Fallen Gods: Tainted Purity Read online

  Rushes of fiery light pulsed through her, her orgasm taking over and making it impossible to answer. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him while wave after wave crashed through her.

  “You will come with me.” Braze filled her with his scalding cum, coating her cunt while his cock throbbed deep inside her.

  “Don’t let this happen.” The outcries of the elders had already started to fade.

  Their anger at being denied her body, at Braze seizing her now without announcing his desire to claim her, filled her body, chilling her even as the heat of his sex lingered.

  But there would be no enjoying the aftermath. She had no time to bask in the glory of his satisfied expression. They would all die. Fire filled the air around them while the stones began falling, daring to crush them if she didn’t move quickly.

  The outrage of the elders would bring down the coven, destroy the sanctuary of the altar. Hedel was old, its air stale, the fire from her sun cold. The basic elements would crash and crush them all if the fury of their powers mixed too strongly. Brigit had no idea how to stop it.

  Her heart pounded too hard for her to breathe, confusion and fear rushing through her too fast to think straight.

  “This is not how it will end.” Brigit pulled free, allowing her own powers to take over.

  An equal match for Braze even though she allowed him to think otherwise, she shocked the elders with her quick movement.

  They had been tricked, fooled into believing her youthful innocence implied her weakness. Flying through the air, avoiding rocks and fire while the coven collapsed, the altar dissolving into millions of tiny pebbles, Brigit raced to find safety. Hedel would die today, but her home planet wouldn’t take her with it. The coven would disown Braze if he fouled her initiation and then left with her. She wouldn’t have that.

  Leaving her body, hurling through the atmosphere, she darted toward unknown safety.

  Chapter One

  Bridget kicked the covers away from her body, suddenly way too warm. The cool air in her cozy bedroom did nothing to soothe her.

  “Fucking dreams.” She rubbed her hands over her face, and then slowly down her naked body, her swollen breasts aching, her pussy still throbbing and moist.

  For over a year now, dreams had haunted her, people she didn’t know looked familiar, voices spoke when no one was there. She was going crazy, and had no idea what to do about it.

  Stretching, her body still tingling from such a vivid dream, Bridget Down stared at her ceiling. “Why is this happening to me?” she wondered, although the quiet room offered no answers.

  She could still hear the voice of the man who seemed to control her dreams lately. They were always so sexual, intense, leaving her gasping on the aftermath of a hard orgasm when she woke. This last dream though, another place, a dying planet—none of it made any sense.

  Kicking off the covers, she padded over to the small window overlooking the street below.

  She sighed, knowing the only thing she could do was get on with her day and pray the intense need growing in her body would go away.

  But no matter how hard she worked, how many pieces of jewelry, or candelabras, or any other items from her metal shop that she sold, her thoughts had been more than distracted lately.

  “It’s as if something is about to happen,” she realized, then noting she was speaking to herself, hurried and dressed.

  Maybe insanity ran through her family. Having grown up in an orphanage, she had no idea who her birth parents were. Her poor mother had probably suffered from the same affliction and so had been unable to raise her.

  Bridget’s breath formed a cloud in front of her face as she walked across the parking lot of her apartment complex, in the quieter part of Maple Cove, Missouri. Just outside of Kansas City, the town came to life once a year during the Renaissance Festival. Many of her crafts sold during the festival, money she used to help the shelters and orphanages.

  Sliding onto the cold leather seat of her old station wagon, she shifted in her jeans, the material rubbing against her still-sensitive and moist pussy. Her nipples were too tender against the roughness of her sweater, the knitted fabric sending a fire through her while she turned the key in the ignition.

  The engine turned twice and died. “Damn it.” She didn’t need this. “Come on, baby.” Caressing the dash, she willed the car to start.

  This time it simply clicked.

  There were a million things to do today. The kids at the orphanage where she’d grown up expected her to show up today. She needed to get over to her shop to finish candleholders that were on back order. And she wanted to help the folks out down the street, where there’d been a burglary the other night. They would need better locks and she knew the older couple couldn’t afford them.

  Leaning back against the seat with a sigh, sensations of Braze, the man from her dreams, popped into her head. She had no idea what he looked like. But she sensed his presence, his aggressive manner, his rough touch. Suddenly the sweater she had on was too warm, too tight against her swollen breasts.

  “It’s pretty sad when you can steam up your windows, and you’re the only one in your car,” she muttered, refusing to stay in her dream world. “Okay, car. You are going to start, and you are going to start now.”

  She turned the key again, and smiled when it purred to life. “Good girl,” she said, patting the dash.

  The metal building she rented was attached to one of the older brick buildings on the industrial side of town. Not the kind of place the average Joe would stroll by after dark, but Bridget didn’t mind it. There was something cozy about the hundred-year-old trees that shaded the area and the old brick road that led up to the gravel parking lot. She parked in front under the sign that said Smith Down, a gift from an old boyfriend. He was gone, but she liked the sign so kept it hanging.

  The old station wagon died when she put it in park. Well at least it got her here.

  She’d barely made it to the door of her shop, struggling with her key and the old stubborn lock, when two teenage girls approached from the other end of the parking lot, decked out in black and watching her through heavily made-up eyes. Their whispers reminded her of the many voices in her dreams, thoughts drifting around her, annoying her and sparking her interest at the same time.

  “There she is,” one of the girls said, a slight lisp in her voice.

  “She isn’t old.” The second girl, her voice husky, had Bridget turning her head.

  She fought a smile when the two girls looked at her wide-eyed.

  “You know she probably heard that,” the first girl hissed.

  Their boots crunched across the gravel parking lot, but their whispered words still came easily through the crisp fall air. Bridget pulled her long thick brown hair over her shoulder, turning away from them to open the door to her shop.

  Pushing against the large door, the dark room, rich with the smell of her work, surrounded her, pulling her forward. Her creative muse filled her, energizing, making her skin tingle. The desire to get to work, create, bend metal and gems into whatever moved her, consumed her. The sensation almost took away the intense craving for sex that her dream had left her with—almost.

  The girl with the lisp spoke. “Excuse me, are you Bridget Down?”

  Her voice sounded different for some reason, clearer, less muffled than a moment before. Bridget turned, staring at the two teenagers. Black eyeliner lined their eyes, with thick mascara and no blush. Both girls wore all black. The one with the lisp looked too thin, and the other one was on the chunky side. Both stared at her, making eye contact, waiting for her answer like their lives depended on it.

  She is going to hurt us. The girl with the husky voice, who could stand to lose a few pounds, spoke.

  Bridget looked at her, startled, ready to assure her she would never do any such thing. Then it dawned on her. The girl’s mouth hadn’t moved. She just continued to stare at Bridget, waiting for her to answer.

  I bet lots
of men want to fuck her. Her voice sounded muffled once again.

  Bridget’s mouth fell open when she heard the thin girl with the lisp. Yet again, she noticed her mouth hadn’t moved.

  There was no way she was hearing their thoughts the way she had in her dream. But it sure seemed that was the case.

  Turning, she flipped the light switch, flooding the large work area with light.

  “I’m Bridget.” She walked toward her workbench, deciding she’d had a lapse of sanity there for a moment. There was no way she’d heard those two girls’ thoughts.

  “We were asked to come get you,” the chubby girl blurted out quickly.

  The chubby girl got a shrewd look from her friend and Bridget swore she nudged the girl in the arm for her quick explanation.

  “What Holly meant to say is that we were asked to seek out your help.” It seemed the lisp had disappeared from the thin girl’s words.

  Bridget adjusted her sweater, pulling it down in the front while she looked at the two teenagers standing just inside her shop.

  “Who needs help?” she asked. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had come to her shop in need. Somehow she always managed to make sure they got a meal, or a place to sleep. Neither of these girls appeared to be starving, and the cost of the clothing they wore probably was comparable to a nice hotel room.

  You’re the one who needs help. The sassy tone coming from the chunky girl rolled out of her as clearly as if she’d spoken.

  “Why do I need help?” Bridget asked before she could stop herself.

  The chunky girl took a step backwards while the thin girl suddenly looked confused. Her hand went over her mouth and she stared wide-eyed at her. Bridget instinctively reached out to calm her, and the girl stumbled backwards further.

  “I said we were asked to seek out your help.” The thinner of the two girls looked from her friend to Bridget with an odd expression on her face. “Marlita at the crystal shop downtown asked us to come get you.”

  By now the heavier girl had grabbed her friend and pulled her toward the door.

  She answered my thoughts. This is too much power. What if I think the wrong thing? her thoughts screamed at Bridget. I don’t know that much about Marlita. Maybe this is an incredibly powerful witch. We gotta get out of here!

  “Why are you pulling me out of here?” the thin girl asked her friend as they disappeared into the parking lot. “Damn. The last thing we want to do is offend her.”

  Bridget stared at the open door long after their voices—or was it their thoughts?—faded away. That was the strangest fucking thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

  Of course there had been brief moments in her past when she hadn’t been able to explain something. But that sort of thing happened to everyone. Things like missing keys suddenly appearing under her nose when she’d cried out in exasperation for them to show up. Or her car starting when she’d commanded that it do so. All of it was pure coincidence.

  But this. How the hell did she explain this?

  Getting lost in her work always soothed her frazzled emotions. Feeling the metal take form, the precious gems sparkle and come to life when the settings fit perfectly around them, invigorated her. It was a gift to create from what Mother Earth gave her. Bridget was truly blessed. Every day, amazement soared through her when she saw her craft take form, fill with life, as if she gave its very soul to each design she made.

  She worked through the morning, distracted, the usual pleasure that soared through her feeling tainted. Unable to kick the sensation that something wasn’t right, a chill moved through her, filling the confines of the shop while she worked. Her muse never made her cold. Yet chill bumps raced over her, tightening her body with this strange premonition. Glancing around, focusing hard on the long shadows that draped across the floor, she let her gaze rest a moment on the door. A moment later it opened. A tall dark figure silhouetted the doorway.

  “You alone, lady?” The voice was deep, masculine, with a lazy drawl.

  “What do you need?” Instinctively she gripped a sharp knife, holding it behind her back when she stood.

  “There is no reason to fear me.” He had an accent, one she couldn’t place. Something European maybe, but almost Southern too. And he was tall, thin, silhouetted by the light behind him so she couldn’t get a good look at his features.

  “Who said I’m afraid?” She put her hands on her hips, still holding the knife between her fingers and out of view. Hot sweat broke out on her palms, a peculiar sensation washing through her that this wasn’t a stranger. “What can I do for you?”

  “May I come in?” His smooth speech pattern was disturbing, chilling and warming her all at the same time.

  And why did she feel his question was a trick? A double-loaded question?

  Apprehension sent chills through her, almost making her shake.

  This was her shop, her domain, filled with a creative flow, her haven to design and work at peace. That wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “I’d thought about taking a break. How about if you tell me what you need outside?” She didn’t know why this stranger made her feel ill at ease. But the knot in her stomach, her wobbly knees when she headed toward him—and the door—reminded her of her childhood, and confronting parents who she knew wouldn’t adopt her.

  Sweat made her palms damp, the knife concealed behind her back sliding between her moist fingers when she walked toward the stranger. He didn’t move from the doorway and she caught a better look at his face. Dark eyes that seemed empty stared at her, his expression unreadable. His face was long and gaunt and dark hollows accented high cheekbones. His lips were barely visible, his mouth a mere thin line. The sensation that she stared into the gaping holes of a skull gave her the creeps.

  Bridget always thought herself a good judge of character, able to tell a person’s nature by spending time with them. Something about this man wasn’t right. Her gut churned, her breath coming faster while her heart started pounding.

  She wouldn’t show fear. The reason wasn’t obvious. But Bridget knew, felt in her gut, that showing fear would be releasing the beast she feared dwelled in this person staring at her.

  His dark eyes pierced through her, searching for some knowledge about her. When he didn’t move she held her empty hand out, a gesture that he should leave the doorway and return outside.

  “Will you talk with me outside?” she asked, feeling a need to keep her thoughts as friendly as her tone.

  “Allow me inside.” Instead of retreating, he reached for her, his movement quick although it seemed he moved in slow motion.

  “No.” She uttered the one word, holding both hands out now, her small knife a silver shield before her.

  Rudeness wasn’t part of her nature. Bridget believed everyone had good in them, a basic core in their inner being that intended no harm. She searched for that depth in each person she associated with, strived to communicate only with their natural, unhindered being. Try as she would, she didn’t see that in this man.

  He reached for her, long bony fingers extending. His skin was pasty white, turning her stomach. Repulsed yet oddly fascinated, a strange prickling crept over her skin.

  Be very careful.

  She heard the words whisper through her on a soft breeze, somehow comforting. There wasn’t time to dwell on the familiar masculine tone. Bridget jumped to the side, avoiding the stranger’s touch.

  “You need to leave. Now!” She stood her ground, staring the man down.

  His eyes widened. For a moment she saw something stir, come to life, a fire burning within him that hadn’t been there a second ago. She swore sparks triggered through the air, charging the room with a power that swarmed right through her. Her body began quivering, shaking, the oddest sensation that she’d experienced this before, riding through her.

  “I see it now,” the man sneered, his voice a nasty hiss, like that of a serpent. “You have lost it. There is nothing in you now.”

  Pointing her finger at
him, she made her point clear. “Out.”

  She almost fell backwards when he flew away from her, as if some unseen power sucked him out of the doorway, like a vacuum dragging the dirt away with its powerful suction.

  “There will be no stopping what will happen this time.” He laughed even as his body seemed to fold in two.

  Sliding backwards, his feet not seeming to move in accord with his body, he really did look like someone had a hold of his backside, dragging him against his will. Bridget found herself following him outside, watching in awe even as panic consumed her.

  People didn’t move the way he did. He should be falling on his ass right about now.

  “What is there to stop?” Even as his physical actions spooked her, his words had managed to register. She stopped just outside the door to her shop, staring at the stranger. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “That is my point.” His laughter increased while he managed to straighten, appearing once again before her like a man should stand.

  Bridget’s heart raced. Dark clouds had moved in since the morning, a chill setting hard in the air around her. The long shadows stretching across the parking lot from the trees seemed to grab the stranger, making him part of them.

  He turned, leaving her, walking away without offering any further explanation. Part of her was glad to be rid of him. Some people’s minds were too far gone to manage a coherent conversation. But another part of her was compelled by what he said, wanting to question him further, demand he explain what he had said. She was no stranger to the streets though. If the man were schizophrenic then it was best that he leave.

  Just when she’d decided the stranger was crazy, a possible close call to disaster, a figure across the street caught her eye.

  Standing there, watching her, a tall man pinned her with his gaze. Power. Authority. Danger. All at once she found herself grabbing emotions from him, feeling him although he was a parking lot’s distance away. Before she realized her actions, Bridget walked towards him, captivated, mesmerized.