Prologue #2
Skyy jerked away, startling her. “Skyy…” She grit her teeth, reaching for her arm again, but her sister was quicker—dodging out of reach in a swift motion.
Before Azahara could even fathom her sister’s next move, Skyy took the hourglass into her hand and turned it over.
The blood drained from Azahara’s face as, within seconds, she kicked off her heels and tackled her sister to the ground, their shoulders meeting the hard surface as they both let out a cry of pain.
She did not pause, but instead got to her knees and grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “Why,” she screamed. “Why would you do that?!”
“I-I don’t know!” Skyy trembled. Azahara did not know if she was afraid of her, or what she had done.
“Skyy? Azahara?” The sweet sound of Mel’s voice echoed in the chamber.
Please, no. She thought, pleading with whoever could hear her.
Azahara quickly stood, pulling Skyy to her feet and dragging her towards Mel. “We need to leave now.”
Before she even made it to her sister, the floor rumbled. The darkness of the room felt endless. The air thickened as the only light that filled the room vanished.
The sudden plunge into pitch-black darkness elicited a piercing scream of terror from Mel.
Azahara pulled Skyy, colliding into Mel’s lithe frame, their arms wrapping tightly around each other.
A heavy silence enveloped the chamber, broken only by the soft whimpering of Mel and Skyy.
The younger sisters trembled, their fear evident, while Azahara stood resolute. She was unsure of what she could do in this situation. The only weapon she possessed was a single knife, intended for mundane tasks like cutting fruit and vegetables, or spreading jam on toast.
It wasn’t that Azahara lacked fear. She did feel it, but not for the same reasons as her sisters.
The fear that gripped her was centered around their safety.
She worried about what might happen to them, whether she would be able to navigate the situation and ensure their safe escape, keeping them unharmed and whole.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, another sound pierced the silence. It was not a sound she welcomed, but rather one that filled her with apprehension: footsteps.
They echoed loudly in the confined chamber, drowning out the screams of Skyy and Mel. Unable to discern the steps clearly amidst the chaos, Azahara made a frantic move, swiftly guiding her sisters toward what she hoped was the nearest wall.
The cold, smooth stone met their backs abruptly, eliciting groans of pain. Azahara then positioned herself with her back against them, creating a protective barrier between her sisters and the unknown intruder.
“A protector.” A voice that was not theirs came.
“Please,” Azahara said with pain in her voice. “Keep your eyes closed.” She was speaking to her sisters. “For once in your years, please listen to me.”
“And a lover,” the voice said again.
It possessed a distinctly male quality, yet it emanated from beyond this realm. It transcended it, evoking a voice that defied mortal existence. Each word carried an ethereal echo, blending beauty and danger in perfect harmony.
“You turned my hourglass.” No questions. “Thank you.”
Azahara’s heart was pounding as she drowned out her sisters’ cries, attempting to focus on the voice and its proximity to them. It seemed to reverberate from every direction, engulfing them in its omnipresence.
“You are welcome; please, let us go.” Azahara addressed the voice.
He hummed. “Who are you?”
Why does it matter? She thought, her breathing becoming unsteady. It was coming closer to her.
“Your name, human,” he said, forcefully this time.
“Azahara.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful mortal.” Still, the voice was everywhere, and although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was mere inches from her.
Azahara shifted one of the hands that had been shielding her sister and extended it cautiously in front of her. With a trembling touch, she moved her fingers from left to right, hoping to encounter any tangible presence that might be lurking in the darkness.
“Do you want to know who I am?” There was an eagerness behind those words.
“The god of this temple.” As Azahara answered, it wasn’t a body or a mere brush that she felt. Instead, cold, stiff fingers intertwined with hers, yanking her forcefully. She was surprised that her fingers didn’t crack under the immense pressure.
Azahara let out a pained scream as she collided with a hard object.
She heard her sisters scream out for her, but the sound faded into the distance as quickly as it had come.
Her eyes shot open.
She found herself still in the stone room, but as if someone had switched on the lights, everything became visible. Without hesitation, she turned around to search for her sisters, only to discover that they were nowhere to be found.
“Look at me.” Azahara gasped. The voice was right behind her. The body of the man, a god, towering over her.
She dared not look, or else it would be the end of her.
“Look at me, girl, I am no medusa.” A firm hand grabbed at her shoulder and spun her around.
She trained her eyes downward. She saw the feet of a man, humanoid in nature. They were large, but to be expected for such a stature. The skin was slightly darker than her own.
“Look at me, girl!” He took her chin and forcefully made her look at him.
Though Azahara herself remained composed, it was the god before her who was taken aback by her ethereal beauty.
His gaze, filled with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue, fixated upon the fiery-haired woman standing before him.
Puzzled, her heart raced, her breath shaky, as she tried to comprehend the intensity of his stare.
The radiant yellow aura surrounding him confirmed his divine nature, casting a captivating glow in the chamber. The air felt charged with otherworldly energy, and she couldn’t help but tremble in his presence.
“My goddess, you steal my breath,” he said, moving his hands around Azahara’s face without touching her.
Over her shoulders, down her arms, to her stomach.
She gasped but did not move. His fingers were mere centimeters from her as he moved back up, one of them grazing her breast. “Oh—my.” There was a low growl that hummed in his throat.
Azahara shook her head. “Where are my sisters?” she asked through bated breath.
“Who are you?” he asked the same question again.
“I told you. Where are my sisters?” Azahara asked again, trying to find the strength and courage she did not have.
“Not your name, girl.” he said, beginning to circle her. “No mere human could be this beautiful.” Not a question. “Yet, someone has blessed you with such divinity.”
Azahara hated cryptic messaging. “I am human. Now, where are my sisters?” She bit her lip at how harsh she sounded. She did not want to gaze at him for fear of the pain that was coming.
“Outside,” he said pointedly, and she believed him.
A sigh of relief. “Alive?” she asked, hopeful.
“Asleep.” His voice was straight to the point, seemingly bored with her questioning.
He came back into view after circling her like a vulture.
Azahara scrutinized him, truly taking in his appearance this time.
His body was a sculpted masterpiece, accentuated by his lack of a shirt, revealing his chiseled physique.
His face exuded a captivating allure, with sharp contours and impeccably placed features, from his defined chin to the slant of his eyes—those eyes, a mesmerizing shade of red, almost maroon, seemed to consume her very being.
Yet with all the perfection before her, she felt nothing but ick and disgust. No part of her even wanted to touch or be touched by him.
“What do you want?” She somehow already knew the answer.
The god stepped towards her and his hand gently rested on her cheek. It sent a shiver down her spine as his touch was as cold as snow covered in a layer of ice, making Azahara wince.
“For you to want me. A mortal and a god, it is an abomination, but there is no way you are a mere human. Absolutely not. Something put you here, someone... the goddess taunts me.” He stepped to her, and she felt her back against a wall.
They had just been standing in the middle of the room. “Become Dikos Mou.”
Something lodged in Azahara’s throat, rendering her speechless. A look of pure disgust twisted her features.
What the fuck is that?
He was moving in then, his lips inching closer toward hers. Would this be the signing on the paper for her life?
“No!” she finally screamed, her knee colliding between the god’s leg. She felt the collision between the hard part and his groin. Yet he made no sounds, no cries for mercy, or even a slight move.
His red eyes stared into her crystal blue irises.
Azahara quickly reached for the knife tucked in the back of her pants, its edge dulled over time.
Summoning all her strength, she thrust it into his chest. However, whether due to its bluntness or her own limited force, the knife slipped from her grip and glanced off his skin, leaving only a superficial cut on her palm.
There was defeat and shock in her eyes as she looked up at the god.
“No?” he asked.
Despite his imposing height, Azahara maintained her steadfastness, though she couldn’t help but feel small in his presence. She focused on the rhythm of her breathing, aware of the importance of sustaining it.
“You deny me? A god…” There was a hint of amusement.
The movement occurred in a blur, beyond the capability of Azahara’s mere human eyes to capture.
She had been attentively watching him, yet his hand moved with such astonishing speed that it eluded her perception.
The ensuing pain surpassed any she had ever encountered.
The dissonant echoes of shattered bells reverberated in her ears, and the strike left her temporarily blind in the affected eye.
The ordeal had so consumed her that she hadn’t registered the floor beneath her until she made an effort to move. Her hands bore scrapes, her elbows were bloody, and her shoulder throbbed incessantly. A feeble cry escaped her lips as she mustered just enough strength to sit upright.
“Oh my.” A faint expression of worry briefly flickered across the god’s countenance as he promptly dropped to his knees in front of her. “I underestimated my own strength,” he muttered.” Lies… She thought. He meant to show her how strong he was.
“You are a weak mortal.” He gently brushed her disheveled hair behind her ear, attempting to smooth it back into place. “Let me make you strong. I will take care of you for eternity, as will you take care of me.”
Her face was swelling, and she winced at all the places where she was hurting. Yet, through the pain, she still said, “I’d rather die.”
The god tensed, and Azahara let out a breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. She began uttering prayers to any deity who would listen, except for this one, for she would curse him with her last breath.
“No, no. That will not do,” he said softly. “You just need time.”
She shook her head, fighting to retain consciousness, and shrugged away from his grasp.
“Humans have such a short life.” He paused, seemingly pondering. “How long do you think it will take for you to desire me?” He wrapped his arm forcefully around her shoulders, pulling her into his lap.
He cradled her there, gazing down at her as she struggled to avert her gaze from him. “One year? Fifteen? A millennium?” He clicked his tongue. “Time is no friend to humans, my beautiful creature.” Azahara took a deep breath, fighting to stop the tears. “My name is Goddrick, and you will be mine.”
The pain in her head was dragging her under. “No…” The word was barely audible.
“In time. I’ve never wanted something so badly; I can feel the ache now to just take you.” He groaned, and she felt his grip tightening around her. The pain was so intense that she couldn’t help but cry out.
“But I will be try patience. Us gods, we mustn’t meddle. You will, in time, be mine because you want me, little mouse.”
Goddrick leaned his head down towards her. The smell of wood and fire filled her senses. “Immortality is such a blessing, so there will have to be a catch, you understand. One more time, hmm? Be mine. Be my Dikos Mou.”
“Fuck… you…” She tried to spit on him, but it turned to drool down her lips and jaw.
“Mmm. Such a misfortune to torture yourself.” This was a game to him, and he was the puppeteer.
She watched as Goddrick put his thumb to his index finger and made a deep cut into the flesh.
Thick, almost black, blood dripped from it.
He brought his bleeding finger to her lips, and although Azahara turned away, he forcefully shoved it into her mouth.
“You are mine. If I must wait a millennium, then so be it. You have no choice but to accept it. Only then will I remove this curse. And…” He groaned as if anticipating the day. “We will be together.”
The last thing Azahara saw and heard was the evil smile that accompanied his last word. “Forever.”