Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) Page 2

  Biting her lower lip, Liz regarded the SUV’s dimly lit interior, prepared to see the worst…blood spattered on its doors and seats, Zeke Neekoma’s battered body sprawled on the carpet, his face scrunched with pain or slack with impending death.

  The seats were empty and pristine, smelling of new leather, posing little threat to Molly’s mother if she’d come too close and glanced inside.

  Carreon had never intended to harm them. He’d played Liz again, wanting to instill fear, no doubt having enjoyed how she’d cringed.

  Prick. Leaning as far from him as she could, she turned her face to the window. Its glass reflected her rage and the worry she didn’t want him to see.

  The SUV left the lot, heading toward Las Cruces and its suburbs. A succession of bland strip malls, quaint historic storefronts and patches of weed-ridden lots streamed by, scarcely noticed by Liz. Disquiet ate at her, as it did each time she used her power, a gift she hadn’t asked for, didn’t want, not since her first healing—Carreon. His men had tricked her into saving him.

  The memory of that night assaulted her, refusing to go away.

  She recalled the sound of his lieutenants hammering on her front door, pulling her from the latest episode of Dancing with the Stars. Irritated at the interruption, thinking the two men looked as though they were selling religion, she’d greeted them coolly. “What do you want?”

  “Your father’s been in an accident,” the tallest one had said. His polite answer was as non-threatening as his dark suit jacket and white shirt. “We need you to come with us.”

  At the memory of those words, Liz swallowed. She’d just lost her mother. To have her father taken from her was more than she could bear. She hadn’t questioned either young man. Hadn’t asked for identification, how they knew where to find her, or that Dr. Alphonso Munez was her father. Willingly, she went with them.

  As they passed the first hospital, she’d turned in her seat but hadn’t panicked. When their vehicle didn’t slow at the second hospital’s entrance, she asked, “Isn’t my father here? Where did the EMTs take him?”

  “He’s at a private facility,” the man in the passenger seat said, his manner gentle and kind. “It was the closest to where he was injured.”

  It didn’t make sense, but Liz hadn’t challenged it. The man’s compassionate tone quieted her doubt. Minutes later, her unease returned as they drove past the last of the city into the surrounding desert, empty and black.

  At the utter isolation, panic flared. Liz’s heart pounded so wildly her voice shook. “What facility’s out here?”

  “A private one,” he repeated. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  The darkness made the ride seem too long, her companions surreal. Nauseated with fear, she’d finally seen lights in the distance and then a sprawling estate.

  Inside the opulent master bedroom, Liz got her first glimpse of Carreon. His well-toned body lay motionless on the bed’s russet comforter, its fabric bearing no bloodstains from the many bullet wounds marring his torso.

  Clearly, he hadn’t been shot in this room, and his impending death wouldn’t be pleasant. A look of terror spoiled his handsome features. The odor of blood dirtied the air. Beneath it was the scent of a citrusy furniture polish and a man’s expensive cologne.

  Confusion heightened her alarm. She asked, “Who is that? Where’s my father?”

  “He’s safe,” the man with the caring voice said, blocking her so she couldn’t search for her father or leave. “We were just at his house, asking for his help, but he refused. That’s why we needed you here.”

  “What are you talking about?” She stepped back. “Why should I help you if he—”

  “Listen to me,” he urged. “We told your father that Neekoma did this to our leader…your leader.” He gestured to the bed. “That bastard ambushed Carreon when he arrived to discuss a truce. One Neekoma said he wanted. It was all a trick.” Fury colored his words. Inhaling deeply, he calmed himself and spoke in that same gentle tone. “Your father told us he didn’t care. He’s sick of all the fighting. Since he lost his wife…” The young man’s words faded away. His eyes welled with tears.

  He hadn’t needed to say anything else. Liz was well aware of her father’s anguish over losing her mother. Always a strong man, he’d changed with her death, becoming reclusive and quiet, leaving Liz to take over his pediatric practice.

  “If Carreon dies,” the young man continued, “all of our people will be at risk. Neekoma’s going to strike fast and hard. He’ll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted. He’ll kill those like you and your father so we have no one to heal us. You have to help us. Please.”

  His lies had convinced Liz that Neekoma was worse than an animal…Carreon was the truly good man who’d wanted to end the battle and was about to lose his life instead.

  That night, she crossed the line from an observer in her people’s war to an active participant, restoring Carreon’s health, rejoicing at his growing vitality, his body strengthened by her gift.

  Healed, Carreon had cupped her face in his palms, murmuring his thanks, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, leaving bursts of pleasure in their wake. Bold and commanding, he regarded her, his potent gaze calling to the female within, driving away whatever reservations she had.

  When he pinned her to the mattress with his body and strength, Liz hadn’t resisted. As he suckled her throat, his tongue lapping her skin, she yielded even more, moaning shamelessly. It was all the encouragement he needed. His hands roamed her nudity with a right she’d given him, seeking then separating her vaginal lips, puffy with lust. Without pause, she welcomed his cock inside, becoming his lover, his eager slave.

  Months later, she learned what kind of man he really was and the truth of what he’d done. By then, it was too late to save her father or herself.

  She shuddered at the horrible memories, then started at Carreon’s touch. Without pause, Liz pulled her arm away.

  Undaunted, he captured her hand, resting it on his left thigh, his grip warning her not to deny him. Beneath her fingers, his thigh muscles jumped.

  He murmured, “You’re recalling our first time.”

  She wanted him dead but feigned indifference and glanced past. In one of the ubiquitous strip malls, a carnival was going full blast, the neon lights of its Ferris wheel and other rides flashing in festive yellows, greens, reds. Children shrieked in wonder. Calliope music played.

  Past the happy scene, the dying sun tinted the Organ Mountains an outrageous blend of gold and scarlet, deepening the shadows between its craggy peaks. The colors resembled a smoldering fire or an artist’s version of hell.

  “We had so much,” Carreon said.

  Caught between laughing derisively and clawing out his eyes, Liz fought to control herself. “How’s my father?”

  He squeezed her hand with fake concern. “Safe.” He smiled. “For the moment.”

  Twisting her wrist, Liz freed her hand, keeping it from him. “Do anything to him, and I swear you’ll regret it.”

  Carreon’s smile hung on, but danger blazed in his eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

  Fucking A. “Harm him in the least, and you’ll never be safe from me, Carreon. I’ll make you pay.”

  Yellow beams from streetlamps cut across his face, silvering his eyes. They remained on her, reminding Liz of how a cat looks when regarding its next meal.

  Just as quickly, his menace passed as though it had never happened. Amusement flooded his features. “That’s what I always liked about you, Liz. Your foolish spirit.”

  “Don’t be so certain how foolish it is.” She spoke with the same airiness he had, matching the deadliness beneath it. “Remember, I’m the one with the healing gift, not you.”

  Something akin to rage—or perhaps it was fear—flickered across the sculpted planes of his face. It didn’t register in his response. In that same calm, maddening tone, he said, “You’ll do what I say, or your father will die. Reme
mber that, Liz, and how I’ve dealt with my enemies in the past.”

  Revolted, she turned from him, recalling the rumors she’d heard. Until two years ago, Carreon’s father had been in charge. An ambush ended that while the man had been in bed with two of his mistresses. Bullets from assault rifles riddled all three bodies, tearing away parts of their heads and limbs. Although their hearts still beat for a time, the resulting injuries were so extensive only a miracle, not her or her father’s power, would have been able to repair them.

  Some said Carreon had ordered the attack. A few claimed he was one of the assassins. As with the other parts of his past, Liz had learned about his father’s murder too late, along with all of his other lies.

  With startling speed, she wondered if it were actually Neekoma she’d be healing tonight.

  What if it wasn’t? How would she know? She’d heard of the man but had never seen him, had no idea how he looked or even a remote indication of his age. Like Carreon, Zeke Neekoma allowed no one to photograph him, preferring to keep a low profile that ensured the success of his attacks.

  Leaving the city limits, the Escalade barreled through the desert in a northeasterly direction, toward White Sands, Alamogordo, Roswell. A route Liz knew well. Miles before all three locations was Carreon’s hidden estate.

  Gusts swept past the Organ Mountains, feeding the giant blades of a wind farm’s generators before buffeting the vehicle. Liz clutched the leather seat, knowing what to expect during this ride. Within minutes, the SUV jounced as its tires finally left the pavement and hit an unimproved surface road carved through an especially barren area.

  Nearly invisible during the day, at this hour the path kept the curious or foolish from exploring. Trenches and strategically placed rocks littered the perilous route. With each mile, the rocks grew in size, with some reaching the circumference and height of golf carts. Now fully night, threads of moonlight created ominous shadows, sparkling off cacti, the other scruffy vegetation and patches of gray.

  More rocks? Human bones?

  Liz didn’t want to know.

  Beneath the night’s gauzy light, some kind of creature—dark and unknown—skittered out of one trench, then paused at another, perhaps waiting for them to pass, watching as they did.

  Pebbles hit the Escalade’s undercarriage, their rat-a-tat-tat resembling gunfire. The driver negotiated another series of boulders, causing his occupants to jerk left, then right. With the path unobstructed for the moment, he cleared his throat. Carreon yawned.

  Liz stared. In the distance, a faint flash of gold peeked from between a series of cottonwood trees and tamarisk. Hidden from all but the most observant, invisible to those on the highways and surface roads, the illumination came from Carreon’s mansion.

  Built hacienda style, the two-story structure boasted an abundance of muted decorative lights. They glistened against the blackened sky, trying to reach beyond the building’s perimeters to the unforgiving land.

  Liz wondered in which of those fifty or so rooms Carreon had imprisoned her father. That was, if he was still there.

  The Escalade reached a particularly rough path. Her shoulder smacked into Carreon’s. He didn’t react. At length, the ride smoothed out, the tires whistling over the stately drive. On either side, fir trees, squat palms, countless shrubs and startling white flowers flanked the cinnamon-colored pavers. The mansion’s enormous brass doors shone beneath a set of amber lights housed in a fixture of southwestern design. Moths and other insects bobbed in the gentle glow.

  They exited the vehicle. With his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, Carreon directed Liz past the mansion’s entrance and through the arched sections of the foyer, so dense with feathery vegetation it had the damp smell of the tropics. Wrought-iron chandeliers rained faint light on the gurgling fountain situated beneath a dome of Tiffany glass. Against the reddish walls, heavy Spanish furniture gleamed dully, their bulky forms recorded on the polished Mexican paver floors.

  Carreon pulled Liz to the stairway and took the steps two at a time, expecting her to keep up. Breathless, she tripped near the top, striking her ankle against the filigreed rail.

  Shit, shit, shit. White-hot pain shot from the bone to her calf.

  Carreon glared at her, then looked past at the first floor, twenty feet below. His expression said he’d push her over the rail, making certain she died if she gave him any trouble.

  Liz breathed sharply at the continuing pain. “If you kill me, there won’t be anyone to heal your men. No way will my father help you, especially if I’m dead.”

  At her defiance, Carreon’s expression turned ugly. “And how would he know? Do you think I’d tell him?”

  Liz’s body went hot then cold with fear. She pushed it back. “You wouldn’t have to. He’d see the truth on your face. You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”

  “Then I suppose it’s best I keep you alive.” He yanked Liz upward, ignoring her pained gasp, hurrying her to the landing.

  Down the hall they went. Ivory wall sconces provided a gentle glow. Here, as in the foyer, hulking furniture and potted plants abounded, their green tint appearing even more delicate against the contrasting crimson walls.

  Door after door marched up each side, all closed. Liz ignored each as they passed, too ashamed to recall the men who’d taken her in those rooms, the salty taste of their cocks sliding over her tongue, the pressure of their organs stretching her cunt and anus, the sting of their belts on her uplifted ass. Decadent games Carreon introduced. Ones Liz discovered she enjoyed, as long as she had Carreon’s love.

  He honored it by betraying her. From the beginning, he and his men had lied about her father.

  With an equal measure of fury and grief, Liz wondered if she’d get a chance to see her father tonight. Holding her breath, she hoped to hear him calling for her. That he sensed she was here.

  Only the slap of her and Carreon’s shoes echoed on the stone floor in the otherwise silent hall. This wing of the mansion appeared deserted, his men somewhere else, perhaps nearer the building’s entrance to protect it from attack. Unless that wasn’t a worry any longer, given that he’d captured Neekoma.

  If that were the truth.

  With long strides, Carreon turned down a hall to the right, then one on the left. At a noise from behind, Liz glanced over, seeing the young men from the drive here. Wearing determined expressions, they caught up to her and Carreon. Tonight, they’d watch as his other lieutenants had in the past.

  The thought should have disturbed but didn’t. Numb with concern over her father, Liz moved without conscious thought.

  Abruptly, Carreon halted in front of a set of double doors, lowered the ornate silver handles, then gestured her inside.

  Her ankle started throbbing again. Her mouth went dry. She stepped into the spacious room and stopped, staring at the man Carreon claimed was Zeke Neekoma.

  Chapter Two

  Naked, he lay in the center of the king-sized bed. His breaths were quiet, his eyes closed, legs sprawled, one arm draped over his head as though he was sleeping.

  The bullet holes in his muscular left pec contradicted that notion.

  Forcing down a swallow, Liz pulled her attention from his wounds—three perfect black circles—to his face.

  Her lips parted on a quiet sigh. Rarely had she seen a man wear such a look of serenity. So unlike the terror she’d witnessed on Carreon’s features or those of his men when they’d been so close to death.

  Zeke Neekoma was different. The words boyish and innocent came to mind, which Liz dismissed quickly.

  Looking to be in his early thirties, he was no boy. Nor was he innocent. His size, surely six-three, his sharp, masculine features and powerful form were perfect for battle against men and carnal sin with women.

  Heat suffused Liz, making her limbs feel heavy and weak. She recalled what Carreon and his men had told her about Zeke, no doubt a mixture of truth and lies. Not knowing which was which, she regarded his sinewy legs, long c
ock and weighty balls as she moved deeper into the dimly lit room. Spanish-style lamps created pools of honeyed light, giving the space a sacred feel one might experience in a church. The cherry-wood four-poster dominated the sparsely furnished chamber, while a series of leather wing chairs—reserved for observers—circled the bed.

  The man who’d been guarding Zeke left the room. Carreon and his men went to their seats, their weight causing the chairs’ legs to scrape against the polished hardwood floor.

  For one foolish moment, Liz thought the intrusive noise would cause Zeke to open his eyes and lose his blissful expression. That he’d ask why they’d pulled him from such blessed rest and what appeared to be happiness.

  This man didn’t want to be healed. Liz knew it in her soul; saw it in the upward curve of his beautiful mouth. Was he the same as her father, tired of fighting? Or was he welcoming the end so he could reunite with someone he’d loved?

  His parents and siblings, perhaps…or a wife.

  Liz studied his cock, its root nestled in a bush of black curls, his testicles lightly furred with short, dark hairs. Ones many women had surely licked, tasted, enjoyed, given his rough good looks and virile form.

  Images rose in Liz’s mind. She pictured him standing before her, his size and manner imposing but not threatening, allowing genuine arousal, not feigned obedience, to guide the act. On her knees at his feet, she’d tend to him, cradling his sac in her palm, allowing its wrinkled skin to rest against her birthmark that proved she had the healing gift.

  Would he sense the spark of energy her touch generated? Would he pull her power into himself?

  If he did, Liz knew how she’d respond, parting her lips to deliver pleasure, drawing her tongue down his cock’s base to its plump head, tracing the prominent veins that snaked over the thick column, tasting its faint saltiness. Within her caress, his rod would lengthen and harden. Gratified at what she’d accomplished, she’d inhale deeply, filling herself with his musk, indulging in its unique fragrance as she licked his crown. Silky beyond expectation, the succulent flesh would fill her mouth as she coaxed him inside, opening her throat so he could slide into her, as deep as a man could go.