The Fates (Book II)

8.11 - Fatal

Let's pick up where we left off with Atria and Akhel in B.C. :) ...

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Scene 11: Fatal

2020 B.C.

For more reasons than she dared to imagine, she knew that this was getting far too dangerous. But she couldn't bring herself to give a shıt. Some part of her did — the part of her that was a Fate, her mother's daughter — but when the animal inside her reared its head and roared like this, it was easy to forget that she had ever been a goddess.

Atria remembered every mortal she'd taken to bed: the Sumerian king, and the pharaoh before him. The four virile slaves she had seduced in Mentuhotep's palace, along with many other men she'd met therein. She remembered every soul and every body she had touched and taken, knowing in those moments that she owned them.

But this... this was different. This she did not remember feeling. Ever. And maybe it scared her, though she'd never felt anything like fear before, but it didn't matter because all she wanted was more.

Shıt. It was wild and wrong and stupid but she really couldn't fight it. This motherfυcker had just told her he was going to hunt her down for as long as she walked this damned earth, and she'd liked it.

And his face was so close that it hurt not to kiss it. But she didn't, yet; the Fate in her resisted, knowing full well that once she did, she'd be as good as dead. Likely lose sight of the task that she couldn't afford to forget. It would be her first, worst, and most fatal regret.

Well, in any event, here she was in his house, in his bed. In his control — and glad to be, disgracefully. In mortal form as they both were, of course Akhel was stronger. Physically, at least... Atria tried in vain to ignore how much the thought of his physical strength excited her. The point was that, till the next time she fell asleep, there was nothing that she could do, to escape even if she'd wanted to. To venture elsewhere, far from this disarming distraction, so as to get back to her task.

Might as well just enjoy it, she figured, as much as she could without literally dying. Besides, she had something to ask.

She met his gaze — a glorious, dark golden-green, unlike any shade she'd ever seen, in his homeland of Egypt or anyplace else she had been — and struggled to remember how to speak, while staring at his face. "How can you hunt me when you've already caught me?"

Akhel cocked his head, smirking ever so slightly. "You'll see."

Gods, what was this wicked sorcery! Surely he couldn't be some unholy creature whose sole purpose was to sexually destroy her, some demon sent up from the bowels of Hades. Or was he. Atria swallowed hard as she found her gaze drawn to his mouth. He was so close that she could glimpse every glistening stroke of his tongue as he spoke.

She wasn't sure where her words came from, at this point. All she knew for certain was that she had gone fυcking crazy. Inching closer, with a theatrical bat of her lashes, evergreen eyes wide in a pretense of innocence, she spoke in a coy little whisper. "Are you going to do dirty things to me?"

His luscious, smirking lips curved up just a bit further. "Maybe."

"Really?" she teased, still carrying on with her playful show of chastity. "You're a naughty boy through and through, aren't you. Tomb robber, fugitive, rapist..."

His ravishing glare darkened. "I never said anything about sex."

"You didn't have to say a word," she murmured as her emerald eyes longingly wandered, down toward the treasure behind that damn loincloth. "Turns out that, after all... your cοck is bigger than your talk."