“Come on, Gwen. Don’t act like you don’t feel the same. Let’s be honest. I could feel that glare you were giving me earlier. If you could have made my head explode, you would have. This just isn’t sitting well with your queenly sensibilities since I’m the one saying it first.”
She looked at him. Really looked at him. Gwen remembered what his mouth felt like on hers that first time. She’d thought the heat would incinerate them both, her blood turned to lava in her veins and it had been pure bliss. The first time he’d come to her bed—she sighed. Gwen thought she’d die without him and she wanted to be with him forever.
Forever was a long damn time.
“You can have the house, the gold—“
“I don’t want any of that, Lance!” she cried. “I want you.” Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat. “I want us. The way we used to be.”
“Not even Avalon with all its magick is capable of giving you that.”
Each and every word out of his mouth was another piece of her life crumbling away. After everything this was what it had come to? No, she knew this couldn’t be it.
Gwen went to him and slid into his lap.
“Gwen—” He sounded embarrassed for her. She’d be double damned if she’d be ashamed of trying to save their marriage.
She kissed him.
The supernova of a thousand stars that exploded inside of her when he used to kiss her didn’t even flicker. His hands sliding up her spine felt good, but not because it was Lance, only because she hadn’t been touched in so long.
“It’s gone,” Gwen whispered, something inside of her broken.
He set her away from him gently, and it was bittersweet. It was the kindest he’d been to her in years. “I’ll call you about getting my things.”
With that, Lancelot du Lac broke his oath again, and left the lady fair.
3
MORGAN
“What you’re saying is that you’re plotting against my son and you want me to help you?” Morgan arched a brow at the screen. As soon as she’d seen the email from Aphrodite, Morgan decided a Skype session was in order.
“More or less.” The blond nodded, a hopeful look on her face.
“Are you sure you want to match him up with a virgin hunt goddess? Don’t get me wrong, I love Mordred. But the only woman he treats with any respect is me and that’s because I’ll blast him with a supernatural pox if he doesn’t.”
“No, no. He’s perfect. You haven’t been to Olympus for awhile. There is no one here who isn’t afraid of Artemis. She seems to have forgotten the part of her history where she turned several men into women for pursuing her too ardently. No god is going to take that gamble.”
“No god will, but my son should?”
“If she changes him into a girl, I can always change him back. Love and anything to do with it is ultimately in my purview. He’ll be fine. I promise,” Aphrodite reassured her.
“I don’t know. It might do him some good to see what it’s like in someone else’s shoes. His last relationship was with Medusa and Circe. Together. Can you imagine the man hate on that island now?”
Aphrodite pursed her lips. “Okay, next on my to-do list… I think they deserve each other anyway.”
Morgan laughed. “Artemis can stay with me. I’ll throw them together at every opportunity. But fair warning, Mordred will be fine on his own. He’s immune to your arrows, zaps, or anything else you throw at him.”
“Damn it. I told Artie she could have anyone she wanted.”
“And she can. He’ll be curious why she’s so confident. Like Dumbo and his magic feather. It’ll all work out.”
“I thought that was my line?”
“You could come, too. Aeron would be a nice break from Ares, don’t you think?”
“No. He’s Artemis’s backup plan if Mordred isn’t viable.”
“What a tangled web you weave, my dear.”
“Now I just have to hope I haven’t wound it around my own ankles.” Aphrodite laughed, but the sound was hollow.
Morgan pursed her lips and thought very carefully about what she wanted to say next. Aphrodite was her friend, and she loved her, but sometimes the goddess could be a little blind when it came to matters of her own heart. “Can I give you some advice?”
Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. “Must you?”
“I must. We’ve known each other a long time.”
She giggled. “Since you made that love potion for Lance and Elaine.”
That was going to haunt her for the rest of her rather long existence. “And I’m still sorry. Heartily and forever sorry. Which is why I have to tell you—“
“Oh Zeus, here we go—”
Morgan didn’t let her get anything else out. “Ares is just not that in to you.”
“What?” The Skype connection blurred out for a moment as the goddess’s rage almost knocked the satellite out of orbit.
“He’s Not That Into You. Read it. Know it. Love it. If he really wanted to be with you, Aphrodite, he would.”
“It’s not in his nature. He likes conflict. He’s the God of War for fuck’s sake.”
Morgan sighed. “I’m telling you, read the book. Stop rationalizing his behavior. You’re a goddess, the Goddess of Love and you should be treated better. Right now, you’re a booty call. He acts up to make you come to him so you think it’s your idea. Then he doesn’t have to commit or offer you anything but his war hammer. I know it hurts and it sucks, but just think about it, okay?”
“After I’ve thought about it, then what? Maybe Ares is just a booty call to me, too. I’m the Goddess of Love. I know what’s in Ares’ heart.”
Morgan knew that Aphrodite didn’t want to lose face. She could understand that. Love was often accused of horrible things. Morgan definitely sympathized with that. “If it makes you feel better to think so. But you know, Arthur is still single. You could do worse.”
“Oh, heads up on that—I don’t know how long that will be the case. Guinevere is about to be a free woman.”
Something warm flared inside Morgan. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. “She’s leaving Lance?”
“No, Lance is leaving her. He hasn’t loved her for a long time.” Aphrodite smiled. “You can be his cleavage to cry on.”
Morgan refused to think about that. Lance hated her for what she’d done and the last cleavage he had any interest in was hers. Even though she wished it could be different. The raven at the door squawked indicating Morgan had a customer. “Duty calls. I have to go.” She closed her laptop without waiting for Aphrodite’s reply and went to the shop’s counter.
The Witch’s Brew probably wasn’t the best name to inspire confidence in her customers, but it made her laugh. It was also apt because her place of business was a restaurant, but there was a little bit of this, and a little bit of that in the gift shop too. Morgan continued to take commissions for potions, charms and curses.
So when she emerged from the back of the shop, she was surprised to see him standing there.
Lancelot.
Looking every bit as perfect as the day he’d come to Camelot. Only instead of shining armor, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but damn if they didn’t look even better on him than the armor.
Jackass. He shouldn’t be allowed to walk around looking so perfect when she couldn’t have him.
“Hey, Lance.” He still made her breathless, which was completely stupid because he’d never in a million years want anything to do with her. She was an Evil Enchantress, after all.
“Got any Johnny Walker Black?”
“Glass or bottle?” She could tell by the drawn and haggard look on his face he’d had a rough time.
“Bottle. Unopened.”
“Sure.” She tried not to be hurt he still wouldn’t take anything that she’d opened. Not that she blamed him. She’d given that potion to Elaine that made him think she was Guinevere. If Morgan could take it back, she would have.
Morgan passed the bottle to him. “Y
ou okay?”
“I don’t really want to talk, witch. I just want to go for a swim in my Walker.” He pushed some gold at her across the counter and his long, strong fingers closed around the bottle.
She tried not to watch him as he sat down in a corner booth, but she couldn’t help it. He was like the sun, so bright it hurt to look at him. Even while he tried to drown his sorrows.
Aphrodite had been right. Morgan would like nothing better than to be his cleavage to cry on. In fact, it would be better for all concerned if he just drowned his sorrows in her rather than that bottle of Johnny.
Before she could think better of it, Morgan sliced him a piece of cherry pie and took it over to his table.
This had bad idea written all over it, but Morgan had never worried too much about being good.
“There’s nothing pie can’t fix.” She smiled. “Or at least my pie.” While Morgan meant that exactly as it sounded, Lance didn’t catch the subtlety.
Or if he did, he obviously thought she meant it was bespelled.
“It’s not going to bite you back.” She swiped her finger down the side of the pie, coating it in the sweet cherry filling and popped it into her mouth. “See?”
His gaze focused squarely on her mouth, and Morgan decided to live up to her wicked witch enchantress reputation. She couldn’t have resisted even if she’d tried. Her tongue darted out to get the last bit of cherry and she swirled her tongue over her fingertip. “Damn, I have good pie. I think I’ll have a piece.”
“Morgan.”
“Yes, Lance?”
“Good pie,” he mumbled.
And he hadn’t even tasted it yet.
4
APHRODITE
He’s just not that into you?
Morgan had to be confusing the sage and cannabis again because there was no way Ares wasn’t into her. In fact, after all the times he’d actually been into her, literally…
Love and War were opposite sides of the same coin. They just belonged together. Didn’t they? Sure, they fought, but it was foreplay. There was a reason people said all is fair in love and war.
The fact that she was even questioning herself was ridiculous. She was the Goddess of Love. Her own love life should be an easy enough thing to sort out.
What did she really want from Ares? Weren’t things fine the way they were?
She popped a chocolate covered coffee bean in her mouth and took another sip of Rosa Regale. Aphrodite savored the sparkling red wine—the stuff was better than Ambrosia.
Things were fine.
Except they weren’t.
Aphrodite popped a whole handful of the chocolate covered beans into her mouth and crunched angrily.
“Morgan, you wretched witch,” she grumbled, still chomping.
Okay, so maybe she was tired of everything being fair in love and war, because it wasn’t. Ares never played fair. Everything was strategy and winning to him. He couldn’t stand to lose. Not even to make her happy.
The last time she’d tried to push him on that they’d ended up with The Trojan War. She’d held her ground, but it had been ugly.
Her cell rang and it was him. As the mortals said, speak of the Devil… and yeah, he totally earned the capital “D.” She decided to ignore him. Aphrodite was feeling raw and unsure of herself, which was itchier than a yeast infection and just as awful for the normally confident goddess—and not so fresh to boot.
When the air around her began to shimmer and her Rosa Regale went flat, she knew Ares hadn’t taken the hint.
“Look what you did to my Rosa!” she admonished as soon as he was solid.
Mmm. Solid. His chest, his biceps… No, no. She had to focus.
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do to your Rosa, if that’s what we’re calling it these days.” He arched one black brow in a rakish manner. “There’s a story for the bards. Rosa and the War Hammer.”
“You and Thor and your mighty hammers.” Aphrodite made finger quotes in the air as she rolled her eyes.
“What do you know of Thor’s hammer?” His dark eyes narrowed.
“How soon we forget. Remember that little wager we had about the American colonies?”
“No.” His mouth tightened in a petulant expression.
“Yes, you do. The one you lost,” she paused for effect, “because you’re a loser?” Aphrodite smirked. Morgan was wrong; Aphrodite was at her most joyful when she was baiting him.
He’s just not that into me. Whatever.
“You must be confused, sweetness. I never lose.”
She snorted. “Oh, so… what you’re saying is that you planned to make it look it like you lost because you wanted to make out with Thor for my viewing pleasure?”
“Damn it. You know how that was supposed to go. If you lost, when you lost, I was supposed to get a show with you and the goddess of my choice.”
“So you admit I won?”
“That was in 1783 and you’re still talking about it. Can we let it die?”
“No.” As if.
“Fine. You won. But let’s not forget the Trojan War, little Miss Love Conquers All.”
“That’s a concept that you should be comfortable with. They say war is hell. But they say the same about love.”
“Who the hell is they?”
She groaned. “Are you going to get me another bottle of Rosa? All your angry vibes took the bubble right out of my bubbly.”
“I like that it’s red like blood, but the bubbles have to go.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“And you’re in charge of what, exactly?”
“You. And you like it.”
He had a point. She loved it when he was commanding. At least in bed. By Zeus, that god had a tongue that could—
“Which brings me to my question. Why did you ignore my call? Just to be difficult and make me hunt you down? I’ve never met a female that liked to be chased as much as you do.”
For some reason, that statement really pissed her off. She didn’t know if it was because he was talking about chasing other women, or that he was so put upon that he had to take time out of his oh-so busy warmongering and hatebreeding to seek her out.
“No, actually. I didn’t answer it because I didn’t want to talk to you,” she said primly, her polite demeanor masking her feelings.
The dark slashes of his brows crawled up into his hairline like recalcitrant, although well-groomed, caterpillars. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Let me help you with that. I don’t want to talk to you,” she thundered this last in themGoddess of Doom voice that caused the Rosa bottle to shatter and what was left inside turned to vinegar as is spilled across the table.
A waste of some damn fine wine that broke her heart just a little bit.
“What’s got your tampon in a twist? What did I do this time? Did I forget the millennia anniversary of the first time you farted in front of me or the first time you slept over at my temple?”
“Actually, you did. I’ve never slept over at your temple.”
“Not for lack of invitation.”
“Really? When have I been invited to stay?” She puffed out her chest and drew herself up, a scowl on her face to imitate his. “Thanks for the poon, Aphrodite. I’ve got to be up to cause unrest and mayhem in three hours. Lock the door on your way out.”
He laughed. He actually laughed. “I’ve never said that.”
“Look, I’m tired of being your booty call.” He suddenly looked like a drowning man and the rope she’d tossed out to save him was a live snake. “I know love isn’t your gig, so I don’t expect you to say it all the time. Once would be nice.”
“We’ve got a good thing the way it is.”
“No, we don’t. You do. And you know what? I deserve better.”
“Who has been feeding you this crap? Why can’t we just continue on as we have? We’re happy.”
“No. I keep saying it and you keep not listening. We need a break. D
on’t call me. Don’t materialize without an invitation. In fact, why don’t you find someone else to be your booty call?”
“You’re just hormonal. Remember last time you got like this? The Trojan War. It ended badly. So we’ll just forget—”
“Ares, I’m so tired of hearing about the Trojan war. It’s over. The only Trojans I want to hear about are latex and they don’t involve your hammer any longer. Morgan was right. I can do better than this.”
“That’s only because you lost.” He crossed his arms and flashed her a smug grin.
“Oh. My. Gods. You’re not listening to me. That’s it. I’ve had enough.” Aphrodite decided in that moment she was going to Avalon with Artemis.
5
VIVIENNE
L ady of the Lake, Vivienne du Lac, decided as she crossed the meadows to Arthur’s, that she had a guilty conscience.
She wanted to come clean—no, that was a lie. That little voice in her head wanted her to come clean, but Vivienne herself was content to keep her own counsel.
The pile of shit she found herself in started off no bigger than a faerie turd and somehow, it starting rolling down a great mountain of crap and now she was well and truly buried in it.
She’d never wanted this for her son, but half of his trouble was of his own making anyway. If he hadn’t gone off half-cocked to ride to the maiden’s rescue everything would be as she’d designed it.
Her plan had been ingenious.
Camelot had to fall. Nothing so glorious or golden could last forever. It had been meant to go down in history as a shining example for all of humanity to aspire. Equality. Justice. Love.
The love part had screwed it like a poxed whore.
And it was Vivienne’s own fault.
Vivienne had tripped over her own stupid feet and fallen in love with Arthur. Engineering Gwen’s downfall had been simple. She’d always reassured herself it had been necessary. The oracle had proclaimed it so. It also proclaimed that Morgan and Lance belonged together and their son would have become high king after Arthur.
Ambrosia Lane 1-3: Saranna DeWylde Page 29
