Devil Take Me (16 page)

“Then…” She paused, breaking the slow, sensuous rhythm she had set with her hips for just a moment, before resuming it with quiet assurance. “Then, I’ll have you. And that’s more than enough.”

He met her eyes, and for the first time he saw all the way to the core of a woman, and knew she saw to the heart of him as well. There were no secrets, no regrets, no hidden motivations. It was just he and Annie, and for that moment the rest of the world did not exist.

“I love you,” she finally whispered, tears in her eyes once more.

“And I you. So much.” Namtar reached a hand up to her sweet face, shocked to feel a stinging at the backs of his eyes. Finally he understood why Annie had wept when he’d first told her of the feelings in his heart, why she wept now. Love was a strange thing. It could mimic sorrow, but with a sweetness that took away the sting of true grief.

He caught one of her tears as it slid down her cheek, brushing away the drop of water with his thumb.

“Water,” he muttered as he held the tear up to the morning light shining through the window. One of the four elements they would need for the spell to bind their souls. The dirt that still clung to their bodies, and to the wounds in Annie’s knees, could be their Earth. Their breath could stand for air. And for fire…

He smiled. Nothing had ever made his blood boil as Annie did. If that wouldn’t appease the need for flame, he didn’t know what would.

“What are you thinking?” Annie asked, then squealed as he rolled them over, pushing her to the ground beneath him.

“We can perform the spell. Right now, if you are ready.”

“I’ve been telling you I was ready for the last—” Her words broke off in a moan as he thrust inside her, burying himself deeply before pulling out nearly to his tip and teasing her with swift shallow strokes.

She sighed, arching into him. “You won’t shut me up that easily.”

“I would never try, ninani, I love the sound of your voice.”

“You’re good. Very good.” Annie pulled him down for a kiss, their teeth bumping lightly together as they smiled.

“It comes quite naturally.” Goddess she tasted good, better with every kiss, every caress. “I have spent thousands of seasons appeasing difficult women.”

“Difficult? You’re the one who’s a pain in the—” She bit his lip by way of punishment, but Namtar couldn’t help but laugh.

From tears to laughter in less than two minutes. He hadn’t known such intense emotions in centuries, perhaps in his entire life. The thought was all the urging he needed to begin the spell.

The ancient words flowed easily from his lips, as if he had spoken them a thousand times, though this was the first and only time he would ever seek to bind another soul to his own. This commitment was for life, both of their lives. If anything were to happen to Annie, he would deliver himself to the Grigori and take his chances in the afterlife along with her.

For just as he doubted the ancients were damned, so did he doubt his Annie could be damned, no matter that she chose to bind the very essence of her being to a member of the cursed race. She was too good, too innocent of malice or true sin to earn an eternity in the nothingness. And if the Goddess was too blind to see Annie’s worthiness, then he wanted no part of her. He would rather spend an eternity wandering the void with his woman than alone in the fertile fields of paradise.

His woman. His. The need to possess her, to make her his in every way drove him on, faster, the words flying from his tongue.

Namtar mumbled the last of the elemental spell against Annie’s lips, feeling a spark of pure desire rush through his veins as he offered their passion to the keeper of flame. His breath caught and he fought the almost overwhelming urge to come, to drive inside his love until he lost himself. But he didn’t want to go just yet, not until the spell was complete, until he knew for certain he was spending his seed inside the woman who would be his consort and queen.

“God, Namtar, I’m going to come.” Annie moaned into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders, every muscle in her body strung tight.

“Wait. A few more moments. Wait for me,” he demanded, slowly stilling his thrusts.

“Please, don’t stop, don’t—”

“Are you prepared to give me your blood, and to take mine in return?”

“Blood?” Her eyes opened, the mention of blood helping pull her back from the edge. “How much blood?”

“Just the slightest bit,” he breathed, sweat running down his back from the combination of the hot room and the effort required to lie buried inside of Annie and not move. Goddess, it was torture, sweet torture, but torture nonetheless. “It is a symbolic exchange, signifying we are as one flesh from this moment on.”

“It sounds like we’re getting married.” She smiled.

“It is a marriage,” he said, grateful she seemed pleased by the comparison. “One from which there will be no divorce.”

“Good, I don’t want a divorce.” Annie wiggled her hips, tightening her inner walls around his cock. “I want you to be mine for as long as I can have you.”

“In the Underworld they will say you are mine. Women are claimed by their men.” Namtar grinned and began to move once more, slowly, deliberately, wanting to draw out this moment, to burn it into his memory. Annie looked so beautiful, her cheeks flushed red, her hair a mass of wild curls that spread out across the floor. He never wanted to forget the way her eyes were shining right now, in these seconds before they were bound to each other for eternity.

“Claimed by their men are they?” she asked, arching a brow as her tongue swept out across her lip.

“Except for our mad queen, of course.” Damnation, but he loved her lips, her pink tongue, everything about her. She was perfect, as if she’d been fashioned to fit his fantasies. Or perhaps, his fantasies had been refashioned to fit Annie.

“Maybe that’s why she ran mad.”

“Perhaps.” He increased the tempo of his thrusts, not wanting to think about Ereshkigal or the battle ahead. This time was his. His and Annie’s, no one else’s. Namtar bent to kiss her, sending his power trickling out to touch her lips, tearing a small place in the delicate skin there.

“It sounds like the Underworld needs a feminist movement.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him even deeper into her slick sheath, her breath catching as she watched a bright stain of red appear on his own mouth. She enjoyed a bit of blood, he could see it in the way her nipples hardened, in the way her dark eyes grew even darker as the blood flowed slowly from his torn lip.

“Whatever it is need of, I’m sure that we—” Goddess, she felt good. “—together—” So tight, so wet, so…perfect. “—will be able to provide it.”

“So you’ll be wanting your consort’s advice?” Annie moaned and lifted into him, the look in her eyes making it clear she was close. So close. He took her lips with his again, mingling their blood, sealing the spell with a deep, probing kiss before he pulled away, breathless.

“I’ll be consulting my queen in all matters of state.” Namtar moved his thumb to Annie’s clitoris, applying a slow, even pressure as his cock continued plowing between her thighs. “I sense it is the only way to keep her happy.”

“God, yes, I’ve never been so-so happy, so—”

“Come for me, Annie. I want to feel your sweet—”

She screamed his name as she came, her body contracting around his aching length, triggering his own release. His balls clenched with such ferocity it was nearly painful, but soon the pain bled into pleasure, a deep drunken pleasure that swept through every cell in his body.

“Annie, ninani!” Namtar collapsed on top of her, whispering against her lips as the aftershocks of their climax continued to work through them both.

He had never come like that before, never felt the pleasure of his body shattering his heart, then healing it, only to shatter it all over again. It was more than physical pleasure, more than sexual compatibility, it was his love for her, and the knowledge she was now truly his, that made this coupling one of the most incredible moments in his very long life.

This time, Annie’s magic slid into him cleanly, softly, a knife sliding into a fresh loaf of bread. There was no pain, only a feeling of fullness. His eyes began to glow softly once more, and Namtar was certain the devils downstairs were enjoying a full dose of Annie’s power. For the first time his cock wasn’t immediately raised to attention, and a part of him was glad of it. He would never tire of fucking his woman, but for now he simply wanted to hold her, to pull her tightly to his side and thank the Goddess she was his. Truly his.

Annie rolled on top of him at his urging, resting her cheek on his chest with a contented sigh. They simply lay still for a time, catching their breath, watching the light move across the floor. Finally, she spoke. “What does that mean? Ninani?”

“My lady, my goddess.” Namtar pressed a soft kiss to the top of her hair, for a moment wishing they could stay here in this house forever. That they could make it their own, make a life for themselves away from anyone who might wish to do them harm. “Also, my feminine, my missing other half.”

She sighed and he felt tears dampen his chest. “Yes.”

That was all she said before she fell asleep, but it was enough. More than enough. He had never felt so complete, so content. Namtar drifted off, not at all bothered by the hard floorboards beneath him. When he held his ninani in his arms, there was nothing that could cause him pain.

Ereshkigal shook the thoughts from her mind. She would not think of Namtar’s betrayal, or that he had somehow managed to find not only a human consort, but a nephilim at that. A Halfling who had bested her demon legions and who, even now, might very well be on her way to the Underworld to help Namtar destroy Ereshkigal in the battle ring.

No, she would think only of Namtar’s destruction, of watching the golden one snuff out his life force. Once they had reached a mutually beneficial agreement, of course. “Fetch him! Now, Torred. Must I ask you twice?”

“It is better to make the Grigori wait at least a few moments, my queen. We do not wish to appear too eager, or filled with desperation.” Torred bowed even deeper, not daring to keep his gaze on her face as Namtar had always done. “It is best to cause his spirit to become unsettled before the bargaining begins.”

“Very well, but do not wait too long, or I may become sufficiently unsettled to find another court advisor,” Ereshkigal snapped from her throne, fighting the urge to writhe and scratch at her flesh as the man scurried from her sight.

She was clothed for the first time in over a hundred years, and even the feel of the light robe draped about her curves was enough to drive her mad. She was a queen and should not be forced to alter her appearance for anything save her own urges.

But to gain Samyaza’s cooperation she would do what she must, and that included donning her most modest wrap. The Grigori was notoriously repulsed by female flesh. Even in the old times, he had been one to abandon a feast if there were too many nude females in attendance. He also preferred to deal with men in matters of business, as well as pleasure, hence Nergal’s place at her side.

Her consort would do the talking, but it was Ereshkigal who would run this meeting. There hadn’t been a Grigori in the Sumerian Underworld in all its thousands of seasons, and she wasn’t about to entrust their future to her weakling bond mate. Nergal had been told exactly what to say, and what to do if this meeting went awry.

He had also been kept ignorant of the demon legions hovering in the dark corridors just beyond this chamber, and of the Sumerian archers hidden in the darkness behind the statuary at the corners of the throne room. She had broken her promise not to arm her palace against Samyaza, but she would not harm the Grigori unless Samyaza violated his vow not to attack her people during his time here. Then she was prepared to make certain he would regret it.

The Grigori, even those of darkling power, could not enter Ereshkigal’s realm without an invitation. None of Ereshkigal’s people had ever been so foolish as to give one, but at this point it was a risk the queen was willing to take. Still, caution was necessary. The Grigori were an unpredictable, vengeful race who had never quite recovered their minds once they had been named “angels” by the humans.

Angels indeed. The Grigori were of the same ilk as Ereshkigal and the other ancients, come to this world from a planet torn by war, a place where the Annunaki possessed the weakest magic and had been little better than slaves or fodder for the front lines. Before the Great Destruction, a few dozen of their people had escaped to the Earthly realm. They had all been Annunaki then, the “people from the sky” the humans had been all too eager to worship. The energy of human devotion had increased their power, made them stronger than they had ever been before.

They’d forgotten what it was to be weak, vulnerable… Until the humans had abandoned them for other gods. The winged Annunaki, of both golden and darkling powers, had been the only to make the transition to the new regime. They played at being angels sent by the new Jehovah, or dark angels fallen from grace—both of which had their share of human followers. But their success was not without its hardships. Females of both varieties of power were born without wings, and could gain no great human following. In the end, even the golden women came with Ereshkigal to the land beneath to avoid the wasting that accompanied a loss of mortal faith.

The winged males were alone on the Earth. They became the Grigori, the Watchers, creatures who flew high above the Earth, never one with creation again. After a few centuries of playing at being prophets of a new god the humans had never even seen in the flesh, they grew lonely, tired of taking pleasure only from other male Grigori. Those inclined to crave female flesh grew hungry for the comforts of the marriage bed. Many of them soul-bonded with humans, creating half-breed children capable of the worst sorts of magic—the nephilim.

Some of the offspring were relatively harmless as golden magic did not seem to pass easily into mortal flesh, but the darkling born possessed the darkest kinds of Annunaki power. They could call the rot of the flesh, summon the blood from a wound, blacken the crops at harvest time, make rivers and streams run putrid with poison. Once Samyaza decreed the nephilim abominations, many of the winged ones abandoned their new families lest they risk imprisonment in Tartarus, leaving the children to be raised by mortal women who had no idea how to help the little ones control their power.

In those ancient times, Ereshkigal had offered her magic to the Halflings. Those mortals daring enough to descend to the Underworld with their babes and ask a boon of the dark queen were granted peace for their offspring. The nephilim power was put to sleep within the young ones, destined to stay inactive until summoned by the touch of another with dark power.

It had been far from a magnanimous action, as Ereshkigal had thought perhaps to make the Halflings her worshippers in times to come. Magic was passed undiluted through the nephilim to their children and children’s children. If enough of them had come into being, there might have been sufficient worshipful energy to bring the ancients of the dark back to the surface, to reclaim their ability to walk among the humans.

But Samyaza and his Grigori followers had destroyed that hope, pooling their power to summon a great flood upon the Earth. The flood wiped out a large majority of the human population, but it achieved Samyaza’s chosen end. The nephilim were destroyed, or so they had thought, until Ereshkigal’s spell began to fade hundreds of years later. The result was a life of misfortune for the nephilim who had survived, and the possibility that their sleeping magic might awaken on its own.

As soon as it did, the Grigori were there, eager to torture and destroy the source of their greatest shame, the creatures they themselves now believed to be damned by the Christian God. Though the god Jehovah had never acted against the nephilim—had, in fact, grown as silent as the great Goddess herself—the Grigori wove their own beliefs. Beliefs that supported their wickedness while allowing it to be cloaked in robes of purity and light.

Speaking of robes…

“If Torred does not return soon, I swear I will tear this wrap from my body and burn it while Samyaza watches.” Ereshkigal plucked at the silken gown as if it were the coarsest sackcloth.

It pained her to wear clothing, nearly as greatly as it pained her to be kept so long from her bed, the only place where she truly felt alive. Though not of late. Antonia had not yet recovered from the demon lords’ rough use. The court physician said she might be permanently damaged, might even pass over the veil.

Ereshkigal hadn’t expected her human lover would be so terribly hurt. Antonia had always proved so durable, nearly like an ancient herself. She had always relished pain and relished serving her queen even more. But now…she might not recover. Ereshkigal might very well lose the only lover who had ever held her fascination for so very long. It was a troubling thought, nearly as troubling as the painful emotions stirred in her breast each time she visited Antonia’s bedside and saw her sweet, wicked girl so broken.

“Damn Samyaza,” Ereshkigal cursed, tearing at the rope at her waist, pushing aside the desperate aching in her chest that accompanied thoughts of the wounded Antonia. If she had been possessed of a heart, Ereshkigal might have said it was aching for the other woman.

Nergal put a cold hand over hers. “We must present a peaceful façade, Ereshkigal.”

“I will feel much more peaceful out of my clothing.”

“If we fail to win him in the first few moments, Samyaza will never agree to our demands.” Nergal shifted on the throne beside her, but did not remove his hand or turn to meet her glare. Wise man. She was angry enough to burn flesh from bone simply with her eyes. “He will take what he has come for and leave us with nothing.”

“He will take nothing.” Ereshkigal laughed, and stood to pace around the raised dais, leaving her robe on for the moment. “The spell will not be his until he agrees to return Namtar to me for punishment before he claims the life of the nephilim.”

“The Grigori’s power has not faded with centuries spent in darkness, he will—”

“He will die if he dares to cross me,” she snapped, wishing she could do away with Nergal as easily. “My magic is still strong enough to do away with a wounded Grigori. My spies say Namtar’s touch has left its mark. Samyaza will not have had time to heal as yet.”

“You must not anger him, Ereshkigal, you must—”

“I must not lose my throne, Nergal. Everything else is secondary.”

“Precisely my thoughts, my queen.” Ereshkigal turned to see Samyaza bowing only a few feet away. “Now, what are you prepared to sacrifice in order to see that throne safe and secure?”

Torred was nowhere to be seen, and Ereshkigal immediately wondered if the golden one had killed him for forcing him to wait. It wouldn’t be the first time Samyaza had lost his temper in a grand fashion.

“I am prepared to give…anything.” Ereshkigal loosened the belt at her waist and let the robe slide to the floor. She smoothed her hands down over her ripe curves, moaning in feigned anticipation.

Samyaza’s pleasant expression slid away, replaced by an obvious revulsion that made Ereshkigal laugh. Long and hard. The Grigori did not join in her laughter, or recover his composure for several moments.

Excellent. He might have had the upper hand due to his unexpected interruption, but she had regained some ground. Ereshkigal always regained her ground. This time would be no different. Samyaza would agree to her terms and Namtar would be hers to torture—slowly, painfully. He would beg for death for many many seasons before she allowed one of her priestesses of the golden power to put him out of his misery. It would be wondrous, an excellent lesson to any who would dare to cross her.

Perhaps a ritual disembowelment in the public square. She would have his belly torn open, spilled across the dirty stones during the day, then have him sewn back together at night. She would repeat the process the next day and the next and the next until no one would dare cross the square for fear of being forced to hear the tortured screams of the madman Namtar had become.

The thought made Ereshkigal laugh again.

She was still laughing when Samyaza crossed the hall and pulled her tightly to him for a kiss. A long, violent kiss that ended with him pressing her to the floor and shoving his engorged cock into her without preparation, without permission, ripping and tearing her delicate flesh until pain flamed between her legs.

So he sought to teach her a lesson with violence, did he? He would lower himself to bed a woman simply to prove his dominance. How that would torment her if she was a typical female! But unfortunately for Samyaza, she had never been typical—especially when it came to her preferences in the bedroom.

Instead of demeaning, she found his rough use amazingly erotic, a far better start to negotiations than she had expected. Ereshkigal laughed again as she came, screaming and clawing at Samyaza’s skin until his wounds ripped open and began to bleed.

It was afternoon by the time Annie crept downstairs with the shopping bags, wearing another short sundress, leaving Namtar in the shower. He’d been in there for over half an hour, entranced by the feel of the water pelting down on top of his head and shoulders. Apparently people in the Underworld bathed in small individual bathing pools, or in communal baths much like the ones they’d had in ancient Greece. The only place you’d find anything like a shower is if you happened upon a river with a waterfall.

But Namtar said the rivers had all dried to a stop hundreds of years ago, shortly after the eternal sun quit shining and all the plants and crops the ancient Sumerians had once tended had died. The reigning queen insisted it was a sign their court was becoming the court of a true death goddess, as they should have been from the beginning, but Namtar had other ideas. He believed Ereshkigal’s abuse of her people and their sacred land was destroying their world, and that the Underworld would be restored to its full glory once new magic guided the fate of their ancient race. He had great plans for himself and great hope for Annie’s power to help him in rebuilding a land that sounded like it had been nothing short of paradise when in its prime.

A queen, an abomination, a supernatural being…a wife. She’d suddenly become all those things in the course of less than a few hours. It was terrifying and thrilling and she would probably need to sleep a little more and get something in her stomach before she was ready to assimilate it all.

Annie fetched two plates from the cabinet and washed the dust from them in the sink, then set about making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She wasn’t quite prepared to focus on anything else just yet. Not her future as queen of the Underworld, and certainly not that she was a nephilim, a being with a history even more dire than her own family’s legacy by the sound of what Namtar had told her.