He dropped the hand and stood with the chalice. Enough blood coated the replicated seal at the bottom. Yet, nothing happened. Nothing. Happened. He waited. And waited as his low growl turned into a roar.
It had to work. Had to! He was promised it would work. The seer foresaw it all. He promised!
His roar reverberated, shaking the ground, the arena, and the sky. Everything around him. His fingers tightened around the chalice. The relic was too precious to destroy, the maker long dead, which didn’t stop Shait from flinging it into the rock wall. It bounced off the surface and clattered to the ground. The small amount of blood splattered on the wall and across the space.
The chalice rolled across the charred ground, toward him, returning to its keeper. It needed him, and he needed it.
“Master. What do we do now?” Mazt asked. Nervous, he hopped away. Shait took his anger out on any demon within reach.
They only had the one girl. Until their powers surfaced, the others were hidden. Shait did not know what came next. He walked around the female, studying her from every angle, thinking hard and finding no revelations.
Defeated, he picked up the chalice, intent on returning it to its place of honor, when a glimmer at the bottom caught his eye.
If he had a pulse, it would’ve quickened as he angled the sacred relic for a better look. The seal. The seal at the bottom had a scratch on the unbreakable surface. The same seal imprisoning the King. The same seal Shait was desperate to break and sethimfree.
It worked.
The blood of the Chosen could free the King.
His attention returned to the female twitching on the ground. If a dribble of blood from her finger worked, what would all of her blood do?
With a wave of his hand, on the ground beneath his feet, he created a vessel made from the sand found in the Sahara and turned it into a glass chamber. It would do the job.
Cocky once more, Shait strolled to the female. He straddled her body to take her dark hair in his fist. Slowly, he pulled her head back. Her pretty neck arched, the muscles taut, her entire body trembled, waiting for the kiss of his blade.
He sliced from left to right and positioned her over the edge of the vessel. “Like butter. That is the correct human saying, yes?” he asked Mazt. The terminology was important for him to blend in.
Mazt grunted in agreement and nodded once. Shait shook his head. He didn’t trust Mazt, not with this. When her body slackened and her soul departed, he grabbed the female’s ankles and held her over the rim. Every drop, he needed. If he had to wring it out of her like a sponge, he would. Well, not him. The blood flow reduced to a trickle. Shait dropped the body and pointed to Mazt.
“Every drop. I want it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He would’ve stayed and watched the bit of entertainment gutting and harvesting her organs would’ve provided. Unfortunately, his night would be spent hunting. No matter how long it took — weeks, months, decades — he would be there to harvest each female once they came into their powers. However long it took, they would die. “One down.” Ten to go. He would find each one and ring them dry. “All would die by my hand and my hand alone.” He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 2
THREE YEARS LATER
There are many ways to reach that zone where everything fades away and you’re at peace, and all is right in your world between your ears and underneath your skin.
Zen, nirvana, whatever, it never lasted long. It’s a fleeting moment of calm before the storm. As the tattoo gun buzzed and the needle pierced Eden’s skin, she was in that place where nothing touched her. Hearing, seeing, especially thinking, paused. Feeling each pinprick, every micro-pain, blended into a soothing white noise.
She’d been this way for two hours, prone, left arm extended, as Harriet, her roommate and bestie, hunched over her wielding the gun. It wasn’t easy for her to attain this state. Meditation didn’t work. Neither did a motivational barrage of words that never helped her land that dream job or that perfect guy.
Something about the drone of the gun combined with the prick of the needle, over and over again, put her in a kind of subspace where she floated contentedly. No problems. No worries. No fears.
Often, she dreamed of dark places where she always waited, balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to sprint away at the first sign of danger. The dreams never scared her. She faced them with anticipation. Maybe that’s why she kept returning to Harriet’s booth, because she wasn’t afraid of the dark. She wanted the temptation of what waited in that inky tomb. An illicit fruit for her alone. She wanted to touch it, lick it, take it into her body, make it hers.
Only, she would awake sad and lonely... She would be so lonely when the drone of the gun ended.
This time, as Harriet carefully completed the tribal outline stretching from her left hip, up her side, across her back, and down the other side to end at her right hip, Eden dreamed, but this time it was different. Instead of black and white, the dream started in HD with a bright sunny day on a beach. Blue sky, blue water lapping calmly, sand like sugar beneath her feet, and air laden with salt and sea grass. Overhead, the screech of a single seagull. A gentle breeze tugged at her dirty blond hair and the dress shielding her nakedness.
It was perfect, but not her perfect. Her desires required a more sinister scene. Responding to her need, the sunset faded. The ocean drained and was replaced with lava. The roar of a dragon tore across the sky, making her smile as hot air beat against her bare flesh. Yet, she shivered. Fear, an emotion she’d never felt before when she dreamed, pebbled her skin. She scanned the landscape, searching for... for...
Shadows moved like wisps of smoke caught in a maelstrom. Fascinated, she watched as the shadows formed into the outline of a man. Tall, broad, muscular, the rest of him was indiscriminate, the fine details of his features fuzzy. Yet, she knew him, once long ago, so long ago the memory had faded. She wanted to know him again.
The outline reached out, palm up, fingers open, silently begging her to take his hand, to trust him. In their shared dreamscape, it was easy to extend her hand and reach for him. Give herself to him because she wanted to with a desperate edge.