Embrace the Desire (3 page)

“Damon? Did she know who and what he was?” Varick slowly sat down beside of him at the bar, his jaw slack. “Where does that leave her?”

Gyth shook his head as disgust rolled around his stomach. “No, she didn't know, not until Damon was one step from slicing her throat.”

Silence hung between them for seconds, mere seconds that felt like eons.

“But Damon didn't harm her; he couldn't for some reason.” Gyth closed his eyes. “That's the night I found her, naked and in his arms in a dark alley. Her terror was heart shattering. Not until after Damon vanished did I realize just what had been wrought between them. My own flesh and blood was in love with my bitter enemy. I have been protecting her ever since that night because she allows me to, but now, I cannot protect her from the Burning. It is her time.”

“Because she is part angel, you have to have her permission to protect her and I can only assume, she doesn't want your protection.”

Gyth could only nod. His voice lodged in his throat.

“Has Damon made any move against her?”

Gyth shook his head. “She is a member of the One Race because my blood runs through her veins, but that also means that only someone with the truest strength of the gods can save her. That leaves her in desperate need to have a Destroyer take her through the Burning.” Gyth reached for the bottle in Varick's hand and added. “That leaves her in desperate need of Payne.”

Varick stood, his topaz eyes swirling with power. “And Payne is Damon's son. The chances of him doing this are zero to none especially if he finds out that she was once Damon's lover.”

“He must or Chanta will die.” For added measure, Gyth stood and grabbed Varick's shoulder. “Your sister, my daughter, will die.”

Mounds of books lay scattered across the granite coffee table, littered the floor, and obscured any pathway through the small living room. In these pages, Chanta Timbers had found so many ways to leave the planes of reality. They were her escape. They offered her silence in the wake of so many storms.

Today, escape seemed impossible. Her thirtieth birthday was just around the corner. Being a member of the One Race had plenty of advantages, if you survived the Burning. And that was a big
if
.

The Burning would start on her birthday, last a week, maybe two. She would be consumed with confusion, weakness, muscle cramps, headaches, and lust. The drive to have sex would push her right over the edge and send her straight into the Burning. It was biology, simple and complicated.

Because she was descended from the gods, on her thirtieth birthday, her life as a human would come to an end, literally. Biology would demand her body to undergo major changes, her genetic makeup, which was dormant, would awaken and force the change, the transformation, to take place. Only the strongest descendants survived the Burning because it was an overwhelming physical and mental challenge.

And if that wasn't enough, the need and desire to have sex would consume her. If she refused to have sex with another member of the One Race or a Destroyer, she would die. End of game. It was the consequence of being a descendant of the gods. Too bad she didn't know who or even which one of her parents had passed on the god genes. She had been left at an orphanage, had no memory of either of her parents.

If she survived, she would be granted special powers—a unique gift, a special ability that was hers and hers alone, as distinct as a fingerprint, and long-lasting life. Chanta could live for hundreds or thousands of years. She would not die of old age, her body would restore itself, never wearing down or causing her demise by natural causes.

However, she was not immortal. She could die by another's hand. Even the gods could die.

The problem was that during the Burning, many members felt the urge to mark their sexual partner as theirs . . . for the rest of eternity. It was a bond that was unbreakable, and if one died, the other would slowly go insane. She didn't want to be marked and belong to anyone, especially not for the rest of her conceivably very long life. And she didn't want to mark a man either. If he was not a member of the One Race or a Destroyer, but a regular mortal, his life span would be short, and she damn sure didn't want to go insane.

Insane with godly powers sure didn't sound like a good combination.

And a Destroyer? They harbored demons under their skin, were ruthless killers, and from the stories she had heard, they were emotionally brutal. Male members of the One Race were few and far between, most already bonded with someone that had taken them through the Burning.

And if she were to be marked, then what? She had a job she loved, she had devoted herself to helping children of the One Race, and she wasn't about to give that up. Not to mention, she was just turning thirty and had already been through enough rocky relationships to last her several lifetimes.

If she had a choice she would just stay human and not go through the Burning.

But she did not.

She breathed in through her lips, the fragrance of the old books calming her nerves. Shoving those thoughts aside, she looked down at the pile of papers to her right and groaned. Shoving her thoughts of the Burning aside, as well, she turned to the stack of reports by her side.

Chanta ran her slight fingers through her thick cotton-blonde hair. What exactly had she been thinking when she told her students to do reports on the creation myth? And why had she not picked just one for them. Oh no, she had let them choose their own. Twenty research papers and almost all of them were on a different myth.

There were just so many gods and so many myths. She should have simply assigned the One Race creation myth, which would have been much easier. And because she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she graded each one, she gave in and grabbed another book.

A rattling noise jerked her from her thoughts. She sat up and went to her knees peering over the couch. Her heart was in her throat, terror only inches from claiming her. Straining, she listened, watched.

“I'm safe here.” She whispered as her eyes darted around the room. “I'm safe.”

A faint smile spread cross her lips as a small black cat jumped on the back of the couch and purred at her. Her body relaxed, a sigh escaping her lips. She was safe; she knew that, but still, sometimes an odd feeling of fear crept up her spine and beat at the base of her skull, like a warning bell going off.

Instantly, she thought of Damon and the night he had revealed to her what and who he truly was. Anger crept over her terror. She was just another member of the One Race, just another plaything in the ongoing war he had with Gyth. And he had used her in the foulest of ways. He seduced her, made her feel things that she had never felt and still hadn't felt to this day.

Members of the One Race had to be careful, fearful. They never knew when or where they would be attacked or even how it would happen. Under Damon's rule, the minions of the Underworld were constantly trying to eradicate the race. And there were so very few of them that survived. If you were descended from a god, the safest place to be was at a sanctuary.

A sanctuary like the one where she was a teacher. One Race Academy, a private boarding school for One Race children, was one of the safest places on earth. Secluded and hidden behind the guise of a horse farm on the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky, the academy protected those children. It was the kind of protection she had needed when she was a child.

She had dedicated the last nine years of her life to the academy, making sure it was stocked, staffed, and protected at all times. The children there were orphans in one way or another and needed the protection the academy offered. With her dying breath, she would see to it that those children were not harmed.

With the profits from her diner, After Midnight, she managed to stay afloat and one step ahead of her bills. Quietly nestled in the hubbub of the city, the diner offered her an escape from the academy. The paychecks she received from the academy were safely nestled away in a fund to help support the children she cared about so very much.

If she could make a single difference in any of the One Race children's lives, she would do it, no matter how much she had to give.

Groaning rather loudly, Chanta reached for an old tattered and yellow stained book, the only thing that had survived her childhood, other than the emotional scars. How she had managed to keep it was beyond her. Being tossed from one human home to the next, from one orphanage to the next, it was simply a miracle it had not been lost.

She vaguely wondered about her parents. Were they dead? Why did they leave her at a human orphanage? She had so many questions and not nearly enough answers.

Slowly, she opened the cover and for the millionth time, she read the words written by the mother she had never known.

“To my precious daughter, my heart, my soul, and the light of all things good—in your possession I leave this book. One day it will lead you to your destiny and all will be as it should be. With love, your blood-born mother, Elena.”

She stared with steel gray eyes at the words for a long time before turning the page and taking a deep, ragged breath. The title page was empty, save one inscription in ancient Sanskrit. “As Above so it will be Below. Herein reads the
Book of Light
.”

Her Sanskrit was not the best, but she read it anyway.

“All life sprouted forth from the hands of the eight gods of creation. This is the telling of one of these accounts, written and sealed for all time by the eyes of Isten, the eldest and most grand of the eight gods.”

Her phone rang stirring her from the familiar trance the words seemed to always put her in. Numbly, she reached for the phone, her eyes falling to the next paragraph and her mind burning the words hard into her heart
. “Isten saw what would come, saw man stepping out from the ground and procreating. He saw the race grow, spread. But they were unprotected. Holding his hand out, he manifested a ball of white light. Within the light, a being grew. And that being was called an Angel. Henceforth, Angels became guardians of mankind.”

“Hello?”

“Chanta?” The familiar velvet male voice made her smile. “What troubles you child?”

She snorted. “These research papers! I'm telling you Gyth, they're going to be the death of me.”

He laughed. “Nonsense. Your teaching skills are excellent. I'm sure you'll get them graded before the weekend is over.”

“Well, one thing is for sure, next time I'm going to be a little more specific about the subject.” Wondering why he had called, she gently laid her book on the couch behind her. “Is there something wrong?”

“It's time.” His voice sent a cold chill down her spine. “In less than six months, your Burning will begin.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

“For your benefit, I have hand-picked a Destroyer for you.” He paused. “He's strong and his powers are exceptional. I chose him because I believe he'll successfully take you through the Burning.”

“But . . .” Her voice faltered. Destroyers were demons. Cold, calculating demons who killed without mercy and without pause.

“Chanta, when I found you, I swore to you that I would do everything in my power to make sure you would survive and others like you would have more than a fighting chance.”

“I know. And you've helped me so much.” Memories of the day she had met Gyth swamped her. “I owe you my life.”

“Nonsense. What Damon did to you was because of me; it was a shameless and cowardly thing. There is nothing I can do to make those things up to you, so allow me to assist you in this.”

Tears came to her eyes, her heart breaking all over again. She didn't dare mention that somehow, Damon, in human form had made her fall hard for him. “I can never pay you back enough for saving me.”

“Let me help you again.” His voice was almost pleading. “Allow me to send him to you so you'll have a better chance of surviving.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“And if I can't go through with it?”

“You must. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for the children at the academy. Just make sure you survive.”

Survive? He made it sound like an invitation to a death match, but then that's what it was. With a ragged breath, she answered, “Okay.”

In the pit of the Algea's lair, Payne succumbed to the betrayal of his mind to his tortured body. He screamed viciously as steel spikes fell upon his limbs pinning him to the marble slat beneath him. In the darkened recesses of his mind, he heard Gyth's personal hounds of misery, the Algea, taunting him. Akhos and Lupe laughed as Ania begged them to let her have a turn.

The spikes vanished and his wounds started to heal, his bones mending as his shattered mind slowly gathering tidbits of information about his surroundings. A need for retribution slithered through his soul as his numb body refused to move. It was times like these that he was grateful for his ability to heal so well. Being the son of Damon had its advantages.

Ania, a black-haired slender wisp of a goddess, crossed the black marbled floor and stood in front of Payne's mangled, but healing body. Her hair was swept up on top of her head with a golden tiara firmly nestled in its curls. She wore a short white silk chiton that came just above her knees, gold sandals were on her tiny feet laced up her legs just under her knees. Gold bracelets dangled on her arms and gold earrings dangled from her ears down to her shoulders.

She was devastatingly beautiful in a dark, sultry, maddening kind of way. Maddening to the point that Payne would gladly gouge out her eyes or his own for that matter. He felt the urge to laugh, but his throat wasn't working properly.

She pouted. “Come on Payne. Hurry and heal so we can play.”

He wanted to choke the babbling witch until her black eyes popped out of her head. Of the three spirits of pain, she was his least favorite. Being the most abhorrent of the menacing trio, she was the most worthy of his hatred. The goddess of sorrow, grief, and mental distress, she could, with a single, slight touch, take a man to his knees and turn his hand on himself, causing him to take his own life.