by Kai Leakes
“Well, sis, this is going to work out.” Kyo smiled as Sanna nodded. She couldn’t help but to think, What is my godsister? Why does she need protection?
Shaken out of her thoughts, she felt her brother and cousin at the door as they suddenly swiped the key. She had always known when her little brother was around. Could feel him as she breathed, and now she understood why. Dragons within families could sense each other as a protection mechanism.
She smiled at her family as they both looked at her wide-eyed.
Takeshi strengthened up on his crutches, getting up from the couch, and watched in awareness as Miya bit her lower lip and cast her eyes to the floor, suddenly looking at her nails. It looked as if her bright yellow-painted nails were changing colors like a kaleidoscope, which had Kyo confused.
Take frowned and rested his hand on Miya’s shoulder as he calmed her, her nails returning to their bright yellow sheen. Yeah, her family was something special and powerful, something unique altogether.
Chapter 11
Khamun sat with a cold smirk on his face. He sat complacent at the Dignitary Council meeting with Marco and Lenox at his side representing his House. A month had passed, and submitting the documents for Sanna, her family, and the Satous had happened with ease, thanks to Kali’s brilliant mind. The council had no idea what Sanna really was and was not interested in learning more about a minor newling house. It was good that the announcement of that house being attached to him was suddenly dismissed. He would thank his mother for that later. Now he sat listening as the council bellowed with covert anger, all while his father sat watching in discernment.
“He placed his seat on bid! He cannot return and take over as head of the Dignitary Council,” one young cats almost screamed. His white-as-chalk, fluffy-as-cotton wings shook in annoyance as if he was a PMSing teenage girl.
Khamun slightly chuckled at the image.
“Protocol states that, for him to return and regain his seat, he must have been active in council meetings, which he has not!” This came from an older male, whose mate stood at his side nodding her pretty golden ringlet head, her face red with restrained fury.
“My husband is right. This is an outrage!”
“The only outrage in here is the fact that your grown ass has Shirley Temple curls in your head,” Marco muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. He sat back reclining in his chair, an arm resting over the back of the chair next to him.
Another outrage was the fact that no one in the council addressed him by his royal rank, yet another display of disrespect. Khamun deliberately chose to ignore the slight of the council as he laughed under his breath at Marco’s comment.
Leaning forward, Khamun stood and slid his arms behind his back as he looked down from his House’s private balcony section.
“You . . . you cursed half-breed bastard!” ripped from the golden-haired woman’s pursed lips, her eyes focusing on Marco and Khamun as she pointed a delicate finger.
Khamun’s amber eyes flashed at the affront, the gold ring around them pulsating as his fangs dropped and his own wings slowly extended.
Marco and Lenox both leaned forward in unison, cold smiles sharply appearing on their faces, their hands ready to draw whatever weapon they so chose, as they represented their house to the fullest.
“Would you mind repeating that again, Madam Council member?” Khamun slowly asked, each syllable dripping with controlled anger as he watched the woman sputter, staring her down like the bitch she was.
His voice radiated with a coldness that blanketed the whole room, and he felt his father’s eyes focus on him in quiet amazement. Briefly glancing toward his father, he felt his mother’s warming care wrap around him in pure love while she watched from her own House seat.
This was a first. He had never shown his wings in public after he started going through his change. But because a simple bitch had triggered his anger, he now stood in his other form, his Reaper wings spread for all to see. He inwardly chuckled as he closed them, cleared his throat, and slid his hands behind his back.
His head slightly tilted to the side, he stood in his six seven glory, dressed in black pinstriped crisp-cut slacks, black leather shoes, and a sleeve-rolled-up, white tailored shirt accented with a black vest, his locks French-braided down his back.
“Now, we are all familiar with protocol, and the Madam would be correct, but as is also stated, I may have representatives from my House to act in my place, since I am often busy with Guardian obligations as was dictated to me at birth. Am I incorrect in my approach, Lord and Lady Elders?” Glancing at the row of Grand Elders, he could see the muscle in his father’s jaw ticking.
The Region King focused his attention squarely upon the woman who had the nerve to disrespect his family’s way.
Khamun swore he could see warming respect in his old man’s eyes, and that kind of support made him stand proud.
“Region Prince V’ance would be correct in his assertion. He has a right to his chair. Protocol has not been breached, since he has had a constant representative in his place. Council members who are active constabularies do have a reprieve in allotting a member of his or her house to stand in place of said council chair,” an Eldress stated.
Her sea-green eyes turned toward Khamun’s as a soft smile sparkled in her eyes before disappearing. She was a beauty. Her red curly tresses framed her cinnamon dark skin, her curvy frame hidden behind the ceremonial robes of an Elderess. He knew she had to be many centuries old though, to the human eye, she appeared to be a young-looking forty-five.
Khamun’s father leaned forward to address the room and state his point. “Those who wish to contest this may do so, as is their right, but we can sit here all day or move on with our business for the day or resort to derision and reprehensive conduct.”
“I contest!” a voice shouted out, as another rumble moved through the hall and rose like a quiet sea storm.
Khamun, his father, and several council Elders all rolled their eyes. A mental exasperation ripped through the quiet storm. His father, the High Elder, sat back in his chair, arms crossed, as he stared at a young, chestnut, shaggy-haired man dressed in a grey suit. His olive-toned skin slightly glowed, and his dark Armani shades gave away his sunlight aversion, marking him a Dead Wrath Angel.
“State your case.”
“I am Gregory Ryan de Mer’ce of House of Mercy. The House of Templar is an unauthorized working Line, regardless of its royal claim! They are nothing but mutts who play Protectors, Guardians, and other so-called titles. They have done nothing but cause havoc where they were stationed. Innocent newling Nephilims’ homes burned and made open for attack! City blocks scorched and destroyed because their Mystics were not doing their jobs and hiding the teams. This House is nothing but a jest to appease the spoiled brat Prince and his needs!”
Khamun bit his inner cheek, trying to rein in his anger as coldness filled the hall with each slow breath he took. Dead Wrath Angels were just as ostracized as his own house, due to the fact that they were a Nephilim race that scared the hell out of some in Nephilim society. This fear arose due to their ghostly, temperamental behavior and rumored aims to gain titles and ranks at any cost. After the Great War, many Wrath Angels died out or survived by being broken, due to torture, or, as this bastard in front of him who was trying to start more shit, survived through death.
Through dying, Wrath Angels were able to preserve their souls from being taken to the Most High. This act resulted in their soul forming a sort of barrier that showed over their skin, casting a misty glow, like water droplets on the skin. They say this new race of Wrath Angels was pardoned by the Most High himself, due to their sacrifice in the Great War, and they were allowed to reproduce with hope that pure Wrath Angels would be born. Unfortunately, through the generations, they weren’t trustworthy, and no pure Wraths were ever born.
Slowly standing, Marco brushed his arms off. He was dressed in all black. Black slacks, black-and-red pinstriped button-down
shirt, sleeves rolled up at his elbows, and black leather shoes. He had just cut his long hair off, leaving him with a wavy ultra-low fade. The hazel ring around his grey eyes flashed as he licked his lips.
Dimples played in cheeks, accenting the newly grown goatee around his mouth as he smirked, then addressed the bastard below. “It is interesting to me, coño cara, that you have the unmitigated gall to disrespect the Region Prince and this House. Let alone the members of both councils with your pathetic groupthink. This House is certified and authorized not only with its own Royal Garrison but with its own—”
Khamun watched his cousin through narrowed eyes. He quietly whispered to him “Marco, this fight is not worth it. Let them think what they want and do not reveal our hand, man.”
“Coño carajo, cousin! Get the fuck outta here. They disrespect our family and you want me to chill? Naw, now it’s time to put their slimy asses in their place, especially that fucking Death Wrath! He feels off to me, man. Remember I told you some of these so-called goody-goody Society folk would drop Death Wraths at our door as gifts and we’d return them as spies via the bite?”
Khamun narrowed his eyes, bowing his head, pleased that Marco was in the same mind frame as he. “He’s a Phantom,” Khamun calmly said, watching the bastard.
“Right. I can taste that shit on my palate, homie.” Marco rubbed his hands together.
Lenox brushed his thighs off and stood as well. “You know the game, fellas. Only way to tell is via the eyes and to check for the bite. So until we can get him cornered and alone, which I doubt will happen, we have to play the game. As you see, his House is thick, and he is well guarded. We have to get him alone and handle what we do. So let me end this meeting and sucker-punch their asses so we can be on our way.”
“Do you, man,” Khamun stated with a smirk on his face as he stepped back, making the coldness in the room simmer down.
Marco glanced at Gregory one last time, storing his shifty face to memory before sitting.
Lenox loved this part of his job. All eyes on him, he knew the women of the hall were drinking in his six six frame. His black wavy hair curled at his nape. His icy blue eyes darkened with his mood, which offset his almond milk skin and his black slacks. His white shirt was unbuttoned to show a peek of his chiseled chest, which had many women sending mental lust shots his way as he made way to address the council. The game was on, and he was ready to go into his lawyer mode.
Getting under the skin of these prissy bastards made Lenox’s dick hard. He crossed his arms, scanned the whole hall, and nodded at the High Elder, as his arms uncrossed and slid behind his back. “Council members and Elders, let us resolve the discourse, for this is going on too long. Fellow dignitaries, for those of you who despise us as if you were Cursed yourself, as the House of Templar and Vengeance House Garrison Notary and personal legal representative, as I am for many Houses here, you know my work well, and every document you contest with your Royal member is also in order.”
Narrowing his eyes, he scanned every face in the hall, even the Elders’, just to see if his point was starting to process, and he inwardly smiled as the “Oh shit” face began to appear on many dignitaries’ ignorant stares. “To question a Royal and his documents is to question my professionalism, and I will not stand for that, let alone the disrespect to my Houses. In saying so, any more contests will now go through legal court, and any injustice my clients feel will be rewarded as seen fit.”
The room became silent in fear as Khamun noticed his father stand. His own fury slapped everyone in their faces as he walked off, promptly signaling the end of this witch hunt on his seed and his House.
Another Elder cleared his throat and eyed the councils. He said, “Your arguments have been recorded, and we have come to our judgment. The House of Templar will retain its seat and merge with the Royal House of Vengeance as was stated. Any more appeals will be met with an Elder judiciary council. So say it, so shall it be. Councils are adjourned, and we send blessings to Region Prince V’ance de T’em. Welcome home, My Lord. Your seat as Dignitary leader is officially processed.”
Khamun knew in this moment that he had shown his father he could handle not only his own house but the pricks of Society. He also knew that all of this had only gone on so long as a means of his father making a point to him. Which, of course, ticked him the hell off but made him smile. Society had seen what his House was about and also now knew he was something they had no clue about. He was back with major work to do, and now the gossip would begin.
Sanna couldn’t wrap her head around at the ease she now felt being in Chicago. At one point she thought she’d open up a restaurant in Atlanta. She just wanted to get away from the dull Midwest and start fresh. But now, as she stood a month later going over building details for her new home and restaurant, while Kyo spoke on the phone with different food merchants, that want just changed.
Shifting through different documents, Sanna tapped her hand against her thigh as she read and signed various papers. She finally felt some peace of mind.
It had been crazy going over the damage the fire had done to her family home, her second restaurant, and her apartment in St. Louis. Her mother had lost almost everything. Pictures, items from her father, and childhood stuff seemed to strangely survive, and she was grateful for that. As for her home, it seemed that the fire ate everything. All her clothes. Yet her important items, such as her degree diploma, birth certificate, social security card and more made it through the blaze. All the things they needed to transition seemed to endure.
She sighed, rubbing her temples as she looked over the insurance forms for this new place, as well as the one from St. Louis. Her migraines had been flooding her more frequently, and she knew it had to do with stress. Even though she was coming at ease with the new Aset: Chicago restaurant, and the many patrons who used to drive down from Chicago to St. Louis just to eat at Aset were creating a buzz she appreciated, stress was still driving her.
This new restaurant was vastly different, since she had to rebuild twice. She figured that she’d freshen it up, do something new, and combine a small private cooking school with personal chef assistance available, which was something Kyo wanted to always do. She knew already that her unique fusion restaurant would generate something good, and nothing but positivity was going to come from it all.
As she moved around the city and learned her way around, taking the “L,” hopping on buses, learning her new neighborhood, she felt like she was being watched and followed. The majority of the time Kyo was always with her, but it didn’t stop that nagging feeling that someone was protecting her. It also didn’t stop her constant dreams.
Last night she had awaken with the feeling that the man in her dreams—she’d named him Watcher—was surveying and protecting her. He was keeping her from the demons who wanted to hurt her as he found his way into her apartment and held her while she cried. Her face was damp with tears as she woke up and looked around, swearing she smelled faint cologne linger in the air.
She hadn’t the foggiest idea why she was crying or why her skin seemed to flush warm with satisfaction, but it just felt like something she needed to do in her dreams. She needed to cry to release the tension, but when the Watcher was in her dreams, she seemed to never really remember them quite well, especially the sensual dreams.
She placed a hand on the back of her neck, massaging herself, then reached for her tea.
“You seem to be low on tea. Let me refill that for you.”
The deep, soothing voice grabbed Sanna’s attention and had her head snapping up. She quirked an eyebrow as she stared into amber golden eyes, framed by smooth, warm, milk chocolate skin with a light copper tone to it. His smile halted her breath as she studied his braided back locks. Her eyes roamed over his sensually taut running-back-muscled body nestled in a black denim jumpsuit with paint splotched all over. His white A-line tank shirt peeked out from underneath, while his smile seemed to make her body over heat with exotic need while he filled
her cup up with more tea.
“Sugar. Cream. Vanilla. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Am I right?”
Sanna blinked as she nodded, confusion hitting her hard, while directing her stare to his brown work boots. She tried to work her mouth to talk, but all she could do was glance up and stare like a mute. He was delicious. She swore she had met him before. Déjà vu hit her hard. It was her dreams all over again, back in STL with the fine-ass painter and mural, but this was clear, solid reality. If she was bold enough, she could reach out and touch his hard, chiseled body and know this was real.
Once again it felt like she knew him. As if she knew him all her life and somehow was meant to be with him. He felt like her dream, the man in her dream. His voice with that silky deep octave had the hair on her body rising as the blood rushed between her thighs. She had heard him before. She was positive about it. And not just at the hospital.
Her eyes locked in on his plush lips, and she felt like she was Loretta Devine in Waiting to Exhale. The man had lips meant for kissing, and while he spoke to her, she swore he was playing with her mentally the moment he licked his lips. That simple act had her ready to rip his and her clothes off as she sampled his plush mouth. She wanted to see if that goatee could cause a nice friction against her moist bud. She blushed at her crassness. Where in the world did that thought come from? She had to get it together fast.
Exhaling and demanding her body to calm down, sudden frustration made her place a hand to her temple as she reached for her medicine.
“You don’t need that. Here, drink some tea. It’ll calm the headache, trust me,” the man said as he handed her the cup.
