Malachai

by Romi Hart

  Victor hustled around the war room checking every goddamned thing. He inspected every whiteboard until he satisfied himself that even the diagrams were the same as he left them when he ventured into the Quag.

  Isabelle halted next to a huge map of New Orleans. Her gaze traced the streets and neighborhoods. “It seems a shame that all these people should have to live in the dark about the world they really live in. There must be a way to tell them.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Riley asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe if the media got hold of a story like the New Breed, the military wouldn’t be able to attack us again. They would be under scrutiny from the rest of the world. They would put pressure on the government to leave us alone.”

  “Or, more likely,” Riley countered, “the humans would demand that the military get rid of us completely.”

  “How could they?” Isabelle asked. “They couldn’t exactly nuke New Orleans. They wouldn’t be able to get rid of all the New Breed without killing millions of humans in the process.”

  “And yet, that’s exactly what they’ve been doing by invading us. They’ve bombarded us with rocket fire and brought in the whole military machine. They go house to house shooting everyone in town. They don’t bother to check if they’re killing humans.”

  “It just seems like a shame.” Isabelle let her thoughts range over that map. It gave her all kinds of ideas.

  Silence fell over the war room, but a second later, Riley swiveled around to stand in front of Isabelle. When Isabelle looked at her friend, she came face to face with a strange expression on Riley’s features. “What?”

  Riley stiffened. Her countenance took on a curious hard stillness. Isabelle didn’t like that expression at all. “You can never tell anybody about us, Isabelle. Don’t even think about it.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it just makes you think, doesn’t it? There might be some way….”

  “You can never leave Anarock, Isabelle,” Riley interrupted. “You need to realize that right now. You’re here for life. If you ever tried to leave, your life would be forfeit.”

  Isabelle froze staring at her friend. In that moment, she realized that, all this time, she really did think she would go back to the “real” world someday. She entertained the illusion that she and Malachai would have a normal life on the outside.

  She never really accepted that she was dead. Her old life really was over. She could never go back. She could never cure the New Breed of whatever was stopping them from integrating into human society.

  Whatever created this city apart, it could never be fixed. The clinician in her revolted against that. She always thought she could find a solution to any problem if only she tried hard enough.

  She glanced a few inches to one side and spotted Malachai standing there. He observed her and listened to her conversation with Riley. He looked human. He looked normal, but he wasn’t. He would never be human and not all the wishing in the world would make him so.

  Without seeming to hesitate, he came to her side and a gentle smile spread over his cheeks. He put his arm around her shoulder. “We’re going upstairs. We’ll see you people around the block.”

  He steered Isabelle to the stairs and escorted her up them. They emerged in the upstairs corridor. Everything appeared the same down to the individual leaves on the flowers in the vases.

  He unlocked the apartment and steered her inside. They were completely alone in this place, the Griffin family home. He took her hand and pulled her toward him. “Are you okay with this?”

  She nodded, but no words would come. She was okay with this. She was okay being here even if it might take her a little while to get it through her head. This was where she was supposed to be. She knew that, but her brain dragged its heels. It resisted catching up with the rest of reality.

  He rested his backside against the couch and folded her in his arms. He drew her between his knees and lifted his chin to kiss her. “I’ve got an idea. Want to hear it?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “I want you to set up a lab downstairs. I want you to study the New Breed. I want you to test their blood and their DNA. I want you to figure out if there’s any way to reverse these mutations. You can start with Riley. She became New Breed less than a year ago. If you can reverse it in anyone, you should be able to do it in her.”

  Isabelle gaped at him with her mouth open. “You’re serious! You want me to reverse it?”

  He raised his forefinger. “I don’t want you to reverse it because I don’t believe it can be reversed. I want you to find out if it can be reversed. I want to know, if someone cooked up the idea that they wanted to cure us, if they could actually do it. That’s what I want you to do.”

  She cocked her head. “Does Victor know about this crackpot scheme of yours?”

  He nodded and his eyes sparkled. “He’s the one who approved it. He already set aside a budget for equipment and I’m pretty sure he wants to assign a few of the younger New Breed to work for you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Her hand drifted toward his face, but she didn’t make contact.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

  She opened her mouth before she found the voice to speak. “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to cure you.”

  He pulled his head back to study her. “No? Did you change your mind about that?”

  “Cut it out.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. She couldn’t stop staring at the minute pores in his cheeks. Every atom of his being seemed too flawless and superb even to touch. “I don’t want to cure you.”

  “That’s good because you’ll never be able to.”

  She couldn’t smile. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. She kept studying the creases around his mouth. How could she touch something so immaculate and perfect? How could she kiss that mouth? “I don’t want you to ever be anything else. I want you like this—always.”

  That mouth closed over her and submerged her in a fathomless vacuum of emotion and significance. His lips and tongue took her to that voluminous place yawning to the ends of the cosmos.

  She couldn’t think or even be in that place. She became an extension of him. Whatever he was, she wanted him. She wanted all of him. If she ever changed him into a normal human man, he wouldn’t be him anymore and she couldn’t stand that.

  He straightened up and conducted her down the hall to her old room. He closed the door, but it wasn’t the same room. It looked the same, but it was different. It wasn’t her room anymore. It was their room and everybody knew it.

  Victor and Riley, Courtney and Tess—they would all come back here expecting Malachai and Isabelle to live here together. They would become part of the family. They would become part of the Prometheus Crest leadership.

  The New Breed who supported Malachai during the war would expect him to become even more firmly entrenched as Victor’s right-hand man. They would demand it. If anything happened to Victor, the leadership would revert to Malachai. No one would question. No one would challenge. They would just accept it.

  She accepted it, too. She accepted his mouth consuming her down to the bottom of her being. She accepted his tongue igniting the fire between her legs. She had to. She belonged not just to him but to Anarock. That meant he touched her. That meant he excited her. That meant she responded to him without any effort or conscious thought.

  He sat down on the bed. He picked her up and pulled her legs around his waist. She straddled him. Her flesh boiled for him and her breath caught. Her nipples tightened in itchy hunger for his hands creeping inside her bra. Her brain caved to of his fingers pinching them hard and sensitive.

  He stretched back and lay down on the bedspread. His penetrating stare traced her spine undulating and swaying and dancing with his thrusts. His manhood squeezed fresh gushes of her liquor from deep inside her. Everything occurred in an orchestrated symphony of sensation and bliss.

  Tempestuou
s rapture convulsed through her and out of her. The apartment rang with her ecstatic screams. Now it was hers as much as anybody’s. She had as much right to be here, to christen Ogru-Kuche with her essence. She gave her heart and soul to defend this place and bring it back to life, so it must be hers. She made it hers the same way he made her his and she made him hers.

  Rafe (Devil’s Flame MC, Book 1) - Special Preview

  1

  The balls rolled with a thunder as Rafe unleashed his fury on the cue. Two stripes slammed into the pockets, and he strode around the other end of the pool table to take another shot, ignoring everything around him, including his club president, who stood quietly chalking the tip of his own cue stick. He missed the bank shot and cursed under his breath as he reached for his beer, thinking he needed to switch to something stronger after the way things had gone today.

  One too many misses.

  Corey leaned over, taking aim, but he didn’t shoot. Instead, he said, “We’ll get them, Rafe. You’re too focused on revenge, and it’s clouding your judgment. If you can’t start focusing on the bigger picture, I’m taking you off the detail.”

  Rafe bristled at the threat, as Corey made the corner pocket. “You can’t do that. I’m the best you’ve got.”

  But Corey just shrugged. “You’re the best I’ve got when your head’s in the game. But you’ve been on your own mission for too long now.” He straightened and pierced Rafe with a warning look. “I get it, Rafe, and I know it’s important. But the only way you’re ever going to get to Jake is if you start paying more attention and practice a little patience.”

  Patience. That was rich. Rafe had waited for six years. He’d patiently followed orders, managed to hold off, climbed the ladder to the seat of the vice president in the Devil’s Flame MC, in what amounted to record time. He’d been nothing but patient for the last six years. And still, Jake Hawthorne rode at the head of the Diamond Kings while Rachel rotted in a grave.

  He took another swig while Corey missed the shot and then went through the motions of the game, thinking how close they’d been today to intercepting the shipment of illegal guns the Diamond Kings had run to the border. Unfortunately, Jake had decided to send two caravans, and the real shipment had taken a different route, so Rafe and his club had come up empty handed. Rafe didn’t want the guns. He didn’t want the business. All he wanted was to draw Jake out of his hiding place, the hole he’d crawled under when he’d screwed up and shot Rachel so many years ago. The bastard was nothing but a greedy coward, and Rafe wanted to take him down more than anything in the world.

  “I am focused,” Rafe grunted, running a hand through his dark brown hair, which fell around his ears and curled at the end. “I’ve been focused on the same thing this whole time, brother. You didn’t promote me for nothing.” He stepped up beside Corey and met his gaze head on, the inch he had on his president negligible. “But I will have Jake Hawthorne’s head on a platter, and it’ll be an example of what happens when you cross our brotherhood as much as it is an eye for an eye.”

  Corey gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I hear you. But there’s going to be an opportunity. Right place, right time. We’re not going to fuck with their shipments anymore. They expect that. It’s gotten too dangerous.”

  Rafe clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw so tight the muscles twitched. He wanted to argue, but Corey’s word was law, and there would be no changing his mind, not without significant evidence of a reason to continue their attempts to ambush the rival club. And he couldn’t go out on his own. He’d sworn his allegiance to the MC after the Diamond Kings had neglected to give a damn who got caught in the crossfire of a deal. Corey and his father had found Rafe out of his head as he tried to get a weapon of his own, picked him up, dusted him off, and given him a reason and a means to live without his sister. He had no intention of turning his back on the only family he had, regardless of his inner turmoil.

  He hated Jake Hawthorne. He hated what the man stood for and everything about the Kings. But he loved the Devil’s Flame brothers too much and would hang tight as long as Corey gave the word.

  When the time came, Jake would suffer for taking Rachel from him.

  Stepping away from the pool table to trash the empty beer bottle and pour himself a finger of whiskey, Rafe surveyed the clubhouse. It was pretty empty for a Friday night, but it was still early. He guessed the rest of the boys would be in at some point. Things tended to get rowdy, especially when they expected a group back from a road trip.

  Even as he thought it, Zeke wandered in with four of the others, and Rafe held up two fingers in salute. They didn’t look any worse for the wear, so at least that venture hadn’t gone south. It was a small victory on a shitty day. He grabbed a second glass and poured another whiskey, sliding it to Zeke before returning to his game.

  “What’s with the heavy brow?” Zeke asked gruffly, though there was humor in his voice.

  Rafe just grunted, trying to find a clear shot across the felt. Corey snorted. “Just the usual impatience.”

  Zeke held up his glass as if to toast. “Well, I might have some information that could turn that frown upside down, my brother.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Rafe cast a quick glance Zeke’s way before tapping the cue ball and tipping another into the pocket. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, cautiously. Last time Zeke supposedly had inside information, Rafe had walked into a trap, and they’d had to take out an informant who was working both sides.

  Chuckling, Zeke leaned on the side of the table, eyeing the balls as if he were getting ready to play. Rafe knew that look. His friend was being dramatic and wanted to draw this out. Maybe this was good information that could put Jake in his crosshairs. But he wasn’t going to bank on it. Not yet.

  “Rumor has it,” Zeke began, running his fingers over his blond goatee, “that our least favorite club president has a weak spot we can exploit. And it has nothing to do with business.” He smiled and winked at Rafe. “In fact, it’s right up your alley.”

  Now, Rafe was intrigued, if still skeptical. “I’m listening.”

  Growing more serious, Zeke pulled up a rickety barstool and took his phone out of his pocket. “I was talking to one of my girls at Roundup. She was getting hounded by one of the Kings, and we took care of it, so she owed me a favor. Well, in the midst of the trouble, she got some inside information on Jake and a couple of other guys. Anyway, as it turns out, my brother, Jake has something he actually cares about other than power and money.”

  “If you don’t stop beating around the bush, I’m going to beat your head in,” Rafe warned. He didn’t have the wherewithal for Zeke’s games after the day he’d had.

  Zeke held up a hand to halt him, scrolling through his phone. Finally, he stopped and smiled, turning the screen so Rafe could see. Blinking, Rafe stared at the image, not quite willing to believe his eyes. “Looks like your archenemy isn’t an only child,” Zeke declared triumphantly.

  The woman in the picture was luscious, despite the fact that she carried a distinct family resemblance to Jake. She laughed with her head thrown back, either not knowing or not caring that someone had a camera on her, and her long, black hair shone in a bright overhead light. Her eyes had an exotic almond shape, even as they crinkled at the edges with her mirth, and she was lean muscle with curves in all the right places. “A sister?” he asked, his throat dry and rough as he spoke.

  “You got it.” Zeke was all business now. “An eye for an eye, Rafe. He took your sister. Now, we’ve got eyes on his.”

  “You can’t just go off halfcocked and kill his sister,” Corey argued, stepping in. “That’s not who we are.”

  Zeke guffawed. “There’s nothing halfcocked about it. She’s got me at full mast, just from the damn photo.”

  Ignoring the remark, Rafe shook his head, still staring at the image. “No, I don’t want to kill her, not if I don’t have to. I want to make him wonder. I want to scare the shit out of him. She’s just bait in t
his game.”

  Corey scrubbed a hand down his face, obviously not liking the direction the conversation was headed. “What are you thinking, Rafe? You know you can’t do anything without some backup.”

  Rafe took it as a positive sign that he hadn’t just nixed the idea entirely. “I’m thinking,” he started, rubbing his hair and the stubble on his chin, “we go in and take her. If she won’t come willingly, we nab her. Then, we send a message to Jake, let him know if he doesn’t get his ass out of his hidey hole, she’s toast. He’ll show his face.”

  “You can’t expect him to come to his own funeral,” Corey shook his head. “He knows you want blood, Rafe.”

  “I’ll call it a chance for a truce,” Rafe shrugged. “He gives up some profits, we’ll call it even. But he has to come to the negotiation himself.” Rafe had no intention of letting him leave in one piece, but that didn’t matter. Given the opportunity to take the hatchet off his neck, Jake would show. And then, Rafe would just call it a negotiation gone wrong.

  “You think we can get this chick without a fuss?” Corey asked Zeke, nodding to the phone.

  Zeke stroked his chin again, in thought. “According to Karen, Jake is all sorts of overprotective of his sister, but she doesn’t much care for him and is always looking for a way to piss him off. I bet she’d jump at the chance to go home with a member of a rival MC.”

  “Where do we find her?” Rafe asked, itching for his chance.

  “Karen said she’s at the Wicked Thorn almost every night, especially Fridays. She should be there tonight. I’m waiting on a text from my girl to confirm.”

  When it came to the girls Zeke ran with, Rafe trusted the information. After all, they counted on the MC for security at the strip joint, and Roundup could get pretty out of hand. Rafe weighed the idea his friend presented. It would definitely be a great way to get under Jake’s skin, and he couldn’t imagine the asshole wouldn’t take the bait.