At some point during those nightly visits, she’d fallen hopelessly in love. He was what kept her going at her dreary sales job, the welcome thoughts she retreated to when demanding wealthy folk annoyed her during their shopping sprees. She raced home eagerly to the apartment where bills were piled high and Top Ramen was the main course at one dinner too many, just because she knew he was waiting in her dreams.
Memories of him warmed her insides now, and she closed her eyes for a moment. For months he’d made love to her most every night. Then came the calling dreams, where he beckoned her to an island where they could be together outside of sleep. His appearances were always in Technicolor, but in these dreams she could even feel the caress of the sea breeze, hear the rustle of palm trees, and smell salt spray and island blossoms. Still, the location of the island was shrouded in as much mystery as the identity of her dream lover. The only landmark was the fountain he stood in front of time and again while indicating that she could find him there. Why was he so cryptic? If he wanted her, why not tell her who he was and exactly how to find him?
She began a quest during lunch hours and on weekends, and it took five travel agencies, the library, and an Internet search to finally uncover a brochure with the infamous fountain on its glossy cover. She’d been so astonished that the location actually existed that she’d jumped at the chance to book an off-season room in an alleged construction zone, even knowing her modest salary might never be able to pay off the exorbitant cost. She was determined to finally see her dream brought to life. Only, it hadn’t turned out that way.
She’d strolled out to that fountain and waited for hours, mesmerized by the bronze vision of Poseidon. A god, emerging from his kingdom to reveal his splendor to those frolicking unaware in the realm above the sea. Her lover never came. Later, when the breeze was still warm but carried a lonely whisper in its breath, she’d given up and wandered the rest of the grounds, finally sitting down to an unbelievably expensive salad at the Amante Pier restaurant and an allergy attack that prompted a retreat to her room when the meal was only half eaten. When another hours-long vigil at the fountain today failed to produce her man or help her god-awful allergies, she’d decided to see whether the hotel shop carried any pharmaceuticals and shuffled to the lobby. Thank God they did.
Few of the seats scattered through the lounge area were taken, and she recognized the man who sat reading in a chair close by the one she plopped into. It was the other lone wolf from her shuttle ride. Maybe lobby seating was reserved exclusively for singles in the lame hearts club.
He looked up and caught her eye, and she gave a small wave of hello.
Instantly, his expression turned to concern. “Are you okay?”
She frowned. “I’m fine. Why?”
The man appeared uncomfortable, shifting in his padded seat. “Looks like you’ve been crying.”
“Oh, that.” She pulled the box of pills from her bag. “Just allergies.” Not that the thought of curling up on the fluffy bed and crying her eyes out until the plane ride home hadn’t crossed her mind.
She caught sight of the book cover he was trying to hide in his lap. “What’s that you’re reading?”
His discomfort turned to full-blown embarrassment, judging by the red fluster that crept into his face. “It was the only thing they had in the gift shop.”
Seeming reluctant, he lifted the cover. She laughed out loud. “A Highland romance?” She gazed at a bag at his feet. “Looks like you plan on doing a lot of reading while you’re here.”
The thought intrigued her. Who came to a resort that only celebrities and highbrows could afford and did nothing but read gift shop novels?
Lexie scrutinized the man further. He was tall, handsome, exceptionally well-built, and had sandy hair, nice green eyes, and a sincere smile. Under other circumstances, like if she had an ounce of sanity left and was not head-over-heels in love with a mental fabrication, she’d have been all over this opportunity.
“Here.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a stereotypical cover featuring an impossibly muscled, shirtless male and a woman with hair reaching to the back of her knees and her head thrown back in ecstasy. “Knock yourself out.”
She took the cover and arched a brow. “Spoils of Warrior?”
“Like I said, it was all they had.”
She was about to ask his name when she saw him perk up at something over her shoulder. She followed his eyes and saw they were fastened to a statuesque, raven-haired beauty wearing a resort uniform. Suddenly, Mr. Sedate Romance Reader transformed into Mr. Action Hero. He dropped his book onto the wicker table beside him, leaped up, and followed her.
“Hey, your books,” Lexie called after him, but he was long gone. Huh. He must have figured she looked like someone with a greater need for a bag full of fiction. Little did he know she cooked up plenty of phony romantic delusions on her own.
She glanced at the book in her hand and grunted. Maybe he was right. She’d never be the girl on a romance cover, a woman plucked from an ordinary life to live the romantic fantasy of a lifetime. She was just a salesclerk with no living family, few friends, and only rare dates over the past year. Maybe she needed to call it what it was, get herself a few cats, and devote her life to eccentric spinsterhood.
The heroine blurred as Lexie felt tears sting her eyes. She set the book on the table next to her, picked up her allergy pills and her bag, and made her way through the lobby toward the elevator bay to the rear. On a whim she stopped beside the roaring waterfall, letting the breeze stirred by the rushing water caress her while she dug through her tote for a penny.
She tossed the shiny coin in the turbulent water. “Make a wish,” she whispered.
And she did.
Chapter Four
Grayel paced the halls surrounding his private courtyard. Upon coming of age, part of his triumphant return to the immortal realm involved a gift from his parents—a wing in the palatial household from which the realm was governed. It featured a blend of Greek and Egyptian architecture, both of which mortals had adapted from godly realms. Over the centuries, he had incorporated his own touches of earthen Celtic influence. Pillars supporting the numerous passages between the hall and gardens were carved with intricate braid work, marble statuary featuring immortals revered by Celts as well as the Greeks stood in each room, and the gardens grew lush beds of heather as an homage to the land of his childhood, if not his birth.
He paused near the tapestry wall, where fine embroidery work had been done to depict his life growing up among the mortal Celts. Studded into the careful embroidery were the leather straps and metal phalerae disks that had once decorated the horses accompanying him into battle, on land-surveying journeys and supply runs. What a different age it had been, when a boy with legendary strength, beauty, and speed had grown into a man revered by his people. Then he’d discovered they weren’t his people at all, nor was he a man. He was a god, transplanted during childhood to an earthly boarding school by his parents. And on his eighteenth birthday, they had called him home.
As foreign as this place had seemed all those centuries ago, it now seemed unfriendlier still. He’d returned from his trip through the portal to an immediate summons, followed by another round of his father’s ridiculous raving mad lectures. Malanon was threatening to publicly break ties with Tolel’s family, and his father was adamant that Grayel make amends for balking at the nonexistent betrothal to Lucreda. As if the great Tolel would ever have considered taking such a sharp-toothed hag for his own mate. Oh, she had a beauty not many could best, but it was the beauty of a rainbow set over a dung heap. Many an eye had been drawn to that beauty, away from the vile and wretched truth that lay beneath. This apparently included Grayel’s father, or else he would never consider letting such a viper near his family. Or maybe his thirst for power had grown so great he no longer cared who his son bedded, so long as it shone favorably on his own position as ruler.
He turned from the tapestry wall and walked to the edge
of the courtyard, leaning a forearm against a pillar while he watched a silver and crystal fountain bubble and splash nearby. He’d wanted desperately to meet Lex Ann by the fountain at the resort, almost enough to risk breaking the hotel’s rules. The Amante del Mar had strict policies about immortals mingling with the general mortal populace, policies the other realms were just as apt to follow to preserve anonymity. Some immortals got away with it, such as Love and Lust, who were able to blend in a bit more easily and provided services to the resort that made their occasional presence in the mainstream acceptable. Exactly what services Lust provided, Grayel likely didn’t want to know. But a full god, who could neither be seen nor touched by a mere mortal without severe impact, was not a welcome guest to go traipsing about the grounds at will. Such guests were kept hidden in the upper floors of the resort, where doorways between worlds still functioned and the only mortals who would see them were those already aware of their existence. Still, he would have found a way to see her in the flesh if he dared, though he could not yet touch her.
Even now he could close his eyes and imagine the look of shock on her face had she walked up to him at that fountain. There would be the pure joy of seeing their dreams come to life at last, the proof that their love was real. At least, that was the reaction he’d hoped for. But his trip through the portal had been delayed too long, and for the time being, patience and discretion had to rule over desire. He was already raising all kinds of hell in his own realm over this decision. Better not to spread that trouble to the mortal side as well.
“Grayel.”
He turned to find his mother, Asantra, in the grand hall behind him, wearing robes of royal blue that reminded him of Lex Ann’s eyes. Of course, precious few things didn’t remind him of her these days. Everywhere he looked, he saw glimmers of the woman he longed to claim, but could not touch.
He nodded in respect. “Mother.”
“I’ve come to talk to you. I think you know what about.”
He dropped his arm from the column. “Father made your position quite clear after my return from the mortal gate.”
She raised her chin, and her violet-blue eyes simmered with something Grayel knew better than to cross. “He made his position quite clear. You have yet to hear mine.”
“You oppose Father’s ridiculous demand?”
“I do not oppose my husband. But there is more to the story you do not yet know.”
Great. More tales of how his decision would ruin the entire realm, this time told from the viewpoint of maternal guilt. He shifted his weight to the opposite foot and nodded for her to continue.
She looked around as though unsure how to begin. “In our tradition, gods of our rank are given a prophecy by the Fates when we are quite young. The purpose of the prophecy is to identify our destined mates.”
He shrugged. “I am aware of it. But I was granted no such prophecy. I was sent to live on earth before the Fates could deliver it.”
Her eyes flickered with guilt. “That is what your father and I agreed to tell you. But it was not the truth.”
His gaze widened. “There is such a prophecy?”
She nodded.
“Why did you lie?”
“Because of what the Fates had to say.”
From within the folds of her gown she withdrew a rolled parchment that was tied with red silk cording.
He untied the scroll and pulled it open.
“The holy Grayel shall give the gift of immortality,” he read aloud. “Life’s essence will fill the chalice, bestowing eternal existence to the mortal who consumes it...”
He stopped reading, dropping the parchment on a gilded, half-round table nearby. “This is nothing but a mortal folktale.”
She nodded. “I know. The human legend of the holy grail.” She turned away, studying a life-sized statue of Athena. “That was your father’s doing. But it is no folktale.”
“I don’t understand.”
She sighed. “Your father was angry when the Fates brought forth the proclamation that your chosen mate would be mortal. He felt your elevated status demanded a mate of equal rank, and that a meshing of higher houses would help secure our place as rulers in the realm.”
Anger flared in his stomach. “You kept me from the truth so my father’s rule would be assured?”
She stepped forward, eyes pleading. “Understand, Grayel, you were born into a time of great unrest. Tolel did not seek personal glory, but security for our people. It was felt that if it were revealed the heir to the realm was fated to marry a mortal, it would weaken our position and create further uncertainty. There were others lying in wait who would have used such an opportunity to move in and declare open warfare. The prophecy could have been the impetus by which rulership was wrestled from the house of Tolel, with devastating results.”
Sobered by the thought, Grayel nodded. A war between gods was rarely seen, and would not be limited to just the realm in which it began. Immortal violence was such that, once started, it would spread like a virus into adjacent kingdoms and even the mortal plane itself. A wise ruler would do just about anything to ensure such a blight did not befall his reign. Still, the truth burned. After an entire childhood of living a lie, he’d been brought into the light the day he became a man. But not into all of it. He wondered what else his parents were hiding.
“Why was I sent to be raised by humans,” he said, “if Father was so opposed to me marrying one?”
“We did not know of the prophecy then. It was not brought forth until after you’d already been sent.”
He folded his arms. “Considering Father’s bleak opinion of mortals, I can’t help but wonder why he turned me over into their care in the first place. And why he let me stay after this came to his attention.”
“You know why we chose that path.” His mother walked to his side and placed a hand on his forearm. “And that it was the most difficult decision we ever made.”
He couldn’t quite keep the venom out of his tone. “Yes, you both thought I’d be too spoiled and pretty to become a man worthy of a kingdom.”
“We wanted you away from the unrest, son. Separated from the petty politicking and the influence of those with less than pure motives. It was too dangerous. Instead, you were brought up in a realm where you could learn self-reliance, humility, and inner strength without the possible pitfalls and risks of being raised a privileged heir.”
“And yet a life of working lands and defending mortals still failed to deem me worthy of rule in Father’s wise old eyes.”
She removed her hand, her eyes flashing a warning. “Your life among humans taught you a good many traits you will need when you rule. You know when to pick up your sword and when to lay it aside. You know when to sacrifice your wants for the betterment of others. And that pride comes before a fall.”
“Father wasn’t thrown to earth by his parents in order to learn these lessons.”
She gave him a smile. “Tolel was born into a different time, and he was not nearly as handicapped as you.”
He drew back. “Handicapped?”
She uttered a small laugh, something he rarely heard from her anymore. “Quite simply put, you were far too beautiful for your own good.”
He snorted. “I’m a god. Most of us are fair of visage.”
“And you should know well enough that you far exceed most of our kind in that respect.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen it happen, Grayel. The most beautiful of gods can also be the most vain, self-absorbed, and jealous. They are spoon-fed praise and granted every boon until they can no longer see the needs of the realm beyond their own personal whims. They are dangerous. Your father and I did not want to see that happen to you.”
He looked up at the smooth, arched ceiling for a long moment. “I have no need to reexamine ancient past, Mother. In truth, all I’m really seeking is an explanation for why you both have rejected my choice of a mortal mate.”
“You have heard our explanations. Repeating them will not make them any more o
r less true.”
“You trusted mortals enough to raise your only son, an heir to a god’s realm. Do you find it so surprising I could find love in the very plane where I spent my upbringing?”
Her gaze wavered. “You had not been through the veil for centuries. It did not occur to us you were seeking a mate there.”
He hadn’t been, not deliberately. But he’d found her nonetheless.
“But you knew of the prophecy.”
She looked away. “Your father cast the prophecy down to the mortal realm, where it was twisted and misconstrued until humans took to pursuing the mysteries of a literal cup that would grant eternal life to whoever encountered it. That was centuries ago, and over time, I confess that we forgot about it. Until this happened.”
He shook his head, wandering over to one of the open archways looking out over the courtyard. “She won’t be mortal when I bring her here as my mate. That wouldn’t even be possible. By the method of my chosen ritual, she will be transformed into a full goddess, higher than even a demigod.”
“Not in the eyes of your father, or certain others who might consider her less than pure by virtue of her birth.”
He clenched his jaw. “She will not affect my ability to rule.”
“I believe you, my son. But there are others who do not have such a clear mind, and the politics are delicate.”
He spun around. “So why come to me with all this, Mother? To tell me to give up the call of my heart? One strong enough to apparently have been foretold centuries ago?”
“No, Grayel.” Her voice mirrored the kindness and sympathy in her eyes. “You have become a fine man, more than any proud mother could dream of. I have no doubt you will love with all your heart, rule with all your wisdom, and defend our people with all your might. I merely want you to fully grasp the truth, so that you will be better equipped for the challenges ahead.”
Allister, J. Rose - Immortal Menage [Immortal Paradise 4] (Siren Publishing PolyAmour) Page 3
