The Magic Number

by Natalie Gibson

  Nanae licked his lips and then put the moistened opening to the tip of Israel’s cock. After planting a kiss there, he traced just the head with the tip of his tongue. His hot breath sent a shiver across Israel’s bare flesh. It made him want to thrust forward, but Nanae had both hands on Israel’s hips, holding them still. Nanae was in control, as always, and they would go at his speed.

  He took Izzy into the warmth of his mouth, as skilled with his tongue as he was with everything else. Israel was lost in a sea of sensations. Nanae had four prehensile limbs, and three of them were focused on him. His huge hands had left his hips and were thoroughly exploring every inch of Izzy’s thighs, abs, chest, and shoulders. The wing still caressed his back. Izzy wanted to close his eyes and throw his head back, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Nanae. The beautiful god-man looked so good sucking his dick.

  Nanae moved one hand from Izzy to pass over Camilla’s breast and neck. She opened obediently when he pushed a finger into her mouth. She sucked it diligently until he removed it. Her eyes locked on it as Nanae took that moistened digit and gently but firmly pushed his finger into the other man’s asshole, one inch and then two. Israel hadn’t taken his gaze from the out-of-this-world blow job he was getting, and so the penetration came as a shock to him. Nanae stimulated Israel’s prostate for only a few seconds before Izzy declared, “I’m gonna cum!”

  “Me too.” Camilla’s small voice jolted Izzy out of his own experience for a moment, and he looked at her. The sight of her tiny body, writhing in ecstasy, nestled in Nanae’s wing, put Izzy right back where he started. He recognized the splotchy mottling of her flesh as the mark of a woman about to orgasm. Nanae had been doing to her what he’d been doing to Izzy the whole time and with the minimal effort of just one wingtip. That skill made Israel shiver with a flash of possibilities. Those erotic images flooded his mind, and he spilled hot prana into Nanae.

  Nanae swallowed, milking out every drop, making Israel shudder with the stimulation of his postcoital penis. Izzy leaned back into Nanae’s wing, no longer able to stay upright. Nanae unfolded his legs and lay with his back to the earth. He brought his two beauties to lay on either side of him, enfolding them in the recesses of his wings. Within his sphere of safety and comfort, they both fell asleep. Nanae could not, not if he wanted Camilla’s child to survive.

  “RISE, MY beauties.” Nanae’s voice was beautiful and frightening, like the heavenly host singing hallelujah. “The attack is over.”

  They woke, nude and huddled in the dirt together, but without Nanae. Israel blinked, trying to focus. “How do you know it’s over?” he asked as he stood, dusting himself off.

  Nanae took a spin with his arms open, showing them he was properly camouflaged. The men—the blood thieves—had to be gone if he could achieve his normal appearance. He wore his usual jeans and black T-shirt, and held out the clothes Izzy had been wearing during the attack. His bare feet made no sound on the stone floor as he crossed to Camilla to help her up. She’d been struggling to stand but trying not to let them see.

  She slipped her dress over her head, but it got caught up on her belly. She sucked in as much as she could and got the dress down, but it was considerably tighter than when she’d taken it off. She tried to suck in, but it was impossible. It was like she’d lost all muscle control the instant she conceived. Oh, well, maybe she was just one of those women who looked really pregnant their whole pregnancy. She hadn’t been around for her sister’s or mother’s pregnancies, so for all she knew, it might be genetic.

  “Come. There might be a need for healers.” Nanae gestured at the elevator controls.

  Only Camilla knew how to unjam them. She did, and they were on their way up before anyone said anything else. Camilla noticed that both men, Nanae on her right, Israel on her left, were acting strangely reserved. Quite normal for Nanae, but not so much for Izzy. She hoped this wasn’t over a little blow job. She rolled her eyes and made a little humph noise. Men got so in a twist about the smallest things.

  She didn’t speak; after all, she hadn’t had any coffee yet, but she reached up to Israel. Touching his temples, she pulled out whatever dark thoughts had him so twitterpated. She tugged on Nanae’s shirt, forcing him to bend down to her. Instead, he just scooped her up. She touched his mind but couldn’t find anything out of place. She caught his gaze and indicated with her eyes that he should speak to Israel.

  The elevator dinged, and both men opened their mouths, but Nanae beat Izzy to the punch. “I thank you for the feeding. I was hungry. I cannot feed from Camilla while she is so early in her pregnancy. As she progresses, I will not need that from you.”

  The doors opened, and Israel slipped out first, mumbling, “It was nothing.” He unlocked the room’s vault-like doors and left as soon as a hiss signaled the seal was broken. Then there was too much activity for Camilla to think any more about it.

  What happened? Nathalia sat up from where she’d been lying in the grass. She broadcast to every mind around her. She even remembered to move her mouth in case someone around did not know of her magic.

  “They had some type of tranquilizer that only works on us. I metabolized it and analyzed it after they shot me. It was specially designed for Nephilim. They took my blood,” Nanae answered her.

  So that’s what they’d been after. Sounded like the Paion Fellowship to her. You know what you have to do. We cannot allow them to use the blood.

  He knew what he had to do, but to do it would kill his only progeny. Kishargalanna was his Lilitu, a woman he had loved, who had loved him back for many years. Hers was the blood used to make the injection that took them all down. No humans could best a full-strength Lilitu, so she must have given her blood—and his by association—to the group of invading men. He hated to think that she would betray him. There was another way they could have taken her and it laid the blame where it probably belonged—at his own feet. It was the responsibility of each Nephilim to provide nourishment to any child of light they made. Nanae had not seen to the needs of Kishargalanna in many years. A group of humans could have captured her if she was starving.

  Nanae closed his eyes and concentrated. He hoped Kishargalanna would forgive him. He opened his eyes and nodded once. It was done, and he couldn’t even outwardly mourn her. To acknowledge her existence would be to damn himself in Ereshkigal’s eyes. She forbade the creation of all Nephilim’s children.

  Is anyone hurt? Besides the ones I sent limping home, I mean?

  Once a warrior, always a warrior. Eiran smiled at Nanae and then let it fade. He’d forgotten for a moment that Nathalia had sworn to kill the very Nephilim healing her. Nanae had healed him first, knowing that touching a Sinnis without consent was a good way to start a war. Eiran nodded a thanks to Nanae for his thoughtfulness and then helped Nathalia stand.

  Nanae looked back to Nathalia. “I do not believe so. I came to you only after seeing to the One. She is untouched; you served her well this day. There are other Nephilim still unconscious, but they will heal without my aid, though slowly.”

  A bloodcurdling scream cut their conversation off. “Help me! Leonar—”

  Eiran, Nathalia, and Nanae, after scooping up Camilla in his arms, ran toward the library. They were a blur to anyone watching and found themselves inside before Libby finished the D in her husband’s name. Nathalia pulled Libby up so that Nanae and Camilla could kneel on either side of Leonard. The older man was lying crumpled on the floor, but they couldn’t see any reason for it. Nanae could feel the irregular beat. “It’s his heart,” he informed the room.

  Camilla shook her head at Nanae. Her healing ability was no use with heart attacks. Nanae placed his hand on Leonard’s chest. The muscle was seized up almost entirely. Leonard did not have long enough for Nanae to heal him the usual way.

  “They said they’d kill me if I didn’t give them the DakuAhu. I know how dangerous it is to you. I kept it secret. The stress of seeing me with a gun to my head killed him.” Libby buried her face in Nathal
ia’s shoulder. She couldn’t bear to see her husband’s mouth go blue.

  Camilla started CPR. The pumping and breathing gave her something to do. She couldn’t just sit there while someone died. She pleaded with Nanae with her eyes. He had to stop this. Nanae held his hand over the man’s chest, and the nail on his middle finger elongated. Its sides curled inward, creating a tube. The tube grew in length and thinned, taking on a metallic sheen. He’d made his hand into a syringe.

  Nanae pushed Camilla back gently with his other hand. Then he plunged the needle into the left side of Leonard’s chest and forced his own healing blood into the silent but offending organ. Leonard gasped after a few seconds, and Nanae withdrew his hand from inside and laid it on top. The beat returned to normal, as did Leonard’s color.

  Libby dropped down beside her love, taking Nanae’s place. Nanae stood and lifted Camilla from the kneeling position he knew she would find impossible to rise from. Nathalia, while no expert on pregnancies, knew that Camilla was much more pregnant than she should be. Her dress was busting at the seams across her middle. She wondered if Nanae would allow a sonogram.

  “Where is the DakuAhu? We will take it from you. It should not have been your responsibility to protect such a thing.” Eiran clearly felt guilty for endangering the older couple.

  Libby pointed to an open safe on the wall. Eiran went to it and extracted the black velvet pouch that contained the shattered remains of the kill-brother.

  Nathalia had an empty feeling in her stomach. Why did they leave you alive if you didn’t give the DakuAhu to them?

  Libby stopped her barrage of kisses to Leonard’s face long enough to answer but did not take her eyes from him. “I had to give them something. They knew it was a weapon made from bone.”

  Do we have something like that?

  “We didn’t. Not until after your disappearance last year. We found it in your room that night. I was loath to touch it, but I did to make sure you weren’t killed with it. The glowing gods gave it to Michael. He used it to hurt people, but he never used it on you.”

  Nathalia needed to sit down. This wasn’t as bad as if they’d gotten a piece of the DakuAhu, but it was close. I’m glad to hear it never touched my blood. If it had, they would now be in possession of a new and whole DakuAhu. That’s how I, as Ereshkigal, forged the first one seven thousand years ago, with the blood of an unclaimed Sinnis.

  “GET IT to the lab. Quickly. They’re waiting.” Brian had not accompanied his men on the mission, instead trusting Montana to do the fieldwork. As always, his righthand man had not disappointed. Though his team had not been the one to find the healer and acquire his blood, he had led the entire unit into and out of enemy territory successfully.

  The team that had been the one to find the healer was the youngest group. They were new recruits, the same group James and Oliver had been from. They ran past him and down the hall to the laboratory section of their compound. Hidden in the Hill Country southwest of Austin among the sprawling mansions, no one thought twice about their high security level or soldiers milling about. Most assumed it was a wealthy heir or starlet’s Texas home.

  Montana’s was the next team home. Each group had taken a different route, making sure they weren’t being followed. Montana hid his limp well, but the majority of his team headed right for the medic. His left arm hung at an awkward angle, slightly behind where it should be.

  “Report,” Brian demanded.

  “At 12:23, all three groups approached the gate. We easily subdued all guards and entered the compound. A-team headed to intersect the primary target, B-team to subdue the Nephilim guarding the children, and C-team sought the secondary target inside. We engaged Nephilim, as did B-team. C-team secured the desired blood without conflict and signaled mission complete. We left with the wounded. There were no casualties on either side.”

  Montana was shaking. Brian handed him a cigarette out of his own package, lit it, and led him into the office. They both sat down—Brian behind his desk and Montana in the chair across the room. The chair creaked under Montana’s size. They silently smoked for a moment. Brian waited for his subordinate to say what had him so shaken up. He didn’t ask, but Montana told him.

  “C-team tells me they took the healer down while his back was turned.” The two men smiled at each other. That confession alone spoke of how young the new recruits were. Never admit you took an enemy down by any means other than superior skill and planning. “B-team struggled with the monsters in the courtyard, but the way they tell it, the little girls gave them more resistance than the Nephilim. A-team encountered two Nephilim that almost derailed our entire operation. They were faster and stronger than we could have anticipated. They had this battle armor that looked like leather with metal plates and studding. It prevented our darts from penetrating. One of them was a woman.” The word would have sounded like an insult if it hadn’t been said with such astonishment. “She was a trained warrior, much more skilled at combat than her male partner, and though she didn’t have wings, she glowed like them. She moved like them. And when we finally managed to shoot her with the tranq, she fell like them. Before that, she mopped the floor with us, like we were recruits instead of war-hardened soldiers. She had no weapons. She caused enough damage with just her fists and feet.” He gestured toward his left shoulder with his right hand, cigarette between his pointer and index fingers. “She landed a punch that felt like a semitruck to my shoulder. If I had turned a split second slower, she would have hit her target. With the kind of heat she was packing in those guns, I think my heart would’ve stopped if she’d made contact with my chest.”

  He placed the yellow end of his stubby cig in his mouth and raised a dark hand to rub the back of his head. His hair was clipped short, military style. There was nothing to smooth or adjust; the movement was exasperation alone. He was embarrassed. This woman had made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years—fear. He could have been killed. “She didn’t just dislocate my shoulder. She broke my clavicle in three places and tore—not stretched, not pulled—ripped—no, destroyed every ligament and tendon holding my arm to my body. She turned my muscles and cartilage into jelly a full five inches out from her strike. Hell, she hit me from the front and somehow managed to pulverize my shoulder blade. This is going to take a while to heal.”

  “No, it won’t. I promised you the first dose of the serum.” Brian reminded his friend of the reward of having served the Paion successfully. Montana would be healed within seconds of the injection, never to sustain an injury that required a lengthy recovery again. That was why the healer’s blood was most desirable.

  “She caved in Dave’s chest and practically vaporized Curt’s knee and shin.”

  Brian cut his objection short with a movement. No matter the injuries, Montana earned the first dose. The other men could wait until both men in this room had theirs. That was the way the hierarchy worked.

  The dark man nodded his acceptance of Brian’s decision. With sweat breaking out on his forehead, he went on, “The only reason I’m conscious right now is because I took a shot of morphine in the van, and even with that, the pain is breaking through. With all the hurt she put on us, she could have easily snapped our necks or morphed her arm into a sword like they usually do. She could have cut us in two. Hell, she could have torn us in two. It was almost like she was restraining herself.” Montana shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know what the hell she was, but I hope they never make another like her.”

  “Me too. Why don’t you go have your injuries seen to? Maybe get another dose of morphine. We can finish this up later. We have the blood, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I lied. I took two on the way here. Another would put me into a coma. It’s fine. I’ve got more to tell you—information that shouldn’t wait.” Plus, he needed the pain; it told him he was still alive, but he didn’t say that aloud. “As we expected, the Daughters have no offensive magic. They’ve got something new though. Fox said he saw a girl throw up so
me kind of magical shield around herself and a group of toddlers.”

  Before Brian could ask any follow up questions, a wail came up through the floor. Brian switched on the monitor that the prison level security cameras fed to. Kishargalanna looked like her normal self, though normal was an odd choice for describing such a creature. She floated in the center of her cell, feet the same distance from the floor as her head was from the ceiling. Her facial features, body measurements, and proportions shifted constantly, never pausing in one state long enough to be recognizable. As always, it was disturbing to see the human so fully distorted by the blood of the Paion’s enemy.

  Montana stood with some effort and crossed to stand behind Brian’s shoulder. They watched as she writhed midair. The monitor was black-and-white. They couldn’t tell, so Brian hit the intercom switch for the guard room and asked, “What’s going on down there?”

  The guard answered after a minute. “We don’t know. She just started screaming and crying about her maker not loving her anymore. She keeps saying, ‘Raphael,’ over and over. I didn’t open the door, but I looked through the keyhole. She looks the same as she has.” He didn’t mention her change in healthy appearance since Oliver’s slip in protocol. “Except her color is off. Her glow is flickering and flashing. Oh, shit, shit—”

  On the monitor, Brian and Montana could see what had the guard so worried. Kishargalanna was on the floor of her cell. She had never touched ground, not even at her weakest moment. She convulsed, and Montana warned the guard, “It’s a trap. Open that door and you’re a dead man.”

  The Lilitu looked up to where she knew the camera was embedded in the wall near the ceiling. She laughed, though it pained her to do it. The sound was harsh, and the men suppressed a shiver. “My maker is destroying his blood to keep you from using it. He kills one to save many.”