Retribution, Devotion (4 page)

Calvin had taken over for a DJ he had persuaded into going on a break. A huge smile flashed across his face. He gripped the sides of his jacket, pulled it forward, and then whipped it backward as if he were Michael Jackson performing “Smooth Criminal.” One hand lifted in the air, cueing a bass-thumping interlude to his next track. Adjusting his Beat by Dre headphones on his head, Cal used his own Mystic power to jolt it into the Medusa all while pumping up the crowd to keep her off balance.

The Reaper used that moment to do what he always did best. He reached out to twist her heart cavity. A pumping activated against his palm causing him to flinch in angry perplexity. The feel of that unnatural pulse, suddenly coming from a creature such as her, made him push her away. An odd sensation hit him.

Strange crap was going on, because her body instantly lit up in thousands of tiny airy lights before fading away.

“Now that is interesting. It should be a husk in there and light should not be within you. Hmm.
Shit!
” Another blast of Witch fire hit him hard, causing him to turn his back to cover himself.

In that same moment, the Reaper felt Lenox come to his side. His brother-in-arms hunkered down near where he stood bent over coughing. His brother-in-arms locked his ice-blue gaze on him in concern. No words were needed between them. Nox's eyes glowed with an ethereal wisdom. His boy turned slightly to the side pointing his favorite silver Glocks. Two rounds let off toward Winter without breaking eye contact with the Reaper.

“Marco and Kali are with Sanna. Bro, she's breathing but barely and she needs you,” Nox said in warmth and concern.

“Do you see me working, man? I have shit to do here, bro. Let me handle mine. Let me get holy retribution!” the Reaper yelled in blind anger.

Lenox curtly nodded, then let his twin silver fighting sticks slide from the sleeves of his black leather jacket and hoodie. “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee, this is our Templar creed. As you wish, bro, but remember, I'm here to oversee and keep your objective. All right?”

The Reaper gave a curt nod in response.

“Indeed. Time to take down a witch. I'll catch you on the other side,” Nox said with a salute.

Khamun hated that he had to blast his boy like that, but he was in battle and he was working the Witch fire off him. The Reaper turned to observe a man whom he called his “Conscious” disappear in the dancing crowd to go after Winter.

Nox moved as if he were lighter than a feather. He flipped his fighting sticks in both hands and made contact with his prey. Each stick swung inward then impaled a demon through its chest. Appealingly satisfied with the sizzling and popping of its charring flesh, he regarded the area around him and saw a tall stereo amp. Climbing it, Nox kicked another demon that suddenly showed its true nature from its guise as a drunken college clubgoer and he tucked his sticks back within the sleeves of his hoodie.

A smile played around his chiseled face, one that had many women in the club gazing his way. He regarded Calvin and signaled with a tilt of his chin to repeat the track so that he could dance to the music. Nox moved his feet to the music and the tempo pumped faster. His footwork and hand movements distracted the demon. He bent low and lifted his body in the air on one hand. Lenox suavely balanced his muscled frame and used his other hand to pull out a gun from his harness. Blasts of a round of bullets ricocheted into the skull of the watching and reaching demon. Dropping into a back flip off the amp, the Reaper saw Nox run forward and chase after Winter while unaware that she shook the Dark Lady awake.

Simultaneously, Winter's head tilted to the side catching Lenox in her view. Her hand flung forward releasing several ebon currents Lenox's way. Her movements appeared calculated but Khamun soon realized it was erratic as to not hurt Nox. The woman, the Reaper knew to be the Dark Lady's personal healer and crafter of any form of dark mystic power pressed her well-manicured nails together and threw up a wall that flew toward Lenox.

Forever the skilled warrior Nox dodged each charge. Effectively he dropped into a roll, whipping out ninja stars. Winter averted each one with a dropping windmill. Quick as a sprite, she ducked behind a nearby bar, pushing a clueless human to the side. She lifted a hand and bottles went flying. While the music, persistently droned in the background, to the human eye, what Winter casted into the air seemed to be nothing but moving rave lights. But, Khamun and his team knew better.

Behind him, Calvin mixed and spun tunes that connected via an illuminating airwave to demons. The swirling illuminating threads ripped them in half, sending the demons' dark matter toward the Reaper's so that he may have fed and retched from his body. Prior, he had felt his body tiring out from the previous battle and his current chase. Now, the delectable taste of his enemy filled his palate and fueled his body. He was definitely thankful for the food. Movement made him cast an eye around the club. The Medusa, who now stood dazed, rested her good hand over her vibrating chest. The Reaper noticed that the Dark Lady now had a human attached to her mouth. Her plush lips were ruddy with blood and her steel irises glared at him before she threw the casualty to the side at the Medusa.

He knew she had grabbed the mortal, not just to feed, but to break the cloaking barrier that Calvin was crafting through his music to keep the people clueless. Now that she had brought the battle into the human world and to the attention of civilian Nephilim, he knew the club was going to erupt in chaos. As if on cue, chaos was exactly what occurred. Humans went running. Those civilian Nephilim, who could see everyone, before the humans could, tried to help however they could, but they were also too scared to be of any true help.

Random humans began to twist and contort into demons at the will of the Dark Lady. They moved in his team's ways as opponents and obstacles to distract them, but where there is Dark there is Light. He and his team saw a few brave humans step up, climbing over strewn tables, chairs, and debris to fight against the possessed zombie-like humans. Their auras and pupils shone bright with white Light, making them gifted with small strains of Nephilim DNA. They worked with the civilian Nephilims and pushed back whoever they could who got in Khamun and his team's way, making an opening for them to get through.

The Medusa venomously dropped down over the human to rip the heart out from the male's concaved chest with her tail. She gluttonously fed on it herself before casting a panicky glance his way. Yes, she knew he wasn't done with her or her mistress but while he pushed his way through the crowd it was Dr. Toure who caught his attention. The man calmly walked behind the Dark Lady and gripped her by her neck, bringing her down on his knee. The elder then stooped down to hover over her, whispering against her ear.

Whatever it was Dr. Toure whispered had the Dark Lady thrashing and screaming in the old tongue. The elder's eyes appeared to emit a source of potency that took the Reaper back. He could smell and taste old magic. No. The Reaper felt as if he was in the presence of an Old one and his father was the only Old one he knew, so he had to be tripping. Shockingly, when the Dark Lady went flying across the club without Dr. Toure laying a hand on her, the Reaper knew something was under the surface of the man he had once assumed was only a Guardian Disciple. Guardian Disciples were a group of immortal humans with no power, but who carried the angelic DNA strains of the Nephilim race.

“Your father ended my light but you will never have my child. Not in this life or the next. Now it's your turn to die,” the Reaper swore he heard the good doctor's accented booming voice say.

Those words and the conviction behind them had the Reaper thinking before it disappeared from his mind. It wasn't time to get invested into something else. Several long strides then a leap in the air had him chasing after the Dark Lady again. The Medusa battled to get to her mistress and Winter threw herself over the bar to kick Lenox to the side all while she slid across the bar surface.

The Reaper heard Winter whisper on a coded psychic link that she was sorry. She hopped off the bar, ran, and grabbed the Medusa by her uninjured hand. Both women sprinted in their heeled boots seeking out their Mistress and trying to catch up to her before he did.

The Reaper enjoyed that. “Run faster,” he purred, appearing at their side during their run. He then shifted to move behind them just to toy with them.

Winter pleaded with her eyes before pressing her wrists together. Her red hair returned to its dark hue, a jewel around her neck hummed then pulsed outward to cover the women in a shield. She dropped her head back chanting in the old dark tongue with various dialects fused into it.

The Reaper noticed her look his way while she pleaded. Her café au lait skin glowed like honey before paling into a ghostly sheen with her valor. Her words floated over him in a psychic mist:
“You can't, please understand. This is not just because she is my mistress. It's more to this then her being who she is. I can't explain yet and ears are listening, I must go ; forgive me, but I play the game to survive for you all.”

With that, he watched her dissolve into a miasmic mist leaving the club empty of all demons while humans stood shocked and Nephilim civilians appeared just as confused. One gaze at Dr. Toure made the Reaper uncertain again. The man was glancing around as if he didn't know why he was there. The doctor stepped over strewn equipment, bricks, and other items in the club then pulled out his medic bag to help those who were hurt in the fight. “I'm a doctor, please let me help.”

The Reaper didn't understand it and he didn't have time to question his Elder about what was really going on with the man. For now, he was pissed from this loss. Heads needed to be chopped off. Not only did his team suffer loss, but now some innocent human and Nephilim corpses lay strewn around the club floor. Their blood mixed with that of demon ash still floating in the wind. Fist connecting into a nearby wall had the Reaper sending a blast throughout the club making lights flicker off and on.

“Two shots to the head and a Hail Mary, then poof, bitch, you're dust! Next time, I got you!” the Reaper roared, pacing in a circle. His balled fist created a crater on its smooth surface. He stepped back then ran both of his large hands down his face with a deep exhale.

Lenox's presence at his side and deep mutter for him to remember that the fight wasn't over had him slightly annoyed but grateful. He gave his brother-in-arms a warrior's clasp before walking off frustrated. Too much information just happened in such a short span but, most importantly, his prey had gotten away. The Reaper clasped his hands over the back of his neck then inwardly cursed, “Wipe the innocents' minds and call in the cleaning crew to fix this bullshit. I'm out.”

Shit is cray,
flicked in the Reaper's mind. Exiting the club through the back alleyway, he took to the sky and sought out a place of solace within to ease his mind. His massive dark wings lifted him into the sky. He headed back to the rooftop for his soul mate whom he knew lay in a comatose state. He needed her to be okay, to be alive.

Her dreams were tormenting her. She remembered an incident back in college with a student whose death devastated the campus community and her. His name was Lance. No one could understand how he had been attacked, but now she knew the truth of it. Her beloved Khamun had been around her always, even that far back with Lance.

However, her spirit whispered that there was something more to that memory, whatever it was. Spasms of piercing agony ricocheted throughout her body. Each crescendo of pain pulsed, and slashed through her. She then saw sparked flickers of golden white light behind her closed eyelids that guided her to a new dream, a past life, and memory. Triggered impressions so crisp, so real, that if she reached out then she could feel, smell, and taste each action. It all played for her as if she were in a movie. Burning tightness clutched at her lungs and throat, causing her to seize. The sensory world she was in swallowed her with hits, making her recall how bad her migraines used to be. But this was more. This was pain from her mind, soul, heart, and body. This was knowledge and she rent the air with a scream as she saw her family fall around her.

Fury filled her spirit. It claimed her in its own righteous indignation when she saw the man who came to her only months before as her protector then later as her soul mate die in front of her.

This is not going down on my watch,
her mind screamed. But what could she really do?

Yes, she was still new to her role in all of this of understanding exactly what she could do. But from her time with her mate, the man she would go to the bowels of hell for, she innately knew that the power within her could feed him and vice versa. So she reached out pushing at the blinding pain. She cried in dismay at the images before her, shifting under her feet like quicksand.

What gave the impression of her standing in WWIII now shifted to an ancient battle reminiscent of Desert Storm but only in the deserts of Egypt. Men dressed in robes and women adorned in caftans flew in the air. Illuminating wings of various hues shined with a radiance so magnificent that it sparked calmness within her. A calmness that let her know they were on her side the moment they threw flames of holy fire at approaching monsters. Each monster resembled men and women with deteriorating dark wings of innumerable hues. Putrid entities that seemed to step out of the newest horror film fought back, throwing bolts of currents, willing shadows to shallow whatever got in their way.

Granules rained around her. Blasts of sand cloaked her while she watched in amazement. She noticed in that moment that she was dressed in rich burgundy red linen that draped around her in a robe caftan. Her feet were covered in soft yet durable sandals and her hair fell around her face in two strand braids, each roped braid adorned with jewelry. A throbbing marred her spine, causing her to press a hand against the small of her back. She had to figure out what it was, so she shifted to the side. When she moved, she noticed an idle plush soft iridescent feather that glittered like millions of diamond crystals laced together, resting at her feet.
No way.

She turned in shock then found herself staring into the face of a man so striking, yet graced with a rugged strength that it made her blink in astonishment. A small part of her mind noticed that he spoke to her without moving his mouth. In fact, she instinctively knew who he was, which was strange. Every book she read was wrong. He was not what she had been taught him to be. He was tall, dressed in white linen, was graced with a thin muscular build. The currents from his hands wrapped around each finger as if it were a glove, glowing and forming into the shape of twin blades of fire. This man with dark wooly dreaded hair, burnished oak-colored skin, and soul-knowing golden brown eyes cast an illuminating warm and welcoming smile upon her that made her fall in supplication onto her knees. Her tears cascaded down her face. A mound of sand was her friend because she sat lost for words staring at his brown sandaled feet.

There was a gentle touch of his hand on the crown of her head. It sent a surge of vivid clarity, healing balm, and vitality throughout every nerve, mitochondrion, and follicle of her body. This man was the true Sin Eater.

“Do not be troubled, you now understand why you and your blood are needed,”
she heard. It made her glance up then notice a male angel who flew over their head. He was cloaked in darkness, dressed as an Egyptian or Nubian King, but his menacing wings and eyes shined with holy righteousness. Something in her felt as if she knew him but her attention was drawn back to the radiant man before her. Her misting eyes averted to the ground in respect.

He spoke to her spirit again:
“Awaken my brother-inspirit. He has been asleep for far too long, as have you. Sister, heal the discord in my children. The Houses were born with reason. The battle is nigh and as you young people say, everything has happened for a reason. Go with peace and remember, as it was before, so shall it be again. I am pleased to see you awaken again.”

She had to try to memorize this all. She had to study his face one last time in honor but rubble suddenly spilled around them. Land quaked and angels fell from the skies like confetti. The words,
as it was before, so shall it be again,
echoed in her mind. Every syllable wrapped around her spirit covering her in protective covering. Armored gladiators and indigenous men and women came across her vision. Some of them were dressed in red, gold, and white robes and caftans with crosses linked together with other various religious symbols embroidered upon their armored garb. Those mighty men and women went head to head with similarly dressed humans, whose eyes flashed red, while others' faces revealed them to be demons in the flesh.

A man flew past her dressed in the same garb, his armor illuminated with holy indignation. A large battle-axe was nestled within his large hand. The silver glint of a second blade attached to his forearm made her mind click in déjà vu. Others ran past her with various advanced weapons, using gifts similar to the ones her new family had and she understood the history around her.

This was the founding of the Nephilim Society. This was the beginning. The second war. A woman with flowing two-strand braided midnight hair and wings that matched the feather Sanna held in her hands glanced her way. The magnificent woman clapped both of her hands to bury a pair of demons in the hot, arid sand. Determined, the angel jolted a surge of holy power into the earth illuminating it. Familiarity smashed through Sanna's body then jettisoned her back to her flickering reality.

Blood seeped from her lips. Pain raked through her making her clutch her stomach. She saw her spirit guide holding out several nails in his hands. Each rusted thimble looked to her like railroad nails but smaller and tinted in red blood, iridescent with power.

“You are holding on too long. Go with blessings, wisdom, and strength, stubborn one. We will meet again,”
he whispered.

She felt the gentle brush of his lips on the crown of her head. The gentle anointing sent a jolt of immaculate clarity and knowledge through her, this time grounding her. She was one. Her soul had been blocked for so long and it was so good to be awakened. A blessing to remember the truth of it all. Even it if took awhile to understand it.

It was good to know who she was again. Having been reborn into Nephilim flesh often complicated things. First off, it was always guaranteed that with each rebirth, the memories of the past life and original life would be blocked until the Priming came. However often it was, that didn't guarantee full past life knowledge in itself and many didn't gain vessel knowledge until they lived millennia. Therefore, she guessed that the fact that she was privy to some of her full memories at such a young age was a blessing and a warning that something was going to go down.

“Sanna!” bellowed from an unknown place close to her. Searing agony had her convulse upward making her sharply inhale with its pounding force. The sharp electric shout of her name had Sanna retch forward again. A scream tore from her; then she emptied her stomach. Her distress ripped through the air. She felt her vocal cords rattle and she clutched her stomach in tears. She was back in Chicago. Back on the high-rise of that, damn roof.
Oh my God, I'm back.

“Sanna! I'm here. Baby, I'm here,” she heard.

She almost asked, “Who?” as the last fragments of her once-blocked mind healed together with awaking awareness.

Warmth encompassed her. It surrounded her in the form of comforting, straining muscles. She tried to see his comforting cocoa rich face. The rugged, strong jaw of his that was home to a crisp, cut goatee. Lips plump and firm that always spread into a dazzling grin when she was near. Long, dark lashes the housed eyes the color of warm honey in the sun. With locks that fell in ropy, crinkled veils whenever he held her close. She wanted to see the man she dreamed about over a lifetime, but all she could do was feel her eyelids fight against opening.

The rich scent of her sweetheart helped steady her erratic breathing, as tears streamed down her face. In that particular moment, her body sucker-punched her again, making her flinch in pain.
Crap!
She felt like a piece of meat being ground into sausage and once again, her head throbbed but in a different way. It was something akin to a normal headache, something she could actually welcome.

“I still want that broad's head!”
crashed into her cerebrum. There was the congested sound of cars, rain, and city life clamoring around her. She seriously wanted to shake everyone and tell them all to give her a moment of peace, to stop shouting incessantly; but then that voice thick with a familiar New Yorker/New Orleans-fused deep timbre ricocheted around her, “I'm sorry, brah, but she fucked up when she went after my family! No harm but she committed a foul, ya feel me?”

Sure, she could feel him. It was so strong that she could feel him pulling at her skull just like everything around her. Silence was what she wanted to feel. Everyone around her was going on in varied conversations she could only listen to. Their hushed, worried, and sometimes heated words had her recoiling into her mind to try to figure out what was going on with her. However, what she did figure out was that soul awakenings were hard for her kind. In combination of almost being run through with a Cursed blade, her body was going through the seven levels of hell.

“I'm here, baby. I had to handle something but I'm back,” he called to her. Her mind registered the soul-deep octave of her mate Khamun. Droplets of rain kissed her forehead and she remembered why she was on the roof of a high-rise in Chicago. She had just gone to war. Her blood seeped from her body and she flinched then looked around with clear vision. Flashes of the battle played across her muddled vision. That crazy heifer was running a blade at her again. She needed to get away. So, she shoved as hard as she could trying to get away, suddenly realizing that she was pushing at Khamun instead and not at the Dark Lady. Relief made her slump her shoulders in gratitude and love had her pull him toward her in a tight embrace.

His pain was palpable and it had her fearful. She knew he had just gone through the gates of hell in watching her die.
I should have just listened and stayed out of the way. I was so stupid,
ran in her mind while her lips pressed against his jaw, neck, then lips. She deeply inhaled his comforting spicy scent. Her fingertips raked across his embracing wings while she slid back.
Savior, he is fine.

His brown skin was slick with sweat. Flecks of what appeared to be blood and dirt let her know he had killed some more. His crinkly locks covered her own face, spilling as if they were rain and his rich, warm power-charged scent made her stomach clench in need. Her love for this man was beyond words. Loving him helped her now understand what he meant when he told her months ago that he was created for her. Because angels knew their soul mates usually within the first meeting, it finally dawned on her that she was always his. He was her soul mate and she was created for him.

His healing embrace was intoxication. It felt as if he always knew how to make her feel good, even when she felt like crap. The simplicity of his support and love gave her the desire to lose herself against his mouth. She wished he was offering his dimpled smile but she understood that right now was not the time for smiling. Right now, she didn't want to think about how she almost died. She had to focus on the welfare of her family.

“He needs healing. You all do,” she concernedly stated. Khamun's embrace held like a vise grip the moment she tried to sit up.

His exhausted voice waned and she heard, “San . . .”

Leaning forward to cradle Khamun's concerned face in the palms of her hands she stared into his gorgeous eyes. Twin pools of golden amber melted with every emotion known to man.
Calm him, San; it's about him, not about you,
she reminded herself. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, drawing his lower lip into her mouth, tasting his weariness and love.

“It is my job to heal you, heal you all. Please let me do so. This body is healed . . . I mean my body is healed,” she pleaded.

How Khamun slid back on his haunches to study her face, his locks spilling over his broad slowly rising and descending shoulders, made her check her mental state. So much knowledge from her dream was pumping through her that she couldn't sort it all.

“Who are you, beauty?” he muttered. He slowly ran the pad of his thumb over her, tilting her face up.