by Ford, Lizzy
“Jilian killed you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her in a secure hug.
“He said he was going to drain all my blood out.” She leaned into him, at peace yet hyped up on adrenaline and desire.
“And he did. I brought you back.”
“How?”
“With my blood. My blood runs through your veins. You need it to live.”
“Of course I need blood to live,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“It’s the deepest bond my … our kind can share and one that Czerno had in store for you.”
You must die first.
… an Oracle must be bound …
for all eternity …
“You will never hunger for food nor thirst for water. I think you found out what eating does to you?”
She said nothing, her heart somersaulting.
“It’s also a bond that folks in my position have to be careful about taking on, because it leaves me vulnerable. That can be an issue when you don’t know how to fight. You make an easy target.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she agreed. “Are you going to teach me to fight?”
“Maybe. We have to get through this first.”
She didn’t want to ask but did. “Through what?”
His grip tightened around her, and she resisted the urge to push him away and flee. He pulled the knife from his pocket, flipped it inward, and sliced into the tender flesh of his wrist.
Horror and hunger surged through her. The scent of his blood was more intoxicating than a shitload of vodka on a Friday night. She craved him in a way that nearly crippled her.
“Oh God!” she whispered raggedly. “No! No, no, no!”
“You have no choice,” he said with calmness that terrified her. “You’ll die without it.”
“Let me go!” She shoved against him as hard as she could, knowing when he released her it was because he wanted to. She tore out of his room, the scent of his blood ensnared in her senses.
She ran from the mansion into the gardens and toward the forest. Too weak to continue, she dropped to her knees. Her scream was one of fury and frustration. She screamed until she was hoarse, shaking in the chilled air.
“I guess he told you,” Han said and squatted beside her. “You know, to our kind, it’s an honor to be blood bound to someone like him.”
It should have been her instead of Jake! Damian’s words swirled through her thoughts, along with the scent of his blood. The thought of drinking from him made her sick, and she pushed herself up to vomit.
“I want to die, Han,” she cried. “I can’t live like this! I’m a monster!”
“You have no idea what he went through to save you. Because of him, you’re alive, and you still have a soul. If he didn’t bind you, you’d be bound to Czerno, and then you’d really want to kill yourself,” he said. “You’re bound to our king, our god, our master. If anyone else saw you refuse him, they’d kill you for disrespecting him.”
“I’m human, Han,” she argued.
“Not anymore. You’re one of us now.”
“I won’t do it,” she swore. She threw up again, sick and weak.
“You have no choice, ikira.”
What’s done can’t be undone. She wept, not objecting when Han deftly lifted her and carried her back to her room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My name is Darian. Help me. The man in her head just wouldn’t leave her alone. She spent the better half of the next day too depressed to leave her bed before forcing herself up and parking on the patio in the sun, determined not to waste another day in the dark. Darian—whoever he was—would drive her crazy if she didn’t find a way to distract her thoughts. Han stayed with her, not moving until two Guardians—a raven-haired man with a quick smile and a brooding blond—approached. He stood and shook hands with both of them.
“The winter’s better here than Europe, I imagine,” he said with a smile. “This is Ikira Sofia.”
“Ikira, I’m honored,” the dark-haired man said with a bow and a thick Spanish accent. “I’m Grande.”
“That would be a description of his ego and nothing else,” the brooding blond said with a light French accent. “I’m Pierre, ikira.”
“Boring,” Grande said. “He skipped the class on good nom de plumes.”
Pierre gave him a sidelong look at his butchered French, and Sofia smiled despite herself.
“Grande and Pierre are joining us from our European front. We rotate every twelve months or so,” Han explained.
“Front? Like war front?” she asked.
“Fighting Czerno and his monsters.”
“Ikira, welcome,” Grande said.
“Thanks. Call me Sofia.”
“No,” Han said, leveling a look on them both. “Dusty’s a stickler for titles.”
“Mi corazón,” Grande said, faking a wounded look. Pierre punched him in the shoulder, and they walked toward the garage.
“What is ikira?” she asked, turning to Han.
“Similar to ‘my queen.’ You rank up near Damian now.”
Her smile faded. The mention of him reminded her of her cramped stomach and the half dozen failed attempts to eat normal food.
“It’s a good thing,” Han said at her silence. “He owns your ass. No one will mess with you.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“I bet you won’t make it another day and a half,” he said.
“We’ll see. Let me ask you something, Han,” she said, facing him. “What am I supposed to be doing? If I’m not a financial planner, should I be oracl-ing or something?”
“Ask your master.”
“I knew you’d say that. And he’s not my master. I’m an American; we don’t have masters.”
“I will give you a piece of advice,” he said, unaffected by her tirade. “Don’t wait until tomorrow to go to him or you’ll crawl to him on your knees. No matter what you think, you can’t live without his blood. You might as well make it on your terms, ordering him to submit, rather than begging and mauling him like an animal.”
“Wow,” she murmured. “You really want to win this bet, don’t you?”
“You’re too smart to be so damn stubborn. Jake lost his life saving you, Sofia, and you’re acting like a fucking two-year-old.” And he walked away. Sofia watched him, stunned by his rebuke. Her thoughts went to Jake, and she saddened. He was right. He was always right, even when he told her to ask Damian something he knew very well.
On her terms. If she had it her way, she’d not do it at all. She’d never known hunger like this!
“It’s your fate,” she reminded herself.
How silly was an Oracle who refused her own destiny? If for no other reason, she owed it to Jake to try. She drew a deep breath and marched into the mansion. Damian was rarely indoors during the day, and she hoped he wasn’t in his room when she knocked. Her courage fled to see him framed in his doorway, as seductive by day as he was by night.
He didn’t ask her why she came but stepped aside and motioned her in. Sofia balled her fists and entered, sweating at the thought of the ordeal ahead.
“I feel like some sort of animal,” she told him. But I want to live. “I’m scared, Damian.”
“I know,” he said, holding out a hand to her.
She took it, her insides quaking in anticipation and hunger. He sat her down on the couch and sat down across from her with the knife in hand. She closed her eyes, more of his home videos playing through her mind.
“Stop,” he warned.
She opened her eyes. A flash of darkness went through his gaze, and the same sense of hidden fury returned.
“You hate this.”
“I do, but not because of you,” he said.
“Someone hurt you? Was this during your dark period?”
“It was,” he confirmed between clenched teeth.
She took the hint but wondered who had hurt him so badly that he still bore a grudge thousands of years later. He sliced his wrist, and her attentio
n turned immediately to thick liquid bubbling against his olive skin.
This isn’t right.
You’ll die without it.
She recoiled, pushing herself against the couch. He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.
“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her.
She refused to move. He shifted his hand to her neck and held her in place, placing his bloodied wrist against her lips.
The scent, the taste, was unlike anything she ever experienced. Sofia licked her lips, the rich flavor as ensnaring as his scent. She lapped once with the tip of her tongue, tasting both the metallic, spicy blood and her tears. She opened her mouth and drank from him, timidly at first then hungrily. Damian hissed beside her, his grip on her neck tightening. She withdrew, afraid to hurt him.
“Don’t stop,” he urged, his voice huskier, lower. “Drink.”
She closed her eyes and drank. When she pulled back at last, she sat in a daze, fulfilled and content yet unable to shake the horror of what she’d done. Damian had turned his face away and was clenching a thick knuckle between his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, appalled.
“No,” he grated. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“You better go.” Something in his voice compelled her to hurry. Sofia fled to her room, amazed at how good she felt. She was no longer hungry, and she felt energized, fulfilled.
Guilty.
How long could she live like this, drinking someone else’s blood?
It was still sooooo wrong!
She tried to sift through her emotions before she returned to his door. He opened it before she knocked, dressed for sparring in his judo pants and nothing else. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from devouring his body with her eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she said. “And … I’m okay, right?”
“We’re cool,” he said, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Whenever you’re hungry, you can come by.”
He was guarded again. She felt like the morning after a drunk, one night stand. What did she say after the most awkward experience of her life? The thought of his blood lit her afire, almost as much as the sight of his bare chest.
What would sleeping with him while drinking from him be like? She backed away from his door, wondering how that deviant thought emerged. Han eyed her as she hurried past him toward the library. Dressed for sparring, he waited with Grande and Pierre for Damian.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“You always ask me that. If I’m not, you’ll know,” she replied curtly.
“Very well, ikira.”
She glared at him, sensing his amusement. Damian trotted down the stairs. She didn’t look at him until his back was to her on their way toward the door. As if feeling her gaze on him, he paused at the door.
“If you ever want to try it, let me know.”
“Try what? Sparring?”
Screwing and drinking. His voice was as clear in her mind as if he spoke the words. She sucked in a sharp breath, at once confused and thrilled. Without looking at her, he strode through the doors into the courtyard.
“I do not understand you,” she whispered after him. His simple words turned her inside out, and yet, what would he want with a woman like her? If he was what Han claimed—king, lord, master of the entire damn universe—wouldn’t he take the supermodel of his choice?
Target of opportunity. Maybe that’s all she was.
She shook her head. If she was an Oracle, she needed to learn to be one. She retreated to the study and began to search the shelves for books on Oracles. Many of the books looked ancient, with some written in different languages. One volume, Oracle, See Thyself Home, caught her attention.
She collected what she could find and perched in a chair, reading until sundown, when the hunger pangs hit her again. They were always worse at night, when Damian’s draw was overwhelming. The thought of him without his shirt on, or better yet, naked …
“No way in hell,” she breathed.
She gritted her teeth and forced her attention to the stack of books, jotting down notes on her notepad. There appeared to be no such thing as a do-it-yourself manual for seeing the future, but the books had a few good—if bizarre—anecdotal stories that gave her ideas. Armed with her notes, she emerged from the library.
The mansion was quiet, and she roamed until she found where everyone was. The men were at dinner, including Damian. The scents of what looked like pizza night taunted her, and she stood peering through the cracked door at the long dinner table.
Bitterness slithered through her.
She was even different from them. Her reading had shed some insight, saying that when an Oracle died, she could be brought back to life by a blood bond. There weren’t many details, and she could only guess that this was not the normal case, as some stories mentioned Oracles attending great feasts.
She watched the men eating happily around the table and left the mansion for the gardens. A cold wind comforted her as she sat alone. The moon was covered by clouds, and she crumpled the notes she’d taken. Tears began to spill again, and she began to understand how Darian felt, utterly alone and abandoned in the corner of her mind.
“You should go inside.” Damian’s voice was soft. She didn’t hear him approach.
“I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere.”
“You belong here,” he said resolutely. “You were forced into a transition without being prepared for it. I’m sorry for that.”
“But are you sorry for what I am?”
“Not at all.” He pried the notes from her hand. “What is this?”
“I’m trying to learn to be an Oracle. I read a couple of books today.”
He studied what she had written.
“There’s no dummies guide,” she added. “I think I can teach myself how to keep from seeing deaths whenever I touch someone.” She sneaked a look at his face, surprised to see the warm smile there as he read through her notes.
“Have you tried any of this?” he asked.
“No.”
“Try it.”
She took it back. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was ashamed even to look at him. Would he soon grow tired of her showing up at his door, demanding a meal?
“I don’t want to use you,” she voiced out loud.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t want to use you for … for your blood. I don’t like being dependent on anyone. It’ll get old for you one day.”
“It won’t.”
“How could it not? It’s just the way things are,” she insisted. “I’m an addict. You’re the supplier. What if you get a new job someday and stop selling drugs?”
“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted, chuckling. “I am what I am, and you are what you are. I don’t second-guess that.”
“I’m not as confident as you. My existence relies on you giving me blood. Sometimes I think you’d rather eat me than talk to me.” She hugged herself and faced him, agitated. “I don’t like being hungry and not being able to go to the kitchen.”
“I understand.”
By the reserved note in his voice, he did. If she closed her eyes, she would see the black memories crossing through his mind, but she allowed him his privacy.
“I will never make you beg or deny you what you need,” he said, gaze dark. “If you’re hungry, visit the kitchen. I won’t say no.”
“I don’t want this.”
“It’s not your choice. You must learn to trust me.”
Trust! She almost laughed. Kidnapping, involuntary resurrection—these were not the foundations on which trust was built!
Damian held out his hand to her. She hesitated while her silver eyes swirled with hypnotic slowness. His terrified, brave little Oracle was entrancing, the shimmer that caught his attention when they met much stronger with their bond.
She was trying. He never thought something so simple could please him so much
. He couldn’t flush away the dark memories from his time after the Schism when he’d been enslaved by humans intent on using his god-powers, but he could protect her from a similar fate. She moved forward, taking refuge from him in his own arms, a reality that amused him.
“Damian, I’m a monster, even in your world.” Her heartbreak was in her voice, and he squeezed her closer to him. He didn’t think he’d ever met a human or Guardian as honest as this one.
“At least you’re a cute monster,” he replied.
She pulled away, her anger rippling through him. He didn’t know how something so innocuous could piss her off, but then again, thousands of years hadn’t given him much insight into a woman’s mind.
“You’re a jerk, Damian!” she said, glaring at him before running away.
“You better run, woman,” he growled, irritated by her response.
His gaze followed her until she disappeared into the house, and he shook his head. He let her get away with so much! She had no idea how his world operated! He didn’t understand the ins and outs of their blood bond, but he knew how much she rocked his world when she drank from him earlier.
In a different time, he’d simply command her to take her place at his side and in his bed as his mate and slake his heated blood whenever he felt the need. The ancient kings—his father and brother included—had regularly taken Oracles as their queens. He began to understand why and couldn’t help but feel frustrated at having to find a way to win her instead of command her.
His phone dinged, and he pulled it out to see the odd text message.
Ikir, may I enter your home?
He gazed at the message, puzzled, before he realized who it was and typed a response.
At your risk, Watcher.
“I knocked this time, ikir.”
He turned to see the small man with bright green eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Damian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall around the trickling fountain at his back.
“I admit, this technology makes it much easier for me to communicate,” the Watcher said, gazing at his phone.
Damian raised an eyebrow, not about to humor the otherworldly harbinger of bad news.
