Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1)

by C. M. Michaels

  I’d confessed I’d become a priestess and Goddess Athena’s consort the moment he’d welcomed me home with an amazing, tail-curling kiss. He accepted unequivocally I was a servant to the gods above all else, whatever that entailed, but the information I received through our bond was far more convincing than his kind words. I’d expected him to feel at least a pang of jealously. I mean, who wouldn’t? If I found out he was screwing a goddess I sure as hell wouldn’t be okay with it. He was concerned for me, afraid of what I’d been forced to endure and the effect it would have on my mental wellbeing. He felt helpless that he couldn’t be there to comfort me afterwards and to assure me I had nothing to feel ashamed or guilty about. And he was proud of me, both for becoming Athena’s consort, and for being honest and trusting him enough to confide in him. So much so that he announced the news like I’d just given birth to our little Vanessa. Within minutes I was surrounded by our handmaidens and my sisters, all of them pulling me into congratulatory hugs of their own as they peppered me with questions, only some of which I was able and inclined to answer.

  I’d spent a full week living as a priestess inside the temple. The room High Priestess Deannie set aside for me was across from Zoey’s, below ground on the bottom floor, one of only two rooms without a private turret-shaped balcony or a window of any kind. Consort of a goddess or not, I was the youngest priestess, and rooms were awarded based on seniority. I had to admire her for honoring her long established rules in spite of who I belonged to. Even if that meant I’d been assigned more than my fair share of chores. Each day I had to make my bed and tidy up my room, clean the bathroom I shared with Zoey, beat the dust out of all twenty of the temples area rugs, sweep the wooden floors and take turns cooking meals. In order to prepare myself to meet Athena at dawn, dressed in my transparent sheath with my body oiled and dusted in gold, my cascading waves of golden curls—the goddess had transformed my straight chocolate locks, making me a natural blonde with the fair skinned complexion to match—pulled into the elaborate golden-beaded cornrows she required, my makeup meticulously applied and my nails polished, I had to get up at five AM, leaving me almost no time to sleep.

  Adhering to the dress code for priestesses she called upon during my morning visits was only to keep up appearances. Once we were alone inside her chambers, I put on a full suit of Roman-style armor identical to what Stelios and Kostas wore. We spent the mornings training inside her well-equipped, ultra-private arena, the goddess of war teaching me to wield various shaped swords, axes, tridents, maces, spears and my shield. She held nothing back. I’d been beheaded, impaled, flayed open like a gutted fish, had all of my limbs severed, my throat slit, my skull crushed, my heart ripped out and my face caved in. Whenever I suffered a mortal wound—which never took long—she instantly reformed my body so we could resume the lesson right where we’d left off. She’d explain what had gotten me killed that particular round while I tried to get over the mental trauma of having died again. Knowing my spirit wouldn’t be allowed to pass on didn’t make it hurt any less when she buried an axe in my side or knocked my teeth out with the edge of her iron shield. I took some solace in the fact that she was pleased with my progress. I’d never come close to landing a blow the entire week—I doubted I ever would—but by the end of our last session our exchanges were more drawn out, lasting a minute or two rather than only a few seconds.

  Hand to hand combat was even worse. Her blows seemed to come out of nowhere and shattered bones on impact. I’d barely see her body twitch before my head was rocked backward by another punishing right hand, a spinning kick, an elbow or a knee. I tried getting in close to tie her up, hoping I’d have better luck grappling with her, but she was a master of every form of martial arts I’d ever been exposed to while training with Austin along with countless styles I’d never even seen before. After taking me down she’d finish me, stomping on my throat to collapse my windpipe, smashing my head against the marble floor, gouging out my eyes or snapping my neck. There was no mercy. Sometimes she’d break one of my arms or stab me in the side with her dagger then force me to get up and continue. The round didn’t end until I was dead. It was barbaric, but I had to learn to keep fighting even after I’d been injured. It wasn’t like the elves were going to let me tap out the moment shit started to go south. And if I fell, as the fates foretold I would, no one—not even the gods—would be able to reanimate my corpse. Athena’s reset button only worked while I was in spirit form in Mt. Olympus. In my natural body I was all too mortal.

  In the afternoon, while Athena attended to her official pantheon duties, I returned to the temple to catch up on my chores, grab something to eat and hang out with my mom—I really did think of Deannie that way in spite of the brief time I’d known her—and whichever of my sisters were around. Deannie went out of her way to make sure I felt comfortable living in the temple and was successfully adjusting to my life as a consort. The long talks she had with me the first few days, after the lust-driven euphoria from the previous night had waned and the overwhelming guilt, disgust and utter humiliation had set in—aided by her unique ability to envelope my mind in a blanket of positive emotions—were the only thing that kept me sane.

  Whether due to close geographic proximity, or the fact that we were the same age and both relatively new at serving as priestesses, I’d grown especially close to Zoey as well. She was an accomplished artist specializing in landscapes, and was determined to turn me into her protégé. She had her work cut out for her. My skill level was more along the lines of the paint by numbers kits I’d toyed around with as a child. In exchange, I was teaching her to swim in a pristine lake nestled within a dense forest teeming with wildlife about three miles behind our temple. Technically, we were trespassing onto the section of Mt. Olympus dedicated to Ares and the other gods and goddesses of war—where Deannie’s mother, Enyo, lived—but priestesses from our temple had been following the well-worn path through the gorgeous meadows and lush valleys for centuries. No wonder, given how void of life our own section of Mt. Olympus was. The breathtaking vistas were the inspiration for almost all of Zoey’s paintings. When the gods called upon her I helped prepare her whenever I could, both to give us more time to hang out together and to ensure her appearance would be flawless. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being whipped. In spite of the fact that she was actually two months older than me, she kind of felt like my kid sister.

  When I returned to Goddess Athena’s castle, just after dinner each day, her servants would prepare me for whatever fantasy she had in mind for the evening. She seemed to especially enjoy putting me on display, so all the gods could see she’d transformed the once fiercely independent Syreni warrior queen into her well-trained, completely submissive pet. If any wondered if I’d truly become her consort, seeing even one of her exhibitions would put an end to their skepticism. There wouldn’t be any reason for them to start asking questions that could ultimately uncover my training.

  The first night she’d hosted a dinner gathering in her formal dining room for all seven of the deities I worshipped: her parents, Poseidon and Amphitrite, her brother, Triton, Neptune and his wife, Salacia, and their daughter, Minerva. Her twenty-foot, elegantly carved mahogany masterpiece had been replaced with an oval shaped contraption about the size of a bar table with a sloped top and five holes drilled through the surface. I was positioned as the centerpiece, lying on a downward angle with my pelvis propped up in the air and my knees spread wide apart. My arms and feet were tucked through the holes and bound together beneath the table as well as to the long golden braid of my hair, completely immobilizing my body.

  After one of Athena’s beautiful female servants coated my breasts in a thick layer of ice-cold cocktail sauce, jumbo shrimp were positioned neatly around them from the base to my nipples, forming symmetrical seafood pyramids. An assortment of fresh-from-the-oven breads, gourmet crackers and fine cheeses was laid out across my abdomen with care. My lips were spread wide to accommodate the warmed ceramic, cinnamon-butt
er filled dish that was shoved into my mouth. I laid there, completely helpless, while another of her servants packed my vagina so full of strawberries they were falling out of me onto the table. Using butter knives, both servants set to work decorating my groin with fancy swirls of whipped crème and strawberry syrup, from my soft velvet folds to the inside of my thighs, the design as precise as a wedding cake. A fruit medley of grapes, cherries, blueberries, raspberries and pineapple slices covered the rest of my legs all the way down to my knees. To top off my transformation into a living serving tray, a long, ripe banana—still in the peel—was shoved up my thoroughly-cleansed behind all the way to the stem.

  The table top rotated, so each guest could turn me toward them and help themselves to whatever hors d’oeuvres they desired. Not surprisingly strawberries were the fan favorite, retrieved in as roundabout of fashion as possible, often involving multiple fingers and a tongue. The shrimp were a crowd pleaser, too, mainly because the preferred method of obtaining the cocktail sauce to accompany them was by licking it off my breasts. I’m pretty sure the only reason anyone ever took a banana was so they could watch Athena’s servants replenish the supply by sliding another one up my ass.

  Each of the six courses was served the same way. When it came time for desert, warm cherry cobbler was forced into me through what looked like a large cake frosting bag, filling me completely. Strips of pie crust coated in heavy crème and dusted in cane sugar were placed over the top in a lattice pattern. A suction pump was used to draw my breasts up inside conical-shaped clear plastic cylinders that were soon packed with French vanilla ice cream straight from the freezer. The ice-cold burn brought tears to my eyes long before the sensitive tissue finally went numb. For the finishing touch, the rest of my body was drizzled in thin beads of warm caramel sauce and chocolate. All of the deities I worshipped took great joy in licking it off me.

  When Neptune and Salacia politely requested after everyone had finished their espresso that I be allowed to accompany them back to their castle for the evening, Athena turned him down flat, much to the chagrin of her father, who did his best to amend her brash refusal, adding a bit more diplomatic touch while being careful not to undermine her ownership of me. Athena was willing to share me up to a point—on her terms—but she decided where that line was drawn, and refused to back down to anyone.

  They all sipped their wine and traded lighthearted banter while I was untied and led from the room. Her servants wiped me down with sponges and rinsed me out inside before giving me a long, luxurious bath, the water so hot it was almost scalding. Once I was clean, they worked olive oil into my dry skin as they relieved the stiffness in my back, legs, shoulders and arms from being bound to a wooden table for hours. My long golden curls, which stretched to my hips, were brushed to a luxurious shine and pulled into the familiar cornrows of tight beaded braids. After applying my makeup and dusting my body in gold they placed my golden cage sandals on my feet and dressed me in my golden-trimmed toga style robe, the skirt barely reaching my thighs. My sex and my breasts were sprayed with lavender-scented perfume before they delivered me to Athena’s private chambers.

  She was waiting for me at the side of her canopy-draped four poster bed, dressed in black leather pants, lace up stiletto boots and a cropped red leather bustier, casually waving a flogger back and forth through the air. Next to her on the black satin sheets rested a virtual mountain of BDSM play toys that made me visibly gulp. Dear gods. What had I gotten myself into?

  When I awoke the next morning—having blacked out at some point after what must have been at least my tenth orgasm, my human mind no longer capable of processing such intense, unrelenting stimulation—I was back in my bed inside the temple. I’d been dressed in the softest silk pajamas I’d ever laid my hands on. Gold of course, with Athena embroidered above my left breast in raised white lettering. A sealed white envelope addressed only to “consort” had been placed on the bed beside me. Inside was a lavender-scented card containing a short handwritten message. The moment I finished reading the card turned to dust in my hands.

  My beautiful Camithia,

  I have never had a more enthusiastic lover. Your sinfully wicked tongue should be bronzed and placed in a shrine for all of the gods to revere.

  In the nights to come, exhibiting such disciplined and compliant behavior at my public events, as you did this evening, we’ll convince even the most skeptic deities from our rival pantheons that the queen of the Syreni has indeed become my consort.

  Sleep well. Your training has just begun.

  Your Goddess, Athena

  *******

  With a lightning quick flash of his tail, Aristos flipped me over, snapping me out of my reverie. There was nothing at all gentle about the way he was slamming himself into me now. Thank the gods. Even when he was pressing against my womb it wasn’t deep enough. I yearned for the feel of his thick cock stretching me to my very limits. Each violent thrust drove me back against the pile of furs that lined our bed and brought me closer to another heart stopping climax. His glistening emerald lips and probing tongue claimed my mouth in savage kisses as his fingers twisted and pulled on my pierced nipples. In desperation, I traced the emerald glyph tattoos on his chest with my nails, hoping to anchor myself before my body shattered apart yet again. The moment his thumb found my most sensitive spot, just above the base of my soulcras, I was lost. I let out an endless series of ear splitting, high pitched chirps as I ground against him, milking his shaft with my tight muscles, pumping electrical current into his body like a raging inferno through my glowing neon soulcras until his aching balls rallied to the cause once more. He pulled back just far enough for me to gaze into his dark chocolate eyes. He looked so adorable staring down at me as he filled me with his seed, as if I was the most cherished prize in the universe and he was never letting me go. That was fine by me.

  When the aftershocks finally eased enough for me to catch my breath, I leaned up and gently kissed him, the tip of my tongue tracing the top of his lower lip. The secretions protecting our lips acted as a wonderful conduit, allowing the electrical charges our tongues emitted to cause a delicious sting that made even the lightest of embraces incredibly arousing. I love you, Ris. Becoming your compar and the mother of your child is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  The warmth of Aristos’s radiant smile lit up his eyes as he framed my face with his strong hands, his fingers grasping the back of my neck. You are my life, Cami. You’ve given me everything. I can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to make the gods think I deserved you. How are you… feeling?

  I chirped out a laugh. You mean, am I still too horny to travel? I’m sated. For the time being, anyway. No guarantees I won’t jump your bones before we even get half way to the ice cap.

  He gave me a dopey, lopsided smile as he stroked his thumb along my lower lip. Is that a promise? I’ve always wanted to make love to you in your battle armor.

  I give his storm-grey braid a firm tug, wrapping it around my hand to pull back his head, my teeth nibbling the lobe of his ear. You should have thought of that before you added the chain mail sheath to my armor. With that stretched over top of the iron contraption Taleoek built to cage my soulcras, you’d have more luck bedding a cutterfish.

  It’s more of a diplomatic mission, really. The armor is just symbolic. Perhaps we could leave the abdominal flap open like we’ll do when you’re in labor and allow your soulcras to go unbound. You don’t seem to have any issues controlling them.

  The male was incorrigible. We’d done nothing but mate the last two days, taking a break only when he forced me to eat or we both passed out from exhaustion, and he was still gunning for more. Mhmm. Neither of us would let me swim across thirty miles of open ocean and meet with the raptor leaders—allies or not, they’re still twenty-three foot, one-hundred-and-eighty pound birds of prey with razor sharp talons and beaks that could snap me in half—without taking every possible precaution to protect Vanessa. Now get off me before
I get all worked up again. We were supposed to leave an hour ago.

  While the raptor lands were due south of us on the far side of the Ceraspian mountain range, the rendezvous point for our secretive meeting lied in the opposite direction, several miles beneath the polar ice cap covering the north end of our region. Griffins lacked the insulating layer of blubber and thick under fur required to survive in such a harsh climate, making it unlikely we’d be spotted. Only Aristos, General Lanipas—who’d arranged the meeting due to his regions proximity to the raptor lands—and the king knew our exact destination. It would be up to Aristos to guide our small envoy to a five foot hole in a two-thousand-mile-wide sheet of ice. Given the frigid water, even a few minutes of searching could force us to abandon the meeting and return home. If he succeeded, it would be up to me as King Celandor’s official delegate to convince our raptor allies—in spite of the heavy casualties they’d already suffered fighting on our behalf—to buy in to my plan and agree to help us. It was my first diplomatic mission as queen of the Syreni.

  Thinking about the monumental task ahead seemed to sober both of our moods. We said almost nothing to each other as Armiele and Ellieandra bathed us in shealing oil and helped us into our armor. My body had almost completely healed while I’d been in Mt. Olympus, thank the gods. The splints had been removed from my fingers, which seemed to have a full range of motion, and most of the cuts on my body had closed. My rib was still a little tender if I bent wrong, and the gash across my face was still clearly visible even with the stitches removed, but all in all I couldn’t complain. Being able to inhabit different bodies had its advantages.

  Once I was suited up, Armiele packed a whale bladder satchel with enough tiger fish rolls, widow crab and honeytails to feed us all and fastened it to the bottom of my breastplate in the small of my back, keeping my hands free to draw the double-edged broadsword and jeweled dagger that were sheathed at my waist. She even threw in some lion thumb sea peppers even though they were out of season and almost impossible to come by.