by Jean Murray
“Fine. Do not believe me, but Mother will unite the Pantheons. If she fails, we all die.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“The Creation Pantheon is not Apep’s only target. No one is safe.” Haru stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. “You cannot protect them. They will not be spared.”
Twice in twenty-four hours she had been told that very same thing. She scratched the base of her neck. Her fingertips grazed the uneven flesh. Maybe Menthu and Haru were right—she could not save them. She shrugged out of his grasp, hating the uncertainty that came into her mind. Failure was not an option. It never had been.
“I have watched you from a distance, caring for the humans and saving those boys. Your mother would be proud of you.”
Siya looked away, not wanting Haru to see the emotion playing tricks on her soul. “The younglings should not even be there.”
“Maybe this is part of Mother’s plan.”
“Pretty sucky plan.” Her mind strayed to Henry’s sighting. She needed to find the youngling. The unrelenting compulsion consolidated in her chest. Only when the youngling was safe would she be granted relief from its burden.
“They are well cared for and have a great mentor,” he said softly, his eyes bright with admiration.
“You have far too much faith in me.” A medal for valor on the battlefield she would accept graciously. The misplaced sentiment of her as a nurturing mother made her skin crawl.
“In times like these, faith is all we have,” he said.
“Faith is for the weak and powerless,” she hissed and turned her back to him. Her mother had more faith than most, and it did not save her. With an abundance of power and strength, Siya had little use for faith.
“Then we are all dead,” he concluded. The flash of light and heat following his departure did little to warm her now chilled body.
She blew out a breath and stared out over the endless black sea. “Why are you doing this to me?” Her question carried out into the abyss. Siya’s loss over the centuries pained her greatly, yet she lived on. Why could her mother not find the strength? If she had, Siya would not be standing here alone, a mere dot in the vast universe.
The weight on her shoulders bore heavily upon her. Had she come to her end, like her mother? The torture of waiting for that fateful day of her execution hung like an oppressive black cloud on her soul.
She sighed, knowing full well until that moment came she would carry on. In the meantime, she stripped off her clothes and padded down to the water’s edge. The gentle waves kissed her feet. She dove into the water, seeking to wash the burdens away. The warm fluid wrapped her in an intimate embrace and cradled her in a weightless state.
A silent lover without prejudice or premeditation.
Only here did she find relief, suspended and closed off from her life, her blood and her sins.
Chapter Nine
Bomani leapt over the black jagged rock and landed on the soft sand. A second bright flash of light caught his attention in the distance. Someone had either joined or left the party. The breeze carried the fragrance of lilacs and spices. Two separate scents. One male. One female.
He paused, uncertain. He should return to the human realm, find the exiler and leave this memory alone. It was not his anyway. Despite his resolve to leave, he skirted the tree line closer to his destiny. Movement drew his attention. The enormous black stallion grazed on the grass at the edge of the bank where the sand met the fertile ground. Lush green vegetation flourished on the rich volcanic soil. He scanned the tropical hillside and the beach. The rider could not be far.
Within a few feet from the horse he stopped. The steed’s head jerked up with its ears twitching in multiple directions. Its red eyes fixated on him. The black nostrils flared as the horse assessed him. Volatile by nature, warhorses would charge if they sensed any threat. The stallion snorted before lowering its head to resume ripping the succulent green grass.
Bomani dared to lay a hand on the horse’s neck. Muscles twitched beneath the thick hide, and the long arched tail brushed over its hindquarters. Not giving Bomani another look, the steed shifted its weight to move to a new patch of vegetation. The swelling posterior of the horse’s foreleg drew Bomani’s gaze. He slid his palm down the shoulder and over the bruised area. It jerked and nipped Bomani’s hand.
“Sorry, boy.” Despite the injury, the horse was well nourished and cared for. To his knowledge all the horses had been destroyed after the war. The Pantheon had no further use for them, yet this one lived. Bomani shifted his palm over the horse’s chest and traced over the brand of a lion’s head.
The rider’s cloak was draped over a branch. He ran his fingers along the thick felt fabric. It smelled of lilacs and vanilla, the scent all too familiar. Isis, that would mean…
Water erupted and a goddess emerged from the black surf. She blew out a breath and smoothed her hair back from her face. Water shimmered against her honey colored skin. The moonlight highlighted the exquisite lines of her face and neck. Her light eyes appeared almost colorless.
Bomani leaned a hand against the horse to steady himself. Her name rested on the tip of his tongue, but he could not draw it forth. Transfixed, he delayed concealing his presence. She walked to shore, the water level dropping further to expose more of her carnal flesh. The water flowed down the curved lines of her full breasts, flat abdomen, and perfectly bare sex. Long lean muscles ran the length of her body, bulkier than most females, but no less exquisite.
Her silhouette exuded strength to match the energy flowing around her. This was no simple goddess. This was the Goddess of War, a more than worthy opponent. Bomani broke out in a sweat. His gums ached as his incisors descended into sharp fangs. He clenched his hands, his body not quite feeling his own, but unmotivated to stop the rush seeing her gave him.
She turned to look out over the water, unaware of her now captivated voyeur. Dark brown hair snaked down a delectable spine to the curve of her round ass. Unrepressed arousal surged through his body, awakening a new hunger deep in his soul.
* * *
Siya jerked her head over her shoulder. Execution grazed undisturbed on the bank. Despite his calm, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Few knew of this location, the very reason Haru agreed to meet her here. She stalked towards her sword, keeping her eyes locked on the shadows. She dressed quickly and then grasped the hilt. Was this just more of her paranoia?
“We need to get moving.” Her respite over, she swung up onto Execution’s back, grabbed his reins and circled him around. The prickling at her neck had yet to cease. Something or someone was out there. She needed to get back to the human realm.
She jabbed the horse’s flanks with her heels and forced him into a full gallop. The green palms and water flew by in a blur. The steed grunted in protest and fought her command to line up with the entry to the portal. “Come on, boy. Get it together.”
She yanked her sword free and pointed to the center of the invisible layer. The sword glowed with the power she forced into the metal. Next to her father, she was the only other god that could transport via dark and light energy. She could absorb and expel it at will.
Energy shot from the tip of her blade and pierced the mortal plane. The matter opened at the center, revealing the dock and familiar human buildings. It was large enough to let them pass. She loosened her hands on the reins and leaned forward in anticipation of Execution’s jump.
The horse shifted, but not in the direction she commanded him. His back legs stiffened and he dug his hooves into the sand. From super speed to an abrupt halt, Siya shot over the horse’s head. She missed the now collapsing portal.
Her head and spine cracked against the black reef jetting out of the sand. The impact ejected her sword from her grasp. As she rolled to locate her weapon and Execution, the grating of broken bones took her breath away. Struggling for air, blood bubbled from her mouth.
What happened to that gods' damn horse? Execution’s head was down and he
limped towards her. She reached her arm out to leverage herself against the sand and dragged her body to her sword.
Movement in the shadows drew her blurry gaze. A large cloaked figure shifted in the silver moonlight. Henry’s devil. Panic overwhelmed her. Digging her fingers into the sand, she clawed her way to her weapon. She had younglings counting on her. Humans to protect.
The dark male grabbed Execution’s reins and pulled him away. Siya’s fingertips grazed the hilt. If he hurt her horse, she would gut him. Raging against the pain, she thrust herself forward and wrapped her palm around the thick handle.
The male stepped on the blade, rendering it immobile. Unwilling to die without a fight, she forced herself up onto her knees. Her powers would heal her injuries, but she feared not soon enough.
He knelt and snatched the curved saber from her waist. Barely able to hold herself up, she failed to stop him. Cool fingers grazed her temple, robbing her powers and buckling her limbs beneath her. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision. She lunged and slammed into a wall of muscle. Large firm hands clasped her and restrained her feeble attack. More warmth flooded her body and drained her last reserves of energy. A black shroud closed in, sleep overwhelming her need to survive. She slammed her palms into the broad chest to break his hold. Her power waned and she slumped against him.
Her exile had weakened her after all. She would never be able to defeat her father or Apep. They had come to destroy all of it.
Chapter Ten
Bomani stared down at the goddess cradled against his chest. Her wet hair clung to his exposed arm. The scent of lilacs and blood filled his senses. A large laceration on her scalp stopped bleeding and slowly knitted itself back together. If not for his powers to subdue her, she would have recovered fully within minutes. That, he could not have, not with the lethality hidden beneath the beauty.
Isis, he had the Goddess of War in his arms. A legend he had read about in the ancient texts. There were few warriors left from the primordial wars, and few talked about those times. It had always been a mystery as to how his predecessor was killed in battle. Bomani could find no record of Khalfani’s death, other than his last entry in the Commander’s ledger, announcing the Pantheons’ victory over Apep.
He appraised the goddess. A part of him still denied the truth of her identity, but the horse’s brand and matching hieroglyphics on her forearms beguiled his skepticism. His fingers trembled as he brushed the hair from the base of her neck.
He already knew what he would find lurking beneath the thick brown mane. The scarab brand distorted her otherwise perfect skin. The mark of a god on death row. This was the exiler he was sent to find. Bast’s Destroyer.
He did not make the connection until now, and why Bast had told him to stay clear. The Destroyer had slaughtered innocents after the war, unable to quell the thirst for blood. But, those had been rumors, ones he gave little credence at the time. Looking at the mark on her skin, he believed they very well may be true.
Why then did the Pantheon let her live? Why after all this time was Bast interested in her whereabouts? Had her killing resumed? The memory of the body in the alley came to mind. It was not far from the diner.
He shook his head. Too many questions he should not be asking in the first place. It was not his concern anymore.
The warmth of her energy crept over his skin and burrowed deep into his tissues. Being this close to living energy, he could not restrain his hunger any longer. He drew in long and hard until the tendrils of energy burned through his veins. He had gone for so long without replenishing his powers. Similar to the god who sired him, he needed living energy to feed his soul. Better the goddess than the humans he had been eyeing.
The goddess stirred against him. Despite her eyes being closed, her brows furrowed into deep lines. Her palm brushed over his left chest above where the Underworld shield was scarred into his skin. He inhaled sharply as his normally numb skin surged alive. The nerve endings danced with currents of electricity. He pressed his thumb into her temple, uncertain how much he could sedate her without harm. Tonight was the first time in his life he tapped into his powers.
He lived a warrior’s life and refused to embrace the gifts his father had given him. Asar never pushed him on this issue. Bomani had risen to the top by his own fortitude. No one dared challenge him on that issue.
Bomani was no god. Gods lived in the palace with fancy dishes and servants to placate their every need. He’d lived on a dirty mattress for centuries. He valued only what he earned through blood and pain.
Yet, it seemed appropriate to incapacitate the female before she caused herself more damage fighting him. Based on the burning red glow of her eyes, she would not stop. Witnessing the accident from a distance, he was surprised she remained conscious after the hit she’d taken. The horse’s leg had buckled on the injured side, just a few strides from the portal’s entrance.
Mine? What the fuck was that about? He heard the thought in his head as clearly as if it was his own. He could not discern if he was driven purely by his need to feed his starving soul or anger. He had too much of both at the moment.
The tightness in his chest dissipated as the goddess’ energy recharged him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, reveling in the feeling. Bathed in warmth, his tight muscles loosened and the pain released. The darkness of his vision faded, his hungry soul sated.
At least for the moment.
Movement against his chest brought him out of his high. He gazed down at the goddess. The wound on her scalp dripped blood. Her healing stalled, allowing the wound to open again. A sharp spike of regret filled his chest. He could not replace what he had taken. Guilt rode hard and deep. He pressed his hand against her head to slow the bleeding.
What had he become to take advantage of a helpless female?
This was not the first time. His conscience reared its ugly head.
He released the goddess—no, exiler. Her body slid to the sand as he surged to his feet. Bitterness raged in his chest.
Damn, Bast.
Damn, Kendra.
Damn them all.
Chapter Eleven
Black sands and warm waves greeted her sore eyes. The cold metal of her sword lay under her fingertips in the sand. She pushed up to sit. Her head bobbed under the weight of pain. Snapping her hand to her waistband, she found the saber snug in its sheath.
What of the dark figure? Her eyes swept the beach. Surely, she had not imagined the intruder. She touched the side of her head. Blood knotted the thick strands of her hair, but overall her skin was intact.
She palpated the back of her neck. Oddly, the mark was warm to the touch instead of ice cold. If not for the irregular skin beneath her touch, she would have believed she had been absolved of her sentence.
With a grunt she stood, but not without a significant amount of dizziness. The blow to her head could explain her hallucination. She blinked a few times and gauged her surroundings. Execution’s hoof prints and the surf had erased any evidence of an intruder.
He had been real, solid enough she felt his firm touch. She tightened her grip around her sword. A siravant would not be merciful. It would have ensured she was awake when it consumed her soul. If it had been Menthu, she would have been shackled or dead. No, this enemy was playing with her. Why else would she have her weapons back.
She surveyed the shadows shifting beneath the large canopy of branches. Inhaling, she sifted through the scents carried in the air. Nothing stood out among the salt and vegetation. No scent?
Despite his severe limp, Execution had wandered down the beach to some fresh vegetation. He surely would have alerted her. The beast hated all but her. Even the younglings.
Could she have imagined the hard planes of his chest or the strong arms restraining her? She pushed away the doubt, trusting her instincts. He was out there watching.
She had set out to find Henry’s devil when in fact, the devil had found her. Now, what to do about it? The intrud
er wanted her to believe he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
Fine.
She would play his game.
For now.
Chapter Twelve
The goddess stood on unsteady legs and watched the hillside. It took longer for her to wake than Bomani expected, long enough his anger waned. He should have returned to the human realm long ago, but he stayed out of guilt. He stared down at his palm that still tingled. He feared he had damaged the goddess by absorbing too much of her living energy. Despite his hunger being sated, he hated himself for being too weak to carry on without it.
Light green eyes targeted his location. The grip on her sword tightened. His ruse was up. It had been a calculated risk. He readied himself to escape but paused when the goddess stowed her weapon and brushed the sand off her arms. Maybe his plan worked, at least for the moment.
“Ex.” Her husky voice carried in the wind. The steed’s head jerked up and the animal ambled towards her. Bomani resisted the urge to do the same. The horse snorted as he passed.
“What the hell happened to you?” The goddess grabbed the horse’s reins and led him in a circle. She knelt and ran her hand over the horse’s ribcage. The steed sidestepped at the contact. “Easy, boy.”
A frown marred her beautiful face. Bomani blinked, unable to break the trance this woman had upon him. How well did Khalfani know her? Or did he at all? From what Bomani read in the archives, the Underworld legions had augmented the Creation’s forces. Many dark warriors had lost their lives out of poor leadership. Warriors were an expendable resource, Khalfani had written in the Commander’s journal.
Bomani’s hatred of the Creation gods grew the longer he watched this female. She was an outcast not unlike himself. A potential ally against Bast? Or his bargaining chip? He weighed the risk of revealing himself.