by I. T. Lucas
Dark Warrior’s Destiny
The Children Of The Gods Book 9
I T Lucas
FOLLOW I. T. LUCAS ON AMAZON
Contents
1. Chapter 1: Carol
2. Chapter 2: Nathalie
3. Chapter 3: Robert
4. Chapter 4: Nathalie
5. Chapter 5: Andrew
6. Chapter 6: Nathalie
7. Chapter 7: Anandur
8. Chapter 8: Carol
9. Chapter 9: Kian
10. Chapter 10: Robert
11. Chapter 11: Andrew
12. Chapter 12: Carol
13. Chapter 13: Robert
14. Chapter 14: Nathalie
15. Chapter 15: Andrew
16. Chapter 16: Carol
17. Chapter 17: Sebastian
18. Chapter 18: Kian
19. Chapter 19: Dalhu
20. Chapter 20: Kian
21. Chapter 21: Sebastian
22. Chapter 22: Dalhu
23. Chapter 23: Kian
24. Chapter 24: Dalhu
25. Chapter 25: Andrew
26. Chapter 26: Nathalie
27. Chapter 27: Andrew
28. Chapter 28: Nathalie
29. Chapter 29: Andrew
30. Chapter 30: Nathalie
31. Chapter 31: Andrew
32. Chapter 32: Nathalie
33. Chapter 33: Kian
34. Chapter 34: Andrew
35. Chapter 35: Kian
36. Chapter 36: Kian
37. Chapter 37: Nathalie
38. Chapter 38: Andrew
39. Chapter 39: Anandur
40. Chapter 40: Nathalie
41. Chapter 41: Andrew
42. Chapter 42: Syssi
43. Chapter 43: Andrew
44. Chapter 44: Nathalie
45. Chapter 45: Kian
46. Chapter 46: Nathalie
47. Chapter 47: Syssi
48. Chapter 48: Nathalie
49. Chapter 49: Andrew
50. Chapter 50: Nathalie
51. Chapter 51: Andrew
52. Chapter 52: Nathalie
DARK WARRIOR’S LEGACY
SERIES READING ORDER
OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
FOR EXCLUSIVE PEEKS
Copyright
Chapter 1: Carol
Endless suffering. A nightmare Carol was never going to wake from.
Like every other evening, the sadist had whipped her bloody, treated her wounds, comforted her, fucked her, then left her to heal overnight.
It was a vicious cycle.
Not that she cared one way or another, but it was impossible to tell the actual time of day in this basement, or underground, or whatever it was. There were no windows. Not in her room, and not in the torture chamber as she called what the sadist referred to as his 'playroom'. Those were the only places he’d taken her to.
There were girls in the adjoining cells. She’d heard them talking, and fucking, and even laughing. Evidently, the other Doomers were not as bad as Sebastian. And even though she had no doubt that the women were held against their will, they were at least treated better. They even got to get out and see the sunlight, something the sadist believed Carol, as an immortal, didn’t need.
Once a day, she would hear the Doomer in charge of this place herd the women out.
Whatever. The whole place was silent now, so the others must’ve been sleeping. Carol shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Lying face down for so long was becoming hard to endure, but she was afraid to turn around. Her wounds should be closed by now, but her entire back was still throbbing with pain.
Damn, she would have done anything for a joint right now. Scratch that; she needed a morphine injection to numb the pain. Both physical and emotional. Though she would have settled for a Percocet. Anything to take the edge off.
Fuck, if she hadn’t been such a pothead, she would have never stepped outside to smoke that joint, would have never ended up as the whipping toy of a merciless sadist, and Ben would still be alive.
Dear fates, the guilt was even worse than the physical pain.
Carol still harbored a smidgen of hope that Ben had managed to escape, or that George had found him in that alley and had rushed him to safety. But at the back of her mind, she feared the worst. There was no way he could’ve escaped. There had been too many of them. And if he’d been still alive, the Doomers would have loaded him into their minivan and brought him here.
Maybe they had.
She’d been out when they’d locked her in this cell, this hell. They might’ve brought Ben as well, and were holding him somewhere else. This was the worst possibility, though, worse than his death.
After all, as a female immortal, she was a rare and irreplaceable commodity, and the sadist would want to keep her alive. But he had no need for Ben. Sebastian would torture him for information and after getting everything he could out of Ben, he would finish him.
An honorable end in battle would’ve been a mercy.
The one bright spot she clung to, her only victory in this losing battle, was that the sadist had bought her dumb act. Somehow, through the haze of pain, she’d managed to keep the façade of a stupid airhead who knew nothing about anything. Surprisingly, he’d believed her when she’d cried and sobbed claiming that she had no idea where the keep was.
But if Sebastian had Ben—
Carol shivered. It didn’t matter if Ben had told the sadist everything or nothing. Sebastian would’ve tortured her friend for the fun of it. Like a cat playing with a mouse, he would’ve given Ben an illusion of hope, just to kill him in the end.
Fates, please, please, I’m not asking anything for myself. But please save Ben. Let him be alive and well at the keep, or already dead. But not here, suffering at the hands of this monster.
Her sobs scraped over a dry throat that was still raw from her screams, and glancing at the nightstand, she eyed the water bottle her tormenter had left for her. She was so thirsty, but reaching for it meant stretching her arm and moving her bruised and knotted back muscles. Besides, her bladder was full, and any more liquid would force her to get up and shuffle to the bathroom. Something she was hoping to avoid for a couple more hours. If she managed to fall asleep, by the time it was morning, or the end of whatever the sleep cycle was here, the pain would be gone and going to the bathroom would not be the Herculean effort it would be now.
In the end, the thirst and the full bladder won. Moving as few muscles as possible, Carol shifted toward the edge of the bed and lifted an exhausted arm to grab the bottle. Enduring the pain had sucked out every last iota of energy from her, and every muscle in her body hurt, even those that weren’t bruised.
Shit, she needed her other hand to twist the cap off.
Gritting her teeth, Carol pushed through the pain to get herself to a sitting position and opened the fucking thing.
Bliss. The water was still cold, and going down her throat, it felt like the life-giving liquid it was. Carol didn’t stop until it was empty. With a grunt, she pushed to her feet and took the empty plastic container to the bathroom.
When she finally made it to the toilet, she had another moment of bliss as she sat down and emptied her bladder. Who would have thought that the simplest things would feel so good? Apparently, when deprived of everything else, a drink of water and a toilet seemed like the best life had to offer.
Perhaps she could muster enough strength to get into the shower. The sadist had cleaned her before tucking her in bed, but to stand under a stream of water without anyone watching her was another simple pleasure she craved to claim for herself. Fates knew there weren’t many.
She was naked, so at least there was no need to take anything off. Carol stepped inside
the tiny shower stall and turned the faucet to the maximum it had to offer. The pressure sucked, but the water was hot enough and seemed to be in endless supply. The temperature didn’t vary for the entire hour or more she just stood under the weak stream, letting it soothe her bruised and abused body.
When she was done, Carol patted herself dry with a soft towel, then filled her bottle with tap water. She brushed her teeth, doing it in slow motion because it hurt even to move her arm, then rinsed her mouth with the bottle. It was a little gross, since she intended to drink from it later, but bending to reach the stream of water straight out of the faucet was a definite no go. She intended to do as little bending as possible.
As she got back to her bed, she took her time to lower herself gently to the bed, gingerly lying on her side. When the position proved tolerable, Carol sighed and closed her eyes.
Despite what her family thought of her, Carol’s life hadn’t always been easy, but nothing could’ve prepared her for this. The pain and the blood weren’t even the worst of it. In fact, if there were an Olympic competition for misery, the pain would’ve gotten only the bronze, the guilt would’ve won the silver, while the shame would’ve taken the gold.
Fates, the shame.
Carol buried her face in the pillow. Her tormenter was playing with more than her body; he was manipulating her mind, breaking her and molding her into what he wanted her to become. And she was letting him because she was too weak to fight it, too needy to refuse the little comfort he was offering her. Worst of all, as impossible as it seemed, she was wet for him when he entered her.
It must have been his immortal pheromones working their magic on her body. There was no other explanation. She wasn’t submissive, she didn’t get off on pain, and she sure as hell found nothing attractive about the sadist. In fact, nothing would’ve given her greater pleasure than to cut the fucker’s heart out, but only after she'd whipped him to within an inch of his life the same way he was doing to her. Over and over again, allowing him just enough time to heal, then doing it again.
The image brought a bitter smile to her face.
Sweet Carol, the one who’d been nice to everyone, was gone. The sadist had created a monster—a vicious, bloodthirsty woman who was bent on revenge.
Chapter 2: Nathalie
“Time to wake up, sleepyhead.” Nathalie kissed Andrew’s bare chest.
“What time is it?” he mumbled without opening his eyes, his warm hand caressing her back in a downward trek that she knew would end up on her butt.
Yup, and here it goes. He closed his palm over one cheek, kneading it lazily.
Nathalie chuckled. Andrew was definitely an ass man. He couldn’t get enough of what she used to consider her worst feature. He loved it, constantly praising and fondling it at every opportunity. So much so that she could no longer hate her big butt. Pretty soon she’d be like the mammoth from Ice Age, the one voiced by Queen Latifah, asking if her butt looked big in this or that and saying thank you for an affirmative answer.
Unfortunately, with Vlad waiting for her in the kitchen, they had no time for a morning romp. Still, she couldn’t help rubbing a little against Andrew’s muscular thigh, the friction from his sparse leg hair providing a tingle of excitement.
“It’s quarter to six, and you still need to go home to shower and change.”
With a groan, Andrew cupped her butt cheeks with both hands and lifted her on top of him. “Kiss me,” he commanded.
She gave his lips a light peck and tried to wiggle out from his embrace.
“Uh-uh-uh. A real kiss.” Andrew abandoned one of her cheeks to cup the back of her head and kissed her long and hard.
As his talented tongue licked into her mouth and his hand traced the seam between her ass cheeks, it didn’t take long for Nathalie to grow moist.
“Stop it!’ She slapped his chest. “We have no time for this.”
His face fell, and his disappointed pout made her laugh. He looked like a boy who didn’t get the toy he wanted.
“What’s funny?” Andrew reluctantly let her go.
“You. I promise your favorite toy will be waiting for you when you get home this evening.”
“Who said it’s my favorite?” he teased as he followed her out of bed and reached for his pants.
Nathalie assumed an akimbo pose and glared at him. “It’s not only your favorite, but it’s your only one. Are we clear?”
Andrew zipped up his pants and reached for her, pulling her into his strong arms. “Forever and ever, you’re the only one for me. I love you, my Nathalie. You are my treasure.”
“You’d better believe it.” She pouted.
The corners of Andrew’s lips twitched. “That’s it? No, I-love-you-too-my-prince? Or, you-are-the-only-one-for-me?”
It was hard to keep her pretended peeve when he was being so sweet. She looked up into his blue, smiling eyes. “You know, I do. I adore you.”
Andrew nodded, his harsh features turning soft. “It’s good to hear. Really good. I don’t think anyone ever said they adored me before.”
“Didn’t your mother tell you that?”
He chuckled. “When you’ll meet her, you’ll understand why something like that is unlikely ever to leave her lips.”
“Is she strict?”
“No. And she is not cold either. Anita expresses her love for us freely, but in a reserved way. My dad is the opposite. But that’s because he is a salesman, or maybe he is a salesman because he is so charming and affectionate.”
She was dying to meet both. But according to Andrew, they had no plans to leave Africa and come back home anytime soon. As a doctor, providing crucial healthcare to the children of the war-devastated region, Andrew’s mother believed that her work was more important than visiting her adult children. Not that anyone could argue with that.
Nathalie wondered, though, if Andrew’s parents knew anything about the immortals, or that their children were part of this bizarre world.
She looked up at him. “Do they know? About Syssi? About you?”
He nodded. “They do. They came for Syssi and Kian’s wedding, so it was unavoidable. Normally, Kian or one of the others would’ve thralled them to forget anything that had to do with immortals, but my mother asked to be allowed to keep the memories. The compromise was to place them under a strong compulsion to never talk about it with anyone outside the clan.”
Thralling, compulsion, what else could these people do? But more importantly, had they used any of it on her? Without her consent? It was a disturbing thought.
Nathalie grabbed her robe and put it on, tying the belt a bit too snugly.
She narrowed her eyes. “Did anyone thrall me? Or place me under some compulsion without my knowledge?”
Andrew paused with his shirt dangling from his fingers. “No. There was no reason to. And besides, they have strong laws against it. It’s permitted only when there is no other way to hide who they are.” He shrugged the shirt on. “In fact, by telling you, I broke a promise to keep their existence secret, and so did Bhathian.”
“Are you going to get in trouble for this?”
“Probably. But now is not the time to rock the boat. Kian has enough on his plate as it is. We are going to tell him after the battle. In the meantime, though, don’t let Jackson and Vlad know that you’re on to them. You’ll need to watch how you act around them, or even think. Immortals have an extraordinary sense of smell, and each emotion produces a distinct scent.”
“Great. So how am I supposed to hide my feelings?”
He smirked. “Ah, this is the essence of the art of deception. You can pretend that they are caused by something else. If you emit an anxious scent, they can’t know why you feel that way, only that you do.”
“Got it.” She could pull it off. Immortal or human, the boys were only teenagers; still confused about women and their peculiar behaviors. Not that men got any smarter with age. Most never figured it out. Even the married ones spent their lives bewildered by their
wives, trying to cope the best they could.
Like her poor Papi.
Even when his brain had been still functioning properly, Fernando had probably had trouble figuring out why her mother had left him. And what Andrew had suggested was too preposterous to believe. There was no way her father, adoptive that is, had cheated on her beautiful mother. There must’ve been another reason. Maybe it had to do with her mother discovering that she was immortal. Or maybe it was as simple as Fernando not getting Eva, not knowing how to please her, how to make her happy.
Nathalie had to admit, though, that Andrew was pretty good at reading her. Maybe because he had a younger sister who he’d watched growing up into a woman. Or maybe it was just the way he was. He didn’t have to guess what she wanted or needed because he saw her and listened to her. Andrew paid attention. Like with the coffee. He’d noticed that she liked drinking cappuccinos during the day but preferred drip first thing in the morning. Once was enough for him to not only remember, but to make it for her whenever he’d slept over. Andrew always put her needs first.
After a quick visit to the bathroom, he left her to shower and dress in peace, the way he’d noticed she preferred, and trotted down the stairs to make coffee.
The man was absolutely perfect, and he was hers.
Nathalie was never going to let him go. Not into the arms of another woman, and not into the great beyond, or whatever people wanted to call the place where ghosts lived or existed. Because ghosts weren’t technically alive, right?
She’d claw out the eyes of any floozy who even dared look at him for too long. Except, loose women were the least of her concerns. Nathalie’s most fearsome adversary wasn’t some horny cheapie with greedy hooks aimed at her man. Her real opponent carried a deadlier weapon—a scythe—and it had the potential of harvesting Andrew’s soul. But even the Angel of Death would not win against her. Like the biblical Jacob, Nathalie would wrestle him for Andrew’s life. And if she lost? That would mean that she was dead too and could follow him into that other realm. Hopefully, ghosts were allowed to have relationships.