I’m still halfway on top of the bare-chested strige, who is sleeping like the dead. Oh, I’ve definitely fucked up this time. Putting my face in my hands, I groan a little louder than I mean to as snippets of last night flash through my brain.
More snippets of last night begin to flash in my mind; the three of us drinking, me dancing with Monroe and then for Monroe, then Monroe and I making out in a dark corner…a flash of Enoch’s face cloaked in anger…
Whatever. Fucker had his chance.
Then it was me and Monroe, in my bed and me sucking the energy from him. I’d taken control like a woman possessed as I claimed his body and soul.
Oh, sweet Damnation! What the fuck is wrong with me?
Monroe stirs from his sleep, yawning and stretching his arms before opening his eyes. Damn it. He even manages to make that look sexy. As those eyes find mine, a smug grin turns his lips up, “Bonjour, ca va Chere?”
When I don’t answer and just continue to stare at him, he laughs, “Sorry, my dear. I said good morning and how are you?”
“Oh. Sorry, I understood you. But if you want me to be honest, I’m just trying not to freak the fuck out. Did we…”
I bite my bottom lip as my question trails off. I’m not exactly sure how to ask the question that I already know the answer to.
He reads my face like an open book, “Oui. What you think happened, happened.”
I’m sure there’ll be some kind of repercussions for it, but what the fuck ever – what’s done is done. Though, I can’t help but feel this may have just complicated things a bit more. I had a knack for doing that lately.
“I can hear those cogs turning in there, Chere,” Monroe consoles me as he runs his knuckles across my cheek. He frames my face with his hands as I try without success to not ogle his beautiful, pale chest, “Everything is more than alright. Whatever repercussion is worth the moment I had with you last night.”
His words chisel away at some of the ice that’s been around my heart for so long. I’ve never had anyone say words like that to me in all my years. Even Enoch, he may have his looks going for him, but he has never been a Damned for pretty words.
“What the actual fuck?” Enoch yells bursting through the door, slamming it open hard enough that it crashes into the wall. I cover my ears at the noise.
“Hey!” I yell back, regretting it immediately. I quickly change my tone softer, but I leave all evidence of irritation in my tone. “This place in an antique, so can you please try not to rip the walls down while throwing your little fit.”
Monroe cuts between us, “Bonjour, Liege Enoch. Have a nice rest?” The humor in his voice has me trying my hardest not to crack a smile.
Apparently, Enoch doesn’t find it so funny. He starts toward my side of the bed with a look of pure rage on his face. Monroe whips up faster than I can follow and plants himself between the two of us. I want to say that I have some form of self-preservation, but I don’t. The last thing going through my mind, as my gaze rakes down Monroe’s naked backside, is the furious Damned facing us down. Something else has grasped my attention, making me zone out Enoch’s show of testosterone.
Something I didn’t remember, or maybe I’m just now seeing it, is the ink that covers Monroe. There are dark angel wings that start right at the base of his neck, spanning the length of his shoulder blades and lead down into the biceps of his arms. Almost on top of that is a depiction of the gates of hell. If you look at it from far away, there’s a distinctive skull shape to it. Up close, there’s an ancient castle wall with two window panes and a doorway centered beneath. Those windows look like stained glass of a church, only the faces on the surface are writhing in pain. On top of the wall, two hellhounds stand watch as a black robed figure holds the double doors open. Behind him is a courtyard filled with gravestones of every size and shape. Creatures crawl up the edge of the courtyard, slowly making their way towards the door.
The scene looks real enough to give me chills, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out to touch it. He tenses beneath my fingers for a half a second before relaxing again. It’s then that I realize that there is a standoff happening between the two of them, neither backing down. There’s no telling how long I’d been staring at Monroe’s back. I conclude that it can’t have been long, because it’s almost as if Enoch has just now noticed Monroe’s nudity.
His eyes flick down and back up again as he realizes the position that he’s put himself in. The look on his face is enough that a bark of a laugh escapes me without me letting it. Monroe, still on his knees in front of me, doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered with the fact that his goods are there for Enoch and the world to see. If anything, he stands a little taller, like he already knows how sinfully sexy that body is.
It stirs feelings inside of me that makes me wish Enoch never would have burst in here. Laying a hand flat against Monroe’s back, I watch as Enoch’s nostrils flare in anger before his second form starts to take over. That dark red skin and curled horns finally making an appearance.
“Whether you want it or not, you belong to me Nocturna. My Baellock will not stand down,” he growls.
This sets off a fire in me, “Yours, Enoch? I haven’t been yours for almost a hundred years. You left me and didn’t look back. You no longer have anything I need or want.”
He growls again, and ignoring Monroe’s nakedness, steps within touching distance. Monroe lets out his own warning growl, and I know that his second form has also come out to play.
Instead of reaching out for me, Enoch spins on his heel and rushes out at inhuman speed.
“Well, he certainly is the jealous type,” Monroe states with humor lacing his voice. He peeks over his shoulder at where my hand is still connected to his back, “You alright, Chere?”
Pulling my hand away, I fall back to the pillows. He follows before throwing the sheet back over me protectively. I would swoon over his gentleman like behavior if I wasn’t so caught up in being mad at Enoch’s pathetic claim over me. He left and had not come back in almost a hundred years, yet he still wants to say that I’m his? Even after all this time, my heart wants to believe it, but my mind absolutely rebels against the idea.
“I’m fine,” I finally answer him, more than a little dishonest.
His second form fades out as his ice-cold lips press against my cheek, sending goosebumps down my neck and spine. It’s like a shock to my system. I jump up out of bed away from him.
Walking over to my closet to grab some clothes I say, “I’m going to shower. I don’t want to be rude and kick you out or anything, but I hardly know you. Last night…” I stop as I realize that I don’t feel an ounce of regret or shame at being with him, so I continue, “Last night was incredible from what I can remember, but a lot of what happened was the copious amounts of Nightlock that I drank. Next time it happens, I’d like to have gotten to know you better and not be drunk or having a serious hangover from Damnation.”
Did I just confirm that this was happening again? I shrug internally. Why the fuck not? We’re both consenting adults, with only the one small, or huge, problem of a jealous Baellock.
Monroe laughs before sitting up to pick up his discarded shirt on the floor. He throws it on as those eyes scour my naked body, “You don’t have to explain to me, Chere. I am perfectly fine with letting you shower alone.”
He walks over and grips my chin gently between his thumb and index finger, and with those eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and lust, he says, “I will be the gentleman and let us get to know each other. But don’t be mistaken. This will happen again. You are quite the woman, and any man would be an idiot not to see the prize that you are. I can wait until you are ready.”
His words put a blush on my cheeks, and I nod to him.
As he goes to walk out my bedroom door, he stops and turns back to me, “I will be waiting, Nocturna. I will have you in my life, whether or not I’m the only man in yours.”
Throwing me another of those wicked smiles, he
leaves me standing, staring after him like the village idiot.
After showering, dressing, and gathering my thoughts, I join Jamie and Felix as they set up the VIP area for our visiting Infernal tonight. I’ve seen hide nor hair of Enoch. He’s probably sulking in a corner somewhere. Against my protests, Monroe helps us. He makes subtle affectionate advances, such as a light caress on my arm as he walks by and a smile across the room as I catch his eye. Enoch has been my only legitimate relationship, but he was never about the small flirtations and pretty words, the exact opposite of Monroe. It’s hard not to feel a little special gaining the attention from a man of his looks and status.
Of course, Jamie misses nothing and pries what happened last night out of me. What I don’t tell her is that I can’t handle the heartbreak of loving another Damned like him. Jamie, however, is very pro Monroe. Who wouldn’t be?
“Ugh,” I tell her, “I’m just ready to get this over with. This day only has the potential to get even worse.”
Monroe chooses that exact moment to march up to us, with Raphael right on his heels. The somber look on their faces puts a queasy feeling in my stomach. He holds out his phone to me, “You need to see this.”
“What…,” I start, but he waves off my question and motions for me to take the phone.
“Push play,” he says with a hard voice.
I do as he says.
In the video is a man, or more accurately, a fully shifted Strige. He is shirtless and chained to a metal chair with a gag in his mouth. The chains are searing his skin in all the places they make contact. Blood oozes out of his open wounds, and his eyes are wide with terror as they watch a figure moving around the chair. I immediately begin to regret eating anything a little while ago, worrying that I’m going to puke all over Monroe’s expensive shoes. The only light that is visible is the single spot light above him. A masked face leans down and adjusts the camera. A black beanie covers his hair and the mask has the jaw of a skull in white patterned onto it. In his hand, he holds a blessed, silver blade with the Divine rune engraved right below the handle. It just so happens to be the same exact weapon that Rites use, and possibly, the same that those humans who attacked me carried.
The Strige tries yanking on the chains and groans in agony as they only bite harder into his flesh. The masked man kneels next to him and places the blade’s point into the Strige’s chest. Jamie, who has been watching over my shoulder, gasps in my ear. My eyes flick to Monroe’s, and he nods. His expression says it all. I need to watch this, no matter how hard it might be. Whatever happens next will change things for us all.
“Right now, you’re probably wondering who I am and why I have this blood sucking demon chained up,” the masked man speaks. His voice is distorted as if he’s using something to cover up the true sound of it. “Well,” he spews, “I’m here to tell all of you demons that we will not stop until you’re all extinguished. We know how to hurt you, how to kill you. Wherever you are, we will find you, and we will gut you as easily as this one here. Your women and children will fall beneath our blades. We are coming.”
Without hesitation, the man starts to slice into the Strige over and over. Blood splatters everywhere and runs down his body, sizzling as it splashes on the chains. He screams through the gag before his eyes roll back into his head. After an eternity of watching the sick bastard carve up the chained Strige, he finally ends his suffering with the blade to his heart. The body erupts into flames and in a flash, turns to ash. Bleeding and suffering one second, then dust the next. I have never been witness to the dirty deeds of those blessed blades, and I never wanted to find out this way.
Jamie wraps her arms around me from behind and cries into my shoulder before Felix comes to take her away. My eyes glaze over as Monroe extracts his phone from my grip. Tears fall in silent tribute for the fallen Damned, who more than likely did nothing wrong other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Monroe tries to get my attention, but I can’t seem to focus on him. The vivid scene of the Strige being tortured and killed plays on repeat behind my eyes. What was the point of this spectacle? It was a vicious execution, one that came with the masked man’s warning, and one that I don’t think we should take lightly at this point.
“That video was just posted to a forum of one of those crazy sites that humans use to exploit their conspiracy theories on all things paranormal,” Raphael informs us. “I’ve already got people on it, but it came from a computer with an untraceable IP address. So far, all the comments are humans believing it to be a hoax. We’re trying to get it down before this gets out as legitimate.”
I hear Raphael’s voice, but it’s as if it’s down a really long tunnel. Cold hands frame my face, and my focus comes back to Monroe in front of me. He swipes his thumbs across my cheeks to wipe away the tears still streaking down my face, “I’m sorry that we had to show you that, mon chere. We will help you in any way that we can to track down these men.”
Still unable to speak, I simply nod to him.
Enoch waltzes in at that exact moment. His face goes from fury, to concern, to nothing all in a matter of a second. For a moment, I think that he’ll come comfort me, but the look is gone before I can even confirm that it had been there in the first place. He continues over to the bar and sits down at one of stools, facing away from us.
The horror that I felt is nothing compared to what the other Strige must be feeling at what we just witnessed. I squeeze Monroe’s hand, and he gives me a sad smile before kissing my temple.
I can only hope that Raphael and his men can get that video taken down before it makes its rounds with the Infernal. Otherwise, Creator give me strength to make it through this.
Everyone sits around the table and I try to take stock of all the Infernal in front of me. The video was shared about halfway through the meeting. After sitting here in silence while the others fight over what they'd just been witness to, it's time to finally speak up.
I clear my throat and say loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “I should have opened by telling you guys what happened to me two days ago. I was ambushed by four humans while I picked up the shipment for my store."
I see both Enoch and Monroe on either side of me tense as if the threat were in the room getting ready to rip me apart. Enoch is barely containing his rage, "What? Humans ambushed you, and you're just now telling us?"
Ignoring him, I continue, "I had to call in the Rites for cleanup, but the humans knew exactly what would hurt me and what wouldn't. They had a silver net and a blessed blade."
There is a quick moment of silence before the entire room explodes in an uproar. Everyone talks over each other and nothing that anyone is saying can even be understood. It's mass chaos at its finest. The only one who isn't saying anything is Alida, and I'm thinking that's because she's enjoying this more than anyone. The guys weren't lying about her loving the discord. It's no wonder the other Arbiters couldn't handle their status. I want to go jump off a cliff having to suffer in a room full of these arguing idiots.
I try to talk over them, “Seriously. I was the one that was attacked. Can we please get our shit together?”
No one hears me, or if they do, it’s ignored. Monroe, the only one not yelling, looks at me with sympathy.
We're sitting at a round table, so I can see all of their faces. All at once, they silence and turn hostile, and I feel as though it's directed at me. Of course, that could be because they all turn in unison to look directly towards me.
It's then that I hear the voice behind me. It sends chills over my skin at the memory of his healing palm over my pained skin. That smooth as whiskey voice washes over me, and I try my best not to shiver.
"What's going on here?" Larkan asks.
I spin to face him, not realizing that someone had already called in the Rites. I should have done that considering I'm the Arbiter and all, but between these arguing fools and the video, my head is muddled. His hood covers his face as always, and I strangely find myself wanting to pull it
away to see for myself what hides underneath.
"Who called the Rites?" I ask the room.
Monroe lifts his hand into the air, "I did, chere. They hold as much responsibility as the rest of us to figure this out considering it was their blades that the humans now hold in their possession."
I lift an eyebrow in response to his little speech and then turn back to Larkan as, in that monotone, he says, "What blades are we talking about? We guard those with our lives as you clearly well know Infernal."
Shaking my head, I hold out a hand to stop Monroe's next words, "Be that as it may, I was just telling the rest of the infernal about the incident the other day, and a video has surfaced on a human website showing a Strige being first tortured and then killed with a blessed blade."
Trying to ignore the way that his voice is making me feel, I focus on his words, "We took care of the incident the other day, but I have heard nothing of a video."
I turn to Raphael and don't even have to voice my request out loud before he's walking over toward Larkan, who stiffens in response as he draws closer.
Saul snarls behind me, and I cut my eyes over my shoulder at him. The hatred that he wears on his face raises my suspicions. I know the guys had said that he hated humans, but does that extend to the Rites as well? Apparently, it does.
Focusing back on Larkan, I can’t see his face, but the power fluctuates around him as the video continues, "Do you have any leads on this yet?"
He directs the question at no one in particular, so Raphael answers, "We're trying to track them down, but the IP was untraceable."
Saul growls again behind me, "So, what are you planning on doing about this Rite?"
The Arbiter: Divinely Damned Book One Page 7
