Kristie Cook - Genesis

Free from cumbersome clothing and restraints, he swam several laps across the pond and then floated on his back. When he was relaxed enough to catch a nap, he stood and turned toward the bank. To find himself not alone.

She sat about twenty strides away, her legs curled underneath her, her black hair hanging loosely over her shoulders and down her back. Her golden skin was the color of field workers’, but her blue peplos and the jewels adorning her neck, arms and fingers revealed that she came from money. She didn’t belong here, but in her home or palace, tucked away in her gynaeceum. No man accompanied her now, not even a slave, which meant … what? Jordan could think of only one reason. This will be fun. Her large, dark eyes—darker than Cassandra’s—didn’t stop staring at him, even as he emerged from the water, exposing his full nudity.

He wasn’t surprised by this. He had the hard body of a warrior and even the most virtuous couldn’t bring themselves to turn away. More than one woman had told him his body was as glorious as the gods’. He hadn’t had to pay a hetaera in years—they wanted to pay him just for the thrill of running their hands over his body.

Long ago he’d lost interest in relationships with women. They were all heart-crushing and greedy liars, promising themselves to one man while running off with another who was richer and more powerful. But he hadn’t lost interest in sex and if they wanted to pay him for it, all the better. Although this beauty could obviously afford it, he would probably let her enjoy him for free.

“You don’t have to just look,” he said as he stood on the bank. “I do allow a touch and a taste of the goods before buying.”

She stood and he had to concentrate to keep his friend between his legs down. She had the body of a goddess. He’d never seen a peplos fall so perfectly over full breasts and hips, stating so much while revealing little. She lifted an eyebrow as her eyes traveled down and back up his own body. A smile played on her luscious lips.

“Too bad for you that I have no need for another slave,” she said, her husky voice sending a thrill down his spine. He reached for his chiton and bunched it front of himself, not out of modesty, but to cover his growing friend, betraying his interest. Such desire was not helpful for bargaining.

“I’m not a slave,” he said. “I’m a performer. I can entertain you like no other.”

She studied his face, her hand caressing her neck as she seemed to consider his offer.

“Again, too bad for you,” she finally said. “I don’t need an entertainer either.”

She turned and sauntered off toward town, her peplos swishing against her legs and her hips teasing him even more.

“Then what do you need?” The words spewed out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“A lover who can give me more than a five-minute thrill,” she said over her shoulder.

His chiton fell from his hand, exposing his large, hard friend. Traitor, he thought at it. It throbbed as he watched her leave.

“She’s just a hetaera anyway,” he muttered.

She flicked her hand in a strange wave and flames exploded at his feet, licking at his calves. He yelped and jumped back into the water. The cold water, at least, doused his desire.

Jordan slept a few hours until dusk, then ran for the village. He’d been watching these men for several years, since realizing they were more like himself and his family than everyone else, but he’d never been able to follow them when they left their home at night—they moved even faster than he did. He didn’t want to take the chance of missing them tonight, so he hurried to be outside their door when darkness fell. He arrived just in time to hear them stirring inside the home they shared. The door opened before he had a chance to announce himself, and a tall, pale man with dark hair and black eyes peered out at him.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

Jordan swallowed down his sudden fear, a rare feeling for him. “No. I have come here for you.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “For me? You are mistaken. No—”

“I know what you are,” Jordan interrupted. “And I am like you. You can tell me what no one else can.”

The man threw back his head and laughed, an eerie sound that sent a chill up Jordan’s spine. Another man, also white-skinned and dark-haired, approached behind the first, as if drawn by the strange laughter.

“Vlasis,” the laughing man said, “this youth thinks he’s like us!”

The other man made a dismissive sound and waved his hand, then turned and left. The first abruptly stopped and peered at Jordan with narrowed eyes that changed from midnight-black to a glowing red. He leaned forward.

“You are nothing like us.”

Jordan stood his ground, ignoring the growing and inexplicable fear. “You don’t age. You’re strong and move faster than the eye can see. You call me a youth but most men my age are stooped and wrinkled. I can out-lift, out-throw and out-run any human.”

“But can you do this?” His lips lifted in a snarl, exposing fangs like an animal’s, just like those men who’d been chasing Cassandra. His eyes glowed even brighter. Jordan couldn’t stop himself from taking a step back. “Do you live for the hunt? For the taste of human blood? Do you excite at their fear? I think not. You are not like us, the immortal ones.”

Jordan lifted his chin, still fighting the terror that tried to wind its tendrils around him. “I may not be exactly like you, but I am close. Unlike you, I am only half-demon.”

The man drew back slightly and seemed to consider Jordan for a long moment.

“Demon?” he asked. “You believe you are half-demon?”

“I don’t believe. I know. My father was Andrew, a fallen angel. Surely you know of him.”

The man peered at him again, seeming to almost show an interest. Then his nostrils flared and he sniffed the air with the arrogance of a king.

“No matter. You are still nothing like us. We are not demons. We are predators. The most dangerous predators on this Earth.” He leaned toward Jordan again, exposing those dagger-like teeth. His voice came out in a feral snarl. “Now be gone. Before you become my prey.”

Moving too fast to see, the man disappeared and the door slammed in Jordan’s face. He stood motionless, his mouth hanging open. How dare he! He took a step forward and lifted his fist for the wooden door.

“I wouldn’t,” came a husky yet feminine voice from the shadow of the next house.

Jordan spun, his dagger out and ready. She chuckled and a figure emerged halfway out of the darkness—the same woman from the pond earlier, once again out when she shouldn’t be. She wiggled her fingers for him to follow as she sauntered down the path leading to the village center. His eyes cut to the door and then back to her, and he was torn by his need for answers and his desire to know this raven-haired beauty.

“I can help you.” Her whispered words floated to him, although she was too far away for him to possibly hear. “I know who you are and I know who you need to meet. I can take you.”

Jordan hesitated. He half-turned toward the door and renewed fear washed over him. He hurried after the woman.

He followed her out of town to a surprisingly small home on the outskirts of the village. She led him inside, where piles of pillows and blankets surrounded a low wooden table and a fire crackled in the stone hearth. A black pot sat in the coals, a sweet yet strange smelling steam swirling from its boiling contents. He looked around, but it appeared as though no one else was there.

“Whose home is this?” Jordan didn’t think it could be hers. She looked as though she should live in a palace or, at least, in a stone-walled, two-story home with a courtyard, kitchen and andron. But, then again, she apparently wasn’t like other women, controlled by men. Which both thrilled and bothered Jordan.