Read Online In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 by Savannah Jordan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Savannah Jordan
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to scry its depths.
I breathe my power on the surface. Then, whisper magick charms and wave my hand over the bowl’s edges.
“Show me my soul mate.”
Blurring my mind, I focus my vision on an indeterminate point in its depths. My hands cup the bowl’s edge, the water’s vibration thrumming in the stone. I blend my magick to it, then force my red light into the depths with savage intent. My reflection bounces back, distorted, eyes flaring like liquid flame.
“Show me,” I command. A low purr takes up in my chest.
The surface clouds at first, blood and fog in the black night of the bowl, then it snaps into a vibrant image.
Mace sits on a divan, picking out a tune on his guitar. His voice, full of siren power, pulls at me from out of time and rides the tide of our shared heartbreak. I lean in, focusing my power, losing myself to my realm to become in tune with the vision. Lyrics burble from the depths of the bowl, watery and unclear at first, then clarifying, until I can hear him sing as if he were onstage again, and I in the crowd.
Beauty in the burning
Her eyes of liquid flame
Beauty in the burning
This broken heart to tame
His loss, his regret ring in the words, chimes on the cord in my soul only he can strike. Amplified by the holy waters, everything comes through, his voice, his emotions, his beautiful image. A true, undeniable emotion exists in him—despite his physical response, Mace loves me.
“This broken heart to tame,” I echo.
A tear wells up and plummets, disrupting the surface of the water, and unwittingly begins a process I cannot reverse. The vision wavers and dissolves, but the truth of the moment settles into my heart. A sweet, sweet pain I savor.
He loves me.
I saw it on his face, felt it in his song.
I love him too.
And with that simple truth, my ultimate decision is made.
My prey is injured. Whichever death is required to join him, I will commit it.
Magick pulses with my heartbeat through the stone sides of the bowl. It melds and tugs on the power in my palms as I carry it to the door of my Temple. Once more, I step outside through the magick portal and into the modern desert wasteland. Heat oppresses my flesh, stings my eyes.
I will suffer it all and more to be with him.
Sunlight blares from the water’s surface when I raise the bowl. The holy waters pour down my face, my hair, my neck. I smooth the waters through my hair, then wipe them down my body, rubbing it into my feet and hands. Tilting my head back, I call on the powers of Nun, chant words of permanent possibility.
Powers more ancient than my own swirl in glittering halos around me. The lights rip and drag and pull from me my sacred leonine form, until two complete Sekhmets stand within the ring. I spin the bowl, curve up and crash it down over the anamorphic form, shoving it from existence.
I shall be the lion-headed goddess no more.
Leaving this realm is too easy. I scarcely belong here anymore. With the thought of returning to Mace, my body turns to mist, seeps through the puddle of Nun waters on the sand and disappears…
An unwelcoming, familiar energy skates my nerves when I crash into Mace’s time and into the room I’d seen in the scrying bowl. I spin to see a horrid sight, one I’d thought never to repeat in my immortal existence.
A succubus crouching over my mate, feet on his chest, trapping him in sleep paralysis. A dark aura circles her, filled with thin needle-like threads digging closer and closer to his skin.
We’ve run over this ground before. Isfet, chaos itself, seems bent on crossing our paths over and over, drawing us to the same man. Passion and pain, giving and taking—this bitch and I have constantly butted heads since my ancient days. But Mace is mine. And after what I’ve sacrificed, I will not allow her to ruin it. I bristle. Hackles I no longer have rise and prickle in the skin of my human neck.
“Naami!”
Her head pops up. A demon
I breathe my power on the surface. Then, whisper magick charms and wave my hand over the bowl’s edges.
“Show me my soul mate.”
Blurring my mind, I focus my vision on an indeterminate point in its depths. My hands cup the bowl’s edge, the water’s vibration thrumming in the stone. I blend my magick to it, then force my red light into the depths with savage intent. My reflection bounces back, distorted, eyes flaring like liquid flame.
“Show me,” I command. A low purr takes up in my chest.
The surface clouds at first, blood and fog in the black night of the bowl, then it snaps into a vibrant image.
Mace sits on a divan, picking out a tune on his guitar. His voice, full of siren power, pulls at me from out of time and rides the tide of our shared heartbreak. I lean in, focusing my power, losing myself to my realm to become in tune with the vision. Lyrics burble from the depths of the bowl, watery and unclear at first, then clarifying, until I can hear him sing as if he were onstage again, and I in the crowd.
Beauty in the burning
Her eyes of liquid flame
Beauty in the burning
This broken heart to tame
His loss, his regret ring in the words, chimes on the cord in my soul only he can strike. Amplified by the holy waters, everything comes through, his voice, his emotions, his beautiful image. A true, undeniable emotion exists in him—despite his physical response, Mace loves me.
“This broken heart to tame,” I echo.
A tear wells up and plummets, disrupting the surface of the water, and unwittingly begins a process I cannot reverse. The vision wavers and dissolves, but the truth of the moment settles into my heart. A sweet, sweet pain I savor.
He loves me.
I saw it on his face, felt it in his song.
I love him too.
And with that simple truth, my ultimate decision is made.
My prey is injured. Whichever death is required to join him, I will commit it.
Magick pulses with my heartbeat through the stone sides of the bowl. It melds and tugs on the power in my palms as I carry it to the door of my Temple. Once more, I step outside through the magick portal and into the modern desert wasteland. Heat oppresses my flesh, stings my eyes.
I will suffer it all and more to be with him.
Sunlight blares from the water’s surface when I raise the bowl. The holy waters pour down my face, my hair, my neck. I smooth the waters through my hair, then wipe them down my body, rubbing it into my feet and hands. Tilting my head back, I call on the powers of Nun, chant words of permanent possibility.
Powers more ancient than my own swirl in glittering halos around me. The lights rip and drag and pull from me my sacred leonine form, until two complete Sekhmets stand within the ring. I spin the bowl, curve up and crash it down over the anamorphic form, shoving it from existence.
I shall be the lion-headed goddess no more.
Leaving this realm is too easy. I scarcely belong here anymore. With the thought of returning to Mace, my body turns to mist, seeps through the puddle of Nun waters on the sand and disappears…
An unwelcoming, familiar energy skates my nerves when I crash into Mace’s time and into the room I’d seen in the scrying bowl. I spin to see a horrid sight, one I’d thought never to repeat in my immortal existence.
A succubus crouching over my mate, feet on his chest, trapping him in sleep paralysis. A dark aura circles her, filled with thin needle-like threads digging closer and closer to his skin.
We’ve run over this ground before. Isfet, chaos itself, seems bent on crossing our paths over and over, drawing us to the same man. Passion and pain, giving and taking—this bitch and I have constantly butted heads since my ancient days. But Mace is mine. And after what I’ve sacrificed, I will not allow her to ruin it. I bristle. Hackles I no longer have rise and prickle in the skin of my human neck.
“Naami!”
Her head pops up. A demon
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