Chapter Three
“Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.”
—Walt Whitman
Age of Gods. Tens of thousands of years ago.
They called her the Pure Goddess.
The Bright One. The Lady of Light.
Many different names to describe how she chose to appear, always wreathed in a heavenly glow.
By contrast, her Twin was called the Dark Goddess.
The Shadow. The Mistress of Night.
Because she chose to be cloaked in opaque black, only the paleness of her face and bits of her skin showing in the nebulous void.
Seven never knew why she could at least lay claim to a number, some sort of ranking amongst the Jade Emperor’s innumerable offspring, yet her Twin did not. There was no “Miss Sixth.” No Sixth sister. Wherever Seven appeared in celestial inscriptions, there was merely a blot or shadow beside, above, or below her name or likeness.
Just like the fact that the color black was the absence of light, not really a color at all, her Twin seemed to be an absence of…everything.
But she was very real to Seven. She was her constant and loyal companion.
She was Seven’s other half.
Until, that is, her Twin created the Great White Tiger, Byakko. The first-ever Beast.
With Byakko’s existence, it felt as if all of Seven’s unconscious desires and hopes had been coalesced into one earth-shatteringly beautiful being.
He was the only gift she’d ever received from anyone. He was her most cherished possession.
Ever since she was created, she’d been feared by all the other gods. She knew she was powerful—she didn’t even know her own limits; didn’t know if she possessed any—but she’d never misused her powers.
Yet, the moment she came to existence, she’d been forcibly contained.
She felt the oppressiveness of her invisible restraints with every breath. As if her lungs were never allowed to breathe fully. Her vision was purposely impaired to see a narrower spectrum. Her taste was dulled; her touch, desensitized. And her hearing muffled to detect only what other gods could hear.
But she wasn’t like other gods. She had always been more.
Even restrained, she easily bested her brethren when they challenged her, as powerful beings were wont to do amongst their Kind. They only knew power and might. And their only goal in life was to gain more of both.
When Seven had her Twin beside her, she was even more powerful. They both were, fueling off of each other’s energy. Apart, they were incredibly strong. Together, they were invincible.
And then there was Byakko.
From the first moment Seven laid eyes on him, everything was thrown into turmoil. He made her into a mess of contradictions:
She felt both gloriously strong and pathetically weak in his presence. She was forced to depend on his strength, and she resented it.
She wanted him always by her side, wanted to pet and adore him, and look endlessly into those gorgeous blue eyes that showed his absolute faith and love for her. She became addicted to his company, and she resented that too.
The turmoil within her became nearly unbearable when he began to take human form to be with her in ways she’d never anticipated, never even knew was possible. The addiction and obsession took on a whole new level.
It was exponentially worse.
She craved him in a desperate kind of way. It frightened her. Confused and infuriated her too.
She was a god! He was merely a plaything created by her Twin to please her. He was not her equal, but a slave to her every pleasure. Protector by day, lover by night.
No, not lover.
Merely a tool for her use.
That was all he was. All he would ever be. No matter how she cherished him in her own selfish ways.
That was all he could ever be…or the other gods would take him away from her, the way they’d taken everything else she’d ever held an interest in.
She watched him now, from afar. Hidden enough that he wouldn’t sense her presence.
He was a tiger at the moment, the form he always took when he wasn’t in her presence. He was only ever man with her.
He was teaching his cub to hunt, stalking slowly through the forest, the little one running and tripping over his own over-large paws to keep up.
He was tiny next to his sire, dogging his heels, a fluff ball of excitement and restless energy. Though he followed Byakko dutifully, and even paid attention to what his sire was trying to convey and demonstrate, he was easily distracted by the various inhabitants and vegetation of the forest, now chasing a butterfly that had alighted briefly upon his nose.
Goya, Byakko had named the miniature version of himself. Though she’d reluctantly birthed the creature, she claimed no ownership.
The little Beast should never have been born. He was evidence of her transgression—mating with an animal spirit who never should have been able to transform into man. Byakko was “sullied” now, by her lust for him. By his lust for her in turn.
She didn’t understand why there were all these unwritten rules of the Universe. She only knew they existed, and that she broke one.
She could feel it with every molecule of her being.
And she could see it too. For though he looked exactly the same, magnificent as always, strong and true, Byakko seemed diminished somehow, especially recently.
When he fought monsters and other gods for her, his wounds didn’t heal as rapidly as before. When she took his human body for her pleasure, beneath the euphoria from their coupling, his eyes always glazed with incomprehensible pain.
She’d always demanded much of his body, and lately, her resentment of him grew in proportion to her dependence on him.
She needed him.
Worse than that, she wanted him.
Always. Every moment.
She’d never felt this dynamic before, not even with her Twin. She never suffered this gnawing, awful craving when her Twin wasn’t with her.
Perhaps she resented him most of all because he didn’t seem to feel the same desperate desire. Now that he had the cub to care for, he barely seemed to miss Seven.
A part of her whispered that she was being unfair, assuming things that weren’t true. Didn’t he always show gladness when she appeared? Didn’t his eyes always display openly the love he felt for her?
Even when she hurt him.
Especially when she hurt him.
She resented his love most of all.
She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t conceive of it. “Love” was an emotion only lesser beings felt. It defied logic, was messy and uncontrollable, complex and erratic.
It was a weakness, a vulnerability she couldn’t ever afford. Just look at the other Immortal Kinds who succumbed to the same affliction. When their Mates died, they died too. Even if their bodies still breathed and moved, their core went missing somehow.
Seven would not let Byakko die, of course, even if she didn’t feel the insanity of love. Her Twin would never have given her a gift that was too fleeting. He was immortal just like her.
So, why wasn’t his battle wounds healing?
Papa, the little tiger called out telepathically, catching up to his sire after the butterfly flitted away.
Will we share the fruits of our hunt with…her? Will she join us for supper?
Byakko paused in his strides as if the mention of Seven had made him weak. But he shifted into the smooth gait again, and she couldn’t be sure of the hitch she saw.
No, my son, he replied in that deep resonant rumble that never failed to send pleasurable shivers down her spine.
She does not require the same sustenance that we do. And she is very busy besides.
Yes, Seven thought with a twist of her mouth.
She was busy indeed. Busy spying on the two males in the Universe who confounded her. She didn’t know what to make of them. She didn’t know why she felt strange things for them. Different things, to be sure, for the sire versus the offspring. But they were still things she’d never felt before for any other being.
She hated it.
But isn’t she my Mama? Goya asked doggedly in a tone that said he’d asked this question before.
Shouldn’t Mamas spend time with their Mates and cubs? Leila’s Mama does the hunting. She brings back game for the family and nursed Leila when she was too tiny to walk. She bathes Leila and her brothers and sisters with her tongue. The way you groom me. Why does…she never do the same?
She is not like us, Byakko answered patiently, and from his tone, Seven could tell that this was not the first time he’d provided such answers.
She is a powerful goddess. She has duties beyond our ken. We—the Beasts and Elementals—exist to serve and protect the Twin Goddesses. It is not the same.
But aren’t you her Mate, Papa? the cub persisted. Doesn’t that mean—
Enough, child, Byakko chuffed gruffly, and he couldn’t disguise the full-bodied shake that overtook him.
As if his son’s innocent questions were a whip that lashed his hide. That invisible pain pummeled him, and his body flinched all over from its impact.
Seven flinched too to see it.
What did it mean that he was hurting?
What did it mean that she…cared?
Goya recoiled at his sire’s admonition, sinking back on his hind legs and flattening his ears to show submission. He was clearly sorry, even though he did no wrong. But he was in tune enough with Byakko’s emotions that he regretted hurting his papa.
Byakko saw this and took a deep breath. In an instant, a teasing smile transformed his furry maw. He rounded on the cub and lowered to a playful crouch, his tail curling in a taunt behind him.
Since you are too easily distracted to stalk our dinner, perhaps you will learn the lesson a different way. Perhaps I ought to stalk you instead.
The cub’s fluffy ears perked up to attention, his brilliant blue eyes widening with both thrill and trepidation. He scrambled to his paws and braced his little body, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
One…
Byakko started counting, closing his eyes.
Goya danced around a little, not knowing in which direction it would be best to run.
Two…
Goya yipped and took off into the thick of the woods, his oversized paws scrambling to obey his will.
Three!
Byakko let out an exaggeratedly ferocious roar and gave chase, disappearing after his cub into the dappled darkness.
Seven stayed hidden for an indeterminate amount of time, listening to the sounds of their carefree play…
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ben remarked, noting the way Michael’s expression had arrested on his even paler face as he stared wordlessly after Goya.
The Tiger King did not stay long. He left shortly after the brief introduction to mingle with other guests. But he’d obviously left a lasting impression on Michael, for the man had yet to look away from Goya’s back as he walked away.
“Huh?”
The other man turned to Ben with a start, as if he’d lost track of where he was and whom he was with.
“Is this the first time you met Goya? Admittedly, he cuts an impressive figure,” Ben said, trying to provide an excuse for Michael’s awkwardness, trying to put him at ease.
The man was as prickly as a porcupine.
Michael seemed to shake himself out of the momentary stupor and muttered, “Not the first time.”
After a pause, he added, “I’ve seen him train at the foot of the mountain. Him and the other…warriors.”
And Ben knew that Michael understood what they really were. Men and women who were also Beasts.
“Who are you, Michael?” Ben asked. Though his tone remained casual, the intensity of his gaze was anything but.
Michael stared at him for a few breathless beats. Then, he shrugged.
“Nobody. Just a human who knows things. Even if no one would ever believe me.”
He slid a sideways look at Ben.
“Not that I intend to tell anyone what I know.”
“And what do you know?” Ben persisted, leaning infinitesimally closer, not knowing that he did.
Michael met his gaze full on, unconcerned.
“I know that most of the guests at this cookout aren’t exactly human. They have special abilities, and so do you. Though you’re…mortal. For now, anyway. Your powers will manifest when they’re ready to reveal themselves.”
He cocked his head to assess Ben, even as Ben unblinkingly assessed him back.
“You’re like a giant nebula burgeoning with heat and energy. When the perfect chain reaction of fusion occurs, your star will be born.”
Ben had to blink at that. It was quite the analogy.
“So…you’re saying I’m a giant cloud of gas?” he teased, a corner of his lips twitching.
But Michael didn’t take the bait.
Seriously, he said, “I’m saying that you’re a wonder waiting to happen. A one-in-infinity miracle.”
Wow.
Ben had no idea what to say to that. As pickup lines went, that took the cake. But he doubted Michael was trying to hit on him.
Before he could respond—not that he knew how to respond—Michael turned away to observe the crowd again.
“I’m not a social person,” he said offhandedly. “I’d rather go someplace quieter and more secluded to have my supper in peace.”
He turned back to Ben with an expectant lift of a single eyebrow.
“Know of such a place?”
By unspoken mutual agreement, Ben led Michael through the informal buffet line that formed along the long picnic tables, with the ultimate dish being Mama Bear and Tal’s BBQ.
Ben chatted easily with everyone while Michael kept to himself, not meeting other people’s gazes.
On initial impression, it might seem as if Michael was too full of himself to give his attention to others, or simply antisocial. But upon further inspection, Ben surmised that he was just awkward around people he didn’t know. And, for that matter, around people he did know.
Michael seemed extremely inwardly focused, as if he was lost in his own world. Perhaps that internal world was more real than the one he lived in. Perhaps his external surroundings were like a dream to him, something to pass through without meaningful interaction.
As if he was merely biding his time.
Ben noticed him watching people carefully. Curiously. When he thought others weren’t watching him. As if he couldn’t figure people out. As if he was somehow removed from society and wasn’t really one of them.
Ben had encountered people who were on the spectrum before. From highly functional gifted people—like Grace Darling of King Ramses’ court, Mate to one of his assassins, Devlin Sinclair—to some of the clinics and shelters he’d volunteered at on occasion, where the residents needed adult supervision and care to safely carry out their days.
Michael was…different.
Perhaps he was more like Grace, but there was also a distinct lack of feeling from him. Some fundamental ingredient that made humans human. Which might lead some to put a label like “psychopath” on him. But Ben didn’t think that fit either.
Michael defied labels.
There were times when Ben detected flares of keen interest in him, like when Goya came by briefly, and Michael couldn’t utter a single word for how mesmerized he was by the Tiger King.
Something startlingly raw blazed in Michael’s gaze. Ben’s own chest ached to witness that look.
But it was gone as soon as it appeared, as if Ben had imagined it.
Other times, Ben had felt the intensity of Michael’s interest himself, when he least expected it. His own reaction baffled him—the hunger and need, longing and despair.
The more time he spent in Michael’s presence, the more frequently these moments occurred. And if this was a pattern, then it would be best to break down in private, away from his observant family and friends.
After Ben socialized enough to politely excuse himself and Michael without anyone noticing enough to remark upon it, he took two plastic plates piled high with food while Michael carried only one and led his guest to the privacy of his cabin some distance away from the main house, in the back toward the forest.
He’d built it with his own hands, with Tal and Gabriel’s help. His mother, Inanna, and Ishtar had helped decorate it, making sure the area rugs and simple furnishings suited his rustic yet contemporary taste.
The furniture within was all hand-made by Tal, from the ten-foot stone and oak kitchen island, the dining table and chairs, to his gigantic four-poster bed, well beyond the size of a King to fit his six-and-a-half-feet height, with its intricate wrought-iron headboard.
He was proud of his cabin, every square foot of it. He had everything he needed here, and his family made it a home instead of simply a place to work, eat and sleep.
“Sit anywhere you like,” he told Michael now, as the man crossed the threshold and he closed the front door.
He didn’t bother to lock it. No one locked their houses around here.
“Anything to drink?”
Michael’s head wobbled a little in a gesture that said “I don’t care, you pick,” while he stood immobile in the living room-kitchen, only his eyes moving, taking in his surroundings with avid interest.
Ben tried to see his home through Michael’s eyes.
There were not a lot of decorations, only carvings and pottery he chose from Tal’s collection of wares, displayed on a floor-to-ceiling built-in shelf Tal made that took up an entire wall of the cabin. Otherwise, those sturdy shelves supported tightly packed rows of books, mostly related to Ben’s academic work in ancient civilizations. Many of those volumes were the original editions, some hundreds, if not thousands of years old, given that he had primary sources for these works in his long-lived friends and family.
The large six-seater couch that sprawled luxuriously in the center of the living room was made by Tal as well, though Ishtar bought the thick leather cushions, and Inanna selected the sheep-skin fleece that covered portions of it and the floor around it invitingly. A hand-made quilt draped over the back of the couch. It was so large and comfortable that Ben often fell asleep in it when he lost himself in work, books and manuscripts scattered all over the walnut coffee table and fleece-covered hardwood floor.
He didn’t own any TVs, and hadn’t watched since he was a boy. He only used devices to do research and to communicate with his colleagues and students all around the world. Whenever possible, he “disconnected” and went about his days the old-fashioned way. If he wanted to talk to someone, he tried to do so face-to-face if they were local.
He didn’t try to make conversation as Michael slowly perused his home, now scanning the books that lined his shelves, his fingers brushing the spines almost like a lover would—caressingly.
Ben could feel his own spine tingling from a ghostly touch, as if Michael was caressing him.
Somehow, the silence between them was natural and comfortable. He almost felt as if he could speak to Michael simply with his mind.
He huffed silently at his own fanciful thoughts.
Only Immortal Mates and animal spirits could communicate telepathically through the Bond they shared. Somehow, Ben could communicate with animal spirits too, but it was only a recently acquired ability. Perhaps it was because of the dragon training Cloud drilled into him over the years, or perhaps it was because Ishtar was a lesser Beast, while his sire, Ere, was a full-on dragon.
But something told Ben it was more than that. He was connected to animal spirits and dragons in a more fundamental, intrinsic way.
He just didn’t know what it was.
Finally, after Michael studied everything on display in his open area kitchen and living room, they sat down at the dining table to eat their supper. Ben poured them both glasses of spring water that came directly from the forest beyond.
Michael demolished his food methodically in continued silence. He seemed entirely focused on every bite, so intense in his enjoyment of the flavors and textures that his brows gathered together in a concentrated frown.
Ben found this rather endearing.
Did he not eat well normally, when he was by himself? Ben thought that might be the case.
“I can grab more food if you’re still hungry,” he offered, breaking the silence. “Won’t take but a few minutes.”
Michael meticulously finished chewing and wiped his mouth on a paper napkin before speaking.
“It will take more than a few minutes if you go to the cookout again. Many people will engage you in conversation and overtures.”
He said this so matter-of-factly, without any inflection, that Ben quirked his lips in amusement. For some reason, Michael amused him without ever trying.
“Overtures, eh?”
Michael met his gaze in all seriousness.
“Everyone who is not attached to a partner wants to attract your attention. If you showed any interest, they would woo you until you acquiesced to their desires. But I think they enjoy the wooing as much as the goal itself. Because, when they engage your attention, they become enthralled and want to bask in it.”
Ben could feel the familiar heat rising beneath his skin as Michael spoke.
“You say the strangest things,” he murmured, feeling…not quite uncomfortable. It was more…agitated. But a pleasant sort of agitation.
“It will take too long if you go out again,” Michael continued in that monotone voice, betraying no sentiment, simply stating fact.
“I don’t wish to share your attention more than absolutely necessary, now that I have it.”
Ben was stunned and baffled. Was Michael…coming on to him?
And yet, the other man lowered his eyes and focused on the rest of his plate again, dismissing the topic entirely.
His words made Ben feel things, and yet he didn’t seem to feel anything himself.
“Have some of mine, then,” Ben said, pushing one of his two plates toward his confounding guest, “if you’re still hungry.”
Wordlessly, Michael selected a few items off of Ben’s plate and ate those too.
Ben barely noticed what he ate, simply filling his stomach as he considered his strange… acquaintance. They couldn’t be called friends; they didn’t know one another well enough.
And yet, Ben had the strangest feeling that they also knew each other better than friends. It was instinctual, what he felt. A connection that was ingrained in his very being.
Ben wanted to know Michael. But how to get the man to open up to him? He was more secretive than the Sphinx. Shut off from the world around him.
Ben didn’t even think he did it on purpose. It was simply how he was. Perhaps it was the only way he knew to be. Isolated from everyone external to himself.
It seemed unbearably lonely.
Perhaps the way to get him to open up was to show him more of Ben himself. Thus decided, after Ben cleared the plates and they washed their hands, he ushered Michael to the sprawling couch and sat down next to him, close enough to touch, but not quite touching.
“I see you’re curious about the décor,” Ben observed. “Do you like this style?”
Michael kept taking in his surroundings, his eyes studying everything they landed on, taking his time, not just roving aimlessly.
“It is not the style I like,” he answered, keeping his gaze on the room, not on Ben.
“It’s the smell and the feeling this place evokes.”
Silently, Ben willed him to expound. He was inexplicably fascinated with everything about Michael, especially his few but impactful words.
Finally, Michael turned to him and looked him full in the face with that unnerving, probing stare.
“It smells like you. Like the forests and mountains and lakes of these rugged lands. Like wide-open skies and fresh, clean air.”
His gaze moved slowly across each feature on Ben’s face, as tangible as a touch.
“It smells like your skin and hair, warm and welcoming. As if you’re inviting visitors to linger. To stay. To sink in and be enveloped by it, the way you would wrap them physically in your arms, infusing their senses with that male musk that’s unique to only you.”
Had he leaned closer? a distant part of Ben wondered. Or had Michael? It felt as if they had. It felt as if they were touching.
And yet, they weren’t.
But he wanted to. Every hair on his body was raised with awareness, as if awaiting a lover’s touch.
Michael did lean closer then, just enough to take a deep inhale an inch away from Ben’s throat.
Ben could swear he felt the other man’s lips graze his jaw. His pulse raced erratically, throbbing beneath his skin, practically begging for…
He didn’t know what.
He only knew that his body was an inferno. All of his muscles locked up tight. His cock was stone-hard, and his balls heavy and full.
Clearly, Michael “did it” for him. Their chemistry was nigh combustible. And if Ben didn’t find some sort of relief soon, he very well would implode.
“You smell like heaven, Benjamin Larkin D’Angelo,” Michael whispered against his ear, still not quite touching him.
“And you make me feel…free.”
Helplessly, Ben turned slightly toward him, unthinkingly offering his mouth.
They were so close. So very close. If Michael but shifted even a hair, their lips would meet.
Ben ached for it. He didn’t try to understand. Couldn’t gather the marbles of his scattered thoughts enough to make sense of it.
He simply felt.
He wanted…
Abruptly, Michael leaned away, snapping the taut tension between them.
“Is that a picture book?” he asked innocuously, looking down at the lower shelf of the coffee table.
“Does it have pictures of you?”
Ben thudded his head against the back of the couch in helpless frustration, letting out a huff of half laughter, half groan.
He spread his thighs wider to accommodate his massive hard-on, and wiped a shaking hand down his face. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, but the rest of his body didn’t get the message. Refused to stand down.
He was so turned on he hurt. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Well, he supposed he could initiate an overture for once. But something held him back, like it always did. What his body wanted wasn’t necessarily aligned with his heart and mind. His soul. At least in this instance.
The fact that this was the only time in almost thirty years that his body demanded something sexual was enough of an anomaly for Ben to take note. He just didn’t know what to do about it. The rest of him wasn’t ready for it.
Not yet.
“Yeah,” he answered gruffly, his voice a gritty growl, almost animalistic.
He cleared his throat and tried again, tried to convey the semblance of a calm he didn’t feel.
“My family is old-fashioned. They like to see the photos printed rather than look at them on a digital screen. Inanna made this for me for Christmas one year. It’s got pictures of me growing up. Mostly boring stuff.”
“Nothing about you could be boring, Benjamin,” Michael stated like it was a well-known fact, without any inflection or emphasis.
If he wasn’t coming on to Ben, then what the hell was he doing?
Ben was beyond confused.
“May I?” Michael asked politely, extending both of his hands to take the album.
Like a supplicant.
Dutifully, Ben gave it to him.
It was a very large, thick and substantial book. It was the only album Ben possessed, and there was one just like it in the big house.
Many a time he’d seen Ishtar peruse it lovingly, Tal sitting next to her, one of his arms wrapped around her. They both looked at the pictures, even though Tal was blind. His fingers would stroke the photos as if he could feel each person and scene.
It always made a bittersweet ache pang in Ben’s chest to see them thus.
Now, Michael held the album in his lap and looked carefully at every photo, stroking the glossy paper the way Tal did, as if he could experience the moments frozen in time somehow.
As if he was living them vicariously with Ben.
Ben shifted a little closer so that their hips finally touched. Unconsciously, he settled one arm over the back of the couch, just a couple of inches from Michael’s shoulders.
Over the next hour, maybe two (Ben lost track of time), Michael studied the photos while Ben studied him. His expression remained neutral and unreadable, but his eyes…
They glowed with a light Ben couldn’t look away from, and didn’t even bother to try.