Cassiel, page 12
“And your point is?” My bitch goddess comes out of hiding and takes her gloves off.
The temperature in the room drops as the woman floats down to stand in front of me. Her ghostly visage jabs me with the ornamental chopstick. Ouch. I felt that.
“I have got a good mind to toss your backside back to Queen Hera. Maybe she can do something with your wilfulness. Let’s see, shall we?” She tips her head back, and a needle of light shoots upwards. “Hera. A word.”
The roof disappears, and the sky opens up. Suddenly, a low rumbling accompanies an electrical disturbance that sucks the air from the room. A moment later, a stunning older woman dressed in regal Grecian robes, wearing a crown, and holding a lotus-tipped scepter appears. Waves of power and the very pungent smell of lotus flowers hit me like physical blows as she frowns at me.
Nye smacks me with her chopstick and hisses a sharp, “Curtsy.”
I hurriedly execute my best version of a deep curtsy before continuing to stare, stupefied.
Nye bows her head, then does an elaborate cheek kissing routine with the queen. Queen Hera steps back and looks at her.
“What brings me here, Anais? It’s most unusual for you to summon me.” I could swear the earth trembles as she says the word “summon,” leaving no doubt that Nye better have a good explanation.
“You need to tell this young one to step up or appoint someone who will.” Nye doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by this icon of shimmering power. My admiration turns to instant horror as her words penetrate. Wait just a fucking minute. I’ve been stepping up my whole life.
Both women direct the beam of their spotlight gazes my way, and I’m not feeling the fun.
“Oh?” Queen Hera lets the question hang in the air. She moves to a rack holding dresses and jumpsuits and starts shifting through it.
Nye joins her. “It’s been over a week, and she has yet to assume her position and connect with her power. Two of her mates rejected her, and she’s done nothing to protect or defend herself against Syrael. There’s not much I can do with her until she’s ready to accept her responsibilities.”
Geez Louise. This Anais is one tough cookie. My shields go up faster than those on the Starship Enterprise.
“Don’t be so hard on the child,” Queen Hera says. She bestows another benevolent look at me ignoring the unmistakable frown I give her for referring to a middle-aged woman as a child. “What is holding you back from accepting your calling?”
What is holding me back? What is holding me back? My internal screaming makes me instantly forget my argument about being a mature woman, and I stamp my metaphorical foot.. “I was minding my own business—”
“She means drowning her grief in a barrel of wine,” Nye cuts in.
“When next thing you know, I’m possessed by the ghost of my dearly departed husband, find out he’s a triplet and an angel, oh, and not just any kind of angel. No. My Troy has to be a sex angel and not one of the lowly kinds. He’s a frigging sex angel lord. And if that wasn’t enough, I find out I’m mated to at least one of his brothers and probably both.”
“She’s pouting because she just found out that a mating bond isn’t an automatic guarantee of meaningful sex,” Nye says.
I pointedly ignore her as my head of steam gains traction. I look at Hera and continue. “I’ve suffered through some kind of transition sickness, been poisoned by a vampire, and almost killed not once but twice. And all this with the vague notion that I’m some kind of chosen.” I ball my fists and put them on my hips, fully caught up in self-defense.
“Well, aren’t you hard done by?” Nye says. “Most would be thankful to be chosen by the gods. You don’t question being chosen by the gods. You just do it.”
“Do what? What precisely have I been chosen to do?” I let every bit of my frustration and self-pity bleed into my tone.
“You’ve been chosen to be an Erogelic Lord. In addition to your powers, you’ll be able to use the power and traits of your divine mates. The prophecy says the chosen is the conduit for channeling that power. Only the combined power of the four of you will bring down Lord Syrael, but that is only a small part of your mission.” Queen Hera pauses and shows Nye the black and sequined number she’s holding. “This will do nicely.” She hands me the outfit, and I drape it over the chair at the vanity.
I will not be distracted. My mission? I don’t have any recollection of having accepted any mission. “What is the mission?”
“Love, compassion, and empathy should be the cornerstones of our societies, especially when it comes to sex. But sadly, our sex demons are using sex for evil and sin with the express purpose of humiliating and abusing people at a rate faster than our sex angels can control. The prophecy predicts that a Nephilim with incredible power will form a divine union with the three sex angel lords. Only their combined power will end the reign of the Demon Lord Syrael and his band of marauding demons. As the prophecy says, ‘a Nephilim will rise from the depths of despair to lead them.’ We believe you are that woman.”
“Have you lost your mind? Have you talked to Cass? Does he look like the kind of guy who’d let himself be led by a woman?” I remember who I’m talking to and hastily add, “No disrespect intended.”
A bolt of lightning shatters the clear sky. Queen Hera sighs and gathers her skirts. “Duty calls, child. Wear the jumpsuit tonight. You’ll need it.” With that pronouncement, she and the dense scent of lotus flowers vanish in another atmospheric disturbance that sucks the light from the room for several seconds.
“We have faith in you, child. You’ve been preparing for this your entire adult life. Now, it’s time to apply what you’ve learned. Remember your strengths. Rumble with vulnerability.” Queen Hera’s words are clear in my mind.
“Now that that’s settled, you need to understand what you did to that poor man’s heart. When did you first sense there was a problem?” Nye carries on as if the queen hadn’t been here.
I grab the reminder to rumble with vulnerability and hang on tight. How many women have their own personal ghost mentor who wields the power of the gods? She seems determined to give me the third degree. I give up all pretense of avoiding the subject and give her my full attention.
“We’re here for you.” There’s that voice again, and I’m suddenly grateful for the help from these Druids, strange as it may be.
“Everything was fine. I did my work while Tristan read some journals. He’d said he had plans for us, and when I was done, I asked him what they were. He said he wanted to get to know me. Then, something possessed me and told me the best way for us to get to know each other was to make love.” I pause, trying to figure out what the hell had happened next.
Nye nods. “Ah, so you jumped his bones, did you? Treated him like a prime cut of beef.” Nye grins and pokes me with the chopstick. “It’s clear as the nose on your face. The poor lad’s suffering from PCD.”
Where is Google when you need it? I search my brain for the acronym but come up with nothing. My ignorance must be what’s evident on my face if her reaction is any indication. Her mouth quickly quirks to the right. She gives a massive eye roll and sighs.
“Post-coital dysphoria. He’s depressed even though the sex was pleasant,” Nye says. “He wanted to share something intrinsic, something emotional. You wanted to get your rocks off, and he was the handy object. It’s PBS.” My face must tell a story because she hastens to add, “Pretty Boy Syndrome.”
Now it’s my turn to look at Nye as if she needs her head read. I studied sexuality in university, and I’ve never heard of PCD. I bet Tristan’s issue has more to do with me taking the initiative with these dominant types. “I don’t think so, Nye. He could have spoken up any time. Guys hate it when women are assertive. Oh, he asked what I wanted, but he didn’t want to know. When I didn’t go all simpering idiot on him, his balls got in a knot.” I ignore Nye, who’s looking at me as if I’m the simpering idiot in this equation.
“Tristan’s pain comes from a lack of love. Who initiated sex has nothing to do with it. It’s all about the timing.” Nye gives a sad shake of her head, then looks thoughtful. “I think that’s it. I’ve been trying to figure out why the gods chose you. You’re here to teach the boys about love.”
How does one tell a high priestess of a magical manor that she’s lost her fucking mind? Those dots don’t connect. But as her words penetrate my armor, that new place of “knowing” inside me nods in agreement. My eyes had been opened to the soft core Troy’s strength hid. I’d seen the same thing in Tristan. Fuck, I’d even talked to him about it. But I’d been so hot to have him, I’d ignored everything else. My ego makes one last weak attempt ignore the truth staring me in the face.
“They’re sex angels, for the gods’ sake. One would think they’ve got a degree in love. And what the fuck could I teach a sex angel about sex? I bet I can count the number of guys I’ve been with, and all but one were forgettable until Troy.”
“I beg to disagree. Love brings a whole different flavor to sex. There’s nothing that can compare with it. You of all people know that. You crushed that poor boy’s heart.” Nye grins at me wickedly. “I do want to hear more about this Nick of yours. Why do you think these beautiful men are drawn to you?” She picks the jumpsuit off the chair. “Let’s get you dressed while we talk.”
Before I can get a word out to ask when she’d read our diaries, my jeans, undies, and T-shirt are gone, and the black sequined jumpsuit’s painted on me. The sleeveless top is cut away, showing my breasts’ soft sides, and my nipples pop out like cherries topping a sundae. I’m not wearing any underwear, none at all.
“Perfect,” Nye says.
“I’m not wearing a Kardashian castoff.” Translation, I won’t go to a sex event wearing a garment that’s almost as revealing as if I were naked. What if I got excited? What if I leaked? That’s a distinct possibility when I’m surrounded by all that sex. I reach up to undo the clasp and can’t find one.
“Oh, and a frontal assault won’t work with Tristan. When you figure out how you made him feel, you’ll know what needs to be done. Good luck.”
I turn just in time to see Nye snap her fingers and disappear. Great, just fucking great. Now I’m going to have to get Troy to help me figure out how to get out of this jumpsuit. I pause as I pass the mirror and take a look. Despite the round tummy and love handles, I look damned good. Maybe I should rethink this hasty decision.
20
ATROYEL
My breath almost stops … again. When my beauty steps into the sitting room. It’s not Aleah’s external appearance that draws me. It’s her inner beauty enhancing her exotic presence. Tristan gives a wolf whistle that he cuts off somewhat abruptly, earning him a sharp look from Cass. My eyes remain fixed on Aleah as I try to work out what’s changed about her. She’s wound up about something, and her emotions are too tangled to unravel at the moment.
The outfit she’s wearing gives the caveman in me a sharp kick, and it’s everything I can do to stop myself from leaping up and tearing the fabric away to reveal her naked body. Typically, I have firm control over my baser urges, but my cock decides now is a good time to revolt. Aleah gives me a small smile as she perches on the arm of my chair, but she ignores my hard-on and subtle efforts to shift into a more comfortable position. Her attention is fixed inward, and there’s something on her mind. I put my hand on her back and slide my fingers into the slit in the fabric that runs down her spine. She takes my arm and moves my hand to her lap. She’s not in the mood to play.
I squeeze her thigh to let her know I’m with her. “What’s up, beauty? What happened?”
“I just got my ass kicked by Queen Hera,” Aleah says. That statement brings Cass and Tristan to attention. Tristan downs his wine and leans forward, forearms on knees.
“The queen of the gods, Hera?” Tristan asks.
“Duh, who else. Use your head.” Cass frowns at Tristan in his moody way, but it’s Tristan’s reaction that grabs my attention. Usually, he could give a shit what Cass has to say about him, but this time is different. Tristan’s thoughts turn inward to a dark place I can’t penetrate. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s bullying, and Cass often treads the border with Tristan. In the channel that’s opened between us, I feel Aleah’s penetrating focus switch to Cass.
“That was uncalled for, Cass, and I’m calling out that shaming behavior, and I’ll explain why,” she says. “If I were Tristan, the story I’d make up is that Cass thinks I’m stupid and doesn’t value my opinion. I’d think I wasn’t smart enough or good enough to have your love. I’d think—”
Cass explodes from his seat and stalks over to the chair I share with Aleah. “That’s preposterous, Aleah, and quite frankly, we don’t need you interfering in our business, divine mate or no divine mate.”
Usually, this type of male aggression is a massive trigger for Aleah because of her abuse history, and I draw in a breath getting ready to take down my brother. Aleah surprises me. She stands and squares off with Cass.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, mister.” She jabs her index finger into his chest. “You may not like me, but I don’t deserve that level of disrespect. Now, please sit down. I have something to say.”
Raphael, a silent but consistent presence, takes that moment to glide into the room bearing a decanter of red wine and a glass on a tray. Aleah takes the glass he offers with a grateful smile and sits back on the arm of my chair. Cass puts his empty wine glass on the tray, stalks over to the trolley, pours himself a whiskey shot, and sits in a chair opposite Tristan. Raphael makes short work of refilling Tristan’s glass and then mine before he leaves the room.
Aleah takes a sip of wine then cradles the base of the stem in her lap. “When Troy died, I lost a piece of my very soul. The story I told myself gathered despair with each passing day. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, it had to do with feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and fear. Lots and lots of fear. All the fight left me, and I’ve been floundering ever since.” She squeezes my hand.
“Then you three came and opened up a whole new world of magic, but there were strings—fight a demon lord, have three mates and take on some frigging undefined role as the chosen. So, I did what I do best and tried to control the uncontrollable when what I need to do is have faith, to go into this with no guarantee of the outcome. I have to stop controlling and predicting and let nature take its course.” Aleah stops and looks at each of us for several beats. “I need to rewrite the story about not being good enough, so that’s what I’m going to do. I am worthy of love and connection. I think whatever I’m called to do has something to do with that. First, I’m going to remind myself of what I love about me, and then I’m going to love you all with my whole heart even though there’s no guarantee with you two.” She smiles at Tristan and Cass. I sit quietly as usual but inside, I’m brimming with pride. I do love this woman.
“To answer your question, Tristan, it was Queen Hera. At least that’s who Nye called her,” Aleah continues.
“Who the fuck is Nye?” Cass doesn’t do well with women in positions of power. Sadly, my brother is a bit of a male chauvinist, and I’m not at all surprised Aleah’s taking him in hand. I’d been waiting for it to happen. The strong, determined, take no shit from anyone woman I love is back, and it’s sexy as hell. She gives him a penetrating look until his body language relaxes.
“Nye is what I call the owner of this house and the high priestess of this forest, which is sacred Druid ceremonial grounds. Her name is Anais Blackstone,” Aleah says. “She wants to be called Lady B or Nye.”
“The woman who wrote the journals,” Tristan says in a quiet voice. Aleah’s attention flits to him for a second, and I wait for her to ask about the journals, but she doesn’t. Surprised by her restraint, I grab her hand and squeeze it for support. She squeezes back but doesn’t look my way.
“As you probably gathered yesterday, Nye is a ghost, and it seems only Raphael and me can see her. She’s been appointed by the gods to be my mentor and coach, and she’s somewhat pissed at my lack of commitment. Nye called Queen Hera, who read me the riot act about being the chosen. She basically told me to start cooking or get out of the kitchen,” Aleah says.
I sense Aleah’s leaving something out of the story and make a note to ask her about it later.
“She told you to shit or get off the pot, and you decided to take a shit,” Cass says.
Aleah grimaces, and her inward flinch works its way along our channel. For some reason, I never found out why, she can’t stand hearing some swear words used in context, and shit tops the list. “I wouldn’t have put it so graphically, but yes.”
“What does that mean for us?” Tristan asks. The wall he’s put up prevents me from getting a read off him, but there’s no doubt something’s bothering him that has to do with Aleah.
Care and concern for Tristan flood through our connection as she regards my brother, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell happened between the two of them this afternoon. Whatever it is seems to have charted them into troubled waters. Since Aleah can’t stand interpersonal discord, those cards will be laid on the table in short order, and I’m quite willing to watch. My beauty’s strutting her stuff.
“I can’t say what it means for you, but I can tell you what it means for me. We’re tied together in this, so we’ll have to find a way to work together to defeat Lord Syrael. Other than that, I’m not sure. Queen Hera confirmed what some of us suspected, that all three of you are my divine mates,” Aleah says. Cass opens his mouth. Aleah puts up the hand holding mine, and a small pulse of power shoots through the air. Cass’s mouth snaps shut, and he doesn’t look the least bit pleased about it.
“I have the floor. Your turn will come.” She takes a sip of wine and keeps her gaze trained on Cass, seemingly unaware of her power. “I realize you reject the notion of being mated to me out of hand, but if we’re going to get through this alive, we’re going to have to figure out how to work together.” She looks at Tristan and gives a sad little smile. “I have no idea what I did to offend you today, and I assure you it was inadvertent, but I get that something’s changed.” She takes the hand I’m holding and puts it over her heart. “I can feel it here.” I get the hand back. “That makes me sad, it truly does, but I honor your feelings. I won’t force myself on you.”
