Chapter Twenty-Four
Beneath the Worktable
The temple valley. The main chamber. Afternoon.
The worktable had been set up in the center of the main chamber—exactly where the obsidian throne had once stood. Marcus noticed this immediately. The symmetry was not lost on him. Nor, he suspected, was it lost on Lilith.
She sat on a folding chair at the head of the table. Her cream-colored linen pants were spotless. Her white blouse was buttoned to the throat. Her leather sandals were laced up her calves. She looked, Marcus thought, like a woman who had never knelt in her life.
He knew better.
He knelt beneath the table.
The space was cramped—barely enough room for his shoulders, his knees pressing into the dusty stone. A canvas tarp hung from the table's edge, concealing him from view. Through the gap at the bottom, he could see the sandals of the archaeologists as they gathered. Five pairs. Leather boots, hiking shoes, one pair of cheap sneakers.
Dr. Cole's voice came from above.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice. Our donor, Ms. Lilith, has generously agreed to fund the next phase of the excavation. In return, she has asked for a private viewing of the artifacts."
Murmurs of approval.
"Ms. Lilith, if you'll follow me, I'll show you the pieces we've already cataloged."
Lilith stood.
Her sandals moved away from the table.
Marcus waited.
---
He did not have to wait long.
Ten minutes later, the sandals returned. Lilith sat back down in the folding chair. Her legs crossed—right over left, the fabric of her linen pants pulling tight across her thighs.
"Fascinating," she said. "The craftsmanship is remarkable."
"We believe the artifacts date to at least 1500 BCE," Cole said. "Possibly earlier. The style is unlike anything in the archaeological record."
"And the inscriptions? Have you translated more of them?"
"Some. The language is..." He paused. "Difficult. But we've identified recurring themes. The goddess. Her hunger. The act of... service."
"Service."
"Oral service. The texts are very clear about that. The goddess could not live without—"
"Without someone between her legs," Lilith finished. "Yes. I read that in your preliminary report."
A cough. An uncomfortable shuffle of feet.
"Well," Cole said. "Yes."
Lilith uncrossed her legs.
Then she crossed them again—left over right, the movement slow, deliberate.
Beneath the table, Marcus watched her sandals. Waiting.
"My assistant," Lilith said. "Where is he?"
"I believe he stepped outside for some air. Shall I—"
"No. He'll return shortly."
She uncrossed her legs.
Left them slightly apart.
The tarp brushed against her calves.
Marcus understood.
He crawled forward on his hands and knees, silent, careful. The dust was soft beneath his palms. The tarp was rough against his back. He positioned himself between Lilith's sandals, looking up at the space between her thighs.
Her pants were still on.
But she had unbuttoned them at some point—a single button, hidden by the tarp, invisible to the archaeologists.
He reached up.
His fingers found the waistband of her pants. Pulled gently. The fabric parted.
She was bare beneath.
Of course she was bare.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her.
---
The taste was the same. Honey and smoke and something deeper. Something that made his tongue ache with the need to serve. He licked slowly, carefully, making no sound. The archaeologists were still talking above him—something about carbon dating, something about pottery shards—but their voices had faded to a distant hum.
There was only Lilith.
Only her wetness.
Only the slow, rhythmic movement of his tongue.
"Ms. Lilith?" Cole's voice. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she said. Her voice was steady, calm, utterly unchanged. "The heat. I'm not used to the desert."
"Would you like some water?"
"No. Thank you. Please continue."
Marcus licked.
He licked in long, flat strokes, from the bottom of her wetness to the top, over and over. His tongue found the spot that made her thighs tremble—he knew it now, knew it as well as he knew his own name—and he pressed against it, circling, pressing, circling.
Her hand appeared beneath the tarp.
Her fingers found his hair.
Not pulling. Not guiding. Just resting. Heavy and warm and claiming.
"The sealed doors," Lilith said. "Have you attempted to open them?"
"Not yet," Cole said. "The inscriptions are too explicit. Too... threatening. We wanted to consult with a specialist first."
"I am a specialist."
"In ancient languages?"
"In ancient hunger."
A pause.
"I'm sorry?"
"I've studied similar temples," Lilith said. "In other parts of the world. The inscriptions are consistent. The goddess demanded service. She punished those who refused. And she preserved her favorites in salt."
"Preserved them?"
"Yes. The salt would have stopped decay. The bodies would be intact. The tongues would be..." She paused. Marcus's tongue had found a particularly sensitive spot. He pressed harder. "...intact."
"Ms. Lilith, are you sure you're feeling well?"
"Quite sure."
Her fingers tightened in Marcus's hair.
He licked faster.
---
The meeting continued for another hour.
Marcus did not stop.
His jaw ached. His tongue was raw. His knees had gone numb against the stone. But he did not stop, because Lilith had not told him to stop, and because the archaeologists were still talking, and because the taste of her was the only thing keeping him sane.
She came twice.
The first time, she gasped—a small sound, almost a cough, easily mistaken for a reaction to the dust. Her thighs tightened around Marcus's head. Her hand fisted in his hair. And then she relaxed, her breath returning to normal, her voice steady as she asked Dr. Cole about the pottery shards.
The second time, she did not gasp.
She simply... trembled. A long, slow shudder that traveled through her body and into Marcus's mouth. Her wetness flooded his tongue. Her thighs pressed against his ears. And when it was over, she reached down and touched his face—just once, just for a moment—and then withdrew her hand.
"I think that's enough for today," she said, standing.
The tarp fell back into place.
Marcus sat in the darkness, his chin wet, his lips swollen, his heart pounding.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Cole. I'll have my assistant wire the funds by the end of the week."
"Ms. Lilith, this is extraordinarily generous. We can't thank you enough."
"You can thank me by continuing your work. And by keeping me informed of any new discoveries."
"Of course. Of course."
Sandals shuffled. Voices murmured. The meeting ended.
And Marcus crawled out from beneath the table, his knees bleeding, his tongue aching, his eyes half-closed.
Lilith was waiting for him at the entrance of the chamber.
"You did well," she said.
"Thank you, Goddess."
"Dr. Cole will be a problem."
Marcus looked up at her.
"Why?"
"Because he is curious. Because he is intelligent. Because he is beginning to suspect that the inscriptions are not metaphorical." She smiled. "And because he saw you. When you crawled out from beneath the table. He saw your face."
Marcus's blood went cold.
"What will you do?"
"Nothing. Yet." She turned and walked toward the helicopter. "But soon. Very soon. Dr. Cole will learn what it means to hunger. And he will learn what it means to serve."
Marcus followed her.
Behind them, the temple waited.
And somewhere beneath the stone, Ashur-el's bones tapped against the salt.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
---
End of Chapter Twenty-Four