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CROWMON WAS GLAD HE didn’t need to sleep during the day. It gave him the time he needed to plot. Vella and Brycen lay entangled on the bed while their god-king sat alone in the living room. Crowmon’s undead pets were resting in his territory. They hid from the sun that shone down on the City of Night that somehow never quite managed to banish the darkest shadows.
The first two crows he’d turned into zombies didn’t need to rest. They kept track of the wizard who was spying on his house. His worshippers took turns to watch him and make sure he didn’t wander out into the woods and become lost. The wizard blinked sleepily and yawned. He switched his weight from foot to foot as if he was trying to keep himself awake. He’d been standing between two dying trees for several hours now.
Crowmon watched through his pets’ eyes, hoping the human would sit down. After another ten minutes or so, the wizard glanced towards the buildings where the rest of the parishioners were sleeping. A guilty expression flitted across his face as he put his back to one of the trees and slid to the ground. It didn’t take long for him to nod off.
“Finally!” the deity whispered and stealthily left his chair. He crept over to the back door and opened it. Vella had placed a spell on the doors that notified her whenever someone came or went. The shifter-witch had made the mistake of attuning it to humanoid beings. Thanks to her meddling, Crowmon could call on a different form to make his escape.
In seconds, he transformed into a huge crow and walked through the doorway. He pulled the door shut with his beak, then ran along a pathway into the woods. The rot and decay had spread outward from his shrine. It was slowly killing the vegetation as his strength and influence grew.
When he was a safe distance from the house, Crowmon stopped in a clearing. His pets had remained behind to make sure no one noticed he was missing. They would warn him if Vella, Brycen, or the spy woke up. For now, it was safe for him to practice using his new form.
Crowmon flapped his wings and managed to lift himself off the ground. He hadn’t been a shifter long enough to get the hang of flying yet. With great effort, he rose to the tops of the trees. Weakness swept through him when he tried to go higher. His territory didn’t extend beyond the treetops, which meant he wasn’t going to be able to fly around Nox like he’d hoped.
Cawing in anger and despair, the god spiraled towards the ground. He flapped his wings hard, but lost control. He hit a tree and became impaled on a branch. Transforming back to his normal form, Crowmon cursed in several languages and shoved himself off the branch. He landed on the ground and staggered. His blood had changed and was almost as black as vampire blood now. It left a noisome stench when it splattered on the ground.
Looking down at his suit, he watched his flesh knit back together. Unfortunately, his suit had a big hole in it. “Rats,” Crowmon said in annoyance. He couldn’t call on the magic of Nox to fix the tear, or to get rid of the stain. A stream that ran off from the river burbled a few hundred meters away. He hurried over to it and stripped his suit off. He dipped the shirt into the stream and used it to clean the blood off his body, then washed his clothes as best he could.
He wrung the water out when he was done and pulled the damp suit back on. He drew his feathered cloak on over it and hurried back to the house. Crowmon almost entered through the back door, then remembered the spell. He changed back into his crow form and slipped inside, then changed back and shut the door. Vella kept darning supplies in one of the other rooms. He found a needle and thread and sewed the tear shut.
Snickering silently when he was done, the god returned to his chair and sat down. He felt giddy, as if he’d just pulled a fast one over the congregation who had become his captors. His amusement fled at that notion. He’d gained a lot of power from the souls of the dead, but he still couldn’t leave his territory. Every time he tried, he grew weak and pathetic. Something was keeping him here. He suspected it was more than just the death magic that tied him to his shrine.
His gaze went to the bed where his beloved and the elf were sleeping so peacefully and his face darkened. “They’re responsible,” he whispered churlishly. “They’re keeping me here and they won’t let me leave.”
He was supposed to be a god-king, but he was little more than a lowly prisoner. His High Priestess and Priest were colluding against him. They wanted to control him and use his power for their own purposes, but he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.
Madness glinted in his pale green eyes. One of his minions alerted him that the spy taking a nap outside had woken up. Realizing he was grinning fiercely, Crowmon forced himself to hide his inner glee at the plans he was concocting. Vella and Brycen stirred as if they sensed his dark thoughts, then settled back down to sleep again.
When the sun finally began to set, Crowmon’s clothes were almost dry. The spy had dozed off a few more times, but the god hadn’t risked leaving the house again. Now that he knew his limitations, he needed to work on breaking free from his invisible prison.
The shifter-witch and elf woke up and immediately started kissing each other. Crowmon endured the slapping sounds of flesh against flesh and the guttural moans that issued from the pair. Vella was so wound up by her lover that she fully transformed into a crow when she orgasmed. Brycen wasn’t done yet, but he couldn’t finish inside his partner now that she was in her bird form. The elf rolled over onto his back and fisted his shaft. The shifter stroked his body with her wings, making cooing noises like a pigeon rather than a crow. Brycen cried out when he reached his peak and the High Priestess changed back into her human form.
Crowmon watched them in sardonic amusement and a hint of contempt as his former lover kissed her handsome bedpartner. “Did you sleep well?” he asked sardonically.
“We did, my king,” Brycen said with a smirk and cupped Vella’s breast. “Very well, indeed,” he added smugly.
The High Priestess giggled like a young girl, then they climbed out of bed and took a shower together. Crowmon was mostly ignored when they finally emerged and got dressed in their robes. “We’ll meet you at the shrine in an hour, my king,” Vella said, but she only had eyes for the elf at her side.
Feeling like a ghost that had faded away to nothingness, the god-king didn’t reply. He doubted she would have heard him if he’d bothered to speak.
