Desire. Cindy Jacks

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Silently, Bacchus summoned her two most fetching nymphs, Maia and Saraesa. The lithe women fell at the Father’s feet and stroked Bacchus’s voluptuous curves. Tinkling strains of laughter resonated in a seductive chorus, curling around the would-be lovers. Maia and Saraesa leaned into each other, and their lips melted together.

      The Father licked his lips, breath quickening. Bacchus had Him enthralled. Saraesa stripped off Maia’s gauzy wrap and pulled the nymph’s pert breasts to her mouth.

      A low growl rumbled in the Father’s throat. “Enough.”

      The nymphs disappeared in a flash of stardust, leaving silence in their wake. Bacchus reverted at once to his male body.

      “This is exactly to what the Council refers. There has to be more to life than pleasures of the flesh.”

      Chastened, Bacchus hung his head. “I agree, my lord, but life cannot flourish either without passion or ecstasy.”

      “I used to believe that, but now I see this is where we have gone wrong. Many of our children lead happy lives of sobriety and abstinence.”

      “Happy or uneventful? There is a difference.”

      The Father rose. “I am truly sorry, Bacchus, my love.”

      “There’s nothing you can do to help me?”

      “It is not my decision to make. The Council has spoken.”

      “Every decision is yours to make.”

      “You know as well as I, that is not how it works. As of now, your powers have been revoked. I am sorry. I will leave you to your packing.” The Father turned toward the grand hall exit.

      Bacchus caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. As usual, his reflection drew his attention, but he hardly recognized the person peering back. A sneer tugged at his cherubic face. Perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed. Fear, worry, anger, he had no way to calm the storm raging inside. “Some all-powerful lord you are.”

      The Father froze. His ire ignited a ring of flames around him, but he doused them with a single flick of his wrist. Without facing Bacchus, he replied, “I shall ignore your blasphemy this once. Wounded feelings have clouded your judgment.” The Father disappeared.

      The gilded chamber fell dark, cold, and silent. Darkness and chill would rule the rest of his life if he failed to think of a solution.

      Chapter 2

      Once Was Lost

      Six months after exile…

      “Sire, wakey wakey,” a gruff voice intruded on Bacchus’s slumber.

      “Mmm, Angela.” Swimming up through the fog of sleep, he wrapped his arms around the person trying to rouse him. “Where have you been, you naughty girl?”

      The shock of pain to his shin jolted Bacchus upright. He rubbed his throbbing leg, which bore the imprint of a cloven hoof.

      “Hey, what do you mean waking me up like that?”

      Pan struggled to his feet. “I do so apologize, sire. But you know how hands-y you get when you’re half asleep.”

      “Sorry, my friend.” Waking in Athens, Greece and not Olympus, still confused the former god. The beach? How in the world had he wound up on the beach? The sun intensified the pounding in his head. “Ugh, what time is it?”

      “Three in the afternoon, sire.”

      “Already? Damn, I feel as though I just fell asleep.”

      Pan helped Bacchus stand and strained to brush sand from his broad shoulders. “You need to start taking care of yourself, sire. You are mortal. You’re killing yourself.”

      “I don’t care if I am. What have I got to live for?”

      “Please, don’t talk that way. We’ll get you reinstated. I’ve been reading about Siddhartha’s earthly philosophies. I think the Father gave you the clue you need to appeal the decision.”

      “You’re a loyal friend. A fool, but a loyal friend.” Each breath took effort to force from his aching chest. Nothing could reverse their decision. A breeze stirred the palm overhead, and sand attacked his skin. Fiery, raw agony shot through his feet, lobster red against the pallor of his legs. “By the gods, what happened here?”

      “Ah, well, sire, maybe next time you pass out on the beach you should do it under a tree large enough to shade your entire body.”

      One more betrayal by this frail form. Sunburn, indeed. He used to sup with Apollo and Ra on a regular basis, and now a few hours without shade scorched his skin. Pathetic.

      Though Pan had offered to carry his lordship, Bacchus endured the walk to his villa, wincing with every step.

      Naked and wet, after a quick shower, Bacchus trotted to the kitchen, opened a beer, and washed down an assortment of over-the-counter medication, some to relieve his sunburned feet pain and some just because he liked the way they mixed with alcohol. The refrigerator held little of interest, but he rejoiced in finding a wilting fig and small piece of feta. “You know”—Bacchus took a bite of fruit—“I think I’ve lost some weight since I haven’t had ambrosia to gorge myself on.”

      “Yes, sire, you’re looking very svelte.”

      Overflowing trashcans, garbage heaps, buzzing flies, and toppled liquor bottles had replaced the overflowing flower urns, delicate chocolate heaps, winged dark faeries, and silken floor pillows that once surrounded him. “I might have company again tonight. Could you straighten up a bit?”

      “Of course, sire.”

      Pan picked up a soggy dishtowel, more putrid than the surfaces he wiped. With a grimace, he clucked his tongue and abandoned his efforts. Stepping carefully, he avoided a pair of panties and a small marijuana pipe. “Safe to assume these aren’t yours, sire?”

      “Those are from my friend last night. Amy? Anna?”

      “Angela?”

      “Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”

      “You called me that name this morning when you tried to spoon me, sire.” Pan picked up the undies. “I’ll be sure these get back to her, unless you would like to keep the pipe.”

      “No, thank you.” True, Bacchus had dabbled with human pharmaceuticals, but he preferred the usual sacraments—women, wine, and song. Really, he could do without the song if need be. During the first few months after his fall, he’d nearly murdered his mortal form with booze and an endless parade of strumpets. After his first case of the clap, he’d re-evaluated his lifestyle. Pissing razor blades had that effect on a fellow. Not that he’d slowed down much, but at least he’d taken the healer’s advice and started using a penis sheath called a condom.

      Bacchus left his steward to the cleaning. In the master suite, he tried to decide what to wear from rows and rows of clothing in his walk-in closet. The ridiculous riches the Council had bestowed upon him as a sort of severance package СКАЧАТЬ