by L. A. Banks
The chairman turned to him and chuckled.
“You approve?” he asked. “The last time you declined my offer to adopt Brutus and Bath Sheba. Just look at them . . . they’re beautiful.”
Carlos wasn’t sure how to respond. “This time I accept,” he finally said with a nod of gratitude. “They are truly magnificent creatures.” There was only awe in his tone. He’d never seen anything like them.
“Don’t worry, turn them loose on your lair grounds, and we’re fairly confident that you will have no intruders—day or night.”
“Just let them go?” Carlos asked, very unsure.
“Pop the chains,” the chairman said with a wicked grin. “Let them get to know their new master.”
Before Carlos could object, the dogs had broken from their hold and were making a snarling hurdle toward him. He could feel the chairman silently communicate to stay seated—show fear, and they will not obey, might even attack. Every instinct within him was poised to bulk and do battle.
When the beasts got to the table, they slowed, sniffing each seated entity, passing them by until they spotted Carlos, then they sat back on their haunches, threw their heads back, and howled.
“Give them your fist so they can get the scent of your territory, and transmit who is considered off limits,” the chairman said calmly.
Too on guard to speak, Carlos slowly extended his fist to the snarling beasts, projecting images and scents of Damali, her Guardians, the Covenant, his family—even that crazy cop, Berkfield. Immediately one of the dogs opened its jaws, and clamped down on his fist, drawing in his arm all the way up to his elbow—but never bore down. He could feel acid bubbling on his skin, but then the creature whimpered, and licked the ooze off, wagged its savage tail, nuzzled his leg, and dropped to Carlos’s feet.
A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple. Had he been less than he was, he would have shit his pants. The second creature loped up to him, wings still flapping, muscles twisting and knotting in its back as it approached. It sniffed the creature that was lying on the floor, then went to Carlos, flicked a long, green forked tongue at him, and licked the sweat from Carlos’s cheek, before flopping down with a satisfied grunt.
“Marvelous, aren’t they?”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Carlos murmured, still shaken. And he’d thought Nuit’s panther had been something.
CHAPTER FIVE
“FOLKS, WE have us a real situation,” Marlene said, but too calmly for the occasion as she sat down at the kitchen table.
“You ain’t said a mumblin’ word, Mar,” Big Mike uttered on a long, tired breath. “You think the bedroom locks will hold?”
“I hope so,” Marlene said, letting her head drop into her hands. “I’m just glad that she willingly went in there after she’d fed. I’m not worried about tonight—it’s tomorrow night that concerns me.”
“Yeah, but if the reinforced equipment that me and Jose installed fails,” J.L. said slowly, “then what?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Marlene whispered.
“You don’t think she’d bite anybody in here, do you, Mar? I mean . . .”
Marlene looked up at Jose, and cast a worried glance around the team. “You heard the man, and saw the transformation with your own eyes. Plus, we don’t even know if Carlos’s orders will hold up. This wasn’t a normal vamp turn. We don’t know to what degree she’s beholden to follow his instructions. And if she fluxes hard, coming out of this vampiric state with her body chemistry all whacked out only to go into a full ripening—she’s not the only one we have to worry about.”
“He’s coming back for her,” Jose said in a quiet voice.
All eyes were on him as he hung his head. “I don’t know why, but me and Carlos have a connection. I can feel where he’s coming from . . . I wouldn’t leave my woman, either, under the circumstances.”
No one spoke for a moment as their thoughts went to the lost Dee Dee.
“Yeah, but Carlos saved a lot of lives, folks. That counts for something.”
Marlene sighed as she studied the newest Guardian. “We like him a lot, too, Dan. But we have to also remember what he is.”
Dan nodded. “But, Mar, check it out. Remember the old priest said that there had to be faith, hope, and love?”
“If she goes into a turn,” Jose said, “I’ll stay with her . . . I’ve got the faith, hope, and love for D. I’m not afraid of her.”
“That was before dude did our little sister, man. Get a grip. Rivera is all vamp, so is Damali at the moment. No heroics, Jose.” Rider crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Jose hard. “Don’t be the weak link in this chain, brother. That gets us all fucked up.”
“The faith, hope, and love thing was supposed to be between li’l sis and Rivera to keep the bite from going down like it did,” Big Mike told Jose gently. “Ain’t no percentage in you putting yourself, or anybody in this compound, in harm’s way by letting her out till we get her straight.”
“I hear you, Big Mike,” Dan said calmly. “But aren’t we all out on a crazy limb as Guardians, anyway, with nothing to go on but a whole lotta faith, nothing but hope, and love for each other?”
Big Mike nodded and let his breath out hard. The group studied Dan while he spoke, his words of inspiration holding them all for ransom.
“Well,” Dan pressed on, “she loved him, too. Still does. Maybe that’s enough to keep her bound to her promise?”
“Kinda ironic, though, don’t you think?” Rider said, his gaze going toward the sealed compound windows.
“How so?” Marlene gave him her full attention.
“She helps Rivera fight his worst enemy, Nuit, who was also her worst enemy. In exchange, her accidental brand saves Rivera’s life. Then, he helps her fight the biggest battle of her life over in Brazil, an external force, only to wind up fighting the biggest internal battle she’s ever had to deal with. Namely, turning into the same thing she’s been fighting, while also trying to stay away from him, which is the other pull she’s been fighting ever since she was a kid—just like he’s been fighting going to her all these years. It’s like one big circle of madness between them.”
Rider raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m just a nose, not a tactical sensor, but the electricity was in the air. He wanted her throat real bad, but had respect. I’ll give him that. I don’t think he meant to turn her—or why else would he have brought her home?”
“Rider, sometimes you can be deep.” Marlene smiled at him and covered his hand with her own.
“I try,” he said sheepishly.
“You just gave me a wild thought, though.” She sat back and then leaned forward on the table, making a tent with her hands. “The planets forecast it, but like all things, we can never truly know what they portend until the action starts.”
When everyone looked at her, Marlene tilted her head and shut her eyes. “Mars came the closest it’s been to the earth in sixty thousand years this past August. And all these cosmic events seem to happen around our girl’s birthday and close to home.” She paused, looked at the group, and let her words settle in before continuing. “Mars is the planet of war, and we’ve seen new and awful wars erupt everywhere on this planet during this transit. Just like before, I thought that only had to do with what we were up against in the Amazon.”
“Meaning what, baby?” Shabazz asked quietly.
“I know he’s a sore subject, but back in Brazil, Kamal told us that Damali was fighting herself, the other half of who she was. That’s an internal battle—close to home for her, for us . . . for Carlos.” She sighed hard and shook her head. “When we get spiritual messages, there are always layers of meaning in them.”
“True dat,” Shabazz muttered. “Brotherman was right on all counts, ’cause she’s definitely fighting herself, and a pull to the male energy that’s the opposite of what she is—was.”
“Right,” Marlene said, her gaze searching each face in the room. “If this Neteru, sent to our charge, is fi
ghting the biggest spiritual battle of her life during this rare war transit—something very different than fighting an external demon . . . while her soul mate, her almost-lost Guardian, Carlos, is also doing the same, fighting what lies within . . . then this thing that they’re fighting might be the beginning of the real McCoy of biblical proportions. Maybe the universe is spiritually imploding, concentrating everything inward, instead of outward—just like they are . . . needing to purge internally to bring forth the Light. We have to get to their core before it draws everything down into it.”
“The real McCoy?” Big Mike rubbed his palm over his bald scalp, dispersing the beads of nervous sweat in the process.
“The Armageddon,” Shabazz said flatly. “Parent against child, husband against wife, internal battles of the most insidious kind. Seas offering up their fishes—an internal purge. Plagues sweeping the land—an internal purge. Even the church is purging itself of terrible secrets and deviant acts. Everything is getting turned out from within—vomited up, so the hidden truths can be known. Ruthless government schemes are being outted. Environmental disasters . . . earthquakes, tornadoes, floods—nature’s internal purge . . . and the whole world at war. Think about it—everything is purging internally . . . countries are fighting internal civil wars; families are fighting horrific domestic battles—internal. Major corporations are purging their ranks, finding thieves—internally. The big red planet just came its closest ever to us; Rivera is trying his best to pull away from the dark, while Damali is pulling away from the light, roles are reversing, the signs are everywhere. Implosion, contractions, even time feels like it’s speeding up for something big.”
“Well, shit,” Rider said fast, standing. “Without getting all philosophical, Shabazz, the bottom line is simple: we can’t let him bite her again, especially if she’s ripening. If she’s in some kinda funky mid-turn or Neteru system fluctuation, we’ll have to help her purge it, before it goes too far. And we also can’t be too hasty to do him, because he might be the tipping weight toward our side, just like he saved our asses twice. Dan is right about remembering that. But if the two of them get together before they make the wise choice—”
“That could be the beginning of the daywalker empire that the Vampire Council was planning to shift the balance once and for all, regardless of Fallon Nuit. That’s what we have to purge—from within our own ranks as Guardians.” Shabazz closed his eyes.
Jose found a stool in the far corner of the weapons room and sat on it slowly, just staring at the floor.
“Dude, talk to me,” Rider said, his voice brittle from worry. “I thought we’d squashed that issue for the time being, after we beat Nuit? Then we just went through this same mess in Brazil, with a near-daylight hijack by the were-demons trying to form an alliance with the vamps. C’mon, y’all, gimme a break.”
“Were it that simple,” Shabazz said quietly. “We all thought it was done for a while, too. But if it’s back again, that makes the third time, a trinity.”
Growing more agitated as Shabazz’s words sank in, Rider opened his arms, leaning forward, ignoring the ringing telephone. “That’s why we got the millennium job?”
Shabazz and Marlene simply nodded.
When the ringing stopped abruptly and then suddenly began again, Marlene stared at the phone. “Pick it up. It’s Father Pat.”
Damali walked the floor in her room like a junkie, perspiration beading up and running down the center of her back. The soft yellows and greens and cream hues of her bedroom swirled and taunted her, echoing the fact that she was indeed trapped within them.
If this was anything like what Carlos had had to endure in the safe house, all she could do was weep for him like she wanted to weep for herself now. She’d turned. Had actually become a vampire. Had tasted blood. Her hands began to tremble just thinking of that sweet nectar.
How in the hell could something so bizarre happen from loving a good man? And yet the mere thought was laughable. She truly believed a master vampire was good—her, a Neteru. But Carlos wasn’t just some master vamp. He was her man, a good man. She sat on the edge of her bed for a moment, trying to still her pulse. It was beating an erratic thud in her ears till they rang. Her clothes clung to her, matted to her body from the hunger sweats. The need to hunt, to be free, almost made her cry out. The need for him, insatiable.
If he would just come to her, and break her free of this prison, get her away from the people she loved before she did something she’d never be able to live with, or die with, whatever her fate at this point. Prayers gave her a headache, but she tried anyway. It was hard to breathe. The air in the room was stifling, but as she looked at the clock, fear coursed through her. Near dawn. She immediately knew that she couldn’t breathe because the damnable light was taking up precious oxygen, burning it away, like it might now torch her flesh.
Damali pulled herself into a tight ball on the bed, and closed her eyes. She was supposed to be the Neteru, the one to battle demons and vampires and ugly things of the night. A single tear rolled down the bridge of her nose and plopped on her lemon-yellow duvet. They’d even taken Madame Isis from her, along with every other weapon she’d owned. She’d failed. She wasn’t worthy to have the blade of the huntress. She couldn’t be trusted—couldn’t even trust herself. Now, she was just a common creature of the night.
He sat in the dark in his Beverly Hills lair, sated from the newly refreshed blood tanks, but nothing close to fulfilled. The hunger was gone, but the ache in his soul would never be healed. She’d turned. His precious baby had turned, and from his bite. There was no one else to blame but himself. No matter what else was going on, no matter what supernatural forces had been tampered with, Damali wouldn’t have turned if she hadn’t been bitten.
If he found the key or the seal, he had to turn it over to the council. There would be no acceptable excuse this time if he didn’t satisfy their demand. There was no back-door option, no game he could run. Even the Covenant and the Guardians had shunned him and rightfully so. He just hoped that if she’d died, it was with a prayer in her heart—the only thing that had halfway saved him. If her soul got lost in the realms, he’d turn over every stone and root out every snake until he found hers.
But if she’d died the way he was pretty sure she might have, a salvation prayer was probably the last thing on her mind. Bitter, perverse, cosmic injustice . . . she’d told him to pray on his dying breath, and he had. She knew to call for help and to seek redemption at the final moment. But when she’d slipped to the other side, she was probably calling his name with her last breath—the last entity that could save her. Too fucked up a situation.
He winced and closed his eyes in the darkness, then shifted his body to lie down. Suddenly the hidden, all-black marble subbasement beneath the Beverly Hills mansion felt like a cell. No amount of fine accoutrements, top-of-the-line electronic gadgets, solid gold fixtures, or expensive plush furnishings could make it be anything but what it was. This was no different than the monk’s barren quarters—it was empty existence. At least there, he had someone he trusted to talk to. But now sprawled out in the center of a custom-made king-sized bed, the black satin sheets made him feel like he was drowning in a dark sea.
Damali’s frustrated mental call to him was so piteous that even by day, rest would be impossible. He knew the suffering well, had lived it. Answering her by thought would only make her initial hours into the turn worse. He remembered riding it out in the safe house, like teetering on the edge of an orgasm for days . . . weeks . . . months, unable to hurl himself over the edge. Oblivion was always beyond reach. No peace, just unrelenting pent-up desire that broke your ass down for just one more time and stole your pride. You’d do anything or anyone just to get out and into the night . . . and into your lover’s arms. It was a physical want so intense that there was only one answer for it—and without the bite, there was no way to quench it alone. Yeah, he remembered all too well.
Then a hunger came that literally ate your insi
des out. That he’d visited this horror upon her was beyond forgiveness . . . and that she couldn’t even pray for assistance was thoroughly messed up. Her options were worse than his had ever been. At least he’d been a criminal, knew it, and there was a bounty on the recovery of his soul. Who came to look for willingly turned Neterus, he wondered? The answer was basic: he would.
If Marlene couldn’t come up with a quick cure, Damali was a sitting duck in the Guardian compound. Her seven teammates, along with the Covenant brethren, would surely plant Damali’s own Isis in her chest to save her soul—just like he’d been forced to plant a stake in Alejandro’s to save his brother’s.
Even if he got her out of there, once the Vampire Council found out that she had fully turned and could no longer produce a daywalker line, if he didn’t deliver the seal or the key, they’d hunt her down—just to punish him. Whether the sick old bastards harvested her lost soul and tortured it in order to slowly rip his heart out, or passed her around to every topside male while he was held prisoner and unable to help her—either situation was unthinkable. And, despite knowing that, he wouldn’t have it in him to dust her. Besides, without his protection, if there was a chance that she was still fertile, and ripening, her compound would be the epicenter of a major vampire invasion by every topside male on the planet now that borders were shaky, chaos was in full effect, and everyone was vying for world dominance. But if he got to her, he’d also start her worst nightmare . . . making her the mother of something unspeakable. Then, again, did any of that matter? If he didn’t find the seal, it was all over anyway.