Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(30)

Chapter 10

"She must be taken to her room!" Apollo barked at a bellboy who was staring with wide eyes at the golden apparition who had seemed to appear suddenly out of the rain-shrouded night. He was carrying the damp body of a petite woman who was wearing only one shoe.

"The elevators are just inside and around the corner, sir."

Apollo's confusion at his odd words (What exactly was an elevator?) changed to anger.

"Show me to her room, or I will flay the flesh from your living body!" he growled.

"Room number?" the bellboy squeaked.

"Eleven twenty-one," Pamela said into Apollo's shoulder.

Apollo glared at the bellboy. The youth nodded and scampered ahead of them through the swinging doors. The God of Light ground his teeth together as the metal box they stepped into closed. The boy punched a round button that read 11. It lit up as the box began to move. The god's stomach dropped, and he held Pamela more tightly against him. Bacchus had explained nothing about this particular mechanical form of transportation to them. Apollo definitely didn't like it. Not at all. Thankfully, the ride was short, and the doors parted smoothly. He followed the boy out into a plushly carpeted hallway. Statuettes decorated niches, and chandeliers hung from the ornately painted ceiling. They stopped in front of a door boasting the golden numbers 1121.

The bellboy looked at Apollo. Apollo looked at the bellboy. The god narrowed his eyes dangerously. The bellboy cleared his throat nervously.

Pamela stirred and handed the boy the purse she still clutched to her chest. "It's in there."

Swallowing audibly, the boy unclasped the little purse and extracted the card key, ran it through the lock, and opened the door. Apollo strode in and slammed the door behind him with one thought.

"You should have tipped him," Pamela said faintly.

"I should have skinned him," Apollo muttered. He hesitated at the entrance to the room, assessing his surroundings. There was one large room with a divan and two silk-covered side chairs, plus an overlarge armoire. Doors painted to look like marble were half open to reveal a glimpse of a large bed. Apollo headed in its direction.

Pamela moaned and as he lay her on top of the thick silk comforter. Her body spasmed, and her teeth chattered.

"I d-don't know why I'm's-suddenly's-so cold," she said.

Apollo knew why. She was in shock. He hadn't healed her ankle - he'd just temporarily blocked some of the pain. He sat gently on the edge of the bed and touched her face, willing her to relax.

"You must rest. Trust me to see to your pain."

He watched as his hypnotic suggestion caused her thick-lashed lids to begin to flutter over those wide amber eyes.

"I don't..." she began sleepily, and then lost the thread of her thought. Struggling against a drugged sense of lethargy, she blinked her eyes. "I'm wet... towels through there..." She made a weak gesture in the direction of the bathroom.

"Your ankle comes first," he said.

When her eyes closed and did not open, he rearranged himself at the end of the bed. He shook his head. The ankle was badly injured. It was already swollen to double its size and terribly discolored. He could see where the bone had snapped, causing the foot to hang at an awkward angle. He took her ankle between his hands and closed his eyes in concentration. Within his mind he mapped the skeleton of her foot and ankle. Taking his time, he envisioned the path of each bone, muscle and nerve. And he saw the break. Apollo's hands warmed. Heal, the God of Light commanded. Suffering cease. Health return. Purge her of pain.

The intensity of the glow between Apollo's hands would have blinded Pamela, had she been conscious to witness its splendor. But she did not awake. Instead she slept on as the golden Apollo used his vast powers to knit her broken bones together and end her pain. Much later, when he was finished, he rose and went into the small room just off the bedchamber. In there he found a quantity of towels and a thick, white robe. He brought them back to Pamela and hesitated. He could disrobe her easily. She would not awaken; he would be sure of that. The wet fabric of her dress molded to her, revealing her gentle curves and the roundness of her br**sts. She was a lush land awaiting his exploration...

No, his mind shied away from the thought of seeing her naked body without her consent or knowledge.

"Pamela," he whispered. That within her, which slept at his suggestion, roused.

"Oh!" she said, sitting up and looking around. "What happened? My ankle!" She leaned forward and then stopped short, frowning at her leg. "But it felt terrible, like it was broken. I could have sworn it was already swelling. Now it looks perfectly normal." Testing, she flexed and then rolled her foot in a circular motion. "And it feels fine."

"You just needed to rest it. You strained it, that is all." He handed her a towel, and she dried her face absentmindedly.

"I feel kind of stupid. I mean, you actually carried me up here. In the rain."

"I am a doctor. Healing is my job."

She looked up at him. He was completely wet. His shirt clung to the muscular ridges of his chest as if it was liquid silk. His hair curled in damp tendrils around his forehead. And those eyes! She thought the lyrics of the Faith Hill song described them perfectly: impossible... unstoppable... unthinkable... unsinkable...

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that you were close by." With an effort, she pulled her eyes from his and began towel drying her hair with considerably more enthusiasm than was necessary.