Tariq ignored the pain in his back, his ribs, hell, in every damn breath he took, and crossed his arms over his chest, appearing unconcerned. He leaned against the concrete wall marking the border of his god’s turf in this mortal city and eyed the assholes dumb enough to even look his way.
Four bikers in leather chaps and jackets laughed and made rude gestures he was too tired to return. Any other day and he’d have crossed the street and shoved faces through walls. But after this morning, he wanted nothing more than to rest. Some days were harder than others, but the dreams he’d been having made it worse.
How long could this go on? Conceivably, for an eternity. He felt so tired, so ready to stop fighting and just let fucking Set have what he wanted. Tariq had only to become that which a dark fate had prophesied. Insidious whispers promised eternal peace, a lasting position as the Eternal Guardian to the God of Chaos—to Set.
He blinked and shook off the temptation, knowing the dangers of opening his mind to that sinister voice. Every person had five parts to his soul. Unfortunately, he’d already lost his Ib—his heart. He couldn’t afford to lose another.
Come now. It’s not so hard. Be mine, give your loyalty to me. I’ll take good care of you. You can have everything you want. Everything you need.
Set’s damnable voice continued to hiss in his mind while the bikers across the street continued to grow louder, more insulting. Then Set hit him hard with a vision.
Tariq saw himself in bed next to a familiar woman, her face hidden by shadow. They lay together, loving and laughing, and the weight of such joy staggered him, echoing a need so fierce it stole his breath. Yet on the heels of that need, so much misery.
Tariq had no heart. But the woman… Set held her Ren—her name—binding her to him. Like Tariq, she would never be free, lost to the dark god’s anarchic whims. Tariq could protect her, make her world better. Show her there was more to the afterlife than hurt and despair—at the cost of his soul. And without that, he knew he’d become a monster to rival all others, a destructive weapon Set would use to conquer the world. More death, more pain, more grief.
So tired of it all.
Yet, instead of finding the nearest bed and sleeping off at least his physical pain, he was forced to deal with the Greeks across the street, who, no doubt, had trouble on their minds. As one of the Elite, a guardian of Anubis, he had a job to do. Should he ignore his duty, the stain of black on his soul would grow. It was what Set wanted, to wear him down.
Screw that.
His need to rebel, to fight, surged through him, pushing past Set’s seductive whispers. Anger grew, and he embraced it.
“Fuck you, Set.” Give in? Not until he had no more breath left. As his rage built, a fiery power awakened the strength of Anubis flowing in his veins. He’d been chosen to be an Elite, selected by Anubis himself. I have a job to do. Time to do it.
The gods had decided to play their games in this mortal place of Portland. A city that could in no way compare to Anubis’s City of Dogs, a warrior’s paradise in Duat—the afterlife. Duat was so much richer than this dreary world that lacked the magic making everything so much brighter at home.
“Ludos Deorum,” he muttered, wondering how bored the gods must have been to have devised such a thing. Every few centuries, gods from the many pantheons in creation gathered to compete against one another. Just his luck to be called to serve here. Unfortunately, Anubis was tied up dealing with insurrection in his city, leaving Tariq and his men to manage his game play. And to manage Set—Anubis’s father.
A clusterfuck of such epic proportions it was almost funny. Tariq had to protect Anubis’s interests from not only all the other pantheons, but from Anubis’s own father. Their fellow Egyptians would be no help should they need it because Set’s influence spread everywhere.
“Hey, doggie, want a bone?” A Greek cupped himself and thrust his hips toward Tariq.
Growing more irate at the dickheads mocking him and his god, he warmed to the idea of a bloody skirmish and took a step forward. Though the block the Greeks stood on represented a neutral sector, it wouldn’t take much to turn the nonaligned area into a warzone. Which begged the question, why today? Why now?
Behind him, a metal door opened and closed. “Shit, T. Your back looks like hell.” Hasani, his trusted warrior and friend, shook his head. “You were right. It’s no guess as to who’s responsible for the unrest in the City of Dogs. I just don’t get why Anubis doesn’t— Oh, hey. We got Greeks in the neighborhood? Awesome.” Hasani loved to battle.
The six Elite had been Anubis’s personal protectors for two thousand years. Though it felt wrong not to guard their god at this time, Tariq knew Anubis wanted them here, in the game world to represent him. Gods knew the rest of the militia couldn’t do it, not with too many of them still loyal to Set.
Bound to Anubis, a wise and fair god, Tariq had pledged to remain faithful, ever fond of a sword and a cause to conquer. Work for Anubis lightened his burden, made it easier to handle Set’s malicious taunting and the spell that made it impossible for him or his friends to tell his god of the growing danger. But with Anubis busy in another plane, leaving Set again free to cause havoc…
“Hey, boy. Come here. Come.” A Greek, probably one of Ares’s boys, beckoned and slapped his thigh. Only Ares, the Greek god of war, would have people this annoying.
The others with him whistled, laughed, and swore epithets aimed at the Egyptian pantheon.
Hasani and Tariq listened for a few moments and glanced around, noting the darkening skies and absence of a public presence. On the outskirts of the Pearl District in their particular rundown section of town, they normally had the area to themselves. Trust the Greeks to ruin even one evening of peace.
“I hate that.” Hasani took a step around him and yelled, “We’re not dogs, assholes.” He narrowed his gaze. “Probably centaurs in human form. You know what asses they can be.”
Tariq chuckled at the jest said loudly enough to annoy the Greeks. Must have been spot-on too because the group, to a man, glared back and made more obscene gestures.
Contrary to popular belief, Tariq and his men were part jackal, not dog. Anubis’s warriors transformed into half-man creatures with jackal heads and human bodies. The Elite—warriors without equal. Not dogs.
A few mortals walked toward the nearby crosswalk, arguing over some sports team. The largest of the group spotted the growing altercation and tugged his friends in an opposite direction.
Typical. Why fight when they could run?
“Humans.” Tariq snorted. “Weak creatures more concerned with physical pleasures and monetary gain than serving their gods and their world.”
“Yeah, but with a world like this one, can you blame them?” Hasani waved a hand around. “The constant rain, the lack of sun, the cold weather. I mean, who actually chooses to live in Portland? Who the hell decided Freya should be in charge of the games anyway?” Hasani grimaced as the oppressive mist overhead turned into heavier drops, soon drenching his T-shirt.
Tariq longed for the sands of Duat, to walk in the City of Dogs and climb the majestic dunes, staring at a blanket of gold framed by thick palms and graced with the water of life. A pyramid of power lay in the center of his home, surrounded by families, warriors, and warmth. Goodness and truth radiated from Anubis’s palace—unlike this bleak place, where the weak often preyed upon the strong.
“We should have let our people choose the venue.” Tariq sighed. “Trust the Norse to choose a cold, unwelcoming place to play in.”
“He’s not comin’ now that he’s got a little friend,” one of the Greeks said in a loud voice. “Must have scared the little doggies. Or is it that he’s too busy getting ready to hump his boyfriend’s leg?”
“Maybe he needs to get permission from his daddy to cross the street?”
The others laughed and poked more fun.
“They’re upset we’re ignoring them.” Hasani stated the obvious.
“I’m done i
gnoring them.”
“But, Tariq, your back—”
“Is fine. Stay here. This could be a trap.” The other pantheons liked to test each other’s mettle. While Tariq understood, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone screwing with his territory. Time to kick the Greeks back to a neutral land closer to their own base. A few broken bones might do the trick.
Hasani tugged on his arm. “Let me help. I’ll get Chig to keep watch. You don’t look so good and—”
Tariq straightened, cracked his knuckles, and felt his strength continue to return, his zest for the fight entrancing. He’d been born a warrior. He’d die a warrior, but not today. And not at the hands of some dickhead centaurs. “Quit whining, or when I’m done with them, I’ll do you.”
“Promises, promises.” Hasani blew him a kiss, and Tariq laughed for the first time that day.
“Hey, what’s up?” called a voice from behind them. Chig must have been alerted to the movement outside their building. He came abreast of them, and the three of them watched the Greeks preparing to fight.
“Stay here, both of you,” Tariq ordered.
“That’s not fair.” Hasani frowned. “When do I get to crack some skulls?”
“Damn, T. Nice back.” Chig shook his head. “Set again?”
“What do you think?” Hasani sighed.
Tariq didn’t wait around. He crossed into neutral territory, ignoring the godlines invisible to mortals but which he and every player in the game could see. He felt the shiver of warning reverberate through his body but ignored it and headed straight for the Greeks. Yeah, fighting on neutral ground could get him in a mess of trouble. He didn’t care.
Especially since the Greeks didn’t look so confident anymore. Probably thought that like them, he was too much a pussy to engage. Fuck the boundaries and the rules. He was tired of being kicked around. Time to show that as long as he had breath, he had a fight in him waiting to get out.
He watched them straighten, ready to face him, and remembered Set’s glee in the chamber. Recalled the softness of the woman’s skin, the vague emptiness in her smile he could feel even as he tried to love her with a heart he didn’t have. His fury doubled.
“Oh look, Minos. The big one wants to get schooled. Time to play, pretty boy.”
“Must be centaurs,” Tariq rumbled as he drew close. “’Cause normal shit can’t talk. And really, guys, you sticking with the leather? Why not just fuck each other in public instead of hinting about what you like behind closed doors?” He shook his head. “You guys are so sad. All talk and no action. Hung like trick ponies too, I’ll bet.”
The Greeks were notorious homophobes, and nothing annoyed them more than questions about their masculinity. Personally, Tariq had always favored females for sexual companionship, but when pickings grew slim, he made do with whoever gave him pleasure. Hell, half his team slept with the other half on a daily basis, and none of them gave a fig about what others thought. In the end, all that really mattered was the weight of man’s heart…and the hope Set wasn’t around when you died.
With a fire in his blood, Tariq charged the aggravating Greeks. He lashed out with fists and kicks, a lethal combination of fast, well-placed strikes while he used his opponents’ force against them. Rolling with punches, returning blows with vigor. He wanted to toy with them, to let them know he could end them if he wished.
“I’ve got ten says you break at least one guy’s arm,” Chig called out.
Tariq broke one Greek’s arm and another’s leg.
“Thanks!”
“Shit,” Hasani swore. “Double or nothing on a few noses.”
Tariq knocked the third man out cold and waited for the fourth to recover from a blow to the head. It didn’t feel exactly sporting to kick such easy ass, but it did feel good.
“Well? Come on, boy.” Tariq wiped a trickle of blood from his brow. The one with the broken arm had gotten in a lucky punch before he went down. Bastard.
“You win.” The remaining Greek confessed his defeat.
Hasani yelled, “Nice, Tariq. Now kick his ass some more.”
Just what he’d been thinking. Tariq smiled, and the Greek before him paled.
He started to draw back for another punch when a dozen more Greeks rolled up on bikes. The local police considered the pantheon players a rogue band of combative street thugs. Tariq and his team went by the name of the Jackals. A little more creative than the Greeks. He snorted, noting none of them looked pleased at the carnage on the sidewalk.
“You there. Step away from my comrade.” The leader, apparently, moved closer on a jacked-up Harley.
“Fuck off.” Tariq flexed, punched the idiot in front of him before he could move, then watched as said idiot fell to the ground, unconscious. “And take your choir boys with you.”
The leader’s face tightened, and the men behind him swore with displeasure loud enough to rival their bikes.
Tariq was aware of Chig and Hasani crossing into the neutral zone to join him, while Asim, Manu, and Mbizi appeared at the door to keep watch.
The Greeks stopped in the middle of the street, shut down their bikes, and started to dismount.
Tariq smiled. “I thought my day had gone to shit. Thanks so much for bringing the joy. And the pain…”
Chapter Two
Eden Dixon knew she’d made a wrong turn the minute she’d left her distributor. She had over two hundred pounds of soap base, additives, and pigment powder in the back of her SUV, as well as dried botanicals and oils necessary for her natural perfume and soap business. The bumpy road wasn’t helping keep her supplies in order. Fortunately this section of the city seemed pretty empty. No one, save her and a few cars turning down side streets. She figured to turn around up ahead and go back the way she’d come.
Except right beyond the next intersection, some motorcycle gang had parked their bikes in the middle of the road so they could partake in one massive brawl. She stopped her car at the light and glanced around, wondering if she’d driven into a movie set. None of the men involved in the fight looked normal. Many of those wearing leather seemed to have odd lights brighten their eyes. But what struck her as truly odd—the intimidating gang clashed with three giants—each one at least a good head or more taller than her own five eight.
She sat, stunned, and stared at what couldn’t be real. Blood spattered as a nose broke. Limbs twisted in ways they shouldn’t. Screams sounded as bones snapped, and huge fists met bodies with such ferocity she couldn’t believe her eyes. She blinked…and saw the same three guys kicking major tail.
She could differentiate the two groups easily. Though all men looked pretty buff, the ones in black leather looked like bikers, complete with jackets proclaiming them “Greeks.” The other three guys looked more like contestants in a bodybuilder competition and wore jeans and T-shirts despite the cold, wet weather. All the men had dark, swarthy looks to them, with the exception of one or two tanned blonds. But damn if she could see one ugly guy among the sun-kissed lot. That in itself was more than a little strange. Handsome and tan—in Portland.
Two of the giants looked as if they’d taken some damage, and one in particular looked as though he’d seen the bad end of a knife. Blood soaked the back of his shirt, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down any.
Odd, he looked familiar…
He turned as he executed a perfect roundhouse kick. Holy crap, he was hot. Black hair cut military-short framed a square jaw, straight nose, and sharp cheekbones. She’d guess he had deep brown eyes, though she couldn’t see them from half a block away. At least they didn’t light up like the bikers’ eyes.
From a distance, she watched his muscles bunch and shift as he put a guy in a headlock. His biceps looked rock hard, and she rubbed her throat, wondering if she’d have to testify in a court of law that he’d killed a man with his bare hands. She really should leave, except she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.
He glanced up, as if sensing her, and the world around her froze.
> She saw his mouth move. Then the body he’d held crumbled before him, and the spell was broken. Belatedly realizing she should do something about the fight, she picked up her cell phone and dialed 9-1—
The door beside her opened, and someone hauled her out of the vehicle.
Shocked and not sure what the hell was happening, she started to speak when the giant’s fighting friend, a gorgeous man with dark skin, deep brown eyes, and a smile that melted her insides, spoke to her in a foreign language.
“No, no problem. Oh, just rehearsing. Right.” She heard herself agreeing, sensed he was making her say things, and went along with it, knowing a normal person would have succumbed to his mind control. “My name?” She stalled, not wanting to give him that detail. Her life certainly had grown stranger lately, with all the oddities out after dark and her sixth sense kicking in with more power than it ever had before. “Ann.” Eden. “Smith.” Dixon. Shockingly difficult to conceal while Mr. Gorgeous continued to smile at her.
He patted her on the shoulder with a curiously gentle hand and asked her to go home.
“Just where I was heading. Thanks.”
She forced herself to move at a normal pace, entered her car, then backed her vehicle up and turned it around to drive toward the warehouse she’d just left. She took an alternate route home, and while she did, she carefully watched her rearview mirror to make sure no one followed. Adding an extra forty-five minutes of traffic and driving to her day, she returned to her home just outside the city and let herself inside, locking up behind her.
Eden slumped into her oversized comfy chair and took a deep breath. She let it out, going over the events she’d just experienced. The handsome guy had tried to mind-meld with her or something. Yet he hadn’t been the one she’d swear she knew. If she’d seen the gorgeous bruiser in the bloody shirt before, she’d remember.
Maybe she was confusing him with the guy she used to dream about, the handsome one who liked to promise her a future she knew she’d never have. She hadn’t dreamed of him in years, come to think of it. Not like her recent weird dreams about…about… She yawned and felt her eyes close.
Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology) Page 8