Godhunter

by Amy Sumida

  “I’m sorry,” my heartbeat was finally starting to slow down to normal, “was that your idea of chivalry? Was my line supposed to be My hero or something like that? I just hate it when I don’t know my lines.”

  I saw a trace of anger fill his eyes and my breath turned sharp and quick but he quenched it as quickly as it came. “Would you rather I let her in? Do you even know what she would’ve done?” He pushed off me and leaned back.

  “No,” I sat up and immediately felt a little better. It’s hard to act tough when you’re lying beneath someone.

  “She was calling for your death, Vervain,” he brushed back a stray lock of my hair and frowned when I pulled further away. “She was already armed with her sword and had every intention of cutting off your head while you slept.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. As far as ways to die, I could think of more gruesome ones but the idea of someone killing me while I was unaware and unable to defend myself was horrible. The fact that it was my preferred method of killing gods didn't escape my irony meter either but what was even more horrible, was the gratitude I immediately felt towards Huitzilopochtli. Evil or not, it would be better to keep myself in his good graces, so I decided to go with the change of heart.

  “You’re right,” I let my gaze soften on him and my voice drop down to a purr. “I’m sorry, I misjudged the situation.”

  “You admit you're wrong?” His expression was immediately wary.

  “I’m often wrong,” I smiled shyly, or at least what I hoped was a shy smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. “I find it easier to just apologize as soon as I realize it. I value integrity more than pride.”

  “You’re a surprising woman, little witch,” he lowered his face to mine and my heart went right back to banging on my ribs. I didn’t have time to figure out if it was from excitement or fear before he kissed me.

  He touched me with his lips alone, softly, carefully. It wasn’t the type of kiss I was expecting and he got further with me for catching me so off guard. I slid back against the pillows and felt my hands lift to the sides of his face to stroke back the hair that fell around us. He groaned and deepened the kiss. I met him with my own ardor, slipping my tongue further into his mouth, but the instant I did, I felt his fang nick me and tasted my own blood.

  Huitzilopochtli went wild like a switch had been flipped, pulling me under his body and grinding his hips against me. I gasped but it was lost in the violence. He was sucking on my tongue, pulling it into his mouth and lapping at it. Fear filled me, unmistakable this time, and I wracked my brain for a way to fight him. The power! The energy I’d borrowed, did I still have it? I reached down inside myself and felt it coiled there, waiting. I tried to channel Thor, to bring the lightning, but his power wasn’t there. I must have only borrowed enough for one use apiece. I panicked as Huitzilopochtli’s hands roamed over me like they couldn’t decide where they wanted to be first. They tore at my top and I finally freed my lips enough to cry out.

  “Get off me, you son of a bitch!”

  I thought he hadn’t heard me but then he stilled and just lay above me, filled with coiled tension. I could feel the magic surging through his body, tingling and teasing my skin. His chest expanded into mine as he took a deep breath and released it, shuddering.

  “Now it’s I who must ask for your forgiveness.” He raised his head to look at me and I stared at the red of his eyes as they swirled frantically. “The blood combined with lust drives me to madness if I'm not prepared for it. Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” I looked away, unsure what to say or do, “I’m fine.”

  “Do you forgive me, Vervain?” The pleading in his voice yanked my eyes back to him. His eyes were normal again, as normal as they could get.

  “I guess it’s only fair,” I tried to concentrate on what Thor had said but it was so hard not to be drawn in by the earnest expression Huitzilopochtli wore. Was this the same man who'd struck me last night? Then I realized that his behavior was perfectly in line with that of an abuser. If you asked a battered woman why she stayed with her man, she'd probably tell you something along the lines of, “He's actually a very good man, he just gets angry sometimes.” Abusers know how to keep their victims in line. Insert moments of kindness in between the beatings and you'll create a victim who will actually defend you. Child abusers use the same technique.

  He laughed and it brought me out of my morbid musings. It was the velvet laugh I both enjoyed and hated. In one graceful movement he rolled off me and helped me from bed. He didn’t let go until we were near the hidden door to the bathroom.

  “There’s a change of clothes for you inside. When you’re done, come out to the garden,” he motioned to the open doors.

  I nodded numbly and entered the bathroom. After the weird wake-up call I’d just had, I welcomed the sanctuary and looked around carefully. I'd nearly been struck dumb by the bathroom the night before so I hadn't been truly able to appreciate it. Yes, dumbstruck by a bathroom. It was that fantastic. The dress he’d left me, hung on a golden hanger across the room from me and it was stunning but it paled next to the beauty of its surroundings.

  It was like he’d brought the jungle inside. The bedroom’s sumptuous red carpet ended abruptly at the doorway in a green carpet of grass. Not green like grass, I mean there was real grass covering the floor. Along my right was a wall of windows, open to the encroaching jungle. To my left was a slab of stone with a basin carved out of it and a miniature waterfall spilling into it from beneath a long mirror. The mirror was set into a rock wall whose every nook and cranny sprouted ferns and bright monstrous orchids with sword-shaped leaves curling over the slab counter. Antique crystal jars of toiletries hid among the leaves like mischievous pixies.

  There were trees growing inside as well, one by the bedroom door and one at the end of the room by the tub, the dress hung on the later. The bathtub was the most amazing feature of all. Made of the same stone as the counter, it was sunk into the floor to resemble a natural pool. I had bathed in it the night before and it took me forever to find the hidden levers for the water. At the very top of another plant-filled rock wall behind the tub, a rock platform jutted out. At the turn of one of those hidden levers, water flowed over this and into the middle of the pool, allowing for your choice of shower or bath.

  The grass grew right up to the pool and plants grew out of the floor everywhere. Near the tub, there were boulders of differing heights with flat tops for toiletries or sitting. One of the boulders actually had a lid which lifted to reveal a toilet, very ingenious but also very frustrating if you happened to be a person unaccustomed to searching for a toilet inside rocks. I had actually wondered for a few confused moments if maybe gods didn’t share our bodily functions.

  The room was amazing and the dress seemed so out of place in it. I walked over and touched the soft material. It was red of course (the man just didn’t like change) made of yards of velvet and lace but not just any velvet and lace, silk velvet so soft you wondered if they made blankets out of the stuff so you could wrap yourself in heaven while you slept; and Venetian lace, the real stuff some old Italian lady made by hand with dozens of little spindles. The sleeves were little puffs that ended in a froth of the lace. The bodice was a deep square saved from being immodest by the lace that trimmed it. It curved in at the waist, then out at the hips and was gathered at different points to show layers of the lace beneath. It was a dress that belonged in another century… or a museum. Definitely not on me.

  I stripped, leaving my underwear on the counter with my dagger. Yes I slept with it again, even after the bruising. I washed my face and then frowned at myself in the mirror. I was being seduced by a dress. I glared at it over my shoulder, wishing for a pair of ruby slippers to match. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. I was being primped, polished and pampered. It was vastly preferable to some cold dungeon and the seduction of it all was almost too tempting but when it came down to it, the wizard was a bipolar, womani
zing Aztec with a thirst for blood and I, like Dorothy, desperately wanted out of Oz.

  I saw to the rest of my morning needs and then slipped the dress (I wasn’t sure if it was even considered a dress, maybe the correct word would be gown or tent) over my head. It was amazing and I felt like I belonged in some Gothic novel but I soon discovered the reason women used to have maids. I needed help with the laces. I squirmed and stretched but I just couldn’t reach. Oh well, so much for making a stunning entrance.

  I stuck my head out of the sliding glass doors. “Hey, Hummingbird Man.”

  “I presume you’re calling me,” he came through the lush growth holding a magnificent rose.

  “I need some assistance,” I turned and showed him the back while I held the bodice up with both hands. He laughed softly and I felt his breath tickle my shoulders.

  “My pleasure, little witch,” he spoke against my skin before brushing his lips along my shoulder. I shivered and jerked a little. He handed me the flower and then went to work on the laces. “There, now turn around and let me see you.”

  I did as he asked, feeling awkward and wishing I knew why. He stepped back and his eyes feasted on me. There was no other word for it, he looked at me so slowly from head to toe, eyes widening slightly and finishing with a flick of his tongue across his lips. I felt completely consumed by the time it was over.

  He took the rose from me and placed it behind my left ear. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Back home, a woman wore a flower behind her left ear only if she was in a serious relationship. If you were single, the flower went on the right. I reached up to correct it but his hand stopped me.

  “I may not have taken your body,” he pulled a long curl of my hair forward and stroked it tenderly, like he was stroking something much more intimate. “But you’re mine, make no mistake about that, Vervain.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself,” I glared at him and suppressed the urge to crush the innocent flower in my fist.

  He smiled indulgently, like I was a misbehaving child, and it set my teeth on edge but I allowed him to lead me into the jungle. There was actually a little path through the trees and we followed it to a clearing where a stone table was laid with linen and bone china. He seated me in a carved mahogany chair with a red velvet cushion. I peered under the tablecloth at the stone it lay on. Was I about to eat breakfast on an altar? I let the cloth drop. I’d rather not consider the possibility. I focused instead on watching him lift the domed silver lid off my plate.

  “Eggs Benedict?” I stared at the perfect hollandaise sauce and the crisp homefries. “How did you know this was my favorite?”

  “I shared your mind when I tasted your blood,” he grinned unabashedly. “You were hungry and thinking of breakfast.”

  I looked at him sharply. Breakfast hadn't been in the forefront of my thoughts. Had he heard me turn to the borrowed magic? Did he know what I could do? More importantly, could I still use one of the powers to escape?

  “Coffee?” He poured the steaming liquid into a delicate teacup in front of me.

  I added sugar and cream, stirred, then sipped. It was pure Kona. What the hell? Did he just happen to have all my favorites on hand?

  “Thank you for the effort,” Mama didn’t raise me to be rude. “Huitzil… oh I can’t keep calling you that. I know it’s your name but we’re going to have to go with a nickname from here on out and I can’t stomach Hummingbird.”

  “You want to give me a pet name?” He beamed.

  “Not a pet name,” I frowned, “a nickname, a shorter word for you… what was your name in English again?”

  “Blue Humming…”

  “Blue,” I interrupted, “I like it. Short, to the point. Blue it is.”

  “You want to name me after a color?” He wasn’t so pleased anymore.

  “It’s just a shortened version of your name,” I was very pleased with him being displeased. Then a thought occurred to me and I chuckled. “It’ll be an accurate description of certain parts of your anatomy if you keep pursuing me.”

  He frowned a good five minutes till comprehension flared to life. “You’re referring to a state of male frustration, I believe?” I giggled in delight and sipped my coffee as he continued. “Hmmm, I must admit it’s never presented itself as a problem to me before. I guess I’ll have to pleasure myself if you drive me to such a state, and I’ll make you watch as your penance.”

  I choked and nearly spewed coffee everywhere. “You’ll what?”

  “If you’re so unaffected by me, then whatever I choose to do to relieve myself will not matter to you, correct?” His eyes sparkled over the rim of his teacup.

  “You’re disgusting,” I felt a shiver run through me as I pictured him stroking himself next to me in bed. Oh crap, I wouldn’t last a week. I had to get out of there.

  “We’ll see how disgusting you think it is,” he cut into his meal. “Maybe I’ll try it out tonight if you refuse me again. I knew this would be fun but I didn't anticipate how deliciously naughty it would be. I do so love the chase.”

  What a typical man and in typical male fashion, he'd probably stop wanting me as soon as I gave in. Except in this case, his waning interest wouldn't mean a break-up, it'd mean death. My death. I swallowed hard and fought my rising panic.

  “Do you still have house guests?”

  He looked up and raised both brows at my obvious subject change. “I do, we’ll dine with them tonight. I wanted to spend the day alone with you.”

  “Aren’t they here for nasty god business?” The eggs were so delicious, I was having mouth orgasms but it was getting harder and harder for me to enjoy them. “Won’t they be mad if you blow them off?”

  “Yes and yes,” he laughed like their irritation only added to his joy. “Have you not learned yet, Vervain? I’m the master here, none of them can match my power. They’ll wait if I tell them to.”

  “But their goals are your goals, right? I mean wouldn’t you rather be working on new ways to destroy my race than be sitting here with me?” It was a bitter comment but I’d had enough with the seduction routine, I wanted the anger back.

  “My intentions have never been to destroy your race, little witch,” he went in the complete opposite direction of what I expected. “Your race has multiplied to the point of becoming a threat to the ecosystem. Our nasty business, as you call it, is necessary for your survival as well as ours.”

  “Are you trying to say you’re doing the human race a favor?” I was aghast and horrified because some of his reasoning actually had a twisted kind of logic.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying and if you weren’t such a child of your generation, you’d see it’s truly what’s best for the world. If humans aren’t controlled, they’ll overpopulate the planet and bring ruin upon themselves.”

  “A pretty speech,” I rubbed at my temple, it had started to ache. “But it still spells murder.”

  “Not murder,” his face looked so serene, “Sacrifice, sacrifice not just to the gods but to themselves and the planet. Your medical advances have made you weak. People who would’ve died had nature had its way, are now allowed to live. This not only causes overpopulation but it passes down those weak genes, making the next generation weaker than the previous. On top of that, the one medical advance which would actually help often goes unused. Birth control. People keep having child after child. Even those who are so poverty stricken they can't feed the children they birth. Instead of managing your population, you put pictures of these starving children on your televisions and ask other people to feed them. I’ve watched your people for centuries and I speak only the truth, as harsh as it may sound to your ears. The weak need to be culled, the population controlled.”

  “Who do you think they send to war?” I barely contained my anger. “They don’t send the weak into battle, they send the strong. So you’re little theory doesn’t work. You’re only weakening us further. You’re stealing our brave young men and women and you’re leaving only widows and
broken families. Children who will never know their parents, parents who will never see their children again, all because you need your fix.”

  “Yes,” he nodded gravely, “they send the strongest but does war not make them stronger? Does it not make them more attractive to the opposite sex? Does it not in its own way serve to weed out while it replenishes the population? Your military doesn’t pick the strongest, they take what they can get but battle sorts out the wheat from the chaff. The most capable survive as nature intended.”

  “Nature doesn't care whether we fight or not,” I growled, “only the gods do.”

  “Does it not?” He lifted an aristocratic brow. “Have you ever heard of Cordyceps?”

  “What?” I frowned at the odd change of topic. “No. What the hell is a Cordycep?”

  “It's a fungus,” he calmly took a sip of coffee. “When there is overpopulation of a type of insect or arthropod, Cordyceps takes over. They infect, kill the host by sprouting out of the body, and then release their spores into the air to contaminate others until the species is weeded down.”

  “This fungus,” I gaped at him, “you're telling me it knows when there's too much of something?”

  “Nature may not have a mind as you would define one, but she is aware. The planet is aware. Balance must be kept.” He held his hands out as if he were the scale.

  “Wait... Cordyceps,” I frowned again as I tried to remember where I'd heard the word. “Wasn't that the name of the mushroom the trainer gave those three Chinese athletes who broke like five world records?”

  “Yes, another of Nature's specialties,” he smiled smugly, “to bring life from death. The point though, is that balance is found. Humans aren't outside of her power either. Just look at all the earthquakes which in turn cause tidal waves. Look at the hurricanes she sends. The Earth is literally trying to shake your people off like a dog with fleas. Humanity is just a pest to her and if it's growth is not decelerated, Nature will find a way to do it... a way that will not discriminate. Young or old, brilliant or stupid, rich or poor, she doesn't care. She feels no mercy.”