by I. T. Lucas
Looking at her with hooded eyes, he kept the pressure steady, then began gradually increasing it until it became too much...
Exploding, Syssi screamed, her hips arching off the bed, her climax rippling powerfully, shaking her whole body.
When the tremors subsided, she reached for Kian, trying to bring him down to cover her trembling body with his warmth and his strength.
To connect.
Kian, that was his name. She remembered it now.
“Shh… it’s okay.” He resisted her pull, caressing and licking her tender nipples, easing the hurt away.
As he lifted his head, the hard planes of his face looked softer, his gaze appreciative. Stroking her damp hair, he bent down and kissed her lips softly, sweetly. “You’re a treasure, beautiful girl,” he said, his features blurring, dissipating...
“Wait! Don’t go!” Syssi panicked. “Don’t leave me alone... I want to give you pleasure too...”
He was almost gone now...
“You did, my sweet Syssi...”
She woke up gasping, her face flushed, her body sweaty, her panties soaking wet.
It had been just a dream.
It hadn’t been real.
As a deep sense of loss and disappointment enveloped her, Syssi curled upon herself, hugging her knees.
The most amazing sex she’d ever experienced had been nothing but a dream, a fantasy.
God, if the foreplay had been enough to bring about such a reality-altering orgasm, what would the actual act have been like?
Could she even imagine it?
Dream it?
Probably not.
How could she?
Without experiencing this little taste of how it could be, she wouldn’t have known to yearn even for this, let alone more.
Was it even attainable in the real world?
She would never know, would she?
Heavens, how she longed for her fantasy lover: the man from her dream.
If she were lucky, she would dream of him again. It was the most she could hope for.
Chapter 24: Kian
Back at his apartment, Kian dropped the ceremonial robe on one of the kitchen counter stools and walked over to the bar. Too wired to go to bed, he poured himself a drink and took it outside to the terrace. Getting comfortable on a lounger, he pulled out a cigarette from the pack he had left there, lit it, and inhaled gratefully.
As he watched the smoke curl up and dissipate into the dark sky, his thoughts wandered to Syssi. Her innocent, hopeful expression when he had first seen her face emerge from behind the curtain of her wild hair. The way her body had felt tucked against his when she’d slept in the car, her cheek resting on his chest.
That kiss...
After spending such a short time with Syssi, getting a taste for her, her absence already felt like something vital was missing from his life, and he had an inkling that he could never go back to the numb state of existence he had been living in for so long.
Except, what choice did he have? He had to stay away and somehow try to forget her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be as easy for him as it had been for her. After all, he couldn’t thrall away his own memories.
With a sigh, he took another drag from his cigarette and wondered if she was still sleeping, and if she was, was she dreaming about him?
As memories could never be truly erased, just pushed below the barrier separating the conscious mind from the unconscious, she might remember him in her dreams. Or maybe conjure him in her fantasies. He hoped she would.
He’d be thinking and dreaming about her. Of that, he was certain.
Sometime later, Kian woke up miserably cold and achingly hard. Apparently, he had fallen asleep on the lounger outside.
It was one hell of a dream.
The way she flew apart from so little...
Only in your dreams, buddy... you’re not that good, he chuckled.
But it had felt so real...
She had felt so real...
So good.
The girl was haunting him even in his dreams.
He needed to get rid of this obsession with a woman he could never see again. If he wanted to retain a shred of self-respect and one untainted spot on his dark soul, he would stay away from her.
Damn, sometimes it seemed like the cost of doing the right thing was too steep. Except, to succumb to his craving and take her would be the equivalent of a hit and run. Or more accurately, a fuck and run.
He had enough on his guilty conscience as it was.
Hell, he had enough guilt to fill up a lake.
Kian hung his head and let out a sigh, his breath misting in the cold air. If only Syssi weren’t so sweet and naive, if she were one of those girls he went out looking for hookups in the nightclubs he frequented, he would’ve taken her without a second thought and then forgotten about her the next day. But then, that sweetness and that naiveté were exactly what made her so irresistible to a man like him.
A dark-souled killer.
Heaven knew how many had breathed their last breath at his hands. And it didn’t matter that he had killed only to protect his family.
At first he’d had nightmares, but with each subsequent kill another part of his soul had shriveled and died, until one day he’d realized that ending a life no longer bothered him—it left him indifferent.
There was a dark void in his soul that craved Syssi’s light. Trouble was, the vacuum was so big that it would’ve devoured her whole and still hungered for more, long after depleting all that she had to give.
He couldn’t do it.
Syssi was a forbidden fruit.
A fresh, sweet, succulent fruit.
He’d better stick to the somewhat overripe, often even rotten variety he was used to. Not as tasty, but with less guilt attached.
Except a glance at his watch revealed it was four twenty in the morning; too late to go prowling for sex in bars or clubs.
Resigned, he made his way inside, not looking forward to the cold shower he was about to take.
Chapter 25: Dalhu
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve done the best I could. These Guardians were invincible. I’ve never seen anyone fight like this. I would’ve stayed and fought to the death, but I thought you would like to know what happened.” The guy was about to piss himself, and rightfully so.
In the failed attempt to grab the professor, Dalhu had lost two out of the three men he had sent to retrieve her. And the worthless coward who had managed to escape and come back to report the fiasco was still alive only because Dalhu was down to ten warriors including himself, and he couldn’t afford to lose one more.
“You’ve done well. Dismissed.” He managed to get the words out without his rage spilling out, then waved the worthless piece of shit away.
He should’ve sent more men. Hell, he should’ve gone himself.
If you want something done, do it yourself; as the saying went.
Three men should’ve been more than enough to abduct one female.
One very beautiful, immortal female...
Dalhu lifted the framed article that his men had found at the programmer’s home. Staring at the professor’s stunning face, he commended the scientific journal’s editor for choosing to dedicate most of the page to her beautiful image and only a few paragraphs to describe her research. Smart man.
The fact that she’d autographed her picture with “To my darling Mark” had tipped off Dalhu that Dr. Dokani might be another immortal. A quick Internet search had yielded only a few references to the little-known scientist and her specialized and not that popular field of study, proving that Dr. Amanda Dokani wasn’t some famous celebrity. Which had led Dalhu to believe that the woman must’ve been someone important to the guy. Otherwise, it made no sense for the programmer to value the autographed article enough to frame it and place it on his desk, where he would have been staring at it whenever he’d sat down to work. And as the bastard had been gay, it sure as shit hadn’t been his girlfriend or a case o
f infatuation with a pretty face.
The professor was family.
Besides, encountering Guardians at her lab had been a nasty surprise, but it had served as proof positive that his hunch had been right. Dr. Dokani was an immortal female of Annani’s clan. Not only that, but to warrant the protection of Guardians, she was someone of vital importance.
Fuck! He should have gone himself.
With the bitter taste of failure souring his exuberant mood over yesterday’s victory, Dalhu’s face contorted in a nasty grimace. If he had better fighters at his disposal, she would have been in his possession now. But the inferior stock he had to work with had been no match for the superior warriors protecting her.
Well, fuck it.
It wasn’t as if anyone else had ever succeeded in snatching one of the clan’s females. Being such a priceless commodity, they were fiercely guarded by their males, and as they were also almost impossible to detect, none had ever been captured by the Order.
Nonetheless, it felt like such a failure. A once in a lifetime opportunity squandered.
Absconding with the professor would’ve been the ultimate coup...
Fuck!
Dalhu felt his anger gain momentum, bubbling up from the churning fire always on a low simmer in his gut. Damn it, he had to douse it before it exploded into a full-out rage, pushing logic and reason out and turning him into a mindless beast.
With a curse, he slammed the seat cushion beside him, his fist tearing into the fabric. Taking several deep breaths, he fought the overwhelming urge to strike again.
Breathe in through the nose, breathe out through the mouth, in and out… He counted to ten, focusing on his breathing as he made a deliberate effort to unclench his fists.
Calm down, identify the problem, think of a solution, he recited the three steps of anger management that he’d learned from an Internet course. It had taken a couple of minutes, but eventually the red haze of rage began to recede, and a semblance of logic returned. His mind was taking the slow road back to sanity.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t even a setback.
As it was, this mission had turned out to be far more successful than he had expected it to be. What had begun as a simple retaliation strike, designed to cripple the Americans’ progress in their war on weapons of mass destruction in the hands of Navuh’s protégés, had given the Order their first clan hit in centuries.
Taking that immortal programmer out had been a sheer stroke of luck.
It was Dalhu’s triumph.
His kill.
It had happened on his watch.
Dalhu’s position in the Brotherhood of the Devout Order of Mortdh was about to get a serious boost.
With smug satisfaction, he reclined on the elaborately carved sofa and propped his booted feet on the dainty coffee table. He could already taste Navuh’s praise, even though it irked him that he was craving it from the lying, manipulative son of a bitch.
Stretching his arms and lacing his fingers behind his head, Dalhu pushed out his chest, filling it with so much air it was a wonder his shirt buttons didn’t pop. With the pendulum of his emotions back on the upswing, he was once again soaring on the wings of his success.
Man, it feels good to be top dog.
Taking a satisfied look at the elegant room he was in, Dalhu no longer felt like an interloper in all that opulence. The Beverly Hills mansion he had rented for this mission was spectacularly plush; Persian rugs in every room, impressive reproductions of famous art, and fake, dainty French antiques that were covered in miscellaneous shit. Definitely not the right scale for his massive body. But he liked it nonetheless. He could get used to that; a king of his own castle.
It was a nice change from the training facilities and battlefields he was accustomed to. Regrettably, the lavish accommodations were temporary.
Not that their current home base was lacking in any way... If he could disregard the fucking lack of privacy, and that besides his clothes and his weapons nothing really belonged to him.
Navuh provided for his army of mercenaries well. They were well paid, well housed, well fed, and well fucked.
The small tropical island, indistinct from the many other tiny land pieces scattered throughout the Indian Ocean, provided them with a perfect setup. Its thick jungle canopy hid the training grounds from view of passing aircraft and satellites, and with their quarters as well as the rest of their facilities built underground, no one suspected that thousands of immortal warriors called it their home.
Steep, rocky cliffs prevented approaching their side of the island by boat, and the jungle made landing an aircraft there near impossible. The only way in or out of their base was a secret tunnel road connecting it to the island’s other side.
The underground passage terminated in a small airport that was operated by mortals. It served the men leaving for or returning from missions, as well as the oblivious tourists visiting the other side.
For obvious reasons, the mortal pilots were thralled within an inch of their lives, and Dalhu often wondered how safe flying with them really was.
The planes shuttling people and cargo on and off the island had no windows, and apart from the pilots flying them, no one other than Navuh and his sons knew the island’s exact location.
The secret was safe with the flyers. The compulsion they were under was so strong that there was no chance in hell they would talk. No matter what was done to them.
Given enough pressure, their brains would just blow a fuse, and they’d either end up brain dead, or dead period.
It was just the way it needed to be. For the island to serve its dual purposes, its location had to be extremely well guarded.
Known to the select few as Passion Island, the other side was home to a very exclusive and luxurious brothel. Young and beautiful prostitutes, junkies, and runaways were abducted from all over the world and brought to serve the rich, famous, and depraved… as well as Navuh’s men.
It was pure genius.
Navuh made shitloads of money out of the girls while providing an in-house brothel for his army’s needs.
Dalhu hated to admit it, but the son of a god was a brilliant businessman.
To make the place the success it was, its money-generating assets were well taken care of. Good food, good medical care, supervised drug and alcohol use, plus careful monitoring, in all likelihood prolonged the girls’ otherwise compromised life expectancy.
But it was slavery nonetheless.
The only alternative the girls had to prostitution was to serve as maids, waitresses, or cooks. The only way off the island was a one-way ticket to either heaven or hell, leaving their corporeal bodies behind.
Given the choice between manual work and prostitution, most opted to work on their backs; lured by the nice private rooms and the patron gifts that paid for their drugs and their drinks and other small luxuries.
The service personnel, on the other hand, got only the basics, worked twelve-hour shifts, six days a week, and slept four to a room.
Between the illusion of having a choice, the promise of rewards, and the fear of punishment, the girls did their best to provide outstanding service, earning them a reputation for being the best money could buy.
Navuh was a master at the art of motivation, or rather manipulation.
Come to think of it, the soldiers didn’t fare much better than the whores. Probably worse, as their servitude was indefinite. The only way out was the same as the girls’. Except, final exit options for immortals were limited by the nature of their near indestructibility.
The fastest way for a Doomer to die was to get blacklisted by Navuh and executed, either fighting to the death gladiator style, with a lethal dose of venom, or a beheading.
Dalhu couldn’t remember anyone actually choosing to end things that way. Although over the years, he had witnessed enough pitiful bastards succumb to that fate.
Hell, they all knew they lived or died at their Exalted Leader’s whim.
It was wh
at it was. As long as they served Navuh well and kept their heads down, the soldiers had nothing to worry about.
And nothing to show for it either.
Looking back to his own nearly eight hundred years of service, his compensation had been mainly room and board and the use of prostitutes.
As he saw it, his rewards were the ones he had given himself. The things he had accomplished. The things he had learned. He had done it all without any guidance or help. Even literacy had been something he had accomplished on his own, teaching himself to read and write not that long ago.
For most of his life, Dalhu had lived in ignorance.
But not anymore.
To most Doomers, the money they were paid for their services seemed great, but Dalhu was smarter than that. Although his account in the Order’s bank held millions, he knew the amount was meaningless. He could never take it out.
He charged his expenses to the Brotherhood’s American Express that was covered by his account, but as it was routinely monitored, all he could use it for was to buy himself fancy shit and pay for his use of the island’s whores. Cash withdrawals were limited to no more than five thousand dollars at a time, and only when going on missions. A detailed account of what he spent it on was required upon his return.
To most of Navuh’s fighters, it was more than enough. The simple-minded, brainwashed morons couldn’t conceive of using the money for anything else.
Navuh’s system was brilliant.
He paid his soldiers well so they felt rewarded and stayed loyal. But by limiting their access to their own money, he ensured they always had to come back. If they didn’t, they were presumed dead and the money reverted to him.
Win-win for Navuh.
Dalhu lifted his hand and stared at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist and the five-carat diamond ring on his index finger. Just these two pieces alone were worth in excess of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He had another Patek Philippe and two Rolexes, each in the hundred thousand range.
Strutting around and showing off the stuff, he pretended to be a consummate connoisseur of fine jewelry... Dalhu couldn’t have cared less for the ostentatious shit.
