by M J Marstens
I look sideways at Caed, judging the probability of getting away with moving my hands. . . but he eyes me like a hawk. A hawk who is just waiting for me to disobey so he can paddle my ass again. I give him pouty eyes. He gives me a naughty smile and slowly starts jacking himself off outside his jeans. Fuck me. I’m going to combust. I rock back on my heels and covertly attempt to rub my pussy against them. I see Caed’s eyes flash in warning. I’m walking on thin ice.
I refocus on Kane. I love the salty taste and smooth feel of him. I remember him making me touch myself. . . his deep voice telling me what to do. I moan in ecstasy. I try to keep quiet. If another guest walks by, they might knock trying to figure out what decadent spa service I’m getting that is making me do a spot-on Meg Ryan impression.
And I’m not even coming.
Yet.
I’m going to fight someone if I don’t get mine.
Caed stands up to direct me and both men tower over my knelt form. I feel so vulnerable and slight, but also inviolate wedged between these two men. A heady, potent combination that accelerates my lust further. Like Kane, Caed uses my hair to guide my movements. He’s even less gentle and slams my mouth repeatedly from the tip to the base of Kane. Tears are streaming down my face. Kane is huge and my mouth feels slightly numb from the abuse. Caed continues to stroke himself while still micromanaging our fuck-fest.
Impressive multi-tasking skills.
Kane swells in my mouth and I know he’s close, but I stay quiet. I have learned my lesson. . . this time. All I know is that Caed is a big enough asshole to walk out of here without giving me release. My hands would be a sad substitute after being treated to more other-person orgasms than I have had personal ones in my entire life. I’m like an addict; I need them to get me off. I think of this when I twist my head and suck sideways as far down Kane as I can go so I can watch him. Kane drops his back and howls out in his gratification. And I drink in every last bit of his cum.
Caed picks me up, literally shoves everything off the table, and lays me atop of it. He spreads my legs and binds them to the two table legs.
Where in the fuck did he get ties?
And he sure as shit knows how to use them. He had my legs secured in under thirty seconds.
Mr. Marx will see you now.
We can laugh at my sad Fifty Shades of Gray joke later, because Kane has just gotten to his knees in front of the table and his mouth aligns perfectly with my pussy.
Thank you, sweet lord.
I barely have enough time to register Kane’s tongue licking my folds, when Caed grabs my wrists, pulls them above my head, releases his dick from his tight-ass jeans, and is sliding it deep inside my mouth.
Did I say he had impressive multi-tasking skills?
I meant fucking medal-award level talent.
No wonder humans venerate these men. I would happily bow at their altar to worship them. . . especially with my mouth.
And hands, if they were allowed.
So while Caed earns an award for his skills. . . me- not so much. I want to focus on Caed’s dick in my mouth because I adore the different taste and texture of him compared to Kane. . . but I adore Kane’s mouth fucking my pussy even more.
“Pay attention,” Caed rumbles. “Give me your best, Zahra.”
An unspoken promise hangs in the air: if I give my best, they will give theirs. So I double my efforts and I’m rewarded in kind. Fingers join Kane’s mouth and I race to the brink and hang on the precipice, waiting. . . so close, but I know I need their permission first. . .
“Come, Zahra,” Kane whispers against my center.
Oh, thank god. . .
My orgasm surges through me in an explosion of visceral sensation. Caed gives me no warning when he quickly follows suit, his thick cock exploding inside my mouth. He pulls back so he can cover my mouth and chin with his jizz. I sweep my tongue out to lick off what I can get and his eyes darken in rekindled lust. I smile languidly. My body feels heavy and sated. Kane unties my legs and picks me up, but I’m already nodding off to sleep. The only thing that would have completed this stereotypical scene is if I had told them to make a sandwich first.
Oh well, I can ask when I get up.
CHAPTER 34
SATURN
It’s mid-morning Saturday, and we are all in the office to go over Zahra’s notations to our charts. Of course, Mars and Jupiter wore her out, so instead of receiving them yesterday morning, like I was promised, I did not get them until late last night. I look at the clock on my desk and note Zahra will be boarding her plane soon to go back home.
I’m not comfortable with her leaving, but she shows no signs of remembering anything and she’ll return Monday morning. The guys and I have worked a system to keep tabs on her. With this new information she sent us, we should be able to glean something useful and hopefully by her return, we will have the answers we seek and we can. . . end everything.
I sigh. Like the others, I have gotten caught up in Zahra. But that is not her, no more than I’m Khalid Al-Zahil. It’s an unspoken uneasiness in all of us and I know I’ll have to be the one to finish her in the end. I’m the only one who has not grown emotionally close. Luckily, my curse will not allow me. Attachment equals a loss of control.
I open up the email Zahra sent me with all the charts. She has also sent me a list of information regarding basic astrology- which she named ‘Zahra’s BA Cheat Sheet’. Does BA stand for badass or basic astrology? One can never tell with that girl. Humble she’s not. I notice there are eight attachments, instead of seven. I click them all open. They look like printed charts that she manually marked and then took pictures of, but it’s all very detailed and I appreciate her color-coded notes.
The eighth document has no writing and I think she must have uploaded it by mistake. The name says ‘Jane Doe’ at the top, but I see the Capricorn sun and figure it’s Zahra’s natal chart. I print everything out and give the guys copies so we can start figuring out how the Part of Fortune factors into our curse. Of course, I want to start at the top, but the guys groan and whine like little bitches about it. Screw them. I’m the god of discipline for a reason. I have the tenacity to undo Lina’s handiwork, but there must be a methodology to figuring it out. Starting at the beginning just makes sense.
“What were Lina’s exact words when she imprecated us?” I ask to no one in particular.
“Stop being a wanker,” Pluto grinds out. “You know damn well as the rest of what she said.”
I sigh, “Stop being difficult. There is a method to my madness.”
Jupiter steps in, apparently our peacekeeper once again, “She said: By the black of the moon, you too shall all become dark. Cursed to roam your creation, reincarnating until you finally destroy it. Only the maiden rising from light can save you from becoming your shadow selves.”
“And we translated it as: You’re doomed to become monsters of your darker sides, trapped in human form, obliterating earth with your corruption, unless you choose my pussy once and for all.”
“Thanks for the summary, Mercury. As usual, you’re quite glib,” I say wryly.
“Well, what do you want from him? We have been over this a thousand times.” Sun says, backing Mercury.
“Cut him some slack. We all know how Saturn operates and he’s damn good at finding answers because of it.”
Mars surprises me with his defense. In fact, this whole conversation floors me. By this point in a disagreement, we are usually physically fighting one another. Aside from Jupiter laying out Mars, we haven’t come to blows. . . since before Zahra arrived. Odd, considering how her presence should amplify our curse, not subdue it. . . My heart kicks up a notch while I mull over Lina’s words.
“What if Lina didn’t mean her in the curse?”
“What,” asks Neptune.
“Of course she meant herself, that was her evil little twist. When we learned that she was playing us all behind our backs and we dropped her like yesterday’s news, she became enraged. A woma
n scorned. . . she cursed us because we refused to dance to her tune. And her ultimatum was either we become monsters and annihilate everything in our path or we share her- the very thing we initially refused.” Uranus supplies.
“And she says maiden of light. . . as in the light side of the moon. And we are the dark side by succumbing to our curse.” Sun adds.
“No, she says the maiden rising from light,” Pluto corrects.
“The maiden is Virgo in astrology- where our Part of Fortune is. . . what else did Zahra say about finding balance in the chart? We have looked at almost everything. . . except for degrees. Everyone look at their chart and see if there is any correlation to your Part of Fortune and the house and planet degrees.”
I look down at mine, ignoring where Zahra has marked my chart to show me the balance through the houses. I focus on my Part of Fortune. It’s at twelve degrees, twenty-two minutes. . . the numbers admittedly do not mean anything to me, but I keep looking around the wheel. Nothing really- wait, my Venus is exactly twelve degrees and twenty-two minutes.
I’m too old to believe in coincidence.
I tell everyone my revelation.
“My Part of Fortune is three degrees, sixteen minutes and so is my Venus,” Jupiter calls out.
“Our Part of Fortune is twenty-seven degrees even. . . and so is our Venus.” Neptune says.
“My Part of Fortune and Venus match, too,” chimes in Sun.
“As do mine,” add Pluto, Mars, and Mercury.
I pause to think. . .
“Jupiter, what did Zahra say to you about her name?”
“That she was born on New Year’s Day and apparently there is some Basque holiday of the same making called ‘Altizarra’,” he sucks in a shocked breath. “It’s to celebrate the return of Venus in the sky.”
I type altizarra into the computer. . . it’s Euskara for Venus. I think to my mother tongue, which I have not used since my early youth- alzahra means Venus.
It’s in her name.
I grab up her chart, searching, before passing it to Mars.
“Zahra is not Lina.” I state definitively.
“What?” He asks.
“Look.”
Everyone gets up to crowd around Mars. I see when Pluto and Jupiter make the connection.
“Her tattoo. . .” Jupiter mumbles.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Mars demands.
“Zahra is Virgo Rising-”
“So?”
“So- she’s the maiden rising and look, her Venus is conjunct her Ascendant. . . she’s the maiden rising from light. . . the light of the second planet.”
“Lina let us think the reverse to her curse was choosing her or our destruction, but really it was another woman all along,” Mercury whispers.
“Another planetary goddess,” Mars adds, finally getting on board.
“And Zahra is Venus- our Part of Fortune to break the curse,” Uranus muses.
Neptune lets out an incredulous laugh.
“She wasn’t full of hippy bullshit, bratik. . . love is the answer because Venus is the goddess of love.”
He tells us what he and Uranus gleaned from Zahra while repressing her memories.
“But why have we never encountered her before?” Sun wonders.
“Because Lina kills her first.” Pluto states. Being the god of death, he’s linked to Lina’s darker side more so than the rest of us and can always recognize when she has taken human lives in the past. . . now it makes sense who she was killing. Being aware of that part of her curse made her look for Venus’ reincarnation every time she was reborn. . . and we never knew.
“We have to get to Zahra!” Mercury says, panicking.
“She’s boarding her flight, if not already on the plane- she’ll be safe until she lands and we will be waiting for her in Minnesota,” I calmly reason.
The shrill ring of my telephone jars us and I reach over my desk to answer it. Who the hell is calling on a Saturday morning?
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello, I’m looking for a Mr. Al-Za. . . Al-Zahil?” The feminine voice on the other line butchers my last name.
“Speaking, how may I help you?”
“Forgive me, sir, I’m calling from Southwest Airlines. We are looking for a Zahra Delsol. . . we are doing last minute calls and she’s the only one not accounted for, but her ticket information lists your name and number. Do you know if she’ll be making this flight?”
My heart freezes in my chest.
“No, thank you.” I click the phone down before looking at the others. They heard everything and all share the same looks of horror.
“Let’s try giving Zahra a call.”
I try her cell, but get no answer. The ice in my chest is spreading to the rest of my body. I pull up the resort’s security cameras and home in on her room. At 7:45, she opens the door to take her breakfast. . . and never leaves. Mercury and Sun wink out before anyone else can move. They return in minutes. Their ashen faces say it all.
“She’s gone. . . someone ransacked her room and took her,” Sun chokes out.
I try to use my connection to trace her energy, but feel nothing. Despair replaces the ice inside of me. And wars with regret. Our one chance at salvation- at true love- gone.
And I never got to apologize.
CHAPTER 35
ZAHRA
My alarm goes off at 7:30. I have breakfast coming in fifteen minutes, but I stay in bed, scrolling through my phone. I go back home today. It’s 23° in Clemenston.
So fucking depressing.
I make sure Khal got my email from last night. . . I hope he can read through my notes. If not, I can translate when I get back. A knock at my door signals food is here. Another glorious platter of fresh fruit.
Oh fruit- you will be missed.
I take a few bites of watermelon, skirting the grapes. I’m still hesitant to eat one after. . . the previous debacle. I’m sure you can understand my apprehension.
I hop into the shower and sing Uptown Funk horribly off-key, while dancing just as sadly, I’m sure. (This is where you reassure me that I’m a fantastic singer and dancer. Friends lie to each other like that, even if they are in the Trust Tree of Truth. It’s a tricky line to walk, figuring out this whole friends’ honesty thing, but we’ll get there.) Once clean, I towel off and slather on the resort’s complimentary lotion. Made with real shea butter. You know- the really fancy, expensive shit that makes your skin look and feel like silk? I should have told housekeeping I was out, so I had some for when I’m not staying here anymore.
I walk out of the bathroom to get dressed. . . and backpedal quickly inside. Walking around my room are two. . .women. . . I guess you would say. They are tall and willowy and exceptionally lovely. . . and totally not human. They have an Oriental flare to their looks, but their eyes are three sizes too big and are angled like a cat’s. They appear to be twins and they appear to be looking for something. . . if them snooping through my stuff is any hint. Finally, I say fuck it (thank you, book!) and go to confront them.
“Ah, hi?”
Both of their heads swing towards me in unison and sway lightly from side to side. They remind me of the Siamese cats from Lady in the Tramp.
Creepy as fuck.
“Hello, Earth girl,” they hiss together.
“Um. . . who are you guys?”
“We are not guys. We are North Node and South Node.”
As in the Lunar Nodes?
“Did the guys send you?”
“No, Selina sent us.”
“Who the hell is Selina?”
“She’s Moon.”
Oh, that clarifies everything. . . not.
“Wait. . . moon. . . she’s the Moon?”
“Yes,” they hiss. I really wish one of them would speak at a time. It’s super fucking weird.
I think about the guys and their preoccupation with the moon- an afflicted moon, more specifically. This doesn’t bode well for me, does it?
“To kill you,” they answer.
Huh, well, I found my girl god and the bitch wants me dead.
Figures.
Well, you know how I act in times of emergency. . . not well, people.
Not.
Well.
I drop the towel wrapped around me and start running around the room, buck-ass naked- even though Thing One and Thing Two are not chasing me. Remember that crazy card I have been holding to my chest all this time? I’m using it now. Except, the Nodes do not seem too terribly disturbed by seeing a naked, Earth chic run around like an insane person. . . maybe I need to kick it up a notch. I don’t really have any weapons handy. But I do have my make-up bag. I grab some powder bronzer out and twist open the cap. If anyone ever needed a sun-kissed pick-me-up, it’s these two.
“The power of Christ compels you, bitches,” I screech before tossing the make-up in their faces like it’s holy water.
They just blink their creepy-ass eyes at me.
“Who is Christ?” South Node asks North Node. . . except both say the words. . .
I lied. All those other times were never as fucked up as this situation. I’ve hit my quota of ‘fuck-its’ for the morning and I think it’s time to haul ass out of here. I run to the door, but raking nails tangle in my hair and pull me down. I try to throw out a boob punch, but these girls are flatter than pancakes. And made of steel. I think I just broke my effing hand! The one I hit doesn’t even grunt.
“HEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!” I shriek and then stop.
I remember reading that you should never call for help because other people would not want to get involved- you know, in case it put them in a dangerous situation, too. How fucked up is that? No wonder humanity is going down the tubes. Anyway, it said to yell ‘fire’ instead- because that’s something I would want to run headlong into, right? But whatever, if statistics tell me to yell fire, then I’m yelling:
“FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!”