The Arbiter: Divinely Damned Book One Read online

  The only two emotions I’ve ever gotten from them are ire and frustration. Which happens more than I like, since some consider me an abomination because I’m not an all-powerful Arbiter. They aren’t the only ones, though. I get some of the same looks of disdain from the Damned; like it’s my fault my parents got down and dirty with each other.

  Eww. Don’t think about that while being gifted with the sight of such hotness! I chastise myself.

  The biggest of the bunch walks front and center, with the others trailing behind. He walks with an air of dominance and authority that has me quivering in delicious ways. I like my men a bit dominant, but normally, Rites don't do it for me; this one is the exception.

  As they get closer, the big one stops within a foot of my space, making me lean back slightly as he towers over my petite, five-foot-five frame. My body begins to tingle a bit as his power radiates around him. It heats my body up in more ways than one. I am sensitive to the power of other beings when it is great in strength. It’s like I can feel it in waves when in close proximity. But, this guy; he feels different. I could get drunk from his power alone. My body leans back towards him unconsciously, wanting to be closer for reasons I’m not sure of. I don’t hate it.

  I can’t see his face, but I can tell by the tilting of his head that he’s scrutinizing me thoroughly.

  I look down and figure out the reason for his apt interest. My white tank is almost completely drenched in blood. It never stood a chance between the now healing blisters on my shoulder from the net, and the open wound in my stomach. I place my hand over it, making his head level back, so it seems as if he is now looking directly at me. I will never figure out how their hoods manage to keep out even the tiniest bit of light.

  “You’re hurt. Why are you not healing?” His deep voice is as smooth as whiskey and sends electricity up my spine. By the Creator, I would love to have him recite the alphabet to me just to keep him talking.

  “Yeah. I told the Rite on the phone they used blessed weapons. Except the dumbass who’s drooling on the guy to his left. He had a stake,” I add in an eye roll to that one. “I don’t know how they knew how to hurt me, but they were trying to capture me, not kill me. Then again, one actually stabbed me, so my calculations on that may not be valid.” I give myself a pat on the back for my voice not wavering while telling him that. It was hard enough not whimpering from the pleasure of his closeness. Go me!

  He grunts before grabbing my wrist with the speed of a snake. I jump in surprise; both from the heat of his touch, and the fact that he just snagged my hand off my stomach before I can blink. His other hand hovers over my wound as close as it can without actually touching me.

  Completely confused as to what he’s doing, I sputter in shock, “W-what…are you…”

  I can’t even get the sentence out before his hand closes the space between it and my stomach. He palms the spot gently. Brilliant, white light comes from beneath his hand, and my stomach sizzles and smokes beneath it. Hissing through my teeth, I can do nothing but watch. It hurts too much for me to comprehend that he is actually healing me. Rites never heal the Damned. Ever. The only time this special gift makes an appearance, is if it’s needed on a human during cleanup.

  The light dies, and he pulls his hand away. I lift the hem of my shirt to see that my skin has knit shut and only a faint scar line is left. I fucking hate blessed weapons for this reason as well. They always left a scar when they heal. If they heal.

  I stare up to where I assume his eyes would be, completely dumbfounded by this act of kindness. He nods his head and walks around me. The two other Rites who have stayed silent this whole time, follow behind without a glance in my direction. I just stand there with my mouth open and eyes wide like an idiot as they pick up the humans and walk them back to the hummer.

  The one with the grudge against my mother, spits on me as he is dragged by. It’s too bad that he’s being carted by the Rite who healed me. I hold in my snicker as the Rite drops the man. With his hands tied behind his back, the human’s head thumps against the ground hard.

  “Oops,” the Rite says in that monotone voice, though I hear just a fraction of sarcasm within it.

  That’s the second time he’s shocked me tonight. A Rite with a sense of humor; who knew?

  After the last human is put in the back, the mysterious Rite stops by the passenger door and turns in my direction, “They will be questioned about their knowledge of your kind. Til’ we meet again, Nocturna.”

  The use of my name snaps me out of my dazed state. It sounds so damn good hearing it roll off his tongue.

  “Wait! What’s your name?” I ask, trying to contain my desire to know.

  He cocks his head to the side before replying, “Larkan.” With that, he opens the door and slides into the hummer.

  “Thank you.” I mutter as they drive away.

  I am so completely shocked and confused by the way he made me feel, and what he’s done for me. It was probably just the kinship with my Divine half that had him using that power on me. But, in the back of my mind, I hope it was for a different reason.

  Who the Divinity is this Larkan?

  And why is it now a necessity for me to know more?

  The drive back to the club is quick, since the entire time I can’t get Larkan out of my head. I have never had that reaction to a powerful Rite before, but he did things to me that are unexplainable.

  As I pull up to the club, I smile, seeing that the parking lot is already almost completely full.

  My club is the only one that caters to both the Damned and Rites. It is a sanctuary of sorts where the Damned can fulfill their desires of energy feeding without worry. The Order has sanctioned it since my employees keep close watch on the Damned who feed, and the humans’ memories are always wiped clean of anything they see that is out of the ordinary. Energy is practically given freely by the humans in their states of inebriation. It isn’t illegal or harmful to them, so I’d say my club does quite a few favors.

  My number one rule is no killing. I hold that rule with an iron fist. Any of the Rites who happen to be there will deal with the matter, but they aren’t necessarily needed here. I can handle most of the Damned on my own. Having been blessed as a half-breed, I have that extra kick of power over them. So, technically speaking, it’s not like they could go against me even if they wanted to.

  I fell in love with this place as soon as I laid my eyes on it ages ago. It used to be a beautiful church back in its prime. When I found it, it had been abandoned for years. I thanked my lucky stars that the breathtaking stained-glass windows were all still intact. The cross at the top and the bell were both the first things to go. I had wondered at first why it sat abandoned for so long, but I guess no one wanted an old church with a creepy cemetery out back.

  The irony that it was a church was not lost on me when I, a partial Damned, bought and renovated it.

  The structure is made of aged, grey stone that has moss and ivy growing up all sides of it. It looks especially eerie to me on chilly, foggy nights like tonight. Which is practically how almost every night is during the early fall.

  The first floor of the Apothecary is the main area of the club; booths take up the entire right side, each seat made of black leather with violet, velvet cushions. The bar takes up the left side and is made of black, translucent glass. Violet and blue spotlights shine down in all directions. The floor is dark, cherry hardwood and has a dance space in the middle that is raised up higher than the rest of the floor. It doubles as a stage for when we put on burlesque shows that I love dancing in.

  The second floor is the area for my more important guests. The richest and oldest of the Damned and Rites sometimes preferred the quieter areas. It isn’t a full floor, but a balcony that is separated by one-way glass, so I can watch all of my patrons from above without them seeing. A spiral staircase leads up to it and is accessible through a door in the far back, right corner. There’s always someone there guarding it to make sure that no one goe
s up that isn’t supposed to. From the second floor, there’s another set of stairs that lead outside towards the back of the club, just in case those special guests don’t want to be seen coming in and out the front door. A phone call must be made for them to come in through that door, as it locks from the inside.

  The third floor had been an attic, which had access to the bell tower before the church closed. It is massive and takes up the entire expanse of the building. It has long since been converted into my loft apartment. Thankfully, I had my own fire escape stairway installed from the side of the building. It wouldn’t be a good idea to be seen by humans with this much blood coating my body, so it has its uses.

  I drive my dark, cherry pearl Silverado up to the side entrance that connects behind the bar and storage room, then honk the horn. While I wait on the door to open, I run my hands along the oxblood colored seats. This truck is my baby. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more; except maybe the club.

  Two of my biggest employees come out as I hop down from the truck. They are both Damned. Cedric is a Strige, and Felix a Lupin, or werewolf if you confer with human lore. One of the biggest things that they are wrong about with the myths surrounding both species, is the fact that neither can change a human. The Damned are, in the best of terms, demons. So, it’s not like a virus that can be contracted. It is a curse and nothing more.

  Cedric is one of the most attractive African American Striges I’ve ever met. His long dreadlocks are dyed crimson and match his eye color perfectly. He’s a full head taller than me too. Wearing the standard work attire of black jeans and club shirt, I take a second to admire the lettering across the tee. ‘The Apothecary’ logo is written with violet letters in a simple faded font, almost like you’d see on a worn away headstone on a grave. I know the back line by heart. It’s not the most original of catch phrases, but it pegs our clientele down perfectly;

  ‘Where the good are bad, and the bad are worse.’

  Felix is a bit over six foot with hazel eyes, cinnamon colored skin, and curly dark-brown hair that settles just above his ears. He’s also wearing his jeans and club shirt, but he makes his shirt stretch in ways that do naughty things to the mind. Did I forget to mention the eye candy perks of working with the Damned?

  They weren’t cursed for their life of sin for nothing. Damnation forbid humans to ever see their other forms, though. They’d die of fright. Lupin are not beautiful larger versions of wolves like Hollywood portrays. Think massive canines the size of a bear, with mange covered jackets of fur. Adding to the creep factor, they hardly ever walked on four legs, and have a double row of teeth sharpened to razor sharp points. Believe it or not, they aren’t the scariest looking ones either. Striges for example, have red veins that appear around their eyes, while their iris turns pitch black. With elongating fingernails and jaws that can unhinge like snakes if they pleased. And contrary to popular belief, the sun does not hurt them.

  All Damned second forms are all monstrous, deadly, and hardly ever beautiful; except maybe to others in their own race. It’s quite obvious that I’m not all that bothered by them, not in that way anyway. All the Creator’s creatures are beautiful in their own way, in my opinion. Well…most. Definitely not all. The Strige’s second form still didn’t make even them the most horrifying of the Damned. I honestly felt that title belonged to Cain. His second form has only been depicted in paintings, since only those who take a permanent vacation in Damnation are the only ones who can really attest to it. But just the paintings themselves are horrifying enough to earn him the top spot in my book. He’s always shown as a mangled beast the size of this building surrounded in carnage and fire. It’s said that if those in Damnation actually lay eyes on him, they’re souls will go mad. I didn’t put much stock into those myths though. Is it really possible for a soul to go mad?

  Cedric and Felix both stop short when they get close enough to get a good look at me. Their jaws drop in shock at the state that I’m in.

  Cedric’s eyes go dark as night. He growls, “What the Damnation happened to you?”

  “Relax,” I scold, “I’m fine. It’s healed so it’s all old blood. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I just want to shower before the show starts.” Friday nights are my favorite. They are burlesque night, which means I have roughly an hour or so before I take the stage with the other dancers.

  Felix folds his arms against his chest, “As long as you’re ok, but next time one of us goes with you. No questions. I’ll be undamned before anyone hurts you, Mistress,” he practically purrs.

  I snort at his use of the word ‘mistress’. It sounds so dirty coming from his mouth. All my employees are respectful and professional. They call me a range of things from, mistress, miss, or empress. The few that I’ve gotten semi-close to have a tendency to call me queen b. I hardly hear my name anymore, and honestly, I’m ok with that.

  “You’ve got to quit saying it like that, Felix. I’ve got like twenty-five years on you easy,” I laugh.

  Cedric, whose anger dissipated while watching our interaction, elbows Felix. Felix gives him a low growl and flashes his glowing, amber eyes in warning. It really isn’t my fault that most of the staff want me to be more than their boss. Too bad I don’t mix business with pleasure. That’s the real reason for pushing him away; age isn’t an issue considering we all age differently.

  Lupin have the fastest aging process, but it’s about ten human years to one Lupin year. The Strige halts almost all together, and the other Damned all age variably. Then you have me; the half-breed. I don’t know the aging scale for me, but with my Succubi mother, I’ve aged only a little slower than the Lupin. I’m honestly not sure how Rites age. I’ve never been curious enough to ask any of them.

  “Enough of the chitchat. Get to work assholes. Time is money,” I say flipping them off over my shoulder as I turn.

  I hear their laughter behind my back. Their banter while unloading follows me all the way back to the fire escape. Getting to the top of the stairs and unlocking my door, I realize I’m going to need coffee to get through tonight. Yes, we eat. Need it to live, just not as much as humans. Caffeine, alcohol and drugs still all affect us, but it takes much larger quantities. That’s why my coffee is actually a regular coffee cup with nothing but espresso.

  I sigh walking in. My loft is my haven, with its grey wooden floors, blood-red walls and high ceilings that hold up two antique black chandeliers. The only other source of light in the room comes from the circular, stained-glass window that takes up almost the entire side of one wall. When the sun shows through just right, the colors reflect all around the room in striking colors. That’s my favorite part of the day.

  I walk straight to the kitchen on the right and toss my shirt into the trash can below the sink. My hands rest on the grey and black marble countertops as I stare at the black cabinets. The frosted glass reflects all of the stainless-steel appliances back to me. I sigh. Damn, it’s good to be home.

  I make my way into the living room where there’s nothing other than two black leather couches, a glass coffee table with wrought iron legs, and a fifty-inch flat screen. TV is definitely one of my favorite inventions of this era. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the old-fashioned things from my earlier years; like typewriters and record players. But TV has to be the best. I can’t name one horror movie that I haven’t seen. You know, because my life isn’t scary enough on its own.

  Wandering into the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror over the sink. My appearance is horrendous, and I suddenly feel embarrassed that Larkan had seen me like this. The long tresses of my hair are knotted in places from the fight. My eyeliner is smeared, giving me this weird emo look I don’t appreciate. Not to mention, all the blood. My black lace bra is soaked through, and does nothing to hide my nipples beneath. Great. That’s probably why that Rite was looking me up and down so thoroughly. I was giving him a peep show.

  Wow! I think to myself. Now, I’m truly proud of the guys downstairs for not makin
g a big deal out of it. They’re normally pervs and wouldn’t miss the chance. I guess they really were worried.

  My bathroom is only big enough for a small sink, a toilet, a small, glass shower in the right corner, and a black claw-foot tub in the left corner. There’s a shelf behind the tub built into the wall. It holds an array of bath oils, shampoos, and candles. The floor is a dark, grey marble tile with black glittering streaks running through. However, the walls are my favorite. I picked out the unique metallic color called Tin Man that is basically a shimmering silver. It really sets apart the small area.

  Gazing longingly at the tub, I turn to start the shower, wishing I could have a nice soak before the show. Alas, there’s very little time to fix the mess that I’d become. I quickly strip the rest of my clothes and put my hair up into a messy bun to keep it from getting wet. The steaming water elicits a groan from me as I step into it. It slides down my body, releasing all the tension that I’ve been hanging onto.

  My thoughts wander to the questions from before of those men’s knowledge of what can hurt us. Just thinking of the Rites not getting to the bottom of it fills me with trepidation. That info falling into the hands of humans, could turn the tides and spark the tension that still lingers between the Rites and the Damned. It’s not just us fighting anymore. If you add the humans and their weapons of mass destruction into the mix, we would be looking at a shit show that I am not ready to deal with.

  Why the fuck would they want me alive, though?

  Each answer that my brain comes up with is more terrifying than the last. The worst of which is a vision of me being strapped to a table in some kind of laboratory surrounded by men in white coats. They slowly cut open my torso and begin pulling out my organs, showing them to me like a prize they’ve won. I shiver. Hopefully, the Rites will get to the bottom of it. If not, only time will tell. I just hope that I won’t be the one to figure that shit out the hard way of the why and where they would have taken me.