Past the Ages: Book Two (16 page)

CHAPTER 7

Venus

When she reached the water’s edge, she fell to her knees, eager to quench her thirst. Before the water touched her lips, a warning of danger stopped her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She glanced around. 

She heard him before she saw him, his words sailing over the rapidly moving stream.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”    

Startled, she glared, trying to make out his form. When her eyes finally found him, she stared, open-mouthed. Awed. Amazed.

Her first human encounter.

He’s . . . handsome I guess.
Then
quickly
reprimanded herself for such triviality.

Setting her mouth in a firm line, she asked, “Why not? I’m thirsty.” The words came out whinier than she’d intended. Years of combat training taught her to be on alert. But she hadn’t been prepared to run into a human so suddenly. Questions about the dark-haired boy bombarded her.

Her dehydration encouraged her to set them aside. She needed a drink, now or she worried she’d faint. Still keeping her eyes fixed on the boy, she bent at the waist, ready to plunge her mouth into the water.

The boy spoke again. 

“Come here, you can have some of mine.” His voice reminded Venus of soft velvet, though the words came out slurred. One leg shook, like he’d been filled with writhing ants, the back of his thigh pounded against the thick, rotted tree stump he’d folded himself on.

Everything about him screamed dark and handsome, except his skin, which resembled hers. He appeared to be brooding, eyebrows scrunched, faraway look in his eyes. Plus, he reeked of angry attitude.

From where Venus stood, his eyes looked black with dark lashes and eyebrows. There was a scar, which ran straight as an arrow, from the tip of his nose to his left cheekbone. His clothes were all dark. A long-sleeved black shirt over a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, at least that’s what she thought his trousers were called, and black lace up boots. Had a storm cloud come along, he probably would’ve been invisible to her eyes.

“What’s wrong with this water?” she yelled, though she’d already stood and started across.  

“It isn’t clean. You could get sick.” His mouthed twitched, like he barely contained a smirk or a snide comment. “Nice boots, but where are your clothes? Not that I mind.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms and elbows on his thighs and watched her cross.

The icy water splashed against her legs. It reminded her that all she wore were her boots and unisa. She’d spent time with Zaren in nothing more . . . in fact less, because she didn’t like to wear shoes, and never experienced a need to cover up. Looking down, she realized how much of her body was exposed. A blush tried to creep across her cheeks, but she ground her teeth, shaking it off.

“Uh, I lost them. Are you sure you don’t mind if I have a drink?” She inclined her head toward the thermos next to him. Her throat became more parched, if that were possible. She resisted running over, chugging it.

“No, go ahead.” He picked up the red thermos, unscrewed the lid and held it out.

Venus rushed over. After a swallow, she realized it wasn’t water. The liquid burned all the way down. She gasped, dropping the thermos. Grabbing her throat, she watched the honey brown liquid spill onto the rocky dirt.

Her throat constricted, but she choked out, “That isn’t water.” 

He chuckled, wicked. “It’ll warm you up. Soothe your insides.”

Gagging, she fell to her knees at the water’s edge, stuck her mouth in the stream and drank. With relief, her thirst started to subside. After several mouthfuls, she stood and turned. Water had soaked the ends of her waist-length hair as had some mud. When the frosty ends touched her skin, she jumped and swore. He snorted at her noticeable discomfort. His face revealed a look she’d seen before, on male kelarians, especially after they’d had too much of what humans called alcohol.

“I’d be happy to help warm you up, too.” As he spoke, he stood. 

“You can take your foul thoughts and go straight to your—”

“Hey, I’m trying to be chivalrous.” And before Venus realized the tainted plan he’d devised, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.

Until that moment, Venus hadn’t considered what her first kiss would feel like, but she knew this wasn’t right. Hard, full of anger. He pressed her lips open and she tasted the alcohol on his tongue, sickly sweet. His arms locked around her, crushing her body to his. She sensed a pleading in his embrace, a longing for an unfulfilled wish. 

“Release her. Now,” Zaren yelled.

The human pushed Venus away, wiping his mouth.

“Come on, Venus,” Zaren grabbed her hand, pulling her from the foul boy. 

She watched stunned, as the brooding human smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Venus. Funny,” he said, his words full of venom, like her name had been laced with poison. 

She pulled her hand from Zaren’s. Anger ripped through her along with a gripping sadness at the loss of her family and her irrihunter. That this
boy
had the audacity to find humor in her name, at her, Princess Venus, daughter of King and Queen Carania, rulers of Alayeah, the biggest kingdoms in all of Kelari, was unacceptable. How dare he? She wouldn’t have it. Her heart ached and her body hurt, but she ignored the pain. Head held high, she marched over and slapped his face. Hard. 

“Don’t ever touch me again.” She gave him a defiant stare, daring him to try. 

“Well, Venus, you’ve no reason to worry. Your name alone will keep me as far from
you
as possible. The Goddess of Love, how ironic.” He chuckled without humor and turned. Head in his hands he sunk onto the dead stump.  

At the sight of him in such a condition, her anger abated, replaced by an unbidden grief. She pushed the bizarre feelings away with vehemence. Surprised she felt anything but furious at him, she made her way to Zaren.

When they were a small distance away, Venus said, “What an annoying human. If I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

Zaren cleared his throat and walked ahead.

“What?” Venus asked, catching up and grabbing his arm.

“That annoying human is Michael, the boy you’re required to help.” He took a step forward, but stopped. “Humans and love,” he grumbled and stomped ahead.

Venus stopped and looked back, profoundly shocked. “But—”

He sighed. “Clothes, first.” 

CHAPTER 8

Angel

Michael rubbed his eyes, trying to forget everything. His deadbeat father and the way he’d loved to carve into Michael with anything sharp. His mother and all of her . . . B.S. Cheverly! School! He could go on, but he didn’t want too. The alcohol had almost worked, almost numbed him into oblivion. Then Venus had come along. Beautiful, glowering Venus. He hated her. Hated that she hadn’t put him out of his misery. He let out a harsh laugh, remembering the way she’d looked when he first saw her. Like an angel he’d seen in a book as a child.

The Angel of Death.

Rising, he went to the red thermos and picked it up. A swig or two remained and he downed it rapidly. Not even the burn could soothe his angry soul. Tossing the container into the water, he watched it sink and then bob back to the surface. When it’d floated out of sight, he turned back to his dead, hollowed out log and sat.

Michael pulled the gun from where it’d been hidden in the waist of his pants, under his shirts. He’d found it in a dusty old box in the garage the other day. When he’d checked the chamber, he noticed a bullet remained. The gun must’ve been his fathers. Michael had taken it and tucked it between his mattresses. At the time, he hadn’t been sure why he kept it.

Holding it up, he put a finger on the trigger, turning it back and forth, watching it gleam in the morning rays of the sun. It was a .45; silver, except the handle, which was black. Solid. Heavy. Loaded.

Maybe now he knew.

Maybe he’d found the gun so that he could end his life.

He pressed the business end against the side of his head. And waited. For what, he wasn’t sure. A sign. When he’d seen Venus he’d believed she was his sign . . .

I’m done. It’s over.
He pushed
the gun harder against his head.

Coward!

The word zinged. Stung him. Punched him in the gut. An unfamiliar voice inside his head.    

Then came images of Venus, the softness of her lips, the way she’d felt in his arms. There was something different about her. He tapped the gun against his head, bugged he still thought about the arrogant girl.

Coward!

The word ripped through his mind again.

“I’m not a coward,” he shouted.

Immediately all sounds of the forest stopped. No birds, no rustling of animals in the underbrush. Only the snarling stream and the breeze whistling through the trees interrupted the silence. 

Breathing heavily, he stood and turned, sensing a presence.

CHAPTER 9

Dead Man’s Party

Killing humans had become sort of a hobby for Dervinias. It wasn’t that he despised them so much as he detested their weakness. The human condition. Their flimsy bodies and limited minds. The way the creatures were swayed by a television commercial or a beautiful temptation. Every time he slaughtered one, the best part came right before they died. The moment each person realized how much more could’ve existed in their menial lives. It filled him like a drug. And he wanted more.

With billions of humans to choose from, and more born every second, his options were limitless.

In truth, Dervinias had bigger plans for the defective race. After two hundred years of immortality, he’d had plenty of time to make plans, form secret alliances and set up Earth as the planet he would rule. Very shortly, all the pieces would be in place, and then he could begin.

For now, it was enough to demonstrate his power over them. Tonight a man by the name of Thaddeus Holstrom needed to lose his family. He and his irreverent employers had to be taught a lesson. Stalking him and his absurd government group—A.L.T.—proved too easy. Finding his little family and ending their lives—a pleasure.

Thaddeus and his family lived in Westbrook Run, a quiet neighborhood in the city of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Filled with children, evenly trimmed hedges, and two parent families, everybody knew everybody. From the outside, this neighborhood appeared perfect. For the most part, the appearances were true.

Except today. Today Dervinias would change all that.

Innocence had already been murdered. Another death would now begin. If only humans weren’t so naive. So trusting . . . 

“It’s time to make you bleed.” Dervinias spoke reverently. The terrified woman, Judy, had been bound to her dining table. She’d been forced onto her back; pale hands tied in front, mouth gagged with a black strip of fabric. Frightened eyes flicked back and forth between Dervinias and the five blue-robed figures. Off to the right sprawled her two dead children, Alice and Henry. Their bleeding bodies face up. Eyes open, mouths frozen in terror. The smell of death and furniture polish saturated the air, almost solid enough to touch. 

The five in navy blue stood in a semi-circle behind Dervinias. As leader, he wore white. A large hood covered each of their heads. Long bell sleeves hung together at the wrists, where those in blue had their hands clasped. Their robes were long and made of terrycloth. A ridiculous material, but it served its purpose. The statuesque forms of his followers hummed continuously, heads bowed. 

The table Judy had been tied too appeared to be made of oak. It was thick and held stable by two large-columned pedestals. Heavy. Substantial. Dervinias traced a hand along the intricately carved roping which trimmed the edge. It would serve as the perfect altar.

A large, glittering chandelier hung over the table, in the center of the room, basking everything in light. Golden curtains were closed to keep out the daylight and deafen the sounds of mortal destruction happening within. Plush white carpet covered the floor beneath their feet. 

Judy whimpered, a sound like a baby kitten crying for milk. Dervinias pushed a stray strand of hair off her tear-stained face. Judy’s mewing egged him on, as did the harmonious humming of his followers—an inspiring melody.

In monotone, he began the first words of his sacrament. “Your blood is weak. Death will bring new life. This sacrifice is to honor those who live forever. Our species. Humans believe they are above all. I take your life and the lives of your children to prove otherwise. As a reminder to those who pursue us. We cannot be destroyed. When the time is right, Earth will be ours. We are The Order of Eternal Fire.”

From beneath his robe, Dervinias retrieved a large knife. It gleamed in the chandelier’s light.

Raising the knife, he drove it into Judy’s chest, the sound of flesh parting around its sharp edges like a shovel forced through wet dirt. 

Lowering his head to be even with her face, he admired the way her irises grew large as a polished black plate. The way they filled with knowledge.

“Yes, now you understand the power you possess. Your life was worth more than manicures and massages, more than your next martini. When it’s too late.” Dervinias kept his words soft. Only the dying woman needed to hear the last words he’d chosen to speak to her. She gasped one last time. The movement caused his blond hair, which had fallen over his eyes, to shift. Her breath smelled of tarnished metal. Dervinias breathed in, letting her last bit of life fill him and then released the knife, leaving the black handle protruding from her chest. Within seconds, she died.

The five others came forward and knives emerged from beneath their robes. It was time to carve the mark—the eye of the All Knowing. At the moment, only The Order would understand what it meant. In time, this world would know its meaning, would come to either fear or embrace what the emblem stood for. 

They bent before Judy, sliced away her pants and her shirt. Then, Dervinias set a glowing yellow bowl, which had been previously placed on the table, under her left thigh and cut the femoral artery. He needed her blood to complete the ritual.

It took some time, but the bowl filled.

His young followers—two guys and three girls—proceeded to carve the mark of The Order into her body. Six total—one on the forehead, each cheek, her stomach and thighs.

After Kelvin, a huge blue-robed guy, completed his symbol, he walked to a black duffel bag on the floor, near the entrance. Retrieving a meat cleaver from inside, he moved back over to Judy and hacked off half her calves, her ankles and feet. 

He continued the process on the children, too. And then Kelvin stacked the gruesome appendages into a pile on the floor, like bloodied firewood. 

When the others finished carving, they retreated to the doorway. Dervinias collected the three glowing bowls. Setting two on the table, he held the third. A little at a time, he flung the sacrificial blood around the room, spattering the walls and curtains, the chandelier and chairs. The carpet no longer looked white, but a splotchy red. After the first bowl emptied, he handed it to one of the female followers, and repeated the process with the remaining two bowls. Then he turned to the detached limbs and spoke.

“We claim your souls. May they burn for us in the eternal fire.”

From beneath his robe he pulled out a sphere about the size of an apple. Palm flat, fingers outstretched, the orb began to spin clockwise, slowly at first. It contained a piece of the soul of four different stars—blue, red, yellow and orange in color.

As the orb picked up speed, it lifted off his hand, a kaleidoscope of colors. With more speed, it moved until it hovered above the severed body parts. Hungry for the sacrifice, it exploded into thousands of tiny blue, red, yellow and orange colored gems. Instead of falling to the floor, they remained linked, each gem to another, by tiny sunlit threads. A dot-to-dotted dome surrounded the graying appendages. Light emanated from within. Growing brighter and brighter until only a white light could be seen.

A twinkle.

The broken, bloodied legs disappeared and the orb became whole again. In a slow, circular movement, it returned itself to Dervinias’s palm.  

He closed his fingers around the fiery sphere. Sizzling smoke radiated from his hand, burning his flesh. But he held on. After a moment, he tucked the now-quiet orb beneath his robe.

“The ritual is finished,” Dervinias said to the others, facing them.

Their humming stopped.

“Rockin’ ceremony, Dervinias,” Kelvin said.

The over-excited human nearly pounded him on the back, but Dervinias glared, and Kelvin put his hand down. He questioned, for the hundredth time, if allowing Kelvin to be part of The Order had been a good choice. Physically, Kelvin made a perfect candidate and he needed humans for his plan to work. Sure, Kelvin was a bit thick, but Dervinias appreciated his willingness to accept him—
an alien
—as his leader. He’d known the boy for many, many years. Kelvin worshipped the ground he walked on, and would do anything for The Order’s cause.

I won’t kill him, for now.

Once they collected the cleaver and other knives, placing them back in the duffel bag, (except the one in Judy’s chest, a gift for Thaddeus) Dervinias gave the teenagers a nod and said, “Go.”

Each figure removed their robe and departed.

Except Dervinias.

He waited. Watched from the porch as a tumbleweed bounced and rolled down the street. Thaddeus Holstrom, the man who’d been tracking him and trying to kill him for years, would be home soon, and Dervinias wanted the alien hunter to know who’d done the killing.

Only moments later, he heard a car coming down the street. He sensed the driver was Thaddeus. Walking forward, Dervinias stood so he could be seen immediately. He removed his hood and brushed a hand over his thick blond hair. The car stopped in front of the house. Thaddeus threw open his car door and started firing shots at Dervinias. The bullets struck his flesh and bounced off. This planet’s basic technology couldn’t harm him. Thaddeus already knew that. Dervinias smirked, admiring the A.L.T. leader’s willingness to continually try.

“What have you done? If you’ve harmed even a hair—”

Dervinias interrupted with a laugh.

When Thaddeus reached the porch, Dervinias dove over his head, like a giant cat. He briefly touched the concrete sidewalk with his hands, pushed off and flipped, landing on his feet. Crouched low, he swiveled back toward Thaddeus. But he’d gone inside the house already.

Dervinias heard a mournful scream.