The Arbiter: Divinely Damned Book One Read online

  After finishing my shower, I pick out my outfit for tonight. Everything I wear while dancing has to have mobility, yet still fit the sexy, horror theme we have going on here. When my girls and I dance, we always use our second form. The humans believe it’s all tricks and costumes, so we aren’t necessarily breaking any rules by showing ourselves.

  Clothes are my favorite thing to collect, and I own dresses from more eras than I can count. My poor closet is practically bursting from my weird obsessive hoarding. Some of them are ones I’ve worn during the specific era that they were the height of fashion, and the others are random purchases from people that wore them themselves during the era. All my regular, every day clothes are stuffed into drawers, leaving the closet just for my dresses and dancing costumes.

  I settle on one dress I bought only a few weeks ago. It’s completely made of black lace in a floral pattern, with a straight neckline. Sitting off my shoulders, it has tight sleeves that end right past my wrists. The bust ends at my waist line, and from there the lace goes into a long train that drags a few feet behind me. With the front in a V shape, there is no material in front of my legs, only off to the sides.

  After having worn them for over a hundred years, I’m a pro with corsets, so it’s a simple task lacing this one up the back by myself. My flexibility makes it easy for me to reach back and tighten the ribbons without trouble. Black velvet with a purple tint lines the outer part of the leather, and the ribbons that tie off in the back are dark purple; giving it just a bit more splash of color. I slide on some panty hose that have the seam going up the back of my legs and take the clip out of my hair. My curls cascade down my back once they’re free. Applying some makeup to complete the look, the thick black liner and smoky eye shadow make my bright, verdant eyes shine brighter. To finish it all off, I add some dark-purple, matte lipstick. It makes me look paler than I actually am, but I love it.

  Not that my paleness really matters. It’s not like it’s going to be noticed once my skin shifts into its second form anyway. I slip on my over-the-knee, black stiletto boots and take one last look in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of my door.

  With a nod of approval, I use the side door that opens to a narrow-curved staircase leading to the second-floor balcony. When I enter, the bouncer guarding the door to my loft helps me down the last few steps.

  “Evening, Mistress.”

  I incline my head to his greeting and make my way to the small bar to get a drink. As much as I love the spotlight, the nerves still hit me each time. The only show I dance in is the first; almost like a ‘welcome to hell’ kind of greeting for all the patrons.

  This private bar is a mini version of the one downstairs. The room has to be dark, so as not to be seen through the glass that faces out towards the sea of people below. Shiny, obsidian tile floor reflects everything almost as perfectly as a mirror, and the walls are painted black. The only light in the entire area are floor standing candelabras and spotlights in violet and blue colors.

  There are high tables scattered around up here, with a few black couches against a few walls. My chair is the most prominent one. Sitting like an antique throne, it faces towards the glass with only a few feet between the two. The wood is lacquered black and shiny. Silver filigree winds around the arms, legs, and twin twisted spindles that frame the head rest. The cushions are made of the most expensive black leather money can buy. A majority of my spare time is spent in this seat. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no queen, but the array of people that step through the threshold of my club are mine to watch over. If anyone wants to chat, I don’t consider myself to high and mighty for them not to pull up a seat next to mine.

  As I reach the bar, I notice one of my dancers finishing her duties before we hit the stage. She’s a Strige named Jaminesta. We just call her Jamie, though. The other way is just a bitch to pronounce sometimes.

  Her pale, straight blonde hair is pulled halfway up and away from her face. She’s wearing one of her usual dominatrix costumes and is already sporting her shifted from. Thankfully, she keeps her nails retracted. Creator knows, we don’t need her accidentally slicing any of us up while she dances.

  Her fangs glisten when she smiles at me and her glowing red eyes gaze at me with humor. “What will you have tonight, Mistress?”

  I’m not one for changing up my routine before a show, so she was already expecting me. Now, I just need to shoot a random shot of liquor, and I’ll be good.

  “Absinthe tonight. I’ve had a rough day and just need a pick me up,” I tell her.

  She frowns as she prepares my shot, “I heard about that. Felix and Cedric said you came back covered in blood. Want to talk about what happened?”

  Cedric is Jamie’s husband of sixty years, so it doesn’t surprise me that he told her. However, I’m going to punch Felix in his big, Lupin snout if he doesn’t learn to keep quiet.

  “I was attacked by four humans. They had some blessed blades and a net. I’m still not sure whether they were aiming to wound and capture, or maim and kill me,” I answer honestly.

  She drops the bag of sugar cubes onto the bar in surprise and leans forward with her hand resting on mine on the counter, “Humans? Who knew how to hurt you? That’s insanity! How could they have known something like that?”

  I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know, but I handed them over to the Rites. Hopefully, they can pull something out of their asses on this one and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

  She lets go of me and lets out a vicious hiss at my mentioning the Rites. She is not a fan of them and openly shows her disdain when one wanders into the club.

  “It’s probably their fault that the humans knew the secret,” she grinds out. “The Damned would never tell how to kill us, but a Rite wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  I understand her thought process behind that, but I can’t say that I fully agree. Not all Rites are good and not all Damned are bad. Both just don’t bullshit around. I believe in my pretty little Damned heart, that Rites may not point due north on the moral compass, but they are above using petty means to take out their enemies. I’m not arguing with the fact that they are mostly emotionless assholes, but I will say that they do have honor.

  Jamie is one of the many who hate Rites with a passion but keeps to herself when in their company; unless provoked. I am her only exception. And the only reason she doesn’t outright express physically how she feels about them.

  “I don't think it’s them,” I assure her.

  She groans, already knowing that I’m about to debate her theory. “Nocturna,” she says switching from employee to friend, “I know that you’re half Divine, and that you have it instilled in you to see the best in both sides, but I think it clouds your judgement sometimes.”

  “You might be right,” I tell her honestly, “but I’ve always had good instincts, and there’s something in my gut telling me that this isn’t them.”

  Jamie sighs and nods, “You do. And for all our sakes, I hope that you’re right. Them doing something like that could incite another war that not even the Arbiter could mediate.”

  She’s not wrong there.

  Our current Arbiter, Cassia, is a stone-cold bitch, whether having a casual conversation, or in her job as mediator between the two sides. There are also rumors that her loyalties are tipping to the side of the Damned. I’ve heard Rites claiming that she’s excusing Damned for their crimes, even with indisputable evidence brought before her that they are guilty. She’s going to get the boot from her place of power if she isn’t careful. And by boot, I mean she’ll most likely be killed. Can’t say I’d blame anyone who offs her. I’d probably buy them a round of drinks actually.

  I shake off the chill that shoots up my spine at that thought. It feels foreboding to even think about her death. Grabbing my shot, I throw it back and slam the glass upside down on the bar once it’s empty. Damn, it burns so good sliding down my throat.

  “Enough doom and gloom shit. Let’s go dance our
sweet asses off for our waiting audience. Shall we?” I hold out my hand, and she doesn’t hesitate to take it as she giggles. The other girls wait by the staircase for us. We have an order in which we walk down, so they make way for us to take our places.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” my bartender announces through a mic downstairs, “Welcome to another night of blood, sweat, and sexy ladies at the infamous Apothecary Bar and Night Club. Have a seat, grab your drinks, and let’s hear your roar of applause for our burlesque dancers, led by our very own, Mistress Nocturna!”

  The thunderous sound of clapping and shouts can be heard before I even open the door. We make our way down the steps and out onto the dance floor. The spotlights are turned away, shrouding us in darkness as we take our spots on stage. Waiting for the applause to die down, I switch to my second form before exiting the steps.

  We keep our eyes closed to hide the glow until the last second as we wait for the music. Homeostasis by Nostalghia begins to play softly at first, then slowly picks up the pace. When the eerily, dark dubstep starts, our eyes pop open simultaneously, gaining a gasp from the humans.

  As the female singer’s voice begins, the lights flash on and we dance. Lip syncing the words as we move around the stage. Hips swaying as our sultry eyes scan the crowd; our hands feeling their way up our bodies in the most sensuous of ways.

  The beat takes us as we move through the audience touching them, not leaving anyone out. We rub our asses against them and slide our hands up their chests. We all release tiny amounts of pheromones to enchant them. I feel heat rising through my body as I move, and my skin begins to glisten with sweat. I’m confused by how my body seems to be exerting more than it usually does, but keep dancing anyway. A few of the Damned are having trouble holding their forms as we pass. I see a flash of eyes while working the room. Each minute that passes, I continually feel my skin growing hotter.

  The song nears the end, and we make our way back to the stage for the grand finale. The girls fall to their hands and knees, and I lie across their backs. The entire dance has left me winded and I’m sweating profusely now. I normally heat up from getting a decent workout, but this feels much different. I had to grit my teeth through most of the dance. Now as I get ready to strike my final pose, my skin gets this sensation like it’s being pushed out from the inside and on the verge of exploding. Just as the heat became too much for me to bare anymore, my body shreds and filaments of light pours forth from my eyes and mouth and my back arches painfully as it escapes. It floods across my body and flashes out in a strobing sequence. There are gasps and screams of shock as I’m rocked by power so intense that it vibrates through me in quick spasms.

  A scream is pulled from my throat from the burning agony. A light explodes, followed by every other spotlight on stage bursting and flinging sparks in all directions. It throws the room into pitch black darkness as I collapse on top of my confused dancers.

  I hear the bartender trying to explain what happened as part of the show, “Wasn’t that one hell of an ending? Mistress Nocturna pulled out all of the stops for tonight’s performance!”

  Taking advantage of the darkness and noise from the now wild applause, I feel a familiar set of arms pick me up and carry me away from the stage. My mind is muddled, and my skin crawls with static electricity. My eyes burn beneath my lids, so I keep them closed as we ascend the stairs. I ache all over and whimper when I’m set down on one of the second-floor couches. There is murmuring around me and a warm hand palms my cheek. Felix’s voice booms out for everyone to be quiet.

  “Did anyone see what happened?” He asks in a loud tone that isn’t helping the headache consuming me.

  “Everything was fine,” Jamie answers with concern in her voice, “No one used any powers on her while we were dancing through the crowd if that’s what you’re thinking. We were trying to hit the final pose, and we all saw and felt her grow unbearably hot. It was so bad that we had a hard time holding her up, because it was burning our backs.”

  What the Damnation is going on?

  “Did you all feel that?” Cedric asks over the girls agreeing about the burns on their backs, “I can still feel the power on her.”

  It’s silent for a moment before the others gasp.

  “No fucking way!” Dahlia, another dancer, says with awe. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  What is she talking about? I just need a cup of coffee, a good night’s rest, and a whole bottle of jaeger to take this edge off. I feel both powerful and weak all at once.

  “Cassia must be dead,” Cedric whispers ominously.

  “Did the Creator really choose her out of all the halfies?” Felix questions, though I don’t know who he’s asking.

  I grow tired of them talking around me, and decide to jump into the conversation. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” I rasp, my throat tight and parched from whatever the Damnation happened.

  I feel Cedric’s large, ice-cold knuckles on my forehead. “Are you okay, Mistress?”

  When I finally pry my eyes open, I’m not surprised to see them all either kneeling or standing around me. However, Cedric is the only one that will meet my stare. Grunting as I try to sit up, Cedric and Felix both help me.

  “Nocturna, you should take it easy,” Jamie says as she sits by my feet, then grabs my hand into hers and starts rubbing her thumb over my knuckles.

  I move my head and my hair falls over my shoulders. I notice that I’m not in second form anymore, but it doesn’t look like I’m in my first one either. My skin is flashing back and forth between normal and skeletal, and the tips of my ebony hair are white as a ghost.

  “What the fuck?” I say, voicing my inner thought aloud as I finger the ends of my hair in confusion. I raise my free hand to look at my skin.

  “You feel different,” Cedric states as he kneels and levels his face with mine. “The power radiating off you is like that of Cassia.”

  My jaw drops open at what he’s insinuating.

  “No. No damn way! I can't be…” I trail off as my skin starts to ease back to its first form. Except for some reason the white-tipped, hair stays the same. I glance around at everyone as they look at each other, then back to me. “That would mean…”

  “Cassia is dead, and the Creator has chosen you as the new Arbiter,” Cedric finishes my sentence.

  “Fuck,” is all I manage to groan before blacking out.

  Monroe

  I’ve just barely shut my eyes, when I feel it; the shock wave of power indicating the current Arbiter has died and another has been chosen in her place.

  Entire realms of both the Damned and Rites had to have felt it. Power like that does not go silently into the night. The Creator takes up the most powerful mantle in the hierarchy of the supernatural races, then right below him is Cain in his prison of Damnation. After those two, there’s the leaders on the earthly realm; The High Order for the Rites who patrol the Damned that step out of line, and The Infernal for the Damned, who rule over each race of the Damned. Each Infernal is chosen from the most powerful of each race. Each ruler stays an Infernal leader until either dying from natural causes, being killed, or being overthrown by a unanimous vote from all other Infernal. The Arbiter of our races falls between the last two. Since I’m part of the Infernal, I feel the new Arbiter’s ascendancy more deeply in my bones than all other Damned. All the Infernal do.

  Springing from my bed as fast as my inhuman speed can take me, I’m robed, down the staircase, and into my office in less than a minute. Moments like this are why I sometimes hate living in such a large plantation home. Then again, you haven’t truly lived authentic Louisiana culture, unless you’ve lived in a plantation at least once. That’s just my opinion, though.

  I grab my cell phone from my desk and immediately conference call the other Infernal. Each race has their own representative; I rule the Strige.

  In a matter of moments, I have all the others on the line.

  “I know we all felt that. What is the w
ord on Cassia?” I demand the moment we’re all connected.

  A growl comes from the Lupin ruler, Saul, “Do not make demands here, blooder! Yes, obviously we all felt it!”

  You know that old human myth that vampires and werewolves don’t always get along? Well, that is definitely true between the Strige and Lupin. My race is on their shit list; right under The Rites and their precious Order of Abel. However, I’m only amused by his ire. It’s actually kind of fun to make him mad, especially when I’m not even trying.

  “Calm yourself, Saul. We were all thinking the same question.” Alida, Infernal of the Imps, replies in a mildly bored tone.

  “As if we don't already know the answer to that,” adds Enoch. He’s the ruler of the Others, who don’t quite fit into any specific category. No one knows much about him, other than he as more power than the rest of us. What we do know is that he’s a Damned made of Damnation. Basically, he was created not by the Creator, but by Cain in the deepest depths of the realm itself. His second form literally consists of its fire and stone. He’s also a smug bastard. I love ruffling his feathers almost as much as I love ruffling Saul’s. Though, it’s a bit more literal with Enoch, considering he has a pair of black, feathered wings that shoot from his back when he shifts.

  “Cassia had her dalliances with an Incubus for centuries since taking up her mantle. We all knew she would tip the scale keeping the balance, and either lose her power, or be killed for it. I believe it was the latter of the two,” he says, his ever-smug tone tightly in place.

  The Incubi and Succubi rulers, Renald and Mignonette, both scoff in offense at the disdain in his voice while saying the word ‘Incubus’.

  “Be careful how you speak of my kind, Enoch. For I have heard of your own romances with many Succubi before, and they would not be pleased to be referred to in such contempt,” Mignonette snarls back with acidity coating her tongue.