Read Online In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 by Savannah Jordan - Free Book Online
Authors: Savannah Jordan
Ads: Link
No good. No matter how hard I try to forget her, I lose it every time. Sekhmet’s infiltrated everything I do, everything I am.
I close my eyes and pick the chords, listening with my soul while I watch us dancing again. Breathing in, I taste her cinnamon spice. Words come then. Aching, mournful blues. I grab a scratch pad and scribble down notes as fast as I can, before it slips away from me. Keys, stanzas, bridges, the chorus. I pour all my pain and loss into the song.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I heave a sigh, then sit back with my guitar and work out the fine points of the melody, half-humming, half-singing the song I’d written.
If I had any magick in my life, it’s in my music. It’s the only place I’ve felt more than what I am. Until Sekhmet.
“Goddess, hear me,” I pray. Eyes closed, fingers dancing on the strings, I melt my voice into the smoky blues and sing the chorus.
Beauty in the burning
Her eyes of liquid flame
Her beauty is burning
This broken heart to tame
Burning me
Loving me
Killing me…
I play it over and over, watching dawn light the horizon through my windows. Eventually, exhaustion wins. I tuck my guitar into its case, grab a blanket and pull it over me as I slump to the couch like a bag of bones and sand.
Every moment with Sekhmet runs in a repeating loop in my mind. Gorgeous, and so alive. So why do I feel so dead? My last conscious thought is, Maybe Naami is right. Maybe losing a few days wouldn’t be such a bad idea…
Chapter Nine
The Goddess
My Temple is empty. Shadows have taken life, bleeding out from the corners. Lamps barely hold flame. Incense refuses to rise in sacrifice. Even the sunlight fails to fill the curtains.
My heart is as hollow and dark. I tasted kismet in Mace. I found not just a consort in my pursuit of prey, but a soul mate, and he pulled away from me. In my heartache, I surrendered to my vengeful nature and repelled him from my magickal domain.
Now, I’m alone.
He merely flinched. Yet I punished him as if it were a sin.
Regret courses though my blood as thick as my magick.
I hate me, and I hate me for it. Heaving a sigh, I rise from my divan, bare human feet on the polished stone flooring. I couldn’t let go of my human form, even after leaving Mace in Seduction. This body reminds me of him, he tasted these breasts, licked this human pussy. I don’t want to part with that. Musing, again, on my actions and what they may have cost me, I pace to the window looking out onto the modern wasteland. Heat deluges my face, save for the single wet tear track.
Mace is out there somewhere. Not now, in my time or homeland, but in that era outside of my window, outside of my magick—where I shoved him. Closing my eyes, I can still feel him, sense his conscious thoughts. Knowing they are on me is a bittersweet kind of pain.
He’s in my heart, part of my soul.
Dropping the drapery against the heat, I close myself off from all the worlds like I wish I could close my heart off from one single man.
I plunge into the shadows of my Temple. The light of my eyes reflects from the magickal seals on the hidden niche in my wall. A potion so strong I keep it hidden, even from myself. The only time the seals are visible is in times of need. Apparently, my magick recognizes heartache as the ultimate need. I pass a hand over the seals, whisper an incantation and the façade covering the niche falls away.
A single bottle sits within, carved of a ghostly white, nearly translucent alabaster, its sacred contents similar to no other. Contained within are the waters of Nun, the primal void from which all life sprang. I save that holy water only for rituals that blend past and present, loss and love.
Power vibrates through the stone when I slip my fingertip through the ring of the neck and carry it to my cabinet. There, I retrieve a black bowl carved from solid onyx. I carry these to my sacrificial altar and pour the sacred waters into the bowl
I close my eyes and pick the chords, listening with my soul while I watch us dancing again. Breathing in, I taste her cinnamon spice. Words come then. Aching, mournful blues. I grab a scratch pad and scribble down notes as fast as I can, before it slips away from me. Keys, stanzas, bridges, the chorus. I pour all my pain and loss into the song.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I heave a sigh, then sit back with my guitar and work out the fine points of the melody, half-humming, half-singing the song I’d written.
If I had any magick in my life, it’s in my music. It’s the only place I’ve felt more than what I am. Until Sekhmet.
“Goddess, hear me,” I pray. Eyes closed, fingers dancing on the strings, I melt my voice into the smoky blues and sing the chorus.
Beauty in the burning
Her eyes of liquid flame
Her beauty is burning
This broken heart to tame
Burning me
Loving me
Killing me…
I play it over and over, watching dawn light the horizon through my windows. Eventually, exhaustion wins. I tuck my guitar into its case, grab a blanket and pull it over me as I slump to the couch like a bag of bones and sand.
Every moment with Sekhmet runs in a repeating loop in my mind. Gorgeous, and so alive. So why do I feel so dead? My last conscious thought is, Maybe Naami is right. Maybe losing a few days wouldn’t be such a bad idea…
Chapter Nine
The Goddess
My Temple is empty. Shadows have taken life, bleeding out from the corners. Lamps barely hold flame. Incense refuses to rise in sacrifice. Even the sunlight fails to fill the curtains.
My heart is as hollow and dark. I tasted kismet in Mace. I found not just a consort in my pursuit of prey, but a soul mate, and he pulled away from me. In my heartache, I surrendered to my vengeful nature and repelled him from my magickal domain.
Now, I’m alone.
He merely flinched. Yet I punished him as if it were a sin.
Regret courses though my blood as thick as my magick.
I hate me, and I hate me for it. Heaving a sigh, I rise from my divan, bare human feet on the polished stone flooring. I couldn’t let go of my human form, even after leaving Mace in Seduction. This body reminds me of him, he tasted these breasts, licked this human pussy. I don’t want to part with that. Musing, again, on my actions and what they may have cost me, I pace to the window looking out onto the modern wasteland. Heat deluges my face, save for the single wet tear track.
Mace is out there somewhere. Not now, in my time or homeland, but in that era outside of my window, outside of my magick—where I shoved him. Closing my eyes, I can still feel him, sense his conscious thoughts. Knowing they are on me is a bittersweet kind of pain.
He’s in my heart, part of my soul.
Dropping the drapery against the heat, I close myself off from all the worlds like I wish I could close my heart off from one single man.
I plunge into the shadows of my Temple. The light of my eyes reflects from the magickal seals on the hidden niche in my wall. A potion so strong I keep it hidden, even from myself. The only time the seals are visible is in times of need. Apparently, my magick recognizes heartache as the ultimate need. I pass a hand over the seals, whisper an incantation and the façade covering the niche falls away.
A single bottle sits within, carved of a ghostly white, nearly translucent alabaster, its sacred contents similar to no other. Contained within are the waters of Nun, the primal void from which all life sprang. I save that holy water only for rituals that blend past and present, loss and love.
Power vibrates through the stone when I slip my fingertip through the ring of the neck and carry it to my cabinet. There, I retrieve a black bowl carved from solid onyx. I carry these to my sacrificial altar and pour the sacred waters into the bowl
Similar Books
