Netjer is tired of living in his brother's shadow. He's just as powerful, just as fierce. But where Cyrus has lost his taste for battle, Netjer longs to prove himself a fearless leader. He's just what the Spentas needed to crush the Mainya once and for all.
And now he has finally found a way to do just that. All he needs is one of those mysterious women who seem to enhance the amazing abilities every warrior is born with. He'll leave no stone unturned; he'll stop at nothing until he has one of these women in his grasp. Then he can finally take his rightful place on the throne.
Little does Netjer know he's not the hunter, but the hunted.
The Chosen: Netjer's Fall
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Copyright ©2012 Shara Azod
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Netjer had lived with anger so long it seemed as if the emotion was just a part of his genetic makeup. Envy and resentment were his constant shadows, turning the love he'd always had for the one person he was closest to into something dark and ugly. But he was a Spentas, the embodiment of all that was good and pure.
With a derisive snort, he pushed himself to his feet, casting a disdainful look at the witch lounging on the bed. What he was about to do should've sickened him, but he felt nothing greater than regret he was going to lose his brother.
What he was about to do would tear him from his brother forever. Even knowing that, he would not change course.
"Get up, witch." Netjer didn't bother to clothe himself. He seriously doubted a quick tumble would be enough for the witch to work her magic; not for his purposes. The witch was a mere babe compared to all the years he had walked the Earth. He'd dealt with beings much more powerful than she; he already knew what he was asking would be a monumental task. But it wasn't impossible. "Find one of the females I am looking for."
The witch, Marta, looked up at him and shivered in fear. Good. He wanted her afraid. Her fear would keep her mouth shut.
"My Lord, I need more." Afraid she might be, but she rose with the grace of an ancient courtesan who knew her worth. Unabashed by her nudity, she stood with abundant breasts pushing forward to brush lightly against his skin, her hands moving down his torso as if she had every right to touch him. "What you ask will take much. I am to find a woman -- any woman -- with mysterious marks like those of the Spentas or Mainya, but you don't know who she is or where she may be. Sex magic can do much, but there has to be sex. Not just an appetizer."
Reaching out, he touched her softly, moving his hand along her jawline in a deceptively gentle caress. Inside he was seething. How dare this lesser being think to instruct him? Gradually he allowed his hand to tighten, until the witch was whimpering and forced to stand on her toes. Now she was frightened... and aroused. Watching her pupils dilate while her nipples hardened made his cock rise. The little witch liked it rough, did she?
Dropping his hold, he forced her around, bending her over the bed. There was no foreplay, no readying her to accept him. Kicking her legs apart, he forced every inch of his turgid cock to the hilt inside her. It was tight; Netjer was no average man in any way. Still he felt the juices of her cunt flood around him. The witch thrust her hips back with wild abandon, welcoming his punishing surges.
"How is this, witch?" Netjer growled through a clenched jaw. The witch was incredibly snug. Her vaginal walls contracted around him, sucking him like a hot, wet, velvet mouth.
A corresponding quake shook the insides of her cunt, massaging his marauding cock to perfection. Yet Netjer felt oddly detached from the physical pleasure he was receiving. There was a time, eons ago, when carnality had held much more appeal. Thousands of years with too many women, too many debauched nights. Little could titillate him. Beyond the basest physical pleasure, he hadn't felt real desire in over a millennium. The driving force in his very existence had become finding a way to step beyond his brother's shadow.
"Harder, my lord! Give me the essence I need."
For a moment Netjer had almost forgotten about her. His body was moving by rote as he'd become lost in thought. A dangerous thing, thinking. Too much of the exercise had led him down the path he was now on. One he could not seem to turn away from. Redoubling his efforts, he pistoned in and out of the witch with more force, pouring passion into every movement...