Soul Awakened (23 page)

Asar paced the small spread of stone before stopping at the sarcophagus. A look of disgust penetrated his father’s face and his fists clenched. “I have many regrets,” Asar said with his back turned to Bakari. His father shook his head. “Kepi’s presence in Aaru was my doing, not yours. She has the ability to corrupt even the purest of souls, and we are far from pure. Our base nature is tainted, but…” His father turned to look upon him. “We must rise above our deviance. You, son, are at a precipice. It is your choice to step into the abyss or turn and face your dishonor. What is your will?”

Bakari looked at the ground where his knee dug heavily into the stone. He already leapt off the cliff into the darkness below. The impact at the bottom drove him to press the dagger to his chest. He still wished he had, but Kendra’s life meant too much to him. She was the only light he could find in this world. Find his honor, his uncle had said to him.

He looked up into his father’s black eyes. “I will face my punishment.”

 “You have already paid your penance under Kepi’s hand. I will not add to that.”

Bakari grabbed his head. He would rather welcome the tip of a whip, than work at living day by day in the palace. “I cannot stay,” he said. The deep ache below his ribcage burned with renewed fervor, which could only mean Kendra was within close proximity.

Asar studied him a moment before looking over his shoulder toward the cell door. “You will need to tell Kendra of the blood-bond, it is your burden, no one else’s.”

Bakari nodded. “Where shall I stay?”

“With your brother in the warrior village. You will live with the warriors. Honor and respect must be earned and there is no better place. You will take rank as a fledgling. Only your own fortitude will raise your status. It will not be easy, as I am sure you are well aware.”

Bakari’s throat went dry. He would rather face the tip of his dagger than be under his brother’s thumb. Dark warriors were born of the primordial waters without the rank and privileges of the gods. Only the alphas survived. The weak were spit back into the smoldering black water.

A pure god, like him, in their territory would not be welcomed. Unlike his arms graced with his hieroglyphic marks, their arms had scroll work cut into their skin with venom tipped blades. The scars of healing caused the raised tattoos. Bomani’s body, all but his face, was completely covered in these status markings. His brother even had Asar’s shield branded into his left chest, designating him as Commander of the Underworld Legion.

“Yes, Sire.”

“I will take my leave.” Asar turned and walked out the cell door.

Bakari wiped away the perspiration that formed on his face. He tried to swallow away the dryness in his throat, but nothing would quench his thirst but his beautiful Parvana. He clasped one hand across his abdomen and the other down the length of his pants to stop them from shaking.

Her sweet nectar scent floated in the air, heralding her arrival. He forced his eyes to the floor— afraid he would lose his nerve.

“Bakari.” Her tone was cautious, but infused with concern. She took several steps forward.

He lifted his hand up. “No, please stay there.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? What is going on? No one will tell me anything. It’s really starting to tick me off.”

Bakari looked into her brown eyes, searching for the right place to start. Gods, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flush with pink hues, either from the long descent or her irritation. “I do not want to hurt you. Ever.”

Ignoring his warning, she took another step forward and put her hands on her hips. “Hurt me? What is going on?”

“My mark. You never mentioned it.” When he met her gaze she looked away.

“Oh.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at the floor. “I was going to ask you, but there was never a convenient time to bring it up.”

Bakari pictured her reading the book upside down. She had come to him last night but he was so inebriated. She stayed with him in his bed regardless, sacrificing her need to know for his comfort. “I would take it back if I could. I am sorry.”

She pulled her shirt off to the side and revealed the upper curve of her breast. The scorpion was deeply imbedded into her skin and soul. He had not earned it, but marked her soul without her consent. Despite his remorse, he loved seeing it there on her chest. She belonged to him.

“What happened? Did we have…” Her cheeks flushed a brighter red. “sex?”

“No.” Sex was an impossibility in his case. Another reason why he could never be with her. “I fed you my blood.”

She frowned. Her eyes shifted to the location he had placed her on the ground with her robe tucked neatly under her head. Her mental calculations flickered in her eyes.

“Our lives are bound as one. Mine to yours from your blood used in the spell. Your life to mine with my blood.”

“A blood-bond?”

He was surprised she knew about such a thing and appeared unaffected by his admission. Maybe she had not come to the ultimate conclusion yet. He looked at the wall for the shame he felt. “I crave you. Your blood.”

Her frown deepened. “Is this why you told me to leave? Why you look ill? Because of me?” She trailed her thumb across the scar on her left palm.

“Not because of you, but what the blood-bond demands.”

“Then why don’t I crave yours?”

Always logical. It was a fair question. One he did not know the answer to other than she was a Creation descendant. A giver, not a consumer. She would crave him in different ways, possibly. He gritted his teeth at the thought of his blood on her lips. She had not noticed his blood, but she had been scared to death at the time and he was too messed up to notice.     

 Her gaze fixated on his face. The yellow flecks in her eyes sparkled and her cheeks pinked. She moved within a few feet, but still out of his reach. Her thumb traced the line of the silver scar, back and forth.

“Take it,” she said quietly.

The room suddenly shifted and his head swam with dizziness. Did she suggest he should feed from her? He cursed and fisted his hands. His inner beast revolted with her voiced consent. His will to abstain crumbled. His gums and throat burned with need, as did his soul. He closed his eyes and let out a hissed breath.

“It’s what you need.”

His eyes shot open. Less than a foot away, she stood holding her hand out. The same hand that she had cut to release him from his prison. Tremors racked his body from his attempt to restrain himself. Convinced he would hurt her, panic ripped through him. “No,” he bellowed. He shot to his feet and put distance between them.

Anger churned in his chest for the first time since his release. “Stupid, stupid girl. Do you not get it? I am a monster, not some hero you released from some prison camp. I tried to kill you. Fed you my blood. Claimed your soul. Manipulated you into staying in my bed.”

Fury boiled in his veins. Although he directed it at her, she was not the cause of it. He was angry at himself. Angry at everything he wanted but could not have because of the goddess and his mistakes. Angry at his father for showing him leniency. Wishing he had killed himself, but did not have the strength to finish it. He raked both hands through his hair. He wanted Kendra to run fast and hard away from him, but she remained unmoving.

“Is it not clear enough?” He moved in so she could look him directly in the eyes. “Let me paint the picture. I came here to kill myself, knowing I would take your life with me. Is that clear?”

She tightened her lips together. The light of anger twinkled in her eyes before she spoke. “I know what you are Bakari. I stayed with you because
I
wanted to. Everyone has lost something in this war, and whether you want it or not, you are part of it, you selfish son of a bitch.”

With an abrupt turn, she stalked out the cell without looking back. Bakari’s knees buckled. He curled around his arm on his stomach. It was harder to let her go. He wanted her to run, but now that she did the pain was even worse than before. His heart ached with a vengeance. He whispered a small prayer to the Mother Goddess for forgiveness.

“My sister is right most of the time.”

Bakari’s gaze shot up to find the black headed sister leaning on the door jam with her arms folded on her chest.

“But she doesn’t know crap about men and what lousy liars they are.”

Bakari shook his head to clear it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You really pissed her off.” Kit chuckled. “Enough she actually used a curse word no less.” She pushed off the door jam and stared at him with sullenness in her eyes. “If you ever want a second chance with Kendra, you’ll need to straighten your shit up.”

Shocked, Bakari stood up. Kit smirked. “Yeah, loves a bitch isn’t it? But, hurry your ass up, you have a goddess to kill.”

In the wake of his new agony, Bakari materialized in Bomani’s office. Despite the sufficient amounts of alcohol in his system, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Not from fear or anxiety of being out of his room, but the overwhelming ache of despair in the pit of his chest. His avenue for escaping his hell had collapsed the minute he held Kendra’s life above all else. The very effort to withdraw himself from her caused him pain. He fell into the closest chair. He didn’t bother to look up when his brother materialized next to him. The scrutiny was palpable enough.

Bomani walked around the desk and sat. “You will not last one day out there.” 

“Thanks for the vote of no confidence.”

“I will not show you leniency.”

Bakari glared across the heavy wooden desk. “I do not remember asking for any.” Like he gave a shit anyway. Suffer here, suffer there. Did it really matter? Hell was hell no matter where you found refuge. With significant effort he forced himself to stand. He moved toward the exit with the intent of finding a dark corner and crawling into it.

Bomani’s heavy hand came to rest on the door. He offered the hilt of a long blade for Bakari to grasp. “Shave it.”

Without questioning, Bakari gasped the knife and brought it to his forehead. In several clean sweeps across his scalp, his long black hair floated to the planked floor. His brother returned with a small folded pile of drab gray clothing, a blanket, and leather sandals. Bakari stripped off his soft linen shirt and exchanged it for the rough irritating material. The sleeves of the shirt covertly covered the hieroglyphic markings on his arms.

He looked no different than any other fledgling warrior. His silver eyes and lighter olive skin would be explained away as another variation in the waters of the Underworld. Not that he had any interest in becoming a warrior. He needed a means to subsist and somewhere in his living hell find something called honor.

Stripped of his identity for all intents and purposes, the only token from the palace laid hidden in his hand, a reminder of why he was here and why he needed to stay. Bomani led him to a large building that housed all the warriors in a communal berthing area. Over five thousand men. The closest warrior yelled out a command that triggered the entire room to stand at attention.

In over five thousand years, this was the first time Bakari ever set foot in the warrior camp. He would have considered it beneath him. The irony of it all hit him in the head like a jousting stick. A god among warriors. He should be intimidated on some level if for not his complete and total apathy.

He gripped his token in his hand tighter, as he walked among the rows and rows of cots. At the very end in the darkest corner was one empty mattress, dingy and dirty from centuries of use. No doubt with his name on it.

“Fresh fodder,” one of the warriors quipped and started to walk in stride with him. Even for Bakari’s height, this warrior had at least four inches on him. The scarification tattoos ran the length of his shoulder to wrists—a junior officer. The large male inhaled. “Awful pretty smelling to be fresh from the black waters. What did you do fledgling, bathe in it?”