The Bastard

by Inez Kelley

  He didn’t bother removing his jeans. The rough denim and sharp zipper bit into her thighs as he angled over her, into her, with one fluid move. She sucked in a breath. He was everything she craved and more. With his weight on his elbows, he rolled his hips, not thrusting, just pressing hard, firm and deep. His pulse throbbed inside her. It kept perfect time with her own. Their eyes locked, never blinking, as they reveled in the connection that seemed more than physical.

  Erik shifted, lifting her ass, planting himself deeper. Her pussy tightened around him and his eyes slid closed. “Do that again.”

  She did and kept doing it. A harsh noise echoed in his chest as he pushed up on his arms, withdrew and drove home, rocking over her clit. She pulled him closer, her palms gliding up his spine. Iron muscles undulated under her hands and his skin grew slick. The sparse hair on his chest scratched into her skin, a lusciously intimate sensation.

  Time had no meaning. It was just him, her and them filling the night with murmurs, moans and magic of the sexual variety. Breaths mingled, bodies caressed, bonds formed. She met his every thrust, answered every kiss. One huge hand fisted in her hair. His tongue sought hers, found it waiting, and licked each crevice of her mouth. Every time he delved deep, he ground against her clit, tweaking the tiny knot.

  Climax boiled, beckoning her, taunting her. He filled her over and over, hips crashing into hips, flesh meeting flesh, until his name pealed in a staggered breath. “Erik.”

  He stopped. A purely masculine grin beamed down at her. “Ride it out, babe. I want it to be good for you.”

  “Please.” It was so good she wanted to cry already. She bowed up in need. “You’re good for me.”

  “No, I’m not,” he whispered, his eyes melting to silver sadness.

  Something changed. Hanging by a thin erotic thread, the mood shifted to something softer, something deeper, something solemn. He held her at the very tip-top, pressing firm, but didn’t move, didn’t nudge her over that edge. His fingers combed through her hair, stroked her cheek with a gentleness that reached into her bones. A strange longing filled his face and she ached to erase it.

  Cupping his cheeks in her palms, she dotted light, feathery kisses over his face. Her lips touched the corners of his eyes, his temples, the shadow of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He pressed against her mouth as it skimmed his forehead. His breath warmed her shoulder. “What are you doing to me, Lace?”

  She barely heard her own whisper. “Loving you.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  A shudder worked his shoulders as his control fractured and his hips slammed hard, catapulting her over the edge. Reality vanished and she was falling through time and space, clinging to him, her anchor in the intense sea. Erik never stopped, fucking her with powerful strokes until he threw his head back, gritted his teeth and joined her in the dive. Never once did he let go, and at the bottom, where exhaustion and dreams lay, he caught her.

  Chapter Nine

  “No, Annie. There has to be a better option.”

  Vike scowled as Lacy paced the common room, his cell clutched in her white-knuckled hand, arm tucked around her middle.

  “Did you try Marty’s neighbor? He owns a — oh, none? What about that newer place over on Hollingsworth Drive?... Ouch, for a one bedroom? Is it lined in gold?”

  At the pinball machine, Rex turned his head, clearly eavesdropping.

  “No, I understand… I don’t know. It’s going to be a while. Erik and the team are trying but that preacher’s people are like Jell-O, hard to pin down.”

  Vike bit his tongue. Actually, once they found the Third, pinning them down was just a matter of driving a blade into their chest. Nothing hard about it.

  “But Annie, Milton Road? All the druggies hang out down there… Of course, I know you’re an adult. I’m just worried about you… All right, all right. If that’s what you have to do, I understand.”

  “Hey.” Rex nudged Vike’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “Annie’s having some trouble finding a place she can afford without Lacy’s income. Lacy doesn’t have an income right now. And she won’t take a loan, I tried.”

  Lacy’s brows were drawn hard to the center as she chewed her thumbnail. He could read the guilt written across her expression and it gnawed at him. She said her goodbyes and clicked the phone off.

  He sprang from the couch. “You okay?”

  Running her fingers through her hair, she shrugged. “Yeah, I just don’t like that area she’s moving to, but she has no choice. She’s been camping out at the EMS building and with friends, but she can’t keep doing that forever. It’s been two weeks. Neither of us can afford a nicer place without the other’s salaries, but I don’t know when I can help her.”

  Rex strolled into the kitchen, and Lacy dropped to a whisper. “It’s not just rent. We lost everything. She’s starting from scratch because of me.”

  “Lace, just let me give you the money.” Vike rubbed her arms, unsure how to make her accept. He’d never had any woman refuse gold before. Granted, this wasn’t gold but green.

  Her shoulders squared. “No. It’s too much like prostitution for me. You’ve bought me so much already.”

  It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell her he’d had no problem with prostitution. Instead, he stroked her cheek. “So we’ll figure out a repayment thing for later, when this whole mess is over. You need the cash now.”

  “Back off, dude, we got this covered.”

  Dray carried his plate, still finishing his waffles. Omen had traces of sausage gravy along his snout and licked his chops. Nomad had three biscuits in his hand. Myth carried his tea mug and rounded out the group. The men settled into the sectional sofa as authority pulled Rex’s shoulders back. Though not quite six foot, the regal stature made him look invincible. He could easily have been a politician addressing Congress or a lawyer facing a jury.

  “We’re nosy, we overheard, and we have a solution. The four of us want to hire Lacy. Job’s temporary and under the table, paid in cash every week.”

  Myth blew across his cup rim and never raised his eyes. “Apartments cleaned, breakfast and dinner daily, common areas maintained in exchange for a fair salary.”

  “I fucking hate laundry. I’m in for just that.” Nomad tossed half a biscuit to the dog. Omen lunged, caught it and inhaled it without chewing.

  “Do you know how to make jambalaya?” Dray shoved a huge fork of syrup-dripping waffle into his mouth.

  Lacy’s eyes were bright as she bit back a smile. “Only if you like it super spicy, with Andouille sausage, peppers and spiced shrimp.”

  His head snapped toward Rex. “I’ll pay double.”

  “Wait.” Lacy held her hand up. “I appreciate what you all are trying to do but I don’t mind—”

  “We mind.” Omen nosed Nomad’s leg for the last biscuit. “Get away, buttsniffer, this is mine. Look, I don’t like owing anybody shit. Take the job or quit cooking.”

  Dray looked horrified. “Please take the job.”

  Gratitude ached in Vike’s throat. These men, these hated warriors, the pariahs of history, were offering her their charity hidden behind domesticity. Not a one believed she couldn’t see through the lie.

  “Please, Lacy.” Rex employed every drop of his debonair charm. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. “We’re not allowed to own slaves anymore and yet, we’re selfish sons of bitches. Let us keep using you.”

  “You guys are the sweetest things.” Tears broke through her voice, but didn’t fall from her lashes. “Okay. Thanks. I take dinner requests, you know. If any of you have a favorite meal or—”

  “Lamb stew,” Myth piped. “With heavy tomato cream, turnips, leeks.”

  “I’ll eat anything.” More waffles disappeared as Dray chewed.

  “I don’t give two gerbil fucks about food, but don’t use any starch in my shorts.” Nomad scratched at his hip.

  “You haven’t asked what we’re paying,” Rex reminded.

 
Lacy shrugged. “You’ll be fair. I trust you.”

  Silence fell like a bomb. Dray stopped chewing, Nomad stopped scratching and Myth merely blinked. Rex took a step back. Vike could have dropped to his knees right then and kissed her feet.

  “I better get breakfast cleaned up if I’m going to start playing maid.” She squeezed his arm, took Dray’s empty plate and left the room. Not a single man moved, their eyes still on the empty door. Inside the kitchen, Lacy started singing.

  “You lucky bastard,” Myth mumbled.

  Using some clever contextual clues in an old Hindu story, Myth came up with seven possible locations for Samael’s soul-storage locations, places he might have stored other Scion souls, or even worse, a Scionim soul. He and Zale had been out for days, scouring texts, deciphering scrolls and digging through the layers of time and dirt. The first three yielded nothing. Now they stayed behind at H2Q while the rest of the Forsaken searched the last four.

  Vike Leaped into Tikal, near the Great Mayan Temple. Nine hours of searching only rewarded him with sweat under his arms, dirt in his teeth and an ache in his back. His cell chirped and Dray complained of the same thing, except he got a touch of frostbite from the extreme north Russian wind. Rex uncovered nothing but a junkie using an old ruin in Zimbabwe as a base camp. He decided they should all meet up with Nomad and see if he had any luck.

  He Leaped into the Chinese province of Shaanxi behind Dray. The black linen balaclava Vike wore trapped moist breath against his lips and kept the cold wind from his cheeks. His eyes narrowed, struggling to adapt faster to the night. Rex appeared beside them without a noise, flashlight in hand. Even totally cloaked in black, with their hair covered, Vike could easily tell his team members apart. The black leather band peeking from beneath Dray’s glove acted as a wrist guard for his weapon’s swing and Rex’s boots were hand-stitched.

  Dawn was still two hours away and the nearby lights of Xi’an bounced off the Qin Emperor’s tomb mound. The domed mausoleum stood silent, all exterior lights extinguished, and a hushed air whispered through the valley. The flashlight beam sliced across the terrain before swinging back to the building. A door at the far end was propped open with a rock. The three slipped in like fog. Inside was just as dark and only a fraction warmer.

  “Fuck me,” Dray whispered.

  Long ditches filled with statuary stretched beyond the narrow flashlight beam. Although he’d heard of The Terracotta Army, Vike had never seen the legions of soldiers crafted from clay. Over eight thousand warriors, chariots, horses and other non-military figures dropped his jaw. Each one was unique, life-sized and many still bore chips of paint in bright colors. Vike fought a shudder. Too fucking real-looking for him. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, his body preparing for a battle that would never come.

  A soft grunt jerked the flashlight ray to the left. Nomad pulled himself from one long trench. A black knit cap covered his head but he’d removed his mask. A smudge of dust rested above his beard line. Omen sat above ground, his snout quivering with the scents of damp earth and pottery.

  “’Bout time you cuntwoggles showed up.” Nomad stuffed a soul-bag into his pocket, both thighs bulging with the leather packs. He nodded to a pile of crystal boxes beside the trench. “About fifty or so over there, no Scion though. Found the soul-boxes hidden inside the heads.”

  Rex’s light spun wildly from statue to statue. “You didn’t break them open, did you?”

  “No, I just fondled their clay balls.” Nomad rolled his eyes. “Piss off, Rex. I’ve been doing this since before you first sucked your mama’s tit. These statues were made in pieces and assembled. Just pop the heads off, grab the box and bag the dust. No damage done. Load up. I want to get out of here. That alarm bypass isn’t going to last long.”

  Vike pulled his soul-bags from his pocket and a folded paper square fluttered to the ground. The dim light made it hard to read but behind his mask, a smile grew.

  Erik,

  This note is an IOU for a back rub, clothing optional. Hurry back. I miss you. ~Lacy

  The past few weeks had brought out something softer in him, something playful and almost tender. He and Lacy had a little game of leaving each other notes in strange places. This morning he’d found a message wrapped around his razor. He idly wondered if she’d found the one he’d left in her slippers.

  “You waiting on an invitation, Viking?”

  Nomad’s sarcasm ripped the smile from his face. He tucked the note back into his pocket and hurried to the pile of small glass boxes. They were lightweight and fragile. Each man might be able to carry a few each but it was risky. No one wanted to accidentally drop a box and scatter soul-dust to be swept away by the wind. They worked in an assembly-line, filling their pockets with soul-bags then popping clay heads off statues and rehiding the empty boxes.

  Nomad punched a sequence of numbers into the alarm keypad and darted for the door. It clicked shut just as the outside lights flared to glowing. He had conveniently broken the spotlight above the door, leaving them in the lone pool of black in a line of bright illumination.

  “Smart move,” Vike murmured.

  Omen’s ears snapped back with a growl. His haunches quivered in preparation of a jump. Everyone called their weapons. Ten yards away, six shadows formed. The closest shadow stepped into the light.

  He was tall, elegant, with a deadly glint to his dark eyes. His long beard was thin, streaming only from his chin. A curved black mustache dripped around his lips. A green silk robe swirled with gold dragons fluttered in the night wind.

  “Forsaken.”

  Vike’s head jerked up to the door camera. Idiot didn’t realize the building perimeter was being recorded. Vike stretched up, using his sword to angle the camera toward the sky. At worst, it captured a strange man in ancient Chinese dress for a few seconds. Now it recorded nothing but stars.

  “Who the hell are you?” Nomad demanded.

  “You may call me Sun Wu.” He bowed but not for one second did his posture reflect anything but arrogance. Vike flexed his fingers around his sword hilt and studied Sun Wu, better known throughout history as Sun Tzu, the Master of the Art of War. He was one of Michael’s Righteous. Vike wasn’t impressed.

  Nomad hocked and spit at the warrior’s feet. “So what brings you to these parts, sunny boy?”

  “The correct address is Master Sun.” Sun Tzu’s eyes pinched into tight slits. “I’m overseeing this new mission.”

  Nomad smirked. “Yeah, well, Master Bater, your mission isn’t here.” He pointed toward the glow of Xi’an. “Try the city. Leeches love exhaust fumes.”

  “What’s exhaust fumes?” questioned a man in a heavy accent Vike couldn’t place.

  Five others stepped into the mausoleum light. A dark, lean man in humble robes, a shaved Egyptian in a hemp groin-wrapping, a woman with bared breasts and a sheathed sword, and two others Vike couldn’t see clearly over Sun Tzu’s towering height.

  The Master stood with his fists on his hips. “We know our duty. We will battle Samael’s forces on this plane and be victorious as you never were. However, information is the most valuable weapon. How do you find the Third?”

  “Try Facebook,” Rex snorted. “They might have a group page.”

  The Forsaken snickered as Sun Tzu glowered. The bare-breasted woman drew her dagger and jammed it under Rex’s masked chin. “Dog, you need to learn your place.”

  Rex batted his eyelashes. “Sweetheart, I’ll bark if you want mounted, but put that toothpick away before you hurt yourself.”

  “Enough.” Sun Tzu’s soft command carried ominous control. “The Earthly realm is different than Paradise. There the Third come to us, fight on our field. Perhaps I was mistaken in that your vows are the same as ours, to use all of your wits and strength to defeat those who would destroy all good. My mistake.”

  The epitome of grace and honor, he bowed once more then turned on his heel and strode into the shadows. The other Righteous followed him.

&
nbsp; “Fuck,” Vike breathed. He jerked his mask down, sucking in the frigid air. Master Sun was still a master at manipulation. He played to the one thing they couldn’t deny, the unbreakable vows of the Awoken.

  “Yeah, double fuck.” Nomad sighed. “Sun-man, hold up.”

  The Forsaken fell behind Nomad and Omen as they melted into the night. They removed their masks and freed their hair to the wind, but kept their stance on guard.

  By the light of only a half-moon, time disappeared. It could be any age, any dynasty, any era. Four Forsaken glared at six Righteous with barely concealed hostility. The two factions rarely met but when they did, it was steeped in arrogance, in bitterness, often in blood.

  Many among the Righteous were as violent as the Forsaken, with thousands of deaths to their names, but some quirk of human memory had recorded them as good. They kept their honor after First Death and their names were celebrated, not cursed. Vike fought to keep his lip from curling.

  His pocket rang out and every set of eyes flew to his thigh. He muttered a curse and checked his phone screen. Lacy had texted, asking if he was going to be much later. He ignored the message and tucked the phone away.

  Nomad glowered at him for one moment before turning his head and studying the far away hills. “You want to find the Soul-Leeches, find yourself a drunk.”

  Sun Tzu angled his head. “A drunk?”

  “A homeless one,” Vike offered. “The older the better. Stay away from druggies though, they see shit that isn’t real.”

  “Hookers are good, too.” Rex kicked a loose stone. “A gang leader’s even better.”

  “Money talks,” Vike said. “If you have to, bargain with drugs or liquor. It keeps them honest.”