Damian's Oracle (11 page)

Damian held out his hand to her. She
hesitated while her silver eyes swirled with hypnotic slowness. His
terrified, brave little oracle was entrancing, the shimmer that
caught his attention when they met much stronger with their
bond.

She was
trying.
He never thought
something so simple could please him so much. He couldn’t flush
away the dark memories from his time after the Schism when he’d
been enslaved by humans intent on using his god-powers, but he
could protect her from a similar fate. She moved forward, taking
refuge from him in his own arms, a reality that amused him.

“Damian, I’m a monster, even in your world,”
her heartbreak was in her voice, and he squeezed her closer to him.
He didn’t think he’d ever met a human or Guardian as honest as this
one.

“At least you’re a cute monster,” he
replied.

She pulled away, her anger rippling through
him. He didn’t know how something so innocuous could piss her off,
but then again, thousands of years hadn’t given him much insight
into a woman’s mind.

“You’re a jerk, Damian!” she said, glaring at
him before running away.

“You better run, little girl,” he growled,
irritated by her response.

His gaze followed her until she disappeared
into the house, and he shook his head. He let her get away with so
much! She had
no
idea how his world operated! He didn’t
understand the ins and outs of their blood bond, but he knew how
much she rocked his world when she drank from him earlier.

In a different time, he’d simply command her
to take her place at his side and in his bed as his mate and slake
his heated blood whenever he felt the need. The ancient kings - his
father and brother included - had regularly taken oracles as their
queens. He began to understand why and couldn’t help but feel
frustrated at having to find a way to
win
her instead of
command her.

His phone dinged.

Ikir, may I enter your home?

He gazed at the message, puzzled, before he
realized who it was.

At your risk, Watcher.

“I knocked this time, ikir.”

He turned to see the small man with bright
green eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Damian crossed his arms
and leaned against the wall around the trickling fountain at his
back.

“I admit, this technology makes it much
easier for me to communicate,” the Watcher said, gazing at his
phone.

Damian raised an eyebrow, not about to humor
the otherworldly harbinger of bad news.

“I hope you don’t spend enough time here to
learn to use too much technology,” he said pointedly. “Whatsup,
Watcher?”

“The Grey God is coming.”

“The
what
?”

“I had to wait until you found your oracle to
tell you. I do apologize,” the Watcher said. “If you hadn’t found
her, he wouldn’t come. But now he will.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“To contain the uh, coaching being done, the
Original Beings are ordaining a new god to act as a sort of referee
here on earth who will have the ability to bridge the physical and
divine worlds.”

“Y’all pissed really them off this time,
didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ikir, I think we did.”

“What is this Grey God?”

“I can’t tell you, but you must be on the
lookout for him. You have to protect him.”

“Didn’t your Original friends give him
god-powers?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Damian waited. The Watcher returned his gaze
to his phone, reading a text.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

“You gonna try to explain?” Damian
prompted.

“No, ikir.”

He studied the small man infatuated with his
phone. He’d hoped never to see the Watcher again.

“I’ve assigned you a ringtone,” the Watcher
said in satisfaction.

“Didn’t think you Watchers liked us lesser
beings contacting you.”

“In an emergency.”

“Is that your way of saying something bad’s
gonna happen, and I’ll need to call you?”

“No, ikir,” the Watcher said, looking up.
“But in case it does …”

“Right,” Damian said, not amused by the
cryptic responses.

“Will you tell your team captains I may visit
them?”

Despite his suspicion, he chuckled.

“You can stop with the basketball analogies,”
he said. “You mean Dusty and Jule?”

“My apologies, ikir. I wanted to explain
things to you in a way you’d be able to understand.”

“Yeah, we’re all idiots here on planet
earth.”

The Watcher smiled in response, and Damian
knew well enough his kind truly thought themselves superior.

“I’ll tell them not to kill you on sight, if
that’s what you’re asking,” he continued. “But I’ll warn you as
well: if you speak in riddles to Dusty, he’ll cut your heart out.
And Jule may smile at you, but you better disappear fast if you
tell him something he doesn’t like.”

“I understand,” the Watcher said. “I want
only the opportunity to speak to Dusty, if needed. Jule’s still on
what you might call the otherworldly shitlist.”

Damian straightened, at his limit with the
cryptic nonsense.

“Anything else you wanna avoid telling me?”
he snapped.

“No, ikir.”

“Walk yourself out.”

He strode away. He felt the Watcher’s
presence disappear as he entered the mansion. His phone dinged
again, and he glanced down.

Thank u, ikir.

“Just when things were complicated enough … “
he muttered and retreated to his study for his evening telecon with
Dusty and Jule.

They were both online already, swapping vamp
stats.

“Dusty, do I need to send someone to Miami to
fix your IT?” he asked as a message popped upon his screen.

“You know he’s a techno-phobe,” Jule said.
“Still using stamps and envelopes.”

I prefer the personal touch to this
e-shit.

“Hey, there’s something I need to tell you
guys,” Damian said grimly. “The Watchers are in town, and they may
be dropping by to visit.”

There was a pause in activity.

Uh, oh.

“You have no idea,” he said. “We’ll talk when
you’re in town. Watcha got for me tonight?”

* * *

“Ok, Ikira, what do you See?”

She tentatively touched Pierre’s outstretched
arm. He took his place on the sparring field, and Grande leaned
close to her.

“He’ll win in seven moves,” she told him.

“Pierre for the kill,” Grande said, handing
Han one from the wad of dollars in his hand.

“This is working too well,” Han said, eyeing
her.

“If only you could touch horses,” Grande said
with a sigh of exaggerated melancholy. “We’d be kings at the
races.”

She was getting a better grip on her newfound
talent. She was able to predict the winner of their rounds –
without flashes of their deaths. Han motioned him away, and Grande
shifted down a seat.

“Isn’t there a better use for your gift than
lining Grande’s pockets?” he asked.

“I asked you the other day, and you weren’t
at all helpful,” she reminded him. “If you have any ideas, let me
know.”

Her stomach growled loudly. She ignored Han’s
knowing look.

“I win again!” Grande exclaimed as Pierre’s
opponent went down. “
Dos dolares, senor
.”

“Enough,” Han said. “No more bets with Ikira.
It’s called cheating in the real world.”

“You have any other magic tricks for us?”
Pierre called to her.

“Not today.”

“Magic tricks,” Han muttered. “In my day,
oracles were the most revered, most feared and celebrated. This
generation has no idea. Including you, Ikira. You’re all fucking
idiots.”

“You’re no fun today, Han. What gives?” she
said, surprised.

He grimaced in response. She touched his
arm.

“You’re leaving me,” she said, saddening.
“Why?”

“Battle is what we do,” he answered then
looked at her. “What did you see?”

Damian’s rules for oracles returned to
her.

“You’ll live,” she said.

After your leg is broken next week.

He appeared relieved, and she felt guilty.
And hungry. Always hungry. She chewed her lip and glanced at her
own wrist. Did her blood taste half as good as Damian’s? She made a
face, drooling at the thought of Damian’s blood again.

“I guess I’m done here,” she said and
rose.

She placed a checkmark next to the first of
her ideas for learning to use her power. She wandered the mansion
as she often did, restless and starving. She found herself again in
front of Damian’s door. She’d been there twice before today and
only knocked once for fear he’d answer. And then she’d tried to eat
chocolate and ended up in the bathroom even weaker and
hungrier.

I don’t want this!

Her stomach growled. Angry, she turned to
leave when Damian’s door opened. He was dressed again all in black,
a color that should have minimized his size but just amplified how
ripped he was beneath the clothing.

“You need something?” he asked with a
casualness that pissed her off, as if he didn’t know why she was
there.

“No.”

“Alrighty then.”

He closed his door.

He was messing with her - he knew she was
hungry!

He promised!

She sighed and knocked. He answered
again.

“You need something?”

“Yes,” she grated. “I do.”

He pushed the door open. She entered and saw
car keys on the table near the door.

“Are you going to town?”

“Yep.”

Bet he’s got a girl in town.

“Figures.”

“Pardon?” he asked, looking up from the
wallet he rifled through.

“Nothing.”

“You finish your thoughts out loud pretty
often.”

“Bad habit.”

“I think it’s cute.”

Maybe I do.

“
That
is not cool,” she told him.

“The girl or the ability to read minds?”

She gritted her teeth and turned to go,
trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another woman made
her.

“There’s no girl,” he called. “You can
stay.”

“I wasn’t -“

“Yes you were. Sit down.”

He was amused and she fuming, her emotions
scattered by his mere presence.

I have no right to be jealous. If he has a
woman, he has a woman.

“Sofia, stop thinking and sit down.”

She obeyed, embarrassed.

“There’s no woman, though I’m flattered,” he
said, sitting beside her on the couch with knife in hand.

The sight of the knife made her
squeamish.

“I keep trying to entice you, but you seem
immune to me,” he teased. “No other woman has been able to resist
me. It’s fascinating.”

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel less
nervous, but you shouldn’t lie to me,” she snapped.

“I can have any woman I want. I wouldn’t
bother with you if I didn’t want you.”

The edge of arrogance surprised her. She
looked at him. His look was intent, the gold of his irises
swirling.

“Let’s get this over with, so you don’t miss
your hot date,” she said coolly.

He lifted her chin with one finger. His lips
brushed hers, and she felt something within her melt at the simple
touch. Hunger for him - not just his blood - roared through her. He
kissed her gently, tasting her, savoring her. At his prodding, she
opened her mouth. His mouth was hot, his flavor as addictive as his
blood. He nipped at her lips, his tongue darting in and out of her
mouth. He pressed her back against the couch, and she yielded, her
hands touching his face, his soft hair, his neck. Touching him sent
warm energy racing through her blood. Maybe he had a harem of women
at his beck and call, but she couldn’t see herself with any other
man. Ever.

“You believe me now?” he whispered against
her lips, pulling away.

She sighed in response.

“The offer’s always open,” he assured her.
“Now drink.”

He placed his bloodied wrist to her mouth.
She closed her eyes, body on fire as she drank from him while
imagining what his mouth could do to the rest of her body. When she
was sated, she pushed his arm away. He had turned away again and
was chewing his knuckle.

“Why do you do that?” she asked, embarrassed
when her voice came out husky. “Are you in pain?”

“Not the kind you’d understand.”

“What do you mean not the kind I’d
understand?” she persisted, standing. “I don’t want to hurt you,
Damian.”

His eyes were closed. He gave a hoarse, husky
laugh at her words.

“I mean, when you do that, I want to fuck
you, and if you don’t leave like, NOW, I’m gonna drag you into my
bed and - ”

She ran before he finished, emotions roiling
and high off the kiss and his blood. Though she couldn’t see her
own fate, she began to suspect which direction it’d take her
in.

“Any day now!” he shouted as he passed her
room to leave.

* * *

She stood in a dark, cold place, gazing at
the hunched form in the corner. She couldn’t tell if he was human
or beast. While afraid, she knew whatever he was, he needed
help.
Her
help.

Darian stirred, pushing himself farther into
the corner. She approached and knelt a safe distance from him,
trying hard to see into the darkness of the corner. She couldn’t
make him out.

“
What do you want from me?”she
whispered.

“
Free me.”

While his form was large enough to be a man
the size of Damian’s Guardians, his voice was terrified and
gravelly, as if he hadn’t ever spoken to anyone.

“
Are you ok?” she asked, creeping
forward.

He began to cry, the soul-deep weeping of a
man who’d lost all and spent his tormented life in a level of hell
she’d never be able to imagine. The sound made her gut twist and
her chest tighten. Tears formed in her eyes at the heartbreaking
sound of his pain. She moved closer and held out her hand. He
reached for her, but his scarred hand passed through hers, as if
all that remained of him was a ghost of the man he’d been. She made
out the shape of the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep, what looked
like a half-sun. The rest was shrouded in darkness.