Altered: A Beyond the Brothel Walls Novel

by Ryans, Rae Z.

  “God didn’t intervene?”

  “It was his design.” I shook my head. “The children, as commanded, along with the weak and feeble of mind I spared.”

  Buying my lie, Cain nodded and chewed on his lip. He turned and stared at me; his light-filled gaze bore into the darkness of my hood.

  “Even if God had commanded it, children are innocent. I could not have harmed a child or anyone pure of heart.”

  “You would defy him?” he asked. Amazement painted his soft tone, but I didn’t see his face.

  “Yes.” Like him, his heart and soul were pure, but I wasn’t completely honest. Sheol held levels of purgatory; although, the name made it seem Hellish; the un-tortured, innocent souls saw and felt eternal happiness. I couldn’t let them suffer. Cain squeezed my hand, and I returned his gesture, stroking my boney fingers over his warm skin.

  “I am damned to this Earth until the very end. Cain, I cannot die unless the world dies.” I pointed toward the Heavens. “He deemed it so and so it is.”

  Nervous laughter pursed his lips. “You’ve met God?” he whispered. “Why did he do this?”

  I had met God—Father. Cain was the first to ask why he would destroy his own world. My finger stroked his cheek, and he didn’t shy away. “I wish I had the answer, babe. It wasn’t my place to question his decision or motives.”

  “Can I see you in the light again?” He glanced away and lowered his voice. “I’ll try not to faint this time.”

  The vision brightened, but fading and leaving us standing in the middle of Times Square. The famous city of New York that Father had laid to rest at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. I spread my arms out and gestured.

  Cain shook his head. “No, I want to see all of you.”

  Emotions rolled and warred through me. A lump formed in my throat, even though I didn’t have one. “Babe,” I whispered, unable to say no.

  He reached into the dark spans of the hood and cupped my boney cheek. I cried, although tears didn’t fall at his tender gesture. When was the last time I had shed a tear? His thumb caressed the bone, where those tears would have fallen. No sounds emitted, save his steady breath and the ruffle of my robes. I tugged the hood aside, exposing the skull.

  Cain said, “Yes.”

  “Yes?” I cocked my head.

  A wide smile spread across his face and wrinkled his butterscotch eyes. “You’re still gorgeous, sweets.”

  I changed the subject. “You asked if I was a reaper.”

  He nodded, but his brow furrowed.

  “I am the Angel of Death, or as I prefer, Dorian.” Father hadn’t given me the name, but I adopted it instead of Death. Imagine introducing oneself as Death, the mere thought amused me, but I had done so many times before choosing the name. “The others are Archangels created by Father, but as the oldest I became sort of a leader for the Horsemen, as Michael is leader to the rest.”

  “You said are.” He eyed the image of my comrades.

  “They’re alive, and we are, as you would say, family.” I waved my hand over the frozen image, and the scenes flashed again.

  Cain would meet the other Horsemen soon enough, they would hunt for Lily too. Often I had called them in to right the wrongs, and all, save for Fauna, lived nearby in Halifax. Fauna preferred the wilderness of the far north, where her school in Meat Cove, Nova Scotia was located.

  “So where were we? Oh yes, the souls had been marked. The children, weak, and feeble minded spared regardless of belief. Their souls would ascend. We retreated and spread our cause for the Lord Almighty. In his name, we warned the people, demons, Angels, you know those remaining on Earth. To the humans, we gave last chances for redemption, even if we felt they hadn’t deserved one.”

  Again, Cain interrupted, “The day came when the Earth sundered and humanity ceased.”

  “Continents and countries destroyed, torn asunder into the angry oceans. From volcanoes, red lava spewed and scarred the remnants as quakes rocked through the ground. Mountains leveled, swallowed in cindered ash or ocean waves. The death toll on humanity rose with each passing day until only one quarter of the world had remained. Lingering humans ascended, died, or arrived in Hell, but those who bore the mark arrived in my domain.

  “Humans lived their lives and thought themselves alone. You and I know the truth. Angels, demons, and much more walked and died on this Earth,” he said.

  “Half-breeds, vampires, witches, and warlocks… Father had decreed us to neither punish nor mark the tainted creatures. Only Arch demons and humans entered purgatory. The others arrived at Tartarus. All are within my domain—Sheol.” I shook the thought from my mind, as it was where Cain would go when he died. “Our reward was life, life if we controlled the world, and fought the demon hordes. So far, we have continued to fail, and the demons grow stronger.

  “Legions poured from the fiery depths. We were not strong enough. The Arch demons rose; the Watchers’ kin extracted revenge—the Grigori. They lashed out the one way they could. Death, famine, and enslavement of all survivors, and we proved powerless to impede them. Not to say enslaving the Elioud was all right, but they stole our witches, warlocks.” If they managed to trap Markos’ legions, or obtain my key, the world would fall into chaos. I let go of Cain’s hand; the loss of his warmth left chills in my bones.

  We arrived at my living room. Belle’s red eyes registered and my focus returned. She handed me my scythe and backed away. Concern laced her usually hardened features. Cain reassured her with another dimple-laden smile, but his gaze stayed on me.

  Slowly, I reversed the change, and my disguise reappeared.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “No, babe.”

  Cain leaned over and kissed my cheek.

  I grasped his chin and sucked his bottom lip, testing his words. Belle cleared her throat, and I whispered, “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  Understanding, believing, and accepting the monster behind the curtain, but none of those seemed proper. Instead, I winked and disappeared into my room to shower and change. The scent of decay and death permeated from my skin. Too bad he didn’t join me.

  Chapter

  Six

  Cain

  Dorian slipped into the shower, and I paced the length of his living room, telling myself I should walk out the door and never look back. The thought of leaving pained my heart; it squeezed and pumped harder and faster. I fell for him. My palm dragged over my rough face, and I shook my head.

  No, I had fallen for Death.

  Harder than ever before, I plummeted until up became down and down spiraled sideways. Swept into the churning sea, my fragile heart rested in the hands of God’s deadliest assassin.

  Death, I scoffed, wishing for a drink to steady my trembling hands. Last night… this morning… a mistake I couldn’t take back. Dorian wasn’t ready; he didn’t need me complicating his life. I wasn’t prepared, either, not for a man worth living for.

  I plopped on the sofa; Belle’s voice traveled up the stairwell. She chatted on the phone downstairs. My head fell into my hands, and I stared at the stone hearth, bathed in the odd rays of sunlight streaming in from the window. Particles danced in the yellowed streaks.

  The man I loved had killed humanity. A sound caught in my throat, and my back straightened. “I love you,” I whispered.

  How or why were beside the point; without knowing much about the man, I had tumbled into oblivion, clutching onto the coattails of his tattered robe. Breath sucked in, and I rubbed my heart. Our pain connected us, but our similarities didn’t end there. Eyes echoed the soul.

  Fighting wasn’t my style and neither was violence. Dorian seemed equally passive, despite his job working for the ABDA and being Death.

  I dragged a palm over my face again, cringing at the five o’clock shadow creeping over my skin. Warmth etched into his smiles, the shyness hidden beneath his rough exterior both spoke volumes of the man he was, not the monster he had become on that day.

&nb
sp; Witches and warlocks were not submissive by any means, but we tended to err against aggression. Dorian had lived and breathed from the beginning of time. He saw everything, yet the horrors didn’t reflect as bitterness. No, the empty sockets of Death’s eyes echoed pain; as if he felt every tortured soul, he had taken.

  I couldn’t judge him. The secrets I held weighed on my shoulders, drawing them down. “I’m not any different.”

  We’d witnessed different horrors after being sold, and none of Dorian’s memories replayed mine, teetering on the edge of madness. Grim and distorted faces must surely haunt him, as my masters’ faces plagued me. My legs crossed and uncrossed, bouncing with nervous energy. Trembling fingers dug into the rough fabric covering the couch. Such simplicity for a man who had lived for so long, another common factor we shared, though he was older.

  What am I thinking? No, I couldn’t sit there another moment, wasting and drowning in my own reverie. Stay, go, stay, or go… my mind ran out of reasoning.

  My eyes closed, I saw him, but opened, I spotted representations of him around me. The greenery at the farm—where I worked—had reminded me of Dorian’s eyes. Olives reminded me of his skin. Black, charred mulch represented his hair. I sighed. Before he preoccupied my world. Within his home, it wasn’t any different. Black wainscoting graced pale, lime-textured walls and offset walnut floors.

  Dorian hummed in the shower; I leaned on the bedroom doorframe and contemplated entering the room we’d shared last night. His scented soap infiltrated my nose.

  Last night, in his thoughts, he’d said no one else had ever entered, but that line was overused. I wasn’t the type for cheesy pick-ups. No, I bled for my lovers, the kind who spent seven months of their life searching Halifax for the sexy man he’d caught blowing his boyfriend, not to harm him, but to see him again. I had questioned bar owners and patrons three cities over. But he hadn’t visited the usual places. The club and bar scene had all but died with the Sundering, but there were places people, like us, gathered. I’d checked them all. After two months, I had given up the search and spiraled into a deep depression.

  Belle crept up the staircase, jingling; boards creaked beneath her clicking feet.

  My life had suffered without his presence. Because of the depression, I had lost everything, and my cousin Tomas had saved me again by paying my rent and bringing me food. Tomas had found me a new job at the farms too. Finally, I had my life together again and focused on my sisters, and then bam, there was Dorian.

  But I couldn’t focus on an already doomed relationship and fulfilling the promises to Mother. A sigh escaped, and I stared at my shaky hands.

  Behind me, Belle shifted in the kitchen, running water. Metal rattled and a click, click, click followed. I read her mind, not truly knowing her, despite our distant relation. It was blank. Did Dorian know she was a Morning Star? I glanced over my shoulder, and her dreads swayed, head shaking.

  A kettle boiled, screaming through the gentle thrum of running water. “For the same reasons you’ve never told him,” she said, removing the kettle from the stove.

  I scratched my head. Why had Dorian cooked over the hearth?

  “He doesn’t have to eat and never learned how to use a stove.” She winked and smiled.

  Without another word, she withdrew a chair and sat at the table. With magic, Belle levitated a book and held a mug in her hands.

  Can I fit into this little world?

  “You could,” she said.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Doubtful.”

  “He cares for you.” Belle sipped her tea and returned to her book.

  My brow lifted. “Does he?”

  “You messed him up real good.” With the flick of her finger, she turned a page.

  I smirked and glanced toward his bathroom door. “How bad were his injuries?”

  “Oh, couple of cracked ribs, but I wasn’t talking about physical pain. Cain, I’ve known Dorian for over ten years, and he’s never been like this before.”

  Dorian’s room beckoned me. I held my chin higher. My feet froze in place, and my heart beat faster.

  “Go on,” Belle said. “He won’t hurt you.”

  I swallowed hard and almost said, “Promise?” but didn’t. What is wrong with me? The door was only a foot away, yet it might as well have been miles. “Here goes nothing.” I forced one foot in front of another.

  Darkness bathed the room; I lit the bedside lamp with a match from his nightstand. Too busy to see any of the room last night, my eyes didn’t know where to begin. Paintings and photographs lined the walls and in the middle sat a massive bed without a frame or headboard. The furniture had sleek, traditional flair, and not the industrial crap they sold in shops.

  I chewed my lip, expecting more, though I wasn’t certain why.

  Simplistic but heartfelt, his charming décor framed the walls. The ache in his gaze matched his soul, and it struck a chord within me. Who had harmed him?

  Large smiles graced their faces. My brow lifted and I eyed the photos closer. The people in the photographs resembled Dorian. “The other Horsemen uncloaked,” I whispered, grinning. “Big softie.” I studied it more. Hallowed had draped her arm around Dorian. Long, blonde hair framed her angelic face, but the clothing, dated and bohemian, had almost thrown me off. The same-whitewashed glow she’d held in person was also missing. In the picture, her white hood blocked her face.

  Messenger of God my ass. But her guidance was unimportant. How could she have known about Dorian and me? I refused the negative thoughts. Already my head was crammed with more than enough. A grin flashed at the mere revelation. Mind over matter.

  I plopped on the bed and sunk into the softness of his side. The covers smelled of him, and I breathed in Dorian’s earthy fragrance. Can we do this? Play house and live, as if the world hasn’t gone to shit?

  I leaned back on his pillow as the shower turned off. Dorian cracked open the bathroom door before slipping into the bedroom. He didn’t see me.

  “Hey,” he said, spinning around and resting a hand on his chest. Nothing but a towel graced his olive, taught skin. Beads of water reflected the dim light and danced before my eyes.

  An urge to touch him overtook my senses, and I rose from the bed. Glowing, his green gaze scanned the length of my body and left goose bumps in its wake. But as my lips skimmed his broad shoulders and eased toward his neck, Dorian tensed. He gulped and faced the dresser.

  Despite his thoughts, Death is beautiful. The perfume and tang of soap washed over me. My lips explored each dip and curve of his back, and my shaking palms brushed Dorian’s waist and the thick hair covering his love trail.

  “Trying to kill me, Cain?” Dorian shuddered.

  “Thought you were immortal?” Kissing my way up his neck, my chuckle grazed his ear, and he shuddered again. “Learning what makes you tick.” I caught our reflection in the dresser mirror and grinned. We made a handsome couple, but even love wouldn’t be enough to save us.

  Dorian wanted to sweep in and save the day. His ever-searching gaze never ceased to unravel the pain hidden inside of me. His thoughts announced when he’d found it.

  No man could save me, though, or erase the brutal years slavery had etched into my soul, but if ever such a man existed, I wanted him to be Dorian. Maybe that was why I gripped onto the idea of him and refused to leave. A sigh caught in my throat, choked behind burning eyes. My smile retreated and negativity warred. I was broken, and he had built iron walls around his heart. Besides, Dorian would end me, when he learned the truth, and I prayed we found my sisters first. No one loved damaged goods, especially those that could not be fixed, those others thought worthy of the punishment because of their blood.

  How many times had my master told me as much? “You deserved it, Morning Star, and you loved it.” Even in the safety of Dorian’s home, I heard their whispers.

  Dorian’s thoughts shouted, drowning out the voices. His mind wandered between the job and me. “Cain makes me tick, but I fear for his sa
fety.” Love didn’t cross his mind once. The sight, scent, or thought of me drove him to continuously question his rules, though. He released a groan; he turned and rested his damp head against my chest.

  I asked, “What’s the matter?” and wrapped my arm around him, hugging his heat to me.

  Dorian shook his head, beads of water sprinkled my face, and he folded his fingers over mine. He pushed my free hand over the towel, shielding his cock and heavy, hairy balls. Was he always hard? He rumbled, and the noise vibrated my body pressing against him.

  Guess that made two of us. Secrets tickled over my tongue. I pulled back and retreated to the bed.

  An iron, skeleton-type key swayed in the air, hanging from his thick neck. Had he worn that before? No, I couldn’t think about the keys, but how could it have magically appeared? I stroked my chin, considering the magic Death had showed me. Maybe a spell hid it from me before. Why do I see it now? I hadn’t thought about the keys in years. The mere idea should have excited me instead of sending my sex drive retreating into the shadows.

  Resting on my belly, my head on his pillow, I spied on him. Dresser draws opened and closed as he bent over and retrieved clothing. Garments in hand and a torn expression wrinkled his brows in the mirror, but his glorious mind circled. Dorian couldn’t decide if he wanted to make out, or if he should get dressed.

  For him, I was a distraction.

  The towel released from his waist, and my cock ached at the sight of his muscular ass flexing. What I wouldn’t give to run my tongue over the surface, to feel him squirm, and have Dorian beg for more. Could Death beg? Asking him to love me, to want me, was wrong if I could not please him fully, though. How could I make him happy if his happiness depended on mine? I ran a palm over my face and blew out a breath.

  He spun at the sound. “I should ask you what’s wrong, but you’ll say nothing, right?”

  Before I could answer, Dorian rolled me over, pinned my arms down at my sides, and his mouth covered mine. I froze, reminding myself and chanting: this is Dorian. My heart swelled into my throat, constricting, and I swallowed hard.