Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2 by Lynne Connolly

Author:Lynne Connolly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Georgian;Eighteenth Century;Bacchus;gods;paranormal;Greek gods;Roman gods;Dionysus;historical;Paranormal Historical;Gods and Goddesses;Psychics
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2014-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

He’d seen her—hadn’t he? But it wasn’t her, it was somebody else. The bitch who’d put him here, who kept his mind weak. He needed to work something out, but when he tried, it moved out of his grasp.

Blaize rolled over, groaning, spitting out dirt and blood. Somebody had hit him, but he’d only had eyes for her, for revenge, because he wanted to kill her, to kiss her, or both. God, he’d never been mad and helpless before. Usually he could send his spirit soaring. Why not now?

He should stop eating, maybe, but he had to drink, even if it was only damned water. Filthy stuff.

Had she touched him, like this? Hell, he wouldn’t touch him like this. When it rained he stood under the stream, but he never got clean. He just got muddy when he lay down to sleep. Madness wasn’t a complete confusion of mind—it contained flashes of reality, except it was hard to decide what reality was. Spikes of grandeur. A different way of thinking. Instead of in straight lines, sideways, and up instead of down. Hard to describe. Patterns, thinking in depth.

Something hard pressed against his side. Reaching around without looking, he found something slippery, cold. Glass, that was it. Yes.

Holding on to the word, he turned and found something green and pretty, sealed, liquid inside. Mallet-shaped. Bottle, it was a bottle. Holy hell, not water. With fumbling speed, he broke the seal and got the cork out. He’d have smashed the neck if he couldn’t. Fragrance assaulted him, fruity, spicy, everything he needed in a bottle.

Tipping the rim against his lips, he gulped the contents. No need for a cork if he didn’t put the bottle down. No spillage, either.

He hurled the empty bottle away.

Grass, green all around him, high hedges. He’d hurt himself trying to scale them, but he healed fast, so even the deepest of the cuts had gone the next day.

He grabbed the second bottle and gave it the same treatment as the first. The shattered pieces of his world began to draw together and make sense once more. God, he stank! His smell even overpowered the wine. Wine. He savoured the word.

By the end of the third bottle, he’d started putting things in order. Except who had left this wine. Seeing her here, that was an illusion. There was nobody here now.

They’d taunted him. They knew who he was.

He sat up. The first sight that confronted him was a man at the edge of the glade. Blaize didn’t have to get to his feet and walk, more or less steadily, to see that he was dead. But he did. The man had weapons. Glory be!

And clean clothes. Without spending too much time in useless thought, he stripped. And then it started to rain. Again. He’d cursed the rain, danced in it, rolled in the mud it caused, but he was sensible now. As much as he ever was, he thought with a wry grin. He found it strange to have his body under his control again.

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