Alpha Goddess

by Amalie Howard

  “To get to Illysia,” Sera finished, the realization hitting her with full force. “I thought you said he was banished from entering this realm?”

  “We think that he has found another way to get beyond the wards of his exile,” her mother offered softly. “Celestial wards bind him from returning here, but he must have circumvented them somehow.”

  A thought occurred to Sera, and she stared at her father for a long minute. “Dad? Before, when you say you were his blood-brother, were you like him, too?”

  Her father’s eyes turned sad. “Yes. As Azrath was known as the Azura Lord of Death, so I was known as the Azura Lord of Judgment. I sentenced. He punished. For what it’s worth, I was fair to those who came before me.”

  “It was the reason I sought him out,” her mother said. “He was the only one who could help me find Azrath and defeat the rakshasa demon.”

  Sera frowned, her heart heavy. “What made you do it, Dad? What made you turn against your brother?”

  Sera felt the strong need to reconcile the fact that her father had been Azura with everything she knew about him. She needed to know what her father being Azura made her. She didn’t miss the tender glance her parents exchanged or the way her father slid her mother’s hand into his and squeezed her fingers.

  “I did it for her,” he said simply. “Azrath was killing her. I couldn’t let her die.”

  “And the Trimurtas forgave you for your sacrifice, so now you’re human.” Sera studied her fingernails, trying to make sense of everything she’d just learned. “You said Daeva were guardians on Earth. They protect people from the Azura?”

  “Yes,” her mother responded. “The Daeva fight to protect humanity and the good in people, and the Azura to defeat and diminish it. Man’s capacity for love has always been undermined by his desire to destroy. Illysia has to fight for its souls as much as Xibalba does.” Her mother’s face grew troubled. “Lately, with the Fyre assaults, it has become much more difficult.”

  “Fyre?” Sera’s head snapped up. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten as Jude and Kyle popped into her head. Something ugly unfurled inside of her, and an odd coldness settled over her shoulders. “What is Fyre, exactly?”

  At this, Sophia’s face paled, like a ghost. Her shoulders twitched in some kind of phantom pain, and she leaned heavily against Sam. Sera’s trepidation mounted as her stomach began a slow, nauseating free fall. Her mother’s voice came out in a pained rasp.

  “Fyre comes from deifyre. From us, when we die,” her mother whispered, tears soaking her cheeks. Sera shrank back from the expression on her face, her heart plummeting to the floor. So Fyre was real. It came from gods. Dead gods. Her blood turned to ice inside of her as everything connected at that instant, crashing together like monstrous cymbals.

  Gods. Demons. Fyre. Jude. Daeva.

  Kyle.

  AZRATH

  Kyle sat in the passenger seat of Marcus’s car, staring mindlessly out the window. What had happened with the Yoddha had been earth-shattering for him. Jude had gone back into the barn after the goddess was dead and had seemed satisfied. He hadn’t asked Kyle any questions, preoccupied as he’d been with getting the precious cargo to Azrath, and had taken off quickly afterward.

  “Make sure it burns to the ground,” he’d told Marcus with a scowl at the dilapidated building and then at Kyle. “And bring him with you to Lord Azrath after it’s done.”

  He’d turned to Kyle, his smile little more than a sneer. “Nice work. It’s about time we made it official. I’ll tell Lord Azrath of your commitment and you can swear your fealty to him yourself.”

  In the car, Kyle was torn. What he’d wanted for so long was now about to become a reality: immortality on Earth just for the tiny fee of his soul. Before, doing whatever Jude and Azrath wanted seemed like a small price to pay given the alternative—eternity in the Dark Realms—but now, everything he’d believed was upended.

  Kyle held a palm up, and it shook uncontrollably.

  “That’s because you’re human,” Marcus said with a laugh, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

  “What?”

  “The shaking. It’s natural for humans. Ifrit don’t suffer from emotion.” Marcus grinned. “Just pleasure.”

  “Will it go away?”

  Marcus’s smile widened into a rictus grin. “After you’ve killed enough of them, sure.”

  Kyle felt the bile rise into his throat again and fought the wave of sickness down. There was no way he could ever do this again. Nothing made sense to him anymore. His plan had always been to pledge himself to Azrath and to escape Xibalba. And with Jude boasting about Azrath’s coming apocalypse, Kyle still wanted to make sure that he was aligned with the right side, if only to protect Sera. The warrior goddess had been wrong about him. He was worse than the Azura. His real father had made sure of that.

  Kyle’s mind jerked back to the last time he’d seen his mother, lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, a long wooden-handled blade slipping from her hand. She had tried to kill him and slipped, impaling herself instead. “You are cursed,” she’d gurgled.

  Kyle had stood petrified as she writhed, watching her transform before his eyes into something monstrous. She spoke again, as if possessed, in a different, terrible voice—a male voice. “Take heed, my son. You belong to Xibalba. In your seventeenth year, you shall return. That I promise you.”

  The thing that had been his mother laughed, its tone chilling.

  The police had found him there in the kitchen, screaming, sitting beside his dead mother. It had taken four grown men to hold him down in order to sedate him. Kyle was placed in state foster care soon after that. From that moment on, the young Kyle lived with a reckless abandon and such careless disrespect for his own life that he’d been sentenced to a Juvenile Youth Hall four times before his twelfth birthday. The memory of what had happened that night had faded to something dull and colorless. He’d rationalized that if he was cursed and going to hell anyway, he’d do it in grand style.

  Until he’d met Sera, Kyle had had no reason to change. He’d never had a friend, never felt real love. But the minute he’d met her, all Kyle wanted was Sera. He needed her. He’d do anything to avoid going to Xibalba, even if it meant sacrificing others just to remain near her.

  Suddenly, Kyle’s head ached, the skin of his skull pulling tight. The dragon wings were stretching painfully along his head, almost separating from the flesh that held them prisoner. Kyle glanced over at Marcus’s arms and saw the tattoos along them undulating. Marcus turned to him and smiled.

  “Happens when we’re close to a portal,” he said. “Are you afraid, half-breed?”

  “Don’t call me that. And no, I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be,” Marcus sneered, pulling off the road in front of a small, dilapidated shack. Jude’s car was already there.

  Even before Marcus stepped out of the car, the smell of burning sulfur stung Kyle’s nostrils. Everything about this place felt dark, evil. A cloud of ice descended into his bones, chasing away any life with its dead fingers. It sank deeper with every breath.

  “Come along,” Marcus said as if he were talking to a stray dog. He’d already begun to transform, his face rippling into a leathery, puckered mask akin to a horned lizard. Grotesque black webbed wings extended beneath his arms, his body enshrouded in hazy flames. Kyle blinked but Marcus’s form remained—the Ifrit’s true form.

  He’d seen glimpses of Ifrit before, but the flashes had always disappeared after a couple seconds. This time, though, it wasn’t a mere glimpse. Marcus’s human form had metamorphosed into a terrifying hulking creature with dead eyes and a razor-sharp triangular beak, and Kyle had to keep reminding himself that it was only Marcus. One of the Ifrit’s yellow eyes winked as it hunkered past him, slipping through the open doorway, a string of guttural sounds falling from its lips. Kyle still shuddered.

  “Take a breath,” he whispered to himself harshly. “You’re going to meet Azrath,
something you’ve always wanted. Don’t punk out now!”

  He followed Marcus to the doorway of the shack and bumped against something very solid—an unseen barrier. The doorway was open but he couldn’t go through it. The darkness of the shack was impenetrable.

  What the hell?

  “Marcus?” he called out, his fingers resting against the invisible wall in front of him.

  Without warning, a taloned hand ripped through the fabric of air just beneath his chin and grasped his neck, jerking him carelessly through the portal. The tattooed wings on his head stretched so tightly, it felt as though his skin was ripping away from his skull one shaved hair at a time. Hot bile soared into his chest.

  Suddenly he was kneeling on a white marble floor, dry-retching to the sound of cacophonous laughter. Swallowing past the knot in his throat, Kyle stood his watery eyes focusing on a tall figure moving down a staircase toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he registered the human forms of Marcus and Jude across the room, lounging on pillowed white sofas. They continued laughing.

  Kyle stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding him. A massive bone-white marble staircase curved in front of him, flanked by carved ivory pillars. The pure white of everything was confusing, but he didn’t have time to focus as something approached him.

  In his confusion, he registered that the being was Azura, but there was something else, too—something that was opposite of what Azura energy should have felt like. It was similar to Daeva energy, which couldn’t be the case. Kyle shook his head to clear the murkiness. The portal had made his head fuzzy.

  Shadows filled his bleary vision as a person dressed in a red dress stopped in front of him. “Welcome, Kyle,” a lilting voice said. “I am, as you may have guessed, Lord Azrath.”

  “But … you’re a woman!” Kyle stuttered. A musical laugh spilled from the woman’s mouth.

  “I am many things,” Azrath said. “Does this form suit better?”

  Suddenly, she shifted into a tall slender man with platinum white hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore a tailored suit and an arrogant expression. Kyle gaped.

  “Or perhaps this?” the man said, his voice deep and masculine.

  Azrath shifted again, but this time his figure rose to more than eight feet tall. Blood-red dragon-like wings arced above and behind his arms. The creature was terrible and beautiful at the same time. Its face was perfect in its symmetry, artistic lines of smooth fire and ebony, with eyes like burning coals—eyes that boasted of hidden horrors and unseen agonies.

  The Azura Lord of Death.

  Kyle’s breath caught in his throat. His hands fluttered in front of him, useless, and he felt the bile rise again in his throat.

  “Or this?” The monster’s voice was mellifluous, at odds with its horrific exterior yet strangely familiar, as it began yet another effortless transformation. This time, Kyle backed away on his hands, scuttling across the room as the figure of his mother strode toward him.

  “No. You’re dead!” Kyle whispered.

  “Am I?” his mother said mockingly. “Perhaps I should finish the job I failed to do?” she said, walking toward Kyle, hand outstretched.

  Kyle cringed and closed his eyes. The barest, gentlest touch made his eyes snap open. His “mother” had shifted forms to the woman he’d first seen. She knelt beside him and drew his shaking body into a soft embrace.

  “It’s all right,” she soothingly cooed against his ear. A scent of rose curled around him, but beneath it lay something cloying and sour with a touch of death—more like dying roses on a grave. Kyle shivered involuntarily and the woman pulled him closer.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said to him. “Most of it isn’t real.” She laughed, the sound like tinkling crystal. “Sometimes the ones destined for Xibalba face the ones they’ve wronged the most. Other times, it’s loved ones or feared ones. For you, that could be your mother.”

  “How do you … ” Kyle murmured, trailing off amid her embrace. “She said I was … cursed.”

  Another laugh. “And so you are. But to me your curse has been a windfall, and you shall be rewarded for your loyalty, my darling boy.” Her voice was magnetic, seductive.

  Kyle looked up into her face. In her female form, Azrath was beautiful. Striking would be more fitting, with the darkest curling hair and emerald green eyes. Her skin was like rich cream. She was sultry and provocative, a courtesan with the face of an angel, the timeless dichotomy of the sinner and the saint. She smiled into his eyes and Kyle felt blissful. He shook it off roughly, steeling himself. He knew exactly what Azrath was and that this form was just an illusion.

  “Jude has told me so much about you,” she continued, drawing him up as she stood. “Now that you’ve proved yourself worthy, I’d like you to join me.”

  “Just like that? That’s it?” Kyle almost breathed a sigh of relief as Jude and Marcus began cackling.

  “Not so much,” Jude said with a sneer. “You have to get through the initiation.”

  “I thought I did before in the barn?”

  Marcus grinned. “That was just a taste, half-breed. Now for the ritual.”

  “Calm down, boys,” Azrath laughed. She walked toward the sofa and sat, the slit in her dress falling open to reveal long, slender legs. Kyle hastily averted his eyes. “Come,” she said to Kyle. He obeyed and sat beside her as she’d indicated. “Leave us,” she commanded the others. They, too, obeyed without question.

  “You must swear loyalty to me and renounce any other,” Azrath told him. “After the ritual, in death, you will be bonded to me in service forever.”

  “The ritual?”

  Her voice was like a caress. “You have to die to serve me, Kyle. You will become Azura, immortal as I am, and more powerful than you ever imagined.”

  “In this realm?”

  “Yes, and in Xibalba when I choose to have you accompany me after we have opened the portals between the realms.” She tapped the side of his head gently, her fingers tracing the wings. “These tattoos, the mark of the Ifrit, connect you to Jude as pack leader, but you won’t need them anymore.” She studied him like a cat toying with a mouse. The foul stench under the roses grew stronger, and Kyle almost gagged. “Before the ritual, I want to see for myself what you see—this ability of yours intrigues me. And so, you must let me into you and we will become as one.”

  “Let you into me? Like a possession?” Kyle asked, almost gasping for breath. Whatever she was doing, it was near impossible to resist. Her eyes were so luminous and compelling. Kyle thought he understood now why she’d chosen this form. It would be easier to get what she wanted from him—seduction was, after all, one of the tools of sin.

  She laughed. “Yes, that’s as accurate as anything, I suppose. I will know your every thought, and whether you are as loyal to me as you claim.”

  Kyle felt the air leave his body. She would see everything inside of him. He thought about what he knew about Sera’s mother and suddenly his plan seemed full of so many holes that he couldn’t breathe. The Ifrit would find and kill her immediately—he knew it. Then they’d kill him, if Azrath didn’t do so first.

  He felt Azrath’s soft caress against his head and steeled himself from flinching. Her touch, so soft before, suddenly felt menacing. He knew Azrath would discover that he lied to Jude and, in effect, betrayed her. He was worse than dead, as far as he could tell, and there was nothing he could do about it. Azrath slipped an ugly bone-colored dagger from a red sheath lying on a table next to the sofa.

  Kyle tensed. She had said that he would have to die. For a second, he wondered whether it would be painful. Azrath smiled as if reading his thoughts and leaned closer. She stroked his leg, her hands slipping along his thigh. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt, if that’s what you are afraid of. Now, let’s begin the ritual.”

  Without warning, an explosion rocked the floor of the room. The white pillars shook as Jude and Marcus rushed toward them.

  “The portal, Lord Azrath!” Jude screamed
.

  Azrath’s face twisted with rage. Her ebony hair seemed alive, burning like liquid black fire and making Kyle think of the Gorgon in Greek mythology. He shrank back at her rage.

  “Samsar,” she gritted through clenched teeth. Something clicked in Kyle’s head and he realized that it was the name the warrior goddess had called just before she’d died. Samsar.

  “Go!” she snarled toward Marcus and Jude. “Destroy them.” She turned to Kyle, her eyes now the color of ichor, yellowish-green bile. “We shall have to finish this ritual another time. Being discovered here will undermine everything.” Azrath leaned in toward him. As she came closer, Kyle noticed a deep red scar running from the base of her ear into her neckline. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his cold lips. Her breath was hot and tasted of cinnamon spice mixed with something sour. “Stay close to the Ifrit. You will have your wish soon. Serve me, and you will be rewarded with your every desire.”

  And with that she was gone in a swirl of black mist. Kyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, resisting the urge to spit.

  But he had worse things to worry about. The whites of the walls had begun to crumble in front of his eyes, and suddenly he wasn’t standing in the cavernous room anymore but within the dark walls of the shack he’d encountered when they’d first arrived. Bolts of white fire speared the darkness beyond the doorway and he moved toward it on shaky feet.

  Marcus and Jude flung their black whips repeatedly as they fought against a blur of gold, but they were no match for its speed. Golden fire tore through their limbs, and with howls of agony, they fled into the blackness of the night sky. Their pursuer did not chase them but rather stood still until the shine of gold dimmed to a pale white glow.

  It was the boy from the barn.

  “Child,” the boy greeted him. “Stand behind me. I must destroy this place.”

  Kyle did as he’d asked and watched the boy wield a thin strand of deifyre from his fingertips that swung around the entire structure. The glow was almost blinding and Kyle felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. The shack looked the same and the smell of ichor had disappeared. He turned to the boy.