He raised a brow. “What other potion?”
The Fates’ laughter sounded far away. “Can you not think of one? ’Tis the night of the single full moon.”
The weight of that sunk in, and he felt rage flood through his abdomen. “The night of a goddess’ fertility. You took an elixir to help guarantee I would set a child inside you.”
She shrugged, her black hair reflecting firelight. “A little insurance policy to help you let go of this ridiculous fantasy you have about dredging a mortal up from the depths to live in your high palace.”
“But your deception has failed,” the Fates said, floating higher, “along with the other part of your trap.”
“Other part?” Grayel started to ask, just as others burst into the room.
“See!” Malanon bellowed. “There. He has ruined her!”
Tolel and Asantra followed Malanon into the chamber, his mother’s eyes flying wide at the sight of her son in torn clothes while standing beside a naked Lucreda. His father’s face reddened, and Grayel yanked his robe tighter around him.
“Well, son,” Tolel said in his usual booming voice, “seems you’ve made an alliance with the house of Malanon after all.”
“Grayel?” His mother’s eyes were clouded with confusion.
“This is not what it seems,” he said, pointing to Lucreda. “She came to me.”
“It doesn’t matter who went to whom,” Malanon said, his robes billowing around him as he strode full speed toward Grayel. “What matters now is that you will marry my niece and save your family’s honor as well as her own.”
He bypassed Grayel and stood in front of Lucreda. “By the gods, girl. Have some decency and put your gown back on.”
When Malanon turned back, several pairs of eyes glared at each other in silence. Then everyone started shouting at once. Grayel, seething in resentment, found himself trying desperately to explain Lucreda’s plot to a roomful of immortals who would not listen. And he had to do so alone, considering the Fates had managed to conveniently disappear.
Chapter Eleven
“So, I wonder where we are going to do this?”
Lexie couldn’t help feel a gregarious, almost bubbling excitement while she spoke to her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. She should be exhausted after a day of sea air and ocean waves, yet somehow she felt refreshed and invigorated. She had to admit that spending a day in the company of two virile gods had not been the worst way to pass the final hours of mortal doldrums.
The three of them had breakfasted on the pier, though for some reason Love and Lust preferred to sit on the inland side. Some sort of odd exchange took place between them and the resort owner while she was on her way back from the restroom, and the meal had been cut short. No matter. She’d already been stuffed from the amazing buffet.
Then came snorkeling, courtesy of a small yacht the three of them sailed to a sheltered, totally private bay on the far side of the island. The water was beyond crystalline, and there was no wind to kick up sand and obscure her view of ocean life. No one had truly lived until they tried a god’s version of scuba, which meant a lungful of immortal air rather than a snorkel and tank. She’d let Love talk her into accepting a sort of mouth-to-mouth deal where he blew his breath into her, and then she could stay underwater for several minutes at a time to explore coral reefs, brilliant colored fish, sleek eels, even a sea turtle. It was a magical time, and not only because of the supernatural company. And there had been something very intimate, almost downright sensual about clutching Love’s arms to hold herself steady underwater while she let him “kiss” the sweet fire of god’s breath into her body. Still, he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation, and to her shock Lust had been on his best behavior, too. He kept a surprising distance and a grip on his typical lewd banter. He still seemed to enjoy himself, though, and the three of them had passed the afternoon quite companionably.
By the time they’d returned to the suite to shower off salt water, it was after five o’clock. There was less than two hours before her soon-to-be husband would step from the magical beach on the balcony and into her soul forever. She took even greater care with her makeup this time, until her eyes were smoky and seductive and her skin was rosy and smooth with blush.
As she regarded her reflection, she had to admit ocean water did nice things for the softness of her hair. Love had shown her a specialized paddle set into the wall that she hadn’t realized was a hair drying implement, and he tried to explain how the wand emitted energy that rubbed molecules of water together until they exploded. The otherworld device joyfully dried her hair inside of two minutes, until it shone and tumbled in satiny curls down to her buttocks.
“Knock, knock.”
She smiled at the soothing sound of Love’s voice. “You decent?” he added.
“Considering what we’re about to do?” she said, laying on heavy sarcasm. “Not even close.” In the mirror, she caught sight of his head poking around the corner. “It’s okay. I’ve got a blanket-sized towel wrapped around me.”
“You ready to get dressed?”
She nodded. “Any recommendations?” She cocked her head. “Just don’t tell me a studded collar and whip. The whole bondage thing is not a good look for me.”
His gaze slid over her. “I might be inclined to challenge that opinion.” He winked, and her mouth fell open. “But I had something a little less dominatrix in mind.”
She followed him to the mirrored closet and waited while he fished around inside. Before he withdrew his arm, he turned and flashed a look that warmed her insides. “Remember the dress you were forbidden to touch?”
Her eyes widened as it all but floated out, glittering in different colors every which way it moved. It seemed to cast its own light, and rainbow prisms shimmered onto the cream silk shirt and linen slacks Love wore.
“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, reaching out to the sheer, crystalline fabric. It moved like butter, floated like chiffon, and felt like heaven. “I take it this material isn’t found at my local fabric shop?”
“Not quite,” he said. “It’s very rare these days, even among our people. It is a Sinhalla, the traditional gown of the Fere-Theo. Grayel had it specially made for you.”
She was itching to put it on, but reluctant to shed her towel with Love’s warm body and penetrating blue eyes so close to her. She supposed she should get over the shyness, all things considered, but nevertheless she reached up and tightened the towel around her chest.
He seemed to notice the gesture. “Before you put this on, there is something you and I need to do.”
She swallowed, a warm glow spreading in her abdomen. Grayel warned her they weren’t allowed to engage in any practice sessions, though at the time she figured it was a joke.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, backing away.
His laugh held so much genuine innocence that she blushed. “Not that,” he said. “Relax.”
“Sorry,” she stammered. “I forgot which one of you demigods I was talking to.”
He smiled. “Then again, I confess it will involve you taking your clothes off.”
Her eyes shot wide again. “What will?”
“The top half, anyway.” He stepped forward. “As part of the ritual, there are symbols that need to be painted onto your body.”
“Oh.” The heat in her abdomen spread outward in all directions at once. “What kind of symbols?”
“Special invocations,” he said. “Secrets of the gods.” She shivered at the velvet tone of his whisper. “Few mortals in history have ever seen these symbols, and only those who will be granted godhood may wear them on their flesh.”
She lifted her chin. “Then it is a great honor, and of course I will be happy to have them put on.” She nodded at the dress. “I guess you’re right about my clothes being off. I don’t want to risk getting paint on this.”
“You can keep the towel over your lower half. The symbols are painted mostly on your back.”
/> “Okay.” She paused. “Mostly?”
“A few are drawn around your breasts, Lexie.” His eyes seemed to phase into a brighter color.
The visual this produced made her throat go dry. She couldn’t quite figure out what to say that would sound nonchalant. After a moment her stomach did the talking for her by rumbling loudly into the silence.
They looked at each other and started laughing. She offered a guilty shrug. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten since that monumental breakfast this morning. That should have carried me into the next century, but I guess my traitorous appetite feels otherwise.”
“I can have a meal sent.”
She shook her head. “There won’t be time. I mean, I don’t want to eat a heavy meal and then have to…well, you know. I don’t want to be bogged down.”
His smile shone through her like sunlight at noon. “I know just the thing.” He glanced at her bed. “Do you want to lie there to get the painting done? Or would you be more comfortable elsewhere?”
She glanced at the oversized cloud bed and the beautiful man who stood all too close to it. “No, not here.” The sitting room was bright and open. And large. Not that he could hurl the paint at her back from across the room, but it still seemed the better option. “The living room?”
He nodded and handed her the dress. “Go on ahead and take this with you. No undergarments are worn beneath it, just so you know.” She felt her cheeks flame. “I’ll grab what I need and join you in a minute.”
She wandered to the sitting area, her limbs shaking. She held the gown up in front of her, examining every inch. Though it contained many yards of fabric, the dress would not leave much of her to the imagination. It was totally sleeveless, with a front and back that dipped shockingly low. The fabric was sheer enough to bet a whole lot would be visible through it, despite the many layers. As she ran her hand through the skirts, she discovered an even bigger surprise. The entire front of the skirt was slit open. Convenient.
“Not long now.” Lust’s smoldering tone came from his usual chair as she entered the room.
Maybe this wasn’t the place for body painting. He might have to be some divine witness to the ritual, but certainly he didn’t have to be around for the pre-game show?
As she was opening her mouth for a retort, he got to his feet. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.” Much to her surprise, he headed off to a doorway near the veranda and disappeared through it.
Her mouth stayed open as she stared after him. Lust certainly was acting strange today. Strange for him, in any case. The god named after all things naughty was passing on a chance to play Peeping Tom? Make bawdy comments or offer to paint the symbols onto her back with his cock? She frowned. Not that she liked being the object of sexual harassment every fifteen minutes, but she had to wonder at the aberration.
She wandered to the couch and draped her gown lovingly over it, then sat in the chair Lust had just vacated. It was still warm and exuded his spiced scent and an aura of masculine desire. She popped up again, his supernatural pheromones leaching just a bit too far into her flesh for her taste. With her gown taking up most of the couch and the Sex Chair out of the question, she needed a place to sit while a god had his hands all over her back. And breasts. But where?
Love came into the room carrying a bowl she recognized, and she laughed out loud. Her eyes flicked around the space, and suddenly she knew exactly where she was supposed to have him decorate her skin with the “secrets of the gods.”
“What’s so funny?” he asked, setting the bowl on a glass tabletop and pulling a rolled-up black canvas from under his arm.
“This,” she said, squeezing her toes into the sensual delight beneath her feet. “I dreamed this. Remember?”
With that she lay tummy-down on a decadent black rug and propped herself up on her elbows.
A surprised smile curved his delicious-looking mouth. “I remember.”
She nodded to the table. “And those are frosted grapes?”
He nodded, speechless.
“You weren’t expecting this?”
“No. Dream bonds with mortals, well, the settings don’t tend to be prophetic.”
She thought about that. “You weren’t painting anything on my back in the dream, though.”
“Still, the setting is right on.” He eyed her carefully. “Most interesting.”
She pointed to the canvas roll in his hands. “What’s that?”
“The items I need, except one other thing.”
He wandered over and snatched up Lust’s translation glasses from the table beside his chair.
She laughed. “Don’t tell me you need reading glasses to see well enough to paint my symbols?”
His laugh took a tour of her spine that tingled delightfully. “No. I’m just not well versed in these particular symbols. Or the Fere-Theo itself, for that matter.”
She blinked in surprise. “Really? You seem like you know a lot about it.”
“I had to do some quick studying after Grayel told us about his plan. Lust is actually far more of an expert on the subject.”
She rolled her eyes. “Figures he’d have a PhD in sex rituals.”
He came over to lay down his bundle and glasses, then went back for the bowl. Sitting cross-legged beside her, he shot her a quick grin and plucked a grape off the stem. Opening her mouth obediently, he dropped it in, and her eyes rolled back. The fruit was chilled and sugared, juicy, and with a perfect amount of crunch when she bit down. Just like her dream.
She moaned in satisfaction. “Heaven. Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “Shall we begin? There’s not much time.”
She nodded, but saw that his eyes were on the towel still snugged from under her armpits to down near her knees. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
To his credit, Love made a show of busying himself with paints and items in his canvas roll while she loosened her towel, then wiggled it down until it rested just below the small of her back. Really, it wasn’t as bad as she feared. Even propped up on her elbows, he couldn’t see much from where he was sitting. Especially when she pulled her hair around to the front.
“How’s that?” she said.
“Fine.”
She heard more fiddling, and she reached over for another grape to quell her hunger and nervousness while waiting.
“Okay,” he said a couple minutes later, his voice almost quivering. “I definitely don’t want to mess up, so if you could stay still?”
“Sure.”
She did the exact opposite when she felt the first flick of the brush across her shoulder blade. He jerked back when she flinched with a gasp.
“Sorry!” she said. “It just feels a little cold. And it tickles.”
“It will warm up quite a bit as it hits your skin,” he said, his voice still tense. “The tickle I can’t do anything about.”
“I’ll try to be good.”
Those words hung for an awkward moment in the air, and Lexie crunched on her oversized grape while she tried not to react to the feel of the sable brush drawing delicate, sweeping lines across her back. Everywhere he touched, the area tingled. Then the strokes began to heat up.
“You weren’t kidding about it getting warmer,” she said, wishing she could twist her head around far enough to see what he was doing. She should have thought to bring a hand mirror along. “Supernatural paint, I take it?”
“You could say that.”
“What does it do?”
She barely got the question out before she froze, her eyes widening. The warmth spread, and another feeling took over. She slid her hands into the sinfully erotic fur rug beneath her, marveling at how sensual it felt. The fur seemed to vibrate and tantalize every pore, every nerve as her palms stroked through it. She heard an unconscious moan from her throat, and Love stopped painting.
“God,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed a moment. “I feel so…”
“So what?” he said, his voice equally quiet.
“Ready,�
�� she managed. Her body came to life, and every inch of her that was in contact with the fur begged for a man’s touch. She longed to pull off her towel and rub her naked pelvis on the sleek, erotic rug. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her hips against it, towel and all. Her nipples pricked up, and the thought of those rubbing lightly across the delicate, seemingly alive fur produced a little whimper.
She shivered despite the heat inside her. “What’s going on with me?”
“I read about this. It’s one of the side effects of the painting. And I’m afraid this rug isn’t helping.”
“Why, what’s in the paint? Viagra or something?”
“Not the paint as much as the symbols.”
She shot a look over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’ve been borrowing Lust’s dirty magazines to write a letter to Penthouse back there?”
“No,” he said, but he laughed. “These are very ancient symbols, from the inception of the Fere-Theo itself. Sacred words infused with immortal, carnal knowledge. That immortal wisdom will literally be taken into your body when the transformation occurs.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“The symbols will absorb into you when you are changed. They will no longer be visible, but the secrets of the gods’ sexual trust will be a part of you.”
She swallowed. “Wow.” Her hands continued massaging the sexy fur, and she felt the prickle of perspiration dot her brow. “And what were you saying about the rug?”
“A little something Lust had specially imported.” He paused. “It’s Joontana fur.”
She shrugged. “What’s that?”
“From an outlying dimension. Joontana fur is highly sought after for its erotic feel. And,” he looked pointedly down at the hands she was still skimming through the fur, “for the aphrodisiac properties in the oils of its fur. They are released by rubbing.”
“Oh.” She pulled back as though she’d been burned, but her palms still tingled. Hell, her entire body tingled, especially between her thighs. She squeezed them together and felt herself moisten. “Sorry. You could have warned me sooner.”
“Hey, the rug was your idea. It was your dream.”
Allister, J. Rose - Immortal Menage [Immortal Paradise 4] (Siren Publishing PolyAmour) Page 12
