by Robin Danner
Kane’s voice came softly, “My blood-brother, Ketiljon.”
She again fought the urge to turn around, though the sensation that she was being followed had turned from prickling to churning. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?”
“Salem, remove the spells. Remove them all. Quickly. I can help you.”
She turned her head. Ketiljon had risen to his feet, but was far from a threat at that moment. He seemed confused. Dazed. As he should have been since she’d knocked the crap out of him. “That’s what he said.”
Kane placed one dusky palm against the glass door. “He is untruthful.”
“And you always tell the truth?” Salem asked.
Kane laughed. “No, I have lied many times. But right now, I am telling you the truth. Listen to me, carefully.” He paused. “Whatever Ketiljon has told you is truth shadowed by jealousy and vindictiveness. He has entered your mind, Salem. He wishes you to believe that I am less of a man so that you will not be attracted to me. He wishes to return, not to make amends for his crimes, but to punish those he believes have wronged him. He has been controlling your personal fantasies. He is aligned with dark spirits of torment and trickery.”
“Aren’t all those he wants to punish dead? I mean…it’s been a thousand years.”
“Death is irrelevant. There are ways to exact revenge that go beyond the earthly plane, though in Ketiljon’s case, he must return to the living to have an advantage…”
“Over you?” Salem asked.
“Yes.”
Salem strode forward, raising her hands before her, palms toward the door. “Fetters unbreakable forged from the footfall of a cat, the roots of a rock, the beard of a woman, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird, allow this being entrance if his intentions are true.”
Kane put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. An unseen force punched him in the gut. He doubled-over from the blow, trying to catch his breath. Salem repeated the spell. “Fetters unbreakable forged from the footfall of a cat, the roots of a rock, the beard of a woman, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird, allow this being entrance if his intentions are true.”
Kane, in obvious pain, his bright green eyes tearing, clenched his fists and took a step forward. “Invite me to enter,” he choked.
Salem cocked her head to one side, thoughtfully. “Would you please come in?” And rescue me from your evil brother and tell me the truth about my bone dildo and then screw me until I scream.
Kane nodded. “All of the above, yes. Yes.”
Shit! He heard me! “Did I just say that aloud?” Salem asked.
Kane sloshed through the quagmire of spirit spells trying to stop him. Little by little, his passage grew wider, and easier to tread. “I know your heart, Salem. You are the binding oath of the stone. I can hear your thoughts and your desires as strong as though they are my own.”
Salem turned in alarm as her white rats bolted from the shop to the door between the storefront and the backroom. Looking more like guard dogs than pet rodents, Dax and Pheelyx took defensive positions between Salem and the groggy and slowly moving Ketiljon.
Salem turned back to Kane. “If you know my heart, then prove it.”
“I can defeat him only if you release my soul,” Kane replied.
“What? Now? I have to screw you, now?” Salem exclaimed. “He’s fucking nuts and he’s going to beat and rape me and you want me to drop my drawers and do you? Please! There must be another way.”
Ketiljon stumbled, falling to his knees. “Kane!” he cried. ‘Help me.”
Kane’s face softened.
Salem shook her head, she could see the genuine love Kane had for his brother. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“We are bound by blood. I know I must defeat him to save many others from his wrath, but my heart bleeds for him.”
“Kane!” Ketiljon cried again.
“I come, brother!” Kane replied. “I shall take you home, and there you shall be healed.”
“Like Hell!” Salem spat.
Kane lowered his gaze, his eyes meeting Salem’s. “Let me take him somewhere safe.” He winked, mouthing the word Revenants.
Salem nodded. He wanted to give his brother to the Revenants. Smart. Very smart.
Kane continued, speaking just loud enough for his ailing brother to hear. “Let me help him. Stand aside. There is strong magic in the very walls of this building that will afford him safety and rejuvenation. Please.”
Salem had always liked acting. “No! I’m going to finish him and spell-lock him into…into…” she tried to think of something that would mortify a Viking. “Into a tube of lipstick! Or a box of tampons!”
Ketiljon groaned. “Bitch!” he cried.
Salem turned again and stepped closer to the hunched-over body of Ketiljon. “No. It’s witch, you lying sack of…”
With the grace of a gazelle, Kane darted past Salem, standing between her and Ketiljon. “We have company,” he whispered.
Salem glanced to her right. One of the old whore-spirits had materialized beside her. The turn-of-the-century lingerie, brilliant rouge, and crimson lipstick glowed against her nearly transparent form. Salem knew her.
“Hey, Sal,” she said to the Revenant. “You want him?”
The Revenant nodded.
“Release me, Salem. Release me and your household spirits will never want for male company,” Kane said softly.
Ketiljon spit blood. “He lies.”
Salem shook her head. “No, he’s telling me the truth. You reversed the characters in your story. It was you who took Grettir from Kane. It was you who killed my customer and left her body in the alley. And I don’t believe the things you put into my head. The sexual relations between you. That’s your fantasy, not mine! I get it now. You’ve been trying to control me, and sway me from releasing Kane. You stupid son of a bitch! I’m not a tenth century woman ready to believe anything that pops out of a man’s mouth.”
Ketiljon spit blood. “I am dying, brother! This wicked white witch has knocked what life force I had from me. I am dying!”
Salem shook her head in disbelief. “The dead can’t die. Go back to Hell, Ketiljon.” She stripped off her shirt and threw her arms around Kane’s neck. “Kiss me, Kane.”
Mashing like teenagers in heat, Salem fell against Kane frantically. Urgently. Lips locked to hers in eager exploration, he dragged her to the floor behind her counter, ripping at her clothing while she tugged recklessly at his. The desperation of the moment drove her to complete the act with little or no foreplay. Not that she needed any.
She took control, urging Kane onto his back. He had a trim, muscular body. His chest was covered by delicate little black curls that trailed down his tight belly to his groin. As much as she was ready for sex, so was he. Salem squatted above his thick member, holding on to the display case countertop with her left hand to steady herself as she reached between her legs and guided him into her.
As her softness enveloped him, Ketiljon emitted a sickening gurgling noise. Salem pushed her body down as hard as she could to swallow all of Kane.
Salem felt Sally’s ghostly hands stroking her hair and shoulders as she rode Kane. And it wasn’t Kane’s lips across her breasts and bottom, either. Other Revenants had appeared. Their none-too-subtle encouragement of Salem’s sex act with Kane was far from a distraction. She felt like she was in a horse race, and they were the crowd cheering her on.
Between Kane’s moans, Salem heard a steady murmur of words in Old Norse. She recognized the incantation. It was a form of Galdr, a sing-song chanting spell.
Kane’s voice became increasingly strained as he came closer and closer to orgasm. His breathing was labored and the words of his spell became nearly indiscernible. Salem recognized the name Freyja repeated several times, though she, too, had difficulty concentrating on the spell. She gave up trying to decipher Kane’s words as the invisible tongue lapping at her clitoris and the throbbing penis embedded inside her sent her into a climactic
state she didn’t know mere mortals could experience.
Her world went dark as she came. Dark like the man under her. Dark like the ethereal prison he’d been trapped in for so long. Dark like his brother’s tainted soul.
Her eyes were sealed shut and she did not witness Ketiljon’s departure. But she heard it. The protesting. The rage. The joyful laughter of the Revenants.
* * * *
Salem opened her eyes slowly. Fluttering open like little butterfly wings, her lids wanted to remain closed, afraid of the light. A brilliant blue light. Kane’s earthly aura; a deep, rich healing blue.
Soft, full, warm, moist lips pressed against hers. “Kane,” she sighed.
“Yes.”
“Is it over?” she asked.
“Thanks to you, yes. Ketiljon will not be lonely in his confinement; and your house spirits are most certainly going to enjoy the passion of their new guest for a very long time.”
“My artifacts?” Salem asked.
Kane laughed. “Always the businesswoman! Here I am ready to make love to you again and you think about business!”
“If Ketiljon went with the Revenants when I released you from the Viking Member, did it destroy…?”
Kane silenced her with a kiss, his tongue flicking against her lips until she responded in kind. “The magic is drained from the bone, and Salem, you were the magic of the Odin Stone. The artifacts were spell-crafted for pleasure, but now, that magic has drained away, leaving only valuable antiques for you to keep or to sell. A woman has more magic in her than any sacred object. You channeled their magic. We channeled their magic. And the Revenants captured Ketiljon.”
“Now what happens?” Salem asked. She let Kane kiss her throat and shoulders. She felt his long fingers slide between her legs.
“Right now, I want to make love to you again,” Kane replied. “I need to thank you.”
He trailed his kisses across her smallish, round breasts, stopping to suckle her dark pink nipples before turning his attention to the curve of her belly and beyond. “It has been such a long time since I have tasted a woman’s flesh. There is nothing sweeter.”
“Grettir?” Salem asked.
“Yes, but that was long ago.”
“I’d like to hear your version of the story someday,” Salem replied.
“It starts like this,” Kane said, pushing his tongue through her nether lips to coax her bud from hiding.
Salem relaxed her legs, opening them to allow Kane full access. “I think I’m going to like this story,” she whispered.
The End
About the Author:
Darragha lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and daughter, in a one-hundred-sixteen-year-old house that is continually under renovation. The house is haunted by the spirit of a Union Civil War-era soldier who seems to enjoy watching the construction every now and then.
Someday, he may turn up as a character in one of Darragha's stories. Darragha’s pretty certain the old gods are happy with ‘Teaching Old Gods New Tricks’ as two ravens have been hanging out in her yard for months.
She’s named the birds ‘Thought’ and ‘Memory’ after Odin’s ravens and tips her cup of joe in mock-salute to the symbolic birdies every so often, just to keep on the gods’ good side—’cause sometimes we choose our gods—and sometimes they choose us.
Hounded
Xandra Gregory
Chapter 1
Fear does funny things to a man. Strips him down to the bare bones of his instincts and reflexes. Fuels him via the chemical reactions of adrenaline and causes him to navigate his actions by pure animal reflex. Fear reaches down deep into the brain and the psyche and drags out what is hidden and primal and puts it in the pilot's seat. Fear speaks to basic instinct.
Fear drove Rex through the crowd of parade-goers, right through the center of the solemn protesters forecasting doom on the event everyone else celebrated. Fear of being caught by the Cinco City security force sharpened his instincts and fine-tuned his reflexes in the exact scenario that the laws prohibiting uncollared gen-hanced from running free were supposed to prevent. His body pushed itself to the limit and he dodged, bolted, and skimmed in and out of the crowds of people, his only thought to putting more space between him and the Whites.
Avoiding one knot of partygoers pushed him into the protesters and too close to the parade route. He stumbled and fell flat on his face at the sight of the parade float in front of him. No, he thought. It can't be. The Lady he served sat upon the decorated float and waved to the people, looking so radiant his chest ached. His legs folded back under him and he jumped from a crouch all the way up over the barrier to the other side, landing on the edge of the float. His throat ached. My Lady, he thought. She came for me.
Fool! Idiot! Of course it wasn't Diana up there on that foam-form crescent moon. Just a woman dressed as the Queen of Heaven. Even enhanced senses could be fooled, especially when they wanted to be. A glance behind him showed the Whites searching the protesters for signs of his passing. He crouched down behind one of the raised levels of the float. A hat had fallen under the foam-coated scaffold of the dais where the crescent rested, and he pulled it out and slipped it over his head. Some silly green thing that was supposed to be a hunter's hat, he guessed. Going along with the theme. How little these fools knew.
Just to be safe, he wedged himself through the odd-shaped opening created by the curve of the crescent and the raised edge of the float. My Lady protects me, he thought, even when it's Her I run from. The run-in with the Whites might turn out to be a good thing after all. The parade was going to the spaceport, the closest he could get to the shuttle hangar that housed the Helios project, and his last hope. All he had to do was stay out of sight of the Whites and blend in. And enjoy the view of the pseudo-goddess in the see-through dress.
She really didn't resemble her namesake beyond the dark hair. Golden skin and a very definite athletic build made her attractive, but nowhere on par with the liquid grace of the tall and willowy Olympian he served. He watched her draw back the toy bow she carried and enjoyed the way her muscles stood out. She was holding the bow the wrong way. The real goddess would have smirked, if she still had her sense of humor. Diana's competitive streak would have let the impersonator miss her target, but her sense of fair play would have her correcting the woman's posture and handling of the weapon before she shot again.
An unexpected stab of loneliness cut through him. He missed the other gen-hanced Canids who made up Diana's Pack. He missed the sense of belonging—of waking up next to a warm body or having a reassuring touch any time he needed to reach for one.
The woman playing the part of his mistress tapped one of her silver bracelets and fired a cartridge of glitter from her wrist. She grinned at the cheer that came from the crowd and waved, leaning back against the crescent. He didn't need enhanced vision to be able to see the shadows of her nipples under the dress. The plum-colored peaks stood proudly to attention atop a pert pair of firm breasts. Another point of difference, he thought. Diana would have never assumed such a cheesecake pose for any crowd. In fact, she was rather touchy about being seen at all.
The float wobbled and the woman looked down. Her almond eyes widened and her eyebrows went up. Her lack of screaming meant that luck was on his side, at least for the moment. Of course, she wouldn't have any idea of the gravity of the situation. She was likely identical to any of the other revelers lining the streets of the giant ring city. Secure in their misconceptions that the current advances in science and technology had solved all the mysteries of the universe, and completely oblivious to the gods and monsters that still walked among mankind.
He envied her blissful, sensual ignorance. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the otherworldly chill that had caused him to bolt from the Pack and Diana's presence. Still smell the stink of a Titan's filth, mixed with Diana's ambrosia-scent.
“Come to get a blessing?” The false Diana kicked one leg out towards him, sending her short skirt u
p in a playful swish. For a moment, he wanted to join her in her ignorance. To be just another partygoer, caught up in the fun. Though that fun wouldn't last, he tried to pretend for a moment, grinning back at her just as he caught her scent.
Hello, he thought as the warm musk-spice of feminine arousal rolled over him, strong enough to chase away the scent-memory of the corruption that hung about the real Moon goddess. She put her foot in his lap, her toes finding where his body had responded to the scent of her invitation.
His first thought was to control himself. As one of Diana's Hounds, he was expected to exercise strict discipline—service to the Virgin Huntress tended towards the celibate end of the spectrum. But he was free now and, as bittersweet as freedom was, he had no reason to fight the attraction to her scent, or ignore the music of blood rushing through her body in quickening spurts as her heart beat faster.
He looked up. She's not Diana, he thought. But maybe…maybe there was enough Moon in her to ease the loneliness, at least for the moment.
* * * *
Lin draped her body over the giant foam crescent moon on top of a float, wearing a nearly see-through tunic. Her dark hair was tied up in ringlets on top of her head and secured with a shiny silver band. She pasted a smile on her face and waved to the crowd. Ironic that it's me, of all people, up here impersonating Diana, she thought. I'm certainly no virgin goddess of the Moon, even if I do live there.
From the speaker poles placed at intervals along the street, music blared behind a voice-over of a feminine voice extolling the historic occasion of LEO independence. The citizens of Cinco City, also known as LEO-Ring 5, for Low-Earth Orbit, danced along with the music, hugging each other, and snapping flash holographs of the floats.
The lights hurt her eyes and bitterness squeezed her heart. Once this parade reached the Cinco City spaceport, LEOs would be one step closer to true freedom from Earth, thanks to the massive solar array known as Helios. Yay for the LEOs, she thought. Too bad Earth still needed the Moon enough not to permit the same freedoms for the He-3 miners who lived and worked there. Forty percent of her paycheck, along with the payloads of Helium-3, would still find its way down into the Earth's treasure chests for the foreseeable future, while the LEOs suddenly found themselves with more money than they knew what to do with.