Come Fill Me (The Prophecy)

by Donahue, Tina

  Dedication

  To the Internet and its infinite wealth of knowledge, all at my fingertips. What would I do without it?

  Chapter One

  At the end of the day, Liz Munez’s ex-lover came for her.

  “No, I don’t want to wait,” he informed her receptionist, his resonant voice carrying from the waiting room of Liz’s pediatric practice. “Tell her I’m here.”

  Liz’s hand stalled near the chart of her last patient, a ten-month-old named Petey, in for his well-baby visit.

  “She’ll see me,” Carreon informed her.

  Petey shrieked, the sound moving beyond the treatment room to reach the hall.

  “Shhh, shhh, be a good boy now,” his mother pleaded, having no idea what was about to happen, why Carreon had come.

  Liz knew. He wanted her naked, vulnerable, her body draped over one of his lieutenants, her mouth and hands on the solid planes of the man’s flesh, coaxing it to respond. During the act, Carreon’s trusted subordinates would watch and hunger, their eyes sparkling with lust, waiting for his signal that he would share her as he had in the past.

  Liz stiffened with fury, then went weak with despair. She leaned against the cheery yellow wall decorated with images of Sponge Bob, Winnie the Pooh, Hello Kitty. Pictures of innocence, when Carreon’s plans for her were so mercenary and base. Lowering her head, she tried to stop her dizziness.

  The hall lurched again. She thought of her father. Frail now, helpless, and all because of Carreon. Outrage crept in, crowding out her fear.

  “Get her,” Carreon demanded. Although he spoke with quiet assurance, there was steel behind his words, the same as Liz recalled from when they’d been lovers.

  Unbidden, images of their early moments snaked through her mind, reminding Liz of the carnal games she played so wantonly, too willingly. Carreon’s lean, hard nudity against hers, his sleek body all the more masculine because of his battle scars. His long fingers trailing over her breasts and between her legs, parted obediently for his use.

  When he’d ordered her to go to all fours, to lick his balls and cock, she’d done so without question, her actions fueled by love. If her response hadn’t been quick or lewd enough to please him, he’d brought out his strap.

  She swallowed at the remembered cracks of its leather against her flesh—sharp, precise—the resultant sting and heat on her buttocks intensifying her desire for domination and him. A man like none she’d known. Understanding her need, Carreon had taken full advantage, thrusting his rigid shaft into her cunt and anus, burying himself until their bodies touched and she yielded even more, surrendering everything to him.

  Her body, will, soul and power. He was back for it tonight.

  Petey wailed piteously.

  Flinching at the noise, Liz pushed away from the wall and turned, seeing Sabine, a new pediatrician at her practice.

  The young woman’s hands stilled on her pink doctor’s coat—to the children, a less traumatic color than white. Sabine glanced in the direction of Petey’s hitching breaths, her expression growing concerned. “Everything all right?”

  Her Spanish accent complemented her dark brown hair and eyes.

  Taking the child’s chart, Liz handed it to Sabine. “Do you mind staying a little longer?” She spoke quietly so Carreon wouldn’t overhear. “Can you see my last patient?”

  “Sure. Not a problem.”

  Their receptionist, Dolores, hurried toward them. In her late sixties, the older woman pressed her narrow lips together in what appeared to be irritation or concern.

  “Everything all right?” Sabine asked Liz once more.

  Not even close. Never again, she knew. Not as long as Carreon was alive. With her gift, he wouldn’t die. His men—at least those truly loyal to him—would see to it.

  “Dr. Munez,” Dolores said, reaching them. “Sorry to bother you, but a Mr. Carreon is here.”

  Unable to trust her voice, Liz nodded.

  Confusion swept Dolores’s lined face as though she’d expected more of a response. “He’s waiting in your office with three of his associates. He insists on seeing you.” She made a face. “He barged right past me, even though I explained repeatedly that you still have patients. Do you want me to call office security and have them—”

  “No. It’s all right. Please make certain no one disturbs us.”

  “Of course not.” Dolores’s gray brows lifted. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” Liz lied.

  She forced herself to move down the hall, the edges of her doctor’s coat flapping away from her legs. Drawing in a ragged breath, she caught the light scent of baby powder mingled with the pungent odor of rubbing alcohol and too many flowery perfumes.

  During her time with Carreon, he hadn’t allowed Liz to wear any fragrance.

  “I want you to smell like me,” he’d murmured one night, lips to her ear, fingers exploring her cunt, his directive filled with wicked promise.

  Liking it and his strong hand, she’d turned her face to his and smiled. He’d offered one in return.

  It hadn’t reached his eyes. At the time, Liz saw possession and strength in his gaze, admiring both. Too late, she realized his intensity wasn’t honorable. It was cold. Deadly.

  The door to one of the treatment rooms opened. Squealing with happiness, a child tore out, running straight into Liz. The little girl, no more than two, hugged Liz’s legs, looking up at her. Eyes wide with surprise, the child waited to see what would happen.

  Before even a hint of fear crossed that small face, Liz offered a reassuring smile. “Oops,” she teased, touching the little girl’s wispy brown curls, so soft they reminded her of kitten fur.

  A grin broke across the toddler’s face with her lusty giggles.

  Her mother joined them. “Sorry, Doctor. Come on, you.” Prying her daughter from Liz, she lifted the child into her arms and moved toward the waiting room.

  Liz watched until they were out of sight and she had no choice except to join Carreon.

  Her stomach knotted as she entered her office, stopping short of her desk, messy with patient files.

  One of Carreon’s lieutenants flipped through a chart, reading her notes. His free hand rested on the butt of a gun holstered at his waist.

  Liz frowned at his audacity.

  The two remaining men moved to the opened door, blocking any attempt at escape.

  They, like the man at her desk, were in their mid-twenties, their muscular bodies dressed in well-tailored gray jackets, white shirts and black pants, their youthful faces devoid of compassion. Feral hunger simmered in their eyes.

  They knew what the coming hours would bring.

  Liz was unable to forget, marveling at her previous naiveté. Months into her and Carreon’s relationship, he’d shared her with the man at her desk. To this day, she had no idea what his name was. His thick, strong body was what had mattered as he fettered her wrists to the bed, then took her repeatedly, using every orifice—her mouth, cunt, anus. Carreon had watched her losing all control, listening as she moaned in satisfaction.

  Heat surged to her cheeks.

  Turning from the men at her door, she spoke to the one at her desk. “Get away from that.”

  He looked up, clearly surprised at her command. So different from the submissive mewls and whimpers she’d offered when he’d been inside of her.

  She wasn’t that woman anymore. Not even trying to hide her disgust, Liz stared him down.

  He smirked but did release her file.

  She regarded Carreon.

  In front of her window, he stood, his back to her, his tall frame clothed in an expensive Polo shirt and pants, both onyx black, an ominous color devoid of joy or hope. In stark
contrast, the waning sun streamed over New Mexico’s Chihuahuan desert, intensifying its harsh beauty beneath a sunset of gold, purple and rose.

  The vivid hues called to Liz, urging her to go outside and bathe her face with the sun’s caressing warmth, then run like hell toward normalcy that would never return. Those days had ended more than a year ago when she’d made the mistake of seeking excitement, not wanting or noticing anything except Carreon.

  She still recalled his touch and scent. One of a rutting male who knew no shame and held nothing back, especially his hunger for power.

  “Bad day, Liz?” he asked.

  To a stranger, his question would have sounded downright serene. Having heard him speak the same way when ordering his men to torture and kill, knowing what he was capable of, Liz steeled herself for the worst.

  At her continued silence, he faced her.

  One of his men shut her door.

  Determined not to show her fear, Liz didn’t move as Carreon’s attention lingered on her mouth, then moved to her demure attire—a white blouse, khaki-colored skirt and sensible heels.

  Given the way he regarded her, she might as well have been wearing lingerie rather than business attire. Perhaps he was imagining her nude, bent over her desk, ready to be mounted or whipped.

  She’d certainly invited both activities in the past, enjoying each.

  As though he’d read her thoughts, Carreon’s full lips tilted upward in what seemed to be appreciation, heightening his male allure.

  Her jaw clenched. How many women had he duped with his smile and commanding demeanor? How many had found his shaved head and the earring in his left lobe just the right touch, giving him the look of a thug or a modern-day pirate? Untamed, reckless. The kind of man many females would have found irresistible.

  Liz certainly had.

  Now that she was immune to his male beauty, she regarded him with clinical detachment.

  Good health and strength radiated from his lean, six-one frame. In his mid-thirties, he was at his prime, his bearing and expression formidable, the same as his ancestors. Within him, the blood of the Aztecs and the Unknowns flowed, his heritage no different from hers. A shared ethnicity that should have colored his irises hazel—Liz’s shade—or made them as dark as Sabine’s.

  Instead, Carreon’s eyes were a pale blue, a startling contradiction to his bronze complexion, black brows and that damned earring…a silver eagle’s feather that glimmered beneath the bright fluorescent light. Not once had Liz seen him without the item, not even those times she’d bathed with him.

  Curious, she’d asked why he never removed it.

  He’d explained on a sigh. “It belonged to the first enemy I took down. As he died, I tore it from his lobe.” He studied her face as though to gauge her reaction. When she remained accepting of him, he continued, “It’s a part of him that’ll always belong to me. I’ll do the same, taking a token from Neekoma’s body when I get rid of him.”

  Liz had asked no more, nor had she pondered the wisdom or righteousness of Carreon’s plan. Zeke Neekoma was an abomination to her people, the leader of the clan they’d been feuding with for millennia. In the early days, the conflicts began over territory and resources as all clashes seemed to do. With the passing of time, the hatred between the clans escalated beyond food and land, driven by some of the leaders’ determination to rid their territory of those unlike themselves. Their version of ethnic cleansing. Despite many attempts at uneasy truces, the cultural differences and male machismo resulted in continuing flare-ups of a battle without end, similar to those in the Middle East. A hidden war the citizens of this country knew nothing about, just as they had no idea of the alien blood within Liz’s people and those of Neekoma’s.

  In the beginning of man’s rule on earth, the Others and the Unknowns had crossed deep space, arriving at this planet in their exploration of the universe. Legends claimed that the aliens hadn’t brought women with them, and so they’d given in to lust, mating with the Aztec and Comanche females, leaving a few of their progeny with otherworldly gifts. For those in Liz’s clan, it was the power to heal. For those in Neekoma’s, the ability to see the future.

  The tales never indicated if the Unknowns and the Others would return, but the elders believed it was possible, refusing to leave their territory in the hope that one day their ancestors would come home, perhaps bestowing even more supernatural gifts on their earthly children. Some even claimed the aliens might be walking among the clan now, watching to see if they protected the territory given them, ready to strip their offspring of their powers if they dared relinquish any of their land.

  Liz wasn’t certain if it was nonsense or not, nor could she dwell upon it given tonight’s circumstances. She wondered which of Carreon’s lieutenants Neekoma had shot this time, with Carreon expecting her to heal the man so he could rejoin a never-ending conflict. Her belly twisted at the thought of more violence, what her refusal to help might bring. The consequences would be swift and merciless, unless she found a way to stop Carreon first.

  As though he’d read her thoughts again, his smile faded. Stepping away from the window, he approached.

  Instinct urged Liz to back away. Resolve to defy him, even in such a small matter, kept her rooted in place.

  Carreon’s dark brows drew together even as his body remained relaxed, his manner deceptively casual. “We need to leave now.” He spoke just shy of a whisper. “While the body still has a bit of life.”

  The body. No name, no sorrow, only ruthless efficiency.

  “Who?” she asked, wanting to know which of his lieutenants could be so important to have brought him here, something he’d never done before. “Victor?” she said. He’d killed the most for Carreon. “Roberto?” Torture was his specialty.

  Carreon exchanged a glance with his men. Unexpected delight raced across their faces.

  “Neekoma,” he said.

  Stunned at his answer, Liz advanced a step. They were close enough to touch…to kiss. The thought repelled her. “Zeke Neekoma?”

  Carreon wore a look of mock innocence. “Who else?”

  Liz didn’t understand. “He’s going to die just as you’ve always wanted. So why are you here? Why would you need me if he’s nearly gone?”

  “I think you know.” His expression turned icy. “He’s more valuable to me if he’s alive and well. I expect your help.”

  He expected her to do to Neekoma what she’d done to his injured men. Caressing their naked flesh, exploring the geography of their bodies, touching each part, tasting them, smelling their unique scents, drowning in those fragrances, coaxing them to heal.

  Unable to help herself, Liz stated the obvious. “He’s not one of us.” Within him flowed the blood of the Comanche and the Others. “I can heal our people, at least most of the time. What if I can’t do the same with him?”

  “You will,” Carreon said. “We’re leaving now.” He offered her his hand.

  Liz knew the pleasure his touch could bring, along with pain if she resisted in the least. If she failed.

  The muscles in her chest tightened, not allowing a full breath. Once more, she wanted to run. Needed to hide.

  To where?

  Her mother hadn’t been able to get away, nor had her father. Thinking of them, sorrow and outrage threatened. She forced both emotions back.

  Until her father was safe and Carreon was dead, she had no choice except to use her gift as he demanded. However, this time she wouldn’t give her soul, nor would he claim it. Refusing to touch him, she removed her doctor’s coat, dropped it on a chair and led the way from her office.

  Outside the clinic, a little girl of four or five bolted across the parking lot, her chubby hand fisted around the grape sucker she’d earned for being a good patient.

  “Moll-eee!” the child’s mother shouted. In the last stages of her pregnancy, she struggled to catch up, her sandaled feet slapping the toasty asphalt. “Don’t run! Watch where you’re going!”

  Liz watc
hed in horror as Molly dashed past the other cars and headed for a deserted part of the lot…and Carreon’s black Escalade. Long enough to seat eight, the vehicle looked as ominous as a hearse.

  Abruptly, Carreon stopped. He gripped Liz’s wrist as Molly tugged on the SUV’s handle, wanting to open its door.

  Carreon leaned toward Liz. With no emotion, he whispered, “Say one word to either of them, and they both die.”

  Liz didn’t move. She barely breathed.

  Despite her obedience, he tightened his hold.

  “Come here,” the woman demanded of her child, tapping her foot in exasperation. “Get away from that vehicle.”

  “No,” Molly spat. Jutting out her lower lip, she smacked her sucker against the door.

  Bile rose to Liz’s throat. She hoped to god Neekoma wasn’t inside the SUV. If he was and Molly’s mother got close enough to peer past the tinted windows, seeing what no sane person should, Carreon would kidnap her and her daughter. No one would ever find their bodies within the vast New Mexico landscape.

  “I. Said. Come. Here.” Reaching her daughter, the woman gripped Molly’s arm and yanked her away from the SUV. The child howled as her mother pulled her to the other end of the lot toward a dark blue Saturn.

  Liz’s shoulders slumped. Get her out of here, please. Don’t look back.

  Molly’s protests continued, joined by the steady swish of automobiles flowing down the surface roads. In the distance, laughter rang out, its high pitch decidedly female. A car’s horn wailed. Birds squawked.

  The girl’s mother struggled to get the child into her car seat. Successful at last, she plopped into the driver’s side. The Saturn’s engine sputtered to life.

  On a relieved sigh, Liz lifted her face into the caressing breeze scented with flowers, mown grass and the clean, dry heat of the desert. Her relief didn’t last.

  Impatient, Carreon directed her toward the SUV, the slap of his shoes, the click of her heels recording their quick pace. The young man who’d been reading her patient files went to the driver’s side, while his companions hurried into the area behind him. She and Carreon climbed into the backseats. Doors slammed with a series of solid metal thunks.