Blood Stained Tranquility

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  “And when that thing is dead?”

  “You find another. And another. I know you’re a peace loving male and all that, but there are things in this Universe that do deserve to be punished.”

  The truth of Vedlyl’s words hit Zeniel with a blast of red-hot, furious clarity. It roused Mavrak and had him banging against Zen’s skull, each hit echoed by a roar and a name. Actually, a whole lot of names.

  “Hmm. Your demon likes that idea, doesn’t he?”

  “Do not fucking taunt me.” The world spun, and Zen’s grid began to change, shifting from the emotional spectrum and straight into the kaleidoscope-merry-go-round of sins. He barely managed to about-face right before Vedlyl’s past slammed into his processors. “Just have Cyake bring me the damned bindings.”

  Chapter 4

  Zen dematerialized into the upper level of the compound and straight into his room. There, he slammed the huge double doors closed so hard that cracks spread out onto the doorframe. His hands were shaking. Looking down at them, Zen watched violent tremors begin to spread through the rest of his body.

  Unlike the cracks he’d left in the wall, they were not going to resolve themselves. The roars were awakening, burning at the back of his head. He leaned his forehead against the doors and dug his fingers into his hair, pulling on it and gnashing his teeth.

  He wouldn’t even be able to leave the dimension unless he calmed down somehow.

  Ignore it. Ignore it, he told himself in vain. Images clashed together in his mind, emerging and reemerging. It was a punishing movie that consisted of his sudden hunger for Evesse, his knowledge of her past, and her infuriating, but intriguing personality. She’d driven him insane while awake. She was still managing to do so even though she was in a coma.

  More than anything, he couldn’t let go of her past.

  Do it. Punish.

  Zen growled, trying to push back Mavrak’s voice. No.

  Do it! You know where to find the soul.

  No! Zen yelled in his mind again, turning and sliding down to the floor with his back against the doors.

  He rocked back and forth, trying to fight the voice inside him that was clamoring for vengeance.

  Lucifer wouldn’t fight you. Not if you go with Crius. We know this. Get the soul. Punish him for what he did!

  Sweat broke out along Zen’s skin, almost as if his body was trying to rid him of the toxicity spreading through his veins. He stumbled to his feet, nearly falling into a side table next to the wall. The statue on it was one of the first Buddha—Siddhartha—when he had been young. Zeniel managed to catch it, refusing to let a likeness of someone he’d once considered a close friend break apart. He righted the statue, making sure it was steady, before stumbling backward away from the table.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the holographic image on the other table, the one of his mother Persicutis. He looked away, not needing the ache that image caused.

  She was another not avenged; another vengeance that you did not take. Let me out. I will avenge Mother. I will avenge our female.

  “You will then move on to the rest of the world, killing them all in your hunger.”

  It’ll stop the pain. They deserve to be punished!

  “By the Gods, no.”

  The roaring in his head got louder and a red haze started to overcome his vision. Zen knew it was only a matter of time. If he didn’t manage to calm down, even Mavrak’s voice would be lost behind the haze. It burned like acid as it grew stronger. The accompanying sound would become like a high-frequency vibration leaking into the crevices of his mind until he was scorched and pain turned to despair. Despair would then turn to anger.

  Anger to agony.

  At that point, only one thing would ease the agony. He would have to seek the vengeance his powers demanded. Once he gave in, the pain would recede for a little while. Then it would begin again and he would give in to the urge to continue punishing just to escape it.

  Over and over again, until there was barely anything left. Just like before.

  The boy. Somehow, he still remembered the boy who had died under his stare thousands of years ago. And he hadn’t been the only one.

  Zen’s energy level spiked, making it impossible for him to breathe. Stumbling, he nearly fell into his bathroom. He turned on his shower, leaving the water the coldest it could go. He ripped off his leather jacket and didn’t even bother to dematerialize the rest. His T-shirt, jeans, and boots went with him as he tripped into the huge shower and let the frigid water blast him.

  Trembling, barely hanging on, Zeniel slid to the floor of the shower and pulled at his nearly loose hair. As the minutes passed, and the haze in his mind receded a little, one thing became clear to him. He could still feel Evesse.

  He could still taste her breath in his mouth.

  The memory of Eve’s scent slashed through his body with all the power of a meteor colliding into a planet. She smelled positively delicious. Flowery, spicy, and mouthwatering.

  “Fucking hell.”

  He arched against the shower wall, his head falling back and momentarily cracking it. His lower abdominals ached, the fire there competing with the burn in his head. He was bombarded by near-freezing water on four sides, but it wasn’t helping jack shit. The corners of his vision remained red, the color pulsating in time with his heartbeat. The pain in his abdomen spread.

  He was too far gone to even be ashamed.

  “This is bullshit,” he growled under his breath, forcing himself to stand and dematerialize his clothes.

  The moment his jeans disappeared, his dick bounced up before settling straight away from his body—one long, throbbing pole of pain. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, his balls drew in tight. The air was enough to make him jerk and throb, the cold water doing nothing to ease the pressure.

  He let his head fall back, another growl rolling out of his throat. His fists clenched. He was desperate to grab himself, to give himself the pleasure he hadn’t had in forever. It’d been aeons. Zeniel lived the life of a monk compared to most beings of his species. He was a god and a war demon—a creature made to fuck.

  Yet, he hadn’t wanted to. Not really. He jerked off when the urge hit him, but he had rarely touched an actual female since awakening as Zeniel. He would go centuries without another’s touch. It had always felt wrong to him afterward, even though he had never known why.

  Now . . . now he knew.

  Now he craved.

  Fuck, Eve’s breasts had been luscious in that tank top, begging for his touch. She was a torment and a tease, luring him in without mercy. His dick throbbed, making it clear what it wanted. Apparently, it was fed up with being tempted to the point of madness and was throwing in the towel.

  Zen was dangerously close to doing the same; to admitting defeat and flashing into Eve’s bed so he could fist her hair, drag her mouth back to his, and taste her tongue. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t be awake; she would be at his mercy. She would feel every depraved thing he wanted to do to her.

  The mere thought was enough to send him into a lather.

  He knew exactly where he would start, too. Fuck, he could almost see her spread for him, feel her clit between his lips, throbbing under his tongue.

  The tip of his dick wept, another large drop of pre-cum slowly sliding out. He watched it fall, jaw clenched and hips rotating softly, out of control. He ached, that was the raw truth.

  A porno Cy had forced on him almost a decade ago came back to him. His sadistic mind warped it, replacing the female with Evesse, and the thought of her on her knees before him had his hand shooting down to fist his shaft. He didn’t fight it. His head fell back and he moaned lowly, arching into the movement and thrusting.

  His thumb skimmed softly across one pounding vein. He hissed, imagining it was Eve’s tongue. Would she close her eyes in rapture, or stare brazenly up at him as she laved his cock? Better yet, what would she look like as she straddled and rode him?

  “Shit. Fuck . . . Evesse.”<
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  His knees trembled. The muscles in his lower body shook with strain, his ass cheeks tensed with the effort of holding him steady. He flexed his hips and fucked his fist. The hold he had on his dick became brutal and, ah gods, it was amazing. Pleasure spiraled through his groin, pulsing.

  “Fuck . . .”

  A groan scraped its way out of his throat as he imagined Eve bouncing on his shaft with sheer abandon. And she would. He fucking knew she would. She would writhe on his cock until she milked every last drop out of him.

  “Evesse. Oh, shit!” His orgasm blasted straight out of his sack, hitting him unaware. His shaft expanded painfully with each wave of seed that shot out of him, and Zeniel collapsed into the wall. “Take me. Take all of it.”

  He rambled and grunted as he fucked his fist hard, his body pumping into the release even as his mind jumped in several different directions. Razor-sharp, the pleasure burned through him like addicting fire. He curled into himself, Evesse’s name leaving him like a prayer amidst all the sensation.

  His body kept on at it, spurting thick jets of his cum from his tip. His mind pictured Evesse soaking up every bit of it.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered harshly, convulsing so hard that he heard the marble floor cracking beneath him.

  He told his hand to stop. The fucker tightened around his dick instead, and three rough strokes sent another mini-orgasm coursing through him.

  “Holy shit.” What the fuck was that?

  His mind went blissfully blank. His needs—Mavrak’s needs—they were all met, and peace followed the rush of relief that washed over him.

  Contentment. Nirvana. Enlightenment.

  Each was about reaching a state of ultimate peace. He’d reached them all in his existence, even if temporarily. But none compared to the way he felt at this moment.

  Zeniel heaved, his heart sputtering in a way it never had. Each breath became a necessity, and for the first time in his existence, he felt as a human might feel while having a heart attack. His heart seemed to stop on his next breath and Zeniel lost feeling everywhere. Nearly hyperventilating, he collapsed the rest of the way onto the floor. Water cascaded over him, around him, as he called on millennia of training and tried to get his diaphragm in order.

  A cough punched through him. He sputtered, water hitting the back of his throat. Minutes passed with him sprawled on the shower floor, his eyes unblinking and frozen on the ceiling. He was seriously tempted to let the serenity lull him to sleep.

  When he finally blinked, however, he finally felt the cold water leaking into his eyes. The mild irritation was enough to bring some life back into him. He willed the water off, and had just found his way off the floor when Cyake’s voice boomed through the bathroom door.

  “You ordered something, big guy?”

  Great.

  Cy’s words were innocent enough, but his tone dripped with sarcasm. Zen didn’t want to deal with that shit. He flashed to his feet. His equilibrium disagreed with the move though, and threatened to abandon him entirely. He growled under his breath, annoyed when the world continued to spin.

  Cy stood outside the door, leaning against the wall. He held out what looked like nothing more than a wound-up, thin silk ribbon.

  “Ask, and ye shall receive.”

  Zen lifted his head. The moment he locked eyes with Cyake, Mavrak roared back to life, clawing frantically at the tenuous control Zen had found only moments ago. Hissing, he averted his eyes and clenched them shut.

  “Give them to me.” He held his hand out blindly. “Give them to me and leave, now.”

  He felt the binding slide into his hand.

  “Maybe you should just let him punish me. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

  “Shut the hell up. The Fates wanted me like this. Not you.”

  “And I opened my mouth and let it happen.”

  “Not by choice. Now shut. The. Hell. Up,” Zen growled, turning to head back into his room.

  “I’m telling you, you should let him. Illion knows I’ve done my fair share of fucked up things over the centuries, and Karma has yet to punish me for any of it. I’ve always wondered why, actually.”

  Zen paused. Cy’s words tempted him, almost as much as they tempted Mavrak.

  It’s because someone else has been getting punished in your place.

  He couldn’t tell Cyake that though, doing so would be a crueler punishment than any physical agony he could ever subject him to.

  Eyes clenched, he changed the subject. “I’m heading to Hell to see your brother and I’m taking Crius with me. Stay in contact.”

  With that, he dematerialized, making sure he took his armor and weapons with him.

  Chapter 5

  Five years ago.

  114th Precinct, Astoria, NY. (USA)

  She’ll understand. She has to understand. He went too far this time. I had no choice.

  Eve flexed her stiff hands, feeling the dried blood on them crack. She hadn’t even been allowed to wash it yet. She’d been examined, her photos had been taken, and her cheek had been swabbed for DNA. But they hadn’t let her wash and change.

  She’d been lead straight into interrogation after they’d “examined” her. The blood—his blood—was still all over her, tainting her insides it seemed, and leaving behind a stubborn, indelible stain that would never wash out. The scent of it was going to haunt her forever. She continued to stifle her breathing, keeping it as shallow as possible.

  Where’s Mom? I’m sure they’ve reached her by now. Why isn’t she here?

  Stone-gray slabs stared back at her silently. A dull throb danced all over her head and face, trying to get her attention. Her eye was swollen and hot. The corners of her vision remained black. The quiet surrounding her wasn’t merely taunting her. Oh, no. It whispered that her mother was going to abandon Eve, just as she’d done to her older brother.

  At the thought of Alexis, cold slashed through her, the kind that violated her bones and left her shaking. Her teeth clacked together. She moved to hug herself, then remembered that she was covered in blood. God, she felt so sick. So dirty. So . . . afraid.

  She wanted her mom. At the same time, she wished someone would her let wash and change beforehand. It was bad enough that Eve had to look at her mother and explain what her stepfather had tried to do, and how she had killed him in self-defense. But was she really going to have to do it while covered in his blood and wearing her torn up pajamas?

  Oh God.

  Bile rose and when she went to clap her hand over her mouth—her blood caked hand—the urge to throw up made her body heave.

  She adored him. She’s going to hate you.

  No. Her mom had loved her husband, but she’d also been aware of his perverted behavior toward Eve. It’d been going on for years; the hungry looks, the suggestive comments, the stalking, and the smorgasbord of lewd, fucked-up acts. He’d never touched her as a young child, but Evesse had known he’d wanted her sexually before she was even old enough to know what that really meant.

  Her mother knew it, too. Not only had Eve told her many times, her stepfather had been disgustingly blunt when it came to his interest in her.

  Mom knew. She didn’t care, remember? She made excuses for him because she loved him so much.

  But this time was going to be different. Right?

  Eve had come to terms with her mother’s obsessive and irrational love for that man. So much so that Evesse had tried to put up with her stepfather’s attentions in order to keep things peaceful for her mother. In the last year, Eve had let that soulless bastard begin to touch her in ways she would never forget. And yes, her mom was aware of this, too.

  Tonight, however, had been different.

  Her stepfather had come home drunk and furious over God knew what. Eve had known the moment he barged into her room that his desires had veered into darker territory. She had felt the blackness of his emotions in the air and had been right.

  He wasn’t going to be content with just tou
ching that time around. He was determined to take what he considered his—her virginity. The memory of how he had climbed on her bed and ripped the covers off her was like being dunked in ice. Tremors broke out everywhere and her adrenaline spiked.

  She wanted to call out for someone. Why had they left her alone for so long? There was a two-way mirror right in front of her. She had already caught her reflection. Had seen her drawn, beaten face and the blood caked on her skin. She refused to look again, but wondered if someone was back there watching her break down. Were they studying her? Getting some sick thrill out of seeing her suffering?

  A tiny voice, one she’d become acquainted with over the last year, whispered that she should have just let him have her. Where had fighting him gotten her? What had it gotten her?

  She had considered lying back passively as her stepdad crawled over her. Another voice, though—this one louder and stronger—had roared to life inside her at the critical moment. It screamed to her that her virginity wasn’t his, and had demanded she find a way to stop him. She remembered how rage took over and she lashed out, desperate to get off the bed and away from him. He took her struggles seriously only once she had clawed strips of skin off his face.

  Other than that, she didn’t remember how she’d gotten out from under him, only that she’d made it to the other side of the room before he tackled her from behind. They bumped into her computer table, knocking over a small, blue vase. The sound of glass breaking and her desperate gasps for air reached her ears. He was choking her. She reached out, frantic, not even aware of what she was searching for.

  Her vision was almost gone, darkness shrinking in from the sides, when she felt the shard in her hand, slicing the skin. She felt no pain, but blood gushed between her fingers.

  A heavy fist smashed into her left eye, her skull vibrating with the blow. Her hand tightened around the shard. A broken cough sounded out of her throat. His legs trapped hers, and his fingers pulled on her sleeping pants, dragging them down.

  Her vision shut down. Her racing heart sputtered. Fear shrieked like a banshee, flying through her nervous system. Her hand shot up, her body moving on autopilot. Her fist flew at his throat. Contact. A gurgled gasp reached her. The hand around her throat slackened. Enough air rushed back in for her sight to return.