Blood of the Divine, page 5
"It was a nightmare," I share. Quickly, I softly discard his touch even though my chest yearns for its embrace.
"I'm well aware." He stands there patient, watching. A look of awe shadows his silent features for only a moment. I grumble, trying to ground myself once more. I turn from the man beside my bed, unable to speak or acknowledge him. The room's darkness quells the familiar fear engulfing me from that night in the garage.
At that moment, a few candles light simultaneously, bringing heat back into the room while battling the onslaught of darkness.
I brazenly watch Kaz shuffle to the bar pouring a chilled glass of water. His chest ripples and flexes with the simple action. I can't look away from the magnificent creature before me at the realization of his shirtless presence. Despite the limited light, I make out a few rippled lines over his left shoulder. They must be scars. I retreat my gaze as he stifles a quiet laugh, returning to my side. I must've woken him somehow. He rounds the four-post bed, placing the glass on the nearby table. Kaz drags a small wool blanket over my hips to which I offer a nod of gratitude; the intimate gesture is welcomed.
The legs of a nearby wingback chair scuffle against the hardwood. Kaz's breath evens as he settles into the furniture. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to find the vintage piece struggling to compensate his large frame.
"You don't need to stay."
"I don't plan on leaving right now."
"Well, I don't feel safe with you in my room. And I don't particularly care that you found yourself in here in the dead of night." I cringe momentarily at the rude nature of my tone, but fatigue has never made me the most amicable.
A gut-wrenching look crosses his eyes before being replaced by that brooding stare. Kaz stands once more, hand outstretched. A dark mist swallows his palm. I sit up, getting a closer look at the sight before me. The mist dissipates, illuminating a steel dagger in its wake.
Kaz plucks the dagger mid-air, tossing it between his fingers before stalking forward. He places the dagger at the edge of the bed before returning to his seat again. I thumb the heavy metal, caressing the silver engravings. Vines tangled around the massive hilt. A moment of awe replaces the shrewd demeanor of my commands. A thought floats into view about escape, but I quickly muddle it for the sake of secrecy. If anything was obvious earlier, my thoughts and emotions weren't safe— especially around him.
I cuddle the dagger into my hands, rolling over to face Kaz. He thumbs the pages of a nearby book with boredom. Gripping it with ferocity, I force my eyes to watch him carefully before fatigue drags me back into the depths of slumber.
9
MADELYN
I awake, clenching my palms. The weight of the danger is non-existent, flaring me upright in question. The dagger rests atop the nightstand; the chair before me empty, the cushions fluffed back into place. It’s quiet and eerie in the silence of the morning sun. Morning? I glance at the clock adorning the small bedside table.
11:43 AM
A soft knock muffles said silence a few minutes later. I pull the covers over me once more before calling the stranger forth. With definitive action, I snatch the dagger back into my embrace. Kaz slowly pushes the heavy wood in, coddling a silver tray of fresh food. His commanding frame looks oddly out of touch as he carefully balances the metal between hands. My mouth instinctively waters at the sight and scent of salted eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and buttered toast.
A smirk graces Kaz’s lips, illustrating that familiar dimple. His back faces me as he arranges the food along a nearby table.
“I thought you might be hungry.” My stomach grumbles to life at the assumption. I quickly pat the blanket over it, stifling the onslaught of noise.
He plucks a pastry from the stone plate, swallowing a swift bite as he loads an empty one. I inch closer to the edge of the bed to get a better look, lying the dagger at my side. Kaz strides forth, bringing the plate to my lap.
I stare in confusion and awe. He returns to the table, retrieving a vintage teacup.
“Coffee?” I only hum in response. Hauling a small table over to the edge of the bed, Kaz sets the cup and saucer before me alongside soft butter. He retreats to the main table, tugging the dining chair beneath his taut frame. His eyes return to my own, encouraging as he rips another pastry apart in deep contemplation.
I mumble a small thank you as I set the plate atop my knees, digging into the eggs first.
We both sit in quiet distraction for a while as I shovel the food down. I scrape the buttered toast against the liquid yolk, reveling in the fill of my stomach. The silence feels awkward but calm as Kaz doesn’t dare break it, and I am too hungry to bother with words. After some time, he clears his throat, folding the fabric napkin between his hands.
“Would you be up for a walk?”
I take a moment to contemplate. Though I’m entirely at the whims of this stranger, I need answers, and a walk sounds enticing after chaining myself to this room for far too long. Though he hasn’t done much to incite fear, I still don’t trust him or his cycloptic friend.
I nod again in silence, confirming my answer. Kaz rises, kindly hauling the dirty dish from my embrace after I swipe the remaining yolk against my last bit of toast. The wood creaks beneath my bare feet as I head to the bathroom to freshen up.
I wash the sleepiness from my face, the dark circles starting to dissipate. Though I try to push his irritatingly helpful presence away, Kaz remains close. He calls for room service. After drying the remnants of water, I clip my hair up and scour for my shoes. A petite woman enters the room, wringing the dirty dishes and leftover food from the dining nook. The wrinkles crease and ebb against her face, the concern apparent. Kaz thanks her as the woman glances in my direction. She quickly rounds up the cutlery, leaving in a hurry. Seems I’m not the only one unsure of the man before me.
Once done, he places a light sweater over my shoulders before nodding to the door. Kaz latches the balcony doors, then clicks the heavy wood into place behind us as we head down the hall. I will my feet forward, a few deep inhales resounding against the creeping, damask wallpaper. Beautiful floral arrangements catch my eye, littering the entrance and seating area as we make our way out onto the small pathway before the sloshing canal.
The air is crisp as it lightly flutters down the cobblestone pavement. I grip the sweater tighter around me, encasing myself in protected measure. Faint conversations drift past us amidst the hustle and bustle of tourists. The Italian language melodically rifts with the nearby chirping. My gaze returns to Kaz by my side. With hands in his pockets, he looks unbothered by it all. His calm demeanor and presence would make one think this was his home.
Though expressionless, his face still denotes a sense of lethal poise— a presence of sorts. As we walk, he doesn’t budge with words. I can only assume he’s giving me the space and quiet to get comfortable. Its odd resonance of satisfaction and peace bubbles over me.
Immediately a pulse of questions hounds the front of my brain, popping said bubble. Who are you, who were those men, why am I being hunted, what is going on? As if on instinct, Kaz peers down for but a moment, about to say something but bites his tongue.
“Is the confusion that obvious by my intrusive thoughts you can somehow manage to discern,” I sarcastically state. He adorns a look of humor before it transitions into a pensive silence of contemplation.
“No— it was your expression that gave that away.” He looks at me again, that familiar dimple. “With your bottom lip between your teeth and brows furrowed, I can only imagine the list of questions cycling in that head of yours.”
Of course. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before spilling them all over the pavement.
“I am having a hard time understanding all of this, and I’m angry; I have questions, but I’m struggling to formulate my thoughts. I can’t even understand that which shouldn’t be possible.” I wave at him to prove my point, wiggling my fingers to illustrate the dark mist he conjured the other night, as I don’t dare to even speak that sensation out loud. This earns a deep chuckle from him.
“I mean, you manifested a physical dagger from thin air like it was nothing, from some dark smoke that just happened to appear and dissipate in a single moment!” I quiet for a second. “I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not— whether my thoughts are my own or subject to the whims…of others.” I look at him to prove my point. A stern complexion overcomes his features in an instant.
“I can assure you, they are your own.” I slightly wince at the bite of his words. “I do not make it a point to manipulate the free will of others with my gifts. The other day's action was simply illumination purely for your benefit.” He quiets for a moment before adding, “And maybe self-serving on my part in an attempt to earn your trust.”
I don’t owe this man anything, but I feel the stone grip release around my skeptical heart for saving my life that night and for the honesty and minute care he’s shared thus far. Last night blooms to mind. I can sense him relaxing at that notion. In a surge of courage, I break the silence once more.
“So what are you then,” I question quietly. Kaz stifles his facade, a laugh releasing despite the question.
“Jumping right in, are we.” It’s a statement, not a question; I find no offense seeing as headfirst has always been my way of doing things. There’s a slight pause as I await his answer. He turns to face me, a kind smile present.
“I am a celestial being, just as you are, but more commonly known as a Daemon.” He chuckles at what I can only assume is either internal confusion or the questioning look I currently harbor again. I mouth the words to myself. I picture our typical notions of Daemons as malevolent beings, followers of the devil himself.
“It’s nothing close to that— deceitful stories invented to hide the truth from Her children.” I can’t help the disapproving look barraging forth for intervening in my thoughts once more; he releases a mumbled apology.
“I don’t understand; doesn’t Daemon denote evil, darkness?”
“Only your biblical literature would have our sacred terminology construed with fear and manipulation,” he mentions, a slight irritation to his tone. “Forgotten and lost unto the new generation of souls.”
“So what does it mean to be a Daemon?”
“Daemons are celestial beings, derived from the primordial ones— yet we all come from a single divine source with our own innate gifts. We are basically deities, a type of god, if you will, on a hierarchy of species. But that doesn’t dictate our nature. We can be just as kind or cruel as any human, and our loyalties often fall that way.”
“So you’re a god,” I question. Kaz doesn’t miss a beat as he ignores my inquisitive jeer. The air around us cools instantly as I sense a bit of tension ripple from him.
“Precisely— just as you are, just as humans are in their own right.”
He doesn’t continue, as I can sense he’s still wary of sharing too much information, though I can’t understand why. His response raises many more questions. The primordial ones? Who are they? Her? How and where do we come from then? Humans being gods? I stifle the onslaught of inquiry as the rude, one-eyed cretin comes to mind.
“And your fussy friend with the haughty suspenders?” A roaring sound booms in between us as Kaz throws his head back in laughter. Those that pass by gaze in response at the measure of sound. A few women gawk and smile as Kaz ignores the attention.
“Malachai? Well, a god unto himself— absolutely.” He chuckles once more. “Partly. He’s Nephilim.” I can feel the look of confusion crowding my face, but he doesn’t elaborate further, most likely still caught on the gibe I made of Malachai.
“Nephilim, as in half human, half angel?”
“Angel is a human term. We don’t refer to ourselves in that way, nor do the Nephilim tend to consider their divine essence under those assertions.” The air grows quiet as the weight of this truth settles into my very bones.
“There are other creatures, though, like us too.” His prompting tone jives me back into the conversation. I pause, giving him room to continue. We halt along the top of a harrowed bridge, overlooking the sun pushing its way against the dissipating cloud cover.
“There are other worlds besides your own, Madelyn. Realms of beauty and intrigue. It’s all part of Her creation.”
“Her,” I quietly mouth again as his initial statement returns to mind once more.
“You didn’t think She was a man with a beard, did you?” I laugh to myself before I hear him also release a brief chuckle. Seems he is well acquainted with the imagery of this world regarding that which created it.
“I’ve always considered there had to be something, a source of sorts, to create this, but no— I never assumed it was a man with a beard.”
“Well, you are more aware than my one-eyed cretin of a friend pegged you for.” He winks in an attempt to lighten the mood. I glower for a moment at his revelation.
“Who is She that you speak of?” The tension begins to leave as he opens up to my curiosity.
“She created all that you see, our souls included. Though we are an extension of Her, our souls and lives are our own. Through us, She experiences another aspect of love, beauty, pain, and existence— through us does She live.”
I breathe in his words as if they were air itself, staring out at the mesh of warm sunlight and placid waters. The words strangely rumble within, resonating into place. I’ve always felt there was more to this life than what’s been prompted. But to hear it so beautifully put, it detonates and pulls at that wild part of me. I feel the force of his gaze as I remain silent.
“You mentioned specific gifts you hold. What did you mean?” He looks forward again. I push against the bridge's iron railing, my feet fidgeting over the stone.
“Earlier… how come I wasn’t able to move?”
“I am truly sorry about that. Looking back, it was a bit rash, but your panic was so overwhelming that I felt drastic action was necessary to distract you. I don’t like using my gifts that way, though.”
So it was him. I don’t want to press him, but part of me is curious. As if I was speaking aloud, he responds.
“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he says with a smirk.
“My mental abilities are only a small aspect of my gifts. It’s different for others.” He shifts uncomfortably at my side.
“It’s not just being able to hear snippets from one’s mind or sense thoughts and desires; there’s also an aspect of control involved, just as I did with you earlier. And before you ask, no, I do not manipulate others via their thoughts or mind, you included. ”
He faces me now.
“I can to an extent, but I prefer not to, as it is rather nasty business. And like I mentioned, I don’t particularly enjoy or desire to intervene on another creature’s free will.”
I inhale at his confession, feeling the weight behind the truth of his words. The tension from the past week slowly begins to unravel and flee.
“Part of the beauty of Her creation is the significance of consent, free will to be precise. The only way you could ever truly be manipulated is if you willingly keep yourself ignorant or unaware of the truth. Such a state keeps one’s mind pliant. Being honest and aware means you control the narrative, free from influence and exploitation.”
“I may have the capacity to influence one’s thoughts, incite pain, joy, or control their physical nature, but the moment that being is alive to the truth of their soul, that’s the moment my control can wain. It takes more power and influence to manipulate another into believing the sun's rays shine green or the rippling waves of the sea flow red.”
He turns to face the waters again, but I can’t look away. Despite the stranger before me, my breath catches at his beauty— from his features and words to how he holds himself. The character of this man is oddly insatiable. He continues, breaking me from my reverie.
“Despite how open you can be, I’m not privy to every thought of yours, Madelyn.” A rush fills me at the sound of my name rasped in his statement. Fearful of the exposure, I turn back to the horizon before me, quickly changing the subject.
“What about those shadows or smoke that enveloped your hand last night. Are they part of your abilities too, or can all daemons do that?
“Yes and yes— like I said, all Daemons and manner of creatures carry their own innate abilities. Physical manifestation is a common one, but it is also one that is specific to me.” The cold steel's weight, pull, and bite return to mind. The dagger looked real— felt real.
“It was and is real.” I shoot a small glower at him, earning a gruff laugh.
“That’s gotta stop too. I'm starting to understand the reality of it and that I don’t seem to harbor mental defenses at this time, but I don’t like the intrusion of privacy.” He nods in understanding.
“It may very well need to be something we work on, for your sake.” The space between us grows quiet once more as Kaz shuffles around drawing closer, leaning against the bridge's stone. His shoulder briefly truffles against my own, raising that insatiable heat into fruition. The attraction is rampant, at least on my part, despite the petty resistance.
“Who are those men then, the ones who attacked me. What do they want? You mentioned the other night they are hunters. What could I possibly be hunted for?” The questions seem to flow now with ease.
“They’re called Cambions, another type of daemon. But due to their malevolent disposition and desires, they are known as Daematus. They more closely resemble the devious beings highlighted in your religious texts.” Images of horned men painted red float forward, interrupting his words.
“Cambions are nasty creatures, bounty hunters bound by greed and pain. They are usually hired when others need someone or something procured. As for why they are after you, even I cannot say. But with your trust, it is something I want to decipher.” His honorable attitude is palpable.
“When he jerked me off the concrete floors, he said….” I pause for a moment before looking at Kaz. “He said he would tear me apart for the pleasure of it.” I feel the rage rush forth against my throat as I spit the sentiment. Concern washes his features before a feral force permeates his gaze.
