Soul Awakened (17 page)

His chest, back, and abdominal muscles ached with a vengeance. His throat burned like he had swallowed scalding water. The black sludge he purged from his body tasted like rotten meat. He scrubbed his mouth until his gums and tongue bled red. The coppery taste of his blood was significantly better.

He descended into the warm bath and hastily washed his dry cracked skin. The calming waters did little to sooth him. Finding no relief, he staggered out of the bath and let the burning water drip to the floor.  

Horrified, he stared at his naked reflection in the wall mirror. With his protruding hip bones, sunken ribcage and gaunt face he looked like a skeleton. The black linen pants he donned did little to hide his emaciated form. There was no denying reality.

He was living his nightmare.

Memories flashed in disjointed sequence. His father. Kamen. He palpated his jaw and nose that still ached. No mistaking Bomani’s welcome home sucker punch. The next memory manifested as a warm sweetness that spread through his chest to his back. Yellow daisy’s surrounded by brown pools, sparkling with gentle kindness. Feathery touch. Soft whispers against pink lips. “Kendra.”

He glanced at the reflection of the chaise in the mirror. A lumpy blanket. With a stumble he closed the distance and lifted the throw expecting to see a small woman curled on her side with a crown of reddish brown curls. He touched the empty cushion. A blaze of fear pushed the warmth from his chest.

Did he imagine her? No, he remembered her weight in his arms and lithe body curled against his chest. She had come to save him. He rubbed his thumb, remembering the bounce of her pulse and softness of her skin. She was very real.

His blood thirst struck hard and deep. He grasped his stomach and curled around his arm.
Damn the gods.
A fine sheen of sweat rose on his skin, as he swallowed back the nausea long enough to make it back to the bathroom. More blackness expelled from his mouth, followed by the taste of death. His whole body shook, repulsed by the flavor. With shaky hands he grabbed the towel, wet it and scoured his mouth again until blood dripped freely.

With his forearm planted against the sink, he filled the bowl with cold water and then dunked his face. He let it fill his nose and mouth and even opened his eyes. Lifting out of the sink, he fully expected the water to be black, but it was completely clear. Gods, how he hated Kepi.

He stood up and pushed his long black hair from his face. The white strands were getting fewer and fewer. He leaned forward and pulled down his lower eye lid. His irises were still the color of a steel blade.

His fatigue drove him to the other room and he flopped on the black sheets. He closed his eyes. A pale face with blood red eyes surrounded by bright red hair invaded his mind. He cringed at the desire he saw in her murderous gaze, as she mounted him. He pulled against the metal restraints that held him so tightly in place.

His eyes shot open. The wave of nausea made him sit forward. He clasped his face in his hands willing the images to dissipate from his mind. His hands were damp with perspiration. He contemplated ramming a blade in his temple to stop the replay. Needing to distract himself, he slid out of bed and paced his room. He found little relief. Something in his soul told him he needed to find his
Parvana
.

Inside his wardrobe, he dug through the neatly pressed shirts looking for one that would not irritate his skin. He threw his head through the hole of the shirt and pulled it over his chest. What once was a tight fit now hung from his shoulders like a sack. He walked to the door and hesitated with his hand hovering over the ornate gold knob. He sensed several large warriors standing sentry outside the door. Bakari contemplated turning around and going back to bed, but the nightmare waited for him to close his eyes. He had to face the world sooner or later.

He pulled the door open. The four warriors jerked to attention. The largest addressed him directly.

“Sire, your father awaits you in the dining room.”

Bakari bit his tongue. His plans had been derailed. Asar’s request was not optional. They never were. He nodded and followed the warrior while the others took up the rear. The expressions on the warriors’ faces were wary and guarded, like they were escorting a wild animal that was on the verge of attacking them. Hell, he could barely walk, but his power to kill would always be readily available. Apparently, they knew that as well.

The closer they got to the dining room the clammier his palms became. This was not where he wanted to be. Even a morsel of food would turn his stomach.

The walls seemed so far apart. Strange to think it was too much space for him after being held in his sarcophagus. Although his heart did not beat a day in his life, it felt as if it would explode out his chest. He halted and backpedaled his way to his room. The warriors stared at him uncertain what to do. He turned on his heels and ran down the corridor. He threw open the doors and slammed them behind him.

He leaned over and clasped his chest. After a few minutes the pain subsided. A prisoner in his own room. Hell, a prisoner in his own head. A knock at the door sounded behind him. He leaned heavily against it, hoping to barricade himself against his visitor outside.

“Bakari.” His father’s voice sounded through the thick wood. “May I come in?”

Bakari leaned his head back on the door. Whether it was shame or being mentally screwed, he wanted to be left alone.

“Bakari?”

Wiping his hand across his face, Bakari turned and opened the door a crack. His father’s black eyes met his. “May I come in?”

Funny, his father was asking him. Asar could do what he pleased and never asked for anything. This was his domain, all of it. Bakari opened the door wide and stepped aside.

Asar walked in and looked around. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but finally turned to face him. Bakari could not look his father in the eyes and subverted his gaze to the floor.

“I will have the cooks bring some food.”

At a loss of words Bakari stood with his head down. His father scrubbed his heavy hand across his chin, obviously uncomfortable with his silence. “Listen, I want you to rest and recover. Regain your strength. When you are ready, I will tell you everything I am sure you want to know.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Bakari.”

He looked up at the call of his name into the face of a man he did not know. His father’s black eyes welled with tears and compassion overrode his usual hard expression. Asar grasped him in a tight embrace.

Bakari stiffened. His father stopped hugging him the moment he matured to a man. He heard a stifled sob escape his father’s throat.

His own eyes remained dry and his heart vacant. Not because he did not love his father. He had grown so numb and emotionless. He felt nothing.

Asar put distance between them and cleared his throat. “Do you need anything?”

Bakari shook his head, feeling the oppressive guilt start to weigh in on his soul.

“If anything changes let me know.” Asar turned to leave.

“There are humans here?”

Asar stopped with his hand on the door. “Yes.”

“Why? They are forbidden in the Underworld.” 

“We need to protect them.”

“From whom?” His father had to be pretty desperate to allow living humans into this realm. Only the souls of the dead could pass through the gates. Not even the Creation gods were permitted.

Asar dropped his hand and turned to face him. “We are at war with an enemy that wants to destroy us.”

“War?” Bakari slumped against the wall. So much had changed since his abduction, he was out of sync with the world. What the hell happened? “The females?”

“They are our redemption.”

Bakari had noticed how protective his father was of the blonde female, always placing his body in between Bakari and her. 

Our redemption?

Bakari pondered whether in his case if that was at all possible.

The gray of the evening sky spread across the expanse of Aaru. In that time Bomani stewed in his office and paced from one end to the other. With his fist clenched, he searched for something to take his aggression out on. 

What the hell was happening? Why did Asar not come and see him? Was Kendra okay?

He took two long strides toward the door when it was shoved open. The cold wave of frigid air hit him in the chest along with a dark ominous weight. He recoiled a few steps knowing his punishment had arrived.

Damn, if he would ever apologize, though. He did not regret his actions. It saved Kendra. Asar stepped over the threshold and slammed the door. The floor beneath Bomani’s feet began to vibrate with the anger that flowed off of his Sire. Father or not, he would not show Bomani leniency. He never had in five thousand years.

Asar stalked over to the desk. “Sit your ass in that chair.”

Bomani did without rebuttal. He knew better.

“Do you doubt me, Commander?”

“No, Sire. Never.”

“Do you think I take Kendra’s life lightly? Or that of Ari and the others?”

“No, Sire.”

“Disappointment does not adequately describe what I am feeling about your actions this past evening. Isis, Bomani. He is your gods damn brother.”

Bomani knew what was coming next before it even exited Asar’s mouth.

“I know you are interested in Kendra.”

Okay, that was not what he expected. He shifted his shocked gaze up to meet Asar’s. How the hell did he know, when he recently figured it out himself?

“I am not going to discourage your involvement, if Kendra is receptive to your feelings.”’

“But?” Bomani sat forward with his elbows on his knees. This conversation did not go where he expected. In fact, there was no shouting or physical response, which could only mean Bomani’s interpretation of Bakari’s motives were not far from the truth.

Asar walked around his desk and sat in Bomani’s office chair. “Do you have any wine in this place?”

“Yes.” Bomani got up and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that settled into his gut. The information had to be bad considering his father’s demeanor. Either way he was not going to like this.

He lifted a leaded crystal craft from the table and filled two clear goblets with a honey colored liquor. Wine it was not, but had enough kick to cut the edge off the tension.

 One. Two glasses down his father finally looked up.

Bomani ran a ruff palm across his face and shook his head. “How did you know?”

Asar banged the bottom of his glass against the wood desk. “I know what it is like to want to protect something so fiercely. And friendship does not garner the extremis of your response.” Asar tipped his head back and finished off the liquor. He did not wait for Bomani to stand and refill it. Asar grabbed the craft and sloshed the liquor up to the rim and over the edge of the glass.

“I do not even know whether I want to feel this way toward a female. It was a surprise to me.”

Asar smiled. “No kidding.”

“Kendra must hate me.”

“She does not have the capacity to hate anyone.” Asar stared at him a few moments, while tapping his finger on the edge of the glass. “You must be certain of your feelings. Explicitly.” Asar took another sip and finally placed the goblet on the desk. “Kendra has the unique ability to garner a male’s response. Whether it is her vulnerability or size, I do not know. I even find myself drawn to protect her like a blood daughter.”