With High Priest S’Rak recovering from an infected bite and Prince Jethain recovering from a poisoned dinner, everyone agrees that it’s high time for a vacation. They go north, to a pleasant lake nestled at the feet of the mountains, to relax and recuperate from the Unmaker’s unrelenting attacks.
While this time may seem idyllic on the surface, trouble is gathering in the depths. Will the Unmaker leave them in peace long enough for them to recover their strength, or will She strike them when their guard is down?
Rak stood, surrounded by stars, and bowed to his Lord. Zotien’s presence absorbed him, and every cell of his mortal frame knew the God’s love for him, but the God did not consume him. He remained himself, his self-identity supported and strengthened by the God and His love. Zotien returned his bow, a hint of a smile lurking on the divine visage.
Rak succumbed to the music and the stars and danced. He swept through the sacred forms, building power, gathering it to himself, echoing the patterns of creation itself. Zotien danced opposite him, in the complimentary pattern, sometimes seeming as distant as the edge of the universe, other times so close that they moved as one being. The power built and built and along with it came tension and a near-desperate need for release.
Body slid against body, tension building to an almost unbearable level, until at last Zotien entered him with a quick, decisive thrust, filling Rak utterly. Rak screamed in ecstasy as a pleasure a hair’s breadth from unendurable coursed through him. Each silky smooth thrust, perfectly executed, engendered a shockwave of purest orgasmic pleasure, quickly building to a level that was unbearable. Pleasure became pain, and pain was pleasure. The sensations continued to course through Rak’s battered mortal frame until he reached a point where he ceased to think and simply strove to be.
When Zotien reached completion, Rak froze, unable to cry out, held fast by the God’s primal essence. A cresting tsunami towered above him but did not break, not yet. It was held in a perfect, eternal moment of time as Rak stood, unable to breathe, between one beat of his heart and the next, wondering if this would be the time that he died, unable to bear the ending of the dance. Every dancer died during the dance, unless the war killed them first, but which dance would be a dancer’s last was unknown to even the Lord of Night.
Time restarted, and Rak drew in a deep breath, his heart thundering in his chest. Then, the tidal wave broke upon him, a wave of unfathomably intense climatic pleasure so powerful that Rak’s conscious mind shattered and spun off, back into the void between the stars. He was distantly aware as Zotien withdrew from him, fading back into the spirit realm. More immediate were the hands stroking him, the bodies rubbing against him, the hot mouths kissing him.