Free In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 by Savannah Jordan

catches fire in my hands. I trap the black blaze in my hands until it dies. With a shudder, her body collapses to a pile of ash.  
    “Hell hath no fury,” I quote Mace.  
    And I have no strength left to return to him. Fever from her tainted blood rages in me. Every cut feels like lines of flame. Breaths shudder in my chest. Two lights—my life and Mace’s connection—circle each other in my soul, repelling the sickness, refusing to succumb. The black of the in-between swallows me.

Chapter Ten
    The Prey
    Light shines at a really wrong angle, penetrating in red flares through my eyelids. Fire eats at my cheek and sits in stinging puddles in my chest. I’m awake, in pain, and my ass and shoulders are still asleep, feeling pretty numb.
    My eyelids drag up like they’re riding over sandpaper. In an instant, I know why my butt and back are dead. I’m on the floor and must’ve been here for a while. The underbelly of the couch stands in front of me, legs pointing at me like accusing fingers. Somehow, I ended up on the rug and the couch on its back, cushions splattered all over the floor.
    A hint of flowers and spice tease my sinuses, but an overbearing smoky smell reaches through my nose and tickles my gag reflex. Points of fire scream over my ribs when I move to rub my cheek. My fingers come away coated in crusty blood, and when I look down, two semicircles of red-rimmed puncture marks go through my shirt.
    What. The. Fuck?
    The drained feeling, plus the smoky stink, add up to a visit by Naami. But the flowers and spice? Was the goddess here?
    Then the dream comes crashing back… Naami woke me and crawled on top of my chest. Paralysis spread through me in a cold flush until I lay locked and frozen, begging my lungs and heart to keep working. She cussed and swore and called me everything left of right, and promised she was going to rape me of my memories.  
    The crazy bitch thought she would be helping by erasing the days I’d spent connected to Sekhmet.
    Even if the succubus could manage stealing my past instead of my future days, there was no way to dig the blonde bombshell out of my heart. Memories are one thing, the heart is something else.
    In the dream Sekhmet appeared, knocked Naami off me and bowled the couch over in the process. I hit the floor, and they vanished.  
    It wasn’t a dream.
    I scramble to my feet and look over the toppled piece of furniture. No one there. No evidence of either of them being here except the smell and the cuts on my skin. After hooking a hand over the couch’s corner, I yank the thing back upright, then drop my now pins-and-needling ass to the cushion-less couch.  
    Why did Sekhmet come here? Was she willing to talk? She saw Naami, I reason, so she must understand why I had a hard time with the goddess/divine form/other realm all in one day.
    Even now, that’s a lot of otherworld shit to take in.
    With my luck, Sekhmet did come to work things out, then saw the succubus on me and flipped to the wrong conclusion. And, being the vengeful goddess she is, got jealous and let it take over. She probably couldn’t stand seeing another woman with me and didn’t want me anymore after seeing it.  
    My cell phone comes alive, doing the mambo across the end table. I snatch it before it lunges over the edge and gets lost in the pillow mess.
    The display screen reads Jazz Watson .
    I push the Talk button, and say, “What’s up, Jazz?”  
    “You have any idea what time it is?” His voice is edgy, sharp like it always is when he’s frustrated. Instruments echoing in the background make my gut turn over. He’s at the sound check. And I’m missing it. “You’re the front man and we can’t check your mics and shit if you aren’t here.”
    “Sorry, man.” The couch creaks when I stand. “I’ll grab a shirt and be there in a few.”
    “Damn well better,” Jazz huffs, and disconnects the call.
    Probably not the smartest thing, but I’m pissed—I slide my phone shut, then chuck