3 - Damian: The Children of the Sun God, page 1
part #3 of The Children of the Sun God Series
Damian
Children of the Sun God
Book 3
Tiffany Ann
Copyright © 2024 Tiffany Parker
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13:
Cover design by: R.C. Matthews
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication This one is for anyone who thought their trauma meant they weren’t loved or worthy of love.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Content Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Books In This Series
Books By This Author
Content Warning
This book contains references to sexual assault, child neglect, and physical and emotional abuse.
Chapter 1
Damian
Forty years ago
“There’s no greater heartache than the ache of hearing your mate’s call to have it snuffed out without warning.” ~Damian
“Which one of us do you think will lose his balls to a heifer first?” Jayce questions with jest in his tone, but underneath, the longing is unmistakable. We laugh, but there’s a seriousness behind our banter.
It matters not that we’ve only recently become adults. We may bust each other’s balls over who’s going to hear our heifer’s mating call first, yet we all desire to find our one and only more than our next breath.
Nikolaos bounces a ball against the wall of our favorite hideout in Chackbay. It’s an old, abandoned shack that he swears he’ll turn into a bar one day.
I try imagining a time when the outside of this old girl, as we like to call her, looked vibrant. I see only faded boards and peeled paint—no matter how much I try visualizing something else.
The wooden floorboards we’re standing on creak beneath our feet with the slightest movement.
The amount of grime covering the windows keeps the sunlight from shining through.
Dust-covered tables and chairs lay scattered about, and cobwebs hang from the rafters above. I’m glad that I don’t have a fear of spiders.
Nikolaos can’t contain his hunger to make something out of the old girl whenever we visit her. “Can’t you feel the charm in this place? The untapped potential waiting for me to unleash it. Everyone from the herd and other herds will come here to unwind, have a burger and a beer, or shoot some pool.”
Our patérs are pressuring each of us to pick our first careers. With our studies over, we must decide if we’re going to further our education or work. “Do whatever makes your heart happy. You don’t have to earn a million dollars, but you can’t sit on your ass and watch your life pass by.” My patér’s been saying this to me every evening over dinner for the last two years.
In our herd, living a life that brings joy and not one that adds to the stresses beyond our control is always our dream. The members of our herd will do anything to support us and make sure we never settle out of some misguided sense of duty to the herd or our mate or our children.
There’s a fine line between living a completely selfish lifestyle and prioritizing self-care so that you have all the tools needed to take care of those you love.
It’s why even though I roll my eyes over Nikolaos’ dream about a bar in a run-down hole, I know we’ll help make it happen for him.
No dream is ridiculous or impossible because I have my cousins, Anjal, Nikolaos, and Jayce, by my side. Not to mention my dozen sisters and parents.
Lucky me. I’m one of thirteen. And I’m literally smack dab in the middle with six older sisters and six younger sisters.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Mate, my bull chimes in.
Like I don’t know what that burning urge is churning in my soul.
Not sure why I’m embarrassed. Maybe I’m not ready to hear my cousins make fun of the Fates’ gift to me. I sneak out the door without saying goodbye.
I slip my helmet on and start my Suzuki Katana. It’s terribly uncomfortable for the long journey that I might endure to find her. Leaning forward for hours toward my destination will leave me with a backache, or maybe I’ll get lucky and she’s not far.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
“I’m coming, mate. I’m coming,” I say on the wind as the beating chimes grow louder the closer I get. What does she look like? How old is she?
The possibilities play in an endless loop for hours as I drive toward her call.
I pull over to pee only when the pain in my bladder becomes greater than my need to get to her.
With my dick in my hand, mid-stream, our tether snaps. The force of the sudden disappearance of her need for me knocks me off my feet.
I’m frozen in time. My agony at her loss transcends this physical realm and pierces my soul.
The air around me presses in on me. I’m suffocating. Waves of anguish crash over me like a relentless tide.
Every breath feels like shards of glass tearing through my lungs. The world blurs into a hazy nightmare—my living nightmare.
The gut-wrenching realization that she’s gone shatters all sense of expectancy and leaves nothing but a hollow, echoing void in the depths of my being.
My body convulses with such a raw primal anguish that even my stomach rebels, and I heave uncontrollably. The wails of despair echo into the abyss, knowing the only thing that could have taken her from me is death. I’ve lost her before I found her.
Hours later, I pull myself off the ground caked in dirt, tears, urine, and vomit. I vow to tell no one of my loss. I will carry her with me all my days—alone.
Chapter 2
Emjay
Forty years ago
“Be careful whom you trust. Even those you love carry the evil in their hearts necessary to betray you.” ~Emjay
“Momma! Momma!” I run screaming with excitement into our tent. The tattered flaps rustle in the cool evening breeze.
Inside, the dim light from a flickering oil lamp casts shadows on the canvas walls, illuminating the sparse furnishings—a few woven mats, a low wooden table, and a shelf lined with worn-out pots and pans.
“What are you going on about, child? Stop running. You know Poppa will tie you to the whipping post if he sees you running.”
I freeze. My heart pounds as I catch my breath. The air smells of earth and smoke. “The Fates have blessed me.” My heart overflows with joy, and I rub my hands together. Memories of whispered tales around the campfire from the older women, when the men weren’t listening, flood my mind—stories of ancient gods and mystical gifts bestowed upon the chosen few. Could it be that I am one of them?
“Nonsense, child. The Fates abandoned us long ago.” She reminds me of words we’ve been told our whole lives, words that echo in my mind, casting a darkness over my excitement. Her face, lined with worry and fatigue, reflects the hardships we’ve endured under Poppa’s cruel hand.
“No, Momma. I mean it. I held Aphrodite’s newborn daughter, and I heard it. I’ve sent out a call to my mate. I can still hear the ticking. He’s on his way to find me. Bless the Fates. Praise Helios.”
My heart swells with desire, imagining a future free from Poppa’s tyranny—a life where I am cherished and loved.
Momma drops the dish she dried with a towel. It shatters on the floor. The sound echoes like thunder. She doesn’t stop to clean it up. Anger like I’ve never seen behind her look makes my heart jump. What could make her so angry? Is it fear of Poppa’s wrath or something deeper?
I’m used to Poppa’s rage. He takes his fury out on all his girls, including Momma. We’ve all spent nights tied to his whipping pole outside after a good beating. Momma more than us.
She grabs me by the wrist without bothering to clean up the mess that will earn her Poppa’s wrath. She drags me out the door. My feet stumble to keep up with her. The labyrinth exit looms ahead like a twisting serpent.
“Momma, you’re hurting me.”
“Shut up. Before I tie you to the pole and whip you myself.” Her bitter tone is devoid of the usual warmth. We navigate the dark, winding corridors of the labyrinth, and my mind races with questions. What has driven her to this? What’s the matter with Momma? I thought she’d be happy for me. Happy that the Fates chose me.
She takes me deep into the heart of the labyrinth, away from our homes.
Tears threaten to overtake me, but my fear of a whipping keeps them at bay.
I don’t know where she’s taking me. I didn’t know I could fear something more intensely than the beatings.
A sour smell so vile that it triggers my gag reflexes, hits me as we turn the corner into a dark cave.
If not for the toxic odor or the sobs coming from the female somewhere in the darkness, I wouldn’t have known we weren’t alone.
I focus my heifer sight, trying to make out what manner of creature stands before me.
The woman, once young and beautiful, is now a ghost of her former self—skin and bones from years of imprisonment. Her orbs are hollow and haunted.
Momma tosses me to the ground. “Make it stop,” she hisses at the female.
The woman’s gaze flickers with pity and curiosity. Her skeletal frame trembles as she rises to her feet.
“Make what stop?” The words are a rasping whisper, filled with years of suffering and sorrow.
“Her mating call. Make it stop before her father kills us both.”
My heart stops. She can’t. Can she? Why would Poppa kill us? It’s a gift from the Fates. My gift.
My tongue froze from the terror and shock of what Momma wants.
“What will you sacrifice to make this happen?”
Sacrifice? Is the woman a witch? None other than a witch requires a sacrifice. Why do we have a witch imprisoned in our labyrinth? Did she enter and lose her way, or did we bring her here?
“My fertility,” Momma offers.
I gasp.
Poppa will beat her to death when he realizes she can no longer bear his children. The chance to give him a son would be lost.
The witch chants something in a language I’ve never heard. She doesn’t have to announce her success. My screams reverberate off the walls when he’s ripped from my soul.
The pain of having my arm torn off would be more bearable than the agony of my soul, which had already begun tying itself around my bull, being shredded into pieces.
Will he believe I died? He’ll forget me. It will be as if I never existed to him.
Chapter 3
Damian
Thirty-five years ago
“The heart keeps beating, even after the person you gave it to gives it back in pieces.” ~ Damian
Katarina came onto me. She suggested our nightly extracurricular activities. I even had no objections when she suggested we stop using condoms. Why not? If I want children, even just daughters, Katarina will make a fine mother.
The moonlight streaming through the window casts a soft glow on her face. Her eyes sparkle with excitement and something deeper that I couldn’t quite place. She whispers her desires.
When we stopped protecting, I opened my heart to the possibility of a relationship filled with love. As much love as I can give someone who isn’t my fated mate. The intimacy of our shared bed, the warmth of her body next to mine, and the whispered secrets in the dark made me believe in a future with her.
I hint at forever while we fall asleep in each other’s arms. She no longer wants the latex dividing our bodies for one of two reasons. She loathes aging or her clock’s ticking. I convince myself of the latter. Surely, she wouldn’t risk pregnancy if she didn’t want a child. Our relationship has grown from casual encounters to something deeper, something that makes me wish for more.
We soon find ourselves together every day. I pick her up after a tiring day of working under the hood of a car in the shop my patér owns. The long drives we fill with laughter and shared dreams. We either cook our dinner or eat with family every night. Her parents act as if she’s told them the Fates paired us. They welcomed me with open arms, their smiles genuine and warm.
She even said, “I love you,” first.
I didn’t feel the same at first, but I reciprocated. The old fake it until you make it theory. Which worked. I love her. Truly love her. Our love hasn’t produced a child yet, but I’m certain it will. A beautiful girl with her blue eyes and my dark hair. I imagine a future filled with laughter and love, our children playing in the garden, their giggles echoing through the house.
Katarina rarely sleeps at her parents’ house anymore. And the nights she does, I struggle to sleep. She too. I lost the one created for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m destined to die alone.
I have a choice. I choose Katarina. Love isn’t just a feeling. I’m ready to commit. We’re demigods. Marriage isn’t a part of our traditions, but I want her to know that she’s it for me.
I prepare her favorite meal: crawfish Monica and garlic bread. I have a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. The aroma of her comfort food fills the air, reminding me of our shared moments and love.
Anjal delivered my handwritten invitation, inviting her to join me at her favorite spot in the labyrinth.
She loves fishing for catfish in the stocked pond.
I laid out a blanket for us to enjoy dinner under the stars. The night’s perfect—the sky clear and the stars twinkling like diamonds.
Any minute, she’ll walk up and see the beautiful arrangement I put together for this night we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.
Where is she? Did Anjal give her my note? I’ve been waiting for over an hour. Dinner’s cold. The bread is hard. I’ve drank all the wine.
Worry gnaws at me, growing stronger with each passing minute.
I let another hour go by before I pack up. My concern for her wellbeing is on high alert.
The walk to my house raises more questions than worries. Just because we’re not fated doesn’t mean I don’t feel a connection. If something happened to her, I’d have felt it. I know it.
Her younger sister, Circe, sits on my front porch, clutching a letter in her fist.
“Finally,” she huffs while pushing the crumpled note into my hand.
Dear Damian,
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t worry that at any minute you’ll hear your true mate’s call and leave me. It’s been fun. I’ve met someone else. A human. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. You won’t see me again. I wish you the best.
Love,
Katarina
I read the Dear John letter a dozen times before tossing it into the fire.
I could go to her and tell her the truth. Only my pride won’t let me. Not when she admits unfaithfulness.
I gave her my heart. I’ve been with no one else. I chose her as the mother of my children. I’d have given her all that I am, and she rejected me.
I wish her and her human the best. I won’t beg. I’ll shed tears tonight, but tomorrow she’s a memory.
Chapter 4
Emjay
Thirty-five years ago
“It matters not how many people I’m surrounded by. I’m alone.” ~ Emjay
“Des, wait up,” young Georgia calls after me.
I don’t stop. I must bring in enough water for Anna’s bath before Basil is ready for her, or I’ll find myself tied to the post with my back bare before the herd while he issues my punishment.
I would give anything to return to Poppa’s tent and suffer his chastisement over Basil’s. Poppa never whipped me until the skin on my back ripped open.
After every ovulation cycle, Basil prays to Helios for a son. The day he smells my monthly—he knows his prayers went unanswered. He blames me.
I stopped screaming and begging a year ago. It only fueled his anger at my inability to conceive.
Basil has planted his seed in my womb one hundred and eighty times over the last five years. Once a month, for the three days of ovulation, I lay underneath him while he rapes me.
Tonight, it’s Anna’s turn. She’s his favorite because she’s given him two daughters. I don’t envy her.
While I despise the pole, I thank Helios that the monster’s spawn has never grown inside of me.
The day Momma ripped the call to my mate from my soul, she told Poppa to send me to Basil’s tent.
