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)
“What?” I question. “I did exactly as you asked.”
“The cold is gone.” He gulps and looks away, hands shaking. “I can’t—” His eyes divert to the ground again before he stands and dusts off his robe as if nothing even happened. “Time to train. Today we talk about Dag. He likes—”
I reach for his hand and pull him toward me. He comes willingly, and I realize that his hands feel like ice on the tips but are warm across his palms. “What just happened?”
“Nothing but what could have happened.” He steels his expression and jerks his hand away nearly sending me flying toward the wall. “Dag prefers leisure, so if you want to choose him all you need is wine and good food. But, later, he’s going to want you on your back screaming.”
“Lovely.” I lick my dry lips and go to the bed. Cyrus’s robe is still wide open, showing me…everything. He shrugs out of it then joins me and covers himself with the duvet and leans back against the headboard, his eyes steely, trained straight ahead, watching my eyes intently.
“Thought we weren’t supposed to do that,” I say.
He smirks and crosses his arms over his bulky chest. “It’s like staring at a reflection for me.”
“Do you like what you see?”
His jaw clenches. “I see nothing but my purpose.”
“And what’s that? To bully people like me? To force sexual acts on humans, force them to pick a god and then force them to say ‘thank you’? What do you see, Cyrus? Because what I see is you playing an immortal who’s lost himself.”
He grabs me by the throat and shoves me down against the bed. “Say it again.”
I can barely breathe, but I do say it, I squeeze out the words. “You’re not what you were created to be.”
His eyes go completely black. It’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. As his hand clutches tighter against my throat, he grinds out, “I am Ra!”
“You,” I rasp. “Are. Lost.”
He shifts until his forehead touches mine. He releases a scream right in my face, and I feel the power surging from him all the way down my body.
I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. I’m sure he’s going to kill me right here, right now. There will be no picking a god, there will be no eclipse, no celebration, no more preparation.
Only blood.
He releases my neck and grips the headboard above us with both hands.
His eyes remain black.
It’s like he’s possessed.
He spreads his arms wide as flames erupt up and down his body. He’s in turmoil so thick with sadness and anger that I can taste it on my tongue.
Slowly, I raise my hands to his neck, he could burn me, kill me right here and now. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I should walk away but I’m compelled to pull him close.
I wonder if he realizes that he is the one who’s dying, slowly, from the inside out. The sun has stopped shining—but it doesn’t even realize it’s self-inflicted.
He’s living in hell.
The God of the Sun hasn’t been the sun itself and shone his rays in eons.
His skin is hot to the touch, his lips are bright red as he stares down at me. His massive shoulders flex as he grips the sheets on either side of me, bunching them in his hands and pulling like they’re tethering him to this world, like he’s afraid he’s going to fall into the pits of hell. His naked body is freezing on top of mine.
With every exhale, I see more and more ice flames form from his arms and fingertips, though none of them singe me. I no longer feel the sun around me, on me; he needs to become himself again. Will my sacrifice help? Will my willingness fix this? Fix him? And why would I be the one to do it? His eyes go cold like he’s given up.
I grip him harder around the neck and pull him closer, I have no idea what I’m doing, maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s pity.
It definitely isn’t love.
Maybe it’s more sacrifice.
I pull him with every ounce of strength I have.
He comes down on me willingly a guttural moan escapes between his lips when I bring my mouth to his.
His hands shift to my breasts, gripping them, massaging them. I gasp into his mouth.
He tastes sweet and salty all at once, like warmth, like creation.
Raw.
Impossible to contain.
Wild.
My nails dig into his back. Our tongues may as well be flickers of white-hot flames fighting against each other. Our thoughts mold together.
Death.
Destruction.
Creation.
Thousands of towns are burning in the background, and with each kiss I see Ra walking up to another soldier and dispatching them to more and more cities.
For the ones who didn’t die with the sword still in their hands, he picks up the sword and places it in their hands and then sends them off, one by one, thousands upon thousands—to the skies.