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CROWMON WAS HUNCHED on his throne with a cloak made of crow feathers wrapped around him. His High Priestess and High Priest had their own chairs now. Vella sat to his right and Brycen sat to his left. The deity wouldn’t have chosen to elevate the handsome elf to such a lofty position. He would have picked someone uglier and less arrogant, but he was stuck with the man now. Vella had bound them all together through her spell. He was weak and they fed him strength. He hated needing others. This neediness was new to him and it made him feel inadequate and impotent.
Speaking of impotence, he hadn’t had an erection since the night his olde-worlde magic had been stolen from him. His manhood was as useless as Lord Dallinar’s was reported to be. Vella had promised him that his vitality would return over time. He would eventually be able to fornicate again, but he had to build up his strength first. Based on the surprises the shifter witch kept throwing at him, he was reluctant to believe her.
His attention was drawn from his inner thoughts back to the ceremony that was taking place in front of the podium. His followers had gone in search of fresh sacrifices and had returned with ten victims. Vella and Brycen had decided it wasn’t necessary to have lesser priests and priestesses. Instead, two executioners had been chosen to sacrifice the victims. They wore black and green robes with crow masks to hide their faces. They both carried wickedly sharp scythes like a Grim Reaper used to reap souls. The female was a vampire and the male was a werewolf. Both liked to kill, so they’d been good choices.
“The sacrifices are ready, my liege,” the shifter said. His voice was slightly muffled by his hood.
“You may proceed,” Vella said before Crowmon could speak and gestured at his scythe gracefully. He shot her an annoyed look from the corner of his eye, but she didn’t notice his displeasure.
The sacrifices were brought forward to be executed. The entire congregation of several hundred people were ensnared by the shifter witch. They’d fallen beneath her spell and had become addicted to the deaths and orgies that she’d introduced them all to. They swayed on their wooden pews, moaning in anticipation.
Gagged and bound, the witches, wizards, vampires and several fae beings were dragged over to a tree stump. It had turned black with the blood of former victims. Flies buzzed around, waiting to feast on the blood that would soon begin to flow.
Crowmon found himself leaning forward in his own anticipation. During the past month, hundreds of souls had found their way to him from elsewhere in Nox. Each one increased his strength a fraction, but the ordinary deaths and murders didn’t have the same kick as souls that had been sacrificed directly to him possessed.
“We sacrifice these souls to our god-king, Crowmon,” the hooded vampire intoned as the first victim’s neck was placed on the chopping block. “You will be drawn into our liege to become one with him,” she said. Her shifter colleague lifted his scythe, then brought it down on the squirming, screaming witch. Her head became separated from her neck in a wash of blood.
Vella let out a small moan and arched her back. Her head turned and Crowmon flicked a look at her to see she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze had gone beyond him to the handsome elf who sat to his left. Crowmon shifted his eyes to Brycen to see he was looking at the High Priestess in return. The deity sneered inwardly at the tent that had formed in the elf’s robe. He kept his expression bland and neutral, but his fists clenched on the armrests of his throne.
All ten sacrifices were slaughtered and blood drenched the ground in front of the podium. The earth sucked it up and the death magic that was slowly supplanting the former olde-worlde magic increased. Crowmon drew in a deep breath when the last soul of the sacrifice was drawn into him. He instantly felt revitalized, but he knew it wouldn’t last for long. His manhood twitched a couple of times from his excitement, but it remained limp and useless.
Vella’s lust from watching the executions spread to the congregation and they rocked backwards and forwards on their pews. “Pay homage to your god-king!” the High Priestess intoned. “Feed him with your essence and your energy!” She lifted her hands and the worshippers went into a frenzy of need. They tore their brown robes off to reveal naked bodies beneath. Choosing partners at random, they began to fornicate with frantic thrusts and with cries of pleasure and pain.
Brycen stood and crossed in front of Crowmon to approach Vella. She hooked her legs over the armrests of her chair and opened her robe to expose her body to the elf. Crowmon kept his gaze straight ahead as his High Priest dropped to his knees to pleasure his beloved. A lump formed in the deity’s throat that the woman he thought had been in love with him was once again being unfaithful to him. He could now see that it was all a lie. She’d used her strange magic on him to blind him to the truth. She’d used him to gain power, just like she was using his worshippers. Instead of being a powerful god-king, he was weak and pathetic. He was dependent on his High Priest and High Priestess for strength.
As his congregation satiated their needs on each other, Crowmon plotted a way to escape from the trap he’d fallen into. Vella thought he was still bamboozled by her. For now, he would have to continue to let her think she was in charge. Her dark eyes turned towards him as she bucked in pleasure when the elf brought her to climax. Crowmon smiled at her while mentally stabbing Brycen in the back for daring to touch his woman.
