Chapter Thirty-Eight
NINHURSAG
Ninhursag stared at her reflection in the tinted shop window. The pretty twinkling lights along the ancient, cobbled street cast everything in an unnatural glow. It had taken her a few minutes to adjust to the artificial light.
The world had changed.
Rome had barely been a city the last time she walked the surface.
Trapped underground for thousands of years, she’d been forced to endure the darkness and the silence until they had built the catacombs.
And then only the humans had ventured underground.
The Atlanteans had stayed away, except for the hunters and the handful who hadn’t known she existed.
Those she had swayed to her side, she’d offered them the kiss of near immortality to be her ears and eyes in the world.
It all paled compared to what she was now. Free.
Idris had been a favorite of hers, but now he was beyond his prime—trapped in Egypt under the watchful gaze of the Atlanteans.
She could hear his cries for mercy, sense a hint of the taste of his blood, offering himself as a sacrifice.
He was growing weaker, and she had no place for weakness.
It didn’t matter. She had replaced Idris as easily as she had his predecessor.
Licking her lips, she recalled the dream she had invaded.
Eyes as black as the volcanic island of her creation, he was proving to be harder to corrupt than the others.
She encouraged the challenge; the breaking of her pets was the part she most looked forward to. And in the end, they all broke.
She twirled in a circle, her gaze only leaving her reflection when she had to turn.
The clothes were not as soft as she was used to.
The ankle-length linen skirt brushed her calves and barely kept the cold at bay.
She touched the cool glass, tracing the outline of her face.
Reptilian green eyes stared back at her as she tried to memorize her features.
It had been so long since she had seen her reflection.
High cheekbones and a perfect red mouth, with skin the color of ivory, untouched by the sun for millennia.
Her long black hair reached her waist. She had worn the same body for twelve millennia and had yet to tire of it.
The ink on her arms shimmered as it readjusted to the light and atmosphere.
It continued to slither until it finally settled, wrapping itself around the crook of her elbow and reaching toward her wrist. Beautiful multicolored snakes whose scales glittered in the light.
Even in the darkness and the eternal silence, she’d never been alone. Not with them by her side.
The silent street was a mixture of stones from the Romans and modern road paving. It was as if she had stepped into a different world.
“Aiuto.”
The voice was growing weaker, had switched from the native tongue of the Roman descendants to something she didn’t quite understand.
“Help.”
Ninhursag bent down, letting her hair drape over the dying human.
A woman. Pity. She had not intended to drain her, but the humans had grown much weaker since she had last encountered them.
It had been as easy as closing her eyes, focusing on the warmth within them, and taking a breath in and tugging at the light.
Other humans walked right past them, stepping over the body, unaware that one of their own lay dying. The glamour was barely an afterthought but appeared to encompass all the human minds.
Weak.
The woman floundered; her once dark hair was now a sickly gray that matched the hue of her skin.
Unclothed, she huddled in the fetal position.
Ninhursag had taken too much, too quickly.
Death would be merciful for the woman, but unfortunately for the humans that wandered the streets, she was not merciful.
She stood, adjusting her floral top, and looked at the woman.
The black fur jacket next to her was exquisite and belonged to a god and not a mere mortal.
She flicked her hand; a small burst of wind effortlessly lifted it to her.
The woman shivered uncontrollably. Her voice was weaker than a newborn kitten as her teeth chattered annoyingly.
The jacket fit like a second skin. Ninhursag looked back at the glass and admired herself. And she smiled. It was time she remade Rome in the image of her original home and brought it back to its knees. Just like the first time she had entered the city.
Something flickered near her. The crunch of teeth on the crispy flesh of the red fruit she’d seen in the catacombs. She searched through the memories she’d taken until she found what she was looking for.
An apple.
The shadow shimmered as it became whole. An iciness passed through her as recognition flooded her.
The whelp waved at her as he took another bite of the apple. Sharp white teeth caught the light. His blond hair reminded her of the desert, and his eyes were still the color of the coldest ocean just before a storm.
Interesting that he’d escaped the watery pit she’d left him in.
He waggled his finger at her as if he was admonishing a child. She clicked her fingers—but he was already gone.