by LJ Vickery
She hadn’t let her eyes fall to her monster-man’s privates, but the possibilities of tendril vs. stump had her imagination running riot. Verrie shook her head. Criminy. She’d been without a man so long, even swamp-thing was looking good to her. Of course, knowing Dumuzi was underneath somewhere didn’t hurt.
“So, where do we go from here?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, giving his face another once over. Not expecting an answer, she also wasn’t expecting his lightning fast motion. A long coil of green whipped past her head and without hesitation, returned to the cell just as quickly. At the jingling noise, Verrie understood he’d just snagged the cell door’s keys from the hook across the room.
“Well, what the fuck, Muze?” Candy’s voice was equal parts humor and incredulousness. “You’ve been fucking with us? You could have grabbed those keys whenever you wanted, you bad-ass monster.” She struggled to bring herself back under control. “Shit, Jake, we’ve been totally had.”
Jake was clearly reluctant to join the swamp-thing-good fest. “It doesn’t make any difference. He’s still dangerous. Did you see the gash he put in Sham earlier?” His scowling face returned to the action at the cage. “We’re staying right here, Muze. Just so you know, I have a tranque gun filled with herbicide, so don’t piss me off.”
Dumuzi ignored the agent, and Verrie watched as his smart little tendril placed the purloined key into the lock and turned. It snicked open, and the monster, once the cell door swung open, sent new greenery out to surround Verrie. The fresh foliage drew her into the cage.
It had been fairly easy to maintain a degree of calm while bars separated her from swamp-god, but Verrie found herself shaking anew as she was quickly pulled inside, and the barred door closed behind her. Another grunt and she was towed across the cell to the corner where Dumuzi had been hunkering earlier. He settled back on…haunches and pulled Verrie onto his lap. The impact didn’t jar. He instead rocked like a waterbed—not bad. On another note, she did feel her clothes were becoming mud-soaked, so yup, he was as wet as he looked.
Verrie began to relax again. With the absence of any aggressive moves on her mate’s part, she thought she could handle this. As long as Emesh kept up with his impression of the sun and she didn’t catch a chill from all the damp, she could hold out.
How long does Dumuzi normally stay in this form? She sent her words upward, hoping to get a response from Marduk.
He’s usually out for a good two hours. Sometimes three.
Verrie nodded to herself after receiving the answer. It was about twice the amount of time her demon induced torment sessions. That made sense. If what he was experiencing was protective-mode, he’d want to make good and sure she was over the assault before he changed back. Verrie allowed herself to pat one of the branches that held her in place. She might have another hour or two to wait. What could she do to get to know him better?
When several verdant curlicues began to move, conducting a wiggling search of her person, Verrie knew the swamp monster must have been asking himself the same question. Okay, so he wanted to explore a little. That was fine. It was all very innocent…until one green tendril began working its way down the front of her shirt. She gave it a sharp smack.
“Hey, buddy. You can stop right there.” She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin to look him full in the face, up close and personal. “While I might be interested in playing games with Dumuzi later, I’m certainly not going to give you first dibs on what I have to offer. Got it? Now back off.”
The spiral withdrew hastily and hid back amongst the other sprouts in the thick, braided arm. Huh. That had gone well. Maybe she should turn the tables?
“Not that I’m averse to exploring a little more of you.” Verrie watched him thoughtfully to see what his reaction would be. Was that a flicker of interest in his big brown pools?
Remembering how much Dumuzi had enjoyed her dominant tendencies in the closet, she speculated that swamp-guy might be open to the same thing. When, if ever, had anyone dared to stand up to him while he was in this guise? Oh sure, they’d fought him, subdued him, but had anyone ever tried ordering him around? Attempting to get inside the psyche of a monster, Verrie ruminated perhaps a big-ass being would get tired of always making the hard choices to terrorize or…kill. Okay. Not so much that one, but didn’t everyone need a break sometimes from being alpha? It wouldn’t hurt to try…Verrie hoped.
“Okay, mud-monster. Let me go and get on your feet,” she rapped out a no-nonsense command.
Holy shit. He snapped to it. This could be good.
“Hands at your sides, and no sneaky little guys poking out, you got me?” Dumuzi did as she asked with alacrity, and Verrie heard Candy snicker from outside the cell.
You go girl. Enlil loves it when I play boss, too, she sent. But don’t tell anybody, he likes to pretend he’s always in charge.
Verrie cut back a smirk. She really liked the kick-ass women in this household. If she stayed, they would all be great role models for Sienna.
She got back to business with her swamp-partner. “I’m going to run my hands over your arms to see how you’re put together,” Verrie told him. “But you will hold completely still. Grunt once if you understand.”
He gave a deep snuffle. Good.
She laid her palms on his shoulders.
For someone who was wet and in a basement, Dumuzi was surprisingly warm. Emesh’s doing? She didn’t know. Her fingers trailed down her swamp man’s arms, between hills and valleys that completely resembled the muscle and tendon structure of that which lay beneath everyone’s skin. Funny. That’s exactly what it looked like. Muze’s insides were on the outside…and brown and green, she chuckled to herself. When she was satisfied with his arms, she went to his pecs.
“I’m going to explore your chest now,” she lowered her lashes, “and if you’re a good boy, I’ll go further south.” In reality, she had no intention of going for his man-parts, but it would keep him on his toes if he thought otherwise. His whole body tightened up in front of her, proving her point.
Verrie’s hands ran across the thick, ropey lengths of hardness that laid striated across his upper torso. She located a small knot and gave it a tweaking tease, pleased to see his startled jump. Yup. She’d found a nipple.
Biting her tongue against a “hell, yeah,” she dipped lower, bypassing what she thought might be his bellybutton, and moved her hand right to left, then left to right from muddy hip to muddy hip. There was a hard to ignore, impressive piece of wood that stuck up between them, trying its darndest to get in her way, but she deftly avoided it. She finally removed her fingers from his hips and stepped back to an accompanying unhappy chuff from her new friend. He started to reach for her hand.
“Uh-uh.” She gave him a slight slap on the wrist. “I’m in charge, here,” she reminded the monster. “Now stretch out your wings.”
Verrie held her breath in anticipation. Of all the interesting places on her swamp-man’s body, his wings had most intrigued her. They looked so moss-like and soft. She couldn’t wait to caress them. He extended them from his body with a small whoosh.
“Lovely,” she murmured, taking in the fine network of viridian growth that flourished over an argillaceous base. She smoothed her palms across the lush surface and preened to see the big beast shiver at the contact. “Ahh, you like that.” She deepened her touch and received…not a purr…not a hum, but certainly a rumble of some sort that gave voice to his pleasure.
The call of his softness had her putting her hand explorations on hold to rest her head against one cradling appendage. Mmm. It was so cushy. She let out a huge yawn. It had been a damned long day, and the combination of coming off a drunken whirl, an adrenaline high, and a power play had done Verrie in.
“What do you say we curl up for a nap?” she asked, and without a word, her new beau scooped her into his arms and settled her once again on his lap. Only this time, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and wrapped both of them up in his wings
.
Verrie smiled over the top edge of his aileron, wiggling her hand free and giving a thumbs up to Jake, Candy, Emesh, and Douglas, who were all looking at her with varying degrees of astonishment.
“Lights out, immortals?”
She didn’t get an answer from any of the deities who looked resigned they would be settling down for a long wait. The comment instead came unexpectedly from Matthew in the cell across the way.
“Now I know why you guys always win. You’re all fucking nuts.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dumuzi came slowly awake, and without opening his eyes, he sniffed. Wet dog? Nope. He shifted his weight. Shit. It wasn’t Archie snuggled up to him. The god lifted a hand to the warmth smashed up against him, and his fingers curled around…fuck. Was that the underside of a breast? Gods-dammit, this wasn’t his dog. It was…shit and fucking no way. It was Verrie. Was she crazy? Had she confronted his swamp-side? Did she have a death wish?
He tore his eyes open and found himself staring into her bright, swallowtail-blue depths which at the moment held more than just a hint of…amusement? What? Was she frigging kidding him? He had to be hallucinating. She hadn’t really entered his cell and confronted his alter-self, had she? Dumuzi blinked, then groaned when she flashed her teeth in a wide smile. Hell yeah, she had. And that pissed him off. He pushed her angrily off of his, ah shit, naked lap.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He stood up and backed away from his future mate, reaching for the jeans he’d shed the previous night before morphing, tugging them up his legs. He gave Verrie what he hoped was a hard, cold stare.
“Well good morning to you too, sunshine.” She moved gracefully from the floor and without meeting his word challenge, brushed dried mud off her shirt—his dried mud. Dumuzi groaned.
“Is it?” He found his volume rising. “Is it really a good morning? Did you ever consider last night you might not be around to see one?” He picked up his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Don’t be silly,” she began, but Dumuzi was on a roll.
“I won’t have this, Veronica. I won’t. You have no idea the kind of danger I pose. Mate or not, you will never again sleep in the same room with me. And the advent of you entering my life will not make me give up the calm personality I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“Calm personality?” Her voice rose an octave to match his tone. “Calm personality?” she repeated. “Oh, do you mean your detached personality?” Verrie’s eyes sparked up at him. If she were taller, she would have damned well tested him nose-to-nose, completely unintimidated. “It seems since the moment you saw me, you’ve had a hard time holding on to that threadbare old security blanket, haven’t you?”
Before he could respond, Emesh spoke up from outside the cell, yawning. “She has a point, Muze. I’ve certainly never seen you this jazzed even back in the day when we were constantly being dismembered in Hell. I mean, shit man, the rest of us always craved what you’d been smoking to help take the edge off. Sucked for us that it was just your own natural-avoidance-high. Where’s all that non-attitude now, swamp-boy? Funny how it seems to have gone bye-bye.”
Dumuzi glowered. His fists opened and closed. Emesh’s sunshiny face was about to get pulverized and…argh. There it was again. Feelings. Anger. He looked down at a body suddenly clenched. His dick was hard again. Lust. He turned and gripped the bars of his cell, attempting to slow his racing heart.
“Why don’t you just go fuck her and get it out of your system?” Matthew’s face moved between the bars of the nearby cage to taunt him. “Then maybe you can get back to stoner-central where you belong.”
Dumuzi’s vines appeared again from his very human-looking arms, shot through the osmium bars and across the narrow hall to grab the god by his throat. He felt the tips of his fangs punch down, positioning themselves to tear flesh. Matthew’s silent laugh taunted him.
Go ahead. Bite me, you freak. I’m a god, so I’ll heal, but what about you? Will you ever get back to the way you were?
Oh, Matthew was really good at head games, Muze glowered.
Will you ever heal from whatever’s had you running and hiding like a baby for thousands of years?
Dumuzi dropped his tendrils as though they’d been burned and backed away. Without turning to look at Veronica, he wrenched open the door to the cell and bolted down the hallway. He couldn’t get away quickly enough.
“Well, hell. He was a lot nicer when he was the swamp-beast,” Veronica’s whispered words followed him to the elevator, and Muze groaned in pain.
Why? Why did he have to sense emotion again? He wanted nothing more than to escape to his room, to go back to being calm. This roller-coaster of feelings his mate provoked in him wasn’t good. It was just as Matthew said, he had been hiding for years, and it had served him well, better than anything else ever had. But now, there intruded the titillating words and soft body of his woman, his Chosen. No. Stop letting her in. He needed to get back to his happy place, his haze of existence. And dammit, he would. Nobody would stop him. He hit the button, and the doors opened, then closed silently behind him. Done.
The elevator came to the main floor. Dumuzi exited the lift and strode determinedly across the large foyer, ignoring the call from Huxley who had come in through the front door, juggling three large bags of bagels. He took the grand staircase two treads at a time. He’d do his duty. He’d undergo the amulet ceremony with Veronica—the sooner, the better. He’d even complete the gods-damned ritual with a mating—a single mating. Then he’d be done. He had every faith Marduk would figure things out for Veronica and Sienna, and Lahar and Shamash would come back from the Middle East with answers. They just wouldn’t involve him. No way. No how.
By the time he hit his room, Archie had joined him, and the happy pup danced in circles, hoping for a walk in the woods. “Sorry, Arch,” Dumuzi reached down and scratched the dog’s head. “I need to get my calm on which means a whole lot of doing nothing.” He shut the door behind him with a firm click.
****
“Well that wasn’t very helpful,” Verrie wrinkled her nose and stepped out of the cell to join the group of four who looked at her worriedly.
“Crap, I thought you had him eating out of your hand until he freaked,” Candy shrugged her shoulders, looking as puzzled as everyone else.
Emesh draped an arm over Verrie’s shoulders. “First of all, don’t despair,” he advised. “We all had problems we couldn’t face until our Chosen came along to help us.” He reached his free hand toward Douglas who took it and squeezed.
“That’s right,” Candy agreed. “And some, like my husband, only let go of shit after kicking and screaming to the bitter end.” She joined Emesh and gave Verrie a big hug. “Don’t give up on him. As soon as the two of you are mated, he’ll be fine, and he won’t know what hit him.”
Verrie looked at the well-meaning group and instantly made up her mind. “You know what? I don’t want to have things resolve because of some magic, hocus-pocus chemistry thing. I want him to mate me with joy in his heart and his eyes wide open.”
“Not easy when you’re pretending to be stoned.” The voice of Matthew cut into the love fest, and Verrie actually laughed. As much as her hosts didn’t like this character, he’d jabbed a few home truths at Dumuzi, and she appreciated his candor. Making up her mind, she determined her secondary task while in residence was to see if she could help mend fences between the upper-story gods and their dungeon guest. That should give her mind something to dwell on when she got sick of beating her head against Dumuzi’s deep, dark, impenetrable forest of a brain.
“Matthew, if you stop being such an asshole for a second, you might get a little more positive attention,” Verrie shot over at him. “Listen, as soon as I go kick Dumuzi’s ass, I’ll be back to hear the story of your life. And don’t think you can pull anything over on me. I’m used to dealing with the worst of the worst—high-schoolers.”
The prisoner’s bark of laughter warm
ed her heart as she and her immortal entourage left the basement. Her session with the prisoner would probably be the high point of her day. Because she knew, at least for the immediate future, her interactions with Dumuzi would mostly suck.
The group rode in silence to the surface.
“What was that all about?” Marduk―along with a large backup group, all stuffing bagels into their mouths―stood with arms folded across his massive chest to confront them as soon as they cleared the lift. “Muze wouldn’t even look in our direction when he stormed upstairs.” Using the term “stormed,” Verrie knew, didn’t come lightly to the thunder god’s tongue.
“He was agitated,” Jake stated, grabbing breakfast from a nearby bag. When Marduk just looked at him, he qualified. “Yeah, agitated. That’s all.”
Candy filled in the gaps. “He woke up this morning to find he’d spent the night in his cell with Verrie, and it made him furious. Then he was completely pissed off to find himself furious. Apparently, the man hasn’t allowed a true emotion to seep into his viscera in thousands of years. Now with his intended in residence, he’s got more than he can handle.” She helped herself to food when she finished.
“And I plan on needling him as much as possible,” Verrie stated. If she had sleeves to roll up, she would have done so. “I know what he’s up to. He’s planning on mating with me, then ditching me so he can go back to being Mr. Apathetic. Well, I’ve got news for him—it isn’t going to happen. I’ve been married once, then jettisoned because I had voices visiting my head. Now this one thinks mating with me might get rid of the voices and will subsequently attempt to ignore me once we’ve been joined in unholy matrimony.” She looked around to make sure her daughter wasn’t in the room.
“Well, I say, fuck that,” she spit. “I want a husband who is man enough to stick by me no matter what, and if you guys say Dumuzi is it, then he sure as shit won’t be burying his head in a swamp while I’m around.” She looked at the god-audience who had amassed and ignored the bagels to concentrate on more important issues. “Now, who’s going to show me which room is his?”
