Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (20 page)

Searing pain and ghastly fright
overpowered her body and mind. Lynn saw the blood on her hands, the
blood on his lips, the blood on the ground; she smelled the
metallic aroma. Shrieking and jumping, the world blurred as tears
seized her eyes.

But the intoxicating scent
of the blood broke through the agony, driving her into a new
frenzy. She lunged, nipping at his parted lips, and grasping for
his crotch. The jewel in his chest rapidly pulsated and turned a
brighter crimson red.

Tongues tangled, her blood on his
lips. Saliva poured from their mouths, and spilled down their
cheeks and chins.

Isaac hurled her against the front of
the car. With a swipe of a claw, he shredded her blouse, severing
her bra, exposing her erect nipples.

With ravenous delight, his
lips clasped around her right breast, his hands gripped her hips.
He forced her shorts and panties down her thighs. A smooth claw
flicked her labia, grazing her sensitive folds, and sending satin
strands of electricity through her body. Hot wetness—pungent and
exhilarating—gushed from her insides, coating his claws and fingers
in creamy fluids.

Her throat unleashed a
deep and powerful growl—a promise that she would erupt with the
most fantastic orgasm.

Isaac lifted her, placing her on the
car hood. He palmed her breast, forcing her to lay on the warm
metal, the hot steel delivering quivers throughout her naked
skin.

Using his torso, he pried
her legs apart. Each of his firm hands held her wrists, his
snarling face lingered near her collarbone. He was about to rip her
throat open, but with a ruthless jolt, he shoved her higher until
she sat upright, her back against the cool windshield. With a
needful panting, he dove between her legs where his feral mouth
clasped onto her labia. He flicked his rough tongue along her
engorged clit.

A thirsty beast, he greedily drank
from her frothy well.

While nibbling and sucking, he
breathed throaty moans. Her body surrendered to orgasm, pleasure
charging through her. Over and over and over. A haze of ecstasy
shrouded her mind. Her struggle to regain her senses was almost
over when...

A zipper and the shuffling of
clothes.

“
Master! No!” a strange
female voice cried.

Isaac glared at the intruder, a pale
naked and bald young woman standing behind him. He swiped a claw at
the woman, but she leapt away.

“
You mustn’t take her
yet.” The naked woman further floated from his reach.

Isaac snarled, and terrifying canines
flashed.

Lynn’s body throbbed with
need. Between her thighs, the blood in her veins pulsed. Stickiness
seeped from her sex—her sex that mercilessly craved
more.

Isaac looked back to Lynn. A softness
glazed over him before he ruthlessly tossed her to the ground. As
Lynn crawled to her feet, she saw a shadowy blur. Once again, Isaac
morphed into a panther. Dark wings soared him over the
trees.

Lightning flashed in the night
sky.

“
Isaac!” Lynn called after
him. “Don’t leave me alone. I’m frightened.” As the hormonal
hysteria dissipated, an agonizing throb hummed from the void of her
missing finger.

“
Come, Mistress Lynn, I
will tell you all you need to know.”

Lynn eyed the naked woman
floating above the gable. A strange and overwhelming sense of
jealousy pervaded her. Lips curled, a rumble vibrated from her.
“Start with who the hell you are.” She glanced at the sky where
Isaac had vanished. “And end with why my mate has abandoned
me!”

A low growl purred from Lynn’s lips. A
growl? The stump of her severed finger throbbed, spurting
blood.

She slid her shorts on and
searched for her shirt and bra, then remembered Isaac had shredded
both. Shredded them with a claw that extended out of his hand.
Tears pooled in her eyes. Tears of frustration. Of rage and
unfathomable jealousy and a cocktail of other harshly unstable
emotions. A wild rabid spirit had invaded her loins, mastering her
humanity. Never in all her thirty-one years had she ravaged a man
like she’d ravaged Isaac.

She tilted her head back
and roared. An inhuman scream vibrated from somewhere deep and
foreign. A single bat screeched from atop the mansion’s roof. A
distant child cried out, fleeing.

Her stomach
rumbled.

Royal purple curtains on
the second floor window back-dropped the ghostly woman who floated
near the ledge. “I am Ira.” She bowed while levitating.

Lynn stepped closer to the
awning over the front door and glared at the bald woman. “You’re a
ghost?” Lynn cringed at the husky tone of her own voice. Shaking
her head, she covered her eyes. “I think I’m going to shred you
like paper and I don’t even know why.” Her lips curled back and she
involuntarily snapped her jaws. Instinctively she reached out to
grasp the closest stone pillar. The spirit inside urged her to
climb the column.
“It’s your true self coming forth. It’s what you are.” The ghost
held her position near the second floor window.

“
This isn’t what I am. For
God’s sake, I’m a fourth grade music teacher.” Holding balled fists
over her head, she said, “I hate you!” The nub of her missing
finger twitched and bled. Blood speckled her hair. She grimaced.
“Come down here you phantom whore!” She slapped a hand over her
mouth. Had she really said that?

“
Geminus females are
legendary for their ferocious nature. None, in all the universes,
dare cross one, especially one who has found their mate—the most
aggressive beings in all existence. But I am Isaac’s servant and
not a threat to you.”

A soured tangle of anxiety
and anger twisted inside Lynn’s gut. Geminus? Mate? Confusion
overwhelmed her. A sharp nail drove outward from her abdomen,
causing her to groan and clutch her stomach. “I think I’m
starving,” she wheezed, bending over.

“
You need to feed,
Mistress. Refrain from shredding me like paper, and I will serve
you.”

A coy, almost child-like
expression on Ira’s face made hating her difficult. But not
impossible. Lynn straightened, held her head high. “Can a ghost
even be shredded?”

“
A Geminus can rip my
corporeal and incorporeal body from the mortal realms.”

“
How exactly do you serve
Isaac dressed in...well...nothing.”

Ira
floated to the ground, glancing down at herself at if she’d
forgotten she was buck naked. She tittered, covering her mouth. “My
apologies, Mistress.” A frail black robe materialized, covering her
from neck to foot. She waved Lynn on. “This is your new home,
Mistress. Please come inside and I will tend to your wound.”
Ira glided through the front door, leaving Lynn
alone in the driveway.

She shrugged then followed
the ghost inside, into a foyer. To the left, she spotted a bull
horn tree. Native to Central America, she’d never seen one up
close. The tree was young and still potted but spines already
sprouted from the base of its leaves. Extraordinary.

“
Mistress?” Ira waited
further down a dimly lit corridor. Over the hallway’s threshold, a
large beaver-like head looked back at her with lifeless eyes, and
threatening teeth.

With reluctance, Lynn
followed the ghost through the dark hallway.

The fragrance of
Frankincense and myrrh captivated her, the same scents she recalled
from the garden she’d envisioned earlier that day. The mansion held
both a classic and contemporary styling. A chandelier that probably
cost more than her three-bedroom home, hung low over a long dining
table. A marble fountain churned sparkling clean water. She could
smell its purity, the absence of pollution. How she could smell it,
she had no clue.

Ignoring the instinct to lean forward
and lap at the unpolluted trickling water, she panned the vast
entryway and living area. As large and luxurious as this place
appeared, the walls threatened to collapse in on her.

The hallway gave way to a
formal dining room with an exquisite wood table. Lynn paced the
length of the table. The walls mocked her. They may as well have
been bamboo bars—the room, a makeshift cage.

The spirit within hungered
to be freed back into the wilds.

Lynn held her bloody hand
against her bare chest. More blood smeared her naked breasts. Sweat
bubbled on her forehead. Anxiety rolled through her. The ceiling
was two stories high, yet it felt more suffocating than a coffin.
She lifted her hands over her head, readying to catch the falling
lid that would surely seal her into an eternally dark
tomb.

Ira said, “It’s the
metamorphosis warping your sense of reality.” She led Lynn through
a living area—big enough to park three vehicles.

“
This is unbelievable,”
Lynn muttered. “None of this can be real. That man drugged me, he
kidnapped me and you’re his accomplice. You two are sickos like the
people from those true crime shows.”

Ira whirled around in
mid-air. Her black robe blossomed into a southern belle dress but
remained black as coal. The ghost whirled again and the dress
shriveled into a petite skirt and tight top before the robe
returned. Then Ira melted through the table only to materialize
next to Lynn.

“
Mistress, I’m afraid this
is all very, very real. You are Geminus. Soon, very soon, the
metamorphosis will awaken the hidden Beast hibernating within your
soul where it has been since the day your Geminus twin parents
conceived you.”

Geminus twin parents? So her mother
was a Geminus twin? And what the hell is a Geminus twin?

A sudden fever gripped her
entire body. Her skin felt aflame. Screaming, Lynn lunged at Ira.
She tossed the phantom bitch through the wall. Lynn tore open the
glass doors that led outside and stepped onto the flagstone patio.
An expansive courtyard surrounded her.

Ira floated toward Lynn.
Lifting a black silk robe from an iron hook on the brick wall, she
held it out.

Lynn snatched the robe from Ira and
the ghost floated off, following a path made of silver hexagonal
stepping stones embedded in the lush green grass.

Lynn tied the robe’s cloth
sash around her waist while blood from her severed finger stained
the soft fabric. She glanced at the wide open and dark sky. Anxiety
gone, she sucked in a deep breath. A breeze curled around her,
a welcoming sensation. Clean, crisp air filled her
lungs.

The three-story walls of the mansion
barricaded the courtyard. From what or whom, Lynn wondered. Inside
its barrier, a row of Neoregelia flowers, the cultivar of Hannibal
Lecter, a crossing of punctatissima and carcharodon. Quite rare for
this region, yet the leaves were a vibrant burgundy and missing the
typical stripes and dots. She slid the long, shiny leaf between two
fingers. Beautiful.

“
Master is a lover of
tropical plants. The Neoregelia is one of his favorites. He says it
reminds him of his home, a spectacular jungle-covered
world.”

Lynn inhaled the flower’s
exotic fragrance. Despite her chosen career as an elementary school
teacher, horticulture had been her first true love. Ever since she
was a little girl, the plants, flowers, vines and trees had called
to her, a fascination that thrived deep inside her core. Her mother
supported her interest in the local flora, always decorating her
room with exotic plants.

But Ira had said she was
separated from her parents. Was her mother really her mother at
all?

Lynn watched as Ira neared
a large marble fountain—beholding statues carved to depict three of
the same creature: a seductive woman with large bat-like wings;
another was of her squatting, her palms flat on the ground between
her bent legs, as if about to take flight; the third captured the
frightening woman in mid-flight with a giant scorpion draped along
her back, its curled tail appearing to belong to both arachnid and
woman.

Lynn tilted her head in
the direction of the western sky. Something beckoned. Two stars
glimmered brightest. Divinity filled her body and soul like she had
drank the world’s most wholesome ambrosia. “What’s happening to
me?”

“
You are maturing,
Mistress,” Ira said. “The Geminus inside of you is
awakening.”

“
What is this ‘Geminus’
you keep talking about?”

Ira’s slim lips formed a
gentle smile. “It is no great surprise you don’t know your origins.
Geminus offspring are always scattered across the stars and hidden
from other adult Geminus, including their own parents. For like
many animals of this world, they will cannibalize their own young
out of territorial preservation.”

Lynn frowned. “I’m not a
Geminus. I was not ‘scattered across the stars’. And my parents did
not give me up. I was born right here in Texas! By my
mother.”

“
And what of your
father?”

“
My mother raised me
alone.” Blood gushed from her clenched hand and splashed onto a
granite stepping stone. Saliva filled her mouth. Swallowing, she
longed to lap the blood, like a house cat would milk.

“
She was not your mother,”
Ira said. “She was—”