Nala laughed and moved across the alley. Blood flowed from Dalia's throat and the other various wounds Nala had been able to inflict. She needed to get somewhere to heal, but first she had to escape.
“I didn’t cut you deep,” Nala scoffed, “I have no intention of killing you yet. You should be grateful you're still useful to me or else you would’ve been dead”
“Screw you lady, I’m not helping you with anything.” Dalia voice was a whisper, her body weakening from the blood loss. She felt a small degree of satisfaction that the other vampire no longer looked flawless. Her clothes were dirty and ripped and bruises bloomed along Nala’s face.
“You act as if you have a choice.” Nala laughed and flounced back over to where Dalia knelt on the ground. “I killed Maksim and absorbed his powers. I’m your master now, silly girl.”
Dalia grunted as Nala pushed her power through her again. The fire sweeping through her body stole her vision and bowed her back.
“When the oracle contacts you we’ll talk further. One way or the other you’ll learn respect, Dalia. I don’t have time to teach you now, but trust me, I will make time.” Nala slapped Dalia one final time and teleported from the alley.
Dalia closed her eyes and tried to gather the strength to teleport from the alley.
Her eyes opened in panic.
She’d lost too much blood. Her powers would be drained until she could replace what was lost. Dalia dragged herself to the side of the building and leaned against the wall. Until her wounds healed she would wait in the darkness of the alley. Hopefully the sun did not come up first.
BRON WANDERED THROUGH THE STREETS, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dalia. He was a little lonely since he'd sent Little Lord to stay with Zahra.
'Bron! Get to Dalia now!' Zahra called to him impatiently, the urgency in her voice spurred him.
He followed the directions she sent to him telepathically as quickly as he could through the crowds. He rounded the corner of a cantina and his beast roared to life.
Dalia was slumped against the wall. Her long legs were crossed under her, making her appear smaller, vulnerable. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and her hair hung partially hiding her face.
Bron rushed to her side, fury momentarily blinded him. The urge to kill whoever had touched her rose sharply, a red haze descended over his mind. The feeling was so strong that he had to stop and take a breath.
Dalia’s head lifted at the flare of power his beast was sending out and narrowed her eyes.
“Well now, this seems to be party central. Please tell me you brought margaritas, no party’s complete without them.” Dalia’s voice was small, but no less sarcastic.
Bron tamped down on his magic but could not stop his hands from shaking as he reached to help her up. Her face was bruised and her shirt tattered. Blood coated the fingers holding her neck, making it hard for him to judge how badly she’d been hurt. The tight leash he had over his animal slipped and he swallowed the roar that threatened. He closed his eyes as another woman, another time floated through his mind, threatening to tear down his carefully built control. When his eyes opened determination fired them, and the need to help her, to save this woman beat at him.
“How in the hell do you keep finding me?” Using the wall as a crutch she struggled to stand.
Bron ignored her tone and took note of the panic in her eyes. “Polite as always.” His hands skimmed her body searching for any other wounds. He found cuts all over her body. “The wounds look like they are healing.”
“I know they’re healing, I don’t need your help.” She pushed against his chest.
Bron ignored her and pulled her closer to him. “They’ll heal faster if you feed from me.” He saw interest flare in her eyes for one moment before she squashed it.
“I don’t know you,” she scoffed.
“But you do know me, Dalia. We have been talking for months now.”
She stiffened at the reminder. “We haven’t been talking. You and your girlfriend were doing all the talking, harassing me to no end.” Dalia hissed as his fingers skimmed the wound on her shoulder.
“I suppose you knew the other guy you fed from this night?” He ignored her jab. The scent of the male covered her and it brought out a possessiveness Bron had never experienced. The thought of her touching another male made Bron and his beast restless.
Dalia pushed against his chest again and this time he allowed her to break free. She slumped down the minute his hands released her.
Bron grabbed her before she hit the ground. “Don’t be stubborn Dalia. Take what you need. I freely offer it to you.”
“How do you know whom I fed from earlier?” Her eyes were suspicious.
“It doesn’t matter, Dalia. Feed now and you can fuss at me later.”
They watched each other for a long minute. Dalia's eyes narrowed, mulling over his offer.
'Dalia, feed from Bron. I can feel your weakness. Don’t be so stubborn', Zahra intruded on the impasse, her voice reaching out to them both.
'Stay out of my head'. Dalia pursed her lip, her expression mulish.
'Take care of yourself and take what Bron offers.' Zahra ordered sharply.
Dalia huffed out an aggravated breath. Bron kept his face blank, she would have to make the choice herself. It was too close to dawn, surely she wouldn’t be that stubborn.
He saw the acceptance in her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It turned to puzzlement when she grabbed his wrist. He snatched his arm from her, offended. He tightened his grip on her and pushed her head into his shoulder. He wanted her to feed from his neck and would accept nothing less.
“I’m not feeding from your neck. It’s too intimate.”
He pushed her head back down. “I will not accept less than you would give a stranger.” His voice brooked no argument. He thought of the male she fed from earlier.
“I can easily control a stranger, besides I don’t trust you." She pushed against his chest.
Damn, she cut to the quick. “I’m not budging on this, Dalia.” He arched his neck. He felt her breath against his skin, and his heart sped. He wondered if she could feel the power on the surface of his skin but he couldn’t control it. His beast responded to her and he was having a hard time fighting the impulse to push her against the wall and sink into her.
Dalia kissed his neck lightly, and he hardened.
She nuzzled his neck, a groan slipped out.
She licked his neck and Bron swore.
He wouldn't be able to take much more of her teasing. His hands tightened on her waist as she bit him. The music, the conversation, everything faded into the back as he felt her pull on his skin. Bron purred deep in his throat, the intimacy of the act satisfied him deeply. It made him long for things he had no right to ask for. Like being the only person Dalia fed from. The feel of her mouth on his skin pushed those impossible dreams from his mind and caused his body to harden more if that was possible. He closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of her body pressed against his.
Their power connected, melded and he felt Dalia brush through his mind, searching, and sifting through his memories. One part of him was ecstatic that she would voluntarily link with him. The other part of him worried about what she would find. He quickly put a block over his thoughts. Moments later she licked his skin.
“Tell your girlfriend that I don’t do threesomes,” she told him saucily before disappearing.
Chapter 6
Exhaustion made it near impossible to stand as Dalia leaned against her mother’s front door. She'd used the majority of the energy she received from feeding to teleport. The sound of her mother shuffling on the other side of the door gave her warning, but she couldn’t find the strength to move as Isabelle pulled the door open. She collapsed on the floor at her mother’s feet.
“Dalia, mi hija,” she gasped. “Can you make it to the sofa?” Isabelle reached for Dalia’s hand blindly. Literally. Her mother was blind. Guilt kept Dalia upright, keeping as much of her wei
ght off Isabelle as they shuffled slowly to the sofa in the small living room.
“I’ll be fine, mama.”
“Rest for a bit. We'll try to move you before dawn.” Her mother placed a blanket across Dalia and moved to remove her boots.
Her heart was laboring. Remnants of Bron’s power flowed through her body like little electrical currents. She was drunk with his taste and she closed her eyes in remembrance. The little game she played of kissing him back-fired big time. Her body tightened in arousal and her lips ached to feel his skin.
She shifted on the sofa and poked at the wound on her neck. The skin was knitting, healing, which was a relief. Her mother may be blind but she would be able to tell that her daughter was bleeding. Isabelle shuffling feet announced her movement in the kitchen and Dalia relaxed. She would listen to her mom and sit there until dawn. Hopefully she’d be able to move by then, the thin curtains covering her mother’s windows offered no protection from the sun.
“Here Dalia, drink this.” Isabelle's voice jarred her. Her mother brought a steaming mug to Dalia’s hands.
“What is this?” It smelled soothing, the chamomile her mother's favorite. There was a hint of something else in the tea. The heat from the cup felt good against her hands.
“Something for your injuries, it will help them heal faster.”
Dalia held the cup inches from her mouth and watched her mother. Isabelle stared at a point across the room, her eyes seeing nothing.
“How do you know about my injuries?” Dalia's grip tightened on the cup.
Isabelle turned to face her daughter and reached to touch her face. “Just because I'm blind hija, does not mean I don't see what's going on around me.”
“What is it you see, mama?” Dalia was curious; she ducked her head and took a sip of the tea waiting on the answer. Warmth spread through her body, and her heartbeat slowed from its thunderous pace. Dalia closed her eyes as the last of the panic and adrenaline receded.
“There are many things I learn from my prayers, Dalia. Nothing for you to worry over.” Isabelle patted her knee.
Dalia's eyes opened at her mother's words “Don’t waste your prayers on me.”
Isabelle lifted her eyes to meet her daughter’s. Dalia felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at her mother's unseeing gaze.
“I pray for you especially, hija.” She grabbed Dalia’s empty hand.
Her mother’s fingers were warm; the soft wrinkled skin and delicate bones reminding Dalia painfully of her mother’s age. “Women your age should not have skin so smooth. Besides, I have felt the change in your soul and I pray every night for your protection.”
Bitterness rose and spilled from her. “I don’t have a soul. It was stolen.”
Isabelle shook her head sadly. “Nadie, No one, can steal the soul of God’s child, especially one who the goddess has a purpose for.”
“My purpose was taken from me.” Dalia thought of Nala’s words. The power Nala used was proof enough. With Maksim dead would the kidnappings stop? If they did, she had no idea what she'd do with the rest of her life.
“Every creature on this planet has a purpose,” Isabelle scolded, breaking Dalia from her musings.
“Do you know what I am?” She was afraid to ask, dreading the change in her mother’s opinion of her.
Isabelle cupped her cheek. “I know that you’re my daughter and that's all that matters. Everything else will come out with the wash. Drink all of that and rest. I will wake you up before dawn arrives.”
That last statement confirmed to Dalia her mother's knowledge. A weight she'd not realized existed, lifted from her shoulders. An odd calm descended allowing Dalia to drift easily into sleep.
***
ZAHRA LOUNGED on the bed in the room she shared with her husband. The safe house they set up in South Carolina was a mansion with seventeen bedrooms. It used to be a plantation; the sprawling acres were perfect for warriors who needed the space as an outlet.
When she and Fynn married, Zahra claimed a suite of rooms well away from the others. She wanted their privacy. Living in a house full of shape shifters, privacy was a hard thing to come by. Their powers along with their hearing and sense of smell made it nearly impossible to hide her moods.
She reflected on the changes in her life. A year and a half ago she was a simple accountant, today, an oracle of a tribe and responsible for bringing said tribe, back together. A heavy load most days, Zahra appreciated the simple moments where she could just sit and watch T.V.
The door to her room slammed opened and Zahra sighed.
There went her relaxing evening.
The power of the Ijoye preceded him in the room, her husband's power trailing behind.
“Zahra, why did you not tell us the one Bron hunts is Ajo.” Bakari, the Ijoye, was irritated. Hell, when wasn't he irritated with her?
She arched her eyebrow at his tone and turned back to the television.
“You can’t possibly mean for Bron to bring her into this safe house.”
“You guys gossip like a bunch of women,” she muttered under her breath.
“I'm not letting an Ajo anywhere near you!” Fynn insisted.
Zahra rolled her eyes at her husband’s tone. He was possessive and no amount of training would get rid of his protective streak. “I didn’t tell you guys because I knew you would do this.” She threw her arms in the air in exasperation. “I knew you would come at me huffing and puffing and there's nothing I can do about it. Bron will bring back the álà-írín and that is Dalia.”
“The álà-írín is Ajo?” Bakari reeled from the news, taking a step back in shock.
“It’s too dangerous. I won't allow it.” Flynn flexed his jaw. He was grinding his teeth, a sure sign of his anger.
“Not allow it?” Was he kidding? “All the oracles raise your hand.” She raised her hand and made a show of looking around the room to see if any other hands went up.
Bakari’s eyes were storm clouds, lightning flashing in his onyx gaze. “This is not a joke, Zahra. The Ajo are dangerous and we cannot in good conscience allow one into our safe house.”
Zahra sighed. “I'm not joking Bakari. I can only do what the goddess instructs me to do. Dalia is the álà-írín and she's needed to complete the cycle. No amount of shouting will change that fact.”
Bakari stormed from the room and slammed the door. Zahra flinched at the sound. She and Bakari were still getting used to each other. The Ijoye had been in charge of his warriors for over five hundred years. Adjusting to sharing the decision making with Zahra required a learning curve. They didn't argue often but when they did it usually ended this way. Either he stormed out or she did. Poor Fynn usually got caught between the two of them.
“I'm sorry for that last comment sweetheart” She lifted from the bed to walk over to him. “It was unnecessary. You guys just get so…”
“He-mannish,” Fynn supplied, grabbing her close. He leaned down and kissed his wife. His tongue invaded and claimed her.
Zahra moaned and wrapped her hands around his neck. “Yes. Trust me Fynn, I promise to be careful,” she whispered against his lips.
Fynn lifted his head and stared down at Zahra, his eyes hot and possessive. “I trust you, mi ôkàn, I don't trust this Ajo and until I do, you will go nowhere near her.”
Zahra suppressed a sigh and decided to try a different tactic. She ran her hands down his chest. “That’s what you’re here for, baby.” Her southern accent dragged the words out slow as molasses. His body warmed under her palm. Her lips traced his shoulder.
“You are supposed to protect me.” She bit him.
Fynn flinched and Zahra felt him harden against her stomach.
“That’s not fair, mi okan,” he complained lifting her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist. He moved his head to allow her access as she licked her way up his neck to his ear.
“I trust you to protect me, Fynn,” she whispered in a dulcet tone, licking the outer edge of his ear.
&n
bsp; “You are my world, Zahra, you can't expect me to sit back and allow you to put yourself in danger.” His arms tightened as he walked her to their bed. His words lacked the conviction from earlier as Zahra moved her hand down to cup his erection.
“Then keep me out of danger.” Zahra ended their argument with a kiss.
***
NALA SAT CONTEMPLATIVE in the big leather chair her lover spent so much of his time in. A sardonic smile twisted her lips as she ran her hand over the supple leather of the arms. She wondered if he would appreciate the changes she'd made to his estate. The once cold mansion on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia was redone to reflect her roots. Rare art from Nigeria hung on the walls in the hallway and littered the tables all over the mansion. Nala’s eyes narrowed as she stared at one across from where she sat. The wood from the bust gleamed, its eyes mocking.
“How long will we watch them?” Bitterness infused Lev's voice.
It was to be expected she supposed, after all, she did kill his master. Her eyes never left the bust and for a moment she simply ignored the interruption. She smiled when the silence stretched. Nala retrained Lev well. It had taken a while of course, but a few beatings later he knew never to ask her anything twice.
She detested nagging.
“Until she leads us to the oracle.” She cursed Dalia. The wounds the little bitch inflicted stung, the skin around the deep scratches tight as they healed. Her cheekbones still throbbed though the bruises had already faded. If nothing else Nala would make sure she paid for ripping her favorite Chanel pantsuit. That would have to wait of course until after she got what she wanted. Practicality trumped revenge… for now anyway.
“How are you so sure the oracle will contact her?” Lev asked.
“You've read the book same as I, the álà-írín has always been in Dalia’s family. She's the oldest female in her family. It has to be her, and soon the oracle will have to contact her. She can't put the tribe back together without the álà-írín.” Nala explained
A Destiny Revealed Page 4