Lilith

“Lilith has reemerged,” The Divinity Pantheon Ruler, Ma’at’s voice booms across my bedroom, startling me from my task. Next to her is the minor deity, Oromos, in long robes that cover his reptilian frame. The creature likes to follow the goddess around like an accessory.

Eyes narrowed, I close my laptop and face Ma’at and Oromos. Her fiery gown and flame-colored hair blaze as she glides into the room until her tall frame dominates the space.

“I know. I felt her power stir last night,” I answer carefully.

“Can you find her? Or are you going to let her slip through your fingers again?” she asks.

Her reprimand rings through my ears, making me tighten my fists. “I was in the process of pinpointing her location when you walked in. The surge of power she emitted coincided with unnatural patterns that have been occurring in California.”

The goddess’ snake-like eyes search the room before they hone back to me. “When do you leave?”

I walk to my closet and pull out my bag. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Oromos slinks by her and gazes up at me through his reptilian eyes but remains quiet.

Her lip curls with derision. “Truly? I’m surprised you have not left yet.”

I gesture to my laptop. “I hadn’t left because I needed to make sure it was her power that I was feeling, and I had to research everything I could about her before I showed up at her doorstep. Now, is there something else you need?”

I know I shouldn’t snap at the being who literally holds my redemption in her hands, but I’m out of patience and irritated because this bloody search has taken too fucking long.

Ma’at fumes as she approaches me and slaps me soundly in the face. My head snaps back, and my body stiffens, but I do not cry out. It’s pointless. Thankfully, I’m not human; if not, her strike would have killed me.

“You’re an insolent pup, aren’t you, boy. So many years living, and you have yet to learn how to respect your betters.”

Teeth clenched, I remain silent. It’s pointless to argue with a higher being.

Taking my silence as surrender, Ma’at lowers her hand and glares down at me. “Bring Lilith and the Tenebrous back to me before it’s too late. Do not fail me again!”

Once they flash out of my house, I commence my plan to capture my prey.

Lilith:

I glance up at the dark sky and take a couple of painful breaths. All I can do right now is lie on the ground and feel my body slowly repair all of the damage that has been reaped upon me. Rolling slightly, I slowly drag myself up until I’m on my knees. Tears dry my face when I look down at my bruised and bloodied chest and thighs.

I try not to think too much about the pain between my legs or the men who brutally raped me until I blacked out. I fought for as long as I could, but after years of constant assaults, I’m tired of fighting. Unfortunately, my life is my curse because I cannot die. The Creator made sure of that.

You might wonder what I might have done to deserve such a horrible fate and the answer is—nothing. I did nothing other than displease a man who wanted me to be something I couldn’t. Adam wanted a docile flower who asked no questions and didn’t think for herself, and I could not be that. The moment he viewed me as undesirable, he asked the Creator for a better mate and tossed me out into the world like yesterday’s rubbish. But that is a story for another day.

Once I regain some of my strength, I stumble to a nearby stream and plunge myself into it until the cold water has numbed the sting of my wounds.

For several minutes, I immerse myself at the bottom of the stream until all of the air leaves my lungs, and I start to drown. I don’t panic, but I also don’t hurry back to the surface. It’s a futile effort, considering that I can’t die.

Once I’ve cleansed all of my fading wounds, I curl up in a dark corner near the bank and pray for death. For what feels like hours, I rant and rage at the skies until I’m completely spent. My respite will never come. It never does.

Minutes later, I startle awake when I hear the dogs’ howls. The men use the dogs as a means to find me if I run. Sometimes I wonder which one is more brutal: the rape and beatings or the dogs tearing into my skin and bones as they drag me back to my jailers. What I do know is that I have no desire to experience any more damage tonight.

Just as I’m about to come out of hiding, a dark form grabs ahold of my ankle and drags me deep into the forest. I struggle against whatever is gripping me but only manage to cause more damage to my already weak body.

I don’t know how long I claw at the ground and try to break free, but eventually, everything stops and I find myself in the middle of a forest of fire. The trees are on fire, the stones are on fire, and so is the grass, but somehow the fire doesn’t burn my skin.

Eyes wide, I watch as a funnel of darkness begins to grow in front of me, absorbing the fire into itself until it’s completely made up of flames. As it grows into a menacing typhoon, I look around for a way out but find nowhere to go.

I try to run, and just when I think I’m going to escape, the ring shoots into my open my mouth. I choke as it enters my body and fills me with its darkness until I’ve completely absorbed it.

Power, as I’ve never known, rushes through me like ocean waves until I feel like I’m flying.

That night, I burn down the village and slaughter every creature who has hurt me until all you could hear are the sounds of their agonized cries.

Revenge is finally mine.

I jolt from my seat as the train comes to a stop and clutch my chest, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. It had been a long time since I had dreamt about my past. Yet, it’s funny how I still vividly recall every moment.

As the crowd disperses from the exits, I follow until I find a solitary spot near one of the alcoves. I had planned to see a film to distract myself from my boredom, but only one thing can lift my spirits after having that dream. I look down at my mobile and check the time. It’s eight in the evening here, which means it’s eleven in the morning in California, and I know just where to go.

I flash myself to a quaint town called Arcata with one blink and watch from the shadows as the handsome male walks through the streets with his arms around the beautiful blond. His hair is shorter than when I last saw him, and he seems more carefree.

The way the female lovingly takes his hand and kisses his cheek makes untold emotions well inside of me.

You might think that what I’m also feeling is jealousy, but it’s not. What I feel is a deep regret that I never held him or told him how sorry I was for what I did. Either way, he would never accept my apology. There are just some things that cannot be forgiven. Especially when the person who has hurt you the most is the one who should have protected you from the world.

No, I must accept the burden of my punishment because my son will never forgive me, and I can never ask him to. Simply imagining the disgust on his face when he sees me makes sadness weigh me down.

After all, why would Fallon want me in his life when the man I was meant to be with rejected me, and the one who created me abandoned me in my moment of need.

Tears gather in my eyes, and one runs down my cheek as I take in his familiar features. There’s no doubt that with his dark hair and blue eyes, Fallon is mine. However, I will reluctantly admit that he does share similar traits with that wanker, Lucifer.

Lucifer is another male that has used and discarded me. He came into my life when I was at my lowest and used my pain to his advantage. But now that I am free of the darkness that was corroding my soul, I can honestly say that I do not regret the one good thing I created—Fallon. I also can’t fully blame Lucifer for my downfall, though I really want to. Thanks to Lucifer, Fallon is the wonderful male he is today. I can see that now that I’m no longer ruled by my cancerous rage and anguish.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re here because you’re planning to do something to our son,” Lucifer’s deep voice startles me from my absorption, making me jump in place.

Heart beating wildly in my chest, I turn and steadily meet his cold stare.

“Bloody hell, you startled me,” I growl.

Lucifer crosses his arms in front of his broad chest and arches an ebony brow. “Are you going tell me why you’re skulking in the shadows watching our son?”

I shrug and casually wipe a stray tear before I answer, “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, you wanker. I was just walking by when I saw Fallon and his mate.” I wave my hand defensively in front of us, “And no, I have no plans to do a bloody thing to him, so you can sod off.”

Lucifer’s eyes gaze intently into mine before they soften. He looks at Fallon, who is about to walk into his flat, before he looks back at me and says, “You should talk to him?”

I swallow down the ball of emotion that threatens to choke me and shake my head. “Why would I do that?” I state evenly.

Lucifer tilts his head as if he’s thinking through what he’s about to say. “Because it looks like you have something you wish to say to him.”

“Well, I don’t, so you can wank off now.”

He lowers his arms and takes a step back. “Alright, but you know you can call me if you ever need me to schedule a meet between you and Fallon.”

I shrug. “I don’t need you to do a bloody thing for me, Lucifer. Don’t you have a mate you need to care for? Why don’t you go and bother her?”

His jaw tightens as he holds his palms up in surrender. “Alright, Lil. I’ll bugger off. Just think about it, yeah?”

I don’t answer as I turn and walk in the opposite direction from where I really want to be. I walk away from my son, and it hurts.

Once I’m a good distance away, I walk into a shadowy spot and flash to my flat in France so that I can prepare for work.

Damn Lucifer for discovering my daily activities and showing me kindness, I think as I slip into my white jean shorts and Beatles crop-top. It’s a bit on the nose, but I became quite taken with the band after hearing their music.

After I was released from my hellish prison, I learned how to live in a new time. Thankfully, my powers made it easier to absorb everything that I needed to know. However, what I have found to be the most brilliant about living in the twenty-first century is women’s fashion and how free women are in general.

Coming from a time when women were treated like property, I can say that times are better. The mere reminder of all the horrible things that I suffered at the hands of men who made me out to be the villain makes my rage rekindle.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to my restroom and twist my long, thick, ebony hair into a loose braid and line my eyes with black eyeliner.

I’m not much for wearing makeup, but I like how angry the liner makes me look.

Before I step out the door, I slip on a pair of black all-stars and my leather jacket. I don’t carry handbags like other females, opting to keep my ID and debit cards in my pockets and my switchblade inside one of my shoes.

After Lucifer siphoned my darkness and most of my powers, he sent me to live with his brother Michael. At first, I was resistant and untrusting of Michael’s motivation for helping me. But soon, I realized that he wanted nothing in exchange and was able to tolerate his presence.

Once Michael realized that I had no plans to kill him or continue with my plans to destroy Lucifer, he helped me find a job at a local café and helped me lease a flat.

I love living in my pied-à-terre. Though it’s a studio, it has a quaint kitchen, bathroom, small living space, and it’s all mine. I love its large windows, high ceilings with wood columns, and blue and white ceramic tile floors. But my favorite part of the space is the antique clawfoot tub and the brick accent wall.

Pushing any grim thoughts to the back of my mind, I rush out the door and take the Metro to work. Thankfully, the café is only a fifteen-minute trip from my flat, or I’d be late. I didn’t realize how much time I had spent following Fallon.

“Thank goodness you are here, chérie.” The hostess, Marguerite, waves at me as soon as I walk in the door. “The place is bursting with customers, and Claude has yet to arrive.”

I look around, unruffled by the growing crowd. The Café is popular with the locals. The owner, Antoinette, attributes it to the wide variety of wines we provide. Claude, our American waiter, says it’s because the booze is cheap. Claude and I began working at the Café within weeks of each other. At first, I did not know what to make of him because he reminds me of a rambunctious puppy, but we soon became comfortable acquaintances. Claude is American, but his ancestry is French, which is why he chose to attend university in Paris as an exchange student. On the day he began, he told me he wanted to learn everything about his French culture.

Snapping from my thoughts, I take a tray laden with drinks from Marguerite and ask, “What table do I deliver this to?”

She gestures toward a table with two males near the back of the room. “You can take it to those gentlemen over there.”

I nod as I maneuver through the boisterous crowd until I reach their table and stumble slightly when I have to squeeze through because there’s a large group of young men and women talking and laughing next to me. “Bonjour messieurs!” I call out stiffly, “I have brought your beverages.”

The two gruff-looking males halt their murmurs and gaze upon me with interest, so I look away. I don’t like looking at people for too long because it only invites banter, and I’m not a fan of useless conversation.

Without a thought, the males clear the table and give me room to set the tray down.

Everything seems to be going brilliantly until one of them decides to reach for my arse. If this had happened a year ago, I’d have ripped his hand off and beaten him with it. But now that I’m a better person, I simply grip his wrist and twist it. The male grunts with pain and scowls angrily. “Ow, vous salope,” You bitch! “Qu'est ce que tu crois faire? Tu vas me casser la main.” What do you think you’re doing? You are going to break my hand.

“I wouldn’t have hurt you if you hadn’t touched me, you wanker!” I growl as I bat his hand away with a glare.

The male grunts, his light blond hair moving with his movements and his white skin paling further. I say he’s probably in his mid-forties, older than the twenty-three years of age that I reflect even though I’m thousands of years old.

The café grows silent as the crowd turns to see what is occurring. But, I do not care that everyone is watching. This is not the first male who has tried to grope me, and he won’t be the last. I’m not too concerned because none of the employees will stop me, and Antoinette has very little tolerance for perverts in her café. She definitely won’t fire me for putting the arsehole in his place.

The male rises from his seat, his face red with rage and is about to scream at me, but before he can, I grip his neck and push his head against the table.

The sounds of glass clinking and the man’s heavy breaths ring across the silent room as I lean close and coldly state, “What makes you think you have the right to touch me? Would your mother, wife, or daughter have found your behavior acceptable? Or are you so daft that you think that’s how you treat a female?”

The man struggles against my hold, but he has no luck against my superior, supernatural strength. All he can do is flop around like a dying fish as I teach him a lesson.

“Tell me something, mate. How does it feel to lie helpless against my hold? Do you like it?” I hiss loudly as I tighten my hold when he begins to squeal and whimper. “Answer me!”

“Non, non!” The male cries out, his arms flailing wildly around him.

Jaw tight, I pull him up and shove him back into his seat. Sweat coats his forehead, and his eyes are wide as he slams into it.

“Now that you know what it’s like to be helpless, I suggest you reevaluate how you treat the females around you.” I point my thumb to the exit and narrow my eyes, “Now get your arse out of here before I rip your tiny cock off and shove it down your bloody throat.”

Eyes wide with panic, the man rises from his seat and rushes out the door, his companion following behind him.

After a second, applause and cheers erupt across the room. I glance around the crowd and scowl, loathing that I drew attention to myself. I’m about to go back to Marguerite when my attention is caught by a male sitting at the table beside me. The male is breathtaking with his golden hair, bright blue eyes, roman features and broad shoulders encased in a long-sleeved t-shirt.

My heart skips a beat, and my breath hitches when he gives me a broody smile and bows his head toward me.

My face heats beneath his attentive gaze, but I manage to duck and turn my back to him before he can notice. As quickly as I can, I gather the tray, avoid the crowd’s praise and go back to Marguerite.

“Bon travail, ma chérie,” Good job, she says as she accepts the tray. She doesn’t ask me if I’m alright or if I need a minute. Marguerite has known me long enough to understand that I am uncomfortable with empty platitudes.

Claude appears beside her and nods, “You were a total badass bitch, Lil,” he mutters is in his blunt American accent.

Without a word, I move to the counter and begin to fill drinks. However, I can’t stop my gaze from wandering toward the beautiful male who caught my eye. My brow furrows at my enamored behavior. I have never been entranced by a male so quickly—not even Lucifer, who is the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Yet, something about the male keeps drawing my attention to him, and I don’t like it.

Choosing to ignore the emotional turmoil that the male has awoken inside me, I move to the other side of the counter and begin to take orders.

Unfortunately, avoiding the male’s presence doesn’t seem to be an easy feat because I find myself sneaking peeks at him from the corner of my eye. To my annoyance, the male’s table is surrounded by a growing crowd of females.

“Who is that hot piece of ass at the back table?” Claude asks Margurite and me as we prepare another tray.

Marguerite bobs her head up and down enthusiastically, “He’s quite délicieux, isn’t he,” she mutters with a girlish squeal.

I give them both a questioning look, “What the bloody hell are you two going on about?”

Claude’s eyes widen with bewilderment, “Please tell me you’re screwing with me? Don’t you see him?” he gestures to the table with the striking male.

Claude leans close and aims his eyes at the table with the alluring male. “Man, I hope he’s into guys cause I can use a little pick me up if you know what I mean,” he mutters through his teeth.

Margurite mirrors his movements, “I wouldn’t mind a taste myself.”

I roll my eyes at their antics, “Bloody hell, you two are quite barmy. Now, we better get to work before both your knickers are set on fire.”

Claude snorts, “Girl, for that man, I’d let all of my clothes burn to a cinder.”

Marguerite waves a glass toward the table, “I don’t think it’s going to happen, mon amie. Not the way the women are swarming him like bees to honey.”

Claude pouts. “What a shame. I mean, look at him.”

I nod, frowning when I look over and see a female sitting next to the male. At the sight, a sour feeling settles inside of my stomach. Once again, his eyes latch onto mine. This time I don’t look away. However, my corresponding stare isn’t friendly. If anything, it’s completely hostile.

Eyes narrowed, I arch a condescending brow and give him and his red-headed partner a wry smirk.

He follows my look and gestures toward the female with a shake of his head as if he’s telling me she doesn’t matter. However, this seems to irritate me more. I’m not the type of female who takes infidelity lightly. And the fact that he’s giving me doe eyes while another woman is trying to gain his attention infuriates me. The git has no qualms about what he’s doing.

Jaw tight, I turn away from his gaze and continue to work.

There’s no way that I’m going to get involved with another arsehole. I’ve reached my limit, and I’m never going back.