Beautiful Salvation (25 page)

The ghost crossed his arms. “You’re still intent on—”

Aiyana screamed her frustration to the sky, the high piercing cry of a jaguar. The ghost’s eyes bulged and he held up his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he said hastily. “I’m going.” He turned and a moment before he disappeared, muttered, “You two are a perfect match.”

“There has to be a god you haven’t pissed off. Someone who would put aside the bickering in the spirit of helping the people?”

Saamal rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, Adonis. As I have tried to explain to you, this is the time of the Fifth Sun. It is my rule, I am responsible for this land and this people.”

Adonis scowled. “So the others would just let them die.”

“Yes. And after they die, the next deity with the power to create will step up and start over.”

“This is insane.” Adonis stared at him, red eyes like banked coals. “How can you be so accepting?”

Anger sparked in Saamal and he sat up, shocked and pleased when the room only spun slightly and his muscles were once again obeying his commands. “I do not accept it, Adonis. This was supposed to be the final sun, the final world. Nothing in my mirrors told me that this world would end.”

“So maybe it won’t!” Adonis waved the heavy text in his hand at Saamal, one of the more complete compilations of Mu’s history that Kirill had left for him when he’d returned to
Dacia
to sleep. “What about your brother the Feathered Serpent?”

Saamal looked away, concentrating on flexing the muscles in his hands, improving his circulation. “During his reign in the time of the Second Sun, my brother was making a fool of himself, letting the people grow weak and complacent.”

Adonis closed his eyes, letting the book sag in his grip. “And you…”

“Plied him with alcohol until he became a drunken fool and…made some foolish choices. He exiled himself in shame and that ended the time of the Second Sun.”

Memories of that particular episode held a certain shame now that they never had before. His brother had always been a little timid, a little too concerned with the methods to ever get a proper end result. Saamal had merely wanted to make his weaknesses a little more apparent, wanted others to see what he saw. Now that he looked back, he wondered if maybe his brother hadn’t had something to teach him. If perhaps he’d judged him too quickly. He shoved those thoughts away. They would do him no good right now.

Adonis shook his head and returned his attention to the book. He flipped through a few pages and Saamal noted with amusement that Kirill’s severe handwriting decorated the margins.

“What about Tlaloc? God of storms, he could be helpful.”

Saamal cleared his throat. “Chumana was his wife.”

The book slammed closed and Saamal’s eyebrows shot up. Adonis whirled around and stalked across the room to flop down into the overstuffed chair beside the fireplace.

“I know every kingdom has its quirks,” Adonis muttered, “but this is ridiculous.”

“Indeed it is. So why don’t we forget this whole mess and do what we should have done in the first place?” a feminine voice asked.

The sound of Chumana’s voice made Saamal’s blood run cold. He jerked his head around to face her, anger rushing through him in a welcome surge of adrenaline. He barely remembered his weakened state in time to keep from leaping from the bed and risking humiliation in front of his enemy. “How did you get in here?” he demanded, letting his disdain show on his face and in his voice. He remembered the option of using his death curse on the Spring Maiden and let the threat of it fill his eyes, though he didn’t speak it out loud.

Chumana smiled. “Now, now, is that any way to greet your future bride?” She swept into the room, her blood red dress flowing behind her like a tide of blood, rubies rustling against one another in intricate patterns woven into the train. “I came in the front door, as any lady does. It seems your precious jaguars are otherwise occupied, and the briars that were so terribly unwelcoming in years past have…died.”

Saamal kept his face impassive, trying not to betray his dread as Chumana’s power filled the air, pressing against him like an obnoxious cloud of perfume. He couldn’t stand, couldn’t risk falling to his knees in front of his former lover. His body was recovering, but he was far from full strength. Anger simmered inside him as her dark gaze flickered over his body, far more familiar than she had any right to be after all she’d done. Her eyes traveled over the bed, pausing on the space where his feet were—or would have been if he’d still had two. She tilted her head and Saamal fought not to flinch, afraid to move lest she realize the lumps under the blankets were not the shape they should be…

Before Chumana could open her mouth to give voice to the growing suspicion in her eyes, Adonis stood up from his chair. He snapped his wings out to the sides, the sharp crack of leather jerking the goddess’ head toward him, her eyes widening slightly. Saamal observed with hesitant interest as Adonis drew himself up to his full height, raising his wings in a gesture Saamal now recognized as an attempt to intimidate.

“Is this the beauty you promised me?” Adonis’ voice came out low, raspy, the voice of a demon calling from between the bed sheets. He flexed his clawed hands, tilting his head to the side so the firelight from the wall scones played over the sharp ebony points of his horns. His eyes were alight with demonic fire and his skin was flushed a shade of crimson that darkened with every passing second. He smiled at Chumana, baring his sharp teeth.

Saamal opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for what to say and not wanting to give away Adonis’ game—whatever it might be. Adonis ignored him anyway, the full weight of his gaze boring down on Chumana.

“You are the Flower Maiden, are you not?”

“I am,” Chumana answered finally, her eyes locked on Adonis, wariness in the way she held her body, as if ready to run at a moment’s notice. For all the nervous tension in her body, her voice remained steady.

“Would you like to be deflowered?” Adonis flashed his teeth, dragging his gaze up and down the goddess’ body in an obvious assessment. “An incubus could do such sweet damage between thighs such as yours.” He flexed his hands again, taking a small step in her direction.

Chumana’s lips parted and she took a step back, a flicker of fear flashing through her eyes before she managed to fix her face into a goddess’ mask of indifference. “Who are—?”

Suddenly her attention landed on Aiyana’s body across the room. Whatever demand she’d been about to make of Adonis died. Her green eyes glittered as she studied Aiyana’s body, her gaze as sharp as a falcon’s.

“She’s not dead,” Saamal snapped, unable to hold the words back as his anger fought to get the better of him. The stump at the end of his left leg throbbed as he shifted underneath the blanket, fighting the urge to slide off the bed and lunge for the Spring Maiden. “

“I can see that,” Chumana murmured. She frowned. “But why?”

Something about the confused look on her face grated against Saamal’s skin. Adonis took a step closer to Chumana, but the goddess ignored him this time.

“You are not welcome here, Chumana,” Saamal seethed, not liking the way the goddess was staring at Aiyana. “Leave now.”

“We both know you have no power to force me out,
Saamal
.”

Saamal stiffened. He’d chosen that name after losing half his power, after he’d ceased spending time with Chumana. It was a name he went by among those who had never known him in his other form, a name he used among his people now that he was no longer ruling over them as their all-powerful deity. Chumana had no reason to know that name unless…

He tore his gaze from his ex-lover and stared at Aiyana, studying her chest for the telltale signs of breathing. He weakened with relief when her chest rose and fell with the same slow, smooth rhythm it had since the curse had taken her.

Chumana gritted her teeth, the muscles in her jaw tensing. “Yes, she’s alive…for now.”

Saamal growled as he faced Chumana. “Get out.”

“Or you’ll what?” Chumana demanded, her eyes sparking. “I know about your trips to the Dreamworld, my love. I know you’ve been there more than once, and I know you would have had to drink the elixir of the sun to get there. You don’t have the power to recover from such an experience quickly. Why it wouldn’t surprise me at all if you were incapable of getting out of that bed!”

Saamal wiped the emotion from his face, reining in his temper. The goddess was right, he didn’t have the power to expel her. He met his former lover’s eyes, searching them for some sign of humanity, some sign that she could be reasoned with. “It’s over, Chumana. There is nothing left for you here. Even if you managed to remove Aiyana from the picture, I would not return to you. Our time together is past.”

“I will not be cast aside!” Chumana shrieked, green fire flaring to life in her eyes. Her pupils thinned to reptilian slits. “Have you forgotten all the pretty words you had for me when you stole me from my husband?”

Saamal exhaled slowly through his nose. “I thought that our union would bring more power to the land. I was only trying to do what was best for my people. I’m sorry I—”

“No!” Chumana’s eyes blazed with her ire and she pointed a trembling finger at Saamal. “No, you will not do this. I am not a means to an end, oh mighty Lord of Near and Nigh. I will not be cast aside so easily. You whispered your sweet promises in my ear, and by the oak you will keep those promises.” She straightened her spine, brushing her hands down her snug red dress. “I have Aiyana,
Saamal
. I visited the Dreamworld too. Agree to our marriage—a marriage that includes our blood bond to the earth—and I will make her death painless.”

Saamal went perfectly still, a deadly calm coming over him even as rage crashed over him like a storm-tossed wave. The skin on his face grew tight, pinched, and he slowly pressed his fingers into the bed, claws slipping free to pierce the downy cushion. Fur sprouted along his skin, rushing over him in a comforting surge of energy and he parted his lips enough to flash sharp white fangs. Chumana’s mask of triumph wavered only slightly.

“You won’t kill me, Death. If Aiyana dies, I am your only hope for reviving the land you treasure so dearly.”

Her words fell away from him, ignored for the meaningless prattle they were. She’d gone too far, threatened too much. Saamal took a deep, slow breath, reaching down inside himself, searching for more power, more energy. He would wipe that smirk off her face and then he would find Aiyana—

“Aiyana is fine.”

Saamal fell back, shocked as Tenoch appeared in front of him, his ghostly form appearing even more translucent in the light of the torches. The feathers in his headdress wavered in the breeze from the window, a faint echo of the gusts outside. He crossed his arms, facing Saamal with an expression that stated very clearly he didn’t want to be here.

“She’s fine?” Saamal echoed, hope rising.

The ghost nodded. “She asked me to come and see you. To tell you your former lover,” he shot a dirty look over his shoulder at Chumana, “failed in her assassination attempt.”

Relief dragged Saamal’s shoulders down and he didn’t bother to hide it from Chumana. Quite the contrary, he couldn’t help meeting her eyes and giving her a satisfied smirk.

“You have been misinformed about Aiyana’s state of imprisonment,” he told her lightly. “My true future bride is alive and free.”

Chumana cursed, glaring daggers at Tenoch. “You miserable interfering apparition,” she snarled. “I’ll make you pay for your insolence.”

Tenoch snorted. “How?”

With a scream of frustration, Chumana swept out of the room, her hair whipping behind her like an angry flag. Across the room, Adonis took a step toward the door, then hesitated.