Come Fill Me (The Prophecy)

by Donahue, Tina

  At that moment, everything except the Neekoma brothers faded into the background. She no longer heard the water dripping from their bodies or Beyonce’s strong, sexy voice. Liz became a creature of pleasure, her senses overwhelmed by the scent of both men, their powerful bodies and ruthless wills to have her.

  Zeke nudged her anus with the tip of his cock, prepared to enter. The lack of lubrication didn’t bother Liz. Carreon’s lieutenants had never used it, nor had he. From the beginning of their relationship, even when Carreon had fooled her into believing he cared, he’d still demanded she experience a man’s body without anything coming between his flesh and hers.

  Her ex-lover had prepared her well for this moment, and now that it was here, she didn’t want to wait a second more for the pleasure to play out.

  Lifting her ass as much as she could, Liz presented it to Zeke.

  He placed his fingers on either side of her opening, pulling it apart, directing his crown inside. He wasn’t brutal or too gentle. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to satisfy a woman. It took him little time to tunnel within her, her passage stretched to accommodate his size, their bodies kissing, his balls swinging into her cunt.

  With each of her openings filled, Liz went with the program, wanting the men to do most of the work.

  They didn’t disappoint, though Jacob continued to compete. Trying to best the steady rhythm of Zeke’s thrusts, he made his own slow, then fast, then slow once more. The effect was surprising, arousing Liz quicker than she would have guessed. Even with Jacob’s tongue still in her mouth, her panting was loud, filling the space. Zeke slipped his arm around her leg, touching her clit, rubbing it.

  Mother freaking crap. She was way past panting now. Choking back a moan, Liz pulled her mouth from Jacob’s.

  He looked closer to the edge than she felt, his face red from lack of air or what her pussy was doing to him.

  He pumped his cock into her cunt with stunning determination. Zeke did the same in her anus even as he massaged her nub, making her whimper. Their scents and hers mingled, smelling of naked flesh, sex, way better than the soap’s citrusy fragrance.

  Liz gulped the misty air. She tried to hold off and failed, lifting her chin to the ceiling as she released a husky moan, signaling her climax.

  Zeke thrust several more times before allowing his own orgasm. Jacob tried to outdo his brother but succumbed at approximately the same time. They all gasped and groaned. The music continued to play. The water misted. Zeke pulled out of her and sank to the floor. Liz sagged over Jacob’s leg, her pussy releasing him.

  After her prolonged celibacy, each of her openings stung from so much use. She relished the slight pain, knowing she wouldn’t be experiencing it for much longer…not even with Zeke.

  A melancholy moan bubbled in the base of her throat. Liz curled into a fetal position in a foolish attempt to stop it and to protect her heart.

  Jacob rolled in her direction.

  Zeke got to her first, pulling Liz into his embrace. He kissed her deep and slow, widening the divide between him and his brother.

  Chapter Eight

  Carreon stood at the edge of the back porch, his crisp white shirt fluttering in the desert breeze. The fabric smelled of starch. The morning air of damp earth and lavish vegetation that surrounded his stronghold.

  Beyond it, arid landscape stretched for miles, dotted with boulders and stunted Joshua trees that looked thirsty for water. The sun took away that hope, dominating a sky empty of clouds. Large black birds coasted on air currents, their wings outstretched, their cries intrusive and unwelcome.

  His frustration continued to build, and his lieutenants knew. Two stood on either side of him. None dared to make any unnecessary noise as they scoured the area with high-power binoculars, searching for anything that approached.

  Three days had passed since the battle and Zeke’s escape…or rather his seeming disappearance with Liz into miles of desert.

  The man on Carreon’s left stepped forward suddenly, his binoculars trained on something. The other men turned in the same direction. Carreon squinted, trying to see what they did, his body going rigid with expectation and a spike of fear. Had Zeke returned with his men? In daylight? Was he that insane or determined to have his revenge? Killing his daughter and woman hadn’t cowed Zeke as it had done others who’d defied Carreon. If anything, it had unleashed Zeke’s rage.

  Carreon rocked on his heels, prepared to run back into the stronghold, the shelter of his safe room.

  One of his lieutenants blew out a sigh.

  Carreon stared at the man, then looked past, finally recognizing what approached. Nothing more than a dust devil. It rose for a moment, gaining altitude, then spun itself out, the sparse vegetation wiggling in its wake, leaving the ground pristine, unmarked by human tracks.

  He swallowed in relief, then frowned at the trouble Zeke continued to cause him. The prick should have been his prisoner by now, all of his men dead. But no, they’d proved as difficult to kill as roaches. As impossible to find. They were hiding underground, Carreon was certain of it, and yet his lieutenants had yet to locate any tunnels.

  He’d worked them day and night, not allowing rest or food. All the fools had managed to accomplish was restoring the stronghold’s security system and upgrading it to ward off another attack. How Zeke’s men had managed to disable the alarm and cameras, Carreon had no idea. But the bastard now knew where the main stronghold was. He’d taken Liz, leaving Carreon with the problem of her father.

  Dr. Munez sat on one of the wooden benches protected from the sun, the steady breeze ruffling his thick hair, shirt and pants. He was alert, but not entirely cooperative, failing to heal the two men who’d managed to survive. At least in the way Carreon wanted. Oscar and Anthony were seated on a bench next to the doctor’s, still wearing their bloodstained clothes, their expressions blank, limbs listless, their brains not functioning to capacity.

  From the moment Munez had seen them, he’d claimed they were too far gone for him to help and refused to lay his hands on either man. “There’s nothing I or anyone else can do for them,” he’d said.

  “Bullshit,” Carreon had countered. “You’re a healer, so fucking heal them until they’re back to the way they once were, or my men won’t rescue your daughter. We’ll let Neekoma do whatever he wants with her.”

  The older man refused to believe that Zeke had abducted Liz. Carreon dragged the fool through every room of the stronghold, showing him the clothing she’d left, proving he wasn’t hiding her anywhere. When Munez still wouldn’t accept the truth, one of Carreon’s men called her practice. The doctor listened as the lieutenant asked for Liz. Her staff told him she hadn’t shown up as usual, hadn’t called, they didn’t know where she was.

  “I do,” Carreon told her father. “But I need all of my men to rescue her. If you want your daughter back, you’re going to call her practice and tell her people that she’s with you, visiting a sick relative or whatever the fuck they’ll believe so they don’t call the authorities and report her missing. And then you’re going to heal my people.”

  Reluctantly, Munez had followed his commands, at last laying his hands on Anthony and Oscar. He’d kept them from death while leaving them as they were now—useless as corpses to him.

  Approaching the doctor, Carreon gestured to the two men. “Surely, there’s something else you can do for them.”

  Munez regarded the panoramic stretch of land rather than his captor. “I’ve already told you, the damage to their brains was too extensive because of their wounds.”

  “And I’ve seen your daughter heal those who were so close to death the distinction between being alive and gone barely existed.” He blocked the doctor’s view and leaned down, clamping one hand on the bench’s armrest, the other on its high back, cornering him. “You’re a far stronger healer than she’s ever been. One touch from you and the injured aren’t only healed, they’re better than they were before being hurt. You’re holding back. D
o you actually want Liz to die at the hands of Zeke Neekoma?”

  Munez’s mouth trembled with fear or grief, perhaps both. White stubble roughened his weathered cheeks and jaw, aging him further. He was as beaten as Carreon had ever seen him, no longer the defiant idealist who wanted nothing of the battle, only peace that could never be. Seizing the moment, Carreon taunted him further. “Want me to tell you what Neekoma is doing to her right now? How he’s using her, how he’s—”

  “Stop.” Munez turned to Carreon, misery in his expression. “If I could heal these men to save Liz, don’t you think I would?”

  “Try again now.”

  “It’s no use.”

  “Do it,” Carreon ordered, straightening so the doctor could go to Oscar and Anthony.

  Munez didn’t move.

  “I said do it,” Carreon repeated, “or you’ll be the one who dies without ever seeing your daughter again.” He gestured to his other men.

  They drew their weapons, pointing the muzzles at Munez.

  The doctor faced death with a mixture of relief and regret.

  He wasn’t getting off that fucking easy. He was going to do exactly what Carreon wanted. Tempering his rage, he murmured, “What do you think your death will do to Liz if we finally do get her back? How do you think her face will look when we show her your grave?” He leaned down to the elderly man, whispering in his ear, “She’ll be alone, Munez. No parents. No siblings. No close relatives to comfort her, giving her a reason to live. Your death will finally break Liz. Is that what you want? Your daughter without hope? Your daughter looking to me and my men as her new family? What do you believe will become of her then?”

  A faint cry of pain rose from the man. He grabbed Carreon’s arm. His thin fingers held such brutal strength, Carreon started.

  His men rushed forward, their weapons trained on Munez.

  He dug his broken nails more deeply into Carreon’s upper arm and growled, “You’re going to rot in hell.”

  “Not before you do.” He clawed Munez’s hand, freeing himself.

  The doctor smiled at Carreon staggering back, his previous expression of defeat replaced by renewed defiance.

  A bead of perspiration ran down Carreon’s cheek and fell from his jaw, staining his shirt. With all the will he owned, he relaxed his hands, fighting the temptation to beat Munez to death with his fists. “Heal them now,” he ordered, “the way they should be, or you’ll die and Liz will be mine to do with as I please. I won’t make her captivity as pleasant as yours has been. I’ll torture her in every way possible until she does whatever I say without question or pause.”

  Munez’s face darkened. He pulled back his lips, showing his teeth as an animal would when it plans to attack.

  “Take one step toward me and you’ll be dead before your next,” Carreon advised.

  The man continued to stare, loathing evident in his refined features. He gripped the edge of the bench, using it to push to his feet.

  Carreon resisted the urge to move back and take shelter behind one of his men.

  Munez advanced, deliberately reckless, not appearing to care what happened.

  Carreon’s lieutenants turned to him, waiting for his order to fire, their expressions saying they were fearful of making the choice themselves.

  “Heal them,” Carreon growled at Munez. “Make him,” he ordered his men.

  The one nearest Munez grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him toward the other bench, then forced him to put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

  “No, no, no,” Carreon complained, moving closer. “He has to touch his head to heal his brain.”

  Holstering his gun, the lieutenant grabbed Munez’s hands and pushed them down to Anthony’s skull.

  A crackling noise emanated from the doctor’s palms. The sound drowned out the birds’ cries and the hiss of the breeze. Anthony stirred, his eyes widening, his vacant gaze clearing as though his thought processes were picking up.

  Yes.

  “Anthony,” Carreon said, “look at me.” Prove you’re back.

  The young man blinked slowly, an obvious effort for him. His brows drew together as he continued to grow more alert.

  “Anthony,” Carreon repeated. “Can you hear me?”

  The man’s face froze in an expression of confusion that turned to quick terror.

  “What’s happening?” Carreon shouted at Munez. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  His hands remained on Anthony’s head, held there by Carreon’s lieutenant. “Healing him as you’ve forced me to do.”

  “Liar. He’s afraid.”

  “Of the pain,” the doctor muttered. “The process can be agonizing. You know that.”

  Carreon did. With each jolt of Liz’s power, his blood had burned like acid as it flowed more surely through his veins and arteries. However, he didn’t remember reacting as Anthony was now. He’d been near death one moment and healthy the next, taking Liz in his arms, using her as he desired, as though he’d never been injured.

  “Your power’s too strong for him,” Carreon said to Munez, then spoke to the man holding him. “Let the doctor go.”

  He released Munez and stepped away.

  The doctor continued to lay his palms on Anthony’s head.

  “I said stop,” Carreon snapped, punching Munez’s hands, forcing him back. “Anthony.” He leaned down, regarding him. “Are you all right? What are you feeling?”

  Anthony attempted to answer but no words came out. No sounds at all. His face flushed as he tried harder to speak, his lips pursing, then pulling back in a grimace when he failed. Tears dripped from his lashes. Unmistakable terror flickered in his eyes.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Carreon asked Munez. “Can he hear me? Does he know what’s happening?”

  “All too well.”

  Carreon straightened and got in the old man’s face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Munez regarded Anthony with what seemed to be guilt or sorrow, the look a physician reserves for a terminally ill patient. “Portions of his brain died from the trauma. They’re beyond simple healing. He’s retained enough function to know what’s going on around him but not to be autonomous. It’s this state I wanted to spare him from.”

  More tears ran down Anthony’s face. He continued to struggle to speak and to move, lifting his hands a bit only to have them flop uselessly at his sides. Next, he tried to control his feet. They jerked to the right, then to the left in clonic, aimless motions seen in those who suffer from Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s.

  Anthony was only twenty-three, an important part of Carreon’s service. Useless to him now. “What about Oscar?” he asked. “Heal him.”

  The doctor argued, “It won’t do any good. The result will be exactly the same.”

  “Prove it.”

  “No. I have no desire to torture the man, even if he deserves it.”

  Carreon signaled to his lieutenant to do what he had before. Compliant as always, the man held Munez’s palms on Oscar’s head. Minutes later, the conclusion was the same—a nearly alert mind trapped in a worthless body.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Carreon went to the edge of the porch and regarded his domain. Perfect white roses mingled with other flowers in varying shades of pink and red, adding a touch of beauty to this prison. That was what it was now that Zeke knew its location, robbing Carreon of his privacy and the element of surprise. Hour upon hour, his men would search the landscape to see if anyone neared, but the stronghold would never again bring complete security.

  A cautious man might have abandoned this place, settling in another. Carreon wasn’t about to show such obvious cowardice or give up what was rightfully his. This belonged to him. As did Liz and his command. He’d never relinquish a bit of it. If anything he wanted more. He’d heard his people’s stories about the Unknowns and the Others returning here someday. If it came to pass, what might the Unknowns give him if Carreon had knowledge of what happened in the future? A power h
is alien ancestors didn’t possess.

  “Take Oscar and Anthony into the desert,” he said to his men. “Leave them there.”

  “No!” Munez shouted. “They can’t fend for themselves.”

  Carreon regarded the older man, not bothering to hide his contempt. “That’s not my concern. They’re useless to me now. You’ve failed, Doctor, and now they’ll pay for what you couldn’t do. They’ll grow thirsty and hungry but won’t be able to do anything about it, will they? They’ll watch the birds circling, waiting for their deaths. They’ll feel the creatures’ bills pecking at their throats, faces, eyes, eating them alive while they—”

  “Bastard.” Munez clenched his fists. “You’d do that to your own people?”

  “Unless you can heal them, returning each to what he was before.”

  “You’re going to rot in hell!”

  “You’ve already said that. Go,” Carreon ordered his men. “Leave Anthony and Oscar close enough to the porch so the others can see what happens when they don’t beat back Neekoma’s men. When they allow that prick to win.”

  Three of his lieutenants helped Oscar and Anthony from the bench, leading them to their prolonged deaths. Another lieutenant grabbed Munez’s arm, ignoring the doctor’s shouts as he pulled him back inside.

  Carreon followed, returning to his safe room to contact his other people. To find out if they’d learned anything yet about the location of Zeke’s stronghold.

  Thick vegetation shielded the play area from the worst of the midday sun and any aircraft that might pass by. The bosque, as locals called it, received nourishment from a network of aqueducts developed millennia before by the Others. Boys and girls of various ages ran between the cottonwood and salt cedar trees, working off the energy they’d built up during their lessons, dodging their playmates who tried to touch them in a game of tag. From the sidelines, toddlers watched, wiggling within their mothers’ arms. The women restrained their offspring to keep them from joining the fray and getting hurt.