Sin Eaters: Devotion Book One (19 page)

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Authors: Kai Leakes

BOOK: Sin Eaters: Devotion Book One
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Sanna signed. “Okay, Mr. MacLeod. You heard my business partner. Let's do this.”
“Great. I'll get everything in motion, and it is great doing business with both of you ladies. Oh and, Mrs. Steele, I look forward to our next appointment as well.”
“Me too, Mr. MacLeod. Now get some rest. You work too hard, young man.” Tamar chuckled as Lenox's warming laughed filled the room via the speakerphone.
“Yes, ma'am, of course. You beautiful women keep me busy, and it is very much appreciated.
Adieu
.”
Sanna placed a manicured nail over the receiver button and hung up with a quick push as she groaned and shook her unruly, crinkled hair. “Mommy, are you serious? Should we do this? We've gone through so much right now. First Dare and Take, and now our homes are gone. My business is gone! Ma!” She eyed her mother cautiously.
Tamar smoothed a hand down her cream-colored pencil shirt, her silver hooped belt accenting her lush hips. She ran a hand over her wavy, curled, ear-length bob raven hair. Her momma was smooth, and wisdom poured from her.
“My love, you hold so much wisdom in you. It is time you truly listen to your spirit, baby girl. You've done so well being led by it, but now it's time you listen. Close your eyes and listen.”
“But—”
Rolling her eyes, Tamar lightly pinched her daughter with a smile and held her hand, lifting it to press against her heart. “Sanna, close your eyes and listen.”
Sanna complied with an inward sigh, fear suddenly filling her. She didn't know why, but she just knew something was going to happen. And it frightened her to no end. As she sat breathing slowly, she felt Kyo lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she let her body relax.
Kyo seemed to always know when Sanna felt unnerved, and all of this that happened to them both didn't change a thing about their friendship. Sanna appreciated that so much.
Fingers digging then flexing against her thighs, her body seemed to hum as she relaxed and listened. Fluid energy flowed around her, and she saw her happiness here and peace. She saw it clearly as she could breathe.
“Yes, I guess it would be good to stay here. Let's break it to Dare. I know he's going to trip over it.”
Shaking her head as she listened to her two life supports laugh, Sanna headed into the hotel suite living room smiling. She saw her baby sis fussing over her twin. It seemed that Amara was the elder twin whenever Darren was sick.
Takeshi stared at her baby sis with a quiet hidden hunger and a lighthearted glance as he joked with the pair.
Sanna inwardly beamed while grabbing an apple. One day soon, she was going to play matchmaker and get Take and Amara together ASAP.
“So, um, we are moving to Chicago.”
“Like hell,” Darren muttered over his cup of coffee, humor lighting his eyes. He flashed a lopsided smile and wiggled an eyebrow.
“Shut up, Dare. You know what crap has happened. Well, Ma said . . .”
“We know, sis. Your ass was hella loud. Kind of happy about it, though. Congrats, big sis. A new city,
baybay
!” Amara grinned as Miya slovenly shuffled out of her room, scratching her messy hair and wiping hand down her face.
“Yeah.” Miya yawned and stretched. “New place to visit.
Hiiii
, Dare.” She softly smiled. The sleep in her quickly vanished as she accented the hi, getting a wink out of Darren. Hands combing through her messy hair, she smoothed it down, “And bye, Mrs. Steele. Please be safe.”
Tamara was halfway out the door as she waved. “Bye, babies. I'll be back. Darren and Takeshi, don't you move from this room. You both need to rest!”
Both men chimed, “Yes, ma'am,” as the door shut, and both quickly stood grabbing for their support.
“Where's my sis at?” Take stood and moved around the room, searching for the remote control as he limped on his crutches.
“Talking with your parents about all of this and, um, Take, sit down right now, man. Geez!”
Sanna rushed to Take's side and quickly helped shuffle him to the couch. Helping him was something else, especially when he had the nerve to put his hand on her rear as he fell down on the couch.
“Boy! Here!” she said, throwing the remote.
Take laughed hard, clutching his ribs as he leaned to the side gasping for air. “What? I wanted to compare you and Amara. Dang!”
Narrowing her eyes, Sanna tilted her head to the side and flicked him off with a laugh. “Yeah, whatever, man. You are just being nasty.”
“Very! You want to touch my tig-o-bitties, then think of a better way to get at me, Mr. Nasty,” Amara teased. She smiled while she bit into a piece of pineapple, and juice ran down her chin.
Take watched that juice slide from her mouth and dip down her neck as his body visibly tensed.
Noticing Take's eyes darken, Sanna ducked as Dare threw an orange at him. He smoothly caught it and turned around and flipped through the TV.
“Watch ya hands, bro. And put it on the game.”
Sanna smiled while she hugged her sister. She helped her sister unbraid her thick semi-wet braids, turning to hug Miya at the same time. She would get used to this. She would make it through all this crazy. Her brothers were alive and healing extremely fast. Her mother was doing whatever she does, and Kyo was okay. This change was going to be good. It had to be. Her soul said it was so and said it very loud.
Like her mother had said, she needed to listen to herself. Since being here and coming out of the hospital, she felt different, she felt vibrant, something she hadn't felt since she was a child. Life seemed to go on mute when her father died. She remembered feeling safe when her daddy was around. A feeling she sometimes felt at night. It was as if something was trying to snatch her, and all she had to do was call her father and that fear would disappear.
Sanna felt happiness, joy, and calm, but life was just stunted. The little bit of magic in the world seemed to fade for her and roamed in her dreams after her father had passed. Now, as she stood unbraiding her sister's hair, taking the time to finger-comb each soft, curly strand and looking at the beautiful view that was Chicago, it felt different.
She inhaled and rolled her shoulders. Everything seemed to be vivid and alive with positive change now. She was praying it would stay this way.
 
 
Kyo quietly shut the door to her shared hotel room as she stood. She almost slumped against it, studying the group in the room. This was her family, her contentment, now her responsibility. She couldn't believe what was just told to her. Her father, her mother, they had to be out of their mind. She didn't even register telling Miya and her brother Take to go talk with her parents as she stood in bewilderment.
She didn't even register grabbing a bottle of water and standing near her best friend, her sister. Chicago seemed huge, beautiful, rugged, and understanding, yet equally dangerous. With a look at her almost shaking hands, she studied her silver-painted nails, flexing and looking at each sturdy tip sparkle like diamonds. Her father had said it was her duty to watch her best friend.
Yeah, that's nothing new for her
, she thought, glancing at Sanna.
Kyo could feel that San was off balance, a little unsure about all of this, and hell, she couldn't blame her. She felt as if they were in the same boat. The dreams, the many times she felt that they shouldn't go to a certain area, or even go kick it some nights. All of it slowly came together to make sense.
Her father had told her that she, her brother, and cousin were something special. Something more. Something anointed. Dragons. It was her birthright to be a Protector over her best friend, whom she called sister, and fight for the innocents of the world. She was told that Sanna and Darren didn't know about them, or that her “god-family” was placed around her at birth as a means to protect them. She was also told that because of her birthright, she would be viewed as a shadow, or an outcast, respected but always suspected.
But that was neither here or there. Her main focus was to help Sanna as she went through her awakening, and it was Kyo's duty to awaken with her.
Duty to awaken? Awaken how? She didn't understand, and her father didn't tell her. He'd just said that she would know in time and that, that time was close. Her father let her know that they had homes for her and that they would move up to Chicago within the coming months, but right now, it was important that she stay with her godsister. As if she would go anywhere else. Her sis needed her, and she needed Sanna, whatever she was. Whatever it meant. She was going to see it through and work it out and make sure no harm came to sister. It was just the way of their world and all she knew, so it made sense.
Before Kyo's mother left, she had told Kyo to trust her instincts and she would know who is safe to be around Sanna and herself. So now she stood not believing what was told, even though she saw it with her own two eyes.
Her father had rolled his shoulders, closed his eyes, and the room seemed to heat up as he spoke. The very air around him seemed to shimmer as he closed his eyes and took out what Kyo had no idea after all these years were contacts. He opened his eyes, and she gasped. They were grey with flecks of beautiful jade green like her own mismatched jade set. The only difference was the fire metallic ring around the irises and the fact that his eyes were solid grey with jade.
His skin seemed to cast occasional specks of sparks, like smooth stone in the sun, as his hair and nails lengthened. His once model smile was now home to a clean, jagged pair of fangs. When her father gave her a reptilian-like blink and exhaled fire plumes from his nostrils, Kyo screamed bloody murder and passed out.
Sighing, she studied her hands, her arms, her skin. She was told that, as her right as a Gargoyle or Dragon, she had certain abilities that would awaken as Sanna woke up. But the thing was, when would that be? She needed to prepare herself.
Am I going to look freakish?
She ran a hand through her asymmetrical cut hair. She already got over the hump of being teased for her different-colored eyes, and now she knew why she had them. She could only assume every extra bump in her DNA, in how she functioned in the everyday world, was because her father was a freaking Dragon and married to a human. No, scratch that—her own mother was something special too. She carried the dormant Dragon gene, showed by the same hard nails Kyo had, and was a Disciple with a touch of Dragon mystic abilities. How that worked out all these years, she didn't stick around to learn.
“Well, sis, this is going to work out.” Kyo smiled as Sanna nodded. She couldn't help but to think,
What is my godsister? Why does she need protection?
Shaken out of her thoughts, she felt her brother and cousin at the door as they suddenly swiped the key. She had always known when her little brother was around. Could feel him as she breathed, and now she understood why. Dragons within families could sense each other as a protection mechanism.
She smiled at her family as they both looked at her wide-eyed.
Takeshi strengthened up on his crutches, getting up from the couch, and watched in awareness as Miya bit her lower lip and cast her eyes to the floor, suddenly looking at her nails. It looked as if her bright yellow-painted nails were changing colors like a kaleidoscope, which had Kyo confused.
Take frowned and rested his hand on Miya's shoulder as he calmed her, her nails returning to their bright yellow sheen. Yeah, her family was something special and powerful, something unique altogether.
Chapter 11
Khamun sat with a cold smirk on his face. He sat complacent at the Dignitary Council meeting with Marco and Lenox at his side representing his House. A month had passed, and submitting the documents for Sanna, her family, and the Satous had happened with ease, thanks to Kali's brilliant mind. The council had no idea what Sanna really was and was not interested in learning more about a minor newling house. It was good that the announcement of that house being attached to him was suddenly dismissed. He would thank his mother for that later. Now he sat listening as the council bellowed with covert anger, all while his father sat watching in discernment.
“He placed his seat on bid! He cannot return and take over as head of the Dignitary Council,” one young cats almost screamed. His white-as-chalk, fluffy-as-cotton wings shook in annoyance as if he was a PMSing teenage girl.
Khamun slightly chuckled at the image.
“Protocol states that, for him to return and regain his seat, he must have been active in council meetings, which he has not!” This came from an older male, whose mate stood at his side nodding her pretty golden ringlet head, her face red with restrained fury.
“My husband is right. This is an outrage!”
“The only outrage in here is the fact that your grown ass has Shirley Temple curls in your head,” Marco muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. He sat back reclining in his chair, an arm resting over the back of the chair next to him.
Another outrage was the fact that no one in the council addressed him by his royal rank, yet another display of disrespect. Khamun deliberately chose to ignore the slight of the council as he laughed under his breath at Marco's comment.
Leaning forward, Khamun stood and slid his arms behind his back as he looked down from his House's private balcony section.
“You . . . you cursed half-breed bastard!” ripped from the golden-haired woman's pursed lips, her eyes focusing on Marco and Khamun as she pointed a delicate finger.
Khamun's amber eyes flashed at the affront, the gold ring around them pulsating as his fangs dropped and his own wings slowly extended.
Marco and Lenox both leaned forward in unison, cold smiles sharply appearing on their faces, their hands ready to draw whatever weapon they so chose, as they represented their house to the fullest.
“Would you mind repeating that again, Madam Council member?” Khamun slowly asked, each syllable dripping with controlled anger as he watched the woman sputter, staring her down like the bitch she was.
His voice radiated with a coldness that blanketed the whole room, and he felt his father's eyes focus on him in quiet amazement. Briefly glancing toward his father, he felt his mother's warming care wrap around him in pure love while she watched from her own House seat.
This was a first. He had never shown his wings in public after he started going through his change. But because a simple bitch had triggered his anger, he now stood in his other form, his Reaper wings spread for all to see. He inwardly chuckled as he closed them, cleared his throat, and slid his hands behind his back.
His head slightly tilted to the side, he stood in his six seven glory, dressed in black pinstriped crisp-cut slacks, black leather shoes, and a sleeve-rolled-up, white tailored shirt accented with a black vest, his locks French-braided down his back.
“Now, we are all familiar with protocol, and the Madam would be correct, but as is
also
stated, I may have representatives from my House to act in my place, since I am often busy with Guardian obligations as was dictated to me at birth
.
Am I incorrect in my approach, Lord and Lady Elders?” Glancing at the row of Grand Elders, he could see the muscle in his father's jaw ticking.
The Region King focused his attention squarely upon the woman who had the nerve to disrespect his family's way.
Khamun swore he could see warming respect in his old man's eyes, and that kind of support made him stand proud.
“
Region Prince
V'ance would be correct in his assertion. He has a right to his chair. Protocol has not been breached, since he has had a constant representative in his place. Council members who are active constabularies do have a reprieve in allotting a member of his or her house to stand in place of said council chair,” an Eldress stated.
Her sea-green eyes turned toward Khamun's as a soft smile sparkled in her eyes before disappearing. She was a beauty. Her red curly tresses framed her cinnamon dark skin, her curvy frame hidden behind the ceremonial robes of an Elderess. He knew she had to be many centuries old though, to the human eye, she appeared to be a young-looking forty-five.
Khamun's father leaned forward to address the room and state his point. “Those who wish to contest this may do so, as is their right, but we can sit here all day or move on with our business for the day or resort to derision and reprehensive conduct.”
“I contest!” a voice shouted out, as another rumble moved through the hall and rose like a quiet sea storm.
Khamun, his father, and several council Elders all rolled their eyes. A mental exasperation ripped through the quiet storm. His father, the High Elder, sat back in his chair, arms crossed, as he stared at a young, chestnut, shaggy-haired man dressed in a grey suit. His olive-toned skin slightly glowed, and his dark Armani shades gave away his sunlight aversion, marking him a Dead Wrath Angel.
“State your case.”
“I am Gregory Ryan de Mer'ce of House of Mercy. The House of Templar is an unauthorized working Line, regardless of its royal claim! They are nothing but mutts who play Protectors, Guardians, and other so-called titles. They have done nothing but cause havoc where they were stationed. Innocent newling Nephilims' homes burned and made open for attack! City blocks scorched and destroyed because their Mystics were not doing their jobs and hiding the teams. This House is nothing but a jest to appease the spoiled brat Prince and his needs!”
Khamun bit his inner cheek, trying to rein in his anger as coldness filled the hall with each slow breath he took. Dead Wrath Angels were just as ostracized as his own house, due to the fact that they were a Nephilim race that scared the hell out of some in Nephilim society. This fear arose due to their ghostly, temperamental behavior and rumored aims to gain titles and ranks at any cost. After the Great War, many Wrath Angels died out or survived by being broken, due to torture, or, as this bastard in front of him who was trying to start more shit, survived through death.
Through dying, Wrath Angels were able to preserve their souls from being taken to the Most High. This act resulted in their soul forming a sort of barrier that showed over their skin, casting a misty glow, like water droplets on the skin. They say this new race of Wrath Angels was pardoned by the Most High himself, due to their sacrifice in the Great War, and they were allowed to reproduce with hope that pure Wrath Angels would be born. Unfortunately, through the generations, they weren't trustworthy, and no pure Wraths were ever born.
Slowly standing, Marco brushed his arms off. He was dressed in all black. Black slacks, black-and-red pinstriped button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up at his elbows, and black leather shoes. He had just cut his long hair off, leaving him with a wavy ultra-low fade. The hazel ring around his grey eyes flashed as he licked his lips.
Dimples played in cheeks, accenting the newly grown goatee around his mouth as he smirked, then addressed the bastard below. “It is interesting to me,
coño cara
, that you have the unmitigated gall to disrespect the Region Prince and this House. Let alone the members of both councils with your pathetic groupthink. This House is certified and authorized not only with its
own
Royal Garrison but with its own—”
Khamun watched his cousin through narrowed eyes. He quietly whispered to him
“Marco, this fight is not worth it. Let them think what they want and do not reveal our hand, man.”
“Coño carajo, cousin! Get the fuck outta here. They disrespect our family and you want me to chill? Naw, now it's time to put their slimy asses in their place, especially that fucking Death Wrath! He feels off to me, man. Remember I told you some of these so-called goody-goody Society folk would drop Death Wraths at our door as gifts and we'd return them as spies via the bite?”
Khamun narrowed his eyes, bowing his head, pleased that Marco was in the same mind frame as he.
“He's a Phantom,”
Khamun calmly said, watching the bastard.
“Right. I can taste that shit on my palate, homie.”
Marco rubbed his hands together.
Lenox brushed his thighs off and stood as well.
“You know the game, fellas. Only way to tell is via the eyes and to check for the bite. So until we can get him cornered and alone, which I doubt will happen, we have to play the game. As you see, his House is thick, and he is well guarded. We have to get him alone and handle what we do. So let me end this meeting and sucker-punch their asses so we can be on our way.”
“Do you, man,”
Khamun stated with a smirk on his face as he stepped back, making the coldness in the room simmer down.
Marco glanced at Gregory one last time, storing his shifty face to memory before sitting.
Lenox loved this part of his job. All eyes on him, he knew the women of the hall were drinking in his six six frame. His black wavy hair curled at his nape. His icy blue eyes darkened with his mood, which offset his almond milk skin and his black slacks. His white shirt was unbuttoned to show a peek of his chiseled chest, which had many women sending mental lust shots his way as he made way to address the council. The game was on, and he was ready to go into his lawyer mode.
Getting under the skin of these prissy bastards made Lenox's dick hard. He crossed his arms, scanned the whole hall, and nodded at the High Elder, as his arms uncrossed and slid behind his back. “Council members and Elders, let us resolve the discourse, for this is going on too long. Fellow dignitaries, for those of you who despise us as if you were Cursed yourself, as the House of Templar and Vengeance House Garrison Notary and personal legal representative, as I am for many Houses here, you know my work well, and every document you contest with your
Royal
member is also in order.”
Narrowing his eyes, he scanned every face in the hall, even the Elders', just to see if his point was starting to process, and he inwardly smiled as the “Oh shit” face began to appear on many dignitaries' ignorant stares. “To question a Royal and his documents is to question my professionalism, and I will not stand for that, let alone the disrespect to my Houses. In saying so, any more contests will now go through legal court, and any injustice my clients feel will be rewarded as seen fit.”
The room became silent in fear as Khamun noticed his father stand. His own fury slapped everyone in their faces as he walked off, promptly signaling the end of this witch hunt on his seed and his House.
Another Elder cleared his throat and eyed the councils. He said, “Your arguments have been recorded, and we have come to our judgment. The House of Templar will retain its seat and merge with the Royal House of Vengeance as was stated. Any more appeals will be met with an Elder judiciary council. So say it, so shall it be. Councils are adjourned, and we send blessings to Region Prince V'ance de T'em. Welcome home, My Lord. Your seat as Dignitary leader is officially processed.”
Khamun knew in this moment that he had shown his father he could handle not only his own house but the pricks of Society. He also knew that all of this had only gone on so long as a means of his father making a point to him. Which, of course, ticked him the hell off but made him smile. Society had seen what his House was about and also now knew he was something they had no clue about. He was back with major work to do, and now the gossip would begin.
 
 
Sanna couldn't wrap her head around at the ease she now felt being in Chicago. At one point she thought she'd open up a restaurant in Atlanta. She just wanted to get away from the dull Midwest and start fresh. But now, as she stood a month later going over building details for her new home and restaurant, while Kyo spoke on the phone with different food merchants, that want just changed.
Shifting through different documents, Sanna tapped her hand against her thigh as she read and signed various papers. She finally felt some peace of mind.
It had been crazy going over the damage the fire had done to her family home, her second restaurant, and her apartment in St. Louis. Her mother had lost almost everything. Pictures, items from her father, and childhood stuff seemed to strangely survive, and she was grateful for that. As for her home, it seemed that the fire ate everything. All her clothes. Yet her important items, such as her degree diploma, birth certificate, social security card and more made it through the blaze. All the things they needed to transition seemed to endure.
She sighed, rubbing her temples as she looked over the insurance forms for this new place, as well as the one from St. Louis. Her migraines had been flooding her more frequently, and she knew it had to do with stress. Even though she was coming at ease with the new Aset: Chicago restaurant, and the many patrons who used to drive down from Chicago to St. Louis just to eat at Aset were creating a buzz she appreciated, stress was still driving her.

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