The Arbiter: Divinely Damned Book One

by K. B. Ladnier

  Copyright © 2017 by K.B. Ladnier

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design by Stacy Ane

  Contents

  Connect with the Authors

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books By The Authors

  About the Authors

  Connect with the Authors

  K.B. Ladnier

  Website:

  kbladnierauthor.com

  Facebook:

  www.facebook.com/kbladnier

  Instagram:

  @kbladnier_author

  Twitter:

  @kbladnierauthor

  Brandy Slaven

  Website:

  authorbrandyslaven.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/BrandyDSlaven/

  Instagram:

  @cherrymetalchic

  Twitter:

  @Brandy_D_Slaven

  This story is dedicated to you, the reader. For your love of all things dark, deadly, and beautiful. And, for allowing us to do what we love.

  There's always a fine line between everything. Love and hate. Cruelty and compassion. Pure and tainted. Light and dark. Most fall on either side of the spectrum within black or white, but none fall on that line that flows through the grey areas. No one is a perfect balance of all those things.

  No one, that is, except the Arbiter.

  Two supernatural races have been at war for thousands of years, The Damned and The Divine. With one being, The Arbiter, at the center balancing point between the two.

  In the beginning there was the Creator and the Divine, and then the Creator brought into existence the human race and gave them life from his realm, Divinity. They weren’t as good as his first creations, The Divine, who were beautiful and full of light and compassion. The humans were easily corruptible and nowhere near as loyal. However, he was proud of them both. Most of the Divine loved what The Creator had done and marveled at the life of man, yet not all his Divine were sold on his new creations.

  While humans had free will and the ability to love and prosper, the Divine were stuck in their ways of never being able to indulge in those same joys that humans did.

  Cain, one of the highest Divine, was angry with the Creator for not also being given the same freedoms as the humans, such as choosing to love. He felt it was an insult to simply be silent sentinels guiding a race he deemed lesser than the Divine. No, he wanted much more.

  He began to plot against his fellow brethren and gathered thousands of supporters to follow him in his ambition to be the leader of the earthly realm. In steps Abel, another of the Creator’s high Divine, he found out what Cain was up to and waged war to stop him.

  A battle of insurmountable bloodshed ensued on the Earth realm. The Creator, thinking Abel could bring Cain home to him, was horrified and enraged when Cain took the life of Abel instead. As punishment to Cain, he cast him down into a new realm of existence that would be known as Damnation. His soul would be the eternal anchor for the sinful souls of humans when they passed from their human lives. It was commanded that he should never be set free from neither punishment. Since Cain’s followers were blinded by his words, they were cursed to become monsters that could no longer touch the pure light of man, and feed from the tainted darkness that had befallen the humans from the war between the races.

  These cursed would be known as The Damned. They would take many different forms from blood drinkers, energy feeders, monstrous wolves, and others that could only be described as living nightmares. They could never find the light within Divinity again, but in return were allowed to live out their existence with the humans on the Earth realm. Once a Damned died, their soul would be forfeit and claimed by Cain, living within Damnation under his curse.

  The Divine who fought for what the Creator had wanted, were blessed with the free will that Cain had desired. They could choose Divinity or Earth. As with most things, however, living with free will came with a price. If they gave up their positions in Divinity to live on Earth, they had the responsibility of keeping the Damned on that realm in check and would claim the life of any that killed a human again. These Divine became known as The Order of Abel and each member of this order were called Rites.

  With so much bad blood still between the two races, wars were still being fought. The Creator made one last move in hopes of restoring balance to his children. He created a position of power that would be held by a soul that was perfectly balanced between the two waring races. This being would have power of judge and executioner over both sides and blessed with immortality.

  This being became known as the Arbiter.

  Only, the fatal flaw of balance is the scale can always be tipped to one side.

  One after another, Arbiters failed in their duty, succumbing to the call of their Damned half over their Divine. There were only two ways that the Arbiter could lose power; being killed by a blessed blade, or by choosing one side completely. If one side is favored over the other, the half they denied is stripped from them, along with the extra power. The Creator will then choose another half breed that he sees fit.

  Unfortunately, that power will now be passed along to me.

  Nocturna

  “Holy hand grenades, what the fuck just happened?”

  I pretty much yell this to no one in particular. Here I am, minding my own business and loading up my truck with alcohol for my club, when I get jumped by four humans.

  So, that’s how my day is going to go, huh?

  My club, The Apothecary, is a place I bought some fifty years ago for any of the Damned or Rites who wanted somewhere to go to just be themselves without fear or worry. Granted, more Damned happen upon my establishment than Rites, but who am I to complain? I have plenty of humans to make up the difference and fill my pockets with money.

  I’m losing focus. Back to what I was saying!

  All I was trying to do today was pick up an order to stock the bars in the club, when this human asshole jumps out of his truck with his three buddies. They’re armed with silver nets, blessed blades, and even a real-life stake.

  What worries me most about this incident, is the fact humans shouldn’t know about us, let alone how to kill us. Only the human government should know of our existence. There’s only one way to know what we are; the tattoo like runes etched into the palm of our right hand. They are the markings of the Damned or Divine, given to us at birth. The Damned rune is very simple really; a vertical line with a short horizontal line directly in the middle, and another further down that is a tad bit longer. But since I am also Divine, I wear their rune as well on my left palm. The Divine rune is a large circle with a smaller on insid
e to the right. It almost looks like a crescent moon connected at the tips.

  Though, the Rites are a dead giveaway with their hooded black robes and signature Abel A hanging around their necks. As long as everyone plays nicely, the humans don’t try to nuke us, and we don’t bite back. Somehow, these four not only had some idea of what I am, but they also knew about the weapons that could hurt me. It’s not a good sign. And for whatever reason, they weren’t trying to kill me, only incapacitate.

  I hide my surprise of their knowledge though and quickly slide my twin, hooked blades from the floor board beneath my front seat, giving them a little spin in my hands before facing off with the humans. Yeah, these swords are bitchin.

  “This isn’t Buffy the fucking Vampire Slayer,” I say, before kicking the one closest to me. I know a few Striges who would be pissed for me just because of that asshole wielding a piece of wood. They are quite literally where vampire myth stems from; blood drinking Damned who are always deathly pale and have issues with sunlight. Not that they’d burn up or anything, but it definitely makes them cranky.

  Unfortunately for these guys, I am a master swordsman. I may look like an average twenty-five-year old female, but I age extremely slowly because of what I am. I have the power of both the Damned and the Divine on my side. I have influence over pheromone magic because of my Succubus mother, but I’ve yet to find any signs that I’ve inherited any power except maybe strength from my Rite father. These kinds of unions were rare, so it’s not like I had anyone growing up that could teach me about all this. I wish I’d come with some kind of manual. It still surprises me that a Rite could be sexually attracted to anyone, let alone a Damned, but I guess give any supernatural creature enough alcohol and they aren’t too picky on race.

  Somehow though, these assholes are impervious to my set of charms and aren't the least bit phased when my second form comes out to play. Okay, one guy looks like he might shit his pants, but I am beautifully scary looking when I change. My raven black curls turn stark white, my eyes glow silver and my skeletal system shows translucently through my skin. Apparently, they have never seen a creature like me by the looks on their faces, but that hasn’t deterred them from trying to capture me with that damn blessed net.

  Blessed weapons are made of silver and doused in Divine Water, which normally is ineffective to a Divine, but my Damned half allows it to burn me. These humans somehow got ahold of Rite weaponry and that just pisses me off a little more. I quickly go to work slicing into one of the guy’s thighs. He’s the one who stabbed me, and I feel pretty justified, even as he screams like babe at birth. At least he’ll live. I cut into the second guy’s Achilles tendon. He’ll count his lucky stars if he’s ever able to walk again. I put the third into a sleeper hold, while simultaneously knocking the fourth guy out with the butt of my sword.

  Lucky for me, that stupid net only grazes my arm before I slice it with one of my twin, hooked swords. It burns like a bitch. However, it’ll heal on its own in an hour or so. The puncture to my stomach just below my left rib cage, on the other hand, will take a bit of energy juju to heal, since the dude stabbed me with a blessed blade. A normal knife wound would heal almost instantly, but one from something blessed needed more kick. My Succubus side allows me to take energy from beings when I kiss them or have sex with them, healing any ailments I have. Thank the Creator for small favors. The latter of the two, I only use in extreme cases. I’m hardcore picky about bed partners.

  Needless to say, I’m exhausted as I began tying the idiots together with the rope that I usually use to fasten boxes together in the truck. I secure them to the dumpster that sits in the alleyway between the liquor store I buy from and the building next to it. Thankfully, it’s late evening, so the humans will have left most of the stores by now. This street isn’t heavily populated at night. My liquor guy is pretty much the only one around at this time, and he spends most of his night with his headphones in blaring eighties rock music.

  I lean against the adjacent wall from the men and slide down, sitting myself where I can watch them as the two still awake groaned in pain. Pulling out my phone, I dial the number to a local office where Rites can be reached to clean up messes involving human exposure to our kind. Should the need arise for them to erase memories, they have that power as well. The Strige can do the memory erasing thing too, but they don’t care to be involved with humans unless there’s blood. I have two bouncers that are Strige. They erase the memories of humans as they leave the club if they see something they aren't supposed to.

  The Rites are definitely hearing about this one.

  I tap the Bluetooth device in my ear. The line rings twice before a monotone voice answers, “Rite Alan, Office 2036, what can I do for you?” The Rites have thousands of offices across the US, and each have a number for their office building.

  “Hey there. Nocturna, here. I’ve got a situation that’s going to require your assistance. You may need some of your buddies to help.”

  The Rite groans on the other end. They may know me a bit more personally than necessary at that office. The Damned that frequent my club are a little wily and tend to kill each other more often than I’d like in front of humans.

  “What’s happened this time?” he sighs.

  “No need for the tone,” I snap. “It wasn’t me or the Damned this time. I got ambushed by four humans while getting stock for my club. They may be a little worse for wear, but the assholes tried to capture me with a net, which might I add was doused in Divine Water. The same with their weapons.”

  He didn't sound convinced, “Are you sure they're humans?”

  “Of course, I'm sure! They reek of sweaty socks and misery. Only human men smell that pathetic,” I rant.

  Rite Alan huffs with amusement, “Alright. I’ll send a unit out to take care of them.”

  “Good. Oh, and if you’re feeling spunky, you should look into how they knew about the weapons. I may not be the most upstanding halfy out there, but I know I didn't do anything to warrant their volatility.”

  His response is muffled as he speaks to someone else, then he says to me, “They're on their way.”

  Pushing the end call button on my headset, I lean my head back against the brick. The two assholes who had gotten the worst of my retribution continue groaning in pain, while one of the others is yelling curses at me.

  “Could you keep it down please? I’d really like to kill you right now for annoying me, but I’m not your stereotypical Damned who flies off the handle just because you’re insulting my mama. I will, however, rip your guts out for a whole lot less,” I warn.

  He must take my threat to heart, because his tone turns muffled. The last thing I want to do is show any of them just how bad they hurt me, but I feel my blood still leaking profusely from my stab wound. Ignoring them, I see that the wound is for sure going to need that extra oomph. Stupid blessed blades. And there’s no fucking way that I’m taking from these smelly humans. I’d sooner stab myself with their blade again. I’ll just wait to get some energy from one of the Damned at the club. I hate having to feed without having sex. Which means, I have to suck the life force literally from the mouth of another being. Besides, if we’re being honest, it’s just not as much fun. Me and my standards.

  The blood continues to seep from the wound in my side and with each minute that passed, my conscious began to waiver. Just because I’m for the most part immortal, didn’t mean I couldn’t be killed. I silently sigh in relief as I watch the black Hummer pull up, signaling the arrival of the Rites. They always drive the same flashy, black Hummers with a white decal that has the letter A with filigree around it to make it all fancy. For a mostly male organization, that decal is pretty damn feminine. I’ll never tell them that, though. Rites are anything but feminine.

  I slowly push myself up the wall, doing my best not to waiver while using the last of my strength, before stepping to the side to give the Rites a full view of the humans. The other one woke up about five minutes ago and has join
ed his friend in slinging obscenities towards me. I’m ready to have them off my hands, or my temper will get the best of me.

  Four Rites step from the Hummer, each wearing the trademark black, sleeveless robe with hood pulled up over their heads. One can’t see it from the outside, but I happen to know what’s underneath those robes. Don’t judge me. They fill out the black muscle shirts and cargo pants nicely. Then just add that to black, fingerless leather gloves and military grade, combat boots and there’s a Rite.

  Black is my color, but sometimes, it’s a little overkill. Again, not telling them that. The silver chains with the trademark Abel “A” hangs around their necks, catching the last of the light in the sky. As they move, those robes swing open, and I get an eyeful of every single ab beneath those skin-tight shirts. I do a drool check really quick with the back of my hand.

  Holy brain fry batman! The Divine are beautiful bastards!

  Luckily, my blood rewarded me with their beauty. Too bad I acted more like the Damned more often than not. I prefer their company more too.

  Back to the sinfully wrapped packages in front of me, I don't even need to see their faces to know that each one would look like they’ve been chiseled from the finest of stone. Of course, that is also meant in a way that they are each emotionally as cold as stone. They never smile, and their voices tend to only have three tones; slight interest, possibly interested, and smite-you-down yelling. In other words, mostly monotone that sounds a lot like the rumbling of a car. The latter is something you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. It comes with the territory of a Rite, I guess.