The Pella Series - Chapter VIII

DARKENED SKIES

CHAPTER VIII

ELISSA DUNCAN

                I’m quite sore…. down… there, and each step Alex’s horse takes is an aching reminder where he has been. Oh, God! I’ve had all manner of sexual acts with this man within the last twenty-four hours, and I’m completely drawn to him. My sex is deliciously sore. My sex is sore. My sex is sore… Because Alex Pella had claimed me for his own. I keep repeating this in my head like a mantra. I made sure I was very sore to remind me of him. I’ve known him for two measly days and I’m more attached to him than any one person I’ve known all my life! If there was a formula to alter my life irrevocably, it’s been applied all into yesterday’s events. And now, I’ve come to care for and like this man more than I cared for anyone in my life. I more than like him. But, now that I have all evidence to believe that my life is in danger, I’d be putting Alex’s and his men’s lives in harm’s way. In fact, I have put them in danger; Anthony nearly died last night because of me and all he was doing was to give me a ride back home. I'm torn, because what I feel for Alex is unlike anything I have felt before. To say that I like him, or even love him in an undefined way would be too simple and crude. I have opened my eyes to a different world yesterday, and in that world I want him all to myself with an immeasurable intensity.

Yet I’ve no right to be selfish about him. Alex and everyone around him are in clear and present danger because of me. Knowing this fact as clear as the day scares the life out of me. I can’t bear the thought of harm coming to him because of me; I have to distance myself from him, and leave. My burden isn’t his; it would rip me apart if anything happened to him. My eyes are hollow; yet it’s full of determination and grief for what I’m about to do. A tremor goes through my heart and it pulses with an unnamed emotion. I feel melancholy, maybe madness, and the thought of leaving him gives me the anguish of death and a catastrophe all bundled in one. My breath deserts me as if an unseen hand is choking me with all these emotions though we’re in the outdoors, and the air is crisp. I close my eyes in anguish but firmly make up my mind: It’s tonight or tomorrow then. The thought of never seeing Alex makes me tremble.

            “Ellie? What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes fixed on me.

            I turn my head towards him, and shaking my head, I force a smile, “nothing…” I stutter; my voice is low. “Just a little sore, that’s all.”

Alex moves his mare ahead of the horse I’m riding, grasping its bridle and commands the horse to halt. “Whoa!” He rubs its head to soothe the startled animal. “Calm down, boy! Shhh… Mitescere Bucephalus…” Then he looks up at me after the horse I’m riding stops, and calmly snorts.

            “Elissa Cassandra Duncan,” he says my name softly as he examines my face. “I wish you to be truthful with me. There is something wrong, and you’re not telling me what it is,” he says focusing the intensity of his scorching gaze. I close my eyes, my lips part in an effort to accommodate my increased breathing, yet still trying to hide my anxiety from him.

“Are you regretting the loss of your virginity?” he asks as he slowly walks his mare to be side by side but backwards with the horse I’m riding; one horse’s head is aligned with the other horse’s behind so he can be face to face with me and his hand slowly caresses my face.  

            “No regrets!” I answer opening my eyes. “None…” There is only truth in my words. He shakes his head, unblinking.

            “What then is worrying you?”

            “Why do you ask that?” I retort back with a question, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle, looking elsewhere.

            “How do you feel?” he asks scrutinizing my face.

            “Quite sore, actually,” I reply feeling the blush creep up to my hairline, but also relieved that he isn’t pursuing the line of questioning he’s started.  

            “I would say I’m sorry, but I don’t want to lie. You don’t know how pleased I am to know that you’re sore. Because every time you move, it will remind you that I was inside you, claiming, making love, fucking…you… Leaving my Nephilim mark in you, so no other Nephilim can claim you without going through me,” he says with a cocky smile.

            “Alex Pella! You are shameless!” I say completely embarrassed and cover my face with my hands.

            “I don’t claim to possess such an emotion,” he says gently removing my hands away from my face. “It was your first time. But, I must confess… Knowing you’re a Nephilim and you will heal fast, I made sure you were sore.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask incredulous. I thought he tried to be gentle with me. But then again, I wanted him to make me sore today.

“Simple. I wanted to linger inside your body and mind a little longer to remind you of my desire, my intense attraction to you,” he says as his thumb traces lines over my bottom lip, “and my bond with you. So, tell me, why do you still want to leave me?” he asks casually as he softly pushes my hair behind my ear, and gently rubs a spot on my earlobe making me feel it’s effects as if he touched my sex. The casualness of his question and the electricity of his touch make me take a minute to register his meaning.

“What do you mean?” I ask in a higher pitch than I intended avoiding eye contract with him, as my breathing increases. How did he know?

“Ellie...” he breathes hoarsely. His voice is packing so much pain in the utterance of my name with longing as if we are miles apart though his knuckles caress my cheek. “I’ve heard all manners of goodbye in all my existence, with or without words,” he says in such a tone that he is beyond reach. He closes his eyes to sharpen his other senses as if he’s listening to my inner voice. He inhales deeply. Both the horses snort and bob their heads simultaneously, but Alex doesn’t even notice. When he opens his eyes again, they’re blazing volcanoes fixed on my face. All of a sudden I feel him try to read my soul if such a thing was possible. His knowing gaze reminds me of Jane Eyre’s Rochester. This looks says what Rochester said to Jane Eyre:

“I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then take my word for it, -- I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that -- not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life.”

Alex looks at me with knowing eyes, and I try to hide my plans of leaving, gazing back at him with bewildered, perplexed eyes. I know I won’t be able to fool him.

“Don’t leave… even after the week. If, what we…” he stops and closes his eyes, “what I,” he continues, “created between us…”

“No, Alex! I was more than willing… I wanted…” I say but he holds his finger up to my lips to silence me gently and gather his thoughts and speech as if it’s taking an effort from this articulate man.

“If the physical intensity we have between us is what’s bothering you, I promise to cease it… from my end. It will be one of the hardest things I do, but I…” he says and stops, closes his eyes and waits a long minute with an immensely difficult internal struggle as if I presented him with the judgment of Solomon. When he opens his eyes, they’re inscrutable, his jaw clenched and finally his speech changes gears. “You need to be protected. You have serious enemies,” he says having firmly reached to an arduous decision. His voice is resolute, and his face dons an impenetrable shield making it impossible to read what he’s thinking. What I see before me is not Alex, but the personification of primordial valor in the face of an ancient commander of an unconquerable army; one who is ready to face hell at a personal cost. A cold shiver runs through me as if someone just walked over my grave. I have an overwhelming feeling that he’s sacrificing something, but I don’t know what that is. The stance and the look on his face remind me of an unforgiving emperor out of the dusty history books. He couldn’t be any further than the urbane man I have met yesterday morning.

“They’re not people; so don’t assume that you can outrun, out-hide, outdo them. They are not bound with human laws, and they’re not destroyed by human weapons. They’re immortals! As you have seen last night,” he says, pulling the bridle back of his mare effectively halting and reprimanding her at the same time. Then he continues, “they can very easily employ and influence humans, as they’ve influenced the woman who gave birth to you… they could even influence a close friend of yours, or a neighbor now that they know who you are.”

“But my uncle and my nanny! They’re not human! They have protected me, and maybe can still protect me…” I say unconvincingly; my voice a whisper at the end. And I regret it immediately remembering my uncle’s words: “your life does not belong to you!”

“I have a feeling you don’t want that.”

“No…” I murmur.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because, I want to own my life as much as it is possible. Is it too much to ask?” He shakes his head, his eyes softening imperceptibly.

“Both Gabriel and Stella can aid in protecting you, but trust me when I say this: No one can protect you better than I can.”

“What?” I ask astonished. “Why you? What makes your abilities better than two angels of heaven?”

He looks at me with imperturbable, inscrutable eyes, but I can see that his mask is taking all his concentration and effort. When he parts his lips to speak, I can see a flicker, a slip on his mask, and what I see is a man in purgatory; consumed in Hades’ inferno. What is paining him? I want to reach out and soothe his burning soul. It takes a Herculean effort to stop myself. My horse takes a step, but I absently pat his large head as I pull his bridle. 

“I knew your father…” he starts, “your. Real. Father.” His words staccato; his mouth is set to a grim line. “He saved your life many times, but your enemies were after him as well.”

“Huh?” a whimper escapes my lips. I’m shocked with his as a matter of fact statement. It’s true then. Our meeting was not an accident.

“Promise me that you’ll hear me out,” he murmurs in a rough, unrecognizable voice. The astounded expression on my face momentarily concerns him.

“Perhaps, you should get off the horse. We’ll sit over there,” he says pointing a cluster of mesquite trees providing shade. There are some scattered red rocks in the vicinity. Unable to form a coherent sentence of any length, I nod. He jumps off his horse with the agility of a predator. When he extends his hands to help me down, I shake my head.

“No!” I say firmly, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. “I got this.” My words sting him, but, he takes a step back and gives me the distance I seek. He stands rigidly; his hands fist into steel hammers, his knuckles turn white. I can feel tension vibrating through him. He is preventing himself from reaching out to me with a monumental restraint. His gentlemanly behavior finally wins over and he opens his hand to indicate the shade of the trees as if he’s offering the most comfortable seat at his upscale apartment in Los Angeles.

I take a step towards the trees, stop and look back at him instantly and capture the agony in his expression mixed with determination; his eyes are ablaze. The only noise around is the horses’ trots. Confused, I stumble my way to the trees, and sit on one of the rocks. He comes before me and hunches in front of me.

“You told me that your knowledge of me was a coincidence!”

“No…” he says carefully. “I said ‘did you ever consider the possibility that it’s a coincidence?’”

“That’s too damn cheeky coming from you Alex!”

“What should I have said, angel? You had a hard time accepting what you are, that you’re a Nephilim. How would this go over? And believe it or not, finding you was still a coincidence. The knowledge of you, Elissa Cassandra Duncan, you, in your current life is still unknown to me,” he says, and I’m confused. I decide to start asking him questions from the beginning.

“Who was my father?” I ask in a whisper. “Did he even like Sarah?” Is this my father’s attempt to soothe his guilty conscience by having Alex locate me? But why would Alex need to investigate for him and search me out? Clearly he doesn’t need the money or the job. Are Alex’s investigative services a favor for my father? A payment to a debt? The thought shatters me inside. Alex sighs, rolling his eyes.

“He had never laid eyes on Sarah…” he starts.

“What?” A sharp question escapes my lips shocked. “How did I come to be if he never laid eyes on Sarah or have sex with her? Or is that not how angels’ children are conceived?” I ask bitterly.

“Your father’s name was Marcus,” he starts. “He was the only one among all the Watchers in love with the woman of his choice. You were the child conceived out of pure love between an angel of Eden and a mortal woman. The other Nephilim were conceived in lust alone, and not love. That’s what makes you unique. You were born sinless. That’s also the reason why the other Fallen are after you.”

“I’m the daughter of a Fallen angel who didn’t have the capability to lust after my mother?” I ask with contempt. His responding smile is lascivious.

“I wouldn’t say that. The kind of love they had is always accompanied by lust. But lust alone isn’t accompanied by love.”

“What then? The others are after me because I’m an accident of nature? If what you are saying is true, this…” I say indicating with my hand, “This Marcus fathered me, but never bothered to protect me, left me to the care of others. What difference does it make if he loved my mother or not? I say, not a damn thing!” I state bitterly, unable to help myself. The mighty Angel of Eden fathered me, but wouldn’t even protect me, and left me in the claws of Sarah who was ready to hand me over to his enemies and mine.

“Don’t!”Alex reprimands me as he lifts his index finger up sharply.

“Don’t talk about Marcus like that!” When he opens his mouth again, I know he’s weighing the nuances of every word he’s uttering. “I am trying to make you understand your father against my better judgment!” he says angrily.  “Because I know if I don’t talk about him, you are going to run. And you are most definitely going to fall prey to one of your enemies and they will sacrifice you! You said that you want to own your life as much as you can. I will see you through this ordeal, and I’ll gift you the ownership of your life. But as your uncle indelicately told you yesterday, your life does not belong to you for the time being; too many Fallen, Darklings and the minions of Hades are after you! So don’t. Run,” he says pained.

“What the hell do you mean that my life doesn’t belong to me? How is it fair that your life belongs to you, but mine doesn’t belong to me?” I shout angrily sticking an accusatory finger into his face. He shakes his head.

“My life doesn’t belong to me, either,” he says softly.

“Huh?” I reply shocked, unable to utter a meaningful word.

“It does not belong to me,” he says enunciating, willing me to understand. “Do you know what a Rudiarius is?” I shake my head in response, my eyes wide.

“A Rudiarius was a gladiator who had been granted his freedom. He could either obtain it by bravely distinguishing himself in a particular fight or by surviving thirty fights in the arena or five years. The ceremony of granting the wooden Rudis,” he says and I look at him blankly. He smiles, “it’s a simple wooden sword,” he explains. “The ceremony was fairly unusual. Emperor,” he says with a distinct pride, “would go to the center of the arena and give the Rudis, the symbol of freedom to the brave, valiant gladiator. That simple gesture signaled that the gladiator was no longer a slave, but a freeman; a Rudiarius.”

“What’s that got to do with me? And those gladiators… They lived a couple of thousand years ago. In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t live in a time like that, Alex,” I say fervently.

“Don’t we? Everyone is a slave of some sort. They’re not called that of course. Slave to an illness, slave to jobs, slave to debt, mortgage, slave to responsibilities, societal norms, to their bosses, slave to laws that govern them, slave to religions they don’t understand, slave to ignorance, slave to knowledge, slave to love, slave to our thoughts, fears, our own mind... Calling it a different name doesn’t change what it is. At times, we don’t even have a say of what type of slavery we want in our lives and maybe some other times we may have a say in it. But that doesn’t change the fact that they still govern our lives. You must set the mind free first. When the mind is free, no chain can keep you down. When you submit with your own free will to anything you choose, then it’s the greatest gift.”

“And that’s what I want! I want to choose what governs my life! Not be told that I must obey a destiny written before I was born!”

“Hence the reason for my story…” he says softly.  “No one gets to choose the kind of life they are born into. You, Elissa Cassandra Duncan may not have anything to do with the hands you were dealt with, but you must choose the way in which you want to handle it. You must make your effort to earn that Rudis. It’s in your hands. I will do everything in my power to grant you that freedom. Everything!” he says, with fierce determination in his turquoise eyes. How could someone pack so much meaning in one simple word? Everything! He said.  I don’t have the right to take ‘everything’ from him. He looks at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. He extends his hand out to me tentatively, close to touch, but seeking permission. I nod. His fingers slowly caress my hands, soothing me immediately.

“There were two famous Roman gladiators; Verus and Priscus who lived during the time of Emperor Titus. Priscus was born a slave from Gaul, and Verus was born free but as fates would have it, he became a slave of his circumstances. They had different starts, but ended up in the same situation at the same place and in the same fight. On that fateful day,” he says his eyes bright as if he is there with those gladiators, “during the inauguration of the Colosseum both gladiators fought valiantly. The contest was long, and the battle was equal on each side. The spectators went wild, loudly petitioning for each man to be released, shouting with their thumbs up. Because, both Verus and Priscus managed to conquer the hearts and the minds of the spectators. But of course Caesar followed his own law, and that was to fight without shield until his thumb was raised. Both in the eyes of the emperor and spectators, only the skillful courage received its prize. How could you make the distinction which gladiator was better when both Verus and Priscus were equals in fight, and equals to yield?

The choice was obvious to the spectators, but it was Caesar who must choose. And in the end, he found the equal division of the required valiant courage, and sent wooden swords and palms to both signaling their freedom. And they both walked through the Gate of Life as Rudiarii. Romans called this type of fight as Stantes missi, a draw with both fighters sent away standing. Both victors. Both living. Both honorable. And both free. I want that for you,” he says fervently. “I want you to be sent away standing. So, don’t. Run. Away. Elissa. Please,” he says his eyes wide, and pleading. “If you stay, more than one life will be sent away standing,” he says, and I wonder what other life will be sent away standing. His? I swallow unable to make that decision. He knows it.

 “If you do go, everything Marcus did for you will be in vain. He has never been Fallen. Love is not a sin of heaven, Elissa. You see, most believe in the inheritance of the original sin, hence the punishment of death. You were devoid of that because of your dual nature and the love in which you were conceived.”

“Do you believe in the original sin?” I ask incredulous. “Do you really think that a baby who never existed before could inherit the sin of two mythical humans?”

He gives me a bitter smile. “What I believe or don’t believe makes little difference. I’d not written the rules of the universe. I just know how to play it well.”

“Are you saying you’re not a sinner then since you are an immortal?” I ask.

“On the contrary, I’ve committed every single one of the mortal sins. I’ve lusted,” he says grinning unrepentant. “Obviously. I have pride, greed, envy and my wrath is unconquerable. I’ve killed so many minions of Hades, fought countless battles, I’ve forgotten the final number centuries ago. I’m not destined for Elysium, but I can conquer Hell from all of its gates… There are immortal beings that are pure evil. Our immortality does not mean we are sinless. It just means we are not human. Not completely anyway.”

“What?” I ask horrified, shirking from him. Is he deliberately trying to make me hate him?

“I’m telling you what I am, Elissa,” he says through his gritted teeth. “I’ve not repented, because I don’t regret anything I’ve done. I’m unsavable,” he says firmly, his eyes ablaze.

“What are you?”

“A first generation Nephilim, like you,” is his disconnected reply.

“What does that mean?”

“There are different kinds of Nephilim. You and I are the only first generation Nephilim left. One pure,” he says indicating me with a smooth gesture of his long fingers as he offers me a kind smile, “and one who deserves the depths of Hades,” he says with a grim smile. I look at him when he opens his hands up as if to say ‘deal with it’. How could this beautiful man who saved my life last night, put his men’s lives in danger for me can be deserving of Hades? How could he delicately, tenderly make love to me and be deserving of the inferno? Is he just trying to drive me away? But then he wouldn’t be asking me to stay.

“Our fathers are angels. Mine is fallen, yours is not. Both your parents were in love. My mother was in love, but it was lust for my father. However, all the other existing Nephilim are all sixteenth generation and beyond. Those of whom that were like us have all been destroyed in the hands of the heaven’s angels, thus in return angering their fathers,” he says as a matter of factly without anger, spitefulness or sadness.

“But, as much as I want to understand and believe in all you’re saying, I really couldn’t have been the first generation. Either you’re mistaken, or I do not comprehend what you are saying. You’ve met my mother last night. And that woman who tried to sell me off to my enemies to be sacrificed, or kill me,” I say shaking my head sadly, “she’s had a one night stand while she was seven sheets to the wind during a college rave. I assure you, no love was involved in my conception and neither does Sarah remember the man who knocked her up. I don’t think my biological father even knows that I exist. I’m only the product of a temporary drunken lust of two college kids,” I say shrugging. He shakes his head.

“No, your birth through Sarah was only the sixteenth time you matriculated thanks to Marcus so you would escape the wrath of Heaven,” he says to my dumbfounded expression. I don’t understand. How would I matriculate sixteen times? Reincarnate? That’s impossible.

“Why would I be the target of heaven’s wrath? I’ve done nothing bad to anyone, let alone heaven!” I say laughing. Surely, this is completely absurd. A fantastic tale… But a tale nonetheless. I can’t see what benefit Alex sees in telling such a strange, but a myth-like story. He reads my expression correctly. With lighting speed, he captures my arms, grasping my wrists.

“I’ve no reason to tell you a myth, angel. Look,” he says as he turns his own wrists ups along with mine. The marks—birthmarks he has on his wrists are matching mine.

“What the hell! Are we siblings?” I ask bile rising in my throat. I have feelings for him, and let him fuck my brains out!

“No!” he says tersely pulling his hands away as if I burned him. “I was marked by your father.”

“Oh, God! I don’t understand! What the hell are you talking about? You’ve known me before? You said you didn’t know me and that we just met…” I whisper horrified.

“I told you this! Yesterday was the first time I laid eyes on you, Elissa Cassandra Duncan,” he says and I hear the truth in his words. “…in this existence.”

He waits for me to grasp the weight of his words. “This existence? So, you’ve known me in another existence?”

“Elissa, I just told you I knew your father.”

“But that doesn’t mean you knew me. How old are you?”

“Older than you,” he says cryptically. I shake my head.

“Have you known me before?”

A shudder goes through him.

“I’m trying to tell you the story of how I met your father. Do you want to hear it? Are you up to it?” He asks, completely ignoring my question.

My hands fly to my face absently rubbing and shoving my hair back. I take a deep breath.

“I’m baffled. You do understand how absurd everything sounds, don’t you? Either I really am crazy, or what you are telling me is…” I say abruptly standing up. He follows suit, and he looms over me in his magnificent height, his piercing gaze is fixed on my face. He grabs my hands and pins them to my back. Pulls me to him, making me feel his erection; our bodies flush.

“Why would that be Elissa? Yesterday morning as far as you knew humans were the dominating species; nothing was above humans… and of course the history has been written by the victors, and the records of our species have nearly been effectively erased. We’ve decided that it was best to remain out of the human’s radar, God’s favorite children,” he says as a matter of factly, “and we’ve become a thing that belongs to mythology. It benefited and helped the remaining of our species to thrive of course. But as far as you knew until last night that nothing better, superior, nothing immortal…” he says pausing “existed. Here we are, two Nephilim: Children of Angels of Eden and human women. You probably thought that angels were a thing of the religious books and mythology which of course was also proven wrong to you just yesterday. The fact is…”he says taking a deep breath, softening his voice, “they’ve been around all your life, searching for you. You’ve lived with two angels all your life. Then you’ve met some minions of Hades last night which probably were the creatures that existed in the pages of the dusty mythological books your uncle made you read. After all you’ve seen within the last two days, do you still doubt me, Ellie?” he says in a deceptively soft voice.

“I suppose… I… I think, I might have to hear what you have to say,” I mutter, my voice cracking. The horses momentarily distract me. They are listening with intelligent eyes, but I dismiss them. They both snort in unison, shaking their heads up and down.

Alex extends his hands for mine. “I will have to show you,” he says with grim determination.

“Show me, how?”

“Share my memories… Are you sure you want this?”

“What the hell…,” I say resigned, “I’m already down the Rabbit Hole. I’ll drink,” I say. He cocks his head to the side.

“Alice in Wonderland,” I reply. He nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his beautiful eyes.

“So, are you going to tell me the story?”

“No, you will be observing the memory as it happened; nothing less, nothing more. I’m going to lie on the ground. The best way would be if you lie on top of me. Do exactly as I ask you, and don’t move no matter how much you want to move or break away. You will want to break, and drift away. I will hold you. I cannot stress enough how dangerous this is,” he says sighing with a momentary indecision. He inhales sharply. “I must be delirious, but, you left me no choice! Not just your life, but the balance of the universe is at stake. But this I promise: I won’t let you fall. I won’t let you break away. And I will be with you even if you can’t see me or hear me. Just focus on feeling me. It will help you to anchor you in this point in time.” Why would I want to move or break away? We are on flat ground; there’s no place to fall off of.

“Remaneo B!” he says addressing his horse. He finds a spot by the trees with dried grass and fairly flat surface, kicks the ground checking something with his boots. Feeling satisfied, he walks back to his horse and takes off a blanket and another article. He sits on it, and motions me to come over with the crook of his finger. I swallow but walk towards him.

“Sit on my lap as if you’re riding me,” he says with the slightest hint of a smile. I immediately obey and find myself happy to do it.

“Do you trust me Elissa?” he says cocking his head to one side. For some strange reason, I trust this man with every fiber of my being. I nod without blinking.  He produces a small peculiar knife. It has an otherworldly glow, and shaped like a wolf’s tooth with a leather thong. It looks ancient and brand new at the same time. He makes two small pricks on each of his wrists. Small drops of blood form from the punctures forming four identical size menisci. Then those drops slowly move into the ridges of the birth mark on his wrists, filling and animating them. He looks pained at first as if holding his hand in fire, tilting his head back. Then holds his wrists up.

“Align yours with mine,” he whispers hoarsely. I lift my wrists up, and he touches mine with his. I feel his blood transferring and filling the ridges in my wrists. Warmth spreads through my body. My vision gets blurry, sounds start growing distant. I feel Alex lie down and hold me tight in his steely embrace, and ordering me not to resist and to do the same. His voice sounds so far away.

“Ellie! Hold… tight! Hold me, Elissa!” He wants me to do something but I can’t hold on to consciousness. I feel slipping away. I’m so tired. Darkness is swallowing me, sleep blanketing my mind, muddling my thoughts, and understanding. I vaguely feel the concern in Alex’s voice. “Ellie! Remain awake!” he growls. I feel a nip, no, a bite on my back which momentarily sharpens my senses. Was it the horse?

“Elissa! Keep looking into my eyes, angel! Please!” I hear him imploring me. I want to do it, I really do, but my eyelids weight a ton, and I can’t seem to keep them open; sleep is slowly beckoning me like a siren. “Open your eyes!” his shouts, but his voice is getting distant. Darkness is coming through the tunnel…A familiar tunnel with a dull silvery coating. I feel him jerk upright, and push something into me as his nails rip the back of my shirt and scrape me hard. Liquid warmth in my back makes me think of lazy flow of crimson blood. But I can hardly feel the pain. Alex swivels his hips and his erection digs and rubs me through his pants and mine. Oh, what a sweet feeling! I want this. But I want to sleep too. A sad, sweet melody is beckoning me, continually calling. It’s a call I can’t resist, a familiar sound. I feel compelled to heed the call; really need to soothe that pained soul. Then I feel the calmness of a blue sea, rocking me gently… I hear it all in the soft chorus of voices.

Nocturnes III (Sirenes) - Claude Debussy

“We’ll tell you your future, and your past too.

You’ll hear it to your heart’s content, and what gods willed for you,

All that comes to pass on the fertile earth, we know it, and we know you most of all.

The roars of lions are too tame for the herds of howling Cerberus…”

As soon as I feel the sharp, stinging pain on my lower lip, the beguiling voices slightly drown and fade into the background. I taste the coppery, salty taste of blood in my mouth, and swallow a familiar moan. I’m forcefully jerked back when I want to go forward to hear the voices again. I turn back, trying to break away, make my way to the mellifluous sirens. But the suddenness and the force of the sharp ripping of my clothes and speed of which scratch my buttocks and legs, drawing blood halts me, tugging me back. Then the sensation of spearing penetration…into my sex. I’m too sore, too tired, yet I want this instinctively. But the sirens… they’re calling me, promising me serenity, calm, and no existence. I am tugged to and fro. I want to go forth, and want to remain back. Another moan, louder this time, and I feel him going in and out of me relentlessly, without the gentleness he’s shown me. Rough, hard, methodical, precise, knowing exactly where to pound, waking me up to my core, insatiably driving into me, and I want him. I want to respond. I find my lips molding over his slowly at first, distracted. I hear two distinct eagles in the distance drowning the sounds of the beckoning song. He pushes hard into me again, deeper this time and I find myself helpless but to reciprocate.

 “Look at me, baby!” he orders as he rocks me up and down on his pulsing erection. My eyes open in small slits, and his pupils are so large, they nearly cover all the blue of his irises. “That’s my girl!” he whispers and takes my lips again as my eyes open. The second our eyes, and consciousness lock, we both fall with a speed I don’t think is survivable, sucked into a pale blue shimmering depth, our joined bodies pour into the fabric of time, melting as one soul; revolving around us is a smoky silver blue substance. Our fall is unstoppable, inescapable and velocious. I don’t know how long, how far or how many years we travel. I scream, but I feel the steely tight arms around me, and an invisible but strong tie binding me to him, reassuring me that I will be safe. I hear no words other than my silent scream in my head as no sound comes out of my mouth. Then I feel myself jerk back like a skydiver when he first opens his chute up, suspending our fall. I feel him, but I don’t see him. We are suspended in time, and in place. I finally feel my limbs again, but it’s too late; they’re heavy, achy and motionless. Each cell in my body is burning as if acid is coursing through my veins. I’m in bed and dying. But, wait! That’s not me. It’s a breathtakingly handsome young man.  My heart lurches immediately, grieved. My eyes, no, his eyes are closed. I want to detangle myself from him. There is a tie that binds me to this dying man preventing me from abscinding. It confines me to him. Visions rush through my mind’s eyes. I am one with this man. His miseries are mine. I gasp for air, and try to open my eyes. Nothing happens. I don’t have the strength enough for that simple task.

“What is your name?” I hear a distant voice booming urgently, commanding me.

I want to say Elissa, but my lips move on their own volition. “I don’t want it…” I say… no, not me; he says shaking his head murmuring in delirium in his death bed. It takes me a while to distinguish myself apart from him. “I want…” he says in a forced shallow breathing. I feel someone leaning into me. Into him to hear.  I instantly know that he’s one of his trusted marshals. I know this because he knows it. I know what he knows, I feel what he feels, and I see what he sees. At this moment he is more myself than I am.

“What is it, sir? What can I do for you?” a male voice asks into his ear. I know it as I know my own body that he doesn’t have the strength to blink his eyes, but with Herculean effort he does it once. Sweat covers his skin in large beads.

“I want…Elysium…” he whispers almost silently; but his man can’t hear him.

“Elysium, you shall not get,” the deep voice of the unseen face says urgently. “The weight of your sins tips all the scales. You will be dragged to Hades,” states the voice, imploring him. But what is the voice pleading for? Why should he grieve over this beautiful man’s punishment if that’s what’s coming? A soft exhale escapes his mouth. I want to hold his hand, but I am him, and he is me. I feel as he feels, but I also feel for him; I am two souls in one.

“I am the son of Zeus. I am not subject to the Divine Laws,” my handsome dying man says to the unseen face speaking through his thoughts.

“You had killed, tortured, had thousands of Hades’ minions staked, and let your men’s blood-lust run amok of a whole population Darklings and humans alike, blood washing the streets. Do you think your gods or Hades for that matter will let you get away with that?” asks the voice sternly.

“Gods do that more often… worse in fact, and sterner than any mortal with just a flick of their finger, drowning nations in floods, burying them under the earth in earthquakes, sinking their cities and islands into the oceans, burning them under the fire spit from the earth’s belly as if they never existed. Why should they punish me for doing it justly?” he speaks to the voice, lips moving, no sound coming out.

“Sir, my emperor, did you say something?” asks his marshal again without understanding. “What do you wish us to do, sir?” leaning over him without seeing, hearing or realizing the tall man close enough touch him, standing erect, noble, and fearless. His stature would make the strongest soldier in this young emperor’s possession look like a scrawny child though they’re the most seasoned, fearless, and mighty soldiers the world had ever seen. Does no one see this man in his magnificent presence who wore his boots tied to his calves? He takes a closer step showing his face out of the shadows glowing otherworldly. He looks too beautiful to be the angel of death. Perhaps he is there to take him to Elysium. No one else hears him speak. My eyes look around with prodigious effort to see through his eyes. He’s in a lavish tent. Lights are dim. It’s dark outside.  His men, seasoned soldiers, each with proud battle scars lined around his bed with teary eyes and a hopeless stare. He decides it’s best to leave his eyes open to see it all.

“What is your name?” commands the man with glowing face forcefully leaning over him. For a full minute their gazes lock, mine behind the young Emperor’s. One man dying, the other pleading him to stay desperately.

“What is your name?” he repeats his question forcefully, beating it into his mind.  I now know that I’m not being asked my name. I’m an observer in the body of a dying beautiful man who happened to be an emperor.

“I am Alexandros Aurelius Pella,” he replies finally. Holy mother of God! I’m in Alex’s body! Why didn’t I recognize him then? The man closes his eyes briefly in relief. Alex’s men assume that he is speaking to them.

“Yes sir. You are our commander, our emperor. Command us to die, and we shall for you!” Alex has strength enough to smile in reply to their devotion to him.

“I… will…” he says struggling, trying to inhale a shallow breath, “leave…this world… soon…” and he tries to swallow. I want hold him, embrace and comfort him, but I’m just an observer, here, but not here.

“You don’t have to!” urges the man with the glowing face, standing above him protectively from an unseen danger.

“Elysium…” whispers Alex trying to close his eyes. His eyes, I notice are the only thing that is the same about Alex. They’re the windows to his soul.

“Alexandros,” says the man softening his voice to a whisper, as he rubs his dark blond curls thickened with sweat in a fatherly gesture, “Do you want to redeem your soul?” he asks. Alex blinks, not comprehending. “Because, when I move away from my stance here, they will claim you,” he says taking a step to the side showing the immense creatures kept out by an invisible barrier trying to gnaw their way in; their stare locked on Alex singularly, and I can feel the ferocious hunger in them for his flesh and soul. I want to cover him with my body to protect him. The man looks at him with pleading eyes. I hear through Alex’s hearing that the loud growls are getting closer, inching their way to his bed; their drool thick and sticky, not going to let him go, yet no one seems to notice them besides Alex in bed, and this glowing man and, I, the observer. Eyes of the hell-hounds fixed on Alex though he could barely make them out with his vision nearly gone, each of the three heads bared their teeth and their hackles risen; they begin to circle his bed. My heart lurches, beating like a jungle drum. No one seems to notice my presence looking through Alex’s eyes. Not even Alex or this man who is trying to protect him.

“I will make it… I survived countless wars, ghastly wounds, unrestrained lions outside the arena, over-drinking  and days long fucking for many years,” states Alex slowly to the man, but he can’t even convince himself that he will make through the night.

“No. Not this time... It’ll be this laceration that shall claim the unconquerable Alexandros, because the wound has been inflicted with a blade forged in heaven. You’ve been tethering on the borderline of life and death, pushing and tugging. But, they’re already here to claim you for Hades! All they have to do is to wait for your soul to sever from your body. I’ve held your body and soul intact for twelve days, Alex! But we are running out of time! They want their due! They want to rip into your soul. Time for you to decide young emperor: Your oath to me, or your souls to them!” he says taking a step to the side, and one of the horse size hell-hounds leaps over Alex’s bed, the three heads fighting against each other to get the first bite into his flesh ready to devour him, teeth reaching to his jugular, and sever the sweet life out of his body. I scream, but no one hears me.

“You must surrender to one or the other!” beseeches the man through clenched teeth as he catches the hell-hound with one hand and slams it to a wall Alex or I didn’t know existed, making the creature even angrier, and getting it into the attack mode.

“Are you the devil?” Alex asks his lips moving but no voice comes out.

“No, I’m not,” answers the man fervently his face glowing like the desert sun.

“What are you? You an angel?”

The man looks around, leans in, and whispers in Alex’s thoughts. “I am...”

“Why...need...me, Angel?” asks Alex with a Herculean struggle. Though no words come out of his lips, the angel understands him as if he spoke loud and clear.

“Because you are going to be her savior; you die, she dies!” says the angel with a plea Alex doesn’t understand. “Sometimes it takes a great sinner to save the sinless,” he says and something beads in the angel’s eyes, glistening. Alex didn’t know angels cried. But I knew. My heart is beating like the wings of a hummingbird. I don’t even dare to breathe to hear what he has to say.

“Everything has a balance in the universe. She’s sinless, and you, Alexandros Aurelius Pella are ruthless; even the Hades fear you in such a way that they first promised your father a way back to Eden by killing you and when that didn’t work, it had to unleash the hounds of Hell to get you. But even you aren’t strong enough to hold on, and I can’t let them take you. She needs her twin soul and that’s you. You are her balance in the universe. I can’t save her if I don’t save you. Don’t let her die, Alex! Let me save you!” pleads the angel as his body shakes with great misery, shuddering with some unspeakable agony. That’s…that’s my dad! He loves me! He loved me then… I want to cry, but I’m unable to. Alex hears the growls louder this time. Hell-hounds know his time is up, and they want to pull the angel, my father apart if they can, just to get to Alex. My father’s magnificent angelic presence holds them off, but by the skin of his teeth. 

“Who?” Alex’s lips moves.

The angel then gives him the vision of me to Alex’s eyes! “My daughter,” he whispers into Alex’s thoughts. Even in his deathbed, something awakens in Alex to give him enough sense to see a beauty in me; the desire that has departed him twelve days ago is kindled in him once again. I can feel what he feels for me. He feels that my beauty is in such a way that he could even forego Elysium to get to know me. Alex would let go of heaven to know me! I look different, but I know it’s me. Those are my pale blue eyes. Alex’s thoughts are clear as if he speaks them out loud. “Those sapphire eyes are bluer than my beloved Mediterranean. ‘Beautiful women,’” he smiles inwardly without strength, “are the men’s doom. Didn’t Trojan War start because of a beautiful woman? My personal hero Achilles died in that war because of that beautiful woman. But dying for a beautiful woman is far better than dying in a bed with a disease delivered by the sword of heaven, eating you up inside, in Babylon, of all places. I would rather die on my feet, in my boots rather than lying here like an old man! I want to see the battlefields again. I will always yearn for them. I yearn for this nameless girl two breaths before my last and the Angel know it,” he thinks.

“Hell-hounds are impatient! Decide!” booms my father’s voice. He holds Alex’s hand lending him strength causing his pupils to dilate, helping him see the hounds clearly. Alex’s mind finally registers the guardians of the underworld in all their magnificent ferocity. I get to see them clearly for the first time, and I’m scared for Alex.  There are two of them; each with three heads and they are as big as his horse Bucephalus.

“Funny...” says Alex smiling with no fear in him. “It looks like I owe a gambling debt to the devil himself; he sent his personal dogs for collection.”

“He’s losing it!” says one of his men in response to his declaration.

“DECIDE ALEXANDROS! Or the devil WILL collect!” resonates my father’s voice.

“Give me your name before I give you my oath and my blood...” move Alex’s lips.

“Marcus!” said my father, but Alex shakes his head.

“Your other name...” he mouths wordlessly. My father, the angel looks pained as if he is going to divulge the secrets of the universe. One of heads of the hell-hounds howls and as the other heads bare their teeth, growling, inching their way with their large paws trying to rip the an angel of Eden apart.

“They’ll get you! I need your oath!” thunders Marcus’ Angelic voice, shaking Alex’s tent and his marshals in their place who look surprised. They lean over him protectively. Those men love him with all their lives!

“Earthquake...” mutters one of them. But Alex knows better.

“Your name...” whispers Alex to the angel again as he readies to breathe his last.

“You know me sir, I am Medius!” says his close friend who is leaning in, mistaking his question for himself. Alex looks beyond him, into the eyes of the angel who nods finally.

“Shamsiel,” he replies monosyllabic.  

“Shamsiel... You have my binding word, and my blood. Do as you wish,” Alex says wordlessly.

Medius fearing his king is dying jumps to his feet, holding Alex’s shoulder, pulling him into a sitting position, lightly shaking him.

“He’s going!” he barks at the other soldiers and marshals in his tent. Worry laces every word he utters. “Sir! Look at me! Sir! Who do you wish to bequeath your kingdom, sir?” Medius asks in a loud voice. His other marshals surround his bed, many of the eyes teary, forlorn, but with pure attention to know.

Alex’s thoughts are clear as spoken words: Regardless of however great his accomplishments and services have been to his empire and to the world then and to come, his misgivings still outweighs his accomplishments.  Gods demand recompense.  He can’t tip the scale to his favor by his last breath.  At the end of his very young life, he expected to find himself in the fields of Elysium in all his glory, but instead, the hell-hounds appears to his dying vision, ready to drag him to Hades like he owes 32 years of gambling debt to the devil himself! He is going to be punished for what the Divine Laws consider his transgressions, and the agony he caused to others that had reached to the ears of gods. 

“Alexandros! You are the son of Zeus,” said his mother. When he conquered Egypt, they knew he was beyond any mortal king they ever met, and declared him as the son of the Egyptian God Amun; he was the Master of the Universe! How could he be punished?  He should be immune to the Divine Laws set for the mortals.  But, being a half breed, he was not entirely divine.  A half blood, neither quite human nor a complete God; he belonged to neither here, nor there.  There is only few of his kind, the demigods, but none in his caliber. He is a first generation, a son of Zeus, and Alex wanted to die in his own terms; not as the Heaven’s bounty or Hades’ revenge. He was everything he was accused to be, but he is and would always be honorable; a man of his word.   

My father the angel hears his thoughts.

“You’re not the son of Zeus,” he says simply. What news to give to a dying man!

“You’re the son of an angel. You’re a Nephilim.” When the end nears and the hounds open their jaws to capture Alex’s head, in fact to rip his soul to shreds, Alex slightly nods at my father who calls himself Marcus agreeing for a binding blood oath he knows would keep him bound to his word to this angel for centuries to come. 

“Sir,” shouts his friend shaking Alex’s shoulders once again, forcefully this time. “Sir, who do you bequeath your kingdom?”

Alex smiles and with his beautiful smile he lights the place as if heaven opens up. He answers his friend before he departs his existence as the most magnificent emperor the world had ever seen: “The strongest!”

He closes his eyes, and this proud, undefeated, fearless emperor submits for the first time in his short, but glorious life to my father. Alex becomes the perpetual gladiator like Verus; from a free man into a bargained existence, servitude of some sort. But unlike Verus, he wouldn’t receive death in the arena, neither would he receive freedom until I received my freedom from whatever or whomever were seeking me granting my immortality or somehow I got my eternal death and seized to exist in this mortal coil. My mind is reeling, jumbled and horrified with this information. Alex was a god-damned emperor! Okay, he was in his deathbed, but would serving to protect me for what seems like an eternity be a fair trade? He’s been in a fucking arena containing unknown beasts of Hades with no wooden sword in sight to grant his freedom for centuries! Marcus then claims Alex and his soul with his surrender, leaving two marks, one on each wrist he didn’t have before: one eagle taking flight, and one diving down. Same as mine…

I’m yanked out of his body forcefully and sucked into the fabric of time in the dull silvery blue tunnel, pulled away at the speed of time and drift. I am breathless, weightless, but my soul is heavy, a dam built up; I’m unable to cry. A wailing sound comes from a distance once again beckoning, but my burden is bigger than theirs. I ignore them easily.

“Aaaaah!” I cry out and finally my voice reaches my own ears. Alex and I fiercely and forcibly separated; jolted apart, rolling in the reddish dirt several times as if catapulted, both completely naked. The dam bursts and I sob and sob into my hands covered in red dirt, turning the dust into streaks of wet mud within my palms. Alex crawls over to me, holding me. I don’t have the strength to push him away. He’s been bound to me for centuries by the looks of his men in his memory. I have imprisoned him here. The knowledge of this grieves me and I sob harder. I made him suffer because my father out of his love decided to save me. Making Alex a slave to me; bound like that Gladiator who used to be a free man. What was his name? Yes, Verus. Verus was born a free man, said Alex earlier. Priscus was born a slave. I was born a slave to my fate. By the result of my fate, Alex is imprisoned like that gladiator. How do get the wooden sword granted to him and let him walk through the Gate of Life? There are two ways a gladiator walks out; either he serves his time, or the prescribed number of battles. He’s fought more than his share. There’s another way. The other gladiator dies. Since he served the time, he would get to be free then. I need to set Alex free. I made him suffer so long.

“How long?” I ask him between my sobs. He doesn’t ask what. He understands.

“Two-thousand-three-hundred and thirty-six years,” he says softly. I sob even more.

“You’ve been my bodyguard for that long? I’m so sorry! I’m so very sorry, Alex!” That’s why he was adamant in keeping me in his sight. He doesn’t have to feel duty towards me any longer. He’s bound by oath and blood. But I’m not bound to my father by any oath or promise. I can sever Alex’s agony, and he can live a free man. Do as he wishes without duty to me.

“I wanted to protect you. It was my choice. I want to protect you! I long to wait for you,” he says truthfully, looking into my eyes, willing me to see his sincerity.

“But it’s compulsory. You have no say or choice in it. I thought we are supposed to be immortal. I don’t understand.”

“I made the choice. Two hell-hounds are no match to me. I’m the strongest Nephilim. I still have the strength of Heaven. But immortal doesn’t mean indestructible, Elissa. You and I are different than humans; we are governed by different rules. We are unique. There are others of us who are also similar in their strengths and abilities... but you have not fully realized yours yet. It will take time. Don’t run. I will find a way to set you free to make you your own. Stay under my protection. Work for me. Work with me… Just…don’t run away,” he pleads.

His fingers wipe away the tears mixed with dust from my cheeks. “I will restrain myself from making love to you. Give you your own space. Let you make your own choices as long as I can protect you,” he says, his voice rough as if a boulder is blocking his esophagus. He’s a man on fire once again. My heart aches for this beautiful man who dedicated his existence to protect me. I climb on his lap bare naked, and wrap my arms around his neck. I love him. But he shall never know that. He won’t let me go. But I need to set him free even though I want to taste him like a secret, or a sin; he’s my forbidden apple. The passion I have for him is going to drive me crazy, but there’s no other way to live for me when what he feels for me is only unfairly compulsory.

I sob until I run out of tears and he soothes me, holding, rubbing my back. He has been tied to me in servitude, and here I was complaining of my life not being mine! I’m utterly ashamed.

“Why do you think Marcus chose you? I don’t understand what he meant by twin souls,” I ask between dry sobs. Alex is silent for a moment. He’s weighing his response. I can feel him do that. Almost trying to sort what he should say and what he should omit.

“I have the patience of a saint, and the mind of a ruthless sinner. I am made of heaven and earth. I know lust and love. I know hate, and revenge. I know heaven, and I know hell. I’ve conquered the world and all that’s in it. I’ve had the relentless loyalty of every single one of my soldiers while I’ve been betrayed by my own father in his bid to get back to heaven. He’s the one who slayed me, selling me to Hades, while Marcus prevented the inevitable outcome. I owe him a life.”

“You owe him nothing!” I shout my voice cracking. I fist my hands and beat his chest until I am powerless. “You owe him nothing,” my voice low once again with mutinous tears.

“Shhh…” he soothes me. “Be that as it may, I am willing to do it. It’s my choice. I could have said no in my deathbed. I chose to fight. Don’t try to take my choice away. You’re here now. We’re on the final round of the fight. Please,” he says tilting my chin up. “Don’t run!” as if he can read my soul. I can’t make that promise, but I want to change the topic so he doesn’t read my body language.

“Where are our clothes?” I murmur my question.

“I’m afraid I ripped them to shreds. I have had shorts and t-shirts packed,” he replies nonchalantly. I sit back and look at him.

“You never know what happens in a long dusty trail,” he says shrugging. I shake my head with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well, Mr. Pella, as your assistant, what does my job entail?” I ask. He gives me a genuine smile.

“We have a meet and greet cocktail party this evening with all the high rollers. They will be bidding all the way on the aircrafts my company is auctioning out this week. You come along with me, and speak with the foreign buyers. We have quite a few of them. Some of them are our kind.”

“Nephilim?” I ask. He nods; his face expressionless.

“Don’t you like them?”

“I like them well enough, but there’s a lot you need to learn about our kind. And a crash course here won’t do; we don’t have time. Just follow my lead and I’ll have Antony take care of the rest for the time being.”

“Oh, okay. What does one wear to a cocktail party for this kind of business?” I ask.

“Did you bring anything?” he asks.

“Not for such a party. I’m sorry,” I reply chagrined.

“I’ll have a few delivered with your size from Tucson,” he says and assesses me which I assume for my size. Then he nods as if he confirmed it, “You can pick and choose,” he says simple as that. “Besides, we’ll leave for the hotel after we get to the ranch.”

He gently sensually, cleans me up as if he’s worshiping and dresses me like a lover, wordless. And somehow we’ve grown more in love; just gazing, and silently touching, hearing our breaths. But he doesn’t make love to me. He holds me up, puts me on the horse, and we ride on.

.¸¸.•´¯`★.¸¸.•´¯` ☆.¸¸.•´¯`★´¯` ☆.