Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One

by Anna Erishkigal

Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.02

  Haven-3

  Prime Minister Lucifer

  Lucifer

  “What's her name and who is she stationed under?"

  Lucifer paused, one hand on the door knob to the chamber where these particular types of ‘appointments’ were kept. Depending on his schedule, sometimes he spent more time in this office than his real one.

  “Hemaniel." Zepar rattled off the particulars. “She is under the command of Colonel Gavreel on the battle cruiser Emperor’s Eye."

  “Is this her first mating attempt?”

  “She is fresh out of the academy." Zepar peered at the smart board he always carted about with exaggerated obsequiousness. “She claims to be a virgin, although we don't verify the veracity of the pre-mating questionnaire. All we care about is that she is coming into heat.”

  “The Emperor has them all so brainwashed they can only form relations to bear offspring that she probably is a virgin." Lucifer's wings flicked with irritation. “It will take extra time to break her in. How long do I have?

  “I scheduled one hour." Zepar tucked his dirty white wings against his back. “You'll need to use your gift to get her to perform within the allotted time. You have an important meeting with the Ministry of Defense at 4:30 and you need time to get cleaned up beforehand.”

  For all but the first fifteen years of his existence, Chief of Staff Zepar had run every aspect of Lucifer's 240-year life. He was the one in front of the cameras, but it was Zepar who really ran the show. But wasn't that the way things always were for men of power? Zepar got the dirty work done for him the same way that he performed all of the dirty for the Emperor.

  He spied a senior Ramidreju delegate walk out of an adjacent chamber with his arm around his wife's shoulders, the disheveled nature of their pelts indicating they'd taken advantage of the temporary sleeping quarters to have a little 'appointment' of their own. The wife smiled up at her husband, chattering about their latest litter of kits. A feeling of jealousy clenched at Lucifer's gut.

  “Just once I would like to have enough time to get to know some of these females instead of these constant, meaningless fucks." Lucifer gave a bitter sigh. "If you ask me, that's why our species is dying out.”

  “You know that's forbidden, Sire,” Zepar reminded him. “You're the highest ranking civilian authority in the Alliance, and also the Emperor’s adopted son. You must produce an heir. The example you set is followed by the rest of your species.”

  “Like I give a crap about what my father forbids?" Lucifer closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the door, allowing the coolness of real wood to sink into his skin. With his genetic enhancements, his hearing was far better than most naturally evolved creatures. He could hear the anxious rustle of feathers from behind the door as the nervous female paced.

  “You know the consequences of forming an emotional attachment during sexual relations,” Zepar warned. “You're one quarter Seraphim. The Emperor has refused to disclose whether or not you inherited their defective genome.”

  That small, sarcastic inner voice that Lucifer hated, but which was always maddingly, irritatingly right all the time, parroted his Chief of Staff's warning.

  'It will kill you. Just like it did your mother...'

  The Seraphim! Lucifer's wings trembled with the anger and sorrow that very word inspired. With a genome spliced together from two monogamous species, full-blooded Seraphim Angelics took one mate, for life, a genetic defect which had resulted in losing two Angelic super-soldiers every time one of them had died in battle.

  Long before Lucifer had been born, the Emperor had segregated out the worst offenders and banished them to their own planet, far from the Alliance so they would stop muddying up the gene pool of his armies. Since then, Hashem had done everything in his power to eradicate the troublesome gene and discourage close interpersonal relationships so he would stop losing mated pairs.

  Only Lucifer knew it was the real reason for the law against fraternization for any purpose other than to fill the ranks. Despite the Emperor's best efforts, Hashem had only been able to weaken the instinct to bond, not eliminate it. A bonded hybrid was reluctant to take any action which would result in not only its own death, but also the death of its mate, rendering Hashem's armies useless the moment they got married. By the time hybrids served their mandatory 500 years and were honorably discharged, freeing them to settle down, they were too old to bear offspring. He glanced down the hallway towards the disappearing back of his Ramidreju colleague and sighed.

  “Remember what happened to your mother,” Zepar said. “It didn't matter that she was only one-half Seraphim, or that she had not seen your biological father in more than fifteen years. She bonded with him when she conceived you, and when he died, it killed her.”

  'Asherah abandoned -you- that day as well…'

  “This isn't fun anymore," Lucifer sighed. "Maybe it's time I admitted it just wasn't meant to be and adopted a child? Like the Emperor did when he adopted me?"

  "The Emperor's edict was bequeathed upon a bloodline," Zepar said. "If the child is not of your loins, the charter becomes null and void."

  Lucifer's wings settled into a weary arc. What had at first been an exciting perquisite of the job had turned into a never-ending chore. Zepar scheduled appointment after appointment with Angelic females who were only too willing to throw away one of their precious biennial heat cycles on a futile attempt to bear the Eternal Emperor's adopted son an heir.

  "Can't we just pick one out of the academy and bribe somebody to say the kid is mine," Lucifer half-joked.

  “The stability of the Alliance depends upon your producing an heir,” Zepar gave him an unsympathetic look. “Do you want the Emperor to revoke Parliament's charter upon your death?"

  "No," Lucifer sighed.

  "Our species is dying," Zepar said, "and your genetic profile is too unique to simply throw away. The Emperor himself has decreed that you must keep trying.”

  'And you –do- so enjoy the conquest. You know you do…'

  A sultry image of an Angelic female, her back arched in ecstasy as she cried out his name, danced through his mind. Lucifer squirmed as blood rushed to a certain part of his anatomy. As much as sexual conquest had long ago lost its luster, he had a reputation to uphold. Males of every species aspired to be like him, while females swooned at his feet. He was duty-bound to set a good example.

  “Lucifer, we have had this talk before." Zepar put a fatherly hand upon his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Sometimes it's necessary to sacrifice a little personal happiness to obtain the greater good. Especially you. Like it or not, you're a symbol of the vitality of our great Alliance." Zepar's voice was warm and hypnotically reasonable.

  'Are you so selfish that you would abandon your species to die out?'

  “Of course." Lucifer's wings trembled as Zepar gave him the one thing his adopted father never had. “You're right. You're always right. I must ensure the survival of my species before I start thinking of myself." He curled his wing around his crotch so Zepar wouldn't see him 'adjust' himself. "What was her name again?”

  “Hemaniel,” Zepar said. “And you've just wasted ten minutes of your hour. You don't have time to break her in naturally.”

  “Knock five minutes before I need to be out of here for the post-sex niceties." He resumed the fake persona he assumed for the rest of the world, the charismatic leader who could give everybody their heart's desire. Zepar gave him an approving nod.

  It had been the Emperor who had taught him to always show his 'good side' to the world. The habit was so deeply ingrained that he automatically projected whatever his audience expected to see without even thinking about it. As soon as his wings cleared the door, he flared them like a raptor swooping in for the kill, a pose female Angelics found irresistible.

  “Prime Minister Lucifer,” Hemaniel stammered. “It's an honor." The pretty blonde Angelic's hands clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with awe at the pr
ivilege of being this close to the Eternal Emperor's adopted son. She realized she'd forgotten to salute, as all enlisted military were supposed to do with the Alliance's highest-ranking civilian authority, and did so belatedly, nearly poking out her own eye with her thumb. Everything about the young woman broadcast inexperience.

  “Have you ever attempted a mating before?" Lucifer inhaled the subtle pheromones of an Angelic coming into heat. His olfactory nerves relished the scent of lutropin, a heady drug to a species bordering on extinction. He reached out to tuck an errant strand of golden hair behind her ear, a level of familiarity few Angelics ever exchanged.

  “N-n-no." Hemaniel looked out of place in the lushly furnished temporary sleeping quarters, the rich burgundy and black décor clashing with her sandy blonde wings.

  Lucifer cleared his mind so that he could use his ‘gift’ to receive images of the subconscious longings all sentient creatures projected beneath their words; telepathy gifted not from his adopted father, who had inadvertently bred the ability out of his armies in an effort to eradicate the pesky bonding gene, but from his half-Seraphim mother. He pushed gently into Hemaniel's mind to find out what she secretly desired. Images of a Mantoid soap opera, a certain actor she had a crush on, came into his mind. Lucifer adjusted his posture, his voice, his demeanor to mimic the archetype of her ideal lover.

  “It can be quite pleasurable." Lucifer drew close, moderating his voice to the husky pitch her archetype possessed. “If you allow me to make it so." He didn't touch her, but formed an image of himself kissing her neck and projected it into her mind as he spoke.

  “I’ve only been told…” she stammered. “I don't…." She shuddered as he followed through on the projection by exhaling upon her neck, just below her ear. He didn't touch her, but goose bumps of anticipation appeared upon her flesh.

  “What have you been told?” he whispered into her ear, his body inches from hers as he encircled her in his wings. He projected an image of taking her into his arms without actually making physical contact. Over the years, he'd discovered that anticipation of being touched was often more erotic to the females he fucked than the reality of it. “What do you fantasize about when you touch yourself?”

  “I have always wanted …” she said, embarrassed.

  “Then do it." His voice was a leonine purr as he projected an image into her mind of unbuttoning his shirt and admiring the taut muscles that rippled beneath. “I'm here to make your wildest fantasies come true."

  Her hand trembled as she fumbled each button out of its buttonhole, helped along with the images he imprinted into her subconscious. Two hundred and twenty-five years of non-stop practice had honed his ability to seduce others down to an art form, the ‘power of persuasion’ he jokingly called his gift.

  "Touch me," he whispered. "I like to be touched."

  Closing his eyes, he soaked up the feel of her touch, tentative and filled with awe. Touch … the gift hybrids were forbidden to give one another for any purpose other than to create offspring. It was he who trembled now, his need to be touched far greater than others of his species because he'd been raised in a home, by a half-Seraphim mother who had cuddled him every chance she got. Asherah had refused to farm him out to one of the Emperor's youth training academies as was done to every other hybrid child to condition the instinct to be touched right out of them.

  He reached tentatively into her mind, hoping that this one would see him. Not that he made it easy to get to know him! The Emperor's abandonment after his mother had died had taught him to be wary. If you let people inside, they would thank you by tearing out your heart. The one time he'd ever foolishly let down his guard, the female had spurned him after the test had come back negative, refusing to answer his three beautifully hand-written missives!

  He projected the same thought he had asked of every woman he had ever fucked, the same heartfelt yearning which only a true mate would ever answer.

  'Can you feel me? Can you look into my eyes and see my soul?'

  He saw Hemaniel's thoughts as clearly as though he were inside a movie. His cheek twitched with disappointment as he picked up the image which had caused her to become aroused. It was not him she saw, but the archetype of the movie star she'd spent half her adolescence worshipping. They didn't ever see him, or if they did, it wasn't the real him, but one of the bullshit publicity stunts Zepar filmed depicting him doing something 'manly' such as riding a land-dragon shirtless through the tundra with a miniature pterodactyl on his wrist to hunt.

  "Is this … okay?" Hemaniel's hands slid down to touch his slacks. In her fantasy, she was the aggressor. Words from the movie which was her entire basis of what it meant to have sex came into his mind; words he sensed that if spoken aloud, would transform her into a bold temptress.

  "Your touch is like the rain upon my flesh." He whispered the poetic words she longed to hear. He touched the underside of her chin to look into her eyes before kissing her. It was not him Hemaniel saw as he slid his hand up to cup her breast, but the actor of her dreams. He gave her what she wanted. "Touch me, Hemaniel. I want to feel what it's like to bathe in your touch."

  She trembled as he expertly slid the pretty dress she'd worn for today's appointment down from her shoulder, bending to nip the base of her throat and leave his mark. He could tast the lutropin. The scent of fertility was so strong it made him dizzy with the urge to mate. But not for the brainwashing instilled from birth, unattached hybrids would become aggressive and fight one another for the privilege of mating with an unattached fertile female. His wings flapped involuntarily, slapping against her smaller beige ones as that small, aggressive voice which forever lurked in his subconscious egged him on, whispering promises that this time the union would bear fruit.

  "Touch me," his voice filled with hunger. "Touch me, please. I need to be touched."

  That small, vicious voice taunted him, teasing him for the yearning no amount of conditioning had been able to eradicate from his psyche, the need to have somebody touch him; not because they needed something from him, but because they loved him. The images his gift enabled him to see within her mind showed him Hemaniel did not touch him, but the actor who he showed her.

  'See! It's not -you- she wants! But prestige you can bring to her if she bears your child. She is only after your position of power...'

  His touch grew rougher as he sensed this was what she wanted, their wings knocking the pictures off the wall as he allowed her to get the better of him and shove him down upon the bed. Yes! This one desired to be the aggressor, a different flavor than the endless stream of females Zepar lined up for him to fuck.

  Feathers flew as he used his gift to egg her on and urged her to take him forcibly. For all the propaganda about Angelics being icy and unemotional, the fact was, if not for the conditioning they received to subdue the animal half the Emperor had endowed them with when he'd spliced together their genome, hybrids would be rutting in the streets like beasts every time a female came into heat.

  Projecting image after image into her mind, when she finally pinned his shoulders to the bed and impaled herself upon his cock, she was so aroused that she barely felt the pain of her hymen tearing. He withheld his seed until he heard her cry out with pleasure, helped along by his projections into her mind as he taught her how to satisfy her own desire, before giving her what she'd come here for.

  Release caused his eyes to roll back into his head, giving him just for a moment that feeling of oneness with the universe he'd yearned to feel again ever since his mother had used her Song to heal him as a little boy. The Song reached into emptiness, finding nothing to attach to, for how could you bond with someone who didn't feel you? No sooner had Hemaniel collapsed, panting, on top of him, when the knock came upon the door. They were out of time.

  "Thank you," he murmured as he gathered his clothing and gave her a kiss goodbye. "You will let me know if things were successful?"

  The female nodded, her hand moving to touch the womb they both pra
yed he'd been able to fill. He gave her a wistful smile, knowing in his heart the answer would be the same. But these trysts were not without some benefit beyond the momentary release he felt each time he spilled his seed. So deeply had he imprinted the subconscious connection between her deepest desire and him that she would fantasize about their union for the rest of her life. Every male who came after him would fall short. With the mere whisper of another tryst, if he ever needed anything, she would deliver.

  Lucifer had long ago learned the secret to getting what he wanted. Figure out people’s darkest, most secret desire. Encourage them to fantasize about it. Convince them it was their own idea. And then give it to them.

  Chapter 17