Altered: A Beyond the Brothel Walls Novel

by Ryans, Rae Z.

  Warmth replaced the chill. Dorian melded against my backside. He whispered, “Babe, how am I supposed to massage you with a blanket covering you up? It’s bad enough that you’re wearing clothes.”

  I could’ve casted a spell, but it seemed like a waste of precious resources. “Screw the massage. Need heat...” My ass wiggled against his hard cock poking my cheeks.

  “Naked? Horny?”

  I chuckled into the pillow. He was always horny.

  “Well, horny’s easy, babe. I only have to think of you.” He kissed the back of my head.

  Our conversation twisted into an interesting turn. “You mean you think of me naked?”

  “Nope. Just the idea of you.”

  Dorian’s hot breath sent shivers across my skin.

  “Your eyes, smile, or that cute little laugh are enough to drive me crazy. I can’t imagine a day without seeing or hearing you, don’t want to spend another night apart.”

  I twisted around, dislodging him from my back. “We had that week apart.”

  Dorian leaned on one arm. “Let’s not talk about that.” His gaze flickered to my face, and he reached for me. “Ever.”

  “I tried to jump off a ferry on my way to Meat Cove,” I whispered. “Figured if Death didn’t want me, then who else would.”

  His mouth opened and closed. Did he know his sister was up there? Dorian nodded at the thoughts I’d allowed to slip through.

  “I didn’t leave my bed,” he said, and buried his face in the pillow.

  I slid across the small mattress and kissed his shoulder, trailing a path to his red-tipped ears. “We work better together than apart.”

  He grunted but still hid his face. “And that’s what scares the shite out of me.”

  “I’m not without protection, Dorian. Your sister gave me a gift—”

  “Cain? Dorian?” Korrigan called from downstairs. “You’re burning daylight. Let’s go lover boys.” She paused, but her feet thudded on the stairs. She must’ve done it on purpose. “Don’t make me stand here, or come in there.”

  I groaned and Dorian echoed me. We jumped from the bed and redressed, borrowing warmer clothes suited for the area from the closet. Unlike Korrigan and him, the elements would harm me if I weren’t careful.

  A hanger rattled in the closet before falling and clattering against the floor. He withdrew a navy down coat and held it up to me. “This should fit over your wool one.”

  “Sweets, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk with all this bulk.” Hell, I’d look more like a dark blue marshmallow man.

  He folded his arms, brows touching. “What’s a marshmallow man?”

  “How did you live for centuries and not see Ghostbusters?” But Dorian’s brows only rose higher. “Never mind. It’ll make me look fat, and I won’t be able to walk right.”

  “Humor me. I’d rather have you fat and slow than blue with frostbite.”

  I rolled my eyes and put the heavy coat on over my peacoat, but as I strutted around trying to prove my point, I found moving in the bulky layers easier than expected.

  By the time we finished upstairs, Korrigan wasn’t downstairs. Quite reminiscent of an impatient Angelica. We searched for gloves, hats, and scarves. Dorian didn’t need any of them, but he insisted I wear them.

  I kept thinking about the house and barn. The abandoned house was a shame. All it had required was a little care and some new paint. The barn needed more attention, but an empty farm was a total waste. With some hard work, it could be transformed into something more, something to give back to the world.

  “I’ll see who owns it,” Dorian said, wrapping a scarf around my neck. He leaned in and kissed my cheek before whispering, “Consider it an engagement present.”

  “My home is Halifax.” I shrugged and rolled my gaze over the hand-carved staircase. “The waste of good land is a shame.” Besides, I liked his home, and the location was convenient for work.

  “Don’t know what you do,” he said, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table. Dorian shook his head, as if trying to clear his ear of water. “Will I get used to hearing your voice in my head?”

  “Maybe. After a while it becomes white noise.” My hands gripped one of the dining room chairs. “I tend the farms. Grunt work.” I opened my mouth to say more on the subject but found nothing else to add. The farm paid the bills, but it wasn’t what I’d dreamed of doing with my life. “Before the Apocalypse, what’d you do for a living?”

  Korrigan yelled, “No more dallying.” She didn’t come inside, though.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Dorian said. “We’ll catch up, go ahead without us.”

  He strolled out the backdoor, and I followed, but he only swooped down and grabbed a handful of snow before almost running into me.

  “We’re not leaving yet.”

  Inside again, he knelt and dropped the snow into a pot by the hearth. The coals hadn’t gone out yet. “I moved around a lot, throughout the dawn of man, my job and much of my life required it. That meant no home, not unless I count Sheol, no friends, or much of anything. All I had was my purpose, marking souls, and my family.”

  All I had owned was inside my little apartment and all of that I’d received after the Sundering. “Can I ask you another question?”

  He nodded and motioned for me to continue.

  “You can’t wipe the demons out can you? I mean, I know you’re powerful and have the key, but I keep asking myself why y’all haven’t intervened. Is it because we aren’t worth it?”

  He twisted around. “No. You are more than worth it, Cain. It sickens me to think you’ve even considered it.”

  “Markos doesn’t think much of my kind.” I removed a few layers of clothing and hung them on the back of the dining room chair.

  “Your kind?”

  “Demons. I wonder if he feels that way about all them.”

  “You’re not a demon in my eyes, but an Angel.” Dorian walked to the sink and poured steaming water into a washbowl. He dipped his hands and shook his head. The water splashed. “I can fight them, kill them, and send their souls to purgatory, but it’s not as simple as my brother makes it. Demons are not human—never were. They require different methods to execute. Methods that work on a small scale, but nothing large, and weapons that I don’t have access to.” He held the bowl above his head. Slowly, he tilted the container.

  As he poured it over his head, I cringed. Steam engulfed him. “Dorian, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Washing my hair.” He spun around, eyes blazing and skin beet red.

  I grabbed a towel, flicked my wrist to release the dust, and wiped his face. “Don’t do that again without warning me.”

  “There’s someone who can.” He stepped closer, dripping water over the grimy floor.

  My brow rose and I dabbed his face. “Someone who can warn me?”

  “No,” he splattered me with water, “Father created one to hold the power, or so it’s been prophesized.” Dorian snatched the towel from me and grinned. “It’s cute that you care.”

  Whispers and rumors always circulated among the brothels about a chosen one, but nobody found any proof to back the claims. I chewed my lip and glanced to the door. All this time his thoughts had held crumbs and hid true intentions. We needed Petre not for his brains or money. The world needed a true king. I whispered, “You think he’s the King of Babylon,” and fell into a chair. My chin sank to my hands, and I thought of all I knew about the strange, cursed vampire. Did Korrigan think the same about Petre? Her loyalty was nothing more than a ruse.

  Dorian ran a hand through his wet hair and sat next to me at the quaint table. He grasped my hands and shook me out of my thoughts. “Do you love me? Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” My eyes burned beneath his intense glare. “I’m not the enemy, never was, and if you love me like you claim to, then you have to trust me too, Dorian.”

  He sighed and kissed the top of my head. “It’s not the king.” He laughed to himse
lf. “The Bible scholars tended to get the facts wrong. We need the queen to gather her people and free the slaves.”

  My mouth gaped, and he tickled my chin. No. Dorian nodded. “Angel?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Not Lily.”

  “Korri, babe. That little pixie will save what’s left of the world. Hallo says...”

  A tear slid down my cheek and into my hands. I buried my face. Holding onto Korrigan as if she were still Angelica made me foolish. That made Veric a fool also, but she was my sister. She acted like her, though. Coughing, I turned away from him and wiped my face. “We should get going.”

  “I know you wanted to save your sister, but Angel is gone.” Dorian stretched his hand across the table and patted my arm. “Hey.” Dorian grabbed my hand and tugged me, almost yanking my body across the table. “I would bring her back if I could, but her soul isn’t in Sheol. Maybe it’s buried in there.”

  My chair skidded against the floor. Standing, I stared at him over my shoulder. My brows scrunched, digesting his words. Bring a soul back from purgatory? His phone rang before I’d the chance to ask for an explanation.

  He released me and fished his SAT phone from his flannel pocket. “Fox speaking,” he covered the receiver, “give me a second.” He pecked my cheek. “No, not you, James. Yeah, go on...What? Bloody fucking piece of leeching shite.”

  The ABDA, from the sounds of it, cursed him out on the other line. Not being one to eavesdrop, I slipped back into my layers before venturing outside and allowing him privacy.

  Crisp air shocked my lungs, but the scenery stole my breath. Beams reflected off the snow and ice crystals creating a rainbow prism of dancing colors. Icicles hung from the barren trees, and I reached on my tiptoes to touch a delicate formation. As a kid, I hadn’t witnessed such beauty in the world. We had lived in Texas and Central America for over three hundred years, but the Westcott bloodline spread across the globe, dating back to Lucifer’s fall.

  The Garlands had originated in England, though, and neither brother had lost their accent. Seven families all descended from one of the Princes of Hell. I laughed. Garland had supposedly changed their name to fit in, as did the rest of us, but from what I didn’t know, let alone care.

  My boots crunched through the snow, leaving a trail behind me. I halted beneath a large maple tree. I liked Dorian’s accent, even though his British words slipped out from time to time. I spent the last twelve years trying to lose my southern one. Granted, I tried fitting in and blended with those who lived in Arcadia. But running from my past didn’t work.

  “Her.” I leaned my back against the ice-encrusted tree, my mouth dropping.

  Man had translated some Bible passages wrong. Mistakes happened all the time. Who could’ve said if they’d done so on purpose? So the King of Babylon was a woman. I rubbed my chin and slowly smiled.

  Demons had walked the Earth, but the churches also left out missing books of the Bible, simply because they weren’t canon. The Book of Enoch had been one of those, but even I understood why the Catholic Church had ignored the texts. Hard to explain to the world God had allowed us to live, and his mighty flood had failed to eradicate us from the Earth. Our ancestors had fled into the depths of Hell and escaped his wrath. After Noah and his family repopulated the world, they, too, had returned and bred new Nephilim. Eventually, the Elioud blinked into existence. But it also claimed Revelation had already occurred, and even I admitted the author was wrong about it. We’d lived it, survived it, and we would continue to do so.

  Korrigan’s face popped into my mind. “She assassinated an Arch demon and a Nephilim,” I whispered. Jules had been a Nephilim, but what I hadn’t corrected was that Jules wasn’t Veric’s father. No. He was Boric’s son. Veric wasn’t Veric, either. Loyalty to him kept me from revealing his secret.

  Snow crunched in the distance, growing closer. I tilted my head. Dorian stumbled through the snow.

  “Ready to find our queen?” Dorian kissed me and folded his hand in mine.

  “Who called?”

  “Veric tattled. I may be Death, but I still work for that blimey bastard.” He glanced over his shoulder. “They arrived at the Summit, and the ABDA agreed to back a rescue mission. They’ve already spoken, thanks to Tomas, with Delphia officials and are amassing a treaty as we speak. Still need the council’s approval, though they’re basically the same as the ABDA.” He pointed to tiny divots in the snow. “She left us a trail. We can follow these.”

  I didn’t know what the Summit was and didn’t ask. We trailed the pint-sized footprints, trudging our own path through the snowy banks.

  “Have you heard the story of the Golem?” Dorian asked after a period of silence.

  I shook my head, but pictured the stone creature from old games I had watched the masters play prior to the Sundering. They let us have a turn sometimes—depended how good and obedient we were. “Mindless creatures made of earthen stone and a man often controlled them. Some games created them from metal, or a mixture of metal and stone,” I relayed my experiences.

  “Close enough. The legend says man created the Golem, and God locked the creature away. He thought the creature proved to be a bigger threat than your ancestor, or any other manmade creation, including nuclear weapons.” Dorian stumbled into knee-deep snow, and I fell on top of him, laughing. No laughter left his lips. “I lost my boot.”

  “Calacha,” I whispered, and his missing boot flew into my hand.

  Wide, green eyes stared.

  “Sorry.”

  Dorian cupped my cheek. “Don’t be. It’s who you are. If you can accept me, I can accept you.”

  A timid smile forced itself over my lips, and I swallowed hard. Busying myself, I brushed the snow from his sock and fixed his boot.

  Dorian tipped my chin and stroked his thumb over the furry growth. “You know I mean that, right? Don’t fight who you are.”

  Without answering him, I arose from the ground and dusted the snow from my clothing.

  He warned, “Cain.”

  But I ignored him and withdrew the map from inside my coat pocket, checking our location against Angel’s footprints. Dorian held a bag of trail mix out and shook it in my face. As tempting as it was, I had a feeling he’d found it in the farmhouse. He shook it in my face.

  I snapped, “Do you mind?”

  “Yeah, I do. What the hell is your problem?” His hands fell to his hips.

  I mumbled, “Don’t expect you to understand.” My gaze rolled over the landscape. We had reached the end of the property where the fields ended.

  “Try me,” Dorian said.

  I sighed and glanced at the map. “Not having this conversation.” I used my end of discussion tone and veered back on course, careful to follow the footprints into the woods.

  He didn’t trail me at first, but after a few minutes passed, his steps crunched behind mine. The argument was stupid. My father was a warlock, not the first of our long line to be both Elioud and magical. Men preferred the oath breaker term of warlock over witch, and I never understood why. My breath hissed through my teeth, puffing into the air. I hated using the power, even though God himself had created us. Friends and family fell into greed and sloth like existences. I refused to be like them.

  The forest spun around me, Dorian knocked the air from my lungs, and I plummeted into the icy snow.

  “Damn it, Cain, stop ignoring me.”

  A barking cough rose from my lungs, and I fought for precious breath. “Asshole.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  I snorted and attempted to rise, but Dorian had my legs and arms pinned.

  “Not letting you up until you talk to me like an adult.”

  The ice nipped at my skin, and a shiver rolled into my bones. He shifted, keeping me trapped. His hard outline pressed into my ass, and his warm lips grazed my neck. A lump formed in my throat.

  “Now, what’s the problem, babe?”

  After all his profound love, Dorian could not
accept me for whom and what I was. No, that was a lie. I couldn’t accept myself. The reason we became enslaved, captured, and sold. Hell, even Mother had arranged Angelica’s marriage. But my sister had loved Veric, regardless of the contractual marriage. For three hundred years, my family suffered at the hands of the Garlands because of my power to see, steal, and hold the keys.

  I coughed again, squirming beneath Dorian. Long before Boric, hatred had run through my veins. Pride kept me from showing it. Satan’s ilk, Hallowed was right. Did that make me as bad as the fallen angels? Maybe in their eyes, but the Garland family wanted to rule us all. How could I accept the part of me that brought this pain? Without it, Garland never would have targeted us to begin with and…a sob ripped through my chest. I hated magic—all of it. How could Dorian accept that vile part of me?

  “You think you’re cursed because Lucifer is your ancestor?” Amusement touched his tone. “There’s not an evil bone in your body, Cain. God created me to mark evil, and you know what, babe? I would never mark your soul, not even if it meant we could spend eternity together. Hell, if it weren’t for knowing we need the Queen of Babylon, I’d have pegged you as the king.” Thick hands kneaded into the tight muscles spanning my back. “Forgive yourself and let the anger go.”

  I thrusted my shoulder backward, attempting to throw him off. “I’m not angry, more disappointed.” In myself, but I was sure he caught my self-pity broody bit.

  “Should I carry the scythe more often and kick some demon ass?” Dorian laughed, and the sound vibrated against my skin.

  “I forgot you’re the Angel of Death.”

  He laughed again, missing my sarcasm, and rolled from my back.

  “Glad to amuse you,” I muttered, and rocked to my knees.

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Dorian yanked my arm, and I crashed into his chest as his arms squeezed the air from my lungs. His warm but rough hands combed through my hair. As my head lay there, listening to Dorian’s pounding heart, a peace rested in our stillness. I clung to his flannel shirt, as if he would blink out of existence.

  “You lit the fire under my ass I needed to right the world and fix the ABDA.” Dorian tilted my chin and forced my gaze. “But that’s the excuse. The truth?” His brows rose. “I’m doing this because I love you and will do whatever it takes to make you happy. Finding Lily will make you happy, right?”