Embrace the Desire (12 page)

His image shimmered and disappeared as he stepped into the shadows. He reappeared inside of an old barn that lay on the outskirts of the small town. The low chant of the coven filled his ears. His eyes narrowed as his mind was thrown back to the past, a past that burned into his soul every second of every day.

• • •

Egypt. During the reign of Thutmose III

Payne was known as Damian, the son of Damon. He was not coveted or treated as one would expect a prince of the Underworld to be. Instead, he was starved and scared, and stayed huddled in the corner of the dark cave. His fear and loneliness isolated him as much as being Damon's son did.

He watched as his mother painted a five-pointed star in blood on the cave's wall with her long finger. She was as beautiful as sin, long black hair and eyes the color of the deepest ocean. Her beauty was devastating, but her heart was as black and cruel as they came. She was a witch, a worshipper of the feared Damon.

The star she had painted was from the blood of an innocent child, her child. Damian's blood slid down her fingers as she turned to him. He was crying and holding his wrist. She smiled and walked to his side slowly sucking the blood from her fingertip. She knelt beside of him and grabbed his wrist. He bit his tongue as she raised it to her lips and licked the wound. His skin crawled as the tears ran down his dirty cheeks.

“Do not cry. You're serving a great purpose. Your blood is innocent and Damon loves you.” Her ancient Egyptian language spilled from her mouth as she ran her finger down his nose. “You're his son and he needs you. Love and obey your father and he'll give you immortality in the end. Hate your father and he'll torment your soul for all time.”

She pulled him to his feet and ran her fingers through his thick mud packed hair. He leaned against his mother and took her other hand in his. He walked by her side out into the cave's opening. Over thirty witches stood waiting for them. His mother, Re-Mona, held her hand up and silenced the coven. Their chant subsided and she pushed the boy to the center of the crowd.

“He must be beaten with your wands. Take care to lance his skin and lick the blood from the wound. His blood is pure and tonight Damon commands that we all partake of him and taste what he implanted inside of me.”

The little boy fell to his knees, but his tears dried as the witches formed a line. The first witch stepped forward and held out her wand over his back. The little boy stared at the ground and waited. The wand came down and bit into his flesh. His mother smiled as the witch fell to her knees and licked the wound. She stood and went to Re-Mona's side with his blood on her lips.

The next witch stepped forward. Damian looked up as a little black haired girl, Bastilla, came running at him. She threw herself across his back and screamed in utter defiance to his mother.

“No, please stop. I love him. Why do you cause him so much pain?”

Re-Mona frowned and went to the young witchling. She grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. Bastilla kicked her shins and fought as Re-Mona dragged her into the cave. She commanded the ceremony to continue as they disappeared into the opening of the cave.

Even though the witches continued the beating, Damian turned and watched his mother, listening to every word being said.

She threw the girl into the corner and took out her wand. “He is the property of Damon! His blood is still human and is unfit for your love. You disgrace your god by loving him. It's your duty to love Damon!”

Bastilla pleaded, “But coven mistress, please. He is your son!”

Re-Mona stopped, her face going pale. “He is Damon's son. I may have carried that demon inside of me, but he isn't a child of mine! My pain was greatly rewarded.”

Bastilla's eyes widened as she stared out of the cave at Damian. “You sold your body and your son to Damon.”

Laughter echoed through the winding cave. “His pain is a blessing from your god!”

“A blessing?”

“Yes.” Re-Mona grinned, her eyes glittering like diamonds. “You should not worry about the boy, you should be more worried about yourself. I have given you to Damon. He has chosen you as his next bride-to-be and wants you to understand that you will mother his next child!”

“No!”

Bastilla scrambled to her feet and tried to run past her. Re-Mona caught her by the hair and slammed her to her knees. She lashed out and slapped the girl several times and spit in her face.

“You ungrateful little urchin! It's time you met your god.”

Damian heard Bastilla's scream. Scrambling to his feet, he raced to the cave, fear clutching his heart. He knew that his mother would beat her for trying to protect him, but that wasn't what worried him. His father would do unimaginable things to Bastilla.

Pushing through the two of the witches at the entrance, he fell scraping his knees. Slipping through one of the witch's legs, he ran as hard as he could to Bastilla. He slid to a stop in front of her unconscious body and fell to his knees. As he reached for her hand, he was kicked in the side. Unwilling to feel the pain, he crawled to her hand. His fingers grazed her skin as he was pulled to his feet in front of his mother.

Re-Mona's eyes were cold and hard as she slapped him across the cheek. She threw him face forward to land in front of a pair of black boots. He looked up and bit back the scream in his throat. The man who stood before him was death, disease, famine, murder, hatred, and pure evil. His straight hair hung down to the cave's floor and fanned out around his black boots. His face was cold and as white as the linen worn by virgins. His eyes were red and set in dark sockets. The black horns that protruded out of his skull were twisted and jagged.

Damian tried to look away but couldn't. The man's body was lithe and skinny and snakes curled around both of his arms and slithered around his chest like clothing. They hissed and bit at Damian as he scrambled backward.

Damon laughed and the sound of his laugh froze the cave's air and the cold mist settled around Damian's body as the cave disappeared. The boy scrambled to his feet and tried to see a way to escape. He reached out into the mist and screamed as his hand was bitten by snakes that appeared out of thin air. He fell to his knees as the snake god stepped forward and grabbed his hair.

As he lifted Damian from the ground by his hair, he said, “Is that any way to treat your father? It has plagued my soul to have to be away from you.”

The boy twisted and cried out as his hair began to pull from his scalp. Damon released Damian's hair and let him fall to the ground. A throne of twisted naked female bodies appeared and Damon sat down. He peered at the boy and pointed at him. He crooked his finger and Damian slid across the cold floor to his booted foot.

“I want to share something with you, my son.”

Damian closed his eyes as the mist cleared and two woman dressed in white appeared. They were chained to the floor by their ankles. Damon grinned and opened the boy's eyes with a flick of his wrist. Damian watched in horror as another man dressed in red satin robes stepped forward holding an axe.

The women in white were virgins. Damian knew because he had witnessed these executions all of his life. He also knew that they were members of the One Race and had not yet gone through the Burning. He didn't know how he knew, he just did.

He swallowed hard as his mother appeared in front of the two women. She was naked, painted with blood from head to toe. Damian tried to look away as his mother took the axe in both of her hands, but his head refused to turn.

“Lesson one, my son. Fear will win you more servitude than any other emotion.” He leaned forward, grabbed Damian's chin. “And when that fear turns into devotion . . . ” He pointed to the women in chains. “They'll want to die for you just so it will bring you pleasure.”

Damian jerked away, fell backwards as Damon laughed. “I don't want anyone to die.”

“Watch Damien, watch how your mother serves me.” Damon grinned, his black hair falling over one of his eyes. “Soon, you'll serve me as well. The rivers of blood that you'll create will give me insurmountable pleasure.”

Payne watched in the shadows shaking off the memory as two witches carried a black candle from the front of the barn to the back. The smell of hay and horses filled his nostrils, the scent distracting his thoughts. It reminded him of the kiss he had never forgotten, of the woman he had tried to forget, but hadn't.

And he had just left that woman in her apartment, naked and wet. Chanta was becoming a major distraction and it was presenting a problem for him. For the life of him, he didn't know what he was going to do or to how to handle the situation.

The doors of the barn opened and a red haired witch stepped in followed by ten more witches. All of them were naked and all painted red. The red head was strong and no doubt the high priestess of her coven. She wore the mark of Damon on her forehead as if it was an honor to have endured his touch. Payne's lips curled into a cruel grin as he saw the scars that ran across her nose and down her jaw.

Damon was an enigma. He lived on the pain and misery of others and even convinced his followers that through the pain he inflicted, his love was in the purest form. How crazy was that? Damon really was a snake, in every possible way.

The scimitars hummed in his hands, anxious to taste blood. Damon had taught him well in the time he had been his prisoner, he taught him how to kill without mercy, without fear, without emotion. And Varick had honed those skills to perfection. He was born to be a killer, born from the semen of a god, born from the womb of a witch. Reborn with revenge and bloodlust in his heart. He was Payne!

He stepped out from the shadows and his war cry scolded the ears of the coven. They fled in ten different directions as he crossed the small space to the head witch. His blades were raised as she shielded her face. Her screech of anger flooded his mind and he grinned.

He swung the scimitar and sliced through the flesh of her arm. Black blood gushed from the wound as she whirled around with her wand. The edge of the wand contacted his left forearm and he laughed. The witch stepped back with a wild unbelieving expression on her face as blue flames rose from her attacker's fingertips and flowed up his arms.

“Who are you?” she screamed as he leapt forward.

“I am your Destroyer. Prepare to meet your fate.”

No sooner than the words left his twisted mouth, she fell to his thrust. The blades penetrated her body as if it were made of soft butter. Her blood poured down his hands as he heard the scream of another witch.

Payne's double fangs lengthened as he whirled around and caught the screaming witch midair. He flung her against the barn wall and sliced her in half, blood splattered the wall as she exhaled her last breath.

He turned and smiled as eight witches, five males and three females, surrounded him. They each extended their hands and weapons appeared. His body, fueled by the intensity of his rage, took on a persona of its own. His maddening dance of destruction lashed out at the witches, and his laughter filled the barn as they fell one and two at a time.

Blood splattered and spurted across his face and chest. It ran down both of his arms as he roared curses and insults. The black horns of his inner demon appeared on his forehead as the smile stretched across his hate-filled face.

The eighth witch fell into a severed heap at his feet. He looked down with contempt written on his face. Bitch of Damon! He growled as a solid wallop to the back of his head made him step forward. He turned and smiled as the witch dropped the iron bar in her hand and cowered from him. Payne sheathed his scimitars and lunged for her.

He caught her by the hair and slammed her face into the center post of the barn. It cracked under the force and groaned as Payne slammed her face into it again. The witch fell and her screams turned to gurgles. The bones in her face were caved in and one could no longer even guess what she had looked like. She threw her hands to her face as Payne carelessly twisted her neck. She fell forward against the post with her eyes bulging from the torn sockets.

Payne knew there were three more hiding in the shadows and his eyes flashed turning yellow once more. The strongest was waiting against the back door, carelessly picking at her long, black fingernails. The smug expression on her face seared through his anger as he reached into the shadows to his left and drug a male from his hiding place. His fingers squeezed around his jugular and crushed his windpipe. The witch fell backwards as Payne turned to the witch who stepped out from behind a large pile of hay.

She laughed as Payne stepped forward. “So you are one of Gyth's piglets?” Her black fingernails extended as she continued. “I won't let you kill my mistress. I will feast on your flesh this night.”

Payne's arms blazed again and his eyes turned as red as blood. “Then come on whore of Damon. Stop your useless chatter and come get some of me.”

The witch snarled and leapt forward with her claws slashing at the air. He raised his left arm and blue flames flew from his fingertips and slammed her backwards into the back wall. She slid down the wall screaming in pain. The flames covered her body and melted her eyes. The stench of charred flesh filled his nostrils as he watched her flesh turn to blackened mush and slowly slide from her bones.

Payne grinned as the flames entered her ashy sockets and devoured her insides. Damon's gift was ironic to say the least. It was the one power that he had kept after his transformation into a Destroyer. The blue flame of the Underworld's fire was torture to any soul and could melt any metal with his slightest touch. It was time to harvest the witch's souls and seal them inside of the pendants of Damon. It was all rather ironic, but self-satisfying all the same.

The last witch strolled up to the haystack and smiled. “I know who you are Destroyer. Your name has crossed my mistress's lips more than she cares to admit. You are Payne, son of Damon, son of Re-Mona, bringer of death. Your reputation precedes you. Cold, calculated, brutal, and so full of hate.”