Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 (24 page)

He nodded. “I’ve twisted and soldered the net together as I’ve worked, and I’m on the last part. It should be complete tomorrow.”

“Good. I need to do something to it.”

His thick, dark brows went up. “What would that be?” He still held the massive hammer, gripped in both hands, the head balanced on the anvil. He used a traditionally shaped anvil, the kind blacksmiths favoured, with a curved spike at one end for shaping. The square block at the centre was scarred with grooves, shiny with use, but not a bright shine. The kind of shine gained by honest toil, uneven and gleaming.

“I can add my own enchantment to the trap. Did you forget my attributes? Eros is not the only person who can add a love spell. I can put a deep enchantment into the fabric of the net to weaken anyone it encompasses. If I am present when the deed is done, I can force the person inside to undying love and devotion to someone, or something. It is not a power I use very often.”

Or at all, if truth be told. Too cruel, far worse than Eros’s arrows. She could make a person die for love. “I can force truth through love. It will add to your enchantments and provide another trap, from a different direction. Your power is to do with strength and the elements, is it not?” His whole attention set on her, he nodded. “Mine is the power of love.”

He watched her now, not as a lover or a husband, but one god to another, one possessor of power to someone with equal power. Straightening, he kept one hand on his hammer, and spread the other one wide.

“You’re right.” His voice rumbled through the room, making the stones quiver. He’d harnessed all the power of his god for this task and the building could hardly contain it.

She stepped forward into his arms and turned, so her back was to his front. Then she touched the hammer.

He made room for her as she clasped the wooden haft with both hands. Finally he brought his free hand back, nudging her until she made room for it between her palms. His heat was almost unbearable, his heart pounding so that it throbbed against her. When she settled back, she wasn’t surprised to find his cock was erect, pressing against her. Not for her, but because of his power, essentially masculine. In the ancient world, for which no records remained, the power of the phallus exceeded everything except the power of the vagina. Accordingly, her cleft plumped, and wetness touched the tops of her thighs as her feminine deity came into full, strong force.

“Deirdre caused our deities to come to the fore so she could destroy us. Now we will use them to trap her.”

She paused. “Stretton is here. The trap is set. We need to spring it as soon as we can.”

“Tomorrow, then. Ready?”

If she were a cat, she’d purr. Surrounded by her husband, her god, she lifted the hammer as he did so. In this form she could do it, but as a mortal, she would find the task impossible.

Together they brought the hammer down, and she wove her spell. Opening herself to the elements, she felt the hair-thin strands under the pounding metal. She absorbed them into her being and caressed them, gave them life. In her mind’s eye she saw them, hot and glowing. She pushed her own blue light of love into them, gave them passion’s centre, and imposed her will on the element.

Vulcan reinforced her intent, sealed it in the driving force of his power. He wound his protective enchantment around it, so it could twine with his own. That gave unimaginable strength to the fine wires, making them unbreakable by anyone they chose to encompass.

Half a dozen blows and they had achieved it. If she closed her eyes, she could visualise her spell twining its way through the fine, continuous threads that formed the net. The completed part lay on the floor.

Eventually she opened her eyes and leaned back against him. “It is done.”

“I’ll complete the net tonight.”

It lay to one side, the completed part—a miracle of fine wires twisted and sealed, the rough ends of the open part ready to be finished. Only a part of one side remained to be done, and then it would surround a person, even one as big as Harry. He was taking no chances. Deirdre wouldn’t escape.

And she would tell the truth.

Harry accepted Virginie’s weight when she leaned against him. He stretched over to drop the hammer into the bucket of water and it subsided with a hiss. Telling that he could hold the instrument few other men could even lift with one hand. The thud when it fell reverberated through the stone floor, up through her feet. The splash it made wet one side of her gown, a welcome burst of coolness in the stifling atmosphere.

Harry kissed the side of her neck. “I want you.”

“Yes.”

Their deities subsided once more, but desire still remained.

They needed no careful foreplay for this act. This was a joining of the most basic and powerful kind. Both knew, without having to articulate it, that to do this would add extra power to the enchantment they had created. The forces of their combined bodies would blend the two spells and make the net irresistible to anyone, man or god.

Not that she was thinking all that clearly right now, because Virginie wanted Harry with a force that weakened her.

With sure hands he unfastened his breeches and then lifted her skirt. Apart from her petticoat and shift, she was bare beneath. He urged her forward and she touched the anvil experimentally. It was cool enough for her to rest her hands on it. The hard iron pushed into her palms as he touched her. Then he brought his cock into contact with her and pushed it inside without further preliminaries.

Deeper and deeper, until she held his shaft completely inside her. Then he began to pump.

Virginie took everything and gave it back, hard and primitive. She let her goddess free, closed every semblance of manners and civilisation and let the power out to shake the room with its presence.

He blended his with hers, at first overwhelming, then, as her dulcet seductive strength grew more apparent, with acceptance and joining. Spirals of smoke scurried around the floor, growing stronger as he pounded into her body. Blue and red sparks lit the air, spinning around them like the most ravishing fireworks.

Virginie moaned his name, both deity and mortal, first “Vulcan,” and then, stronger, “Harry!”

“Yes, my love, my goddess, the reason for my existence,” he murmured, his breath scorching her ear. “My Venus, my own Virginie.”

She braced herself against the anvil. He leaned over her and placed his hands either side of hers for the final three thrusts, hammering into her, until he exploded, jetting into her. Her channel convulsed, tightened, accepting what he was giving her and greedily pulling in everything.

He took her weight as she leaned back against him and folded his hands protectively over hers when she lifted them and pressed them against her pounding heart. “I think we may have made a child.”

“It was inevitable,” she murmured.

He kissed her. “Are you sorry?”

She laughed. “I’m happier than I can express. With you, I want this. I want to know the pleasure of raising a son and watching his growth.”

“It’s a boy, then?”

She half turned her head, lifting her face to his. “I don’t have the faintest idea. I don’t care. I won’t make any effort to discover it. If this one is a girl, then we have the pleasure of trying again.”

“Then I shall pray for a girl.”

“Oh, don’t do that, my love. We will try again anyway.”

He carried her all the way back to the house. Ignoring his mother’s scandalised cries when she saw them on the stairs, he took her up to their bedroom. There he undressed them both and made love to her again. This time with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.

Leaving her sated and happy, he returned to the forge to complete his task.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dinner that night was convivial. “I had some business with Harry, so d’Argento’s visit proved convenient.” That sounded good enough to fool the two mothers.

Virginie found Lord Stretton a lively and interesting companion. Blaize was as devoted to his wife, Aurelia, as Harry was to Virginie. Aurelia harnessed Blaize’s more reckless side, and since he held the gifts of Bacchus, god of wine and madness, that was a considerable task. Or it would be, were he not so enamoured of her.

He explained that he was anxious to return to her. “She swears she feels a deal better, or I would not have come, whatever the reason. But I hate to leave her alone.”

The meal would have been more enjoyable had not the knowledge of what they were about to do hung over them all. Except for the two older ladies, who they had to keep oblivious to their plans. Accordingly, Harry and Blaize spent much time discussing estates and contracts. They drove d’Argento to declare that if they wished, he could give them chapter and verse on the success of the Pantheon club.

“It has, fortunately, survived the scandal and come out even stronger,” he said. “People came to witness the scene of the non-crime and stayed for the wine and the company. I fear it may be a bigger success than I had bargained for.”

Meant as a meeting place for the gods, somewhere for them to come to be sure of contacting others, the club was now also a place of the fashionable to congregate. “White’s is half-furious, half-delighted. We are creating an ambience for others to follow. St. James’ may become a centre for clubs, if our example is followed.”

That night, Virginie and Harry fell into an exhausted sleep. Harry had finished the net, and early the next day he set out to collect it from the forge.

Since Fenton was not now under suspicion, Virginie relaxed into her maid’s capable hands. She let her dress her how she would, in compensation for her absence for the past few days. Nearly a week, if their visit to the Lake District was taken into consideration. Fenton’s exquisite taste came to the fore. She arrayed her mistress in her favourite blue. The light overskirt was held away from her body by a small hoop, lending coolness to what threatened to become a hot day.

There was no escaping the tyranny of stays, though. But Fenton produced a new pair, fashioned in white cotton. Virginie found them most comfortable and instructed Fenton not to fasten them too tight. She stood, hands on hips, legs wide apart while her maid pulled the fresh laces through the eyelets at the back. The swishing sound made a familiar accompaniment to her day.

The morning had brought confirmation of her pregnancy. Would women ever have the felicity of knowing the day after conception that their husbands’ seed had taken? Virginie could, and because of her attributes, could tell when other women were in the same state. Although not the goddess of fecundity, her attributes necessarily included pregnancy and conception. Releasing her power yesterday had meant the risk. But she had seen that as a bonus, not a burden. Now, feeling the tiny extra being begin to form inside her, she rejoiced.

Fenton would enjoy arraying her mistress in her new state. Fenton rose to any challenge.

After she was dressed, her hair fastened in a loose knot at the back of her head, Virginie declared herself pleased with the outcome and picked up her fan.

“It’s time,”
her husband said to her, mind to mind.
“We are in the morning parlour. Come as soon as you can.”

The morning parlour was at the back of the house, facing the gardens. A relatively small, comfortably appointed room, it would be far enough away from most everyday activities not to alarm the servants if they made more noise than usual.

The two older ladies were there, and so were Stretton and d’Argento.

Harry carried a parcel, and as she entered, he laid it on the table and unwrapped it. “Mama, I thought you were to visit Lady Jamieson this morning?”

His mother sighed. “Unfortunately, dear, I had to send my regrets. The door is fastened securely.” When her son stopped his movements to stare at her, she shrugged. “You think I didn’t realise what you were about? Perhaps not the details, but I knew this was coming.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I should.”

Deirdre stuck her needle into the handkerchief she was hemming and looked up. “What is this? Should I leave?”

“No.” When he wanted, Harry could move very quietly. He was standing just behind his mother’s high-backed wing chair, the net coiled between his hands. It gleamed passively in his grasp.

Blaize stood before the door, and Amidei had stationed himself by the window. The dowager occupied the seat opposite to Deirdre’s and Virginie stood in the centre of the floor, in front of the sofa. With a wave of his hand, Blaize locked the door, the metallic
snick
clearly audible.

“Deirdre, we have a few questions to ask you,” Amidei said. “It’s about your daughter and her birth. Also a few other matters we need clearing up. What happened to Rhea Simpson?”

Deirdre clasped her hands together and sighed. “Such a sad affair! The poor lady found her disgrace too much to bear. I did my best to help her, but she must have fallen into despair.”

“I see.” Amidei sounded resigned, but not for the reasons Deirdre probably supposed. When she tried to enter her mother’s mind, Virginie found it closed. Completely shuttered. Alarm streaked through her. Only a deity could do that.

Or a Titan.

Deirdre rose to her feet, and around her glowed a ring of red. “I have been forced to keep my identity secret. So many people would misunderstand. And it made matters much more simple. Can you imagine if I tackled Boscobel and his minions by myself? But I had to keep my daughter safe. I sacrificed everything for her. Unfortunately, I cannot hide any longer.”

With a speed that defied the actions of all but one person in the room, she sent a streak of red lightning, a bolt of sheer power, towards Amidei.

Virginie picked up the nearest object and threw it, not at her mother or Amidei, but at the bolt. The silver salver broke the flow, deflected it into smaller pinpoints of power, ones that the others deflected easily.

At the same time, Harry flicked the net, so it fell in a dull blur over the woman who had shown her true colours.

As it tumbled over her, she laughed, and pushed fingers into a cell and tugged, with the obvious intent of tearing it apart.

It tore into her fingers instead. Blood dripped, but it was the clear blood of the gods, ichor. If they’d needed proof, that was it. After a second the clear, crystalline liquid turned red, but that brief glance was enough.

Then the wound healed as if it had never existed.

Deirdre snarled.

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

She whirled around to him. He pulled the heavy chair out of the way as if it weighed nothing. “Dione.” She seemed surprised at the word coming out of her mouth, and lifted her hand, the net forming a honeycomb pattern over it.

Dione, a Titan.

Harry folded his arms. “How did you come to bear the goddess Venus?”

“That fool, Boscobel, thought he was invincible. Kronos, he was, the chief amongst us. I chose to appear as a humble mortal housekeeper, but we were already lovers. He made me pregnant, but I told him it was not so, that I was unfortunately not affected.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, but spoke through it. “After the explosion, I felt the goddess enter me, and I knew I had to get away. I refused to work for him. I refused to let him control what I did, and now I had my weapon.” She dropped her hand.

She glanced towards Virginie, no vestige of affection on her features, only contempt. Dropping her hand to her side, she appeared as Virginie had never seen her. As a goddess, straight and tall. She even seemed younger, the grey in her hair fading as they watched her.

“Why did you hide as a housekeeper?” Harry rapped out.

“To gain my own power. Mortals will do a lot of favours and help someone who knows more than they should about their private lives. I worked for small households and large ones, although I told Virginie I was only working for the gentry. I collected information, little titbits.”

“Extortion,” said Amidei grimly.

“Precisely.” She showed no remorse.

“Did you enchant the Duc de Clermont-Ferand?”

“Yes. I needed someone important for my daughter, and the aristocracy we worked for resisted. They would use her, but they would not have her for wife, however beautiful she was. So I tried something different, and it worked. I can set a passion on men, make them love me or mine, and I did that to the duc. He was not difficult. He succumbed and he took Virginie away to her new life. In time I would have killed him, but she did the job. Few people can resist Venus at her most seductive for long. But I kept Virginie pure for him.”

Virginie glanced at Harry, and he sent her an unspoken message of warmth. Then he turned his attention back to his mother-in-law, the Titan Dione. “Did you kill Rhea Simpson?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “She became inconvenient. I used her to trap the Duke of Lyndhurst. When I met him I knew immediately who he was. Rhea was my creature. She was lonely and a little stupid. Plenty to work with. I told her she could have a duke, if she played her cards right. But she failed. And then her children turned out mortal. But she knew too much.” She shrugged. “Rhea had to go. But then in London I saw my opportunity. What better than to attach my daughter to Mars, her natural counterpart? Then in time I would have him too. I will still have him.”

Proudly, she gazed around, her stature nothing short of queenly. “A shame, but I never depend on just one plan. So I looked to Vulcan and he did not disappoint me.” She flicked a glance at her daughter. “You are mine, and so is he. Boscobel is destroyed, but his ideals were sound enough. I will have what he failed to achieve. Power.”

“You won’t,” Blaize said. His pale grey eyes remained steady and determined. So far, he showed none of the madness that he could use so effectively. He did not have to be mad himself to drive others so.

She didn’t appear daunted, despite the net that enclosed her. “Do you think this toy will confine me, when all I have to do is ask you to remove it?” She shrugged. “No matter.”

She moved forward and the net glowed, soon moving to red. Annoyed, she pushed at it, but it had wrapped around her now, and she couldn’t shift it. She turned, carefully lifting her skirts out of the way, and confronted her captor.

“It burns,” she said mildly.

Harry bestowed a bland smile on her. “Yes, do you like the effect? It will continue to burn, and turn white hot if you don’t keep still.”

“Where did you get your potions?” Blaize asked.

Her face distorted, eyes bulging, and the net glowed red, then white-hot. She screamed, but she didn’t answer Blaize’s question. He waved his hand. “No matter.”

The heat lowered so the net turned its normal dull grey colour.

Blaize addressed the others, while she recovered. “I think someone lies behind this. Someone is providing the Titans with powerful potions. While Dione could have made her own, some of the ingredients are rare and hard to come by. This is not the first case recently where witch’s spells have taken a part. I think Hecate is in our midst.”

“Damn,” Harry said softly. Hecate was never part of one side or the other. But if she had cast her lot in with the Titans, the struggle ahead was compounded.

Dione interrupted them. “I’d like you to take this thing away now.”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“What if I threaten to kill your wife?”

“How?” Although he remained outwardly calm, Virginie sensed his heightened tension. Anything that threatened her would have that effect.

With one quick movement that made the net glow red once more, Deirdre gestured in Virginie’s direction.

Virginie clapped a hand to her throat. It was as if someone had stoppered it, stuffed a cork down it like closing a bottle. She couldn’t breathe. Even gods needed to breathe. The more she tried, the fuller the stoppage grew.

Harry rushed to her side, catching her as she fell.

“I always have another plan in case the first one fails. Did you think the obsession spell was the only one I could cast? This has been with her for too long for her to resist. Since the year of her birth, in fact. I can order her not to breathe.”

Black spots danced before her eyes.

“Release her,” Blaize said. He touched Harry’s shoulder, but Harry shook him off. His face was frantic. “Release her,” Blaize repeated. “Harry, do it now, let her go!”

Reluctantly releasing Virginie, he got to his feet and turned to face the Titan. Carefully, he lifted the base of the net and swept it up, over her head and off. It melted away at his touch until it became nothing but a tangled mass of delicate wires.

Without another glance, he returned to Virginie.

Amidei held her, but allowed Harry to take her. She could breathe now, slowly sucking in more air, recovering quickly.

“As long as I remain alive, so will she,” Harry said.

“What happens at your death?” Blaize asked carefully.

She shrugged. “I will not die.”

“No. You will not.”

As Harry lifted Virginie to sit with her on the sofa, draping her across his lap, Blaize stood and faced their adversary.

“I will leave now,” Deirdre said.

Blaize showed no sign of unlocking the door. The key was not evident, so Deirdre could not get out unless he allowed it. “No,” he said again. “You will not.” He lifted his hand, twirling his fingers.

A whirlwind erupted from the floor, exactly where Deirdre stood. It lifted her up, spun her around until she fought to escape, screaming. Every time she rotated they saw her open mouth, but the sound of it was whipped away, only for her to return again.

Wind snapped around the room, making Virginie shiver, despite the warmth of the day. Harry hugged her close and wrapped as much of his coat around her as he could. She curled in closer, held onto him, but they were not in danger as Deirdre was.

Blaize smiled broadly. “I could leave her there, but I will not. It would take too much energy. But she may stay there for a time. It will addle her brains, and if that isn’t enough, I’ll repeat it. I only started it. It will wind down.”