Altar of Anubis Read online

  Merciless, he kept at it until her whole body shook from the lightest touch. Then he got up from the bed and led her naked and on trembling legs. When she hesitated along the way, he stopped, pushed her against the wall, his hands working to keep her hot, wet and weak. He pulled her into the great hall with his hands between her thighs, his mouth alternating between kissing her and whispering promises of release.

  She kept her eyes on his, let him position her on a divan. The room was already filled, the other couches occupied. From somewhere, she knew that Selesma watched. She could feel the other woman in the room, feel the very strong hate ripple through the hall.

  Imeut whispered against Rene’s throat, “Do not think of her now.” He put Rene’s hand on his cock. “Think of this, filling you.”

  He bit softly at her neck. “Think of my mouth… everywhere.”

  She nodded, licking her lips, her breathing hard and fast as he moved down her body. He cradled his head once again between her thighs, the flesh of her cunt dancing in anticipation of his touch.

  “You would betray your much-vaunted love with this fake?”

  Selesma’s voice cut through any promise of pleasure to hit Rene like a bucket of ice. But Imeut did not miss a single stroke of his tongue against her skin. Eyes closed, he licked at Rene’s thigh, his trail leading him up to her knee. He kissed that knee, then the other before he let gravity pull him back down to her mound.

  Selesma’s body shook as she watched him ignore her. Her face contorted with rage, Selesma turned her gaze on Rene. Rene saw herself reflected in the black irises, not as she was, but as she had been the first time Selesma had looked at her with such hate. She could see it now, the binding ceremony when she and Imeut pledged themselves to one another. More than the right to rule, she realized that Selesma lusted after Imeut.

  “You will die soon -- a true death.”

  Feeling Imeut tense, Rene smoothed a hand over his scalp. Looking up at her enemy, she smiled. “Perhaps, but you still will not have him.” She thought a moment longer, her smile broadening. “And there would be nothing to prevent him from passing over -- no reason for him to continue on this plane.”

  Selesma offered her own cruel smile. “Unless I kill his priests.”

  Imeut came up, mouth wet, and buried his cock in Rene. “Go and take your pleasure elsewhere, Selesma.” He hesitated, and Rene felt his muscles rippling just beneath the surface of his skin. “Or stay and watch me take mine.”

  He waited until Selesma had stormed her way across the room before he looked at Rene. His strokes had been hard, almost angry, but they grew gentler. “I do not need a priest to pass over. We have all stood in the presence of The One so many times, all that is needed is a clear mind, an openness. Any more, the ceremony is there to ease the way.”

  Rene nodded, the kernel of an idea beginning to form as she watched Selesma grab a man by the hair and force him down onto his knees.

  Part 3

  Du sollst der werden, der du bist. [Become who you are.] --Friedrich Nietzsche

  Imeut turned Rene’s face from watching Selesma. “You are too tense. Close your eyes and let me relax you again.”

  She would have to be deaf and blind to relax, she thought. Closing her eyes would do nothing to disguise the number of people in the room, to bring it down in her mind to two. Trembling, she obeyed anyway.

  He had shown her earlier in their rooms what a gifted mouth he possessed. Returning to her still swollen pussy, he gently curled his tongue around the bulb of her clit. Desire inflamed her flesh, and he released the tender dangle only to blow cold air steadily along what he had called her Line of Hathor -- the engorged mass of muscle and nerves that ran hard from the hood and its hidden pearl to the top split of her labia. His touch made her melt from the inside out, cream coating her thighs from the laser-like focus of his attention on that small line of pleasure. Where his mouth went, she followed, rolling onto her side and propping one leg up.

  Fingers slid into Rene and she fought the urge to open her eyes and make sure they were Imeut’s. She stiffened at the push of a broad chest against her back, but the play of mouth and finger at and in her pussy smoothed her unease. Fingers joined fingers and something cold with the slick feel of an unguent touched her, penetrated her so that she was ready. She curled, shaking, around Imeut’s head, his fingers still in her as she felt the hard slide of cock join their strokes.

  Fingers, cock, the hard press of Imeut’s lips against her pussy, his tongue stroking the bulb of her clit. Rene’s eyelids fluttered open, eyes rolling back in her head. Oxygen burned through her throat and lungs. She jerked, her climax causing her to bear down, her cunt so full that the shockwaves had nowhere to go, instantly rippling back through her.

  Imeut licked a path to her breast, pulled one hard nipple into his mouth, his lips pinching at the swollen tip. She shuddered again, coming at the rough treatment as it was followed by a gentle lave of his tongue against her flesh. He pulled all but two fingers from her. The other man was still inside, still very erect. She could feel the tension in the man’s stomach and chest, as if he was fighting not to move with her, not to thrust and grind her to another climax.

  She felt the tug of Imeut’s fingers at her gate as he spread her cunt. He moved up her body, his mouth settling on hers as he slowly nestled his cock inside her. Behind Rene, his own member warring for space inside her, the other man pressed a hot kiss against her neck. He reached between her and Imeut to press his fingers against her clit, holding her tight as he and Imeut moved in slow unison. Shivering, panting, cresting, coming -- she threw her arms around Imeut’s shoulders. Her hold on him was unyielding as she fought against the sensation that she was coming undone, being remade, refashioned. Then she peaked, and the same stillness that had touched her during the passing over ceremony settled like a blanket against her skin.

  Rene lost count of how many times she found the same peace that night. She didn’t know how many men brought her to it. She could feel the whisper of them in her mind, their identities as tangled as their limbs. Only Imeut remained solid, his iron grip on her heart. Always the taste on her lips was of him.

  * * * *

  Imeut collapsed on their bed, his mental stamina tested by the number of passing over ceremonies he had performed since the last holy day. Rene coaxed him onto his stomach, straddled his hips and began to gently knead his back and arms.

  “Why so many?” There had been nearly a dozen.

  “They fear Selesma, her palpable hate, and suffering a true death as part of its fallout. Others fear I shall not survive her hate and do not trust to their own ability to pass over, or Mishal’s ability to assist them.”

  She paused, her hands placed squarely in the small of his back. “You said once that, if Selesma’s hands are stained with murder, she cannot pass over, but isn’t that already true?”

  “No.”

  It seemed wrong. Buried in her memories were countless deaths. “The time before…”

  “At her coercion, from her manipulation, yes. But not by her hand. Only one soul can bear that stain.”

  She rolled off him and onto her side. It seemed cosmically unfair, but it worked in her favor. She would carry out her plan tomorrow. It was another holy day; seeing Selesma would be unavoidable. And the longer Rene put off confronting her, the more immortals there would be leaving this plane.

  “I need you to teach me a few things.” Embarrassed, she buried her face against the pillow.

  “I, teach you, Reynar?”

  Incredulity coated his words and she glanced at him, saw the emotion mirrored in his face. “You’ve been teaching me since the day I got here.”

  “Reminding, Reynar. I have been reminding you, of who you are, of your teachings.”

  “Well, I have some specific things I need to remember now. And one thing… that you’ll need to teach me.” She leaned over, her voice a whisper.

  Imeut exhaled sharply, turned his head until he was staring into
her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded and saw the flare of his nostrils, the wild expansion of his pupils. His breathing shallowed and his lips parted. His tongue came out to sensually lick top and bottom lip, as if he already had Rene squirming beneath him.

  He touched one finger to her shoulder, less than half an ounce of pressure, and pushed. “On your back, woman.”

  * * * *

  They arrived late to the great hall, Rene leading and Imeut a few feet behind her. She sought out Selesma while he fell further behind. She found her rival half-standing over a man, his neck craning backwards against the edge of a divan as she rested one knee on the furniture and pushed her sex against him.

  Rene brushed her foot against the man and he seemed to dissolve, so quick and silent was his retreat from Selesma’s domination. Selesma spun, the air in her open hand crackling with energy.

  “I did not come to fight you.” Rene looked at the ground as she spoke.

  “Good, it will make killing you that much easier.”

  Rene quirked a brow, blinked once and closed her eyes. “Yes, too easy and most unsatisfying if you think on it.” She lifted her chin, opened her eyes. “Tell me what is necessary for there to be peace.”

  Selesma’s gaze flicked to the high seat where Lord Reymas once sat on the non-holy days, before he had secluded himself upon Rene’s arrival, then over to where Imeut waited a few feet from them.

  “I can offer you only what is mine to give.” Rene touched the fabric of her gown, transforming it at her touch to a loose spray of rose petals that fell to carpet the ground. Head tilted demurely to one side, she watched Selesma’s expression, noticed the rise of real passion at Rene’s unmistakable offer to sexually humble herself before Selesma.

  Selesma licked her lips, the thin slash of a mouth seeming to swell in anticipation. “On your knees, then.”

  As she knelt on the floor, Rene placed her left palm against the hollow between Selesma’s breasts, felt the rapid knock of her enemy’s heart. Selesma tried to push her hand down but Rene, resisting, looked up and smiled at her.

  “It beats -- I was not sure it would.” She ran the knuckle of her right index finger against the line where Selesma’s labia joined. “I thought, if ever you had known passion, you’d forgotten it… were mimicking it.”

  “I know passion.” Her voice was ice cold as she reached for Rene’s head.

  Rene turned her head, kissing Selesma’s palm as she slid a finger between the folds of Selesma’s sex to stroke the line of her clit. “Only half of it. Let me show you the other.”

  She turned her face back toward Selesma’s mound, felt a flutter of fear or passion in her own chest and sought to calm it. There’d been other classes mixed in with her archaeology studies, and she tried to remember whether it had been poet or philosopher who had warned of the eternal play of repetition, how all “must yet meet, attract, repulse, kiss, and corrupt each other yet again.” She set her lips to Selesma’s, tongue following the same line her finger had just stroked, not knowing if it was for the first time or the thousandth she sought to kiss and corrupt her enemy, sensing only that they would find this time and place again.

  Selesma wrapped her arms around herself, her stance shifting so that her labia were more open to Rene’s attentions. A murmur ran through the room and Rene could feel lovers slowing as they watched. She opened her mind to them, felt their return embrace.

  A shudder ran through Selesma, and she placed a hand on Rene’s shoulder. Rene pulled slightly back, letting her fingers caress the other woman as she studied her face. Her mouth was slack, the lips slightly parted. The eyelids, closed, fluttered softly against her cheek.

  Rene gave Imeut a slight nod, her signal that she wished him to join. When he stalked toward them, she rebuked him with her gaze.

  “Love her as you would love me, fully and in the moment,” she had told him before leaving their rooms. He had growled something in reply about asking him to swallow a star. But now he reached out a hand, let it trail from the small of Selesma’s back up her spine. Rene watched surprise blossom across Selesma’s face and then dipped her head once again.

  She felt the gentle brush of Imeut’s fingers beneath her chin before he guided his erection into Selesma. The woman moaned, the sound wet and torn. Around them, the room waited, breathing when they breathed, sighing when they sighed. Together with Imeut, Rene drew out the other woman’s pleasure until the room began to vibrate with a familiar hum. Selesma, body trembling, stood perched on the balls of her feet. One hand dropped to wrap around the back of Rene’s head while the other twined around Imeut’s shoulder.

  Selesma exhaled in surprise, “Music.”

  One word, the last Selesma spoke. Later they would say how she had let go of Imeut and Rene in that final second, eyes wide and with her hands searching the air as if trying to catch an invisible butterfly before she herself became a billion dancing particles of gold. But at the moment of Selesma’s passing, the room hung in silence as every soul brushed against the godhead and all but one retreated.

  Silence gave way to murmurs of relief, and Imeut sank to his knees in front of Rene. Wrapping his arms around her, he asked, “It still does not seem right, does it… that she should be able to pass over?”

  Rene looked at Imeut, her mind harboring the same question but too tired to think on it. Somewhere, perhaps, a tornado had formed or the first drops of a hurricane had gathered as Selesma vanished. It would be centuries or millennia before Rene would once again know the will of The One or the opposing forces she and Selesma occupied within it.

  Smiling, she kissed Imeut, pulled him down onto the floor. Hands reached out, touched them with a quiet reverence before receding and leaving them alone in the great hall.

  He stroked her cheek, gazed into her eyes. “Reynar.”

  “Yes.” This time she wouldn’t correct him.

  He smiled and she felt the warmth of a summer sun roll through her body. “And who am I?”

  “Imeut.” She caressed his cheek. “My husband, my love.”

  Ann Vremont

  Ann Vremont is a mother, wife, licensed attorney, technical writer, high school dropout and former Russian linguist for Army SigInt. She’s called Bingo for a living, waitressed at a strip club, scooped ice cream and conducted political surveys -- including for the wrong party. She maintains that, if she hadn’t dropped out of high school, she would probably be a mineralogist or a geophysicist. Ann further maintains that if she had never met her husband of seventeen-plus years or had their son when she did, she would probably be making her living illegally -- or, if unsuccessful, sitting in jail. She has a large collection of minerals and a growing collection of lighthouses. Having been born and partially raised in Arizona, the mineral collection doesn’t surprise her, but she’s still puzzling the source of her lighthouse fetish. You can find her on the web at wwww.annvremont.com.