Transit of Ishtar

  Transit of Ishtar

  (book 2 of the Sinnis Series)

  by Natalie Gibson

  Copyright© 2012 by Natalie Gibson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Published, April 2012

  Kindle Direct Publishing

  Cover Art and Design by Eric Gibson

  ~Dedications~

  To Eric,

  Honestly, everything I write is dedicated to you. You are the reason I have time, energy and inspiration to write. I know you had about a thousand things you'd rather talk about but you let me yammer on about my books night after night. Still do. I love you all of it and the squeezins' too.

  P.S. Your cover is awesome.

  To Camille,

  What can I say? You were my first friend and I love you. I hope to sit with you on a porch somewhere when we are old and talk about how ridiculous 'the young people' are, how much smarter and more attractive we were.

  You were the first to laugh at my jokes and encourage my writing. There is a bit of you in every good character I write. You are the picture of beauty, kindness, poise and intelligence I strive to paint in my books, except I have to add some flaws or no one would believe my heroines.

  Books Available by Natalie Gibson

  The Sinnis Series, A Paranormal Erotic Romance / Urban Fantasy Series

  Ishtar Bound (book 1 of Sinnis)

  Transit of Ishtar (book 2 of Sinnis)

  Ishtar Anomaly (book 3 of Sinnis)

  Ishtar Rising (book 4 of Sinnis)

  Veil of Ishtar (book 5 of Sinnis)

  *(book 6 of Sinnis) – the final installment coming in early 2014

  The Carrier Trilogy, A Gaslight Era Historical Horror / Paranormal Thriller / Dark Fantasy

  Hateful Burden (First Installment of Carrier)

  *Wretched Blood (Second Installment of Carrier) coming summer 2013

  Mount Haven Quickies, An Erotic Short Story Series (can be read in any order)

  Claire Cover to Cover

  Nanny Service

  Blind Furry

  *In the Can (coming March 2013)

  Chapter 1

  Nathalia Lovejoy was dead. She had to be: she'd committed suicide. She could remember dying, but just now she'd woken from a dream. In it, Nathalia stood high on a plateau in the desert. It was starting to get cold; the sun had just set. From every side, she could hear the falling of rocks loosened by the scrabbling of claws and feet of those who answered her call. She wanted them to come to her and they couldn't resist. Their monstrous hands came into view first, then their heads and shoulders, until they stood in a ring around her. Their chests heaved with the effort to get to her. Their mouths, filled with stained but razer sharp teeth, snapped at her.

  They were hairy and large, swollen with the violence and blood they engorged themselves on every night and their ruddy complexion was visible even in the dim light. Every cell in their bodies called for them to flee the desert where there was so little shelter from the sun that would incinerate them, but she was here. They craved her blood more than anything. She was life itself and she was totally unprotected. Or so they thought.

  They did not know that she was the chosen warrior. Now that they were in her presence, nothing could save them from her. She was death. She was salvation. She would end the terrible plight of the betrayers' reign over men. She rotated slowly, meeting each unredeemable in the eye.

  She spoke to them telepathically, I am Ereshkigal, Atropos, Beletseri, and Morta. Having broken the promise and feasted on the blood of your brothers, you have lost the ability to control your cells. You are no longer Nephilim, guardians of mankind, but Akhkharu, addicted to violence, and as such you will be the first to die.

  These were not the words they were expecting. Her charges against them brought many rushing towards her, but a few turned to run. Both strategies were useless. A white dagger, the DakuAhu, appeared in her hand, where there was nothing before. She called each of them by name, binding them and forcing their lifelines to the surface. The very earth held them fast as she sliced through each line and the screams of Akhkharu filled the desert. It was horrifying, but they did not deserve to live. They all had a choice and had chosen wrong. She was the prosecutor and executor all in one, but it would not always be this way. The One would be of age soon and then Nathalia would have a partner. Eiran appeared behind her. She knew, rather than saw. He wrapped his strong arms around her and she leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder. Nathalia and Eiran vanished into thin air.

  That's when she'd woke. She would call it a nightmare, with all it's blood and monsters, but a nightmare was scary. This hadn't been. She hadn't been frightened of anything. She'd never felt more confident and in control than in that very real dream. Except when she had killed herself. She had definitely been in control then, which brought her back to her conundrum. She should be dead, completely unable to dream or contemplate the meaning of those dreams. There was no heaven or hell, so she should be without consciousness.

  But she was conscious, so she gathered as much information about her surroundings as she could without moving or opening her eyes. If she was in danger, surprise might be her only weapon and she didn't intend to waste it. She was naked and laying on a large table. It felt rough like stone or concrete. The sun was shining down on her. She could feel it's warmth on her skin and see it's light coming through her eyelids. Without moving she sent her senses out to seek any other person. Nathalia was a telepath and part of her skill was in sensing the minds around her, minds that she could broadcast her thoughts to. A blip crossed her brain's radar but then disappeared, like the person had left range. There was nothing human here. There was something, slightly feminine, that was reassuring her, but it was unclear and unrecognizable. It was also vast and all around her, like she could sense the personality of the wind.

  She risked a small peek. It was impossible to see anything. The sunlight was shining down on her and made a large circle on the dirt floor, but beyond that light, the darkness masked everything else. Still nothing moved or made any sound; the room was empty.

  She sat up expecting to be stiff and sore. It couldn't have been very long since Michael had pistol whipped her into what he hoped was submission. Boy, had he been wrong. It felt like just a few hours ago, yet she'd never felt so strong and good. Her head didn't hurt. She had expected moving her head to set the world to spinning as it had after those blows. Something softly grazed her shoulder and she jumped a mile, flipping legs over head and landing on her feet in the crouched position.

  Her long brown hair slid in front of her ears where she could see it. She fingered it in amazement. How could her hair have grown back? She'd clipped it off close to the scalp just shortly before Michael had beaten her. He'd made her do it. He told her it had to go because it puffed her up with pride, but she knew it was because he was afraid of the magic in the binding and loosening of hair. She had tried to use that magic to keep him from her thoughts, but he had determined not to be banned.

  She ran her fingers through the luscious locks trying to understand what was happening. It felt silky smooth, like someone had brushed it a hundred times. There was something else different about it too, but she couldn't pinpoint it. She felt it again. If she concentrated on it she
could almost swear she had feeling in it. Not just in her scalp, but the actual hair. She separated a strand to examine and found it thicker than she remembered. Healthier too. She lost track of time standing there feeling her hair. She tried to tie it up, but didn't have a hair band. The silky strands just slipped right out of whatever configuration she tried. She gave up and let it hang around her shoulders.

  Nathalia stepped back until her back was against the wall. She felt more secure like that; an attack could only come from the front. The dirt here in the shade was cool on her feet and she marveled at the feel of each grain, digging her toes in as deep as she could. Out of the sunlight, the air felt very chilled around her and she was tingling all over. Something was wrong with her; she was being bombarded with the details of every second. It was impossible to focus on escape and impossible not to focus on everything else. She took a deep cleansing breath and tried to center her mind, but she got distracted by the air in her lungs. It was being absorbed by her blood and each blood cell carried it's precious cargo to a specific destination. She could see every cell in her body when she closed her eyes. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, but that too brought a sensation she took time to study. Had she been drugged?

  It took less time than she expected for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Nathalia got a look at her prison. The room was round, maybe 25 feet across. The roof was flat with a round hole that let in the sunlight, but the walls were curved. She slid to her right along the wall, keeping out of the light and in the shadows. She could feel that the walls were ornately carved against her back, but she didn't stop to examine them. She knew that if she did, she'd be pulled into their particulars and she couldn't have that. She had to find a way out before whoever brought her here came back, but she couldn't make herself move as fast as she wanted. Each step brought a unique sensation to her body.

  Her fingers came to an opening in the wall, and she turned her head to the right to examine it. The opening was smooth and rectangular. A door opening, taller than what was normal, was carved right out of the rock. Across on the other side of the opening, the wall continued to curve back around toward where she'd started following it. If she had jumped up or walked the other direction then she would have found the door faster. She could see the carvings now across the way and they were detailed indeed. Under the drawings of people and animals there were rows and rows of indentions made by a wedge shaped stylus. The room was filled with cuneiforms, the oldest form of written language in the known world, and in a greater number than anyone knew existed. If she ever got out of here, and could find this place again, it would go down in history as the greatest archaeological find ever.

  Nathalia spun around and flung herself down the hall and almost ran smack into a giant statue that filled the entire corridor. Startled, she screamed but nothing came out; she was mute. She reached up and felt her throat. There it was, the jagged scar where she'd sliced through it with a pair of scissors. It had been the only way to keep Michael from hurting her friends any further. She'd killed herself and focussed all those suicidal feelings, all that guilt over the death of her friends, all the evil black energy from the capacitors, toward Michael. She had, using her telepathic broadcasting ability, funneled her own death through him, forcing him to commit suicide too. That had been real and the scar was the evidence. It was healed on the outside, but her vocal cords were damaged.

  She took a moment to study the statue. It was of a man and, in the great antiquity style, he was completely nude. He looked masculine but young. This had been a fine specimen for sculpting and study of the human form, like the statue of David. He stared at her with his blank eyes from the shadowy hall, but she wasn't frightened. She looked at his face and felt sure she had seen him before. Then she remembered her dream. She knew his name was Eiran Kafziel.

  She wondered how long ago he had lived. Then she caught a glimpse of the carving to her left, back inside the doorway. She stepped back inside to get a closer look. The pictorial story all around the room was about this man, whose image was forever captured in stone. Nathalia could not read the cuneiform, but she could follow the story.

  Each aspect of Eiran's life had a separate section of the wall, but they did not seem to follow any particular order. First he was carrying a woman's body through flood waters. Next he was fighting in a great battle, next to a pile of his kills. Here he was just a child, so hungry he ate up every crop in his kingdom. There he was mourning the loss of love and then meeting her. There was even a bit about his murder. It was odd, Nathalia thought, that this segment had no substance. Surely whoever carved Eiran's life story had known the details of his demise. Eiran was the focus, and there was a woman with him, who inexplicably looked like she was both standing triumphant over him and cradling him at the same time. The woman's face was obscured as was every other detail. There was a haze around the two.

  Nathalia studied every inch of those carvings, forgetting the urgency of escape. She felt every indention with her highly sensitive fingers, wondering at the detail so unlike it's obvious age. It was completely different than Sumerian drawings she had studied. Had it not been for the cuneiforms, she would have sworn it was a modern piece of art. When she realized the sun had set, she was stunned at how much time had passed. The moon was bright, almost full, and shining down through the skylight. It was more than bright enough to see, easier in some ways than the full light of day, because there was no shaft of light to make shadows. She found herself staring across the way to the corridor where the statue stood staring back. She felt sorry for this beautiful work of art that had never been admired properly by the public. She decided to get a better look.

  She crossed cautiously to it, looking around it as she did, to insure there was no one coming down the hall. She couldn't keep her curious hands from validating the detail her eyes took in. She reached out and put her palm on it's chest. As soon as she made contact she was flooded with visions. She could actually smell him and feel the warmth radiating off of his body. She closed her eyes, immersed in the happy images of their lovemaking. There was magic here. Something was sending her these visions, because she couldn't have made them up. Nathalia was a virgin. She'd never felt a man between her thighs, but she could remember the feel of it. It was odd to have a memory of something never experienced. It felt like having amnesia and deja vu at the same time.

  This was crazy. Nathalia had never in her life desired a man and now she actually ached for him to be burying himself deep inside her. She was disgusted with herself. She tried to shut them out, but a lifetimes worth of sex with this man flooded her mind. There were thoughts of his hands on her, turning her to get a better angle for his thrusting, tugging at her nipples, and shackling her wrists to keep her from getting away, as if she ever wanted to leave his embrace.

  As a Daughter of Women, a type of witch, she had been taught respect for all types of thaumaturgy, but she was revolted by her own body's response to the heterosexual images. Magic or no, she had to stop this before she lost all self respect. Men were vile creatures to be used as gene pools and work horses. She stepped back, knowing that breaking contact would terminate whatever trance this was, but her hand was stuck on something. She looked down to figure it out and stared dumbfounded for a moment at his hand encircling her wrist.

  Eiran stepped forward, towards her, into the moonlight. As he walked forward, the air pushed the detritus off of his skin in the most interesting swirls. Nathalia couldn't keep herself from watching every particle as it slid across his skin, flipped and turned, danced in the air and then drifted slowly to the floor. This was no statue, but a very real, very aroused man who had been covered in gray dust. She could see the trail her fingers had left on his pectorals. She started shaking her head no; this was not really happening. It was just another vision, another nightmare. She looked at his face just as the moon caught his multicolored pupils. Those eyes could only mean one thing: Eiran was a Guardian.

  Guardians were a special breed
of men who had power. Nathalia had no idea where they got this power, since it certainly was not like her own, which was generated by women for their own uses. She suspected it was stolen or borrowed power. Guardians were very secretive and possibly very dangerous. Though he was not the first guardian Nathalia had dealt with, she knew very little detail about them.

  Her position as Abbess of the Austin branch of the Daughters had exposed her to several and she knew they were obedient to women, or at least very respectful. She raised herself to her full height adding an impression of power to her stance. She knew she couldn't speak to him with her damaged vocal cords, but she was afraid to use her telepathy. She had broken the only rule of the Daughters of Women by using their sacred communal power to hurt and kill another person. Even if it had been Michael, a murderer who was threatening them, by breaking the rule she would be cut off from the capacitors' collected power. It would have been Maeve's first order of business. She was shocked to feel the power gathering in the back of her head, making her feel warm and tingly. The flush was on her face as she realized that she had not been cut off from the holy ones. Thank you Maeve. She gathered the euphoric energy, pulling from the capacitors as she always had, and broadcast to him. I am Abbess Primo Nathalia Lovejoy and I have not given you permission to hold me. Release me at once Eiran Kafziel, I command you.

  He froze at the sound of his own name inside his head. He did not release her, but pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Nathalia could not stop seeing the images of them making love playing out in her head. She seemed so happy and satisfied, so unlike her normal self, that she allowed them to play on. He was staring intently at her with those unnaturally beautiful eyes and for a moment she forgot to be stern. He was stunningly attractive for a man and she didn't pull away when he bent his head and kissed her.