Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Subway is long forgotten.
I don’t back down, but I also don’t know where I could possibly even run as he stands and starts walking toward me, every step purposeful, methodical.
My mouth goes dry.
My world is no longer my own.
Reality has been drowned in the depths of myth and fantasy.
“Don’t look too long into an immortal’s eyes or you’ll see your own demise,” they had all said.
They were right.
The eyes are the windows to the soul and theirs are so old it’s painful to watch. Their eyes kill. They destroy. They reveal too much.
My own burn. I blink away the feel of sand in them.
I scrape my brain, trying to think of who he really is when he stops in front of the cave and slowly tilts his head to the side like a cat. “Afraid?”
His voice is so quiet I almost wish he would yell. “No.”
He grabs his sword and then stabs it into the ground between us and twists. “You really should learn to respect your immortal elders.”
“Apparently immortal elders want to kill me.”
“Elders want to save the world,” he snaps back. “Now, watch, the way we have for centuries.”
He leaves his sword in the sand and then crooks his finger. “Want to know me?”
Well, now I don’t.
I nod anyway.
“I’m Daggon, God of Fertility from Mesopotamia. I’m older than you could possibly fathom, you small human,” he whispers and then reaches through the cave and grabs me by the arm, hauling me out and against him. He’s warm. Sex personified. He smells like the earth. “I hold my breath for years, I make the oceans plenty, and I destroy anything out to destroy my creations. I can incinerate you with one small snap of my fingers.”
His breath is warm on my neck. He examines me like he’s curious, and then he smiles and tilts his head the other way. “Shall I kiss you now?”
“Shall I kill you now?” I counter.
His grin is menacing and beautiful all at once. “I would love to see you try.” He shoves me back into the cave and then falters a bit. Stumbles backwards actually, then reaches for me again.
I don’t know what the hell he’s doing until his mouth presses against mine, he bites down on my lip.
I taste blood.
The red drains from his eyes. He shakes his head. “You’re death itself, aren’t you?” I’m thrown back across the mouth of the cave and land on the ground.
He wipes his mouth.
“What do you mean?” I yell.
He keeps wiping his mouth and grips his sword by the hilt to stand. “I see my future in your eyes. It isn’t promising.”
“How?” I ask.
“How indeed?” he counters. “Go finish writing your names.”
“What’s your future?” I yell.
“What is everyone’s future? Yours included?” He walks out of the cave whispering, “Death.”
I swear the water rises toward him as he waves his hands and loses his impressive uniform. Then he’s standing next to the cliff by the rocks, and he grabs his Subway like it’s no big deal, staring up at the moon.
After an indeterminate time, he drops to his knees with his arms outstretched. An odd form of worship? Or something else he’s doing.
It’s not until about an hour of him on his knees that I hear him start to cry, though I can’t understand the language he’s using; he’s talking too fast.
What I do understand, over and over, is the phrase, “The end.”
CHAPTER 29
CYRUS
“We often regret saying too much and seldom regret saying too little.” – The Saga of Hrafnkel Freysgothi, ch.7.
Daggon is on his knees worshiping the skies.
He never was one for worship of anything other than himself, so I’m confused when I get to the beach to teach Cleo a lesson.
Icicles are formed around Daggon’s kneeling form.
Tears of ice.
Why is he crying?
I walk over to him, my black silk robe blowing in the wind, my hair loose around my shoulders, touching and teasing my body as if to remind me that Cleo’s hands could be there if I would let them.
After all, sex is sex. I don’t need her love, or my heart. It’s primal, basic in every form.
I clench my fists and keep walking through the sand, gritting my teeth.
It would feel so good, wouldn’t it?
What is it like?
I shake my head.
“Brother…” I put my hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”
His eyes are blood red, tears of water turned to ice slide down his cheeks as he stares at me like we’re strangers. He grips my shoulder with one hand. “I never thought it would come.”
“What?” I ask.
“Peace.” He nods and looks up at me with eyes blazing. “I think it will be peaceful, don’t you?”
“What?”
“My death.” His voice sounds wrong, sad, pathetic, weak. “I can finally rejoin our family in the sea, I can eat and drink with them. I can go back.” He points to the sea and starts to sing. “Down into its depths I fly, where heroes go to die.”