Damian's Oracle

by Lizzy Ford

  “This is working too well,” Han said, eyeing her.

  “If only you could touch horses,” Grande said with a sigh of exaggerated melancholy. “We’d be kings at the races.”

  She was getting a better grip on her newfound talent. She was able to predict the winner of their rounds – without flashes of their deaths. Han motioned him away, and Grande shifted down a seat.

  “Isn’t there a better use for your gift than lining Grande’s pockets?” he asked.

  “I asked you the other day, and you weren’t at all helpful,” she reminded him. “If you have any ideas, let me know.”

  Her stomach growled loudly. She ignored Han’s knowing look.

  “I win again!” Grande exclaimed as Pierre’s opponent went down. “Dos dolares, senor.”

  “Enough,” Han said. “No more bets with Ikira. It’s called cheating in the real world.”

  “You have any other magic tricks for us?” Pierre called to her.

  “Not today.”

  “Magic tricks,” Han muttered. “In my day, oracles were the most revered, most feared and celebrated. This generation has no idea. Including you, Ikira. You’re all fucking idiots.”

  “You’re no fun today, Han. What gives?” she said, surprised.

  He grimaced in response. She touched his arm.

  “You’re leaving me,” she said, saddening. “Why?”

  “Battle is what we do,” he answered then looked at her. “What did you see?”

  Damian’s rules for oracles returned to her.

  “You’ll live,” she said.

  After your leg is broken next week.

  He appeared relieved, and she felt guilty. And hungry. Always hungry. She chewed her lip and glanced at her own wrist. Did her blood taste half as good as Damian’s? She made a face, drooling at the thought of Damian’s blood again.

  “I guess I’m done here,” she said and rose.

  She placed a checkmark next to the first of her ideas for learning to use her power. She wandered the mansion as she often did, restless and starving. She found herself again in front of Damian’s door. She’d been there twice before today and only knocked once for fear he’d answer. And then she’d tried to eat chocolate and ended up in the bathroom even weaker and hungrier.

  I don’t want this!

  Her stomach growled. Angry, she turned to leave when Damian’s door opened. He was dressed again all in black, a color that should have minimized his size but just amplified how ripped he was beneath the clothing.

  “You need something?” he asked with a casualness that pissed her off, as if he didn’t know why she was there.

  “No.”

  “Alrighty then.”

  He closed his door.

  He was messing with her - he knew she was hungry!

  He promised!

  She sighed and knocked. He answered again.

  “You need something?”

  “Yes,” she grated. “I do.”

  He pushed the door open. She entered and saw car keys on the table near the door.

  “Are you going to town?”

  “Yep.”

  Bet he’s got a girl in town.

  “Figures.”

  “Pardon?” he asked, looking up from the wallet he rifled through.

  “Nothing.”

  “You finish your thoughts out loud pretty often.”

  “Bad habit.”

  “I think it’s cute.”

  Maybe I do.

  “That is not cool,” she told him.

  “The girl or the ability to read minds?”

  She gritted her teeth and turned to go, trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another woman made her.

  “There’s no girl,” he called. “You can stay.”

  “I wasn’t -“

  “Yes you were. Sit down.”

  He was amused and she fuming, her emotions scattered by his mere presence.

  I have no right to be jealous. If he has a woman, he has a woman.

  “Sofia, stop thinking and sit down.”

  She obeyed, embarrassed.

  “There’s no woman, though I’m flattered,” he said, sitting beside her on the couch with knife in hand.

  The sight of the knife made her squeamish.

  “I keep trying to entice you, but you seem immune to me,” he teased. “No other woman has been able to resist me. It’s fascinating.”

  “I appreciate you trying to make me feel less nervous, but you shouldn’t lie to me,” she snapped.

  “I can have any woman I want. I wouldn’t bother with you if I didn’t want you.”

  The edge of arrogance surprised her. She looked at him. His look was intent, the gold of his irises swirling.

  “Let’s get this over with, so you don’t miss your hot date,” she said coolly.

  He lifted her chin with one finger. His lips brushed hers, and she felt something within her melt at the simple touch. Hunger for him - not just his blood - roared through her. He kissed her gently, tasting her, savoring her. At his prodding, she opened her mouth. His mouth was hot, his flavor as addictive as his blood. He nipped at her lips, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. He pressed her back against the couch, and she yielded, her hands touching his face, his soft hair, his neck. Touching him sent warm energy racing through her blood. Maybe he had a harem of women at his beck and call, but she couldn’t see herself with any other man. Ever.

  “You believe me now?” he whispered against her lips, pulling away.

  She sighed in response.

  “The offer’s always open,” he assured her. “Now drink.”

  He placed his bloodied wrist to her mouth. She closed her eyes, body on fire as she drank from him while imagining what his mouth could do to the rest of her body. When she was sated, she pushed his arm away. He had turned away again and was chewing his knuckle.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked, embarrassed when her voice came out husky. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not the kind you’d understand.”

  “What do you mean not the kind I’d understand?” she persisted, standing. “I don’t want to hurt you, Damian.”

  His eyes were closed. He gave a hoarse, husky laugh at her words.

  “I mean, when you do that, I want to fuck you, and if you don’t leave like, NOW, I’m gonna drag you into my bed and - ”

  She ran before he finished, emotions roiling and high off the kiss and his blood. Though she couldn’t see her own fate, she began to suspect which direction it’d take her in.

  “Any day now!” he shouted as he passed her room to leave.

  * * *

  She stood in a dark, cold place, gazing at the hunched form in the corner. She couldn’t tell if he was human or beast. While afraid, she knew whatever he was, he needed help. Her help.

  Darian stirred, pushing himself farther into the corner. She approached and knelt a safe distance from him, trying hard to see into the darkness of the corner. She couldn’t make him out.

  “What do you want from me?”she whispered.

  “Free me.”

  While his form was large enough to be a man the size of Damian’s Guardians, his voice was terrified and gravelly, as if he hadn’t ever spoken to anyone.

  “Are you ok?” she asked, creeping forward.

  He began to cry, the soul-deep weeping of a man who’d lost all and spent his tormented life in a level of hell she’d never be able to imagine. The sound made her gut twist and her chest tighten. Tears formed in her eyes at the heartbreaking sound of his pain. She moved closer and held out her hand. He reached for her, but his scarred hand passed through hers, as if all that remained of him was a ghost of the man he’d been. She made out the shape of the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep, what looked like a half-sun. The rest was shrouded in darkness.

  Darian wouldn’t leave her alone. The scene played over and over in her thoughts, growing stronger until he was as vivid during daylight as he had been at night. She rubbed her temples
then issued a challenging glare to the contents of the pantry, furious once more she could eat none of the wonderful things it held.

  “Gods. She does this a few times a day. She can’t eat food, but she refuses to admit it to herself,” Han explained to Pierre. “Since you’ll be her new – “

  “Babysitter,” she interjected.

  “Exactly. You’ll be holding her hair for her in the bathroom several times a day.”

  “She cannot eat?” Pierre asked with a frown.

  “No. She’s blood bound.”

  His look turned from disappointed to approving.

  “Bien.”

  “I want food,” Sofia said with a sigh.

  Damian hadn’t returned the night before. She wondered again whether or not he had a harem elsewhere. That thought coupled with her nightmare made her even angrier at not being able to eat.

  “Go eat,” Han grumbled.

  “No.”

  “Fine. Let him sleep. He had a rough night anyway. I know you’re mad at him and thought you’d like to pester him.”

  “Why was his night rough?”

  “He had a run-in with a whole bunch of Czerno’s goons.”

  Concerned, Sofia turned to face him.

  “Is he ok?”

  “He’s fine. Cranky.”

  “Then I definitely don’t want to see him,” she said, eyes going to the ceiling.

  He’ll be too sleepy to tempt me. If he doesn’t refuse me because he’s tired.

  He promised.

  She returned her gaze to the Pop Tarts.

  “Damn you all,” she muttered and closed the pantry.

  “Go. Eat.”

  She didn’t acknowledge his order but headed towards the stairs. Her daily debate about drinking blood made her pace in front of Damian’s room until he wrenched the door open and stared at her, bleary-eyed and bare-chested.

  “Either come in, or go think somewhere else!” he snapped.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” she said with false cheerfulness.

  He muttered a curse and flung his door open. She smiled, pleased to see him as pissy as she felt. It was his turn to be ticked at the world - she was sick of being alone and angry. She closed the door behind her.

  “Han said you were out doing battle last night,” she said, noticing the shredded t-shirt on the floor.

  “This world is so fucked up I don’t know why I bother.”

  He flung himself back into bed. Irritated, Sofia pulled open the curtains to his windows overlooking the bed.

  “Sofia!” he snarled, burying his head under a pillow.

  “You promised,” she reminded him, enjoying his misery. “The kitchen is always open.”

  He flung out an arm.

  “I’m not going to cut you,” she objected.

  “Then you’re not going to eat.”

  “Fine.”

  She started towards the door.

  “Stop!”

  She turned to see him pull two knives from under his pillow. He rolled onto his side.

  “C’mere.”

  “Did you win your battle last night?”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  She waited at the edge of the bed. He sliced his forearm and tucked the knife beneath his pillow once more, closing his eyes.

  “Are you going to get up?” she asked.

  “No.”

  The sight of him in bed made her blood surge. His head remained shoved under a pillow, and his body relaxed, as if he were falling back asleep. Turned on and starving, she gingerly crawled across the bed and settled beside him on her belly, pausing guiltily before lapping up the bubbles of blood. She drank until full.

  “Thank you, Damian,” she whispered and placed a small kiss on his elbow.

  His other hand snaked out and rolled her onto her side beside him. He looped one leg across her hips so she couldn’t move.

  “Damian - “ she protested.

  “Hush.”

  The curtains closed at his silent command, and she lay still, waiting for him to make some move on her. He tucked her against him and fell asleep. The sense of peace descended upon her again, and she relaxed against him, content to her soul to be surrounded by his scent and heat.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Usually when he awoke with a hard on and a woman in his bed, what happened next was pretty straight forward. He rolled onto his side, watching her sleep. Her cool beauty turned haunting in the moonlight that slid through the curtains. She lay sweet and vulnerable on her back, her lips parted and warm body tucked against his side. He touched her face and trailed a finger down her neck, between her breasts, and rested his hand on her stomach.

  There were many things he thought of doing to her. He couldn’t risk alienating the woman in his bed, partially because she was still too delicate, too new to his world to take the next step and partially because he was still leery of the powers of an oracle.

  “Damian?” her voice, thick with sleep, ratcheted up his hormones another level.

  “I’m here, kiri,” he said.

  He brushed stray hairs from her face and replaced his hand on her stomach. The simple movement took discipline Dusty would be proud of.

  “Do you think I’m a monster?”

  “No, kiri. I think you’re a lost angel.”

  “I know where I am,” she said with sleepy stubbornness that made him smile.

  She roused herself and lay on her side, facing him. His hand shifted to her hip, and he felt the absence of her warmth to the bone. Her eyes glowed and spun. They gazed at each other for a long moment.

  “You’re always welcome in my bed, kiri,” he said, satisfied when her pupils dilated and her face reddened. She looked away, embarrassed.

  “You shouldn’t say those things,” she whispered.

  “Why not? You’re mine already. You just haven’t realized it,” he said.

  She gave him an agitated look and rolled onto her stomach, twisting her head away from him.

  “Will you answer something personal, Damian?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What are you? And don’t tell me a divine spirit of sorts. That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  He pulled her into his body, even as she refused to look at him. She didn’t resist his touch. She never did, and yet she never surrendered either. It was an odd mix that warned him she’d not yet accepted her place in his world.

  “My father was the White God, the deity charged with safeguarding good and battling evil on behalf of all the creatures of the universe. My brother inherited the title when he died. I inherited it from him on his death.”

  “You’re a god?”

  “Yeah. Cool, isn’t it?”

  He rested against her, enjoying her scent.

  “Why are you on earth? Shouldn’t you be floating in the sky somewhere?” she asked skeptically.

  He chuckled.

  “A long time ago, there was a battle so horrible it threatened to destroy the whole universe. There are … creatures older than me in the universe, and they were fighting a turf war over who ruled what part of the universe. The battle got so bad that the only way to prevent the annihilation of every being in the universe was to divide the physical and divine worlds. The Schism occurred, and some of us were exiled to the physical world - the human world - while the rest of my kind and the other creatures were confined to the divine world,” he explained. “So, while I am a god, I have to stay here, where I’m preordained to fight Czerno, the Black God, for the fate of humanity.”

  As he spoke, memories streamed through his mind, memories of the universe before the Schism and afterwards, when he and a few others were cast alone onto earth. He thought again of the Watcher’s latest warning, of their being a new god in town.

  “Were there many oracles before the Schism?”

  “Oracles are rare but there was at least one every generation. When the kings of our people found them, they mated with them to bind them to them.”

  “Instead of
blood binding?”

  “Depended on the king and the oracle. I would say it was a rough lesson in history when the kings of my time learned that killing a woman with the intent to bring her back as your servant doesn’t really work as they’d planned.”

  “If you killed me, I’d make your life hell.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who’s Darian?” she asked and pushed herself up enough to look at him.

  Damian’s jaw clenched. When he didn’t answer, she continued.

  “I have dreams about him where he’s sad and alone.”

  “Darian was my brother, Sofia,” he said quietly. “He died a long time ago.”

  He met her gaze and saw her confusion. The tension between them was thick. He knew without touching her mind that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She cleared her throat and lay down again, facing away from him.

  “I’m bound to you forever,” she whispered.

  “Yep. You’re mine.”

  “Will you … can you have a mate and an oracle?”

  He considered, smiling to himself. For her sake, he made an effort to behave, but he truly loved the openings she gave him.

  “I can,” he concurred. “Many times, a king will take an oracle as his mate. But if you don’t stop messing with my weak heart, I’ll go elsewhere for a mate.”

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “I’ll say again: you’re welcome in my bed, preferably naked, though this is good enough for now, I guess.”

  “Damian … “

  She didn’t finish. He understood. She was terrified of what she was, of his world, of him. He was a saint thru-and-thru for rubbing her back instead of seducing her. He liked that she needed the comfort only he could provide, trusted him on a level that seemed to him far more intimate than fucking.

  Then again, he was a man, and he didn’t pretend to understand a woman’s mind. He’d never lay down in a woman’s bed and expect to sleep when they were both horny. It was purely a woman thing.

  “You must miss your brother.”

  His thoughts turned dark. He didn’t like that she was able to pull those memories free of the prison he’d sent them to. He released a small burst of power into her. She fell into a deep sleep. Damian wrapped his arm around her and held her close for a moment, torn between thoughts of her naked and thoughts of his brother’s death.