The Black Lion: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (Godhunter Book 30)

by Amy Sumida

  But Kirill would be too late. I saw it clearly. The distance between them was too great, and Perun was already lifting his hands. In seconds, the golden apples would be cast and two of my men would fall. Would Perun behead them before Kirill could reach him? He was mere feet away from my husbands. I swung my gaze to Odin and the Wolf, all of me screaming in protest. Every cell in my body and ounce of my magic strained to do something. Anything. But nothing happened. Not even my star would help me. I would lie there useless as they died.

  Perun's eyes filled with malice as he drew back both hands. The spheres of lightning hardened until golden shells coated them. Then something shifted over their molten surfaces; a strange reflection. Something dark and large and airborne. Perun flinched as a shadow covered him. He looked up as my gaze went skyward too; just in time to see an enormous shape crest the castle wall. Ebony scales reflected everything around them, taking those colors for their own. Massive jaws opened impossibly wide. Fangs dripped saliva. Hot breath vaporized that liquid before it could hit the ground. And within that deadly face, a pair of ancient eyes burned with vengeance. Dragon eyes.

  The dragon shot down and closed its jaws over Perun's head, just as I'd fantasized doing. A crunch and Perun's body went limp. Blood gushed down the broad chest. Arms fell limp and those deadly apples winked out as if a switch had been flicked. Volos reared back, spat out Perun's head as if it were too nasty to eat, lifted his own, and roared with vengeance.

  Everything went still, even the fighting women, as the territory responded to a new claim. The ground trembled. The World Tree shook. Power rushed up from the land. Magic swelled in the air. Then Volos stretched out his wings and accepted the offering. Midnight scales gleamed, blue sparks racing over them, and the dragon roared once again.

  I stumbled to my feet and my men rushed over to me. The roar of lions echoed as the Intare poured into the courtyard through a gate that had been revealed with the tornado's departure. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from Volos.

  The dragon rose and shrunk into itself, wings vanishing, body shifting to human, and scales turning to armor. Volos alighted gracefully on the ground. He looked the same and yet, he seemed to be... altered. He couldn't have taken Perun's magic, it didn't go with the territory, but taking Perun's territory had affected him. It hadn't made Volos more powerful but rather more divine. More tied to the world of Gods. It's impossible to take a territory from another god without them giving it to you, but when a god dies, the ties to his domain are left dangling in the metaphorical breeze. Ripe for the picking. I imagine that Volos' relationship to Perun, his territory's relationship to this one, and his status in the Russian Pantheon had also played in his favor.

  “Nyet!” Marena screamed.

  I expected her to attack Volos then, and he looked as if he had the same assumption. But after Marena scooped up the dagger she'd been forced to discard, it wasn't Volos she went for with murder in her eyes.

  It was Kirill.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The cord between Kirill and me glowed even brighter; I saw it clearly in my mind. And with it came a vision of the cord between Marena and him. It didn't glow. It pulsed crimson like an artery with blood flowing from him to the goddess. Marena pulled on that connection as she lifted her blade, but Kirill didn't falter or cower.

  He opened his arms to her.

  Marena flinched—just barely, just enough to betray her confusion—but kept going. All of us converged on them, trying to help Kirill. Protect him. And, as often happens in moments like these, it felt as if I moved in slow motion. But Kirill didn't need our protection. The flow that still pulsed in my mind abruptly reversed and, seconds before Marena struck, she crumpled to her knees, weak from the sudden drain. The knife clattered to the courtyard stones and she stared up at Kirill in horror, looking like a criminal appealing to a king for mercy. Perhaps she was. Perhaps she might have begged Kirill, though I'm not sure what she would have begged for.

  Kirill stood above Marena, more glorious than I'd ever seen him. Raven-black hair billowing around his face like a mane. Cerulean eyes glowing with power; both given by me and taken from Marena. Muscles taut and firm, glistening under the sunlight of a clear sky. The lion in Kirill laid just below the surface of his face like a specter; a king claiming his crown. Full of power and fury but also with a serenity that he'd brought back from death.

  I understood then. Marena's power over him had also proved to be her weakness. She had a connection to Kirill, yes, but he had a connection to death. Death was Marena's greatest weapon, and Kirill had conquered it. Had a bond with its source. The real Death, not just a magical echo. When Marena enchanted the cord between Kirill and her, she'd forgotten one integral fact; bonds work both ways. A goddess must sustain her demigod. It doesn't matter how their bond is forged, it works the same regardless. The Goddess can touch her demigod through the connection and even take his magic from him if she wished to, but the main purpose of the cord—its entire reason for existing—is to feed the demigod.

  As a witch, I had tempered my spells with certain magical laws. There are certain things you just don't do unless you are desperate. For instance, witches rarely cast binding spells because we know there's a law of magic that affects any connection made between two people.

  “As you bind, so are you bound,” I whispered reverently. My reverence wasn't for any god but for the magic itself. Magic must be respected or it will turn on you like the tide. As it did on Marena.

  Marena had strengthened the cord between her and Kirill but she'd also bound herself—just as powerfully—to him. And I had given him enough strength to counter her will. The strength of a star, in fact.

  “Sacrifice accepted,” Kirill declared in a voice like velvet thunder.

  Kirill's hands became claws—a half-shift that no Intare can do, not even me—and he brought his outstretched arms together. Not to strangle but to slash. Those paws surged past each other, one going above the other, as the muscles in Kirill's arms bulged. Blood sprayed in dramatic arches. Marena made a choking sound. Her head fell back, hanging from her spine. Kirill bent forward, took Marena's face in his hands, straightened her, and stared into her wide, terrified eyes. Then, as he held her stare, he tore her head away from her body.

  We all stood witness as the Black Lion lifted his prize before him and roared. The Intare echoed his triumph but the magic wasn't finished with Kirill. A silver light seeped from Marena's head, lifting her dark hair eerily and setting her sightless eyes to glowing. The questing ribbons sank into Kirill's hands then twined up his arms. Kirill's body began to thrum. Vibrate subtly. The silver glow encapsulated him. An outline of his body and his swirling hair was all I could see. The silver sparked. Froze. Swirled like snow in a globe. Then it turned dark.

  I gasped as magic coursed down the cord that connected Kirill to me. His lion magic and more. My breath flowed over my lips in frozen puffs as Winter kissed me then came the shivering embrace of Death—a magic that was naturally drawn to me—teased my nerve endings. Ironically, Death refreshed me and made me feel alive. But it wasn't mine. Kirill hadn't given the magics to me, only offered some power in return for what I'd given him.

  I breathed in deeply as my body transformed the touch of Winter and Death into pure energy. Smiling softly in wonder, I watched as the shadows of Death that cloaked Kirill retreated from him. Correction... they retreated into him. His hair fell gently around his body and he stretched his shoulders as if settling everything into place. His stare faded to its natural deep-ocean-blue and focused on me. A hand lifted—human once more—Kirill's hand and yet not.

  I walked to my husband in a daze. Our fingertips touched, slid over each other's palms, and twisted so that we could clasp hands. As Kirill held my stare, he lifted his free hand to his mouth and sliced his thumb on a fang. I watched the blood well as he moved the thumb toward me. I understood then and smiled tenderly at my lion. While it had never occurred to Trevor to complete our Blood to Heart, it was the
first thing that Kirill wanted to do as a new god. Our lives were crazy, and Trevor often marked me with his bite, so I wasn't hurt by Trevor's oversight. I hadn't remembered either. That being said, I was awestruck and humbled by the focus and intensity of Kirill's love.

  “My blood to your heart,” Kirill declared in a strong voice.

  A black lion came roaring into my mind and with him blew a breath of Winter. It swept through me, carrying the calm of Death, and then they swirled together; the Lion, Winter, and Death. The lion transformed into a shape that was half man and half beast. The first werelion I had ever seen. Even I couldn't take that shape. The god magic—magic that now belonged to Kirill—had invaded and altered the piece of Intare magic he already possessed, taking the demigod power and making it into a god. Trevor already had that ability so we hadn't seen such a change in him when my magic had made him a god, but Kirill's changes were more obvious.

  My husband opened his arms to me and I saw all that he was and all that he could be. I saw what I knew was there—what I'd glimpsed through our bond—but now it was closer. Inside me. A part of me as I was a part of him. I gasped and fell forward into his embrace, knowing there would be no blood on my chest. I had absorbed it along with a piece of Kirill. As the Black Lion held me, his presence settled in my mind; another misty cloud full of magic and power. Black as the pelt of the Lion God of Winter and Death.

  A sound of feminine rage echoed through the courtyard. Kirill and I glanced toward it with the confusion of bliss. Nastasija, her face twisted with thwarted dreams and helpless fury, came at us. Hands curled into claws, the tiny goddess looked fearsome, but I was too surprised to rustle up any apprehension.

  Kirill reacted faster than I, yanking me tighter against his sculpted chest. He turned with me, spinning us out of Nastasija's path. But he needn't have bothered.

  Before Nastasija could reach us, the altar transformed into metal bands that shot out like arrows. They wrapped around the running goddess and bound her. She fell to the ground, wrestling against the cage, her face transformed into a rictus of rage.

  Volos stepped over to Natasija and said something in Russian, but it wasn't directed at the goddess.

  “Da,” Kirill answered Volos, kissed me sweetly, then let me go.

  Kirill's eyes asked a question, one I answered with a nod. I would never deny him vengeance. And this goddess had done much to him. Much to us. She had threatened our love, our lives, and our daughter. Nastasija wouldn't be granted mercy this time.

  Kirill knelt and took Nastasija's head in his hands. Where he touched her, ice crystals bloomed. They swept over the goddess' face. She began to scream but her healing magic was too depleted to counter the power of a new god. Winter took hold of Nastasija, turning her skin blue and freezing the fear on her face. Then, with a sudden twist and the sound of breaking glass, Kirill snapped Nastasija's head from her body.

  Kirill discarded the head immediately, sending it tumbling across the courtyard, and returned to me, pausing only to nod gratefully at Volos. My other men were already beside me, and my lions surrounded us, but they drew back, forming a path that led from Kirill to me. I went into his arms again, hugged him tightly, then stared up at him. Despite the power Kirill had taken and the death he delivered, his face remained the same... mostly. It was still achingly handsome with its sharp angles and soft lips. It still held a pair of ocean eyes, thickly bordered by midnight lashes, and was divided by a regal nose. But there, at the edges of his mouth and in the depths of his gaze, was a hint of power. Of danger.

  And it was damn sexy.

  I pulled Kirill down and kissed him thoroughly.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Volos?” A woman's voice interrupted our kiss.

  I eased away from Kirill's lips to see a beautiful brunette descend the silver steps of the castle. Her body—curvy but a bit taller and slimmer than mine—moved gracefully even when she broke into a run. I felt her passage as a humid breeze and caught a glint of sapphire in her liquid eyes. She flung herself into Volos' arms, and he bent his head over hers, his whole body seeming to sigh in relief.

  They spoke softly to each other in Russian, but I didn't need to know the words to understand their meaning. It was an expression of the same emotions I was feeling. And behind the goddess who I assumed was Mokosh, came Jarilo, a smile on his face as he watched his parents; one bound to him by blood and the other by choice. Both by love. I could see that clearly when they turned to him and pulled him into their circle.

  I nestled amid my family, who had pressed in around Kirill and me, while I watched the happy reunion of another. But then Jarilo broke away from his parents and motioned to me as he spoke rapidly to his father. Volos nodded in confirmation, and the three of them stepped over to our group together.

  “Greetings, Godhunter.” Mokosh inclined her head to me. “I am told you are responsible for my freedom.”

  “Only partially,” I protested. “And, please, call me Vervain.” I held a hand out to her.

  She scowled at my hand, brushed it away, and pulled me into a hug. When she released me, she declared, “Destiny is great in you; I felt it at first mention of your name. But zis vasn't about your destiny, Vervain.” Mokosh turned to face Kirill. “It vas his.”

  “I'm sorry about your daughter,” Kirill said gravely.

  “I as vell.” Mokosh nodded. “I tried to varn her, but she too had a destiny and vas bound to fulfill it. Perun...” she shook her head. “He made his choice. It saddens me zat I so misjudged him, but he had part to play as vell.” Mokosh took her son's hand. “And he gave me best of himself.”

  “You didn't have to help us,” Volos said to Kirill and me. “But you did. Destiny or not, I vill remember.”

  “If this has won me your friendship, I'll count myself lucky.” I held out a hand to Volos.

  Volos did as Mokosh and used my hand to pull me into a hug, though his didn't last as long as hers. He set me back and bowed deeply. “You are velcome in my home anytime. Both of my homes.” He grinned and glanced around pointedly.

  “Thank you, but I think I need to get back to my home now.” I looked up at Kirill. “Our daughter is probably anxious to see us.”

  “Please, ve cannot part vays like zis. Return to Underworld vith Lesya,” Volos invited. “Your lions can come vith us now and meet you zere. I zink ve should celebrate.”

  The Intare roared in approval and shifted back into men.

  Mokosh blinked, stared at all of that glorious male nudity, then grinned. “I agree. Ve should definitely celebrate.”

  Volos growled and narrowed his eyes at Mokosh. “I zink ve need to have talk. I am done sharing, Mokosh.”

  Mokosh pouted prettily.

  “Especially not vith...” Volos paused and looked at his son. “Vhat did you say she called Vodyanik?”

  Jarilo chuckled then answered, “King Frogger.”

  “Da.” Volos nodded and looked back at Mokosh. “Especially not vith Frogger.”

  Mokosh laughed and flung her arms around Volos' neck. “I've been vaiting years for you to say zat.”

  Volos blinked. Pulled back. Spoke rapidly in Russian.

  “Da,” was all Mokosh said before she kissed him.

  “Well, uh, I guess we'll head back to fetch Lesya and Vero,” I said.

  “Bring your volves too,” Jarilo suggested. “Zey should join us.”

  “Wolves?” the Wolf asked.

  “The Vilkacis,” I explained. “Not the Froekn.”

  “But you are velcome, Froekn Prince,” Jarilo added.

  The Wolf shifted into a human form and with the shift, Trevor returned. He reached out and shook Jarilo's hand. “We accept your hospitality. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. All of you,” Jarilo looked around. “For helping me find and rescue my mother.” Then he pulled me into a hug. “And for never giving up, even ven I asked you to.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Partying in the Underworld is something I'm fa
miliar with. I've done so in Hades and Hell. But Volos' home was more hospitable than either of those places. The Intare—in clothes provided for them by Volos—and the Vilkacis were free to roam the castle and the vast territory; so long as they didn't disturb the souls. This was something both groups appreciated, especially after a few drinks. Before we returned, Trevor traced to Moonshine, our nightclub in Hawaii, and picked up a case of Duat wine so we wouldn't join the celebration empty-handed. Duat wine is one of the few drinks that can get me drunk.

  I wasn't though; drunk, that is. I wanted to stay sober to enjoy the company of my family and new friends. With both Lesya and Vero there, I especially didn't want to overindulge. Instead, I danced across snowy marble floors with my husbands and giggled over plates of sweets with my children. My heart was light and happy; freed of a weight I hadn't even realized was there. Kirill and I would return to the cabin with Lesya later that night and have a real vacation without the interruption of gods. After the drama, I was looking forward to some peace. Funny how nearly dying will do that to you.