Pleasure's Offering (21 page)

“No,” said a deep, beloved voice.

Izar twisted his head again to see Jeric standing in the door to the emperor’s bedroom, his hands flung out as though to catch something and the white moon shining like a torch on his forehead. Marcus made a deep, angry sound, but Jeric’s eyes only narrowed. “He is ours,” he said, his voice furious and determined. “You will not take him.”

Seeing Jeric standing there, Izar felt the strangest mix of joy and terror he’d ever experienced. Joy, because Jeric had come for him. Of course he had. Even before they’d become lovers, Jeric had always come for him. There was no one who could match Jeric for loyalty, and he’d saved Izar’s life more times than the captain could count. But the joy at seeing him was poisoned by the fear that Jeric was now in range to be hurt by Marcus as well, and Izar could never allow that. Dezira’s Chosen were lovers, not fighters, especially her white moons. Marcus was a warrior of Solus, raised up from his human form and made divine precisely because he was a fighter worthy to be the champion a god. As a human, Izar knew he had no chance, which was why he’d been running, but Jeric never ran. He stood and fought, especially if he was fighting to protect, as he was now.

Even so, Izar had to try.

“Jeric,” he hissed. “Get out of—”

“Not without you,” Jeric said, his voice calm. “And not without him.”

Before Izar could ask what that meant, the white barrier surged up Marcus’ sword.

* * * * *

Jeric had dumped the emperor on the soldiers. The drunk old man had passed out as soon as they were over Toric’s wall, and the moment he’d handed Vallus over to Izar’s new lieutenant, Jeric had raced back to the palace. He’d moved faster than he’d ever moved before, pushing himself to the limits of his godtouched speed. Even so, he’d almost been too late.

He’d gotten up the balcony just as Izar went down under the Sun’s Chosen, and if the captain hadn’t moved his head when he did, he would have lost Izar forever. But whatever was on his side—luck, or destiny, or Dezira herself—his beloved captain had dodged, and the barrier had exploded out of Jeric before he knew what he was doing. It was a wild, powerful spell, fueled by Jeric’s deepest desire to protect the people who had become his heart and his life. It was strong enough to stop a Sun Chosen’s blade, but as the golden blade had lodged in Jeric’s magic, Jeric had felt what Toric had done.

It was the same feeling he’d noticed before. The black spell wrapped around the Avatar like a grasping hand, but now Jeric understood what that hand was holding. Toric hadn’t spelled the Sun’s Chosen. Instead, he’d simply done what all of Dezira’s Chosen were created to do. He had taken Marcus’ desire, the desire to obey and protect his emperor, and he had increased it until that desire was all there was. The spell was bigger than anything Jeric had ever felt, an enormous, unbreakable wall of power rooted in the Sun’s Chosen’s own desire, making him a slave to the very urges that had caused Solus to Choose him in the first place.

Even so, the Avatar was still fighting. Jeric could feel Marcus struggling under Toric’s grip, his rage bright and burning as the sun itself as he threw himself again and again at the black power holding his mind hostage. But he could not break the spell, not with so much power behind it, and not without abandoning his own desire to protect his emperor, which was the spell’s root.

It was a beautiful trap, and an unspeakably cruel one that Jeric had no idea how to break. His power alone wasn’t enough to cut the black bonds, and while he could possibly rip out Marcus’ desire, such a thing was abhorrent to Dezira and to himself. But as he held the Chosen and wondered what to do, Marcus’ eyes had gone up to meet his, and suddenly, an idea had come fully formed into his head as though placed there by a divine hand.

Jeric nodded and locked his eyes on the Sun’s Chosen. Then he reached out, letting his own desire fill his mind, the need to protect, to save Izar, save Zoa, save this poor man who was here through no fault of his own. He let the desire fill him, the life he meant to build with his lovers once the Empire was saved, the happy years that awaited them. Every beautiful image fed his power as the white barrier washed over Solus’ warrior, trapping him like a bug in amber. He could not cut Toric’s bonds, but it was not a white moon’s nature to cut. Instead, he sank his power deep into the Sun Avatar’s mind, wrapping the man’s resolve with his own, matching him strength for strength.

Marcus went slack as the white power sank into him, vanishing beneath his skin like the moon behind a cloud. His golden sword hung from his limp hand, and then he stood, his eyes empty and glassy as he let Izar go.

Jeric ran to his lover before Marcus had finished standing, dragging Izar away. The captain groaned when he touched him, and Jeric ground his teeth in frustration that his bond to Izar was only one way, leaving him unable to know his lover’s injuries immediately. He’d have to settle for the old-fashioned way.

“What’s broken?” he said, laying Izar gently on the floor.

“Ribs, mostly,” Izar said through gritted teeth. “Nothing time won’t heal, thanks to you.” He tilted his head, glancing at the Sun’s Chosen. “What did you do to him? Break the spell?”

Jeric shook his head. “I couldn’t. He’s being held by the huge spell Zoa felt. Way too much for me to remove on my own, and anyway, white moons don’t really break things.”

“What does that mean?” Izar asked. “And remember, I’m not a moon sex-mage like you and Zoa. Small words, please.”

Jeric smiled despite himself. “I gave him the weapons he needs to free himself,” he said, glancing at Marcus, who was standing perfectly still, his whole body limp. “Now it’s up to him.”

“He’ll get free, then,” Izar said. “Solus’ Chosen are stubborn bastards.”

Jeric nodded. He was about to slip his arms under Izar’s to get him out of here when a wave of terror hit him like a bat to the head. It was so strong, so despairing, he didn’t even recognize it at first, but Izar had obviously felt it too, because the captain jerked under his hands, his eyes wide. And then Jeric knew. It was Zoa.

“She’s still in the big room,” Izar said, forcing himself up. “Two floor down, there.” He pointed through the floor, straight at Zoa, Jeric would wager. “We’ve got to—”

He cut off as a great racket went up in the hall, and then the bedroom door burst open as soldiers flooded into the room. Jeric’s hand went to his blade, but he gave up the idea of fighting almost immediately. If he hadn’t had Izar to worry about it, he could possibly have defeated the two dozen men crowding into the room. He certainly could have gotten to the balcony and escaped. But with Izar down, he didn’t dare risk it. Also, he didn’t think the soldiers were there to kill them. If they were, they would have charged already. But the men hung back, watching Jeric and Izar with wary caution. That made Jeric smile. It was good to know that even these men still knew to fear the Gods’ Chosen.

When the soldiers were all inside, one wearing slightly nicer armor than the rest stepped forward. “Lord Vallus wants to see you,” he said, his voice not nearly as intimidating as he probably meant it to be. “Come with us.”

Jeric and Izar exchanged a look, and then Jeric stood, taking Izar with him. The guards gave them a wide breadth as they passed, Izar limping with Jeric’s arm around his waist, supporting him. Once they’d made it to the hall, the guards fell into a loose circle around them, marching them down the stairs, toward Zoa.

Behind them, forgotten, Marcus stood in his trance, his eyes glassy and dead, his limbs limp. But as the soldiers filed out of the room, the Sun Chosen’s fingers tightened on the grip of his golden sword and the sun-marked blade began to glow.

Chapter Six

Zoa was lost. The world had shrunk to the room full of writhing bodies, the enormous tide of lust and shame, and Toric, who was king, emperor and god all in one. He’d removed the purple dress with great care, letting it pool to the marble floor beside the chair. Once she was naked, he’d stood up and arranged her body so that she was sitting in his throne with her arms over her head and her legs spread wide.

“There,” he whispered, tilting her head until it was at just the right angle. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to see you like this, little bird?”

Zoa shivered and looked away. Toric’s voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it, brought low by a mix of lust and vengeance. She could feel it in his hands as they gripped her wrists, holding her so tight she bruised. This was as much about punishing her as owning her, and she deserved it. She’d defied him, left him. Betrayed him.

The words pounded through her head with such intensity, it took Zoa a moment to realize the thoughts weren’t her own. They were Toric’s, bleeding through the bond that the enormous magic in the room had pushed wide. She could feel him now almost as clearly as she’d felt Izar earlier.

“Don’t think of him!”

The shout echoed in her mind and her ears, and then her head slammed into the chair as Toric struck her so hard she saw stars. Toric grabbed her before she could recover, snatching her chin and forcing her to look at him. “Don’t you dare think of another in my presence,” he said, his voice so low and dangerous Zoa was surprised she didn’t start bleeding from the sound. “I own you now, Zoa. You will think of no other but me, desire no other but me, obey no other but me.”

The bond was roaring in her head, slamming the words like blows against her mind until Zoa wanted to curl into a ball and agree to everything he asked just to get him to stop. But she couldn’t. No matter what he did, she wasn’t his. She was Dezira’s, and her desire was for two men only.

“Oh yes,” Toric muttered. “Your little trio. Forget them. You’re mine, and I hold on to what is mine. Even Silas can’t stand against me now, with all this behind me.” He jerked his head back toward the writhing bodies and the waves of lust they produced, the enormous magic, all flowing to him. “If the head of the temple can’t stand against me, even you should be able to understand that a freshly Awakened white moon and a human solider don’t have a prayer.”

“There are always prayers,” Zoa whispered, glaring up at him with a defiance she’d nearly forgotten she possessed. “Dezira does not forget her Own.”

“Dezira does not forget herself,” Toric said, his face growing crueler still as he smiled. “She treasures me, you know. Very few of her Chosen have ever pursued their desire quite as single-mindedly as I have, and my efforts bring her great power.” He raised his hand and Zoa gasped as a wave of lust hit her, bringing with it a longing so strong it was painful.

“Our goddess is as cruel as she is kind,” Toric said. “As wicked as she is good, and I please her wicked side very much. So long as the power keeps flowing, she’ll let me do whatever I like. She’s even let me contain one of her brother’s Chosen without lifting a finger.”

Toric dropped her chin and dragged his hand down her neck and chest, across her stomach to the apex of her legs. “She could save you at any time,” he whispered, sliding the tip of his finger against her entrance. “But she won’t, because unlike that temple drivel Silas feeds you, all Chosen aren’t equal. Some of us please her and some Chosen exist to please others.” His fingers slid inside her and Zoa gasped, hating herself for the wave of pleasure his touch brought, and the wave of lust that came with it. “So please me, little bird,” Toric said, his voice low and cruel in her ear. “Moan for me, beg for my cock. Prove that you’re a good little white moon and maybe I’ll let you suck me every night once I am the greatest power in this—”

Toric stopped cold. His whole body seemed to freeze, and then he jerked away from her and marched to the edge of his platform, shouting for his guards.

Men ran forward, including the two who were still rutting on the girl Toric had given them. They’d pulled out instantly at his call, coming at once to stand before their master as Toric roared.

“The emperor has left the palace grounds! He’s moving south toward the river, fast. Send a squad to bring him back and send another to his rooms.” Toric closed his eyes, his shoulder tense. “Someone’s fighting Marcus,” he said as his eyes snapped open. “Get up there now and bring me whatever you find, corpse or otherwise.”

The guards ran to obey, dividing themselves up with impressive efficiency, but Toric didn’t stay to watch. Instead, he stalked back to Zoa and grabbed her roughly under the arm with one hand while the other grabbed her throat, dragging her up until she was dangling in front of him. “How
convenient
,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You paying me a visit after five years of nothing, and not twenty minutes later the emperor leaves my palace without my permission.”

His hands tightened on her skin and Zoa began to shake. She could feel his killing fury through the bond, and for a moment, even though she knew Chosen were not allowed to kill each other, she was certain Toric was about to snap her neck. But he didn’t. He just held her, his black moon burning on his forehead like dark fire, his whole body shaking as his rage threatened to undermine his control of the enormous magic in the room. The roar of the bond was overpowering, and as Zoa felt the rage begin to take her as well, she realized for the first time just how close Toric was to losing control.

The idea splashed over her like ice water, cooling the anger and the lust until Zoa could think again. Toric was still shaking in front of her, but he no longer looked godlike and all powerful, just a man pushed to the very edge. Of course, she realized. He
was
on the edge. When they created magic this large in the temple, there were several Chosen who divided the power between them, white and dark moons both, and never for more than a day. To control this much magic for weeks was unheard of. She’d always thought of Toric as unbreakable, completely in control, but that wasn’t right. She’d seen him break before, when he’d made her, and he was breaking now, shattering under the strain of controlling so much magic for so long. And as she saw it, Zoa felt a wave of pity.

“No!” The blast through the bond made her scream at its intensity. So did the shake that accompanied it as Toric flung her hard enough to snap her neck. “Never pity me!”

His voice didn’t even sound like his own anymore, but Zoa barely had time to think what that meant. She was drowning in dark magic, sinking in a tidal wave of lust and fear and hopelessness, as well as anger and betrayal from Toric. As the black water covered her head, Zoa cursed herself for a fool. How could she have thought she could fight him? How had she ever let herself believe he had no power over her?

“But he doesn’t, beloved.”

The voice was warm as a summer night, and then, through the endless night of Toric’s magic, a hand appeared. A woman’s white hand, reaching out for her.

“He has no power save what you give him, my own Zoa,” Dezira’s voice whispered in her ear.

But he took me
, Zoa thought bitterly.
He touched me when I didn’t want him to. Your light didn’t save me.

“I don’t save my Chosen,” Dezira said sharply. “I give you the power to save yourself.”

Zoa closed her eyes. She couldn’t save herself. He was too strong, too powerful.

“He has no power but what you give him,” Dezira said again. “Power through your fear, through your shame. He overcame you bit by bit, letting your fear of him clear the path for his will to enter your head. But you can still push him away. You can free yourself at any time. All you have to do is refuse to let him have power over you, just as you did the night of your Awakening.”

Zoa wanted so much to believe the goddess’s words, but all she could see was Toric standing over her in that cursed tent, telling her to suck his cock, to beg him, and she was alone, then and now. Alone and small and powerless, and he was so much bigger.

“You are not powerless.” Dezira’s anger blasted through her head, the words burning like brands, but then the Lady’s voice softened. “And you are not alone. Did I not keep my promise, my own beautiful Chosen?”

And then Zoa felt them, Izar and Jeric. They were so close, barely ten feet away. She could feel them both like they were back in the Temple garden under the apple tree. Jeric was furious, but Izar, Izar was injured. That didn’t seem to stop him, though. Zoa felt his rage like a fire on her skin, hot and murderous as Jeric’s, and then, as though she looked through their eyes, she saw why.

They were standing at the base of the stairs before Toric’s dais. Above them, Toric sat on his throne, his face calm and composed as though his earlier outburst had never happened. And spread across his lap, her eyes glazed and her naked body limp as a doll in Toric’s arms, was Zoa’s body.

The moment she saw herself, Zoa’s rage sparked as hot and wild as her lovers’. How dare he treat her so! She was a Chosen of Dezira, the Moon’s Own, a godtouched Avatar!

“At last you begin to see.” Dezira sounded almost like she was laughing. In the dark of Zoa’s mind, the white hand beckoned. “Take your power, white moon, and show my cocky Toric what it means to try to take for himself what belongs to his goddess.”

With a final flash of righteous fury, Zoa let go of her fear. She threw it all away, the shame of her botched Awakening, the self loathing she’d felt when Toric touched her. Everything that had held her back, everything he’d used to hold her back, Zoa cast out, and then, stretching her arm as far as it would go, she grabbed the Lady’s white hand.

Beautiful laughter broke over her like glass bells and the world exploded in blinding white.

* * * * *

It took every hour of training he’d ever pushed himself through for Jeric to keep himself from charging up the stairs and running Toric through, and he didn’t need a magical bond to know Izar felt the same. The captain was shaking beside him, his body tense despite the pain in his ribs, his hand hovering where his sword should have been had it not broken. But Jeric and Izar were both experienced soldiers. They knew without speaking that charging blindly forward would likely only make things worse. It certainly wouldn’t get Zoa away from that monster, so they held their ground and waited for Toric to play his move.

It was a long, bitter wait. On the dais above them, the dark moon lounged on his throne like some ancient king. Zoa lay spread across his lap like a scrap of white silk, her naked body boneless under Toric’s hands, her eyes glassy and vacant. On the floor, men and women writhed together, filling the air with magic so dark and thick that Jeric could barely breathe under the weight of it.

“So,” Toric drawled at last, idly fondling Zoa’s breasts with one hand. “You’re her lovers, come to the rescue? A new-made white moon and a human captain?”

“Let her go, Toric,” Jeric said, his voice low and shaking with barely contained fury. “She is a Chosen, you have no right to keep her that way.”

“I have every right,” Toric growled, snatching Zoa against him. “I have the power to take what I want. Whatever I want, and you can’t do a thing to stop me, can you, little white moon?” His eyes flicked down to Jeric’s hand, hovering above his sword hilt. “Even if you did manage to get up here past my magic, what would you do? You can’t kill me. I am Chosen, same as you.” His face broke into a maddening smile. “You are helpless, just like she is.” He shifted Zoa so her face fell into his neck. “Maybe if you’re good and tell me where you took Vallus, I’ll give her back to you once I’m done.”

“You were done the moment you used your magic to trap the Sun’s Chosen!” Jeric cried. “You’ll burn for this, Toric Vallus! Let her go, now!”

Toric chuckled. “Marcus? Please, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Typical of the Chosen of arrogant Solus, coming to a dark moon’s home
on
the dark of the moon. He confronted me at my most powerful, I didn’t even have to strain to trap him with his own desire.” He glared hard at Jeric. “I am curious what you did to subvert him, though.”

Jeric started to answer, but it was Izar who spoke first. “White moons have more power than you give them credit for,” the captain said, clutching his ribs. “Not all strength is used to destroy.”

“You must destroy before you can rebuild,” Toric sneered, running his finger idly down Zoa’s bare side.

“Well, your power was wasted,” Jeric said. “All that magic, undone by one white moon.”

Toric gave him a pitying look. “You think that’s what I was doing? You think all that, all of this,” he jerked his head at the orgy around them, “was just to trap poor Marcus?”

Jeric opened his mouth, but Toric cut him off. The dark moon was grinning wide, laughing deep in his chest. “Marcus was an afterthought,” he said. “A happy coincidence. On the night of the dark moon, I worked magic such as your human mind cannot comprehend.”

“The Empire is as weak as its emperor,” he continued. “All weak things must die in the face of the strong. So I took my power, and I used it in Dezira’s name to inspire a singular desire in every man, woman and child for a hundred miles in all directions. The desire to rebel. The desire to tear down the Empire that has made them placid.”

Jeric took a hissing breath. “The anger in the city? That was you?”