When the Lady’s dark velvet voice spoke in Erik’s dream, the power of Her will vibrated deep in his bones. He struck out, jarring his arm as his fist hit the wall next to the bed.
But he didn’t wake.
Anger and dread banged about in his chest. “Choose?” he rasped. “Choose what?” Gritting his teeth, he tried to lever his eyes open, but they were sealed shut. The goddess had him cornered in his own body.
Twenty years ago, My Lord and I gave you a great gift. Or had you forgotten?
Erik stiffened.
A Voice so enchanting, so compelling, it captures the beating heart of all who hear it. And what did you do with this blessing, hmm?
The Lady’s tone dropped to the ear-aching pitch of thunder in the mountains. You made of it a curse. In your vanity and your lust, you spoke a command to an unwilling soul.
“You don’t need to remind me, Great Lady. I know what I did.” Every muscle in his jaw—his neck, his shoulders—locked tight.
Do you, indeed? A huff of displeasure. We see little evidence of this.
Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw the movement of a graceful, star-dappled hand, the palm so big he could have curled up in it to sleep.
Or to die.
In the waking world, men trod warily around Erik Thorensen, with his massive shoulders, his chest muscled like a warrior’s. The Dark Lady could snap him in two with the flick of a thought.
Should he risk it? Hell, why not? All he had left to lose was his life.
Bracing himself, he said, “Why not see for Yourself ?”
An impatient exclamation, and the Lady was rummaging around in his head, turning his soul inside out to look at the underside, inspecting all the dirty little nooks and crannies. When Erik groaned in involuntary protest, She withdrew, but without haste.
Another voice, so deep as to be almost below the threshold of human hearing, rumbled, Well?
The Lady turned to Her Lord. No better and no worse than many others. Either the goddess shrugged, or every star in the cosmos shifted in its cold bed. His soul remembers, but his conscious mind chooses to forget. Her voice dropped. He doesn’t think of her if he can help it. Only in his dreams.
Nightmares, more like. Erik squinted into the sparkling nimbus that marked the presence of the Horned Lord. He caught the impression of a vast, nebulous figure, antlers spanning the stars. Without being obvious, he tried to angle himself toward that huge male presence. His heart hammered in his chest, fast heavy beats that hurt.
“I can’t—” Hiding from the gods was useless. He’d learned that lesson at seventeen. “I have to live in my skin, face myself in the mirror, day after fucking day.” Vaguely, he was aware his cheeks were damp. Must be sweat.
He raised his head, resentment burning a sullen hole in his belly. “It’s the way I function, stay sane.” Fuck it all to hell. Say it. “What use is a broken tool, even to the gods? My Lord, when I was a boy and You gave me the Voice, You said You had a task for me. ”
Dead silence.
The Lord’s rumble of anger thundered through every cell in Erik’s body. He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to endure.
But the Lady sounded amused. Only you, Erik. Only you would dare. Little one, you cannot bargain with Us. The sensation of Her smile tingled over his skin, both fond and terrible. The day will come, my dear, when you encounter one you cannot charm, cannot control.
“So?” he panted, still fighting for breath. “Doesn’t matter about anyone else. I have my own rules, and they work for me.” Cautiously, he sat up. “I live. Exist.”
Last chance, growled the Horned Lord. Choose.
Erik set his stubborn jaw. “I want my life to have been worth something. Whatever it is You want, I’ll do it. Just tell me.”
You misunderstand, purred the goddess. You’ve already committed yourself to Our service. The promise you made as a boy cannot be undone.
“Then what—?” He shook his head. “Never mind. What is it I have to do?”
The Pattern is what it is. Beyond even Our touch, said the Lord. You will know your life’s work when the time is right. The weight of the god’s attention was like a solar flare crisping his skin.
“Soon? It will be soon?”
I am not in the habit of repeating Myself.
Erik resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. “It’s all a trifle . . .