A decade had passed of pure delight and not another cryptic word from Isaiah. He continued to bring happiness to the children of The Order, doting on his nephew, Jonas, especially. And then came the day he had found his brother in the barn, sharpening a metal rod.
“Isaiah? Jonas says you will not be joining us for supper?” When he came closer he saw the blood darkening the material of his brother’s slacks. “What have you done?”
“I have wounded myself, bredder.”
“I can see that. Why?”
His hands were covered in oily crimson, and he would not meet his eyes. “Jonas is in love with the young Abilene.”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning on permitting the match?”
Ezekiel had sighed. “There is little I can do to stop him. He is now a male of fifty. She is but a girl. His mind may change, but I cannot deny his intensions to marry her when she comes of age. It will be the council’s decision, however, not mine.”
“They will permit it.”
“Why does this bother you, Isaiah? Do you predict them being unhappy together?”
“She is not his true mate.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I am.” Ezekiel winced as his brother pressed the metal into his hand. Though he did not react from the pain, the wound bled. “It is important that Jonas know his obligations to The Order. He must be certain, knowing that if he marries the young Abilene, another will someday call him and it is his duty to follow that call.”
That was Isaiah, always so concerned with honor and the proper order of things. “He knows,” Ezekiel promised. “Come, let us clean you up. Faith is waiting.”
Rather than stand, he looked at him. The desperation in his brother’s eyes gave him pause. “I am unsure, Zeke. For the first time in my life, I am unsure what to do.”
“Unsure of what?”
“Destiny.”
He waited, but his brother said no more. “I do not understand, Isaiah. Have you had a vision?”
“My premonition has always been the same. I see her. I’ve always seen her, but now…Jonas will have a family, three sons and two daughters. They are necessary. The youngest girl looks like Abilene. It is all there, laid out in perfect order, yet…”
“Why does this concern you?”
“Because while his family is necessary, they will also be hindering fate. Jonas’s choice to take Abilene as his wife will change everything. God will charge him for his choice, taking penance on his eldest son.”
“Then we shall warn him.”
“No,” he said with absolute certainty. “It will happen. It must. I am simply ill at ease with the events his actions will set in order. I’ve thought it over and I see no other way. I am sorry, bredder,” he said solemnly, a tear slipping past the dark lashes of his eye.
The rod moved so swiftly through the air, Ezekiel could not prevent it from plunging into his brother’s heart. “Isaiah, no!” He went to remove the spear, and Isaiah hissed at him, clawing his face, blood dripping from his fangs.
“Leave it!”
“Do not be unfershtendich! You will die.” They fought, knocking the oil lamp to the floor, its flames catching on the nearby stack of hay. Flames grew to the size of ten men in a matter of seconds, and Ezekiel feared not only his selfish bredder, but he too would perish on that night.
Finally, he wrestled Isaiah to the ground and ripped the rod from his heart. Voices carried over the roar of the flames as they both panted under to heavy smoke filling the barn. “We must go, you selfish bastard, before we die here from your stupidity.”
“Leave me,” Isaiah panted.
Ezekiel turned from where he lay, back on the sandy ground of the barn floor. He had never seen Isaiah so desolate. “What is it that has you so bleak, bredder? Would you kill yourself and leave the rest of us here to suffer the loss of your soul? But why? Whatever it is, tell me, and I shall help you.”
The voices outside grew louder. “It is better that I die here tonight, than to see the lives of hundreds sacrificed.”
Ezekiel shook his head and coughed over the smoke clogging his lungs. “You make no sense.”
Faith’s scream rent the air, and his brother winced. “Your wife is coming. She is terrified, Zeke. Go to her.”
“Come with me.”
“I want to die.”
Smoke burned his eyes, yet they watered from fear. He reached for his bredder’s sleeve. “I will not leave you to die. If you stay then so do I.”
“Do not be a fool. Your family is worried. Go to them now, before it is too late.”
“Not without you.”
They lay on the floor a while longer, neither moving to leave the smoky grave and neither uttering a sound other than the hacking coughs that escaped them. Faith’s screams carried over the roar of fire, and Ezekiel needed to get up, but he could not leave Isaiah.
Finally his brother sighed. “Then we had better go. The soles of my shoes are melting.”
The relief Ezekiel felt in that moment was staggering. He opened his mouth, but Isaiah’s next words cut him off.
“I will go, but not without your word, Ezekiel.”
“You shall have it. Now let us leave this nightmare.”
He moved to sit up, and Isaiah gripped his sleeve, stilling him. “Not until I have your word.”
Hesitating, and taking in the flames that encircled their bodies, he quickly agreed. “Speak, and I shall give you my word.”
Isaiah coughed, and it sounded like crunching dead leaves. “There will come a time, bredder, when I am unrecognizable to you. It will be ahead of schedule and there will be nothing for me to do to prevent it. There will be death, not at the hands of plague, but by my own hand. You must stop me. I must have your word, that when the opportunity comes to end my life and save another, that you will take it without hesitating.”
Ezekiel could not recall the rest of the memory, only that he had given his bredder his word. They had escaped the fire, suffering only mild injuries, and years later, when that opportunity came, he had broken his word to Isaiah.
Ezekiel’s eyes pulled shut tight, there in Council Hall, as he recalled the last time he had seen his brother. There had been so much death. The mere stink of blood and decay was suffocating. Isaiah had been called, and he had somehow missed his mate.
Like today, the council had formed a band of brothers, and they had gone to hunt his. Ezekiel was the one who pinned him down, but he had hesitated. Strengthened to immeasurable vigor, Isaiah had consumed so much human blood he held the force of one hundred men. Yet, as he stared down into those deranged eyes, in a face so much like his own, he could not deliver the death blow he had promised he would. The delay had cost him. Isaiah had flayed his throat wide, nearly decapitating him just before he escaped into the dark woods.
The men had allowed him to flee in order to save his own life, and he supposed he should be grateful. His family was. The following morning he awakened weak and forever changed. He acknowledged that his bredder was forever gone. Ezekiel’s hair had begun to turn white. A thick streak Faith had decided was the result of stress. It was unheard of for immortals to scar, yet he had. And now they were forming a new band of brothers to go hunt his again.
* * * *
Once the band of brothers had been established, there were then discussions about why the others were apparently crazed. The elders told tales of a time long ago when such beings had existed in the shadows. Their lives were often short-lived as they weren’t only a danger to others, but also to themselves. Although the discussion stemmed from nothing more than hypothesis, the elders were in agreement that the cause of such insanity was due to being transitioned by one other than one’s true mate.
A transition was typically a simple matter. Mates were called to one another, they bonded, and in the case that one mate was mortal, the exchange of blood that took place during the bond mutated the weaker cells and reconstructed the body, making its main source of survi
val the blood of other beings. It was a process that could be completed in a matter of hours, but was never done without provocation.
Among The Order, there were no records of any immortal ever transitioning any mortal who was not a called mate. The Elders queried if this was the reason why they had always been taught to avoid such carelessness. Perhaps exchanging blood with just a random mortal did something, made the cells incompatible with the donor’s blood and therefore destroyed the mind, rendering all remaining bits of humanity broken.
Cain had seen the evil in the others. He knew what they were, and there was no doubt that there had to be an explanation. This was not learned hate. This was innate. There had to be some deep-seated cause for such wickedness, greater than simple hostility. These females seemed to think on two channels, conflict and lust. They were aggressive in every motion, but only seemed capable of taking. It would be a trial, destroying all the unfortunate souls Isaiah had wrought.
Cain was in a melancholy mood as he walked back to the house. Adam’s indifference to him filled him with a mixture of sadness and anger he couldn’t quite stomach. For thirty-eight years, they had been one and the same. Although Cain had always been a bit of a scoundrel and Adam had always been a do-gooder, they had always managed to be friends.
When Annalise had come into the picture, things changed, and since then they had been thrown into such an orbit neither of them could find a place to settle.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Adam had found himself a home in Anna’s heart. This spring he wouldn’t only find love in the eyes of his wife, but also in the eyes of his baby boy, while Cain would still be alone.
Immortality, which had always been regarded as God’s greatest gift, now seemed a curse. How long would he be able to abide this lonesome existence without purpose? He would never have a mate. How could he when Anna had been called to someone else? What was left for him? Gracie would someday be called to her destiny just as Adam and Larissa had. His mother and father knew where their futures were intended to be. It was only him who had no path before him. Why had God forsaken Cain when He had shone grace on the rest of his family?
As he entered the house, it was quiet and dark. He removed his hat and entered the darkness of his room. He stilled as the scent of jasmine reached him. He had forgotten about Destiny. Her distracting presence brought a welcome relief.
He looked at her curled on her side still holding her strange little electric book. He should move her to one of the other beds, but she looked so comfortable there. What would it be like to come home to a warm body such as hers every night and know that she was his to hold and take and possess?
Cain ached with a longing that frightened him. There would be no room in his life for such desires as they would forever be impossible to fill and would only bring him pain and strife.
But at the moment he wanted to pretend his life didn’t have such a bleak outlook. Where others followed calendars centralized on the warm sun, his life would forever orbit a cold and hollow space of nothingness. He wanted to pretend, for just a bit, that it was not so, pretend that there was someone warm and giving in the center of his universe, someone like Destiny.
Cain removed his clothing and carefully took her computerized book from her hands. She snuggled deeper into the pillows, but didn’t wake. He covered her gently with the quilt at the foot of the bed and climbed in beside her. What would she do if he kissed her? Would she kiss him back?
He thought of the other day with Hope in the barn. The last several encounters he had shared with females had ended abruptly due to a sudden loss of interest. Yet, lying beside Destiny’s warm, supple body now, the scent of jasmine drugging his senses, Cain’s body hardened to a point that showed no signs of abating. There would be no relieving the ache in his loins with sleep.
He hadn’t been kind to her. Why had he teased her and provoked her so many times before? He still didn’t approve of her profession. There was no dignity in infringing on others’ privacy and probing at sources of pain. It was difficult, when she was lying so quietly here in the shadows of his room, to balance the two sides of her and see her as one and the same.
He looked at her under the moonlight. Her features were soft. The crest of her lashes formed small purple shadows on her smooth cheeks. Her skin was a shade darker than his and had a certain satin quality about it. He touched her cheek, and she sighed.
Her nose was straight, and her lips were full. She was made up of so many angles yet it somehow fit with all of the soft curves of her body. Her cheeks were wide and her eyes, even closed, were exotic. He wanted her to open them so he could look into those pools of brown flecked with onyx and gold.
He fingered a strand of her silky black hair. So soft. His finger traced over the high arch of her brow, and his eyes focused in on the tiny mole just above her lip. He wanted to taste her there. He wanted to taste those full lips, the gentle curve of her neck, sip from the valley between those supple breasts. His hand moved lower, and she sighed.
She still wore that soft black top. It had slipped off of her shoulder. Cain ran the tip of his finger over the loose collar of the blouse, and she arched her neck slightly, causing her breasts to press against the thin material of her shirt. The circle of her nipple pressed through the fabric, and the faint peak of its tip drew his gaze. Without thinking, he ran his thumb over the small nub, and she made the sweetest sound in the back of her throat. Leaning down, he gently coasted his lips over hers.
Chapter 14
Destiny’s body came alive at the sense of his touch. Who was he? Her mind formed an amalgam of the many heroes of her romance novels. His touch was gentle, but entitled. Yes, she wanted him to take from her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him. He was strong and confident, and she was who he desired.
As the dream progressed, her body stretched in slow languid motions, thighs pressing tight, belly pulling in, back arching into his caress. Her head rolled seductively, and she sighed. And then something woke her.
Warmth. Not the warmth that surrounds one in the atmosphere of a dream, but actual heat that comes only from a real body. She tensed as something warm and wet pressed against her lips, and her eyes suddenly opened. She gasped.
“Shh, it’s me, Cain. Let me touch you.”
Destiny’s eyes opened wide as the Amish man, Cain, slowly pressed his tongue into her mouth. What the fuck? She wasn’t sure what to do. He leaned over her and leisurely licked at her lips. Destiny knew how to kiss a man, but was a little confused about what exactly was happening.
He was so close to her, every breath filled her with his authentic, rich scent. Should she be frightened? She didn’t know this man. And he was Amish! Wasn’t this against some sort of law? Surely he wouldn’t rape her. They were Christians, right?
She blinked rapidly as he pulled himself more on top of her. Holy crap he was totally hard and—she quickly grazed a hand over his hip—yup, totally naked. Her hand somehow stayed on his hip when she felt the tight dip surrounding his muscle there, and he groaned agreeably. She thought of the underwear models she and her girlfriends liked to ogle. Those men had muscles there, not real men, only men that were somehow unreal and untouchable to regular women like her. Yet, here was a man with beautiful, muscular hip dip thingies, kissing her. Why?
She turned her face away, and his mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear. How was a girl supposed to think in conditions like this? “Uh, Cain?”
“Hmm?” His tongue licked the shell of her ear, and he nibbled on her lobe. Her breasts tightened beneath his hard chest.
“What—what’s happening here?”
“I’m kissing you.”
His hand tightened on her hip, pressing into much softer flesh, and he released the lobe of her ear and kissed his way down her neck. Chills stretched across her shoulders and her nipples pebbled. “Um, I can see that. Why?”
“Because you taste good.”
Was it wrong that having a perfect stranger lick her
and tell her she tasted good made her wet? Dear lord, she was a sad case. She should tell him to stop. She wasn’t like that with men. She needed an emotional connection with a man if she intended to get anything out of it. She knew nothing about Cain other than the fact that he was hot, Amish, and—Wow!—really good with his mouth.
“But—”
“Destiny?”
“Yeah?” she was quickly losing control of her willpower. His hard length pressed through her clothing, and she recalled how much she preferred a real man to the hidden toys she had become accustomed to. His weight upon her body was so delicious. Why had she not taken a booty call in so long? Maybe then she wouldn’t be considering it an okay idea to fool around with a perfect stranger at the moment.
“Be quiet.”
He licked the swell of her breast seeping past the loose collar of her shirt. “Okay,” she agreed feebly.
Cain pressed one strong knee against her thigh and used it to spread her legs farther apart. Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap! Things were heating up really fast.
His hips pressed into hers and the long heavy length of him was evident through her thin yoga pants. His mouth moved back up the side of her throat, kissed along her jaw, and then he licked at her beauty mark just before his mouth pressed down onto hers.
Her eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his tongue past her lips and moaned. “Kiss me back, Destiny.”
Cautiously, she moved her tongue. His mouth was warm and soft and tasted oh so very sweet. Once she kissed him back, he groaned and ground his length harder into the cradle of her hips. Her body responded in kind, but it wasn’t until the moment the kiss intensified that something deep inside of her jolted to life.
He took over the kiss, coaxing her to meet each thrust of his tongue as it probed deep into the cavern of her mouth. Her body grew restless. She gripped his hair in her hands and bit at his soft, devastating mouth. He took her aggression as a challenge and twisted his mouth over hers, demanding more and more of her.