Archipellus: God of Samhain (A Sons of Herne romance) Read online

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  His scream answered, as the crack of a bone made her jump up. His arm was bent unnaturally, and he clutched it to his chest. It snapped back just as violently, and she leaned heavily against the bed post, tears filling her eyes.

  “I wish there was something I could do,” she murmured.

  “And so there is,” she heard.

  She whipped around to see three figures bobbing in midair. They were spirits of some sort, old women with eerie black eyes, floating red hair, and blood red gowns that matched Archipellus’s eyes. The fabric of their dresses didn’t seem real, but rather made out of steam clouds or fog. Same with their hair.

  “Who are you?” Melissa asked.

  “We are they who know what the god of Samhain needs,” they said in a hoarse, yet melodic chorus. The center one, who was smaller and wider than the rest, smiled at her with a gap-toothed grin. “We are they who can tell you how to spare him.”

  “I was told there is no cure,” she said, folding her arms. “That only time will fix him.”

  “That is true for most,” the tallest of the trio said. “But for one of incubus blood, the remedy is simple.”

  Melissa brightened. “What is it?”

  “His cravings have returned,” they said in tandem. “Stronger than he can bear since he first laid eyes on you.”

  “You must feed the demon,” said the shorter, waggling her pinkish-black tongue. “Give him the power he needs to beat this.”

  Her pulse fluttered. “You’re not suggesting what I think.”

  “You desire to lie with him again,” said the tallest.

  “No I don’t.”

  Their bodies stretched, expanding to fill the space in that part of the room. “You cannot lie to the Fates. We see.”

  “The Fates,” she murmured. “You’re the three Fates? You can see the future.”

  The one on the far end pulled on the neckline of her gown to expose wrinkled cleavage—and the large, unblinking eye that stared out from her sternum. “We see.”

  Melissa raised her chin. “Will I die if I do this?”

  The toothless hag grinned. “Only for a while. Morta has seen it.”

  “Only if he does not stop,” the taller replied, whom Melissa assumed was Morta. “Though Decuna’s vision is more likely.”

  “He can stop,” Melissa said. “He did before.”

  “He was not blinded by fever then,” Decuna said.

  “Nor quite as enchanted by you,” the one with the eye in her chest said. “He has sampled your charms, and it is not only the demon inside him who craves more. It is the man.”

  “Nona is quite right,” Morta said, her black eyes glittering with red reflecting off her gown. “A man can be a far more dangerous fate. Make no mistake, this will put you in jeopardy.”

  “But you can see my future,” Melissa said, wondering why she was entertaining this. “You would see if I was really going to die, all the way, I mean. You would tell me.”

  “The god of Samhain healed your sister,” Nona said. “Should the keeper of the veil, the holy god who guards the barrier between your worlds, be doomed to suffer for helping her?”

  Her heart sank. “No.”

  “You have the means to cure him,” Morta said. “Do as your conscience dictates.”

  “And you don’t foresee me dying.”

  “Death is inevitable for all creatures of flesh,” Decuna said.

  “That’s not reassuring,” Melissa said.

  Decuna’s manic grin widened. “The little death, on the other hand....the Fates foresee many of those in your future.”

  The little death...as in climax? Then that obviously meant Melissa would survive. And likely that the greatest threat in going through with this would be letting a hot pagan god ruin her for all other men. If that ship hadn’t already sailed.

  “Deny him what he craves and the only cure will be time,” Nona said, bobbing slightly higher than the others.

  “How much time?

  “Months,” Morta said. “Perhaps longer.”

  He cried out, and her head whipped over to see his neck snap to the side, cracking brutally. The light in his eyes faded in death, but reanimated.

  Melissa nodded. “I’ll do what I have to. Thank you for telling me.”

  She turned back to see the Fates had vanished. Assuming they’d really been there. But they had to be. She might be suffering from light-headedness and the knowledge that angels, demons, and other realms existed, but she didn’t think she’d fallen into outright hallucinations.

  A warm hand grasped her arm, and she found him gazing up at her.

  “Arch?” She sank on the mattress beside her. “Can you hear me?”

  “Water,” he croaked.

  The cloth had slipped from his mouth, and she grabbed a glass and lifted his head. She helped him sip, and he licked his lips before she lowered him again. He seemed weak, but more lucid. Maybe the Fates had been wrong. Maybe the worst was over.

  “You have to stay away,” he said. “It is not safe for you here.”

  Then he began to choke. Archipellus gagged, clutching at his throat, his eyes bugging wide. His face purpled with the effort to get air while he scrabbled to pull off whatever he imagined was strangling him. Then his eyes rolled up, and he went unconscious again. Or dead, temporarily.

  It was obvious between the welts, bruises, deep gashes, and other deaths that Jorandil was right about the god of Samhain. He hadn’t only caused suffering through sexual vampirism. He’d been in many battles as well.

  She sponged down his body again, peeling back the tangled sheets and feeling the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. He sucked in a ragged breath, drawing in air and coughing as his body let go of the previous torment to begin the next. His cock stiffened, going red and then purple, and he arched again. Even as the color drained from his flesh, she knew what was coming. She knew he would experience another incubus-draining death.

  Swallowing hard, she soaked the sponge and let the water trickle over his stomach, then lower, streaming it over his throbbing cock. The Fates had told her what to do. Cooling his body wasn’t the answer.

  She laid the sponge aside and took that wet, hard rod in her hand, squeezing gently. Then she lowered her mouth to his.

  He gasped and pushed her away. “What are you doing? You cannot be near me.”

  “I can help you,” she whispered in his ear. “Let me.”

  “It would not be safe for you.”

  His voice weakened, and she pulled back to see the draining, watch as his body withered. She got up and went to the door, flipping the strange lock that latched up over the knob, and quietly watched him go slack while she pulled off her clothes. The color returned, his muscles filling out, and she pictured the two of them together in the hospital, him strong and potent, claiming her as no other man ever could. She felt herself grow warm, despite the chill that stiffened her nipples. Her pussy grew damp with anticipation. She climbed on the bed, straddling him, feeling his erection swell beneath her.

  “Arch,” she breathed, sliding her body over him. She let her nipples brush his chest, her pussy lips glide over his pulsing shaft. She kissed him, feeling both brazen and afraid. Afraid that she wouldn’t stir enough energy between them to make this work. And afraid that she might.

  His head jerked to the side as though he had been slapped, and he gave a loud grunt of pain. A welt appeared on his cheek, and she kissed it away, feathering his rugged jaw with her lips, nibbling his ear. His cock jerked between them now, and he began to writhe.

  “You do not know what you are doing,” he said.

  “I know.”

  A growl sounded low in his chest. “You should get out of here before I decide I want this.”

  She reached between them and grabbed his hard dick. “You already do. You want me.”

  He throbbed in her palm and pushed his hips upward. A guttural moan escaped his lips. “I do not want you
to get...hurt.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  She settled her her pussy against his hard cockhead and pushed him in, dropping her hips, letting him enter her. He let out an anguished moan as she sank down. The feel of his wide, pulsing cock sent a gasp from her throat, a little moan of pleasure as she drove herself down until he was buried fully. She shuddered, adjusting to his bulk, feeling him throb and jerk inside her pussy. Then she began to move.

  “Melissa,” he said. “I will lose control.”

  “Good.”

  She pictured herself like a gypsy girl, a siren working her magic, bringing him back to life. Her hips rotated seductively as she raised herself, sitting upright on his impaling shaft. She thrust and moaned, grabbing her breasts, feeling her excitement heighten. When she tossed her head back and tried to stifle a cry of hot pleasure, a pair of large, powerful hands gripped her wrists. She looked down to find those glowing red eyes staring at her.

  He pushed her off of him, and for a moment, she thought he was going to continue until she was off the bed. Instead he flipped over, pulling her beneath him, and with the same glitter in his crimson stare, he thrust himself into her. He fucked her hard and fast, his hands grabbing her breasts with almost punishing desperation. He dragged her lower lip between his teeth, biting her, and then he quivered. He stopped and jerked with a cry of pain, and a deep slash appeared across his chest. The poison was still working.

  She grabbed his ass and drove him harder, deeper, until he trembled. They lost themselves in the rhythm of their lovemaking. The weakness hit her arms first, her grip on his ass loosening until they fell to her sides. A rush of numbness flooded her legs, then her dead weight pressed her body to the mattress. She was fading, she knew it, but her desire for him kept climbing, soaring higher with every grunt and each push of his hips. His cries of pain turned to pleasure, and the wounds and bouts of withering flesh grew less frequent. She would hold on a little longer and the tide would turn. They could stop, and they would both be okay.

  “We cannot be together,” he said.

  “A little late for that.”

  “I mean after this. You need a man who is safe. That will never be me. No matter how much I wish I was.”

  The words hurt, even though a relationship wasn’t what their lovemaking was about. She’d been trying to spare him, nothing more. But she couldn’t help feel the stab of irritation that he was rejecting her even while he plunged deeper. He wanted her, she knew it. But she would never be his.

  He became stronger and more determined while she felt energy drain out of her. Almost time now. Much of her felt numb, except for her core, the center where their bodies were joined. There she found exquisite pleasure, a purpose, a need to have him drill himself harder, deeper.

  “More,” she murmured.

  He gave it to her, and orgasm rushed up, nearing a peak. She felt him tighten as well, ready for the moment, but a crack in his ribs halted his pleasure. He yelled out in anguish.

  “It’s not enough yet,” she whispered to herself. She had to go further.

  Then she surrendered to climax.

  The power of that release rushed out of her like a dam bursting, pouring her life into the man she had fallen for. She had gone too far, she knew it now. The Fates places far more worth on a sabbat god than a mere human, and they had sacrificed her to save him. A nobler woman would feel honored at this knowledge, rather than regretful. She would never know his pleasure again. She would die in his arms while they shared one moment of mutual ecstasy.

  Archipellus shuddered and pressed his hips to her. “Melissa,” he murmured. Then he, too, let go.

  He shot himself into her, warm bursts entering her womb while more of Melissa drained away. She felt their connection, their pleasure entwining. But she could sense that even as he took in her essence, he was suffering, horrified.

  She forced her eyes open to find his closed, his head bowed over her while he spent himself, trying to pull out while he seized in orgasm, the tips of his horns glowing as they filled with their sexual energy.

  His horns.

  Her body was completely limp, but she let out a grunt of effort and reached up. She took hold and felt the searing heat, crying out as her palms burned from the hot power. She had hoped that his horns would replenish her, restore her body the way it had done with her sister. Instead, she felt herself being turned inside out. From a distant place, she heard Archipellus cry out, “No!”

  He was calling her name in panic, finally managing to withdraw his still-pulsing cock and tugging on his horns to get free. But her fingers were clamped tight, almost fused around them. All that remained of her poured into the incubus god, sucking her dry. And then into that void, demon fire flooded in, racing from his horns and into her veins. She felt his pain and torment, saw his determination to spare her from what he had endured. Then it ebbed away like a tide, and a new fire rushed in.

  Hunger. She wanted. She needed. She craved him the way a predator needed the hunt. Somehow, that fire fueled her pleasure, and she began bucking and convulsing in orgasm even though he no longer had his cock in her. The intensity was, she knew, beyond the reach of any mere human. She had experienced what it felt like when Archipellus gave in. She had seen everything he was in one shattering moment.

  He finally wrenched free and knelt beside her, slapping at her face, begging that she come back to him. Her last thought was to wish that she didn’t have to die to know the pleasure he had given her. She wished they could have a future together, sharing the most intimate parts of themselves without fear. Then she blacked out.

  ***

  “Melissa! Please, please say it is not too late. I stopped it in time.”

  Archipellus, hot tears blurring his vision, shook her shoulders. She laid limp, gray as death, looking frail and spent. Gone. Gone in the way only an incubus could take someone.

  A pounding sounded at the door. “What’s going on in there?” Andero shouted. “Melissa?”

  Archipellus, his limbs shaking with fear mingled with the infusion of power, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. How could he face them? How could he face himself?

  He leaned over her and stroked her face. “You should have let me suffer. I deserved everything that I was feeling. But you did not deserve any of this.”

  “Melissa!” he heard, and it was Bethany’s voice through the door this time.

  He went to the door and opened it. Eyes widened at the sight of him standing there.

  “Archipellus?” Bethany said. “How did you...”

  Her eyes fell on the bed behind him, and she pushed him aside. “Melissa! Oh god. What happened?”

  Andero stood just outside the door, his jaw open and expression slack. “What do you think happened?”

  Jorandil, his eyes dazed from sleep, wandered to the door. “What is it?” He froze when he saw Archipellus. “Brother. You are recovered.”

  Andero stalked into the room and put his arm around Bethany, who was shaking Melissa by the shoulders. “Sis. Sis!”

  Jorandil sucked in a breath and turned an accusing stare on his brother. “What have you done?”

  “She did it,” Archipellus said. “I told her to stop, told her to get away. But I was weak and riddled with fever, drifting in and out of reality. And by the gods, she knew the truth about how badly I want her. Bad enough that my gut aches at the thought of not seeing her again.”

  “And now you cannot. Why?”

  “I was severely weakened and not myself. By the time I had regained strength enough that I could have pulled out of her body, the demon had taken over.” He glanced back at the bed and shut his eyes. “You were right about me, Jorandil. I allowed the cravings to take over. Kill me, brother. Plunge the sword of Apollyon through my heart so that I can never do this again.”

  Bethany shrugged Andero off and climbed up on the bed. She put an ear to Melissa’s chest.

  “She has a heartbeat,” she said, holding a hand in front of her
sister’s face. “And she’s breathing. It’s faint, but she’s breathing.”

  Hope rose in him.

  “How do we fix this?” Bethany asked, turning to him. “How can she get back the energy you took?”

  “I know not.”

  “Your horns. You can heal her the way you did me.”

  “She already tried. Something...bad happened. It seemed to make things worse.”

  “There has to be something.” Bethany practically flew off the bed and flung herself at him, striking him in the chest. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You can’t just stand there and tell me you want her to end up like this.”

  “You know that is not true,” he fired back. He wandered to the bed and sat beside her, stroking her hair. It felt dry and brittle, not silken and bouncy as it had before.

  His stomach turned over with a swell of nausea. He saw her blue-green eyes in his mind, her fiery beauty. Her determination to save others—even if one of them was utterly undeserving. The night of Samhain was at its peak, and he heard the whispers around him, taunting him. The dead sat in judgment over his crime, with himself as executioner.

  He stiffened. The dead were near the veil. Near enough to cross over and speak with the living.

  He stood up suddenly. “I must go.”

  “Now?” Andero asked. “While she lays there, weak and fading from your demon power?”

  “There is one person who might help me,” Archipellus said. “I must go now if I have any hope of finding my way to her for answers and get back again.”

  “To her?” Jorandil asked. “Who?”

  He shot him a look. “My mother.”

  Bethany gasped, and they all looked over. Melissa was continuing to go gray, and her cheeks were sinking inward.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, hurry,” Bethany said. “She’s getting worse.”

  Archipellus, his insides still tied in knots, turned and strode out of the room. The other two men followed on his heels. Bethany remained behind at her sister’s side.

  “But your mother is dead,” Andero said when they were out of Bethany’s earshot. “She can no longer be of help to anyone.”