A Divine Union

"And thus, in the Age of the Kali - the demon who sows chaos, evil, strife, and discord as humans languish in the darkness - the final Avatar of Lord Vishnu, he who is worshipped on Thursday, will be born. Wielding a fiery sword and atop a ferocious white steed, he will cleanse the world and usher in a Golden Age of Truth."

-Ancient Hindu Texts

"From the three water signs will be born a man who will celebrate Thursday as his holiday. His renown, praise, rule and power will grow on land and sea, bringing trouble to the East... Long awaited he will never return in Europe, he will appear in Asia ... and he will grow over all the Kings of the East."

-Nostradamus

***

Amara was so engrossed that she never heard him approach her, not until he cleared his throat. Her Kindle hit her nose with a smack as she yelped, scrambling to cover her oversize underwear with the folds of the dress that had crept up as she lay in the sun. "Wha- who?"

"Whatcha reading there, Brat?" Taras grinned as he sat beside her, the sun forming a halo around his head, momentarily blinding her.

"Oh, uh... it's just a strange book of prophecies." She flushed, grateful he hadn't brought up the state he had found her in. "Did you know that some powerful guy will be born right just a few miles away in Kanyakumari, where the three seas meet? And he's either going to be the vanquisher of all evil or the Antichrist? I'm not quite sure which, to be honest."

For a moment, his grin slipped and he stiffened.

"Taras?" she spoke softly, wondering what he was thinking. After all, if anyone would have any idea what was fated by the prophecies, it would be him, the heir-apparent of the last gods to walk the planet. Confused at his sudden silence, she gently laid her hand atop his. The minute she touched him, she felt it, a pleasant warmth coursing through her. She tried not to be creepy about it, but she loved touching his bare skin whenever she could. She had once tried to explain it, saying that it felt like taking the first sip of tea that had just barely started to cool down. For his part, he used to shrug it off as yet another weird thing mortals did. And when you were a few centuries old, he liked to remind her, you learned to be patient with mortals. The heat in their touch got just a bit too much and she pulled her hand back with a gasp. The sound made him blink and turn towards her, the wide, charming grin back on his lips.

"And what care you of the ravings of false prophets, you silly Muslim girl?" he teased. "Let us Hindus and Christians sort it out amongst ourselves. You should be more concerned about the fact that anyone could have sneaked a peek at those glorious knickers. Hand-me-downs from your grandmother?"

She scowled. "No one else even knows I come here, and they certainly don't ogle me, you stalker."

He stuck his tongue out. "You wish, Brat!"

She did wish. She wished very much for him to stalk her. To look at her as she was now, a fully grown woman, all curves, and not as she had been when they first met, when she had been an awkward child and he, a distant, unattainable, adult man. But no, she couldn't fantasise about a man while he sat beside her. She would save it for the night. She allowed herself to drink in his features, everything from his gleaming, dark skin to his sleek tawny hair and those eyes - one brown, and the other purple - promising a lifetime of laughter and love. Or so she thought, anyway.

"Brat? Hey, Brat!" he said, waving his hands in front of her eyes, bring her crashing back to reality. "Did you hear what I just said?"

She scowled again, trying to hide her embarrassment. "What is it?"

"I was saying I'm taking you home now. It's almost sundown and even the outskirts of the forest are no longer safe." He reached out a large hand, the kind of hand that would engulf her own, and she willingly let him pull her up. But he had other things in mind, picking her up, bridal style.

"Hey, Taras, stop it!" She blushed furiously. "Stop doing this! I've told you a million times that I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet."

"Too slow for me, Brat," he answered as he set a pace no human could hope to match.

With a small sigh, she allowed her hands to wrap around his neck, soaking in the warmth through his shirt. Would it be weird if she leaned in and took a whiff? The scent of morning dew on freshly mown grass and tobacco intoxicated her. She could get used to this.

Unfortunately, it was all over too soon, and she found herself being deposited outside the small two-bedroom cottage she shared with her grandparents - the last remaining family she had. "All right," she said, more than a little reluctantly. "Guess that's me. See you later."

But Taras' grip on her was strong and unwavering. He had stiffened again, his brows knitted in an expression she had never seen on his face before. "Stay close," he ordered, dragging her behind him as he slammed open the door.

"Taras! You can't do that! Oh—" She faltered when she saw that they had company. Mr and Mrs Dev. She had only seen them from a distance, but she could recognise that aura anywhere, the same as that of the man who held her hand. A deep power that was graciously restrained but which threatened to upend the room regardless. And opposite them sat her grandparents. The cup of tea in her grandfather's hands shook and her grandmother gave her a look she had only seen the day she first asked about her mother. A look of pure, heart-breaking sorrow. "Mr and Mrs Dev, I - uh - it's a pleasure." She curtsied. Then bowed. Would have knelt too, if Taras weren't gripping her so tightly.

"Mother, Father," he said, his tone even and devoid of emotion. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, we were waiting for you, Son," Mrs Dev trilled, not looking at him. Instead, she was eyeing Amara shrewdly, like a butcher does a goat before Eid. "And Amara, so wonderful to finally meet you, my dear! Now, now, there is no need for bowing. This is the 21st century after all."

"Amara, please go and shower," her grandmother said, in a voice that sounded harsh compared to Mrs Dev's. "I believe our esteemed guests were just leaving."

"Kamala," her grandfather pleaded.

"Oh, no no, there will be no need for that, Kamala ji," Mrs Dev intervened. "She can bathe at our place. Nothing but rosewater and milk for our daughter."

Daughter? Amara looked at Taras, her shock reflecting in her eyes. "Uh, thank you, but that's a little too bougie. And I'm a little too old for adoption."

Mr Dev laughed, the first sound he had uttered since they arrived. "Ha ha ha, Taras, I see why you like her. She's smart. And lovely to look at too. Definitely wife-material. Tell me, young lady, can you sing? I've longed for a daughter who could sing and play the sitar."

Her grandfather looked distraught. "Amara, they aren't going to adopt you. There are ... other ways to accept another as a daughter."

Marriage. They were here to ask her grandparents for her hand. Having tea in the humble abode like any normal folk. Except normal folk didn't radiate danger the way these two did. This was ridiculous. And yet... Arranged marriages were still common in India. And this was Taras they were talking about. Taras, for whom she had pined for years. Taras, whose grip on her hand was now so strong that she could almost feel her bones crack, making her knees weak and stirring something deep within her. She glanced up at him again, wondering what he was thinking behind that mask of his.

She didn't have to wonder for long. His mask broke and pure outrage shone through. "Eww, Maa, no! I've told you so many times she's just a friend."

"And who said she's meant for you, little brother?" a voice purred, softly but with the sort of authority that would shut everyone else up.

A man strode in through the open door, making everyone jump. His tall frame blocked out the sun, or perhaps that was simply his aura. Amara's breath hitched as he drew nearer, bringing with him a whiff of ozone, musk, and scorched wood. Some evolutionary instinct deep within her screamed at her to back away. He was feral and terrifying, with dark, flashing eyes, almost hidden beneath tousled black hair. Too long, too wild to be considered polite. Nostrils that flared ever so slightly, like a beast sniffing its prey. And then, standing out against the stubble he did not bother to shave off, there were his lips, luscious and pink. Inviting, at least when they weren't twisted into a warped version of a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Trying to not make a sound, she moved behind Taras, whose jaw clenched and unclenched, making a nerve throb. The grip on her hand tightened even further, and she could see veins bulging out from his muscles even through a haze of pain. "Taras, you're hurting me."

The barely bridled anger gave way to confusion as he turned to look at her, quickly letting go of her hand and opting to draw her close by the waist instead.

"I'm not sure how I feel about you manhandling my fiancée, dear brother." Lakir's voice was pure silk, except the unyielding kind, the kind that could wrap itself around your throat and squeeze the life out of you. She didn't understand why she felt him speak in her lungs, why her body responded to his words' reverberations so strongly. All she knew was that she wanted to run away, and yet she wanted him to come closer. Just a little bit, just so she could inhale him all over again. His eyes roved over her. For a second, they made eye-contact. He pinned her with his gaze, stripping her naked. He could see all of her, down to her soul. She felt him appraising her, weighing her, weighing the possibilities of playing with her. She felt these possibilities too, as unbidden thoughts pushed into her mind, whispering seductively. She shivered.

"What are you doing?" Taras snapped suddenly. "Stop looking at her like that."

In an instant, Lakir broke eye contact. Something in his haughty demeanour made it feel like he had deemed her unworthy, and his dismissal made her feel hollow for some reason. "Oh, don't worry, little brother. I know you don't like to share your toys, but I promise I'll let you play with her once I'm done training her. All though it might take a while. She's too tame for me. Probably just lies there like a dead fish as you fuck her."

"Lakir," Mr Dev warned, causing him to laugh.

"What? We all know Taras was due for a good fucking, ever since his mortal lover died, what, 80 years ago? Tell me, Brother," he turned back to Taras. "Did you teach her to suck cock yet?"

This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to stand around being spoken to in this manner by this - this brute! She pushed Taras away with some force, and he stumbled back. "Since you insist on trespassing in our home," she spoke through gritted teeth, "I have decided to leave. Mr Dev, Mrs Dev ... Lakir. I would say it's been a pleasure but it really wasn't."

"Oh, Darling, you won't be saying that once I get you alone," Lakir's smile widened, eyes flashing with mischief and menace. As if on cue, thunder raged outside and it began to rain in earnest. "Ah, look at that. I suppose you won't be going anywhere tonight, will you? We have lots of catching up to do anyway, if we're to be wed."

Taras was furious. "What are you doing? What sort of sick joke is this? Him? And her? What's wrong with all of you?"

"Now, now, Taras," his mother chided, moving forward to grip Amara's arm, making it clear that she really was not going anywhere. "You know we've wanted a grandchild for a while now."

"And I told you I don't want to have a kid and condemn the earth to decades of war just to fulfil a stupid prophecy," he raged.

"Exactly," Lakir cut in with his silky voice. "And that's why I volunteered, didn't I, Mama?"

Taras rounded on him. "You!" he spat. "I'll kill you before I let you touch her."

Lakir laughed, but it sounded hollow. "My dear brother, we both know that if you truly believed yourself to be capable of defeating me, you would have done so long ago. After all... you're no stranger to murder, are you?"

Taras growled and leaped at him, but, in a sinewy motion, Lakir used his momentum against him, pinning him against the wall. "Look at her," he said softly, as he pushed Taras' nose close to the mirror, where his eyes locked with Amara's. "Look your 'Brat' in her eyes so she can see what a pathetic failure you are, hiding behind mummy and daddy and the illusion of your own goodness."

Amara stared, horrified, into the eyes of the man she loved and trusted more than anyone else in the world. Taras was looking at her with a mixture of shame and defeat ... and something else that she could not quite place. Fear.

It was the last bit that spurred her into action. She would not tolerate this humiliation anymore. And she was capable of saving herself. With a quick motion, she smashed the glass of water beside her and stabbed Mrs Dev with it. The goddess was not hurt, but she did loosen her grip in surprise, which was enough to let Amara break free and make a run for it. Weather be damned, she was going to get far away from these psychos. She'd flat out run on the highway if it meant leaving this godforsaken village.

"Amara," Taras yelped as, with a growl, Lakir shoved his head into the wall, making it crumble around him. But she had no time to react because he was upon her in an instant, a maniacal grin distorting his handsome features as his fingers snaked through her hair and tugged painfully, pushing her head back until she feared her neck would snap. The proximity to him was unsettling, but she could not focus on the sensation. She had to focus on getting away. With the last of her energy, she reached into the pocket her grandmother had sewn into her dress, pulled out her taser, and attacked him with it.

She did not know what she was expecting. Perhaps a repeat of Mrs Dev's reaction, perhaps nothing at all. She certainly did not expect to see his grin widen as he let the electricity course through him, making his long, dark hair float as though he were underwater. Suddenly, he wrapped his other hand around her throat and let it course back into her. She screamed as every nerve lit on fire. Her screams turned into incoherent weeping as she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to go away, to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

***

When she awoke, she was all alone on a deserted beach. "Cape Cameroon Beach", a faded sign proclaimed next to her. Wait, Cape Cameroon? That's what the Brits had called Kanyakumari, on the outskirts of which their little village stood. She tried to peer at the waters in front of her, at the confluence of the three seas - the Indian Ocean, the Arabian Sea, and the Bay of Bengal - and felt a deep sense of foreboding. How was she here? Why was the place empty? Was this an extended dream sequence?

"You're not in a Nolan movie," a voice said behind her as a figure melted out from the shadows. Amara jumped, realising she had been thinking aloud. But it wasn't just that. She wasn't alone anymore. He was here. Lakir. He enfolded her in his grasp, arms snaking around her to rest on her belly, and she let him, too shocked to do anything else. "Look at the trees around you. Feel the breeze on your face."

The only air she could feel was his hot breath on her skin as he leaned down to rest his face in the crook between her neck and shoulders. The leaves on the palm tree were eerily motionless. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she realised the sea wasn't making any noise. Waves weren't lapping at the sand beneath her feet. The ocean was still. Just like everything around her.

"Suspended in time," his voice whispered against her neck. "I don't much like all the tourists around here, do you? There is a drunk man a hundred feet away from us, passed out, but don't worry, he won't be able to see or hear anything I do to you."

Amara wriggled to break free from his grip, but it only tightened, pushing against her diaphragm and forcing her to take short, shallow breaths.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"Isn't it obvious? Because you were being a brat and disrespecting your elders."

Brat. The word reminded her of Taras. She started to shake from the cold. And something else. Her legs were wet. She had wet herself fighting with Lakir a few minutes ago. Lakir realised it too. He scooped her into his arms in one fluid motion, muttering in disgust the whole time. "Stupid, filthy mortals. Of course my brother had to be a spineless failure who refused to do his job. Of course I would end up being the one saddled with a useless lump of blood and shit." He gazed into her terrified eyes for an instant, letting his twisted smile return. "Of course, now that you are meant to be mine, we will have some fun, won't we, Brat?"

He was using that term to hurt her, she knew. She wriggled again, and this time he let her go. All though "threw her" would be the better way to describe it. She fell into the sea with a splash. Sputtering, she tried to get up, but he placed his heel on her chest and pushed her firmly back, until she was completely submerged. She punched his leg and floundered, trying to break free of him as she began to suffocate. He was unfazed. If anything, her struggling only made him smile more.

"I see you do have some spirit," he drawled. "Good, I didn't much like the virginal mouse I first thought you were. But for now, I won't let you get up until you have washed yourself."

This was not how she was going to die. Not crushed beneath the heel of some asshole who thought he could treat her worse than vermin just because he was arbitrarily a god. She was stronger than this. She knew better. So, she stopped struggling, and decided to conserve her breath. He didn't want a virginal mouse? Too bad, because that's what he was going to get.

Lakir looked bored. "Giving up already? You're no fun at all." His boot swung, its sharp toe connecting with the side of her face, hurting her so bad that she coughed up blood. And then she inhaled seawater and started coughing in earnest. With a sigh, he grabbed her hair and pulled her up. "Stop it," he ordered. "Stop coughing."

She tried to but couldn't, and he slapped her, making her yell. He slapped her again and growled, "Next time I'll gouge your eye out. Now shut the fuck up."

Her coughing stopped instantaneously, and he grinned, clearly pleased. "Good girl. Now wipe that blood off your face. You'd almost look pretty if you didn't act like such a bitch all the time."

She shrank back from his hand as it caressed her face. She understood why the taser had not affected him at all. Electricity danced in his veins, prickling her with every brush. It was similar to the feel of static she got from her woollen blanket, but somehow more enhanced, more ... pleasurable. It sparked something in her every time he touched, something primal, something urgent, something...

She shivered again, and looked into his depthless eyes, feeling them tug at her insides. He seemed to be able to read her mind because he was grinning again. "Now, now, are you telling me the haughty beauty is actually interested in the savage beast?" And just like that, the attraction was gone, the tingling becoming so intense that it almost began to hurt. He was doing it intentionally, his cruel mouth smirking as he saw her expression change from one of wonderment to sheer terror and pain. She squirmed to get out of his grip, but it only got stronger.

"Don't fucking struggle," he growled, drawing his fingers down from her neck, tracing her collar bone, making her tremble, and then dipping lower. He cupped her breast, causing her to cry out.

"Let me go, you bastard," she yelled, kicking his shin with everything she had. And just like that, the hand stopped squeezing her breast. Before she could be grateful, she felt a sharp sting of pain. He was slapping her breasts, his eyes matching the dark clouds that had gathered overhead. It hurt, it hurt even through her dress and her bra, but it also felt good, like there was a direct thread linking the spots where he hit her to her most private areas. She stopped fighting and started to feel weak. Was it the exhaustion? Or did her knees want to give way due to the intense pleasure wracking through her? Either way, she needed to hold on to something. Anything. And he was there, tall, broad-shouldered, and aggressively muscled. As her lips formed a silent "oh", she wobbled and reached out for him.