The Goddess of Blood and Bone

by Nattie Kate Mason

  Making her way to the main suite door, Agnes was surprised to note the door had been left unlocked. A sign of trust. The thought of anyone trusting her caused an unfamiliar feeling to suddenly weigh her down; something she had not felt for a long time… until today. Shaking off the useless feeling of guilt, she reminded herself of the power and reward that would come her way if she did not fail her task. Refocused, Agnes pushed down on the door handle, pulling it open towards her to reveal a shirtless warrior slouching against the hallway wall. He was dressed in very tight leather pants and glaring right at her.

  “Going somewhere?” the younger version of the King of Gods questioned. His thick, gruff accent, laced with contempt, reminded her of the legionaries from Stanthorpe, a neighboring Kingdom of Alearia. An accent that usually featured a soft burr emphasizing the letter ‘r’ as they spoke. The warrior’s brown glowering eyes stared straight through her.

  Agnes sighed exasperatedly.

  The male pushed off the wall and strode towards her, forcing Agnes to withdraw back into her suite. As soon as the Deity was inside, he slammed the door shut behind him. His intensity had even Agnes, with her heart of steel, caught off guard. Before she had a chance to dodge out of the way, he grabbed her by the arm with an unbreakable grip, a sinister grin promising pain now in place. Whoever this warrior was, he had to be highly ranked to have been made aware of her arrival only minutes after she had left the receiving room. Unlike the Queen of the Gods, this brute had no intention of welcoming her with open arms.

  Surprise must have flashed across her face because his predatory grin grew even more menacing. Agnes ground her teeth. This shit had the King of the Gods written all over it.

  “Unhand me you son-of-a-centaur!” Agnes seethed, trying to pull her arm free from his grip.

  She internally cursed her weak muscles, that were unable to fend him off, but thankfully she no longer felt pain. In her former body, trained as a warrior, she would have stood a good chance of outmaneuvering him.

  “Or what?” the stranger demanded. “You’ll go to the Rulers and complain about me? Who do you think sent me?”

  Agnes saw red, trying with all her might to pull out of his grasp. She risked tearing her eyes away from the intruder, having nothing to lose, setting her sights on anything that could potentially be used as a weapon to defend herself. Other than the bedding and linen, everything else was secured to the ground or wall as if… as if this were an ornately styled prison. A place to accommodate beings the Rulers did not wholly trust but wanted to appear amicable towards.

  Agnes pushed back into the male, a futile attempt to get him off balance, recalling her hand-to-hand combat training. But he was ready for her, his stance grounded, having the foresight and experience to anticipate such a move.

  “As if such a move could outmaneuver the God of War,” he ridiculed.

  Before Agnes had time to react or defend herself, the immortal swept a leg forcefully beneath her. She hit the ground an instant before he pounced atop her. Quicker than Agnes could register, the God of War pegged her arms above her head with one hand. Then he immobilized her legs with his knees, preventing her from kneeing him in any particularly sensitive areas. Agnes awaited the usual jolt of pain that would come from such a lashing, but it didn’t come. In that moment, Agnes couldn’t have been more grateful for whatever magic this realm possessed that nullified her gift from the Goddess of Blood and Bone.

  “Holy fucking Gods,” Agnes breathed.

  Thorn, the God of War, in all his half-naked perfection, had her pinned to the ground, towering over her. Agnes couldn’t help but look towards the dip of his abdominal muscles that began descending into those gloriously tight pants of his. Had he not been so intent on harming or interrogating her, the action would have caused an ache to build between her legs.

  “How do you want to play this? Shall we skip the foreplay and just get down and dirty or did you have something else in mind?” Agnes teased, trying to regain some semblance of control.

  A flash of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he maintained his firm grasp on her arms.

  “I’m glad to see you have shed the false pretenses and cut to the chase. It will save us so much time,” he said gruffly.

  “I’d rather listen to you read a romance novel. It appears you don’t always get what you want,” Agnes quipped. She was positive that husky accent had sent many damsels to their knees.

  The God’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed.

  Agnes tried to wiggle her legs free, but the weight and position of him made it impossible. Darkness seeped from the God, trailing up her arms and down her legs before finding purchase and wrapping around her wrists and ankles like enchanted shackles. When Agnes dared test the strength of its power by pulling on her bindings, she earned herself a jolt of electricity in response, causing her to hiss in pain. Perhaps Thorn was so powerful he could override the magic of this place. She supposed he was the God of War, after all. Delving out pain was his general occupation.

  “Bastard!” she cursed. “If you could have done that all along, why didn’t you?! Get off me!”

  “Now where would the fun be in that?” Thorn answered smoothly as he stared into her brown eyes.

  A rush of warmth flooded her core. For too long she had craved being in this position with a man, and he was as hot as the damn Pitts. She internally cursed the scent she was likely projecting towards her captor, though Thorn was apparently enough of a gentleman not to draw attention to it. At least for now.

  Thorn ever so slowly eased off her body before rising and taking his time to lazily stretch out on the chaise beside her, leather boots and all. The arrogant bastard even had the gall to fold his arms behind his head as if he were enjoying the entertainment, or perhaps he was relishing the effect he had on her.

  ‘Prick, such an absolute cocky prick!’

  Agnes pulled herself up, still grateful for the minor abdominal strength allowing her to do so. Such an action would have been as easy as breathing in her former life. As a warrior she had honed her body into a weapon, her mind equally as sharp. Now all that remained was a form barely able to carry out basic tasks. Another aspect of herself that that afterlife had taken from her.

  Agnes deserved it all: every punishment, every misfortune. She knew that deep down in the small part of her that still felt empathy and remorse, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t resent every moment of it. She was determined to make the Gods pay for their role in her powerlessness. The Goddess of Blood and Bone was right about one thing, as much as it pained her to acknowledge it. For too long the Gods and Goddesses had unchecked power over the universe. For too long had they been free to control and manipulate people’s lives as they saw fit. They had too much damn control over everything and only those they saw as worthy benefitted from their supposed benevolence. The power balance needed to be disturbed.

  “Done daydreaming, Princess?” The God of War inquired, one eyebrow raised.

  Even shackled, Agnes made a vulgar gesture towards him that sent the God chuckling.

  “That’s more like it,” he said, sitting upright on the edge of the chaise.

  He edged forward, his arms resting upon his bent knees as he leaned over her. Agnes took in every honed muscle of his chest and arms, and knew there was no escaping whatever Thorn had planned.

  “Where were you planning to go when you tried to leave your room?” he asked intently.

  Agnes glared at him, shaking her bound wrists.

  “I would be much more amicable if you would unbind me! I didn’t realize I was a prisoner!”

  “Nice try but that’s not going to happen,” he stated.

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.

  Thorn leaned closer so that his mouth hovered mere inches from her face. Agnes felt a shiver ripple down her spine at the feeling of his breath caressing her ear.

  “I can see why my sister kept you around for so long,” he whispered huskily. “Ther
e is fire within you. A fire that I would have very much enjoyed tasting for myself. If you were not already used goods.”

  Agnes slammed her head to the side to harm him, but Thorn was too quick. Anticipating the move, he straightened. Thorn looked down at her with that same cocky expression he had worn before. The God of War was baiting her, and she knew it.

  “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?” he advised, shaking his head.

  Agnes spat at his feet and the God flashed his teeth at her in disgust.

  “Unbind me or I will tell the Goddess of Blood and Bone exactly how you have been mistreating her goods,” she seethed. Revulsion burned within her at the taste of the last word on her tongue.

  The God’s laugh rumbled. “Do not delude yourself into thinking that my sister cares for you. She cares for no-one but herself.”

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ Agnes thought bitterly, feeling a stab of self-pity spear her heart. ‘Even in the hot springs she did not care for me, only my flesh. It was desperate and stupid of me to play that card on Thorn. It was always about sex for Nushka. An agreement between us, that I tended to the Goddess’s needs in return for my safety in Moor. It was meaningless to the Goddess, a carnal joining, and I was just another one of her handmaidens.’

  “I know that your master has gathered her forces,” Thorn stated in a low voice, drawing Agnes from her thoughts.

  Agnes stilled at the accusation, a million thoughts rushing through her mind. She had only a moment to decide how to proceed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, God.”

  The God of War appraised her with deep, calculating brown eyes. A sly grin formed on his face that Agnes knew meant trouble, and not the good kind.

  “Whatever you are thinking, forget it,” she demanded. “I don’t know anything.”

  ‘If only I had my freedom and former strength and I would really put this son-of-a-centaur—’

  Without warning, a dark wind hauled Agnes from the ground lifting her several feet into the air, wrists and arms still bound. Agnes couldn’t see more than an inch in front of her as a tempest of dark magic swirled around, lashing at her gown and bare skin. Agnes clenched her teeth as the torture ensued. The pain was horrendous, worse than everything the wendigast witches had subjected her to. Even worse than the bite that had been her death blow, ripping out her throat.

  A silver dagger penetrated the dark wind and steadily traced the length of her sternum, causing a torrent of pain that had Agnes hissing through her teeth. The dagger tracked lower and lower down her body, agonizingly ripping her muscles in two. The tang of blood coated her tongue as she bit down on her lip unable to bare the pain. But she would not scream, she would not give Thorn the satisfaction. Lower and lower the dagger descended, past her navel and stopping just short of her underwear before dropping to the ground beneath her, clanging on the porcelain tiles.

  The swirl of dark magic dissipated, and Agnes greedily inhaled the fresh air. Her body remained hovering just above the ground, and the evidence of what the God of War had done to her was devastating. The gown gifted to her by Aria gaped open right down to her delicates. Every inch of skin where the dagger had pierced bore a thick black scar, like nothing Agnes had ever witnessed. Not a trace of blood from any of her wounds remained, as if the dark magic had washed it away before retreating into its unholy master.

  The God of War stood a foot in front of her now, all false pretenses cast away. Before Agnes stood a mighty warrior, a Deity who determined the fates of Kingdoms, the creator of swordsmanship and other weaponry skills. For the first time in Agnes’s existence, she truly felt small. As insignificant as a grain of sand.

  “That was a warning of things to come if you do not answer my questions honestly.” Fire blazed in his eyes, a glimmer of the dark magic she had just witnessed ready to pounce at its master’s command.

  She gulped and nodded her head, feeling wholly outmatched.

  “Smart girl,” Thorn cooed before lowering her back to the ground and unbinding her from his magical restraints.

  Agnes did not run or call for help. She knew both would be pointless. If Thorn wanted to harm her, she wouldn’t make it to the door before he had a chance to do so. A warrior who had spent a millennium refining his craft, who had created the warfare rule books. The God of War stood forebodingly before her in all his chiseled glory.

  Agnes felt her knees wobble and she stepped back until she felt the edge of the bed behind her. Legs trembling and unable to support her any longer, she took a seat.

  Thorn resumed his position on the chaise opposite her, his arms relaxed on the arm of the chair. Powerful. These Gods were so incredibly old and powerful. A fact that Agnes had somehow managed to forget. Her entire lifetime would have seemed like the blink of an eye to the God of War. In that moment, she wasn’t sure how Lilith or Nushka had ever had any faith in her ability to outsmart their kin. She was in so far over her head that her cockiness had gotten the better of her, and she had forgotten who her enemies were.

  “As I was saying…” the God resumed, “I am aware that Nushka’s creations have gathered in The Pitts of Moor. I know that because it is my duty to keep tabs on such things. She has been readying her forces for some time… and I have been watching.” Thorn claimed with that husky accent.

  ‘If he knows so much, then why hasn’t he said anything to the Rulers of the Gods? They must not know, or they would have attacked The Pitts with their full Godly strength already,’ Agnes mused. She tucked the piece of information away, unsure what it meant for their cause.

  “If you know everything already, then what do you want from me?” Agnes asked crossing her arms.

  Thorn relaxed in his chair, apparently taking Agnes’s resignation to finally cooperate as a sign she wasn’t about to attempt anything stupid. The God of War sent a probing wisp of dark magic over Agnes that poked and prodded at her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The touch felt so incredibly close to a violation, but Agnes allowed it to continue for now, knowing that it would be reckless to risk provoking the God before her. The magic disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, much to Agnes’s bewilderment.

  Thorn abruptly moved to the edge of his seat. Leaning forward, lip curled; he glared at her in disgust.

  “What is in the vial?” Thorn asked with deathly quiet.

  When she did not immediately respond, he launched himself at her, grasping her wrist once more to shake her.

  “Were you planning to kill us all with poison? Was that my sister’s grand plan?!” He roared.

  Agnes sat stunned, a tremor of terror vibrating through her body at the ire in his eyes.

  “Not to kill,” Agnes confessed, hoping the truth paid off. “Such magic does not exist to kill a God. Only to nullify their powers.”

  Thorn released her, taken aback for a moment.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, brushing a hand through his shoulder length, brunette locks.

  Dark fire raged in his eyes as he strode, fists clenched across the room to pour himself a stiff drink. Agnes hadn’t noticed the decanter earlier. Perhaps he had summoned it with whatever dark magic wrestled beneath his taut skin.

  One shot, then another passed his lips before he lifted the crystal decanter and took a long, long swig. After drinking most of the amber liquid, he slammed it back on the cabinet top, shuddering the furniture. He leaned his hands on the cabinet as if to steady himself or process whatever it was that was going through his mind. Agnes couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

  *

  18

  The God of War

  The plan was sound. Basic and predictable, but sound. Thorn knew that arrogance would be the downfall of the Land of the Gods one day, and that day might have arrived. In the eras he had watched over the mortal realms, Thorn had utilized every tactical strategy imaginable. In the end, it was always complacency that was a Kingdom’s biggest downfall. Too often did a Kingdom of immense power became blind to potential threats against them, over-
confident in their defenses and abilities.

  In recent times it had almost been Alearia’s downfall. By Deity standards, the several mortal years since the Battle of Alearia had ended seemed like mere days ago to the God of War, and he was still hostile about the outcome. Stanthorpe, the invading Kingdom, had been one of his most prized Kingdoms. An entire territory of warriors who fought with their swords first and asked questions later. A stupid bet had meant that the Kingdom of Stanthorpe now fell under his sister Lilith’s domain. The loss had meant reduced worshippers to strengthen Thorn’s powers. Since he also gained power from all wars regardless of their location, the loss was not as significant as it would have been for his sister had the fates not fallen in her favor.

  Thorn straightened his back and breathed deeply.

  “I’ve seen this coming for a while,” he confessed to Agnes. He didn’t know why he was confiding in her since he owed her nothing. Perhaps he just needed to talk.

  “The first sign something was amiss, was the decreased activity in the mortal realms,” Thorn continued. “The wicked creatures’ numbers had been dwindling for some time and, initially, I’d thought they might have been poached and killed into near extinction. But Nushka must have been slowly retreating them to The Pitts. I fucking knew she was raising an army!”

  Thorn slammed his first on the cabinet, cracking the glass top. He ignored the choked sound that escaped the girl behind him. Thorn poured himself another knuckle of whisky and gulped it down. The amber liquid burned like The Pitts but it helped take the edge off.

  “What astonishes me the most is Lilith’s involvement,” he confessed. “Since you’re clearly only here as Nushka’s pawn, there is no way in Moor that you managed to deceive her or prove your worth, she has to be involved in all this.”