Blood Stained Tranquility Page 5

  That was when she’d heard her stepfather’s last, watery breath.

  He’d fallen on her, dark eyes wide and unseeing. Lifeless. His blood had erupted from the wound on his neck, bathing her chest and neck. Some leaked into her mouth, hot and metallic. With a shove, she’d pushed him off her. She made it three feet, on her hands and knees, before the need to throw up won out.

  Lord help her, she must have stabbed his carotid. Blood pooled on her bedroom floor. It coated her knees, spreading like a slow tide of red sludge.

  She had no idea how long she knelt there, but she did remember throwing up a few more times before she was able to drag herself out of the room. She grabbed the phone and dialed 911 in a daze. Eve told the dispatcher everything, exactly as it had happened. Then once more when the police had showed up. When they arrived at the station, she’d repeated the process all over again in interrogation.

  In a numb haze, she relived the events for a third time, up to the point where the cops had escorted her outside her house and she’d had to watch as the paramedics rolled her stepfather’s body into the ambulance. The tears had started then and they didn’t stop. Not until she had been left on her own in the interrogation room.

  She shot out of her seat. The chair scraped across the floor. Fear-laced energy brutalized her, fueling her anxiety. For a second, she entertained the idea of flinging the chair at the mirror and demanding someone’s attention. Her emotions told her she’d be justified; her practical side told her the cops might feel differently.

  There’s no way they haven’t reached mom yet. What the hell is going on?

  The truth wailed out of her, intuition flashing an image of Alexis through her mind. Her mother had given him up for adoption five years before, when he’d been thirteen, simply because her stepfather had demanded it.

  What would her mother be willing to do to her for killing the same man?

  The answer came in the form of the male detective. He walked into the room, a blank look on his face, and motioned for her to sit down. He took the seat across from her, then placed a notepad and manila folder gently on the table. His movements were slow, deliberate, and each one was like a punch to her gut.

  Her chest felt so tight that she had a hard time pushing words past her throat.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Please take a seat, miss.”

  “Where’s my mother?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Miss Salazar, please sit dow—”

  “No.” Eve was surprised how steady her tone was considering she felt like the ground was shifting beneath her. She raised her chin and met the detective’s stare. “I want to know where my mother is.”

  There was no mistaking it, pity shadowed the man’s eyes.

  “I need you to sit down so I can explain.”

  He didn’t need to say anything else. Her mother had done it. She’d turned her back on her own daughter. Just like she’d done with her son.

  There was pain with this revelation, a fuckload of it, but Eve’s mind threw up a wall, blocking it. The human brain sometimes knew its limit, and hers had just been reached. She knew what was happening around her, yet she was unable to react. Her eyelids were glued in place, her limbs locked tight. She was actually surprised her lungs were still drawing in breath.

  The detective rifled through the manila folder, his lips moving, so she knew he was speaking.

  With effort, she focused on what he was saying.

  “ . . . you’re thirteen, so hopefully they’ll try you as a minor. Honestly, I know you’re going to win either way because the evidence is obvious. But the state has already assigned a lawyer to represent you . . .”

  Eve shut him right back out. On weak legs, she walked to her chair and fell into it. The detective stopped talking abruptly. He stared at her and she stared at the wall behind him.

  Yelling drifted from down the hall, a raised voice that Eve knew well. A voice that, despite everything, she loved, damn it.

  The tears slid down her face when the door to the interrogation room shot open. The detective jumped to his feet and ran toward Evesse’s mother. Another cop rushed in behind her and joined in the effort of holding her back.

  Eve stared into her mother’s pain-filled eyes. Her mother fought against the men holding her as she yelled at the top of her lungs. Eve didn’t bother hiding her tears as she watched her mother try to break free so she could get at her.

  Her mom screamed at her, telling her how much she hated her, asking her how she could do it. Oh, and Eve’s personal favorite; telling her how she would dedicate herself to making sure Eve paid for what she had done. As if her husband hadn’t been a sexual deviant. As if he hadn’t tried to rape her daughter after spending a year touching her in ways he had no right to.

  The cops eventually dragged her mother out, leaving Eve alone with the fucked-up truth. Her mother blamed Eve for her stepfather’s death. No doubt she had told the police a fake story, saying Eve had done it on purpose. Her mother had done it in the past, every time Eve had brought up the abuse.

  “You tempt him, you selfish girl. Pay attention to how you come across to him, or I will punish you for tempting my husband away from me. He’s mine, Eve. I love him.”

  She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block the memories out. The detective had mentioned something about a lawyer. They were going to put her on trial. She might end up in jail and her mother . . . her mother would probably dance with joy over it. Disbelief and pain choked Eve, dragging her under a wave of misery.

  Her small sobs were the only sound she heard. Her brother’s face was the only thing she could see. Evesse had no idea what was about to happen to her, but as much as she missed her brother, she was glad he wasn’t there. Had he been there to witness what their mother was doing, he would have murdered the woman. It was the only positive thought she had, and the cruel irony of that wasn’t lost on her one bit.

  There was a stretching inside her, a pull on her organs and skin. Evesse gasped. Several voices rose, sounding frantic. Was that Ismini and Soleria calling out to her? She tried to roll over, and ended up being burned for her efforts. A fire had been set inside her. God. What the fuck was happening?

  She opened her eyes and a blurry mess met her. Colors and shapes coalesced, making it impossible for her to make sense of what she saw. Parts of the blur moved and she realized that she was surrounded by people.

  Was she lying on a bed? She tried the whole rolling-over thing one more time, but the memory of what had happened with her mom hit her, threatening to suck her back into that time in her life. She cried out from the rage. The fire in her grew, demanding she reach out for someone who wasn’t there.

  Zeniel.

  She struggled to push back the darkness.

  “We’re losing her again. Move back.”

  Was that Vedlyl? Her friends really were there. One of them could go get Zeniel for her! She thrashed, violent in her need to get the words out and beg one of them to find Zen. A hot hand landed on her shoulder. A biting shock went through her veins, followed by a burst of pain that robbed her of all energy.

  “What the hell is this?” Soleria sounded outright enraged.

  “To put it simply, her molecular structure is unstable and the R’mannev is taking over. Her soul can’t be blamed for trying to escape her body. I don’t know what to do for her other than to put her back under.”

  Vedlyl smoothed his hand over her temple, and it was like getting KO’d. Darkness punched her, making her eyes roll back into her head. The last thing she heard was Nylicia’s voice.

  “Remember that it’s not black and white. Nothing is black and white. You’re going to have to teach him that. Remember that, Eve.”

  Chapter 6

  “Remember that it’s not black and white. Nothing is black and white.”

  Black and white.

  Light and darkness.

  Zeniel and Mavrak.

  Eve gasped, and darkness sucked her under. F
urther, deeper, until . . .

  The light had faded. It had remained with him for days, it seemed, before disappearing. The lack of sight didn’t bother him, though. It served to help his mental turmoil, a turmoil he’d been steadily fighting—and overcoming—since he had awakened. The roaring in his head was nearly gone. It had been destroyed by his will to remain tranquil and strong.

  He would not let the beast within him break free once more. He had been reborn inside himself. He was a new being, unable to dredge up more than one solid memory of what he had last been.

  But there were flashes, detailed enough to sicken him. He had killed with his bare hands. He had killed with his infernal powers of Vengeance. The things he had done to thousands . . . the horrid, merciless deaths he had caused with his stare.

  No. He was not that thing anymore. He was Zeniel now, and new powers had begun to awaken within him.

  The new energy inside him was the polar opposite of the brain-splitting roars he had once been a slave to, and as it expanded, so did his relief. Yes, he would succeed and beat back the atrocity within him. He had a new purpose now, one that blanketed his every breath.

  Protect.

  Exactly. He could not remember who he had to protect, but it didn’t matter. That didn’t make his need to fulfill his purpose any less pressing. He would remember who he needed to protect later. For now, simply knowing of his purpose was enough to motivate and satiate him.

  With deep, slow breaths, he focused on only quieting his mind, until silence became second nature.

  He had not moved from his position on the stone floor of his cell in what must have been days. The gods had imprisoned him for only they knew how long. He had been starved and tortured. Several days ago, however, he was visited by a small female surrounded by light and the torture had stopped. He did not remember her from before, yet she apparently had known him, and had promised to send someone to remove him from the prison.

  Tired, he closed his eyes and let the calm suck him back in. Eventually, the sound of the large stone door sliding open dragged him back into awareness. The light that shot into the cell came close to blinding him.

  “The prisoner is within, and as you shall see, docile as a little pup. We have ripped his will from his bod—”

  The guard gasped before he could finish his comment, sounding like someone had choked him into silence. There was a strained groan, then what sounded like a body being flung into the cell with Zen.

  “Now wait a moment!” Zen recognized the sound of the second guard’s voice. “I shall have words with the overseer. We were following his direct ord—”

  The second guard went silent right before he too, was thrown into the cell.

  An unfamiliar voice echoed inside the stone walls. “Bastards. They are lucky I do not separate their spines from their fucking bodies for what they have done to you.”

  The male speaking slowly came into focus. He was white-haired and wearing at least two bodies’ worth of dark blue and silver armor. His black leather boots gleamed in the light. He walked over the hands of the unconscious guards, destroying the bones with a loud crunch. He continued onward, uncaring, and did not stop until he was kneeling next to Zeniel.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, looking Zeniel’s body over for injuries.

  They’d healed days ago, each one resealing thanks to the female who had visited him.

  “I am fine. Are you the one they sent to get me out?”

  The white-haired male stared at him, his silver and dark blue eyes sad.

  “I am Dyletri. Although the last time you saw me, I was still called Salicyar.”

  Had he too started out as a different being?

  Zeniel blinked when clothes appeared on his body. Black leather breeches, boots as tough as the ones Dyletri was wearing, and a long sleeved, white tunic materialized out of thin air and onto his form.

  “We cannot have you walking around balls-out. The females out there might appreciate it, but that is not a sight for my eyes. Agreed?” Dyletri gave him a small smile. “Do you truly not remember me?” he asked when Zeniel merely continued to stare at him.

  Zeniel shook his head. “Forgive me, but I do not remember anything . . . except the things I brought to pass.” He moved to stand.

  Dyletri extended a hand to help him. “None of it was your fault.”

  Zeniel started shaking his head once more. He was having none of it. If he was learning to control it now, why couldn’t he have learned before killing so many?

  You were not Zeniel then.

  No, but what he had been was an abomination. Nothing would change that.

  “I do not wish to speak of that at this moment.”

  A wave of dizziness made the walls around him spin.

  Dyletri placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have not eaten in centuries. You might not need sustenance to survive, but you have gone too long without. You will not regain full strength until you eat.”

  Zen nodded. “I do remember that.”

  “Well, I hope you remember this as well.” Still holding onto his shoulder, Dyletri dematerialized them.

  Zen’s feet touched the ground so hard he was almost brought to his knees. He looked around, realizing they were in a clearing. In front of them stood two mountains, a waterfall cascading between the peaks. It ended in a round basin surrounded by large flat rocks. All around, human males moved back and forth, some tending to fires, others going about their daily business. Small huts were scattered throughout the clearing.

  “We read all their minds before deciding on this place. They are pure of deed, every one of them. This group is a new religious settlement. They are determined to live holy lives,” Dyletri said.

  “They are all male.”

  Dyletri smiled ruefully. “This specific group is, but over time we can find you a female pure of deed and bring her to you.”

  The idea bothered Zeniel on a level he could not understand. “That is not necessary. I am in no need. Why did these men settle here?”

  “They are one of only a hundred or so small settlements left on the whole planet. They settled here to live lives of penance. Even if civilization were to spring back rapidly, these men want to stay away from it all. They want to appease the higher powers that punished them.”

  Dyletri’s dual-colored eyes had darkened.

  “What happened while I was imprisoned?” Zeniel stared at all the men below, relieved when no visions came at him. No sins. No roars.

  “There was a war, Zeniel.”

  He turned sharply and was met with the furious scowl on Dyletri’s face.

  “A war?”

  “The Aviraji, as they are now known, turned on the rest of us. The very ones who had you imprisoned decided that all of us—including the humans—should be punished as well.”

  “I deserved what was done to me,” Zeniel reminded him calmly.

  “What you did was not your fault. You had a sensitivity—a justified one considering the universe is full of shit. You should have been helped, not tortured for five hundred years.”

  That’s how long had passed since he’d been imprisoned?

  “And I, for one,” Dyletri continued, “would have loved to have had you on the battlefield against the Aviraji on that day. With what they had just done, you would have ripped them all apart in one second.”

  “And any allies, as well,” Zeniel said. “I was helped. I am much different now.”

  Dyletri studied Zeniel. “You still resemble the God I knew before your sensitivity took over. Except your eyes, those are different. They used to be red and black.”

  “What color are they now?”

  “Blue and gray.”

  Zeniel liked that. He liked that a lot.

  “Humanity is just starting to rebuild. You can settle amongst these men while you get accustomed to your new powers.”

  Zeniel turned back to stare at the village below. “You said that they are living lives to appease the gods. Who is their main g
od?”

  “You are. Or, you will be.”

  Had the male before him gone mad?

  “I am a god no longer.”

  “That is not true. You are getting new powers. You feel it. I feel it. And Nylicia has already seen what you will become.”

  That was the name of the female that had visited him in his cell. He remembered pieces of his conversation with her, but not all of it. One of the things she had told him had been of extreme importance. He felt it in his chest, felt the pressure growing by the second.

  Why couldn’t he remember what she had told him? Why did he feel as if there was something he needed to be doing, but he didn’t know what? Protect . . .

  “What will I become?”

  “God of Tranquility. You wanted the opposite of what you were. Well, you got it, my friend.”

  He had to admit, he really liked that part. “Is it even possible?”

  “You have awoken with few memories of yourself, and battling back your old powers with the new ones emerging. I would say that it has already happened.”

  Did he want to be a god again? Of any sort? That word whispered through him, reminding him of what was important. Why it was important that he not return to being Mavrak.

  Protect.

  His gut hallowed out, the cramp painful enough to make him grunt. He felt so empty suddenly, as if something was missing. Something he needed desperately to find.

  “Fine. Introduce me to these humans and let us get this started.”

  “This part hurts the most,” was the first thing that Eve heard.

  Then came the exemplification of that statement.

  She realized she was awake, aware, and with lightning fast immediacy, her mind sucked her back into the dream she’d had, the one with Zeniel and Dyletri.

  But it wasn’t a dream. Oh Gods, no.

  Reliving what she had seen made her desperate to have Zen near, to be able to touch him.