Damian's Oracle Part 18

Two obeyed. He followed the man with eyes as green as the moss in the corner of his room down the busy hallways, unaffected by the men who spit on him or shoved him as he went. Slaves were treated this way.

He'd had a dream last night, something he never remembered in the morning, except for this time. He thought hard. There were many people in his dream, and he thought he should remember them. He heard the strange voice again.

Kiri.

The woman came from his dream! She was talking to him. He didn't know what she said, but she was holding out a hand to him, crying. Uneasiness swept over him.

He didn't want her to cry.

Don't cry, kiri.

But she kept crying.

"Two, coffee," his master said.

Two obeyed and left the room filled with lights and computers. The man with green eyes was waiting for him in the hall and touched his arm. Two cringed away. When he let him go, he saw the woman more clearly.

He went to the kitchen. The woman stayed with him. Two wondered if she'd ever come out of his head, or if she had to stay there, like he stayed in his master's corner. If she stayed in his head, his master wouldn't beat her like he did him.

Stay there, kiri. I'll take care of you.

"Are you hungry?"

Sofia jerked from her place beside her window, not sure which voice came from her head and which from the handsome man before her. She'd watched the arriving guests with a mixture of fascination and dread. They wore tuxedos and ball gowns like wealthy celebrities attending an exclusive Hollywood party. Beautiful women that rivaled Claire and men so handsome, even age couldn't diminish their muscular bodies or riveting looks.

"You're not dressed."

Damian was in a white shirt and snug tuxedo pants that outlined long, thick thighs and a tight a.s.s. His body drew her, and his scent surrounded her when he knelt beside her.

She wanted to tell him about Claire, but she was afraid to. He cared for Claire, or at least, he was attracted to her, and she didn't know if there was more than what she knew about them.

He held out his wrist, and she grudgingly took it, drinking from him while smelling the scents of the feast being prepared for his guests.

It's not fair.

The taste of him filled her, calmed her. She let her head drop back and sighed.

"You should get dressed, Sofia."

He wiped the corner of her mouth, and she resisted the urge to nip his finger. His warm lips met hers, and she opened her eyes, surprised. He kissed her gently, a long, slow kiss. She savored the sensations of his hot, wet mouth and the buzz she got feeding from him.

"Come, meet your people."

She watched him retreat, desire burning within her. Pierre had brought in a dress and shoe box earlier. She flipped on the light and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful gown she'd ever seen in a mysterious shade of dark blue sprinkled with silver sequins. The dress was thick silk and moved like water as she pulled it free and held it against her.

It must have cost a fortune!

She picked up the box to toss it on the chair when something slid out. She opened the slender jewelry box and gasped. Inside sparkled a diamond choker with an unusually worn, plain charm of a half-sun, half-moon pierced by an arrow. Diamond earrings completed the set.

If the dress didn't break him, the jewelry did! Sofia lifted the choker carefully, touching the charm.

"What are you, little friend?" she murmured. It must have been significant to be surrounded by so many diamonds!

She marveled over the clothing and jewelry before changing. She pulled her hair into a simple French twist, the kind she wore to work, and applied her make-up carefully.

Her irises were half silver. Sofia gazed at her two-toned eyes. They sparkled like the blue dress and diamonds. She looked herself over, satisfied that she looked good. Not Claire-good, but good enough.

Pierre greeted her with an approving smile that buoyed her.

"His colors and his symbol."

"Is that what this is?" she asked, fingering the charm.

"It's old, maybe as old as him. His family's coat of arms, if they had those then. Very special. Even he does not wear it."

She trailed him down the stairs, eyes on the guests milling in the courtyard beyond the opened double doors. Damian and Dustin appeared deep in discussion as she approached. Both wore tuxedos with matching blue c.u.mmerbunds, which amused her for such starkly different men. Claire, stunning in maroon and bedecked with diamonds and rubies, looked her over dismissively before returning her gaze to the men.

"Ikira," Dustin said, breaking away. His blue gaze swept over her. "You look lovely."

She eyed him then looked to Damian, who stared at her with an intensity she'd last seen aimed at Claire.

I am so hot.

Sofia almost laughed at herself. She lowered her gaze at the heated look from the man who drove her crazy every other minute of her day. She cleared her throat and focused on Dustin.

"You guys match," she observed.

"Only because of my efforts," he said with an edge that warned her not to laugh.

He's sensitive about that s.h.i.t, like a woman, Damian whispered into her mind. She coughed to cover her startled laugh. Dustin looked at her then tossed a look over his shoulder at Damian before directing her away.

"d.i.c.k," he said under his breath. "Come, Ikira. The guests must be greeted."

Her cheer faded. He motioned her towards the entrance to the courtyard.

"Is it really necessary?" she asked.

"It is."

She felt Damian's gaze on her as they walked away. She wanted to warn him about Claire ...

Later. After this latest ordeal.

She stood beside Dustin on one side of the entrance while Damian and Claire a.s.sumed the other. Claire was all over him, in his s.p.a.ce, rubbing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him. Sofia watched, astonished at the blatant display, and almost didn't prep herself for her first encounter.

The first man was in his prime, and his eyes crinkled in a genuine smile when he clasped hands with Dustin. They exchanged a greeting in a foreign language that sounded like Russian before he held out his hand to her. His eyes went to the symbol at her neck, and one eyebrow shot up. His name ... Sasha.

She saw killing in his future, but only in defense of his family.

There were ten men and two women she greeted before she felt the first flash of cold. The man before her was middle-aged and handsome, but she saw his dealings with Czerno's men. He sold out Damian's men - his own men - for money. Antoine.

The second traitor came soon after, a man whose past stunned her. She held his hand longer than she should. The man looked no older than Damian and was indeed from the same era.

He and Claire sold out Damian's brother to Czerno. Isac.

If Damian knew the woman trying to crawl back into his bed had helped murder his brother, her husband ...

She couldn't see him over the crowd. Her throat tightened in unshed tears of sorrow and anger.

Damian's world was brutal. Her world was brutal.

"Be strong, kiri," Dustin said without looking at her.

She swallowed hard and held out her hand to another woman in red. The last man in line was the final traitor, a man who'd helped Jilien torture his wife then claimed Czerno's men had done it. Haydaen.

She all but s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away, overwhelmed at the images in her head. Dustin escorted the man into the mansion, and Pierre wrapped an arm around her as she sagged.

Pierre unloading his shotgun on the man in executioner's garb from Czerno's. It was dark, cold, and the shots. .h.i.t the man with lopsided shoulders, dropping him dead to the ground. An explosion blazed in the distance. A woman was screaming, another man shouting.

She pushed herself away and leaned against a wall.

"So much death," she whispered.

Dustin returned for her. She wiped tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, kiri," he said with rare warmth. "Remember, we want them to fear you. Don't let them see you cry."

She steeled herself and nodded. She didn't want to disappoint him or Damian and couldn't help but dread the conversation to come. She tried to think of how she could soften the pain she'd bring him.

Dustin escorted her into the boisterous banquet room, and her spirits fell farther. She was seated at the end of the table opposite Damian while Claire claimed the spot to his left. The seat of honor was given to Sasha. Dustin sat beside her. From what little she knew about etiquette, she was occupying the seat of the lady of the house. A few of the guests cast curious looks her way, and everyone who looked at her seemed more interested in the plain charm at her chest than meeting her gaze.

Caterers served up food she'd kill to eat. Sofia watched the plates swap out before her as those around her gorged themselves on gourmet dishes she'd only seen on TV. As each course came and went, she felt another piece of her die.

What's done can't be undone.

She stared at the embroidered tablecloth, tormented by the scent of food she couldn't eat and the visions of death and betrayal that left an acrid taste in her mouth. No one spoke to her. She wasn't human. She wasn't one of them. A freak among freaks. Would she spend eternity like this, doomed to knowing only the dark secrets of those around her? If Dustin's words were true, she'd never be welcomed into the home of any of Damian's people, not if they feared the sight of her! Once she told Damian about the woman whose hand rested intimately on his arm, who he smiled at with genuine affection ...

If not for the dead man in her head, she'd be alone.

She fled the banquet hall for the library. Pierre trailed, balancing a plate of food. She stood before the window, feeling very much like a prisoner in her new world. She wondered if the dead man in her head, Darian, felt this way when he cried. She heard Dustin order Pierre out before he approached her.

"Sofia, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth."

She hugged herself, waiting.

"Claire."

His unfinished question lingered in the silence between them.

"Yes," she whispered.

He tensed. She looked up at him, sensing both his anger and his regret. His blue eyes were colder than the sky on a winter morning in Virginia. She resisted the urge to move away from him, chilled by the visions of his work as Damian's executioner.

"I thought so," he said at last. His look softened. "You have to tell him, sweetheart."

"It'll kill him."

"He must know. You don't carry this burden alone."

She nodded, throat tight. With a squeeze of her arm, he left her.

"Sofi," Damian's voice jarred her from her thoughts.

She wiped her eyes before turning to face whatever music Damian brought with him. He was accompanied by Dustin and two other men, one she knew as Sasha, a man who'd struck her with his devotedness to his family, and Levi, a man who'd been present in many of his pre-Schism memories.

Damian's gaze swept over her. He was the lord and master again, his form and commanding presence filling up the room. His display of checked power disturbed her.

"Sasha, Levi, this is ikira Sofia."

"An honor, ikira," Sasha said with a bow.

"We've waited many years for you, ikira," Levi said.

"Sasha and Levi are two of my most trusted advisors. Sasha manages the operations for Dusty out of Miami and Levi for Jule in Europe," Damian explained.

"We've been through much together," Levi added. "I owe D my life."

"I'm honored to meet you both," she said.

"Shall we review what you've learned?" Damian asked.

His tone was genuinely questioning, and she felt grateful that he was giving her the choice to opt out. She met Dustin's gaze, sensing he felt the same pain she did.

"I'm ready," she said with more confidence than she felt.

They sat around the low table still scattered with pictures. Pierre remained at the door. She sifted through the pictures, aware of the intent attention the others paid her. She found Antoine and drew his picture out. She swallowed hard, uncomfortable with playing the role of judge and jury.

"Antoine," she said. "He's a spy for Czerno. Czerno pays him well for the locations of the safe houses in Europe and the names and locations of the Guardians."

"That we knew," Sasha said with a firm nod.

"Haydaen," she said, drawing out another. "His wife's death was by his own hand. He felt you suspected him and devised a plot with Czerno to torture ... "

Her voice caught at the images replaying through her mind. Damian reached across the table and touched her face, dismissing them.

"... to torture and blame her death on Jilian. He sold out his family for money and land in Italy."

No one spoke. She reached Isac's picture and stopped, looking up at Damian.