Damian's Oracle (23 page)

“I take it he’s dead,” Dustin said. “Rainy,
get your men. Call in those from the neighboring sectors. We’ll
need to hit fast then evac.”

“You did good, sweetheart,” Jule said.

He lifted her to her feet. Her stomach
growled.

“When was the last time you ate?” he
asked.

“Friday.”

Rainy bound off, snatching his cell as he
waved the others over.

“Dusty, we’re going to have another problem
soon,” Jule said for Dustin’s ears only.

“I’ll be ok,” she said. “I’ve gone two days
without serious consequence.”

Dustin looked at her then at Jule. They
exchanged one of their silent communications.

“Fuck,” Jule said quietly, realization
dawning. “Sofia, you said Czerno drained your blood?”

She nodded.

“We should have seen this coming,” he said,
running his fingers through his hair. “You think … “

“Yes,” Dustin said.

“What?” she asked. “What happened?”

“You remember what I told you about oracles
offering a weak chink in a commander’s armor?” Jule asked. “What I
didn’t say was how you can be used against him. When you’re blood
bound, you can’t kill your master, and your master can’t kill you.
Czerno has your blood. Chances are he used your blood to
incapacitate Damian.”

She paled.

“There’s no other way. D couldn’t be
overpowered unless his powers were crippled,” Dustin said. “We
gotta think this one through, Jule. We’ll have one chance to rip
his hideout open and …”

Sofia watched them walk away, alone and cold.
If Damian died, it was because of her. She started towards the
road, away from the field of death. Her phone rang. The number
wasn’t familiar, but she answered.

“Hello, love,” Czerno greeted her.

“If you’re as smart as I suspect, you’ve
probably used your gift to figure out where I am.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Have you told your friends?”

“No,” she lied.

“Good. I’ve got a deal for you. It’s simple,
really. Even if I kill Damian, I’ll have to deal with all his
people. However, if I have you, I’ll beat them at every turn. If
you come to me right now, I’ll let him go.”

Her heart beat hard.

“Swear on your soul?”

“Love, I don’t have a soul. By the time Dusty
figures out what to do, Damian will be dead. In fact, if you refuse
me now, I’ll kill him before I hang up the phone.”

She closed her eyes, shaking.

“If you agree, I’ll free him when you show up
at my doorstep.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d give you anything
for him.”

“You have an hour.”

He hung up, and she stared at the cell then
looked to her car. The door was open as she left it, the keys in
the steering column. Jule and Dustin reached the building, and she
looked at them.

Czerno would never let her go. If she went to
him now, she’d spend eternity with him, a slave to the Black God
himself. The truth settled into the pit of her stomach, along with
the realization that she meant what she’d said, she would do
whatever it took to free the man she loved.

Dustin met her gaze, and he froze.

“Sofia, no!”

She bolted to her car, far enough ahead of
any of the men that they couldn’t stop her. Peeling out, she
floored it and tore down the road. The dead vamp’s memories were
fresh in her mind, and she sought the sights he’d passed.

Her phone rang, and she snatched it.

“Sofia, turn around. Now.”

“No, Jule. He’ll kill him if I don’t go.”

“He’ll kill him if you do.”

Her tears rose, blurring her vision. She
struggled for control, focusing on the road.

“Sofia,” he said more gently. “Please.”

“Stop,” she begged. “It’s my fault he was
caught. I can fix it. I can fix it!”

“You can’t fix a war that’s been on for
hundreds of thousand years.”

The number took her breath away.

“I have to, Jule. I’m sorry. The world needs
him.”

She hung up the phone. She gripped the
steering wheel hard and drove.

The staging area was where the vamp
remembered it being, tucked at the base of a mountain in a draw.
Sofia swallowed hard at the sight of so many vamps milling around.
She drove up to the elevator entrance on the side of the draw. One
vamp in particular seemed to be awaiting her and strode to the car.
The other vamps didn’t so much as acknowledge her as she stepped
from the car. Her greeter motioned her to follow, and she obeyed,
mind on Damian and nothing else. He led her into a small elevator
that plunged quickly to the depths beneath the mountain.

The underground world was well built and
bright with white washed walls lining corridors wide enough for two
people to walk side-by-side. The vamp led her down a maze of
hallways through scores of vamps and past multiple doorways until
he reached a set of double doors. He opened one, and she entered.
The study beyond was a replica of the one in Virginia, down to the
Gothic hood on the fireplace.

Damian was nowhere to be seen. Czerno rose
from a desk as she entered. The large man in black with lopsided
shoulders and an executioner’s hood pressed himself into a corner.
The man with verdant eyes stood beside him, watching her.

“I did what you asked. You said you’d free
him,” she said.

At Czerno’s chilled smile, she knew he had no
intention of freeing either of them. Panic swelled within her.

“Welcome home, love,” he said.

She whirled, but the vamp that led her down
blocked the doorway. She sucked in a breath, struggling to calm
herself.

“Czerno, free him! You have me!”

“I’d rather kill two birds with one stone,”
he said. “Two, take her.”

“No!” she breathed. “Please no! I’ll do
whatever you want! Please, just let him go.”

“We’ll talk later, love,” Czerno assured her.
“You’ll have all the time in the world to beg me, on your knees and
on your back.”

His gaze swept over her in cold admiration as
he spoke. The executioner from the corner emerged from the shadows
and took her arms.

“Let him go! Please!” she shouted as he
pulled her from the room.

Hysteria gripped her, and she fought him
until he slung her over his shoulder. Tears blinded her.

“
Damian!”

Sofia.

His voice was weak, as if he were far away.
She strained against the man again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she
sobbed.

The man in the executioner uniform dumped her
onto a familiar surgical table in a room that stank of blood.

She screamed and launched off of it. He
slammed the door closed, subduing her hysterical strikes with
unexpected gentleness until she lay strapped to the cold table,
weeping. When spent, she lay still, willing sleep or death to take
her. Neither did. She closed her eyes to the ceiling.

Her stomach growled again. She’d starve in a
day.

The shadow emerged from the corner again.
She’d forgotten his presence, but he peeled off one glove to
display a scarred forearm and hand. As she watched, he took a knife
and sliced his wrist. She twisted her head away as he dripped the
blood over her lips. He snatched her head with his other hand, then
held her nose closed as she clamped her mouth shut. When she gasped
for air, his blood trickled into her mouth.

She started to spit it out but stopped.

She knew this man.

Though his blood didn’t ensnare her as
Damian’s did, it tasted
familiar
. She drank, and he lowered
his wrist to her lips. His memories flashed as they made contact.
He knew nothing beyond the past twenty four hours. His first memory
was of waking up, then everything he’d done for the day.

He moved away when she ceased drinking, back
to the corner. She twisted to stare at him. He was Damian’s size,
though by his lopsided shoulders and scars, he’d survived some sort
of serious injury. He was lean and wiry compared to Damian’s bulky
build.

Memories flooded her mind, and she sensed
there was something she was missing from them.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer and returned to his
corner.

She lay still, the man in the corner so
silent she had to look several times to make sure he was still
there. Sobs wracked her body as she thought of Damian and how badly
she’d destroyed any plan Dustin or Jule could make.

“Damian,” she whispered. “Forgive me. I
should have let you make love to me.”

Panic and tears soon drained her of energy,
and she stared listlessly at the bloodied ceiling until the man in
the corner stirred. The door behind her opened, and Czerno stepped
in, trailed by the older, silent gentleman.

“Still alive,” he observed, walking around
her. “Two, let her walk around for an hour every twelve. I don’t
want her muscles turning to jelly.”

She glared at him, hate in her gaze. She
would
never
give this man the visions he wanted!

Czerno trailed a finger down the side of her
face, his chilling smile and the onslaught of visions making her
gasp.

“I’m blood bound,” she forced the words out.
“If you kill him, I’ll die.”

“I’ve got something almost as good as him,”
Czerno said, motioning to the man in the corner. “According to my
source of information, a blood relative can sustain an oracle
marooned without her master. We’re going to test this. Either
you’ll die or you won’t.”

“I’ll never help you!”

“I have eternity to break you, Sofia. I’m in
no rush, though I do have a plan to motivate you. It involves
removing your body parts, one at a time. Or maybe peeling your skin
off? Maybe fucking you til you scream will soften you up a bit.
We’ll see what works, won’t we?” he lowered his head to her ear. “I
have options. You don’t. Trust me. Everyone breaks.”

Terror washed over her at his calm,
controlled words. She’d seen what he was capable of in his visions.
The best she could hope for was eternity on this table, alone,
knowing what she’d done to humanity’s defender. She started to cry
again.

Czerno circled her again and ran his hands
down her body, stepping away in approval. He left with a satisfied
chuckle.

“Forgive me, Damian,” she whispered
again.

Two freed her a few hours later and let her
walk around the room. He stood in front of the door, unmoving as
she explored her surroundings. The room was empty aside from the
table. There was one vent in the ceiling, not large enough for her
hand let alone her body. Despair washed over her, but she forced
herself to concentrate.

Damian wasn’t dead. She felt it. If she could
only reach him …

She faced Two, the only thing between her and
escape. He was a puzzle, a man with no memory beyond waking up in
the morning. The rest was blocked, as if a dam was placed there.
She paced and stared at him.

…
a blood relative can sustain an
oracle.

She’d heard no such thing, but then again,
she didn’t know anything about oracles aside from what little she’d
gleaned from books and testing herself. His theory was so far
correct. Her stomach was content, and she’d not thrown up. She
hesitated, then approached Two. He didn’t move as she stopped in
front of him. She took his hand. He obliged and removed his glove,
rolling his sleeve to his elbow and withdrawing a knife. Though she
wasn’t hungry, she drank, exploring the black curtain shielding his
memories as she did.

He pushed his sleeve up farther, revealing
the bottom of a thick bicep with a partially visible tattoo. She
slid her hand up his arm and nudged the sleeve. The image on his
bicep was the same she wore around her neck.

Images flooded her mind, Damian’s, Claire’s,
Isac’s. She saw Damian watch the new king get his tattoo as a rite
of passage, saw it again as Claire made love to her husband, saw it
in Isac’s vision as he hacked the tattooed man apart. The man
hiding in the corner of her mind, he whose death plagued Damian for
thousands of years.

Darian.

She staggered back, the visions cementing in
her mind, overwhelming her. She tripped, and her head snapped back.
Two caught her before she hit the ground. His stunted memories
collided with the others running through her mind. His
honey-colored eyes were visible in the harsh lighting of the
room.

“Darian!”

His pupils dilated. He placed her on the
table and retreated, shaking his head and swiping at the air around
him, as if plagued by bees.

“Darian,” she repeated.

Kiri.

Seizing control of himself, he stepped
forward and pushed her back, binding her to the table again. Her
hope soared, and she watched him return to his corner.

“Your name is Darian. Your brother is Damian.
You were born two years a part. You married Claire … “ she went on,
closing her eyes as she repeated everything from the memories of
others.

He didn’t move, didn’t respond. She spoke
until she was hoarse. Her hope flagged, and she cried, then started
again. She spoke until she drifted into an uncomfortable doze only
to awake when he released her.

Cramped, she stretched before approaching him
again. She pulled the necklace from her neck.

“Look,” she said and touched his bicep.

Mechanically, he rolled his sleeve and
pricked his wrist. The curtain blocking him from his memories was
less defined, like ice beginning to thaw.

“This is who you are,” she said, holding up
the symbol. “Your name is Darian. Your brother is …”

She started over, talking until he freed her
once more. But he showed no sign of life as he took up his position
in his corner, and desperation crept through her. She cried and
kept talking, her sentences punctuated by sobs. At last, she
stopped speaking and lay, exhausted. If there was a way to make him
see what was in her head … to
make
him remember … she
focused on Damian’s memories, the ones before the dark age, when he
and his brother were happy.