Goddess of Love (Goddess Summoning #5)(2)

"That's right. I wouldn't want to interrupt your precious..." - she fluttered her shapely fingers at the pillar of flame - "fire research. As usual, you're dreadfully dull. Perhaps another time." She echoed his words sarcastically. Then the goddess stood up, and with hardly a glace at Vulcan, disappeared in a puff of glittering, ambrosia-colored dust.

By Zeus's beard Vulcan was glad she was finally gone! Not that he disliked Venus. Actually he'd thought of her as a friend for centuries. It was only recently that the friendship had begun to sour. The god sighed and rubbed his forehead. That wasn't Venus's fault. It seemed that lately everything in his life had begun to sour. But the dissatisfaction was his own - with his life. And she was right. He was dreadfully dull.

When had he lost his spark for life? For adventure? For love? The last question floated through his mind, surprising him. Love? He snorted. He'd married Love, for all the good it had done him. There had never been anything but respect and friendship between Venus and himself. Of course she'd gone ahead to have countless dalliances, but that had never bothered him. They had an arrangement, not a marriage.

No, his relationship with Venus wasn't what was bothering him. It was his life in general. His gaze drifted back to the visions of the constellations he had summoned within the fiery pillar. They looked so peaceful...majestic...so free. Longing washed over the God of Fire. If only he could escape to the heavens and leave the tedium of his life behind...

And why couldn't he? He was an Olympian. A powerful god. Nothing was impossible for him. Of course he couldn't leave his realm untended. Vulcan rubbed his face and began to pace back and forth in front of the burning pillar. Who could run his realm were he to leave it forever?

None of the other gods would deign to take his position - it was too far beneath them, literally as well as figuratively. He had no flashy view, no frolicking nymphs, no glittering decadence. He controlled the fires of the earth and Olympus. It was an important job, but it certainly wasn't as flashy as, say, pulling the sun across the sky or bringing spring to the earth. Pacing did nothing to relieve his frustration. He'd walk. That would clear his head. As he climbed the stone steps that led to the surface he tried to concentrate on the positives - he was a god, and even though it would take a miracle for him to be able to retire to the heavens, the Olympians were known for their ability to work miracles....

The God of Fire walked slowly across the grand ballroom of Zeus and Hera's palace. He could have moved more quickly. His lameness didn't prohibit speed; it just prohibited grace. Over the eons he had learned to be slow and steady to save himself from disdainful looks and muttered insults. How he loathed the immortals and their unceasing passion for perfection. They were shallow and selfish. Most had no comprehension of what real pain and sacrifice and loneliness meant.

Vulcan uttered an oath under his breath. He should have gone to ancient earth and walked through a deserted forest there to do his thinking. What had made him come to his parents'

temple? It was stupid of him because the perfection that surrounded him only made his own imperfections more obvious.

"Vulcan? I called after you several times and you did not hear me. Is all well with you, my son?"

He stopped and turned to face Hera, who was hurrying after him. Automatically he relaxed his expression and smiled at his mother. "All is well. I was just lost in thought. Forgive me for being rude." He kissed her soft cheek.

"You would never be rude, my son." Her sharp eyes studied him. "You seem sad. Are you quite certain all is well with you?"

"Mother, please don't worry about me." Vulcan forced another smile.

"You know I do." She drew in a deep breath.

"There is no need. Now I must get back to my realm. It was good to see you, Mother." He kissed her cheek again, and before those knowing eyes of hers could see further into his soul, Vulcan hurried away. The last thing he needed was his mother - or may all the gods forbid, his father -

looking too closely at his life. He followed his own path, chose his own destiny. And he definitely didn't want interference from the king and queen of the gods. Had Vulcan hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at Hera, he would have been surprised to see her circling her fingers in the air, which instantly began to glitter. And had he been listening carefully, he might have heard her whisper, "I grant my son a single dose of mother love to aid him in whatever it is that is making his heart heavy."

Vulcan didn't turn around, though, and he didn't listen to his mother's whisper. He definitely didn't notice the almost invisible thread of power that followed him. Vulcan continued through the palace, intent on leaving before he ran into any of the other Olympians. He still moved slowly, but his gait wasn't awkward and self-conscious. Actually he moved silently, with a strength that was none-the-less obvious because of its pace. He had just come to the exit of the grand ballroom when he heard laughter that was so uninhibited and joyous and musical that there was no doubt at all to whom it belonged. No. He did not want to face her again today. He stopped and stepped silently into the concealing shadows as Venus approached. She was laughing and having an animated conversation with the Goddess of Spring. Obviously leaving his realm had instantly cured her boredom.

"All right Persephone! I concede to you. After one glimpse of those divine boots, I'm willing to admit that I was too harsh in my judgment of your little kingdom," Venus said as she laughed.