The sun was setting.
It glinted gold on the horizon, burning oranges and pinks into the sky. It scattered light across the sands, turning the dunes into an undulating sea of umber and black. The heat of the day faded with the sun, leaving a cool breeze over the desert, brushing gently against the sandy waves. Chephren watched from his balcony, reveling in the feel of the night’s new cool.
The sun temple littered the ground below his feet; worshipers still continued to kneel even as the sun waned. The Sun God, Amun, was said to watch over the skies at day and all of humanity. His eyes saw the people kneel before his altar, if even one single citizen forgot, it was said, He might conveniently forget to make the sun rise in the morning.
Chephren prayed He would forget.
The night leached the fire from the sky, spreading the violet-gray. A smattering of stars appeared, shimmering in their captive blanket. Chephren began to pace, the deep tan of his feet turning a cold blue in the coming darkness. He lit no candles, but continued to pace instead, impatient. Soon, when the sun had dipped below for its slumber, she would awaken, and she would come to him.
She was everything to him, his Goddess of the Night. She made him desire to turn away from Amun, to turn from his whole life, to turn away from all of his people, to turn away from the suns light.
As the last of the sunlight faded from the world, the worshipers turned from the temple, satisfied with their labors. They knew the sun would rise because of them, and they would be able to sleep soundly in the bowels of their homes, awaiting the sun’s glimmer upon the land. Chephren both envied and despised them, hated that they could still love the daylight.
A cool breeze filtered in; there were no walls in his third-floor bedroom; only giant, round pillars of stone, cutting him off from the world outside. The desert had turned a milky white in the rising moonlight, and the white night light slid into his bedroom, coating the tapestries and sheer curtains in an eerie blue.
A noise; he knew without turning that she had come, and he hardened at the thought of her standing behind him. A milky white hand, blue in the moonlight, slid over his chest. It was dappled in rings of silver and the blackest onyx. The hand was delicate and smooth, cool in the darkness. Lips pressed into the naked skin between his shoulder blades; he could feel her breathing against him, her breath as cold as the darkest hours of the night.
She held him there for a moment, loosely. Had she used all of her strength, she would have crushed his bones.
She ran long, red-tipped nails over the tight muscles of his stomach, trailing them over the bits of hair that grew down near the top of his linen kilt. He shivered, whispering “Sekhmet.”
The name described all she was: his love, his goddess, his warrior woman.
A tiny hiss purred from behind him as her fangs elongated and she pulled her face away from his back, just enough to sink her teeth into his shoulder. His knees almost buckled as she drank; a world of pleasure from just that tiny sip. Every drop of blood caressed his veins as it left, the poison on her teeth turning what should have been painful into indulgence.
When he turned to her, she kept her lips pressed against his skin, dragging them across the length of his shoulders. He wrapped his arms desperately around her body, wanting to feel her in his arms. Every cell of his being cried out to be closer; the pull of her body was an irresistible gravity.
The white of her skin glowed faintly in the moonlight; Sekhmet’s skin was so pale, she looked as though she were made of carved limestone. Her eyes turned up to him were pools of ebony, a piece of the night’s sky caught in her irises; they glittered with promise. Her lips pursed and dripping crimson with his blood.
Tangling his hands deep in her ebon hair, Chephren bent to kiss her; she tasted of the salt of his blood, and of something sweet, like nectar or figs. The rush from her lips was a high. He couldn’t get enough of her once he had tasted her. Pulling her closer, Chephren pulled one, lithe leg over his hip, feeling her skin like stone wrapped in soft, alabaster skin. He felt her body temperature warm with his blood, and he felt a rush of lightheadedness at the sticky, sweet smell of her skin so close to him.
She backed up one step, sliding her leg from his hold, then another step, their lips still tangled together. Sekhmet fell away from him, tumbling them both onto the bed. Chephren lay over her, one hand pressed into the sheets on either side of her, as she smiled wickedly up at him, her lips swollen and soft. He looked down on her, memorizing every detail of her face, her body, wanting to remember her just like this when the sun rose and she would disappear into the shadows.
“Chephren?” she asked, studying his face, her eyes liquid black and curious. He shivered as his name spilled from her lips, coloring the word with everything he was, wanted to be. He heard hints of every night he had spent tangled together with her in that simple word, a name that had meant nothing until she had spoken it.
Falling into her again, he distracted her curiosity with his tongue, lapping gently at the inside of her neck. Her scent was too heavy here, at the nape of her neck; he nibbled, feeling her body arch underneath him, pressing her skin against his. Reverently, he began to untie her linen dress, finding new skin to worship under every fold of white cloth. She cried under his mouth, writhing in synch with the movement of his lips.
When she lay naked before him, his whole body ached to merge with hers, shook with the need to be closer. Chephren pressed his lips to her nipple, running his tongue over the tiny peak. Her body shivered in delight underneath him as he suckled, his hands running over her body as though she were fragile, his touches light as a whisper. He breathed across her skin, reveling in every movement, every moan he enticed.
He kissed his way down her body, lingering over her hips, his hands following. He heard her cry out as he bit down on the inside of her thigh, and the noise drove his lust. His erection swelled his need for her becoming more painful by the minute. He knew the only cure was to plunge inside of her over and over again until his passion was spent.
But not yet.
Her mound was covered in a carpet of lush black curls and he pressed his lips to it, inhaling the scent of her arousal. Sekhmet twisted below him, her panting deepening as he continued his slow journey.
When he ran his tongue gently over the burning, wet skin of her womanhood, her whole body convulsed in pleasure. He made each nerve, every sinew in her body sing to the tune of his tongue, and she sang his name. His heart beat a rapid rhythm to the delicious song of their nightly dance.
Running her hands through his long, black hair, she pulled him forward until he pressed against her. He could feel her, wet and waiting, through the linen of his kilt. He pulled away, tearing the belted skirt from his body in one, swift, practiced motion, tossing it to the floor with a careless flick of his wrist. Her eyes devoured him, running with a mixture of pride and anticipation over every inch of his sun-baked skin.
Pressing his hands into the bedding, he moved forward, sliding inside of her. It felt like fate, slipping inside of that burning furnace between her legs. She spread open to him, her womanhood pulsing around him like a heartbeat.
Reaching behind him, Sekhmet pressed her hands into his buttocks, pulling him deep inside of her. Tear pricked the corners of her shining onyx eyes, glittering wetly in the moonlight as she cried his name, “Chephren!” into the darkness. He paused, savoring the feel of her heat surrounding him, drumming around him like a heartbeat.
He slid back, feeling her body grip him, and though trying to stop him from moving away. Harder he pressed, all the way to his hilt, feeling her writhe below him. She hitched her hips, lifting her body from the bedding to press against him, and they breathed in unison, exhaling, and their breath mingling as he bent to press his lips to hers.
Setting a steady rhythm, Chephren moaned deep in his throat, adding his voice to the notes she cried at every movement. He could feel every thrust, every movement bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
Something burned in the depths of her eyes as she swung around him, pushing off of one hand to topple him onto his back. Now atop him, Sekhmet rode him, desperately, her pleasure building with their rhythm as she slid her hips over him again and again. Dipping her head, she nibbled at his neck, stinging as she drew blood. Red rivulets dribbled down his chest and she lapped at them as she moved above him, drawing him deeper and deeper into her body as her voice grew more ragged.
He pushed up against her, ever deeper, ever faster. He watched her move above him, her finger tangled in her wave of ebony hair, her perfect breasts bouncing in time with her perfect movements. She was everything to him, in this moment and every other, and the sight of his blood drove her passion.
Her orgasm caught her mid-stride and she convulsed around him, shouting his name to the stars. The sight of her, sweat beading over her skin as she writhed, uncontrolled and shaking, brought him to a shuddering end, and he spilled his seed inside of her, relief spilling over every cell in his body. His soul wept at the beauty of it, and his hands touched her skin, zealous in his worship.
It was to the night that he owed, not the daylight. He mourned the thought of another day light without her.
Sighing contently, Sekhmet lay down over his chest, her hair spilling over and around him like a blanket of night’s sky. He trailed a hand over her back, tracing invisible circles in her skin. She lay there for a long time, shivering in the aftermath of their lovemaking, and he knew that nothing else would ever feel like this again.
There was nothing but her.
“Sekhmet?”
She sat up a little, her wicked grin back as she surveyed her territory. “Yes, my love?”
Chephren hesitated, unwilling to break the moment, but equally unwilling to spend the daylight hours mourning her absence. “I have a favor I wish to ask of you.”
“Anything you want, my dear, is yours already. You’ve only to ask.” Her voice was raspy and deep with aftermath, her eyes glittering like her silver jewelry, reflecting the moonlight.
“I want you to make me a vampire.”
Sekhmet froze, her eyes flashing. The smirk faded from her lips as though it had never been. “You don’t know what you ask for.”
Chephren sat up to press a hand to her face. She watched him, watched as the torrent of emotion tore through his face, tears blurring his eyes. “I do, I do know what I ask for,” she winced, but his eyes held her there. “I prayed to Amun today that the sun would not rise, that I could be with you for the day. I prayed the sun would never come again, so I would never have to see you leave.”
Sekhmet’s eyes widened. “Your God would not like to hear you ask for such things.” She stood, using the linen cloth from her dress as a robe. She walked away from him, onto the silvered balcony.
Uncaring of his nudity, Chephren followed, pressing his hands against her shoulders. She stood, watching over the sands that spread out from his home. “These people pray for sunlight everyday; it is their lifeblood, their God. You cannot take that away from them.”
He hung his head, ashamed. “Amun may be a God, but I do not worship him any longer.”
Sekhmet froze, her body turning to stone beneath his hands. “You cannot want to be like me. It is lonely, and the voices of my victims grow louder in me. I have killed more people than I can remember, Chephren. I would not wish this fate on you; I am not that cruel.”
“But I can no longer live without you by my side, Sekhmet!”
They stood silently and watched over the temple, one’s thinking caught in an inward storm cloud and the second stared out into the world, her thoughts skipping over the sand dunes, the very monotonous and uncaring desert. So many lives had she lived. So many, she had lost count of the years. She watched as humans scrambled for food, as they built Göbekli Tepe, carving and shaping stone over hundreds of years. Then she watched as they began to build towns, cities, and became civilized. She had watched as they tamed animals to their will. She watched as they raise great pyramids, temples and statues in the desert sands.
There was no place in the quiet civilized nation for something like her. No room left in the society of men for monsters. She couldn’t continue to live another thousands lives alone, but nor would she take away Chephren’s humanity. If she did, he would drink the blood of his fellow man, drink and be haunted by them as she was.
But there was another way out.
Turning, Sekhmet looked deep into Chephren’s eyes. Those deep, black eyes had held something she had never come across before in her lifetimes of roaming. It was something she didn’t know her withered heart was capable of feeling. He watched, a maelstrom of pain swirling in his eyes. But she would change that. She could save them both.
“My love, I cannot become human, but neither am I capable of handing you the life of suffering I have endured for too long.” She pressed a long finger to his lips as he inhaled to speak, stopping his words before they could interrupt. “I think there is only one way we can survive together. We must venture to Duat.”
Gaping, Chephren stared down at her, this tiny woman who had consumed his every thought, every inch of his body since they had first touched. “You would meet the sun, for me?”
Death by sunlight was the least painful way to die. It would burn, for a bit, but the demon inside, the one that made her what she was, the one she fed blood every night and hid from the sun every day, would shrivel and burn in the sunlight.
“If we are close enough, my love, the sun will burn you as well. Then we can live together, in Duat, helping Amun in his chariot to chase the sun across the sky. We will help to raise the moon, help to scatter the stars across the night.”
Chephren’s eyes glowed at the thought, his eyes distant and shimmering. “We would be together.”
“Always.” Sekhmet took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Their eyes met and sparks flew, and she pressed her mouth to his, unable to stand another inch between them. He ran reverent hands under her linen wrap, touching her alabaster skin, pulling himself closer. He wrapped his whole body around hers, his lips sliding along her jaw to nestle against her neck.
Her built-in instinct whispered that the sun would be rising soon, but for the first time in Sekhmet’s hundred lives, she ignored it, hoping the sun would hurry. She prayed, for the first time, to Ra, to Amun, to race their chariots, push their beasts of burden ever faster, making the sun rise soon.
As the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, Sekhmet squinted into the light, blinded. When was the last time she had seen the sun? It was beautiful, even as it burned, searing her eyes and scorching her flesh. Sekhmet barely felt the pain, so enamored with the sun was she.
With her last breath she turned; Chephren was still wrapped in her arms, his skin burning as surely as hers, but he didn’t look pained. He looked resolved, strong, and full of love, as their bodies turned to slow ash.
Duat awaited them; finally, together.