Retribution, Devotion Read online

  Granules rained around her. Blasts of sand cloaked her while she watched in amazement. She noticed in that moment that she was dressed in rich burgundy red linen that draped around her in a robe caftan. Her feet were covered in soft yet durable sandals and her hair fell around her face in two strand braids, each roped braid adorned with jewelry. A throbbing marred her spine, causing her to press a hand against the small of her back. She had to figure out what it was, so she shifted to the side. When she moved, she noticed an idle plush soft iridescent feather that glittered like millions of diamond crystals laced together, resting at her feet. No way.

  “You are awakening to your original form.”

  She turned in shock then found herself staring into the face of a man so striking, yet graced with a rugged strength that it made her blink in astonishment. A small part of her mind noticed that he spoke to her without moving his mouth. In fact, she instinctively knew who he was, which was strange. Every book she read was wrong. He was not what she had been taught him to be. He was tall, dressed in white linen, was graced with a thin muscular build. The currents from his hands wrapped around each finger as if it were a glove, glowing and forming into the shape of twin blades of fire. This man with dark wooly dreaded hair, burnished oak-colored skin, and soul-knowing golden brown eyes cast an illuminating warm and welcoming smile upon her that made her fall in supplication onto her knees. Her tears cascaded down her face. A mound of sand was her friend because she sat lost for words staring at his brown sandaled feet.

  There was a gentle touch of his hand on the crown of her head. It sent a surge of vivid clarity, healing balm, and vitality throughout every nerve, mitochondrion, and follicle of her body. This man was the true Sin Eater.

  “Do not be troubled, you now understand why you and your blood are needed,” she heard. It made her glance up then notice a male angel who flew over their head. He was cloaked in darkness, dressed as an Egyptian or Nubian King, but his menacing wings and eyes shined with holy righteousness. Something in her felt as if she knew him but her attention was drawn back to the radiant man before her. Her misting eyes averted to the ground in respect.

  He spoke to her spirit again: “Awaken my brother-inspirit. He has been asleep for far too long, as have you. Sister, heal the discord in my children. The Houses were born with reason. The battle is nigh and as you young people say, everything has happened for a reason. Go with peace and remember, as it was before, so shall it be again. I am pleased to see you awaken again.”

  She had to try to memorize this all. She had to study his face one last time in honor but rubble suddenly spilled around them. Land quaked and angels fell from the skies like confetti. The words, as it was before, so shall it be again, echoed in her mind. Every syllable wrapped around her spirit covering her in protective covering. Armored gladiators and indigenous men and women came across her vision. Some of them were dressed in red, gold, and white robes and caftans with crosses linked together with other various religious symbols embroidered upon their armored garb. Those mighty men and women went head to head with similarly dressed humans, whose eyes flashed red, while others’ faces revealed them to be demons in the flesh.

  “Yes, remember this. See there is no separation, we worked hard to unite a whole from all around but this is the last of my teachings that have been lost. Watch, those mighty warriors are not the same as you were taught, but more. We protect the innocent, our spiritual link.”

  A man flew past her dressed in the same garb, his armor illuminated with holy indignation. A large battle-axe was nestled within his large hand. The silver glint of a second blade attached to his forearm made her mind click in déjà vu. Others ran past her with various advanced weapons, using gifts similar to the ones her new family had and she understood the history around her.

  This was the founding of the Nephilim Society. This was the beginning. The second war. A woman with flowing two-strand braided midnight hair and wings that matched the feather Sanna held in her hands glanced her way. The magnificent woman clapped both of her hands to bury a pair of demons in the hot, arid sand. Determined, the angel jolted a surge of holy power into the earth illuminating it. Familiarity smashed through Sanna’s body then jettisoned her back to her flickering reality.

  Blood seeped from her lips. Pain raked through her making her clutch her stomach. She saw her spirit guide holding out several nails in his hands. Each rusted thimble looked to her like railroad nails but smaller and tinted in red blood, iridescent with power.

  “You are holding on too long. Go with blessings, wisdom, and strength, stubborn one. We will meet again,” he whispered.

  She felt the gentle brush of his lips on the crown of her head. The gentle anointing sent a jolt of immaculate clarity and knowledge through her, this time grounding her. She was one. Her soul had been blocked for so long and it was so good to be awakened. A blessing to remember the truth of it all. Even it if took awhile to understand it.

  It was good to know who she was again. Having been reborn into Nephilim flesh often complicated things. First off, it was always guaranteed that with each rebirth, the memories of the past life and original life would be blocked until the Priming came. However often it was, that didn’t guarantee full past life knowledge in itself and many didn’t gain vessel knowledge until they lived millennia. Therefore, she guessed that the fact that she was privy to some of her full memories at such a young age was a blessing and a warning that something was going to go down.

  “Sanna!” bellowed from an unknown place close to her. Searing agony had her convulse upward making her sharply inhale with its pounding force. The sharp electric shout of her name had Sanna retch forward again. A scream tore from her; then she emptied her stomach. Her distress ripped through the air. She felt her vocal cords rattle and she clutched her stomach in tears. She was back in Chicago. Back on the high-rise of that, damn roof. Oh my God, I’m back.

  “Sanna! I’m here. Baby, I’m here,” she heard.

  She almost asked, “Who?” as the last fragments of her once-blocked mind healed together with awaking awareness.

  Warmth encompassed her. It surrounded her in the form of comforting, straining muscles. She tried to see his comforting cocoa rich face. The rugged, strong jaw of his that was home to a crisp, cut goatee. Lips plump and firm that always spread into a dazzling grin when she was near. Long, dark lashes the housed eyes the color of warm honey in the sun. With locks that fell in ropy, crinkled veils whenever he held her close. She wanted to see the man she dreamed about over a lifetime, but all she could do was feel her eyelids fight against opening.

  The rich scent of her sweetheart helped steady her erratic breathing, as tears streamed down her face. In that particular moment, her body sucker-punched her again, making her flinch in pain. Crap! She felt like a piece of meat being ground into sausage and once again, her head throbbed but in a different way. It was something akin to a normal headache, something she could actually welcome.

  “I still want that broad’s head!” crashed into her cerebrum. There was the congested sound of cars, rain, and city life clamoring around her. She seriously wanted to shake everyone and tell them all to give her a moment of peace, to stop shouting incessantly; but then that voice thick with a familiar New Yorker/New Orleans-fused deep timbre ricocheted around her, “I’m sorry, brah, but she fucked up when she went after my family! No harm but she committed a foul, ya feel me?”

  Sure, she could feel him. It was so strong that she could feel him pulling at her skull just like everything around her. Silence was what she wanted to feel. Everyone around her was going on in varied conversations she could only listen to. Their hushed, worried, and sometimes heated words had her recoiling into her mind to try to figure out what was going on with her. However, what she did figure out was that soul awakenings were hard for her kind. In combination of almost being run through with a Cursed blade, her body was going through the seven levels of hell.

  “I’m here, baby. I had to handle something
but I’m back,” he called to her. Her mind registered the soul-deep octave of her mate Khamun. Droplets of rain kissed her forehead and she remembered why she was on the roof of a high-rise in Chicago. She had just gone to war. Her blood seeped from her body and she flinched then looked around with clear vision. Flashes of the battle played across her muddled vision. That crazy heifer was running a blade at her again. She needed to get away. So, she shoved as hard as she could trying to get away, suddenly realizing that she was pushing at Khamun instead and not at the Dark Lady. Relief made her slump her shoulders in gratitude and love had her pull him toward her in a tight embrace.

  His pain was palpable and it had her fearful. She knew he had just gone through the gates of hell in watching her die. I should have just listened and stayed out of the way. I was so stupid, ran in her mind while her lips pressed against his jaw, neck, then lips. She deeply inhaled his comforting spicy scent. Her fingertips raked across his embracing wings while she slid back. Savior, he is fine.

  His brown skin was slick with sweat. Flecks of what appeared to be blood and dirt let her know he had killed some more. His crinkly locks covered her own face, spilling as if they were rain and his rich, warm power-charged scent made her stomach clench in need. Her love for this man was beyond words. Loving him helped her now understand what he meant when he told her months ago that he was created for her. Because angels knew their soul mates usually within the first meeting, it finally dawned on her that she was always his. He was her soul mate and she was created for him.

  His healing embrace was intoxication. It felt as if he always knew how to make her feel good, even when she felt like crap. The simplicity of his support and love gave her the desire to lose herself against his mouth. She wished he was offering his dimpled smile but she understood that right now was not the time for smiling. Right now, she didn’t want to think about how she almost died. She had to focus on the welfare of her family.

  “He needs healing. You all do,” she concernedly stated. Khamun’s embrace held like a vise grip the moment she tried to sit up.

  His exhausted voice waned and she heard, “San . . .”

  Leaning forward to cradle Khamun’s concerned face in the palms of her hands she stared into his gorgeous eyes. Twin pools of golden amber melted with every emotion known to man. Calm him, San; it’s about him, not about you, she reminded herself. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, drawing his lower lip into her mouth, tasting his weariness and love.

  “It is my job to heal you, heal you all. Please let me do so. This body is healed . . . I mean my body is healed,” she pleaded.

  How Khamun slid back on his haunches to study her face, his locks spilling over his broad slowly rising and descending shoulders, made her check her mental state. So much knowledge from her dream was pumping through her that she couldn’t sort it all.

  “Who are you, beauty?” he muttered. He slowly ran the pad of his thumb over her, tilting her face up.

  Needing to feel his touch made her turn her face to kiss his palm; then she attempted to stand, wavering until she gained her balance.

  “Who are you, Oracle?” he asked again, his voice constricted with emotions held back while his amber eyes reflected his devotion.

  Sanna placed a hand against his shoulder to stay upright while musing, what a darn good question. Her hands slowly ran over the tight-coiled muscled swell of his arms to reach up to adoringly cup his face. She ignored his question knowing it wasn’t the time for that, although a part of her wanted to ask him the very same question back. Instead she inwardly sighed and resorted to just saying, “I have to help.”

  She listened to Khamun’s exasperated exhale. Understanding settled into his eyes and he nodded. His large, strong hands ran down her sore body to trace her now-healed stomach. She had to assume the movement of the many warriors around her, had covered her in healing proprieties. But an inner voice inside of her reassured her that it was all her own power that kick-started her ability to heal. Khamun’s head bowed forward to rest his forehead against Sanna’s head. She could tell he had a lot on his mind as he spoke. “I thought I had lost you. That can never happen, ever. Now go heal.”

  “I am always with you, Khamun. I have to be; you’re my Guardian, silly,” she gently coaxed hugging him tightly. She was relieved when the fear in his eyes disappeared, which allowed her to slide off his lap and quickly go to work.

  Her best friend, her Protector, sat prostrate on her knees. Her hands rested on the young man who had turned into a live Dragon to protect them all. Devastation covered her face, which made Sanna feel her sister’s pain. Kyo appeared haggard from the battle and broken. Her mismatched jade slanted eyes were a dimming green and hazel. Tiny, thin cuts were on her temple, cheek, and plump bottom lip. Her shaggy, short bob was adorned by specks of dust and blood. Sanna could understand the pain by placing herself into Kyo’s shoes. Having witnessed the death of her best friend and the man from her dreams fall in front of her would break anyone. Kyo glanced back and forth in a daze before realizing her best friend lived.

  “Sanna!” Kyo pushed up fast, barreling into Sanna in joy, gratitude, and sadness. Her soft face was tear-streaked, her body tense with emotion. In the moment, all it took was an embrace and Kyo broke down again, tears sliding down Sanna’s neck.

  Oh, sis, wisped in Sanna’s mind. She could feel the heartache, devastation, and confusion from her best friend with the piercing dig from Kyo’s fingernails in her spine.

  “I felt my soul split in threes. To feel that is insane. Don’t you ever, ever walk into enemy fire without me; you hear me, sis?” Kyo pleaded.

  “I know, sis. I wasn’t prepared but . . . Khamun said the same. I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure to not do it again. I promise you, but let me heal him please, for you,” Sanna whispered softly. Kyo gave a slight flinch that Sanna noticed. It was a soul resuscitation. The gravity and reality of it all hit hard. In silence, Kyo hurriedly turned to drop to her knees to cradle the young man’s face.

  To Sanna they appeared like long-lost lovers. Twin dragons, locked in a sensual and deeply loving embrace via their auras. It inspired her to expand her own gifts to heal him with every last bit of her being for the woman who was more than a best friend, who was like a second sister.

  “He’s the one from my dreams, sis, remember? The park and the tree? Anyway, I . . . I stanched the bleeding as much as I could and I can’t find a pulse. I’m scared,” she explained in a rush.

  Khamun’s deep tenor, interjected into Kyo’s frantic speech, hoping to keep her grounded, Sanna could tell.

  “His name is Ryo, little sis,” Khamun muttered stepping to their side quietly watching, “and don’t let fear keep you from your gift. You helped him a lot; his breathing is slowing into a meditative state.”

  Game was on. Sanna nibbled on her lower lip while she felt for a pulse. Fingers pressed light yet firm against his wrists and she waited patiently. Goodness, I wish I knew what I was doing, ran across her mind. Nervousness made her want to stand and walk away. Nevertheless, the comforting touch and the masculine warmth from Khamun surrounded her to help her connect to her core power.

  Definitely, she was thankful for him. A surge of energy quickened her heart and pulse, sending it into the male named Ryo as if she were a jumper cord and he was the drained battery. Her eyes fluttered slowly then closed the moment the verses for a prayer of healing emerged from her suppressed memory. Each word spilled from her lips like second nature, covering the dying male in front of her in a cloak of healing balm. It amazed and shocked her that she was gifted with this ability, one that she was still learning. The rain around her slowed then froze in the air. Each glistening bead of water lit up like floating fireflies as the quick thump of a pulse found her fingertips and she beamed.

  “Give me your hands, sis. I can heal him only so much, but he is touching death and only another Dragon can bring his soul from that gate, or . . .” She let out a soft, nervous laugh then she glanced at Khamun who was kne
eling with one arm resting on his knee. His head was bowed in deep contemplation, which made her feel trusted by him in this. That alpha strength he projected had Sanna quickly glancing toward the people who surrounded her. It hit her that everyone around her was in her earlier comatose dream as she slowly put the pieces together. Knowledge was power and dang if it didn’t trip her out that she didn’t connect Khamun to that mysterious angel that was flying over her within the awakening vision she had.

  Khamun’s essence flowed around the three of them then connected and shunted Ryo’s spirit. Yeah, she was instantly blown away. Now this was a professional in her view. Her baby was working his magic and she knew he was innately keeping Ryo’s spirit in his body. Khamun’s ropy hair flowed with sparking currents of his Guardian powers.

  His body was still bulky from battle, his muscles tight in power. His sparks of electricity changed various colors with each calm breath he took. His long fingers opened and closed in rhythm with his beating heart and rising and descending broad shoulders. She could see that even though his eyes were closed, through his thick lashes, she could see a slight glow illuminated from him. By doing whatever it was he was doing, San could sense that it would help to move him; otherwise, Ryo may be lost.

  Stress from Kyo hit San’s psyche instantly, causing her to work toward amplifying her own healing balm. Quiet footsteps from behind her alerted her to the presence of her brothers Dare and Take, and her cousin Calvin, who held something wrapped in a coat. Her other cousin, Kali, appeared by her side as well to crouch down near her, laying a hand on Kyo’s back. This team was her family. One family and Sanna’s heart strengthened in that understanding.

  Not many families were able to hold on to each other in such a rich bond. Yet, one chance meeting from a man who was once her Guardian angel and who was now her fiancé changed all of that. She felt blessed while she glimpsed the loving faces that looked to her in faith. Common sense told her that each one of them was going to tear her a new one later, due to running head-on into battle. Even the quietly fuming Amit, who stood cross-armed next to her equally fuming brothers. But that only let her know how much they loved her and she loved them just as much.