Page 16 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

Though a pathetic haze of illumination from an unknown source continuously swirled around the prisoner, near-darkness was the predominant state of The Void. Not that the apparition minded this, as it was once Lord of the Night; it found a small comfort in the gloaming. But this realm was nothing like the beauteous and vast night sky it formerly traversed, as there were no dark winds to swell around it, to kiss its face as the once-Titan soared haughtily above the world.

There was no world. The Void was akin to the immensity of celestial space, only without the moon’s luxurious glow or the far-off stars twinkling in their beholder’s eyes.

Aside from the pitifully weak luminance, there was a faint light far in the distance, on the edge of the apparition’s vision, possibly a wall, a barrier that held back the lively material plane from piercing the darkness with illumination, time, and matter. The apparition remained rooted in place whenever it attempted to push its consciousness toward the barrier.

Nothing about this prison could be controlled—at least, not by it. Attempting to force its will upon the place had no effect and would have no effect. Ever. It was an immutable fact. The apparition accepted this, though it still hated the situation immensely. It would never surrender that feeling of defiance; acceptance would not lead to compliance.

In time, it had come to focus exclusively on its spiritual form, not brooding over what it could not affect.

By The Fates’ declaration, this spectral energy that housed its consciousness could be manipulated and shaped. And so the apparition had learned to do just that. It could not view its face, but it could see, to a limited degree, its body from the chest down, and at some point, it willed its energy into a replica of its once powerful Titan form, clothed in a facsimile of godly raiment.

This control over itself pleased the apparition, and it continued to wait patiently to use this power against its betrayer. It knew not how much time had passed since its imprisonment. Days? Decades? Centuries? It mattered not. Revenge would come. The Fates decreed it.

Abruptly, as the apparition was involved in its only occupation, that of form-shaping, a strange, never-before-felt sensation sent tingles throughout its ghostly body. It possessed a powerful awareness that something was happening in the physical world outside its prison. It needed more clarity, but whatever it was, it was something important that would impact its very existence and future. Yes, it believed that completely.

And then a familiar image appeared in its mind’s eye: a beautiful face that smiled and showed happiness—a face it once loved but now despised.

I understand!

The apparition took the vision as a sign that The Fates were announcing the time for vengeance was at hand.

Yes, I can sense it. Olympius has found his soulmate.

CORIOLANUS

The Present

“Iheard you were looking for me.”

The mortal stopped dead in his tracks.

Corey could tell the young man was too scared to turn around, so hewhisperedsweet words of encouragement, phrases transmitted so silently they were too faint for mortal ears to hear. If one knew how to work the power, and Corey did, they could pull a human mind and heart like the strumming of bass strings.

Soon, the mortal turned. Slowly, but he turned.

And saidnothing.

“I guess I was mistaken. Sorry to have bothered you.” Corey turned to leave, but it was all a feint; he knew he was not going anywhere.

“No!” the mortal cried out. “Please, I—was. Yes, I was. Definitely.” His words were stuttered and uncertain but warm and laced with obvious arousal.

As his prey’s excitement increased, the god could see the blood rush to his face, creating a mouthwatering flush. Corey wanted to bite into him like a ripe apple, one cultivated solely for a god’s enjoyment.

“Hi. My name’s—uhm—Christian. It’s Christian. You’re—”

“Corey. So Christian, how about we take this somewhere more interesting, elegant, and intimate.”

Grinning devilishly, the god moved his hand slowly down his chest and stomach until he reached his waistline. He lifted the front of his shirt out of the confines of the snug belt to show off a delectable tummy, taut and furry, the hair trimmed to a fleecy texture. The god’s treasure trail was an enticing preview of sexy things to come. Or so he wanted the mortal to believe.

Corey beckoned with his free hand to follow. “Shall we, Christian?”

The young man’s internal temperature rose from excitement and disbelief that this erotic encounter was happening. He appeared visibly scared, but it was a good kind of fear. The kind Corey liked. The sort that originated from inexperience but quicklymorphed into an all-consuming desire to end that naivety. That eager anticipation of finally making the scary unknownknownby embracing opportunity and actively participating in something new and thrilling.

Filled with nervous excitement, Christian took a few deep breaths before saying, “Okay, Corey. Cool.”

The god snickered, but in a flirty way so it would not sound arrogant or mocking. He was delighted by the outcome of his pursuance but also felt it was a crime for it to be so easy, this art of seduction. Christian was utterly mesmerized by the dancer he lusted after. A hot guy he had no idea was a twenty-five-hundred-year-old god. But that was the kind of power accessible to The Eternal: to control mortals and put them under their sway.

However, in this case, Corey did not need to employ preternatural muscle directly to manipulate the situation; this mortal was acquiescent of his own free will. It was Corey’s masculine beauty that initially compelled the man to desire him at the strip club. That, and the allure of his stage presence. But what mortal could resist the radiance of his tongue-wagging, dick-hardening performance?

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