Otherworld Tales Volume 1 Page 4
As he sat, she realized how pale he was against the black suit. He looked almost albino, with creamy skin that would be the envy of every woman around. As she curled a tendril of hair around her finger, she realized that her heart was beating faster and thoughts she tended to keep under lock and key were rising, along with a heat between her thighs.
“What might be your name?” Again, the deep, smooth voice glided over the words, sending a ripple of hunger through her body. She couldn’t place the accent, but it was lilting and sensuous.
She ducked her head. “Maria D’Artigo. I’m from the United States.”
“Hello, Maria D’Artigo,” the man said, a smile playing over his lips. “My name is Sephreh ob Tanu. Can I buy you another glass of wine?” And then, he leaned forward, his hand gently brushing hers, and in that single moment, she fell, hard into a dangerous stream of thought.
“My life has just changed forever,” she thought. A door had just opened, and no matter where it led, she was going to follow. With a winsome grin, she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders, and walked out of her past, into her future.
Part Two
Men of Otherworld: Collection One
The Hunger
I’ve often thought about Rozurial’s life when he was with Fraale, and that fateful day when Zeus and Hera forever changed their lives. This is that story.
THE WILD ROSES were blooming in the garden, which meant that soon it would be time to gather the honey and start harvesting apples. Rozurial loved this time of year when everything was still warm and golden, but the autumn called from just over the hill. As the sun crept over the horizon, streaking the early dawn with golden tongues of fire, Roz sat on a slope near his home, chewing on a piece of grass, as he contemplated what needed doing before nightfall.
Fraale, his wife—the love of his life and the one constant in his world—was baking bread in the outdoor oven. It was still too warm to heat up the house, so she had been doing all the summer cooking outdoors. She had shooed him out when he stopped to grab a roll and some meat for breakfast, laughing and cussing out the loose bricks that were making the cooking precarious.
Now, stomach full for the morning, Roz stretched back, hands under his head, and ticked off a mental list of chores that lie ahead of him. Milk the goats, harvest vegetables to dry out under the sun for winter. The berries were ripe and Fraale wanted to get to her jam-making soon. He also needed to mend the fence in the southern pasture before the goats broke it down and ran amok.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. The sooner he got busy, the sooner he’d get done. As he stood there, the morning light glinting off his waist-length hair that coiled down his back, a shadow cast cross him from a nearby tree. A sudden chill raced up his spine and he let out low growl, dropping into a crouch, squatting as he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. But the only signs of life were the insects and birds that filled the meadow, and the raggle-taggle herd of goats that had followed him up from the lower pastures. Frowning, he eased himself back to his feet.
“It can’t be him,” Roz whispered. “It can’t be Dredge. Not in daylight. Not at sunrise.”
The last time he’d felt this same, sudden fear, he’d still been on the hunt and his instincts had been keen. At times, Rozurial feared that life with Fraale had blunted them—that withdrawing from the relentless pursuit of the vampire who had killed his entire family had been a mistake. But most of the time now, he was happy. And when the memories swept down to fill his nightmares, Fraale was there to wake him up.
He scanned the horizon again. Nothing.
Roz exhaled slowly, breathing out the fear. Fear was dangerous. Fear was more dangerous than the adversary you were afraid of. Fear could kill.
When his pulse had stopped racing, he closed his eyes and listened. There were no silences in the bird song, there was no sudden cessation of insects thrumming. The wind felt the same—no sudden shifts, no scents other than what should be there. Finally, he let it go. Opening his eyes, he glanced down as one of the goats ran over to nuzzle his side. He patted her head. Trika stared up at him, then followed him as he started down off the slope.
“You’d think by now I could let the past go. Sometimes the monsters of the world make our memories into even worse creatures. Sometimes, their worst attack is to make our entire lives a living nightmare of fear.”
Trika let out a bleat, as if answering him.
“You bugger, you. Go on with you, get to the herd and fill your belly.” He shooed her off, laughing.
Dredge couldn’t be here. Vampires slept in daylight, even the strongest and the baddest of them. And Dredge wasn’t the hunter, not this time. No, Dredge wouldn’t know him from a rock. Because Dredge was halfway to insane, and the only thing that mattered to him was the current kill, the current prey. Rozurial had hunting him across the world and back again before giving up to settle in and have as normal of a life as he could. Last he heard, Dredge was tracking through Ceredream, feeding off the whores and the homeless—castaways who wouldn’t be missed. No, it wasn’t Dredge that had set him on alert. Just who it was, he didn’t know. But not Dredge.
STOPPING IN AT the house to pick up his lunch bucket and to give Fraale a kiss, Rozurial found her cussing out the summer oven. She had burned two loaves of bread thanks to the uneven heating and now she swung around, hands on hips.
“You promised me you’d repair this. I can’t do the harvest preserves until you fix it.” She was pretty—plump and round, with brown hair and eyes that flashed when she was angry…and when she wanted to make love.
Roz swept her into his arms, his lips pressing against hers. She was warm and soft, cushioned in all the right places, and as he buried his nose in her hair, all he wanted to do was sweep her into the bedroom and kiss his way down her body. But she pushed her way out of his embrace after a sound kiss.
“Chores first. The fields will not till themselves, and the fruits won’t fall into the baskets on their own accord. Now, when are you going to fix my oven?” But her eyes danced as she slapped him on the chest.
He grinned. “Tonight. I promise you, I’ll fix both the summer oven and the fireplace. Now, give me my lunch, woman, and make me some cookies today? Please?” Again, the boyish smile flashed as he gently smacked her on the ass. Even if settling down had dulled his senses, it was worth it—the sun on her hair, the smells of home around him. The sense of family he’d lost thanks to Dredge in childhood, he’d gained when he met Fraale.
She pushed a bucket into his hands. “There’s bread and cheese, meat and cake, and a bottle of milk. Go on with you, then.”
And so, Rozurial headed off to build and mend and harvest and generally take care of business.
HE WAS PARTWAY through the afternoon when he got the feeling something was wrong. The same shiver he’d felt in the morning hit him, and he shaded his eyes. From the pasture he was standing in, the house was barely visible—a faint protrusion on the horizon. He was a twenty minute walk from home, on the highest hill of their property, staring through the fields of corn and root vegetables. Trying to shake the feeling, he went back to shoring up the last boundary marker that was leaning precariously, then—unable to shake the worry—decided to head back home early.
On his way, his walk became a jog became an outright run. Roz was in good shape, and by the time he saw the fence that divided their house from the gardens, he slowed, hoping he wasn’t making a fool of himself. Fraale would probably laugh herself silly at his expense—there were no signs of fire, no signs of trouble. He debated whether to just turn back and go finish bringing in the wagon filled with berries and fruit, and carrots and corn that he’d picked during the afternoon, but a noise made him pause.
Slowly, he edged around to the side of the house. There, tied to the gate, was a white stallion—huge and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. No saddle…so whoever owned it must have either been leading it by the bridle, or riding bareback.
With one shrug, the man tossed him aside like he was a limp rag. Roz shook his head, sitting up dazed. What the hell? He was strong—the man looked older, how could he have…and then he noticed what the man was wearing. A white cloak, over a white and gold gown belted by a golden sash. A faint bluish glow surrounded him, and when he turned to look at Rozurial, his eyes were the glow of early morning sky.
“Zeus…” Roz slowly stood up. “Zeus?” he whispered again.
The god let out a grumbling sigh and, taking his hands off Fraale, turned to Rozurial and crossed his arms. “Doesn’t anyone ever kneel anymore?”
Roz’s eyes narrowed. When he was very young, he had hidden away, watching his family forced to kneel at the feet of a monster. He had never been on his knees in front of anyone since that day, and he didn’t plan to start now.
“Leave my wife alone. Leave my house.”
Zeus glanced at Fraale, who was adjusting her dress. She backed away, skirting towards Roz, the expression on her face one of mingled terror and disbelief.
“Fine way of showing hospitality to a wandering stranger.” Zeus’s words were mildly slurred and the scent of wine filled the air as he hiccupped.
Great. Not only a lecherous god, but a drunken lecherous god. Roz knew better than attack him again—he no longer had the element of surprise, and the truth was, now that he realized it was Zeus before him, he was scared shitless. Gods didn’t play by mortal rules and while they could be killed, it would take someone far stronger than Rozurial to manage it. Not to mention the fact that, should he manage to hurt the god, the rest of the Olympians would be on his ass and he’d be toast.
Fraale was almost to Roz’s side when a whirl of wind swept through the door and a woman suddenly stood at the entrance, glaring at Zeus. She too, wore white robes and gold adornments, and her hair was coiled on her head in golden ringlets. Her eyes narrowed, she glanced from Zeus to Fraale, then back again to Zeus.
“I knew it. I knew you were gallivanting again. And what do I find? You slumming with the dregs of the Fae. You can’t even keep yourself to our station—the nymphs would be better than this! Look at her—she’s not even pretty.”
Hera. It had to be Hera. Which meant they could be in one hell of a lot of trouble. Zeus was bad enough but the two had a marriage made in hell, and rumor had it that getting between them when they were arguing was tantamount to a death sentence.
Roz slowly reached out for Fraale’s hand and, once it was secure in his, began edging his way way toward the door, slow step by slow step. If they could make it outside, they might be able to run and hide until the divine couple patched things up and left. At worst, Roz thought, they could leave town and start over somewhere else.
His plan might have worked—they almost had managed to reach the door—when Hera spun around, breaking off from browbeating Zeus, who was listening to her with an Oh, fuck, here we go again look on his face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hera was suddenly in front of them, moving in a blur of speed. “I did not give you permission to leave my presence.” Her eyes were steely blue, and Roz’s stomach lurched at the wave of anger rolling off the goddess. It raced like a tidal wave, surrounding both him and Fraale, forcing them to their knees. Roz struggled against the pressure, but found himself unable to move or speak.
Fraale let out a whimper as Hera stepped closer and reached out to cup her chin. “So, you are the girl who captured my husband’s attention this time, are you?” Her voice had become very soft, which was more frightening than when she was screaming.
Roz struggled, still holding Fraale’s hand. She squeezed tightly, and he could feel her fear through their contact. He desperately wanted to break free, to drag her outside away from all of this, but his body refused to obey.
Hera leaned down, staring into Fraale’s eyes. “You wish to seduce the husbands of other women so badly? Then I’ll make it easier for you.”
Fraale whimpered again, and managed to eke out a whisper. “No…I did not…I didn’t touch him—I didn’t ask…”
“Oh, none of you touch him. None of you ask for his attentions. I’ve heard it so many times I might as well commission a sad song for you. But still, I find him in your house, and his scent is on you.” Hera’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. “His hands were on you.”
“Leave the girl alone.” Zeus seemed to break out of his stupor and strode forward. “We’ve been through this before. You know my eye wanders…you knew this when you agreed to marry me.”
“Your eye may wander, but your hands and body follow and therein lies the problem, my husband.” Hera shook her head, a painful look crossing her face. “How many times have you apologized and then I find this…again and again. I will not stand for it. I will not stand by and watch you cavort with some mortal trollop.” She turned abruptly, slapping him across the face. “I ask for so little—I ask for respect and for honor. If you’re going to take lovers, at least take them from those worthy of the attentions of a god. Not some…some…succubus.”
“Hera, you are my wife and the mother of the gods—compose yourself!” Zeus blustered up, and a roll of thunder split the air outside. Through the window, Rozurial could see one hell of a bank of storm clouds coming in as rain began to lash the ground.
But Zeus’s order fell on deaf ears. Hera sputtered, then, glancing back at Fraale, she let out a snort. “I said trollop. You want to seduce husbands away from their wives? Then do it right, at least.” And with that, she reached out and brushed her hand across Fraale’s forehead, then in a flash of light, vanished, laughing.
Fraale let go of Rozurial’s hand, screaming as she dropped to the ground. Roz tried to go to her, but Zeus reached out, held him back.
“Do not touch her, boy. Not yet.” The god stared at him, his voice a whisper. Roz tried to break free but Zeus held him steady.
Fraale was convulsing on the ground, frothing at the mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head. She let out one long, piercing scream as Roz began to weep. He was losing her—he knew it. She was dying and he couldn’t even comfort her.
But instead of collapsing, the fit began to pass, and Fraale lie there, her eyes closed, but he could tell she was breathing—almost panting. Zeus let go of him then, and stood watching as Roz fell to his knees beside his love.
He felt for her pulse, which was rapid but steady, and then brushed her hair back away from her face. There seemed to be something different about her—she was the same and yet…there was something that had changed. As she slowly opened her eyes, the glint in them made him nervous.
“Love, love are you all right?” Roz slid his arm behind her back and helped her sit up. “What happened—” He stopped. The woman in his arms was not his Fraale. Not entirely. Of that much, he was certain.
She let out a long sigh, almost exasperated. And then, without a word, she drew him in for a kiss, her tongue playing against his. She was warm in his arms, pliable, and he found himself wanting to fuck her right there, in front of Zeus. All he could think about was how beautiful this woman of his was, and how she needed him. But then, as the kiss went on, he began to feel dizzy and with a start, realized that he was losing consciousness. Another moment, and the world went black.
“YOU AWAKEN, THEN?” Zeus was sitting there at the table, staring at him.
Roz realized he was stretched out on the length of polished wood, his head aching and feeling like he’d been sick for a long, long time. He tried to sit up, but Zeus shook his head and pushed him back down.
“Rest yourself. You are still weak.”
“What…what happened?” And then, he remembe
red. “Fraale! Fraale? Where’s my wife.” He brushed away Zeus’s hand and forced himself to a seated position. The room began to spin, but he squinted, staring at one spot on the wall to help him focus enough so that he could manage sitting up.
“Your wife. She drained you. She would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened, but truth is: She didn’t realize that she was siphoning off so much energy from you. She’s hungry, she needs to feed.” The god sounded genuinely sorry.
Rozurial frowned, trying to understand what Zeus was saying. Hunger? Siphoning off energy? Oh no…he couldn’t mean… “Hera, she turned Fraale into a vampire?” His heart was about to rip out of his chest and shatter on the ground.
Zeus quickly held up a hand. “No, no—rest easy on that. Your wife is no vampire.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Thoroughly confused and exhausted, Rozurial turned helplessly toward Zeus. “What happened? Tell me.”
Zeus suddenly looked old. Old as the hills, old as time. His shoulders slumped. “Hera turned your wife into a succubus.”
And that was all he needed to say. Roz knew what succubi were. Sexually charged energy vampires—minor demons, to be precise. The thought of Fraale, wanton and seeking to feed her hunger, churned in his stomach. He wanted to shout, to rail against the heavens, but it would do no good. The ‘heavens’ were sitting in his living room. The ‘heavens’ had caused this.
“What am I going to do? I love her—I love her and I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”
At that moment, the door opened and Fraale stood there. Her dress was different—she was wearing a lower cut gown that sparkled in the evening light, and her eyes were dewy. Her lips looked so moist that it made him hard, rock-hard and ready to fuck her.