Midnight Rain Read online

  “I don’t fear death.” He’d come close many times, both in the course of honor, and more often of late, in darkness. “You said I would be immortal.”

  Isaiah’s coal is the key to your glory.

  “I will find it.”

  His guardians faded from his consciousness just as the queen sauntered into his suite. He shifted in his seat, his center twitching inside his pants as she neared. She looked beautiful and hungry, her eyes bright with lust. As much as he hated to admit it, the queen had gotten under his skin.

  “Ssssolomon.” His name slid from her tongue like silk.

  He straightened, waiting for her to get closer. Having been around her constantly, he’d gotten used to her. He didn’t even smell the trace of sulfur that wafted in with her appearance anymore. He only saw her swaying hips, her big breasts, and those lips that felt so good on his body.

  She straddled his thighs, keeping the edge of her full ass on his knees. She was studying him. “Do you remember how we met?” she asked unexpectedly.

  “Why do you ask?” A smirk caught the corner of his lip remembering the night the queen had crashed his wife’s party. Ashtaroth was a sight to behold, her mere appearance caused every male head to swivel and drool. No one in the room had any clue as to what she was.

  “Because, I want to confessss.” She smiled as she ran her fingers gently down the side of his face. “I meant to kill you that night,” she admitted without any guilt.

  He stiffened instinctively, his sexual interest quickly burning off. He gripped her hands. “Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged playfully. “I liked your tasssste. I knew you had usssse. You had light in you.”

  He drew back from her. “Am I just a means to an end?”

  “Are you inssssulted?” she teased as she undid his shirt buttons, reaching her fingers onto his chest. She angled her head and dipped down toward his neck, licking his jaw. “I still like your tasssste.”

  “I am not some mere human pawn.” He stood abruptly, not caring the queen fell on her ass. He remembered that night. She wore a beautiful red, floor length dress that followed her curves luxuriously. Her hair fell perfectly over one shoulder and she looked like a goddess gracing her subjects with her presence. But she had been more than just a beautiful face. She conversed intelligently with anyone who won her attention. She charmed the men and befriended the women. But, it was him; Ashtaroth sought him out from the crowd of powerful men and women. His male ego had never been so inflated as it had been that night.

  “You saw light? Goodness in me?” He didn’t believe it. “Light?” he scoffed. “I thought you liked me because of my black heart.”

  The queen had turned cold, and sauntered her hurt pride back to the bed. “What’s wrong, Ssssolomon? Have I offended you?” She glared at him even as the thin strap of her black silk nightgown fell off her shoulder, and exposed a perfect breast.

  He went after her. “Do I still have light?” He grabbed her cheeks, squeezing them hard. Making her wince. He was taking a chance exerting any kind of ‘dominance’ over the queen. She could gut him before he could take a step away.

  She threw her head back in a cackle. “You haven’t had light in you for a long time, human. You are as dark as a demon. Do you still feel your soul, Ssssolomon?” she taunted.

  He sobered with her response. His heart twinging with regrets he had not expected. What happened to the man who wanted to save the world? Was his goodness really gone? Had he really sold his soul when he started his dalliance with the demon queen? He swept his eyes toward hers, locking onto them. The steely grey of his eyes burning through her striking blue ones. “You’ve cursed me,” he hissed, like the acid realization burning through his conscience.

  She smiled coyly. “You are here because you are hungry for power. You are here because you are an opportunist. You are here becausssse you love my fruit.” She cackled again and broke from his hold. “There is no cursssse.”

  “You should have killed me.” He couldn’t argue with the queen. The night they met, the party had been arranged by Olivia as a front to help garner deals that would secure their financial future for generations. Ashtaroth’s arrival was a complete surprise. Thinking back, he should have questioned it. Olivia should have questioned it, but neither one of them did. He wondered now if they had been spelled. Regardless, that night he had already committed to dealings that would be steeped in blood. He’d taken his first step into the path of darkness without Ashtaroth’s doing. He’d become a traitor--for power, money, influence. Ashtaroth was right. He had no light in him anymore, but it was by his own choice.

  The queen straightened, her eyes glowing white. “You dare deny me what I want.” She stood, forcing him to take a step back. “I could have ended your life.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  She grabbed his head, twisted him, and slammed him, chest down on the floor. With both arms pulled back like some hog, she squeezed her thighs on either side of his ribcage, constricting his breathing. She pulled back on his arms, stretching the muscles and tendons to their limit. “You have usssse.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, as he rode the waves of pain burning through his limbs. He refused to make a sound. He would not give her the satisfaction. He could feel her shuddering on his back, her center getting wet from his act of defiance.

  She released his arms. “You are mine, Ssssolomon. It is only by my bidding that you remain alive.” Ashtaroth left, and night fell heavily over the city.

  Letting the cool breeze ruffle through his salt and pepper hair, he closed his eyes as he stood on the balcony of his Tiburon Towers penthouse. A gull’s cry sounded above the rush of tides hitting the banks of the cliff below his hotel. He opened his eyes, catching sight of the handful of seagulls playing against the light of the moon before diving into the sea. His thoughts were distant, in another place and time as he listened to the faint pops of gunshots coming from the city.

  The smell of war polluted the air; fires, fuel, dust, and blood. The battles for the possession of San Francisco had begun. Fighting brought to the streets by demons. Demons he assisted. The scent of the crumbling city made him bristle. It could be worse he thought, trying to find some speck of positivity with the chaos he helped to create.

  Had The Order not closed the breaches the demons created, all of the dark realms would be in San Francisco. He might have worked with the demons, but he was secretly thankful to The Order. The worst was yet to come. He knew the battles would spread beyond San Francisco. San Diego would be next, then New Orleans, Chicago, New York. Before long, the entire Country would be infected by the hordes, then the world.

  War.

  His breathing quickened. His hands fisted. The veins in his neck protruded. He had fought for this Country.

  Glory Solomon, his guardians whispered in his mind. Your destiny. Glory. You will rule the demons. You can save the world. Save the humans. Be a hero, if you wish. His guardians’ sing-song voice blanketed him, making him remember his course. They pulled him back into the dark corners of his mind, where he had fed his darkness to become the man he was today. He was a General of the most powerful nation in the world. Yes, remember your glory, Solomon. The Seraphim Project is the answer. Bide your time. Be useful to the queen and she will reveal its true goal.

  Chapter Six

  January 18th, Bimini Island

  11:00pm

  Waking up chained to a granite slab, the skies overhead roared with fury. Thick, dark clouds billowed above, so heavy with rain they were unmoved by the tempest gale slicing through the Island. Screams of men, women, and children could be heard all around, their plea for help burning his heart like the iron shackles binding him. He’d been drained of his powers, the shackles leaching his Father’s gifts.

  Tears fell heavily from the corner of his eyes as he asked for mercy. “Spare the people, Father. Help them, please. I beg of you.”

  He turned to the woman; her smiling face was dark and treacherou
s. How could he not have seen her for what she truly was? He was blinded by the love she professed to him. All empty words. Lies and deceit she orchestrated to gain what she wanted. Power. Being a mortal queen had not been enough.

  He screamed as the last vestiges of his powers were stolen from him, captured by the High Priests surrounding him. He knew them to be good men. Men of honor. They were his friends. “Tal. My friend,” he pleaded, “see Ishtar for what she is. See through the guise before it is too late.” Pain wracked through his weakening body. “Tal. Please. The Island will be lost forever. Look around you!” He ground his teeth as the shackles bore needles deep into his flesh, injecting toxins into him. His back arched stiffly, his muscles constricting into tight cords of rope all over his body.

  Blood rushed to his head, sounding like a raging river. The roar drowned out the chanting of the High Priests, and of the midnight rain coming down on his beloved Island and his beloved people. Lightning split the black sky. Radiant forks of light speared the ground, lighting trees on fire. “Tal, the children! Save them! Please!” he begged.

  He was breathing hard, his heart pounding wildly. He felt empty and disconnected. His Father’s energy was all but gone from his body. For once in his existence, he felt alone, unable to feel the light of the Creator within him. He yanked on his binds, rattling the chains against the heavy iron rings. He screamed as his anger and sadness went molten in his chest. He failed the people he was supposed to protect. He failed his Father.

  He looked up, misery overwhelming him as Tal stumbled and fell onto him. His robe was covered in blood. He’d been stabbed and Ishtar had vanished.

  Blood soaked hands reached for his wrist, unlocking the shackles with trembling fingers. “I am so sorry, Toqeph. I am so sorry,” he cried. “She fooled us. I hope it is not too late.”

  He held his friend to his chest. Tal’s struggle for breath rattling his leather chest plate. Tal placed a bloody hand on the crest embossed on Toqeph’s armor, his finger running over the symbols of the Sacred Compass and the Omega. “The end,” he wheezed.

  Toqeph clutched his friend’s hand. “Save your strength.”

  Tal’s eyes struggled to remain open as he fought for every second to finish a chant of reversal.

  A rush of energy bolted through Toqeph, reviving his parched body of his Father’s essence.

  “Ishtar was not able to take all of your gifts. I held on to what I could.” Tal smiled, though his eyes were full of sorrow and regret, as his life force began to fade. “Is it too late to ask for forgiveness from the Fa…?” Tal’s voice faded, his head fell back, and his last breath released.

  Gently, Toqeph cupped his fallen friend’s head. “It is never too late, my brother, my dear friend.”

  He rose from the slab with Tal cradled in his arms. Tal had given his life to give him back his. With his Father’s energy coursing once again through his veins, he yanked the chains off of the slab, and crumbled them in his hands. He stood, his bare feet stepping in blood, pooled from the bodies of the other High Priests. All stabbed and abandoned by Ishtar.

  With a heavy heart, he gathered his friends and lay them side by side. Reciting sacred prayers over them, he released their essences back to the Father. This was not their fault. It was his for failing to see what Ishtar truly was. The High Priests’ essences lifted from their vessels. The gossamer clouds shimmering, beautiful and light against the dark storm. He waited for them to ascend, to rise to the heavens, but they didn’t.

  The four high priests stood in front of him, their voices clear in his head. “We will stay.”

  He watched them glow and meld together into a beautiful glimmering cloud. They sped to the ocean. “Hurry! Save them Toqeph!” It was Tal, his voice urgent, pushing him into action.

  Toqeph twisted, his sight directed where the edge of the Island met the sea. The waters were churning, spinning, the waves growing with a roar as the volcano beyond began to spew ash and rock into the air.

  “Save them all!”

  Fawna sat up abruptly, her breathing hard and ragged. She clasped the black crystalline pendant hanging over her heart, feeling its soothing energy seep into her skin. She held onto the black crystal until her breathing evened out and the trembling dissolved from her hand. She closed her eyes, taking deep measured breaths to calm her mind. She wanted to erase the horror of the dream images still flittering in her waking mind.

  A soft knock on her door drew her attention.

  “Love, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mama.” Her voice shook. She hadn’t intended that. Sabine would surely come in to check on her. “I’m okay. I just had a bad dream,” she called out.

  Too late. Her door was slowly opening. Her mother’s long dark hair swung to the side like a smooth silk curtain as she peeked in. “You don’t sound okay?” Sabine was walking in. She was still dressed in her blue floral sun dress from earlier in the day.

  Fawna wondered why her mother hadn’t been to bed. It was late. “Were you still awake?” She reached for her bedside table, and turned on her little round lamp. The soft yellow glow from the old bulb made the lampshade look like the surface of the moon.

  Sabine was smiling, her dark brown eyes turning up at the corners. “Yes.” She sighed as she sat next to Fawna. “I couldn’t sleep. Your pa isn’t ‘ome yet.”

  Fawna scooted next to her mother and tucked herself under Sabine’s arm. She didn’t care that she was a grown woman herself. She adored her adopted parents, and she’d never been shy about being affectionate with them. “I’ll stay up with you. I can’t sleep either.”

  “Same dream?” Sabine asked as she smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head.

  She nodded, thinking back on her dream. She reached for her pendant. Her heart was breaking at the despair still rolling through her body.

  “Mariana said she can ‘elp us.”

  Fawna sat up quickly, eyes wide and staring at her mother in complete surprise. “Oh no.” She was shaking her head. “Mariana scares me. I think that woman hates me.”

  Her mother giggled before getting up from her bed. “Don’t be silly. Mariana ‘as no reason to ‘ate you.”

  Fawna jumped out of the bed walking after her mother. She overtook her in the kitchen and pulled out a kettle to heat some water. Fawna pulled out an assortment of leaves, herbs, and flowers from one of the cabinets. She looked at them proudly; she had dried them all herself, taking special care that none of them broke as they went from fresh to brittle.

  She studied her mother sitting across from her. She looked so tired. She needed to mix a blend that would ease her mother’s worried spirit, add a little touch of warmed cream, a little bit of honey, a sprinkling of freshly grated cinnamon, and Sabine would surely relax. Hopefully, enough to drift off to sleep and stop talking about Mariana.

  “We ‘ave a meeting with Mariana tomorrow.” Her mother had eased herself onto a wooden stool with a rattan weaved seat. The fibers crunched every time she shifted.

  Fawna groaned her objection. “I might be sick tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure Mariana would love to come out ‘ere.” Sabine’s smile grew wide, making her dark eyes twinkle mischievously.

  “Ugh! Mama, seriously. The dreams are fine. I’m fine.” She was trying to use her bratty voice. She admitted she was too old for it, at twenty-three years of age it was really juvenile, but being an only child, and still living with her parents, she often got away with things an independent twenty-three-year-old probably would not. She was about to really lay it on thick, when Dex opened the front door. His big body blocked the entire opening.

  “Why are my angels still up?” He looked surprised. “It is late.”

  “Fawna ‘ad another bad dream.” Sabine blurted out, just as the kettle started to sputter and whistle with steam.

  Fawna rolled her eyes as she busied herself with preparing the tea. She meticulously layered each dried leaf, herb, and flower in colorful layers on top of the other, and tied th
e bundle with kitchen string. She took out her favorite pink pig-shaped tea pot and dropped the tea bundle along with a few extra flower heads inside the ceramic pot.

  Dex sat next to Sabine and gave her a loving kiss on the cheek.

  Sabine’s tension instantly melted, making Fawna smile as she carefully poured hot water into the pig tea pot. The aroma from the dried leaves and herbs instantly blossomed, perfuming the kitchen with the delicate scent of chamomile drifting lazily around them.

  “Mmm.” Dex took a deep breath. “I came home just in time.” He hopped off his stool, making the seat wobble slightly. He bent over, his entire front disappearing inside the refrigerator. “Where is that piece of pie I was saving?” He asked as he started rummaging inside the chill box, his voice muffled by the sounds of plates sliding around on the shelves. “There it is!” he announced cheerfully as he emerged triumphant from inside the fridge.

  Fawna poured tea for her parents, preparing each cup according to their preferences. Dex liked his with lots of cream, while Sabine preferred more cinnamon and honey. “Why are you so late, Papa?” Her brows twisted as she looked at her father.

  “Extra patrol duties,” he answered in between spoonfuls of pie.

  Sabine twisted toward him, her brows crooked in the same way as Fawna’s. “Is everythin’ all right?”

  Fawna could feel the tension and worry coming back to Sabine. Her ability to feel energy was as strong as her mother’s psychic abilities. But Fawna didn’t read minds, she read energies and auras. She could tell if someone was bad news, just by the colors coming off of their body. Auras didn’t lie and energies couldn’t hide.

  Pa’s energy spiked for a quick second, probably the same time his blood pressure jumped a point or two. The question made him nervous. He looked at Sabine, then at her. The satisfaction from the last bite of pie gone too quickly from his face. “The townsfolk are restless,” he answered as he got up from the stool, his little pie plate carried in one big hand. He went to the sink, rinsing out the small plate before turning back to look at them again. “Mariana says the waters must be checked.” He waited for a response.