She heaved a sigh, rubbing temples that were beginning to throb. She needed food and a way out of this conversation. “Okay, fine. I don’t want to mess things up or make it harder for Grayel than it needs to be. I’m beyond grateful, not to mention stunned, that he chose me at all. So book the damned coliseum, for all I care.” She stopped rubbing and shot Lust an evil glare. “But one word out of you, even one smart-ass remark, and I’ll…”
“He won’t interfere,” Love said, bending over her. He leaned one hand on the arm of the couch and pressed the other to Lexie’s throbbing forehead. “In matters of sexual rite, the god Lust will not deviate even one inch from proper custom.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as his warm hand infused a light, comforting sensation over her aching brow. The pain disappeared.
“That feels like heaven,” she breathed, eyes still closed. “You have a magic touch.”
“All the better to aid your cause tonight,” Lust said with a short laugh.
“So,” Love said, removing his hand but staying bent so now-royal blue eyes were inches from hers, “this is most likely your last day on earth as a human. How would you like to spend it?”
She smiled, at a loss to answer. How did she want to spend her final hours as a mortal woman? Strolling along the beach? Hitting the gift shop to obliterate what little remained of her credit? Celebrating at the best restaurant while pounding back fancy drinks with umbrellas in them? Scenarios flashed until she realized nothing in her old life held any true appeal. What could the island give her that she would not possess by the time the night was through?
A thought hit.
“I’d like to swim in the ocean for a little while,” she said, “if you’ll come with me?”
She flicked a gaze at Lust. She should be neighborly, she supposed. It would be the best way to assure his cooperation. “Both of you should come. Is that possible?”
The men exchanged glances. “I suppose we can do that,” Love said.
“Didn’t get enough of the ocean the other night?” Lust grinned. “Perhaps you’re looking to relive fond memories to help put you in the right spirit for tonight.”
She smiled. “As a matter of fact, yes. I practically lived at the beach every summer growing up. It’s a relationship I’d like to end with a formal farewell.”
“After breakfast, then,” Lust said. “I’m beyond ravenous. I’m likely to eat the sharks at this point.”
Before long she found herself with her arms linked through those of Love and Lust, laughing as they went off together on an island excursion few women could ever dare hope to even imagine.
Chapter Ten
Just one more hour. After centuries of living alone, Grayel would finally claim the woman who had been prophesied to be his mate.
Had he been privy to the Fates’ declaration, he would have known Lex Ann right off. Even without that prophecy, something inside him sensed her rightness the moment he’d stumbled over her. Had that stumbling truly been accidental, or had the Fates stepped in because his father had tossed aside their proclamation? He’d likely never know. However it had happened, and regardless of those who tried to question it, Grayel had never before felt so complete. He was ready to face the challenges of love, leadership, and a family of his own. Lex Ann had opened that door for him, and he would walk through it when he stepped through the portal to meet her at last.
He glanced down at the pair of rings in his hand and turned them over with a finger. Grayel had commissioned the bands three moons ago, by the finest gem artisan in the realm. The results were exquisite perfection. Made of a pure crystal seen only in the higher kingdoms, the marriage bands were not only a symbol of love, but proof of their devoted passion. These bands were carved from the inside out, with a special faceted prism in the center designed to pick up and radiate energies of eros, the erotic love between couples. Placed on a bride and groom’s fingers during a joining—in his case, the Fere-Theo—they would tell the truth as to how much eros existed for each partner. There could be no lies, no deception about feelings between a marrying pair before the joining was sealed. Such bands were highly old-fashioned and seldom used in this realm because of the trend toward arranged marriages. In such cases, the rings would rarely generate a telltale shine. But Grayel would let the power of his and his bride’s longing be known to the universe.
“Hail, my lord and my god.”
Grayel closed his hand around the rings and turned to the house servant bowed in the doorway. “You may enter.”
The shorter man bustled in with his head bowed, bearing a silver tray with a blood-red crystalline decanter atop it. “A gift, my lord.”
The tray was deposited on a wing-table floating astride his favored chair. He tucked the rings safely in the pocket of the robe he’d already donned in preparation for the marriage. Though much of the outfit’s style held earthen influence, the construction most decidedly did not. The fabric was specially rendered from layers of silk, literally spun onto a mannequin form of his likeness by descendants of Arachnia. The garments that were fitted to his contours included a snug pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt with a deep gap down the front of his chest. Over these he wore an open robe that was also sleeveless and long enough to brush the floor behind him. The lemony sheer color and crisscross pattern showed some skin beneath, yet covered him enough for public modesty. Arach-weave was strong, yet had some stretch to allow for ease of movement. The garments were intended for a one-time wearing, as part of the Fere-Theo. During the ritual, his clothing would literally be torn from his body as a symbol of rending the shield around his solitary life and cleaving himself to another.
He strode to the decanter and pulled off the stopper. A rich, spiced scent greeted his nostrils. The gift was a rare brandied vin, put up by a higher realm and aged to a perfection few among gods had the privilege of tasting.
A folded card was propped alongside the bottle, and he picked it up.
Our Lord, Grayel,
Take this as a gesture of good will.
Let there be peace in our families, and good wishes for your impending marriage.
Many sons to Grayel and his mortal bride.
--The house of Malanon
He read the card three times.
Well. If ever there was cause to celebrate, today was that day. He would not only finally take a bride, but Father would have naught reason to complain about it. With Malanon’s obvious agreement to sever the negligible contract with Lucreda, Tolel had much less to oppose now.
“And that,” he said aloud to no one, “I will most certainly drink to.”
He poured freely into the goblet and drank deep. The fire of the brew was pure and full, and slid down his throat with welcome. “To my bride,” he cheered, tossing down another gulp.
By the second glass, Grayel found himself reclining in the chair, staring into the fireplace across from him. The beverage had hit him hard, despite his usual strong fortitude where fermented drinks were concerned. This wouldn’t do, not at all. He had to be ready to step through the portal soon. Wait, how long was it? He tried to think, but his internal clock had been thrown off by the intoxicating beverage. Half an hour, maybe.
He reached for the decanter, but stopped himself. Why was he seeking more devil brew when it had already fogged his head? He sat back again, feeling pleasantly dizzy. He leaned his head against the back of his leather chair and closed his eyes. Shaking his head did nothing to clear muddied thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, one of the statues at the edge of the sitting area came to life and began walking toward him.
No, wait. He blinked rapidly, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Not a statue. A dark-haired woman. Or was her hair burgundy?
He sat up and stared. “Lex Ann?”
“I’m here,” she crooned, swaying her hips in a hypnotic rhythm as she moved closer. “I’ve come to be with you.”
He frowned. “But how? No human can step through a portal to this realm and live.”
“I am immortal now, Grayel.” She raised her arms, making the prismatic properties of her white gown shimmer. “Come to me.”
He shook his head. “You can’t be. Not yet. I didn’t perform the ritual.” In a panic he shot up from the chair, taking a step to steady himself when the rapid movement sent the room spinning. “Tell me you did not undertake the ritual with another immortal?”
“Of course not, my love.” Her tone crooned seductively through his fuzzy mind. “The Fates must have approved our union, for they saw fit to change me so I might be yours.”
The Fates? Rarely would they intervene in such a bold and direct manner, especially where mortals were concerned. Here was the ultimate proof that all his parent’s fears had been ill-founded, and that destiny itself procured the union despite measures taken centuries ago to prevent it.
He smiled and reached for her hand. She came to him willingly, smelling surprisingly of honeyed wine and myrrh. It was a fragrance that stirred familiarity, but not from their dream bond. Still, this was reality now. Lex Ann was immortal. She would be his mate.
Her lips pressed against his, tasting of the same ruby wine he’d imbibed. The demigods had no doubt plied her with exotic drink to celebrate. Not a wise move had they done so while she was yet human. It must have been a farewell toast after her ascendance, before they sent her through the portal to meet her intended.
Grayel’s hands entwined in her hair while their tongues sought out a primal dance. He groaned. The drink slowed his body’s response to her, which was frustrating. He did not experience the immediate and overpowering yearning of their metaphysical joinings. No matter. There was plenty of time for that later, when he had shaken off the effects of the vin.
He pressed his groin forward against her slim hips, rubbing back and forth until he felt his cock pulse with interest. Her hands slid over the arach-weave fabric covering his chest, and she purred. “Spider silk. I knew you were a traditionalist, but I didn’t realize you would go to such lengths. Such exquisite fabric. Very erotic.”
Something about the words tried to penetrate his thick fog. “How do you know about the tradition of an arach-weave garment?”
She paused. “Why, don’t you think I sought to find out everything I could once I learned of my destiny?”
His response was silenced by her lips again, and after a moment she moaned. “You feel so amazing,” she said. “Just like I knew you would.”
She stepped back and pulled on the shoulders of her own garment, exposing creamy flesh. “You haven’t said how you liked my dress. ‘Tis the traditional gown for a bride of the Fere-Theo, is it not?”
He blinked again, the rainbow crystal fabric blurring in and out with his watery vision. “Yes, the Sinhalla gown. Made from the finest star dust and crushed Septillan fire diamond. It’s lovely.”
Then it was gone. She shrugged off the garment and it pooled at her feet.
He shook his head. “The garment is traditionally worn throughout the ritual, to help direct the energies.”
“You’ll find I’m not one for tradition.”
Yet she had observed another tradition of the Sinhalla, which was to be completely naked beneath the dress. Lex Ann’s nipples were dark, almost blood red, and the thatch of hair between her thighs was black and thick, more Egyptian than Gaelic maiden. This departure from her appearance in the dream bond surprised him. Dream projections of self were typically a literal translation.
“Take me, my god,” she said. Her voice held the low, sultry tone of a dancing nymph seeking to lure a mortal into her lair. Her hands moved to her breasts, and he watched while she worked her nipples to hard peaks. “I am yours now. I can’t wait any longer for you to claim it as so.”
With that she reached over and rent the front of his shirt, tearing it cleanly down the center front.
“I thought you weren’t one for tradition,” he said, his voice thick.
She laughed deep in her throat. Her hands worked over the bare skin of his chest, and then she slid them down and took hold of his trousers.
They were shredded within three attempts, and soon he had on little besides the robe and tattered remnants of the remainder. His cock was still slow to cooperate, but rose to half-mast once free of the arach-weave slacks.
She went to her knees in front of him, stroking the long, partly erect staff. “Not quite the welcome I expected, but massive enough to make do with.”
The room spun faster. “My apologies, Lex Ann. I fear my pre-wedding celebration drinks have done their work overmuch.”
With a tug on his arms, she pulled him to the floor, and then she lay down on her back. Firelight made her long red hair appear almost black as it spilled on the thick brown rug behind her.
“Now, Grayel,” she urged. “No more waiting. No more games. Fuck me. Right now.”
She seemed so much more blunt and demanding than he’d expected. A side effect of her transformation, perhaps. Of course, he’d never met the real life Lex Ann before. Perhaps she was always like this when she wasn’t in the dream world. He supposed he could live with her demands that he fuck her. He intended to grant that wish as often as possible.
Still kneeling over her, Grayel lowered on top of her warm skin and positioned himself between her spread thighs. By all the gods, this was finally happening. Not the way he’d planned, perhaps, and he certainly never intended to bed his bride for her first time as an immortal on the floor. But her wish could be his command. They’d have eternity in which to explore the many endless ways he’d fantasized about making love to her until she screamed his name.
“I love you, Lex Ann,” he breathed, planting a kiss on her forehead as he felt the tip of his cock press against her entrance. She was only a bit moist, not soaking wet like usual. They hadn’t had much foreplay, but she seemed in a desperate hurry to have his cock inside her. The thought of Lex Ann wanting him so feverishly made his cock grow a bit harder, just enough so he would be able to push his way into her heat.
“Stop,” a voice called from behind him. Or rather, an echo of voices in unison. “Stop now, Grayel of the twelfth realm. Before it is too late.”
He turned his head to see who dared interrupt, but Lex Ann grabbed his head and twisted it back. “Don’t listen, my love. They seek to divide us because I was born mortal.”
“She lies,” the voices said, drawing out the latter in a hiss. “She is not your prophesied bride.”
Grayel jerked. “What?”
He pulled away, his lover clutching at him until her nails tore the flesh of his arms. “Don’t believe it,” her voice pleaded, desperate. “Take me now, right in front of them, to prove the powerful god Grayel will not be swayed by impotent protests.”
He continued to draw back, sweat dripping into eyes already muddied by drink. This rendered his focus on the woman lying under him even more difficult. He stood on wobbly legs and turned to the intruders. Though his bride and much of the room spun in chaos, the three beings before him bobbed and weaved in crystal-sharp relief. They swayed in tandem, not touching the floor. They wore gowns fashioned from ethereal mists of amethyst, emerald, and black. The same mists floated around their heads like long, flowing manes of hair. Their eyes were oversized black orbs, set deeply into pale white, delicate faces.
“By the Fates,” he whispered, and covered himself as best as he could with his robe.
The trio nodded in tandem. “We are they.”
Even a god as high in rank as Grayel saw the wisdom in bowing to such visitors, and he did so. “I am honored. Why have you come here?”
“To reveal treachery in the house of Malanon,” they said. “And to see to it our prophesy is not scattered to the four winds by the son of Tolel, the way his father tried to do.”
“Meddling bitches,” a voice seethed behind him. “I am his chosen since almost the
time of our births. Who are you to interfere?”
“What’s going on?” Grayel said.
“See now,” they hissed, and waved hands in front of him. “See the truth.”
He turned, blinking to find the room clearing and Lucreda standing naked before him. She clutched the Sinhalla gown against her, her eyes a blaze of yellow fire.
“Lucreda?” His voice rose to echo through the chamber. “What are you doing here? Where is Lex Ann?”
She laughed and held the gown up in front of her. “Why, I’m right here, my love.”
As the effects of the brew drained away, ugly truth fell into its place. “You tricked me.”
“She laced your drink with godsbane,” the Fates said. “She had big plans for your future, ones we do not sanction.”
Godsbane. He should have realized something was amiss. With that laced into alcohol, hallucinations would follow. He would see what he most wanted to see. The one he saw in almost everything these days.
He glared at Lucreda. “Rumor has it you have no trouble finding men to fill your bed,” he said. “Why go to such deception to add me to your trophy case?”
“You are supposed to be mine,” she said, spewing venom. “Not some dirty little mortal’s.”
“I’ll never be yours, Lucreda. And as for who the dirty one is in this tale, it is not my intended.”
“How dare you!” She shook the gown at him. “You risk the whole kingdom for some human tramp, and have made a mockery of me.”
“Surely you don’t think bedding me would have changed anything between us?” He eyed her up and down with a mixture of pity and spite. “Other than making me even more certain that putting an end to the ridiculous marriage arrangement was the right choice.”
“She’d planned to take that choice away from you,” the others sang. “Tell him of the other potion you used, dearie.”
“Shut up. Screw you.”
Allister, J. Rose - Immortal Menage [Immortal Paradise 4] (Siren Publishing PolyAmour) Page 11
