Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [107]
The jaguar slipped out of the skin until he stood completely nude. He still had the silver knife in his hand. I didn’t have a clue what he was about to use it on, but having to strip couldn’t be a good sign. He cupped his own penis, and it had come out of the fur smooth and hard, excited. He put the point of the blade against that delicate skin and drew it in a thin crimson line. His breath ran out in a ragged gasp.
It was echoed by me and Olaf. Bernardo said, “Shit!” Eeeyah. I don’t think I had as much sympathy as the guys, but that had to hurt. Edward was the only one of us who hadn’t made a sound. Either he knew what was coming, or nothing surprised him.
“Diego,” Itzpapalotl said, “show them what it means to be a god.” There was a thread of warning in her voice, as if she were warning him to do his job. I wasn’t sure why because Diego had seemed to thoroughly enjoy the ear sucking. Why wouldn’t he do this?
Diego dropped to his knees, and his face was very close to the offered blood; all he had to do was reach out and take it. But he stayed kneeling, staring at the cut flesh with eyes that still blazed pale blue fire. He stayed kneeling until the cut began to heal, and finally vanish as if the flesh had absorbed it. I’d never seen a shapeshifter heal silver that well. Never.
Seth looked over his shoulder, one hand still around his naked penis, though it was beginning to wilt a little. “Holy mistress, what do you wish me to do?”
“Sacrifice,” she said, and there was enough heat in that one word to make me shiver.
Seth put the blade point to his flesh again. It seemed harder to get a clean cut when he wasn’t fully erect, but he managed. Blood spread in fine rivulets over his skin, staining his fingers with tiny bits of red.
Diego stayed kneeling, but made no move to feed. The fire faded from his eyes, the glow leeched out of the skin, leaving him still lovely, a contrast of pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes, but he looked defeated somehow, hands limp in his lap.
The four women moved around behind Itzpapalotl, gliding as a unit until they stood in a half-circle behind the kneeling vampire. “You have disappointed me again, Diego,” the goddess said.
He shook his head and bowed it, eyes closing. “I am sorry for that, my dark goddess. I would not disappoint you for the sun and the moon itself.” But his voice was tired when he said it, like it was a memorized line but his heart wasn’t in it.
The four vamps surrounding him pulled black leather bound rods from their belts, and lifted leather bags off the ends. Dozens of thin leather cords spread out from each bag like obscene flowers. Silver balls were braided in the cords so that they sparkled in the torchlight. It was a cat o’ nine tails, except it had a lot more tails.
“Why do you insist on refusing this honor, Diego? Why do you make us punish you?”
“I am not a lover of men, my dark goddess, and I will not do this. I am sorry that my refusal pains you, but this one thing I will not do.” Again, his voice was tired, as if he’d said all of it before, many times before.
He was about five hundred years old, like the four women that surrounded him. Had he been turning the “honor” down for five centuries?
The four women watched their goddess, not glancing even at the vampire at their feet. Itzpapalotl gave a small nod. Four arms went back, flaring the cat o’ nine tails in a fan of silver and leather. They whirled it through the air like they knew what they were doing. They hit him in sequence, right to left, each whip landing a blow, then the next, the next, the next. The blows fell so close together it was like the sound of hard rain, except that this rain was smacking into flesh, and you could hear it thudding home. They whipped him until they drew blood, then they stood motionless