The Bastard

by Inez Kelley

  Above. A collective groan reverberated. Well that partially explained her outfit. The Righteous were just that, righteous prudes. There was no sexual desire in Heaven so none of them had gotten laid in eons. Knocking them off-kilter would be as easy as a flashed nipple.

  Sela’s raised palm called for silence. Vike swallowed his aversions. Like his team, he wanted to face the Righteous like he wanted a nitro enema. The Righteous were the flip-side to the Forsaken’s coin. The archangel Michael had Awoken them as a reward for bravery, faithfulness, goodness. Sure, some of them had killed thousands in their first life, but history called each one of them a hero. Vike preferred a dozen other four-letter words.

  “Let’s give him something to look at, shall we, boys?”

  She settled into her throne, the oversized seat making her look dainty and petite, a sugary bite of candy. A sultry-sly expression hooded her lids as she reclined. “Attend me, my warriors.”

  They moved as one, the circle shifting and regrouping around her throne, facing the entrance. Vike rolled his head, loosening tightened muscles. This felt like a brewing battle.

  “Bid him enter.” Her icy tone rang in jarring opposition to her relaxed posture. “And stay with him.”

  Dray cracked his knuckles and stepped out of rank. Nomad followed, the muscles clenching in his cheek and making his trim dark brown beard twitch. Omen trailed behind him, his nails clicking on the marble floor. The two men took flanking positions, arms crossed and feet planted firm, a blockade of pure pissed-off strength and one vicious hound with a taste for blood.

  The elevator doors slid open with a whisper. A blond man in ancient dress stared for a long moment before stepping into the Hall of Infamy. Firelight caught the dragon emblazoned on the long tunic of a Dark Ages knight. He was tall and powerfully built, a prime specimen of the human male. Young, perhaps only twenty-three or -four, he carried the serious air of a man who had seen death and not blinked. He didn’t blink now when faced with two Forsaken and a hell-mutt. He simply stopped, alert eyes darting around, taking note of each Forsaken’s placement.

  His eyes fell on Sela and a smirk inched out. Confidence and condescension radiated around him. He stepped forward and his clothes vanished, leaving him in nothing but white silk pants. The knight faltered and revulsion thinned his mouth upon seeing his new clothing.

  Vike’s lip twitched. White. Sela liked to make sure they remembered who the good guys were. Of course, good was a subjective word.

  Smack in the center of his chest, the darkened handprint above his heart should have been a commonality. It wasn’t. It just showed how far apart the Forsaken and the Righteous were. Collectively, they were all the Awoken, but the two factions were as fundamentally far apart as night and day… or good and evil.

  “Boys, let him come.” Sela toyed with a strand of hair.

  Dray and Nomad glared, but stepped back. The knight ignored them and bowed before Sela, his back iron-stiff. When he rose, his gaze landed right where she wanted, smack dab on her raised and rounded tits.

  A slant deepened around Sela’s eyes. “See something you like?”

  For four long heartbeats, the knight stared. Then he tore his eyes away. Pink stained his cheeks. “Michael believes you’re failing.”

  She snorted. “Tell Mikey I said to keep his sissy-assed opinions to himself.”

  “He is Heaven’s Champion.”

  “Big whoop. The threat there is nothing compared to life on this plane. He wouldn’t know modern battle if I shoved it up his ass.” A naughty smile played around her lips. “Actually, that might be sort of fun.”

  “Whatever your opinions are, the truth remains. You lost another Forsaken. Genghis Khan sleeps.”

  “I didn’t lose shit.” Sela stretched lazily and the tops of her breasts threatened to spill from her top. The knight’s eyes lasered to the cleavage once more. “Gen’s soul is safe.”

  With a huff, the knight pulled his gaze to the seventy soul-boxes in the Sacred Niche beyond the altar. Vike squeezed what would soon become the seventy-first in his fist. An air of superiority washed across the knight’s face. “You began with seventy-seven and are reduced to what, six? Our number stands at sixty-eight.”

  “Shall I clap?” Sela yawned. “The Righteous guard the gates of Paradise. What are you going to do, fall off a cloud? My Forsaken fight in the trenches, in the blood and dirt.”

  The knight shrugged. “They die in the blood and the dirt while the Ha-Satan’s Third grows ever stronger.”

  “Suck my dick, asshole,” Nomad snarled.

  Vike groaned. This was going to get ugly. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, ready to pounce. Testosterone wafted thick in the air, overshadowed only by the aroma of arrogance that rose like perfume on a heated night.

  A predatory glaze erased the boredom from Sela’s face. “Perhaps there are only six left, but they are six of the biggest and baddest souls who’ve ever lived. They handle evil you were judged too pure to sully yourself with. Don’t you dare come into my house and speak ill of them.”

  A smirk lifted the knight’s lip. “Ill is all that is spoken of the rabble you lead. Twelve soul-boxes have been stolen from the Sacred Wall. Michael questions where your men were last eve?”

  White-hot anger surged through Vike. He’d watched his friend succumb to eternal soul-sleep, and yet he stood accused of theft? His body moved without thought, hand reaching for his weapons tattoo. Sela gripped his arm, her nails biting into his flesh.

  “In time, my warrior.” Her eyes tapered in resentment. “You insult their honor.”

  “Honor among the Forsaken? That’s laughable.”

  Dray’s fisted knuckles went white, the skulls on his forearms jumping with the clench. The muscles in his back rippled as he went nose to nose with the knight. “Laughable is that sixty-eight of you cum smears couldn’t guard a couple gates.”

  “Too busy dreaming of jerking each other off.” Nomad spat a huge wad of phlegm on the man’s bare foot. The knight whipped around, his stance fitted for combat. Omen’s ears flattened with a warning growl.

  Nomad spread his arms in welcome, but his grin was ice-cold. “Try it, golden-boy. You make it through my dog, I’ll make you my bitch.”

  “Stand down!” Indignant fire flashed on Sela’s face as her boot slammed to the floor. The ground quaked and the walls shook. It was but a small reminder that the Righteous was in Sela’s house.

  Dray and Nomad stepped away as she bolted from her throne, nostrils flaring. Dwarfed by the knight, she still exuded twice his power. “Who are you?”

  “Galahad Corbenic.” The knight didn’t lower his face to meet her stare.

  An unfeminine noise burst out. “Galahad? The Galahad? Arthur’s perfect knight? You’re more myth than reality.”

  “History is but a flawed record and humankind an unreliable narrator.” Galahad smiled, explaining something they all knew far too well. “Facts are muddied and oftentimes falsified. I assure you, I was and am quite real.”

  “A real pain in the ass,” Vike muttered.

  “Goodie for you.” Sela twirled her finger in the air. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “Impressed? No. But you will be watched.”

  “I do love an audience.” Long pink hair rippled with her hearty laugh. “Shall I do magic tricks?”

  “Did you?” he asked. “Scion soul-boxes have disappeared from behind the Holy walls. I don’t have the power to enter the Sacred Vault. You do.”

  “Scion?” Sela blinked. “Watch your tongue, Righteous, before I have it fed to you through your ass.”

  His scorn bordered on hate. “You don’t frighten me, Sela. We’ve Holy Might on our side. We’ll discover who took those boxes and I pity the thief when we do.”

  “I took nothing not granted to me. At the beginning of time, I was granted seventy-seven souls to handle Samael’s fallen Third. I chose each with care.”

  With his hands clasped in front of him, Galahad was
the picture of respect and honor, but his cheeks were tight with the effort. “You chose the most wicked you could. You’ve adopted the immoral way of your men. You stop at nothing and will stoop to anything. Perhaps you even kneel in secret to the one now called Satan.”

  Knuckles cracked and teeth were bared as the insult to their leader hit. Vike muttered, “Sela, let me dust him.”

  “No, my warrior. Let him cast his stones.” Her mouth turned hard. “Get out. You bore me.”

  “We’re not leaving, Sela.” Galahad smirked. “The Righteous are taking control.”

  “You couldn’t control a wet dream,” she spat. “My warriors have faced the Third every day and night since I Awoke them. There are none better.”

  He barked a laugh. “Untrue. There are none worse. You’ve had your chance. Soon you’ll come begging for aid from the Righteous.”

  Stone-stillness encased her for a split second. Like before a storm at sea, the hair rose on the back of Vike’s neck. It was a sailor’s warning he’d learned never to ignore. Hell had no fury like Sela when she was pissed.

  “I don’t beg.”

  A cornered animal is the most deadly and Sela was no different. She simply chose her weapons in a unique way. Rage nearly shimmered around her as she returned to her throne, icy waves of barely harnessed power undulating around her.

  “Tell me, Sir Galahad Corbenic, when did you die First Death? The human stories are all so…muddled.”

  “I passed in 497 in the Year of Our Lord.”

  “497? And you have been defending Heaven’s gates since when?”

  “I was Awoken by Michael fifty-three years from my First Death.”

  Sela nodded. “And you have not engaged in any mortal battles since then?”

  Galahad stiffened. “There have been over one hundred attempts on the Holy Gates.”

  “By Samael’s forces, yes, but when was the last time you fought in a human war?”

  “497 A.D.” The answer came grudgingly.

  “Right. And you think you understand humans today? How they live and fight and die?”

  “I highly doubt mankind has changed so drastically.”

  She pursed her lips, a perfect kiss waiting to be delivered. With a casual wave of her fingers, a black handgun formed in Vike’s hand. “Shoot him.”

  Vike didn’t blink. The air cracked and blood spurted from Galahad’s side. The impact spun the knight to the floor, scarlet pumping from his wound.

  “Tell me they had that firepower in 497.” The knight on the floor gasped in pain. “Oh, get up. You’re not going to die from a bullet.”

  Sela laughed then reclined in her seat. She cocked her leg, hooking one pink heel around the armrest. Her fingers slid across her skirt before diving between her spread thighs.

  Vike glanced then jerked his eyes away. Holy Frigg. She was masturbating, her bare pussy as pale pink as her bunched skirt. She took sexual weaponry to a new level.

  Still on the floor, Galahad gaped. His sight cemented on her hand as he climbed to his feet, blood dripping from between the fingers clamped around his side. Despite his injury, a growing erection tented his pants. High spots of colored darkened his cheeks. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You better get used to sex, pretty boy.” She spread her legs wider. “You’re back on the mortal plane. Guns are power. Sex is power. So are money, beauty, drugs and persuasion.”

  “All those can be conquered with honor.”

  “You’re a virgin, right? You don’t understand the power of sex. One good blow job and you’d sell your own mother’s soul.”

  “Wickedness won’t be part of the Righteous’ fight.”

  “Then you will fail. My men are experts on human weakness and vice.” A decidedly sexual moan escaped her lips as she stroked herself. “It takes sin to fight sin. Your Righteous wouldn’t last a week in today’s battles.”

  “A man does not have to become the wolf to kill it.”

  “But who understands how the wolf hunts better than another wolf?”

  “The only good wolf is a dead wolf,” Galahad snarled. “You should put your men down like the dogs they are and leave the battle to those better suited to victory.”

  “You know what? You just pissed me off.”

  A gold dagger manifested in her wet hand. Her wrist snapped and the blade struck the knight directly in his handmark. Galahad, the most honorable knight to have ever walked the Earth, imploded into dust that scattered on the floor. Vike sucked in a harsh breath. Sela was candy-coated death.

  “Figures,” she huffed. “Even his dust is white. Dray, get that filth off my floor.”

  Vike tucked the handgun into the waist of his pants and caught the eye of the man beside him. Myth shook his head. “I don’t like this. We don’t need their help.”

  Nomad scratched behind his dog’s ears. “Fucking hell, might as well enlist the Girl Scouts rather than those cuntweasels.”

  Sela said nothing, her eyes focused into the dark. Vike could nearly see the wheels turning in her head, the synapses firing and connecting. It was like watching a bomb tick down. He prepared for the blast.

  Dray rubbed the back of his neck. “It had to be the Third. I didn’t think they could get into Paradise unless they overpowered the Righteous Brothers and the all-wuss band.”

  “They can’t.” Sela leaned her head back against the throne. “Let them fight. From this minute on, none of you go Leech-hunting.”

  “What?” Rex jolted as if slapped. “Fuck that shit.”

  “You’ll do as I say.” Her command sliced through the room.

  A scowl thinned Vike’s mouth. What the hell were they going to do, take up knitting? The Forsaken were the original Dogs of War. They had all been Awoken for one purpose; to fight Heaven’s battle on the Earthly plane, to use their less than noble ways to tilt the balance toward good. If they weren’t fighting, what purpose did they have?

  “Leave the Soul-Leeches and the search for an invisible thief to the Righteous. I’m after bigger game. Who stands to gain the most by waking Scion souls?”

  Realization pulled each of their spines straighter. Sela met each gaze. Resonating from those kaleidoscope eyes was a certainty that soothed every man. History had damned them, but she alone had faith in them. They would not fail her.

  “Only those carrying Holy blood can become more than Soul-Leeches. They become Minions, warriors on the side of pure evil. Samael’s amassing an army to launch a final attack on Heaven.”

  “Just fucking peachy.” Nomad raked his hands through his thick hair. “He’s matching up sides, warrior for warrior.”

  “Yes. He must be close for him to take such a risk.”

  “But even if you don’t count the Glee Club, Heaven has hundreds of warriors, right?” Dray’s fingers clenched open and closed, nerves tightening his arms.

  “When those who rebelled were cast out, the number was diminished by a third, what we now call The Third. There are but six hundred warriors left in Paradise. And one of those precious few has turned traitor. Those soul-boxes were taken from within.” Sela’s shoulders drew back. “The threat level just jumped to DEFCON one. Holy War is imminent.”

  “Ragnarök.” Vike’s breath was the barest whisper.

  Rex closed his eyes. “Apocalypse.”

  “Nibiru.” Myth looked to the floor.

  Omen whined and Nomad stroked his muzzle. “Armageddon.”

  “God have mercy.” Dray crossed himself.

  Zale clenched his fists and looked away, his complexion darkening.

  They’d all known this moment would come. The drums of battle began to beat in Vike’s marrow. Determination echoed on every hardened face that turned toward Sela. She nodded. “Time to kick some ass, boys. Trust no one. You six hold all creation’s future in your hands. We just need a starting point.”

  The woman he’d saved flashed before Vike’s mind. “Tonight, Gen died fighting Leeches in Timberton.”

  Though Vike had ke
pt his voice low, every set of eyes whipped to him. An air of foreboding filled the room. Sela held out her slender hand and he placed his friend’s soul in her palm. She squeezed his fingertips in consolation, a sad smile curving the corners of her mouth.

  “We have Leeches in our backyard?” Nomad’s thick brows lifted then resumed their normal scowl. “This is Buttfuck, West Virginia. They prefer the big city. Timberton has a population of what, ten inbred hillbillies?”

  “We saved a woman. She’s Scion. They Tasted her.”

  Sela’s eyes flared in interest. “Perfect.”

  “Fuck,” Rex groaned. “It’s my turn to babysit the tasty Cake. At least tell me she’s cute.”

  Something primal in Vike snarled. “Stay the hell away from her. She’s Scion.”

  “So? Scions fuck.” A knowing smirk lifted Rex’s upper lip. “Trust me on that one, Viking.”

  “You want to keep your teeth, don’t fuck with this one, Roman.”

  The grief over losing Gen mixed with annoyance at the Righteous, and blended with the supernatural ass-fuck of his daily existence. His fists clenched, hungering for the crack of bone.

  Vike had no qualms about giving Rex a beat-down. Fights among the Forsaken were common, hot and furious. They weren’t sit-down-and-talk-it-out kind of men. Fists replaced words, knives replaced arguments, might replaced logic. Anger was a purging agent, a sandstone to scrape away the sharp layers and reveal the smoothed edges of calm they needed to survive. Sela allowed the fights, even encouraged them, as a release valve to the pressure cooker they existed in.

  Fighting was what Forsaken did and they were shit-perfect at delivering pain.

  Fuck or fight was Rex’s motto and unfulfilled sexual need vibrated, almost visible in his frame. He brought his nose within inches of Vike’s. “I’ll screw anyone I want.”

  “Says the man who fucked his own sisters.”

  Rex growled. “I’ll let you know if the Cake’s any good after I feed her my dick.”

  Vike’s vision narrowed and edged with crimson. His Berserker blood boiled, craving pain and death. A lack of weapons meant nothing. Every bone in his body was lethal.

  The elevator door slid open, but there was no one there. A tall bottle of Gen’s favorite vodka, shot glasses and a pack of incense sticks graced a plain silver tray on the floor. Fight drained from both him and Rex, their shoulders drooping. Fighting could wait. It was time to mourn.