But no.
Morgan had done her part seducing Arthur, even though it had dirtied her name in all the annals of history forever. They weren’t even related. Morgan was the daughter of one of Avalon’s priestesses and Vivienne had sent her to foster with Igraine. Vivienne could always depend on her to do what was expected. Even falling hard for Lance and then betraying him when it became necessary to break his attachment to Miss Purity with that potion for Elaine.
Morgan was worthy of all the bounty Avalon had to offer, unlike that wretched Guinevere. Vivienne had been angry enough to chew Excalibur in half when her son had come back to Avalon, dragging her with him.
But back to the problem at hand… everything was her own fault. Arthur never trusted another woman again and he’d been alone since Guinevere and Lance betrayed him. He was by no means celibate; part of the draw to vacation in Avalon was to experience the carnal talents of the great King Arthur. He lived as he always had—his home a golden castle on a hill surrounded by apple orchards set against an eternal blue sky. The main parts were open for tours and Arthur frequently invited all manner of females to tour his private rooms.
She found herself singing, “The rain may never fall till after sundown—” But this wasn’t Camelot. It was Avalon, and she was the freaking Lady of the Lake. It was time she started acting like it.
If she wanted Arthur, she should have had him. Simple enough. He banged everything else in a skirt, so why not her? Maybe that would get him out of her system. She’d been too caught up worrying what he’d think of her if he knew she was at the root of his every misery.
He didn’t need to know.
She could still slap Lance in the back of the head. In fact, if he’d been within range, she’d have slapped him. Every once in awhile, she still sent him a psychic slobber-knocker. He had it coming.
Vivienne didn’t see the attraction to Guinevere. So she was blond and petite. So what? She was self-centered, petulant, not very bright, and with no breasts or hips to speak of. Sure, she was the modern definition of beauty, but back when this had all gone down, most men wouldn’t have looked twice at her except for the fact she held the key to Lyonesse and a ridiculously massive dowry.
“To what do I owe the honor of your dulcet tones?” Arthur said against her ear.
She shrieked and tripped, falling backward into the solid wall of him. He anchored her there, and damn if she didn’t gasp like a maiden. Vivienne had to admit it was nice being trapped in his arms. He was so warm and smelled of sunshine, summer grasses and the apples of Avalon. She tried not to inhale too deeply. Vivienne could only imagine the horror of explaining to him why she, the Lady of the Lake, was sniffing him like a stray dog.
“Who said I was coming to visit you?”
“So you were just frolicking in my meadows?” He still hadn’t let her go, his thumb tracing small whorls on her forearm.
“No,” she fumbled. “Yes. So what? I’m the Lady of the Lake. I do as I please. Even frolic in my own meadows, as all of Avalon belongs to me.”
“Do you do that often, milady?”
“What?”
“Frolic in your own meadows? You should get out more.”
Vivienne didn’t know she could still blush, but her face was suddenly hot and her body throbbed. She couldn’t help but imagine his thumb in that same motion on other parts of her body. If she squirmed just the right way, his hand would be on her breast.
But she was above such subterfuge.
“Mind your tongue, lad. I’m not one of those goddesses here on a weekend to tour your castle or to check out your mighty sword.”
“Ah, Vivienne. An array of witty ripostes spring forth both about my mighty sword and all the things I can do with my tongue. But a venerable lady such as yourself wouldn’t wish to hear of such things.” His devil fingers ghosted down her arm.
“History has shown that if you have to brag about either your sword or your tongue, both are most likely lacking.” She was proud of herself for managing a reply.
“You know what I like about you, Vivienne?” His breath tickled her ear.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.” She tried to sound unaffected, but feared she failed miserably.
“You tell it like it is. Your honesty is refreshing.”
Ouch! “Your manwhore routine is not.”
“Why, Vivienne, you’re jealous.”
“Not,” was all she managed to squeak.
“Your heart flutters in your chest like a hundred butterflies.” His hand traced from her shoulder to her collarbone and finally rested over her heart. So close to where she wanted him to touch her. Maybe she wasn’t above subterfuge after all.
“And being the good friend and king that I am, it’s my duty to help you.”
Goddess, did he mean what she thought he meant? Her mouth went dry. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.
“I know just the god for you.”
Oh no. “I think not.”
“Why not, Viv?”
“Don’t call me Viv.” She spun around in his arms to face him, taking control of the situation. “You like honesty? I’ve got some more for you. I am jealous. Wretchedly. It burns with the fire of a thousand suns.”
“I knew it.” A smug smile curved his lips.
“But I don’t want a god.”
“Goddess then?” The smug grin melted into a perplexed expression.
“No.”
She readied her nerve, chewed on the words before she was able to say them. Tasted them. Considered them wholly. This would change everything, but Vivienne had already lived with years of regret and guilt. So why not take something else she wanted if he wanted it too?
“Then what, Vivienne? What is it you want?”
“You.”
“I always knew you had a soft spot for me.” Only it wasn’t Arthur’s neck she’d wound her arms around.
It was Mordred’s. That little bastard. He’d used his magick to trick her. She shoved him away from her as he laughed.
Mortification and fury vied for dominance. If it had been possible in that moment for Vivienne to have an embolism, her brain would have popped like an overfed tick.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s not what I think I’m doing, but what I actually did. I tested a hypothesis. It seems I was correct and you harbor a certain tendre for our king. I wonder what he’ll think of it?”
“You will not be the one to tell him,” she growled.
“No, you will be. After you confess your sins.”
One of Mordred’s gifts was that he could see guilt. Vivienne had done a good job over the years justifying her actions to herself so she’d thought her secret was safe from him.
She drew herself up, cloaking herself in the mantle of her power. She’d ended people for less than what Mordred threatened.
“I gave you the gift of immunity to magick and I can take it away.” She growled again, and realized she sounded like a dog—but that’s exactly what she’d be if he dared meddle in her affairs—a rabid dog of war.
“Oh, come now, Vivienne.” He yanked her back against him, obviously not intimidated in the least by her threats. “Yeah, come right now. It’s been so long for you.”
He was right. It had. Her body yearned for a connection, for touch. For something hot and intense.
Although, certainly not with Mordred.
“My father’s not the only reason women come to Avalon, my Lady of the Lake.”
She’d admit, as much as she was ashamed to, that for a moment she considered taking Mordred up on his offer. She had no doubt he was gifted. He was a bad boy, after all, one of the baddest of the bad. The bad ones were always brilliant in bed because they liked power and bringing someone else to the brink of pleasure and having it within their purview to hold them back or shove them over the edge was always a rush.
But this was the first sign of any interest from him ever. He was up to something. “Mordred, my love,” she twined her arms around hi
s neck again. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this fire is hotter than you can handle. You’re going to get burned.”
“I should enjoy that very much, Vivienne. After all, your fire is only one I haven’t burned in.” He looked pensive for a moment. “It’s either you or Guinevere, but I don’t think she’d pose much of a challenge. Do you?”
“Oh, so I’m a challenge?” She was still pissed off enough to smite him. How dare he? “I have a challenge for you.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” He smirked, seemingly sure he had her. Simply because he was Mordred and women melted at his feet.
“By all the power of Avalon, I curse you.”
“I’m immune.” He smirked and tried to kiss her.
And damn if she still wasn’t tempted. “To all magick but mine, Mordred.” Power crackled around her fingertips.
His mouth was inches from hers.
“I curse you to fall in love with the next person you kiss.”
That did the trick. He jerked away from her like her body was made of electric current.
“Why the hell would you do that?” he snarled.
“I don’t know. The same reason you pretended to be Arthur.” Satisfaction bloomed. “Feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it?”
He smiled again, cold and calculating. “That was why I wanted to play with you, Viv. You’re the only one whose power matches my own. Although I wonder what it says about you that you think love is a curse.”
“Don’t you?”
“That’s beside the point. You still have a whole dirty little basket of laundry to show to Arthur, whereas I’ve never kept my villainy a secret. Whatever shall you do?” He said this last in a faux dramatic sotto voice. “And all I have to deal with is love. Maybe you should’ve just cursed Arthur again instead of me.”
He left her standing there in the tall grasses wondering what the hell had just happened while his long strides carried him toward the castle.
6
ARTEMIS
A valon was not at all what she’d expected.
She’d assumed Avalon would be much like the Orkneys, especially with all the mist, but the place where she’d materialized was more like Bora Bora. The water so clear and blue, she could see brightly colored fish darting to and fro over a white sandy bottom. The sun hung high in a blue sky and the temperature was just right. Not too hot, but perfect for a bikini.
“This is just the resort. The other side of the island looks a bit more European as opposed to south sea,” Aphrodite said.
“This is gorgeous. The perfect backdrop to lose the V-Card. I’m so glad you came with me.”
“Oh! Don’t let him talk you into anything on the beach. Even if you have a blanket down, you’ll get sand in your bits. Unless you’re on top, but it’s your first time, so that’s probably a no.” Aphrodite wrinkled her nose.
Artemis was suddenly a little nervous. In theory, this had seemed like a great plan, but now she was actually here. She was going to do this. She’d heard it hurt—of course nothing could hurt like childbirth. Artie helped deliver a million babies.
Of course, that was part of what had kept her chaste. Nothing was worth all that blood and pain. Nuh-uh. She was a goddess though, she didn’t have to breed if she wasn’t so inclined. If for some reason she was ever inclined to produce a squalling, pooping ball of divinity, maybe she’d get lucky and have inherited Zeus’s reproductive skills and could make babies from her fingernails. That would be cool. No reason to send a wrecking ball through the party place to do that.
She scanned the horizon for her intended prey, but saw no one.
“It seems pretty deserted.”
“We’ll just…” Suddenly Aphrodite stopped cold and perked her ears. Not unlike a meerkat. Although, the look on her face was pure disgust, as if someone had offended her on an atomic level. Both as in the smallest bits of her being, and relating to the apocalyptic level of smiting that was about to go down.
“Someone on this island thinks much too highly of themselves.”
“Uh oh. I’m never going to lose my V-Card. You’re going to blow up the island.”
“No, no. You just follow the dock up to the resort and ask for Morgan. I will be back soon.”
“Don’t blow up the island.”
“No, I won’t. But someone needs a lesson in both love and humility. I don’t know who the offender was, but I’ll find them.”
“What did they do? Use love in a curse or something?”
“Yes!” The Goddess of Love turned a mottled shade that was not at all attractive. “Love is not a curse and I’m sick and tired of it being used as a weapon.” Aphrodite disappeared.
Saying that the shit was going to hit the fan wasn’t quite adequate to describe the terror Aphrodite would set upon the poor bastards.
Using love as a weapon or treating it as something dirty was the fastest way to flip her normally kind and fun-loving friend into a Bitch Goddess of Doom. Not that Artemis could blame her. It was a bad rap, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be there when Avalon became a smoking pit boil in the armpit of the world.
After debating it for a minute, she decided to do as Aphrodite said and find Morgan. She couldn’t wait to get into her new bikini and stretch out on that white sand. She wondered when she’d see Mordred.
She took her time meandering along the plank walkway that led to a large Victorian styled house that seemed completely out of place. A sign hung over the entrance that read The Witch’s Brew.
Tiny bells jingled overhead when she opened the door. The inside was almost like a witchy Cracker Barrel, with one side leading to a shop and the other to a bar and grill.
She expected a beach theme, maybe some shells since the resort and cabins were next door, but as she was learning, nothing in Avalon was as she’d expected.
“Hey there,” a slender, dark-haired woman called from behind the bar. Artemis was immediately jealous of her long, shiny black hair. Her eyes were supernaturally bright, like amethysts. She was definitely of fae descent.
“Morgan?”
“You must be Artemis!” Morgan’s expression bloomed into a smile. “Glad you made it. Where’s Aphrodite?”
“She had some business to attend to.”
“Oh no. What happened? Don’t tell me Ares pulled some last minute—“
“No, no. Someone used love as a curse and you know how she feels about that.”
Morgan looked up at the ceiling and then peered around Artemis’s shoulder to look outside. “Okay, Avalon is still here…”
Artemis laughed. “I know, right?”
“It is,” a surly voice sounded from a corner booth.
“It is what, Lance?” Morgan sighed, an exasperated sound.
“A curse,” he grumbled.
“Never mind him.” Morgan waved off his comment.
“Yes, never mind me,” he agreed, but the tone was pure sarcasm. “Another round, witch.”
“Go home, Lance. You’re drunk.”
“Don’t have a home. I left Gwen.” With that, his head thunked down on the table into a plate full of chili cheese fries.
Morgan looked embarrassed. “Are you sure you want to lose your V-Card? Men are all horrible beasts.”
Artemis laughed. “Well, my life coach says to get rid of anything I haven’t used in the last year.”
“You have a life coach?”
She grinned at the incredulity on the other woman’s face. “No. But it seemed like a good thing to say.”
“Can you excuse me for a second? I can’t leave the knight in shining armor face down in his chili cheese fries.”
“I’ll help.” Artemis sighed.
“You’re a doll,” Morgan said. “Although, this does put a crimp in our plans. I’d planned to put you in the spare bedroom. If Lance really doesn’t have anywhere to stay…” Morgan trailed off, but then a grin brightened her face. “This is perfect. You can stay in Mordred’s beach house and we’ll set Aphrodite
up at the resort.” Morgan winked at her.
Her common sense siren blared like a tornado warning. “Won’t he notice I’ve taken up residence?”
“He’ll give up his bed for a lady in need, my dear. He may be a bad apple, but he’s polite about it.”
Morgan plotted so easily against her own son and Aphrodite had said that she was the real deal, one-hundred percent wicked witch. She had to wonder just how bad boy Mordred really was growing up with a woman like her.
She shivered. Morgan couldn’t be that bad. After all, she was helping a guy who’d passed out in his food and giving him a place to sleep.
“Well, that’s always important.” Artemis wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
“I’ve always thought so.” Morgan smiled again. “You’re going to give him a run for his money. I can tell. Even though you chose him, don’t show interest too quickly. Make him chase you.”
“Like a wolf would run down a deer?” She wrinkled her nose. Artemis was the huntress, not the hunted. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being prey.
“Yes, just like that. Let’s get Sir Drinks-A-Lot to bed.”
“I’ve got this.” Artemis, being Goddess of the Hunt, was athletic. Or as some mortals would say, strong as an ox. She hauled the mountain of a drunk man over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and waited for Morgan to direct traffic.
Morgan pointed and Artemis carried the rather large package of man to an upstairs room and deposited him on the bed. He’d be handsome without all the chili and cheese on his face.
Or the liquor on his breath.
“He’s kind of pretty.”
“He’s a lot pretty. He’s Lancelot. It comes with the territory.”
Was that a sigh she heard on the lips of the great Morgan Le Fey? “I see.”
Morgan flashed a guilty expression. “It sucks. He hates me and he’d probably rather sleep on the street than under my roof.” She shrugged.
“Aphrodite would zap him if you wanted her to,” Artemis said, thoughtful.
“I know. But I already did him dirty once. I wouldn’t do it again.”
“He’d never know.”
“I’d know.”
Ambrosia Lane 1-3: Saranna DeWylde Page 30
