by Jean Murray
“Only the sacred river runs through,” Bomani finished. “A place where souls can get lost, never to reach the afterlife. One of many final tests.”
“Yes, it is where Apep torments the dead, the more souls he can trap the more powerful he can become.”
“You were part of this battle to banish Apep?”
Siya nodded. “Victory did not come without cost. If not for the Underworld’s dark warriors the final battle would have been lost.”
“That is where you met Khalfani.” His stare came to rest on her again.
She expected to see disapproval in his expression, but his face remained blank. Remembering the day, her scarab mark cooled to a sharp ache. “Khalfani brought honor to the Underworld that day, but we had little time to celebrate our victory. In the wake of Apep’s destruction the Council’s fears grew when they witnessed the might of the Underworld legions. Asar had grown more powerful in death than he had been in life. Paranoid and fearful of darkness, the Creations banished Asar and his legions back to the Underworld, the very god who had come to their aide.” She never did say a proper goodbye to Khalfani.
Bomani exhaled heavily. His cold breath skimmed across her bare arm. The sensation pulled her thoughts back to the present. She became acutely aware of the large male consuming the space next to her. Her anxiety warred with the growing comfort she gathered from his presence. Despite being of different worlds, he would understand sacrifice and duty. Maybe understand her. Troubled by that thought, she pressed the lip of the bottle to her mouth. The liquid burned its way down to her belly.
She tapped the bottle against his thick forearm. He had pushed the sleeve back to his elbow. Her eyes were drawn to the beautiful scrollwork on his skin. She suppressed the urge to run her fingers between the ridges. The maze of patterns formed a picture she could not quite make out. The tattooing of the scars was a rite of passage Khalfani would never permit her to see. One thing she did know was that the blade’s tip was dipped in venom, a poison all gods feared as it would render them powerless.
The fact that Bomani’s body was entirely etched was a testament to the warrior. Physical pain would mean nothing to him. No, whatever drove him to the human realm hit deeper than just the surface of his skin.
He grasped the bottle, freeing her hands. She rubbed the small scarification tattoo on the inside of her wrist. She had been foolish not to cover it in Bomani’s presence. He recognized it immediately.
Khalfani had insisted on carving the hourglass into her skin. He would not let her watch, but the burn of poison was unforgettable. She would welcome the pierce of a blade to her gut more so than relive the fifteen minutes it took him to carve the simple shape. It was then he gave her the saber, the day before the final battle.
Bomani’s gaze tracked her thumb’s trail against her skin. Self-conscious, she grabbed her knees. He stared at her with those caramel eyes, the color not quite deciding if they were brown or gold. His cool hand wrapped around her wrist and turned it over. The ruff pad of his thumb tracked over her scarification tattoo.
“A truce then,” he said.
She hid her surprise. She had not asked it of him again, figuring he would not commit. Why should he? Regardless, she was overcome by such simple words. She had an ally.
For the first time in five thousand years she was not alone.
Chapter Twenty
“Com’on. Let me introduce you to the younglings, just try not to scare them.” Sekhmet opened the door to warehouse.
Bomani’s life was built on intimidation. It was the only way to stay on top. At least until he came to this realm and crossed this female’s path. Children were sure to push him over the edge.
He stepped out the door and onto the metal gangway. The overhead lights dangling from the ceiling lit the lower level. Fifty pairs of pale colored eyes rose to look at him. Training ceased, followed by murmurs in their ancient language. Sekhmet’s footfalls clanged down the stairway. All gazes tracked Bomani. Having worn sandals his entire existence, his new boots seemed like lead on his feet, clapping with each step.
She turned to him at the bottom. “Welcome to the pit.”
The largest and most mature of the younglings spoke to Sekhmet in the ancient tongue and broke into English. “Is it him?”
“No, this is his Commander. Bomani, this is Dennu.”
The god’s shrewd gaze raked over Bomani, and a suppressed power shimmered behind his light blue eyes. Based on his size and energy signature he had to be the first orphan. Youngling barely fit this now mature god. Much to Bomani’s surprise, Dennu bowed low and subverted his gaze to the ground, a sign of deference to a god. Did he mistake him for Asar? Certainly not.
Bomani shook off the misplaced adoration and held out his hand. Dennu eyed his Commander. She nodded and the god grasped Bomani’s forearm in a warrior’s handshake. The grip was strong and respectable in Bomani’s eyes. She had done well with this one.
“It is an honor, Sire, to have you in our house.”
“The honor is mine, Dennu.”
The god smiled and nodded his head. He relaxed his grasp and released Bomani’s forearm. “Sir, this is Ptah and Min. My Company Commanders.”
Bomani offered his hand to both substantial males. In fact, all three appeared overly large for Creation gods. Bomani gloated—Theris would have to look up to these three.
“We would be honored if you would spar with us in the ring sometime,” Min said with a bow.
“Bomani will not be staying,” Theris said, infiltrating the group.
The smiles on the younglings’ faces faded, replaced by dark shadows.
“I will consider your request, Min.” Bomani squeezed the god’s arm one last time before releasing it. He glared at Theris. “I think I can be of service locating the youngling you seek.” Theris’ face burned redder, adding to Bomani’s satisfaction.
Sekhmet narrowed her stare at Bomani. He had yet to tell her about his run in with the youth. She refocused on her Second. “Theris, finish the inventory and watch the perimeter. Bomani and I are going for a walk.” Her light green eyes flared bright when Theris refused to leave. “Now.”
Heat flowed across Bomani’s skin as Theris shouldered past him. The air around Theris rippled, like heat rising off the desert sand. The younglings scurried back, giving the god a wide berth. Bomani frowned realizing he had once again placed himself between a god and a female.
“Dennu, show Bomani the weapons cache. We leave in five.”
Bomani followed the young god while surveying his surroundings. All points were defendable. High ground on all four corners. Sentries patrolled the upper and lower levels. No one could breach the perimeter without someone being alerted. Not to mention multiple avenues of escape if forced.
Again, Sekhmet did not disappoint him, but that did not relieve the knot in his gut. The warehouse was unbreachable, if filled with a legion, but it was filled with children. Menthu and Nebt would level this place.
The cache of weapons was centrally located, providing ease of access from any location within the warehouse. Dennu pulled open the cage door and offered Bomani the spectrum of broad swords. All well and good, he reached for a chest harness built to sheath two short swords easily.
Fascination colored Dennu’s features. Bomani smirked. “Size does not always matter.”
“I would not know.” Dennu frowned, looking at his sword.
Bomani grabbed the god’s shoulder. “Do not wish it because once it is here you will be sorry you did.” Bomani scowled at the words he’d just spoken. When had he grown so old as not to crave battle? “Forget what I just said. You will see battle soon enough, the likes you will not soon forget.” He slapped the youth on the back and maneuvered back to the goddess. He did not suppress his glare when he passed Theris and exited the warehouse.
She threw a hip length leather jacket. “Put it on.”
He snatched it out of the air. One more layer and he would be smothered.
“It
is to cover your weapons.”
“I got that.” He shoved his arms through and yanked at the soft animal hide, but his shoulders were too large. “I will never understand humans’ need for so many clothes,” he groaned.
Sekhmet shook her head and strode forward. She grabbed the collar and eased it over his shoulders. He stared down at her face as she tugged the coat into place. The scent of lilacs filled his senses. His body relaxed as her energy seeped into him. He did not intend to absorb her essence, but it happened without him thinking about it. His soul just craved it. Did she have this effect on all men? His mind wandered to Theris.
She reached behind his head, which brought her even closer. “You did not have them running for the hills, I am impressed,” she said as she slid his hood up.
“I try.”
“There will need to be ground rules.”
He shifted closer, suddenly up to the challenge of her proposal. “I am at your mercy, Goddess.”
“No toying with Theris.”
“I do not know what you are talking about.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head slightly. “I know that look. He is my Second, and you will respect him as such.”
“Respect is earned.”
“So is trust,” she countered, poking him in the chest.
Her point hit home. Bomani was the last person who should be questioning someone else’s values. His record as of late would attest he had none. He looked into those stunning green eyes. If things were different…
“Tell me your name,” he said without thinking. He dared trace his fingers along her cheek. His skin tingled as he trailed them down her neck. Lost in the sensation, he did not gauge her expression.
Dennu opened the door and brought out food wrapped in the same brown paper. Her eyes widened and she retracted out of his reach. Turning, she accepted the package.
Angered he had let himself slip, Bomani fisted his hands. He did not need this, not now. Falling for an exiled goddess when he was supposed to be collecting intel would only cause him more agony.
“Let us proceed,” she said and walked away without looking back. Movement drew Bomani’s eyes upward. Theris stared down at him through the thick glass pane. How long had he been watching them? With uneasiness crawling up his spine, Bomani was hesitant leaving the younglings under Theris’ care. He forced himself to look away and found Dennu staring at him.
The young god’s expression communicated wariness, either of him or the god above them. Bomani narrowed his eyes on Dennu as the young god returned to the warehouse. If anyone knew what was happening and who Sekhmet had been in contact with, Dennu would.
“Are you coming?” she called.
He nodded and jogged up to meet her. This hunt for the youngling was far from simple and required extra vigilance. Bast’s outright delight at Sekhmet’s suffering heralded something more than Creation business. This was personal and promised to bring more pain. Pain that would draw the God of War.
Chapter Twenty-One
Menthu paced among the shadows. His contact was late. Trust was of no value, only greed, which this god had plenty. If not for Menthu’s need of information, he would have killed the god on the spot. If he did not get the information he wanted, he still might.
The wake of heat filtered against Menthu’s skin before the god stepped into the garage. “You are late.”
Theris’ gaze swept the charred car and abandoned workbench. “Are we alone?”
“Does it matter?” Menthu shifted out of the shadows. The heat around the god intensified as a bright glow in the darkness.
“We have a problem.”
“We or you?” Menthu stepped forward, tightening his grip on his sword.
Theris retreated against the far wall. “Sekhmet has just befriended Asar’s Legion Commander.”
“Bomani is dead.”
“Well, your information is wrong. He is alive and with your daughter.”
Menthu pressed the blade to Theris’ chest. “Do not lie to me.”
“Bomani left the underworld. He has been here for over a month. Bast is using him to track Sekhmet.”
“How do you know this?” Menthu growled, wanting nothing more than to thrust his blade into Theris’ chest. If Theris spoke the truth, then Nebt had lied to him. Cunning bitch.
“Who do you think Bast came to first? She has been gunning for Sekhmet since the day the Council put a stay on her execution.” Theris sneered. “I, of course, declined. Bast has nothing that interests me.”
Menthu scowled. Bast had been a pain in his ass for more centuries than he could count. Long before Sekhmet’s mother, Bast had slithered her way between his legs with her lips wrapped snuggly around his cock. Next time he saw the bitch, he would ensure she swallowed his blade instead. “Your command has been secured, but only if you deliver my daughter to me. Bomani’s presence is….” Menthu paused, wondering how Bomani’s intrusion could work in his favor.
“Unacceptable,” Theris finished with flames igniting from his fingertips.
Theris had no qualms burning opponents alive. Next to his greed, it was his only other redeeming quality in Menthu’s eyes. Theris’ gift had been useful in removing obstacles. This had not been the first time a warrior had gotten in the way.
Khalfani’s death had produced the results Menthu had been hoping—proof his daughter’s control had limits. Pushed hard enough, her demon broke free. She had a high propensity to be turned at Apep’s hands.
The pain in his chest tightened, but he pushed it away. He would not allow the weakness to derail him from his task. The reward would make up for any damage done to Sekhmet. Together they would bring the Creations to their knees. Father and daughter as it should have been from the beginning.
“Where is he staying?” Menthu asked.
“In her quarters.”
“Have they bonded?” Menthu pondered whether Nebt had lied to him about Bomani’s origins as well. Half-god. Half-warrior.
“I do not think so, he just arrived. She is searching for the youngling.”
“Does she suspect you?”
“If she did, do you think I would be standing here?” Theris snapped.
Menthu smiled. Theris should be scared of his daughter. If she found out Theris killed Khalfani, Sekhmet would have no reservations gutting the god and feeding him his entrails. “Follow them.”
“It is not like I can just leave without anyone noticing. She has me babysitting. I cannot follow her.”
Menthu grabbed the god and shoved him back. “I do not give a shit what excuse you may have. Make it happen.” Sekhmet was going to fulfill her destiny. “What of the younglings?”
“We will lose two more to transition.”
“When?”
“Soon,” Theris said, backing away from Menthu’s reach.
“Are they still at the warehouse?” Menthu paced the dirt floor.
“She has me inventorying supplies. For the moment she plans on staying.”
“How is my daughter fairing?” Menthu asked but already knew the answer. He could sense the growing chaos and instability. Her pain floated in the air like blood across the desert. It took all his restraint not to seek her out again when her pain was at its worst. But he had to keep his distance—for now. All he had to do was shove a few more daggers into his daughter’s soul to tip her over the edge. Only then would Sekhmet be his.
“Distant. Abrasive. Stubborn.”
“Tell me something I do not already know?”
“Ready to crack. Might need one more push, but I fear the dear Commander may distract her from her pain,” Theris said.
Menthu stepped back into the shadows. If Sekhmet drew comfort and solace from the Legion Commander, it just may be her tipping point. He remembered how she suffered after Khalfani’s death. “The Commander has over stayed his welcome. Get rid of him.”
“Gladly,” Theris replied with a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The bright neon
sign of the diner flashed across the street. Siya kept her eyes down as if it meant nothing to her. Gods forbid, if her father or Bast for that matter ever discovered her connection with Fay and Earl. She glanced back at Bomani.
How long before he sold her out to Bast?
Bomani had communicated as much, telling her she could not trust him. So, why was she taking this risk? Old sentiment. A debt to pay on one level perhaps. The other—the opportunity to beat Bast at her own game and win Bomani’s allegiance. Siya feared the last to be out of her reach.
Humans crowded the sidewalks and cars navigated down the busy streets. Such a contrast to when the revens infested this area. No one had dared be out past curfew. Now, they scurried about oblivious to the danger to come. Worse than the last. At least you could see and smell a reven coming even if it was too late.
Siravants, minions created by the breath and blood of Apep, were much more lethal, mimicking humans, infiltrating without detection and spreading sickness of the mind and soul. The thought that part of Apep’s blood flowed through her father and her own veins, even if it was just a small part, turned her stomach. It would consume her if she let it. Thankfully, she had inherited enough of her mother’s gifts to maintained control.
Most of the time.
Everyone assumed the siravants had been banished back to Duat at the end of the war. Staring at the drug dealer selling the latest candy on the street, Siya was even more convinced the siravants had never left. World wars, genocide, slavery. The being the other night left no room for doubt.
None of the humans made eye contact but deflected their gazes forward and down, raised only enough to avoid bumping one another. Siravants had no fear—a strength, but also a weakness. Only when confronted by a god did the siravant reveal its true nature. Large and swift, these winged creatures could dismember a god within minutes or infect him as they did humans. It had proved to be a troublesome nuisance during the war. The infected gods had not realized their souls were tainted until it was too late. She had seen many honorable gods fall to the temptations offered by Apep.
