Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (25 page)

“
Nay! Only if the Order
has exhausted all other avenues and still can find no further clues
to help with your search of the Geminus. It is a last resort only.
Understood?”

Atticus shook his head, giving no
verbal reply.

Elder Cai’s deep sigh
reverberated through the phone. “You may inadvertently summon an
evil entity or worse, lose yourself on some alien realm. You lack
the esoteric skills required to manipulate a cosmic vortex. It
would be far too dangerous.”

If Elder Cai deemed the summoning too
dangerous, why had he told Atticus of it? Was this another
test?

Atticus glanced out the
window. A patch of thick woods lined the distant landscape. He
gazed into Sacred Oaks, the forest where he could find answers. But
he was to do nothing; just sit and wait. “I am expected to save the
world with my hands bound by the chain of command?”

“
As I am a steward of the
Order, I must dictate procedure warning you against unauthorized
actions.”

“
I refuse to sit
idle.”

“
Open your ears boy. I’ve
given you an alternative.” The Elder hiccupped. “One last thing.
The Geminus are capable of sensing your presence. It is only a
matter of time before it attempts to eliminate you. After all, you
are its most feared predator.”

Atticus looked again at
the woods. “Perhaps it is time I start playing with
madness.”

Two hours later, the Jalopy rattled
its way into Buckeye a quarter past noon. Roxy’s Bus Depot read ‘O
en’; the ‘p’ darkened. Over the years, little had changed in the
small Texas town. Just how Shane liked it. He shifted to park and
killed the engine.

Birch grabbed his large
duffel from the truck bed and headed for his car parked on the side
of Roxy’s.

“
You don’t want to come in
for a quick bite?” Shane asked.

Birch glanced over his
shoulder. “Not sure I can stomach watching you and Amy ogle over
each other. But let’s work on our bikes tomorrow.” Birch tossed his
bag in the back of his car. “That is, if the little lady don’t
tucker you out too much tonight.”

Shane waved and strode
into Roxy’s.

Amy, wearing the standard
Roxy uniform—black shorts and white T-shirt—hurried by carrying a
plate in each hand, both topped with a burger and steak
fries.

The richly scented air tasted of bacon
grease and buttered biscuits. His mouth watered and his stomach
growled.

A poster-sized photograph
of his high school football team clung to the wall: the Buckeye
Vultures, taken over a decade ago, right after they won the state
championship—the glorious Kettle days before he tossed his sorry
ass into Uncle Sam’s pot.

Amy set the burgers down
at a nearby table, swung around and lunged into his open arms.
“Thank God you’re home!”

“
Hello, baby.” He held her
head between his hands, his eyes roamed her body. “Just let me look
at you.”

Their
lips fastened. Shane tightened his grip around her waist and drew
her close.
God, she feels good. And smells
a hell of a lot better than raw oil, chewing tobacco and body
odor.

“
It’s all over the news
about the earthquake,” she said. “And the strange
lightening.”

Amy’s face was covered in
makeup. He ran a thumb over a pink bump on her cheek. “What
happened?”

She kissed his palm.
Running the back of his hand along her face. “I missed
you.”

Fuck
that shit!
His hands on both sides of her
face, he forced her to look at him. “What the fuck happened to your
face?”

“
You’re the only one
that’s noticed.” She hesitated. “Restroom incident at The Bull.
Clumsy is all. The door just came out of nowhere.”

Shane
drew her against him and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“I’ve told you to be careful around those dangerous doors.” He
decided to lighten the mood. Lowering his head, he whispered close
to her ear. “Has
Bastet
been having all the fun?”

Amy blushed and gave him a
shove. “Hush. I can’t believe you told Carmen to do
that.”

He pressed his face into
her neck and inhaled “Mmm. Think I’ll have today’s special.
Meatloaf is it?”

She scrunched her
shoulders. “Down boy. I’m at work.”

Carmen held two plates,
each topped with fried eggs and a scoop of hash browns. A black
ponytail bounced in rhythm with her steps. “You two make me want to
hurl.”

Shane draped his arm
around Amy’s neck, tucking her close. “You're just jealous, Car.
Blew your chance to be with a hero and now you're stuck with a
bunch of zeroes.”

“
Oh jeez.” Amy groaned.
“Don’t ever utter that phrase again or we’re through.”

“
I’m parched. Mind getting
me some sweet tea?”

Amy planted a quick but fiery kiss on
his lips and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a
pitcher and a glass.

Shane straddled a stool.
“Sit. I need to talk to you.”

Amy slid onto the stool
beside him. A smile lit her face. “Did you decide to attend the
anger management class?” She let out a delicate squeal and clapped
her hands. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

Grimacing, he shook his
head. “Not even close.”

Fuck the anger management
classes. She needs to drop that shit

Her shoulders sagged,
brows furrowed. “Then what?”

Shane cracked his knuckles and let out
a deep sigh. Seconds crawled by while his heart hammered against
his ribs.

“
What did you want to talk
about, sweetie?” she said.

Does
your mama know you're a slobbering pussy?
The taunting words of his former Sergeant Stark rung through
his head.
Scoop up your balls and tack ‘em
back on 'fore I stomp all over them little girly
nuts!

Shane cleared his throat.
“I want you to—”

“
Is anybody gonna bring me
my damn coffee?” the old geezer, Robert Campbell, bellowed. The
minty scent of Bengay wafted from his skin and clear across the
cafe. Had the guy bathed in it?

Amy held up a finger to
Shane. “Be right back.” She hopped from the stool.

He snatched her wrist.
“Marry me.”

# # #

Holding a large platter of bloody
meat, Ira floated into Lynn’s bedroom.

Amongst the king-size bed and a
full-length mirror centered over an antique dresser, Lynn slept. A
faint purr whispered from her lips.

On the end table, Ira set the plate
down. A water canister hung from a hook in the corner of the room.
She watered the exotic plants dangling from the ceiling and several
small potted trees that adorned the corners. Hovering over the
brown carpet, she closed the thorny vines framing the
floor-to-ceiling window, shading the room from the afternoon
sunlight.

Ira felt Lynn’s sweaty forehead. A
frown curved her lips. Lynn had been asleep for fourteen hours.
Settling onto the foot of the bed, Ira watched.

And waited.

Inside Nephruch’s skull, Isaac
disrobed. With his dagger tip, sharper than a falcon’s talon, he
lacerated the archaic numeral two into the leathery skin of his
chest. Scorches of pain seared through him as he carved himself all
according to the ceremonial rites.

The same way sirens lured
sailors to their doom, the musk clinging to every branching
corridor of the lair—like a sweet oil—beckoned Isaac to penetrate
deeper into the cavernous skull.

Darkness enveloped him, but he plunged
forward. A warm sourness licked at his naked body. Somewhere
amongst the labyrinth the clicking movement of Vostrick’s patrol
resounded.

Slices of green light filtered through
cracks of the charred bone walls. Rotten, hardened muscle and sinew
clung like grout. Torn and broken spurs hung from the passageways’
low ceilings.

Since the dawn of time—or
at least since the decay and ruin of Eden—Geminus stags had made a
similar pilgrimage as he was now, back to mother’s lair to seek the
blessings of the matron goddess. Not since his sixteenth season had
he tasted her essence.

According to the ancient scriptures of the
Tabbrunica
, Galmoria’s
bittersweet essence flowed like tainted ambrosia from every pore of
her body and it enticed even the mightiest of beasts to kneel and
serve her wicked desires.

But Isaac would never
cower. His lips curved into a sinister sneer. He imagined bending
the Winged Priestess over her own altar and fucking the goddess’
black asshole until it bled with her slimy fetid guts.

As one of her offspring,
he would need to prove his alpha bloodline, confirm he was worthy
of carrying on the Geminus lineage. He would need to force her to
submit. Only then would Galmoria bless his union with his twin and
allow Lynn to mature into a Vixen -- and together his mate and he
would rule the throne over all the tribes as King and Queen of
Beasts.  

But if he failed Galmoria would kill
or enslave him.

Galmoria could kiss the lips of Death
and chill the Reaper down to his tiniest bone.

At the end of the last chamber, a
jagged threshold opened to his left and a larger cavernous alcove
to his right. Isaac ducked into the smaller opening.

Four naked males were
shackled to the scabrous wall, their bodies blistered and their
genitalia consumed by pus and warts. Swarms of fat flies infested
the dungeon chamber as did piles of writhing maggots that feasted
on the blood, urine and feces of the four prisoners.

Isaac sniffed the air.

Geminus.

Three of the males spat at him. The
fourth, grizzly and aged, stared with hollow black eyes. His
scrawny arms were chained to a jutting bone spur above his head. A
disgusting blistery rash covered the lengths of both his arms.
 

Isaac approached. “Why do you not spit
like the others?”

The old Geminus said, “He ponders with
me?”

“
You failed your conquest
over mother, all of you.” Isaac panned the wretched prisoners, and
chortled. “I shall be your master soon.”

“
I tried not.” The male
met Isaac’s gaze. “I drank not of her bowl.”

“
And now you hang here
like a fool.”

The male hung his head. He snorted,
blood dripped from his nostril. Lifting his gaze, grinning, a
toothless smile, he said, “I saw the burning chariots over the city
walls and they fell.”

“
You have gone mad,
brother. Justly so, for your failure.”

“
When he came down from
the mountain...his skin was aglow and his hair turned white for he
had seen the face of Gods--the face of giants.”

“
I suspect you’ve been
here awhile, my wretched brother.”

A raspy laughter came from the
threshold. Galmoria slithered inside the dungeon like a wet
reptilian. Black wings trimmed in scarlet flapped against the wall.
Ember red hair flowed to her waist like liquid flames. She wore
only a lace halter with a tawny red thong, and knee-high boots with
tiny human skulls chained to the outer sides. Her firm abdomen
sparkled from onyx and garnet embedded in her skin. Curved talons
protruded from her bony black fingertips.

Her forked tongue traced full bloody
red lips.  “Hello my darling.”

The other three Geminus
hissed, snarled. They lashed out with their hands and chomped their
jaws. One-by-one Galmoria kissed their lips and stroked their
infected genitals, immediately lulling them to sleep.

“
Meet your brother,
Adela,” Galmoria glided until she stood between Isaac and the old
male. “On that forsaken world called Earth, Adela once thought it a
grand idea to be a priest for the humans. After he found his mate,
he deemed himself too righteous for his own Mother.” Galmoria
waggled her finger. “But for the last thousand years, Mother has
taught her little boy a lesson, hasn’t she, baby?” Galmoria inched
her face toward Adela’s.

“
I spaketh to the
Lascivious Maid along the Red Sea!” Adela recoiled. “Return to
whence you came!”

“
Of course you did, my
sweet cub.” Galmoria pressed her lips against Adela’s and trailed a
forked tongue down his bare chest, leaving behind a slim red
incision. She flashed Isaac a smile. “I’ve never been to the Red
Sea on Earth,” she said. “Your poor brother is mistaking me for
that petty little insect Lilith. I’m not a thing like her. The
wench had pathetic taste and such an insignificant legacy barely
even worth footnotes by mortal-kind.”

She turned toward Isaac. “As a welcome
home gift, I will let you kill this worthless, disgusting,
miserable disgrace of a child.”

Isaac tossed his dagger
onto a bed of maggots, and claws ripped from his fingertips. “It is
my pleasure, Mother.”

“
Lilith soul be damned!”
Adela muttered. “I forgive my brothers.”