The Afflicted Zodiac Complete Series

by M J Marstens

  Khal just looks back at me like I’m too much.

  “The twins have the same date.”

  He says this like it’s obvious. I’m not sure I school my features before flashing a ‘get fucked’ glance his way. I hate how he treats me like I’m incompetent.

  “Of course the twins have the same birthdate,” I snark, “But they wouldn’t have the same time.”

  “They would if they were both taken from the womb via Cesarean at the same time.” Khal snarls right back.

  For a moment, he looks. . . stunned, like he can’t believe he lost control, but he tersely turns on his heel and strides back to his desk. I don’t even attempt to make eye contact with anyone else and leave before shit hits the alfresco painted ceiling (there is no fan).

  Worst interview ever.

  CHAPTER 13

  MERCURY

  I watch Zahra try not to stomp out of the room. I glance over at Saturn. He looks positively apoplectic. She always could get under his skin. Sunny is smirking. He and I are of a mind, being nearly conjunct all year long. Like me, Sunny sees something more in Zahra. As does Jupiter- but Mars, Pluto, and Neptune are too jaded. Like Saturn. Time will only tell what stance Uranus will take, but Sunny and I should be able to persuade him to our side. The rebel in him won’t be able to resist.

  “She’s different this time.” I state, no hint of difficulty coloring my English now.

  “That is no reason to let our guard down-” Saturn starts, but I cut him off.

  “I merely said she’s different, not to welcome her with open arms, but even you must see this difference. . . Lina. . .”

  I have a care when I say that name.

  Once a reverent prayer on my lips, now an abominable curse.

  I huff. “We have never seen Lina like this before, is all.”

  “Exactly,” rejoins Saturn. “She’s up to something.”

  “Why would Lina reincarnate herself in someone so. . .” Jupiter trails off, trying to find the right word.

  “Stupid?” Saturn taunts.

  “I was going to say young.” Oh Jupiter, ever our peacekeeper.

  “Maybe she thought we wouldn’t suspect someone so stu- young.” Sunny inserts.

  “I don’t think her memories completely reincarnated with her in this life.”

  I let that statement sink in. Saturn seems dumbfounded, like he didn’t even contemplate this possibility. Probably didn’t, everything is too black and white for him now. Too structured. I sigh. The curse is tightening down on him.

  “Pluto, what do you think?”

  I look to the stoic man on my left. Although he did not ask Zahra anything to get a specific read on her, he should have been able to see if her act was just that- an act. Pluto is slow to respond.

  “I did not detect any hint of deception.” He says this reluctantly.

  Like Saturn, he hates Lina and wouldn’t vouch for her to save his life.

  Literally.

  The others mull this around. Finally, Saturn speaks.

  “We could use this to our advantage. . . assuming Pluto is not mistaken. Perhaps she’ll unwittingly tell us how to break the curse.”

  “Or we could continue to search on our own and forget Lina.” I interject.

  Sunny and Jupiter nod their heads in agreement. Only us three seem ready to forgive and move on.

  “No.” Mars grates.

  He’s the worst of us, all but succumbing completely to the curse. Every day is a valiant effort to retain his humanity, his lighter side.

  “We promised ourselves this reincarnation we would not waste our time. This is our last chance.” He says this with bleak finality.

  If we cannot get Lina to break the curse this time around, we will be forever lost to our darker urges. Destruction, delusion, rebellion, control, aggression, miscommunication, vanity, and Jupiter will exaggerate them all. . . until the world is nothing more than a playground of mistrust, lies, wars, and violence. And we are nothing but a plague upon our creation: Earth. Mars is right. This is our last chance. We must keep Lina close and use her forgetfulness to our advantage. . . hopefully she remembers something useful to us before it’s too late.

  f

  ZAHRA

  Alright, I have twenty hours to interpret seven charts (for eight men), find a decent pair of high heels, get a good night’s sleep (that takes away at least twelve hours right there), and still find time to unwind from The Fiasco. Something has to go. . . .

  Dammit, I need the sleep, I need to unwind, and I fucking have to do these charts.

  Good-bye shoes. You were only going to hold me back anyway.

  I drape a hand over my (still throbbing) head and lay back in my bed. I think a nap is in order. I can roll that into ‘unwinding’. A quick nap, then down to work. I barely flutter my eyes shut before sleep takes me. When I open my eyes again, I’m back in the Presidential Office with the guys. Either my life sucks and I’m actually here again, or I’m having a nightmare. . . worse than those with Monster Man. I walk right up to Khal to demand to know what the hell is going on. . . when Caed gets up and walks right through me.

  A nightmare, then.

  And it would appear no one can see me.

  “I say we fuck her. What can it hurt now?” Caed is saying.

  “Until she cries rape. That definitely seems her style.” Khal disregards the idea.

  “Please, even you cannot be so disillusioned to think she didn’t want us,” sneers Illu.

  “It does seem. . .unsavory. . . to take advantage of her apparent forgetfulness,” inserts Kane.

  They wanna screw some chick who has amnesia?

  Wow- they need a lot of help.

  Good thing they are rich; therapy is some expensive shit.

  “Fuck her, and fuck her lost memories. She deserves a hell of a lot more than unsavory.”

  Caed looks positively savage when he says this. Jesus, what did this woman do to them? I would not want to be her. . .even to get a pity screw from them.

  “Let Merc and Sunny deal with her. They will be able to charm something out of her, I’m sure,” Uryn says in a detached manner.

  “Or Jupiter can,” Arawn adds.

  “No,” Khal states, “Jupiter cannot handle another private encounter with her, whether she remembers him or not.”

  Who the heck are Merc, Sunny, and Jupiter?

  Code names.

  Oh my god, these guys have to be mafia members or something. Rich, ethnically diverse, dangerous, commanding. It’s all right there. Merc, Sunny, and Jupiter must be their lackeys. Not only are they criminals, but apparently sexual deviants. Well, at least Caed is.

  “I think Ermio and Nyambe are our best bet. See if you two can get any information from her. Do. Not. Fuck. Her.”

  Khal puts a strange emphasis on Mio’s and Nyam’s names. Poor, amnesiac woman. She can’t remember anything and now can’t even get a quick fuck from the devils incarnate. I don’t know which circumstance is worse. I close my eyes and shake my head in pity. When I open them again, I’m in my bed back at the resort. I sit up and push my heavy hair out of my face.

  Weirdest fucking lucid dream ever. . . and that is saying something considering my other ones.

  I look over at the alarm clock: 2:00. I fire up my laptop and grab the sheet of paper with the boys’ birth information. I open up my astrology software and pick a date at random. Plugging in the numbers and coordinates, I generate a natal chart in seconds. Hmmm, Aries Rising, with Mars in its exalted house and sign. . . squaring nearly everything. A lot of fire and too many cardinal signs on house cusps.

  This screams Mr. Marx.

  Next.

  Taurus Rising conjunct Jupiter, strong Libra. Not a single challenging aspect, except to the moon. This chart speaks of someone earthy, grounded, pacifying. . .

  Kane.

  Next.

  Capricorn Rising, Saturn conjunct the MC (that is the house of careers and public persona), this chart depicts a man in charge and
who needs to be in charge.

  Definitely Khal.

  Next.

  Scorpio Rising, conjunct Pluto, which is still in the 12th house barely, with the Sun in the 8th house and a lot of squares and oppositions.

  Wow.

  Someone who appears mysterious and exudes sexuality (that could be any of those guys) but is very deep inside. A catalyst for change. Brooding, reclusive. . . I get the impression of Arawn. I write his name by the date with a question mark.

  The next chart is Leo Rising, with the sun just barely in its exalted house (the 5th), making a trine with the AC (that’s the ascendant or first house). Someone full of warmth and life. A sunshiney person. . .

  Hmmm, Mio or Nyam?

  Nyam, I choose decisively.

  Next.

  Gemini Rising and all the planets are in pairs, conjunct with one another.

  The twins.

  And last but not least, an Aquarius Rising, with the sun and Mercury in the 3rd house. Mercury is retrograde, but in its exalted house. Someone glib, someone sociable. . . I sense a lot of trickster energy.

  Definitely Mio.

  I go back and erase the question mark next to Arawn’s name. No one else fits that profile. Huh, I thought this was going to be a fucking nightmare. . . it’s like I innately knew who belonged to each chart. Maybe I’m a diviner.

  The time: 3:15.

  Perfect, I’ll get these printed and labeled down at the business center of the resort and then go catch some rays at the pool! Things are looking up.

  CHAPTER 14

  ZAHRA

  Forty minutes later, I’m dressed in a monokini (which somehow manages to be even skimpier than if it were just a two-piece suit) and I’m strolling to the pool. The resort has five.

  Five pools.

  I would kill to have just one.

  Anyway, I make my way around each, walking from one end of the resort to the next (it’s quite expansive) and find that pool number four, the Grotto- as it’s called, is empty. Perfecto. I set myself up so I’m directly in the sun’s warm rays but my computer is in the shade. Things are still hard to see because it’s so bright out here, but I deal with it. I have some research to do after this morning.

  Firstly, I’m getting a new vibrator. Those epic assholes have me in a frenzy of lust (and a desire to do them bodily harm- an odd combination). A new, penis-shaped toy should fix me right up. I scroll up and down the page. . . one glittery model promises twenty speeds.

  Twenty?

  Seems a bit much. . . and dangerous. I want to get off, not have my clitoris fall off. I open a new tab. Next thing to Google: what do you call sex with eight men?

  Oh, a gangbang.

  Alright then.

  I guess my interests have escalated to that level. Delightful. I try to type my specifications into the porno site I go to. . . nothing comes up for ‘one girl gangbanged by eight supermodel men’. Damn. Moving along, maybe there is some raunchy erotica on Amazon to fulfil my perverted needs.

  “What is a reverse harem?” An accented voice asks behind me. I swivel in horror. Mio is to my right and reading the screen over my shoulder.

  “It’s a story where there is one woman and multiple men. Usually three or more,” comes a refined voice to my left. Nyam. Lovely. I wish the earth would open up and swallow me- and this damn computer. In my haste to stop them from reading more, I close the tab. (Because like an idiot, I forget I can just close my whole laptop!) This screen shows several clips of women getting railed by multiple men as brought up by my porno search.

  “Ahhhhhh!” I cry. Delete tab! Delete tab! Could this get any worse?

  “Twenty speeds? That is remarkable, yes?” Mio sounds impressed. . .

  I forgot about that last tab.

  Fuck. Me.

  My mind finally comes to the logical conclusion it should have ten seconds ago: shut the fucking computer. I slam the screen down and hope I don’t crack anything. Have you ever been in a situation so embarrassing you don’t even know where to look?

  I have.

  When I was twelve, my well-intentioned mother bought me a training bra to open at my birthday party. My face looked like it was going to combust (I know, because my dad caught it on camera). One helpful parent of a friend pointed out that I had nothing to fill it with (the bra, that is). All the other parents chuckled. I wanted to die.

  That is nothing compared to my embarrassment now.

  A freaking cakewalk.

  Worse than not knowing where to look, I don’t know what to do. . . any helpful advice would be much appreciated. . . or have you stopped reading because you’re so embarrassed for me? Thanks. I’ll still count that as support.

  “Yes, that is impressive, but it’s overkill.” Nyam’s voice whispers into my left ear and causes me to shiver. I’m still staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything. I might be in shock. “Why do you need gadgets, mon coeur, do your fingers not work just fine?”

  Ummmmm, what the fuck do I do? What do I say?! I shouldn’t have shut my computer, I need to google this.

  “Answer him, carina,” Mio commands. Damn, these guys are bossy as hell. Fitting, since they are bosses, right? I crack myself up. (Don’t mock my sad attempt at humor, I need a silver lining right now. . . and I’m struggling to find any. Even my Gran wouldn’t be able to find one in this situation.) What was I supposed to be doing? Oh, yes, answering Nyam. As demanded by Mio.

  “Uh well, yeah. . . my fingers work just fine, but they don’t vibrate, so. . .” Not my most eloquent response, but at least I tried.

  “Do you need help picking one out? Mio and I have keen eyes; we could help you.” A keen eye for dildos? Now I have heard it all.

  “No!” I quickly decline. “I was just looking. . . to replace my other one. . .”

  “What happened to old one?” Mio asks.

  “I donated it to Goodwill,” I blurt out. Motherfucker. I’m going to smack myself.

  “Goodwill?” Mio queries.

  “It’s a donation center where people can give items they no longer want.” Nyam supplies.

  “That was, ah, very generous of you,” Mio compliments me uncertainly. Yep, I’m a saint.

  “It was an accident,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to; I would never have gotten rid of Blue. My fingers are a dim substitute. They don’t have enough stamina in them.” I’m rambling because of my previous embarrassment. I need to stop before I say something in my new embarrassment. Sigh. . . too late. Honestly, I’m not convinced I have a malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter anymore. I just don’t think I have one.

  At all.

  Scary.

  “Blue?” Mio asks the same time Nyam says, “Not enough stamina?”

  So, I do what any grown woman would do in this moment: I run.

  The Grotto is a pool, but like its namesake, it’s surrounded by cavernous rocks, a perfect place to hide. Super mature of me, I know, but my sense of self-preservation is greater than my sense of self-respect. No knowing what I might have done or said if left in that situation. I scamper around some more rocks as quietly as possible. I don’t think the boys were expecting me to run and just leave my stuff, so I have a head start. I hunker down in the dark, drippy rock formation. Even with my eyes adjusting to the dimness, it’s hard to see. If I don’t move, they should never find me.

  “Good idea, mon coeur, we needed to be somewhere more private for this conversation.” I turn to see both guys wedged beside me. . . . how the holy fuck did they get here? I hope my terrified shriek conveys this message.

  CHAPTER 15

  ZAHRA

  Well. . . . it must have conveyed something, because Mio sidles up behind me and slaps a hand over my mouth. His muscled chest is plastered to my back and he draws the rest of his body flush with mine. Nyam takes the front, until I’m sandwiched between them in what (I assume) must be crossing some ethical, work ‘guidelines’. One of us should do something about this. . .

  Not me though- clearly I have proven
my maturity level in the last five minutes. I’m not equipped with one high enough to do anything.

  “So, you must use a toy because you do not have the stamina to do it yourself, huh?” Nyam continues the conversation as if nothing has changed. “But I ask, why must you do it yourself at all? Why is someone else not doing this for you?” Excellent fucking question. Why isn’t someone else doing this for me? Oh, that’s right: no one can. So depressing.

  “What you mean ‘no one can’?” Mio asks.

  Did I say that out loud?

  I need a time-out, away from these minions of hell, before I tell them every embarrassing detail of my sex life.

  “Well?” Mio demands. I shake my head. I’m not saying another word. Can’t make me. Nyam gives me a very wicked smile. It says ‘can, too’. My stomach flips. I think I just dared the devil and from the fire in his eyes, I think he accepted the challenge. My assumption is supported when he traces a long finger from the inside of my thigh to my sex. He teases me for a moment over the suit, before stealthily slipping two fingers inside.

  “Breathe, carina,” Mio rasps in my ear. I take in a shuddering breath as Nyam’s finger brushes my clit and then circles the sensitive nub. I should stop them. . . close my legs. . . something! But someone else just had to remind me to breathe (which usually is an involuntary action), so I probably won’t be doing anything. . . but moaning. Because I’m definitely doing that right now. It’s like Nyam knows what I like: how much pressure to apply, the perfect speed. . . add to that him staring in my eyes goading me to look away, while Mio explores my body with his hands and mouth. . . and I’m a goner. Where was this all my life? Nyam smirks like he knows what I’m thinking.

  “Like this, mon coeur?” It’s posed as a question, but we both already know the answer.

  And that is when it hits me: this is what I have been missing.

  I have always fantasized about dominant men- which is my mom’s fault for having those lame historical romance novels about when I was a kid. (You know, the ones with the woman half undressed in a ball gown, wrapped around some sexy, shirtless Highlander?) No thirteen year old wants to talk about sex with their parents, so I thought I could learn more by reading. . . I didn’t realize that tripe wasn’t an actual representation of reality. . . .imagine my shock my first time.