Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  Then the other man was there, smiling, all crocodile teeth and dead black eyes while he whispered a recipe she just had to make. Just for him.

  “I’m tired. Can’t I sleep?”

  “Later, halimah.” Dreamer—what he often called her. “We have work to do, after all. I’ve waited too many lifetimes for this.” He whispered something else, her true name, the one she’d been born with. Not Eden, Christa, Marguerite, or any of the past women she’d once been. So many lifetimes, all alone, waiting for her other half to come. To fill that void she felt even now.

  But when this man ordered her to work, she had to obey. He knew things. He knew her.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when she felt dry lips kiss her forehead. “Come, halimah, give it to me.”

  She felt beyond exhausted, yet something within her refused him. She paused in indecision.

  “The vial. Hand it to me.” He called her by her true name again, something that normally insisted she do as commanded. His allure seemed to grow, his handsome features overwhelming the deadness in his eyes and the sharpness of his teeth.

  “No.” She didn’t know where she found the strength to deny him. A deep knowledge that she’d done something wrong, that she’d crossed a line she’d never been meant to cross, swelled from deep within her. She blinked and stared down through suffocating shadows at the purity she’d created. A stopped container of life itself lay in the palm of her hand.

  Impossible, yet she sensed the truth of it, could smell the vitality that had no real scent of anything but power…and a piece of something more.

  She trembled and closed her fist around the vial.

  “This is unacceptable.” His voice cut like shards of glass, slicing into her brain as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  He pried open her fingers, but the vial had disappeared. He swore and backhanded her. She tumbled to the hard wooden floor, smacked her temple, and slid into unconsciousness.

  When Eden woke, she saw nothing but darkness. Disoriented, confused, and scared, she struggled to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. There, she turned on the light and stared at her reflection. No bruising, not even a lingering ache in her head to tell her the awful experience had been anything but a dream.

  Chalk up the nightmare to weird occurrence number three hundred and five in my screwed-up month. October is really sucking this year.

  With a relieved sigh, she headed toward the kitchen, where she noticed the time.

  “Three in the morning? What in the world?” How the heck had she lost nine hours? She’d arrived home at a little after six yesterday.

  Suddenly famished, she foraged in the fridge and, standing over the center island, ate all the leftovers she could find. Cold chicken, a macaroni salad, pudding, beets, a few tomatoes, then topped off her meal with an entire pint of mint ice cream. Finally sated, she leaned back against the counter and stared at the many containers around her. An unquenchable thirst followed her hunger. After drinking three glasses of water in rapid succession, she left the kitchen and barely reached the bathroom in time to throw up her haphazard meal.

  She heard a buzzing in her mind, a command to bring something somewhere. Yet everything in her resisted the idea. She felt wrong obeying that inner voice.

  Then a strong flash of masculine satisfaction, a warmth that she’d been missing for so long, whispered his approval. So different from the commanding voice, this one seduced with loving acceptance.

  After she brushed her teeth then fell into bed, she wondered if she’d finally tipped over the edge of strange into full-on crazy.

  What the hell? What is wrong with me?

  Set glared in distaste at the pathetic female before flicking his fingers at the scrying mirror to erase her image. Something had gone wrong. A minor complication, but he didn’t tolerate surprises. How had the mortal denied him? For centuries she’d obeyed his dictates without a whimper of protest. Yet today, when he would finally have had the Elixir of Life in his grasp, she denied him.

  Denied him—the Lord of Chaos! Unthinkable, and completely undesirable. If the other gods found out he’d been disobeyed by a mere mortal, he’d lose what little credibility he’d regained over the years.

  His precious son had only recently begun speaking with him again. Anubis lived in a continual snit. The boy believed in justice and still wanted to think that Osiris, that ass, had fathered him. Set’s brother Osiris was a stick in the mud, a god not worthy of ruling over the dead. Set could do so much more with the power of so many souls.

  To Set, nothing was as beautiful as the discordant notes of conflict and strife. He had a purpose in the many worlds, just like the others. Unfortunately, the sanctimonious gods kept a close eye on him, as though better than him because they followed the rules.

  But who knew better than Set that rules were meant to be broken? He cared naught for the worship of the righteous, not when being bad was so much more fun. Had he not been so much better than those in the other pantheons, he might have given the mischievous Loki and Raven some company. Alas, the Norse and Native American deities thought of little more than mundane conquest. Ludos Deorum meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but try telling that to competitive gods with nothing better to do than wreak havoc on mortals.

  Set planned to rule the worlds. All of them. But he needed to put the proper pawns in place first, to fulfill the prophecy. That stupid, sanctimonious Tariq refused to comply. It was bad enough when Tariq rebuked him, though torturing the deluded guardian throughout the years had been a delight, and it staved Set’s boredom with the current Games. But now this? A mortal telling him no?

  “Ziyad, to me.”

  In the blink of an eye, his trusted manservant, Ziyad, knelt before him. “Yes, my lord?”

  Ziyad knew his place. Once a member of Anubis’ Elite, Ziyad had seen the future, and it didn’t belong to the just. It belonged to those who would take what they rightfully deserved. As Set planned to take his due place as Lord of All, in accordance with foretold scripture.

  “Bring me the human.”

  Ziyad paused. “Any human in particular, my lord?”

  “The one you’ve been proverbially fattening up for slaughter.” He smiled. “The virgin.”

  Ziyad rose, bowed, and disappeared. He returned moments later holding a pretty, young redhead by the neck as she screeched, begging and pleading for her life. “She has seen eighteen cycles, my lord. One of your most devout.”

  Set stared into her eyes and saw a surprise. “My, my. You’ve been busy. Why did you kill your father, girl?”

  She stared at him wide-eyed, her fear turning to awe, and started babbling. He caught his name in a revered tone, pleased when she lowered her gaze and bowed her head in obeisance.

  “He said you did not exist, that I was a fool for believing in you.”

  “You did well.” For a mortal. “You hold your virginity in high esteem.”

  “Yes, Lord Set. I am your humble servant. I follow all the protocols.”

  Set raised a brow. “Then, girl, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent?”

  She frowned but kept her head bowed. “I am a virgin, and I offer you sacrifice each month as a sign of my fidelity. I did not know I should bathe in the blood as well.”

  “Hmm.” He didn’t like her explanation. Ignorance was no excuse for flouting his directives. He studied her and noticed how pretty she was. His servant, humble and attractive. Yes, time to put the next part of his plan into action. He smiled and whispered to her.

  A tear dripped down her cheek, and she trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, yet she did not deny him.

  Hours later, awash in all sorts of unmentionable fluids, he dressed. The girl had been divested of her virginity in every way possible and lay upon his bed like a broken doll. Her mind had fractured under his tutelage. He traced the pieces of flesh he’d rent and stitched back together with a thought. So many marks over her body. All that lovely red, in her h
air, over her skin, between her legs…

  He summoned his man, and Ziyad appeared. He glanced at the girl, disappointment on his face. Ziyad did like to inflict his share of pain, and Set normally let him indulge. “Shall I clean her up, my lord?”

  “Yes, Ziyad. She’ll do what I need.” The girl had been ridiculously easy to break, but she’d serve his purpose. Like every other mortal he’d dealt with—with the exception of Eden, as she now called herself.

  With a frown, he left Ziyad to his duty and stalked into his spell room. A quick glance into his scrying mirror showed Tariq and his men arguing and laughing as they showered in the large bathing chambers within their headquarters in the mortal plane. And there, Tariq’s weakness—clear affection for his fellow warriors. Loyal to a fault, Tariq knew of no other way to be. He always put his men’s lives ahead of his own. For them and for Anubis, the fool would lay down his life.

  Now if only Set could sway that loyalty in his direction… Tariq turned, and to Set’s chagrin, Tariq’s back looked fully healed.

  By the blood of Isis, what will it take to harm this prick? No matter how often or how hard he worked over the warrior, Tariq rebounded quickly. Such power in the creature, power that called to Set as well. What had he been thinking to give Tariq to Anubis all those years ago? Sentiment. Bah. Getting to Tariq now took crafty work on his part, enspelling the warrior only when Anubis was away. Not an easy task since Anubis loved his Elite and cared for them as his own.

  Set cast a convoluted spell, making use of a spot of the girl’s virgin blood wiped from his belly, as well as adding a drop of his own to cement the binding. Then he flung his dark magic at the scrying mirror and watched with satisfaction as the magical command struck Tariq full in the face. The others saw nothing but water run over his eyes and cheeks, but Set knew the burning Tariq felt as his orders seeped inside the void where Tariq’s Ib should be.

  Tariq glared right at Set, seeing through the dimensional window connecting them. Still, he bowed his head, obeying the unspoken order. Set nodded and closed the window into that world.

  He once again called for Ziyad, who appeared out of thin air holding the girl by the arm. Her eyes were vacant, her body a shell through which Set would work his magic. She still felt deliciously innocent surrounded by an aura of fear. He was amused to find himself aroused once more. Ziyad had bathed the girl but not yet clothed her, and her mortal form was more than attractive. Young. Fertile…

  “You may go, Ziyad.”

  His servant nodded with respect then left.

  Set lifted the girl’s chin and stared into her pale blue eyes that didn’t blink. “I shall call you Zaliki, for you have been well-born today. A virgin no more.” He smiled down at his cock, which was thick with need. “Suckle from my stalk, Zaliki. And I will reward you with a treasure beyond compare.” To be the mother of his child, a pawn he would use in the future. Set’s own demi-god, who could function in Ludos Deorum without breaking any of their precious rules…well, not exactly.

  A loophole none had seen but Set. Should he, for some reason, not get his hands on the Elixir, he had a backup plan. Enthused at his craftiness and impressed with his own intelligence, he urged the girl to her knees, and she opened her mouth to receive him.

  A god’s lust was no small thing. After spilling his fiery seed down Zaliki’s throat, he yanked her to her feet and bent her over the bed. Without pause, he slammed inside her hot cunt and poured himself into her while he noted the changes taking place in her mortal form. The fertile womb accepting his seed, the mortal flesh becoming hardier. Her muscles shifting and absorbing an immortal’s elasticity… Tsk, tsk, Set, breaking another rule.

  He laughed. So much for not creating godly progeny. A little cheat, but what did he care? Now buried in her exquisite flesh, he listened to the music of her delightful cries of agony and ecstasy and planted his seed.

  And the game played on.

  Chapter Three

  Eden had only just woken from another odd slumber when banging at her door sounded. She wiped her hair out of her eyes and grimaced at the clock. Seven in the morning. Joy. She’d gotten another four hours of sleep on top of her nine hours from the day before.

  She hurried out of bed when the knocking grew louder. “Hold on,” she shouted and pulled on a long robe to cover her Trail Blazers sleep shirt. After running her hands through her hair and taking a quick check in her dresser mirror to show her suitably covered up, she hustled to the door, expecting to find her neighbor Jenny asking for a cup of sugar. Which Eden would give her because that meant a plate of cookies as a thank you. She’d gotten more brownies, snickerdoodles and lemon bars that way. Man, she could really sink her teeth into a lemon b—

  She froze, seeing the large body standing outside her door. Oh, hell no.

  Knowing the situation was one she didn’t want to deal with, she hurried away from the door back into her bedroom and threw off her robe. Grabbing a pair of pants, a bra, and a sweatshirt, she readied to dress when she heard her front door bang open.

  Shit. She slammed her bedroom door shut and locked it, scared yet strangely excited, despite her heart pounding with dread. That bloodied bruiser from yesterday had found her, at her home. None of this could turn out well, no matter how much sexier he looked up-close and clean.

  Great, keep thinking he’s sexy while he butchers you like a pig.

  The reference brought to mind the unsettling man from her nightmare, and she paused, caught between the hint of an answer and more questions.

  Then the intruder burst through her bedroom door. “You,” he said in what sounded like surprise, his accent thick, his voice arousingly deep. “Come with me.”

  She threw her clothes at him and tried to make a break for the bathroom. But the man was too quick. He grabbed her and tossed her to the bed as if she weighed nothing. Then he followed her down, pinning her with his hard body and grabbing her hands to stop her from punching him.

  No matter how she tried to budge, he held her still with little effort.

  “Get off me. Who are you?” She gasped, out of breath from exertions that had no impact.

  He stared at her with a frown, his eyes so much richer than just brown. The irises had sparks of amber and a fiery light of intelligence shining within. His gaze traveled over her face, taking an inordinate amount of time on her lips.

  “Well?” Could the guy not understand English? He’d seemed to speak it well enough. She tried to squirm again, and the bastard released more of his weight onto her, smashing her into the mattress.

  “You will cease fighting me.” He put both her wrists under one of his large hands then used his other to wipe a stray strand of hair from her face. He curled the black stuff over his fingers, staring at it, then at her, with an odd look on his face. “I know you.”

  She opened her mouth to retort then thought the better of it. Instead, she watched him as a growing familiarity dawned.

  The man’s eyes widened, and he swore. “I do know you.”

  Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Tense and terrified because, though he could rape her, she, for some reason, hadn’t actually thought he might try, she didn’t move.

  The kiss was so light it might not have been, and she blinked her eyes open to see him, not aware she’d closed them. He stared into her eyes as his lips pressed, and the fire that blazed from that simple touch freaked her the hell out.

  He pulled back as if bitten by a snake.

  She didn’t know what to think. She could feel part of him hard and insistent against her belly. Her own body had betrayed her with one kiss. Her breasts ached for his touch, her pussy flooded, and her entire body wanted more of him. So sensitized to him, she felt his breath in the rise and fall of his frame against hers.

  “A sorceress?”

  Eden took a moment to understand him. “W-what?”

  He stared at her mouth a moment before looking back at her eyes. “Who are you?”
r />   What name had she given his friend? She couldn’t for the life of her remember. “Who are you?”

  “I am Tariq. What are you about with Set?”

  At the name Set, his voice grew softer, more menacing, and the warm glint in his gaze hardened.

  “Who?”

  “The vial. Where is it?”

  More questions she didn’t understand. “Um, my next batch of perfume isn’t ready yet, but I have some lavender in my workroom out back.” Hel-lo, Crazytown. Why did all the sexy ones have to be so nuts?

  “You wish for me to kill you?” he asked as casually as one requested a latte.

  She tensed. “Of course not.” Her will faltered. “I don’t know what you want.” She tried to be strong, but any way she looked at it, she’d been pushed beyond reasonable since losing nine hours of her life yesterday and being attacked by a giant today. Fear, longing, confusion—all of her emotions pushed her into a weepy state, and she absolutely hated to cry.

  She blinked through her tears, not expecting him to react one way or another.

  Then he did the oddest thing. “One so beautiful should not cry,” he said gruffly and dried her tears with long fingers.

  “Y-you’re going to kill me. W-what do you c-care?” Oh hell, she was all drippy. Such an ugly crier.

  The big guy didn’t answer. He leaned close and kissed her again, and like before, her entire body lit up like a Christmas tree. He sighed against her mouth and let go of her hands. She buried them in his hair, pulling him closer, unable to resist the magic of a killer about to strangle her.

  She knew the insanity of the moment, called herself all kinds of fool, but couldn’t resist him.

  Until he moaned and pulled back to rest his forehead against hers. “Now you must come with me.”

  God, I’m about to come with or without you if you grind into me again. He was huge and hard, and she wanted him inside her in the worst way.

  He swore in a foreign language, pulled back to stare into her eyes, and stroked his finger down her cheek. “What is your name?”