Kenneth’s face drew blank as he stared into her sultry green eyes. He had to admit, she read him like a book, but he could never find himself working with a Deamhan to achieve his ultimate goal. He was strong and influential enough to do that on his own.
“What is this thing that you need?” he asked in a whisper.
“There’s a piece of a clay tablet in The Brotherhood’s Archives in San Diego.”
“A clay tablet?”
“Yes, in the Archives that you researchers guard so perfectly.”
Filled with antiques, old documents, and other assorted historical objects dating back to the first days of The Brotherhood, the Archives was perfectly guarded by a state of the art security system and mercenaries willing to risk their lives to protect their valuable information. Once housed in Chicago, that all came crashing down when the building was attacked by Deamhan and burnt to the ground decades ago. All new researchers were taken to the Archives at least one time in their life to reflect on the importance of being part of the organization. He had no way of getting in there unless he got special permission from the higher ups; someone like Mr. Austin or better yet, Mr. Alvaro.
He huffed. “I’ve only been down there once and I don’t remember seeing a clay tablet or a piece of a clay tablet.”
“It’s there.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “Hidden oh so well by the researchers who came before you.”
He gently removed her hand.
“Have you heard of the Dark Curse?”
Through all his life as a researcher, he believed he knew everything about the Deamhan but, he had never heard of the Dark Curse. “No I haven’t. Is that what it is?”
“That clay tablet piece is part of a historical document on the beginnings of my kind. It doesn’t belong to humans.” She grabbed his wrist and she slowly sat him down in the chair. “Get it for me and I will give you power.”
“It must be of some value if you want it that badly.”
“Yes.” She straddled him and lowered herself onto his crotch. “Have you read The Havamal, Kenneth?”
“No.” Uncomfortable, he replied in a shaky voice.
“I thought your organization researched human history as well as Deamhan history?” She again placed her hand on his cheek.
“We study both.” Again he grabbed her hand and removed it.
“There’s a quote in The Havamal.” She leaned in to his right ear. “It was a popular text for my people in the old days. In fact, I missed it so much that I had my human minions find me a copy and bring it to me.” She placed her hand over his stomach and began to massage his skin.
His body shuddered and he desperately wanted her to let go but the more she wheedled, the more he enjoyed it.
“I read it over and over and suddenly, it came to me one day. After hundreds of years, I finally understood what it all meant.”
He watched as her eyes slowly reverted from green to black, a signature sign of a Deamhan.
“One quote fueled me to seek revenge against those who chained Lucius to the dark. It motivated me to go out and seek my desires, or what you humans say ‘to get mine’?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “‘Wake early if you want another man’s life or land. No lamb for the lazy wolf. No battle’s won in bed’.”
He felt his body growing weak. She was feeding from him. He immediately pushed her away and he moved to his feet.
Her eyes reverted back to green and she licked the corners of her mouth. “I need it by the end of the week.” She grabbed her jacket and umbrella.
“And in return you’ll just, clap your hands and make me powerful?” he spoke in a sarcastic tone.
“In return Lucius will kill Mr. Austin and you will be President of the Midwest Division.” She dressed herself.
“Lucius?”
“Remember. One week.” She opened the door and walked out of his office.
Kenneth stood frozen. The thought of Lucius killing Mr. Austin wasn’t the path he wanted to take. He rubbed his chin in thought and watched as JoAnne quietly stepped into the room.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“We need to report her visit to Mr. Austin immediately.”
“No,” he quickly replied. “Not yet. I’ll do it.”
“But Kenneth—”
“JoAnne, I said I’ll do it.” He took a deep breath. “I need you to schedule a flight for us to San Diego immediately.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I need access to the Archives.”
“Oh, okay,” she nervously replied. “Access to what in the Archives specifically?”
He stared at JoAnne before replying, “I need access to the Dark Curse.”
CHAPTER SIX
Anastasia opened her mouth, taking in more of the smells around her. The air carried a blended fragrance of wet wood, grass, and pollen. The wind blew from the west but it didn’t warm her. It could never warm her. Her nose picked up the scent of buds and flowers beginning to bloom, like they always did, signaling the onset of spring. The smells stuck to the back of her throat and it mingled with the scent of humans around her, making her feel somewhat nauseated and dizzy.
She slowly walked down the street with her eyes on a newly remodeled house surrounded by a white, six-foot wooden fence. All the information she’d gathered during her nights prowling led her here. The home was supposed to be a sanctuary, hidden among the middle class human homes, but what she smelled and witnessed proved otherwise. She saw the outline of a man carrying a box in his hands as he walked toward the living room. Another figure of a woman carrying a pot of food to the kitchen appeared behind him. In the upstairs bedroom window she saw the outline of a little human girl who looked no older than thirteen years of age. For once, her information had led her to the wrong place.
A feeling of hunger grew inside her, boiling and making her body feel unusually warm. However, she wouldn’t and couldn’t feed; not now and not on these humans.
This worry turned into sadness and forgiveness; feelings that were supposed to be foreign to her. The little girl managed to somehow expose what Anastasia wanted to hide. She reminded her of another girl Anastasia had the pleasure of running into only a month ago. She invaded the human girl’s life by killing her parents and those vivid images of their deaths played over and over in her memory like a bygone movie.
It was at the family outing, a camping trip in northern Minnesota. When the sun set in the sky, arranging the heavens in commingled colors of reds, oranges, and purples, Anastasia remembered waking up from her temporary burrow underneath a pile of rotted wooden logs. She’d been chasing a Deamhan couple, supporters of Kei but when Anastasia awakened, her rabid mind thought nothing but food. She remembered dirt clotting each and every strand of her dark hair as she took her first steps of the night in a puddle of dirty water and she remembered the cold liquid elevating her body, reminding her of what she really was.
She crawled from her hole and her keen sense of smell picked up on two human adults and a child half a mile away. She ran toward the scent, depending on the moonlight overhead to lighten the darkest parts of her trail. Twigs snapped from her weight, branches slapped her across her forehead and her face. Nearby deer scurried away from her including a black bear that growled and turned the other way.
Their smell became stronger and it mixed in with the smell of sizzling meat, spices, and marshmallows. In the distance the moon reflected on the lake’s dark surface. She stopped shortly before the clearing, watching a man and a woman sitting around an open campfire. Near the lake’s edge a little girl sat, immersed in playing in the waterlogged sand. Anastasia lowered her body, her mind concentrated, her peripheral taking notice of the lightning bugs around her and the bats that flew overhead.
She remembered the sound of the girl’s feet in the wet sand as she ran back to her parents. Together they gazed at the twinkling stars in the clear sky and with her father’s help, she located the Little Dipper. Scouring her victims
like a hyena on the prowl, Anastasia snarled and she licked her lips every so often. Soon the family retreated to their tent and the campfire withered to sizzling embers. The night ended with a falling star disappearing as fast as it appeared in the horizon and a satellite whisking across the sky.
Then Anastasia slithered from the darkness and targeting the adults first, she ripped their throats out.
She found the little girl cowering under her covers. She grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her out. The girl’s cries echoed through the trees, her hazel eyes filled to the brim with tears, and her face grew red with every wail. A whimpering plea came from her father who lay next to the shredded body of her mother, her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. Before he gurgled another word Anastasia bit into his neck, draining the remaining blood from his limp body. She then tossed him into the lake and returned her attention to the girl.
So juicy and so ripe; Anastasia remembered the blood dripping from the tips of her pointed canines. The smell of sweet scented soap and river water exuded from the girl’s soft hair and smooth skin. But something else also struck her. The girl’s thoughts weren’t those of a young child, but those of a matured little girl. The little girl had mentally prepared herself to die.
Not once in her inhumane existence had any girl that age known and accepted that her death was near. Anastasia didn’t discriminate nor did she feel anything for any of her human victims. But this little girl...she wasn’t like them. Her thoughts floated and they were pleasing to read. The little girl felt so much different that Anastasia began to question her actions, her existence. This little angel, this delicate petal, became someone that Anastasia wanted and needed to protect.
She carried the girl, now silenced to the nearest gas station, dropping her off on the front steps. Before leaving the little girl she opened her mouth to speak but only her lips moved. Sorry wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. It was only coincidental that the girl in the bedroom of the home reminded Anastasia of the event.
Things changed since that night. From every night after, Anastasia thought twice about what humans she killed. She still followed Lucius’ orders, destroying sanctuaries and slaughtering humans, but no longer did she want to be responsible for the death of an innocent. She watched her victims, only choosing who she deemed not important to live. Children and adults with families left her menu, replaced by drug dealers, criminals and minions. But she still scrutinized her own, regardless if they happened to be adults or children. Deamhan didn’t deserve another chance, not even her.
A male shadowy figure climbed the steps and appeared in the girl’s bedroom window. Before she could make out what they were doing, the odor of spring forthcoming found itself replaced with the familiar scent of a Deamhan.
She quickly spun around.
“What are you doing?” Remy stepped from behind a tall oak tree. He smiled and showed off his cocky demeanor by licking his thin lips repeatedly and standing in her path.
She didn’t have time for him or for this. She walked around him and continued down the street.
“Well, hello to you, too.” He followed her.
“Go away.” She continued to walk. His presence irritated her like always.
He placed his hands in the pockets of his short black jacket and he increased his stride, reaching her before she turned the corner. “No.” He again stood in her path. Their eyes met and a tense filled quietness overcame the mild spring air around them. “That stint you pulled at the manor. Stabbing me. You know, that actually hurt, but I forgive you.”
“It was meant to hurt.”
“Well, since you’re feeling all remorseful I’d thought I’d let you know that I killed a college student along the way so I could heal.” He rubbed his stomach. “Her death is on your hands.”
His comment moved her to quickly look at him. “I don’t care who you eat.”
His eyes glanced toward the home and back at her. “So you wouldn’t mind if I ate whoever lives in that house?”
Anastasia ignored him. The very sound of his voice made her feel disgusted and all she wanted to do was to silence it once and for all. They had nothing in common, besides being Deamhan. She didn’t like him and like many other Deamhan, she wanted to kill him just to silence his snarky comments and annoying remarks. She let him get away with things that, in her past, she would’ve reacted to.
Remy tilted his head to the sky, taking in any scent that he could in the air. “Well, the little girl in there definitely isn’t a Deamhan? Who is she?”
She didn’t answer. Telling him how she truly felt about killing humans was more than enough to make Remy bombard her with stupid questions. Even now he questioned why she followed Lucius’ orders, slaughtering minions and any Deamhan she found in the sanctuaries. He didn’t understand why she spent most of her time at night in those decrepit places. Sometimes she didn’t understand it either. “It’s none of your business, Lamia.”
He tilted his head back in laughter. “You might be fooling everyone else, Ana, but you aren’t fooling me.” His eyes protruded. “What you’re feeling now, that little guilt trip, humans call it ‘remorse’.”
“Ridiculous. We don’t feel anything. We can’t.”
“And the lies just keep on comin’.”
She abruptly stopped walking. “And yet, here you are, spying on Veronica, trying to seduce her to make her like you. You know that she won’t stoop so low.”
“I’m not denying my agenda, dear Ana. Are you denying yours?”
“Hardly. I know what I am.”
“Ahh yes. I know you now. A Ramanga who came to Minneapolis to avenge Lucius. A Ramanga who now watches and protects. Tell me, what would your enemies think if they saw how you now act around humans?”
“What would your enemies do if they found you?” The little information Anastasia had about Remy was based on suspicion. She remembered the day he arrived at Blind Bluff Manor, secretly and only willing to speak to Nathan. What and who he ran from he didn’t reveal, which didn’t bother Nathan as much as it bothered Anastasia.
He held his breath then said, “Unlike you, I don’t have a reputation to uphold.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I don’t mind relying on acquaintances for assistance.”
Her movement was quick, giving him little time to react. She reached out and with her left hand gripped his throat and lifted him up onto his toes. Her eyes had turned black, filled with the uncontrollable rage that made her a Ramanga. She began to squeeze, waiting for the moment that she’d hear the crunch of his neck snapping into tiny pieces. It would cause damage but not enough to put him out of his misery. Instead Remy released choked laughter. His comment wasn’t directed at her but at her actions in the previous months, particularly the night she’d slain Branda and her sister Brandy, both of them Ramanga she’d sired centuries ago, to save Veronica’s life. Her thoughts reverberated back to them and other Deamhan in her past that she sired and tried to kill as well. There wasn’t any mistake. She would do it again, in a heartbeat if she had one.
She sensed this from Remy’s thoughts and she released her grip and stepped back. He rubbed the noticeable indentation ring around his neck. Instead of retaliating he resumed his mockery.
“See.” He pointed at her. “If you were the Anastasia of the past you would’ve killed me without hesitating. Why stop yourself?”
“Because killing you won’t solve anything.”
“But it’d feel really good,” he preached. “You are a Deamhan. It’s what we do. We kill, we cripple, we ravage. We don’t stay outside the homes of humans, feeling for them because we act out in our nature.”
Anastasia snarled and took a step forward. She slowly opened her mouth and her tongue slowly swirled across her transforming canines.
“That ferociousness that I sense inside you...that’s the Anastasia I know. It tingles doesn’t it? The sensation excites you. Well, it excites me.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer to him. “You k
now you want me.” His chest pressed against hers and she felt the cold hard steel of his nipple rings against her breasts. “C’mon Ana, you know you want to take me.” He slightly opened his mouth and she felt the feral pressure of their bodies touching. “You want to incapacitate me.”
“No, I don’t.”
He let out a short chuckle. “Are you a vegetarian Deamhan now?”
She pushed but he pushed back, quickly pressing his lips against hers. She felt pressure tingling from her mouth down to her stomach and she jerked. He slowly began to feed, sucking the essence from her body. Everything around her from the sidewalk to the trees, to the musty smell seeping from the driver of a taxi slowly driving past them, to the suburban houses lining the street melted away. Anastasia felt her legs wobbling underneath her. If he didn’t stop he’d kill her along with himself. She had to make him stop, and fast.
But Remy pulled back, grabbing just enough of her life force to stun them both for a few seconds. “I wish we Deamhan could feed off each other.” He held his head back in his woozy state. “I love this feeling.” His breath, now warm and not bitterly cold, slightly touched her cheek. “You’re a killer, Anastasia.” He slid his rejuvenated hands up the side of her body to her face. He leaned in to her again, his lips locking onto hers. She pushed hard on his shoulders but she felt her body slowly arching back. Remy hummed in ecstasy but a small pinch on his lower lip silenced his joy. He rolled his head back and felt blood trickling down to the back of his throat. He touched his lips, feeling the warm liquid on his skin. He pulled back immediately, staring into her black voided eyes and sharp fangs.
“Interesting.” He glazed his tongue over his wound, tasting the salty iron flavor. “See, I knew you could do it.”
She lunged at him, striking her hands into his chest. He flew backwards, landing on top of a bed of sharp twigs and undergrowth. Blood streamed from the deep wound on his lip.
“That wasn’t so hard.” He stood up and wiped the dirt from his clothes. “I give, you take. You give, I take.” He swiped away the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Deamhan Chronicles, Books 1-5: Deamhan, Kei. Family Matters, Dark Curse, Maris. The Brotherhood Files, Ayden. Deamhan Minion Page 35