Retribution, Devotion (12 page)

The brief meeting with Sanna, the Royal Eldress, and the rest of the house, minus Khamun and Marco, was still playing in his mind. He jettisoned one hand in the air and watched as he hit his goal. It was a clean sweep. Ball met net. It glided smoothly into the basket then bounced back to him only to end up taken by the newest member of the team. Lenox rolled his broad shoulders. His chest heaved in and out. His pectorals and well-defined abs constricted in exhaustion. Sweat ran down his broad bronze back, which accented the Polynesian tribal tattoos and Celtic weaving angel wings inked into his flesh.

Down the middle of his spine were biblical verse numbers and the Templar's creed: “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.” The script was written in Celtic, Kemetian, and Polynesian script, and was indicative of his past cultures and his current heritage. A large hand ran over his close fresh low-cropped hair. It used to be thick, curling black hair that fell around his shoulders but once he, Khamun, and Marco decided to walk away from Society to start their own thing he had cut it in a symbolic release and eventually grew it back to where it curled around his neck. Now with this second transition, he decided to cut it again. Thanks to this beating heat, he was thankful for the decision. He tugged at his oversized basketball shorts, which hung low on his hips, revealing his defined hip lines while crouching low.

Behind him were his teammates flanking him and slick talking while he watched his opposing players.

“Hey, bruv, you're always spitting that splange but you need to worry about your wack defense.”

Lenox inwardly chuckled at the bass-dropping Barbadian and slight British-fused accent behind him. He didn't have time for the slick talking around him, though he was laughing his ass off about it. His concern was about keeping the ball in his hands. His icy gaze could read every move his opponent was about to make, from the way his opponent shifted left then right on his feet, repeating the motion again. Yeah, young blood was about to try to take him. A flash of a smile had Lenox move to the side then turn to dogged Take, who tried to block him from heading after Darren. Amit slipped by. Nox passed him the ball.

“Make the hit, my man, I have you! They won't foul you up trust me!” Lenox roared, ducking under reaching hands. He moved his feet quickly to make it back on his side of the court.

The new blood in the house was uplifting. It meant that their team was growing and could establish a strong base within Society. He needed this. Needed this change and needed these people to focus on. He had worked hard to provide his best friends and Region Princes of Society a place they could comfortably maintain. He had done it for himself to honor not only his family but also all of the outcasts of Society.

At thirty-three and the eldest of the House, he had ended up doing that and more. It blew his mind at all that he and his family had created in such a short time span. What was short in the Nephilim world was almost eons in the human world. Sadly for him, his Prophet-gifted human parents, with whom he had traveled the world to collect the history of the Nephilim race, hadn't lived long enough to see what their only son had done. But, that was another story saved for another time.

This new generation of Disciples would come to understand the way the house worked. They would learn exactly what it took to establish what his brothers and he had almost missed out on creating. Lenox's mind returned to the present. He leaped in the air to snatch the ball Amit had thrown him, allowing him to turn and make a jump shot, a clean win, and victory. Now he could relax and stop showing the new blood what he could bring to the table on the court. They had other things to focus on. It was time for them to head to the training center to learn more about their new culture, while he had to get back to the office and return to his routine life.

“Now that we beat your asses, you both need to hit up the training simulations back at the compound,” he joked, heading to the side of the court to pick up his water bottle.

They were outside in the sizzling heat of Chicago on the South Side, which demons always frequented. It was a great place to train newbies whose minds were now open to seeing who were humans, verses humans living with Cursed demons within them. The same went for humans who were Gargoyle-class entities, like Kyo and Ryo. The streets were thick with both breeds. Where they were playing, bullets were known to fly and demons loved to hunt.

“Beat our asses? Hey, Take, he said that they beat our asses. Did they beat our asses, bro?”

Take grabbed a towel with a deep laugh. His head shook left and right, sweat flying like rain around them. “Naw. I don't recall it that way. Almost beat our ass, maybe. But actually put a foot in it? Nope, never.”

Dare flashed a dimpled smirk. His amber skin, now a toffee brown from the sun's caress upon his body, gave a hint of an ethereal glow while he tugged at his Nike shorts. Dare dropped into a squat. His forearms rested on his knees although his large hands moved in the air as he continued slick talking.

Sweat dripped onto the concrete near his feet with his laughter. “That's what I thought. I do believe the brotha is trying to persuade the court in falseness and punk-ass hating label-ism, am I wrong, my man?”

“Label-ism?” Amit questioned. His gray-green pupils were lit up by the sunlight. His Nike-clad feet were planted on the court's ground as he sat with his wrists on his knees. A wet towel flew in the air from his hands, landing against Dare back as he gripped his side laughing hard.

“What, damn? Fa'sho, man, label-ism. I made it up. Sounds good, roll with me damn,” Dare joked.

Take's voice bellowed out in a rich laugh filtering around the fellow men. He ran a hand down his wet face. “You would be correct, bro. This poor man suffers from delusions of grandeur.”

Lenox pushed up from his place near the bleachers and held his own laughter in while he held up his iPad. Images flashed on the screen showing the men, playing ball. Each shot, some dunks from Lenox paying homage to Jordan, flashed by with frozen screenshots of Take, Amit, and Dare standing baffled, played for both men.

“Like I said, I beat that ass. If you were pretty enough and born women, I'd say I rearranged that ass, and owned that ass. Tatted my name on that ass,” Lenox mocked.

He gave his new brother-in-arms a chuckle with a casual shrug. “But because you both are family now, I think I'll say that anyway. This old man learned you today. Ball is my sport, had a full ride for being so good, thought you two knew that.”

“Damn!” Amit yelled out instigating. His shoulders shook within his contained laugh.

Bag thrown over his shirt-clad shoulder, Lenox leaned forward to clap hands with Amit, shaking their hands up and down then separating with a fist bump. He coolly strolled to the other two men who watched him in appreciation to give them quick fist bumps. “Speak with you both back at the compound; hit up your twin, Dare, and I will set up sending her here ASAP.”

“Okay, man, I appreciate that. We both do,” Dare said.

Lenox heard Take grumble at Dare's joke. “Damn, I forgot to ask about how this mind syncing shit works. Yo, I'm not trying to be connected to my sis while she and Khamun . . . you know. But everyone else's females, besides fam, are fair game if you feel me. I'm competitive.”

Nox chuckled. Taking out a bright red apple, he flipped in the air then took a bite as he disappeared in the sunlight. In his mind, he hoped that one day the House would bring Englewood back to its safe and former magnificence. Until then his team and the other Houses would continue to watch the streets.

An hour later, he sat at his office combing through case files over several clients he was working with. Various encoded messages from the cold bitch he had not one ounce of trust in his heart for, Winter, detailed where Cursed enclaves were located in the city and around the world. It also detailed whatever information about the Mad King, as she called him, she decided to share. The Dark Witch being their liaison was something he did not approve of. Not with the fact that at anytime she could use the lie that she only killed Light Nephilim to protect her mistresses for the greater good. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He was still riled up over the fact that she used that very same line again and had attacked Khamun.

He was sorry, but old school rules needed to apply in his opinion. “Know thy enemy and dispose of them the first damn chance you can get” was his own mantra and Winter's time was ticking away. Lenox exhaled glancing down at the papers. Yes, her work was impeccable; the detailed descriptions always came through. But, the fact that she lined each paper in light made him weary nonetheless; protecting his House and those true people dedicated to healing Society was what made it hard for him to silence his judgment about her.
Hell, she is the second right hand to the Dark Lady, the Princess of Hell!

The smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk softly filtered through the room, coaxing him to calm down and gain a level head again. He was into his emotions again, something he did not have time to indulge in. Templars always stayed focused and assessed all aspects of a war plan. He would deal with Winter later on his own time. The dark silver ring, representing his house/rank, nestled on his pinkie finger glinted in the light of his office as he pushed the missives to the side of his desk. Various degrees representing his levels of higher education with that of various plaques of his accolades in his career lay in perfect lines on the mahogany panel wall behind him.

Upon his massive handcrafted dark oak desk sat his nameplate with a picture of his parents in Hawaii. Next to it was an array of paperwork neatly piled before him, his computer monitor, and a potted olive branch. Beneath his desk were nestled his several arrays of guns, hand blades, an adjustable steel staff, and other tidbits. Not that he ever needed them unless a client was a traitorous phantom and he rarely exchanged business with them. All lay attached to his desk.

He leaned to the side to pull out his Society case files just to glance and double check the work he'd done for other Houses in Chicago and elsewhere in the country. He had just obtained a call about a rogue Disciple group hiding out in Chicago and living on the streets in Englewood with no leader or guidance. Luckily, for them, they were seeking the safety of his House and had not gone to Society for help. They were young and had heard about other rogue houses using the House of Dusk name, so to alert the Rouge Prince and his team of their existence they had decided to use the name as well.

Another smart move and another reason I need to get this firm international,
he concluded. Tapping his pen against his desk, his icy blue pupils narrowed while thinking about what to do with the kids outside of immediately putting them in a safe house. Lenox ran a hand over his scalp, borderline exasperated. Too much was on his plate. Not that he did not like it that way; he just had to think strategically about certain things right now. The main being the Oracle's rebirth, and Winter's pleas for future sanctuary.

Finances needed to be switched into royal audits, now that Sanna was going to marry his best friend soon. She would be a Region Princess, but to Society she would be this stranger, this fresh-blood newbie who wasn't even born full blooded. To them, she would be this nuisance, a threat to the many full-blooded daughters who wanted their hand at the rogue prince. A prince they hoped to make return to his rightful place, so that they may live off the perks. These “women,” and he used that term loosely, would taunt her. Then they would try to destroy her newly forming House, not realizing that she was Royal on principle of her Awakening.

Lenox gave an inward amused chuckle. He would love to be privy to seeing one of the many loathing socialites or their parents confront Sanna and truly find out who they were speaking with. The image of the crème de la crème of Society falling to their feet in shame for allowing pettiness, vindictive and greed-based behaviors to consume their so-called divine pedigree, amused him greatly. Especially since in actuality, they were acting worse than the “degenerate” half-breeds and full-blooded humans they shunned themselves. Of course, he would make sure to lay those facts out as officially and professionally as he could, with a smirk on his face the whole time, loving how their highbred faces shattered then cracked, falling to the floor to reveal the darkness that seeped within their shallow personage.

However, until then, he would be content doing what he did best, building up his practice and Society Houses around the globe. He could not deny that there was always a plan. Shifting his mind from his own demons, he pulled out a map and made a quick call. Atlanta didn't have a strong House presence down there. As of now, the houses supposedly taking care of the state were lost in their own dalliance of decadence and ostentation, as was becoming typical with many in Society now.

The Atlanta Society was too busy living out their lavish lives, sequestered in their segregated high-society communities, playing the philanthropists and trying to find ways to rub elbows with the rich, famous, and human old bloods. Their minds were nowhere thinking about the sudden reemergence of old world Cursed in the whole state, especially Atlanta. Khamun had requested him to set up a house down there years ago. He asked Lenox after getting a Denotation about Atlanta but various situations happened that kept pushing it back until it almost was forgotten.

“Time to get that ball rolling especially with the Oracle's baby sister living there,” Lenox murmured to himself.

His fingertips scrolled over a roster of names from a copy of Khamun's book. They had both had a private conversation about what it could mean and they both concluded that there were lost Elders roaming around the globe. Elders who may be able to help rebuild Society with Sanna before it became lost. Circling his finger around a smudged name that he couldn't make out, he waited for his contact to answer but a deep cough grabbed his attention. Quickly standing, he hung up his phone.