Bla’Gar felt the spines under his skin ripple, a telltale token that his temper was simmering. If he didn’t calm himself, he would shift, and that was not something he was prepared to face. The possibility of seeing Raven through his demonic eyes, and finding Raven’s darker nature torturing the original, would end him.
He advanced with a single effortless leap, grabbed the thing by the throat with his right hand and slammed it against the wall.
It was a mindless ghoul in this state of famine. The first time it had happened had terrified Bla’Gar. Felicitously, his attempt to feed it had succeeded before he’d needed to make the decision to kill it. The feeding had ended up triggering a change in the creature, returning it to a less animalistic version of the current one.
The only conclusion he could draw in regards to the Strigoi’s difference in its bestial nature at present, was that Raven warred against the darkness within himself, and neither of the two showed any signs of victory yet.
That first taste of demon blood Raven had sampled in Professor Bloodimir’s home had tipped the beginning of Raven’s antipathy, leaving his physical body to regress to a primitive state, until one of the entities won temporary or permanent dominance.
Bla’Gar did not know if his words would reach that deeply into Raven’s subconscious, his soul, or wherever the battle transpired, but he tried each and every time before he fed the Strigoi.
“Fight it, pet, fight it for yourself. You are stronger than this—I know it—you have to overcome the malevolence inside you.”
And this time the creature did not claw at Bla’Gar’s face, nor lash out and try to bite into him like it had with the previous feedings.
With a sigh Bla’Gar held out his forearm, the cuffs of his dress shirt rolled up and stained with his blood, now dried from the prior feeding, four hours ago.
The Strigoi latched onto him like a leech, sinking its fangs into Bla’Gar’s flesh.
Bla’Gar watched as its lids closed, a blissful expression settling over the creature’s face while it drank itself drunk on demon blood. Soon, the creature would send itself into a coma and remain so for at least the next hour. The sucking fever tamed, the Strigoi now simply nursed slowly from the seeping wound. Bla’Gar would not let it suckle too long and place himself in the predicament of passing out like the first time.
He was thankful for these short, peaceful moments, because in them, no matter how much the Strigoi’s appearance differed from his Raven’s, he still retained a semblance of the human Bla’Gar loved. His skin was cold, soft and delicate like the flower petals of a frangipani tree. The white flesh and silver hair gave an androgynous radiance to Raven. However, those fangs and hard-hearted crystal-like eyes, along with the dark-gray five o’clock shadow and silver scruff on his chin, set an impenetrable contrast to the striking man.
And Bla’Gar would not deny, this new altered appearance set his lust to boiling.
He clasped the Strigoi’s cheeks with his right hand, palming his chin, squeezing, his skin burning, peeling and flaking away to expose his true self from a ruthless hunger infecting his veins. He cleaved with deliberate slowness into the white cheek with the black nail of his thumb, mesmerized by the inky-blue blood filling the gorge of the cut, and seeping along his talon.
His vertebrae rippled under the human flesh. He unveiled his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and leaned forward, pulling his nail away to lap up the dark sap. The taste burst in his mouth, swam and prickled a symphony of sweetness on his tongue. The flavor made him shudder... It had been too long since he had sampled his pet.
Far too fucking long.
A moan spilled from the Strigoi, so soothing to Bla’Gar’s ears that he closed his eyes, envisioning himself enveloped by his pet’s tightness, the friction of what Raven’s body could offer him in pleasure. His pet was already naked, altered, Bla’Gar would not have to be careful about tearing Raven as he entered him and fucked him against the wall. All he needed to do was shift and take the man he loved right her—
Bla’Gar stepped back, released the Strigoi, and let the creature drop to the floor, where it lay in in a lethargic heap. He backtracked past the circle of blue fire and halted outside of the flames. He looked down at his hands, his talons still exposed, black-blue blood staining his red thumb as it dripped along the onyx nail. His hands were shaking. His gut coiled tight as he realized what he had almost done.
He was still a demon.
He refused to deny that he’d taken humans and other supernaturals against their will on countless occasions.
But he was also a dysfunctional demon.
Each time he relied on his demonic power, the devil inside pressed forward, overpowering his humanity he still believed was inside him.
The Callous One lurked forever under his skin, barely a membrane away from being released.
It was best that Bla’Gar remembered that too.
Jessy squeezed her palms together, knuckles braced, making white fists, and hugged her coat tighter as she entered the alley. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she felt dirty. As if she was in some bad adaptation of a 1940s hooker porno, playing the slut, offering up information to the detective she was going to seduce and fuck before revealing herself as the murderer. She shook her head…this was fucking 2015, and she was an Enforcer. James’d been on her mind way too much, and inside her far too many goddamn times.
But God, the man was an enigma, so different than any man she’d met before, he was charming, sweet, and… Jesus, she checked her wristwatch. Already she contemplated how long this was gonna take, and if she would have time to stop by his apartment.
“Enforcer,” the black night grumbled, forcing Jessy to swallow her breath and take a step back.
“Aden,” she greeted him as he stepped out of the shadows, Raven had spoken to her about him and his ‘kind’ during his weeks in the hospital.
Adinos Dente was tall, striking with his cropped brown hair shaved close. Jessy mapped the white scars on his scalp even in this dim light, drawing in a sharp breath at his handsome golden skin and his ice-blue eyes trained on her. It was a pity he played for the other team—Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Her core lit up, snapping heat through her body. Jessy pinched her hand, nails drawing blood. Whatever the hell was wrong with her? She needed to see her doctor again, needed to figure it the fuck out. Ever since spending that first night with James, the night Raven had died, she’d been... What? Sex addicted? Horny as hell, wanting to attach herself, pussy to cock, to each and every sexually attractive man who walked past her? The worst part was, she sweated like a witch on trial half the time. Not to mention her new snippy bitchiness that had birthed itself following the course of one night of scorching hot sex.
The innocent and timid fashion disaster geeky girl was dying a quick and silent death, and Jessy missed her less and less everyday…because she had never felt so…powerful… So beautiful. She was changing, and she wasn’t sure if it was for the better or for worse. This couldn’t be a simple case of rampaging hormones, as her gynecologist had speculated. Something was wrong with her inside; she could feel it, nesting in her blood
“Why don’t you come closer? I don’t bite, little girl. Besides…” The lean man rested against the wall, pushing a cigarette between his lips, and flicked the lighter. The flash of the flame, though short-lived, illuminated his face. However, the way the light had played over his skin made his expression seem hollower than the words misting from his lips. “I don’t have teeth and claws, and really I prefer my meat thicker with a nice dusting of ‘Daddy’ on top.”
Jessy snorted. It wasn’t funny, but the attempt clearly was. Aden was actually capable of something close to humor. Thankful for the distraction, she leaned against the wall next to him, but quickly stepped away when she got a whiff of the man’s masculine musk.
“The missing supers, what do you know about them?” she asked, averting her gaze to the filth around them.
“Nothing.” Aden slowly hu
ffed out a cloud of smoke. “Except that, a month or so ago, the Order bid us not to execute them anymore, but rather…to capture and drop them off at a certain location.”
If her blood had been cooking before, now it was boiling over, and it wasn’t from the magnetism she felt toward the handsome Nephilim. “Under whose authority do you even have the right to take life, let alone kidnap?” Jessy balled her fists tighter at her sides. Her skin felt warmer than usual, blistering to be precise. “Might I remind you, Mr. Dente, that I am still an officer of the law. The law does not give a flying shit if you are the Devil’s advocate or God’s piss.”
“Law?” Aden laughed. “You poor excuses for paranormal cops? Sorry, but we can’t rely on your diluted perception of acumen; it’s why we, the Judgment of Heaven, exist.”
Jessy snarled. “And how many children has the Order killed in their righteous divinity under God’s glory?”
He swallowed, bowed his head then turned to her. Aden glared. “You eradicate the source before it can become a threat: child, mother, father. They are all the same; they all carry the plague of darkness. There is no good. You do not get to choose.” The words he spoke, no matter how bone-chillingly they dripped from his lips, didn’t keep Jessy from seeing the sadness glinting in his eyes and trickling down his cheek.
Jessy didn’t know what to say, how to transfer her rage into words, nor her shock. Raven’s intelligence of the Order of Heaven, what they were capable of, had made Jessy’s soul shiver, despite the warmth of his hospital room. The problem was that they truly did stand above the law—their religious anarchy had been given too much power and freedom. As righteous as their light shone, it was the polar shadows they cast in their attempt to create the perfect paradise that held the true darkness. If everything was infected, they were the start of the outbreak.
“If Landon was sired—if Landon was turned by Therianthropes—would you kill him?”
Aden’s jaw clenched, creating indents in his flawless cheeks, his lips creased while a popping sounds came from his gloved fingers as they curled into fists. “How...how do you know about us?” he demanded in a growl, glowering at Jessy with knives in his narrowed gaze.
Jessy licked her lips, looking him up and down. “I am an Enforcer, Mr. Dente. I’m not only here to distinguish between the good and the bad, but I also have a responsibility to protect the innocent, those who cannot fend for themselves, so excuse me if I play the dirty card, but your righteous, glorified Order is corrupted as fuck.”
Aden’s gaze dropped. His body, once riddled with tension, now seemed to go slack as his anger burned away. “I will not refute your words.” He sighed, took another drag from the cigarette and threw it to the ground, crushing it beneath his foot. “The Order was all I knew growing up, all I knew before I met Landon. To answer your question, Detective. I do not know what I would do if anything should happen to the man I love.”
Jessy bit her lip. She guessed she could sympathize with Aden’s reasoning, conflicted within himself, as she had been about Chetlér until the truth came to the table. All her life her mother had taught her about the evils of demons, there was no room for doubt or the exception. And she knew Chetlér had spoken no lies. She had studied demonology deeply enough to know demons couldn’t lie if asked a direct question, nor did they twist their words. Instead, they give half-truths, they relied on human nature and human perception. It was humans who heard only what they wanted to hear, and thereby played into a demon’s hands.
However, not once could Jessy point out a time that Chetlér had spoken in riddles or half-truths.
It wouldn’t have come as a surprise to her if the Order of Heaven targeted orphaned children who they could infect with their twisted ways and lies of the world they deemed virtuous. Because in all aspects, Aden was innocent. He was ignorant, because he grew up believing that what he did was right; innocent, in that all he ever was forced to believe was one organization’s twisted views of right and righteous. Aden hadn’t been given the freedom to decide for himself. Neither had Jessy, while in the clutches of her bitter mother.
Aden bent, picking up the dead cigarette bud, and flicked it off to a trash can nearby. He turned and took one step forward, halting and glaring over his shoulder, speaking slowly, “You might need to overlook my petty crime, Detective.”
Jessy sneered. There was no way she’d overlook the cruelty of taking an innocent life. ‘Petty’ her fucking ass. “Littering is such a pest in this already filthy world, but sometimes, another man’s trash is another man’s gold... As they say.”
A white piece of parchment fluttered from Aden’s hand in the soft breeze, drifting to the ground.
Jessy leaned over and picked the paper up, the writing in black was a simple address, the location within the port area of Quebec City. She glared at Aden’s back as he walked away, the darkness of the alley, a thick cloud of ink, consuming his frame, the tails of his brown leather jacket slithering behind him. Jessy spun and took a step to depart.
“How is my old friend?” Aden’s voice sent a crawling chill down Jessy’s spine, his words wafting across the back of her neck. At first she thought he was speaking about Landon, but ‘old friend’ wouldn’t quite match Aden’s description of Landon, rather...
“I would love to show my respect to him. His memorial is in two days, if I’m not mistaken? Did he leave any family behind? I wish to send a bouquet of flowers to show my condolences.”
“There will be no memorial, Mr. Dente. Detective Raven is far from living, and far transcended beyond death itself.” She stepped away, leaving Aden with her cryptic words, not caring to see or hear the reaction they invoked in the young man. The burn on her tongue was far too sweet to spoil.
Raven’s skin stung with prickles of serrated pain as he sucked in heaving breaths.
The disgusting odor of sharp urine, putrefied with bleach, blazed in his nostrils, burning his nasal passages and ripping apart his lungs.
A small amount of light pierced his eyelids, dazzling his weakened sight, leaving his vision blurred.
He was naked, he sensed that much. Agony sliced his muscles and bones with the slightest of movements.
Raven craned his head as hunger ripped through his belly, voracious and dominant, it seethed up his spine and exploded across the back of his skull.
He snarled, never even intended to, but the sound spilled from his mouth like a child’s instinctive wail for nourishment.
He couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight it, yet a part of him whispered, the words a diluted noise as they spilled into his inner ear. “Fight. You need to overcome this.” While another voice crowed from his subconscious, “Take it, it’s yours. All of it is yours.”
Raven closed his eyes. He was so exhausted; his mind, body and soul screaming at the pain while he pushed forward and locked his lips on warm flesh, sinking his fangs to the gum line. With the first droplet of blood on his tongue, the hunger bubbled in his veins, begging him, ignoring his body’s agony to suck greedily at the nectar.
The godly substance quenched his hunger and dispelled his pain, but the voice kept mocking, “More. You want more. You need more.”
“No!” Raven yelled, and he forced himself away from the source. His jaws locked, embedded in the flesh, ripping it to ribbons. He had wrenched back with so much force, his head slammed against a hard, uneven wall of stone, biting into his scalp.
He snapped open his eyes when a whiff of the plasma swept past his nose, along with another far more familiar sent.
A man stared back at him, his large chest—exposed between the V-shaped opening created by his dress shirt—was decorated with small, pearly beads of sweat, the flesh expanding as he took shallow breaths. Those green eyes seemed as familiar as the beautiful man’s hard-set facial features; striking as a Viking, blond hair, long on top and combed back, clipped short at the sides. Yet he remained a stranger to Raven. He held out his fleshy forearm toward him. It dripped with blue-black blood.
Rav
en recoiled.
“It’s okay.” The man’s deep voice rumbled, the sound a narcotic to Raven’s ears. “Look, the wounds are already healing.”
Raven swallowed, eyeing the remaining blood dribbling along the thick muscle as the gashes closed themselves. The man’s ichor crawled through Raven’s veins like sludge. He was aware of the dried stains on the man’s rolled sleeves. This had not been the first time he’d fed off the attractive stranger.
Warm fingers suffused the flesh of his cheeks, cupping his face and brought that handsome mouth closer. Sweet breath washed over Raven skin as he spoke. “How are you feeling, pet?”
Locks slammed into place, forcing memories to flood Raven’s brain. His mind quivered, pain infecting his gray matter to the point he wished it would split open and end his miserable suffering.
He had died, sired into a vampire-hybrid that could walk in sunlight, but burned in moonlight. He had hurt Professor Bloodimir, a man he trusted with his life. He had failed the Captain and the precinct. He had missed his date with…
Chetlér loved him, had given Raven his true name…
“You are the cause of all of this, Bla’Gar.” Raven didn’t recognize his own voice, raspy and raw, as he spat the word in the demon’s face.
The demon’s lips pulled thin, his massive jaw locked tight. Bla’Gar glared at him with his fucking pretty green eyes. They grew tender in their regard of Raven, as did the demon’s bloody, warm hands on his face, fingertips brushing kindly over Raven’s skin.
That mouth inched closer to Raven’s, stopping a breath away from him, only to have those lips graze his when the demon spoke. “If you believe it is I that has brought this adversity upon you, if it helps you overcome to blame me, then I beg of you: bless me with your forgiveness. I only wish to show you how much you mean to me.”
Those scowling lips struck Raven’s, stroked over his. Gently, the demon cradled Raven to his heated chest, pinning him in steel arms, while Bla’Gar made deep love to Raven’s mouth, singing a sweet song with their lips.
Neon White Season One: A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle Page 18