Divine and Devour, page 1
DIVINE
and
DEVOUR
MARY E JUNG
authormaryejung.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright © Mary E Jung, 2023
Formatting by Beth Martin
Cover Design by Sheri-Lynn Marean
All rights reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher are illegal and punishable by law. This includes electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, information storage, or retrieval system. Your Support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Books By Mary E Jung
The Libra Witch Series
Blossom and Bone
Spindle and Shears
Divine and Devour
The Etrucian Royals Series
Queen of Light and Ashes
Queen of Light and Valor
Standalones
The Socrates
Anthologies
Sanctuary A Fan Fiction with Sherrilyn Kenyon
For the Love of Gettysburg in conjunction with the Gettysburg Brigade
Coming in 2023
The Flower Mate
To My Ladies,
Amber, Samee, and Nicole,
in no particular order.
There’s no greater gift than that of true friendship.
Chapter 1
Valen wiggled his ringed fingers as his magic connected to the etheric field. A cocky tip of his lips suffused his features with arrogance. Magic crackled across his skin and pulsed in the center of his forehead. His pupils dilated, allowing his witch sight to view dimensions beyond imagination.
He rolled his shoulders and jostled his feet with anticipation as he sent his intentions into the divination symbols etched throughout his room. Most had been chiseled into the floor to create a spiral of incantations.
His red and blue auras infused his magic through the grooves of the hieroglyphics, and the holy language of the first witches responded. They rose into the air, accentuating the dual colors of his auras. The witch symbols hovered and spun around Valen’s ankles. A whirling wind from the etheric plane fluttered his boot laces and black cotton shirt. His long chestnut hair, streaked silver and white, blew over his shoulders. The dangling moon and sun earrings tinkled in his ears from the otherworldly breeze.
The wooden floorboards beneath his feet pulsed to the beat of a cosmic drum, and an anticipatory rhythm filled his soul. The center of his palms tingled with the connection to the divine. Khaos was with him, and the spirits were ready to impart their ancient knowledge. Valen flicked his hands for dramatic flair. A snap of his fingers stilled the magic symbols, and they glowed brighter in expectation of Valen’s subsequent instructions.
The last patron of the evening hauled up her legs as the planks beneath her feet rattled and bent. “Are they supposed to do that?”
Valen steepled his fingers before his nose, taking on an air of mysticism and importance. Mortals didn’t have magical vision, but they sensed the intense workings of Khaos. Physical manipulation of the things was easy to display, but the majestic light show would be lost on anyone not witch-blessed.
With a deep purr, Valen dropped his hands and waved them to encompass the supernatural atmosphere. “Do you want your answers, or shall I ask my floor to remain quiet?”
The girl clamped her mouth shut.
The night sky shone through the glass-domed ceiling. The nails in the floorboards creaked as immense magic was forced into the room. The violet candles guttered, and their wicks released tendrils of numinous smoke.
He raised his left hand, the pathway to his heart and soul, and drew down the magic of the moon. Beams of blue-white basked the divination table in sorcerous light. Embedded star sapphires shone and mimicked the constellations in the sky. The illuminated floating witch symbols rotated away from Valen’s feet and surged for the gems as he resumed his chant. The center of each sapphire shone and accentuated the constellation patterns within the table.
Valen opened a leather pouch on his toolbelt and scooped out nine round moonstone runes. He shook them, singing in the language of the first witches and bringing forth the spirits that would answer his call.
He spread his fingers, and the moonstone runes clattered on the surface. They rolled toward the glimmering sapphires, answering the call to Valen’s magic. Three constellations formed in the air where the runes had landed.
“Three runes have landed on the knotted cross constellation. Two on the cosmic pattern of the witch eye. Three on the prism. One rune is in between the star links. It could mean that the spirits find part of the message irrelevant. Three runes are facing down, so we must consider the obstacles that are preventing the full reading.”
“Is it bad?” The girl shivered, and her voice squeaked with anxiousness.
Valen lifted his pointer finger and wagged it back and forth. He clicked his tongue and divulged, “Do not be so quick to judge the universe. It can withhold information to guide you better. Fate is not defined by what we can glimpse but by the possibilities yet to come.” Valen leaned over and supported his weight on his hands pressed on the divination table. His tone dropped to an ominous rumble, “Good thing I’m looking at your present circumstances.”
“But, is it bad?” The girl insisted.
Valen rolled his eyes and shoved upward. He obediently resisted the urge to rub his temples, and a semblance of professionalism filtered through his exasperation. It was his sacred duty as a divination witch to deal with idiots--No patrons, they were called patrons. Valen smeared a smile onto his face, but his mind screamed a plea for mental sanctuary. He enjoyed his job, but he wasn’t great with patience or people.
Valen wiggled his shoulders to ease the sarcasm locking onto his form. One knee cocked, and he filtered his emotions to remain impartial during the reading.
“Are you going to do the reading?” The mortal whined when he took too long to find his inner placidity.
“Miss—” Valen rotated his hands to indicate the patron should insert her surname.
“Fauna. You don’t need to call me, Miss.”
“Fauna,” Valen proceeded with his expertise despite his ire. “The knotted cross constellation is the representation of loyalty. The spirit that rules that star pattern can exhibit stubbornness but is very generous when it comes to love and faith. The vision rune, the rhythm rune, and the harmony rune have landed on direct points in the constellation. It shows that the person is willing to adapt in order to necessitate peace within themselves and in their environment. The person understands the big picture and does not indulge in falsehoods or try to control their fate. In other words, with enough patience and love, the knot can be undone.”
“That sounds positive.”
Valen relaxed a bit as the reading progressed. “It is. The witch eye constellation attracted two runes. One rune is flipped over, so the meaning is obscured. The rune that is displayed implies an awakening. An act of the divine must take place before the person can reach their full potential.”
Fauna sighed and pulled at her ear. “An act of the divine indeed. Should have asked for a map to a witch-made object or a million gold coins.”
“I’m the interpreter,” Valen cracked his knuckles out of habit. “The person has room for improvement, which generates a sense of hope.”
“The last reading?” Fauna inquired with eagerness creeping over her features.
Valen pointed to the runes across the table. “Two runes are face down. The prism constellation commonly produces that result. The spirit managing that connection of stars doesn’t play well with others. If she doesn’t like what’s going on in the person’s heart and mind, she will not give answers. Rules are rules to her, and she won’t break the divine laws of the universe. Whatever is happening, the answer is being blocked for a reason. The growth rune is upright. That leads me to believe that there is time to change.”
“What does all of this mean for me?” Fauna leaned forward to examine the runes.
Valen cocked his head so that his ear was pointed toward the sky. He listened to the spirits as they imparted their wisdom. He translated for Fauna. “Your question was whether or not you and your mother could reconcile. It is not for you to seek guidance. Your mother must resolve her heart’s troubles before she can address the conflict between you and her. When the mind, heart, and soul are not in alignment, the individual cannot perceive the world with clarity.”
Fauna rose from her chair and stretched out her hand to shake Valen’s. “Thank you. I was unsure of what to do, but this has set my mind at ease.”
“Glad I could be of assistance,” He blatantly ignored the offer to touch the mortal.
Not taking the hint, the girl rounded the table and asked, “Why do witches have heart songs? I’ve always b
He stared at the extended hand and attempted to reach out, but his aversion to skin contact reared its ugly head. He retracted in revulsion and tried to hide the sensation of his skin pebbling. Valen had a massive issue with other people’s hands, mouths, and noses. Pretty much anything that collected germs was off-limits. People were gross. Diseases were everywhere. He cringed as he imagined all the cells exposed from that one humble gesture.
Instead, he walked away, dissolving the constellations hovering above the divination table, and collected his runes. Valen gulped around his discomfort, “That’s a question for another day, and it’ll cost you the same as today. Three gold coins.”
Fauna didn’t seem to get it was her time to go and approached Valen, ready to receive a firm grasp of acceptance. Valen fought a gag and stomped his foot to close off his magic connection to the spirit realm. His auras faded, and the floorboards no longer hummed with energy. The room was rendered in shadows from the blazing flames within the hearth. Even the moonlight was dimmer as his magic dispersed. All the while, Fauna closed the distance.
Valen was well on his way to a panic attack when a blast of air knocked Fauna off balance. She staggered against the wind. Her hair blew off her shoulders, and she raised her hands to ward off the random mystical onslaught. Valen peered over his shoulder at the spirit who came to his rescue.
Cimmeria, one of the first witches of Libra, winked as she held her palm out and continued to blow the mortal toward the exit.
Valen pivoted and addressed his heart song. “That’s enough, Cim.”
Cimmeria dropped her arm, her magic ceased its flow, and she blew him a kiss. “You’re welcome.”
“What was that?” Fauna scanned the room as she tried to figure out what was happening. Her hair was a nest of tangles as she retreated to the exit. “I’m gonna go.”
Fauna charged out the door and departed Valen’s divination chamber.
Cimmeria batted her navy blue lashes and approached him with a sway of her hips. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thank you for intervening. I don’t know why people in Aequitas insist on that stupid handshake ritual to conclude business.” His shoulders jerked from revulsion.
Cimmeria’s spirit form shimmered as she floated near the fireplace. A tinge of red radiated with her blue aura, signifying their heart song bond. Matching dual auras always meant a witch was fated and bonded.
Her reply was rudimentary and redirected the conversation from his phobic reaction. “It’s interesting how she inquired about the heart song. You’d be the divination witch to ask.”
Valen grabbed a cloth and scrubbed the divination table with disinfectant. “The irony hasn’t escaped my notice.”
Cimmeria conjured a file for grooming her nails. He had no notion of where she magicked it from as she smoothed a scarlet-painted thumbnail. She mused with a smack of her lips. “Forming a heart song is such a rarity. I’m surprised mortals even know about it. Most witches are ignorant of the phenomenon until it happens.”
Valen swiped his hand across the surface as he explained, “Mortals are educated about witches in their academy. I’m sure one of their textbooks mentions it. She was young enough that curiosity probably brought her here. Her initial reading had nothing to do with the matter. Perhaps that is why the runes were not as clear in their meaning.”
Cimmeria waved the file in front of her face. “The tone of her voice as she asked about the heart song was odd. My witchy senses were tingling. Most people have a sort of reverence when they refer to the bond, but she seemed detached. Like the question was posed with ulterior motives.”
“There’s no harm in understanding the heart song bond. I’m sure she will return and bring more money.” Valen wasn’t greedy, but he did like it when his business was lucrative.
Cimmeria tossed the nail file over her shoulder, and it disappeared into the ether. “Speaking of heart songs, when are you going to acknowledge ours?”
“I do recognize it,” He mentioned over his shoulder as he finished cleaning.
Cimmeria let out a sympathetic answering sigh and crossed the room to perch on his divination table. “Valen, I’m your fated mate. Your one true heart song. We’re supposed to be harmonious in every way, but you are creating discordance every time you ignore the different layers of our relationship. Pointedly, the romantic aspects.”
The crux of the matter was Cimmeria was dead, and he was alive. “If I open myself up to the heart song romantically, then I’m inviting trouble. The convergence of our magics will rupture the etheric field. Let’s not forget that having sex with souls has been known to lead to magic addiction. Romantic relations between the living and the dead are against Libra law. Do I need to go on?”
“I’m not requesting you do anything dangerous. A peck on the cheek or a friendly hug, anything is better than the distance you place between us.”
Valen leaned on a shelf of books opposite Cimmeria and tucked his hands into his pants. “The temptation I have for you would ruin us both. I want you more than I want anything in this world or the spirit realm, and it would not stop at a mere brush of my hands or lips. Better to have nothing than be consumed with everything.”
“I think I’d like being devoured by you,” She flirted and leaned on her elbows so her conspicuous chest pressed against her cobalt gown.
He diverted his gaze to the wall. “I’m going out.”
Cimmeria slipped off the table and ran after him. “Where?”
“Viper’s Den.”
She placed a hand on his chest. Valen stared down at the spot and didn’t dare move. His magic poured into their connection and brought forth a reality that was branding. Recognition struck a flint in his soul, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her. Hunger gnawed at him, and it took a tremendous amount of willpower not to give in to the compulsion of the heart song or his desire.
Cimmeria pleaded, “No. I hate it when you go to Blood Street.”
He slipped to the side, out of her range, and tugged on a pair of thin cotton gloves. “I’m going to play cards with Vis. I won’t be in the arena. Don’t worry.”
Her features were marred with hurt. “For a witch who makes a living off of giving advice, you are terrible at receiving it.”
“One of my many complexities,” He flicked a smile and shifted past her spirit form.
Cimmeria slid around him and blocked his path. “Can’t you stay here?”
He was desperate to escape. “If I stay, then we really will be kissing. It’s safer if I leave.”
“Stay. I won’t pester you about the heart song.”
Valen ducked out the door but didn’t dare glance behind. He had to remain distanced from her, or they’d bring the wrath of magic and its consequences down on their heads. “I care for you, Cim. Deeply. That’s why I’ll not cross the line I’ve drawn.”
Without another word, he took off toward Blood Street.
Valen listened to the clop of his boots on the pavement as he fled the disaster of his own making. One touch and he was undone. He couldn’t go on like this forever, but he didn’t want to face the problem either.
Valen operated on a fix-it-himself basis. He’d always had that quirk.
It was the cusp of spring, and the cold torture of winter clung to the air in desperate hope for one more bout of frost. The correlation between the weather and his mood was uncanny in its precision. Rain pattered on his head and shoulders as he crossed the inner circle of Aequitas. The climate in Libra was unpredictable at best, and during the spring season, it poured without much provocation.
He rushed toward Blood Street as the droplets fell in rapid succession. His boots were worn at the toes, and the heel was glued together. Moisture seeped in between the tattered seams and dewed his woolen socks. He could afford new shoes, but he liked the feel of what he wore. Valen was a creature of familiarity, and anything outside his level of comfort was obtrusive to the careful balance of his mental well-being.
Much like how he hoarded his feelings for Cimmeria rather than forge a path for their deliverance.
