billowed out like a parachute, and then just as quickly, deflated, getting caught between her legs as she worked to keep up with the older angel.
Mother stopped, slapping her leathery palm against the top of one gravestone with a whack.
Time to face the music.
Her mentor’s lips formed a grim line, indicating she knew of Claire’s unease. “You should be scared, child.” The old woman’s half-lidded eyes scanned wearily over the undulating grasses behind Claire, a scene that would have been peaceful and serene if not for so much sadness hovering like a shroud over a meadow dotted by pure white stones.
“A very powerful dark angel did this,” Mother whispered, then peered directly into Claire’s eyes, burning a hole all the way to her soul. “He makes them believe they are falling into his arms, but instead they fall into the pits of the Underworld.”
There were several dozen grave markers, all arranged in crisp rows, cooled by the swirling air and tickled by an occasional stray leaf or twig.
“One dark angel took all these sisters?” Claire asked.
“Like you, my dear, he has never lost a soul.” Mother’s eyes scanned Claire, as if she waited for a reaction. “There are others, of course,” she motioned beyond the trees, “fallen, but not at his hand. This one has a particular taste for Guardians. He seeks them out on purpose, considers it his calling.”
Claire searched the relief chiseled out of the smooth marble, hesitant to touch the design of a harp. Above the image, one name was etched in block letters: M-E-L-O-D-Y. Her fingers twitched with desire to connect with the spirit of the angel there, wanting to touch the flowing lines and sharp angles of the block letters. She tensed her hands at her sides. No dates were listed, nothing else written to describe the buried angel. Claire grieved for the loss of this being, someone who must have
been loved as a human and who’d been cherished and trained as an angel to give some other human a second chance. A chance perhaps she never had. Such a harsh end to a gentle soul created to bring brightness and life to a dark and dying world.
Preyed upon, Claire heard Mother’s mental warning.
Had Melody’s trusting nature been used as a tool against her? The permanence of the angel’s grave made Claire shudder.
“I wish I’d known her,” she said.
“Would make no difference. I knew them all. Only one of us needs to bear this pain. I’m trained for it. You’re not.”
Claire had felt the same loss when other Guardians came home from unsuccessful missions. The crying and wringing of hands would go on for a few hours until the angel was carried to the wash, where the memory of their failed mission in the human world would be erased. They would emerge fresh, eager to study again, to garden, or to commune with their sisters. Heavenly smiles would be etched into faces as permanent as the symbol on the stone marker. Claire had assisted in several of these ritual cleansings over the years, and they were never easy. She’d resisted the urge to ask her angel sisters questions, to learn what had gone so horribly wrong.
“No. We can’t have the memories here.” Mother’s terse comment tore through Claire.
Claire forced her mind in another direction. “You have a mission for me, then?”
“Yes.” Mother handed Claire a sheet of white paper featuring the picture of an attractive young man with dark curly hair cascading over his forehead and down to his shoulders to end behind his ears. “This is your new charge, Daniel DePalma.”
Claire traced her finger across the paper, down the slender nose and across full lips, barely aware she’d caught her breath.
“Those are not proper thoughts for a Guardian to have.” Mother said.
Claire could see the older woman’s right eye twitch, and her crooked smile with pursed lips seemed barely under control.
“He’s been preyed on by this dark one,” Mother added.
“Thought the dark one only liked Guardians.”