Among Gods and Monsters

by S D Simper

  Khastra transformed from monster to woman, shrinking but keeping her gaze on Etolié all the while. Flowridia had never seen it, intrigued at the sight of Khastra’s armor shifting back to accommodate her smaller size, of her claws disappearing, her posture straightening. Khastra beamed, genuine joy in her features. “It is wonderful to see you, Etolié.”

  Ever the diplomat, Etolié came forward slowly, but the moment Khastra’s arms came around her, she clung to her armor with the same protective stance she’d held Flowridia, uncaring, it seemed, of the grime and ichor coating her body. Flowridia couldn’t say she heard when Etolié broke in the ensuing silence, but when the Celestial finally pulled back, tears visibly welled in her eyes. Affectionately, she said, “You’re shorter, you blunt-eared cunt.”

  Flowridia wasn’t sure if she should balk at the slur, but Khastra beamed and replied, “In the surgery to repair my severed spine, they removed the shattered piece.”

  “That’s what you get for letting Izthuni ram his claw up your ass.” Etolié pulled one hand back to wipe tears from her eyes, adoration in her gaze. “Your mother would be so disappointed.”

  “Ku’Shya knows where she can stick my hammer.” Flowridia watched Khastra’s hands press at the base of where Etolié’s ribs would be and saw sorrow flood her face. “I am sorry, Etolié. I have caused you pain, and I—”

  “Stop,” Etolié whispered, and Flowridia struggled to hear it. “None of that matters right now.”

  “Let us get you some food. I will bathe, and we will talk.”

  Etolié clung to Khastra once again. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  Khastra stooped down, and with only a slight, surprised gasp from Etolié, lifted her up into her arms. In a proper embrace, the half-demon whispered something Flowridia couldn’t hear, but suspected she wasn’t meant to, realizing she was intruding on something private.

  Khastra’s lips brushed against Etolié’s silver hair, tears welling in the half-demon’s eyes when she planted a kiss among the array of star-lit locks.

  Flowridia wasn’t the help Khastra needed, and watching the duo reunite, she understood a truth too sacred to speak aloud, that Khastra held no loyalties save one—to the Celestial she loved with all her heart, enough to stay tethered to a place she loathed for twenty years with no expectation of reward. Khastra’s joy came from Etolié’s, and with Etolié’s heart repaired, she could feel that joy again.

  Flowridia backed away, leaving the pair alone.

  * * *

  At night, the great city of Nox’Kartha hardly blinked into restfulness. It bustled at every hour, Tazel realized, reminding him of home. Brilliant minds slept, yes, but elven inventors rarely slept at normal times, their genius manifesting at odd hours.

  It was what set the Sun Elves apart—their worship of the Sun and her glory.

  But Tazel stood not in front of any depiction of Sol Kareena, no, but of a long-dead deity.

  In the religious district of Nox’Kartha, there was no temple to the late goddess Neoma, but Solviran immigrants had paid long ago for a memorial in her honor. Secluded from the main streets, a splendid garden encircled the stone path, one that ended in a fountain depicting a controversial, albeit beautiful image. Trees circled the stone alcove, and the fountain in the center burst with life-giving water, infused with magic far more potent than the rest of the miraculous healing springs.

  A flower—a moonlily, he knew—formed the base, blossoming to reveal an amorous stone couple caught in a lover’s tryst. Neoma, the Moon Goddess of Fertility and Life, took the lead, bearing a crown and falling robes, revealing most of her sensuous form. Her stone visage shone with passion and light, gazing adoringly at the woman in her arms.

  She remained unnamed, but Tazel knew her—the fallen goddess, Staella, her cascading hair speckled with subtle, glittering stones. A tragic tale, Tazel knew. Neoma’s death had shaken the worlds, even Sha’Demoni, for it had sparked a fear in all its inhabitants.

  Gods were not invincible.

  And no one knew where they went when they died. Or if they went anywhere at all.

  The goddesses were not human, no, but man created gods in his image. Before the statue was a plaque bearing the name: The Conception of Ilune.

  Tazel sat before it, one of the few places in the city not constantly brewing with social energy, calculating in his mind the craftsmanship of such an artistic feat. No magic; he would sense it. Pure engineering, those carved features, the detailed strands of hair and shining eyes, even the pores of their skin.

  Perched on his head, Ferseph suddenly chirped nervously. Tazel instinctively wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his rapier.

  A touch on his shoulder, lighter than the night breeze, pushed him to act.

  Tazel whipped about, sword and all, a spell at his lips. Pure sunlight sparked at his fingers, waiting only his permission. Tazel had perfected the art of speed and finesse.

  His rapier met a curved blade. Fire burst from his body, but the figure dodged—just as Tazel ducked beneath a sword intent on decapitating him. He kicked, and heard a feminine ‘oomph,’ and when he turned into an elbow waiting for his skull, he locked eyes with his attacker. “Mereen?”

  Shock stole his focus. A swift punch to his chin cracked his jaw. Pressure slammed his chest, sending him toppling. His rapier clattered to the ground, just out of reach. Disoriented from pain, before Tazel could force a breath, a knee pressed against his back, keeping him on the ground.

  He heard a voice that stole his will to fight. “Hello, Sunshine.”

  The pressure released. The steel-toed boot in front of him made no noise, as silent as the predator wearing it. Tazel spat blood when he sat up on his knees.

  In six years, she hadn’t changed. The ageless woman’s skin reflected the moon’s light, luminous and white, her hair hardly a shade darker. She pulled back her hood, each movement of her body, the purse of her lips, the gentle sway of her hips, familiar and daunting. She wore leather and weapons, displayed and hidden both, the very image of her title—Dark Slayer.

  “I was surprised to receive your message,” she said, her smile revealing perfect teeth, encircled by lips as red as the blood she craved. A silver knife at her hip glinted in the moonlight—as well as an elven weapon that chilled his blood, wood and silver and bullets capable of dispatching even the most powerful of sorcerers. “I thought you’d vanished forever this time.”

  A simple spell, to whisper words to someone he had known his entire life. He hadn’t expected her to appear, though. “How did you find—”

  “Sweetie, I’ve known.” Her sardonic smile held ire. “And while I appreciate your consideration to my cause, I already knew of Ayla’s rebirth. Imperator Casvir hardly kept her a secret, but while she was shackled by his chains, I could never come close enough to strike. Kind of Sol Kareena to slay her for me.” Curiosity twisted her lip, intrigue stealing her poor mood. “You said you met a girl who knew her?”

  Tazel remained kneeling before her, too shocked by her presence to stand. “It was how I found out about Ayla’s return. Whatever our disagreements, I do still believe she’s a plague on this world.”

  “Where is the body?”

  Tazel shook his head. “I don’t know. I think the girl might, but—”

  Mereen’s broad grin stole his words and chilled his blood. By Sol Kareena’s Blessed Light, he had made a mistake. “Does she?”

  “Mereen, she’s no one—”

  “You never could lie to me, Sunshine.” She offered a hand; Tazel remembered then that he was still kneeling. She helped him to rise, her gloves well-broken in. “No one doesn’t know the location of Ayla Darkleaf’s body. Who is she?”

  “Her name is Flowridia, but she’s hardly more than a child. She’s not important—”

  A knife suddenly pierced beneath his chin, the tender skin splitting. He grabbed Mereen’s hand, but she held the unholy strength of the dead—and the mesmerizing stare to keep him subdued. “Don’t. Lie.�
�

  She removed the knife. Blood stained the tip, slowly dripping down the blade, and Mereen’s breath hitched, her pupils expanding at the sight, her fangs growing long. Tazel recognized the agony of the gesture, to wipe the blood against her leather trousers and slip the blade away.

  “She claimed to have been in love with Ayla,” Tazel said softly. “But she was heartbroken. I showed her books on the Sun Elven Genocide at her request. She wanted to understand, and I truly don’t believe she’s a threat to us.”

  Mereen showed her back to him, a rare gesture of trust. She held loyalty to him still. “Tell me truly,” she whispered, gazing at the amorous statue before them, “how sincere is her love?”

  “Completely.”

  “And what of Ayla? She was known for playing with her food before devouring it.”

  “All I know is that Ayla died to save her life.”

  Mereen remained quiet for far longer than Tazel’s nerves could stand. When she finally turned around, her sharp eyes had returned to a dark ocean blue, her mouth and lips as gentle as a kiss.

  “Please, don’t kill her,” Tazel dared to say. “The girl is misguided, but she’s practically a child. She’s still innocent.”

  Mereen raised a single eyebrow, revealing a sadistic bit of amusement. “No one is innocent, Sunshine, but you know I only kill vampires. Not ‘misguided’ human children. If she wants me to kill her, she’ll have to beg for it.”

  She smiled to match her wicked humor, and Tazel realized his great error.

  “She knows more than she’s telling, I assure you that. Perhaps I should pay her a visit.”

  Tazel grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t you—”

  She stepped into a full-body kick, her entire form spinning as her foot met his hand. In the same motion, she grabbed the fearsome weapon at her hip and held it aloft—Tazel stared down the barrel. “Click. Boom,” she said simply. “Do not stand in my way.”

  She slipped her revolver back into its holster and took a step forward—far too close for comfort. Level in height, her full lips were but a breath away. “I miss you, my darling boy,” she cooed, her eyes darting between his gaze and his mouth. “There aren’t many left willing to follow me into the dark. Consider your loyalties.”

  She placed a peck on his lips, then smiled as she stepped away, leaving him utterly unstable.

  “There’s a war coming, Sunshine. Best prepare to fight.”

  Mereen disappeared.

  A Note from the Author:

  Thank you so much for reading!

  I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed what you read. They say that sequels are never as good as their predecessor, but I’ve done all I can to (hopefully) deliver the best story this can be.

  If you loved what you read, I sincerely ask that you leave a review. Reviews are a way to spread the word about a good book, as well as qualify for a variety of different services, awards, etc. Plus, they make an author’s day, to hear that someone enjoyed their writing.

  If you want to hear more from me, consider joining my newsletter. Currently I’m offering two FREE prequel novellas to new subscribers: one about Flowridia and her time with Aura, as well as another about everyone’s favorite drunk angel and that one time she was blackmailed into running a kingdom.

  Keep on turning pages if you want a sneak preview for the third installment of Fallen Gods! Thank you again for all your support. I couldn’t be an author if you weren’t a reader <3

  -S D Simper

  “The price of love is always high.”

  Successful in her quest, Flowridia returns to Staelash for a joyous affair—the long awaited wedding of Marielle and Zorlaeus, an event promising to seal her kingdom and Nox’Kartha as allies. But the price of Ayla’s return, and the sacrifice it demands, weighs heavily on her heart. To do nothing means to live a life of loneliness, but to act would condemn her eternal soul.

  Meanwhile, Etolié wades through the cesspool of politics, yet drowns in a loneliness she cannot voice in words. The news of Khastra’s new position in Nox’Kartha forces her to confront a few harsh truths of her past, as well as her place in her dearest friend’s life, if she has a place at all.

  For Flowridia’s mission to be complete, she must make allies of enemies—including enemies thought dead. And Etolié finds herself at the center of a murderous conspiracy, yet to speak the truth would condemn the one she loves the most.

  Kingdoms clash, betrayal is nigh, and the bounds of love are tested in the third installment of Fallen Gods.

  Read a sneak peek of ‘Blood of the Moon’ and more at S D Simper’s website—sdsimper.com.

  About the author:

  S D Simper has lived in both the hottest place on earth and the coldest, spans the employment spectrum from theatre teacher to professional editor, and plays more instruments than can be counted on one hand. She and her beloved wife share a home with their two cats and innumerable bookshelves.

  Visit her website at sdsimper.com to see her other works, including Carmilla and Laura, a retelling of the classic vampire tale.