by I. T. Lucas
What the fuck?
Did she really think any of this was funny?
Or perhaps it was some form of hysterics, and any moment now her laughter would turn into sobs.
But as she kept at it, laughing and wiping the tears away with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, he got caught up in her madness and joined in, laughing so hard he had to sit down because he got a stitch in his side…
Dalhu couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard, and it felt foreign—like a language he'd once known but had forgotten—the sounds were familiar, but he found it difficult to form them in his throat, his mouth…
"Oh, Dalhu, what a mismatched pair we are,” Amanda croaked once she caught her breath. "Yin and yang. Black and white. What are we going to do?" She regarded him warily, her eyes saying the things she was afraid to voice.
The same arguments she had from the start. That there was no way to bridge the differences between them. That there was no real chance for them to find common ground. That he was deluding himself if he thought they could build a life together.
But what she failed to understand was that he'd never give up, never stop trying. That he might fail over and over again, but in time, he'd learn. And as he had all the time in the world for all the do-overs ever needed, in the end, he'd prevail.
If he'd learned one lesson in his long life, it was that perseverance was the key to success. It wasn't the smartest or the most talented who rose to positions of power, in business as well as in politics, or even in the military—it was the one who kept pushing. The earth would not be inherited by the meek, and not even by those born with the advantage of superior intelligence or physical attributes. The earth was ruled by those who worked relentlessly toward achieving their goals, those who always got up after falling, those who never accepted defeat.
Like him.
Dalhu got to his feet and walked over to the other side of the table to stand beside her. "What we're going to do is talk, a lot. We are going to ask questions, and get to know each other. But first, I'm going to make us a fresh pot of coffee and something to eat."
Gazing up at him, Amanda's huge blue eyes were red-rimmed from her tears, and her dark makeup was smeared all over her face. And still, the woman was a vision.
"It will be all right. You'll see." He smoothed her short, glossy hair with his palm. Bending down, he kissed her forehead, not trusting himself to kiss her lips again.
"Yeah, if you don't kill me first…" He heard her murmur under her breath as he moved over to the stove.
"Would you stop that already?" he grated as he dumped the old coffee in the sink.
The excessive force he'd used caused the dark slosh to splatter, getting all over the cabinets and staining his brand new, six-hundred-dollar shirt.
As a veil of red clouded his vision, Dalhu felt a roar pushing up from his gut.
That was it.
He couldn't take it anymore. He was going to explode.
The built-up pressure was seeking release and it would just blow out of the top of his head and put an end to his misery.
A crazed chuckle escaped his throat as he thought of the irony of surviving countless battles only to be done in by a cold pot of coffee.
No.
Not again.
He couldn't explode like a fucking madman and terrify Amanda. He had to fight the rage. Dalhu gripped the edge of the sink with such force that the tiles under his fingers began crumbling.
"Breathe, Dalhu. It's okay. It's only a shirt. If you take it off, I'll wash it right away and there’ll be no stains."
The effect of Amanda's calm voice, combined with the feel of her delicate hand going up and down over the knotted muscles of his back was—for a lack of a better word—miraculous. Like a gentle wave of cool water, it washed over the raging inferno consuming him, putting the fire out and soothing his raw nerves.
Dalhu closed his eyes and breathed in long and hard before letting the air back out, then did it again until his breathing evened out.
"Better?" Amanda asked quietly, her hand never ceasing its soothing up and down trek on his back.
"Yes, thank you," he breathed just as quietly.
"Is it okay if I wash your shirt now?"
"Yes." Dalhu spun around, facing Amanda, but that was as far as he was able to go. If she wanted his shirt, she'd have to take it off herself.
She peered up at him with worry in her big eyes. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little dazed. Maybe you should sit down."
"No, I'm fine. I just need a moment…"
"Okay, big guy. Take your time." Amanda reached for the first button, then paused, waiting for his assent.
"Please." He nodded.
Going slowly, as if afraid to spook a wild animal, Amanda unbuttoned his shirt. She then spread the two halves and pushed it down his shoulders until he finally helped her by shrugging it off.
"I'll take it up to the bathroom and wash it there. You just take your time." Amanda dropped her eyes to the shirt she was holding and eased back.
"Wait…" Dalhu caught her arm. "Please, I need to feel your hand on me again." She regarded him quizzically but didn't resist as he took her palm and placed it on his bare skin, right over where his heart was still hammering a crazy beat.
The effect was immediate, with that soothing calm washing over him once again. "You're an angel…" he breathed in awe, holding his palm over her hand and keeping it on him for as long as she would let him.
"I think you're a little confused… delirious. But thank you." Amanda blushed prettily.
What a strange and wonderful creature she was. An innocent compliment made her blush while talking about her numerous lovers left her completely unaffected. "I called you an angel because what you've been able to do for me is nothing short of a miracle."
"I'm glad. Now let me go before this shirt is a goner." She tried to pull away.
"Fuck the shirt… I'm sorry. I shouldn't use foul language around you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Dalhu. Stop trying so hard and just relax. I'm really not an angel, and a fuck here and there doesn't offend me. ç—“ She stopped and slapped a hand over her mouth, a shadow of fear crossing her eyes.
He chuckled. "It's okay. I'm over the shocking newsflash that immortal females have a healthy sex appetite to match that of their males. And I'm starting to get your twisted sense of humor as well. In fact, I love it." He closed his fingers over the hand she was covering her mouth with, and lifted it to his lips for a light kiss. "I want you to feel free to say whatever is on your mind. Always. And if I get angry, again… Well, we have the antidote. All you need to do is touch me…"
"You sure? I have a really big mouth, and it has no filter."
"Positive."
"In that case… how long do I have to wait for a cup of coffee around here? I'm telling you, the service in this establishment is just sub-par…" She winked.
Reluctantly, he let go of her hands. "It is, isn't it?"
"Well, get on it, big guy."
"Yes, Ma'am."
CHAPTER 10: SHARIM
By nightfall, Sharim had his two lieutenants and an administrative assistant for the mission selected. From the troop under his command, he'd chosen seventy-two of his best warriors.
Unlike the other commanders, who led by fear and intimidation, Sharim treated his men well and thus earned their loyalty. He spent time with them, knew each one by name and temperament, and knew exactly what could be expected from whom.
Those who knew him as a commander had a hard time believing that he was a self-proclaimed sadist and proud of it. Not surprisingly, they couldn't reconcile the charming, soft-spoken guy with someone who loved inflicting pain on others. Well, women in particular. Though if needed, he had no problem torturing males for information, it just didn't turn him on.
Besides, he believed that if one was smart, one didn't mix business with pleasure, and what he did for sex during his free time had no bearing on his job.
Which br
ought his train of thought to the issue of scheduling a scene for tonight. After all that good work, he was in an exceptionally good mood—excited and full of energy—hence instead of selecting one of the newbies, he decided to call for the one hooker that actually enjoyed his kind of attentions.
A quick text and he had it arranged. Once he was done in the office, Marla would be waiting for him, kneeling naked by the door the way he liked. After all, there were some advantages to dealing with an experienced sub—one who was well familiar with his particular preferences—instead of torturing some uninitiated tart…
Good, good-good… Sharim rubbed his hands and went over his list again.
It had been a productive day. An excellent utilization of time and resources—if he may say so himself.
After explaining how he wanted to go about it, Sharim had assigned the task of arranging the elaborate travel plans to his assistant.
There would be no more traveling in groups.
He had been appalled when he’d seen the travel arrangements for the small unit that had uncovered the clan's American location. They had been extremely lucky airport security had not tagged them as suspects. Three groups of four men in the span of only two days. The least they could have done was to divide the groups unevenly. But this was what happened when travel arrangements were left to low-level bureaucrats.
The administrative branch of their army consisted of the least capable personnel, those who'd been deemed too inferior to be warriors. The best way to utilize their meager capabilities was to provide them with clear and precise step-by-step instructions. But apparently Dalhu, the leader of that group had failed to do so.
Well, not really the guy's fault. An organization should keep examining and reexamining its procedures and install new ones when something didn't work as smoothly as it should. He would email the head of that department and suggest that a new procedure be put in place for every commander to follow upon traveling on an assignment to the West. And just to be clear, he'd include his own clever travel plans as a blueprint.
Once the island's transport plane dropped them off at Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, each man would fly to a different destination in the world, going through at least two other countries with a different fake passport for each leg of the trip before arriving at Los Angeles International Airport.
Sharim, one of his lieutenants, and his personal assistant would leave tomorrow morning—the zigzag route that he had planned for them would get them to their final destination in about seventy-two hours.
Starting two weeks later, the rest of the men would follow, trickling in over a period of several days.
He'd have plenty of time to take care of the rest of the logistics en route and then once he got to Los Angeles.
First and foremost on his agenda was securing a suitable place for a base and arranging for weapons and other supplies to be purchased and delivered for when the men arrived. The modifications and fortifications could be done while the men were already there, but the parimeter had to be secured with a proper fence and surveillance equipment beforehand.
With a few phone calls to the Brotherhood's contacts in Los Angeles, he'd arranged a search for appropriate properties, the promise of a five-figure cash commission and a bonus for fast delivery lighting fire under the two realtors' butts.
Hopefully, by tomorrow, there would be some good properties lined up for him, and he'd be able to close a deal before reaching his next stop.
CHAPTER 11: AMANDA
Check me out, playing house, like a good little woman…
Amanda hung the shirt she'd washed by hand on the shower curtain rod.
But what the hell, if Dalhu could cook and do laundry, she could deign to wash one shirt. And anyway, she was quite satisfied with herself for getting all the stains out.
Judging by the enticing smells coming from the kitchen, coffee was ready and Dalhu was cooking something that smelled pretty good. Unfortunately, being the one who'd unpacked their supplies, she was well aware of what he had to work with and doubted that she'd find the end product of his efforts edible.
If that man wasn't planning to starve her, he really needed to go shopping. And if she didn't want a repeat of the general store fiasco, she'd better make him a detailed list.
Amanda pulled a pen out of her purse and, for lack of other options, tore a big piece off one of the brown paper bags from the general store Dalhu had robbed…
Well, he did leave some money to cover the cost of what he took…
Wasted his money, was more like it. It was all the worst quality of junk. As soon as he delivered the new supplies, she'd have him throw out all that stuff.
Everything except the pink monstrosity she was wearing.
That, she would burn and dance a victory dance around the fire. Though with all its polyester content, she wasn't sure if it would burn or melt.
"Breakfast is ready!" Dalhu called from the kitchen.
"Coming!"
Well, I wish I were… Naughty, naughty Amanda. Put a brake on your one-track mind…
Holding her pen and a piece of the brown paper bag, she jogged down the stairs.
Dalhu had the table set with two plates heaped with something unrecognizable, and two cups of coffee… one already whitened with the condensed milk.
"Thank you," she said as she sat down next to where he'd placed it.
"You are welcome. I hope you'd like it." Dalhu smiled and sat across from her.
Amanda moved things around her plate with the fork, trying to guess what was in the weird mush. "You know how you said I should say whatever I want?"
"Yes. What's the matter? You haven't even tasted it yet…"
"No, I know. It's just that it's a sure thing I'm going to bitch about it, and I thought saying something nice first would be a good idea."
"Okay?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"First, thank you for remembering how I like my coffee, and for making this food, and setting the table, and everything… And for looking real fine without a shirt…"
Dalhu almost choked on what was in his mouth. "Really? Well… you're welcome… and thank you." He barely managed to get the words out. "Now, please, just taste it. It's not as bad as it looks."
"Okay. Here goes…" Amanda lifted a tiny amount of the slosh with her fork, hesitating before bringing the stuff into her mouth. When it didn't trigger an immediate gag reflex, she gave chewing a try.
Dalhu's eyes were on her mouth, the poor guy forgetting to breathe as he awaited her verdict.
"It's edible. Which considering what you had to work with is an accomplishment. But unless you think I need to lose a lot of weight, you'd better go shopping." She was being generous. The thing tasted just a tad better than throw-up, but she had no heart to tell him that.
"I don't want you to lose even an ounce. You're perfect the way you are. Make the list and I'll see what I can do. But for now, this is all we have, and I don't want you to go hungry until I come back." He motioned to her plate and waited.
She forced herself to take a few forkfuls, washing down each one with generous gulps of coffee, but as soon as Dalhu shifted his attention to his own plate, she got busy making the list.
Taking into consideration that Dalhu had limited experience with shopping, she decided to group the items on her list by store and the department they could be found at. The clothing and undergarments, as well as cosmetics and skincare, were the easiest—she'd shopped for these herself and knew exactly where to get them. After all, it shouldn't matter that she had shopped at Bloomingdales and Saks while Dalhu would be lucky to find a Macy's, one department store shouldn't be all that different from the other, at least as far as the configuration went. The rest of the stuff, the things Onidu took care of like bedding and food, she had to guess.
When she was done, the brown piece of paper was covered in her tight, messy script. "My handwriting is really messy. I think I should read it to you. Or better yet, come with you…" She glanced at him hopefully.
> "Not a chance, princess, not this time."
"When, then? You can't keep me here forever. I’ll go crazy. There is no TV, no internet, nothing for me to do…"
"I realize that." Dalhu sighed. "I just need a little more time to figure out my next step. It's not like I had this whole thing planned out. And besides, I don't trust you not to run. Yet… I'm sorry."
With a huff, Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, it was worth a try."
The rest of the meal went by with her glaring at Dalhu, and him polishing off both his plate and hers. She didn't offer to help him when he cleared the dishes, washed them, and wiped the table clean.
He didn't deserve it.
Once he was done, he came to stand beside her and offered her a hand up. "Come. Let's see that list."
"I'm mad at you." She shrugged.
"I know. But I'm sure getting the things on that list is more important to you than staying mad at me."
Well, when he put it like that…
She let him pull her up and walk her to the couch, where he had her sit beside him as he tried to decipher her scribbles.
CHAPTER 12: DALHU
Amanda had no way of knowing that he was already familiar with her peculiar handwriting, and although he planned on telling her everything at some point in the future, that point wasn't now.
He had spent hours with her little notebook, the one his men had found in her lab, learning a lot from it. Her chicken scribbles, as he'd at first referred to her handwriting, were mostly about her research, both the official one that she had done for the university and the unofficial one she'd run on mortals with paranormal abilities. But not only. Between her random ideas and her little drawings he had glimpsed her unique personality, her mischievous streak, her loyalty to her clan, and how much their loneliness, as well as her own, weighed heavily on her.
Granted, it felt wrong to pretend he was having more trouble understanding what she'd written than he actually did, but as the saying went; all was fair in love and battle… or something along those lines.
