by Aja James
© Copyright by Aja James 2020
Dear Reader:
I hope you will enjoy the ninth installment of the Pure Ones saga on the following pages (Book #11.5 in Pure/ Dark Series). You will soon see that much more is yet to come.
Every story has many points of view, many different interpretations and versions of the truth. So what about the perspective from the Dark Ones’ POV? I hope you have a read in Book 2, Dark Longing, where you will be introduced, implicitly, to Tal-Telal for the first time. And meet the Creature for the first time in Book 1, Pure Healing, available in Audible.
Email me at [email protected] to find out more. And follow me on https://www.facebook.com/AjaJamesAuthor and https://aja-james.blog/. I will have free chapters, behind the scenes and other goodies on the Pure/ Dark Ones series.
I love hearing from you!
Enjoy!
Aja James
Contents
Glossary
Prologue
Chapter One: Colors
Chapter Two: It’s Time That I Told You
Chapter Three: Do You See Me In Black And White?
Chapter Four: Under My Scars
Chapter Five: In Restless Dreams I Walked Alone
Chapter Six: Don’t Think Those Stars Won’t Align
Chapter Seven: I’ve Come to Talk With You Again
Chapter Eight: Hear My Words That I Might Teach You
Chapter Nine: If This Love Is Pain, Let’s Hurt Tonight
Chapter Ten: I See Colors, They’re Changing
Chapter Eleven: I Could Live Inside You Time After Time
Chapter Twelve: This Could Get Rough
Chapter Thirteen: Darkness
Chapter Fourteen: Fools, You Do Not Know
Chapter Fifteen: Within The Sound Of Silence
Epilogue
Author’s Note:
Other Books in the Pure/ Dark Ones series:
Glossary of Characters
Character Relationships and Timeline
Glossary
Awakening: test of courage and strength of spirit which leads to the subject, who possesses a Pure soul, coming into his/her Gift, a supernatural power, if he/she passes the test.
Dark One: supernatural being who prefers to live in the night and who gathers energy and prolongs his/her life by feeding off the blood, and sometimes souls, of others. Dark Ones are born, not made. Sometimes confused with the term vampire.
Decline: condition in which, or process of, a Pure-Ones’ life force depletes after he/she Falls in love but does not receive equal love in return. The Pure One weakens and his/her body slowly, painfully breaks down over the course of thirty days, leading ultimately to death unless his/her love is returned in equal measure.
The Dozen: see Royal Zodiac.
The Elite: six royal personal guards of the Pure Queen.
Eternal Mate: the destined partner to a given Pure soul. Each soul only has one mate across time, across various incarnations of life. Quotation from the Zodiac Scrolls describing the bond: “His body is the Nourishment of life. Her energy is the Sustenance of soul.”
Gift: supernatural power bestowed upon Pure Ones by the Goddess. Usually an enhanced physical or mental ability such as telekinesis, superhuman strength and telepathy. True Blood Dark Ones also possess powerful Gifts. See True Blood.
The Goddess: supernatural being who is credited with the creation of the Pure Ones. She is a deity to which Pure Ones devote themselves. She protects the Universal Balance.
Nourishment: the strength that Mated Dark Ones take from each other’s blood and body through sexual intercourse. Once Mated, they will no longer need others’ blood to survive, only that from each other. Sexual intercourse is required to make the Nourishment sustaining.
Nourishment is also what Pure males provide their females as Eternal Mates. See Eternal Mate.
Pure One: supernatural being who is eternally youthful, typically endowed with heightened senses or powers called the Gift. In possession of a pure soul and blessed with more than one chance at life by the Goddess, chosen as one of Her immortal race that defends the Universal Balance.
The Royal Zodiac: twelve-member collective of the Elite, the Circlet and the Queen of the Pure Ones.
Sacred Laws (Pure Ones): One, thou shalt protect the purity, innocence and goodness of humankind and the Universal Balance to which all souls contribute. Two, thou shalt maintain the secrecy of the Race. And three, thou shalt not engage in sexual intercourse with someone who is not thy Eternal Mate. Also known as the Cardinal Rule.
Shield: referred to as the base of the Royal Zodiac, wherever it may be. Not necessarily a physical location.
Sustenance: the strength that Mated Pure-Males take from the Pure-females’ spirit. Once Mated, the Pure-male becomes dependent upon the Pure-female for sustaining his life. If his Mate dies before him, he too will perish. In equal exchange, the Pure-male provides Nourishment. See Nourishment.
Zodiac Prophesies: events yet to come, foretold by the Seer of the Pure Ones through the Orb of Prophesies.
Zodiac Scrolls: events past, recorded by the Scribe of the Pure Ones.
Prologue
*THE CREATURE*
I’m in a conundrum.
I am a conundrum.
What would you do, if everything you knew about yourself is a shitty lie? But the truth, while tantalizing like a pornographic fantasy from your wettest dreams, seems just too good to be true?
Here’s the thing: I’m a monster. An abomination.
I’m not being melodramatic. This is the exact word used to describe what I am in the history and lore of all of the races, immortal and human.
Let’s not sugar coat things—I’m no good.
I’m no better than Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or rather Frankenstein’s monster (so many people get the two mixed up, the scientist’s name and the monster’s name, but I digress). Broken, dead pieces sewn together in a garbled mess, resuscitated by lightning (or in my case, the infusion of the antichrist’s soul and poison) into a sentient, but not quite “alive” creature who never should have existed in this world.
Although, I’d like to think I have a better sense of humor than the pitiful, misunderstood “fiend” of Frankenstein. Better looking too, but probably not by much. I take my wins where I can.
In all other respects, we’re rather alike, Frankenstein and I. We’re not quite alive and not quite dead. We’re capable of “feeling,” but we’re also apathetic when it comes to violence and death, especially when we feel we’ve been wronged. We’re both reviled by everyone around us. And we’re both known as the “Creature.”
A despicable thing.
Some kind of red substance flows sluggishly in my veins, but if I don’t have a regular infusion of Pure blood, it turns to black like nasty, stinky tar. And I shut down. First my mental faculties, then my bodily functions. I’m not sure what happens after that, but since I’m still physically present, I guess someone always gives me what I need to keep tick-tocking on.
There have been many times across the millennia of my existence that I purposely avoided Pure blood in the hopes of ending my miserable consciousness. Alas, my passive-aggressive suicide attempts were never successful. And the sight of my own blood and gore disturb me too much to try more direct methods like sepukku (those ancient Japanese warriors were some crazy-assed, steel-balled motherfuckers). Besides, my immortal healing abilities might not let me die, which means I might have to drag my innards around on the outside of my body, tripping my own feet for the rest of eternity.
In addition, I suppose Medusa, my Mistress (also known as evil incarnate, Satan’s whore, serpent succubus, etc.), finds usefulness in keeping me around, unlike the eternal struggle between Victor Frankenstein and his hideous
creation.
But perhaps the most salient difference is that, whereas Frankenstein’s monster pursued a living being’s right to happiness in the form of a mate, I have long ago accepted that happiness doesn’t really exist. So there’s no point in pursuing it. Never mind the unconditional love of a mate.
I don’t belong to any Kind, but I’m cobbled together from many Kinds, though I’m not entirely sure what those exact ingredients are. And because I have the abominable ability to shift into different humanoid forms, I confuse even myself what my true form is. Are those ingredients the source of my “Gift” to transform, or is my ability the reason I feel like I have so many different ingredients in me that don’t typically reside in any one being?
I try not to dwell on these dizzying puzzles for the sake of what little sanity I have left.
There are two forms I usually take: Binu, a glasses-wearing, metrosexual young man with exquisite taste in clothing (if I do say so myself); and the Creature, an androgynous, creepily beautiful thing that both attracts and repels anyone who looks upon it (or rather, me).
And then there’s a third form, but I wouldn’t say I take it so much as it takes me.
Ere is his name. A personality that assumes control of my body to go about his delusion of a partial life. Whenever Ere is in residence, so to speak, it’s like I’m dreaming about the life of someone else. And though the dream is vivid while I dream it, I never recall the details when I wake up.
I do retain enough knowledge or impressions, and sometimes even feelings, about his actions and engagements to leverage this personality for Medusa’s schemes. But I’m not in control of him, just like I can’t control anyone else outside of my own body (and let’s face it, I can barely control my own wayward self). I can only influence and maneuver.
Lately, Ere has appeared less and less, as far as I can tell. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Also lately, I’ve been having more and more of his dreams, some so real I can almost taste and remember them.
But the real reason I’m a monster is the ugliness of my soul, the jagged edges of all its gazillion broken pieces, and the oozing darkness that fills the gaps.
The things I’ve done…
The wheels I’ve put in motion…
Maybe this is why I’m not eager to end my own life (even if I could)—in case Heaven and Hell truly exist as humans have described them, I’m certain where I’d end up.
There’s no redeeming me. I’m my Mistress’s Monster.
But yesterday…
I discovered that everything I thought I knew was a big, fat, fucking lie.
Chapter One: Colors
*THE CREATURE*
Dear brother,
(Who is not really my brother, but more family to me than anyone else I’ve ever known.)
I hate you as much as I love you. I’ve treated you badly in the past few years, but…that’s what families are for, right? Chalk it up to harmless, sibling rivalry. Like two little boys trying to drown each other in the swimming pool. Come on, you know you hate-love me too.
So what if I tortured you to the edge of death repeatedly to get Medusa’s poison to take? So what if I did it with a thoroughness and relish that went beyond the task at hand? You didn’t die, did you?
Sure, you’re stuck in the prison of your own body, which obeys the Mistress’ commands and not your own. Sure, your soul is encased in ice so thick, a solar flare won’t melt through it. You may still feel ravaging pain, but your body has been amped up to ignore it so that you can carry out your orders like a terminator machine.
Maybe that’s what I’ll call you from now on. The Terminator. Or do you prefer Robocop? Mr. Smith? (It’s a Matrix reference, you dunce. I just know you won’t get it). I aim to please.
The point is: you’re still there. I’m still here. All’s right with the world, as long as you’re in it.
Your soul remains, whole but comatose. Who do you think preserved your soul? Medusa always rips her soldiers’ original souls into shreds for the turning. But I saved yours. You can thank me later.
Anyway, what I really wanted to say when I started this never-to-see-daylight letter in my head is—
I remember you, Dalair.
I remember why I love you as much as I hate you. The fragments of my shriveled, blackened, broken soul remember you. Reminding me that once upon a time, I loved you most of all.
I love you still.
I miss you.
Hasta la vista, baby.
C
It happened thusly, my stupendous revelation.
(But take a deep breath for patience, because I’m not going to get directly to the punch line. Don’t you know me well enough by now to wait for it?)
I’ve been “detained” by the Pure Ones for a few weeks now, not exactly sure how long. But honestly, it’s not like I have anything better to do (evil machinations take time, and there’s really no rush), so who cares. I was wrapped up in a prison of hair—yes you read right, hair!—in the beginning, but at some point, the overly trusting do-gooders decided to let the freak (me) out of its cage.
I spent a few days wandering around the Pure Ones’ complex, exploring, observing, listening. Creeping along like the slippery little…well, creep…that I am.
Most doors don’t open for me, but the common areas do—the kitchen, dining hall, various chambers for entertainment like the study, the theater (someone really likes to play video games), and a few studios for art, music and dance.
Next time I’ll bring my leotard and practice some Pilates, because I just know those eight-pack abs are hiding beneath the skin of my stomach somewhere.
The library is where I spend most of my time when I’m not hiding and plotting (and mostly twiddling my thumbs waiting for visitors) in my own chambers.
I begin to think of the apartment I occupy as “mine,” because people tend to knock before entering, and it even has a lock if I want to keep visitors out. Granted, the privacy and seclusion may only be an illusion. I’m sure my “hosts” can open any door they want whenever they want in their base. For all I know, the place is bugged and I’m on candid camera twenty-four-seven.
Well, if that’s the case, my watchers would have gotten an eye and earful of me belting out golden oldies in the phenomenally acoustic rainforest shower while I bump and grind my boney hips to a beat that only I can hear, swinging my dingdong like a diva with a wired microphone.
All by myself…don’t wanna be, all by myseeeelllfff! Anyyymoooorreee…
I miss my underground karaoke bar, damn it.
Still, it’s a nice illusion. And as my existence seldom features strangely pleasant interludes such as this, I cling to my false sense of privacy and freedom like a vampire tick.
Another room that is accessible to me is the training hall.
Now, you may think, those stupid Pure Ones, have their brains gone soft along with their do-gooder hearts? How can they put Medusa’s number one henchman in the same room as three entire walls of modern and ancient weapons? Do they want to have their throats slit in their sleep?
Well, the Dozen are unfortunately not that dumb. They must know that I am useless in any kind of physical activity. Even fucking. Or getting fucked as is most often the case, despite having more experience in that arena than…there’s no comparison really.
Back to weapons and combat. I can’t fight to save my life. Literally. The thought of fists against flesh or bone, metal slicing through skin and muscle, blood and gore splattering every which way… shudder. I may not mind watching it, like a good horror flick, but I totally mind participating in it (and most likely, being on the receiving end of it). See my aversion to suicide by seppuku above.
It’s a different story if my opponent is immobilized, and all I have to do is torture them. I can easily do that. But only if there’s a point to it, if it’s a means to an end. Unlike my Mistress, for whom torture and pain are both the means and the end.
So perhaps the Pure Ones sense this use
lessness and cowardice in me. Maybe they purposely give me access to weapons to trap me into using one so that they can then use my transgression as an excuse to punish or kill me (though that seems more like something my Mistress would do). Whatever the reason, the cavernous chamber where their fighters, or Chevaliers, and the Elite warriors train is open for my visitation.
I go there everyday to observe the combatants. Not to take notes for Medusa, though I should. Just to watch. It’s the one common area where there’s always people, but I don’t have to interact with the people in it.
The kitchen and the dining hall I avoid as a rule because I don’t like to eat and I don’t want to socialize. The library doesn’t have many visitors, especially since the Pure Ones’ Scribe and Seer, Eveline Marceau, is currently not in residence.
In the training hall, people don’t congregate to chitchat. They just practice beating each other black and blue. And I come to watch because my favorite pair of fighters are here, everyday, same time.
Tal-Telal and Liv what’s-her-name.
Since coming across them the first time, the legendary General of the Pure Ones has not asked me again to join them. But every time I slip into the hall to watch the fighters go about their routines from a corner wall, he always acknowledges me with a dip of his head.
For a blind man, he sees better than anyone.
Liv, a human Chevalier, never acknowledges me with action or word, but I know she knows I’m there. I can practically see the invisible hackles on the back of her neck rise whenever I enter the room. It’s obvious I’ve rubbed the little she-man the wrong way since day one, and the feeling is exceedingly mutual.
I’ve seen and observed all of the Elite warriors in action by now.