Bastard Stepbrother (Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)

by Faye, Amy

  Her dreams had been right. She had been right.

  She had to get out.

  Dean

  Sleeping in a tree was always uncomfortable, but Dean felt unusually painful in his shoulders. He also felt like gravity wasn't working the way it should, if he were laying on a branch. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know that something was very wrong.

  His arms were in a strange position, one lower than the other, and he felt like he was standing. Cracking his eyes open, he found a group of men standing around him. They all wore giant shirts in various shades of white or gray, with faded jeans. All of the men but one had their faces shaved clean and their hair cut short. The one with the beard and long hair had piercing eyes and a smile on his lips.

  Looking up, Dean saw that his arms were tied to ropes attached to branches that were at two different heights. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them the men would be gone.

  No such luck.

  One thing was obvious: they could not have gotten him down from the tree without him waking up. Not unless they used magic to keep him asleep, but still he could sense no magic. Nothing. And while Dean wasn't prone to bragging, he considered himself particularly sensitive to magic after the hell he went through with Olivia.

  If they were using magic that he couldn't detect, there was no way to know if they were reading his mind. He decided not to think of his ex wife, just in case.

  “Mornin' fellas. How about you untie me so I can get some more blood back into these arms?”

  The man with the beard chuckled, and the others laughed with him, until he stopped abruptly. So that was their relationship. They were his yes men.

  “Have you been spying on us? Did the government send you, or was it a church? Maybe you just thought you'd come here to get a scoop on us and become famous.” The man's tone was leading, like he hoped one of those would be the correct answer.

  Dean had to think fast, and there was only one good option. “No, sir. I been trying to get up the nerve to join y'all.” He winced at his own accent. He was raised in Alabama but worked hard to fade that Southern twang. It only came out when he was stressed, and he couldn't think of many situations more stressful than the one he was in.

  The man with the beard ran his hand through it, scratching his chin as he watched Dean. “You want to join us, huh? Do you even know who we are?”

  “Sure,” he said, but then thought better of it. “I mean, you're The Lore Keepers. I don't know much about y'all, but I felt called to join you. Ain't y'all accepting new members?”

  Raising his eyebrow, the bearded man paced a few steps back and forth. “We are,” he said, speaking slowly. “What is your name?”

  “Dean,” he said. He should have used a fake name, what if Olivia had warned them to watch out for a Dean that might come nosing around? It was a stupid mistake, but none of the men seemed to catch it. He willed his heart to beat a little slower.

  “Well, Dean, I am Nicholas Arkham. These are my men, who you will meet in due time.”

  Another of the men pointed at Dean and glared. “Before you say another word, you best treat Mr. Arkham with respect. He's the son of The Priest and he's showing you a great mercy by lettin' you join.”

  Nicholas held up a hand to silence the man, then turned back to Dean. “Yes, I am showing you a great mercy, but I think it is one that will be repaid in time.”

  Dean whistled and acted impressed. “I can't believe I'm being greeted by The Priest's son. But, um, could y'all cut me lose? These ropes are starting to itch and my arms don't have much feeling left in 'em.”

  He had to get his accent under control. Hearing it was driving him batty.

  “We will cut you loose, but you will be on probation. We will keep a close eye on you, to be sure that you're not a spy or some journalist that just wants to see our religion destroyed. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course,” Dean nodded. Two of the men pull out jagged, rough knives that seemed to be more rust than steel, but they were good enough to cut the rope holding his arms above him. They fell to his side, and the blood rushing into them was more painful than keeping them up above him. He groaned and folded over, hugging his arms to his chest.

  Nicholas pulled on his shirt, and Dean stood. “Come on, then, let's get you changed.”

  They walk across a field and towards the buildings. His walking was labored, so the other men had to help keep him moving forward. He was larger than all of them, so four of the men were pushing and pulling, practically dragging Dean.

  Before they hit the door, he spotted a flash of red, of pale skin. He turned and saw a woman look back. That was Edwin's daughter, and she was looking right at him. Something inside of him stirred, something painful and electrifying.

  Nicholas noticed his attention, and as the girl rushed away, the man punched Dean right in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of him and forced the little strength in Dean's legs to go out. He collapsed onto the ground, wheezing. How was such a thin man able to punch so hard?

  “The first rule,” Nicholas said, leaning down and putting his lips so close to Dean that he felt his breath on his ear. His breath was a hiss, like a snake. “The first rule is that you do not stare at the women. Especially not that one.”

  Dean nodded, and Nicholas stood up, laughing. “But since she caught your attention, I may send her to you when you aren't so weak. Being one of The Lore Keepers does have its perks, and our women is one of them. Yes, by the time you're fully initiated, your manhood will be drained and you'll be truly devoted to The Goddess for the gifts She gives you.”

  The men dragged Dean into the building, which ended up being some sort of dorm room. He was pulled into a room with two beds, both empty. The men drop him, but Dean stands up and leans against the wall. He didn't know why his legs felt so weak. He understood the pain in his arms, but they might have tranquilized him. That would explain why he couldn't sense any magic.

  “You're lucky, Dean. We have a bed available for you already.”

  Nicholas pointed at the bed on the right side of the room, and Dean noticed then that it had a splotch on it. A red-brown splotch that still seemed wet, and sang with magic and the life of a man no longer in a physical form.

  Someone had been killed there, and recently.

  “Oh, my. Let's change those sheets before Dean sleeps. Dean, you sit there, and I will grab you some food from the cafeteria.”

  Nicholas slipped out of the room as Dean sat down on the chair. He was half asleep while he watched the men remove the sheets and add new ones, taking the blanket that sang of magic from the room. The feeling of death was gone, which was a relief. Dean's eyes felt so heavy. So heavy.

  The men left, and after a few moments Nicholas entered again with soup. Dean ate it like a starved dog, and he had to admit it tasted heavenly. Nicholas sat in silence as he watched the man, occasionally humming a song that seemed somehow familiar to Dean.

  When he finished, Nicholas helped him into the clean bed. Only the tiniest song of magic still lingered on the mattress.

  “Won't The Goddess be excited that her own ex-husband has decided to join us?”

  “What...” Dean mumbled, trying to sit up. Nicholas forced him back down.

  “Oh yes. I've seen your photo, Dean, and I know who you are. I am so glad you've decided to join us, finally, and I know that The Goddess will be thrilled, as well. She spoke often of you. How maddening your disobedience was.”

  Dean should have gotten up, should have knocked Nicholas out, but he was too tired. He couldn't even lift his head.

  “Sleep, Dean. Tomorrow, we bring you into The Goddess's arms.”

  “Olivia will be here?” Dean slurred.

  Nicholas shook his head. “No, but one of our women will come as her priestess.”

  The last thing Dean thought before he lost consciousness was how badly he needed to get the girl out of this nut job’s claws.

  Chapter 5

  Cady
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  Shifting sands and the scream of wind. A sky that was both bright and black, as if the darkness shined. Cady felt her bare feet in sand, and looking down, saw that the sand was also black. Not a shining black like the sky. A sucking black, like a black hole.

  Heaving breathing a few meters away caught her attention. There, she saw what looked at first to be nothing more than a specter. A ghost in a black desert, clad in white tatters with a white beard flowing over his shoulder as he pushed against the wind.

  He was the only other being she could see, his skin dark. From a sun that no one could see? Perhaps. The desert air felt charged and thick.

  She followed him, chasing after him. Her legs were faster than the old man's, and she soon caught up to him. He turned to her for a second, and she saw that he was of Arabic or Semitic race. His gray eyes were wild, wild, like a stag half-dead and bleeding out. His mouth grinned, too wide.

  When he spoke, she knew that he was speaking in some old Arabic dialect. She didn't know how she knew, because to her it was perfectly understandable. She didn't know how to speak Arabic, and yet she heard his words as clearly as if they had been spoken in English.

  “Ahhhh,” he groaned. “The granddaughter of my granddaughter's great granddaughter. Your blood calls to mine, for we are one. You've come, as all of my children do, to see my work. Follow me.”

  She did as she was told, shuffling her feet in the ever-shifting sand to keep up with him. He moved faster now that she was following, and it was clear where he was heading: to the great gray mountains that rose up over the black sand. The tops were covered with thick clouds, but no rain fell from them. The mountains were as dry as the desert below them.

  The Arab man led her into a cave in one of the mountains, and held out his hand ahead of him. His hand glowed with a strange fire, but she did not question it.

  The tunnel became narrower, than tall and thin. At one point the walls pressed against her so that it was hard for her to breathe as she shuffled against them, while the man moved easily, his ribs visible through the tatters he wore.

  The bright blackness returned as they exited the cave and found themselves in front of a huge city. The buildings were hard to look at, her eyes bouncing off of them and vibrating so that staring at one for too long was painful and disorienting.

  “It hurts to look at them,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

  “You should not look at them. They are not what you are here to see.”

  He pointed towards the tallest building, and behind it a shadow began to pulsate and grow. The thing casting it seemed to be bulbous and protruding in strange places. A low hum, a sound similar to a snore, pushed past the building and made her ears burn. She bent forward and covered them, groaning.

  The looming evil grew larger, and somehow she knew she had caught its attention. It was watching her, daring her to step forward and see it. She took a step forward, but the man in tatters grabbed her and pulled her back, a low hiss coming from his mouth.

  The Arab clapped his hands then, turning to her. His eyes burned a bright white. “I send you back, to your time. You have seen what you need to see, and you will see more later. Go, before you join me in madness. Return to your own time.”

  These dreams are becoming annoying at this point, she thought as she woke up. She cracked her eye open and saw that all of the women were huddled around the window, whispering. Straining her ears, she listened to what they were talking about.

  “I heard he's very handsome.”

  “The Priest took a liking to him. His son, though...”

  “There's a woman involved. Nicholas chose her.”

  “Yes, but then, The Priest does what he knows is right.”

  “It's not our place to question him.”

  “I saw the new man, though. He was tall, so much taller than any of the other men. And big. Muscles.”

  The women chattered on and on about how they'd love to meet him, to welcome him to their group. Cady turned over and tuned them out.

  For a long time, The Lore Keepers simply followed The Priest. Their beliefs were less defined, there was more freedom. A few years ago, when Cady's mother died, another woman appeared. This one was special, according to all accounts. Cady had been gone with a few others to sell their excess eggs when the woman appeared.

  That woman was The Goddess, and there was no question among those that met her that she was who she claimed to be. Even The Priest fell to the dirt to bow for her. With The Goddess, things changed. Their religion solidified, with specific rules. The women remained separate from the men in most cases, and their lives were boring.

  The Lore Keepers also stopped accepting new members. Cady didn't know if it was because no one else came to join, or if it was a rule that no one else may. The answer seemed clear now.

  Someone new. Someone new for them to torture, to corrupt.

  She wouldn't have it. Her hands balled up into fists, her anger threatening to overflow. She tried to brush her hands on the spine of the book that was between her bed and the wall, but it didn't help.

  Her heart had begun to foster a hatred for The Lore Keepers. It was terrifying, hating the only people you knew. Cady realized now, though, that when The Goddess came, things really changed a lot. Like a frog in a pot of boiling water, the changes were too slow for anyone to notice until it was too late.

  It couldn't be too late. She could still escape. She wondered if the newcomer, the large man, knew what he was getting into by joining The Lore Keepers. Did he even know what they believed?

  The idea of leaving was so beautiful, but she felt an obligation to help the other women. The men had their own problems, she knew they were worked to their bones, but the women were helpless. She was helpless. There was no possible way to get away from their lands without them knowing. How was she going to escape and go get help?

  How was she going to save Janine?

  A knock on the door broke her thoughts. She sat up, since the men hated seeing the women lay around all day. Another one of the women, a 30 year old who had once been The Priest's favorite, opened the door and greeted whoever was on the other side.

  “Cady, dear? They're asking for you.”

  Her heart twitched in her chest. Were they going to torture her again? She stood and looked over the head of the 30 year old woman to find the bearded man waiting for her. He smiled, but his face was uneasy.

  “Come, Cady. I have a job for you.” The bearded man held out his hand for her.

  Sighing with relief, she took his arm and let him lead her away. His touch didn't burn with the dark evil it had before. She wondered, then, if she had imagined it.

  A job was easy enough. She enjoyed having sex.

  “Have you heard that someone has joined us?” He asked, looking across the fields at the men working. She often wondered why they toiled even when the soil was hard. There was nothing to be gained. They seemed to be digging a hole, more than getting the field ready for sowing seed.

  Cady nodded. “The other women were discussing it. Am I to be with him?”

  The bearded man's face twitched, just for a second. There was anger in the movement, but then his smile returned. “Did I ever introduce myself to you, Cady?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ah, how rude of me. My name is Nicholas. My job is to keep the men in line, so that they're all following my father's orders. It's not hard work, but it's easier than what the other men are doing.”

  Cady listened with interest. None of the men she had been with had ever discussed their everyday life with her. Hearing the son of The Priest, Nicholas, talk easily felt nice. She wondered why he was opening up to her.

  “Because of my job, I have to force people to do things they don't like, but rarely do I have to do something I dislike. This time, I do. I wonder if it's a test from my father. He does that, now and then. Test us, to be sure we follow his orders as easily as the other men do.” His arm tightened, his jaw clenched. Then he relaxed again.

  T
he air around them was cold, but Nicholas was burning hot. Then his shoulders relaxed and he chuckled.

  “Well, no matter. Your task today will be to welcome the new man. You will be giving him the first taste of The Goddess.” They stopped just outside of the men's dormitory. “Have you ever been told how to do this?”

  “No, sir.” She shook her head. She didn't even know this was a thing.

  “Your mother did it, once. She welcomed me, when I became a man. Don't worry, though, you will naturally know what to do. Here,” he said, digging something out of his pocket. It was a necklace, with black beads and a large emerald stone on it.

  He held it out for her, and Cady examined it before she bowed her head. The beads were of a strange quality, neither shiny nor matte. The emerald stone was nearly as large as the palm of her hand, and it glowed with gold flecks in the winter sun.

  “Wear this, and you'll know what to do. Don't worry. Most women only have to do this ritual once, perhaps twice. When this is over… well, I hope that I'll see more of you.” He coughed, his face turning red. “Don't tell anyone I said that.”

  When he slipped the necklace over her head and onto her neck, she felt the dark energy on him again. She wanted to push him away, but she controlled herself. It was so hard to control herself, but the wrong move could easily put her into that torture chamber she dreamed of.

  “This gives you a small sliver of The Goddess, her power and her magic. It will slowly take over your body, and She will guide you.”

  Cady closed her eyes as the necklace fell onto her chest. The stone rested in her cleavage. Her body felt hot, so hot. The fire emanated from her chest, down her arms and into her fingertips. It moved through her pelvis, then down her legs. She no longer felt like Cady. Not like a simple girl born to a group of fools.

  She felt power. Power that didn't belong to her, but that she desired to claim.

  When she opened her eyes and saw Nicholas, she saw him for what he was. An evil being, his entire body black and purple but his eyes. His eyes burned bright red. She wasn't afraid of him. She loved him.