Chapter One
She was waiting in the woods for him. Dark had fallen, but the light of the moon filtered through the branches, gilding her. Her dark green cape blended into the surroundings, but he saw movement as she stepped forward from between the trees. With the hood pushed back, her gold mask glinted in the dim light. Proudly and without any shame she tossed her cape open, revealing nude perfection. Lush breasts and a tiny waist that flared into wide hips left him breathless.
“Goddess,” he said.
“Priestess,” she corrected gently, a flirtatious smile curved her lips beneath the mask. “Have you come prepared for your initiation?”
He trembled slightly as he produced the blade. The hilt had been carved to resemble a phallus, and the blade itself was made of bone rather than steel.
It had not been an easy thing to liberate the blade from his father’s collection, but with the promise of such pleasure, he would have braved any difficulty. He presented it to her, and his gut clenched as her delicate hand swept over the hilt, caressing it gently. His body responded as if her hand had touched him similarly. “It is as you requested, my priestess.”
“You have done well, and you shall be rewarded,” she said, her perfect lips shaping each word seductively. “Come with me.”
He followed her deeper into the woods, away from the path. The trees broke into a small clearing, and a fire burned at its center. On the periphery of the clearing, he noted the large stones forming a perfect circle. It was a place of great power—ancient and primal. Excitement coursed through him, but it wasn’t merely sexual. He could feel the charge in the air, the portent of something beyond their world.
There were others present, wearing capes and masks as his priestess was though their masks were less elaborate. In the center of the clearing, closest to the fire, was a large flat rock that covered with cloth. When he’d been told of the initiation rites, of what would occur, even his most erotic fantasies had paled in comparison.
“Remove all your clothing and lie upon the altar,” she instructed, her own hands toying with the ties of her cape.
He did so without question. Under the gazes of the five women, his already erect sex thickened further. These women were not unknown to him, in spite of their masks. He had desired them all at one point over the years, but they had never given him a second glance. Now they would all pleasure him in this mystical place.
He smiled as he stretched out on the altar, looking up at the moon and stars through budding branches. A sigh escaped him at the feel of soft hands gliding over his flesh. They caressed his chest and shoulders, his thighs and his belly, moving outward toward his limbs.
A moment’s panic swept through him when the silken cords went around his wrists and ankles, but he knew that it was all part of the initiation ritual. He was a supplicant to them, and in return they would bestow upon him the greatest of pleasures, just as the priestess had promised him.
The priestess rose above him then, moving so that she straddled his hips, the heat of her pressing against him intimately. He wanted to grip her hips and thrust into her, but with his hands bound, he was at her mercy, waiting for her to take pity and offer him the solace of her body. It was equally arousing and frustrating.
Her hands stroked over his chest, down his heaving sides. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation burning inside him. How often had he dreamt of having a woman like her touch him? Beautiful, wanton and completely depraved. She was perfect.
Her dagger-like nails raked over his skin and his breath escaped on a sharp hiss. In the moonlight, he could see her lips quirk in a satisfied smile. It was a small enough price to pay for the pleasure she promised.
The other women moved around him, touching him, their soft hands and fluttering touches adding to the carnality of the moment. He wanted to urge her to hurry, to take him inside her, but he knew that was not part of the arrangement. She was in control of the situation, which provided its own enticement.
Those soft touches enflamed him. The priestess then lifted herself from him, rising onto her knees. Another of the ladies gripped him firmly, guiding him into the warmth of the priestess’ welcoming sheath.
It felt that it went on forever, the slow, languorous slide of her silken flesh over his. In truth it was a very short time before the familiar tightness settled low in his belly, tension gathered in him as he was poised on the cusp of ecstasy.
One of the other women kissed him, and another one kissed her. His body tightened like a bow string, every muscle flexing as he climaxed, hot seed rushing into her body. The second woman continued kissing him, stroking her tongue softly into his mouth, swallowing his hoarse cries of pleasure. So intent was he on that kiss, on the feel of the priestess’ body gripping his, milking him, he did not see the ancient blade. He never heard the hiss of air as she brought it down in a vicious arc, the sharpened bone piercing his belly.
Now the truth of the kiss was apparent to him. It was not his cries of pleasure she had intended to silence, but his cries of agony. Blood poured from the jagged wound, and the women exalted in it. The priestess and her minions stroked it, coaxing more from the wound. He wanted to howl with agony as they prodded and tormented, but soft lips covered his, masking every sound. His bound hands clenched, struggling against silken ties. There was no escape.
As his life’s blood flowed freely from his wound, his struggles slowed and then halted altogether. He could only lie there as they touched their bodies and pleasured themselves with blood soaked hands. He met the priestess’ gaze one last time before his eyes closed. She was smiling wickedly beneath the mask, her gaze fixed on something beyond the clearing. “Thank you,” she said to him, “You have done very well.”
From the shadows of the trees beyond, the cloaked figure of a man observed the ritual and smiled. She had done well for him, but then he'd never expected less of her. Her devotion to him had always been complete.
Watching the women revel, he smiled. Most of them believed it to be nothing more than a game. The promise of eternal youth and beauty lured them, but they were not true believers. In spite of their lack of real faith, they had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into their roles. Some thought the female to be the weaker sex, but he'd learned they could be just as vicious and bloodthirsty as their male counterparts. The difference lay in their motivation for violence.
A wave of dizziness swept through him, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. He leaned against the tree and waited for her to come to him just as she always had.