Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(37)

Anger mushroomed within Bacchus. Apollo didn't need to use his immortal powers to seduce with magic. He had a muscular, golden body that held a masculine beauty far beyond mortal standards. What the God of Light had been gifted with wasn't fair; it had never been fair.

He'd coaxed the desert sky into sending a rainstorm to ruin the god's little tryst, but that hadn't worked. Then he'd nudged the unsuspecting mortal, causing her to catch her heel. The mortal should have fallen into traffic, and the golden god should have betrayed his presence to save her, but Apollo had managed to foil the accident Bacchus had orchestrated without the mortals of Las Vegas realizing there was a powerful immortal in their midst. It was insufferable.

He would not tolerate another god usurping his place.

Then Bacchus remembered the passionate kiss Apollo and the mortal had shared, and the way the God of Light had carried her through the rain as if he were her savior. She was what was keeping the god's interest focused on Las Vegas. Who could guess how long Apollo would enjoy toying with her? And what if, after Apollo tired of this particular mortal, he found he had developed a taste for modern women? Bacchus certainly had. He threw back the shot of potent liquor. No. That would never do. He would not tolerate Apollo's seduction of his mortals.

But how to rid himself of the God of Light? It would be difficult. He obviously wasn't going to betray himself as a god and bring down Zeus' wrath, and neither he nor his twin sister seemed to be in any rush to tell Zeus about the invocation rite he'd worked. Unfortunately, it was apparent that, after Apollo had begun the seduction of the mortal woman, he was, indeed, thoroughly enjoying himself. Bacchus ground his teeth together. Well, he had himself to blame for that, so it was up to him to discover a way to dampen Apollo's enjoyment of Las Vegas.

Bacchus wanted to shriek in rage. How could Apollo not enjoy Las Vegas? It was a playground fit for the gods, and Apollo had the power to command its dormant magic alive, as did Bacchus. Ha! Scorn twisted the god's face into a sneer. He would like to see Apollo survive in Vegas without his supernatural powers. He would be a child lost in a dark forest. Apollo thought himself so superior to Bacchus, but he didn't know the modern mortal world - he didn't have his reserves of money or his luxurious suite of rooms and vast knowledge of how to manipulate mortals to his will.

Suddenly, Bacchus sat up straighter in the seat that was far too narrow for his bulk. That was it! If he could contrive a way for Apollo to miss the closing of the portal tomorrow evening, the great God of Light would be trapped in the mortal world for the span of five days, without his formidable powers. He would be weak... helpless... miserable. And when the portal reopened, he would be only too happy to depart and never return. Then it was only a matter of time before the God of Light's dislike for Las Vegas would be mirrored in the rest of the snobbish Olympians.

He would do it. Apollo would be trapped in Las Vegas without his powers. Bacchus' smile was filled with awful glee.

Chapter 13

"The garments are certainly odd, my Lord, but we still find your form pleasing within them," the yellow-haired nymph said in her seductive, musical voice. The cluster of nymphs that had gathered around Apollo after he had emerged from his dressing room cooed their agreement.

Apollo studied his reflection in the large, ornately framed mirror. Last night he had been so distracted when he left Pamela that he had forgotten to retrieve his clothing from the Armani store, but this morning his rendezvous with Pamela had been the first thing on his waking mind, and with thoughts of her came problems like what should he wear and where should they go? His modern clothing had been ruined by the rain. He wondered as he had inspected the rumpled shirt how modern men kept up with the constant demand for new clothing. At least that explained the proliferation of shops hawking all types of garments. It must be time-consuming to be properly dressed in the Kingdom of Las Vegas. But Apollo was a god. He didn't desire to waste his time in the endless acquisition of clothing, so he had done what many of the immortals did; he'd sent nymphs to run his errands for him. The god brushed a small piece of lint from the butter-colored shirt, which was made in same style as the one he had ruined. It had almost imperceptible lines of light blue woven cunningly through it. The slacks were fashioned of well-made linen, a shade darker than the shirt. It was always wise to call upon the aid of nymphs when beauty and colors were involved. The subtle shades they had chosen were like the first soft rays of the sun mixing with the blushing blue of the morning sky.

"You made an excellent choice." Apollo smiled his approval at the nymphs, who giggled and fluttered at his praise.

The boldest of the group, a lovely auburn-haired dryad with whom Apollo thought he remembered having a passionate fling several centuries before, approached him. She shook her waist-length hair back, so that the sheerness of her almost nonexistent gown was openly displayed to him. Her ni**les had been darkened, and as his eyes were naturally drawn to them, they puckered enticingly in an automatic response.

"Why not stay with us, God of Light?" she purred, running knowing hands over her body. "We can entertain you much better than any mortal woman."

"Yes," said another nymph who moved closer, "and you will not need to wear any garments for the entertainment we provide."

The other nymphs laughed seductively and began a little impromptu dance around their favorite god. They smiled clear invitations to him and beguiled him with their blatantly sexual beauty.