by Aja James
I certainly knew her before the Paladin did. That means I had dibs. Not that it mattered. He stole her from me anyway. The only good thing I ever had. Though I never really had it.
There was also someone else… Someone who used to be important to me. More important than anyone in the whole of my existence. But I don’t remember that either. I wonder if Ere does.
It’s weird to refer to him as a separate person, but that’s exactly what he is. The difference is that I know he exists, but he doesn’t know about me. Or if he does, it’s only an inkling. Perhaps a subconscious hint at self-preservation.
“Then perhaps you’ll be more interested in other activities,” the General says, breaking into my thoughts, “I can take you to Benjamin. He is practicing watercolors with Rain, I believe.”
Before I can formulate a reply, he’s already wiping himself down with a towel and leading the way out of the training hall. He pauses briefly a few feet ahead of me when I remain rooted to my spot, tilting his head to the side to indicate that he’s waiting for me to catch up.
My feet bring me abreast of him before I realize I’ve moved. I guess I’m going to interrupt Benjamin’s watercolor session whether I consciously decided to or not. How did Tal-Telal know that Benjamin is exactly the person I most want to see?
We walk in silence down the corridors.
It occurs to me that even if I memorized everything about this place, it isn’t actually useful information. I don’t know where the Pure Ones’ base is (unless they decide to recite the coordinates accidentally in conversation). I haven’t eavesdropped on any top secret planning meeting where they discuss in detail how they’re strategizing to take Medusa and her networks down. I wouldn’t have opportunities to know these things unless I stick around and get them to trust me.
But here’s the thing: They may not be as devious as me and my Mistress are, but the Pure and Dark Ones are not stupid. Therefore, it would be impossible to get them to trust me. So, really, what I should focus my energy on is finding the best way to leave.
It’s just…
I don’t want to leave. At least, not yet. I haven’t felt so strong, so rested, and slept so comfortably in…
Well, never, actually.
And for some bizarre reason, I know with absolute certainty that I am safe here. Amongst my enemies. None of them will hurt me. In fact, they saved me.
“Whose Pure blood did I receive?” I blurt out suddenly, stopping in the middle of the corridor.
The General stops as well, his back to me. I see it stiffen imperceptibly, and I know the answer.
“You needed the purest Pure blood,” is his softly uttered response, not turning around to face me.
Since he’s blind anyway, I suppose I don’t need to look him in the eyes. And even if I don’t, I know already, deep down in my nonexistent soul, that he is the one who fed me.
“Why?” I whisper.
A long pause. And then, “Because you needed it.”
“Why?” I push, my voice getting harder. For fuck’s sake! Why would anyone feed their own precious blood to their worst enemy? What’s wrong with these Pure Ones? Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps they are stupid.
Slowly, he turns around.
His eyes may be blind, but his face is open. There is no mask, no pretense. There is only raw anguish, regret, and an inimitable strength and determination.
I hold my breath as I look upon him, my blood—his blood—roaring in my ears as I await his answer:
“Because you are mine to protect,” he says in that low, husky voice, his words sending me staggering, even though my physical self has not moved.
“I was unable to do it in the past. I did not know about…you. I know now. I will protect you, Binu. I will always protect you.”
*** *** *** ***
On that really disturbing and enigmatic note, we both decide to continue walking as if nothing happened. When we arrive at the chamber Benjamin is using for his art session, the door slides open automatically when the General stands before it.
Hmm. There must be some kind of facial recognition unit somewhere. I was closer to the door than the General, but until he faced it directly, the door didn’t open. I guess I wasn’t in danger of entering rooms I’m not supposed to after all. Too many security protocols in place to prevent me from gathering any useful information. There really isn’t any reason for me to linger here.
And yet, I do.
“Uncle Tal!” Benjamin booms excitedly upon seeing his favorite “uncle.” “Rain is showing me how to do Chinese watercolor! It’s soooo cool! Come look!”
The kid doesn’t know how to speak in normal tones. He’s happy and excited nearly all the time. It makes me smile. On the inside, anyway. I try to keep my expression neutral on the outside.
I follow Tal into the chamber.
“Binu!” Benjamin calls out when he notices me.
Is it my imagination that his eyes light up with even more joy?
He runs over to me and takes my hand, proceeding to drag me farther into the room to his high-top table where all kinds of art implements, canvases and practice pads are strewn about.
“Guess which one is mine,” he orders excitedly. “Guess! We all decided to try water-coloring today. I’m not the best artist, but I think I have the best imagination.”
That’s when I notice the others in the chamber. Rain, the healer (and apparently master artist). Valerius, her Mate, the Protector. Inanna and Gabriel are also present. Two newcomers sit at the far end of the long oak table. I know them by reputation and surveillance. The Dark Ones’ Assassin, Ryu Takamura, and his human wife, Ava Monroe, who is holding a small boy in her lap, the child’s face and hands smeared with watercolor paints.
Well now, this is interesting. I hadn’t realized how close the Pure Ones and the Dark Ones of New England are. Of course, I know about the uneasy alliance between the two groups, but my spies tell me that the Dark King isn’t as supportive of the truce as his predecessor, Queen Jade. Now I see with my own eyes, that regardless of how their sovereign feels about the situation, there are members of his Chosen who are not only allies, but apparently friends with the Pure Ones.
“You’re not guessing!” Benjamin points out when I haven’t said a word.
“Benji,” Inanna admonishes.
As if she wants her son to mind his manners in front of a guest. Not me, their prisoner, detested enemy and freak. This is surreal to me.
“Ah… let me see,” I say, stalling for a bit of time.
I pretend to peruse the several pieces of artwork scattered across the tabletop while my mind whirls with possibilities.
Of course, I’ve always known that the Pure and Dark Ones are closer now than ever before. First, there was Inanna’s defection from the Chosen when she turned a human and Mated him. Then there was Tal-Telal, the Pure Ones’ legendary General, Mating Ishtar Anshar, a Dark Princess. Finally, there’s Jade Cicada, the most powerful Dark Queen in the modern world, abdicating her throne and Mating the Pure Ones’ Consul, Seth Tremaine.
Yes, I know all about their closeness. I just didn’t know their bonds of friendship went beyond the matings.
Every action has a reaction. The universe will always find a way to achieve Balance. Perhaps because Medusa’s empire is becoming too powerful, the Pure and Dark Ones, at least amongst some of their leaders, have banded together to combat the Mistress’s evil.
Or, perhaps it is something else entirely. I cannot be certain. I have not seen or heard from the Mistress since before Sophia’s trip three months ago. She has been disturbingly silent in my mind. But the pieces of my soul that are hers quiver with an unholy glee. While the rest of me shudders with unease.
“This one,” I point to a particularly vibrant painting.
It’s all orange, yellow and pink sky, with a glob of green cutting through it like a meteor.
“That’s mine!” Benjamin crows beside me, still holding
my hand. “How did you know?”
It feels like him, the painting. So alive and technicolored. And…I know my son.
“All the others have landscapes and seascapes, flowers and trees. This is the only one with a magnificent green dragon charging through the skies. Straight from a boy’s imagination, I’d guess.”
“Because you used to be a boy just like me?” he asks innocently, looking at me as if he wants this to be true.
“I was never a boy like you, Benjamin,” I answer truthfully before I can stop myself. It’s like he’s my very own truth serum!
I add with another truth that I hope disguises the first one, “You’re too special for there to ever be another like you.”
He tilts his head to consider me, his bright blue eyes suddenly serious.
“So are you, Binu.”
The things he says!
Meow. Purrrrr.
I am distracted by the giant kitten winding her furry body between my legs, rubbing her face against my calves and shins.
“You again,” I whisper, charmed right out of my pajama pants.
The kitten leaps onto one of the stools, then launches herself at the General’s chest. He catches her in his arms and tucks her against him as if he does this all the time, so natural is his reflex. Her purring grows louder as she licks his throat and jaw, rubbing her forehead and face wherever he has skin showing, as if marking her territory.
A little stab of jealousy goes through me.
Whether it’s because of the kitten showing her preference for the General above all others or the General’s obvious affection for her in return, I don’t know. I’m just fucking jealous. Because I don’t belong here. No matter what Tal-Telal said before, I am not one of them.
“Have we met?” I say, turning to the Assassin and his human, distracting myself from pointless yearnings.
The shadow warrior looks at me in silent assessment. His mannerisms are almost identical to his sire, the great Lord Wind, now known as Eli Scott. And as Lord Wind is one of the most fearsome warriors in the history of all immortal races, a complete badass that I don’t ever want to cross, his son’s similar almond-eyed stare is equally unnerving.
Good thing I haven’t done or put into motion anything that threatened the ninja and his wife, unlike I have with Lord Wind, his human and their adopted daughter. Else, I’d be quaking with fear, because Ryu Takamura isn’t a goody-two-shoes like the Pure Ones. He’s the Assassin, for fuck’s sake. He’s the type to slice and dice anyone to ribbons for looking askance at his female and son.
“We haven’t met formally,” it’s the human wife who speaks, “but I’ve examined your DNA. So I guess we’ve met cellularly.”
“Ava…” the Assassin mutters in a tone that I bet he uses often.
“What? Was I not supposed to mention that?”
“How have we met cellularly?” I ask, intrigued.
As if realizing her unintended slip, she shifts uncomfortably and looks at Rain.
“Well…”
“We took a sample of your blood, if you recall,” the healer says. “To see what was ailing you.”
“I don’t recall.” Thank fuck! Because I hate needles.
“You have very interesting blood complications,” Ava Monroe interjects, as if she can’t help herself. “You need Pure blood on a regular basis, whereas vampires should be able to live off of human blood alone. Certainly Pure blood is the strongest, the most desired by a vampire’s physiology, but not absolutely necessary. And yet, it is for you.”
“Fascinating,” I say, my tone implying the opposite.
I don’t like that they’ve taken blood from my body, seen inside of me, literally and figuratively. Even though I am unrestricted, not tied down, wearing a rather conservative pajama set, I feel naked and vulnerable surrounded by these relative strangers who are my enemies… And more than that.
I don’t want to think about what more they are to me.
“Ava…” her vampire husband reminds her.
She presses her lips together obediently, as if she has a habit of saying too many things, things that oughtn’t be said.
“This is all very enlightening,” I announce, gently tugging my hand loose from Benjamin’s grip.
“You have all been extremely hospitable,” I add with a beatific, hopefully charming grin. “But I’m afraid I must be leaving now. Things to do, you know. I’m a busy, busy man.”
I take a step back toward the door, and then another. No one rushes forth to stop me. Are they really going to just let me walk away?
“If you wish to leave, Binu, we will not detain you further.”
It is Tal-Telal who speaks, his blind turquoise eyes intent upon me, as always, spearing right into me.
“You are not a prisoner here. You never will be. But I hope you will consider staying a while longer. Get to know us. We are not your enemies.”
“Stay, Binu!” Benjamin shouts, bursting forth and grabbing my hand again before I can react.
“I wish you’d stay,” he says at a slightly lower decibel. “Please, Uncle Binu? For me?”
Uncle Binu. The things he says!
How am I to refuse, I ask you? How can anyone? It’s the worst form of torture to look into his angelic blue eyes and see disappointment. He should always be happy. He should have anything and everything he wants in life.
I look beyond Benjamin to the rest of the people gathered here, hoping that I’ve successfully masked the desperation in my eyes.
“You’re making a mistake, all of you,” I warn. “My staying here will only put you in more danger. I will learn everything I can about you to use against you in the future. I will inevitably betray you. Don’t be stupid. Either kill me or let me go.”
I see out the corner of my eyes that Benjamin’s face paled when I talked about killing. Too bad, little man. You gotta learn the ugly facts of life at some point. This sure as hell isn’t a fairytale.
“You can leave at any time,” the General says quietly. “No one will stop you.”
Good to know.
“But I hope that if you stay and learn everything you can about us, you will learn more about yourself as well. Perhaps you will betray us, perhaps you will not. The future is unwritten. The choice is yours. We will never take it from you…Binu.”
It’s the softly uttered “Binu” that does me in.
Right there, I make my choice.
“You will regret this,” I threaten, though my voice is weak, lacking in determination.
“No,” the General says, a faint version of the squirk turning up the corners of his lips. “We will never regret having you, Binu.”
Yeah… you know what they say. Famous last words.
Chapter Twelve: Painting the Soul
The thing about pain is that your body gets inured to it after a while. Your mind becomes numb. Same with shame.
But the soul… The soul absorbs it all.
A child’s soul is innocent and new, like a blank canvas with endless possibilities. Perhaps you’re born with a particular predisposition—toward being an elegant watercolor landscape, a stormy oil seascape, a bold acrylic abstract, or a thought-provoking charcoal sketch. The picture is waiting to be drawn, and you are the artist of your own destiny.
Experience fills your canvas with all kinds of different colors. Happiness and hope brighten it with yellows and oranges. Love paints it in a rosy pink. Romance and whimsicalness brush it with airy pastels... And pain washes it in blood red. Shame coats it in shit brown and tar black.
Until there is no space on the canvas of your soul for other colors. Everything else simply mixes with the darker paints, subsumed and buried by the oozing muck. Only the darkness remains, your sins dripping like fresh paint from the ruined canvas. Never drying… Like blood from wounds that will never heal.
You are forever unfinished. Yet totally, utterly, hopelessly done.
6th Century B.C., Zau, Cap
ital of Egypt.
“Oh, oh, oh, oooooohhhhhh!”
Osiris’ sakes, again? The ugly heifer came three times already. First, when I shoved my cock inside her. Second, on my first thrust. Third, when she grabbed my ass with her meaty hands and made me lose my balance, toppling on top of her and therefore pushing my cock deeper inside.
“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.”
Yep. I could feel her channel squeezing me again along with a disgusting burst of fluid.
If only it was acid my member was drowning in. If only there was nothing left when I pulled out. I hated my cock. Mostly because ugly heifers like her, and much, much worse than her sort, seemed to adore it.
They all wanted my stiff phallus inside them, hitting something that gave them pleasure. So much pleasure they screamed with it. Clawed bloody streaks down my back and sides with it. Became obsessed with the feeling until they spent all their coins and risked their assets so they could have more of it.
It was fucking hard work! Literally: Fucking. Hard. WORK.
Females, males, it didn’t matter. There’s something inside their bodies that my cock always hit. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I never bothered to pay attention. As long as I got what the Mistress required in the end, I didn’t give a shit. Sometimes I’d purposely fumble around so that I didn’t give them pleasure. Just to be contrary. My little act of rebellion. But most of my “clients” got off on just having me inside them. I didn’t even have to move.
If it wasn’t a muscle attached to my body, and therefore cutting it off would be painful and make blood spray like a geyser from my groin, I’d saw the damn thing off myself.
I hated my cock.
“Oh my beautiful, beautiful boy,” the heifer cooed beneath me, all four limbs squeezing me tight, like a giant octopus wrapping me in its slimy tentacles.
“You are worth every piece of gold in my treasure trove. Come home with me. I will treat you so well…”
