Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (3 page)

Revolted, she turned from him, recalling the rumors she’d heard. Until two years ago, Carreon’s father had been in charge. An ambush ended that while the man had been in bed with two of his mistresses. Bullets from assault rifles riddled all three bodies, tearing away parts of their heads and limbs. Although their hearts still beat for a time, the resulting injuries were so extensive only a miracle, not her or her father’s power, would have been able to repair them.

Some said Carreon had ordered the attack. A few claimed he was one of the assassins. As with the other parts of his past, Liz had learned about his father’s murder too late, along with all of his other lies.

With startling speed, she wondered if it were actually Neekoma she’d be healing tonight.

What if it wasn’t? How would she know? She’d heard of the man but had never seen him, had no idea how he looked or even a remote indication of his age. Like Carreon, Zeke Neekoma allowed no one to photograph him, preferring to keep a low profile that ensured the success of his attacks.

Leaving the city limits, the Escalade barreled through the desert in a northeasterly direction, toward White Sands, Alamogordo, Roswell. A route Liz knew well. Miles before all three locations was Carreon’s hidden estate.

Gusts swept past the Organ Mountains, feeding the giant blades of a wind farm’s generators before buffeting the vehicle. Liz clutched the leather seat, knowing what to expect during this ride. Within minutes, the SUV jounced as its tires finally left the pavement and hit an unimproved surface road carved through an especially barren area.

Nearly invisible during the day, at this hour the path kept the curious or foolish from exploring. Trenches and strategically placed rocks littered the perilous route. With each mile, the rocks grew in size, with some reaching the circumference and height of golf carts. Now fully night, threads of moonlight created ominous shadows, sparkling off cacti, the other scruffy vegetation and patches of gray.

More rocks? Human bones?

Liz didn’t want to know.

Beneath the night’s gauzy light, some kind of creature—dark and unknown—skittered out of one trench, then paused at another, perhaps waiting for them to pass, watching as they did.

Pebbles hit the Escalade’s undercarriage, their rat-a-tat-tat resembling gunfire. The driver negotiated another series of boulders, causing his occupants to jerk left, then right. With the path unobstructed for the moment, he cleared his throat. Carreon yawned.

Liz stared. In the distance, a faint flash of gold peeked from between a series of cottonwood trees and tamarisk. Hidden from all but the most observant, invisible to those on the highways and surface roads, the illumination came from Carreon’s mansion.

Built hacienda style, the two-story structure boasted an abundance of muted decorative lights. They glistened against the blackened sky, trying to reach beyond the building’s perimeters to the unforgiving land.

Liz wondered in which of those fifty or so rooms Carreon had imprisoned her father. That was, if he was still there.

The Escalade reached a particularly rough path. Her shoulder smacked into Carreon’s. He didn’t react. At length, the ride smoothed out, the tires whistling over the stately drive. On either side, fir trees, squat palms, countless shrubs and startling white flowers flanked the cinnamon-colored pavers. The mansion’s enormous brass doors shone beneath a set of amber lights housed in a fixture of southwestern design. Moths and other insects bobbed in the gentle glow.

They exited the vehicle. With his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, Carreon directed Liz past the mansion’s entrance and through the arched sections of the foyer, so dense with feathery vegetation it had the damp smell of the tropics. Wrought-iron chandeliers rained faint light on the gurgling fountain situated beneath a dome of Tiffany glass. Against the reddish walls, heavy Spanish furniture gleamed dully, their bulky forms recorded on the polished Mexican paver floors.

Carreon pulled Liz to the stairway and took the steps two at a time, expecting her to keep up. Breathless, she tripped near the top, striking her ankle against the filigreed rail.

Shit, shit, shit.
White-hot pain shot from the bone to her calf.

Carreon glared at her, then looked past at the first floor, twenty feet below. His expression said he’d push her over the rail, making certain she died if she gave him any trouble.

Liz breathed sharply at the continuing pain. “If you kill me, there won’t be anyone to heal your men. No way will my father help you, especially if I’m dead.”

At her defiance, Carreon’s expression turned ugly. “And how would he know? Do you think I’d tell him?”

Liz’s body went hot then cold with fear. She pushed it back. “You wouldn’t have to. He’d see the truth on your face. You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”

“Then I suppose it’s best I keep you alive.” He yanked Liz upward, ignoring her pained gasp, hurrying her to the landing.

Down the hall they went. Ivory wall sconces provided a gentle glow. Here, as in the foyer, hulking furniture and potted plants abounded, their green tint appearing even more delicate against the contrasting crimson walls.

Door after door marched up each side, all closed. Liz ignored each as they passed, too ashamed to recall the men who’d taken her in those rooms, the salty taste of their cocks sliding over her tongue, the pressure of their organs stretching her cunt and anus, the sting of their belts on her uplifted ass. Decadent games Carreon introduced. Ones Liz discovered she enjoyed, as long as she had Carreon’s love.

He honored it by betraying her. From the beginning, he and his men had lied about her father.

With an equal measure of fury and grief, Liz wondered if she’d get a chance to see her father tonight. Holding her breath, she hoped to hear him calling for her. That he sensed she was here.

Only the slap of her and Carreon’s shoes echoed on the stone floor in the otherwise silent hall. This wing of the mansion appeared deserted, his men somewhere else, perhaps nearer the building’s entrance to protect it from attack. Unless that wasn’t a worry any longer, given that he’d captured Neekoma.

If that were the truth.

With long strides, Carreon turned down a hall to the right, then one on the left. At a noise from behind, Liz glanced over, seeing the young men from the drive here. Wearing determined expressions, they caught up to her and Carreon. Tonight, they’d watch as his other lieutenants had in the past.

The thought should have disturbed but didn’t. Numb with concern over her father, Liz moved without conscious thought.

Abruptly, Carreon halted in front of a set of double doors, lowered the ornate silver handles, then gestured her inside.

Her ankle started throbbing again. Her mouth went dry. She stepped into the spacious room and stopped, staring at the man Carreon claimed was Zeke Neekoma.

Chapter Two

Naked, he lay in the center of the king-sized bed. His breaths were quiet, his eyes closed, legs sprawled, one arm draped over his head as though he was sleeping.

The bullet holes in his muscular left pec contradicted that notion.

Forcing down a swallow, Liz pulled her attention from his wounds—three perfect black circles—to his face.

Her lips parted on a quiet sigh. Rarely had she seen a man wear such a look of serenity. So unlike the terror she’d witnessed on Carreon’s features or those of his men when they’d been so close to death.

Zeke Neekoma was different. The words boyish and innocent came to mind, which Liz dismissed quickly.

Looking to be in his early thirties, he was no boy. Nor was he innocent. His size, surely six-three, his sharp, masculine features and powerful form were perfect for battle against men and carnal sin with women.

Heat suffused Liz, making her limbs feel heavy and weak. She recalled what Carreon and his men had told her about Zeke, no doubt a mixture of truth and lies. Not knowing which was which, she regarded his sinewy legs, long cock and weighty balls as she moved deeper into the dimly lit room. Spanish-style lamps created pools of honeyed light, giving the space a sacred feel one might experience in a church. The cherry-wood four-poster dominated the sparsely furnished chamber, while a series of leather wing chairs—reserved for observers—circled the bed.

The man who’d been guarding Zeke left the room. Carreon and his men went to their seats, their weight causing the chairs’ legs to scrape against the polished hardwood floor.

For one foolish moment, Liz thought the intrusive noise would cause Zeke to open his eyes and lose his blissful expression. That he’d ask why they’d pulled him from such blessed rest and what appeared to be happiness.

This man didn’t want to be healed. Liz knew it in her soul; saw it in the upward curve of his beautiful mouth. Was he the same as her father, tired of fighting? Or was he welcoming the end so he could reunite with someone he’d loved?

His parents and siblings, perhaps…or a wife.

Liz studied his cock, its root nestled in a bush of black curls, his testicles lightly furred with short, dark hairs. Ones many women had surely licked, tasted, enjoyed, given his rough good looks and virile form.

Images rose in Liz’s mind. She pictured him standing before her, his size and manner imposing but not threatening, allowing genuine arousal, not feigned obedience, to guide the act. On her knees at his feet, she’d tend to him, cradling his sac in her palm, allowing its wrinkled skin to rest against her birthmark that proved she had the healing gift.

Would he sense the spark of energy her touch generated? Would he pull her power into himself?

If he did, Liz knew how she’d respond, parting her lips to deliver pleasure, drawing her tongue down his cock’s base to its plump head, tracing the prominent veins that snaked over the thick column, tasting its faint saltiness. Within her caress, his rod would lengthen and harden. Gratified at what she’d accomplished, she’d inhale deeply, filling herself with his musk, indulging in its unique fragrance as she licked his crown. Silky beyond expectation, the succulent flesh would fill her mouth as she coaxed him inside, opening her throat so he could slide into her, as deep as a man could go.

He’d struggle against release as most men did, but her mouth and tongue would work him as her cunt never could. On an unrestrained growl, he’d climax, and she’d accept his thick, salty come, delighting in it.

A new rush of warmth stung Liz’s chest, traveling to her belly and sheath. A pulse ticked deep within.

Disturbed by the sensation and her aching loneliness—the need for a powerful yet good man at her side—Liz recalled what Carreon’s lieutenants had claimed the first night she’d come here.

“He’ll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted.”

If that was the truth, then Zeke was no different from Carreon, who hunted the weakest, eliminating them first. Once more, she examined Zeke’s face, lingering on his mouth. Instead of a sneer or a smirk, she imagined him smiling at her, his grin honest, reaching his eyes, his wanting of her obvious and—

Stop it.

What was the matter with her, indulging in a romantic fantasy when she was well aware of their people’s conflict and unending hatred for each other? Even if Zeke wasn’t a murdering psychopath, he wasn’t likely to be stirred by a woman from an enemy clan. So why was he affecting her like this? Was it a power he had…or something else. Perhaps the truth as to who he really was?

Ignoring her persistent longing, Liz replaced it with a healthy dose of distrust. “This is Zeke Neekoma?”

“You sound surprised,” Carreon said. “Why?”

Because Carreon was a lying prick, and Zeke didn’t look like the monster he’d warned her about. Not that that was certifiable proof of anything except her own gullibility. After all, she hadn’t seen the devil in Carreon’s handsome face until she’d doomed herself.

Turning from Zeke, she asked, “When did this happen?”

Carreon’s expression remained stony, telling her he wasn’t about to answer.

Fuck that. “Did he come here? Did you send for him, telling him you wanted to negotiate a settlement?” The same lie his men had used to dupe her into saving him. “Did you ambush him, Carreon?”

With his elbows on the arms of his chair, he tented his fingers and gave her a patient smile, as artificial as his loyalty and love. “Did I ambush him?” he repeated. He grew thoughtful as though considering the matter. “I suppose you might say that, though it didn’t happen here.

“My men intercepted—or rather they ambushed him—a short distance from your office.” His expression became sharp and focused. “For the last few hours, he’s been stalking you.”

Liz stared, unable to believe it, not wanting to. However, something inside her wasn’t so certain, causing the room to spin. She curled her fingers around the bedpost to steady herself. Blood continued to drain from her face, a slight chill replacing its previous warmth. “Why?”

Carreon tapped the tips of his fingers against each other as he spoke. “To kill you, Liz, so you wouldn’t be able to heal my men. Surely, you realize how your death would make Neekoma’s life so much easier.” He lifted his shoulders. “We stopped him from that.”

She tried to imagine Zeke tracking her as an animal would, biding his time until he could take her down. She wanted to see evil in him.