DOMINION by Bentley Little (best chinese ebook reader .txt) 📕

to his lust, his power, his generosity, his greatness. They had welcomed him back last night, hosting a celebration that had not stopped until dawn.

It was again as it should be.

But he was not the same as he had been. He had another past now, another history, another life, and it was his as well… only it wasn’t. He shook his head. It was all so confusing, and he didn’t really want to think about it. He wanted to drink again and celebrate his return, wanted to kill some men and rape some women.

But the exhilaration and anticipation he should have felt in contemplating the sating of his desires seemed to be tempered. He felt uncomfortable, ill at ease, not himself, as if his new physical limitations were affecting his thoughts. He was joined with this other, trapped inside this too small form, mired in this overly literal body like an animal trapped in tar. He had never had the freedom of Apollo or Artemis or Hestia, had never been as ephemeral as the others, had always been tied to the flesh, and he had liked that. It was what had set him apart from the others, his ability to enjoy earthly pleasures, and he would not have given it up for anything.

This, however, was different.

He was not himself.

He was himself and this other.

He stopped walking, inhaled deeply. The scent of grape was on the breeze. It permeated the air, the redolent fragrance providing a promise of intoxication, and it made him feel calmer, more relaxed. He strode to the edge of the hill, looking down and surveying his dominion. He could see the burnings at either end of the valley, the crashed cars on the roads, the bands of revelers prowling the city in search of more fun.

Sounds came to him as well, below the singing of his maenads: breaking glass, laughter, cries of joy, cries of terror, cries of pain.

It was a wonderful morning to be alive, the beginning of a beautiful day. There was no reason for him to be brooding on the inconveniences of resurrection.

To his right was a log, and on a sudden whim he strode backward, away from the edge, got a running start, and leaped atop the log. The momentum carried him forward, and then he was surfing down the hillside, laughing with glee as he leaned to the left to steer away from a tree, bumped over a series of half-buried rocks, and then crashed to a halt at the bottom of the hill.

He tumbled head over heels, then stood, brushed the dirt off his body, and willed shut the cuts that he’d gotten from the fall. He was standing before a connected corral and horse stable that backed against the side of the hill, and the sight of the worn wooden fences triggered a memory within him, a memory that despite his best efforts remained naggingly below the surface of his conscious mind.

There was something missing in this new world. He had not been aware of it before, had not had time to be aware of it, but the corral and the stable had—

A pair of horses wandered into the fenced corral from behind the low building.

Centaurs.

He smiled. Yes, that was it. That’s what he hadn’t been able to remember. Centaurs. He walked forward. He missed those randy creatures. They were a bother sometimes, but they knew how to enjoy themselves, and they were always up for a celebration. Besides, they’d like it here. The cool weather, the plentiful wine. This was their kind of place. He looked back up the hill. He would like centaurs in his new dominion. He strode into the corral, then walked around the side of the stable. A small herd of horses was shying against the opposite fence, and he spotted an acceptable filly and called the horse to him, making her back up against his sex.

“Pretty girl,” he said, grabbing her haunches. “Pretty girl.”

The horse bucked and kicked, trying to get away, but he held tight. She whinnied in pain as he mounted her.

4

Kevin said nothing as they drove down the empty streets, on the lookout for one of the roving bands. Here and there he saw people packing station wagons in garages and carports, surreptitiously trying to leave. He even saw one man mowing his lawn as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Could it be that some people were totally unaware of the events of the night before? It didn’t seem possible.

There was no sign of the revelers. Nor any sign of their victims. There were broken bottles on the road, torn pieces of clothing, overturned cars and bicycles, occasional dead cats and dogs, but there were very few human bodies on either the streets or the sidewalks.

He supposed he should be grateful for small favors.

Kevin glanced over at Penelope, who stared grimly ahead as she drove. He would have suggested that they stop and get together with some of these other people who were leaving, but he knew that she would not go for it.

Penelope had seen something when she’d gone looking for the car, something she didn’t want to talk about, something that had profoundly affected her, and he knew that she was not in the mood to approach strangers right now, no matter how safe they might be.

He thought about what he had seen last night on Ash Street, and he shivered.

He knew exactly how she felt. They pulled onto Third Street. Downtown was a shambles, the destruction more random and wanton than anything he had ever seen in any post-apocalyptic movie, the rubble more awkwardly strewn about and nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing as the precisely arranged disorder found in films. The old building that had housed Phil’s Photo had burned to the ground, and the blaze had spread to the vacant lot next door before apparently burning itself out. Clothes, electrical equipment, and food from the other nearby shops littered the roadway, making