Retribution, Devotion (10 page)

Sanna placed his hand against her heart then laced their fingers together. “Cousin, yes, you did. You did not betray us. I can clearly tell you that. What you did had to happen for all of this to work in our benefit. You worked His command well and now you are on your path.”

He watched his cousin give a soft sigh then squeeze his hand. Her soft, brandy-colored eyes illuminated in wisdom and an almost motherly smile spread across her pretty, caramel features. “You know I'm learning from you all that when the Light and Dark are at war, sometimes the Gray can be your only salvation. You all taught me that well, especially Khamun, so don't worry please. I won't let you die, our Light will always prevail, but we have to move fast in order to answer all of your questions. We need Khamun's book. Can you bring that to me? Tell Ryo and Amit to come here with everyone else. Leave Marco and Khamun to themselves for now. They need to talk something out. I will get them later.”

San carefully gave him commands. He gave a respectful nod to let her know he had heard her while she continued, “I love you, Cal; you've been like a big brother to me, not just a cousin. We all love you and we will not let you fall. You did no wrong, Cal. And you're not going insane.”

She lunged forward to wrap her arms around him tight. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He felt her touch give him strength to work to heal the old hurts and confusion in his heart, “Oh, Calvin, your life . . . oh my goodness. Calvin.”

Kissing her temple, he muttered an old rhyme, a spirit song. Sanna's father, Unk Bishop, had taught him the simple poem as a kid. A song he now learned was actually a spirit-anchoring binding psalm. Old habits never died and he knew this psalm always calmed him and his cousins:

He felt her lean up to kiss his jaw with a soft, playful pat against his cheek. “Your reward will be great, cousin, and she . . .”

As San made way to tell him more, each word—Cal knew to listen closely, to Sanna, like keys to a clue—a knock at the door interrupted her. Dare walked in with Take following right behind him. Calvin couldn't lie to himself and say that he didn't feel disappointed in the moment. He was close to finding out more information about his past, about everything, but just as quick as it was coming, was as quick as it was interrupted.

“San, what were you going to say, baby?” Calvin had to ask.

His cousin just lovingly rubbed his hand, gently slid out of his hold then headed to a dresser, which had the book they had found weeks ago. Their unlikely ally, the Dark Lady's own Witch, gave the archaic, mechanical book to them thankfully. It previously only held blank pages, but thanks to Khamun's blood, a history about the lives of past Elders and Society was scribbled out for them to read or view through detailed drawings and ancient script.

Disappointment hit Calvin hard but he knew they would have a private chat again. Hopefully she would share more but until then it was time for work. It was now time to start getting the new team members in line with the rest of the team and come up with plans on how to protect innocents in Chicago and Nephilim Society.

He stood ready to go get the others but Sanna shook her head and held out her hand to stop him. “No, never mind; they are coming. I . . . I guess I called them on a mental link. Guess I'm figuring out this whole mind-syncing thing, I think?”

Dare chuckled then leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Yelling in my head like a banshee, big sis, is not figuring that out. Was taking a leak then you made me blow up the bathroom in a Mystic charge, no joke. Like you all might want to buy a new toilet and sink, and paint some things. Yeah, my bad?”

Calvin saw Sanna rolled her eyes then sit down with a laughing huff at her baby brother. She tilted her head to the side to glance Calvin's way with a playful wink. Her voice lilted to give a New Orleans twang while she spoke, “Bae-bayyyy, when I tell you . . .”

Calvin gave a heartfelt laugh at his cousin's playfulness. He glanced up at the arrival of Kyo and Ryo who seemed to be holding a private conversation walking through the door. Traces of remaining dust touched their hair and shoulders with that of a soft glow to their skin. Calvin could tell that Kyo and Ryo had just woken up from their slumber. He noticed Kyo shift to head straight away toward Sanna, plopping down to sit right next to her with a bright smile. Both women gave a quick giggle with a playful shove before hugging tightly then holding each other's hand.

He noticed that San was studying both Ryo's and Kyo's body language with a quiet, sensual reserve. Calvin also noticed Ryo's eyes seem to catch Kyo's in a private, inaudible conversation. A quick playful smile appeared across his face; then he rigidly moved while gripping his waist in pain next to the woman he loved, Kyo.

Young dude is lost in love,
Calvin mused in happiness for his god cousin.

Calvin could tell that Sanna was about to complain about Ryo's moving around with an open wound. But she was quickly distracted once Dare pushed his way through the room from his place against the wall. Her brother took two strides to drop down on the edge of San's bed with Take following suit but pausing to kiss the top of both Sanna's and Kyo's heads.

Good save,
Calvin inwardly mused. He smiled while processing the full scene before him. The newbies were fitting into the unit already, naturally, like breathing, he felt while Kali and Amit strolled in. Calvin scrutinized his little sister unlacing her fingers from Amit's then plopped down to sit on the other side of Sanna and Kyo.

Damn, the women are already taking sides,
Calvin regarded, before he felt a slap aside his head. He swiftly cradled his dome. Sucker stung and he swallowed hard with a turn to glare at San.

Lenox walked in next, dressed in a double-breasted pinstriped gray suit. He strolled in casually holding the arm of Eldress Neffer who was dressed in a royal purple wraparound sweater dress. Every male in the room stood in accordance. Both Dare and Take mimicked the others the moment they felt her strong aura.

Lenox glanced toward Sanna to give her a slight bow of respect with his head. He placed his fist over his heart before standing near the Eldress, acting as her shield while he announced her. “As protocol dictates, I present her Eminence Region Queen Eldress Neffer V'ance y A'lor of the Eastern, Southern, and Central Societies as well as the Co-ambassador to the African Continent.”

Eldress Neffer held her hands up with a light laugh at the joking tone in Lenox's voice. “Gentlemen, please sit. I came at the right time, I see.”

Her plush lips parted in a motherly smile. The power emitting from her five foot six inch curvy athletic frame commanded both respect and attention within the room as it softened into a mother's loving warmth. In her usual casual elegance, Neffer moved around the room in ease; her long burgundy-red locks swayed against her back. Stopping in front of his cousin, Eldress Neffer did something no one in Society had ever witnessed in generations, at least nothing he had ever witnessed. With flourished honor, she placed a natural manicured hand over her heart then gave the royal decree. In Society, this was a motion of grandeur, which consisted of a low curtsy to the floor.

Calvin noticed that the hem of her purple dress pooled around the Nephilim Queen while she addressed her future daughter-in-law, Sanna. “Oracle Steele, it gives me honor to be in the presences of a living Throne. You bring us glorious honor and we have waited centuries for your rebirth and the return of our oracle line. On behalf of the House of A'lor forgive us for our line diminishing.”

Confusion flickered across his cousin's face. She rushed from the bed, her blanket flying everywhere. She urgently reached for Neffer, pulling her up with a hug. Locked in a tight embrace both women's eyes frosted over with power before returning to normal. San humbly responded, “Mrs. Cross, please stand, that's okay, you don't have to do that. I'm just me. Sanna. Please and it wasn't anyone's fault but the Dark for the orac . . . I mean our line, coming close to extinction. You did everything you could to hide those oracles you could find and you have kept everything in order. I should be bowing to you. I'm nothing special.”

San was wrong in Calvin's opinion, but he figured she'd learn that soon enough.

His mind was flickering over the events from the first time he ever laid eyes on the woman he loved. The woman who was his spiritual equal. A woman who was his spiritual wife and the foundation for his ragtag team of Nephilim Warriors. Deeply smiling, musing in his thoughts, Khamun scrambled eggs, chopped organic vegetables, found some smoked turkey, and sliced it while whispering prayers of cleansing over the food, and various cheeses. He never assumed that his birthright to watch her and act as her Guardian would turn into discovering that she was his mate. That she was an Oracle, a vessel with knowledge and power so deep that she would be the link of resurrecting a dying line within Nephilim Society.

He had his own role but he was still learning what that exactly was. From what he learned from her, he was a Sin Eater, an entity with the ability to take the sins from the Cursed, tainted humans, or any dark agent as his prey, feeding on them to return what was dark back to the light. That was where his fangs came into play as well as his need of Dark blood. He learned from her that he was a being as powerful as she was and that he, with his team, had a destiny to fulfill in saving Nephilim society as she, her siblings, and her Dragon gargoyle did. It was incredible. It was crazy as fuck but incredible. From all of this, his connection to Sanna was growing intense. Which made him wonder, exactly how linked was he to Sanna?

Talking with his mother was a must since she was no longer the last Oracle, but something in him screamed to read the book and talk with his father.

“Sup, man, how is she?” Marco inquired while lazily walking in. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and from the lit Trinity rolling between his fingers.

Trinities were cigarillos blended by three spices used by the Three Wise Men to heal, anoint, and calm others who needed benediction or when in prayer. Trinities were well known to be an immunity and vitality booster. It also calmed agitated gargoyles. However, the small brown cigarillo was still shunned in Nephilim Society by the pompous elitist houses who viewed them as drugs. Like it or not, Trinities could be found throughout Society and it was going nowhere.

Reaching for the offered smoke, Khamun studied his cousin. Marco was rigid with battle stress and withheld emotions. His hands kept opening then closing in constrained fury, hurt, and self-blame. His eyes held the silent question of if Sanna was okay.

Shit was hard to watch, so Khamun tried to ease his cousin's pain while he waited for him to open up and talk. It usually went like this when either of them was upset or needed to talk. The other always coaxed one to say whatever and speak their mind.

Passing the cigarillo back, he offered a lighthearted punch against Marco's shoulder. “She's resting, battle-worn and healing up fast.”

“Okay, primo, bro, I just wanted to make sure.” Marco paused. Silent questions of remorse flicked in his eyes.

“It's good. We did what we could, you know, on some real truth.” Khamun's voice softened in understanding and concern. “It's hard seeing your sister like that and not react how we did.”

“Man, forget that broad. Ella is my twin but fuck her life right now,” Marco retaliated.

There it was. Just that fast, anger and hurt lit into his cousin's eyes. Khamun knew why he was here; it was time for another talk, another rehash, more healing, and he was game. He saved the man who stood in front him. A guy he felt was a brother before a cousin as Marco felt the same for him. Saved him and kept his secret from the enemy and Nephilim Society.

Thinking back, Khamun inwardly recalled their very first meeting. He was a month away from being ten when he found his cousin: cold, wet, teeth clattering as if someone had a card attached to a bicycle wheel and was riding down a hill. Marco sat balled up, rocking, scared, dirty, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. Various scars and burn marks marred his skin while his body convulsed with a frosty vapor misting around him. His wide, frightened eyes flashed between silver then black every time he coughed.

Khamun had been with his father, learning the city as was necessary of a young Region Prince and future warrior. They were walking the streets when blood recognized blood due to Marco's blood singing to him like a beacon in the wind. The closer he got to him, the stronger Khamun's need to help him rang within his spirit, as well as the kick-start to his thirst, which scared him. His father had expressed to never leave his side while on the prowl. To alert him of anything felt dangerous during their tour of the city. But, the pull was too intense of a cry to ignore. Besides, the first law of his people every child learned was to “
do unto others, as thou would have done unto thyself
,” as the saying goes. So, he had to help however dangerous it was.

Evading his father was simple. He had learned early in life that he was good at blending into shadows, using the peripheral as a cloak. So, as his father spoke to a Nephilim family living in the Bronzeville area, Khamun simply stepped back into the peripheral, stalled his breath, and searched for the call. He knew it was wrong. Knew it was dangerous to be alone as a child running the streets of South Side Chicago, but he didn't care because he could hide himself well. He could make others forget he was even there and he would do so now if it meant helping whoever painfully called to him.

Inching closer, the hairs on his arms stood. Goose bumps traveled down his spine. It began to feel constricted around him, as if the alley were a living entity with its own life as it undulated around him. Legend had it that those born to be warriors in Society were born without fear or that they could mask it very well even at birth. For him, if suddenly felt that this task of his officially had kick-started that trait. Though his body sent him warnings, Khamun walked through unscathed, devoid of fear. Every wall in the alley seemed to reach out at him to claw at him while he cautiously moved forward. Sweat trickled down his burnished skin with the touch of a nearby wall before it snapped back, becoming saturated with fear of him.

A quiet smirk formed on his young face with his snicker. He didn't know why he laughed at the darkness becoming afraid of him; he was just a child but amused he was and he instantly wanted the darkness to run.

“Who are you?” Khamun unobtrusively questioned the cold darkness and the kid sputtered.

“Not you, dude.” He looked at the darkness while his nostrils flared.

“Who are you?” Khamun repeated, instinctively knowing what was surrounding him. The rancid stench of the darkness made his stomach clench at its metallic sour smell. “Cursed,” he muttered then looked at the kid. He noticed that the kid now stood from his fetal position. Then swiftly ran into him full on. The kid's pupils blazed dark. Blunt, small fangs descended, letting Khamun know that he was close to puberty and Khamun stepped out of the kid's way.

A sharp, jeweled blade appeared in the kid's hand slashing at the air. Trying to attack Khamun with a running leap against a wall, he used the wall for an advantage to hit Khamun with an air kick.

Laughing with merriment, Khamun sideswiped the kid with his hands behind his back. He moved left then right in that same stance before ducking, his short locks flying into his face. Khamun blocked each hit smoothly just like his father had taught him. He watched the kid use various types of martial arts that left him very impressed. This kid was expertly trained to kill but so was he.

“Dope,” Khamun replied. Respect briefly sparked in his amber eyes. He enjoyed a sparring partner almost as good as him, but something was off about this kid; he seemed sick, battered, and hurt. Sliding backward he frowned. His opponent surprised him by landing a front kick to his chest. With a strained grunt, he held his position waiting for the kid to get close to him again, which he did trying to move past him. Spiraling in a sharp turn, Khamun kneeled to overtake the kid's space in order to knock him off-balance. With a loud crack, Khamun glared down at the kid, flipping the dagger he had taken from the Cursed kid in his hand. His face contorted into a grimace then he flinched with a glance to ground.

Throwing the dagger into the darkness with horror, Khamun hissed, “Cursed blade!”

Suddenly wiping his hands frantically on his pants, he fumed then made ready to kick the kid in a tantrum but stopped in curiosity. This was his first time being truly alone, face to face with a Cursed Nephilim. He had studied them since birth as all children in his Society did and his father had left him in a room with a Cursed, bloodied, physically broken, and held down. He had to stay in that room all night while his father watched, just to become familiar with their presence. But a Cursed child he had never ever witnessed. He was told they couldn't procreate but here a Cursed child stood, which was crazy to him.

“Prince Marco?” a lenient yet hard edge voice wisped in the air. Startled the kid looked his way quickly, then at his own self as if reality was coming back. The kid's name was repeated in the air making Khamun notice that he flinched at being called again.

In that same moment, Khamun felt the alleyway tremble in agony. The strength of it caused him to almost fall backward when the kid zipped forward slicing at him then running past him again, this time pulling at the darkness. All Khamun could do was watch in earnest. Khamun had a strange feeling that the kid was being followed. Unknowingly, had he paid closer attention, he would have also seen a dead Cursed minion slowly turning into frozen intestinal slush behind the Dumpster the boy was nestled by.

Chasing on foot, Khamun trailed the boy while they both climbed over fences, moving like jaguar cubs in hunt. The neighborhood swallowed them the deeper they ran into the city. Khamun believed that he wasn't going to be able to catch up, but something powerful in him seemed to spark with the darkening skies, guiding him on. Skidding to a halt near an abandoned building, he caught his breath noticing the boy named Marco pausing, cautiously casting a glance. Marco pulled out a pair of fresh clothes, quickly slinking into them then straightened his walk. That woman's voice echoed again and he saw a magnificent lady step from the darkness.

She stood dressed in glowing barebacked golden draping. Gold asp bracelets adorned her toned arms. Gold twisted hoop earrings that rested on her shoulder gave off a glint due to a streetlight. The heels she wore let off a scent that it carried a poison that could kill his kind in a blink. Nevertheless, there was something about her appearance, something about her that seemed familiar. The way her thick dark wavy hair with a couple of twisted braids fell down her regal back, kissing her ample, firm, and plush rear made his young mind twist in confusion. The candy dark chocolate skin of hers, the sinewy way she moved, drew his attention. She was definitely Cursed, but . . .

The woman turned to gather Marco in her arms, his hand resting on her swollen belly and Khamun gasped. The moment the sound escaped his lips, he knew he had messed up. The woman swiftly turned glancing past him as if she could see him. Her kohl-lined irises glowed a liquid golden-saffron hue that matched his own golden like a panther in the night shrouded in awareness. Yet he sensed that she couldn't see his position.

Rigidly keeping his own eyes locked on her, Khamun couldn't believe what he saw for a moment. A shimmering tattoo swirled down the side of her neck, which was familiar to him. That insignia made him unconsciously began to step forward when the woman's pupils pulsed with a power that held him back in force. He sharply heard her urgently speak to him without words within his mind:
“Step back, nephew. Do not breach the line. You hid yourself well but your sound let, me track you.”

For the first and only time in his young life fear locked on to him. This Cursed woman called him nephew, knew he was there, and could mind sync with him.

Khamun acknowledged her in a trance. He couldn't stop himself. It seemed that the world had stopped and it was only them. The phrase she uttered he had learned only from his father and this woman knew it?

“My daughter, his sister, is too close to her father and I cannot bring her to you but my death will give her a protection she will later learn. Remember these words and tell them. I did not succumb to the darkness. I was strong in my torture and descent. I was the Light in the darkness. Tell them I love them and that they will bring me honor when they are adults. Tell your father, his sister was strong,”
she pleaded.

Khamun's mouth dropped. The woman moved her locks to the side and showed him the family mark. He never knew he had an aunt. This had to be some Cursed lies. It had to be and he had failed, failed in this test.

“I believed it, and then I ran. That was my error for not trusting in my family. My weakness, due to our Society's inability to accept change and indifference, became my fall. When I ran they abducted me. Violated me with the Dark Bite, and then took me to Miami. But I made up for my mistake for allowing them to make me think differently of myself. Don't you ever run! Honor us, and fight for us,”
she urgently demanded.