Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

It’s still not fast enough. The thundering of hooves gets louder and louder as they grow closer and closer, and I start racing full out, my breath panicked and rasping. The land-hippos are almost upon me now, but I can’t stop, mindless fear pushing me forward. Even if I get run over, I’ll have at least died trying.

Hands grab me around the waist and haul me into the air.

I scream as I’m pulled against an armored stranger, flailing my fists and kicking against him. He laughs as if my attacks are nothing. “What have we here?” His hippo slows, the thunderous clod of its feet quieting.

“Fuck you,” I tell him, trying to hit once more.

The man grabs my arms and pins them at my side and grins down at me. “A runaway slave, I think. Unless they’re letting pretty women into the Aventine militia now?” He eyes my stolen military tunic. “How good are you with swords, love?”

Well that’s a dirty question if I ever heard one. I scowl at him, struggling against his grip. “I’m not a runaway, and let me go! Put me down right now or you’ll be sorry.”

“Is that so?” Another rider comes up next to him, and I notice that all of the hippo riders—four of them—have paused to watch me attack their friend. I don’t stop squirming or struggling, because I’ll never give up. Giving up means that they win, and I’m tired of the bad guys winning. “She’s a pretty face. We can take her to the slave pits in Aventine and sell her for a fair coin, I think.”

“More than a fair coin,” the one holding me says. “Look at these fine tits.”

“Hey, remember me?” I say snarkily, jerking my shoulders. “I’m my own person and you can’t sell me.” I don’t point out that someone did just that a few days ago, because they don’t need those details. “And besides, I’m already claimed by the big guy.”

“Big guy?”

“You know, Lord of Storms? Aron? Kinda cranky? Has a scar? Arrogant as fuck?”

They laugh at me. “By a god?” One sneers in my face. “Do you think me a fool?” He gives me a jiggle. “These tits are nice but they’re not that nice.”

“Clearly you missed the memo,” I tell them, twisting. Jesus, how is this guy managing to hold onto me like this? I swear his arms are like a steel trap, because no matter what I do, I can’t get free. Of course, I’m tired from walking all night, so maybe I just don’t have any strength left, but I’m frustrated nevertheless. “Aron returned and he picked a servant and it’s me. So you need to let me go unless you want a lightning bolt up your butt.”

Hey, it sounded good in my head at least.

The men just laugh again. “Storytelling—a good trait in a pretty slave, but I imagine her mouth will be put to other uses.”

“Ew,” I tell him, revolted.

“Wrap her in your cloak and let’s go before someone shows up to reclaim her,” the rider closest to my captor says. He reaches over and grabs the tasseled reins from his buddy, who wraps me in his dark green cape. Dick.

“I swear, I belong to Aron,” I tell them. “You have to believe me. I’m his anchor.”

“If that’s so, where is your god?” One arches an eyebrow at me, amused.

“Er, around.” Shit.

He snorts and it’s clear no one believes me.

And then, despite my protests, they continue to set off across the hills of the Dirtlands. They ignore the cobbled path and go cross-country, and I realize they’re taking me in the opposite direction I was heading with Aron. To the Citadel, like the one said. The goddess’s city, though I don’t remember her name, just that Aron wasn’t a fan of her.

I still struggle, but my movements grow more fatigued with every beat of the land-hippo’s hooves. I’m tired and all of my energy is gone, but I can’t give up. I can’t be sold into slavery again. I just can’t. Is that all this land does is freaking enslave people? Why am I here if I’m just going to be sold from person to person? Frustrated, I glare up at my captor, but he just grins down at me as if I’m the most adorable little runaway slave he’s ever seen, no doubt mentally counting money in his head. I hate this guy.

At least he didn’t call me “tart.”

I blow out a breath and relax for a moment to regroup. I’ll need energy to run away, I tell myself. I’m not giving up. I’m conserving my strength and I’ll slide off the land-hippo when we stop. Somehow. Then I can wiggle free and run away. Sure, it sounds good in my head. More than anything, it doesn’t sound like giving up, and that’s the only thing I’ve got right now.

Aron’s nowhere to be seen, but of course he’s not. We’re crossing hill after hill of dirt, the hippos plodding over them with fierce determination, and Aron stuck to the road. As I stare out, I realize there’s something big and dark floating in the air in the distance. It’s the Citadel, and it looks like a gleaming castle in the sky.

I gasp at the sight of it. When they said it was a citadel, I thought it’d be a fortress of stone, similar to Aventine’s thick walls. This is a glorious, delicate castle that gleams in the sunlight with a thousand colors and floats above the ground like it’s on a cloud.

“How…” I begin, but a wave of pain hits me and I black out.

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14

I'm lost in agony.

It rolls over me with surge after surge, unending and growing fiercer by the minute. The pain is so strong that it makes me black out, only to surface again with new pain and succumb once more. I have no concept of where I am or what day it is. I don't know how long I'm being tortured out of nowhere. I just know that it keeps going and going and going. It's needles in my scalp and knives in my gut and a million things all at once. It rocks through me so hard that I vomit all over myself and I'm pretty sure I lose bladder control. How can I not? My entire body feels like it's clenched into someone's throbbing fist or I'm being turned inside out.

I scream. A lot. I keep screaming, and when I run out of voice, nothing but raspy gurgling escapes my throat. It still hurts.

It feels like it’s hurting forever.

Vague flashes of thought appear through the haze of agony. Of the soldiers talking in low, concerned voices only to disappear. Of being dumped into a bed of straw, a door slammed behind me. Of being left in the dark. I sink into the violence of my body turning against me, and time slides away.

Fog. My head throbs.

Someone kicks my leg and I turn over in the cot. Everything aches and throbs. Clearly I'm dying. I open my mouth to scream, but my throat feels like fire itself.

A hand touches my ankle and for a moment, everything washes away. Cool relief moves through me and I open my eyes to see the face of a woman with long, dark hair and silver jewelry. She studies me with a little tilt of her head and then gets to her feet.

Immediately, the pain crashes over me again. I moan, pushing my face into the straw as if that will somehow stop the agony.

"She has been screaming like this since you arrived?" The voice is cool. Sweet. Perfect. Just the sound of it makes me ache all over, makes me want something intangible and out of reach. It's the woman.

"Yes, my lady Tadekha. The soldiers said that she mentioned Aron of the Cleaver and that she was his anchor. Of course they thought she was lying…" The voice trails off.

The woman gives a sweet, musical chuckle. "Indeed. She is his anchor, true enough. The pain she suffers can mean nothing else. A lesser mortal would have died by now under such agonies."

"Then she did not lie." His voice is full of astonishment.

"Why would anyone lie about being the anchor to that one?" She makes a soft sound of disgust in her throat. "I cannot imagine who would volunteer to serve him with their life, not even this unfortunate creature."

I want to protest, to speak up, but my brain feels like an egg being fried. I press a fist against my brow to try and stave off the worst of the pain, but it doesn't work. Panting, I manage to spit out, "Who…you?"

The voices ignore me. "Which Aspect do you think it is?" one says.

"Who knows. It could be any."

I try to open my eyes and look at the speakers, but the dim light in the cell fills me with new, fresh pain. This is like the worst hangover and migraine rolled together and I just want it to end.

"Do you think he'll come for her?"

"Without a doubt," the woman says. "We should be ready for him to arrive soon. If she's in pain, he will be, too." There's a swish of robes. "Treat her better. Get her out of this filthy hole. I will not have Aron claiming I mistreated his mortal anchor. Gods have long memories.

"As you wish, my lady Tadekha."

Hands reach for me, and the moment they touch my skin, it sends a sizzle of pain through my body. I fall into blackness once more, screaming.

Always screaming.

It takes a while for me to realize I'm no longer in pain. I remain with my eyes closed, lying down. I don't make any sudden movements in case one of those migraine-from-hell things trigger again. I don't know what caused it before, but I never want that to happen again. My memories of the last few days are vague and my throat hurts like the dickens.

I vaguely remember a visitor. A woman. My thoughts are muddy beyond that, though. A woman, having a conversation about me, and then sliding back into the migraine-of-death.

"My lady, are you awake?"

I frown to myself, wondering who is in the room with me. And…are they talking to me? I've been “tart” and “slave” ever since I got here. I've never been anyone's lady so far. I squeeze one eye open, testing.

No pain. Huh.

The room I'm in is pale white and beautiful. Cool sunlight filters through delicate glittering glass windows that take up an entire wall. I'm no longer resting on hay but on soft woven blankets, and there's a pillow under my head. I still feel grimy and achy with exhaustion, but my circumstances have changed. Slowly, I sit up and look around. "Where am I?"

There's a sound of pouring water, and I flinch automatically, expecting a shockwave of pain at the sound. There is none. Whatever happened to me seems to be gone as mysteriously as it arrived.

"You are in Lady Tadekha's Citadel," a woman answers, and her voice sounds like it's behind a nearby screen. I glance around the room, frowning to myself. It's all pale curtains and pale screens and white everywhere. Not an antiseptic white like a doctor's office, but something a little purer and sweeter. Soft fluffy cloud white.

"Someone brought me here," I say, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed (also white) and onto the marble floors (white as well). "They snatched me from the road I was on and dragged me here against my will. I’m a prisoner.”

The woman makes a soft, absent-minded noise of dismay as if she's sympathizing but doesn't really give a shit. The faint scent of flowers touches the air. "Would you like a bath?"

Gee, thanks for listening to my concerns.

I feel for my belt with my money pouch and my knife, but they're gone. The only thing I'm wearing is my filthy borrowed guard tunic, and it's stinky from days of my sickness. Even if I'm weirded out by this place, I really, really would like a bath. "I think so."

"Come over here then, child. We'll prepare you for your master."

My master?

I test my balance but there's no pain when I get to my feet. It's so strange. I keep expecting everything to hurt but it's like all the pain just decided to up and vanish without reason. I pad forward on the cold floors and move toward the woman's voice, behind the white screen.

Standing there over a deep marble basin for a bath is an angel. I gasp at the sight of her. Holy shit. She really does look like an angel. Her hair is so silvery blonde it looks white. Her skin is milk pale and crystalline wings sprout from her back. She wears a white dress that cascades down to the ground in soft ripples.

My jaw drops at the sight of her. “Am I dead?”

Her mouth quirks. “No, my lady. You are not.”

"Who are you, then?"

She inclines her head. "I am one of Lady Tadekha's priestesses. All of us here at the Citadel serve her. Come. Would you like to bathe?" She gestures at the bath. "The water is warm and you have time to wash your hair before dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" I echo dumbly. I’m having dinner with someone?

"Yes. You have been summoned by Lady Tadekha. I suspect your master must be here."

"Master?" I echo again, equally dumbly.

"Lord Aron of the Cleaver. You said you were his anchor, correct?" The angel looks perturbed at my ignorance. “I am told you shouted it quite repeatedly to everyone while you were…ill” She clears her throat delicately.

Ill? She makes it sound like I’m making things up—or that I wasn’t really hurting. “I don’t remember.”

She makes another sympathetic noise and then gestures at the tub. “Come. You must be clean for your master.”

"Can we quit calling him that? We're more of a partnership than a master-slave sort of thing. I'm not down for that sort of vibe." I tiptoe toward the bath, and god, it smells good. Steam rises from it and a delicate floral scent touches my nostrils. It smells so much better than I do at the moment.

"And you are not in any pain?"

"Er, no?"

She nods knowingly. "Then your master must have arrived to retrieve you."

“Still not my master, and I’m pretty sure he’s not here?”

The angel smiles. “I am sure it is not my job to speak of such things.”

The woman reaches for my clothing and I let her help me undress, since I'm not really sure how many options I have here. I'm fascinated by the way her prismatic wings ripple and sway as she moves around the room. They really do look as if they're attached to her body and not just some sort of ornament she's wearing. It’s so pretty. "So what did you say your name was again?" I ask, stepping into the tub.

"I need no name as long as I serve my lady. I am but an extension of her."

Well isn't that just great. "So I guess your goddess is not big on free will, huh?" I sit down in the perfumed water and do my best not to moan with pleasure, because it's so hot and wonderful and I'm so very grimy. I close my eyes in bliss. "I'm Faith."

"Mm." A wet hand towel is slapped against my arm and then the nameless woman starts to scrub me with rough, abrasive strokes that defy her gentle appearance. Ow. I squeeze an eye open and see that she's got a frown on her pretty face. I guess I hurt her feelings.

"I'm sorry," I offer. "I'm not from around here and I don't know the customs. And it's been a rough few days. I wasn’t trying to be rude."

Her gaze flicks to me and her scrubbing turns gentle. She smooths the cloth up and down my arm as if I’ve never washed myself before. I want to protest that I can do it myself, but it feels rather nice. I settle into the tub and let her wash me.

"It's all right," the angel says softly. "You aren’t familiar with our customs. Do you know anything about Lady Tadekha at all?" When I shake my head, she continues, her hand smoothing water up and down my arm. "Those of us that serve the goddess live here in the Citadel all our lives. We choose her glory over our own. It is a great honor to wear her wings and serve at her side."

"It sounds like it," I say, trying to appease her as she has me lean forward so she can wash my back. I wonder if I should take the washcloth from her but I'm afraid of offending again. Still, it's strange to be washed by another woman when I'm fully capable of doing it myself. Her touch has changed to delicate and tender, and the cloth moves over my skin like a caress. "So…did you say your goddess was here?"

The woman's face turns radiant with excitement. "Our lady arrived on the day of Anticipation. I have been chosen to be first among those that serve her needs…other than her anchor, of course.” For a moment, she looks jealous.

"Can I call you 'First' then? It beats 'hey you.'" At her nod, I continue. "So your goddess is here and er, my god is too. Is this a common sort of thing? All the gods showing up at once?"

"It is the Anticipation," First says as if that explains everything. Her hands glide over my buttocks. "I do not know about any other Aspects, though. As I said, we do not leave the Citadel. We remain here to focus our lives in prayer. Our needs are supplemented by caravans of tithes from Aventine."

Didn’t Aron say that Aventine was getting ready to go to war with the Citadel? Maybe I misheard.

Overall, being one of Tadekha’s servants sounds way better than being Aron’s anchor. You get angel wings, beautiful gowns, perfumed baths, and get to live here. Meanwhile, I'd been dragged through the gutters of Aventine, almost beheaded and nearly had to whore myself. I have to wonder though…have others been pulled into this world like I have? Or am I the only one out of place?

I decide not to ask. I suspect it’s information I need to keep to myself.

She dips the cloth in the scented water again and then begins to wash my breasts in teasing, delicate strokes. I gasp, shocked at the intrusive touch—and how my body responds to it. I should not be turned on. I barely even like this woman. I snatch the cloth from her hands. “I got it, thanks.”

First gives me a questioning look, then sits back on her knees and watches me bathe.

I scrub my skin, hard. Time to get this bath over with quickly. "So…do you know Aron?"

"I have only been privileged to meet my Lady."

I snort. "Oh, meeting Aron isn't a privilege. It's more like a test of your patience."

First gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

Ah, crap. I've offended her again. I just shake my head and continue scrubbing. I'm giving up on being polite and unobtrusive. "Trust me, when you meet him, you'll see exactly what I mean."

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15

I finish my bath with awkward bits of conversation with First, but it's clear she doesn't know what to make of me. That's fine, since I'm not entirely sure what to make of her. She brings me a dress made of a white gauzy material that looks innocent and virginal when First pulls it out, but when I put it on you can see every body part through the fabric.

Every. Body. Part. Nips, snatch, you name it, everyone can see it. I glance over at First, plucking at the material to pull it away from my private parts. "Bra? Panties?"

"What?" she asks, and when she approaches with a comb, I see that her dress is the same as mine. She's just so pale everywhere that I never noticed until now.

Well, damn it. I'm not leaving the room wearing this. I already feel weird enough after that bath. I look around the pale white chamber only to see that my stolen soldier's uniform has disappeared. "Can I have my clothes back? I think I'd be more comfortable in them."

"Oh no, it wouldn't be appropriate for you to have an audience with the goddess in such wear." First looks offended at the thought. "My lady loves beauty in all things, and you must be garbed in accordance to your status."

"Ah," I say, as if I understand. I don't, though. "What exactly is my status?"

"You are an anchor to a god. You serve him before all others." She sniffs haughtily. "And he would not want you looking like an underfed waif."

I don't know if she's right or not, but sometimes it's easier not to argue. What do these people have against a nice sweater and jeans? It's like covering up boobs is grossly offensive to them.

Weirdos.

Since I’ve lost the battle in regard to my clothing, I let First fix my hair. She plaits it into an intricate, five-stranded braid that coils around the top of my head like a crown, and then gently fixes a few sparkling flowers into the plait. She rubs a sweet-smelling gloss onto my lips and my cheeks and then gives me a kiss right on the lips. "You look worthy of the greatest of gods’ attentions."

That was…weird. "Too bad for me that all I got stuck with is Aron, eh?"

First gives me an unhappy look. "You shouldn't say such things. They are gods."

I probably shouldn't, but it's clear First gets along a lot better with her goddess than I do with Aron. "I know. I just run my mouth. Aron can be…frustrating."

"He is a god," she murmurs with a small shake of her head. "He deserves our patience and understanding."

Yep, she has definitely not met the man. "You're right of course," I manage to puke out, and even put a smile on my face.

"Come. My lady will be waiting," First says, and with a flutter of her wings and a wave of her hand, she sweeps out of the room. I'm supposed to follow her, obviously. Except…no one gave me any shoes and I still feel naked in this dress.

I adjust the gauzy layers of my dress, patting them over my boobs and thighs. Here goes nothing. With a deep sigh, I follow her out of the room.

First walks ahead of me, her steps brisk despite her flowing gown, and I trot behind her, doing my best to keep up. It's difficult, because all I want to do is stop and stare. This place is amazing. I gape as we walk through crystalline hall after crystalline hall. It's like a fairy-tale palace made entirely of shining quartz. The floor is patterned crystal and shines like a diamond, but it's smooth and cool under my feet. We walk down one hall and I see a massive, icicle-like staircase that curves and descends into the depths of the Citadel. I peer over the railing and it looks like there are layers and layers to the citadel itself, all made of the same sparkling materials. It's fascinating and the place practically hums with an internal vibe that makes my hair prickle. It feels almost electric, but I doubt anything here actually runs off of power, so it must be magic. We pass by a large window and below, I can see the Dirtlands with white roads snaking through them. We're extremely high up, and when I comment on that to First, all I get is a haughty sniff in return, as if that should be obvious.

I try to remember everything Aron said to me about this place, but all I remember is magic. Magic magic magic, and that it pulls all of the life out of the surrounding lands. I wonder how First feels about that, but I bet she doesn't care. As long as it's what her goddess wants, she's cool with it. Seems kind of fucked up to me, though, if they’re killing Aventine and the surrounding area just so they can have a floating place to live.

The Citadel itself is a paradise, though. Other women pass by us, speaking in low voices, hands clasped in their wispy robes. They all have the pale, metallic hair, milky skin, and glittering wings that First does. Someone's singing off in the distance, and this entire place feels like a cross between a dorm and a church. Which is a weird intersection, but no one asked me, I suppose.

We descend the icicle-dripping staircase, and I'm glad I'm barefoot, because the steps themselves are rather slippery with the crystal surfaces. First walks down, wings bobbing, but others fly past us, and it makes me wonder why there's a staircase if everyone has wings. Finally, we get to the bottom and First takes me down another hallway. Then she pauses in front of double doors and turns to me.

"Do we need to wait to enter?" I whisper, because this place feels like somewhere you would whisper.

The look she gives me is patient, and she licks her finger and smooths a stray hair back from my brow, then takes the gathers of my dress and adjusts them out with a few tugs. So much for hiding the nips. When she's satisfied with my appearance, she turns and opens the double doors, then sweeps inside. "Follow me. My lady is waiting."

I follow. What else can I do?

The room itself is arching and vaulted, and it reminds me of a massive gazebo. Thin, fluting crystalline columns support the arching, glittering ceiling and the floor itself is a dull, polished patterned quartz that doesn't reflect the light. There are people gathered along the edges of the room, like an audience before a performer, and I notice idly that they seem to be both the crystal angels of the Citadel and normal people. First pushes through the crowd, sweeping past them as if she's got someplace important to be, and I trot after her as she heads to the front of the room.

There, on a dais, sits a lovely woman. It must be the goddess. The first thing I notice is that she's tiny. The throne itself is another crystal monstrosity with a fan of spikes arching along the back, but she seems dwarfed by it, her bare feet resting on a crystal step as if she won't quite reach the floor otherwise. She's not a child, though. Far from it. The goddess herself is dressed in a barely-there string of sparkling beads that seem to emphasize her bare breasts instead of hiding them. She wears another strand of beads around her waist and wispy, gauzy skirts that flow around her calves like a rippling waterfall. Her skin is a lovely copper, her eyes a piercing pale gray, and her hair is bound up in a sweep of pearls and knotted high atop her head, then cascades over her shoulder in a jet-black waterfall.

She's easily the most beautiful and most intimidating thing I've ever seen.

First's demeanor changes the moment we're in front of the goddess. Her steps grow more rushed, and then she sinks to her knees at the bottom of the dais, prostrating herself in front of the goddess. "My lady," she says, and it practically sounds like a moan of pleasure.

I'm not sure how to respond. Do I do the same? After a moment's hesitation, I get down on my knees and lean forward, putting my head to the cool floor.

"Arise," the goddess calls out. "I would see you for myself."

I don't know if I'm supposed to call out a greeting or if that'd be too familiar, so I stand there like a lump and let her look at me. Her gaze flicks over my face and hair, down my breasts—which are outlined in the gown—and farther down my figure. I feel oddly flushed at her scrutiny. It's strange, because she's remote and just a little bit terrifying, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm blushing.

"Not much better cleaned up," the goddess says, studying me. "What is your name, mortal?"

"Faith."

Her brows draw together. "Is that a joke? Do you mock me?"

Why does everyone have a problem with my name? "It's common where I'm from. Faith Hill, Faith Evans, uh, Faith No More…" And now I'm officially out of famous Faiths. Not that she's going to know who any of those people are.

"Mmm." The frown goes away but she continues to study me, and I feel a bit like a bug trapped under a glass. I do my best not to squirm when she indicates I should turn. I don't know why her opinion matters, but I feel like I want her to be pleased with how I look. I do a circle and then wait before her once more. Is she…going to dismiss me? The thought is disappointing. I have so many questions. After a long moment, Tadekha speaks. "Are you in pain?"

"Me? No. Should I be?"

She gestures with one elegant hand, and the movement is oddly hypnotic. "You tell me."

I force myself to quit staring at that hand and meet her gaze. "Whatever migraine hit me, it's gone now. Maybe it's because of the um, Citadel." I don't have an answer, but that seems as good a guess as any. All I know is that the debilitating, terrible waves of pain have vanished as quickly as they arrived and I'm so damn relieved.

She laughs, the sound utterly musical and enchanting. "I'm trying to decide if this is a game with you or if you are truly this ignorant."

The goddess is so beautiful that it's hard to be offended despite her words. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put money on 'ignorant.' I'm not exactly from around here." I'm puzzled by her amusement. "Care to explain?"

Her eyes flare at my question, but she crosses her legs—slowly and sensually—and then leans in. "You are an anchor, are you not?"

"That's what I volunteered for, yeah."

"Do you know what that entails? It is clear you do not." She laughs again. "Oh, this is delightful. I suspect poor Aron is as ignorant as you are. An anchor is supposed to guide their Aspect through the Anticipation, and Aron has you? He might has well have no one. How very delicious."

I frown at her tone, because I don't like the way she's talking about Aron, oddly enough. Sure, he's a jackass, but he's not exactly here to defend himself. "Aron's a…good guy." I kind of choke on the words, and she only laughs harder, the sound tinkling off the crystalline walls. "Not the most patient of men and a little bloodthirsty, but I think he has a good heart. Somewhere."

Tadekha purses her pink lips and another laugh shakes her shoulders. "Such praise."

"He's nice," I say, and it feels like a lie but I say it anyhow. "You should meet him. I'm sure you'd get along great."

Her eyes widen and the delighted smile curves even wider. "Oh, my sweet child. This is too much. You have no idea, do you?"

No idea about what? I don't ask it out loud, because I'm getting the distinct feeling that the goddess is making fun of me, and it hurts my feelings. Which is stupid, because I shouldn't be surprised that she's kind of a jerk, but for some reason, she's so appealing that I want to like her.

Tadekha flicks a hand in the air, indicating to someone nearby. I see a flash of rings and hear the tinkle of bracelets as she moves. Off to one side, one of the angels rushes forward with a tray full of fruits and sweets, and a diamond-looking decanter.

Just glancing at it makes me hungry. And thirsty. I'm always hungry and thirsty lately it seems.

The angel kneels at the goddess's side instead of setting down the tray and holds it aloft, as if her only job in life is to be a table for this woman. As I stand in front, waiting, Tadekha reaches over and plucks something that looks like a chocolate bonbon out of the bowl and my mouth fills with saliva. God, that looks so good. I watch as she takes the world's tiniest bite and licks her lips. "Shall I share a few secrets with you, Faithful?"

"Faith. And yes, please." I'm trying not to stare at the food. Or her lips. She really is perfect looking. It's amazing.

"There are things you should know about being an anchor. First and foremost…" She licks her lips and both myself and the angel stare at her adoringly. "When you are separated from the god you are anchored to, it is very, very painful. You see, you are his anchor here in the mortal world and should remain at his side at all times. That is how the bond is designed. He cares for you, and you anchor him. If you do separate, you are punished." Tadekha bites her lip and gives me a winning smile, spreading her hands. "What do you think of that?"