Blood of the Gods

Chapter 1

Charles...my darling.

Ellen stretched and stroked her lover’s back as he lay naked beside her. A slight breeze wafted through the open window and ruffled the curtains and yards of rose and ruby tulle draped over the bed. Charles called it her harem room, but Ellen loved the feel of soft material, and had used lots of satin, silk and tulle when decorating their private bower.

Charles stirred and rolled over to face her. What time is it?

Just after twelve, I believe. Would you like a cup of coffee?

Stretching his lean body, he donned a sly smile. Perhaps in a little bit, my love. Do we have anything planned for the afternoon? What about the evening?

Pursing her lips, Ellen thought for a moment. I don’t believe so. In fact, I think we have the rest of the day and the night to ourselves.

Isn’t that wonderful? Hooking his arm around her, Charles scooped her into his embrace.

Very wonderful, she murmured as she gazed at him—Charles Henry Edward Lambert, a very handsome, elegant and charming man. He came from a wealthy, aristocratic family and he still wore his heritage well despite the many years since leaving kin and country behind. Charles had been made a peer of the realm and knighted by King George III in his former life; although, he had quite sensibly shed the title of Sir Charles, the fifth Duke of Bellmore. In today’s world, such formal affectations meant very little or nothing at all.

Ellen drank in the color of his eyes, a clear ocean blue, bright and shimmering on the surface, but filled with the cool, dark, fathomless shadows of time and circumstances. He had never regretted what she had done to him, changed him so irrevocably that he could never go back to his homeland and claim what was rightfully his.

Beside his arresting eyes, Charles possessed noble features, a Roman nose, high cheekbones and a firm, sensuous mouth. His chestnut hair fell in soft waves around his face and brushed his regal neck. He wore his hair a little shorter than he had in the past when men tied their long tresses back with silk bows or concealed their hair under powdered wigs. And in the old days, men of his caliber and station would never have considered a tattoo since body art had been associated with the lower classes, the tars—or sailors—the soldiers and pirates who had experienced exotic locales where tattooing was common.

But today everyone from all walks of life sported tattoos, and so Charles joined the trend, his tat of a golden lion standing on his hind legs and wearing a jeweled crown, the closest link he had to his home and identity.

Now Ellen traced the tattoo with her index finger and gazed into his eyes. I love you madly, she murmured.

Same here, darling. Despite his many years of traversing the globe, Charles still maintained a hint of his smooth, erudite accent. Like the blood that flowed in his veins, he could never quite shed all that made him a British aristocrat.

Slipping out of his embrace, she rose from the bed. Now I’m going to take a shower.

With balled hands, Charles stretched again. You’re no fun, my dear.

We’ll see. She offered a sly smile.

Padding over to the bathroom, Ellen gazed in the mirror over the sink before turning on the tub faucet for a shower. Despite living, loving and surviving for so many years, she still maintained an attractive face with smooth, porcelain skin, sparkling golden-brown eyes, and lustrous blond hair. And since her body had defied gravity, her breasts remained firm and her flesh supple over slim hips and thighs. All these years she had no complaints, no reason to feel sad, lonely or guilty. Yet, she let out a wistful sigh. She had seen the first signs of degeneration in Charles, just little things but there nonetheless.

And I thought we had conquered the after effects, she thought. This time around she had wanted to believe that success had come at last, she knew it, felt it, and yet... There was no denying the subtle changes. Had Charles noticed? He appeared and acted the same as always, laughing and joking in that cavalier manner of his, and talking about their future plans, a trip to Europe this summer, perhaps even back to his native England. With all her heart, Ellen hoped her lover would survive long enough to realize his dream.

She suffered so brutally with each loss of a loved one, but perhaps she had no choice. She had defied the gods, had defied the universal laws of life and death, and now had to pay for her sin...forever.

Under the stream of water now, she wet her hair and body before cleansing. But before she grabbed the shampoo and body wash, Ellen tilted her face upward and opened her mouth to catch the water on her tongue, her eyes closed to savor the feeling. Two jets on either side offered additional shower spray, the water hot now the way she liked it.

Before she opened her eyes, she knew that Charles had slipped in beside her, wanting to surprise her. But Ellen had felt him as she always did long before she actually felt him. The bond between them remained strong, a bond that transcended all earthly emotions and opened for them a universal plane of love, devotion and commitment.

Filling his hands with the body wash, he began to lather her arms and then her hips. Ellen shivered with his touch, so silky smooth with the addition of the soap. As she turned to him, Charles glided his hands over her abdomen and then slid them up to caress her breasts. The tantalizing sensation he produced made her blood sizzle.

Charles, darling, she murmured as he worked the lather over each breast.

I love it when you’re wet— As he spoke, he nudged her against the tiled wall, —slick and hot.

When his fingers winnowed between her legs and then slipped inside of her, he began a slow, piston rhythm, making Ellen moan with pleasure. Her head fell back as her body responded with a pliant arch toward him. Her hands splayed against the wall as he increased his stroking to a tortuous level, bringing her to the edge. Her body pulsated like the jet streams, the water running over and around her as she came in a violent shudder.

Ellen still trembled when Charles pulled her to him and took her mouth in a rough, greedy kiss, his hands once again roaming her body, tracing her curves and smoothing across her soft skin. She was helpless against him, what he brought to her, a mindless, endless joy, leaving her helpless and staggered with the enormity of his feelings for her and her own for him. She felt gratitude as well, grateful that she had him for her companion and lover all these wonderful, long years. Ellen couldn’t bare it otherwise, the losses and the loneliness.

She ran her fingers through his soft wet hair as his caresses continued to stimulate her arousal once again. In turn she grasped his erection and ran his foreskin up and down to increase his pleasure to the bursting point and make him harder still. Charles shuddered and gasped her name.

Pleasure swamped him as he quickly lifted and held her up against the wall. Gripping her hips, he dived into her, his rhythm strong and urgent now. His eyes glazed to a stormy blue as he gritted his teeth and plunged further still. Ellen watched his face, how those handsome features twisted and stretched as his desire climbed to stunning, excited heights. She ringed her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he took his fill.

A wild, desperate hunger burned in him, a need to savor and experience everything about her, her smell, her taste, her touch, her embrace. Charles was in an everlasting hell, but a tantalizing hell where he gladly withstood the torture because he would always have her in the end. It seemed centuries ago when he agreed to Ellen’s proposal, a vow of everlasting love in exchange for his soul. He never regretted his decision.

Now, dragging his mouth back to hers, he drove them both as Ellen matched him beat for beat, her nails biting into his back. After pausing and tensing, he took one last plunge and emptied inside of her, his release hard and violent as he shuddered against her. She quickly joined him, diving under with sweet pleasure.

A moment later, Charles gasped for air as he eased away and Ellen dismounted. He stumbled against the wall, dizzy now. Bending forward, he willed himself to take slow, even breaths to regain his equilibrium and calm his wild, racing heart, pounding so hard he thought it would burst through his chest. Ellen paused in shampooing her hair when she noticed his struggle. Quickly going to him, she placed her hand on his arm.

Here, let me help... she began, her expression tightening in concern.

I’m all right, Charles told her as his stood straight again, his head cleared and his pulse steadied. But Ellen wouldn’t leave it at that. He knew her too well and her need to smother him with maternal care. With a snarl of impatience, he added, And I can manage just fine by myself. As you can see, I’m still breathing and standing. I’m not one of your shriveled mummies...yet.

Slipping away from her, he opened the shower door and stepped out of the stall, although his body trembled with the effort.

Oh, Charles! Tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the pinpoints of water.

So he had known, knew all along... and now he cut her to the quick with his realization. Through the wisps of steam and pebbled glass of the door she could see his shadowed form as he dried off with one of the fluffy towels from the rack. She didn’t have to look close to know he still shook. Was it his first attack or had there been one or two before?

Ellen knew Charles was frightened, frightened of becoming something other than his strong, healthy, vibrant and invincible self. She ached to go to him, hold him in her arms, and speak to him in a calm, low voice, tell him everything would be all right. There still might be hope.

She had embraced hope a long, long, long time ago. But inevitably, her faith and hope had withered away with time—year by year, age by age—as surely as Charles would do in the coming days. Ellen desperately wanted to take her life in order to save his, but she knew it was an empty and impossible gesture. She could only give life, not take it away. As she was his irresistible torment, he was also hers.

For you can never reverse what has been given to you by the gods...

Chapter 2

From the journal of Ellen Lambert:

Egypt – The Beginning

I remember when the earth was young and I walked among the pristine hills and verdant valleys before the world could be called old. I lived in the heart of civilization, in Egypt, once the richest, most powerful country in what constituted our world at the time, in the 31st Dynasty, the reign of Pharaoh Hakor. I was born Ayelet in the city of Karnak, the only child of the physician Abiasaph and his wife Obiama.

Although the monarchy of Egypt would end soon, our country prospered under King Hakor, or simply Pharaoh, and we enjoyed the bounties of culture, science and medicine. Our religion consisted of many gods, each one responsible for our well-being, although some gods represented death and despair, the taking away of wealth and contentment. Those gods garnered places of reverence, not to be taken lightly. A religious man, Pharaoh built great tombs and altars to our gods, designed by the master craftsmen of our land and built by the slaves Pharaoh’s army captured from other lands.

My father Abiasaph was appointed the court physician by Pharaoh. Because of my father’s high regard and his talent for healing, our family received favorable positions in Pharaoh’s court. I was chosen as chief hand maiden to Princess Taduhipa, the second oldest of the four daughters of Pharaoh and his important wife, the lovely and serene Anoka. My mother, Obiama, served the eldest daughter, Princess Merymet. And when needed, my mother and I also catered to the other daughters, Neferiti and Setepenre. Besides the princesses, Pharaoh had two sons, Maimon by Anoka, and Nepherites by his secondary wife, Kiya.

It is through Queen Kiya that my tale evolves for she made me what I am today and have been for many, many centuries.

But in my younger years as Ayelet, a hand maiden of eighteen, I enjoyed an idyllic life at court. I and Taduhipa—or Tadu as she preferred—were more like companions and best friends than as princess and servant, and we shared many things together, particularly our interests in the young men who held various positions at court.

Since I leaned toward my mother’s coloring from her Assyrian roots, I possessed amber eyes and light brown hair. And because I did not want to call attention to my difference, I took pains to blend in with the others, those of Northern African roots with dark hair and eyes, and sandstone skin. I used kohl to line my eyes and root salve to bronze my flesh; and to follow custom, I wore delicate gauze sheaths that began just below my breasts and extended to my ankles. Occasionally, I wore a wig, either of woven flax or fine wool that had been dyed obsidian black, and often accented with a gilt headdress. Like Tadu, I possessed a slim but curvaceous body, a round face and even features, both of us deemed attractive by those in the palace with discerning if not overly appreciative eyes.

Merymet, the eldest daughter of Pharaoh, had been betrothed to Ranofer, first charioteer and master of the stables. That left Tadu who, at sixteen, had her pick of the eligible bachelors at court. I had my pick as well, and I developed an infatuation with one of the scribes-in-training by the name of Darshak, a truly handsome young man.

At nineteen, Darshak possessed a lean, taut body with a muscular chest and legs, emphasized by his simple white loincloth or kalasiris. His stunning eyes, the color of cool teal, were shaded by long, thick lashes, and his flesh held a coppery sheen. Unfortunately, once he became a full scribe, Darshak would wear a royal tunic to cover his youthful body; and worse, he would have to renounce most earthly pleasures.

Therefore, I made sure to fill his life with all things pleasurable before he dedicated his life to the sacred duties of his avocation.

Pharaoh possessed two palaces, one in the city of Thebes and the other in the capital city of Mendes. Both offered the best in architecture and amenities, alabaster pillars, marble floors and spacious balconies that overlooked the endless desert. The many palace suites offered rich woven fabrics, delicate curtains that billowed in the breeze, carved furniture, ceramic vases and pitchers, bronze urns and hammered silver chafers for aromatic incense. The royal family enjoyed every comfort as did their entourage of priests and scribes—even their servants.

Several temples formed the inner sanctum of the palace, the largest and most important devoted to Pharaoh’s wife, Queen Anoka. To the south, a racetrack had been erected for chariot racing and other sports. Pharaoh, Queen Anoka and the princesses enjoyed the chariot races, but I found the track too hot and dusty, the sun too strong for my sensitive skin. Thus I preferred to remain within the cool, fragrant palace walls, finding my work load increasing with a combination of all the princesses’ needs. I had gained a position of importance, one that I could not take lightly. I fulfilled my duties from the minute I awoke in the morning to well into the night.

But at sunset I had some time for myself, and I often stood at one of the palace balconies and gazed toward the horizon, picturing my own romantic oasis in the middle of endless sand, stained gold and blood orange by the setting sun. The thrill of seeing Darshak after dusk made my heart quicken and my pulse race with anticipation...but I also felt a pang of anxiety, for I had to meet and love Darshak on the sly.

The princesses’ old nurse, Nyree, often spied on the goings-on among the young and then reported back to Queen Anoka who looked askance at romantic palace intrigues, particular among the servants. But I learned to outwit Nyree and avoid detection by her ancient but clever gray eyes. Darshak and I met beyond the far palace wall, behind a copse of palm and date trees. From there we made our way through a little-used passageway to the least-visited of the inner temples, the one dedicated to the cat goddess Bast.

There we had privacy to talk and to love, with Darshak teaching me the sensual arts, how to give and to take copiously and passionately.

We preferred to embrace in the dark, warm shadows of the temple, our only light that of an oil lamp on the stone altar of Bast, who protected women and children. In here I felt safe under the auspices of that sleek feline form carved of obsidian and embellished with topaz gems for eyes. For those who did not believe in her power, Bast seemed formidable and daunting from her perch on the altar, but I found her graceful, regal and generous of nature, and so did Darshak. She remained our supporter and protector against the outside forces that wished to keep us apart.

Darshak and I lay together on a gilt settee with comfortable cushions stuffed with downy pea-hen feathers. When he pulled me in his embrace—both of us naked now—I steeped myself in his heat. To touch him was magic, and I loved his feel, shape and weight as he gently pressed me along the cushions and took my mouth with his.

Darshak kissed his way down my throat and continued to my small but firm breasts, my nipples standing at attention as his thumbs rasped over them. Cupping both breasts, he feasted on one and then the other. His mouth and fingers caressed and nipped flesh, and made me moan in pleasure. As I arched up to him, my hands eagerly stroked his muscled chest and then worked down to his erection. He shuddered with my touch as I explored his shaft, as smooth and hard as an alabaster pillar. We both adhered to the custom of shaving our body hair, not only to keep cool in the hot summer months but to ward off vermin such as lice. Besides his head, Darshak had shaved his chest and genitals, and I had shaved my head and genitals as well, my pubes as soft and pink as a baby girl’s.

When he entered me, I opened to him, cinching my legs around his waist and circling his fine, sinewy neck with my arms. A furtive need shot through me, an arrow of excited pleasure that made me quiver as it burst between my legs and brought me to bliss for the first time. As lust and love twined like a sturdy cord within me, the need gathered again, harder, tighter and hotter.

I dug my fingers into his back and urged him on. My hips rose and fell with a silky rhythm that bound me to my lover, quickening our hearts as we increased our pace. I continued to touch and caress him, marveling at his smooth soft skin over hard muscle while savoring his intoxicating smell of musk and hibiscus.

Darshak sank deeper into me as he clutched my shoulders and looked at me with his beautiful, haunting eyes. I saw them darken and become opaque as he readied to take me with him, into the sweetness that followed us over the edge. As we crested, we enjoyed the fall of release together, allowed it to wash over us like a warm, summer rain. Our combined moans of pleasure caught between our lips, and we deepened the experience with a slow, fulfilling kiss.

Moments later, we lay together in a tangle of slick bodies and limbs, relaxed and happy.

Of all his appetites, Darshak told me afterward, his for me was the only one never quite satisfied. He could have me and still want me. I knew exactly how he felt, for I, too, could never quite take my fill of him. All the days and nights we remained apart because of our obligations and duties, made me want him all the more with a tremendous lust-filled hunger. And when we met again, we feasted and gorged on each other like ravenous animals, I a she-wolf in heat, unable to control those urges he ignited and fanned.

Darshak also told me how rare a thing it was to experience such intense pleasure and ultimate bliss each time we loved together. I had been a mere sexual novice, but under the direction of his clever hands and lips, I quickly graduated to a seasoned lover, his lithe body a perfect fit to mine. He confessed to having several lovers before me, one an older Sumerian woman who had taught him the finer points of sexual give and take. Yet to Darshak none of those experiences could compare in breadth and depth to what we had.

Ultimately, I knew fate—and our abiding love—would keep us together. Hathor, the god of love, had told me so in my dreams, and, in fact, had bequeathed love to me for ever after. My life as I knew it then could not be any more ideal; and with Darshak’s pledge of love and fidelity, I felt the happiest young woman in the kingdom.

Unfortunately, life would not be so idyllic in the coming year.

Chapter 3

Autumn Chen dodged the light traffic as she crossed the street, her violin case in hand. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons she spent with the Lamberts who lived just across the way in a stately, red-brick townhouse. In fact, the Lamberts owned the whole three-story house while Autumn and her family occupied half the second-floor of a townhouse divided into condominiums.

Ellen Lambert had been helping fourteen-year-old Autumn with her music, serving as the accompanying pianist to the budding violinist. But their session seemed more of a pleasant way to spend the afternoon in the company of Bach, Beethoven and Mozart, a labor of love rather than a labor of arduous practice. At least that was how Ellen approached it. She encouraged but never lectured or corrected, and Autumn felt she had improved greatly under Ellen’s tutelage, certainly not from those boring lessons inflicted upon her by old Mr. Stanislaw, her former violin teacher.

Her parents wanted her to become a concert violinist, her mother a definite Tiger Lady when it came to prodding her prodigy to greatness. Expectations ran high. Autumn was slated to become a phenomenal violinist and attend the Julliard School of Performing Arts. Her eleven-year-old brother, Quentin, a gifted and expert math whiz, was destined for MIT. Their parents expected nothing less. After all, their father, Lee Chen, served as a senior attorney with the Justice Department, while their mother, Carrie Wu-Chen—a tenured professor at George Washington University—taught international relations and economics.

Now Autumn skipped up the three steps and stood on the front stoop of the Lambert house. She pressed the buzzer and waited to hear the click of the front door, indicating that Ellen or Charles had pressed the button on their end to allow their visitor entrance. But when no click seemed forthcoming, Autumn pressed the buzzer again. Now the intercom came to life.

Ellen Lambert answered the summons, her voice a bit tinny and fuzzy through the small speaker. Yes? May I help you?

It’s me, Ellen, Autumn.

Oh, Autumn! Ellen pronounced as she acknowledged her pupil. I didn’t know we had a session today. Is it Tuesday already?

Yep, it is. Where have you been, in outer space all weekend?

Ellen tried a light laugh. Something like that. But you’ll have to excuse me, Autumn. I’m not feeling very well, a bad headache. May we skip today and take an extra hour on Thursday?

Yeah, sure. It’s okay with me. I hope you’ll feel better soon. Autumn couldn’t imagine that Ellen suffered from mere aches and pains. To the teen, her teacher always looked beautiful and played the piano like an angel.

Thank you, darling. In the meantime, why don’t you practice the Veracini concerto in our music book? We’ll try it this week.

Autumn sighed. She had hoped to get out of practicing all together. It was too nice of a day to be stuck inside. She’d rather go to the park and look at the hot boys on skateboards rather than tackle the music of an ancient dead composer. Okay, I suppose. Say why don’t you text me?

I don’t text, dear, I use the phone to call people and I write letters.

I bet you don’t have a Facebook page either, or even do Twitter or Instagram.

No, I’m a very private person, Autumn, and I don’t care to put my personal life on exhibit so everyone in the world can see what I’m doing.

I get your point. Some of my friends go overboard with pictures and stuff. I did do a video recital for YouTube because my mom wanted to record me for posterity. But I’m not sure I did so well.

Let me be the judge of that, Ellen tempered. I’ll go to YouTube and find your video. Now then, try to have fun with the Veracini piece, and I’ll see you on Thursday.

Okay, maestro, I’ll try.

And have a good day. With that, Ellen ended the transmission.

Bye, Autumn said to the metal speaker. With another sigh, she slowly descended the steps and then stood by the cherry tree that grew in the square planter between the cement slabs of the sidewalk. The buds on the cherry’s branches, ready to burst into white leaves and then succulent fruit, heralded the fact that spring had arrived.

Autumn had been weighing her options. As Ellen suggested, she could go home and practice the new piece, or do her math and history homework. This way she would have it done before dinner rather than wait until later. Her parents expected her to practice her violin every day and then put in two solid hours of study time. Autumn lived and breathed the same old routine—three hours of practice, dinner at seven, two hours of homework, and then ready for bedtime at ten. On weekdays, the television remained off, although both she and her brother secretly streamed their favorite shows on their smart phones and tablets.

Now if she wanted to shake things up a bit she could scuttle practice and homework and go shopping. Ballard’s Department Store had a colossal sale going on and she wanted to find the perfect outfit for Jenna Brillstein’s birthday party. Autumn had been invited to the party—held on Friday night for both guys and girls—because her best friend Gracie Willard had been invited, and as everyone knew friends stuck together. Plus, the most attractive guy in school, Taylor Holloway, would be there, and Autumn wanted to make a great impression...or at least try to catch Taylor’s attention.

He took piano lessons from Ellen Lambert on Thursdays. And so on Thursdays, Autumn arrived a little early in order to see Taylor before he left his lesson before she began hers. She had yet to speak to him; the dozens of hi, Taylor speeches she rehearsed in her bedroom simply vanished from her mind when she saw his handsome face and his rad bod. Unfortunately, Taylor probably didn’t even know she existed. He never acknowledged her in school or when