by M J Marstens
Lilith must find the truth there because she says, “I need to find her because she doesn’t remember who she is, but everyone else does. She’s forgotten our world, but we haven’t forgotten her. Or what she’s done. And trust me, no one cares that she’s been balanced. Or that the Universe has given her a second chance. Vengeance is blind. And so is she, with her memories wiped. She’ll never make it on her own without someone intervening.”
I pause, fully taking in Lilith’s words, acknowledging them for the truth they are.
She’s right.
Moon has changed, for the better, but so many others have been hurt by her actions in the past when she was unbalanced, they won’t care. In fact, they might even enjoy the cruel irony of it even more. And if Moon has been reincarnated into human form without her memories, she’s vulnerable.
Even though she’s immortal, her human reincarnation is not.
I shudder to think what might happen to her if someone she screwed over in the past gets ahold of her.
I nod to Lilith in understanding.
“Can you find her?”
“I think so; we are linked through our tattoos. I haven’t been able to access her mentally though. That’s. . . that’s why I went to Earth,” she confesses. “I knew I could track her better on that plane.”
Again, I nod.
As much as I don’t like this, I know Lilith is right and we need to help Moon.
“See if you can get a read on her now.”
“Ok, I’ll try.”
Lilith closes her eyes in concentration, but seconds later opens them with a cry of anguish. She tugs at her shorts and is panting in pain. I’m confused as to what’s going on, but I can tell she wants her shorts off. I quickly knock her trembling hands away and rend the damn things.
Again.
Good thing clothes are formed freely from the fabric of space or she would be spending a lot of money on pants. I might suggest she invest in a skirt.
And some underwear.
But that’s not important right now.
Because when I finally get Lilith’s pants off, I see why she’s in pain.
Her tattoo is fucking ablaze.
I call my powers to my palm and place a cooling hand over the inflamed image. Lilith sobs in agony and tries to push my hand away, but I hold firm. I call on more energy until my hand is practically an ice cube and I numb her skin. Finally, she sags against the door, finding relief.
“Gods,” she moans. “I forgot how much that hurts.”
“This has happened before?” I ask tightly.
Her face is still etched with the remnants of her pain as she nods, and it infuriates me.
I shift into liminality and allow my centaur’s ancient wisdom to guide me. I seek out her tattoo and see it’s imbued with another’s essence.
Motherfucker.
It’s a mating imprint.
I was pissed before; now, I’m enraged.
“Who. Did. THIS?!” I thunder.
Lilith looks perplexed.
“Alû.”
“Who?”
“Are we playing the naughty rhyming game again?”
I glower at her.
“Knock it off. This is serious.”
“Sheesh. Alû. Third-trimester student. Incubus. Tall, tanned, hot as fuck.”
Something dark stirs in me hearing these words. I don’t want her looking at anyone else but me. I push these ridiculous possessive thoughts from my head and focus. I rack my brain and then it clicks.
“That Sumerian fuck,” I growl.
“What’s wrong?”
I debate on whether to tell her or not, but I know she has a right to know.
She’s already had her say taken away from her by that incubus assfuck. I won’t be the reason she’s clueless. I don’t want to give her any reason to call on Venus for payback.
“Lith-”
Her smile cuts me off. It’s like seeing the sun shine for the first time. I want to forever be in its glow.
“You called me by my nickname,” she comments when I can only stare hungrily.
Fuck, calling her by a certain name brings her this pleasure? Wait until I call upon her pussy again. I’m going to make her see stars.
“Alû imprinted on you,” I say too bluntly.
I wince.
I used to be diplomatic, but this woman makes my brain matter scatter.
“I don’t know what that means.”
I huff a big sigh and pull up my headmaster panties.
“He’s made you his mate,” I explain.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell when the ramifications of my words infiltrate her mind. Her face goes from blank to incensed in a flash.
“That motherfucker!” she hisses.
My sentiments exactly.
But then, her anger deflates as quickly as it came.
“I don’t understand. Why would he tie himself to me. . . unless. . . unless I am his mate and he knew it.”
I swallow; I already thought this.
“That doesn’t explain why your tattoo has been burning,” I point out.
She shrugs.
“I’m not sure either. But Alû will know. Let’s go find him and ask.”
“Let’s. I plan on choking him to death.”
“Chiron!” Lilith reprimands.
“What?”
“How are we going to ask him anything if you choke him?”
“I was going for the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach,” I tell her with a lopsided smile I don’t really feel.
She shakes her head and huffs.
“We are freaking gunslingers, ya know.”
“How do you know what a gunslinger is?”
Another shrug.
“I have access to my twin’s memories. I know a lot about humanity.”
Interesting.
We leave my office and walk briskly through the corridors, as I call out to the other Minors. We round a corner and I see Marsyas, the impish satyr, making his way towards us.
“Marsyas!” Lilith cries in delight and the ugly green monster inside me rears its head.
She runs to him when he opens his arms.
Just as she about to fling herself into him, he reaches back and slaps her across the face. Instantly, Lilith is knocked unconscious. I stand there, stunned, as she crumbles to the ground and the satyr scoops her up. But my centaur is ready.
He charges the fucker who dares to hurt our succubus.
Just as I am about to slam into the goatcunt, his eyes flash red and he disappears. I run full force into the wall and break chunks of the stone off where my hooves collide with it. I fall to my side and kick my legs for a second, momentarily paralyzed from my collision.
When I finally regain myself, I shift into human form. Vesta, Ceres, Pallas, and Juno pop up next to me.
“Chiron, what’s the matter?” Vesta demands.
“The satyr took Lilith!”
“Marsyas?” Ceres asks.
“Yes. Pallas, I’m going to need you for this.”
“Of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Help with an exorcism. The bastard goat was possessed.”
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
THANK YOU AND ACKOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, thank you to you, my reader. I am so appreciative of your support! If you enjoyed this book (or maybe didn’t, lol), please consider leaving a review on Amazon and other reading sites. Thank you to my betas, who read through this: Rachael, Marlana, Heather, and Kelly. A special thanks to Lori, Kathy, and Meghan for editing and proofing this book. Your work is so appreciated! And much love and thanks to Rozie, my home-girl formatter. You are amazing. I wuv you all!
VIRGO RISING Excerpt
ZAHRA
Forty minutes later, I’m dressed in a monokini (which somehow manages to be even skimpier than if it were just a two-piece suit) and I’m strolling to the pool. The resort has five.
Five pools.
I would kil
l to have just one.
Anyway, I make my way around each, walking from one end of the resort to the next (it’s quite expansive) and find that pool number four, the Grotto- as it’s called, is empty. Perfecto. I set myself up so I’m directly in the sun’s warm rays but my computer is in the shade. Things are still hard to see because it’s so bright out here, but I deal with it. I have some research to do after this morning.
Firstly, I’m getting a new vibrator. Those epic assholes have me in a frenzy of lust (and a desire to do them bodily harm- an odd combination). A new, penis-shaped toy should fix me right up. I scroll up and down the page. . . one glittery model promises twenty speeds.
Twenty?
Seems a bit much. . . and dangerous. I want to get off, not have my clitoris fall off. I open a new tab. Next thing to Google: what do you call sex with eight men?
Oh, a gangbang.
Alright then.
I guess my interests have escalated to that level. Delightful. I try to type my specifications into the porno site I go to. . . nothing comes up for ‘one girl gangbanged by eight supermodel men’. Damn. Moving along, maybe there is some raunchy erotica on Amazon to fulfil my perverted needs.
“What is a reverse harem?” An accented voice asks behind me. I swivel in horror. Mio is to my right and reading the screen over my shoulder.
“It’s a story where there is one woman and multiple men. Usually three or more,” comes a refined voice to my left. Nyam. Lovely. I wish the earth would open up and swallow me- and this damn computer. In my haste to stop them from reading more, I close the tab. (Because like an idiot, I forget I can just close my whole laptop!) This screen shows several clips of women getting railed by multiple men as brought up by my porno search.
“Ahhhhhh!” I cry. Delete tab! Delete tab! Could this get any worse?
“Twenty speeds? That is remarkable, yes?” Mio sounds impressed. . .
I forgot about that last tab.
Fuck. Me.
My mind finally comes to the logical conclusion it should have ten seconds ago: shut the fucking computer. I slam the screen down and hope I don’t crack anything. Have you ever been in a situation so embarrassing you don’t even know where to look?
I have.
When I was twelve, my well-intentioned mother bought me a training bra to open at my birthday party. My face looked like it was going to combust (I know, because my dad caught it on camera). One helpful parent of a friend pointed out that I had nothing to fill it with (the bra, that is). All the other parents chuckled. I wanted to die.
That is nothing compared to my embarrassment now.
A freaking cakewalk.
Worse than not knowing where to look, I don’t know what to do. . . any helpful advice would be much appreciated. . . or have you stopped reading because you’re so embarrassed for me? Thanks. I’ll still count that as support.
“Yes, that is impressive, but it’s overkill.” Nyam’s voice whispers into my left ear and causes me to shiver. I’m still staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything. I might be in shock. “Why do you need gadgets, mon coeur, do your fingers not work just fine?”
Ummmmm, what the fuck do I do? What do I say?! I shouldn’t have shut my computer, I need to google this.
“Answer him, carina,” Mio commands. Damn, these guys are bossy as hell. Fitting, since they are bosses, right? I crack myself up. (Don’t mock my sad attempt at humor, I need a silver lining right now. . . and I’m struggling to find any. Even my Gran wouldn’t be able to find one in this situation.) What was I supposed to be doing? Oh, yes, answering Nyam. As demanded by Mio.
“Uh well, yeah. . . my fingers work just fine, but they don’t vibrate, so. . .” Not my most eloquent response, but at least I tried.
“Do you need help picking one out? Mio and I have keen eyes; we could help you.” A keen eye for dildos? Now I have heard it all.
“No!” I quickly decline. “I was just looking. . . to replace my other one. . .”
“What happened to old one?” Mio asks.
“I donated it to Goodwill,” I blurt out. Motherfucker. I’m going to smack myself.
“Goodwill?” Mio queries.
“It’s a donation center where people can give items they no longer want.” Nyam supplies.
“That was, ah, very generous of you,” Mio compliments me uncertainly. Yep, I’m a saint.
“It was an accident,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to; I would never have gotten rid of Blue. My fingers are a dim substitute. They don’t have enough stamina in them.” I’m rambling because of my previous embarrassment. I need to stop before I say something in my new embarrassment. Sigh. . . too late. Honestly, I’m not convinced I have a malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter anymore. I just don’t think I have one.
At all.
Scary.
“Blue?” Mio asks the same time Nyam says, “Not enough stamina?”
So, I do what any grown woman would do in this moment: I run.
The Grotto is a pool, but like its namesake, it’s surrounded by cavernous rocks, a perfect place to hide. Super mature of me, I know, but my sense of self-preservation is greater than my sense of self-respect. No knowing what I might have done or said if left in that situation. I scamper around some more rocks as quietly as possible. I don’t think the boys were expecting me to run and just leave my stuff, so I have head start. I hunker down in the dark, drippy rock formation. Even with my eyes adjusting to the dimness, it’s hard to see. If I don’t move, they should never find me.
“Good idea, mon coeur, we needed to be somewhere more private for this conversation.” I turn to see both guys wedged beside me. . . . how the holy fuck did they get here? I hope my terrified shriek conveys this message.