How to Worship a Goddess

by Stephanie Julian

  We’re lucky to have our own ECHL team, the Reading Royals, in our town and have had tickets since game one. From October through April (and sometimes beyond), we can spend as many as three nights a week cheering on our team.

  The roster is always changing because of call-ups. The ECHL is a farm league. Our guys want to move up to the AHL and finally, hopefully, to the NHL. Many of them don’t. Some get their shot and grab hold with both hands. James Reimer is a former Royal. So are Jonathan Quick, Rich Peverly, Barry Brust, George Parros, and Ryan Flinn. It’s always a thrill to watch a game on television and see one of “our” guys on the screen.

  There are always a few players who hang around the entire season and become fan favorites: Larry Courville (who played his last professional game as a Royal then returned to coach), Dany Roussin, Brock Hooten, Joe Zappala, Jon Francisco, and goaltender Cody Rudkowsky, just to name a few.

  Then there are the guys who play for a few weeks, some only for a few days. Not even long enough to memorize their names and numbers. The next week, they’re playing for the opposition.

  There’s no other game that’s as fast-paced or as exciting as hockey, and even when I’m shivering under my Royal purple blanket in an ice hockey arena in the dead of winter, there’s no other place I’d rather be than by my husband’s side cheering on our guys, high-fiving after their goals, and being a member of the Royal’s Thrust Crew.

  Prologue

  The third blow from the iron hammer sent Caligo to the ground.

  His face hit first, of course, and he spat blood until it pooled on the blacktop beside him. He thought about getting up, but really, why bother? He’d just end up back there again.

  Three blows from the pissed-off Roman God of Volcanoes and Blacksmiths were two more than enough to convince Cal that no woman was worth the beating.

  Not even Venus.

  “Not so pretty now, is he, babe?” Vulcan shook his head, the girly black curls he was so proud of quivering around his ruddy face. “I don’t know why you continue to bed these inferior humans. They’re weak. And you know they can’t satisfy your needs.”

  Cal couldn’t help himself. “Maybe because she knows your dick is no bigger than my thu—”

  Vulcan stepped on Cal’s neck, effectively cutting off his air supply and his voice with one dainty Italian loafer. “Let’s go home, babe. I’m sick of this crap.”

  “Oh, fine.” Venus sighed. “I’m bored now anyway.”

  The Roman Goddess of Love and Beauty flung flame-red hair over her shoulder and barely glanced down at Cal as she stepped over him to take Vulcan’s arm.

  Her heel landed mere centimeters from Cal’s nose.

  He remembered those shoes. She’d worn them the last time they’d fucked. He probably still had the indentations in his thighs from where she’d dug them in, screaming his name as she came.

  As Cal watched the deities walk away, Venus turned, her little black dress swinging around her ass, to give him a wink and a little wave.

  To which he replied with a time-honored one-finger salute. Bitch.

  As the couple disappeared down the deserted alley off South Street in Philadelphia, Cal dragged himself to the nearest wall and leaned against it, wiping blood from his chin and his left ear. The ringing in his head sounded like the extended buzz of a heavy-metal guitar, and his face throbbed, though he felt no pain. Probably gonna have a few new scars to add to the collection.

  He shook his head, which just made him dizzy, and began assessing the damage. “When are you going to learn, asshole?”

  He’d asked himself the question before. But here he was again, wounded and pissed off because he’d gone out of his way to help a pretty woman who obviously hadn’t needed his help.

  Fucking goddesses. Never a good idea.

  As he cataloged the various bruises, cuts, and broken bones, he considered making the trek back to his car on Bainbridge but he figured someone would call the cops at the first sight of him.

  Here seemed as good as any place to die. And if, by some miracle, he didn’t die, this was the last fucking time he ever took a job for a deity.

  They screwed you over every damn time.

  Chapter 1

  Dying was so beneath her.

  Of course, she hadn’t done much living lately, so if he caught her now… Well, that would just suck. Because she’d recently decided it was time to change her ways. Get out more. Live a little. Get laid.

  How pitiful was it that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex? Or if it had even been any good.

  Pretty freaking pitiful.

  Thesan, Etruscan Goddess of the Dawn, Lady of the Golden Light, was sick of being a pretty, useless deity. Much less a pretty, useless one usually just called Tessa.

  For centuries… millennia… she’d brought light and beauty to the world. She’d guided the sun into the morning sky. She’d seen the rise and fall of empires. Gods had lusted after her. She’d worn out her share of mortal men in her bed.

  She’d been worshipped by millions. Okay, maybe millions was stretching it just a bit. Still, she’d had a following, people who’d adored her and who’d worshipped her.

  Now she was being chased by a crazed god intent on consuming her powers and leaving what was left of her soul to rot for all eternity in the dreary Etruscan Underworld of Aitás.

  That totally sucked.

  So did this. Her lungs heaved as she ran through a dark forest, the night sky black. No moon shone above. No stars twinkled. No reflected sunlight gave her even a hint of power.

  Her legs shook like wet noodles, threatening to collapse at any moment. The underbrush swiped at her calves, and tree limbs caught at her hair, yanking and pulling.

  Peering over her shoulder, she saw a dark shape weaving through the trees behind her. Her heart hurt as it pounded in her chest. Her bare feet bled and ached as she stumbled along.

  Oh, she knew she really wasn’t running. She was actually asleep in her lonely bed in her home in the quiet hills of eastern Pennsylvania. She knew that because she’d had the same dream for the past three weeks.

  Charun, that blackhearted bastard, was taunting her like a high school bully picking on a weaker kid. But Charun’s intent wasn’t to merely frighten her, though the bastard did get a kick out of it.

  No, he was wearing her down, waiting for her to make a mistake so he could pinpoint her location. So far, she’d been able to keep her whereabouts a secret. But when he broke through her defenses, he’d send one of his demons to drag her down to Aitás. To him.

  The bastard couldn’t come himself. He was tied to Aitás by bindings even he couldn’t break. At least, not now.

  But if he found her, if he managed to accomplish what she thought he had planned, then soon, maybe, he would be able to break those bonds. And this world would suffer as the demons and the damned escaped with him.

  And she’d never get laid again. Damn it, she’d much rather go out with a literal bang than a figurative one.

  With a gasp, she broke free of the dream and sat straight up in her bed, blinking at the bright light even though it was… three o’clock in the morning, according to the clock on the bedside table.

  She’d left all the lamps blazing in her bedroom. An infomercial blared from the television, and the stereo on the nightstand blasted Puccini. None of it had been able to keep her awake. Probably because she could count on both hands the number of hours she’d slept in the past three weeks.

  Damn it, she needed help.

  Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She, a goddess, needed help. Wasn’t that a real kick in a perfectly fine ass?

  “Which won’t mean a damn thing if Charun gets hold of it,” she muttered to absolutely no one.

  Hell, if she survived Charun, she needed to get out of the house so someone could see her fine ass again. Playing the hermit didn’t suit her. She’d been one of the original party girls in her day, playing all night before hurrying off to meet the lovely sun each mornin
g.

  But now she was a forgotten goddess, her main reason for being usurped by that bitch of a Roman goddess named Aurora—

  She took a deep breath. No, she couldn’t think about that. Those thoughts led to teeth gnashing and sore jaws.

  Still, she’d become a goddess without a true calling. What should she do with her never-ending life?

  Oh, she delivered a baby or ten or twenty every year. In addition to being a sun goddess, she also helped bring new life into the world, one of the more pleasurable aspects of her life.

  But that left her with a whole hell of a lot of time to fill. A girl could only do so much shopping and have so much sex before it all became so very… mundane.

  She wanted to be useful again. She wanted the remaining Etruscans, those who still followed the old ways, to remember that she even existed. And she most certainly did not want to be eaten by Charun.

  She needed help. And she knew just the person to help her find it.

  ***

  “Hang tight… I’m coming. Just give me a minute.”

  The voice came from the second floor as Tessa stood in the entry hall of the small townhouse in Reading, Pennsylvania.

  In front of her, a stairway led along the right side of the house to the upper floors. To the left of the stairway, a hall led straight down the center of the house. To the far left, a doorway led into the front sitting room.

  Every inch of the place looked like it belonged to an inner-city Brady Bunch, from the ’80s-era paisley wallpaper to the colonial blue paint on the trim. Cream carpet covered every inch of the floor, and an umbrella stood next to the small half-round table in the entry.

  It all looked so normal, Tessa thought. So middle class.

  Until Salvatorus began to stomp down the stairs. Then what would have seemed completely normal to any eteri, any nonmagical human, made a complete left turn into mythology land.

  At four foot nothing, Sal had the fully developed upper body of a grown man. Wide shoulders, strong arms, nice pecs.

  His face was a true marvel of his Etruscan heritage, handsome and strong. And those brown eyes, so dark they looked almost black, held a knowing warmth that always made Tessa smile.

  As did the two shiny black horns sprouting from just above his forehead to peek through his glossy, black, curly hair. On any other man, those horns would have been enough to make a grown man choke on his own breath.

  On Sal, well, the goat legs stole the show.

  Beginning just below his belly button, those legs were covered with hide, a silky chestnut brown fur that was not a pair of pants. No, Sal had the actual legs of a goat.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said as he clomped down the stairs. “Haven’t seen you for a while. What’s up?”

  His deep Noo Yawk accent made her smile grow. But her fear must have shown in her eyes because Salvatorus’s gaze narrowed.

  “Are you hurt, Tessa?” He descended the rest of the steps on those small hooves so fast she worried for his safety. But he made it safely to the bottom, took her hand, and began to lead her through the house.

  “No.” Not yet, anyway. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, you let me be the judge of that.”

  Salvatorus led her to the kitchen at the very back of the house and pointed her toward a seat at the small table there. He didn’t speak, not right away, but set about making her hot chocolate, the rich scent of it making her stomach rumble.

  Tessa had been here many times before, mainly for parties. She did love a good party, and Salvatorus threw some of the best. But his home also served as a safe house for anyone of Etruscan descent, including those deities who needed his aid.

  She’d never sought aid from Salvatorus before. Really, a goddess who needed help? It sounded ridiculous.

  And yet, not so much now.

  Sliding into a straight-backed wooden chair, she let her gaze wander out the window over the sink and into the courtyard in the back. The August garden burst with color and fragrance that wafted in through the open window, enticing her to draw a deep breath. Roses, herbs, perennials, bushes, and trees bloomed and thrived in Sal’s garden, no bigger than twenty feet by twenty feet.

  It was beautiful, a testament to the sun’s nurturing power and Salvatorus’s skill.

  Tears bit at the corners of her eyes. She tried to blink them away before they fell, but one escaped and plopped right into the mug of hot chocolate that appeared in front of her.

  “All right, babe.” Salvatorus slid into the chair opposite her. “Spill. And I don’t mean tears.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Did you know Mlukukh has been missing? For more than a month.”

  If she’d surprised Salvatorus with her statement about another forgotten Etruscan goddess, he showed no sign of it. “No, I hadn’t heard. But then Mel has dropped off the face of the earth for years, sometimes decades. She’s always returned.”

  Tessa shook her head. “I don’t think she will this time. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know what happened to her.”

  Salvatorus’s eyelids lifted. “And that is…?”

  She took a deep breath before leaving it out on a sigh. “I think Charun had her snatched and taken to Aitás where he consumed her powers and left her shell to rot in the underworld.”

  Now Salvatorus’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how?”

  “Because he told me. He told me that’s what he’s going to do to me as well.”

  Acknowledgments

  To my husband, David, for putting up with me. To Tay and Josh, for the same (except for the days Mom has to put up with you).

  To my editor, Deb Werksman, for pushing me to be better.

  To those people who I can call or email when I’m feeling like shit and I know they’ll commiserate: Deb, Adele, Marilyn, and Daria.

  One last shout-out: To Avenged Sevenfold, who provided much of the soundtrack for this book.

  About the Author

  Stephanie Julian is the author of What a Goddess Wants as well as two erotic romance series with Ellora’s Cave: The Magical Seduction (seven books) and Lucani Lovers (second book available). She is a member of RWA and Valley Forge Romance Writers and is an entertainment and lifestyle feature writer for the Reading Eagle. Stephanie lives in Shillington, Pennsylvania.