Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  Then, slowly, the wind dies.

  “You can look up,” Aron murmurs.

  I do, and we’re no longer in the underworld. We’re in a new place, and I see green, grassy fields framed by distant mountains. There’s a large, stone fortress at the foot of the mountains, and over it, lightning seems to crackle on a constant basis. Above us, the deep purple clouds dance with light and swirl like they’re in a snow globe. It’s terrifying, but also beautiful. “Where are we?”

  “This is my home, the Plane of Storms. Here, my faithful make war and then feast with me when the day is done.” He strokes my hair and gives me a hungry look. “I am not a god of peace, or a god of kindness, Faith. I worry you won’t like being here with me.”

  I give him an incredulous look. “I’ve known who you are the entire time, Aron. You can be a god of battle. You can be the god of storms. You can be the god of dirty brown assholes, remember? You just have to be my man.” I lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Besides, my schedule’s a little empty at the moment.”

  “I will treat you like the goddess you are,” he promises me.

  “Am I a goddess, then?”

  “You are my anchor and immortal because your life is tethered to mine. In that sense, yes. You will still need to eat and drink and sleep like a mortal, I’m afraid.” His gaze roams over me, and for a moment, there’s a fierce possessiveness in his eye. “But you will never be hurt ever again. Ever.”

  “I’m down with that.” I pat his chest. “Can we go home now?”

  “Of course.” He lifts a hand to the air, and the tornado whirls around us once more, and we ride it toward the castle.

  84

  The Keep of Storms is very much a man cave. There are weapons everywhere, a thick, heavy throne that sits atop a dais made entirely of shields, and long, long tables full of food and drink, waiting for the warriors that clash outside. There are weapon racks all along the walls and more weapons hang from the stonework. And…that’s about it. Well, there’s a web in one corner between two pillars, but I half expected that after seeing Rhagos’s throne room. Still, it’s not the most comfortable of locations unless you’re a fan of swords, swords, and more swords.

  Oh, and axes.

  I’m clearly going to have to set up a girl cave of some kind. Something with some books—once I learn how to read the languages of this world—and a few soft places to sit. Music. A bath. Something. It’s doable, though. Aron’s a god. He’ll figure it out.

  I sigh happily at Aron as he looks at me. “Take me to bed?”

  My big, brawny man pauses. “I…have no bed. A god does not sleep.”

  “But you’ll fix that for me soon enough, right? You’ll get a bed for your anchor?” I give his chest a pat.

  “I will get anything for my anchor,” he vows, a smile on his lips as he gazes down at me. “She just has to ask.”

  “I’ll give you a honey-do list soon enough.” I lay my head against his shoulder. “For now, it’s just enough to be here with you.” I stroke his chest, despite the armor. I can hardly believe that I get to be here with him, after everything that’s happened. It doesn’t seem real. For the first time since we’ve been together, no one’s trying to kill us. No one’s plotting to attack. It’s just…us.

  Aron carries me over to his throne like a bride over the threshold. “For now, this will have to do. I’ll get you your own chair soon enough, but right now I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “What, you can’t wave a hand and magic up a chair?” I tease. “This fucking godhood thing is a sham!”

  He sits down in his throne and settles me in his lap, my legs over the opposite arm of the chair. “That would be Tadekha, and she has yet to return. But tomorrow, I promise I will create a war in Glistentide so I can demand tribute in the form of fine goods for my anchor.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to go to war, but this is who he is. I’m not going to suddenly change him to the god of peace. I like Aron just as he is, flaws and all. “Just make it like, a trade war or something. Something benign. I’m tired of all the death.”

  Aron throws his head back and laughs. “Very well. A trade war.” He chuckles and then cups my face, gazing down at me. “Never leave me again, Faith. I nearly went mad with grief when I realized what you did.”

  “I had to. The Spidae had hinted at things and they all sort of lined up. I realize they were angling for us to win.” I stroke his chest, content. “Maybe they saw the anchor thing coming up? In the future? And this was the best way to do it—to dick over the two of us.”

  The lord of storms grunts in agreement. “If I never see them again, it will be too soon.” His hand slides down to my breast, and he teases the nipple through the slinky fabric of my black gown. “Also, I don’t like that you’re wearing Rhagos’s colors. It reminds me of what I had to go through to get you back. From now on, I only want you in my colors, red and gray.”

  “I can do that.” Hell, I can do any and all of it. I don’t care. I’m just…ecstatic to be with him. “I saw Solat and Vitar in the underworld. No, it wasn’t really the underworld. It was the place between, where the faithful wait to be retrieved.”

  Aron nods. “I will get them and the other faithful tomorrow. You will go with me.”

  Not a request, but a command. My bossy, arrogant Aron. I fucking love this man. I brush my fingers over his eyepatch. “You gave up your eye for me?”

  “It wasn’t mine to begin with. An easy concession. I lost mine to the dragon One-Tooth many millennia ago. Remember?”

  I remember. “It still makes me unhappy—”

  “As does the fact that you went behind my back to try to fix things on your own,” Aron says in a deadly voice.

  “If you want to be fair, I didn’t ‘try’ to fix things,” I point out. “I did fix them. You’re welcome.”

  His single eye gleams, his expression hard. “I still think you need punishment.”

  I sputter at the word “punishment,” but then he shifts his weight and I can feel the hard length of his erection pushing against my hip. Ah. That kind of punishment. I’m wet just thinking about it, and I squirm in his lap. “What are you going to do?”

  Aron considers me, then reaches for the shoulder of my dress. He grabs a handful and rips it off, exposing my breast. “I don’t like how Rhagos looked at you,” my god murmurs. “He was very intrigued by you, you know. He had no idea a female of your world would be so…”

  “Independent? Strong willed?”

  “Mouthy.” Aron runs the pad of his thumb over my nipple. “He thought to keep you for his own. I’m tempted to go to war with him, too, for daring to even look at you.”

  I moan, shifting in my seat as he teases me. “I don’t want to belong to anyone but you.”

  “Even if I punish you?”

  “What, a spanking?” When his eye gleams with interest, I rise to the challenge. “You want to spank me? Fine, then.” I get up, shuck the rest of the black dress off, and then bend over in front of his throne, deliberately teasing him. “Spank away.”

  I love that he growls low in his throat, that he snatches me from around the hips and drags me backward. He’s gentle even as he pushes me over one arm of the chair, and then my bare butt is in his lap and I’m bent in half.

  One big hand settles over my ass, and I suck in a breath to feel the heat of his palm resting on my skin. I’m so turned on right now.

  “No,” he says, caressing my buttocks. “Striking you is never the answer, my sweet anchor. You require a different kind of punishment.”

  He spreads my thighs apart, then pushes two fingers into my pussy.

  I moan, jerking in response at the sensation. Oh god, I hadn’t expected that, or how good it’d feel. “Aron,” I pant, clutching at his throne. “Oh god, please—”

  “Yes, I do think I am your god now,” he says in that same low, sexy voice, even as he thrusts deep into me with his fingers once more. His thumb skims along my w
et folds and rubs against my clit, and I cry out. “You are my anchor, tethered to me for all time, and I am your lord of storms. Nothing will ever separate us again, Faith.”

  His finger shifts inside me, and then he’s rubbing my G-spot. I choke out his name, wheeze, curse, and basically lose all control until I come, hard. Then, I just laugh and laugh even as the orgasm rolls through me and my legs feel like rubber bands stretched too tight, because that was amazing and perfect.

  I’ve missed this man so badly, with every aching fiber of my being. I feel incredibly lucky that I get to have this time with him, to be in his lap, in his keep, celebrating his return. I want to cry with how perfect it feels. A hot tear slips down my cheek, then a second one, and then I’m sobbing because I thought I’d lost him for good. I’m overwhelmed.

  “Shh, Faith. I have you. I’m here.” He pulls me off of the arm of the throne and back into his lap. His hands are on my face, stroking my arms, caressing me anywhere and everywhere. “Nothing will ever separate us again.”

  “I missed you,” I sob against his mouth between kisses. “I missed you so much.”

  “You were brave,” he tells me. “You did what you felt you had to in order to save me. I’m both humbled and terrified at the way your mind works.” When I let out a watery laugh, he kisses me again. “And I love you. I didn’t think gods could feel such things, but what I feel for you…there is no better term. You are everything to me. Everything I could ever want, everything I need.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, caressing his dear face. “I love you so much.”

  He simply holds me close, lightly kissing my mouth with gentle nips. I love that this big, fearsome man—this god—can be tender with me and fierce to the rest of the world. How I love him. I kiss him again, and then the kiss becomes something deeper, more erotic, and I moan with a new need.

  “Can we make love on this throne?” I ask him, breathless.

  “On this throne,” he agrees. “Or on the floor. Or on the tables. Anywhere and everywhere my anchor desires.”

  I give him a sly look. “Can I wear the eyepatch?”

  He laughs, head thrown back, and then hands it to me.

  The only thing sexier than the lord of storms when he’s driving deep inside me? Is when he’s smiling in my direction and devouring me with his gaze.

  That’s how I know I’m home.

  Epilogue

  I run my fingers over the threads of the web, waiting for the picture to change. The threads shift, forming pictures, and eventually outline Yulenna’s face. She’s standing in her personal chambers at the tower, surrounded by spiderwebs. Her smile is bright as she waves at me.

  “Hey!” I say in greeting. “About time!”

  “Sorry,” she says with a small laugh. “I was, ah, distracted.”

  “Ew, gross, don’t tell me any more.” I pretend to plug my ears. “I’m still scarred from your last story.”

  Her laughter peals through the hall, and I grin back at her. Yulenna’s so ridiculously happy, it’s obvious even from long-distance. Serving the Spidae suits her admirably, and her skin practically glows with pleasure. She doesn’t mind that they’re weird since apparently they spoil the hell out of her and end up doting on her as much as she dotes on them. Being an anchor to them has been good for her, and good for them, though she is overly fond of sharing sex stories that I’d rather not hear.

  I still find the Spidae creepy, after all. I don’t want to hear about her pleasuring all three of them at once. Again. I’m still trying to scrub the image of that from the last time she told me about it.

  Still, it’s nice to have a buddy to chat with. I liked being friends with Yulenna before, and now that we’re both anchors serving gods, we catch up regularly through the web and chitchat about daily life…among other things.

  “So?” I ask, practically dancing in place. “Did you check?”

  “On the woman for Markos?” She nods. “Her thread is strong and not currently entwined with anyone else’s. Are you sure you can maneuver the two of them together? Or should I get my masters involved?”

  I wave a hand. “I can handle it. I’ll make Aron go to war with someone or other. She’s Cyclopae, right? She’s bound to love war.”

  “True. Well, let me know if you need me to have their threads tweaked.” Her eyes gleam with anticipation.

  “Let’s not make it too obvious just yet,” I say. “If Markos knows we’re matchmaking from the Aether he’s bound to get stubborn.” Both Yulenna and I have decided that Kerren and Markos are our projects. They’re both great guys and honorable, and it’s time they met some equally awesome women. We’ve been eyeing a really fierce, badass Cyclopae chick for Markos, but I think Kerren needs someone sweeter, because he’s shy. A warrior woman would eat him alive.

  Then again, maybe that’s what Kerren needs. We’ll figure it out.

  “That wasn’t why I was calling, though,” I say, even as I make a mental note to put a bug in my Aron’s ear about setting up some skirmishes on the Yshremi border that will allow a Holy Warrior of the Cleaver to hang out with a lady barbarian. “I was going to ask about the other thing.”

  “Calling?” She tilts her head, curious.

  “Uh, web-calling?” I gesture at the magic spiderweb that we communicate through. The gods are able to see each other from afar through the webs, and I have enough control after hours of practice to snoop on some mortal places. “It’s a telephone sort of thing. Long story.”

  “I see. From your old home?”

  I nod. Funny, I haven’t thought to look and see if I can view the Earth web. It’s another part of my life that’s dead to me, in a sense. I don’t need Chicago, or pizza, or cars. That belonged to another Faith, another life. There, I was Faith Gordon, phone jockey at an insurance company.

  Here, I’m Faith, eternal anchor and loyal companion to Aron of the Cleaver, Lord of Storms and the Butcher God of Battle. I know which one I’d rather be.

  Yulenna’s dark eyes gleam and her mouth curls up in a smile. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  “Oh god. Do I?” I clutch my stomach. “I’m so nervous. You’re sure?”

  “The threads don’t lie,” she tells me in a singsong. “You’ll see.”

  I nod absently, even as thunder crashes outside. “Oh, that’ll be Aron. Can I call you back later?”

  She chuckles. “Yes, do this ‘calling’ thing later. You know where I am.” And she waves from within the web and then fades out.

  I turn away from the web and smooth my hands over my hair and then down my dress. It’s new, just like most of the stuff in my private chambers in the Keep of Storms. As promised, my Aron waged a (teeny tiny) war on Glistentide and accepted the spoils of offering. Now I have a ton of pretty dresses, urns full of incense and fine fabrics, and the best damn palatial bed I have ever seen. I have chairs and vases and books I can’t read and a harp that I have no idea how to play, but I was thrilled with all of it and made sure Aron blessed Glistentide appropriately as a thank you.

  I picked something a little flashy today to get Aron’s attention. Not that it’s hard to get his attention, but I love it when he gives me one of those long, heated looks that tells me his mind is nowhere near the battlefield. The dress I’m wearing is a long, shimmery pink that fades to blue at the skirt, with a deep, deep embroidered neckline that shows off my impressive rack.

  The massive double doors of the Keep of Storms open and men pour in, wearing armor and speaking in loud voices. They laugh and jostle each other, full of enthusiasm even though not a few moments ago they were fighting each other on the field of battle. That’s all they do here in Aron’s slice of the heavens—battles after battles after battles, then they come and feast. I smile at them as they surge in like a wave, and each one makes Aron’s symbol in my direction. Some even move their hand up slightly with a second thump over the heart, a new gesture people have started to do for me specifically. Aron says that I’m not worshipped�
��not yet—but he wouldn’t be surprised if I started receiving prayers in the next millennia or two asking for him to intercede.

  I scan the faces of the men—and women—as they crowd the feast tables that magically replenish themselves and begin to eat. Solat’s here, and Vitar, and I wink at them as they pass by. Solat’s following a female warrior from Old Suuol with a look of interest that tells me he hasn’t changed, even dead.

  I’m about to ask where my Aron is when thunder crashes overhead again and I roll my eyes, even as I smile. Dramatic entrance incoming. I clasp my hands, waiting beside my throne and pretending I’m about to sit down in my smaller chair next to his. It’s a game we play—I move to sit, and Aron grabs me before I can and pulls me into his lap. It doesn’t matter how fast I am, my ass never gets in that chair.

  Even now, I barely put my hands on the arm of my throne and then a massive gust of wind and a crackle of lightning sweeps up against me, rustling my skirts. A big arm locks around my waist and then I’m hauled into Aron’s lap as he sits on his throne.

  “My love,” he growls, his throat full of thunder and pleasure at the sight of me. He’s become fiercer and more magical as he adjusts to his return in the Aether. Today, wind makes his hair constantly blow—even inside—and lightning sparks his eyes. The other day he wore a crown of pure lightning in bed.

  Fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  He nips at my neck, sending sizzles of pleasure through my body. “Did you miss me this day?”

  “Nope,” I tell him.

  Aron throws his head back and laughs, because he knows I’m lying.

  I just grin and smooth his long hair back from his face, caressing his jaw even as I do. I’m getting used to the eyepatch and I have to admit, it does good things for my lady parts. “How was your day, dear?” I ask, teasing.

  He gives me a pleased look, one hand gripping me high on my thigh. “Eventful. Prayers are coming in from Rastana. They are on the verge of civil war. I shall have to evaluate which side deserves my blessing.” He takes my hand and pulls my knuckles toward his mouth, pressing a kiss there. “You will help me?”