16. I tear off after Zenya, following the little weaver into the world of her imagination.

Chapter 16

I tear off after Zenya, following the little weaver into the world of her imagination.

HECATE

"Mother Earth" by Within Temptation

"Imaginary" by Evanescence

"Fires at Midnight" by Blackmore's Night

I 've followed the trail of Morpheus, tracking him to this twisted carnival dreamscape—one I know was woven into being—when the temporal storm hits.

The softened edges and raw scent of Zenya's essence linger everywhere, but the storm overthrows her energy and scent with its insanity.

I set my hounds upon the surroundings, commanding them to sniff her out. Far too dangerous for a dream walker and a weaver to be caught in a temporal storm. Sometimes it will rip right into someone and tear them into the vortex, ricocheting them against its walls.

Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, I glance up at the sky to find Morpheus battling the storm, attacking the maelstrom with everything he has.

When my hounds howl from a hundred yards away, I dream-trek, closing the distance to my dogs who pace back and forth before a canyon caused by the storm. And there is the little dream weaver.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, we can't have this, can we?" I say, approaching the edge of the precipice while smiling down at the young woman.

She throws a look at me that could cut right through ice. I'm already admiring her strength, her spirit.

"Whoever you are, it'd be nice if you didn't leave me hanging," she hurls out, grating her nails into the sides of the cliff. Grit crumbles beneath her fingertips.

With an amused chuckle, I toss my long braids over my shoulder and send a gust of wind beneath the girl, raising her, and setting her on firm ground. I look to the sky. In the distance, the temporal storm energy is withering thanks to Morpheus.

Turning back to Zenya, I tilt my head and eye the weaver as she lies on her back, breathless, trying to refill her lungs. My hounds sniff the edges of her body. I examine her tattoos and smile at the duality. No wonder both dream daemons are attracted to her.

She is both magic and demons. Life and death. The addiction and the cure. Passion and vulnerability.

I could easily picture her nude, dancing around a fire while holding crystals and chanting spells to the wind. This little weaver would gladly spill her blood for the next adrenaline rush. Who better to offer than the Goddess of Magic?

Zenya tilts her head at me but does not rise yet. Hmm…I like how she is comfortable on her back before me. She does not cower beneath my shadow eclipsing her. She settles inside it. Not rising to any defense. But her eyes sparkle, and her cheeks flush. How lovely.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" she remarks with a smirk, then nods while sizing me up, her eyes roaming. "Are you my guardian angel?"

I set one hand on my hip and match her smirk with mine twisting more. "Would a guardian angel look like me?"

"Oh, mine definitely would."

She blushes more, and a warmth unfurls in my chest. A possessive desire arises. Not my first time, but it's been quite some time since a human did more than make me want their worship. Zenya has piqued my interest. She captivates me. No simple feat for a human.

"Well…" she sighs with a shrug and starts to get up. "They say the view from the edge of sanity is pretty spectacular. But as much as I'm enjoying it, I think I'd rather not take a chance on falling again." She nods to the cliff, her face paling.

I lock eyes with her and arch a brow. "Depends on whom you're falling for, dream weaver."

Her eyes widen. I grin more. "But you are quite right. Take my hand, sweet girl." I beckon her, extending my palm with its multiple crystal rings.

Zenya doesn't hesitate. I appreciate her trust, and while I could easily dream-trek us to Morpheus's castle without pulling her close to me, I still do.

Gods, I forgot how luscious, mortal heat beneath my fingers feels. Her heated flesh. Her soft skin in the small gap between her top and her skirt.

With Zenya pressed against me, her head falling at my shoulder, given how I'm a few inches taller, I shift us through space and time until we arrive at the God of Dreams' castle suspended in a mass thicket of golden clouds. Its countless white spires tower into the sky, and the fortress seems to go on in infinite directions to dominate the expanse. A Realm of Dreams without number. A portal for every door.

When we arrive in the center of the throne room, Zenya has buried her face in my shoulder, breathing me in. I do the same, appreciating her dark floral scent like blood roses.

I don't let her go, but one of my dogs approaches her, sniffing the air around her and nudging his snout against her leg.

Zenya glances up at me before flicking her eyes down at the canine. "Can I?"

I nod with a gracious smile. "Of course. Thank you for asking."

First, she places her palm before the great spectral hound. He takes a moment to sniff before swiping his tongue in a playful lick. Zenya giggles and kneels before my dog, burying her fingers in his fur and rubbing his belly. When she's kneeling, he's a good head taller than her.

All the other dogs, save for Hecuba, approach Zenya, curious and intrigued.

"I was never allowed to have a dog," she says with a wistfulness in her eyes, and I get a sense of a nightmare in her past, but it's quickly replaced by her laughter when one dog pounces on her, paws on her chest.

"So, what are you?" She looks up at me, kneeling while ruffling the dog's head and scratching his ears. "Goddess of Hounds or something?"

Amusement ripples through me, and I crook my lips into a smile. "I am the Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft." I hint, testing this little mortal's knowledge.

Judging by how her jaw drops, and her brows soar to their ceilings, she knows exactly who I am.

It only strengthens my desire to imagine what her beautiful tattooed tapestry of a body would look like nude and dancing around my fires.

"Oh, my word, you're her? Really her?" she practically swoons, her whole body turning to me. "You're Hecate?"

My growing smile is confirmation.

"Do I need to bow lower and kiss your feet or something?" She flings strands of her hair away from her cheeks.

"If that is your fetish, far be it from me to deny you," I quip, conjuring my torchlight flames and playing with the dancing light while Zenya fawns over me.

"Well, I left my knee pads at home." Her eyes twinkle with her lashes lowering. "But I might consider a more private worship ceremony."

Oh, that little vixen is certainly flirting with me. How delightful that my theories are confirmed.

"First, let us spare your poor knees." I wink and lower my palm to help her up, glancing at her bare feet. Neither dainty nor large. Her lean legs and arms show her penchant for climbing and hiking. Were it not for all her tattoos and purple hair, Zenya could be considered average, but she has made it her mission in life to stand out.

Her heart and spirit are by no means average .

More desire burns in me when she coyly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before fidgeting with her fingers. I imagine she is not so shy with the dream daemons. While she may be more submissive and allow them to dominate her, she feels safe enough to be shy with me, and I'll take that as a compliment.

Growing my claws to test this little mortal further, I cup her chin—pressing the tips enough for her to feel discomfort but not to break the skin. "Hmm…no works of art to honor this worthy palette?" I turn her face slightly from side to side.

Her blush deepens, and Zenya swallows to say, "Perhaps I haven't found a worthy one yet."

"We shall change that tonight." I touch the pad of my thumb to her lower lip, appreciating her quick intake of breath.

"Tonight?"

"Mmm…" I nod and rub that lower lip as she parts them, the heat of her breath curling along my fingers. "It seems Morpheus will be a little busy handling the temporal storm if you'd care to take a walk with me, Zenya."

A lovely flush blooms along her upper chest, and I sense her blood growing warmer from my touch. My appetite intensifies, growing into a hunger. Such passion, a zest for life, abounds within Zenya, but a deep reverence and appreciation for the black things of this world. She wears the demons in her mind upon her flesh. She doesn't hide from them. Just as she hides from none of us.

But oh, how I will enjoy seeing her on her back and spread for me!

"A walk sounds nice. But where?" She looks around.

I drop my hand from her mouth but tap her nose. "Anywhere you desire, dream weaver."

"Are you sure you're ready to fulfill all my desires, Hecate?"

With a chuckle, I trace a solitary claw along the black, lustrous serpent ink swirling along her arm, another of my symbols. "I am a Goddess. Fulfilling the strongest of desires is my specialty. If yours prove to be a flame, dear Zenya, I will happily fan the fire."

"And Morpheus…?"

I wave a dismissive hand. "Not to fret. I'll return you to him in one piece." Provided I get to enjoy all of her pieces first.

Some might think Goddesses are full of never-ending lust. But in reality, we are simply bored. I am far less bored than many, given my gifts, but this dream weaver is proving to be an intriguing diversion with a sparkle of magic in her veins. Nothing I love more.

Zenya locks eyes with me. And grins like a mad, sweet wanderer.

"Color me impressed, little weaver. I sincerely approve," I praise Zenya.

My bare feet glide along the mossy earth of this breathtakingly beautiful forest. Deep, dark gray hues set a mesmerizing and paranormal tone. An ethereal glow bathes the forest, thanks to the countless fireflies emitting a soft, golden light. Hundreds of puss moths flutter, robed in soft white fur like tiny, cat-like dragons. Silvery luna moths share space, their wings brushing the puss moths like kissing hello.

Zenya lifts a hand to catch a glowing puss moth. Its furry antennae tickle her fingers, and she giggles, setting my blood alight with that renewed hunger.

Every wing catches and reflects even the slightest glimmer of light, creating a surreal, twinkling effect.

As Zenya welcomes more moths skittering along her skin, her mind caught up in the wonder she has created, I admire more of our surroundings. A heavy mist veils the forest. I smile softly at how the mist curls and twists into random shapes, much like how children might see an image in a fluffy cloud.

The towering trees are ancient and majestic with dark and gnarled bodies. A strong pulsation erupts from each tree, the rhythm mirroring a beating heart. Its pulse echoes a profound thrum into the soles of my feet, creating an intimate connection with the forest. And with Zenya.

The trees follow her heartbeat.

What life she has. What light! She could have chosen butterflies. No, she chose fireflies and moths. The fireflies are more decorative—like moving constellations in the dark gray expanse around us. A symbolic of self-illumination and awareness, of simplicity.

But the moths…

Moths fly from darkness to light. Zenya may carry the darkness inside her, but she always escapes to the light. For her, the light manifested in her travels, her dreams—even if she was chasing thrills.

Moths symbolize transformation and clarity. The cycle of life and death, metamorphosis. Zenya knows exactly who she is, but she always seeks more transformation. New experiences. New challenges. New growth.

Moths also are masters of camouflage and disguise. Much like them, she tries to disguise the deep parts of her psyche—because she cannot kill them. Whenever she tried, she only collected scars. Her tattoos…they are her disguise. Her mask. Her way of rewriting her history and showing the world something else…her choice.

When a wave of moths surges toward me, with Zenya laughing in the background, I smirk and redirect them—back to her. Her eyes widen in one moment of clarity. Now she knows not to play with the Goddess of Magic.

An instant later, she's laughing through her tears with me towering over her as thousands of moths hold her to the forest floor. Hundreds of thousands of antennae, wings, and furry strands tickle her, prickling the hairs on her skin and raising gooseflesh.

"Okay! I surrender!" she cries, arching her neck from two larger moths sweeping their antennae along her throat.

Setting a hand on my hip, I leer down at her. "Such sweet surrender, dream weaver. But I expected more fight from you."

Her aquamarine eyes light with flames like smoldering jewels. "I hope your robe isn't flammable, Hecate."

I arch a brow.

The fireflies attack me with a barrage of heat and a burning prickle on my backside.

Oh, that little?—

Seething, I turn and roar at the fireflies, sending their flickering booties fluttering into the forest. The edges of my robe are still singed, curling with smoke. Chuffing a laugh, I shake my head and turn back to find Zenya standing before me.

I lower my brows, suspicious of those blushing cheeks and pressed lips…until she leans in and says, "Gotcha!"

One peck of those lips to my cheek, and she scampers away, rushing beyond the next tree and into that veil of mist.

Tossing aside my outer robe until I'm dressed in nothing but a sheer sheath of a goddess gown, I tear off after Zenya, following the little weaver into the world of her imagination.

When I round the corner of the next tree, I find myself in a clearing, a few steps behind her. A steady, crackling bonfire silhouettes her body, but she turns slightly, inclining her chin toward me. Heat from the flames curls toward me.

What I most admire are the crystals. Hundreds of thousands of crystals sprout from the trees, scintillating in the reflection of the firelight. More grow from the rock faces on the other side of the clearing. And from the rock faces, a thin cascade of a waterfall flows into a deep and flawless spring, the waters rippling with shards of moonlight from above the canopy.

My dogs linger at the edges of the clearing, prepared to do my bidding at any moment. For now, their glowing eyes observe.

"Do you like it?" Zenya softly wonders.

At first, I part my lips but say nothing before closing the distance between us. Once again, I cup her chin with my claws extended. And tilt my head like the Goddess predator I am.

A flush overcomes Zenya, her body softening, her teeth cutting her lower lip like before. What I love most is how her eyes don't stray from mine. She can be shy, bold, and self-aware at the same time.

I claim her lips. No more playing, I take what is mine by right of the Goddess of Magic. For what is more magical than a dream weaver?

Zenya bows to me, her back arching to meet me, her skin heating. Her mouth, her taste is like a dark dream. Like tasting the blackest and sweetest of honey. A hint of floral highlights that honey. I pause above her lips, heating my breath along her mouth.

When she blushes and bites her lower lip with a knowing smile, I understand she's gifted me with the taste of one of my favorite offerings: lavender honey.

I lick my lips. Let us see all the many ways this little weaver may please me.

Not once do her hands stray from her pelvic area, but I take my Goddess-due to remove her clothes. A mere simplicity with her slight scrap of a top and her mini skirt. In this realm, she's always ready. Far more free with herself than in the waking realm.

Her tattoos are her true mask. More than a mask, they are her expression, her freedom.

My fingertips taste that freedom as I roam them across her plump breasts. A lovely, and pert teardrop shape and size. She moans into my mouth as I find her pierced tits and tweak the erect nipples.

A flick of my eyes down, and I find her fingers whitening with her need to touch me. With a shrewd smile, I lift one hand and brush the knuckles across her cheek while hovering above her lips.

"Do you know the gravity of the position you are in, Zenya Alice Myre?" I sweep my knuckles down to her throat, learning the shape of its curve as she swallows hard.

"No." She shrugs casually, lowering her lashes to a flirtatious half-mast. "I'm honestly taking this one feeling at a time. And hoping I don't wake up."

As much as I wish to refute her, to tell her of the Oneiroi's war and show her the predicament she is in, I respect her impulsion and how she feeds on each moment's addiction.

Why waste such a moment? Significant moments can come later. The lovemaking of a goddess and a mortal is significant in many ways. Especially with what I intend to do to her.

Nyxion and Morpheus have left their marks…by using one another. I will leave mine…but I shall only use myself.

Crushing my mouth to hers, I coil a hand around her neck, sift her hair, and capture the base of her spine to lower her to the warm, mossy earth.

I spread her wide.

Savoring her whimper, I lick her left inner thigh where black serpents merge with blood splatters. "This is your protection, isn't it, Zenya?" I tap the eye of one serpent and lash my tongue at her pretty pink pubic lips….all the way up to that swollen pierced clit. "Your truth."

She grits her nails into the gray earth on each side of her. "Mmm, they're my magic, Goddess Hecate!"

The firelight gilds her skin until it shimmers. More moths come and marry with the fireflies in an otherworldly coupling all around us.

"How I will enjoy tasting your magic, my little weaver."

"Oh!" she cries out as I suck her clit into my mouth, mashing it with my tongue before circling it with the tip. Each note from her throat is an orgasmic symphony all to myself. I appreciate the hint of cinnamon in the sweet taste of her divine femininity.

After rubbing those wet folds, thrilling in how she drips around them, I slide one cunning finger into her center. I take a deep breath as she clenches and gushes around that finger, savoring her passion and receptivity.

She bucks against me.

At the crackling sounds beyond us, I look up to find Zenya has erupted the bonfire until smaller fires have branched out from the main one. Like flames on invisible torches and the points of a crown, they hover around the bonfire—and begin to dance.

When tree branches crack and reform, I glance down at the dreamer and offer her a pleased smile. Her aquamarine eyes shimmer like a celestial sea.

"Do you like?—"

I crush my mouth to hers, showing her how much I love her creating crossroad posts from the framework of the trees.—honoring me as the Goddess of Crossroads.

Spelling three thick serpents into being, one to bind her wrists above her head and the others to keep her legs spread for me, I prepare to show Zenya Alice Myre just how the Goddess of Witchcraft can ravish a mortal.