Goddess of Light (35 page)

“Yes, but they do not have cars. I can promise you that I'd rather face the dragons.”

“I'll sit in the front seat with you.”

“I can't slay it?”

“I don't think that would be a good idea.” Pamela tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HIKING in and around Pikes Peak had long been one of Pamela's favorite hobbies as well as her main form of exercise. Why should she work out in the stuffy confines of a man-made gym when she had the splendor of the Colorado Rocky Mountains surrounding her? Not that she was one of those hard-core, backpacking, camping, shunning-the-conveniences-of-modern-life hikers. Scaling up the side of a sheer rock had never, ever appealed to her. Nor did sleeping on the ground and peeing in the woods. But taking a trail that wound up and around the mountain, especially early in the morning when everything was clean and still and private, was something she had been shifting her schedule to include at least four times a week ever since she had left Duane. Hiking was synonymous with freedom to her. And it didn't matter how sluggish or stressed out she was feeling at the beginning of her trek; an hour later when she returned she was relaxed and rejuvenated. V called it her “attitude adjustment time.”

So the brand-new shorts, T-shirt and hiking shoes that had been set out on her bed for her brought a definite smile to her lips. She changed clothes quickly and emerged from her room in time to see Apollo, in a male version of her attire, walking down the hall towards her.

“I do not know how Eddie performs all of this magic without any immortal power,” Apollo said, smiling wryly.

“The power Eddie has is called money. Lots of it. Coupled with his imagination, it equates to the modern world's version of magic. James called my room and said for us to meet him in the den.”

“After you,” Apollo gestured gallantly for her to precede him down the hall.

Pamela noticed that, just as in the short ride in the car, he was very careful not to touch her. She reminded herself that he was only giving her what she had asked of him, space and time, which didn't help to dispel the crappy, knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach.

James was waiting for them with a smile, a picnic basket and a map.

“I have marked a trail nearby that I thought you might particularly enjoy exploring. It begins north of the ranch house, winds through First Creek Canyon to a lovely spring-fed pool.” He pointed at the end of his yellow highlighted trail. “The perfect place for a leisurely dinner. In the basket you will find plenty of water as well as sunscreen. And, though you probably won't need it, I also included a cell phone, which is programmed back to the spa information desk. Just hit star sixty-two in the unlikely event you get lost or need assistance.”

“You're very thorough, James,” Pamela said.

“Thank you, ma'am. Just keep in mind that night falls quickly in the desert. I believe sunset is scheduled today for 8:05 P.M.” He handed Apollo the basket, bowed neatly and left the two of them alone.

They stood awkwardly in silence. Apollo was the first to speak.

“I suppose we should go.”

Pamela cleared her throat. It was ridiculous that she was feeling nervous about being alone with him. She'd had sex with him. More than once. There was no reason for her stomach to feel sick and her palms to be so sweaty. None at all. She needed to get a grip.

“Okay,” she pointed at the basket. “Sunscreen first.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow at her.

She sighed and undid the clasp on the top of the picnic basket. So much for behaving normally. The situation was definitely not normal. The man standing before her didn't know what the hell sunscreen was because he was Apollo, God of Light. Jangled nerves were probably the only normal thing about this situation. She peeked into the basket. Organized as well as always prepared, James had placed the tube of forty-plus sunblock right on top. With an open, curious expression, Apollo watched her spread the creamy lotion on her arms and face.

“It smells of coconut. What it is?” he asked.

“It's sunscreen. It blocks the harmful rays of the sun from our skin.”

He looked utterly baffled.

“Mortals can be burned by too much light. Remember Semele?”

Apollo blinked in surprise.

“Eddie's been giving me lessons in mythology.”

Apollo raised both of his golden brows. “Be careful what you believe of the stories told and retold in your world. I have it on excellent authority that many of them are highly inaccurate.”

“Yeah, I've already figured that out. They say Artemis is a virgin.”

He barked a laugh. “Which proves my point. Now tell me truly, does this lotion that smells of coconut have the power to block the light of an immortal?”

“I doubt it, but it will save you from getting a nasty sunburn.”

“Sunburn?”

“Think of it like shaving. It should be simple to understand, but it can mess you up if you're not used to everything that goes with it. Sunlight is like that for mortals.”

Looking grim, he took the tube from her, squeezed some into his hand, sniffed it and then spread it on his arms and shoulders. Pamela watched him, and she felt suddenly, inexplicably sad. Apollo, God of Light, should not have to protect himself against the sun. A vision of the last time they made love flashed through her mind. He had been a flame, burning with immortal passion. He
was
the sun.

Apollo didn't belong here. She could give in to the desire of her heart and allow herself to love him, but she could not delude herself into thinking that their story would have an ending any happier than Semele's mythic love for Zeus.

“Don't forget your face,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he smiled, drenching his face in the white liquid, “I would have forgotten. This is all rather new to me.”

Her stomach clenched again, but she returned his smile. “I think that will do.” Pamela recapped the tube and put it back in the basket, which Apollo picked up, and together they walked out the front door of the lodge.

“Do you know which way is north?” Apollo paused to ask her. When she gave him a startled look, he grinned like a little boy. “I am only teasing you. I'm without my powers, not without my brain.”

“Well, that's comforting,” she mumbled but grinned back at him as they crunched down the pebble-covered drive and angled to their left, weaving between the scattered adobe buildings that made up the rest of the chic little spa, restaurant, and well-supplied gift shop. It was hard to believe that just outside the resort the oasis gave way to the brutal beauty of the desert. Their trail was flanked by wild tufts of long-armed orange flowers, interspersed between fragrant purple plants that reminded her of lavender, as well as the familiar pointed, rubbery leaves of yucca clumps. It was cooler here in the canyon, and much greener, as if the desert had saved up all its softness and sweetness and focused it here.

They said little as they made their way through the heart of the resort. Apollo didn't take her hand or link her arm through his. When he spoke to her he was polite, even witty, but the passionate undercurrent that had been an almost tangible part of everything he said or did since they had met at the little café table at The Lost Cellar was gone, or at least well-subdued—and Pamela felt its loss keenly.

She thought about what Eddie had said to her, and the way his face changed whenever his gaze rested on Artemis. The big man knew the hurt he chanced, but he believed what he gained was more valuable than what he might lose.
There are no guarantees in love, Pamela, just endless opportunities—for hurt and for happiness.
It was a new and frightening concept for Pamela, but she had never been a coward, and she had rarely taken the easy way out.

Apollo spotted the little wooden sign made in the shape of an arrow on which was carved First Creek Canyon.

“I prophesy that First Creek Canyon is this way,” Apollo said, dramatically holding one hand to his temple.

“Watch it,” she smiled at him. “You're gonna get struck by lightning or something.”

“Zeus,” Apollo grunted.

“So do you think you're in trouble with him?”

“I'm afraid that Artemis and I will have much to explain. He is our father, and he loves us, but regardless of that fact, the God of Thunder will not be amused that we allowed ourselves to become trapped in the Kingdom of Las Vegas.”

“Uh, it's not really called a kingdom. It's just Las Vegas, located in the state of Nevada. Like Rome is a city located in the country of Italy.”
At least it's kind of like that,
she thought, not wanting to launch into a whole United States of America geography lecture.

“Not a kingdom?”

“Absolutely not.”

They walked on down the red dirt path several paces before Apollo spoke again. “I probably appear very foolish to you, calling Las Vegas a kingdom, getting carsick, cutting myself shaving, not knowing about sunscreen,” he said, not looking at her.

“Not half as foolish as I would be if I was suddenly plopped down in the middle of Olympus.”

He glanced over at her. “You have been to Olympus, and you did not make a fool of yourself.”

“No,” she snorted. “I was too busy being drugged with your sister's magic and then turning into a flower.”

Apollo stopped and faced her. He lifted his hand, as if he meant to touch her, but he didn't follow through with the gesture; instead, his fisted hand returned to his side. “I am ashamed that both of those things happened to you. I should have been able to protect you from them. My only defense is that I am new to this emotion, this being in love, and I find it”—he paused; his gaze met hers and held—“distracting.”

Pamela drew a deep breath. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Apollo's expression shifted subtly, but he said nothing more than, “Do you?”

“Yes,” she started walking again. She wanted to talk to him; she needed to talk to him, but she couldn't do it standing still.

“I already told you that I was married, and that it was a bad marriage.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I want you to know the reason it was bad, and then I think you'll understand why this has been so hard for me, why I've resisted loving you.”

“I'm listening.”

“I met Duane while I was in college. He's ten years older than I am, and he was already a successful professional. I thought he was dashing and smart, and he seemed so kind. He wanted to take care of me. I understand now that I didn't fall in love with who he really was; I fell in love with the fantasy of the life we were supposed to make together. But love is love.” She lifted one shoulder, as if trying to shrug off the uncomfortable admission, “and we married the month I graduated from college. From the day of our wedding on, things changed. We bought a house together.” She laughed humorlessly. “No, scratch that. Duane bought the house. He insisted that it would be better if the title was in his name alone. He said it would be quicker and easier. Just like my new car was a ‘gift' he surprised me with. Again, the title was only in his name. I remember one day just a week or so after our wedding. He was out of town, and he called. He liked to call. A lot.” She paused. Just the memory of Duane's constant checks on her, how he had sent members of his family and the small group of selected friends he approved of to “keep her company” so that he always knew where she was and what she was doing made her feel edgy and frustrated. Her boots bit into the trail with a satisfying crunch as she picked up their pace in an attempt to vent the old frustration. It was in the past, she reminded herself; she had escaped it, and it would never happen to her again.

Apollo watched silently as Pamela struggled with the emotions reliving the past caused her. He wanted to help her—he wanted to wipe away the hurt—but he knew that the past was a battlefield each individual had to fight. If Pamela couldn't vanquish her old demons, they would forever haunt her future. Their future.

“Anyway,” she continued, “that day he asked what I was doing, as he always did. I said hanging a new picture. I'll never forget how his voice changed. ‘Don't you think I'd like to be there with you to do that?' he'd snapped. I hadn't even considered that hanging a picture without him would be a big deal. It was. We had been married less than one month, and it was that day that I began to feel trapped.” She couldn't repress a shudder.

It had gotten worse—so much worse. She had almost given up and let Duane consume her, but from somewhere deep within her she had found the strength to fight. Slowly and quietly she had worked to establish herself in her field. And to secretly put away money so that she could buy her way free of him. People think leaving an abuser is all about growing a backbone. Pamela knew how wrong they were. Leaving an abuser is about having a plan, and then having the means to follow through with it. Her plan included a kick-ass lawyer and a business of her own. She drew her spine up straighter and finished her story.

“I don't want to go into all the gory details. Suffice it to say that he smothered me for almost seven years before I finally got free of him. Then it was almost two more years before he stopped calling and coming by and showing up places he knew I frequented. Always there . . . he was always there, waiting, as if I were an errant child who would soon realize the error of her ways and come back home.” She glanced at him. “It has just been during the last six months that he has left me alone.”

“He hurt you.” Apollo's voice was low and tight as he entertained thoughts of what he would like to do to this Duane after his immortal powers were returned to him.