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CROWMON SAT ON HIS throne with the hood of his feathered cloak drawn up to shield his face from the sun. Sunlight stung his eyes now. He assumed it had something do to with his transformation into a carrion god. It was unpleasantly warm sitting beneath the canopy that was tied to the dead trees. He’d taken to coming to his shrine during the late afternoon now. He didn’t want to be subjected to Vella and Brycen going at it like randy dogs when they woke for the night. It had the bonus of forcing the spies who watched him to keep their distance from him. The rot that was spreading out from his shrine would be deadly to his worshippers if they lingered there for too long.
His two crows watched the latest spy. She was a fairy who was still strong enough to have her wings. It was too warm for her to wear her brown robe over her gossamer dress. She’d stripped the robe off almost immediately when she began her shift. She stood in the shade of a sickly tree, shielding her eyes with her hands as she watched him. He was tempted to get his pets to peck her eyes out, but that would only rouse suspicion.
“They’re already suspicious enough,” he said, then chuckled darkly. Ever since he’d killed Hilda and had turned her into a zombie, his High Priestess and Priest had been on full alert. They weren’t sure what had happened to the witch, but they were determined not to lose anyone else.
Crowmon felt weaker during the day. Even the souls that flowed into him every now and then barely gave him a boost. His power was tied to darkness, much like the magic that sustained Nox was. It was comforting to be in the epicenter of his death magic. It was peaceful sitting next to his effigy, flanked by two empty chairs on either side of his throne.
Glancing slyly at Vella’s chair, he turned to scowl at Brycen’s seat. If he’d still been a trickster god, he would have boobytrapped the chair so it would burst into flames when the elf sat on it. That sort of magic was beyond him now, but he had other talents at his disposal.
“Aye,” he whispered and laughed beneath his breath so the fairy wouldn’t hear him. “I can do things that would make my followers’ hair stand on end.”
His strength grew as the sun slowly receded and night began to fall. More souls flowed into him, boosting his energy. He pushed his hood back when his congregation appeared in the distance. The spy pulled her robe on and joined them as they entered his shrine and took their seats on the pews. The shifter-witch and her elven lover took their seats on either side of their god-king with respectful nods. He smiled at them benignly while secretly sneering at them both.
Their strongest magic users teleported to the shrine with their latest sacrifices and the ritual began. Vella’s lust rose as the victims were beheaded by the executioners she’d chosen.
A strong compulsion came over Crowmon as the sacrifices were being slain. “Stop!” he said when there was only one victim remaining.
His High Priestess was panting with need and had been on the verge of summoning Brycen to service her. She looked at him with narrowed eyes as he stood up. “What are you doing, my king?” she asked. Her tone was demanding rather than questioning.
“I grow weary of watching the sacrifices,” the deity replied. His parishioners whispered amongst themselves in worry and shifted uneasily on their pews.
“You wish to end the death ceremony?” Brycen asked incredulously.
“Of course not, lad,” Crowmon said and enjoyed the flush of rage on the elf’s pretty face at his condescending tone.
“Then why did you stop the sacrifice?” Brycen demanded.
Crowmon leaped to the ground without replying. He glanced at the pile of headless bodies as he walked past them. The hooded vampire shifted nervously when he reached her. “May I, my dear?” he asked, holding his hand out for the scythe.
“Of course, my king,” she replied and handed it to him. She bowed and stepped back to join the shifter. The executioners shared a puzzled look, then waited to see what was about to unfold.
Excitement rose inside the god-king as he approached the final sacrifice. The witch was bound, gagged and utterly helpless. A spell kept her docile as the deity wearing a cloak made of crow feathers came to a stop beside her. Crowmon’s manhood stirred as he drew the scythe over his shoulder. He looked up and saw Vella watching him with a hint of fear. She didn’t like it that he was going to take the witch’s life himself. He felt a thread of unease come from her through their bond, then he brought the scythe down.
Blood splattered on the ground when the sacrifice’s head came free. A sigh went through his worshippers when power flooded into him as he consumed her soul. They were linked to him and they felt his libido rise. Tearing their robes off, they fell on each other in a frenzy of need.
The High Priestess and Priest remained unaffected. They watched Crowmon in increasing dismay as he handed the scythe back to the vampire. “It appears my manhood is working again, my love,” Crowmon said and looked down at his erection.
Vella looked over at Brycen for support, but there was nothing the elf could do to prevent what was about to happen. Crowmon crossed to the platform and climbed the stairs. He strode over to the shifter-witch to see her desire had fled. “Are you not in the mood for sex?” he asked her silkily, knowing she didn’t want him and only wanted her elven lover.
“Of course, my king,” she lied. Her expression was bland, but her movements were stiff when she opened her robe for him.
“I want you on your hands and knees, my love,” the deity said. He drew her from her chair and turned her around so she was facing the elf, then pulled her robe off. He pushed her down onto all fours and knelt behind her. The look of pure hatred his High Priest shot him made him grin on the inside, but he hid his enjoyment. He undid his trousers and took his shaft out, then slid it into his beloved. Vella made fake sounds of enjoyment as he proceeded to slam himself into her. He could feel his lust fading and knew he wasn’t going to be able to finish before his erection withered.
Brycen’s dark eyes bored into him as he thrust into Vella. Crowmon went limp, but he let out a shout and pretended to ejaculate. He pulled out and slapped his High Priestess on the rump. She jumped and glowered at him over her shoulder. “I’ve missed that, lass,” he said as he did his trousers up again. He looked over at Brycen, who was glaring daggers at him. “Feel free to have a turn with her, lad,” he invited him, sweeping his hand at his humiliated lover.
The elf’s lips pressed together for a few moments before he replied. “I’m not in the mood, my king,” he said sullenly.
Vella climbed to her feet and pulled her robe back on. She sat back down on her chair as the orgy continued. She cut a furious glance at Crowmon and he looked at her blandly. “Is something wrong, my love?” he asked. “You seem upset. I thought you’d be happy that I’ve finally got my libido back.”
“Why did you kill the sacrifice yourself, my king?” she asked instead of answering his question.
“It occurred to me that I’m supposed to be transforming into a god of death,” he replied. “While I gain some energy from the souls others sacrifice to me, I felt killing them myself would grant me more power.” He swept his hand at his frenzied parishioners. “It seemed my hunch was right. I gained far more strength from the soul that I wrenched from its body than having others do the deed for me.”
“How fortuitous that you had this epiphany, my king,” Brycen said in a sickly-sweet tone. “Will you be taking over from our executioners from now on?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Crowmon said coolly. “I’ll have to see what effect murder has on me first.” Hilda was the only person he’d killed in cold blood before. The second one had been far more pleasurable than he’d expected. He giggled inwardly as the werecrow and elf shared relieved glances. He would definitely be the one wielding the scythe again, but he didn’t want to panic Vella and Brycen by gaining too much power too quickly. It would be wise to proceed slowly and wait until he was ready before he would strike.
