by Lizzy Ford
“Grande and Pierre are joining us from our European front. We rotate every twelve months or so,” Han explained.
“Front? Like war front?” she asked.
“Fighting Czerno and his monsters.”
“Ikira, welcome,” Grande said.
“Thanks. Call me Sofia.”
“No,” Han said, leveling a look on them both. “Dusty’s a stickler for titles.”
“Mi corazon,” Grande said, faking a wounded look. Pierre punched him in the shoulder, and they walked towards the garage.
“What is Ikira?” she asked, turning to Han.
“Similar to my queen. You rank up near Damian now.”
Her smile faded. The mention of him reminded her of her cramped stomach and the half dozen failed attempts to eat normal food.
“It’s a good thing,” Han said at her silence. “He owns your ass. No one will mess with you.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“If you make it another day and a half, you’ll win our bet,” he reminded her.
“Let me ask you something, Han,” she said, facing him. “What am I supposed to be doing? If I’m not a financial planner, should I be oracling or something?”
“Ask your master.”
“I knew you’d say that. And he’s not my master. I’m an American; we don’t have masters.”
“I will give you a piece of advice,” he said, unaffected by her tirade. “And this isn’t because I want to win our bet, but because you’re a proud person. Don’t wait until tomorrow to go to him or you’ll crawl to him on your knees. No matter what you think, you can’t live without his blood. You might as well make it on your terms, ordering him to submit, rather than begging and mauling him like an animal.”
“Wow,” she murmured. “You really want to win our bet, don’t you?”
“You’re too smart to be so damn stubborn. Jake lost his life saving you, Sofia, and you’re acting like a fucking two-year old.”
And he walked away. Sofia watched him, stunned by his rebuke. Her thoughts went to Jake, and she saddened. He was right. He was always right, even when he told her to ask Damian something he knew very well.
On her terms. If she had it her way, she’d not do it at all. She’d never known hunger like this!
“It’s your fate,” she reminded herself.
How silly was an oracle who refused her own destiny?! If for no other reason, she owed it to Jake to try. She drew a deep breath and marched into the mansion. Damian was rarely indoors during the day, and she hoped he wasn’t in his room when she knocked. Her courage fled to see him framed in his doorway, as seductive by day as he was by night.
He didn’t ask her why she came but stepped aside and motioned her in. Sofia balled her fists and entered, sweating at the thought of the ordeal ahead.
“I feel like some sort of animal,” she told him. But I want to live.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m scared, Damian,” she added.
“I know,” he said, holding out a hand to her.
She took it, her insides quaking in anticipation and hunger. He sat her down on the couch and sat down across from her with the knife in hand. She closed her eyes, more of his home videos playing through her mind.
“Stop,” he warned.
She opened her eyes. A flash of darkness went through his gaze, and the same sense of hidden fury returned.
“You hate this.”
“I do, but not because of you,” he said.
“Someone hurt you? Was this during your dark period?”
He froze for a moment then resumed.
“It was,” he confirmed.
She took the hint but wondered who had hurt him so badly that he still bore a grudge thousands of years later. He sliced his wrist, and her attention turned immediately to thick liquid bubbling against his olive skin.
This isn’t right.
You’ll die without it.
She recoiled, pushing herself against the couch. He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.
“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her.
She refused to move. He shifted his hand to her neck and held her in place, placing his bloodied wrist against her lips.
The scent, the taste was unlike anything she ever experienced. Sofia licked her lips, the rich flavor as ensnaring as his scent. She lapped once with the tip of her tongue, tasting both the metallic, spicy blood and her tears. She opened her mouth and drank from him, timidly at first then hungrily. Damian hissed beside her, his grip on her neck tightening. She withdrew, afraid to hurt him.
“Don’t stop,” he urged, his voice huskier, lower. “Drink.”
She closed her eyes and drank. When she pulled back at last, she sat in a daze, fulfilled and content yet unable to shake the horror of what she’d done. Damian had turned his face away and was clenching a thick knuckle between his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, appalled.
“No,” he grated. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“You better go.”
Something in his voice compelled her to hurry. Sofia fled to her room, amazed at how good she felt. She was no longer hungry, and she felt energized, fulfilled.
Guilty.
How long could she live like this, drinking someone else’s blood?
How long would he allow it?
It was still sooooo wrong!
How could slitting his wrist for her daily not hurt him?
She tried to sift through her emotions, before she returned to his door. He opened it before she knocked, dressed for sparring in his judo pants and nothing else. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from devouring his body with her eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you’re ok,” she said. “And … I’m ok, right?”
“We’re cool,” he said, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Whenever you’re hungry, you can come by.”
He was guarded again. She felt like the morning after a drunk, one night stand. What did she say after the most awkward experience of her life? The thought of his blood lit her afire, almost as much as the sight of his bare chest.
What would sleeping with him while drinking from him be like?
She backed away from his door, wondering how that deviant thought emerged. Han eyed her as she hurried past him towards the library. Dressed for sparring, he waited with Grande and Pierre for Damian.
“You ok?” he asked.
“You always ask me that. If I’m not, you’ll know,” she replied curtly.
“Very well, Ikira.”
She glared at him, sensing his amusement. Damian trotted down the stairs. She didn’t look at him until his back was to her on their way towards the door. As if feeling her gaze on him, he paused at the door.
“If you ever want to try it, let me know.”
“Try what? Sparring?”
Screwing and drinking.
His voice was as clear in her mind as if he spoke the words. She sucked in a sharp breath, at once confused and thrilled. Without looking at her, he strode through the doors into the courtyard.
“I do not understand you,” she whispered after him. His simple words turned her inside out, and yet, what would he want with a woman like her? If he was what Han claimed – king, lord, master of the entire damn universe – wouldn’t he take the supermodel of his choice?
Target of opportunity. Maybe that’s what she was.
Sofia shook her head. If she was an oracle, she needed to learn to be one. She retreated to the study and began to search the shelves for books on oracles. Many of the books looked ancient with some were written in different languages. One volume caught her attention.
Oracle, See thyself home.
She collected what she could find and perched in a chair, reading until sundown, when the hunger pangs hit her again. They were always worse at night, when Damian’s draw was overwhelming. The thought of him without his shirt on, or better yet, naked …
“No way
in hell,” she breathed.
She gritted her teeth and forced her attention to the stack of books, jotting down notes on her notepad. There appeared to be no such thing as a do-it-yourself manual for seeing the future, but the books had a few good - if bizarre - anecdotal stories that gave her ideas. Armed with her notes, she emerged from the library.
The mansion was quiet, and she roamed until she found where everyone was. The men were at dinner, including Damian. The scents of what looked like pizza night taunted her, and she stood peering through the cracked door at the long dinner table.
Bitterness slithered through her.
She was even different from them. Her reading shed some insight, saying that when an Oracle died, she could be brought back to life by a blood bond. There weren’t many details, and she could only guess that this was not the normal case, as some stories mentioned Oracles attending great feasts.
She watched the men eating happily around the table and left the mansion for the gardens. A cold wind comforted her as she sat alone. The moon was covered by clouds, and she crumpled the notes she’d taken. Tears began to spill again, and she began to understand how Darian felt, utterly alone and abandoned in the corner of her mind.
“You should go inside,” Damian’s voice was soft.
“I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere.”
“You belong here,” he said resolutely. “You were forced into a transition without being prepared for it. I’m sorry for that.”
“But are you sorry for what I am?”
“Not at all.”
He pried the notes from her hand.
“What is this?”
“I’m trying to learn to be an oracle. I read a couple of books today.”
He studied it.
“There’s no dummies guide,” she added. “I think I can teach myself how to keep from seeing deaths whenever I touch someone.”
She sneaked a look at his face, surprised to see the warm smile there as he read through her notes.
“Have you tried any of this?”
“No.”
“Try it.”
She took it back. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was ashamed even to look at him. Would he soon grow tired of her showing up at his door, demanding a meal?
“I don’t want to use you,” she voiced out loud.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t want to use you for … for your blood. I don’t like being dependent on anyone. It’ll get old for you one day.”
“It won’t.”
“How could it not? It’s just the way things are,” she insisted. “I’m an addict. You’re the supplier. What if you get a new job someday and stop selling drugs?”
“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted, chuckling. “I am what I am, and you are what you are. I don’t second guess that.”
“I’m not as confident as you. My existence relies on you giving me blood. Sometimes I think you’d rather eat me than talk to me.”
She hugged herself and faced him, agitated.
“I don’t like being hungry and not being able to go to the kitchen.”
“I understand.”
By the reserved note in his voice, he did. If she closed her eyes, she would see the black memories crossing through his mind, but she allowed him his privacy.
“I will never make you beg or deny you what you need,” he said, gaze dark. “If you’re hungry, visit the kitchen. I won’t say no.”
“I don’t want this.”
“It’s not your choice. You must learn to trust me.”
Trust!
She almost laughed. Kidnapping, involuntary resurrection - these were not the foundations trust was built on!
Damian held out his hand to her. She hesitated while her silver eyes swirled with hypnotic slowness. His terrified, brave little oracle was entrancing, the shimmer that caught his attention when they met much stronger with their bond.
She was trying. He never thought something so simple could please him so much. He couldn’t flush away the dark memories from his time after the Schism when he’d been enslaved by humans intent on using his god-powers, but he could protect her from a similar fate. She moved forward, taking refuge from him in his own arms, a reality that amused him.
“Damian, I’m a monster, even in your world,” her heartbreak was in her voice, and he squeezed her closer to him. He didn’t think he’d ever met a human or Guardian as honest as this one.
“At least you’re a cute monster,” he replied.
She pulled away, her anger rippling through him. He didn’t know how something so innocuous could piss her off, but then again, thousands of years hadn’t given him much insight into a woman’s mind.
“You’re a jerk, Damian!” she said, glaring at him before running away.
“You better run, little girl,” he growled, irritated by her response.
His gaze followed her until she disappeared into the house, and he shook his head. He let her get away with so much! She had no idea how his world operated! He didn’t understand the ins and outs of their blood bond, but he knew how much she rocked his world when she drank from him earlier.
In a different time, he’d simply command her to take her place at his side and in his bed as his mate and slake his heated blood whenever he felt the need. The ancient kings - his father and brother included - had regularly taken oracles as their queens. He began to understand why and couldn’t help but feel frustrated at having to find a way to win her instead of command her.
His phone dinged.
Ikir, may I enter your home?
He gazed at the message, puzzled, before he realized who it was.
At your risk, Watcher.
“I knocked this time, ikir.”
He turned to see the small man with bright green eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Damian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall around the trickling fountain at his back.
“I admit, this technology makes it much easier for me to communicate,” the Watcher said, gazing at his phone.
Damian raised an eyebrow, not about to humor the otherworldly harbinger of bad news.
“I hope you don’t spend enough time here to learn to use too much technology,” he said pointedly. “Whatsup, Watcher?”
“The Grey God is coming.”
“The what?”
“I had to wait until you found your oracle to tell you. I do apologize,” the Watcher said. “If you hadn’t found her, he wouldn’t come. But now he will.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“To contain the uh, coaching being done, the Original Beings are ordaining a new god to act as a sort of referee here on earth who will have the ability to bridge the physical and divine worlds.”
“Y’all pissed really them off this time, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Ikir, I think we did.”
“What is this Grey God?”
“I can’t tell you, but you must be on the lookout for him. You have to protect him.”
“Didn’t your Original friends give him god-powers?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Damian waited. The Watcher returned his gaze to his phone, reading a text.
“Fascinating,” he murmured.
“You gonna try to explain?” Damian prompted.
“No, ikir.”
He studied the small man infatuated with his phone. He’d hoped never to see the Watcher again.
“I’ve assigned you a ringtone,” the Watcher said in satisfaction.
“Didn’t think you Watchers liked us lesser beings contacting you.”
“In an emergency.”
“Is that your way of saying something bad’s gonna happen, and I’ll need to call you?”
“No, ikir,” the Watcher said, looking up. “But in case it does …”
“Right,” Damian said, not amused by the cryptic responses.
“Will you tell your team captains I may visit them?”
Despite his suspi
cion, he chuckled.
“You can stop with the basketball analogies,” he said. “You mean Dusty and Jule?”
“My apologies, ikir. I wanted to explain things to you in a way you’d be able to understand.”
“Yeah, we’re all idiots here on planet earth.”
The Watcher smiled in response, and Damian knew well enough his kind truly thought themselves superior.
“I’ll tell them not to kill you on sight, if that’s what you’re asking,” he continued. “But I’ll warn you as well: if you speak in riddles to Dusty, he’ll cut your heart out. And Jule may smile at you, but you better disappear fast if you tell him something he doesn’t like.”
“I understand,” the Watcher said. “I want only the opportunity to speak to Dusty, if needed. Jule’s still on what you might call the otherworldly shitlist.”
Damian straightened, at his limit with the cryptic nonsense.
“Anything else you wanna avoid telling me?” he snapped.
“No, ikir.”
“Walk yourself out.”
He strode away. He felt the Watcher’s presence disappear as he entered the mansion. His phone dinged again, and he glanced down.
Thank u, ikir.
“Just when things were complicated enough … “ he muttered and retreated to his study for his evening telecon with Dusty and Jule.
They were both online already, swapping vamp stats.
“Dusty, do I need to send someone to Miami to fix your IT?” he asked as a message popped upon his screen.
“You know he’s a techno-phobe,” Jule said. “Still using stamps and envelopes.”
I prefer the personal touch to this e-shit.
“Hey, there’s something I need to tell you guys,” Damian said grimly. “The Watchers are in town, and they may be dropping by to visit.”
There was a pause in activity.
Uh, oh.
“You have no idea,” he said. “We’ll talk when you’re in town. Watcha got for me tonight?”
* * *
“Ok, Ikira, what do you See?”
She tentatively touched Pierre’s outstretched arm. He took his place on the sparring field, and Grande leaned close to her.
“He’ll win in seven moves,” she told him.
“Pierre for the kill,” Grande said, handing Han one from the wad of dollars in his hand.
