Scenting Hallowed Blood (44 page)

It had been a terrifying,
wonderful night, and the exertion, both physical and spiritual, had
nearly killed her. As she’d driven home, she’d been angry that
Barbelo hadn’t been there to help her. Yet now that she had
Shemyaza helpless in her cottage, Tamara was glad her strange
Grigori friend had kept her distance. Perhaps Barbelo had more
understanding than she’d imagined. This hour belonged to Tamara
alone.

She peeled back the tartan
blankets and let her eyes linger on the perfect lines of his body.
He was truly as lissom as a serpent, and his skin was so pale.
Grigori flesh. His eyes were closed and the ferny fringes of his
long, dark lashes rested against his cheeks. His tangled hair
looked like unravelled swatches of raw silk, matted with slivers of
driftwood and skeins of seaweed. She longed to comb it out. Her
gaze travelled down his chest to the dark coins of his nipples,
which seemed to call for a halo of lips to encircle them, for eager
teeth to bite them. Further, her eyes drank in the beauty of the
hollow of his belly that was plaited with muscle. Below, lay the
ripe fruit of the tree of his body; his heavy genitals, lying in a
nest of soft, curling hair. She longed to bury her face there, and
her mouth filled with saliva, but she knew she must be patient.
Just gazing upon him sharpened her breath.

Tamara placed the earthenware
bowl of herbal unguent on the carpet before her knees. She scooped
out a handful and kneaded it between her palms, so that it melted
like butter. When the moment came to touch him, she paused,
savouring the moment. Then she laid her hands upon him.

He made a small sound of
pleasure as her warm slippery fingers began to massage the sacred
ointment into his chest, and the scent of myrrh, camphor and
cinnamon rose like incense around them. She rubbed the poppies of
his nipples between her fingers, feeling herself grow loose and
damp between the thighs. Steeling herself not to hurry, to enjoy
each holy moment, she took another handful of unguent and rubbed it
slowly, languorously into his belly. Then she moved to his feet and
began the slow, sensual journey up to his groin. By the time she
reached her goal, his pale, flaccid penis had become hard and dark.
It rose from the mat of his pubic hair like the huge, phallic fungi
she collected from the woods, emanating a scent of ozone and ripe
corn. Gently, she rubbed her unguent into its shaft, feeling him
shudder at the burn of the camphor. With her free hand she cupped
his heavy balls, delighted to find she could not hold them in one
hand. Her mouth was full of water; she swallowed twice to clear it.
It seemed his taste was already on her tongue.

Leaning forward, she took the
long, sloping mushroom head of his sex into her mouth, probed with
her tongue into its secret recesses, sucked the salt liquor from
him. He made an appreciative noise and put his hands on her head,
pushing himself into her, so that the bitter tang of the unguent
filled her mouth. His prick seemed to be growing inside her,
pressing her tongue down, filling her throat. She tore herself
away, gasping.

He did not raise his head, or
even open his eyes, but he laughed softly. Tamara knelt there
panting, her hands plunged between her knees. She could feel her
cunt pulsing in time to her heartbeat. Still without speaking,
Shemyaza reached out for her, found the hardness of a nipple poking
through the taut fabric of her kaftan. His long fingers cupped her
heavy breast, squeezed hard. Then he rose up like a serpent, and
pushed her back onto the carpet. He towered over her where she lay
with her knees raised, her kaftan riding up her thighs. He seemed
utterly alien, yet the mere sight and smell of him made her feel as
hot and demanding as a she-cat on heat. She tried to struggle from
her garments, eager to be naked against him, but as she fought with
the folds of cloth around her ears, she felt his head plunge in
between her legs, felt his long tongue dive into her body. Instead
of winning free of her clothes, she lay quiescent, with her arms
flung over her head, blinded by fabric as he worked at her. He
sucked dextrously at her clitoris as if it was a man he was
pleasuring. She felt delirious with pleasure, almost beyond orgasm.
But then the wave came furiously inside her and she felt a gush of
liquids burst loose from her, which he drank from greedily. Without
pausing, he turned her onto her belly and raised her hips. She
could feel her muscles still contracting like a flower of flesh as
his great organ slithered into her. As he punched in and out of
her, she felt him grow, until it seemed she would have to burst and
tear. His hands kneaded her buttocks and then reached around to
massage her clitoris, until she heaved into a blinding, multiple
orgasm. He stood up, holding her powerfully against him, her body
dangling down, and she felt him spasm inside her. Then he
unsheathed himself from her flesh and let her fall crumpled to the
floor. She lay there, curled up, panting and shuddering, her
genitals still convulsing in the last tides of climax.

When she was able to compose
herself, she sat up. Her thighs were drenched in his seed and her
own liquor. Sex had never been so raw for her before, so intense
and immediate, so erotic in its simplicity. He was sitting in front
of her on the window-seat, his head bowed, his hands dangling
between his knees.

‘Who are you?’ he asked
her.

She flicked her damp hair back
off her breasts. ‘To you, I am Ishtahar,’ she said.

‘Ishtahar?’ As Tamara spoke the
name, the shroud around his memory fell away. He remembered.
Uttering a cry of pain and fear, his hands flew to his face.

Tamara watched in horror.
Shemyaza screamed in agony. His sensuality she could cope with; his
anguish was far greater to comprehend or control. She was also
worried that someone outside might hear this gusting lament. The
Pelleth might be lurking about by now.

‘Hush!’ She knelt before him,
put her hands around his wrists and attempted to pull his arms
down. After a moment, he relented and fell quiet. When she saw his
eyes, they were dark and blank of emotion. She could feel the bones
grinding in his wrists as he flexed his fingers. ‘It’s all right,’
she said. ‘I am here to help you.’

‘You! You are human!’

She nodded. ‘Yes. As was
she.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you
find me?’

‘I found you on the beach below
High Crag. Do you remember what happened?’

He pulled away from her hold
and rubbed his face. ‘Yes... The sea. The boy in the sea.’ He
paused. ‘I flew into my own history. He made me do it.’

Tamara laughed softly. ‘He is
your true vizier.’

Shemyaza frowned. ‘No, I have a
vizier. Daniel. He has always been with me.’

‘And look what’s happened to
you! Did Daniel help you in the Garden? No. Delmar has more power,
as do I. My lord, it is hard for me to say this, and will be hard
for you to hear, but Ishtahar and Daniel are of the past, whereas I
and Delmar are of the present. People have tried to keep you away
from us, but we had faith. We knew we would triumph. And we
have.’

Shem still looked at her
warily. ‘Do the Parzupheim know about you?’

Tamara did not know what the
Parzupheim was, but answered quickly. ‘Everyone who knows about us
wants to keep us apart from you. Your own people work against you!
They want to contain you and control you.’

Shemyaza rubbed his face again,
looked to the side. ‘But Daniel...’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t
know. I don’t know about this.’

‘Trust me. I am here to help
you fulfil your destiny. I am part of it: your priestess.’

Shemyaza stared at her for a
moment, then his lips peeled back from his teeth. He uttered a
growl and pushed her away, rising up to tower over her. This was no
moment of desire. She could see his power and it terrified her. He
could crush her like a spring shoot, if he wanted to.

She steeled herself not to
cower away from him. ‘My Lord, do not be angry! My only purpose is
to serve you.’

‘You are just like them!’ he
cried. ‘I can’t fulfil this destiny you all want for me so badly!
I’m sick of hearing about it!’

Tamara saw the colours of anger
and bitterness shining from his aura. Stupid Grigori, what had they
done to him? He should have come to this shore in joy and strength.
They had tortured him with their selfish demands. The Pelleth had
always known of this, how Grigori greed would warp the
Transformation when it came. Barbelo too must have known. She alone
of the Grigori had the intelligence and honour to see the truth.
‘Shemyaza,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. ‘You have
been hurt, but it can be healed. You don’t have to be bitter,
angry, or sickened by what must be. There is another way to
victory, and I can show you how. No-one knows this land as well as
I. Its secrets are my secrets. I can bend its elements to my will.
You don’t have to go to the serpent alone.’

Shemyaza expelled a short,
snarling laugh. ‘Any who go with me die. Only I can withstand the
gaze of the serpent, or so I’ve been told.’

Tamara shook her head. ‘A lie!
Delmar and I will be with you, I as your priestess and Delmar as
your vizier. We are a sacred trinity, male, female and
androgyne.’

‘Your Delmar is a boy! That’s
not remotely female.’

‘Physically, maybe, but he is
also a melding of you and I, our essential spiritual components. He
is stronger by far than Daniel.’ She saw him thinking about what
she’d said. He wanted desperately to believe her, she could tell,
for he was so tired and weary. Whatever he’d experienced when he’d
leapt from the cliff had battered him like a hail of ironbound
staffs.

Sighing, he sat down again. ‘I
want a bath,’ he said, ‘and something to eat and drink.’

The cold light had gone out of
him. He seemed smaller, hardly more than a man. Tamara could see
the fragility in him. She got to her feet. ‘I’ll run a bath.
There’s plenty of hot water, and how about a cooked breakfast?’

He smiled up at her and nodded.
‘Yes... Thank you.’

Tamara introduced Shemyaza to
Delmar in the afternoon of their first day together. Delmar acted
like a small child, shy and afraid. Shemyaza was clearly
unimpressed. Barbelo had told Tamara that, in this life, Shemyaza
had a predilection for working magically with the male principle,
but he seemed to have no interest in Delmar. Personally, Tamara
didn’t blame him. Delmar was almost fishlike in his dank lack of
passion, and his ocean eyes were empty of expression. He came alive
only in his element, or in the throes of trance. ‘My vizier was
warm,’ Shemyaza said, tilting Delmar’s face in his hand. He turned
to Tamara. ‘Is this boy a bit peculiar?’

Tamara, busy washing up,
glanced over her shoulder. ‘He is sea-born. It’ll be different once
he’s in his element, you’ll see.’

Shemyaza pulled a wry face and
let Delmar go. He had a strong desire to wipe his hands after
touching the boy. This was no Daniel. He looked back at Tamara.
She, on the other hand, was vibrant and dynamic. If anyone could
help him in the task everybody kept insisting was his destiny, he
was prepared to believe she could. Sexually, she was voracious. She
leapt upon him at every opportunity like a sacred whore. They had
only been together for just over half a day, but had already had
sex five times: before breakfast, after breakfast, mid-morning,
before lunch, after lunch. No woman had aroused him as much since
Ishtahar. Perhaps she was really telling the truth about herself.
Now, he went up behind her and wrapped her in his long arms. She
tilted back her head so that he could nuzzle her neck. His fingers
crept down to between her thighs. He grew hard against her.

‘I want you now,’ he said,
nipping the skin below her ear. ‘I want you every hour.’

‘And you shall have me,’ she
answered. She pushed her hips backwards against him, spreading her
legs wide.

Delmar, sitting at the kitchen
table, watched with cold eyes, as Shemyaza flipped up Tamara’s
skirts and started fucking her from behind.

It was little more than a week
to the solstice night. Tamara knew the Pelleth had been priming
their sacred sites, but she wanted to use this time to do a little
priming of her own. She wanted to take Shemyaza to some of the
sites and introduce him to them. It was strange that Barbelo didn’t
come to the cottage, but perhaps she was afraid of Shemyaza
recognising her. She still called on the telephone every evening to
see how Tamara was getting on, but insisted that Shemyaza not be
told anything about her. Most nights she had instructions for
Tamara, which were strictly obeyed. Tamara was a little frightened
herself of Shemyaza and relied on Barbelo’s verbal assistance on
how to handle him. When he was being ordinary and almost human, she
loved him and felt she had control, but when the shadow of his
power, or his former existence, stole over his countenance, he
became an alien, unpredictable creature, who might lash out and
destroy anything within his reach. His mood changes were erratic.
He could be almost carefree one moment, then either murderous or
suicidal the next. Only sex seemed to calm him. Barbelo told her to
exploit this, as it was her greatest tool of control. Happy to
comply with this instruction, Tamara kept him well drugged with the
elixir of her body.

On the day following his
arrival at the cottage, Tamara took him out in her car to visit the
first of the sites. She bundled him up in old clothes of her
widowed father’s that she stored in a trunk for the rare occasions
when he came to stay with her; a heavy coat, stout wellington boots
and an old hat, under which she concealed Shemyaza’s shining hair.
If any of the Pelleth spotted them, she hoped they would not
penetrate his disguise.

As they drove along the narrow
lanes in pelting rain, Shemyaza talked about his future. She saw
this as an encouraging sign.