Immortally Ever After (28 page)
The benefit of having a large Cajun family is that they had actually kept my house up while I’d been gone. My bungalow in the Garden District stood not much worse for wear on a street lined with palm trees and sprawling sawtooth and live oaks, with Spanish moss flirting with the wind.
They had taken the liberty of painting the shingles outside a bright yellow, and my shutters green.
I didn’t care.
I had Galen sprawled out on my blue couch in the living room, and me right there on top of him.
He was running his tongue along the tip of my ear—much to my squirming delight—when the doorbell rang.
I was perfectly happy to assume it was yet another well-wishing relative welcoming me back from the Peace Corps, or to lecture me for not writing, but Galen was always the type who had to know exactly what was going on.
He craned his neck to look out the front window. “Delivery.”
I let him answer the door while I grabbed a pair of scissors from the cutting block in the kitchen.
My kitchen.
My house.
I stood for a moment and took in the country wallpaper—which now seemed too quaint. In my defense, it had come with the house. I’d never really stopped to notice it before, but now I did. My place, my home was a precious thing and I wasn’t going to take it for granted again.
I’d raided my magnolia tree outside and every room had fresh flowers. There was fruit in a bowl in the kitchen. Real fruit, not the dehydrated kind. My windows were open to the breeze that smelled of spring in New Orleans, not the red dust of limbo or its bubbling tar pits.
“Deep thoughts?” Galen asked, plunking the box down onto the white kitchen island.
“Good ones,” I said, smiling as he moved behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and plant a kiss on the side of my neck.
I scissored through the shipping tape, scooped through endless packing peanuts, and withdrew a purple velvet bag with a note attached.
Used this on Nerthus. Don’t need it anymore.
B.t.w. Congrats on the end of the war!
Eris
“Son of a…”
“When did you meet Eris?” Galen asked, taking the package.
“It’s a long story,” I said, as Galen withdrew a bronze knife. It was as long as my hand, with a compact handle and a triangular blade. I picked it up. It was army issue, and very, very familiar.
“Ha,” I said, “it’s yours now.”
He smiled, inspecting the blade—perfect except for the sliver missing from the tip. “It can’t hurt us anymore.”
“None of it can,” I said, as I watched him find a spot for it on my picture shelf in the hall.
As he did, I glanced over to see commotion on PNN. We’d muted the TV earlier, so we could focus on more pressing matters. But now—
“Galen, come in here.” I turned the volume up.
Newscaster Stone McKay sat at his desk, looking even more tanned than usual. “PNN is first to report that a peace treaty has been signed between the old gods and the new gods.” He smiled, showing overly white, perfectly straight canines. “The gods rejoice at their beneficence!”
And there she was, Eris, the goddess of chaos, smiling into the camera. She held a silver flame in her open palm, her arm bent, like a waitress holds a tray. A white barely there dress clung to her every curve. An array of tiny diamonds on invisible strings flickered over her neck and chest.
“Thanks, Stone.” She brushed at the silky blond curls that cascaded down her back and curled over her shoulders. “The gods are truly brilliant,” she said, as if it were obvious. “They decided—on their own—that our heroes had done enough fighting and dying for glory. The gods then brought the troops home in record time—the same day peace talks began, in fact.”
She smiled into the camera and her skin itself seemed to glow.
There was no mention of the oracles or the struggle or the mass exodus at the end. And I didn’t care.
Galen and I settled in together as PNN moved on to a light celebrity-style piece about the god of fear and the goddess of hope, and the first paid pictures of their darling little baby.
Galen ran his hands up my arms. “Did you see the postcard from Shirley?”
“Yes.” I snarfed. I couldn’t believe she’d talked Kosta into a weekend in Amish country. The salty commander had to be in love.
We’d heard from the others as well. Jeffe had made it back to his brothers and sisters in Egypt. Marius was scouting locations for a vampire pop music club in Las Vegas. And every time I opened my e-mail, I found pictures of Rodger and his kids. It’s like he had to make up for the last half decade of his life. I didn’t blame him one bit.
And in the interest of making up for lost time, I turned around and playfully shoved Galen down onto the couch.
He grinned. “I like a feisty woman.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it,” I said, straddling him, rubbing my body along his like a cat.
I kissed him once, twice, reveling in the feel of him sliding his hands up my back and drawing me down to lie flush against him.
“What?” I asked, when he paused.
“I just can’t believe any of this is real. That I went fishing with your cousins yesterday. That I’m out of the business of killing people.”
It was amazing.
Perfect.
“You’ll do well in private security.”
“Nothing is going to come between us again,” he said.
“Never.” It felt wonderful.
He was my rock, my strength, my reward for going through hell and back again.
The phone rang, and we ignored it. I slid my hands up under his T-shirt, loving the feel of his warm, hard muscles underneath.
“Petra?” Marc’s mom called out from my answering machine on the counter. I really needed to update my technology. “Petra. This is Lacey.” She sounded choked up. Join the club. I’d called her when I’d gotten back into town, but I hadn’t gotten a message like this from her since Marc had gone to war before me, since she and I had both believed he’d died. “I’d like you and Galen to come to dinner,” she said. “We’re all celebrating. Again. Marc and Leta will be there.”
I could hear the joy in her voice, and the love. Marc was back. And luckily he hadn’t completely shocked his mother because Leta had gotten him to reconnect with her while we were still down in limbo. It was something I’d always tried to do.
I was glad for them. And happy to have my own hero. I gave Galen a saucy grin as I looked down at him.
“I love you,” I told him. I’d never love anybody else.
He gave me a lusty grin. “How about you show me how much?”
I did.
After all, we had hours before we had to be … anywhere.
Also by Angie Fox
Immortally Yours
Immortally Embraced
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about the author
Angie Fox is the
New York Times
bestselling author of books about demon slayers, werewolves, and things that go bump in the night. She claims that researching her books can be just as much fun as writing them. In the name of fact-finding, Angie has ridden with Harley biker gangs, explored the tunnels underneath Hoover Dam, and found an interesting recipe for Mamma Coalpot’s Southern Skunk Surprise (she’s still trying to get her courage up to try it).
Visit her website at
http://angiefox.wordpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
IMMORTALLY EVER AFTER
Copyright © 2013 by Angie Fox.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN: 9781466819276
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / September 2013
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.