Sin Eaters

Book 1: Sin Eaters

by Kai Leakes

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

Khamun Cross has been assigned an objective that will change his life: to protect Sanna Steele from the dark forces that desire to steal her soul. Khamun is a member of a secret society of Guardian Angels whose battle against The Cursed has been raging for centuries. The Cursed roam the earth to harvest souls for the Dark army, while the Guardian Angels desire to protect The Light. Khamun has been commissioned to watch over Sanna, but in doing so, he also satisfies his secret cravings for the sins of The Cursed. Like a vampire, he feeds off of his enemies. What was now tainted is purified by his touch, and he returns them to The Light. Unbeknownst to Sanna, she is the key to the war, and The Cursed are desperate to have her at all costs. They hunt her, as well as her family and friends, relentlessly. Will Khamun and his team be able to save her from the Dark? Kai Leakes delivers a classic tale of good versus evil in this supernatural thriller.

Release date: August 15, 2012

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 304

Sample

Today . . .

Metallic, sweet, and mind-intense flavor filled the air. The quiet that floated around made the hair on passers-bys in the night stand up, as if the already chilly wind wasn’t enough to have them shivering from its touch. Rich, ebony-black swallowed the alleyway, keeping the individuals occupying it secure and sequestered away from all who dared peek down the tight tunnel. Water idly slid down the asphalt street, mixing with oil, the shiny slurry causing trash to skate against the cracked asphalt surface, where cushioned, midnight-colored Timberlands stalked back and forth. The quick glint of light cascaded like a pulse near the booted body.

The individual inhaled in even, shallow breaths while listening. All sound seemed to be absorbed away as if in a tornado. This marked silence instantly triggered the timed attack, an attack that had the individual’s body expand with power, velocity, and well-checked strength in anticipation.

If you were one of the many idle flies hovering in the nearby dumpster, you would’ve been amazed at the sight of the superhuman individual running in an almost flying position and landing on the second hulking form in the alley. The rise of a scent that had cats meowing and arched in defense on the railings of a window and under a parked car filled the air again.

The crisp, white glint of light slashed through the night air, landing against the second bulked individual as the attacker hissed. In a fraction of a blink, claws the size of an oversized lion’s hacked the air as tentacles dipped out near the blind spot of the attacker, making the being jump in the air. Bringing down a well-honed piece of metal onto the second bulked individual, a wash of headlights momentarily revealed a male human, his contorted body stretched into a crude form. The precise slash against the horrendous entity’s flesh resulted in the familiar smell filling the air once more.

The Attacker crouched low in a resting battle position. Taking in shallow, calm breaths, the Attacker watched as the thing turned to attack again, running full speed.

A tapping rhythm on the alleyway due to the entity’s Italian leather wingtip shoes caused the Attacker to hum, throwing the entity off mark. A light sheen of perspiration kissed the Attacker’s forehead with each calm intake of breath and hummed note. The Attacker lived for this. Loved it and desired the hunt of creatures such as this.

Strategizing the next move, the Attacker thought back to how this prey was hunted. A quiet smile flashed across the Attacker’s lips. It wasn’t hard to get to the sick bastard. The Attacker posed as the entity’s preferred choice of target, an angry teenager, who wanted nothing but to get away from his parent. It made the Attacker clutch the blade that nestled comfortably against his palm in anger at the obscene and pornographic discussions that occurred with the demon.

It made it even easier to identify that this monster wasn’t the shrewd Italian entrepreneur he portrayed himself to be, but was in fact a succubus-level, soul-polluter demon. These were the most degenerate of demons, feasting off the pain of the victims through lewd sexual means, debilitating torture, and flesh eating.

Knowing this, it silently pleased the Attacker to stalk and mentally threaten the demon’s territory by baiting it, since these demons were known for their territorial nature.

Allowing the demon to believe they were to meet up outside of a popular artist’s concert, the Attacker led the demon to the alleyway through simple mind manipulation, and the rest is history. Shuddering with a lethal dose of pleasure and battle tactics, the Attacker’s body tightened with the wait as the breeze in the alley lightly brushed against skin.

Sidestepping within the low crouch, the Attacker pivoted and flipped forward with the agility of a panther and produced a silver gun. Suddenly, bullets exploded in the air. Glimmering and glowing metallic objects penetrated the thrown-back body of the beast, causing it to howl in pain.

The Attacker ran full speed, his gaze locked on the bullets as they hit each expertly calculated point on the demon’s body. Landing a blow to the entity’s ribcage, the muscles in the Attacker’s bicep tightened with the impact of breaking bones and tearing flesh.

Seething with anger, contempt, disbelief, and hate, the demon attempted to slash at the Attacker with its claws. Its teeth dripped with a mixture of its own blood and a liquid miasma. The beast slammed the Attacker into the side of a building, breaking bricks and creating a crater in the wall. Elated, the demon rushed like a bull, ready to launch another attack of teeth and claws.

The Attacker was not amused as he braced himself, pivoting out of the way with a deep guttural grunt. He released another round of bullets into the slashing, bleeding beast and watched him fall.

High-pitched human screams erupted from the beast as it lay on the cold, glistening, wet pavement, its twisted, contorted body writhing as the Attacker casually walked over it, kneeled down, and grabbed it by its neck.

Watching slowly, the entity howled and hissed. Its eyes begged to be left alone while fleetingly fighting back. Its tentacles and claws melted away into a very human hand as the once demonic thing revealed its true form during its wails. A disheveled-looking, handsome, muscular man dressed in an Italian-designed, straight-from-the-runway suit coughed up blood and wheezed in agony. The clawing man murmured in unintelligible sentences, his sun-kissed olive skin slowly fading into a murky grey. Wrinkles of decay and diseases emitting from his once-handsome frame seemed to slosh away with every scream of pain and anger, and flowing oak-colored hair drifted away like dust in the wind.

The man reached out and attempted to tear at the Attacker’s throat. Flashes of the demon’s past life of darkness flowed into his vision; they showed through the eyes, and a briefly-flashed smile of the Attacker’s photogenic face.

Hunching over in a swift movement that would rival and shame a snake—if a snake could be shamed—the Attacker hissed. He clutched at the man’s engorged heart to pull it to its surface, and the man screamed in garbled terror.

“Ashes to ashes . . . ” was whispered in the air as the Attacker pulled the heart from the man’s cavity. He ferociously bit into the side of the screaming man’s neck, tearing and biting, until his mouth seemed to fuse with the writhing man’s jugular as rivers of blood sloshed everywhere.

The scent that filled the air seemed to get darker and richer, almost chocolate-scented as the Attacker drank and twisted the pulsating warm heart from the man’s chest, forcing him to release a shrill in the air so loud, the nearby cats in the alley ran off in fear. The man in the suit lifted from the ground as the Attacker embraced the body into a tight hug.

Light filled the once-dark alleyway as blade-like feathers exploded from the Attacker’s body. The man in the suit evaporated into a thick, ruby red-visceral mist that slowly expanded in the air, and as if it had a mind of its own, the mist hit the Attacker’s body in a strange embrace.

The Attacker’s wings spastically arched into a blinding, glowing width, spreading in the air, as he arched up and cried out in an almost passionate euphoria. The emotions, the pains, the suffering, the lust, the passions, everything that made up the structural sins and lives of the entity’s past victims, filled the Attacker. The satisfying fear the attacker had embedded inside of the demon’s own DNA during the battle added an erotic tranquility to the sinful richness of the souls being reclaimed within.

As the Attacker drank, the miasmic evil of the demon, the forced taint of innocent victims and those humans who were just as dark as the demon who fed on them connected with his pure essence. The Attacker’s body shook with the intake of the mist, making him genuflect and reach up in the air. A new pulsating and glinting silver light exited the Attacker’s body and propelled into the stars, out of the atmosphere.

The release made the Attacker land into a quiet crouch, with him standing and taking slow intakes of breath. Glowing perspiration rested on the Attacker’s brow, while swirling tribal tattoos kissed his biceps and hard abs, blending into the muck of the entity’s remains.

Brushing off the particles of demonic flesh, claws, and blood from the fight, the Attacker ran an idle hand over his face. His eyes briefly closed while taking a moment to step back into reality and his battle wounds healed on their own. Licking the remaining blood from his lips, his fangs slowly retracted, as did his silver dark wings, disappearing altogether, to reveal his well-toned, chiseled, milk-chocolate skin.

The Attacker’s well-kept ebon locks brushed down his back, reminding him to knot it into a ponytail. He sheathed and hid his once bloody blade into his spinal shield and restored the much-needed moonlight to what had been a death-silent alley, letting the voices of oblivious innocents fill the void around him.

He smoothed his black slacks and made his tailored black jacket appear. Then he slid it over his now freshly cleaned linen white shirt and walked out of the alley, whispering a cleansing protection prayer. The prayer would take care of any residue of evil from the entity, and block the memory of anyone who might have been in the alley during the fight.

The Attacker, as if nothing had happened, coolly strolled to his black-and-silver Escalade while texting on his cell. He flashed a fangless smile to a pair of gawking women as he closed the door then pulled into the exiting traffic of departing clubgoers. The soft, thumping music in his truck blended into the busy sounds of the night, while the purring of the cats returned to the alleyway, resuming the frigid tranquility of the city nightlife.

Her body ached from standing for twelve hours. It was overheating from the constant steam and Dutch oven-feel of the sweltering confines she was in. Her muscles kept clinching with the onset of a cramp, and she was just downright tired. Yet none of this could stop the constant thoughts of what needed to get done. She had a flux of customers flowing into her establishment, demanding her signature work—no, her art, as she preferred to think of it. And people yelled all around her as they busied themselves with the many orders going out.

Sanna’s lips slightly tilted up into a soft smile as she let her gift flow through her. She painted her vision on the plate in front of her and sprinkled the seasonings of her love over the roasted beef loin braised in a Creole wine and onion reduction sauce. The roasted loin nestled on a pillow of grits, asparagus spears, and sautéed collard greens.

Yes, Sanna was a culinary artist, and her restaurant, Aset, was a five-star hit in St. Louis. She was proud of her baby. She paired the culinary art with her passion for soul food, while showcasing other artists in the St. Louis and East St. Louis area. She loved it. Her restaurant was creating such a buzz, people from Chicago, Atlanta, and Washington, D.C. had been blowing up her phone with catering requests and offers to open up another restaurant. She was blessed, and she knew it. And she was always grateful for her blessings.

But if she didn’t close her kitchen down soon, she was going to pass out. She had forgotten that she had promised her godsister that she would stop working overtime in the restaurant. She had hired a trusted crew of people, her friends from culinary school. They would shut the restaurant down by one in the morning and get everything done before having to get up again and arrive at the restaurant again at eight in the morning to start all over again. It was grueling, and she was always tired. But she had learned to balance running the restaurant and having a life.

She was twenty-seven, a curvaceous and healthy size fourteen, with thick curly black hair, and long, caramelized crème brulé legs on a five eight frame. It took a long time for her to come to a place where she was happy with her ample bosom, slightly plump rear, and overall plus-size glory. She had overcome the teases and harassment of her youth and didn’t give a bit about how men or women judged her looks.

She knew she was pretty. Had many tell her they loved her milk chocolate-colored eyes that exquisitely formed into an almond shape that framed her delicately curved face and pouty lips. She also had many tell her how they loved the feel of her skin, and marveled at how soft yet firm she was. Her godnieces loved to lay on her and just sleep while feeling secure against her.

She smiled as she put the final touches on her chocolate truffle soufflé cake with caramel mousse and lavender powdered sugar.

Yet, even though she had learned to love herself, she was insecure. She couldn’t help it, not with the ghosts of her teen years still peering from locked and closed doors in her mind. She had dealt with those demons, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t try to scratch at her from time to time. She often felt those demons were the reason why she had become so afraid of relationships, and why she hadn’t had a serious one in years, but she was fine with it as best as she could be. This is who she was now. The young girl in her past wasn’t the mature successful woman she had become. She had plenty who had tried to date her now because of her elevating status, but she was blessed with a mother who’d taught her all about the games men play and what the loss of true love could do.

Closing her eyes as the final plate went out, her chocolate-covered hands rested splayed out against her workstation as a sharp pain suddenly tore through her temples. Her brows furrowed as she tried to deal with the sensation.

“Damn!” escaped her lips. She rode the pain as flashes slashed across her vision. This was the tenth migraine she’d had this month, each one getting worse, with more flashes of light.

She couldn’t understand it, and she prayed every night that they would stop. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, as the headaches and flashes interrupted her sleep. She thought one day she was going to pass out from it at work, but it never happened.

Sanna had decided then to go get a complete physical, which turned out to be of no use. Her doctor couldn’t figure it out, nor could the other five doctors she had gone to. Her mother was worried for her but kept saying that she’d get used to it. All she could do was look at her mom, mouth slightly dropped, staring at her as if she had been drinking.

Get used to it? The hell, she would get used to these attacks on her brain, she was very close to saying, but before she could, another stab to her mind caused her to blank out, experiencing flashes of many different people, some she didn’t know, places and situations she never could understand juggling around in her mind.

These flashes were like her own mini-movies. Sometimes she liked what she saw, but many times they scared her to her core. She could never remember the full tales or details, but she’d learned to begin to write down whatever she could remember, especially the constant erotic dreams she kept having about her and a mystery man. She could never see his face or anything. The only thing she could do was sense him, his body, his scent, his heat, and feel the slickness of his skin as he lay near her side, tracing her body with his large hands. She could also feel his weight as he sat at the foot of her bed. Yeah, he kept her comfortable at night, safe, so she couldn’t complain.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she stumbled out of the kitchen to head to her private office. With the hallway wall as her anchor, she fell into a black abyss and sobbed as another memory raked her brain.

A year ago, Kyo had taken Sanna to BJC Hospital downtown. They had been looking at an empty historic building with a representative from Protection Corps, an architecture and restoration firm, wondering if this was the spot for a nice upgrade to their restaurant. The art deco feel of the granite and marble walls called to her. She couldn’t believe she had found this treasure, especially with a lot of old buildings in St. Louis being torn down. She felt this was what they needed, this old building that filled her with a sense of hope.

Walking away from Kyo and the flirting representative, Sanna took in the huge, comfortable space with a beautiful street view and great access, especially for parking. She was happy she went with a new firm that had a taste for rehabing old buildings throughout St. Louis, East St. Louis, and Alton, IL. She loved the respect they gave to the buildings and land. The firm made sure that the buildings they worked on were eco-friendly, which was especially important to Kyo. The building’s statues of standing guards from Japan and Egypt as well as Native American guards had drawn Kyo as soon as Sanna showed them to her. They couldn’t believe they had both driven by this prime piece of property and never noticed it. Six months later, they were its sole owners.

Sanna smiled, looking at her marble stairway with beautiful Egyptian etchings. The work was exquisite, and one could tell it was all carved in love. Reaching out, she let her manicured fingernails softly brush its smooth surface. The heating marble melted and slid against her fingers, making her touch the etchings more as she stared in amazement, not noticing each intricate marking softly glowing with her strokes.

She inhaled sharply as she heard a sudden, soft humming song fill her mind and being, while her body fell with a hard thud, pain searing through her.

The migraine made her think of the time when she’d had it so bad that she had to be hospitalized. She was twenty-one then and in culinary school. One moment she was vying for a chance at working in France as a sous-chef for an exchange program, the next she was waking up in the hospital looking at a set of her old childhood drawings her tear-streaked mother had given her.

Her migraines had always brought forth strange images, but she had no idea that even as a child she’d drawn those very scenes. Each bright well-drawn squiggle had depicted her life in the present. She was an adult, surrounded by her family, owning Aset restaurant, and a tall man stood behind her, with his hand on her waist as darkness tried to reach for them. Her drawings took her mind off the reality that she was laying in the hospital because of her blackouts, even though the images scared her.

This time it felt worse than when she was twenty-one. She clutched the side of a nearby wall, a slight pain continuing to sucker-punch her temples. Her body felt as if it was overheating when she stumbled into her private office.

Tears of pain slid down Sanna’s soft cheeks as the blackout took her over, making her twist and turn. The images were coming faster and harder every day now, as if she had to help someone or something. Each image flashed past her like she was in the middle of a live slide show, the gust of force of each picture stinging her cheeks as she reached out in pain. She felt her mind split as she fell to her knees on the floor of her office, her psyche begging for the pain to stop. She was sure she was dying.

Fighting for the pain to stop, she swung at invisible hands as she heard the distant shouting of a scared voice demanding that she wake up and get up. She felt the hands rock her and pull her as the images suddenly sharpened around her mind then broke into a piercing scream in her mind, “Get Out!”

Breaking out of her vision, she jerked up, sweat blanketing her brow. Instinct had her push herself up into a low crouch with an urgency she had never felt in her life. Fright-flight had her suddenly running as she noticed Kyo leaping over falling debris and flaming pieces of their restaurant falling from the ceiling. She didn’t understand how her baby was on fire. Yet, as she looked around, she swore she saw a lone body with glowing eyes watch her then begin to chase both her and Kyo.

She heard Kyo hiss as her body suddenly compressed and slid through a narrow opening, pulling Sanna with her.

Blinking at that smooth move, Sanna didn’t even want to ask how the hell her homegirl had just pulled that off. Their baby, Aset, was on fire, and something was chasing them hard.

“I got you, sis!” Kyo yelled as she clutched Sanna’s hand. Carefully pulling her up as she ground her feet and tried to keep her cool.

Sanna sputtered, her head spinning while her body tensed with adrenaline, “Aww, hell to tha naw. Kyo, you see what the hell is happening?”

Looking around, Kyo shook her head, tears filling her eyes at their restaurant in disarray. She herself couldn’t believe what was going on around them.

Kyo had been waiting for the last patron to leave. She had just happily put up the wedding cake she’d made for a customer who’d begged for her custom sugar art to be used on it while they were both in the kitchen working their asses off.

She knew Sanna was finishing the last sample dessert for the patron, and so instead of keeping staff on hand for one man, she’d decided to let the last remaining waiter clock out. As co-owner she would handle whatever else needed to be done.

They both hated working overtime and making staff stay late just for one customer, but they had decided to always treat the last customer with no less hospitality than any other customer, an approach that brought great reviews to the restaurant. So today wasn’t any different with this patron.

The handsome man kept eyeing Sanna and watching both of them. Kyo wasn’t offended. She had seen many quietly observe her and her “sister,” thinking of ways to flirt with them. It amused her, but this time it felt a little off.

Kyo wanted to smile and flirt back, but something kept making her skin crawl. The man commented on how beautiful she was and how her skin seemed to shimmer with starlight.

“Oh, thank you. That’s just lotion,” she lightly commented. She had to chuckle and try to please the customer as she waited for him to leave.

People often commented on the soft glow of her skin and how it seemed to shine in certain light. She was used to it. Her skin had always had that glow. Her own mother had the same glow and didn’t think anything of it. Kyo always put it down to her dark-complected mother, who was of Okinawa descent.

Kyo stood at a statuesque five eight with a curvy, athletic build. She loved playing with her thick black hair, getting it in spiked asymmetrical bob haircuts with a single stripe of color in her eye-covering bang.

Her mother and father had always said her personality came out in her art, and it was her art that introduced her to Sanna. They grew up together in North County and went through everything together, including defending their friendship, because in St. Louis it wasn’t often that a young black girl was seen with a young Asian girl, or a young Asian girl with one jade-green eye and one ever-changing hazel eye for that matter.

From the day they’d met in kindergarten during finger painting, to them both going to college, to Kyo dropping out of med school and, later, both of them enrolling in culinary school at the same time, they’d stayed with each other like white on rice. She always felt she had to protect her best friend through everything, and it didn’t bother her in the least bit. Sanna’s battles were teaching her to protect herself, and it made Kyo proud to call her “sister.”

Her mind still recalling what had happened prior to the attack on Aset, Kyo was ready to ride out as she stood in the kitchen. She was tired, and when she saw her sis stumble to her back office with another migraine, she knew it was time to close shop for the day. Her best friend’s blackouts scared the religion into her. That’s how bad Sanna’s fits were, and that always made Kyo act as her guard of sorts.

Kyo had walked into the front room to collect the patron’s dishes, but the way he watched Sanna as she left the back kitchen made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. Smiling at the patron, she reached for the empty cup and dessert plate. She flinched as the man grabbed her wrist. Her eyes narrowed as he gently stroked the soft underside of her wrist.

It took every ounce of patience to not slap the taste out of him as he murmured, “Hmmm. You and the chef are such artists and exceedingly good with the tastes and flavors presented.”

She watched as he held firm to her wrist and leaned in to inhale her perfume. This man had the audacity to lean in and brush his lips against her flesh, making Kyo jerk back, as if millions of stinging ants were eating at her skin. She quickly clutched her wrist as she unconsciously scrubbed it while quirking an eyebrow and staring at the man.

“Excuse me, but I think it’s beyond time that you leave, sir.”

The man slowly smiled and looked up at Kyo with dark eyes. “Your friend is in pain. I think she needs your help.”

Kyo was about to curse the man the hell out when she heard a thud come from somewhere in the back of the restaurant. Absentmindedly rubbing her ear, it tripped her out sometimes at how good her hearing and sight were. She thought she saw the man bow with his hat and exit the restaurant when she turned to gather his bill. But something about the eeriness of the moment made her quickly move to the front of Aset and lock the door.

Concerned about her sister, Kyo headed from the front of the restaurant to the back, rushing down the hallway to check on Sanna in their shared office. As she rounded the corner to the office, she heard an explosion come from the main dining room. Stopping in her tracks, she quickly re-routed toward the dining suite. She saw the table where the man had been sitting on fire.

Confusion, anger, and a sudden fear hit her hard as she tried to stop the fire with a nearby extinguisher. White foam sprayed around her, but nothing stilled the flames that moved as if it had a life of its own. All around her, items exploded, and the straw that broke the camel’s back was when the kitchen exploded. Nothing made sense. Nothing seemed to be occurring naturally was all she could think as she ran to Sanna’s office.

Her pulse quickened as she sprinted though the restaurant and burst into the office. Her body felt as if it was on fire, and her limbs suddenly felt like sturdy liquid as she shook Sanna awake, who lay in a crumbling heap on the office floor. Fear chewed at her heart as she watched her best friend twisting in pain, a soft sheen of sweat kissing her brow.

Sanna was speaking in a strange language again, as Kyo always noted during her blackouts, but it freaked her out even more that as she yelled and shook Sanna, trying to pick her up and wake her, she understood what Sanna was saying.

A piercing screech hit the air as Kyo heard, “Get Out!”

The words seemed to explode from Sanna in a jumbled ramble, making both of them jerk back as Sanna woke, hoisted herself up, and ran.

As they ran down the hall, all Kyo could think about was protecting her best friend and getting out. Looking around she swore—no, she knew she saw that strange man standing in the middle of the dining room around the flames watching them, a dark, sinister smile on his face.

She innately knew he wasn’t human when his eyes flashed an unnatural, glowing yellow. They burned like flames, she thought as she caught up with Sanna, who she swore was moving like a jaguar.

The man flicked his nail, and a flame burst over the women.

Kyo instinctively ducked and slid into a backflip, dodging the attack. “The hell is going on?” ran in her mind and fueled her attempt to get herself and Sanna out safely.

She yelled in fear as she saw that same man leap and rush after them like the fire that was engulfing their restaurant. She believed she had to be dreaming, until Sanna confirmed in so many words that she too saw that “thing of a man.”

Kyo suddenly swung a hand out, pushing them both out of harm’s way. At the same time, Sanna rolled and gave a floor sweep of her leg.

Both women looked in twin shock as the body of the man chasing them abruptly stopped in the middle of the flames and combusted by a flashing light. The impact of that hit was so strong, it knocked both women out of the restaurant and into a safe spot across the street. Later they would swear that, after they’d watched their beloved restaurant almost burn down with all of their hard work, they’d felt comforting hands guide them out. Those very hands, Sanna knew she had felt before, although she couldn’t remember where.

“Damn, cuz! You smell like death.” Sarcasm laced the deep drawl of Marco’s curled lips.

The Attacker strolled into the shared complex he lived in with his House family. Though he was of the House of Vengeance, or V’ance, as is the ancient name by birth, he also lived in a mixture of Houses, mainly his own established household and his cousin’s House of Templar, or T’em.

By right, because of his ranking birth, he was able to form his own sub-house within their unique culture, due to his Society caste, and out of necessity to survive he did so, just by happenstance. He and his cousin jokingly called their home House of the Unknown, or as he’d heard from the underground, they were being called the House of Dusk.

Throwing his coat down on the floor, the Attacker rolled his shoulders. With one stroll, he plopped on his couch with his leg resting on the swirling glass table in