The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  Panting, he looked down at himself. Humiliation coated him and laughed at him from within. The only small measure of satisfaction he was able to hold around his dignity was that at least what he’d ejaculated appeared normal. But when he looked up he froze, almost more horrified by what he saw now than by what had just possessed him.

  Damali stood quietly on the inside of the hotel room door, stunned. Her eyes said it all. Her hand was over her heart and she didn’t move.

  He wanted to die. Couldn’t look this woman in the face. Carlos was on his feet in an instant, and he rushed into the bathroom and locked the door without even glimpsing at her. He turned on the shower and jumped in.

  Now was as good a time as any for the floor to swallow him up whole and make him disappear.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Damali crossed the hotel room slowly, sipping air in very tiny breaths. What would she say to him, if anything, when this man came out of the bathroom? She picked up his clothes as calmly as she could. He didn’t want her? He preferred that to being with her? Okay, she would try to keep an open mind. They’d done a lot of stuff together, but it cut her to the core to know that he would now rather be alone than with her. She took in a deep breath and let it out as calmly as possible.

  Shaken, she found a plastic hotel laundry bag in the closet and quietly shoved everything but Carlos’s shoes into it with trembling hands. She didn’t understand this withdrawal thing, especially as he was having vamp fluxes, and there was nobody to ask about this. She reminded herself that she was no prude; they’d explored a lot of things together. It was his body; he didn’t have to share his sexuality with her. It wasn’t a betrayal if he wanted to get his shit off all alone. That was cool. She shouldn’t have been shocked. No reason to be upset. She’d walked back into the room unannounced, too early. He’d asked for time to himself. Right, right, be cool, girl. This wasn’t a betrayal or anything to wig about. This was … this was … Aw, hell, she didn’t know what this was. But it wasn’t Carlos.

  Damali moved like someone had punched her, in stiff, dazed motions to get her ID and some money, a credit card, oh … the room key she’d forgotten…. She was supposed to be getting something to eat. Not likely now. How was the door open, though? It had locked behind her.

  She crossed the room, picking her way along what felt like a vast expanse, pulled the Do Not Disturb sign off the inside knob, and stared at it. Then she quietly slipped out of the room, hung the privacy marker on the door, and walked down the hall. The elevator was taking too long. Her panties were wet. The image of him on the brink swelled within her mind. Her physical reaction was in-congruent with the emotions that seized her heart. The stair exit called out to her. She needed fresh air.

  She found herself running, not really looking at where she was going—just bolting.

  Images slammed against her brain in stop-start patches of lit bursts framed in darkness. Carlos was on her back deck, half nude, wrapped only in a towel. Blackness. He lifted his head and smiled. Blackness. Sweat trickled down the center of Damali’s back as she stopped in the stairwell, retched, but nothing came up.

  She panted with her eyes closed, trying to battle the next incoming image. “No!” she said between her teeth as she fought to close her third eye.

  But she could feel a dark orb of pressure at the base of her skull defying her internal command. She opened her eyes to resume her escape from the building. Blackness.

  Juanita was in a chair next to Carlos. Blackness. His hands were in Juanita’s hair.

  Damali squeezed her eyes shut as the force of the image made her hold on to the metal stair rail. The kiss was electric. She could feel it in her mouth, along with Carlos’s intent to sire. Juanita’s arousal became her own. Blackness. Juanita was on her knees between her man’s legs.

  “Stop!” Damali shouted, creating an echo in the abandoned stairwell. She clutched her hair with both hands, puffing and blowing out breaths like a woman giving birth, desperately trying to shake the connection. Blackness. When Juanita went down on him, Damali covered her mouth and began walking in a circle on a landing. This time no blackness gave her a second to recover and brace for the next image.

  Her man’s hands were in Juanita’s hair, guiding her furtive bobbing. His eyes were closed, head back, the look on his face … She would slay that bitch! Where was her baby Isis? Damali’s hand went for her hip. No blade. Marlene had stripped it and put it with Carlos’s claw of Heru, along with her stones—gave it to the Covenant to ship while they traveled past layers of international security—now she knew why! Sure, Marlene might not have actually seen it; Damali knew that in her gut as she honed her inner vision to a laser. But Mar knew to remove their weapons. It was more like her mother-seer had Divine insight than witness.

  “Oh, God in Heaven,” Damali whispered through her teeth. “I’ve been here before with this man. But in my house? My house!” Her voice fractured as it escalated until what was supposed to be a prayer was a shouting match with On High. “No!” she screamed. “I don’t have to tolerate this shit!” Blackness.

  Carlos’s hands covered Juanita’s breasts. Damali stood still as the ache he created within Juanita spilled from her skin to Damali’s. Then suddenly, audio kicked in, also kicking her ass. She listened, numb, to Juanita tell him she didn’t care whose house it was. Blackness. Carlos had asked Juanita if she wanted to make a baby together? Was he crazy! The question had been asked in a low, sensual, vampirically alluring, mind-bending tone.

  “I will cut your dick off!” Damali shouted and started to cry. The sex was bad enough—but to want a child with anyone but her? They were supposed to get married! Hell, they were married, in a way. He’d called her his wife, for chrissakes!

  “No honor! Where’s my fucking blade!” Blackness.

  Jose’s face. Her Guardian brother’s emotions shot through her like a cattle prod jolt, standing the hairs up on her arms. Blackness. Krissy and Juanita were hugging. Blackness. Carlos’s eyes were considering the possibilities of a ménage à trois. Blackness. Quiet. Impossible. No!

  Damali started running again. This was so much more agonizing than the were-demon in Brazil. This was … was … Family. She ran though blinded by tears. Her man had grown bored, didn’t want her, and would jeopardize the family house and all the relationships hanging in the balance just to get his shit off? No respect. No forethought, just pure, stupid lust. At a time like this, when the fate of the world hung in the balance—this is what he did?

  She could feel it right through her skin like a stab. This was no illusion, no dream, no internal worry without merit. Her selfconfidence as a woman, his lover, his soul mate shredded and stripped away as she jumped down what seemed to be endless flights of steps. She’d been gifted, or cursed, with second sight long enough to know the real McCoy when she saw it. This had happened!

  A thousand thoughts and options spun in her mind, creating a Russian roulette of murderous intent. Poor Jose! He’d walked in on that? Oh, my God; in her house? On the team? Krissy might get pulled shortly, too? No kid could go up against an entity packing council-vamp capacity! Carlos as mere mortal was fucking bad enough!

  Damali could see it in her mind. Berkfield would shoot up the joint, leaving bodies everywhere—the man would flip, lose it, and die trying to protect his daughter’s honor.

  “No need, Dad,” Damali said, exhaling and inhaling hard as she bolted toward fresh air. “Before all that takes place, I’ll slay him—trust me!”

  But as soon as the thought entered her mind, a muddy, sluggish feeling began to slow her motions. She could now see Rider and Jose walking toward her as she entered the hotel lobby. For the life of her, she didn’t know why she’d been running and couldn’t completely remember why she’d been so upset. All she had was the impression of panic still racing through her.

  Damali slowed her gait to a quick walking pace, trying to rethread her thoughts. The only image that came back to her with clarity was Carlos in their room, lookin
g up at her, mortified, and her shock at what she’d seen. The rest of the impressions were fuzzy and only left a bad aftertaste in her mouth, then even that dissipated. She’d figure it out later, and set her sights on her approaching teammates.

  Her goal was simply to get past them. She didn’t want to talk to another living soul at the moment. However, the pull to Jose came from deep within her core. She needed to talk to him, connect with him. It was an inexplicable feeling, like ancestral knowledge. It just was.

  The closer he got to her, the more she felt sure that they needed to have a conversation alone, although she didn’t exactly know what she would say. But as his clean energy wafted toward her, it drew her like a magnet. She could instantly feel healing within it. Tears of relief wet her lashes again and began to sting her eyes, no matter how she fought against them.

  Jose caught her arm and Rider took off his shades and stared at her.

  “You all right, D?” Jose said, searching her face.

  “Hon, you look like something’s chasing you,” Rider said quietly. “Wanna take a walk with us?” He rubbed his jacket to let her know he was packing.

  She shook her head no. Words escaped her. Jose and Rider shared a look. It was that look that was beginning to shatter her composure. Damali wrapped her arms around herself and drew a ragged breath to argue, but no sound came out.

  “I got dis’,” Jose said firmly, his line of vision holding Rider’s hard.

  “You sure, hombre?” Rider said with concern.

  Damali pulled out of Jose’s touch and jogged away from them.

  He left Rider standing in the lobby and followed Damali down to the marina. It took several minutes to catch up to her and match her stride, but when he did, he just silently walked by her side.

  After a while, renewed calm slowed her pace, allowed her to begin to hear the sounds around her, and feel the comfort Jose provided. Bless him. Always there. But what was there to say to Jose that could be shared without a privacy violation?

  “I just needed to get my head together,” she finally stammered as they strolled along the marina and then found the edge of the beach.

  He nodded. “Been that kinda day. I hear you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Been that kinda year, truth be told,” he said, and picked up a stone and chucked it in the water.

  “Hey! Don’t do that,” she warned half serious and half joking. “That might have been my fifth insight stone.”

  He laughed. “My bad. I forgot.” Then he made a playful dash at the water but swerved to avoid it. “Want me to go get it? Pick it out from the, what, several million pieces of rock in the sea? I will, girl, you know I’m crazy like that.”

  She laughed and stopped walking. “Thank you.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Don’t know what I did, but you’re welcome, D. But I ain’t scuba diving in jeans for a rock—not even for you, baby.” He laughed but his mirth died away when hers slowly became a sad smile.

  She looked down and let out a weary sigh. “I’m so tired. Thanks for always making me laugh. Just being my friend.”

  “That ain’t gonna change. Told you that when I came for coffee the other day.”

  She nodded, but still didn’t look at him. “Yep, you did. I don’t want that to ever change. It’s the only constant in my life.”

  She looked up when he didn’t respond, and saw something in his eyes that she dared not name.

  “Mine, too,” he said quietly. “So, I’m blessed.”

  She told her legs to start walking. This was a good time to do that.

  “What happened back there, D?”

  She shook her head no. “I’ll be all right.”

  He stepped closer than advisable. “If you ever aren’t, you know where to come.”

  She just looked at him for a moment. “I know. And I will.”

  They stared at each other for a long time.

  “What happened this morning when you left to go get Krissy straight?”

  Jose looked at her, shook his head, and sent his gaze toward the water, the muscles beginning to work in his jaw. “I’m cool.”

  Damali nodded and placed her hand on his arm. “If you ever aren’t …”

  He slowly brought his eyes up to meet hers. “Damali, this thing is way too volatile to just put it out there like that, and you know it. Friend to friend, we need to be clear about that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Me, too. Because before you tell me that again, I have to be clear.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard as his hand cupped her cheek.

  “I have to know,” he whispered, “because if you ever tell me that again, and if I ever see that hurt look in your eyes because of something foul he did, I’ll come to you, throwing caution, house rules, lines of demarcation, everything out the fucking window. You understand? Don’t tell me to do the right thing, if I see you looking like that.” He glanced at the water. “Because what I’ma do will be the right thing, and we both know it.”

  He sealed the gap between them in the very quiet, private place where they stood. Both hands held the side of her face as his mouth lowered to hers. The kiss he delivered was gentle, asking permission to enter, gaining that in slow, dissolving increments as her lips parted, found his tongue and allowed her arms finally to hold him. For that brief moment that the earth stood still, she didn’t care who saw or knew. Didn’t care if she was making a mistake. She just needed someone who had never hurt her or frightened her or totally freaked her out to hold her. A man with no history, but who had all the history that was necessary when he’d pulled her into his arms, made her body begin to respond in normal, human levels of want with no magic at all, except what was inside his heart. And she was so dangerously close to the edge of doing something irreversible, if she hadn’t already, that tears streamed down her face and added more salt to their kiss.

  He knew it, she could tell, by the patient shudder that ran through him. The depth of his knowing came through in the heat in his hands, the deepening kiss that asked the silent question—When? They sought an answer with every stroke down her arms, every hitch in his breath, and tried to tell her a long story of hunger denied as though reading Braille against her back. His pulse strummed in her ears, and when his heartbeat synced up to hers she almost cried out and broke the kiss.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and he hugged her hard.

  “I know,” he said, seeming as though he couldn’t take enough air into his lungs. “You don’t have to decide right this minute, but … baby …”

  “I know, but this is gonna change everything, be really messed up … but I can’t go back to my room.”

  “Come to my room, then.”

  She looked up at him. “I should have a long time ago in the compound, Jose. What have I done?”

  “Same thing I did.” He found her mouth again, but this time the kiss was less patient, held agony within it. “I’ll get another room, in a different hotel.”

  She didn’t nod, but didn’t shake her head no. The heat seal between them was too thick for her to move, and his hardness against her thigh said it all. His desire had entered her pores, along with years of hurt, unnecessary anguish…. It made her close her eyes. “I need to step back for a second.”

  But he didn’t let her go.

  “Why do you think I gave you my blanket?”

  She nodded. “I knew the minute you handed it to me and Shabazz looked away.”

  “Then why did you accept it?” he whispered, understanding and confusion competing in his eyes.

  “Because I wanted …”

  “To feel every minute I wanted you in my bed, under it with me, in my arms …”

  She nodded. “But I knew that was the only way I could really ever experience … and I knew—”

  An impatient kiss claimed her mouth, scored her neck till tears came to her eyes. Impatient hands flattened against the Sankofa and made it
burn till her hands found his shoulders again. A truthful moan collided with hers within the soft tissue of a kiss and drowned it in a hard swallow. A gasp that bordered on a blade cut made a decision necessary.

  “I can’t.”

  He nodded. “Knew that going into the first kiss.” He closed his eyes and placed his hot forehead against hers and stabilized his breathing by degrees. “You keep the blanket. You let me know. Even if it lies in a cedar chest for ten years, you let me know.”

  She touched his face and kept her eyes shut tightly. “I wasn’t playing with you, Jose. I’m sorry that I just can’t, not while …”

  He captured her hand, kissed the center of it hard. “You don’t think I know that? No apologies. I ain’t gonna lie, I’m pretty messed up right now, but I’ll live.” He let his breath out hard and stroked her hair. “But to be able just to know that you were feelin’ it, too. That I wasn’t all by myself, trippin’.” He made her look at him, the quiet passion beneath the surface of him welding her to him. “And if you ever need to open your third eye to come visit me,” he whispered. “Do it. I don’t care who I’m with. Permission to enter and blow my mind like this any time.” He smiled. “If I could return the favor, know that I would.”

  She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and knew she didn’t have to nod for him to know that his suggestion wasn’t out of the question. “We’d better get back and get our heads right, if we’re gonna deal with reality as friends.”

  He nodded and then dragged his nose across her shoulder, up the side of her neck, and into her hair. It was the way he did it, slow, agonized, his lids sliding shut as she saw him imprint her scent into his memory bank until the day he died. Her knees threatened to give way. The sensation of the olfactory imprinting process connecting to every erogenous zone in him sent a hard shudder through her that she couldn’t hide. She felt that create a shiver that linked their spines and made them have to part and literally shake it off, if they were going to be friends. He tilted his head and glanced at the pounding surf.