Death eBook 9.8.16

by Lila Rose

  “Perfect. Mine,” I growled low as I buried my cock all the way in and shot my load. My knees shook from the force, and I planted my forehead on her shoulder, cursing as I still came.

  Once settled, I lowered my mate to her shaky legs, smiled down at her, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “Go clean up before I catch my breath and take you again,” I warned. My dick was already semihard.

  She nodded, licked her lips, and then, after everything we just did, she blushed and looked sheepishly up at me before she got to her tiptoes and kissed me.

  Just as the door closed to her room, I looked down between my legs and saw I was fully hard already. I doubted I would ever get enough of my mate and I was happy with that.

  “Is she alive?” Connor sent into my mind with a chuckle.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Bro, calm down. It’s not like we watched, but I’m sure the whole street heard her cry of ecstasy. Just wanted to check you didn’t kill her.”

  “Rack off, idiot.” Though, my chest puffed out, proud my woman had been satisfied.

  “Was it worth the wait?” he asked in all seriousness.

  “Worth it and more.” I smiled. “But remember your day will come, and it will be time for me to deliver any payback from the shit you give me now.”

  “Fuck, I really need to remember that. If I get a mate.”

  “You will, brother. You all will.”

  “Promise to gang up when it’s Warren’s time?”

  I just knew Connor would be smiling about the shit we’d give Warren. “Hell yeah,” I answered with a laugh.

  When Julie’s door opened, I severed the connection Connor had forced. Her clean smell hit me, but I wanted it gone. I wanted my scent all over and in her instead.

  “Um, your turn.” She smiled shyly up at me.

  Smiling, I walked up to her, took her face in my hands, and kissed her breathless before making my way into my room for a shower I didn’t want. I could still smell my mate on me, and I longed for it to stay that way.

  Chapter Eight

  JULIE

  After a quick shower, I could still feel him between my legs. The delicious throb of the most powerful orgasms I had ever experienced was unrelenting. My every move was causing an echo effect. Now in the kitchen, while Dean showered, I refreshed my coffee and twitched my way over to the huge island that held a sink that looked over the living room. The layout was really perfect; from this spot I could see most of the apartment, including the TV. Placing my cup on the counter, I grabbed the remote in front of me, guessing Dean watched TV and did his dishes at the same time, which was great for me. I hit buttons until I found the Harry Potter marathon I’d been planning to watch and settled into the breakfast cleanup.

  The movie was already a good twenty minutes into The Prisoner of Azkaban, and it was at the part where Harry and his crew were on the train to Hogwarts. It was one of my favorite scenes. As I stopped cleaning to watch it, I heard the shower being shut off; however, my concentration was broken by the noticeable shake in my hands. The tremor continued throughout my body until I convulsed. The movie once again caught my attention as the Dementor entered the carriage, and my world stopped. The memories hit me like the dang Hogwarts Express.

  Oh. God. I remembered everything.

  The train.

  The death.

  The accident.

  The horror.

  They weren’t dreams; they were real people. As my knees gave out and I began to black out, I had one last thought…

  Is that me screaming or Harry’s mom?

  I started to come around to Dean shouting, “What in the fuck did you do to her?”

  Boy, he sounded grumpy. I was considering the benefits of going back to sleep as Warren responded, “Not a goddamned thing.”

  “Dean, we all felt her distress this time. It ripped through you and down the connection we share,” Connor, of all people, tried to soothe.

  “It was quite powerful,” Falcone put in from somewhere close by.

  “Why the fuck are you still touching her?” snarled Dean. That explained who was holding my hand, and I must have been moved, unless the floor grew cushions while I was out.

  “Seriously, Dean?” questioned Falcone.

  “Man, take a chill pill. We can smell your scent all over her, regardless of the shower, and you’re still biting his head off?” scoffed Connor.

  Dean’s only response was a grunt of indifference. This bizarre conversation was at least enough to keep the initial hysteria at bay.

  I felt a hand brush my face as Dean pleaded for me to wake. It was time to face the music and my impending nervous breakdown.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” I blurted as soon as I opened my eyes to the ridiculousness at the foot of the sofa facing me. It was Warren in a black tee that said Snuggle Slut and a pair of pimp-purple silk sleep pants.

  “Some of us were still sleeping,” Warren ground out between his teeth, with what I swear looked like the beginnings of a blush. He quickly ripped off the tee. Only then did my eyes trail over his scarred body. I’d previously noticed the scar on his face, but his whole chest was covered in them. My heart ached for him and what he must have been through. I wanted to question how he got them, but I knew my questions would be brushed aside.

  “It was a Christmas gift and it brings me unmeasurable joy to see he actually wears it.” Connor gloated from behind the sofa.

  Warren mumbled something about laundry day, but my reprieve was short-lived. Dean sat next to my hip and snatched my hand away from Falcone, who, as I’d guessed, was sitting on the floor next to my elbow. Dean ran a hand across my forehead and gave me his full concern. “You scared the shit out of us. Do you remember something?”

  Tears filled my eyes as I answered in a hitched whisper, “I remembered everything.”

  “Tell us,” Warren demanded, with little tact, I might add.

  “I don’t think you’d believe me even if I was able to,” I told them softly. I was hanging on by a thread.

  “Oh, I think you’d be amazed at what we’d believe.” Connor snorted, earning him a dirty look from the others. “What?”

  My stomach rolled, a shiver of fear running through me. Still, I met Dean’s eyes and whispered between sobs, “I-it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t nightmares. The people…. It all h-happened. They all j-just… all of them, gone.”

  There was an understanding in his eyes I didn’t expect, as though he believed every word as I retold the horrors of that night. Once done, I found myself in Dean’s lap as he gently tried to soothe the images away. In the haze of emotion, I still heard those around me.

  “She needs to know,” Connor gently stated.

  “Well, I am not having that conversation standing around half-naked. I will see you in the meeting room in thirty minutes,” Warren ordered, and swiftly left the room. Having Warren, with his big guy, all-beefed-up-like-those-guys-wholive-at-the-gym body, his perpetual scowl and crusty personality, worried enough to rush over to check on me like the others had and in his PJs, made him a little less scary. It warmed my heart a little more for him.

  After twenty minutes and two shots of primo Scotch, I was steady enough to follow the boys to the meeting room. It was the only door without a horse head burned into it, but it did have their family crest and a sign that read War Room in English. Inside was pretty basic, except for a gorgeous ten-foot live-slab table surrounded by ten seats. Oh, and inlaid into the center of the table was—okay, it was getting a little clichéd—the family crest.

  As we took our seats, Dean took my hand and asked, “Now that you’re calmer, do you think you can tell us again what the… err… demented man—”

  “De-men-tor,” I interrupted to correct.

  “Uh, yeah, do you think you can explain this dementor again?” he finished.

  “I know this all sounds bat-poop crazy, or maybe not since none of you’ve called to reserve me a room at the funny farm yet.”
I took a deep, fortifying breath and continued, “The guy looked like one of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ backup dancers gone evil. He had short blond hair and an ice-blue eye. Yes, only one. He had hunks of skin hanging, oozing sores, and his skin was a lovely shade of mental institution gray that really complemented his eye.” Clearing my throat, I ran a hand over my face and then added, “The guy was creepy as all get-out.”

  Warren, who had joined halfway through, was now dressed in what I was thinking might be his own self-imposed uniform. Black, on black, on black. Tee, cargos, boots. He must have been feeling better. He moved gracefully as he walked in, took a seat, and listened, then asked, “Did he say or do anything else that might help us find him?”

  Feeling agitated, I rolled my eyes and asked sarcastically, “You mean other than having the ability to melt all the passengers into goo? Yeah, just before I passed out, Mr. Hot Mess ghosted down the aisle, touched my cheek, and said something about ‘this will be glorious fun.’ Oh, and he smelled like an old lady.” Dean squeezed my hand so tight when I’d said Mr. Hot Mess had touched me, I thought he was going to break my fingers.

  They were all silent and wearing grim expressions like I’d just confirmed their worst fear. “Old lady? Do you mean lilies?” asked Connor, who seemed to already know my answer since his face only became grimmer as I nodded.

  I looked around the table and whispered, “None of you think I’m crazy? You believe me?” They all nodded at the same time. “What fruited-up rabbit hole did I fall into?” I asked, still whispering, as though if I whispered, it wouldn’t be real. Boy, was I wrong.

  They all looked at each other; I assumed to decide who would be the one to conduct story time. With a few grunts and a disgruntled sigh from Warren, it seemed he was the chosen one. “What I’m about to tell you is known by very few, and I have not told it in a very long time, so bear with me.”

  As he collected his thoughts and decided where to start, Dean squeezed my hand in support.

  “Here’s the problem with myths and legends: they are fiction. At one time they may have been stories of real people, but over time, the story was passed from person to person. So what was once fact, becomes the written fables of those long ago,” Warren dictated gravely.

  “We are one of those ridiculous stories warped by time and dumbasses,” Connor interrupted. “You see, Plato was an asshole who took advantage of our fifth brother and stole our history and twisted it into those bullshit adventure romances that had Athens coming out on top. Puh-lease, like our advanced ancestors could be taken down by those…. What?” He paused and looked around at his brothers’ furious faces. “Why are you all looking at me like that? Warren was already taking forever to get to the good stuff.”

  “And there’s never a dull moment with you around to prevent it, right, Con? Please shut your cake hole and let Warren tell it from the beginning before you confuse us all.” Dean sighed before gesturing for Warren to continue. Which was to my relief because I was more confused than ever.

  “We, the five of us, were created to prevent history from repeating itself. This world is very big and has many diverse cultures with varying degrees of technology. There are some tribes out there to this day who live in more primitive states, living off the land. What it gives, when it gives. We have watched many rise and fall due to nature and self-devastation, and through much of it, we five have been the deciding factor. Our ancestors were well advanced beyond anything back then or current day, but it was their undoing. They manipulated DNA to make themselves the equivalent of the superheroes in your comic books. Only, they went too far, weakening themselves beyond repair and passing these defects down with each dwindling generation. Eventually, there were only a few hundred thousand that remained. Knowing their time was limited, they decided to take all their combined knowledge and create safeguards to prevent similar fates in the future.”

  My mind was going a million miles. “Plato. Advanced technology. Fallen cultures. Devastation. Fuck. You’re saying you’re what? You’re all the great, great, great, and so many more greats to the millionth times grandbabies of Atlantis?” I gave myself a break; it was a swearword-worthy moment.

  “No,” Warren answered. Okay, abort freak-out. “We are the last of the people from the island Navah. The final genetic manipulation and their final act and gift before dying off. Plato gave our home that absurd name to make it more appealing to those pompous asses of Athens and Rome,” he corrected.

  Abort the abort, and commence full-swing freak-out. My head spun in different directions; my stomach seemed to play a musical note of nerves. Not that I let it show. I was acutely aware of Dean and how important my reaction was to him as he scrutinized me. So I locked down all emotions after my first outburst, even though my nerves were currently raising the hairs on the back of my neck and causing my underarms to sweat. Still, I kept an open mind enough to only receive what was being told. I would process it all later, alone. But for now, I was in safety mode.

  “They chose five women with superior genetics and intellect to provide offspring, giving birth to us. Gifts were manipulated into our DNA at conception to thwart mortals and keep balance on earth, preventing all possible future destruction. We all have heightened senses of sight, hearing, and are faster and stronger than average humans. We also each have individual abilities as well. I prevent and cause wars as needed to keep the balance of powers. I have a tactical mind—”

  “And issues with rage,” Falcone mumbled under his breath, causing Connor to snort.

  My attention went back to Warren as he continued on, ignoring the antics around him. “Dean chauffeurs lost souls. Usually significant deaths of a violent nature. Connor has the power of charisma, and influences the balances of power through finances.”

  “One country cannot rule the world if it’s broke,” Connor added with mock authority.

  “Falcone, or famine, is just that. He was made to balance the population to resources. A necessary evil and a job he has always loathed. The mortals have caused so much damage and pollution in the last few decades that he no longer has to be the cause.”

  “I get to work toward prevention now,” Falcone put in proudly.

  “That leaves Kayne, who was to be a form of renewal. Like composting, he was to break down the waste of the world and turn it into new growth.”

  “Mother Nature,” Connor supplied, which I assumed was a very, very long-running joke.

  Warren glared at his brother and then turned back to me and continued with, “But the gift turned on him, eating away his mind and then his body. His gift not being used is why global warming and other pollution-type matters are going to shit.”

  It was Dean who squeezed my hand and delivered the final blow that would obliterate my safety mode, as he said, “The dementor thing from the train, it was Kayne.”

  My mouth opened and closed, and opened again to blurt, “You’re the legendary Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” The horror of everything clicked into place. Yep, I had entered full meltdown mode, even as my heart went crazy. I closed my eyes tightly and thought of that morning. I took a deep breath thinking about Dean and how amazing he’d been. Then as I exhaled, I listened to my gut and heart. They were telling me I was safe with those four men.

  I opened my eyes and looked directly into Dean’s brown ones. Dang, he had drop-dead gorgeous everything. I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze back that time, and with a small smile, I turned my attention back to Warren. “All right, boss, hit me with the rest. It can’t be worse than the sound of the second shoe dropping.”

  Wow, Warren was looking at me with an expression I’d only ever received from Fallon and once from Dean. When I’d asked Fallon what it was that first time, she told me it was pride; she’d been proud of me… and then she’d said my mother was a cunt because I should have seen pride all my life.

  “No, Julie. That was the worst of it. The rest is just how Kayne became how he is today. I promise nothing more ‘mind-blowing.’ You h
ave my word.”

  Aw, how cute. Big, badass Warren actually did air quotes as he said mind-blowing. Warren being adorable, who would have thought.

  “Once we were born, grown, and well versed in our history and skills, the population had dropped to only a few tens of thousands. We helped relocate everyone and self-destructed the island and all trace of it. A group of Navah scholars built and maintained an enormous library to preserve the world’s history for our future reference, The Library of Alexandria. It was around 360 BC, as the last of our forefathers were dying off, when that shithead Plato met Kayne. We didn’t know it at the time, but Kayne’s mind was starting to deteriorate. Plato used this to gain his trust and access to the library. After the breach, the entire library was moved to a new and secure location. Kayne was put on watch as he became more unstable. In 1347, Kayne sensed our resolve to do something about him through the bond we all share. He had started what would be called the Bubonic Plague, but at the time we knew it as Kayne’s Touch. You saw the accelerated version on that train. At the time, it was to keep us busy while he formed a devoted cult of followers. After displaying his ability to both inflict and heal, they saw him as their god and became the Order of Decay.”

  “What the heck? The Order of Decay? But I’ve heard of them. They’re like the Knights Templar or something, right?” Confusion swam in my already overworked brain. “They’re to do with you guys, you know, horsemen?”

  “Not us exactly, but Kayne yes,” Dean said.

  My brow arched. “But how would I and, you know, everyday people not know the link between the Order and the horsemen?”

  Dean’s grin seemed pained. “Just like we erased memory of Kayne, we worked at ensuring there was no link between the Order and us. We had no hope of keeping the cult a secret, even though we tried. Lots of members we weren’t even aware of.” He sighed. “Are you really surprised that in the world we live in, even 600 years ago men craved power? It’s always been this way. They saw Decay, his power, his ability to overthrow the world in many ways, as their opportunity to achieve what they wanted. Greed”—his face became fierce—“is a terrifying desire. Not even we have the power to wipe that out.”