This is a dream. It has to be. I pinch my arm in the hopes it’ll wake me up, but I’m trapped in this place, in this hell.
There’s movement below us. Daring a look down there, I see that the stranger has indeed amassed an army of at least several thousand. Only, they aren’t human. Beasts of carnage and sin would be more accurate. No two look the same, but they’re all just as gruesome as the next. Black slimy skin covers their entire bodies. The eyes vary from one up to four, but the one thing that is a common denominator with all of them is teeth. Holy Damnation, the teeth. Each creature has rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth that they are using to tear each other apart. Down on all fours, they could almost be mistaken as rabid, hairless dogs. The foul, rotten egg stench that wafts up to us on the platform makes me gag.
Looking back to the stranger with the sultry voice, his eyes meet mine. When he blinks, they flash red and then back again. The haze lifts for a second, and I see the curved horns sitting atop his head. Without a second thought, I let go of his arm and race back towards the door. My heart pounds in rhythm with my foot falls and air constricts in my lungs. The last thing I want to do is head anywhere near the creatures on the ground, but I have to get out of this nightmare.
I don’t hear the man on my heels, so I don’t think he followed me. Of course, I have no clue where I’m going and get lost in a matter of minutes. My bare feet slap against the floor as I try to find a way out that doesn’t involve death.
Please wake up, Nocturna.
Turning another corner, I come face to face with a giant iron cage suspended from the ceiling. There’s something sitting inside. My heart beats a little faster. I recognize that silhouette from somewhere. A hand lands on my shoulder, and I scream.
My scream continues outside of the nightmare as I jerk upright in bed. Monroe stirs next to me.
“What’s wrong, cher?” he asks as he sits up. One of his hands runs up and down my spine in a soothing motion. “Nocturna? You’re covered in sweat. Are you ok?”
Nodding to him, I am in no way ready to share what I just saw. “I’m fine,” I rasp. “Just had a bad dream. I’m going to go get some water. I’ll be right back.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Positive,” I say putting on my best fake smile.
Hopping up out of bed, I make my way out to the kitchen. My heart still pounds as that haunting voice still echoes through my reeling mind. The smell of sulfur is still burning in my nose and throat. I fill a glass with water, so that I don’t look like a liar. As I stick it under the water, the place where I pinched my arm in the nightmare comes into view.
A huge bruise marks my pale skin. The mirror above my sink casts my reflection back at me as I look up. For a second, I think I see a shadowy, black figure standing behind me. I gasp and spin at the same time. The movement knocks my glass to the floor. It shatters and sends shards skidding across the floor. There’s nothing behind me.
Monroe flips the light switch on as he comes out of the bedroom.
“Oh, mon cher,” is all he says softly before he starts to help me clean up the mess. He’s too kind to me sometimes. He doesn’t even question my behavior. He just quietly helps me.
What did I do to deserve him?
I stand on stage waiting to take my cue from the music. It starts, and everything but my dance leaves my head. I see no faces and hear no voices as I move my body to the beat. This is my calling. It's where I belong. When nothing else in my life wants to go right, there's always dancing. After the stress of the past week on top of the nightmare from last night, I need this. I can still hear the strange man’s voice and smell the sulfur of the creatures. To blot it out, I dance harder.
I make in almost all the way through the song before a voice cuts through my euphoria, "That's right, baby. Shake that ass."
One of my biggest peeves is pervs who think this is some kind of strip club. Ignoring the sound, I just listen to the music and go back to dancing, leaving the problem to my people.
The voice only gets louder, the lines more vulgar, and oddly enough, more familiar. Where the actual fuck are Felix and Cedric?
When the voice gets cut off mid-sentence, I thank all that is holy that they finally shut him up. I finish my dance with a flourish in hopes that people will forget the shit that spewed out of that asshole's mouth.
I take a bow to the applause and find my way backstage.
"Umm, Nocturna, we have a problem," Jamie says peeking her head through the curtains.
I already feel in my gut that it has to do with the asshole before. Following her out, she leads me to a dark corner near the bar. What I find pulls me up short.
Larkan has Enoch up against the wall with his forearm against his throat choking him. No wonder that voice was so familiar. His hood is up, but I know that it’s him. I'm going to hazard a guess and say that Enoch was the asshole shouting at me. He catches my eyes and taps Larkan's arm, "Come on, mate. Let me down"
Larkan's voice is icy enough to freeze water, "I'm not your fucking mate, and you owe Nocturna an apology."
My gut goes jittery at his chivalry and of course Enoch just doesn't know when to shut up, "She knows I was kidding. Tell him, Amare." He says the last meeting my gaze with a grin.
Larkan's arm tightens against Enoch's throat, "Don’t fucking call her that!”
It's at this point Monroe walks out of one of the back rooms looking very much like the Strige he is. He tucks his hands in his pockets and smirks at me, "Well isn't this a lovely development."
He looks so regally handsome that I'm torn between slapping him for his comment or telling him to fuck me right here on the floor. His smile turns predatory and fangs show through.
I swear, it’s like he can smell when he turns me on.
I have to physically shake my head to dislodge those thoughts and get back to the matter at hand. Pushing past Cedric, I nudge Monroe on the way by, "Thanks for that."
"Joie de vivre, mon cher," he replies still smiling.
I shake my head at him, "Well at least someone is getting some enjoyment out of this."
Once I'm beside the two of them, I cross my arms and glare at Enoch, "You know, I should just let him kill you. It would save me from whatever this is that you're trying to do to me."
For once, I see a flicker of fear in his eyes. They are both so strong. I wonder who would actually win in a fight.
"Please, love," he begs.
Larkan’s head turns toward me, and I shrug. He drops his arm, and Enoch's feet hit the floor. I watch as he nurses his neck like he's trying to get the feeling to come back into it.
"We need to talk," I tell Larkan. Looking around, I see that we've gained a lot of attention, but the crowd all avert their eyes as I meet them. "Just not out here," I say looking back up to his face.
He nods, and the four of us make our way up to my loft.
The door has barely had a chance to close before I turn on Enoch, “What the hell is your problem, psycho? What are you hoping to accomplish from making that kind of scene?”
He smirks at me, “Maybe, I’m just tired of being ignored.”
Monroe snickers from the corner of the couch as I feel my jaw hit the floor, “You’re kidding me with that bullshit, right? I know that you feel the need to be the center of attention everywhere that you go, but this is my place. It’s not a strip club. Do you realize just how much it takes to keep that kind of shit out of here? Oh wait, that’s right. You haven’t been around much in the past century, so you wouldn’t know.”
His nostrils flare in a sign of his anger, but I keep going anyways, “I’ve told you before that you have no place in my life anymore, and I wasn’t kidding.”
Opening his mouth to say something else, I cut him off before he has the chance to, “No. No more. I’m done with you tonight. Leave. Now.”
With a rumbling growl, he exits back out the door. Damn that’s two nights in a row that I’ve kicked him out like that. Maybe that charm isn’t so irresi
stible anymore after all.
Monroe claps his hands, “Well, I think this has earned a drink.”
“Or two,” I correct him as I follow him into the kitchen.
He grabs a slim, expensive looking, bottle of wine and three wine glasses down from the cabinet. Three? A shadow detaches itself from the wall. Larkan. His presence wasn’t forgotten in my subconscious, but in the rage towards Enoch it wasn’t exactly front and foremost in my mind.
I sit down on one of the stools at the island. Larkan passes me, and I could swear that I feel his finger brush against the bare skin between my pants and corset. It’s not my imagination either, because I feel tingles right after. I don’t know why my body is reacting to him the way that it is. Probably not the best conversation to have in front of Monroe, though. He doesn’t seem like the jealous type, but he’s a man after all. Not to mention the whole Damned versus Rite thing. Fuck. My life is complicated.
Monroe fills our glasses halfway up, and I look pointedly at him. He barks out a laugh as he moves back to mine and pours more into it. I nod in thanks at him as I reach out to take it. I see Larkan from the corner of my eye, watching me the entire time as I turn the glass bottoms up and drink the wine in several short gulps. Monroe, now leaning almost all the way across the counter, smirks at me as he sips his.
The silence in the room is killing me, and Larkan has yet to take his glass. Fuck it.
“You going to drink that?” I ask, pointing to the wine sitting beside Monroe.
He gives me a knowing smile and pushes it to me just as I reach for it. The result is the glass tipping sideways and spilling all the beautiful contents all over the counter. Even with his reflexes, Monroe doesn’t get out of the way quick enough. The wine soaks into his white shirt, and makes it look like blood is running down his chest. He looks down at himself like if he stares hard enough, he’ll be able to wash it away with his eyes. If I wasn’t still so fucking pissed at Enoch, and not drunk enough to forget about it, I’d laugh at his expression.
A few swear words leave his mouth in that sexy Cajun accent, “This will never come out.”
Stripping his shirt off himself, he turns to toss it into the trash under the sink. Just as he turns away from us, I see Larkan move from beside me. I’ve barely had time to blink before he’s got a blade underneath Monroe’s throat and is pulling him backwards.
“Did everyone drink the fucking psycho Kool-Aid tonight? What are you doing?” I demand from Larkan.
Monroe’s hands are thrown up in surrender as Larkan ignores me, “Where the hell did you get that tattoo?”
Of all the things that run through my head, that wasn’t even close to being on the list. I thought maybe he’d want to ask the name of his personal trainer before demanding an explanation for his tattoo. It’s just a tattoo after all, isn’t it?
I open my mouth to say I don’t even know what but close it again.
“My tattoo is what has you holding a blessed blade to my throat like your life depends on it?” Monroe jokes. “No need to get hostile. I’ll give you her name, if you’re wanting to get one done.”
A tinge of jealousy swirls in my stomach at the thought of another woman touching that perfectly sculpted back.
“I don’t want to know who you got it from,” Larkan snaps, seemingly done with the humor. “I want to know why you got that particular one.”
Monroe clears his throat, “Well it might be easier to explain if you weren’t about to extinguish the life out of me with a very sharp blade.”
Larkan lets him go, but warns, “Make one wrong move, and I’ll kill you.”
Stepping away, Monroe rubs the spot on his throat that looks a little worse for wear. He looks over to me and winks. What the shit? The Infernal has a death wish.
He walks back over to the counter and picks up his glass. Tipping it towards Larkan, he takes a drink before answering, “I’ve had this for many centuries now. It started as a simple nightmare that transferred over from a human when I fed. Then every year, on the same exact night, I would have the same dream. Cain raising an army of the undead and bringing wrath and fury down upon earth through a broken seal.”
“Do you still have them?” Larkan asks having put away his blade.
“What? The dreams?”
At Larkan’s nod, Monroe answers, “Yes. I still have them. Only…”
My body tenses as Larkans does. “Only what?” I ask out of curiosity.
A worried look crosses his face, but I see it before he can wipe it off. “I’m having it at least once a month now,” he says, looking to Larkan.
Who, in return nods at him as if something just clicked into place. I’m glad it did for one of us, because I’m still lost.
Trying to get him to look at me, I reach out to touch Larkan on the arm. Those tingles travel up my hand, but I ignore them, “Why is his tattoo such a big deal?”
A flash of the dream I had plays out for a split second in my head, but it’s gone before I can make sense of it. I feel like I’m missing something.
He looks like he’s debating on whether or not to tell us something right before he settles himself back down on the stool beside me, “I’ve been having the same dream.”
“Well there goes the neighborhood,” Monroe jokes again.
I roll my eyes at him, “Is this a bad thing?”
Larkan has his folded arms propping him up on the counter as he cuts his eyes over to me, “Normally I would say no, because we have a tendency to have dreams based on the past.”
“But?” I ask almost no wanting to know the answer to my own question.
His face is completely devoid of emotion as he says, “They started the first night that I met you.”
“Not to mention,” Monroe pipes in, still half naked leaning against the counter, “Rite dreams are normally prophetic. Add that to the stuff happening with the kidnappings, and I’d say that we’ve got ourselves a good ole apocalypse waiting to happen.”
If maybe it was just the two of them, then I could possibly pass the whole thing off as a coincidence. The voice from last night replays through my head, and it sends chill bumps down my arm. My second form flashes, and Monroe jerks upright away from me as Larkan yanks his blade back out like he can sense the threat in the room.
“What is it, cher?” Monroe asks with worry in his voice.
They just shared their shit with me, so it’s only fair that I share mine. If only that voice didn’t flash through my head again. But, I don’t share with them. Not yet. I want to understand this myself first. I jump up so fast that it almost knocks the stool to the ground.
“Ok, everyone out!” I almost yell.
The two of them look at me as if I’ve sprouted another head or something.
“Did you not hear me?” I snap.
“I said get out. Tonight has been a bucket full of soul sucking fun, and I need some me time. So, get out,” I say shooing them out the door. They both try to cut in and ask questions, but I send them off with a wave. Flicking the lock into place, I lean my back against the wood and let out a deep breath.
“Now where did I stash that whiskey?”
Enoch
I suck a deep breath and let it out again. Damn, I love that woman. Of course, the point is moot considering the hole I’ve dug myself into. The farther I stay away from her the better. She’ll get hurt less in the end. My chest burns at the thought of leaving her again, but I’m not exactly in the position to where I could even stay, let alone protect her.
“Fuck,” I grind out as I make my way down the stairs.
Just as I make it to the bottom a sharp tug pulls at my gut. “Double fuck,” I growl.
My soul’s owner is calling me. Out of all of the shit that I’ve done in my existence, that is the one thing that I don’t regret. Even when the stupid bitch calls at the most inconvenient of times. I’d sell my soul to her to save Nocturna a thousand times over.
At the bottom of the stairs, I look around to make sure that no huma
ns are watching as I switch to my second form and take off running. This form isn't necessary, but it's the only way that I can stomach to be around Marilith. At least this way, she remembers that even though she may have my soul, she will never rule over me.
My steps falter as the tug becomes a sick feeling that makes me want to puke. I walk into the tree line in the middle of nowhere.
"About time you showed up," she says in a sultry tone as she walks out of the trees in front of me. Any normal man, human or not, would literally sell his soul to have a piece of the dark beauty in front of me. Her long black hair hangs down past her waist, looking like pure silk. The red dress she’s wearing clings to every curve, and leaves nothing to the imagination as a slit runs all the way up to her hip on one side. "I was beginning to wonder if you let the Arbiter distract you long enough to forget who you truly belong to."
"Can we just stop with the games now?" I growl.
"Awe," she says, running a finger down my chest, "Someone's in a grumpy mood tonight. Did she not ease some of your worries away? I can do that for you now if you’d like.” She cradles my dick in her hands, but neither the feel or her words do anything for me.
I shove her arm away from me, “No thanks. I’m good.”
There are two reactions that it would normally entice from her, anger or amusement. I wait to see which it will be tonight.
She tilts her head back and laughs. It’s an evil sound that echoes in the trees around us. Cutting it off abruptly, she grabs me again and squeezes, “I’ll let you get away with your futile desire to keep me at arm’s length, but you will do well to remember who owns you. If I say fuck me, you will. No matter where we are or who’s around.”
Releasing me, before I can answer, she continues, “You bore me sometimes, Enoch. We could have so much fun together if you weren’t still hung up on that halfie. She’ll never forgive you for just ditching her last time anyways. Just think of the havoc we could cause together. It would be beautiful.”
The Arbiter Page 10
