Damian's Oracle (10 page)

She ran from the mansion into the gardens and
towards the forest. Too weak to continue, she dropped to her knees.
Her scream was one of fury and frustration. She screamed until she
was hoarse, shaking in the chilled air.

“I guess he told you,” Han said and squatted
beside her. “You know, to our kind, it’s an honor to be blood bound
to someone like him.”

It should have been her instead of Jake!
Damian’s words swirled through her thoughts, along with the scent
of his blood. The thought of drinking from him made her sick, and
she pushed herself up to vomit.

“I want to die, Han,” she cried. “I can’t
live like this! I’m a monster!”

“You have no idea what he went through to
save you. Because of him, you’re alive, and you still have a soul.
If he didn’t bind you, you’d be bound to Czerno, and then you’d
really
want to kill yourself,” he said. “You’re bound to our
king, our god, our master. If anyone else saw you refuse him,
they’d kill you.”

“I’m human, Han,” she argued.

“Not any more. You’re one of us now.”

She threw up again, sick and weak.

“I won’t do it,” she swore.

“You have no choice, ikira.”

What’s done can’t be undone.

She wept, not objecting when Han lifted her
deftly and carried her back to her room.

My name is Darian. Help me.

She spent the better half of the next day too
depressed to leave her bed before forcing herself up and parking on
the patio in the sun, determined not to waste another day in the
dark. Darian- whoever he was - would drive her crazy if she didn’t
find a way to distract her thoughts. Han stayed with her, not
moving until two Guardians - a raven-haired man with a quick smile
and a brooding blond - approached. He stood and shook hands with
both of them.

“The winter’s better here than Europe, I
imagine,” he said with a smile. “This is Ikira Sofia.”

“Ikira, I’m honored,” the dark haired man
said with a bow and a thick Spanish accent. “I’m Grande.”

Han rolled his eyes.

“That would be a description of his ego and
nothing else,” the brooding blond said with a light French accent.
“I’m Pierre, Ikira.”

“Boring,” Grande said. “He skipped the class
on good nom de plumes.”

Pierre gave him a sidelong look at his
butchered French, and Sofia smiled despite herself.

“Grande and Pierre are joining us from our
European front. We rotate every twelve months or so,” Han
explained.

“Front? Like war front?” she asked.

“Fighting Czerno and his monsters.”

“Ikira, welcome,” Grande said.

“Thanks. Call me Sofia.”

“No,” Han said, leveling a look on them both.
“Dusty’s a stickler for titles.”

“Mi corazon,” Grande said, faking a wounded
look. Pierre punched him in the shoulder, and they walked towards
the garage.

“What is Ikira?” she asked, turning to
Han.

“Similar to my queen. You rank up near Damian
now.”

Her smile faded. The mention of him reminded
her of her cramped stomach and the half dozen failed attempts to
eat normal food.

“It’s a good thing,” Han said at her silence.
“He owns your ass. No one will mess with you.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“If you make it another day and a half,
you’ll win our bet,” he reminded her.

“Let me ask you something, Han,” she said,
facing him. “What am I supposed to be doing? If I’m not a financial
planner, should I be oracling or something?”

“Ask your master.”

“I knew you’d say that. And he’s not
my
master. I’m an American; we don’t have masters.”

“I will give you a piece of advice,” he said,
unaffected by her tirade. “And this isn’t because I want to win our
bet, but because you’re a proud person. Don’t wait until tomorrow
to go to him or you’ll crawl to him on your knees. No matter what
you think, you can’t live without his blood. You might as well make
it on your terms, ordering him to submit, rather than begging and
mauling him like an animal.”

“Wow,” she murmured. “You really want to win
our bet, don’t you?”

“You’re too smart to be so damn stubborn.
Jake lost his life saving you, Sofia, and you’re acting like a
fucking two-year old.”

And he walked away. Sofia watched him,
stunned by his rebuke. Her thoughts went to Jake, and she saddened.
He was right. He was always right, even when he told her to ask
Damian something he knew very well.

On her terms. If she had it her way, she’d
not do it at all. She’d never known hunger like this!

“It’s your fate,” she reminded herself.

How silly was an oracle who refused her own
destiny?! If for no other reason, she owed it to Jake to try. She
drew a deep breath and marched into the mansion. Damian was rarely
indoors during the day, and she hoped he wasn’t in his room when
she knocked. Her courage fled to see him framed in his doorway, as
seductive by day as he was by night.

He didn’t ask her why she came but stepped
aside and motioned her in. Sofia balled her fists and entered,
sweating at the thought of the ordeal ahead.

“I feel like some sort of animal,” she told
him.
But I want to live.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m scared, Damian,” she added.

“I know,” he said, holding out a hand to
her.

She took it, her insides quaking in
anticipation and hunger. He sat her down on the couch and sat down
across from her with the knife in hand. She closed her eyes, more
of his home videos playing through her mind.

“Stop,” he warned.

She opened her eyes. A flash of darkness went
through his gaze, and the same sense of hidden fury returned.

“You hate this.”

“I do, but not because of you,” he said.

“Someone hurt you? Was this during your dark
period?”

He froze for a moment then resumed.

“It was,” he confirmed.

She took the hint but wondered who had hurt
him so badly that he still bore a grudge thousands of years later.
He sliced his wrist, and her attention turned immediately to thick
liquid bubbling against his olive skin.

This isn’t right.

You’ll die without it.

She recoiled, pushing herself against the
couch. He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her.

She refused to move. He shifted his hand to
her neck and held her in place, placing his bloodied wrist against
her lips.

The scent, the taste was unlike anything she
ever experienced. Sofia licked her lips, the rich flavor as
ensnaring as his scent. She lapped once with the tip of her tongue,
tasting both the metallic, spicy blood and her tears. She opened
her mouth and drank from him, timidly at first then hungrily.
Damian hissed beside her, his grip on her neck tightening. She
withdrew, afraid to hurt him.

“Don’t stop,” he urged, his voice huskier,
lower. “Drink.”

She closed her eyes and drank. When she
pulled back at last, she sat in a daze, fulfilled and content yet
unable to shake the horror of what she’d done. Damian had turned
his face away and was clenching a thick knuckle between his
teeth.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, appalled.

“No,” he grated. “Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“You better go.”

Something in his voice compelled her to
hurry. Sofia fled to her room, amazed at how good she felt. She was
no longer hungry, and she felt energized, fulfilled.

Guilty.

How long could she live like this, drinking
someone else’s blood?

How long would he allow it?

It was still sooooo wrong!

How could slitting his wrist for her daily
not
hurt him?

She tried to sift through her emotions,
before she returned to his door. He opened it before she knocked,
dressed for sparring in his judo pants and nothing else. It took
every ounce of her willpower to keep from devouring his body with
her eyes.

“I wanted to make sure you’re ok,” she said.
“And … I’m ok, right?”

“We’re cool,” he said, pushing himself away
from the doorframe. “Whenever you’re hungry, you can come by.”

He was guarded again. She felt like the
morning after a drunk, one night stand. What did she say after the
most awkward experience of her life? The thought of his blood lit
her afire, almost as much as the sight of his bare chest.

What would sleeping with him while drinking
from him be like?

She backed away from his door, wondering how
that deviant thought emerged. Han eyed her as she hurried past him
towards the library. Dressed for sparring, he waited with Grande
and Pierre for Damian.

“You ok?” he asked.

“You always ask me that. If I’m not, you’ll
know,” she replied curtly.

“Very well, Ikira.”

She glared at him, sensing his amusement.
Damian trotted down the stairs. She didn’t look at him until his
back was to her on their way towards the door. As if feeling her
gaze on him, he paused at the door.

“If you ever want to try it, let me
know.”

“Try what? Sparring?”

Screwing and drinking.

His voice was as clear in her mind as if he
spoke the words. She sucked in a sharp breath, at once confused and
thrilled. Without looking at her, he strode through the doors into
the courtyard.

“I do
not
understand you,” she
whispered after him. His simple words turned her inside out, and
yet, what would
he
want with a woman like her? If he was
what Han claimed – king, lord, master of the entire damn universe –
wouldn’t he take the supermodel of his choice?

Target of opportunity. Maybe that’s what she
was.

Sofia shook her head. If she was an oracle,
she needed to learn to be one. She retreated to the study and began
to search the shelves for books on oracles. Many of the books
looked ancient with some were written in different languages. One
volume caught her attention.

Oracle, See thyself home.

She collected what she could find and perched
in a chair, reading until sundown, when the hunger pangs hit her
again. They were always worse at night, when Damian’s draw was
overwhelming. The thought of him without his shirt on, or better
yet, naked …

“No way in hell,” she breathed.

She gritted her teeth and forced her
attention to the stack of books, jotting down notes on her notepad.
There appeared to be no such thing as a do-it-yourself manual for
seeing the future, but the books had a few good - if bizarre -
anecdotal stories that gave her ideas. Armed with her notes, she
emerged from the library.

The mansion was quiet, and she roamed until
she found where everyone was. The men were at dinner, including
Damian. The scents of what looked like pizza night taunted her, and
she stood peering through the cracked door at the long dinner
table.

Bitterness slithered through her.

She was even different from
them.
Her
reading shed some insight, saying that when an Oracle died, she
could be brought back to life by a blood bond. There weren’t many
details, and she could only guess that this was not the normal
case, as some stories mentioned Oracles attending great feasts.

She watched the men eating happily around the
table and left the mansion for the gardens. A cold wind comforted
her as she sat alone. The moon was covered by clouds, and she
crumpled the notes she’d taken. Tears began to spill again, and she
began to understand how Darian felt, utterly alone and abandoned in
the corner of her mind.

“You should go inside,” Damian’s voice was
soft.

“I don’t belong there. I don’t belong
anywhere.”

“You belong here,” he said resolutely. “You
were forced into a transition without being prepared for it. I’m
sorry for that.”

“But are you sorry for what I am?”

“Not at all.”

He pried the notes from her hand.

“What is this?”

“I’m trying to learn to be an oracle. I read
a couple of books today.”

He studied it.

“There’s no dummies guide,” she added. “I
think I can teach myself how to keep from seeing deaths whenever I
touch someone.”

She sneaked a look at his face, surprised to
see the warm smile there as he read through her notes.

“Have you tried any of this?”

“No.”

“Try it.”

She took it back. She wanted to reach out to
him, but she was ashamed even to look at him. Would he soon grow
tired of her showing up at his door, demanding a meal?

“I don’t want to use you,” she voiced out
loud.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want to use you for … for your
blood. I don’t like being dependent on anyone. It’ll get old for
you one day.”

“It won’t.”

“How could it not? It’s just the way things
are,” she insisted. “I’m an addict. You’re the supplier. What if
you get a new job someday and stop selling drugs?”

“I never thought of it that way,” he
admitted, chuckling. “I am what I am, and you are what you are. I
don’t second guess that.”

“I’m not as confident as you. My existence
relies on you giving me blood. Sometimes I think you’d rather eat
me than talk to me.”

She hugged herself and faced him,
agitated.

“I don’t like being hungry and not being able
to go to the kitchen.”

“I understand.”

By the reserved note in his voice, he did. If
she closed her eyes, she would see the black memories crossing
through his mind, but she allowed him his privacy.

“I will never make you beg or deny you what
you need,” he said, gaze dark. “If you’re hungry, visit the
kitchen. I won’t say no.”

“I don’t want this.”

“It’s not your choice. You must learn to
trust me.”

Trust!

She almost laughed. Kidnapping, involuntary
resurrection - these were not the foundations trust was built
on!