Pride: Sin-Eaters, #0

By Lynn Chantale

Huemac, a half-breed, covets ultimate power, but he needs two things—access to the royal family and an ancient artifact. He attains the former by seducing the Emperor's sister, and then steals the latter. Moctezuma, the newly crowned Emperor, comes from a long line of powerful gods known as Sin-Eaters. He desires peace among his people, but an ancient prophecy warns of war. Huemac discovers the incantation to activate the fabled Athame of Souls, a mythical weapon capable of entrapping souls. His quest to rule is within his grasp. Only one thing stands in his way—Moctezuma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The House of Lynn, LLC.
• Release date: Feb 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393971887

Book preview

Chapter One

Blood was his resurrection.

Tenochtitlan

Soon, all he surveyed would be his. Huemac stared over the deep, rich green valley with a sneer. Through the greenery in the distance he caught a glimpse of white, foamy water churning from the waterfall. At one time a stone altar sat atop the Great Pyramid rising from the mist. An impressive backdrop to the ancient city.

It was there that more than twenty thousand humans had been sacrificed in a display of power.

How he remembered that day! The gods walking amongst the mortals bestowing gifts and receiving tributes in turn. Colorful pennants and silk flags waving in the breeze while nobles in finery lorded over the the commoners. In spite of these differences, they all sampled from the long wooden tables laden with food and an abundance of wine. He and his family had a front row seat. Even now he felt the warm spray of blood on his face, the hot metallic order and the shocked expression on each face as each pulsing heart was held aloft by the priests.

While many of his counterparts had been sickened and horrified by the display he reveled in it. Oh how the steps of the Great Pyramid flowed crimson with the blood of the chosen. How the streets had been a wash in power and vitality. Huemac had bathed in the glory.

Had those interloping Spanish been privy to such greatness, they never would’ve conquered his people. Now all these centuries later he waited. Biding his time for revenge. Had he been in power then, that travesty would never have happened

Disgust rolled through him. Other gods and demigods could call down lightning, thunder, and even rain, conjure fire, shape-shift, or his personal favorite—move through time and space with a mere thought. All he could do was levitate. No telekinesis, no telepathy, no enthrallment. Oh, how he could use that nifty little power. Levitate indeed, he scoffed. Like a common nagual —a magician. Being the offspring of a demigod and human had its disadvantages. He cursed his impotence. But he would remedy that.

The rough-hewn stone beneath his palms bit into his calloused flesh. The great stone pantheon rising against the backdrop of lush vegetation and a midnight-blue sky should’ve been his.

He clenched his hands. Had his whore of a mother not been foolish with her time and betrayed her people or that weak, pitiful demi-god not been afraid…he would be emperor. A savage grin split his face. But there was a way for him to gain the power that was his.

He cocked his head to the side. In the distance, there was a melodic cadence as dozens of human voices raised in praise and adoration. It was worship that should’ve been his. Yes, his name would be the one echoing through the valley, not Moctezuma’s.

He leaned against the sill, peering into the distant water surrounding the island. Too bad he couldn’t smite them for their insolence.

Dust rose from his grip as he leaned farther out the window. The impudent fools would rue the day they ever passed him over for their leader. Already preparations were being made to crown the rightful heir to the throne—a throne that would be his, if he bided his time.

Huemac—the soft, husky tone broke his reverie—you seem so tense.

He hid a smirk as he turned. This goddess was his way in. For months he'd bedded her just to get close to her family—the ruling family. Her blood, her very sacrifice, would secure his position as ruler for centuries to come.

Keeping our relationship from your family continues to give me trouble. He prevaricated as he glided toward the bed where Metztli lie.

Her voluptuous curves were free of the silken sheets. Her skin, the color of rich cream, was a striking contrast to the ruby-red bedding. Her sable hair flowed around her face and brushed the pert nipples of her firm, round breasts. She shifted until the material pooled at the vee of her thighs. She giggled, a musical sound that grated his nerves. ’Tis only until the feast of coronation has concluded. Once that’s over, I will introduce you with all the fanfare due your position.

Truth rang in her words. What was the emotion pricking his conscience? It almost felt like guilt. He brushed it aside. He learned at an early age about naiveté. Metztli embodied that. As princess, she was shielded