"My Henrik. You know what happened to him?"
"Yes."
"Gone." He snapped his fingers as though he'd made something disappear. "Just like that. A fresh-faced, very handsome boy. Like any indulgent father, I gave him everything he wanted." He looked over his shoulder at Eddie and then at Bridget. "No matter how deviant his interests seemed."
"I wouldn't exactly call bisexuality deviant behavior," she found her voice in protest.
He lifted a brow in interest. "Bisexuality? That's what you think?"
She was confused. "Eddie and Bridget."
"Indeed," the Beast agreed. "I understand your confusion. Bridget? Do be a good... um... girl, would you?"
The gorgeous black haired goddess sidestepped Ezekiel, letting her hand trail down his arm as she came forward. Her head hung forward, the hair hiding her face.
"Show her."
Mesmerized, Theda watched as the full-bodied beauty opened her shirt and unbuttoned her jeans. She wiggled them down to her ankles and unclipped the front closure on her bra.
"All the way," the Beast said.
The underwear, too, slipped from the woman's hips, catching at her knees.
Even soft, the penis was large and heavy looking, the sac beneath round and wrinkled. Bridget's neat fingers pulled aside the package to reveal a fully formed cleft. She waited long enough for Theda to twist her gaze away, embarrassed for the woman, before she pulled her jeans back over her hips.
"My son had a peculiar penchant for hermaphrodites."
Theda found the courage to glare at him. "You're not just a beast, you're a bigot."
"Duly noted," he said, unaffected by the accusation. "Now, as to the business at hand."
"I have nothing to say."
"You did a reading for my Henrik."
"You can't prove that."
"Proof? What makes you think I require it?"
Something in the way he said it made Theda's spine snick up straight. All of those accusations she had laid in Trier, all of those 15th-century men, women, and yes, even children, whom she had put to torture and eventual death. By the end of it all there were less than a dozen people in the Township left alive. Each one of them first harangued with questions they couldn't possibly answer in any way that could lead to gratification. If they pled innocence, even quoting sections of the Bible, she'd charge them with letting the devil steal their tongues for even the devil himself knew the holy word. There was no answer any arrested person could make that could possibly end in the person being set free. Most of them had admitted to horrendous acts that they'd completely made up under the duress of pain. She knew the line of questioning too intimately to let this one man cow her.
"I'm innocent," she said, chortling at the irony and saw she'd piqued the Beast's interest. His brow arched questioningly.
"Innocent or not isn't the question."
She imagined Cathrin of Trier, pulled her face to mind, then laid Ezekiel's over it. Maybe he hadn't changed in this life, but Theda had. She wasn't that person anymore. She would exorcise that demon good and hard.
She fleeted a harried glance around the room, noting the monstrous equipment, the brazen bull snarling his displeasure at the wall, and she realized that this room should be providing her with courage, not with fear.
"I have the feeling it doesn't matter what you ask me, we'll be coming to the same resolution," she said to him.
"Smart girl," he said, stepping closer and leaning toward her so that she could see the beginnings of crow's feet around his eyes. "But the path to the resolution doesn't have to be quite so painful."
"Go fuck yourself," she said.
He straightened up and turned toward his soldiers. She saw Ezekiel take a hasty step forward, his throat convulse as he clenched at the handle of his knife.
"Daniel," Ezekiel said. "Teach the bitch some manners."
The sandy haired general waited for the Beast to nod his assent and then he strode forward and yanked Theda from her stool. He forced her toward the rack and shoved her so that she fell on it, driving a splinter beneath the pad of her thumb. That was nothing. Nothing.
"Tell me what vision you gave him," the Beast said and waited as Daniel rolled her flat on the bed of the rack.
"I didn't give him any vision."
"Shut up," Daniel hissed at her. He grabbed for her hands stretched them out above her head.
She snorted. "You think it's going to be easier for me if I'm compliant?"
He glared at her but wouldn't answer. "She's ready," he said to the Beast, fixing his gaze on hers.
"Ready or not, here I come," she said, laughing, and twisted her head so that she could keep Ezekiel in her sights. She needed to see his reaction as she was tortured. Would the woman Cathrin come forth and take glee in the suffering? Find some vengeance? Her mind reeled back to the apartment and her protests at being put in danger again. The hero saves the girl, not watches her be tormented. But books are fiction, he'd said. They weren't real. The sting in her eyes stole his face from her, blurring out the details. She ended up squeezing them shut against the sting.
It didn't matter in the end. Changed or not, she owed him. She owed all those poor souls.
"My Henrik. What vision did you send him?"
Theda felt a sting across her cheek, and her eyes flew open to see Daniel leaning in. His eyes were pleading with her, flicking past the beast, toward Ezekiel. She blinked to rid her eyes of residual tears, studied the bounty hunter anew, passively. She noted his face wasn't as swollen as when she'd seen him in Sasha's boutique. He was improving. Even the panicked look in his eye had shifted.
"I didn't send him a vision," Theda admitted to the Beast. "I walked him through his own life. A magic beyond any, that's what I offered him. A ride like no other."
Daniel tested the chains at her ankles then moved on to her wrists. The irons rattled noisily.
"Would you like a ride?" she asked the Beast. "I swear it's like no other magic you ever seen. Henrik enjoyed it. His was a wild, wild ride."
The Beast's eyes went hard as chunks of blue glass. "Watch it all, Bridget," he said without taking his eyes off Theda's. "Take this image and all the ones that will follow to your rehabilitation. Feel free to share them with your partners. I think you'll find them a useful mnemonic in your re-education."
He nodded at Daniel who patted Theda's cheek in command. She opened her mouth, thinking to spit at him in response and when she did, his finger slid inside and laid something on her tongue. He met her gaze and locked on it. She remembered Ezekiel telling her that Daniel would have a smear. That she should use it. She wanted to sob in relief.
The old familiar tingle swept into her cheeks, making her mouth flood with water. She had just enough time to see Daniel's hands move for the crank before the bliss started to fill her veins with hot oil, just enough time to see Ezekiel step behind the Beast, that monstrous knife in his hand coming to the front and resting against his master's Adam's apple.
And she had just enough time, a fraction of a second before the sound of the crank creaking in a revolution strong enough to pull her joints from their sockets, to think about the redemptive power of love. Just enough time to thank any god that would listen before the euphoria descended on her.
And then there was no pain, no regret, just mind-numbing, soul-crunching ecstasy.
The End
Continue the Theta Waves Series in book two, Theta Waves Book 2 (episodes 4-6).
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About the Author
Thea likes her tales a bit gritty, a little bit sexy, and always a little bit dark. Her favorite stories involve flawed, angsty beings who aren't necessarily human smack dab in the middle of a dark, unsettling circumstance with no choice but to kick their way through to the light.
She writes a mish mash of thi
ngs, has a black lab she adores and a house on the Atlantic shores where she can see the lobster boats sail into harbor. Life is good.
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Messiah
J.E. Taylor
Messiah © February 2014 J.E. Taylor
* * *
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
MESSIAH
An exiled boy finds a home on Earth, but when word of his survival reaches his planet, his existence not only threatens those he loves, it could trigger Earth’s destruction.
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An Ancient Prophecy...
A forbidden love...
Now, there’s nowhere to run.
* * *
André's abilities have always marked him as special, but fulfilling an ancient prophecy is enough to have him ostracized into the cosmos. Love was his motivation for his attempts to prevent his parent's execution, now in Earth's refuge, love is his undoing again.
The Commander's daughter is off limits, but this kind of love is destiny, forcing André and Katrina to elope.
Word of André's survival reaches his home planet when his image is broadcast across the universe. This time, his very existence may well trigger the destruction of a planet, his haven, Earth.
1
May 2255
God, this is mass suicide.
The auditorium filled with Commander Robbins’s special task force, an elite team built for the sole purpose of keeping humanity from extinction.
He glanced to his side, taking a deep breath and meeting his son’s somber gaze.
This is not your fault.
His son scoffed in response and looked away.
Returning his attention to the auditorium, Commander Robbins scanned the murmuring crowd, and steeled his emotions, locking them behind a barrier, hiding the roar of his heart and the nerves causing his mouth to lay as dry and wasted as the world outside the domes.
2
April 2233
First Colonel Matthew Robbins picked up the phone in his office.
“We still haven’t received a response from the ship, sir.”
He paused and looked out the window toward the bright sky. The president’s orders were clear: seek and destroy unless contact could be made. The precarious existence of the human race couldn’t tolerate another unknown, and with each and every attempt at communication falling on deaf ears, the government wasn’t taking a risk.
Not with the first alien contact in history.
He was expected to carry out the order alone. “Get my ship ready,” he said and hung up the phone. The soldier in him was thrilled to take another space jaunt, but he also tasted the metal tinge of fear.
The first leg of the trip was uneventful. Bursting through the Earth’s atmosphere into space always filled him with a sense of awe, but this time, it was short-lived. His ship’s tracking mechanism homed in on the alien craft, calculating time and distance and the trajectory that would put his spacecraft in the path of the unknown.
Hours passed and the small dot in the window grew as he drew closer. Sweat pooled in Matthew’s armpits and at the small of his back. His tongue scraped the roof of his mouth like a rough patch of sandpaper and he swallowed trying to alleviate the dryness.
Shaking his head, he admonished himself. I’m a colonel in the United States Armed Forces for God’s sake! Matthew shoved the fear into a small lead ball that found its way to the pit of his stomach.
He focused on the craft, studying the data the computers were spewing. There seemed to be no thrusters navigating the sphere. As he drew closer, the readouts showed no discernible windows and communication was still non-existent. He stared at the small craft, and wondered again if there really was life inside it, especially since it wasn’t big enough to carry more than a couple human beings at best. He checked the statistics again and they confirmed a life-form—or at least an energy source—onboard. One that had diminished since they first discovered the craft.
Circling the small sphere, he studied it, the smooth surface reflecting the shining light. Using the extension crane, he plucked the ball out of space and pulled it into the loading bay of his spacecraft, watching the controls. Once the panel indicated his cargo was secured, he sealed the outer doors and started pressurization. When the oxygen display returned to an acceptable level, he punched in coordinates and switched the ship on autopilot, heading home.
Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming the clamor in his chest before stepping through the doors and into the loading bay. Cool steam, like an open batch of dry ice, drifted off the ship. He circled it, sliding his fingers along the smooth, unbroken surface. It was cold, cold enough to numb his digits, and he pulled his hand away, rubbing his fingers to his palm to get the feeling back.
“Hello?” he called, still circling.
No answer.
He put his hands on his hips and looked down. There, barely visible in the satin skin, was a break. Matthew crossed to the crane controls and slowly rolled the sphere. When the panel the size of a small hatchway was completely exposed, Matthew returned to the sphere, studying the hatch. He rubbed his hands together and felt the door, looking for a release, a button, a way in.
The hatch door didn’t contain a release valve, so he moved his search to the outer rims and halfway down the frame of the door, he felt the skin of the ball compress and he pushed on the spot. The hatch popped open.
Noxious fumes escaped from the craft and Matthew coughed, covering his mouth and shooting back a few steps. The heart of a sewage plant would have smelled better. After a few shallow breaths, he approached the dark opening. Matthew pulled a light stick from his pocket, snapped it on and stepped inside the craft.
He glanced around, confused. The inside of the craft was cold like the inside of a refrigerator and seamlessly round as the outside. The sphere had no control panels or any form of mechanical means to contact the outside world and it was filthy. Layers of waste, blackened by time, lined the surface and mounded in the center of the room. Empty cartons of what looked like rations poked out haphazardly from the mess, along with something akin to plastic water bottles, all empty and decayed. His hands shot over his mouth again as the stagnant air full of methane assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water and his stomach roll.
He scanned the room again and his gaze landed on the mound in the center of the sphere. The temperature skyrocketed and the widest, bluest eyes he had ever seen peered out of the filth. Eyes attached to a smear-covered body equivalent to that of a ten-year-old boy.
Shit, how’d I miss you? He almost laughed at the sudden thought. The boy uncurled and crouched in the center of the sphere; his eyes carried caution layered with fright. His gaze bounced between Matthew’s face and his uniform, specifically the United States Armed Forces insignia on his right breast pocket.
“Hello,” Matthew said after a moment, unsure of anything else to say.
The boy remained squatted. His eyes narrowed in an expression of distrust and he brushed his stringy bangs out of the way.
“Ca
n you understand me?” Matthew asked.
The boy nodded slowly. He looked at Matthew’s uniform, intently singling out the flag on the right breast pocket. A crease appeared between his eyes.
Matthew smiled. A fraction of relief layered under his skin. At least the lines of communication are open. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, trying not to gag at the smell seeping into his clothing. He put his open palms in front of him to show the boy he had nothing in his hands but the light stick clutched between his thumb and forefinger.
The boy nodded. “I know,” he said in a weak, scratchy voice.
Another notch of ease swept through Matthew. The kid understood English. “What’s your name?” he asked and stepped toward the boy. A jolt from an electrical force field zapped him and he recoiled, dropping the light stick in the slime at his feet. “Jesus!”
The boy’s eyes widened.
Matthew rubbed the back of his hand, wincing at the reddened skin. He surveyed the room again, slower this time, looking for the controls to the force field surrounding the boy. When his visual search came up empty, he focused back on the child. “How old are you?”
A shrug. “I don’t know.”
Puzzled, he glanced at his singed hand and back. “How long have you been in space?”
Another half shrug and the boy’s eyes turned toward one of the sphere walls. He followed his gaze and stared at the counting sticks drawn in the muck, hundreds of them. He shifted his eyes back to the boy, watching his lips silently count and then press together in frustration, trembling. “A long time, almost too long.”
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 95
