Chemosh found some evidence that someone—either one of those new, misguided users of necromancy or grave robbers—had recently been inside. Someone had tried to pry the lid off the tomb using a crow bar. The marble lid was extremely heavy and the attempt had failed. They had raided his altar, too, carrying off a pair of golden candlesticks and a ruby-encrusted chalice, both of which he distinctly remembered, for he kept track of all his sacred artifacts.
“No thief would have dared tempt my wrath in the old days,” Chemosh said, frowning in ire. “Thanks to our late and unlamented Queen, no one has any respect for the gods these days. That will change. One day soon, when mortals speak the name of Chemosh, they will speak it with respect, with reverence and awe. They will speak it with fear.”
“My lord Chemosh.” Mina spoke his name, but not with fear. With love and reverence.
Chemosh opened the bronze door to find her standing on the marble stairs. She was wet, bedraggled, her hands bloodied and bruised, weary to the point of dropping. Her amber eyes glowed in the warm red light of Lunitari. Bowing to him, Mina held out to him the helm of the death knight, Ausric Krell.
“As you commanded, my lord,” she said.
“Come inside. Away from prying eyes.”
Taking hold of Mina, he drew her inside the mausoleum and shut the great bronze doors.
“How cold your hand is. Cold as death,” he said, and was pleased to see her smile at his little jest. “And you are soaked to the skin. Here we will warm you.”
He was eager to find out if his enchantment had worked and if he had indeed managed to capture Krell, but he was concerned about Mina, who could barely walk for shivering. He snapped his fingers and a fire sprang up from a brazier on the altar. Mina approached it gratefully, holding her hands to the warmth.
The sodden fabric of her cambric shirt clung to her body, flowing over the fullness of her breasts that were pale and smooth as the marble of the altar. He watched her breasts quiver with her shivering, rise and dip with her breathing. His eyes moved to the hollow’ of her throat, a tempting shadow of darkness in the firelight, to her face, the curve of her lips, the strong chin, the remarkable amber eyes.
Chemosh was surprised to feel his own heart beat faster, his own breath catch. Gods had fallen in love with mortals before now; Zeboim had been one of them and she had even sunk so far as to give birth to a half-mortal child. Chemosh had never understood how one could be attracted to a mortal, with their limited minds and butterfly lives, and he did not understand himself now. He had intended his seduction of Mina to be strictly business, at least as far as he was concerned. He would make love to her and ensnare her, force her to become dependent on him. He was now half-amused by his own feelings of desire and half-annoyed. Desire was an indication of weakness on his part. He had to conquer it, get back to the business of becoming king.
Mina felt his gaze upon her. She turned to look at him and she must have seen his thoughts in his eyes, for she smiled at him, the amber warm and melting.
Chemosh wrenched his thoughts and his gaze away from her. Business before pleasure. He placed the helm upon the altar and stared eagerly inside. He could see, in the shadows of the Abyss, the small and shriveled soul of Ausric Krell.
A raging gust of wind smote the mausoleum, lashed the trees and tore the leaves from their limbs. Thunder pounded the temple in frustration. Fury lit the night skies and tears of rage drowned the stars.
Inside the mausoleum, all was warm and snug. Chemosh held the spirit between his thumb and forefinger and watched Krell squirm, like a mouse caught by the tail.
“Do you pledge me your loyalty, Krell?” Chemosh demanded. “I do, my lord.” Krell’s voice came from far away, sounded tinny and frantic. “I do!”
“And you will do whatever I ask of you? Obey my orders without question?”
“Anything, lord,” Krell swore, “so long as you keep me out of the clutches of the Sea Witch.”
“Then from this moment on, Ausric Krell,” said Chemosh solemnly, dropping the spirit upon the altar, “you are mine. Zeboim has no hold upon you. She has no way to find you, for you are hidden safely within my darkness.”
All this time, he was aware of Mina watching him, her amber eyes wide with awe and admiration. He was pleased to have impressed her, until it occurred to him that he was behaving just like a school boy, showing off for some giggling girl.
He gave an irritated wave of his hand and Ausric Krell, wearing the armor of his curse, stood before the altar. His red eyes, glowing like banked coals, flicked about suspiciously, taking in his surroundings.
“No tricks, Krell, as you see,” Chemosh stated, adding in grating tones. “You could at least say ‘thank you’.”
Krell knelt down ponderously, clanking and rattling, onto one knee.
“My lord, I do thank you. I am in your debt.”
“Yes, you are, Krell. And don’t ever forget it.”
“What is your lordship’s command?”
Chemosh’s thoughts kept straying to Mina. He was beginning to find the death knight an intolerable nuisance.
“I have no commands for you yet,” said Chemosh. “I have a plan in mind, in which you will play a part, but the time is not yet right. You have leave to go.”
“Yes, my lord.” Krell bowed and started for the door. Halfway there, he halted and turned around, confused. “Go where, my lord?”
“Wherever you want, Krell,” said Chemosh impatiently. His eyes were on Mina, as hers were on him.
“I can go anywhere?” Krell wanted to make absolutely certain. “The goddess cannot touch me?”
“No, but the god can,” said Chemosh, losing patience. “Go wherever you want, Krell. Commit what mayhem you will. Just don’t do it here.”
“I will, my lord!’ Krell gave another bow. “Then, my lord, if ‘ you have no further need for me—”
“Get out, Krell.”
“I await your call. Until then, I take my leave. Farewell, my lord.”
Krell clanked and rattled his way out of the mausoleum. Chemosh slammed shut the bronze door behind him and locked it.
“I thought you had done something quite clever in capturing that wretch, Mina. I see now that I could have sent a gully dwarf to fetch him.” Chemosh smiled at her, to show he was teasing, and reached out his hands.
Mina clasped her hands in his, moved near to him. “And what is to be my reward, Lord?”
Her amber eyes shone; her hair was red-gold flame. Her hands tightened over his, and he could feel the smoothness of the skin sliding over the hardness of bone. He could hear the rush of the pulsing blood in her veins and see the throb of her life in the hollow of her neck. He gathered her close, reveling in her warmth, the warmth of life, the warmth of mortality.
“How will I serve my lord?” Mina asked.
“Like this,” he said and took her in his arms.
He kissed her lips. He kissed the hollow of her neck. He stripped the shirt from her body, and holding her tightly, pressed his lips on her breast, above her heart.
His kiss seared her flesh, which began to blacken beneath his touch. Mina cried out. Her body stiffened and she writhed in pain and struggled in his arms. He held her fast, held her close. And then, slowly, he withdrew.
She shuddered, sighed. Her eyes opened. She looked at him, deep into his eyes. Then, wincing, she looked down at her breast.
His mark was on her, the imprint of his lips, burned into her flesh.
“You are mine, Mina,” said Chemosh.
The kiss had burned through flesh and bone, struck to her heart. She felt stirring within her the power he had just granted her and she leaned toward him, her lips parted, wanting his kiss again and again.
“I am yours, Lord.”
Desire ached in him, and he no longer questioned it. He would take her, make her his own, but he needed to make certain she understood.