“For you to kiss the bride,” Eros said. “I consider you god of war, and wife.”
And as Ares leaned to kiss her, the naked blushing bride, Eve felt the earth move and shake and rock, and her toes curled, and she lost all awareness of everything else — until she opened her eyes and found herself in a honeymoon bed on the clouds of Mount Olympus, with Ares about to make love to her.
Finally, life was perfect, so perfect that it was well in the territory of the supernatural. And Eve was not the least afraid to find out what would happen next. In fact, she couldn’t wait!
Michele Hauf
The Sin-Eater’s Promise
Blackthorn Regis released the soul that clung to his aura into the sulphur-laden atmosphere. Screams echoed. He told himself it was not the human soul screaming but rather a pleasurable sound made by the mercury-slick river that consumed them.
He remained impartial. It was not his place to discern if a man had lived virtuously or had inspired dread. He simply ferried souls Above or Beneath.
His trips Beneath were more rare than mortals would guess.
“Soul-bringer.”
The Receiver of Beneath stood so high, Blackthorn could not see his face, yet he felt the menacing presence curdle his marrow. Not once had he fixed the creature in the gaping spaces where eyes should be. Blackthorn possessed no soul, yet surely he would still feel the soul-grinding weight of such darkness.
“You’re missing one.”
Blackthorn swore at the back of his throat. “It won’t happen again,” he offered, and bowed reverently before turning and shimmering away from Beneath.
There was only one way a soul went the wrong destination.
“There must be an infernal sin-eater working my territory.”
Shimmering into a small Midwestern countryside, Blackthorn spied the culprit bent over double at the edge of a meadow. Dew spangled the scattered weeds and clover heads, and sparkled on fuzzy cat-tails spiking the nearby ditch.
Thick, black sin exploded from the mouth as it repeatedly heaved. It lifted its head to keep the fluid from spilling down the dress — dress? The sin-eater was female. Blackthorn’s chest and throat muscles squeezed, matching the clench of his fists.
He marched purposefully across the field. “Leave it to a sin-eater to make enemies of not only Beneath but also Above.”
Viscous sin spattered sprigs of white clover. Sin-eaters involuntarily purged following an eating or would forever cloud their soul with the sins of those they’d eaten.
Gagging and spitting, she sat back on her heels, clasping thin arms across her middle. Attired all in black, her pale flesh glowed with moonlight. She was startled as he grabbed her by the throat and dragged her to stand.
Shaky legs made her wobble before Blackthorn. But she quickly grasped her bearings and, bouncing on her black high-top sneakers, fists lifted in challenge, she jounced before him like a scrawny prize-fighter.
Seething, Blackthorn prepared to match the ridiculous challenge, yet though he was not human, mortal civility reminded him that one mustn’t hit a woman. He flexed his fingers open.
The woman’s wide grey eyes, surrounded by smeary black eyeshadow, flickered. He’d never seen eyes so bright and clear. So defiant. And sad. Her eyes pleaded for understanding, and then shoved him away for seeing that weakness.
All that in a scrap of flesh and stolen sin?
Rage settling, a smirking levity emerged. She was just a bitty thing. Not unappealing, either. Blackthorn slid a hand down his waistcoat. What to do with his hands if not choke her senseless?
“Desist,” he growled darkly.
The woman stopped her aggressive bouncing. Sin dappled her lip. Starlight dived into her dark hair and waded iridescent within.
“Who the hell are you? I warn you, I can throw a mean left hook.”
Blackthorn chuckled. The utterance was so odd to him that he abruptly ceased and cleared his throat. “I am Blackthorn Regis. Soul-bringer.”
One of her dark brows assumed a chevron.
“You.” He wagged a finger at her. “Are a nasty sin-eater.”
She smacked a fist into a palm. “Sin does taste nasty, let me tell you. What do you want from me?”
“Stop eating sins.”
“Stop?” She leaned into his space, wafting the sweet scent of cherries on a sugar-high under his nose. “This is my job. It is what I do.”
“You are reviled, sin-eater.” Though he didn’t quite feel the revulsion himself. Odd.
She snapped her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “Someone’s got to do it.”
“Not in my territory.”
“Oh yeah? What’s a Soul-bringer? Where do you bring them?” She slapped her palms together and exclaimed, “Oh, I get it. You’re the guy who brings the decedent’s soul to Heaven or Hell, right?”
“Above and Beneath. I ferry the newly dead.”
“Cool. I’ve always wanted to meet a psychopomp.”
“You steal my souls!” he announced, angered at his frustration.
The woman rolled her eyes sweetly and teased her tongue across her lips. “I hadn’t considered that before. The stealing part. Of course, that’s your opinion. I like to think I give hope.”
“Every time you eat sins,” he confirmed, “you steal from me.”
“But you still get to take the soul. Just not to its intended resting place. Heaven is so much nicer, anyway — I mean, Above.”
“I do not discern ‘nicer’.”
Blackthorn stepped closer. He ate very little, but he suddenly craved cherries, bunches of them glistening with fresh dew. Could he drink her skin as if it was the syrupy juice she smelled of? Such a delicious repast.
She thrust out her hand. “Name’s Desdenova Fleetwood. Yeah, it’s from a song. Blue Oyster Cult. But you can call me Nova. Blackthorn, right?”
“You do as I ask, Desdenova Fleetwood, and I may show you favour.”
“Really? Favour? I can’t wait.” She clasped her hands before her chest and batted her lashes. It wasn’t meant to tease but rather, mock. “You going to give me back my life? There’s nothing I can do but eat sins. Do you know how many men like to date girls who eat sins for a living? Zero.” She held up her fingers in a circle between them to emphasize.
Was she drunk? Blackthorn couldn’t be certain. Surely, expelling so much sin must weaken her. “I have no concern for your personal life.”
“Why not? Don’t you think I’m pretty? Of course not.”
“You are very pretty. Save for the sin you’ve dribbling down your chin.”
He gestured towards her face. “Perhaps that is what frightens the men off.”
She smeared the back of her hand through the black sludge. “Go away.”
“Not until you promise to stop eating sins.”
Slapping her hands together, she paced before him, kicking up dew in spittals before her. When she turned a look over her shoulder, a bright tease danced in her eyes. “I would give up sin-eating for a kiss,” she whispered.
Blackthorn studied the pleading grey irises set within blackest streaks of make-up. In his myriad centuries of ferrying souls he rarely got involved with mortals. However, he did live on the mortal realm and he was like mortal men; he could appreciate a beautiful woman, and the feel of her skin under his hand.
This little girl lost only wanted a kiss?
And what did he want? Did he want? It had been so long. .
“Give up sin-eating,” he stated, “and then I shall reward you with a kiss.”
“You’re lying. Guys don’t kiss girls like me.”
“Perhaps it is because you dress to put them off.”
“What’s wrong with the garb? This is me.” She fingered the hem of the black tulle skirt, worn over white and black striped thigh-high stockings. “If the world doesn’t like it, the world can screw off.”