by Tiana Laveen
“You can’t crush your resentment away, baby. It will live on in the dust at your feet,” she whispered.
The haunting music tiptoed through the foggy air and the lyrics of “Be Free” from Moonchild carried on the melody around them. Saint cocked his head to the side as if something in his neck had snapped … like Frankenstein’s monster with limited mobility. He moved though, as awkward as that looked, clearly determined to cast a death glare in her direction. Moments passed in silence while more things were destroyed and crumpled under the weight of his hatred.
“Saint, enough! You must talk to me.” She drew a few steps closer to him. “You have another conference coming up. You’ve been having secret meetings with other Angel Children in the city. We’ve got two damn police officers watching our house 24-7 and I assume they are Angel Children, too. And now that you’re finished fucking me to death once again, you’re still not content!”
“I will never be content. I’m just as bad as them. Today I killed many people. Innocent people.”
Xenia took a deep breath and approached her husband with surefootedness, despite how his energy was strangling her, making her tense from his mere presence. She rested her behind against his desk as she sat before him, crossing her ankles. Her wine-red silk gown shifted, exposing one of her breasts. She slowly glanced down, noting the dark nipple hardening as her arousal heightened and married her deep concerns, as well as, perhaps, a little fear. Even in his rage, she didn’t miss how he eyed her dark nipple before she tucked it back away.
She rested her palms on his desk, careful to not be sliced open by the scattered debris, the product of his rage. “Tell me what happened.”
Saint leaned back in his chair, a ghastly, dirty smirk on his face as if he had a secret so big, it would shake the world if he disclosed it to a single soul.
“There were back-to-back break-ins and robberies in bodegas, pharmacies, department stores, anything that sold consumables today.”
“Yes, I heard that on the radio as I was coming home. Some ring of thieves from my understanding.”
“It was a demon … gluttony. These people had never done such things. Most of them didn’t even have criminal records. Today he also forced a man that was morbidly obese to literally eat himself to death. He began gnawing at his arms, then worked his way around taking anything he could reach. Fingers … all gone until he bled out, his own bloodied flesh caught between his teeth.”
Xenia winced at the words. She hugged herself tight as her stomach tightened.
“Greed was working right alongside it—three bank robberies in one hour, then four more. Krishna called me again, but I knew they were here. His warning meant nothing. I had to go hunting.” Saint shifted in his seat, his eyes glowing. “There was pandemonium. I told Jagger to come with me, asked Lawrence to stay at the office and batten down the hatches while Cruz and I headed out.” He paused, lowering his gaze from her. After a few moments, he glanced back at her, his eyes gleamed with moisture. “When it was all said and done, I was covered in blood … Xenia.” He shook his head as his eyes darkened and narrowed. “I became someone else.”
“What do you mean you became someone else? You went down to confront the bank robbers and the thieves from the stores, and you attacked them, right? That was you, Saint. You knew it was bigger than just some random robbery. It was like an infection and you needed to stop it in its tracks before it spread. Stop beating yourself up for what you had to do, baby. It was you…”
“Yes, it was me, but … what I mean is, it was more like I was watching myself do these things. Like watching my soul commit the acts—not the flesh. The soul is supposed to be pure, right?” He threw up his hands. “But it was the opposite.”
“So, it was like an out of body experience in reverse?”
“Yeah, that’s a good way to describe it I guess. For as long as I’ve lived, Xenia, since my very first kill, I swear to you, I have never felt that sort of rage. Hatred, really. Everything these demons feel towards us, I got a small taste of it. And that taste set me off, made me want to tear them apart. I can’t stop them, only slow them down, banish them for the time being but the kill … the torment, to hear a demon’s screams, to smell their fear, my God, baby … it’s addictive.”
Waves of red smoke curled out from his nostrils as his irises turned crimson. “To hear the cartilage snapping in their necks, their spines break … Then the joy I got from seeing Cruz decapitate one with a mere touch—that’s one of his gifts, his hands.” Saint lifted his palms. The blood had dried on one of them as he waved them about, as if seeing that part of him for the first time. “Cruz can destroy with just a touch … just a touch. And I got to witness Jagger crush a larynx with his bare hands, too. We are brothers, out killing with our bare hands!” His voice echoed in the room as he belted out the words. “I could hear it, see it, smell it all in 3-D, but I wasn’t myself. Or perhaps it’s just as you said it, baby—maybe I was myself. Maybe this is really me. But you know what bothers me the most?”
“What?”
“I love it. I crave the demonic kill—crave it so much like it’s your pussy, baby. I hunt that shit, slide up next to it. My mouth literally waters as soon as I get a whiff. I can’t wait to make my way inside of it, toy with it a bit, just like when I push myself inside of you … and do you want to know my favorite part of all? It’s when I kiss it, then fuck it to death…”
Xenia got to her feet and stood before him.
“I grieve … I hurt, because those were people, Xenia.” A tear streaked his cheek. “Innocent civilians who were demonically possessed … but in order to get rid of the demon, I had to kill the host before they jumped to another body, and then another. How can I be here to serve and protect civilians in New York, comply with my birthright, and then relish in their screams?!” Another tear streamed down his face, breaking her heart.
Her lover and best friend was struggling right before her, and she realized at that moment, he had in fact changed. A part of the man she once knew was dead, replaced by something bleaker, fiercer, and less human.
She wrapped her arms around him, but he resisted her touch.
“Saint, stop it. No more.”
He pulled away with a hiss, but she pulled harder, forcing him to rest his head on her bosom, and rocking him against her as he shook, moaned, and cried in pure rage and inner torment.
“I know what you’re doing, Xenia.”
“I know you do, but you need me…”
“No! I won’t touch you right now to gain my strength back. I don’t deserve to touch you! I’ll just sit here and suffer, fuckin’ rot to death! Now that I have come home and reflected on everything, I see flashes of their humanity, despite it having been lost behind the curtain of the demon. I can see me snuffing them out, enjoying their last breath. My mind tells me it’s wrong, so wrong! But my soul needs it. I’m trapped! They’ve turned me into a monster!” He choked on the words, trembling in her grasp. Dropping to her knees, she kissed the top of his beautiful head of hair.
After a short while, his sobs slowed, and she got to her feet once again. As she stared down at the man, her body heated with fiery lust. The overwhelming waves of passion pooled within her until her pussy throbbed at his mere image. Whatever had sparked the scorching desire and yearning, it ignited within her like a hellacious flame. She let her robe slide off and pool at her feet, the soft fabric touching her toes, and stood naked, freshly showered, smelling of one of his favorite perfumes… Saint loved it when she wore Prada La Femme. Her hair was squeaky clean, styled to perfection in shiny black twists.
His gaze zoned in on her groin, and his nostrils flared. The man’s chest began to rise and fall violently, as if he were fighting himself, his very nature.
As if coming to a decision, he grabbed her by the ass with both fists, bringing her close, and then buried his trembling, warm lips against her blooming flower. A scream rent the air—that came from her, then she said things she could not recall, eve
n right after they were uttered. His hunger warmed her core, and the desperation of his touch nearly caused her to lose her balance as the threat of an orgasm climbed up her soul and held on tight. Shoving his hand between her legs, he widened the gap and devoured the libations of her dripping pussy. Saint’s tongue moved fast and hard against her love, as though he were damn near possessed.
“That’s it, baby … eat.” Her eyes rolling in her head, she ran her fingers through his hair, while his licks and tongue prods became more insistent as the seconds turned to minutes. She trembled in his grip, her orgasm taking her asunder. Tears of release and delight wet her face. Something was happening between her and her soulmate … something she didn’t think was even possible. They were closer than ever in that instant, a merging of tormented souls. He filled her with the darkness of the world, the things she was never to see or witness, and she filled him with the light at the end of the tunnel, the hope for a new day, a chance at survival.
The noises of his wet mouth and the feel of his nose buried in her pussy was so insistent, he reminded her of a feral beast—her feral beast. Suddenly rising from his seat, he gently pushed her aside and swiped the desk clean of all of his mess. The resulting loud crash didn’t deter or slow him. Grabbing her robe from the floor, he covered the desk with it before placing her upon it. In a matter of seconds, he was buried between her thighs once more, never letting up as he swallowed her flowing juices, greedy … gluttonous … robbing her of her essence.
She shook at the realization of this healing—at the truth behind it all.
Saint was eating her alive, forcing her to cum over and over again. Her limbs began to give out on her, and her blood flow slowed, her eyes heavy with an exhaustion out of this world, but she mustered the strength to sit up and satisfy her curiosity. To see the beast at work. A jagged smile creased her face when she saw his pants puddled around his ankles and his long, thick, rock hard cock hanging out … dripping with cum.
“Your Knight in Shining Armor turned into your personal knight-mare, am I not?”
His voice sounded so deep, so primitive, so incensed and devoid of hope, it almost stopped her heart. She hooked his gaze, and her heart froze. His eyes were a solid blood red, and his glistening white teeth dripped with saliva and her nectar. He panted, like an animal … like something from the wilderness that had come upon wounded prey. Pure rage caught in the flesh…
He’s my husband. He’s changing, growing … to be stronger. He has to do this, but he doesn’t want to, because he cares and loves so hard. He’s at war – war within himself, and war in the streets. There are always casualties of war and if he’s going to survive, he must accept his fate—all of it.
She caught his moist chin between her fingers and, tilting his head up, smiled down at the pussy-kleptomaniac, the insatiable fiend before her. “Baby, you’re my good knight, my feel right, my rock and my sweet spot. You’re the moonlight, the sunlight, the things that go bump in the night to keep this world right. How can you be a nightmare when I chose you so long ago, crowned you ruler of my heart, claimed you as my own in my sweet, wonderful dreams?”
…Several days later
At least this time, Jagger and Cruz didn’t catch my drug of choice. Once was enough…
Saint gripped the steering wheel of his Camaro after finishing a luncheon with a potential client. It was hard to keep focus on everyday hate crimes, when a hate crime of epic proportions against all of humanity was weighing down upon him. His cell phone rang as he left Manhattan, making the trek over to the Bronx.
“Hey baby, how are you?” He placed his cigar in an ashtray and approached a red light. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I’m doing well. Saint, I just wanted you to know that I did finally hear from Ira.”
“Oh, good. He didn’t return my last call.” Saint shrugged. “But I’m sure he’s been busy.”
“Busy acting a fool.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Actually, Porsche said he has been acting pretty strange so your hunch that something wasn’t right was correct. At first, she said she thought it was because he had been away so long, he needed time to adjust, you know, things of that nature. But then she realized he seems over-the-top stressed out and angry, like there is no ‘off’ button to his anger, Saint.”
“What’s he doing exactly?” Saint plucked his cigar up, took a long draw, then let out dense, swirling ringlets of smoke.
“Rambling incessantly about our father. Saint, he even went over to his house.”
“He wants to fight.”
“Yes, but thank goodness he wasn’t there because Porsche thinks Ira was drunk when he did it and that meant he was not in his right mind. He was banging on the door, talking about he was a no-good nigga and he was going to kill him for how he disrespected Mama, me and her. The only reason why she knows what he said is because apparently Daddy told her the neighbor overheard him out there screaming and he’s been saying the same damn things at home to Porsche, too. Daddy had the nerve to call Porsche talking about ‘Do something about your brother or I’m calling the police.’” At this, Saint shook his damn head and rolled his eyes.
“He knew better than to call me. He would have gotten a piece of my mind. I told him to never contact me again, period, after what he’d done. But enough about him. Saint, I’m worried about Ira. This isn’t like him.”
“Remember our discussion last night? It’s him, Xenia. He left a boy. He’s a man now with a lot of unresolved issues. Give him some time. It’ll work itself out if he allows it.”
“He’s not going to see a counselor unless he is at rock bottom, Saint. Ira is stubborn, like me.”
“But you changed. According to who you were for most of your life, you and I should have never dated or even had intimate conversations in the first place, let alone fallen in love and gotten married. Everyone can change under the right amount of pressure and circumstances. We’re pliable. We just don’t know it until we are being crushed by getting in our own way.”
“True. I mean, I know people change, but I know my brother, too. I know his heart. He honestly didn’t give a damn about our father when he grew up, so this new passion and rage from someone who typically is very calm, unlike me and Mama, is abnormal. I mean, Saint, the guy barely even yells. What the hell is going on here?”
“Hmmm, maybe Porsche, you, or your mother should encourage him to seek counseling, stubborn or not. It wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe hearing it from a family member will make a difference. I mean, I know I’m his brother-in-law, but you know what I mean. I suggested that to him when he was here, but I don’t think he took me seriously. He’d just met me after all, and I don’t have the closeness with him that you, your sister and mother do.”
“I am going to try and talk to him again. I texted him and he said he’d call me tomorrow night. I am going to hope for the best but expect the worst. I’ll keep you abreast of things.”
“All right. I know it seems daunting right now, baby, but try to be optimistic. He just got home so he has a lot to work through. Oh, and some advice. Just mention it, the benefits and why he should do it, and then drop it. Don’t nag him about it, Xenia.”
“Nag him about it? What are you tryna say?!” He chuckled at her offended tone.
“You know how pushy you can get, baby. It’s all in love though. Anyway, how’s your mother and the kids? I might be a few minutes late tonight, but I’ll get home for dinner as promised.”
“Good. Mama said she’d pick up Hassani from school in a couple of hours but I think I’ll do it, and go out with him before you get home. It’s time for some mother-son time. He’s been acting strange, too. Maybe I can get him to open up.”
“Good luck. All of his problems and concerns begin with a capital ‘K’ and end with an ‘I.’”
Xenia laughed at his words.
“Yeah, he is truly smitten with Asia. This is the worst crush to date. Anyway, I’ll let you go. I love you, baby, an
d I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Love you too, beautiful. See you tonight.” Saint disconnected the call, feeling a tad more at ease after hearing his bride’s beautiful voice, regardless of the fact that her message distressed him. He had to keep calm for the both of them—no sense in fueling the fire. He told himself he’d watch Ira closely; some things were just not adding up. He had his suspicions, but he didn’t want to jump too soon before having all the facts. The best-case scenario was that the young man was having some adjustment issues. He prayed that’s all it was, but the nagging warning bells in his mind would not be silenced.
He blinked a few times, trying to sort out the origins of a sudden headache. Sniffing the air, he rolled his window the remainder of the way down. Nostrils flared, he paused. His stomach growled and he licked his chops like some wolf on the prowl.
“Motherfuckin’ great! I can’t catch a damn break. I smell you sons of bitches!” he screamed out, the distinct odor of demon blood on the horizon. He knew there would be retribution for the number he, Jagger, and Cruz had pulled. It had been a doozy.
They’d ambushed the demons, taking cues from Cruz to cover themselves with Demon Child blood from a bastard they’d hemmed up behind a store, sliced open and had bled almost to death before fleeing to their true intended targets. Once they spied them, the rest of their plan fell into play. The group of criminals were cruising away, driving not too fast, and not too slow before they cut them off and blocked them in. Since the assholes had initially thought them compadres of some sort due to the demon blood, they’d pretended to offer help, stating the cops were on their way.
They had then proceeded to drag the bastards away into the shadows of an alley stinking with piss, littered with broken bottles and shattered dreams. Saint, Jagger and Cruz feasted on their demise, viciously stealing their lives in a bloody, frenzied rage. They’d done the same with the bodega thieves, and then made their way to the morgue to pray over the dead body of the man who’d eaten himself to death, causing the demon within him, who’d not yet fled his host, immeasurable pain. It paid to have close Angel Children friends who worked in the hospitals…
