by Amy Sumida
Blessed Death
Amy Sumida
Copyright © 2018 Amy Sumida
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10:
ISBN-13:
Legal Notice
This book is copyright protected. It is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute, sell, use, quote, or paraphrase any part of the content within this book without the consent of the author or copyright owner. Legal action will be pursued if this is breached.
More Books by Amy Sumida
The Godhunter Series(in order)
Godhunter
Of Gods and Wolves
Oathbreaker
Marked by Death
Green Tea and Black Death
A Taste for Blood
The Tainted Web
Series Split:
These books can be read together or separately
Harvest of the Gods & A Fey Harvest
Into the Void & Out of the Darkness
Perchance to Die
Tracing Thunder
Light as a Feather
Rain or Monkeyshine
Blood Bound
Eye of Re
My Soul to Take
As the Crow Flies
Cry Werewolf
Pride Before a Fall
Monsoons and Monsters
(Blessed Death)
Beyond the Godhunter
A Darker Element
Out of the Blue
The Twilight Court Series
Fairy-Struck
Pixie-Led
Raven-Mocking
Here there be Dragons
Witchbane
Elf-Shot
Fairy Rings and Dragon Kings
Black-Market Magic
The Spellsinger Series
The Last Lullaby
A Symphony of Sirens
A Harmony of Hearts
Primeval Prelude
Fairy Tales
Happily Harem After
The Four Clever Brothers
Wild Wonderland
Pan's Promise
Beauty and the Beasts
The Little Glass Slipper
Codename: Goldilocks
White as Snow
Erotica
An Unseelie Understanding
Other Books
The Magic of Fabric
Feeding the Lwas: A Vodou Cookbook
There's a Goddess Too
The Vampire-Werewolf Complex
Enchantress
Sign up for Amy's Newsletter and get a free gift:
http://google.us11.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=398603e0fc6b3876340e37356&id=3abd32edce
And dive further into the worlds of the Godhunter, Twilight Court, and Spellsinger, at Amy's website:
AmySumida.com
Pronunciation Guide at the back of the book.
Chapter One
I'm a casual kind of person. I don't like a lot of fuss. Yet, I somehow manage to put myself into positions where my life becomes focused on the opposite of casual. Despite my bad luck in this department, I strive—and often succeed—to turn my situation into something a little more laid back and better suited to me. I'm Queen of the Fire Kingdom in Faerie; a position inordinately posh, and yet I had managed to knock down the barriers of rank between my people and me. The faeries of the Fire Kingdom knew they could come to their monarchs with any issue, no matter how small, and we would help them. I'm technically Queen of Asgard as well—due to my marriage to Odin—but I wasn't expected to reign. I had once been Rouva of the Froekn—yet another queenly role—but thankfully, I'd been knocked down to Princess when Fenrir had married Emma. So, that made two roles I'd gotten out of, and one that I had made the most of. Then there was the Intare.
My lions and I had been like family from day one—okay, maybe day two. We were as casual as you can get; as far as relationships between gods and their demi-gods went. And that's how I liked it. I loved my large, lion family and how comfortable we were around each other. But there were also times when I had to put on my serious face and my bossy pants to be their Tima: the Heart of the Intare. Basically, I had to play referee. This was one of those instances.
“Jiminy Cricket!” I swore.
My daughter, Lesya, was nearby—sitting on her father's lap—and we all tried not to say bad words around her. In fact, it had become a game; with all of us trying to see who could come up with the most creative curses. This speech modification had become especially important now that Lesya had begun talking. Human children grew up fast, but supernatural babies could double that speed; depending on what type of supernatural they were. Lesya was part werelion, and that meant she had the maturation rate of a lion cub.
“Jiminy kick it!” Lesya scowled at the Intare as she tried to mimic me.
Kirill, her proud papa, was shaking with repressed laughter. He usually wore a more stoic expression, but our daughter was proving to be a remedy for that... which made me very proud. I was an avid supporter of humor; the more inappropriate the timing, the better. And if it made my brooding, black lion happy, I more than supported it; I encouraged and applauded it.
“Aidan,” I went on after winking at Lesya, “why is it always you?”
“Because I was born to entertain, Tima,” Aidan bowed; unabashedly taking credit—not blame—for the mayhem his brother lions were accusing him of. “Are you not entertained?” Aidan said in a booming voice as he held his arms out and turned slowly in a circle.
“Despite your wonderful Gladiator reference, no; I am not entertained, Aidan,” I growled.
“Tima, I didn't actually cut Rex's hair,” Aidan whined; the gladiator gone in an instant. “I just made it look as if I had. He acts like he's Sampson, striding about, flinging that hair in our faces. I just wanted—”
A screeching interrupted Aidan's defense, and we all went still. Every eye focused on the doorway; the origin of the sound. We were in the Common Room; where we were holding our monthly mediating meeting—Triple M for short—and the noise had echoed in from the hallway. The cry came again, and we all stood; preparing for the attack. It sounded avian, though I wasn't sure what kind. Whatever it was, it should not have ventured into a lion's den. These tom cats loved chasing birds.
A white owl soared through the doorway; making the men duck momentarily. The owl's wingspan was close to five feet, and it had to pull its feathers in to get through the doorway. The bird glided over the startled lions and headed straight for me. Every eye focused on the bird sharply... and then the Pride attacked.
You can't just rush through a pride of werelions and head straight for their lioness; harmless bird or not. The action itself is seen as a threat, and lions don't take well to their Tima being threatened. They all started to shift into their animal forms as they tracked the bird. Luckily for the owl, I recognized him and held up a restraining hand before the Intare had themselves a fowl snack.
“Stand down!” I shouted. “It's Athena's owl; Aleksanteri!”
The owl—who had just noticed the danger he was in—swung about, shrieking in fright, and landed on the back of my chair. He brought his wings in tight to his body and tried to hide behind me. This was impossible since the chair I occupied had a high back, and I was a short woman. But the lions eased down and settled; their faces shifting to purely human again.
A sigh of relief whistled through the owl's beak; though it was hard to hear over Lesya's laughter. My daughter was bouncing on Kirill's lap, beyond excited by all the action.
“Birdy!” Lesya shouted as she tried to climb up her father to reach the owl.
“Lesya,” Kirill said in a calm tone, “be still. The owl is a friend of Mommy's.”
Lesya looked back and forth from her father and the bird, then settled her confused stare on me. She bl
inked her huge, ocean blue eyes at me, and I shook my head. That cute cub routine wasn't working on me anymore. I had moved past the give her anything she wants because she's so damn cute portion of my parenting and moved onto the I know your tricks, little lioness.
“Sorry, Alex,” I said to the owl as I ignored my adorable daughter, “but we weren't expecting you. Give us some warning next time.”
“My lady sent me,” Alex said defensively. “I didn't expect to have to outmaneuver hungry lions.”
“They had breakfast; they aren't hungry. It's simply the fact that you're avian and they're felines.” I shrugged. “Why did Athena send you to me anyway?”
“I am to deliver this invitation to you, Godhunter.” Alex fluffed his feathers proudly and lifted his leg; there was a rolled up paper attached to it.
“An invitation?” I asked with a lifted brow. “Not a summons?”
“No trial this time,” the owl sounded amused. “And may I say that you handled the traitor beautifully. Is it true that you beat Eros with his own arm?”
“It is,” I verified. “I had made myself a promise, and I try to keep my promises.”
“As you should. Promises are important; especially those to oneself.” He nodded in approval. “If you cannot be true to yourself, then you cannot be true at all.”
“Very wise,” I noted in surprise.
“Owl,” Alex said in a duh tone. He spread his wings and shook them; as if to emphasize what he was.
Lesya giggled again.
“She's lovely,” Alex said dryly.
“Thank you,” I pretended not to notice Alex's sarcasm as I untied the rolled parchment from his leg. “And thank you for this as well.”
“I'm to instruct you to send your reply via texting message,” Alex intoned.
“Athena wants me to text her?” I smirked.
“My mistress has included her cellular phone number on the invitation.” The owl nodded his head toward the paper.
I unrolled the parchment and read it. Then I sighed dramatically and looked at Kirill and Azrael. My other husbands were out of the territory—handling their affairs—so it was only the two of them on Vervain duty. My lion and my angel lifted their brows in unison.
“I feel like Harry Potter.” I handed the parchment to Azrael. “I just got my acceptance letter from Hogwarts.”
“What drivel are you spouting?” Alex cocked his head at me in the disturbing way of owls. “What have pots and hogs go to do with it?”
“You are the drivel,” I shot back. “A messenger owl with an invitation. It's very pop culture.”
“Now, something has popped?” Alex was even more confused.
“Never mind.” I waved off any further questions. “Please tell Athena that I will text her as soon as I've made my decision.”
“As you wish, Godhunter.” Aleksanteri, the Owl of Olympus, spread his wings and launched into the air without further ado.
I started humming the Harry Potter theme music, and my lions laughed their furry asses off. That was one thing I could count on them for; they always got my movie references.
“They want her to be an Olympian,” Azrael said to Kirill with amusement. “Athena has formally asked our wife to take Aphrodite's place on the Council.”
“Vhat vill you do?” Kirill asked me as he absently bounced Lesya.
Lesya grabbed Kirill's long braid and slapped it on his chest like reins. Kirill calmly ignored her.
“Hades if I know.” I sighed. “For now, let's finish this meeting. Then I can decide whether or not I have time to do the same sort of thing for the Greeks.”
Chapter Two
The next morning, I was still undecided over the Olympian thing. Being one of the top gods in the Greek Pantheon would definitely have its perks, but I simply didn't have the time for it. You think motherhood is hard? Try being a mother to three supernatural children, in two different realms, while simultaneously trying to keep seven men sexually satisfied and emotionally happy, a pride of werelions sane, a kingdom of fire fairies secure, and all of humanity safe from manipulative gods.
An insistent meowing reminded me of one more responsibility; Nick.
“Hey, baby.” I bent down to give my gray tabby some love. “You hungry?”
As I went to the kitchenette in the massive suite I shared with my husbands, another crying—that of my daughter—came through the baby monitor and woke the gorgeous, werewolf prince who was sleeping in my bed. Trevor grumbled awake and rolled out from beneath the covers; rubbing at his honey-colored eyes as he stood.
“I got her,” Trevor proclaimed sleepily as he headed toward the stairs.
“I have her already,” Odin called down to us through the monitor.
There used to be a picture window in Lesya's room that overlooked my bedroom. I had thought it would be a good way for us to see into her room while we were downstairs. Except you couldn't see her through the window since it was set so high. The only thing it was good for was looking downstairs while you were up there. That was fine until Lesya grew large enough to peer through the window too. Then it became awkward. The first time a bout of passionate sex was interrupted with cries of “Mommy!” and “Uncle Odin!” I knew the window had to go.
It was convenient that my territory was connected magically to me, and I could make architectural changes as easily as I swept a blanket over Odin's ass. So, the window was gone; replaced by a baby monitor. Sometimes human technology beats out magic.
“Thanks, dude,” Trevor mumbled as he trudged back to bed and fell face-first onto the mattress.
“He's had a long night,” I whispered to Nick as I filled his bowl with cat food. “He worked until 3 AM and then came home to a sexy wife. That's me, in case you were wondering who the sexy wife is.”
“Are you talking to the cat again?” Azrael asked as he swept into the room without his angel wings.
I don't know where those wings went when Azrael makes them disappear, but I was thankful he could do it. Sometimes, wings get in the way.
“He's an immortal cat, thanks to you,” I said before I kissed my angel good morning. “I think that makes him special enough to talk to.”
“You talked to him before I started feeding him manna,” Az pointed out as he began rooting around in the fridge.
“Yeah, all right,” I huffed. “I talk to animals; it's not exactly crazy in our world.”
“She fucks animals,” Trevor muttered into the pillow. “Talking is nothing.”
“Hey now!” I snapped. “First of all; watch your language. Second; I do not perform bestiality. You're only part wolf; with human reasoning even when in full-wolf form. And I have never had sex with you in that form, by the way.”
“Yeah; you have,” Trevor lifted his face to smirk at me. “But you happened to be in that form as well; so I guess that doesn't count.”
It was a subject that had been brought up a few times before. When you live in a shifter household, you end up talking about sex a lot. Shapeshifters tend to have less sexual hang-ups than most humans, and they're very open about their bodies. So, I wasn't surprised when some of the Intare had asked my opinion on intercourse when in animal form. Was it considered bestiality if you were the beast? Or was your partner engaging in it; even if they were a beast too? It was a fine line that tended to waver. In the end, I had declared that it was an opinion, not a fact.
When there was a man inside the beast, things changed, but—for my own preference—I wasn't comfortable having sex with one of my husbands in a purely animal form while I remained human. And it wasn't even about the bestiality question—though that was an issue—it was simply about attraction. I am not sexually attracted to a lion—or wolf—unless I am in my lioness—or wolf—form. Then, my beast takes over, and I can feel aroused. So, yes, I did have sex with Trevor in his wolf form, but only when I was a wolf too. The only exception I made was for half-forms; when either I or one of my men were half-shifted into an animal. Then I could still see the ma
n, and I could still feel attraction for him.
“Go back to sleep, Wolf.” Azrael shook his head and laughed. “It's too early to be getting into this again.”
Then a stranger walked into the kitchen carrying Lesya.
“Hell's bells!” Azrael shouted.
Trevor and I both looked up at Azrael's exclamation, and then we gaped at Odin.
“Huh,” Trevor said. “You got a face.” Then he went back to sleep.
“Uncle Odin is smooth!” Lesya declared as she rubbed her little hand down Odin's sleek jaw. “Pretty.”
Odin was smiling until the P word. Then he turned an annoyed look at Lesya.
“You shaved,” I whispered as I walked over to Odin in a daze.
You may not think that a man shaving off his beard was such a big deal, but I had never seen Odin clean-shaven. And I had known him in a past life—hundreds of years ago.
“I thought it was time for a change,” Odin said with a worried look my way. “What do you think?”
I stared at the striking jawline Odin had been covering up; my gaze wandering down to it from the intriguing hollows below his cheekbones. Without the dark hair on his face, Odin looked fifteen years younger; and he'd only appeared to be late thirties to begin with. Now, he looked younger than Thor; which was probably why Odin had grown his beard in the first place. But the hair had hid more than his youthful face; it had concealed his chiseled masculinity and the sexy curve of his lips. Odin's hotness level had just skyrocketed.
“Very pretty indeed,” I teased Odin as I tried to control the urge to jump him in front of my daughter. I settled for purring, “You have a jawline for days.”
“Nice one, Lady Gaga.” Azrael seemed to be the only one who got my American Horror Story reference.
Odin rolled his peacock-colored eyes—they were more green than blue this morning—and grimaced. But I ran a hand down his smooth cheek and then rubbed my thumb lightly over his sensual lips. My breath was quickening, and my heart was starting to race; Odin was exciting my Lust magic to a dangerous level.
