Gift of the Goddess

by Denise Rossetti

  A male voice shouted, “Lufra, she’s going!”

  Brin scraped his last reserves together for a final act of will. As he strained, the link flickered and winked out.

  And she was alone again. Alone in her skin. Scoured out and empty.

  Gratefully, she felt the psychic burden overwhelm her physical self, all her senses shutting down, one at a time. As she slipped into cottony darkness, she heard Laran’s voice. “Lufra’s tits, that was close. Come, I’ve got her.”

  The blessed relief lasted no more than a few minutes. Groaning, she levered her eyes open to discover she was cradled in Laran’s arms, her wrists still bound with soft padded restraints made of leather. Jasha, Ged and Berde stood beside him, each with his hand somewhere on her bare skin, maintaining the maddening contact, reminding her of what they’d done to her. Shudders racked her body, so that Laran had to press her to his chest to prevent her from shaking herself to pieces.

  Light from a dozen tall, flaring torches illuminated a circle of grass, gleamed warm on huge pale figures of stone. Beyond the magical space, shadows shifted and rustled in an ominous twilight. Lufra’s temple on the Day of the Dark.

  Thudding softly out of the darkness, drums beat like a dying heart doling out its final days. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  “Scout.” Hoarse, guttural, the whisper was barely recognizable as human.

  Laran set her on her feet, but Anje barely noticed.

  They’d lashed him to a wooden framework, spread-eagled in a star. Brin’s huge, body had been depilated and oiled, every inch of it. In the torchlight, the muscles of his long, brawny thighs, gleamed, bunching. Continuous ripples ran under the smooth, olive-toned skin of his torso and his hips jerked in a carnal rhythm he was obviously powerless to prevent.

  The movement drew Anje’s gaze inexorably to his groin. She surged forward and only the grip of four determined men kept her from him. Whimpering, she stared, licking her lips, while the emptiness in her belly convulsed, contracting and releasing as though she held that giant shaft lodged tight in her sheath. Wetness flooded her thighs.

  The dragon tattoo heaved with his rasping breath and his penis towered straight up past it, unmoving, so congested with blood, the head was a dark, angry purple. Tight around the wide base was a leather cockring, studded with shining metal. It bit cruelly into his turgid flesh. The torchlight caressed every inch of the shaman’s cock with lascivious delight, lingering on the clear fluid that streamed from the inflamed slit in his cock head, tinting it red with fire. She’d never seen anything so magnificent, so rampantly male.

  “Scout.” There it was again.

  Anje met his eyes and staggered. She would have fallen if Laran and Berde had not supported her. His eyes were no longer black, they were blazing pits filled with fire.

  Bottomless.

  Totally ensnared, she stared back, her entire being yearning toward the shaman. Brin grunted as if he’d been gut-punched and threw back his head, the dark hair flying. “We burn, scout,” he rasped, barely audible. “We burn.” His nostrils flared and the frame creaked with strain as he pulled forward, the great muscles contorting.

  Lady Chelisand stepped forward. There were dark shadows under her eyes, but otherwise, she was as composed as ever. “Nearly over,” she said. Glancing around the temple, she said with authority, “Clear the area. Quickly now.”

  People melted silently into the darkness until only Anje and Brin were left, with their teams and Lady Chelisand. “Make your farewells,” she said briskly, pitching her voice to carry over the pulsing beat of the drums.

  Growling deep in her throat, Anje watched as the six priestesses filed past Brin. Tears streaked more than one lovely cheek. Two kissed his mouth, one threw her arms about him and pressed her head to his chest for a long moment. But the other three had the temerity to wrap their mouths around his cock, to run their hands up his long thighs, stroke the cheeks of his beautiful, dragon-kissed ass.

  Mine. My soul. Anje’s rage made her shake so hard, Ged wrapped his arms completely around her from behind, bracketing her with the warmth of his body. It didn’t help, the mindless fury had her clenching her fists so hard, the nails dug crescents in her palms.

  “Goodbye, darling. Good luck.” Jasha took her cheek in his palm and turned her head so he could kiss her mouth.

  Berde bent his head and without a word, sucked a nipple deep into his mouth. Anje couldn’t hold back a cry at the heated, suckling pressure. Brin’s angry rumble echoed around the clearing.

  But it was Laran who brought her undone. Kneeling, he took her thighs in his hands and widened her stance, backing her into Ged’s hard body. Angling his head, he licked up and down her dripping folds, his tongue gentle and absolutely thorough. By the time he stopped, she was crying aloud, in small helpless, jerky whimpers.

  Brin roared with rage and the frame rattled and shook as he fought his bonds. Blood trickled over his chin from where his teeth sank into his lip.

  Laran rose and bowed over her bound hands as if she were a queen. “Be strong, Lady Anje. You can do it.” He glanced at Chelisand. “Ready when you are, Chel.”

  The High Priestess raised a hand and a pure, sexless alto voice snaked out of the darkness, dancing a sensuous counterpoint to the drums.

  Chelisand moved to stand behind the shaman. She said sharply. “Now!” Metal flashed blood-red in the torchlight as she and Laran slashed bonds simultaneously.

  Released, Anje and Brin came together with a thundering shock, breast to breast, thigh to thigh. Anje bent her head to worry at the hot skin of his chest, growling in her throat, her hands skimming frantically up and down the wonderful expanse of his back. He was burning, almost too hot to touch. The shaman’s great arms closed about her like a vise, lifting her off her feet, until they were eye to eye.

  Mewling deep in her throat, Anje fell into the flames there and some fundamental part of her soul sheered off. After the most infinitesimal of hesitations, the dissolution gathered pace, like an avalanche thundering down a mountain. Unstoppable. Destruction incarnate.

  She threw her head back in a scream of defiance, ripping herself free of Brin’s grasp with inhuman strength. The goddess pattern on her back burned like acid, writhing beneath her skin. As she flexed her shoulders, wings snapped out in a great arc of supple, silvery webbing, soft as chamois, tougher than Hssrda-hide. Humanity fled completely. One thrust of her muscled haunches and she was airborne, bugling her triumph, thundering through the canopy of the sorrowtrees, scattering leaves and broken branches behind her.

  Magnificent! Gods, it was magnificent! Waves of energy rippled through her limbs, shimmering on overlapping, scallop-shaped scales. She banked, soaring into a graceful turn, the wind rushing beneath her wings, lifting her to glory.

  Puny human voices drifted up to her from the torch-lit glade. “No! Trey, you can’t—” A woman’s voice rose high and sharp out of an angry tumult. “Get him out of here!” Men shouted and scuffled.

  Not that it mattered. Not when there was such strength and grace in her huge body, such freedom in the expanse of shadowed sky. Streaking over the dark landscape, she twisted and rolled, reveling. A trail of phosphorescence floated in her wake, making her scales gleam with sumptuous hues of amethyst and violet, a spice of indigo on the flanks.

  A huge, gentle voice resonated in her head. “Child.”

  Anje drifted, riding the winds on her silver wings, listening, looking. Her great, faceted eyes pierced the darkness. In a spotlit circle far below, two tiny figures lay entwined on the grass. As she watched, completely indifferent, a man ripped himself from a knot of struggling bodies on the periphery and flung himself over the couple, sprawling full-length.

  “Child.”

  Ah, there.

  Her soul exulting, she turned and launched herself toward the soft veil of fire that filled the horizon, intoxicated by the beauty of it, dazzled, enthralled. From below, a thin, insect voice cried, “Anje, no!”

  Out of now
here, a dark streak shot toward her. She rolled aside, barely in time. A roar of rage shook the sky as he hurtled past and one ruby-tipped talon scored her flank. Anje shrieked in fury and a stream of white-hot fire shot out of her nostrils.

  Somewhat taken aback, but grimly delighted, she surveyed the interloper. He was a handsome beast, black and scarlet, surrounded by a nimbus of golden fire. Although he was heavier in the shoulders and hindquarters, more powerful, she had him beaten for wingspan. As he wheeled through the shadowed sky in a breathtaking display, she glimpsed a huge, pointed phallus, clamped along his belly.

  The voice murmured, “Show me how you dance, pretty ones.”

  Dance? She’d show him a dance he’d never forget. A Mating Flight for the ages.

  With an ear-shattering clap of displaced air and an insolent scream, she sped past him, passing right beneath his arrogant, scaly nose. He was on her like a flash. Stretching her neck, she fled toward the fire, the enormous power of each down stroke propelling her cleanly though the air.

  “Anje, turn back!” For an instant, she faltered. Surely, she knew that voice?

  The heat of the black’s huge body blanketed her back, the downdrafts of his wing beats buffeting her about. With deafening bellow, he clamped his great teeth into her shoulder, holding her steady as they hurtled through the sky. A twist of his massive hindquarters and he’d maneuvered them onto a different trajectory, away from the fire.

  Anje fought. She wanted the black, but she wanted the culmination of the goddess fire too. She deserved the rapture of it, she knew she did.

  “Offer for Me.”

  Pulling in a breath, she swiveled her long neck and directed a careful stream of white flame over the black’s ribs. When he growled and flinched, she ripped herself out of his grasp and darted back toward the pulsing heart of the inferno. As she increased her speed, she caroled her joy aloud. He was right behind her, racing her to glory, desperately trying to overtake, to get between her and the fire.

  She exulted. They’d arrive there together, she and her mate.

  The world-embracing voice said warningly, “Don’t scorch your tails, little ones.”

  “Anje, if you love me, stop! Now!” It reverberated in her skull, startlingly loud. Desperate. Urgent.

  “You’ll die!” She shook her head, trying to block him out, but he was persistent as a biteme. “Brin too, Anje! Brin!”

  An agonized moan. “We love you! Come back!” It dropped to a whispering sob. “You promised! Oh Anje…”

  She slowed her headlong flight, puzzled. Someone loved her? Someone…human? On the thought, the Bond link flared as though it had been waiting to pounce. Green flame twined around her silver, tugging, pulling with shocking strength, like muscled arms banded around her. Gold joined in, caressing her soul, insisting imperiously on her humanity. Dominating, demanding.

  Holy Mother! Brin and Trey!

  The intoxication disappeared as though it had never been.

  All the strength went out of her body. Her wings folded and she dropped like a stone toward the heart of the goddess fire.

  “NOOOO!” The masculine scream echoed in her ears and then cut off abruptly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Feolin—Religion—Lufra:

  The patron deity of the Feolin, Lufra is a goddess of love in all its forms. She may be depicted as Maiden, Mother or Crone. However, her most popular aspect, particularly among Feolin men, is as a divine Harlot, the Lust Dragon—the personification of sexual excess.

  In summary, Lufra embodies the eternal female principle.

  Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

  An eon later, she opened her eyes in a dream. She was cradled in an enormous lap, the Mother’s round, gentle face hanging over her. The goddess smiled and ran a finger over her cheek.

  Tears sprang to Anje’s eyes. “Am I dead?” she asked, like a child.

  A vast, womanly chuckle shook the goddess. “You’re certainly not alive.”

  Anje tried to struggle up, but her limbs and her thoughts were weighted with a delicious lassitude. “Where’s Brin? And Trey?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Oh.” Anje thought about that and frowned. Anger moved slowly through her. “Can’t or won’t?”

  The Mother smiled again. Who’d have thought a divinity would be so blithe? “I like your nerve, child. You please Me.”

  “Don’t see why,” she said stubbornly. “We didn’t offer. And after all that, too!”

  Another deep chuckle. “You’re a delight, Anje. Know that I enjoy your courage and your love as much as your offerings. You shine.”

  Offerings. Anje rubbed her eyes and levered herself upright, clinging to one enormous finger. “Holy Mother, you’re Lufra!” she exclaimed.

  This time, the Mother laughed outright, from the belly like a man. They both rocked with it. “Took you long enough!” She said.

  All amusement left Her voice. “I am all that is Woman. The sweet, the fierce, the weak, the clever. All.” Her features flickered, changing as though molded by a master potter. Maiden, Mother, Crone and Harlot. Anje squeezed her eyes shut, confused and awed.

  Surely, this was a dream? It felt very strange. “I won’t live without them,” she said.

  “Indeed?” The tone was chilly. “You presume, child.”

  Paralyzing dread swept over her, froze her wits. She ducked her head and made herself as small as she could, trembling.

  “They have played their part.” The goddess cupped the back of Anje’s skull in Her palm, implacably gentle. “You, little one, will do as I require. You will do it bravely and with all the love in your heart.”

  “Yes, but…” Anje wet her lips. “Please. It’s Brin and Trey I love.” She dared to glance up at that inhumanly beautiful face. “And Brin’s been true to You all his life.”

  Lufra’s voice rolled like thunder. “Do you dare to bargain with Me?”

  Anje winced. Her mouth was too dry to speak, but her entire being resounded with pleading. I beg You, Holy Mother. Please.

  “Know that my plans are subtle, centuries in the making. Beyond your ken. Still…” An eternity of sheer terror later, the goddess chose to be amused. “You don’t like Me much, do you, child?” Anje ducked her head, her heart pounding. The goddess gave her a tiny shake and her teeth rattled. “I know what you called Me.”

  She smiled and the curve of Her lips made Anje’s head swim. “You’re a lovely morsel, child. So bold. It would serve you right if I kept you. Come here.” Her long fingers met around Anje’s waist as She lifted her up.

  Falling into the star fire of the divinity’s eyes, Anje shuddered, tremors racking her body. She raised a hand to shield herself from the infinite, fire-filled depths. “Offer for Me, darling,” murmured the goddess. Her perfectly sculpted lips descended to press over Anje’s and breathe sweet gusts into her mouth.

  Anje’s soul convulsed with ecstasy. Over and over, in a culmination of every moment of true love and desire she’d ever felt. Her body was part of it, but only a part. Piercing tenderness gripped her, a love so all-encompassing, so powerful, she knew the light would illuminate her soul for as long as it existed. She’d been given a gift beyond price.

  The gift of life.

  Tears streamed down her face and dripped off her chin, pooling in the pit of Brin’s throat. She had both arms and legs wrapped around his huge body, and she was crushed so close that the only way to get closer would be to crawl inside his skin. As he was inside hers.

  His massive cock was rammed as high into the soft folds of her body as it would go and it was rippling with climax, the contractions so violent his entire body jerked with the rhythm. Tortured groans shuddered from his chest.

  Panting, she raised her head. Her throat was scraped so raw she could barely speak. “Brin?” she husked and on the words, a powerful aftershock leaped from her pelvis and ran up her spine to flood her heart with warmth. Quivering, she burrowed
closer.

  His breath stirred her hair as he stilled. “Here.” His trembling hands framed her cheeks. “Oh, love.”

  As they clung together, the light strengthened and the Shadow released its grip on the Sun.

  It was a tiny sound, no more than the shadow of a moan, but Anje glanced down. The sight forced a shriek out of her. “Trey!” She untangled herself and sprang from Brin’s arms. “Gods, no!”

  He lay with one hand clasping Brin’s calf. The other arm, the one he’d draped over her knee, was a ruin, a mass of blisters and burned flesh. His face was turned to one side, chalk-white, ribbons of blood trickling from his nose and ears in a hideously cheerful contrast. A black bruise decorated one side of his jaw. Only his chest moved, the breath rattling in his throat.

  All else was utter silence. There was no one to be seen, just a long avenue of scorched earth the length of the temple, as if a fireball had rolled down the nave, engulfing all in its path.

  Brin moved so fast, he’d cradled the other man against his chest before Anje could open her mouth. “Chel!” he bellowed, heading into the forest at a rapid jog trot. “Chel! Where the bloody hell are you?” Ignoring the flash burn across his ribs, he turned to Anje, his breath coming hard and fast. “Run ahead. Warn them.”

  Anje swerved around him and fled toward the building in the clearing as though fellwolves were on her heels. His shout followed her. “And run a cold bath!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Sun is set, Shadow too.

  Sleep, sweet babe, the dark night through,

  In Lufra’s arms and mine,

  In Lufra’s arms and mine.

  Feolin lullaby (trad.)

  Anje drifted out of sleep, a smile on her lips. Her nose was mashed up against the warm, hard curve of Brin’s biceps and Trey had thrown a heavy leg over hers. She could barely move, though her bladder nagged her to get up. Ignoring the urge, she lay for a moment, luxuriating.