Dark Gods Rising Read online

  Dark Gods Rising

  Book One of God Wars

  A dark fantasy trilogy

  E. A. Draper

  and

  Mark Eller

  White Wolf Press, LLC

  Cover Illustration by T-Rex Studios

  t-rexstudios.com

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 E. A. Draper and Mark Eller

  Chapter 1— Changer’s Ring

  Glace shortened his stride amid the market crowd just before stumbling into a soft-faced young man. The man’s hungry eyes were fastened on a half-naked woman who spun slow circles on the walkway before an irate merchant’s stall. Catching sight of her admirer, she stopped spinning, smiled lewdly, winked, and put on the shirt she clutched in her left hand.

  Glace scowled when the laughing woman strolled away.

  Chuckling, the young man clapped Glace on the shoulder with a too friendly hand. Glace's unhappy scowl deepened.

  “Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” the young man said. “Not unless you hang out in the Downs.”

  “I see it too damn often,” Glace growled, shrugging away the unwelcome hand. Still scowling, he walked away, took the first turn on the right and the second turn on his left. Half a block later he stopped, leaned an elbow on a hitching rail, and waited.

  When Cass finally arrived, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.

  "Did you see their eyes when I flashed my boobs? Gods, they’re easy." Giggling, she planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “So come on. Give. What’d you get from the fellow? He dressed posh.”

  Feeling sullen, Glace remained silent.

  “You’re unhappy.” Cass finally noticed. Her smile faded. “Why?”

  “Did you have to turn yourself into a harlot’s display?”

  Pulling away, her fading smile disappeared altogether. Narrowing eyes showed the first dangerous signs of anger. Glace forced his frown into the sick semblance of a smile. He had overstepped his bounds, again, and Cass was not pleased.

  Perfect green eyes threw shadows over a delicate moon-shaped face while she studied him. Shoulder length hair, smelling faintly of jasmine, flowed from her aristocratic head, framing her face in a shroud of brilliant red. She was exquisite, mysterious, and dangerous, a woman beyond compare, and he had an uncontrollable mouth which might one day drive her away.

  “You told me to distract him,” Cass said flatly.

  “I didn’t tell you to strip for him,” Glace muttered.

  Provocative and mocking, her smile returned. She trailed the tips of her fingers across his chest, making his skin tingle, making him want to pull her tight to him and rip off the clothes he had just chided her for not wearing.

  “Was I a bad girl?” Her hips thrust forward, pressing against his groin as her hand rose to grip the back of his neck. “Do you want to collar me? I’ll wear one for you.”

  Glace forced his tense muscles to relax. “It’s just that…sometimes…you act like a whore.”

  "Mmmm. Your whore." Wrapping both arms around his neck, Cass molded herself against him until there was no space left for intruding air. She kissed the corner of his mouth once, and then again. “I promise. You’re the only man who can touch me. I’ll eat the face of anyone else who tries.”

  “Yeah, well.” Feeling uncomfortable, Glace unlocked her fingers from around his neck. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it when they look at you. I just don’t understand why you hate wearing clothes.”

  "It excites me, baby. I like it when they look at me with hungry eyes. I love it when they think I'm their prey, but we know different. Don't we, lover? Now tell me. What did we get from the popinjay?"

  Accepting the unspoken truce, Glace reached into his belt pouch, pulled out a ring, and handed it to her. “Only a few copper coins and this. His purse was almost empty.”

  “Flash dresser with empty pockets,” Cass said contemptuously, studying the ring with disinterest, but then her eyes widened, and she grinned. “Or maybe not. I’ve seen this design before. Please tell me those little baubles are real diamonds. I really want them to be real.”

  “I have doubts.” Glace studied the ring. Six clear stones circled a larger blue one. A snarling wolf’s head was carved into the blue stone’s surface. Not a usual design, perhaps, but not so very unusual, either. No, to him the most interesting and disappointing part was the band. It was made of a green metal he had never before seen. It felt slick against his fingers, perhaps even slimy, telling him the ring was made from some kind of cheap metal. At best, he figured, worth about twenty coppers, which meant he and Cass might get three or four.

  “I’m thinking you’re wrong.” Cass gestured toward the ring. “We have to take it to Mathew Changer.”

  Glace felt himself pale. “I don’t like Mathew.”

  “You don’t like him because I want him to father my children.” Cass chuckled. “Don’t worry, lover. I told you, you’re the only man who will touch me. Still,” she paused, “he does business at the Hellhole. Tessla’s been hanging around there lately, and she doesn’t like me.”

  “Rumor says Trelsar’s assassin was arrested a couple days ago,” Glace said. “She’s supposed to hang next week.” Suddenly feeling good because Cass seemed to have forgiven his jealousy, he grinned. “By my count, it’s the sixth time this year she’s been sentenced for murder.”

  Cass nodded with satisfaction. “That’s all right then. Trelsar’s whore doesn’t usually escape until a day or two before the scheduled hanging. I’ve heard it said she likes the quiet when she isn’t murdering some poor soul for her so called virtuous god. If you ask me, Trelsar’s more of a hypocrite than a god, but I know you favor him over somebody more reasonable, like Zorce. Anyway, Mathew it is and tonight while she’s still a prisoner. The Hole’s always most interesting after sunset. The hellborn come out then, so we’ll see the moneychanger tonight.”

  * * * *

  Two hours after sunset, with his arm around her waist and Cass pressed to his side, Glace walked the garbage strewn streets of Yylse's underside and wished his parents had lived long enough to apprentice him to an honest trade. He wasn’t afraid, exactly. Still, walking down a dark street recently populated by hellkind didn’t fill him with confidence. The hellborn seemed to be growing bolder ever since the king started leaning away from the seven virtuous gods in favor of the two dark ones.

  With gentle pressure, he guided Cass around a wyvern chewed body half covered by the remnants of a peddler's cart. Cass paused momentarily, her button nose quivering, her lips drawing back, but then she grinned, leaned over to lick his neck, and allowed him to draw her away. Ignoring the stench of rotting meat, she hugged up close and licked the side of his neck again before delivering a playful nip. “Why are you nervous? You’ve been to the Hole before.”

  “Never after dark.” Glace looked carefully around, searching for signs of the wyvern. He didn’t see any, but he did see a severed hand lying near the road’s edge. Its fingers scrabbled and clawed uselessly in the dirt. “Selnac claims the place is safe enough by day, but only fools go there at night."

  “Then we must be fools.” Gently rubbing a hand through his hair, Cass cooed. “Don’t worry, pup. I’ll take care of you.” Using her free hand, she unfastened several of her shirt’s buttons, baring her full and firm breasts to the night air.

  “Damn it!” Glace snapped, fighting back the urge to grab her shirt and jerk it shut. “This is no place to play your games.”

  “Ohhh, but it is,” Cass answered. "This is the perfect place."

  Her smile turned wicked, and the smile changed her elfin features into the semblance of a mischievous child. Radiance and allure filled her. Pale moisture, gl
istening on her aristocratic neck, invited Glace to set his lips to her skin. Something inside him, some secret part of his nature, wanted to bite into her, wanted to feel Cass’s skin stretch and break, wanted to experience the copper salt taste of her blood while his hands stroked her face, ran down to cup her breasts, and gripped them so tight they bruised.

  Mostly, he just wanted to pull her damn shirt closed.

  Almost as if she read his mind, Cass pulled away. “Remember, puppy, you’re the only man who touches me.” Her voice softened. “Also remember I won’t be bound, not even by you.” She giggled. “Except when we play.”

  A young woman's body, badly torn and partially devoured, lay outside the tavern’s door. Dark blood glistening on its black muzzle, a hellhound gnawed on the remnants of the corpse's thigh. Glace shuddered when its thick jaws cracked open a thighbone with the same ease Glace used to bite through an apple's skin. Pausing, Cass patted the huge Hell creature on its enormous head and scratched behind its razor-edged ear while it gulped its last bite down.

  “Is Mathew Changer around?” she asked.

  Leaving off its feast, the hound looked at them with bright red eyes and opened its mouth in a bloody grin. “Don’t know. Carrid won’t let me in there anymore.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to go in and see.”

  After scratching the beast one more time behind its ear, Cass pulled Glace up the steps and through the tavern’s door. From behind them, Glace heard the thighbone crack once more. Shuddering, he hoped the hellhound wouldn’t still be hungry when he and Cass left— if they left.

  Looking toward Cass, Glace saw her shirt remained barely fastened. As usual, she sought trouble, but this place was too dangerous for her games. At the best of times, the Hellhole Tavern was dangerous. At night? He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected it could get worse than bad. Sweat dampened his pits and forehead as they opened the door and entered.

  Once through the door, Glace saw the tavern was full. Raised voices created a jarring rumble. Dim torchlight illuminated packed tables covered in bottles, cards, and sprawled drunks.

  The light was not dim enough for his comfort, not with Cass at his side.

  Moments after entering, idle eyes turned toward them, stilled, and fastened on Cass’s half naked form. Swallowing, Glace's hands quivered when he saw Cass’s huge grin. Her face and half-bare torso glimmered in the erratic light. With her red hair almost dancing in the air, she appeared strange, feral. Her dark nipples, peeking around the edges of her open shirt, grew erect and hard.

  With her green eyes narrowed to half slits, Cass wrapped an arm around his waist, leaned close, and whispered. “Look at them. They want me. They hunger.” Her grin almost became a snarl as the tavern’s noise level lowered. “Don't worry, my sweet love. No man but you.”

  Glaring at the watching eyes, Glace fingered his belt knife and wished they were anywhere but here. Only a few faces turned away from his unspoken threat. Most of the expressions became mocking. Glace couldn’t blame them. After all, he was young, lightly armed, and clearly out of his element.

  A large figure pushed through the crowd. “Cover yourself,” Carrid Brewer ordered. “Are you trying to start a riot or get your boyfriend murdered?”

  Ignoring his order, Cass deliberately unhooked her shirt’s last fastening and opened it wide. “Where’s Mathew?”

  After sputtering for a moment, Carrid pointed and turned away. Grabbing Glace by the hand, Cass pulled him through the crowd. Strangely, a way parted for them. Hardened thieves, cons, and murderers shifted to the side. Glace they ignored, but of Cass they seemed wary.

  Far too soon for Glace’s comfort, Cass stopped before a table seating only one man. Tall and dark haired, Mathew owned the only male face Glace had ever seen lovelier than Cass’. His face was a mockery of the man, for though he was not yet thirty, Mathew Changer was known to be wicked and cruel, and those were only two of the many character flaws which gained him control of a large part of Yylse’s underworld.

  When Mathew saw them, his mouth turned down slightly. He sighed. “Glace, there was a time when I had hopes for you. Can't deny you have talent, boy, but I’m no longer sure of your judgment. Why are you still hanging around with this bitch? She'll get you killed.”

  Glace started forward, but Cass held him back.

  “I know you love me,” she said to the crime lord, “because I’m the only person in this city who is as fair as you.”

  "I hate you," Mathew said calmly, "because your body has made so many of my people bleed."

  Cass laid her left hand on Glace's forearm. "They stopped dying more than two months ago, back when I found Glace." She held out her right hand, displaying the stolen ring. “This is what matters, Mathew. Do you recognize it? You should. You’re wearing its mate on your left hand, only this one is real.”

  “Far as I know the one I'm wearing is real.” Mathew took the ring and studied it closely. “It’s a good job,” he finally admitted, “but the diamonds are fake.”

  “Those diamonds,” purred Cass, “come from the walkways of Hell, and so does the sapphire. Study the band closely, Mathew, because you’ll never see its like again. Athos, himself, covets this metal, and when the lesser god of Hell treasures something you know it’s worth a fortune.” Her eyes glittered emerald fire. “I’m giving it to you for nothing. For almost nothing.”

  With a snap of his fingers, Mathew clenched his fist around the ring and leaned forward in his chair to study Cass with dark eyes, hard, dangerous, and knowing. “Tell me, bitch, are you trying to cover me in Hell’s trappings and compromise my soul? I’m not like Carrid. I don’t deal with the dead and the damned, and I don't make deals with the likes of you.”

  “It’s almost a gift, Mathew,” Cass whispered softly. “Nothing more than a gift with a couple of strings attached. Glace is getting too old for his simple cons. He needs training, and there’s nobody better for that than you.”

  “What else?” Mathew’s voice sounded flat, his face distrusting.

  “Sire my children,” she breathed.

  “I don’t even like you.”

  “And I hate you beyond compare. Your feelings don’t matter. It’s time for me to breed.”

  Swallowing hard, Glace shifted nervously. Cass’s words had suddenly thrust him into an awkward position. He was young, untried, and relatively unknown. As yet, he had no reputation to maintain, but he did have one to build if he wanted to stay alive for more than another year or three. This meant he was obligated to protest Mathew taking his woman. On the other hand, Mathew was abnormally strong and quick with a blade. Unlike many of those in the Hellhole, Mathew could walk out to the graveyard and point at dozens of burial markers he had caused.

  Still, a young con had nothing if he did not have respect.

  Knees trembling, Glace pulled his knife. “You’re mine,” he said to Cass, wishing his voice didn’t tremble.

  Eyes liquid and warm, she wrapped soft fingers around the sharp-edged blade and leaned into him so her left breast pressed against his side. “I promise you, lover, no man touches me except you.” She moistened her lips and then pursed them in a slight moue. “No man.”

  Her expression hardened. After releasing her hold on Glace's knife, she turned her eyes back toward Mathew. “Glace is still a fool. He thinks he owes something to the Brood woman who takes in all the kids, so you have to give him seven rugdles for the ring. It’s a steal, Mathew, and you know it. Seven rugdles and training. It's all I ask.”

  “Does anybody else feel confused?” Glace muttered to himself.

  Mathew’s expression became distracted. His eyes shifted to the side, narrowed, and then the Hellhole’s din stilled. Twisting, Glace saw Tessla standing in the open doorway, an ever-present cirweed pipe stuck between her lips, a hellhound’s huge head dangling casually from one black-taloned hand.

  “Does this belong to anybody?” she asked in a conversational voice, though her eyes glittered black fire. The tips o
f her long, white hair danced in the still air.

  “The beast was a favorite of Krastos,” Carrid called out. “The demon isn’t going to be too happy with you.”

  “Its eating habits displeased my god,” Tessla calmly replied. “Krastos is welcome to speak with me if he has a problem.” Smoke rose from her soul-sucking cirweed pipe.

  Trembling, Cass pressed herself against Glace. “Don’t let her hurt me.”

  “I wonder,” said Mathew to Cass, “which of us her god wants dead.”

  Surreptitiously sliding the ring on his finger, Mathew rose to his feet and scowled at Glace. “First lesson. Put your knife away. It’ll do you no good against anybody in here.”

  Glace stubbornly shook his head and gripped the knife tighter as Tessla’s eyes swiveled in their direction.

  “Ahhhh,” she said, and the rising cirweed smoke turned an angry brown.

  “I won’t make it easy for you,” Mathew warned. His hands hovered near his waistline where he openly wore two knives. Somewhere in this crowd, Glace knew, were also three or four bodyguards. They might or might not help the crime lord against Tessla.

  Tessla chuckled. “Mathew, I’m not after you— yet. I’m here for the bitch.” Almost casually, she dropped the hellhound’s head. It made a dull thud when it hit the floor.

  Growling a low rumble, Cass pulled away from Glace, shrugged her shoulders, and her unfastened shirt fell to the floor. Not knowing what else to do, Glace reached out an arm to block her from confronting Tessla, but Cass pushed it away with contemptuous ease.

  With the bitter fragrance of cirweed surrounding her and a thin, mocking, smile on her black lips, Tessla glided through the narrow corridor the Hellhole's patrons created when they moved from between Tessla and her prey. The silence surrounding them had become so complete Glace heard her black leather clothing creak as she drew near.

  Tessla stopped six feet away, drew in a lungful of poisonous smoke from the pipe still jutting from between her lips, and stared at Cass. “There have been too many deaths. Trelsar, my god, is unhappy.” She frowned. “Mathew, that was very unwise.”