by I. T. Lucas
Forming a semi-circle, they sat facing Losham and Rami.
“Welcome,” Losham greeted them. “Let’s get straight to the purpose of your deployment. As you were all briefed, the Brotherhood now owns a chain of luxury sex clubs. The original goal was to lure rich clan members, with the intent of capturing and torturing them for information about the location of their leaders. Unfortunately, it seems that the civilians have no idea where the clan’s command center is located. Therefore, we need to catch a Guardian.”
Twelve apprehensive sets of eyes met his gaze.
Losham raised his palm to forestall questions. “I know these warriors are fearsome, but even the best fighter can’t overpower twelve well-trained men. All we need is to catch one. That’s why I’m keeping all of you here in one location instead of distributing you as reinforcements between the clubs.”
The team’s commander raised his hand.
“Yes, Gommed.” Losham gave him permission to speak.
“Are we going to wait around until a Guardian shows up? It might never happen, sir.”
“Good point. That’s why we need to make sure one of them comes to investigate. I don’t know their procedures, or if they usually send one or two. I’m betting on one. With such a small force, they can’t afford to send more.”
“Investigate what, sir?”
“Either another civilian that we catch and kill, or several of their human pets.”
Gommed frowned. “I don’t understand, sir. You want us to start killing random humans? Why would the Guardians care?”
Losham smiled indulgently. Simple soldiers needed to be fed information like baby birds. Their deductive skills were nonexistent. “They would care if the humans bled to death from two puncture wounds to the neck.” He put two fingers on his carotid artery to demonstrate.
“Are we to instigate fights? Seek out gang members and other violent human scum to kill?”
The question was so naive it bordered on embarrassing.
His men were not going to like his idea, but they were soldiers, and they were going to obey orders. Nevertheless, Losham would pretend the course of action he was about to set was as unpalatable for him as it would be for the men.
“I wish it was that simple. But the clan leaders are not going to care about us eliminating random human scum. They might even think we’ve been reformed and come to care for the humans.”
He smirked, making quotation marks with his fingers. “Your victims will have to be female. When several are found dead in a pool of their own blood, obvious bite marks on their necks, it will make the news. Naturally, the Guardians will know who’s responsible. When they send one to snoop around, he will follow a trail of false clues that will lead him into a trap.”
“What kind of a trap, sir?”
“I’m working on it. I’ll let you know as soon as the plan is finalized.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gommed was a good soldier who didn’t ask unnecessary questions; like why and if there was another way. Except, it was written all over his face, as well as those of the others.
Although Mortdh’s teachings held females in low esteem, they were considered a crucial resource. Since the soldiers’ early years in the training camp, it had been drilled into their heads that human females were fragile and were to be used with care so as to not harm their breeding capabilities.
“Killing young fertile females is wasteful, but that’s the nature of war. Sacrificing resources is unavoidable. If there were another way, I would’ve gladly taken it.”
He got some approving nods but also some involuntary grimaces.
They would adjust.
“What are our orders, sir?” Gommed asked.
“First order of things is to get you settled. You need to buy cars, used ones from private owners. Rami will give you the cash needed, explain how to go about it, and take care of registration and insurance. When it’s time for you to go to work, I want you to spread out and cover a wide area.”
After several more questions had been answered and instructions clarified, the men left.
“Should I find us a nice restaurant, sir, or do you prefer to dine at the hotel?” Rami opened the sedan’s door for Losham.
“Let’s go back to the hotel. I find their culinary offerings acceptable.”
“As you wish, sir.” Rami closed the passenger’s door and walked around to take his place at the driver’s seat.
“Have you made any progress with your cult idea?”
Rami turned on the ignition and eased out of the parking spot. “I’ve spent some time thinking it through, and I think I have a solid plan.”
“Please proceed.”
“The men we want to recruit into the cult should be true women haters. I’m not talking about men like you, sir, who consider women inferior but still enjoy their company, or womanizers who use them, or men like me who are just not into them. I’m talking about those who’ve gotten rejected, thrown out, emasculated. Western society and the freedom of choice it affords women ensures that there is no shortage of those.”
Very astute observation for a man who’d never had a relationship with a woman in a sexual, romantic, professional, or any other capacity. Doomers interacted with females only on a sexual basis, and Rami wasn’t interested in that.
“I agree. How do you propose we find those angry rejects?”
Rami’s lips turned up in a lopsided smirk. “You know how Americans have all those silly support groups? We make one for recently divorced men, men who were kicked out by their girlfriends, or simply all those who got rejected over and over again. There will be an avalanche of applicants.”
“A brilliant idea, my friend. But how are we going to promote it?”
“Facebook. Paid advertisements can be targeted to a certain age group, gender, and other factors. We can employ an expert to help us narrow the selection.”
“And who will lead that fake support group?”
Rami shrugged. “We either hire an actor or a quack therapist with women issues himself.”
“What about the cult leader?”
“I thought you would want to do that yourself, sir.”
Losham shook his head. “I’m a thinker, not a motivator. We need someone charismatic, someone who can incite men to violence. We either hire another actor, one with charisma and no scruples, or we choose one of the participants. We can observe a few of the initial meetings and look for someone who fits the role.”
Chapter 5: Callie
Hands trembling with equal part excitement and anxiety, Callie opened the letter from UCLA.
Dear Ms. Davidson,
I am pleased to congratulate you on behalf of University of California – Los Angeles upon our acceptance of your application. As you know, UCLA has a long tradition of academic excellence and reviews the many applications it receives with the highest standards.
Callie skipped over to the next part.
You will find all the necessary forms for your enrollment included with this letter. We request that you fill them out and return them to us no later than October 1, 2018. This will help us to ensure that your spot remains open and facilitate the enrollment process. Please contact us if you have any questions or problems regarding this letter.
Oh boy, did she have problems, but none that a call to the university’s admissions office could solve. Tuition was tenfold what she’d paid at the community college, and there was no way Shawn would agree to the expense. Not because they couldn’t afford it, after all she could apply for a student loan, but because he would use it as an excuse and throw a tantrum if she insisted.
It had crossed her mind to ask her father for a loan, but she’d rejected it out of hand.
Donald would have gladly given her the tuition money if he had it, but after buying the house in South Carolina, she knew he was short on cash. Besides, with Iris ready to pop at any moment, they would need whatever was left over from his paycheck to buy things for the baby.
As of late, the little half-brother she was expecting was the only bright spot in Callie’s life. Hopefully, Shawn wouldn’t object to her going to see the baby. Not that it would stop her. There was only so much jerkiness she was willing to put up with.
No way was she missing out on holding her newborn brother and cuddling with him as much as Iris allowed.
“What do you have there?” Shawn looked over her shoulder at the letter in her hands.
She would rather have waited to tell him after having some time to think of the best way to spin it in her favor. On the other hand it was better to get it done and not obsess over it for days. “I got in. This is from the UCLA admissions office.”
“Did it come with a scholarship?”
Callie sighed and folded the letter. “We don’t qualify for financial aid, Shawn. Between your paycheck and mine, we make too much.”
He snorted. “Right, as if there is that much left over after the mortgage and the car payments and all the other bills.”
She wanted to tell him that leasing a car for close to a thousand dollars a month was not considered a life necessity, and that the difference between the payments on his luxury BMW and her basic Honda Civic would’ve paid for half of her tuition, but she knew it was no use. He would go into a whole tirade as to why he needed to drive the BMW because he was selling them and how would it look if he drove something else.
As if any of his customers cared what car he was driving.
Shawn was a selfish prick, that’s all.
“I could take out a student loan,” she said softly. “I got the credits from the community college transferred, which means I only have two or three years of tuition left.”
“With the interest those fuckers are charging on student loans, even that is a lot. We will never get out of debt. And for what? So you can become a teacher and make even less money than you make waiting tables? I don’t think so.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. Except, waiting tables was not her life goal. Teaching was. Callie loved kids, and working in an elementary school, preferably with kindergarteners, was her dream job.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said, to get him to leave her alone.
He looked disappointed. She’d robbed him of the opportunity to argue and work himself up so he could wreak havoc on the house and terrorize her.
Over the past year, Shawn had gotten worse. The anger tantrums were becoming more frequent and more violent. Most everything in their house was either broken or scratched, the walls covered with discount store framed art to hide the many holes he’d made in them.
Sadly, Callie was reaching the end of her rope. She couldn’t save their marriage no matter how hard she tried, and frankly, she was tired of trying. Changing Shawn for the better was not going to happen.
Quite the opposite. The harder she tried, the worse he got.
If she wanted any kind of life for herself, she had to leave.
Grabbing a can of soda from the fridge, Callie walked over to the living room window and pulled the curtain back. There was something oddly calming about doing that, as if by gazing out on their quiet suburban street she could pretend that their home was as peaceful as the grassy lawns and young trees lining the sidewalk, their skinny, pliable trunks swaying in the light breeze.
It was a sorry state of affairs when the outside of her home felt safer than the inside.
Away from the suffocating confinement of those hole-ridden walls, she could breathe. Out there she felt whole, capable, free. Working, grocery shopping, or just taking a walk, it didn’t matter where she was or what she was doing as long as she was out.
That good feeling would gradually evaporate the closer she got back to her house. Returning from work, her heart would skip a beat as she pressed the remote and waited for the garage door to lift.
Whether Shawn’s car was there or not determined if her pulse sped up or slowed down. The times he was gone, the adrenaline drop that came on the heels of the relief would often make her dizzy.
It was no way to live.
Callie hated the thought of being alone, but staying with Shawn was like living inside a horror film. She knew the boogieman, she knew he was coming for her, she just didn’t know when.
Except, until she figured out her route to freedom, Callie had to pretend that everything was all right. In order for her to escape unharmed, Shawn couldn’t suspect that she was unhappy and planning to leave.
Chapter 6: Jackson
Jackson parked in the keep’s guest parking garage and took the public elevator to the lobby, wondering what would it take to get in. But when he stopped at the guard station, the guy buzzed him in without question.
“Go ahead. We have you on file.”
“Thanks.” Jackson gave the guy a two finger salute and proceeded to the concealed side door marked as maintenance. It clicked open as soon as he pressed his thumb to the scanner.
Right. He’d almost forgotten about the mandatory sex-ed class he and his buddies had participated in so long ago. They had been granted a security clearance to enter the underground facilities, and apparently it was still good.
At the time, he’d been pissed at Kian for forcing him to endure Bhathian’s lectures, but that class had ended up changing his life in unexpected ways.
Jackson must’ve left an impression on Bhathian because the guy introduced him to his daughter Nathalie, which turned out to be a great business opportunity for Jackson. More than that. While managing Nathalie’s café, he’d met Tessa.
If not for that sex-ed class, he might have missed his one chance at a true-love match. It might have come and gone without him knowing it had been so close.
Must’ve been fated.
A nasty prank that had gotten him in shitloads of trouble ended up bringing him the love of his life.
Taking the clan’s private elevator down to the basement, Jackson stepped out on the clinic’s level.
Hopefully, Dr. Bridget wasn’t busy and would agree to see him. He would’ve made an appointment, but he didn’t have her private phone number, only the keep’s emergency hotline, and there was no way he was explaining to whoever was answering the phone why he needed to see the doctor.
In fact, he was hoping no one other than Bridget was there to see him come in. He could count on the doctor to keep their conversation confidential, but not anyone else. The last thing he needed was for the gossip machine to start spinning.
Knocking on the door, he pushed it open a crack. “Dr. Bridget, do you have a moment?”
She waved him in. “Of course. Come in, Jackson.”
“Thank you.” He closed the door behind him.
“Please, take a seat and tell me what brings you here.”
“My mate,” he started, and stopped at Bridget’s surprised expression. “I mean my girlfriend, but she is so much more than that.”
Bridget smiled. “Tessa, right?”
“Yeah. So I guess the rumor machine is already working.”
“I don’t know about that. Per my request, or rather demand, I get informed about all possible Dormants. Actually, I would appreciate it if Tessa would come in and give a few blood samples before her transition starts. Have you bitten her already? And if yes, how many times?”
Jackson pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “Enough to induce her transition. But it’s not happening.”
Bridget’s eyes filled with pity. “I’m so sorry, Jackson. Maybe she is not a Dormant. We are so eager to find new ones that we are grasping at straws. I was told that she doesn’t have any special abilities, so it was a long shot from the start.”
“No, she doesn’t. But I’m sure she is my fated mate. I don’t want to sound like a sap and tell you all the reasons why I believe that. But I think I know why she isn’t transitioning, and I need to run it by you.”
“Of course.”
By her compassionate doctor’s tone, it was obvious that Bridget was just humoring him. She’d already removed
Tessa from her potentials list.
He pinched his forehead again. “Tessa has issues. I don’t want to get into details without her being here or giving me her consent to talk about it with you.” He sighed. “We haven’t had sex yet.”
Bridget looked puzzled. “What about the biting? How did you get so close to orgasm without having sex?”
Jackson tilted his head sideways and narrowed his eyes. Did the doctor need him to explain about the birds and the bees?
Her eyes widened, and she slapped her forehead. “Duh. I just didn’t expect you to pull a Clinton. Oral sex is sex, you know.”
He chuckled. “We are not even there yet, but we’ve done some heavy necking. When that’s all there is, it’s enough stimulation to get my venom glands primed.”
“And you think that’s the reason?”
“Yeah. Maybe the bite works together with intercourse or something. Some hormonal interaction. I’m not a doctor or a scientist, but it makes sense to me.”
“Hmm…” Bridget tapped her keyboard with one finger without typing anything. “According to Annani’s stories, the Dormant girls of her time transitioned from just the bite. But it was done at the peak of puberty. Perhaps that’s why it was enough. The adult Dormant females that transitioned under my care were all sexually active with their mates. The biting was congruent with not only intercourse, but also insemination. You might be on to something.”
Jackson slumped in his chair, his arms dropping to his sides. “Thank you. You’ve just given me hope.”
Bridget smiled. “You’re welcome. It’s only a hypothesis though. Time will tell. By the way, is Tessa getting professional help with those issues you mentioned?”
“No. She refuses.”
“You should encourage her to at least talk to your mom. Whatever trauma Tessa has been through, it should be treated by a professional.”
