by Laura DeLuca
Thunderstruck
Laura DeLuca
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Amazon Edition
Copyright 2013, Laura DeLuca
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Edited by Rebecca Wolfe
Cover by Angelique Mroczka
http://authorlauradeluca.blogspot.com
Dedication
This story was inspired by and is dedicated to my friend and fellow author, Tara Chevrestt. Her catch phrase is “Strong is Sexy” and she proves those words true every single day.
Table of Contents
Thunderstruck
About the Author
Thunderstruck
Ireland/Gaul – 1462
Taranis, God of Thunder, watched from the shadows as the mortal woman inched toward the bank of the stream. Her hips seemed to sway in time to the song of the larks overhead. She was beautiful, ravishing. Her long black hair swept down her back in waves so long they almost hid her heart-shaped posterior from view. Once she was submerged in the crystal waters, she floated on her back, her eyes closed in peaceful relaxation. Her pink nipples peeked out from the water, teasing him with their sweet perfection. He longed to see the full portrait of her naked body, but her flawless curves were hidden beneath the gently lapping waves. He knew it was improper to watch the maiden bathe. Had any other man attempted a similar offense, they would have tasted his lightning. However, it was not with lust but with love that Taranis drank in her ravenous beauty. She was his cherished Calista, though he’d known her by other names, as her soul returned to earth in each incarnation. In every life, he yearned for her, always seeing a beauty in her soul that rivaled even the flawless flesh of her youthful mortal shell.
Though he was one of the immortals, Taranis had always felt a kinship with the fragile humans. His brethren ridiculed his decision to walk among them openly. The mortals themselves often feared him and the powers he could not always hold at bay. Yet Taranis could not stay away from the people. He longed to be one of them—to share their simple joys and even their sorrows. Most of all, he yearned to know the fulfillment of love. He would have cast aside his ability to rock the earth and endure any amount of human suffering in exchange for one fleeting moment in the arms of the woman he’d loved for millennia. It was a heart he had, as of yet, failed to capture—and capture it he must if his desire to be human were ever to be approved. The other gods agreed to grant his wish for mortality only when a human woman heard him speak his words of love and returned that affection of her own free will. It was an ultimatum that would have been simple for any of his heavenly brothers, but for Taranis it was a deadly game. He detested the other gods all the more for their heartlessness and childish folly.
Most would think it would be no challenge for a god to sway a mortal’s heart. It was true Taranis had a handsome face and a stunning physique that made village women and nobility alike swoon long before he ever opened his mouth. It was when he finally moved his lips that their illusions were shattered. After all, he was the God of Thunder and had a voice that matched his title.
Taranis sighed while he watched Calista slip from the water. Even then he didn’t get a clear view because she was hidden behind the brambles as she replaced her petticoats and girdles. For centuries he had waited for this one woman to return to him, for no other was her equal. He would not choose lightly when his mortal partner would be his soul mate for all time, connecting again in each life when they were reborn. He knew there was only one soul whose fire matched his own, and though he was certain she had been reborn many times, only twice had he found her. In her first incarnation she was an Amazon, and in the next she chose the role of a virgin priestess—both times she was lured away by his sister goddesses to prevent their joining. He’d still attempted to win her love, but he had failed the challenge laid out by the other gods and was forced to remain immortal. This time Taranis truly believed things would be different.
Calista always had a warrior spirit, but she’d grown stronger in her most recent incarnation. She ran with the boys and bested them at swordplay, but showed no interest in their advances. She had refused the hand of more than one lovesick admirer, claiming to choose her freedom over the docile life of wife and mother. He adored her feisty, fighting spirit. However, Taranis believed there was more to her adamant rejections than even she was aware of. Deep in his soul, he knew Calista was still searching for her true mate. Taranis was certain this time he would not fail. She was waiting for him, and once they were together, he would never begrudge her the freedom she craved. He wanted only to share in it. He simply couldn’t believe such a spirited woman would wind up like the others. This time Taranis was certain Calista would be able to bear the weight of his love.
Taranis waited until Calista was fully clothed, though he knew she was not overly concerned with modesty. Perhaps it was more his own nerves that held him back, but he knew he could not wait forever to reveal himself. Just as she bent down to pluck a wildflower, he stepped into the clearing. He did not bother to hide his true self. To her mortal eyes his skin shone with the golden aura of the gods, but beneath that, he hoped she saw the gentleness in his emerald eyes.
“Bless me heart!” Though there was not a glimmer of fear in her dark eyes, Calista fell to her knees, as awed by his magnificent beauty as he was by hers. “Is it Cernunnos himself come to take me? Or Dagda? Tell me your will, my lord. I will do what I can to honor you. I am not afraid.”
“I am Taranis, God of Thunder,” he announced.
His thunderous voice shook the very trees that surrounded them so that acorns and pinecones showered down to mix with the already falling leaves of autumn. With a terrified squawk, the birds vacated their nests and other wildlife scampered deeper into the forest. From Calista, there was no response. She bowed her head so low it touched the ground. She trembled before the might of the god and refused to see the man. It was the customary reverence paid to a deity. Nevertheless, he knew Calista cared little for custom and was far from humble. He longed for her to cast aside her worship and reach out her hand to stroke his beard or his long blond hair. He yearned for her innocent, mortal touch.
“Please, Calista, rise.” He beckoned. “It is not your worship but your love I crave. Look on me not as a stranger. See within my eyes the soul that has searched for yours through countless lifetimes.”
Taranis waited, hopeful. Calista was the strongest woman he had ever known. Surely, she would not falter under the test demanded by his fellow gods. She had not run screaming at the sound of his awesome voice as so many before her. She did not weep with fear, though her head remained bowed. Finally, Taranis knelt in the grass beside her, scarcely feeling the damp earth beneath his sandaled feet. He touched Calista’s shoulder, feeling a surge of energy rush through him even at that simple touch. He lifted her chin to meet the deep brown eyes that were mirrors of the soul he had come to adore. How he longed to see a glimpse of love in them, just a whisper of the deep emotions that consumed him. However, it was not meant to be. Calista’s eyes were vacant and would never look with love upon him or anyone. With tears in his eyes, Taranis saw the blood flowing from her ruptured eardrums. It dripped down her neck and stained the white collar of her gown.
Calista was dead—dead at his own hand, though he would have gladly given his life in exchange for hers.
Amidst his grief, he heard the e
choes of laughter from the other gods as they hid in the shadows. His failure was their victory. Fury mingled with despair at their callous disregard for life. Taranis pressed Calista’s broken body against his chest so tightly he might have crushed the breath from her had she still lived. He wailed so loudly that castles miles in the distance crumbled under the weight of his anguish. The earth shook with the force of his grief, and Taranis swore upon the rubble that remained he would track Calista’s soul through time and space, and when he found her, he would not fail again.
San Francisco, California – Present Day
“Good morning. What can I get for you today?”
Tara Chevrestt watched closely as the bleach-blonde in line babbled her choice of latte and flavorings. The woman talked so fast it seemed she had already had one caffeinated beverage too many. That, coupled with the dim lights in the coffee house, made it difficult for Tara to read her painted lips.
“That was a large caramel latte with a double shot of expresso and extra whipped cream?” Tara repeated.
The girl rolled her heavily outlined eyes. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? What are you, deaf or something?”
Actually, Tara was deaf, but she doubted that the blonde in the designer jeans who snapped her gum as she texted on her state-of-the-art cell phone was going to give two craps. So Tara ignored the customer’s impatient sigh, wrote the order on the cup, and handed it to the guy behind the cappuccino machine. She would rather have shoved the cup up the blond bimbo’s ass, but she controlled the urge. Tara needed her job, even if she didn’t mix well with the preppy, latte-drinking bitches that frequented the establishment. For at least the tenth time that day, she wished her parents made enough money to pay her college tuition without her having to get a side job at the local coffee house.
“Next!” Tara called.
The blonde snapped her gum and gave Tara one last condescending glare before turning the corner to wait for her drink. It made Tara wonder if her voice came off as annoyed as she felt. It was hard to know when she couldn’t hear herself speak. Her shift had only begun, and already she was pissing off the customers. She figured it was just the start to another long evening, but the next customer in line actually brought an unaccustomed smile to her face.
“Hi, Tara. How are you?” The young man asked the question not with lips, but with the quick, fluid motions of his hands.
“I’m okay, Taran. Ready to call it a night and get out of this place. How about you?” she signed back.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but Tara had to admit it was hard to concentrate on his hands when the rest of his anatomy was so much more alluring. The man was fine with a capital F. He had the whole package—thick blond hair tied back in a ponytail, brilliant emerald eyes, perfectly manicured goatee, and a rock-solid torso. She would have ventured her gaze a little lower, but she knew she couldn’t get away with it without missing part of the conversation.
Taran was a fellow senior at her college, sure to graduate summa cum laude. Of course, checking him out made Tara lick her lips and think of cum of a completely different variety. With his striking good looks, he also could have been America’s next top model. Between the academic smarts that guaranteed him a great job after graduation and that to-die-for body, he should’ve been the most popular dude on campus. But Taran had one issue that made him an even bigger outcast among their peers than Tara normally was. The sexy genius was mute. Apparently, he could hear just fine, but some childhood disease had stripped him of the use of his vocal cords, leaving him unable to speak. He’d learned to sign, but that didn’t help much when it came to social interaction. People who didn’t know sign language quickly grew tired of having to read the notes on the white board he carried with him. Tara actually felt a little sorry for him, even though she would have punched anyone in the throat if they dared to pity her because of her lack of hearing.
“What can I get for you?” Tara signed.
“The regular.”
He pointed to the raspberry scone in the case then at the coffee pot marked extra bold. No fancy lattes for this guy. It was the only fact that kept her from suspecting he might be gay. Still, when he flashed her that dazzling smile and thanked her with a nod before taking his regular seat in the corner, she started to wonder if it was a possibility after all. Weren’t all the good-looking, well-dressed, intelligent men gay? If he wasn’t, then why after two years of incessant flirting had Taran never asked her out on a date?
The thought startled Tara, and she splashed hot coffee on her hand as she filled up a cup for the next, much-less-docile college student in the line. It wasn’t like her to worry about guys. Who had time between work and school? Yet, Tara had to admit that Taran had an effect on her unlike any other guy on campus. Maybe it was his name. Tara and Taran had a sort of catchy ring to it. On the other hand, she could see the “hear no evil, speak no evil” jokes coming a mile away. But silly punch lines aside, every time she saw him, she had the weird feeling that they were fated to be more than just friends. She had no idea why she didn’t simply ask him out herself. She wasn’t shy, but for some reason Tara was too overwhelmed by Taran’s presence to consider making the first move. There was something about him…something that made him seem almost untouchable. Still, Tara knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what her answer would be if he ever decided he wanted to be more than friends.
* * *
Taranis watched Tara climb onto her moped. She ran her fingers through her short black hair before pulling on her helmet. Mortals would never have been able to see so clearly, but even from across the street he could make out every detail of the art that was etched across her muscular, yet feminine arms. They were drenched in color from the corner of her shoulders to the tips of her elbows. On one arm he saw a coquí frog and a striped-headed tanager alongside the Puerto Rican flag, honoring the heritage she had chosen in this new life. There was even a flamenco dancer adorned in a pink-and-green gown, forever frozen in her graceful dance.
The other arm displayed a garden of colorful flowers—roses and lilies in blue, black, and orange. Taranis imagined the fragrance of those flowers would be more intoxicating than any within the earth, because they were drenched in her natural scent. He also noticed that mixed in among the tattoos that spoke of her Latino heritage; there was also a Celtic tribal band wrapped around her left ankle. Taranis knew it was a sign that a part of her was still drawn to the life she had lived before—the life he had been a brief but traumatic part of.
Taranis pushed the negative memories away. This was a new era. A new world. One where anything was possible. There were times when the magic of technology seemed to dwarf the powers of the gods themselves. First sign language and then computers with their artificial voices had made it much easier for Taranis to blend in among the mortals. Taranis especially loved the women of the twenty-first century. They were so bold and fearless, unafraid of demanding equality from their male counterparts. Tara was a prime example of that feminist drive. It seemed in each lifetime, she grew even stronger and more durable. He admired her strength and perseverance, but he also saw the sad and lonely woman she hid beneath the tough and snarky façade.
For two years he had watched her, yearned for her, but he was biding his time and building her trust. He had interacted with her in his human guise. However, he hadn’t given into the temptation to pursue anything more than a casual friendship, even though her smile insinuated she was open to more. He knew it was fear that restrained him. Each time he thought about romantic innuendos, he remembered Calista lying dead in his arms with blood dripping down her pale neck. Still, he hungered for Tara with a passion unlike anything he had ever known. He had waited centuries for her to return to him after his failure with Calista. He was sure that in this new world where their paths had finally crossed again, he would find a way to make her love him. He didn’t want to risk her life, but Taranis had a secret hope. He believed the very characteristic that she considered her greatest flaw would
be the one thing that ensured their happiness in this life and all that followed.
* * *
For some reason, Tara was having trouble sleeping. Maybe it was because the normally moderate temperature of San Francisco had become strangely humid. The small apartment felt stifling, even though the air conditioner was turned on full blast. She threw off her blankets one minute, only to find herself shivering uncontrollably a few moments later. It was a never-ending cycle that was getting on her nerves. She was exhausted and had an exam the next day. She needed to get some sleep.
As Tara continued her ceaseless tossing and turning, she realized it was more than just the weather that kept her awake. Even though she had gotten up twice to check the multiple locks on her door, she felt as if someone was watching her. It made her wish she had listened to her mother and stayed on campus. She’d tried living in the dorms, but the obnoxious dribble of the other co-eds was more than she could stand. Even though she couldn’t hear their whispers, she caught enough eye rolls to know she was never going to fit in with them. She was much better suited to solitude anyway, though at the moment she might have been grateful for the company of even a half-dozen catty co-eds. She was really freaking herself out. It was ridiculous, and it made the feminist in her furious. She was lying in her bed trembling like some pathetic damsel for no good reason. Finally, giving up on sleep, she got up for the third time.
It was then she saw him.
Tara bounced back against the headboard so hard she banged her head. She was too shocked to cry out. She didn’t move or even breathe for at least a full minute. Taran, from the coffee house, was leaning over her bed, staring at her with a delicate, forlorn smile. He was as hot as ever, but he seemed to be glowing with a strange golden hue. She was also fairly certain he was a few feet taller than she remembered. She rubbed her eyes once, thinking maybe it was a dream. Hot guys didn’t usually materialize in her bedroom at any other time, and they sure as hell had never shone with that eerie luminescence. Well, there was that one time with the glow-in-the-dark condom, but this was different. Taran’s whole body was lit up like a giant glow stick.
