Green Tea and Black Death (The Godhunter, Book 5)

by Sumida, Amy

“I want to taste you,” I whispered, unsure of who I was speaking to.

  “Nyet,” Kirill lifted his face long enough to growl at me, his eyes flashing blue. “I vant to vorship my goddess tonight and you vill give me zis, Vervain. You vill let me have zis one night vith you, to do vhat I vant before Trevor comes back and I must share you again.”

  “Kirill,” my heart clenched and I pulled on his arms till he crawled back up me. “I love you just as much as I love Trevor.”

  “No, Tima,” his blue eyes filled with tears, “don't lie to me, just give me zis.”

  “I never lie to you,” I took his face in my hands. “You're a part of me and nothing anyone does will change that. I will bring Trevor home if I can but I won't give you up. I will not give this up. Things are gonna have to change. We'll alternate who sleeps in here with me.”

  “Trevor will never...”

  “Fuck Trevor!” I said vehemently and Kirill's eyes got round. “I told you, you're just as important to me. Trevor will understand or he can go back to Hel for all I care.”

  Kirill fell on me with ravenous passion, eating at my lips as his cock nudged my entrance. I squirmed and pulled back, trying to get him inside me. He growled and flipped backwards so that I was straddling his chest. It also brought me face to face with Azrael. I flushed. How had I forgotten he was there? He licked his lips and I followed his tongue with my eyes. The his hand lowered and silently unzipped his jeans. His cock sprang free, the head already slick, and his hand lowered to it.

  “I want you inside me,” I groaned as I watched his hand start to move.

  “I know, Tima,” Kirill's hands moved to my hips and I returned my attention to my lion.

  I sank down his shaft, the slick sounds of sex starting to fill the room as I lifted up and sank back down again. My hips worked instinctively, undulating against his hips and making Kirill cry out and squeeze me tighter. Then his hands lifted and took my breasts firmly, playing with my hardened nipples and kneading the flesh. I wanted to throw my head back to fully enjoy the pleasure but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Azrael.

  His body was beautiful but it was his eyes, his expression that held me hostage. There was no jealousy there, only lust, pure amazing lust. If I just leaned forward, I could take him into my mouth but was that fair to Kirill? It was already pushing the boundaries of morality to put us on display without his knowledge. Could I actually bring another man into our lovemaking without his consent?

  I moaned and leaned down, getting myself away from temptation. Kirill immediately sucked a nipple into his mouth and started making contented little purring sounds, I looked up and Az was there, his hand snaked through my hair quickly and then was gone. He faded back into the darkness.

  Kirill continued to busy himself with my breasts and I couldn't help searching the shadows for Azrael. As if he knew I wanted to watch him too, he came forward just enough for me to see him. He was working his cock fast, his face tight with desire as his eyes wandered over every inch of me. It was so unbelievably erotic and horribly scandalous to my already damaged sensibilities. As if having three men wasn't enough, here I was auditioning for a fourth and loving every second of it.

  It felt wickedly hedonistic, making love to Kirill while seeing how much it affected Azrael, and knowing I couldn't have the angel yet. This aching want for Azrael was filling my body, threatening to become an obsession, while I was simultaneously having my need for Kirill satisfied. It was like having your cake and eating it too, finding satisfaction while still wanting a different flavor entirely.

  I sat back up and Kirill gripped me around the waist, turning and lifting till I was on my hands and knees before him. He'd reached the point where he stopped being human and was all lion. I felt my hair pushed aside while he pounded against my hips, his hands holding them still. Then his pace quickened and he shot forward, biting the back of my neck powerfully as he emptied himself into me. It was more than my lioness could take. I cried out, shuddering around him as I came, then fell to the bed with him atop me.

  The last thing I heard before I passed out, was the soft click of the bedroom door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hel is not hot, it's cold.

  Niflheim spread out before me in picturesque misty softness. Azrael flew us over the pristine plateaus, his massive wings easily bearing both of our weight.

  He had helped me pick out my clothes that morning and I was thankful he had. My usual fighting gear of black leather vest and pants would have left me freezing, especially with the wind chill factored in. So he'd had me add a few more layers to my ensemble, including a fur lined coat which he'd produced from the bag that had simply shown up on my doorstep that morning.

  The bag was over my shoulder, holding yet another coat for Trevor, since we'd have to leave Niflheim by foot and even werewolf heat wouldn't be able to take that.

  Yes, Azrael was full of surprises and after last night, I was looking forward to discovering them all. He'd already been awake when Kirill and I had stumbled out of bed. Coffee was made and as soon as we'd had a few fortifying sips, he informed me that Hel had approved his request and we were on schedule for take off... quite literally.

  After tracing into the outskirts of Niflheim, where the only trace points could be found, he'd taken me in his arms, spread out his wings and took to the sky. I was pressed face to chest with him, my coat wrapped tight and his arms around me like a lover's. I was supremely comfortable even though I was extremely afraid of heights. Every now and then, I'd look over my shoulder to survey our progress but never once did I feel that awful sinking feeling in my gut that high places always produced in me. In Azrael's arms, I felt completely safe.

  It was like a drug, that safe feeling. Some women like dangerous men, some like poets, or guys in uniform. My weakness was a man who made me feel safe. In my line of work, safety and the feeling of sublime security was rare. A few months ago, Anubis had assaulted me in my own shower, with Trevor and Kirill in the next room. He'd even been able to get to me in Pride Palace, my territory in the God Realm where I lived with my lions when I visited them. In Asgard, I was stolen right out of the room I share with Odin, by his very son, no less. Trevor had been taken hostage from Moonshine one night when he was working alone. I'd even been abducted by Blue right out in my herb garden. There was nowhere left for me to feel safe anymore except, it seemed, in Azrael's embrace.

  I felt a knot of guilt build up that my other men didn't make me feel like this. It wasn't their fault. All of them had fought for me at one time or another. They were incredible warriors, prime examples of men and they all had made me feel something similar to this once, but they also had all failed to save me at one time or another. I didn't blame them for it, it's not like that. I just ended up alone most times, impossible to even get to, much less save. I just accepted it as a fact of life.

  I've always said that life is no fairy tale. There's no such thing as happily ever after, there are no white knights on fiery steeds just sitting around waiting to save you. In real life, Snow White stays dead and Rapunzel grows old, alone in her tower. In real life, you gotta have enough sense to stay away from ugly bitches trying to give you shiny apples and have enough moxie to cut off your own hair and use it as a ladder if needs be. In real life, you have to save yourself.

  But when Azrael held me, I forgot gods could be human, that they could fail. In his arms, nothing could touch me because you are untouchable when Death has you. It was then that I realized why I was so attracted to Death magic. Death was peace; no more decisions, no more battles. Death could take my weapons from me for good. He could save me from myself.

  Beneath my cheek, Azrael's heart beat strong and steady but every time I shifted, or breathed against his skin, or squeezed him tighter, it would speed up. I entertained myself with it on the long flight through Niflheim until I finally went too far and felt him rising hard between us.

  “You're going to be the death of me,” Az spoke into my ear, “You will g
o down in history as the woman who killed Death.”

  “If you wanted me to stop,” I rubbed my nose against his ear as I spoke, “all you had to do was ask.”

  “That's just it,” he leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I don't want you to stop. I want to fly like this with you forever and maybe discover a new sexual position.”

  “And a new definition for the Mile High Club,” I laughed.

  “When this is all over,” he nuzzled my cheek, “I'll take you flying again.”

  “I'll hold you to it,” I turned my face determinedly away from him.

  I tried to concentrate on the landscape. Like I previously mentioned, Hel is not hot at all but icy. Muspeheim, on the other hand, was quite hot. It was the realm of the fire giants and since it was smack dab next to Niflheim, the result was a massive amount of steam. So although Niflheim was an ice land, it was not necessarily a dry one. The mist hung low to the ground, creating a sort of dreamy, wet world of constantly dripping icicles, weeping trees, and melting snowdrifts. The mist shifted and swirled, appearing to take forms and choreograph full musical numbers with wraith dancers.

  I turned back to Azrael and ran a finger down his cheek. “What does your tattoo mean?”

  “It's my name in Angelic Script,” he smiled faintly. “It means Whom God Helps, although I haven't seen the top dog in awhile.”

  “Well,” I kissed the delicate whorls, “it's beautiful and I don't think you need any help.”

  “Thank you,” his eyes focused on something over my shoulder. “Look, we're here.”

  Before us rose massive walls, the stone covered in the slick, dripping ice, so that it shone brilliantly in the frigid sun. I could see a shambling city behind the gates, rising in the center to showcase a creepy looking castle. Behind the castle, the city spread out again but then ended abruptly in a dark chasm.

  “What is that?” I pointed toward the canyon, larger and much scarier than the one in Arizona.

  “Ginnungagap,” Azrael grimaced. “The void. Don't look too long at it. It can lure the living.”

  “Oh okay,” I whispered and gave it one last look.

  Void, by its very definition, meant empty. That dark space should have been nothing but walls of rock. It was far from empty though, even from a distance I could see that. The darkness it contained was deep black but occasional bolts of lightning zipped through it, illuminating writhing forms that I couldn't quite make out from so far away. I got the sense that those shifting forms filled the void, that they were the emptiness, a hunger eternally reaching for something to ease it. Whaat would happen if you got too close?

  I shivered and looked down toward the walls we were approaching.

  Silver gates parted for us, swinging wide like the arms of an Norse maiden welcoming home her Viking lover. We could have just soared over them but Azrael brought us down, whispering something about it being bad manners to flaunt one's abilities to surmount a god's defenses.

  So I walked into Helheim on the arm of the Angel of Death and I felt no fear, not because he was with me but because I was a goddess and I was there for my alpha, the firstborn of Fenrir, with an invitation from Hel herself to walk through these gates. That huge void at the back of Helheim didn't even bother me. Ok, so maybe it was because Az was with me.

  Inside the gates the city was massive. It spread to the right and left of us as far as I could see. The buildings were an assortment of every time period you could think of. There were simple log cottages next door to massive edifices of cement and steel. It was odd but it seemed to work. The people roaming the streets were just as colorful... no, not colorful, diverse. They were, in fact, rather drab, being the color of the mists we had passed through. I don't mean they were ghost-like either. They had substance, they were just very pale and gray.

  And all of them stopped to stare at us.

  We stood out like a beacon of light in a foggy night. I tried not to stare back at them but I lost the battle. They were just too fascinating. Ladies dressed in Victorian dresses strolled with men in leather jackets and jeans. Tunic wearing Vikings stood beside children in the garters and hose of the Renaissance. It was a little like wandering onto the back lot of Universal Pictures. A few reached out to touch us but Azrael hissed at them and they quickly withdrew.

  The street we were on didn't curve, it didn't wind through town or lead us past architectural diversions like statuary or fountains, it marched straight up to the Gothic castle in the center. Black polished stone didn't reflect the sunlight so much as swallow it up. The walls appeared seamless and impossible to scale. They clawed at the sky like a caged beast, powerfully enraged but helpless to do anything about it. Yet at the same time, the monstrosity dominated the landscape and I had a horrible feeling that at any moment it might turn it's attention and frustration towards me.

  I wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave. No, that wasn't true. I wanted my Wolf Prince more and it looked like Fenrir would get his wish. I was about to go through Hell to get Trevor back. Or at least go and talk to Hel, which was looking like it would pretty much be the same thing.

  I took a deep breath and walked through a black hole of a door with Azrael beside me. There were iron gates thrown back to either side of it, giving the impression that they might snap close at any second, ensuring that our stay in Helheim be permanent.

  “Lo though I walk through the Gates of Hel, I fear no evil,” I whispered and turned to Az. “For you are with me. Your scythe and your wings comfort me.”

  “I think maybe Behold, I see my father and mother would be more appropriate,” he laughed.

  “A Michael Criton fan, are we?”

  “Who?” He scrunched his brow at me.

  “13th Warrior,” I laughed, “It's a movie based on his book. Before they go into battle, the Vikings chant it, although it can't be accurate because it goes on to say that they wait in Valhalla and everyone knows Valhalla is only for warriors slain in battle.”

  “Ah, that's why you shouldn't quote a movie concerning Viking myths, as fact,” his eyes twinkled. “The chant is not for warriors at all, it's a chant a slave girl sings before she is slain to be with her dead master. It's from the book Ibn Fadlan and the Rsiyyah. It's kind of a horrifying account of this poor girl's death and oddly enough, they call the woman who kills her, the Angel of Death. It's one of the reasons it stuck with me.”

  “So Criton got it wrong,” I huffed.

  “It sounds like he used artistic license and just made it up,” he chucked me beneath the chin.

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “I told you, I like to study,” he guided me past silent gray guards and up massive steps. “Besides, the chant is about Death. It's kind of my thing.”

  “Your area of expertise,” I grinned.

  “As well as yours, Godhunter,” a raspy voice growled, turning my head toward the sound.

  I felt my jaw go slack as Azrael stepped before me, his wings whoshing open to form another barrier between me and my possible assailant. I was touched by the gesture but I ducked beneath the massive wing-span and faced the newcomer without impediment. I had to know for sure.

  Azrael's scythe was out. Taller than him, it was black with golden script that matched his tattoo, swirling over it. I could see it so much better than I had in that dark room in Chinatown. It was impressive and normally I would have gaped at it for more than a second but currently, I had something else to gape at, or rather, someone.

  Balder.

  Odin's son stood before me, as gray as everyone else in Niflheim. He was obviously dead so I relaxed a little. I didn't relax completely because I was partially responsible for making him dead. What I couldn't believe was that I hadn't thought of the possibility of him being there. Where else would a dead Viking god go?

  “You died in battle,” I narrowed my eyes on him.

  “Yes, well, there was some debate over that,” Balder's beautiful mouth twisted. “See, I was fighting you but it was Loki who
killed me. Because I wasn't fighting Loki, it was deemed murder. Then there was the little issue of Odin refusing me entry to Valhalla.”

  “Hmph,” I nodded, “I didn't think of that. I guess he wouldn't take too kindly to you after you tried to kill his wife.”

  “You're not his wife anymore,” he snarled.

  “Then why did you try to kill me?” I growled back as Azrael looked helplessly back and forth between us.

  “Balder!” A voice boomed through the room, stopping Balder in his tracks and turning him even grayer.

  “Yes?” His voice trembled.

  “Escort our guests in,” the voice took on a feminine lilt.

  Balder's jaw clenched but he inclined his head slightly and gestured to a doorway on our right. Tall enough for a mammoth to enter and wide enough that Azrael's wings didn't have a chance of touching, even were he to extend them fully, the opening was guarded by massive, twisted pillars on either side. One white and one black. We strode through them like visiting dignitaries and I hoped we'd be treated with the same respect.

  Once through the door, I nearly stopped in my tracks, only Azrael's hand on my arm kept me moving. I wanted to stand and gape like a child at the magnificence of Hel's Hall.

  Now I've been lucky enough to see some amazing places. I've traveled the world and seen quite a bit of the God Realm as well but Hel had a unique beauty. Like a dream of winter, not the reality but rather what winter wishes it could be, with just a touch of danger lurking beneath the ice.

  There was a frozen river running down the center of the hall like an aisle. It sparkled in the light of the thousands of candles nestled in the bare branches of trees scattered along both sides. As we walked over the glassy surface, I stared harder at the trees, trying to figure out what was so strange about them. They were white with a coating of ice that made them into jeweled works of art. So beautiful but still so strange. Why did the branches seem to be jointed? They couldn't possibly be real trees.

  In between the trees, I glimpsed walls but they were black and so far away, they made the room seem endless. I glimpsed movement back in the darkness but no matter how much I strained my eyes, I couldn't catch the definition of any recognizable shapes. It was creepy, sending shivers racing down my spine, so I turned my face determinedly away, to face the dais looming before us.