Damian's Oracle Part 11

"Maybe. We have to get through this first."

She didn't want to ask but did.

"Through what?"

His grip tightened around her, and she resisted the urge to push him away and flee. He pulled the knife from his pocket, flipped it inward, and sliced into the tender flesh of his wrist.

Horror and hunger surged through her. The scent of his blood was more intoxicating than a s.h.i.+tload of vodka on a Friday night. She craved him in a way that nearly crippled her.

"Oh G.o.d!" she whispered raggedly. "No! No, no, no!"

"You have no choice," he said with calmness that terrified her. "You'll die without it."

"Let me go!"

She shoved against him as hard as she could, knowing when he released her it was because he wanted to. She tore out of his room, the scent of his blood ensnared in her senses.

She ran from the mansion into the gardens and towards the forest. Too weak to continue, she dropped to her knees. Her scream was one of fury and frustration. She screamed until she was hoa.r.s.e, shaking in the chilled air.

"I guess he told you," Han said and squatted beside her. "You know, to our kind, it's an honor to be blood bound to someone like him."

It should have been her instead of Jake! Damian's words swirled through her thoughts, along with the scent of his blood. The thought of drinking from him made her sick, and she pushed herself up to vomit.

"I want to die, Han," she cried. "I can't live like this! I'm a monster!"

"You have no idea what he went through to save you. Because of him, you're alive, and you still have a soul. If he didn't bind you, you'd be bound to Czerno, and then you'd really want to kill yourself," he said. "You're bound to our king, our G.o.d, our master. If anyone else saw you refuse him, they'd kill you."

"I'm human, Han," she argued.

"Not any more. You're one of us now."

She threw up again, sick and weak.

"I won't do it," she swore.

"You have no choice, ikira."

What's done can't be undone.

She wept, not objecting when Han lifted her deftly and carried her back to her room.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

My name is Darian. Help me.

She spent the better half of the next day too depressed to leave her bed before forcing herself up and parking on the patio in the sun, determined not to waste another day in the dark. Darian- whoever he was - would drive her crazy if she didn't find a way to distract her thoughts. Han stayed with her, not moving until two Guardians - a raven-haired man with a quick smile and a brooding blond - approached. He stood and shook hands with both of them.

"The winter's better here than Europe, I imagine," he said with a smile. "This is Ikira Sofia."

"Ikira, I'm honored," the dark haired man said with a bow and a thick Spanish accent. "I'm Grande."

Han rolled his eyes.

"That would be a description of his ego and nothing else," the brooding blond said with a light French accent. "I'm Pierre, Ikira."

"Boring," Grande said. "He skipped the cla.s.s on good nom de plumes."

Pierre gave him a sidelong look at his butchered French, and Sofia smiled despite herself.

"Grande and Pierre are joining us from our European front. We rotate every twelve months or so," Han explained.

"Front? Like war front?" she asked.

"Fighting Czerno and his monsters."

"Ikira, welcome," Grande said.

"Thanks. Call me Sofia."

"No," Han said, leveling a look on them both. "Dusty's a stickler for t.i.tles."

"Mi corazon," Grande said, faking a wounded look. Pierre punched him in the shoulder, and they walked towards the garage.

"What is Ikira?" she asked, turning to Han.

"Similar to my queen. You rank up near Damian now."

Her smile faded. The mention of him reminded her of her cramped stomach and the half dozen failed attempts to eat normal food.

"It's a good thing," Han said at her silence. "He owns your a.s.s. No one will mess with you."

"Great," she muttered.

"If you make it another day and a half, you'll win our bet," he reminded her.

"Let me ask you something, Han," she said, facing him. "What am I supposed to be doing? If I'm not a financial planner, should I be oracling or something?"

"Ask your master."

"I knew you'd say that. And he's not my master. I'm an American; we don't have masters."

"I will give you a piece of advice," he said, unaffected by her tirade. "And this isn't because I want to win our bet, but because you're a proud person. Don't wait until tomorrow to go to him or you'll crawl to him on your knees. No matter what you think, you can't live without his blood. You might as well make it on your terms, ordering him to submit, rather than begging and mauling him like an animal."

"Wow," she murmured. "You really want to win our bet, don't you?"

"You're too smart to be so d.a.m.n stubborn. Jake lost his life saving you, Sofia, and you're acting like a f.u.c.king two-year old."

And he walked away. Sofia watched him, stunned by his rebuke. Her thoughts went to Jake, and she saddened. He was right. He was always right, even when he told her to ask Damian something he knew very well.

On her terms. If she had it her way, she'd not do it at all. She'd never known hunger like this!

"It's your fate," she reminded herself.

How silly was an oracle who refused her own destiny?! If for no other reason, she owed it to Jake to try. She drew a deep breath and marched into the mansion. Damian was rarely indoors during the day, and she hoped he wasn't in his room when she knocked. Her courage fled to see him framed in his doorway, as seductive by day as he was by night.

He didn't ask her why she came but stepped aside and motioned her in. Sofia balled her fists and entered, sweating at the thought of the ordeal ahead.

"I feel like some sort of animal," she told him. But I want to live.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm scared, Damian," she added.

"I know," he said, holding out a hand to her.

She took it, her insides quaking in antic.i.p.ation and hunger. He sat her down on the couch and sat down across from her with the knife in hand. She closed her eyes, more of his home videos playing through her mind.

"Stop," he warned.

She opened her eyes. A flash of darkness went through his gaze, and the same sense of hidden fury returned.

"You hate this."

"I do, but not because of you," he said.

"Someone hurt you? Was this during your dark period?"

He froze for a moment then resumed.

"It was," he confirmed.

She took the hint but wondered who had hurt him so badly that he still bore a grudge thousands of years later. He sliced his wrist, and her attention turned immediately to thick liquid bubbling against his olive skin.

This isn't right.

You'll die without it.

She recoiled, pus.h.i.+ng herself against the couch. He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.

"You won't hurt me," he a.s.sured her.

She refused to move. He s.h.i.+fted his hand to her neck and held her in place, placing his bloodied wrist against her lips.

The scent, the taste was unlike anything she ever experienced. Sofia licked her lips, the rich flavor as ensnaring as his scent. She lapped once with the tip of her tongue, tasting both the metallic, spicy blood and her tears. She opened her mouth and drank from him, timidly at first then hungrily. Damian hissed beside her, his grip on her neck tightening. She withdrew, afraid to hurt him.

"Don't stop," he urged, his voice huskier, lower. "Drink."

She closed her eyes and drank. When she pulled back at last, she sat in a daze, fulfilled and content yet unable to shake the horror of what she'd done. Damian had turned his face away and was clenching a thick knuckle between his teeth.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, appalled.

"No," he grated. "Are you done?"

"Yes."

"You better go."

Something in his voice compelled her to hurry. Sofia fled to her room, amazed at how good she felt. She was no longer hungry, and she felt energized, fulfilled.

Guilty.

How long could she live like this, drinking someone else's blood?

How long would he allow it?

It was still sooooo wrong!

How could slitting his wrist for her daily not hurt him?

She tried to sift through her emotions, before she returned to his door. He opened it before she knocked, dressed for sparring in his judo pants and nothing else. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from devouring his body with her eyes.

"I wanted to make sure you're ok," she said. "And ... I'm ok, right?"

"We're cool," he said, pus.h.i.+ng himself away from the doorframe. "Whenever you're hungry, you can come by."

He was guarded again. She felt like the morning after a drunk, one night stand. What did she say after the most awkward experience of her life? The thought of his blood lit her afire, almost as much as the sight of his bare chest.

What would sleeping with him while drinking from him be like?

She backed away from his door, wondering how that deviant thought emerged. Han eyed her as she hurried past him towards the library. Dressed for sparring, he waited with Grande and Pierre for Damian.

"You ok?" he asked.

"You always ask me that. If I'm not, you'll know," she replied curtly.

"Very well, Ikira."

She glared at him, sensing his amus.e.m.e.nt. Damian trotted down the stairs. She didn't look at him until his back was to her on their way towards the door. As if feeling her gaze on him, he paused at the door.

"If you ever want to try it, let me know."