Pure Destiny

by Aja James

  “Ishtar, Benjamin and I happened to be near. My instincts told me to bring him. His presence seems to calm you.”

  It did indeed.

  None of them understood it, but everyone noticed how Benji could soothe Sophia’s inner demon whenever it reared its ugly head. It was true when a group of them traveled to the Middle East over the summer, and it was true when they first brought Dalair back to the Shield.

  Benji was somehow her antidote. But it didn’t lessen Sophia’s fear for his safety, the safety of the rest of the Shield and the city at large.

  “I’m like your lamby blanket,” Benji chirped, grinning wide.

  Sophia felt the corners of her own lips lift in response. The boy was simply irresistible. Her favorite little human in the world.

  “Lamby blanket?” she echoed.

  “You know, my baby blanket that I still have and sleep with. It always makes me feel better.”

  This was said without reservation or embarrassment. Any other eight-year-old might have long since given up anything that reminded others of their baby stage, but Benji retained his purity and innocence, while often exuding the insight and wisdom of a very old soul.

  Sophia prayed he would always be this way. He embodied everything good, bright and joyful in the world.

  “You mean the ratty one that used to be white and fluffy and is now gray and frayed? The one you drag around on the floor and wipe your nose on?” she teased, feeling unaccountably light, her physical strength returning.

  Benji made a face at her.

  “I still love it. And it still makes me happy. Just because something is a little worn doesn’t mean it lost its value.”

  Said the eight-year-old going on eighty. Or Eight thousand.

  But then he added, “And just so we’re clear, I’d prefer that you didn’t drag me around the floor and wipe your nose on me. But I wouldn’t mind being squeezed. I have an infinite supply of hugs and kisses.”

  Sophia chuckled and beckoned, “C’mere, you. I have your squeeze right here.”

  Obediently, he allowed her to enfold him in her arms and hug him tight, and he clung to her waist like a barnacle.

  Benji and Ishtar gave the best hugs, especially when his grandmother (Sophia’s mind still boggled at the idea) took her elderly, plump Estelle Martin form.

  “Dinner will wait,” Valerius spoke up in his low, rumbling voice.

  Sophia hadn’t even noticed when Rain left her side to join her Mate. The tiny healer now stood slightly beside, slightly in front of, her warrior. Though he didn’t touch her, it was apparent to all from the stance of their bodies that he protected her and gave her his strength.

  The resonance and magnetism of Eternal Mates.

  Ishtar and Tal were the same. Though physically separate, Sophia, through her Gift, could see the colors of their souls melding together, blazing brighter, vibrating with beautiful layers of colors that weren’t present individually.

  It was…downright erotic, actually. As if their souls were making love, feeding off each other, while their physical selves remained distinct and separate.

  “Sophia?”

  Rain’s prompt alerted Sophia that she hadn’t been paying attention, too distracted by her observations.

  She even blushed to witness something so intimate. Thankfully, no one else saw what she could see.

  “I’m sorry, what—”

  “Eveline is here,” Valerius said. Likely repeated, since Sophia had been staring like a voyeur at the mating of souls.

  Strangely, she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps she never bothered to really look. Was this a new development in her Gift? If so, she didn’t understand its significance.

  No time to dwell on it. It wasn’t every day that the undeclared Consort of the Dark King Ramses came to visit, not since she made her home with her male at the Cove. But more importantly, Sophia missed her friend.

  For all intents and purposes, Eveline was still the Pure Ones’ Seer and Scribe, though she also took on the informal role of the Dark Ones’ Keeper. She was a very busy lady, and every visit was a treat.

  “Business or pleasure?” Sophia asked.

  “Both, it seems,” Valerius answered.

  “Then have her come picnic with us in here,” Sophia said, turning to Benji. “Do you have enough food in that wagon?”

  “I’ll bring more for you,” Ishtar said. “The cinnamon rolls should be ready by now.”

  “You’re the best, Mama Bear!” Benjamin boomed.

  With that, Ishtar and Tal left together, presumably to have their own dinner and put the final touches on dessert.

  Ishtar owned an all-things shop called Dark Dreams in the Russian district of Brooklyn. Now that she and Tal lived at the Shield in downtown Manhattan, the shop was temporarily closed. But she still kept up her baking to feed the inhabitants of the Shield and to deliver batches to the Little Flower Orphanage near the shop.

  And Tal kept up his wood work when he had a moment to spare. However, he spent most of his time training with the other Elite warriors and Chevaliers, having assumed the position of the General of the Pure Ones once more. The role he took millennia ago when he led their armies to victory against the Dark Ones in the Great War.

  It seemed, in many ways, that history had come full circle. Sophia couldn’t help the shiver of apprehension that trickled down her spine at the thought.

  Valerius and Rain exchanged a communication between them wordlessly, after which the Protector departed the enclosure in smooth, long-legged strides.

  Shortly, he escorted Eveline Marceau into the healing enclosure, along with a rolling cart laden with fragrant, fresh-out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls from Ishtar. After another silent exchange with his Mate, the warrior shut the double doors behind him, leaving Sophia, Eveline, Rain and Benji with the comatose Paladin.

  “When Rain sent word, I came as soon as I could.”

  Eveline came forth, taking Sophia’s hands in both her own. She squeezed the younger woman’s fingers briefly before releasing Sophia. No lengthy hugs from Eveline. Sophia had never known her to be a demonstrably affectionate woman.

  Though, during her recent visits to the Shield, ever since she struck her… arrangement …with the Dark King, Eveline seemed to have thawed somewhat emotionally. The Seer of the Pure Ones never used to show many emotions, in fact. Hardly any.

  Sophia had been in awe of her great intellect ever since she was a girl. Moreover, there was something else about Eveline that Sophia could never put her finger on. The colors of her soul sometimes threw up fiery sparks, like sparklers in the night on Independence Day.

  The women and Benjamin moved as one to surround the padded table upon which the Paladin rested.

  He had gained some color, the grayish tone of death having receded. But he was still unhealthily pale despite the natural honeyed hue of his skin.

  Sophia was relieved to see that he no longer bore the marks of his wounds externally, not even the stains of fading bruises. Her…union with him must have helped. But that knowledge still did not take away her guilt.

  The truth was that she’d used him as much as he’d used her. She couldn’t stop herself if her life had depended on it.

  “I suppose you’ve tried everything within the realm of Pure and human medicine,” Eveline said to Rain, looking away from the Paladin as if the sight of his helplessness pained her.

  The healer nodded. “I also conferred with Jade right from the beginning. She tried to inject vampire venom into his veins to help accelerate his healing when he was brought in, but his body viciously rejected it. She also tried to send her healing energy into him, but that failed as well.”

  Sophia recalled the way Dalair had contorted in a violent seizure, white foam bubbling from his mouth, blood leaking from his ears and nose. They knew immediately that his body would reject any foreign substance or influence. A vampire’s venom was the most natural and organic serum to bind with his blood. If even that couldn’t be absorbed, nothi
ng else would be.

  “By the way, Ava is working on this in the labs at Columbia University,” Eveline said.

  “Are the blood samples I gave you enough?” Rain asked.

  “For now. Ava will let us know as soon as she has anything. But his body is recovering, at least,” Eveline noted, glancing at the Paladin again.

  “If only we knew how to fix the rest of him.”

  “That’s why you’re here, my friend,” Rain murmured. “Perhaps you can find something, clues maybe, in the Zodiac Scrolls or Prophesies, that describe the separation of body and soul. Perhaps there are other ways to bring him back.”

  “Ooohh,” Benji gushed in a loud whisper, reminding the women of his presence, “that sounds so cool! It reminds me of the stories Ere told me on our trip to Egypt, Sophie. The ones about mummies and gods and resurrection. Is that what we’ll try on your friend? Are we going to cast spells from the Book of the Dead?”

  Rain and Eveline shook their heads at Benjamin bemusedly, indulgently.

  But his words triggered Sophia’s thoughts like a soft breeze reigniting the dying embers of a camp fire.

  Perhaps the ingenious little boy was on to something, after all.

  Chapter Four

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  The warrior blinked sleep-crusted eyes and tried to keep them open. He was fully aware this time, his brain having rebooted without glitches, his senses sharpening by the second.

  It was the same female that was with him before. The same female he always saw, even in his dreams. Sometimes she took a different form, but he always knew it was her. He didn’t dwell on the different versions of her; he simply knew.

  “Do you think you can take in some light stew? Are you hungry?”

  On cue, the warrior’s concave stomach growled and groaned, protesting its emptiness. He couldn’t recall the last time he ate.

  But then, food never mattered much. It was a way to keep up his strength, nothing more. Where he was kept by the Master, he was fed regularly, and he always efficiently devoured what he was given within minutes of receiving it.

  They all did. The other soldiers in the Master’s stalls, kept like animals in cages. Fed, watered, and taken out when the Master wanted to use them.

  He didn’t bother to answer the female’s question. She would feed him or she would not. His body was weak. Starving. And he was still bound to a flatbed. Still half broken.

  He wasn’t programmed to ask for things. Not for himself. He only received and carried out orders. This female was not his Master. She was irrelevant.

  Involuntarily, his gaze stayed riveted on her face. His eyes narrowed in assessment.

  No, not entirely irrelevant.

  She sighed and muttered, “You know, you’ve always been the epitome of the strong, silent type, Dalair, but this is taking it to the next level.”

  He heard something in her tone, but he couldn’t decipher the emotion. He sifted through the catalogue of “feelings” in his program that might describe it.

  Chagrin? Affection? Exasperation?

  Perhaps a mix of all of the above. Not that he understood what the words really meant even if his mind could use them as labels.

  What he did know was that he needed to rebuild his strength. Food was essential. And that other thing…when she touched him and took him inside her body.

  In order to complete his mission, he needed both.

  “Feed me,” he rasped through his chalk-dry throat, his voice scraping across the tissues like sandpaper.

  Her eyes widened at his words, and she froze. But only for a moment. Shortly, she pressed a button at his side, and the bed began to fold, raising his upper body until he sat at a sixty-degree angle.

  “Some water first?” she offered, her voice soft and husky.

  He liked the sound of her voice, he realized.

  Liked.

  The warrior couldn’t recall the last time he felt preference for anything. He wasn’t programmed to prefer.

  To feel.

  He gave a slight nod, holding her gaze.

  Immediately, she brought a glass of water to his mouth and helped him drink half of it down in three large gulps.

  “That’s enough for now,” she said. “Your stomach isn’t used to taking in so much. I don’t want it to rebel. I’ll give you more later, okay? Just tell me when you’re thirsty.”

  He liked her face, he realized next. Not because it was beautiful, though its relative symmetry equated to beauty by most standards.

  He liked it because of the expressions she wore when she looked at him. The feelings reflected in her eyes that made them glisten. The way her mouth softened when she wanted him.

  He shifted his hands as much as the bindings around his wrists and forearms would allow. His fingers tingled with the need to touch her.

  “You look hungry,” she whispered, her eyes big and warm as she stared into his.

  Yes, for food, he thought. But also for the other. He was already hard and aching beneath the covering across his lap.

  “Feed me,” he repeated with a tinge of impatience, though he didn’t understand why.

  He wasn’t on a timetable. He had orders to carry out, and now that his mind was fully functional again, he was clear about what he had to do. He would methodically go about getting it done. Impatience didn’t factor in.

  And yet, the tension building within his body couldn’t be suppressed or denied.

  Need her. Need her. Need her.

  She went to a nearby table where a number of dishes were laid out, ladled something in a large bowl and came back to sit beside him on the bed.

  “Beef stew,” she said, “the meat is really tender. I think you’ll like it.”

  He had taste buds, and like his other senses, his taste was hyper-developed too. But he wasn’t programmed to “like” food. It was all the same to him if it provided the nutrients his body needed.

  She began to feed him with a soup spoon, giving him the perfect mouthful every time.

  “Soft boiled eggs,” she murmured in an apparent non sequitur, “that’s the way you like them cooked. Just like me and Val. You like lamb meat most out of all the meats, spiced with garlic, cumin, nutmeg and cloves.”

  His mouth watered as she spoke. The beef stew was satisfying, but the lamb she described made him even hungrier.

  “I’ll ask Mama Bear to make some. I’d make some myself, but I’m afraid cooking has never been and probably never will be my forte. I’m not sure what exactly my forte is, besides mass destruction or inspiration…”

  She trailed off with a shrug and brought another spoonful to his mouth.

  “I guess I’m good with languages, but Eveline is a genius with them. I can now defend myself in combat, but I’m certainly never going to be warrior-class.”

  Her eyes lit up suddenly with a thought.

  “Hey, I know! I’m great at horseback riding. Maybe not in this body, but when I used to be Kira, I beat you in a race. Do you remember?”

  Yes, the shard of memory was in his brain, but he didn’t see the significance of it. Why would it be worth mentioning? It was simply something that happened a very long time ago. In another life.

  “Well, I sort of cheated,” she said with a twist of her full lips.

  It filled her face with mischief.

  “Your stallion was the faster horse by far, the beautiful beast. But he couldn’t resist the temptation of my mare, which is really not my fault. So, technically, I still won.”

  She paused in feeding him, the soup spoon suspended between them.

  “Do you remember, Dalair?”

  He did. But he didn’t want to.

  A part of his consciousness or subconsciousness tried to bury these memories every time they surfaced. They weren’t relevant to his mission. They didn’t help him carry out his orders. All they did was cause confusion and…

  Pain.

  A conflagration of agony exploded through his body, making the warrior blan
che and gasp, his eyes involuntarily squeezing shut, his jaws clenching tight.

  “What is it, Dalair? Are you—”

  “No more,” he rasped out, prying his eyes open a sliver to spear her with his pain-filled gaze.

  She put the almost empty bowl away and stopped talking.

  Good. She understood him. He was no longer hungry, and he didn’t want her to surface more memories.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands, his body tensing hard within its unyielding shackles.

  “Free me,” he ordered her in a deep, frayed growl.

  Her eyes glinted with something like regret.

  “I can’t do that, Dalair.”

  Why did she keep saying that name?

  It meant something when she said it. He was someone when she said it.

  He didn’t know why, but it bothered him. Every time she said his name, it was as if she was invoking some sort of power over him.

  He studied her closely, trying to find her weaknesses. If only he understood emotions, he could manipulate her better.

  But he was not at full capacity. His brain, though functioning, wasn’t completely in control. That tension that was building within him…it destabilized his program, making him divert energy he didn’t have to suppress it. Neutralize it.

  Even so, he knew enough to bargain, “You care for me. You want to fuck me. Free me. I will give you what you want.”

  She recoiled as if he’d struck her, even as an acidic pain bloomed in the region of his chest as he said the words.

  He didn’t want her to fuck him.

  He didn’t want her to use him.

  He wanted…

  No. He didn’t want anything. He wasn’t programmed to want.

  He needed her close to get stronger.

  But she was backing away from him, her expression between wounded and horrified.

  “Sophia,” he said, knowing that, somehow, his use of her name held power over her too.

  She stopped retreating just as he intended, gazing at him with something like helplessness.

  “Don’t go.”

  He’d said it because his body needed her to get stronger, but some forgotten part of him, a ghost that wasn’t really there, whispered that he wanted her to stay for a different reason.