Archipellus: God of Samhain (A Sons of Herne romance)
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Archipellus: God of Samhain (A Sons of Herne romance)
ARCHIPELLUS: GOD OF SAMHAIN | SONS OF HERNE 8 | J. ROSE ALLISTER
ARCHIPELLUS: GOD OF SAMHAIN | SONS OF HERNE 8 | J. ROSE ALLISTER
Have you read the first book in the series? | Check out Dominus: God of Yule for free! And be sure to look inside to find out how to get the second book, Eradimus: God of Imbolc, for free as well. | Loving Lorayna could cost him his sacred power...
Titles in the Sons of Herne Series:
ARCHIPELLUS: GOD OF SAMHAIN
SONS OF HERNE 8
J. ROSE ALLISTER
How can he embrace love when his very touch brings death?
Archipellus is the god of Samhain, the holiest—and most dangerous—of all the pagan sabbats. On the night of All Souls Eve, the veil between worlds stretches to its thinnest, and Archipellus must use his incubus powers to draw sexual energy and reinforce the barrier to keep the realms from chaos. The draining is perilous to humans, so the women he chooses are those who are already near death. With their consent, he will aid their journey to the underworld in a final moment of blissful release.
Considering this, he knows without a doubt that he is immune to the plan the Fates have unleashed—a love spell that has consumed each of his sabbat brothers whole.
Melissa Jacobs walks in to her terminally ill sister’s hospital room and is shocked to discover a gorgeous, yet frightening incubus preparing to drain her. She stops him and offers to take Bethany’s place, provided that Archipellus uses some of the power drained to try and heal her sister. The result is a tear in the veil, allowing a creature to kidnap Bethany and vanish into another realm.
To find Melissa’s lost sister, Archipellus must join with his half-angel brother, a warrior friend, and the fiery human lover who refuses to be left behind. The monsters they will face on their quest are not as dangerous as keeping Melissa near, for the temptation to possess her may prove too great to resist. When he gives in and drains her too far, he must save her at all costs. He will stand at the crossroads between the living and dead to confront the truth about his powers—and the price for using them.
About the Sons of Herne series:
The god Herne has appointed eight of his most virile, headstrong sons as keepers of the pagan holidays. To honor their sabbat, each must join with a mortal female in a ritual to maintain the balance between worlds.
The Fates have secretly conspired to grant the gods one thing they lack—a true union of male and female that will last well beyond the fleeting passion of a sabbat joining.
Herne’s sons will wrestle with the conflict between sacred duty and their own yearnings, a struggle that will not only challenge their beliefs, but may threaten the success of rituals that must be observed lest the realms of mortal and immortal collide in chaos.
Genre: Erotic Romance/Urban Fantasy
Length: Around 34,604 words
Copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister
First Ebook Publication: October 2016
Cover design by J. Rose Allister
All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: You do not have the right to distribute or resell this book without the prior written permission of the author. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred.
ARCHIPELLUS: GOD OF SAMHAIN
SONS OF HERNE 8
J. ROSE ALLISTER
The horns called him forth, and the god of Samhain felt urgent need rising from deep in his marrow. He stood in the antechamber, focused on the statue of Apollyon to keep his eyes from closing. Drawing inward brought him too near the suffering, voices crying out for relief in an anguished chorus. With the veil thinned to dangerous proportions, the echoes of beings from many worlds mingled together, though there were few that outmatched the pain and sorrow of those on earth.
With a deep breath, holding it in his chest, Archipellus let the sound of the horns fill him. The lust he forced down all year swelled, his cock rising in a fury like a dragon’s head after a long, enforced sleep. An inhuman growl sounded deep in his throat.
Drums added to the call, a primal beat that throbbed like his aching loins. He strode forward, naked aside from the sleeveless ritual robe of black trimmed in blood red, to perform his duty. As Samhain was the highest and most sacred of the pagan sabbats, all members of the counsel were required to be present while the god of death called forth the ritual that would seal the veil.
Archipellus held a black leather mask in his hand, and with a determined grip, he raised it over his eyes. Sculpted to fit the upper half of his face, he secured it in place before striding out of the room. He entered the Samhain chamber to find the usual gathering amassed around the edges of the circular room. Unconcerned that his thick, pulsing erection jutted out in full view to lead him on toward his mission, he strutted forward.
Nude, lithe women with bodies painted in the colors of the sabbat danced around the drums, their breasts bouncing and hair flying. Two acolytes were permitted to attend the ceremony, both of whom stared at their feet with their hands clutched tightly in front of them. Eight members of the counsel stood equidistant around the room, avoiding the ley lines that crossed in the center and shot out to four sides. The hoods of their sabbat robes were raised in deference to the sabbat. Most of their eyes followed his entrance without making eye contact, fear evident in their gazes. Then there was the ninth member, his father, the great Herne, god of the hunt. Herne did not avoid the red, glowing eyes of his son. He met Archipellus’s acknowledging look without flinching. Despite his father’s unwavering stare, he saw the forest god’s Adam’s apple give a telltale bob. Only Andero, head of acolytes and friend to both himself and his brother Jorandil, gave a calm, silent nod as he entered. Then there was Veramus, the officiating counselor of Samhain, who stared back with a gleam in his eyes and a tiny smile that Archipellus knew all too well. Perhaps Veramus was not one of the incubi, as Archipellus was. But he had the same hunger in him, the need to drain others of power in order to add to his own. It made him the ideal officiate for the sabbat. But it also made him dangerous.
“The god of Samhain has heeded the call,” Veramus said, raising his hand to gesture at Archipellus. “Let him bring forth the sabbat and use his power to seal the veil before the realms collide in chaos.”
Archipellus moved to the center of the room, standing on the spot where the glowing ley lines crossed, and regarded the pedestal in front of him. On it lay the artifact that he would use to gain access to the other realm. It was the sword of Apollyon, the weapon that once belonged to the angel of death. The silvery blade, honed and faceted to perfection, gleamed in the light of the crystalline pedestal.
“You stand at the crossroads,” Veramus said, making a show to no doubt earn the wary respect of those around him. As if attaching himself to the god of the dark sabbat was insufficient. “Find she who suffers and make your passing.”
The drums fell silent, and the dancers dropped to the floor, heads touching the marble. Archipellus’s horns creaked, lengthening at the words while the aching shaft between his legs did the same. He reached out and gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands, raising it in front of him.
He lifted his head and called out the invocation. “Sha-do ram, yo shai a lara Samhain,” he said, turning in a slow circle to show all around him the sacred artifact. “Do yo wielde sword o Apollyon ro goya a veil mata.”
As he finished his turn and the declaration of his intent to seal the veil, his wings unfurled, stretching out to where the tips touched the walls across the chamber. The god of Samhain had wings of strong, yet supple leather, appendages that would anchor him to the veil, holding it together while he infused it with the energy needed to seal the rift. His wings did not have feathers like his brother Jorandil’s did. But then, Jorandil bore the blood of an angel. Archipellus was a demon.
The blade still in front of his face, he closed his eyes and let the voices in. There were so many that a lesser being would be driven mad, but Archipellus called to the sword and upon his own strength, using meditative techniques to hone his focus onto the earth realm. Those he funneled down into female cries, mentally pushing aside those in distress for causes he could not alter, seeking the ones who approached their time of crossing. The voices of those ready to pass to the underworld had a flat drone, a buzzing like the call of death beetles.
Her whisper was what attracted him, not as desperate as the rest. Resigned, prepared. Too young to be taken from life, yet accepting that her time on earth was at an end. That whisper was a siren song, calling out for release by the god of death.
He would answer.
Letting go of the hilt with one hand, Archipellus reached for the gem around his neck. The veil pendant allowed other sabbat gods to cross the veil, but he did not require such aid when the veil was thin enough to hear the voices. He used it only to help him focus on his destination—the bedside of the woman whose life he was about to drain—along for one other reason. Its power would allow him to remain invisible to humans.
“The god of Samhain cometh,” he whispered, and with a deft motion, he used the sword of Apollyon to slice through the veil between worlds.
He pushed his body through quickly, leaving his wings outspread to anchor him and hold together the edges of the cut he made. A strong, antiseptic odor hit him as he passed, as much a mask for the scent of death as it was to cleanse the space of harmful bacteria. Archipellus was unsurprised to find himself in a hospital room, for it was there that he was often summoned on Samhain Eve. What did surprise him was the sight of the young woman lying weakly on the bed that was raised in a semi-reclining position. The few straggling wisps of blonde hair that remained were pasted to her head. Her delicate features were carved deep and severe by the ravages of her disease. She had been beautiful once, and not long ago. As the god of Samhain, he could see her as she once was even without the photograph on the table beside her. In the picture, she was full of life and smiling, arm in arm with a slightly older, even more stunning version of herself. The frame read Bethany and Melissa. Sisters Forever.
The sight of the other woman made his cock throb and jerk obscenely, but he had not come to pick and choose the lover he most lusted after. He had a greater purpose.
The girl stirred, sensing the presence of her doom, the god of the dark sabbat. Her eyes fluttered open, but she would see nothing. With the veil pendant holding him slightly out of phase, he would be hidden from her sight for as long as he wished it. And he did wish it. He was about to offer her blessed relief from suffering, a passing to the afterlife not with agony, but with ecstasy. Such an end would not be possible if she beheld his countenance directly. His own kin could not do so without discomfort. But see him or not, she would feel him. Unlike his angel brother, who had until recently tormented himself by joining with females who would not know his touch, his incubus blood would not deny him this. He would hear the orgasmic cry of a woman who languished at his touch. She would know bliss as she slipped away, or else he would not be able to bear the task.
“Who’s there?” she asked in the same whisper that had brought him to her. Blue eyes, dull and sunken within the dark circles ringing them, flicked this way and that.
“Do not be afraid,” he murmured, attempting to infuse his deep voice with reassurance. “I am here to help you, and by so doing, help both of our worlds.”
“Are you an angel?”
He gave a pained smile. “Not exactly. But I can relieve your suffering as you cross over, if you will allow me.”
She seemed to consider that. “You’re the angel of death.”
Archipellus gripped the sword in his hand tighter. “Close enough.”
A fierce gleam briefly lit her eyes, a glimmer of the life that had once been there. “I’m ready to go. Now, while I’m alone. It’ll be better that way.” She paused and glanced at the sword. “And it won’t hurt?”
He slid the sword into the scabbard strapped onto his back, passing it with care through the cut in the veil to keep from rending it farther. “On the contrary, Melissa.”
“Bethany. Melissa’s my sister. How do you know about her?”
“The frame on your bed table bears your names.”
“Oh.”
“As to your question, you will feel no more pain. In fact, you will experience an orgasmic release when you let go of this life.”
Take her, the dark urges whispered at the mere mention of the erotic pleasure that awaited them. No more delay. Drain her dry.
He breathed deep until the need to plunge his shaft into a wet, waiting pussy subsided. “You will need to be with me, Bethany. I will make love to you as you pass over.”
Despite her pasty, gray complexion, he saw a faint flush wash over her cheeks. “I haven’t done that in a while. I don’t think I can. I’m too weak. And the pain...”
“But if your pain was gone, you would feel the pleasure. I can give you that. Your remaining life force will let me seal the veil between our realms, sparing them from chaos. Your sacrifice can save many lives.”
His throat thickened at the brave resolve in her expression.
“I want to see you first,” she added. She lifted her arm toward him, but it flopped weakly back on the bed.
The request came as little surprise, for it was not the first time he had been asked. He bent close to her, just short of the distance in which his breath would fan over her, compelling her to something she had not quite consented to yet. “It is better that you do not, for I am not of your world. Just surrender to the relief from suffering, to the pleasure my body can give yours. I guarantee it will be beyond anything you have ever felt.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and he backed off a little. Perhaps he was a bit too close. “Please let me see,” she said. “I like to know what I’m getting into.”
“Not this time.”
“I’m staring down death’s door. I’m not afraid. Just show yourself.”
He straightened up, hesitating. The door to her room was closed tight, and the curtain between her bed and the adjacent one, which was vacant and nearer the door, was drawn. Should a staff member enter, he would be concealed long enough to render himself invisible again.
With a sigh, he arranged his robe to cover his erection, though the tented front made his arousal obvious enough. He reached for the pendant, and his intention brought him forth fully into her view.
Her eyes widened, and her lips, which were dry and cracked, parted in a silent o.
“I warned you,” he said, regretting having given in.
Now he would have to find another, and yet the veil was weakening to the point where he heard the dead calling out to loved ones from the underworld. Their spirits would be free soon, free to walk among the living.
“It’s not that. I expected something...hideous.”
He reached up to touch his horns. “And you got something demonic.”
She shook her head as her eyes took their measure of him. They paused on the bulge between his legs, just for a moment. “You’re willing to free me from this stupid body that’s wasting away. I could care less if you have horns.” She raised her eyes and squinted a bit. “And a
re those...wings? I can almost see them.”
He arched a brow. “If the veil is thin enough for a mortal to nearly catch a glimpse beyond, then I have little time left.” He raised himself up. “I am Archipellus, son of Herne, god of Samhain. I ask that you join with me in a carnal ritual that will allow me to seal the veil and protect our worlds. Do you, knowing that this will cost what remains of your life, consent to join our bodies?”
Her sad smile tugged on his chest. “I consent, god of Samhain.” Her lips pursed. “And the pain will really be gone?”
He planted a knee beside her and leaned down, fiddling with the bed controls until he found the one that would lower her flat. She winced, groaning in pain at the bed’s motion, until he pressed his lips to her damp forehead for a moment. “With the very first kiss,” he murmured.
She shivered, gasping at that faint, innocent brush of his mouth. He had her consent, and his body was beyond ready to deliver to her everything he had just promised—and take what it craved in return.
Yet he was hesitating.
“Do it,” she said. “Please hurry. Take me, Archipellus.”
The demon he held at bay rose, quickening his heartbeat, demanding that he claim her hard, fast, pull her strength into himself and release his seed deep in her belly. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he battled his lust, forcing himself to remain calm enough to claim her fragile body with tenderness rather than the ferocity of a beast. Calm enough to claim her at all. Plunge into yet another innocent whose life would end at his hand.
He was so focused on this mental battle that he didn’t register the squeak of the door opening. The curtain yanked back before he could hide himself, and the beauty from the photograph stood there, her mouth wide open and murderous fire blazing in fuck-me-please blue-green eyes.
“What in the hell is going on here?” she cried. “Get away from her. Help, somebody!”
He was on her in a heartbeat, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Do not call out,” he said. “You will draw attention to us.”