“What about the Maya Gods?” Torrent asked.
“Quetzalcoatl will know of them too; he's a crossover god,” Blue assured him. “He won't be as certain about them as he will about the Aztecs, but he'll have insight that I can't offer you.”
“Fine, but I expect updates, Minn Elska,” Trevor said to me.
“Does Quetzalcoatl live on Earth or in the God Realm?” I asked Blue before I answered my husband.
“The God Realm, and his wards are strong.”
I grimaced at Trevor.
Trevor snarled a curse.
I was now connected to all of my men through a god binding called Blood to Heart. It's an eternal bond—one of soul and mind. We are united through love and magic, and can even feel each other's emotions if they're strong enough. We can also communicate telepathically. It's not a constant thing—we only speak to each other mentally when necessary or when we want to be especially intimate—but it can come in handy when we're separated. Like a two-way radio in our heads. There's just one problem: it doesn't work if we're separated by strong wards. Magic couldn't block our bond but it would block our ability to communicate with each other.
“It will be all right,” I promised. “He likes me, remember?”
Chapter Five
As soon as Blue, Viper, and I stepped out of the cave that housed Quetzalcoatl's tracing chamber, we were blasted by furious gusts of wind. I tried to lean into it but it came from all directions. As we were tossed against each other and generally bashed about like ping-pong balls, my words to Trevor came back to haunt me. This was decidedlynotall right.
“Quetzalcoatl, I've brought the Godhunter to meet you!” Blue shouted.
The wind abruptly died and we were left stumbling, arms extended to catch our balance.
“The Godhunter?” A deep, male voice asked hesitantly.
“That would be me. Hi, how ya doing?” I looked around for the source of the voice; it, like the wind, seemed to be coming from all around me.
Also around us, a thick jungle grew—lushly green and echoing with the cries of waking creatures. I wasn't too surprised by that, Gods generally design their territories to match the region of their myth's origin. I've seen quite a few exceptions to this rule but the biggest reason to go with your pantheon's cultural theme is that a god's territory is usually connected to the region on Earth that their people live in. The God Realm is laid over the Earth like the atmosphere except it's more magical and a hell of a lot more tangible. Territories correspond in climate and time to the land that they are aligned with. So, generally speaking, it's easier to go with the flora and fauna of that region than to try to go against it. And, of course, there's tradition to consider.
I had a feeling this guy was a traditionalist.
Humidity hung in the air thick enough to coat my skin and leaves dripped with morning dew. The sun was just rising over the wet jungle, turning the leaves glossy. We stood in a clearing before the cave but there was no path leading away from it. Nothing but a solid wall of imposing jungle hung with vines and exuding a definite keep-out vibe. A lot of gods had defenses in place around their tracing room just in case any unwanted visitors got through their wards. I wondered if the jungle was Quetzalcoatl's last line of defense. If it was, I'd rather not step into it uninvited.
“And this is my boyfriend, Viper,” I added when I got no response.
“Here he comes,” Blue whispered to us. “Look to the sky; you're about to witness something that the world hasn't seen in a very long time. And it will be wondrous.”
Viper and I lifted our stares to the lightening sky. Amid the fluffy clouds, far in the distance, a blob of color appeared. I squinted, my dragon eyes taking charge, but that became unnecessary. The blob approached fast enough that within seconds, it revealed itself to be a flying feathered snake. And those three words—flying feathered snake—are not nearly enough to describe the profound, heartrending, and alien beauty of the creature known as Quetzalcoatl.
I felt my jaw slide open. I've seen a lot of strange things in my time but I thought I knew what to expect of Quetzalcoatl. I thought I was prepared. I've read enough about the feathered serpent god to know he'd be big, reptilian, and avian all at once. But reading about him and actually seeing his massive snake body undulating through the sky as if through water, without any wings to support him, was another thing entirely.
My mind was trying to wrap itself around this creature and was coming up confused. Sure, I've seen things fly that shouldn't be able to but there was something about a beast with feathers—and yet no wings—flying that felt wrong. Why have feathers and flight but no wings? It just didn't make sense. Were they magical feathers? Did we have a Dumbo situation going on here? But then again, Dumbo's feather wasn't magical, it was all about confidence. Or belief. And that was exactly why a feathered serpent god could fly without wings—belief. Humans believed he could so there he was, ruling the sky when he should have been slithering across the ground.
Sunlight gleamed off lime-green scales, turning them into jewels. Their gemstone color complemented the emerald, ruby, and citrine feathers that framed Quetzalcoatl's face and tipped his tail—all in haphazard glory. His head was wide and angular, almost like a dragon's, and he opened his mouth to reveal fangs as long as my arms. A terrible screech tore up his throat to echo over the forest and the territory went still as if listening to its god. He spiraled above us, looking like a Chinese acrobat's ribbon, before swirling down into a landing.
“Step back,” Blue grabbed Viper and me and pulled us out of the way.
He shouldn't have bothered. Quetzalcoatl shifted as he descended—his body shrinking and his feathers pulling in tightly against skin that absorbed his scales. By the time he set foot on the ground, he had feet—human feet. They were bare, as was most of his body, but some of his beautiful feathers had conveniently transformed into a skirt, angling from one hip down to the opposite knee like the sweep of the wings he didn't have. The feathers had the look of daggers, without a hint of softness to their edges.
My gaze traveled up the muscular thighs, over the feathered skirt, skimmed the tight abs and chest, then finally reached Quetzalcoatl's face. He was lean, like Blue, and his skin was the same rich shade as the Sun God's. He even had green eyes, though I had to admit that I preferred Quetzalcoatl's bright teal gaze with hints of ocean blue in them to Blue's jade. There, the similarities ended. Oh, they both looked Aztec but Quetzalcoatl's features were sharper than Blue's—more predatory—and his hair was a shade of orange that made me think of fire. It should have looked ridiculous on a man. I mean, orange hair? That's the stuff of clowns and cartoons, right? But on Quetzalcoatl, it looked like a warning—like the scales of a poisonous snake. His hair said: come any closer and you'll regret it. But his eyes told another story. They were gentle—the only gentle thing about him—and they stared at me in warm welcome.
“Godhunter,” Quetzalcoatl spoke in the same, resonant voice I'd heard earlier, “it's an honor to meet you at last.” He held a palm to his chest and bowed.
“The honor's mine. And please, call me Vervain.” I stepped forward with my hand extended. “I only wish we'd met sooner. I've just been told that we share a similar view on human-god relations.”
Quetzalcoatl grinned as he shook my hand, transforming his face into something more appropriate for his eyes. “Indeed. I should have been bolder and asked Huitzilopochtli to introduce us before he turned his back on me over a woman.”
