Cover Copy
Baby, did you fall from Heaven?
Being the deity of intoxication and ecstasy might just be the best job in the Cosmos. It certainly feels that way to Bacchus after he gets booted out of it. Mortal life is nothing but a complicated, emotional, pain-riddled struggle. If he can’t reclaim his divinity, he’ll settle for drowning his mortality in the pleasures of wine and women—especially women.
Until he meets Ariana, that is. She’s just as beautiful as the other lovelies Bacchus plays with, but her beauty comes right from her soul, and it’s muffled by profound sadness. Bacchus burns with the need to heal it, and help her—and that might be exactly the trick to getting himself lifted back into the Pantheon. Too bad he knows a lot more about pleasure than love…
Books by Cindy Jacks
Desire
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Desire
Cindy Jacks
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Cindy Jacks
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First Electronic Edition: May 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-644-5
eISBN-10: 1-61650-644-X
First Print Edition: May 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-645-2
ISBN-10: 1-61650-645-8
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To Napo, here’s hoping you are always young at heart.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people I want to thank for their hard work, input, and support:
Denysé, who has more faith in my talent and abilities than I have ever had.
Stacey, my beta reader who is always generous with her time and insight.
Penny, my Kensington editor whose constructive criticism shaped a good manuscript into a novel I can be proud of.
All the wonderful folks at Kensington/Lyrical for taking a chance on my quirky little book.
Arnold, for always allowing me to bounce ideas off of him and for being part of The Village.
Eva and the whole Elliott family, just for being wonderful.
Kelly, for holding my hand (and pouring the wine) while I awaited a response to my submission.
Nannette, for checking on me when I’ve been quiet for too long.
And of course my parents, my son and the love of my life, Napo. Without all of your support and love I’d be a neurotic and unproductive puddle of goo.
Author’s Foreword
My greatest wish is that you enjoy this work of fiction. And it is just that―a work of fiction. I know I’ve taken considerable liberties with names, forms, and behaviors of deities from the pantheons of many world religions—some active, some not. For example, in traditional Greek mythology, Silenus is Bacchus’ mentor and companion. However, I felt Pan was a more recognizable figure and therefore cast him in Silenus’ role for this book.
As for all of Bacchus’ colorful friends, I believe incorporating gods and goddesses from India, Egypt, ancient Sumeria, and even the UK is entirely appropriate in the telling of this tale. The god of intoxication and ecstasy was purported to travel widely, recruiting followers and bringing the gift of wine to foreign lands.
I also realize the tone of this manuscript is at times flippant and playful. Again these departures from more traditional piety are in no way meant to offend or tread on religious beliefs. Please take these words as they are intended—a joyful celebration of the sorrows of the world and the indomitable qualities of the human soul.
To quote the great bard himself:
“If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding than a dream.”
– William Shakespeare, A Midsummer’s Night Dream
Namaste,
Cindy
Chapter 1
Fall from Grace
The scroll belonged to another god. Granted, the address read To Bacchus, but this foolish human had prayed to the wrong deity. It was one thing to address him by his given name, Dionysus, as opposed to the Roman name he preferred. It was quite another to mix up the god of intoxication and ecstasy with the god of viniculture and wine. “Pan,” he called to his steward, “this is for Liber. How I tire of being confused with that pompous windbag.”
“My apologies, sire. I shall see he gets this.”
Bacchus drained his seventh wineskin of the day. Or was it eighth? “Please do. I would take it myself, but last month’s lecture on the qualities of genuine cork will hold me over for a lifetime.”
“Of course, sire.”
“Also, make sure the nymphs are oiled up for the festivities this evening. Are the accommodations ready for our visitor from Hawaii?”
“Yes, sire. Pele’s suite is ready. I inspected it myself.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time she visited. I hear they’re still unearthing charred remains in Pompeii.”
From the bottom of the pile, a gold scroll twinkled, smug in its self-importance. Bacchus bolted upright. “Pan, am I hallucinating, or is a scroll from the Council thrown in with common post?”
The squat goat-man flushed deep red, apparent even through his silver facial fur. “I-I-I, sire, I think, maybe…”
Cloven hooves echoed in Bacchus’s private hall as Pan scurried to the heap. Eyes wide,