Damian's Oracle

by Lizzy Ford

  White God’s Headquarters

  “D, you coming down for the festivities? It’s pretty interesting. They’re acting out some bizarre kid’s story for the cancer kids,” Han said, ducking his head into Damian’s office.

  “No. Talking to Dusty and Jule,” he answered without turning. “Save me some cake.”

  “Sure.”

  The door closed softly, and he returned to the instant messages popping up on his screen.

  “Dusty, can you hear me?”

  Dustin typed a yes.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with your mic?” Jule, the commander of the eastern hemisphere, demanded with a laugh.

  Don’t know. IT issues.

  “At least it’s just IT,” Jule responded, growing serious.

  Damian pulled out a map, his gaze roving over Jule’s European front. It was slowly being decimated and fragmented by Czerno’s blood sucking vamps.

  “You’ve got a rat,” he said, reviewing the past hundred years of battles depicted on a map. To humans, it would look like the natural give and take of a long battle. To the three of them, the drastic changes that occurred over such a short time span after thousands of years of no change were a warning sign.

  Or two.

  “I think Dusty’s right,” he agreed. “You’ve got more than one rat to worry about.”

  “I have Antoine under surveillance. I have no leads on anyone else,” Jule replied. “Thanks to Antoine, my spy network is shit right now. I’m rebuilding as fast as I can, but it ain’t easy finding new Guardians let alone those who make good agents.”

  “Discretion isn’t a natural trait to Guardians.”

  Just like their supreme leader.

  “What’d you do to him, D? He’s been cranky all night.”

  “Chill, Dusty, it’s not that serious,” he answered.

  An oracle????? Not serious? Are you fucking insane?

  “It’s not confirmed.”

  “Wow. Why didn’t you tell him?” Jule scolded. “In fact, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Dude, I just found out!” Damian snapped. “One of Dusty’s newbies called me. If one of our guys calls, I’ll go. They usually need something – they don’t call just to chat. When someone gives me some more definitive info on her, I’ll tell you.”

  “Back to my issue. I’m out of ideas for dealing with my traitor issue, unless Dusty can send a few spies my way.”

  I’m short, but I’ll send you a couple on loan. Want me to talk to Antoine?

  “Cool, bro, thanks. Fuck no on talking to Antoine. I need him alive and preferably in one piece, Dusty, unlike the last time I sent someone to talk to you.”

  “I’ll come to you after the Quarterly with some reinforcements. We may need to make a couple of less-than-discreet strikes at Czerno’s strongholds to push him back and give us some time. Can you hold things down for two weeks?”

  “I’ll do my damndest. Hey - is it just me or is recruiting getting harder and harder?”

  Definitely.

  “Yeah. I think our traitors have some influence on that, too. I’m getting reports from the recruitment team that a lot of their newly flagged Guardians are getting whacked as soon as they make the list,” Damian said.

  Ask Claire what’s going on.

  Damian grimaced, recalling the last time he’d seen the beautiful woman, his slain brother’s wife. They never got any work accomplished when she was with him. They’d had a falling out a few hundred years before and hadn’t spoken since. He wanted to keep it that way. Sleeping with her made him feel … guilty, like he was betraying his brother’s memory. Yet, she was all that remained of his brother, and he cherished the connection. He preferred to know she was alive and well - and somewhere else.

  “I’ll assume you’re still not talking,” Jule said.

  “Nope.”

  I’ll give her a call. Maybe she can come to the Quarterly.

  “Fuck you, Dusty,” Damian said acidly.

  “Damn women,” Jule said. “I don’t know why they say you can’t live without them. I’m doing quite well.”

  Amen.

  Damian snorted, gaze lingering on the map. Something was really wrong in Europe, and he needed to figure out what, before the European front was overrun by vamps. His thoughts returned to the Watcher, and he wondered just how much of his problems were caused by traitors influenced somehow by the beings coaching Czerno. With any luck, his Watcher wouldn’t fail him.

  His phone rang. He glanced at the number and let it go to voicemail, not recognizing it.

  “I’ve got two rotating to Tucson,” Jule said. “They’re en route. I want Han, though, D. You promised.”

  “I know, I know. He’s sick of it here anyway.”

  A crash came from the hallway. By the sound of it, it was one of his favorite, priceless, Ming vases. With his luck, the kids were loose in the house.

  “Dusty, can you - “

  A scream jarred him.

  WTF?

  “What he said,” Jule echoed. “Everything - “

  A second scream. Damian rose. His door flew open to reveal a huge, furry monster with fangs.

  “What the fuck is going on? And why are you dressed like a sadistic teddy bear?” he demanded.

  Sadistic what?

  The Guardian pulled the head off the costume.

  “You need to see this, D.”

  By his tone, something was more wrong than the horrible costume.

  “Guys, we’ll talk later. D out,” he said into the mic before tossing it on the desk. “This better be good.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The in-between place where Jake’s drugs put her were filled with horrifying, visions of Toby and other strangers dying and Dr. Czerno screaming at her to return to him.

  And him. The dark monster in a dark corner whose sobs were so loud, she thought them real. Once, she thought he was calling for help, until he swiped at her, and she tried to free a scream from her frozen body. He retreated to the corner and sobbed some more while she fought the effects of the drug. The drug wore off, leaving her in the dark, hot and sweating with a different kind of headache, the kind she got after taking a lot of Dr. Mallard’s drugs. Only she didn’t remember taking drugs.

  Jake.

  Furious, she pushed off the bed coverings and stood, teetering dangerously before deciding to sit again. Moonlight drifted in through a window, and she stared in confusion. Her window was on the other side of her room. Disoriented, she stood up again and stumbled to the door.

  She hated the headaches and feeling like shit! She couldn’t remember the last time she felt halfway decent. Determined first to wash the taste of drugs down then to kill Jake, she wrenched open the door, blinded by the hall light she didn’t recall leaving on. She walked down the carpeted hall, stopping when she realized her hallway didn’t have carpet.

  Her vision was too blurry for her to see much beyond hazy shapes and colors. The carpet was a deep maroon, soft and cushy, the walls around her brown. She squinted through her fingers and braced herself against one wall to counter the affects the drugs had on her equilibrium as she moved down the long hallway.

  “Jake?”

  Suddenly, her bracing arm hit air. She tried to balance herself only to find herself toppling over and over and over down a stairwell.

  She landed hard on a cold floor. Pain roared through her, and she sought both to shield her eyes from a crystal chandelier blinding her and grab her burning leg. She wore only a long shirt to her knees that twisted to her stomach with her fall.

  “Oh, God!” she grated, pushing herself into a sit.

  Her blood was a slash of stark red against a white marble floor. The pain in her leg cleared the haze of her mind, and she realized whatever was happening wasn’t a dream. Panic piqued as she looked around her. There was nothing familiar about her surroundings - nothing!! Down one hallway, she heard the ring of a phone.

  Phone, police, help. Her first step was disastrous. She careened in
to a table and heard glass crashing as the table corner tore a stripe down her forearm. Her eyes hurt too much to make sense of the world around her.

  Voices prevented her from losing herself to her pain. They came from the same direction as the phone. Whoever had brought her here was coming for her.

  Dr. Czerno. The monster in the corner.

  Fear flew through her. She turned, slammed into something twice her size, and fell backwards. Her hand fell away from her eyes to reveal a furry, fanged monster from a nightmare framed against the light.

  Sofia screamed. It swiped at her, and she backpedaled, hopping to her feet. Disoriented and mostly blind, she ran into a wall, shoved herself off and smashed into another monster. With another scream, she bolted and careened into a door that gave.

  The room was dark aside from curtains opened to allow the moon to shine through. She staggered up, cursing the drugs and Jake for her inability to balance, and slammed into several pieces of furniture as the monsters chased her. The lights went on. Blinded, she tripped over a stool and hauled herself into a corner, chest heaving and body slick with sweat and blood.

  “What happened?” a muffled voice asked.

  She hugged her knees to her chest and peered through her fingers. One of the monsters pulled off its head to reveal a man. She squinted, realizing the two furry brown monsters were men in costumes from Where the Wild Things Are. Several more men entered the library, all staring at her in nothing short of total surprise. Either they were all huge enough to come straight out of an action movie, or her drugs had not yet worn off.

  “Gods, are you all right?” one asked finally, moving towards her.

  “No!” she shouted. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!”

  The last thing she needed was more of the gruesome visions!

  “Sofi?”

  While surprised to see him there, it struck her how well Jake fit in with the other men. He was built from the same mold – large and muscular, the kind of man more fitted to military special forces or UFC prize fighting than financial planning.

  The man approaching her had nearly reached her, and she huddled into a tighter ball.

  “Han, don’t!” Jake called. “Leave her be.”

  “She’s bleeding to death!”

  “Trust me. She’ll go ape shit.”

  Sofia wanted to pound Jake’s face in. Her heart raced to the point of pain, and she felt sick enough to puke.

  “Go get D,” the man called Han said.

  He squatted near her.

  “You ok?”

  Sofia’s gaze cleared, and she focused on her surroundings. Her first impression was confirmed – the men in the room were UFC material, all well over six feet and solid. They were all dressed for a white tie party in expensive tuxedos.

  “I gave you enough drugs that you should be asleep until next week,” Jake said, joining Han.

  He was also dressed for the exclusive party. Seeing him well rested and well dressed pissed her off even more.

  “Can I help you up?” Han asked, extending his hand as if approaching a wounded animal. His brown gaze was friendly but cautious.

  The others fanned out, and she suddenly felt like a lamb surrounded by a wolf pack trying to decide what to do with her. She didn’t know these men, but her instincts told her they were 100% predators. They moved in tandem without looking at each other, their movements controlled and efficient. If she flinched, they’d snap in unison.

  “What did you do to me, Jake?” she demanded.

  “We’ll wait on that,” Jake responded. “There’s a lot of blood. You ok?”

  “You drugged me.”

  He rubbed his mouth.

  “She’s little, pick her up before D sees the blood all over the floors,” another of the men urged.

  “Don’t touch me!” she warned again.

  Despite being able to bench press two of her, the men actually listened.

  “What happened to my floors?” another voice demanded.

  If the men around her were predators, the man who entered next was their alpha. Unlike the others dressed for a white tie event, he was dressed in leather pants with a tight black Pearl Jam t-shirt, his hair braided, a chain from his spiked belt to his wallet, and heavy black boots. She didn’t miss the way the others moved out of his way or the way the aura of command around him filled up the room. His gaze swept around the room methodically, coming to rest on her. He approached with a slow, steady gate, like a predator inspecting its disabled prey before going for the kill.

  She tightened into her ball. He was as large as the others with olive skin, long white-blond hair, and golden eyes the unusual color of honey. His features were firm and chiseled. He was not a pretty boy but a man with rugged, bad-boy beauty and a slow sensuality about his movement that made her heart skip a beat despite her pain.

  He knelt beside Han. She tensed.

  “You got blood all over my floors,” he told her, golden eyes taking her in.

  “You can blame the Wild Things, D,” Han said. “They scared the shit outta her.”

  D reached out to her, and she recoiled, pushing herself farther into the corner.

  “Sofi, you shouldn’t – “ Jake started, eyes going nervously to the newcomer.

  “Not gonna hurt you, ok?” D said, holding up his hands.

  A sense of power swirled around him that scared her. She felt it circle her, prod her, and retreat. His honey gaze was similar to Han’s: warm but wary. She ducked her head and braced herself as he reached for her again. His large hand was warm against her arm. No visions pierced her thoughts.

  “See?” he said.

  She looked up at him, surprised. By the look of understanding on his face, he knew what she expected to feel. Relief flooded her, and she flung her arms around his neck. She’d never known the power of a single touch until everyone who touched her hurt her!

  “Sofi!” Jake exclaimed.

  He touched her arm to pull her free, and she jerked as dark visions crossed her thoughts. Sofia wrenched away from both and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stop the visions. D touched her, and the visions fled as if at his command. The warmth of his hand drifted up her arm and through her, comforting her.

  “She’s … special, isn’t she?” Han asked D.

  “Very,” D replied. “Nobody touches her.”

  His command was quiet and firm, but she knew no man in the room would disobey a man like him. His hand lingered on her arm, and she rested her forehead against his fingers, comforted for the first time in months.

  “Jake, clean up the floors,” D ordered. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  He lifted her and carried her down the hall, and up the stairs. Sofia’s heart fluttered as she tried to take in the world of blinding lights and blurry colors. He turned the lights in her room on low and sat her down on the trunk at the bottom of her bed. She drew her legs up, feeling vulnerable and scared in the strange place.

  “Han, get me some warm water and washcloths. I’ll clean her up.”

  She didn’t miss the surprised look on Han’s face. He obeyed. D disappeared into the bathroom adjoining her room and washed his hands. When he returned, he pulled a chair from the wall nearer her and dipped one cloth in water, tugging her arm away from her.

  “I can do it,” she said, resisting.

  He gave her a look that said he didn’t have all the patience in the world then pulled her arm free again.

  “Han, bring up some food,” he said without turning to look at the blond man in the doorway.

  Han disappeared.

  Sofia was afraid to ask where she was, who the man was before her. Instead, she watched a man many, many times her strength gently clean the blood from her arm in unhurried, methodical strokes. His touch sent a tremor of fire through her, and she was embarrassed to feel her hormones stir.

  Here she sat, covered in blood, drugged, one day from being all out crazy, kidnapped, and the sight of the man bef
ore her turned her on. What was wrong with her?!

  He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and the swirling aura of command only amplified his physical appeal. It didn’t take much for her to imagine what the body beneath the tight shirt was like. Wide shoulders, chiseled chest, rippling abs … even his scent – of pure man mixed with the mystery of night – lured her like an animal falling for a hunter’s bait. His attraction was inhuman.

  He glanced up at her, amusement in the upturned corner of his full lips.

  “You ok?” he asked, his quiet, gravelly voice making her heart quicken.

  She met his gaze with a nod, and they looked at each other until her face flushed. She cleared her throat and looked down. The wound on her arm was gone. She pulled her arm from his grip and stared at it, twisting it left and right before lowering it.

  In fact, she felt no pain at all, anywhere. She kicked out her wounded leg. It, too, was healed. All that was left was to clean was the blood.

  “I’m going crazy,” she said, voice tightening. “Oh God, I’m going crazy!”

  Her vision blurred with tears, and she stood precariously.

  “You’re not so good on your feet yet,” D said.

  She felt his arms around her and leaned into him, surprised at how natural it felt to be held against a complete stranger who made her want to flee for the hills and strip naked at the same time.

  “You’re not going crazy,” he assured her. “When you’re well, we’ll talk.”

  “You know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  His warm chest vibrated against her cheek as he chuckled.

  “Damian Bylun. If I’m not mistaken, you called me for help.”

  Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted his help. Damian Bylun was not a doctor. Hell, she had serious doubts he was even human. She didn’t know what he was, and she had a feeling he’d welcomed her into a world that only he could grant her leave from.

  God help me.

  He wasn’t sure how someone going from the second to first floor had managed to get bloody enough to look like she crawled through a warzone. Most women were too intimidated to go near him, let alone get close enough to throw their arms around him. This one clung to him as if he were the only thing preventing her from being swept overboard. He’d watched her thoughts of him naked, flattered and turned on. It’d been too long since a normal woman got over his first impression.