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Fin, with more moxie than most, grinned, no blush on her cheeks. “I’m just on the lookout for fresh ideas.”
Indigo high-fived Lizette, who sat on the couch beside her. “Ohngel stars in my erotic technicolor dreams every night, his big…” The group tittered. “…wings. I was going to say wings. Anyhoo, those thick, hard, feathered things make my heart pound like a jackhammer.”
“I’m certain I speak for everyone here when I say he’s definitely hot wings. Buffalo hot wings. Spicy sauce.” Celene glanced around the room. “Who’s going to read?”
Indigo popped her gum. “I volunteer Lizzy. She has the radio talk show hostess-with-the-mostest voice.”
“I second that. Let’s hear it, Lizette.” Margo snuggled deeper into the couch, fanning her wild red hair across the back cushions.
Lizette reached for the book. “Here goes. I hope I live up to the expectations.” She flipped through the pages until she found where they had left off last meeting. She cleared her throat.
Ohngel spread the written summation of the court’s proceedings onto his table. The male, known only as Scribe, paid meticulous attention to detail, documenting all games of Cee-lo.
On the appointed day, at the appointed time, in the appointed place known as the Game Room of Vast, came the players and their well-wishers. The OneCreator awaited them on his throne where he directed the events in this last bid for supremacy between two newly created species.
Each player, hereafter referred to as Gahya and Gabriel, would toss out three dice until they rolled a recognized combination. Whichever player presented the better accepted combination would claim victory. Both had agreed upon the bet: the winner’s creations would dominate the loser’s species.
The well-wishers wore their finest for the game. Jewels glistened in Vast’s sun. Gemstones of every color, set into precious metals, sparkled on fingers, wrists, ankles, and arms. Ornamented silks, satins, and brocades caressed sculpted male and female bodies. The glorious scents of lavender, roses, and violets wafted through the air. Hair gleamed in the light whether swept up in ornate fashion or falling on bared shoulders. Glass tumblers filled with nectar-laced spirits clinked together while laughter flowed freely. Camaraderie was the order of the festive evening.
Gabriel was first to toss. He picked up the dice, rolled them over his fingers, and examined them as if he did not trust the pips dotting each. For that, the OneCreator scowled. Closing his fist around them, the contestant shook them. Flinging out his hand, he hurled them across the table. One. Three. Six. He played again. Nothing. Gabriel wiped sweat from his brow. He rattled the cubes, kissed his fist, and rolled. Six. Six. Six. The onlookers gasped. Then they broke into loud cheers. The trip thrown by Gabriel was nearly impossible to beat.
Gahya stepped forward, the layered blue and green silks of her peplos rustling with the seductive sway of her hips, whispering her confidence. Smiling, she called over a young handsome courtier whom she was rumored to have bedded the night before. He blessed her dice. She rolled the three cubes in the palm of her hand. Closing around them, she shook near her ear before she tossed them onto the table. The crowd held its breath, the room blanketed in an exhilarating silence. The dice stopped tumbling. Two. Five. Four. Again. No acceptable combination. Again. Again. The confident smile never disappeared from her luscious lips. Once more she asked her recent paramour for a blessing. She shook and rolled. Four. Five. Six. An automatic win according to the game’s rules.
The clamor was ear-shattering. It is said Gabriel slunk away in shame, returning to his chambers defeated. Well-wishers carried Gahya on their shoulders.
Once they had borne her around the court twice, they stopped before the throne upon which sat the OneCreator in all his splendor, his robes a rich blend of purple and midnight satin, his hair a golden halo, his eyes bright with the secrets of the universe.
With a hand, His Magnificence quieted the crowd.
“The final bet was agreed upon. It was cast. It is settled. Let all acknowledge the Genitrix Gahya as victor. The game is ended.”
The Beneficent Ruler shifted on his throne, leaning forward toward the winner, an elbow on his knee. “Hades’s hound will be born to a line of Earth’s most powerful mages. This descendant will lead Gahya’s Aeternals to victory against Gabriel’s Homo sapiens.”
The OneCreator rose to his full height of six-foot-nine, his form muscular as befits a male. “Let it be so. The hound cannot be killed. So if any of my subjects see themselves as saviors, be forewarned. Not only is it against my rules to interfere directly with the path of the creatures on Earth, but the hound cannot be killed. The bet is won. Gahya is victorious. Her Aeternals will reign.”
He descended from the throne to join the crowd of subjects. Before congratulating Gahya, he coughed and raised a hand for attention. “One thing I must mention. It is a small thing.” He shrugged. “So small, it hardly bears note. The hound can be killed under one unlikely circumstance. By the kiss of blood and kin.”
The Genitrix dipped her chin, her azure eyes narrowing, her hand clenching her luxurious silks.
I must digress. Clearly, Gahya is the most beautiful of the goddesses, the everlasting sun of Vast resting on her rosy cheeks, her brows a perfect arch, her skin like fresh cream. Obviously perplexed, she stroked a finger across full, ruby-stained lips and flipped her honeyed hair over her shoulder. “I do not understand,” said the perfect immortal female.
The OneCreator shook his head, so very patient with his subjects. “As I mentioned, it is hardly noteworthy. Be of little concern. Go. Celebrate your win.” He flicked away her worries with a wave of his regal fingers.
Ohngel reread the words in the court report. The hound can be killed “by the kiss of blood and kin.” He had to hand it to Scribe. The guy knew how to suck ass and turn a phrase. But damn, the OneCreator’s diversions were frustrating. Dice. Mind games. Conundrums. At times, Ohngel wished to be more scholar than warrior. No. He’d never tolerate the boredom and riddles. What did the boss’s words mean? One thing was certain. If the big guy said it, it was noteworthy despite what he told Gahya.
He returned to Scribe’s account, beginning again. After three re-reads and seven or more goblets of mead, Ohngel fell asleep.
When he awoke, he had a crick in his neck, a hangover, and a possible answer to the OneCreator’s puzzling words. He threw back his head, a loud laugh ripping from his chest while he clutched his temples to ease the pain.
Lizette closed the book. “Sorry, Fin and Indigo, no sex.”
“It’s just as well. I have to pack. Roark and I start our adventure tomorrow. We’re on a quest.”
Braelyn fanned her face with her hand. “Talk about sex. The shifter sizzles. Have you…?”
Indigo jerked to her feet, slicing a finger across her throat to cut off Brae. She flitted around picking up wine bottles and glasses.
Celene grabbed the empty cheese tray, helping with clean-up. “OMG. You’ve tapped that fine piece of ass.”
