Sin Eaters 2

Book 2: Sin Eaters

by Kai Leakes

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

Darkness is swallowing the streets of Chicago, and a key may have been found.  Khamun and Sanna's epic journey together has led them to this, their mission to save Nephilim Society from themselves. Still trying to open the secrets of the first book, Khamun and Sanna's fight has resulted in a travesty that may change their lives. Now with Khamun at the cusp of a life and death decision, it's up to his team to close ranks and protect their Oracle. Calvin Freeman is surrounded by death. Not only has his cousin fallen in battle, but he's now being stalked by ghosts from his past lives and a familiar lethal foe, the Medusa. What is deathly has become alluring, and what is toxic has become bittersweet. His dreams are betraying him, and war is coming as society turns a blind eye. It's up to him and his family to bring their retribution, and it's up to him to find out why the woman known for bringing nightmares has suddenly knocked at his door. Take a final walk in the chilling world of Kai Leakes in Sin Eaters 2: Retribution Devotion Book Two.

Release date: July 1, 2014

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 288

Sample

It was the jarring sound of his Glocks going off, a piercing, soul-gripping scream, a tearing pain at his heart and soul chakra—with that of the intercepting clanging of metal scraping against concrete—that drew his attention away from pushing his power to a lethal level. Calvin Freeman-Tem knew without even seeing what exactly was going on behind him. It was a no-brainer for him that today was a game changer. Game changers in his world were no idle thing for him. They were like being given an anointing message in church, or getting a specific message penned to you in a horoscope or palm reading. They were like little bursts of sage advice given by a loving Nana, which was helping him now. The battle they were in was mounting into an epic warfare that was going to change not only his ragtag group of warriors, his House, and position, but also all of the Nephilim, both Light and Dark, and humans’ world.

His cousin was cut down. The Oracle was gone. He knew this by their familial blood bond. He could feel the stopping of her heart. She had been hit by a Cursed blade. Only such weapons could cut down, maim, and kill a Nephilim; human weapons took longer to harm, but that wasn’t the case with special-class Nephilim weapons, both Light and Dark. She had been hit hard, and because she was still awakening, he knew she was done for; she was still just human, even though she was coming into her power. His heart was breaking.

Today in the life of an Immortal Mystic warrior as himself, all hell was about to let loose. It wasn’t due to the fact that the sudden rain that was falling around them had fallen at an eerie, slow pace. Or that the woman, who was his god cousin, wailed on her hands and knees in half-Dragon form causing the building to shake with her power. Even as the beauty of the Dragon’s iridescent wings overtaking the sky memorized him while she pounded onto the concrete roof of the high-rise they were currently located wasn’t the reason for his sharp awareness. The same could be said with the fact that the Dragon was between his cousin Sanna and a guy, he had formed a relatively close friendship protecting them both with a power sigil that etched into the concrete surface. That pretty dope show of new power from the Dragon wasn’t why he looked on in frozen awareness where he was.

No, it was the fact that he stood watching in painful shock, tucking his winning prize against the lining of his jacket, covering it in Mystic power to keep it there, as the atmosphere around them began to pulse with a life of its own. He was familiar with it. He was very familiar with the exchange of power that was connecting with the life in every molecule in the area. The Reaper was coming to life and his homeboy was turned all the way up.

Calvin glanced over his shoulder checking for the two bitches who caused all the chaos and disarray around them. There was no sign of them, but his Mystic Locus Tracer was leaving a trail for him in the darkness of the night. He turned at that moment to see his friend, Khamun, once known as the Attacker, an unknown aggressive and manic killer, running through the streets of Chicago, Illinois, and St. Louis, Missouri taking down any being or entity that was either Cursed or touched by the Cursed, bulking in size. Calvin knew shit was getting real the longer Khamun stood dumbstruck. He stared down at the body of his cousin’s fallen body and the stream of ruby blood that stained the rooftop.

Khamun’s ropy locks sparked with silver currents of power, flowing over the cord-tight surface of his constricted biceps, forearms, and surging around his clenched fist as an energy ball. Dude looked like something out of an anime series to Calvin. His usually warm brown eyes were pitch-black. The typically Hershey chocolate tone of his skin began to radiate in a fiery cadence. His already cresting fangs were now at animalistic lengths and his boy just kept getting bigger in size.

Calvin remembered in his Mystic classes that only Archangels, warrior-class entities, could get to sizes as Khamun, and right now, dude was on some WWE proportions. Hulking up was an understatement. The moment the Reaper’s silver-black wings overshadowed his god cousin’s Kyo’s wings, and shifted from being soft feathers to that of steel and “cut you hard as a diamond” mode, Calvin knew to step back. He saw everyone—Marco, Lenox, his baby sister Kali, the new kids on the team, everyone—step back as Khamun propelled in the air at sonic force, and hovering over them for a millisecond.

Calvin heard one of his crew say the guy he knew as R.J. was the Key, but in that moment, he didn’t give a damn; his family and R.J. lay gutted. Chumps were about to get their heads busted in. Yet again, as was his right, he was about to take that familiar role he always did. All while Khamun, no, as the Reaper, who his boy officially learned was his true nature, began his holy wrathful binge on the two women who set him off: the Dark Lady and her bitch of a pet, the Medusa. Sweat ran down his face and he wiped it away while catching his breath.

Calvin popped a Qua Gum stick in his mouth to replenish himself. He wiped his brow, made sure all his Mystic-blessed bullets in his Glocks were replenished, and he glanced at his other team members and followed his boy. Both Lenox and Marco gave him an understanding nod. He wanted to stay by his cousin’s side, but he knew he had to do his job, and by doing that, he was still honoring his cousin. It was his turn to be the anchor, since he was the Mystic of the group.

It was his duty to cover the Reaper in charging healing spells as a means of keeping him in the game of hunting after the enemy. Even though he was getting tired from using all of his magic, he had to do this. Even at risk of his own health, he had to do this, because he was trained to do so, family was everything to him, and he wanted to get his vengeance out on the broads who just took from him. Eye for a damn eye. Crooked tooth for a jagged grill.

So, he jumped from the roof using his power to buffer his fall, and he landed Timbs first in a full run in the narrow alleyways before him as he tracked the Reaper in the night sky. This was for family and this was for his blood. Today was going to be a good day for hunting the Cursed. Welcome to the life of a Guardian Team, especially the life of an Immortal Mystic Class Disciple, such as Calvin was.

The Reaper slowly stood while everything surrounding him gradually faded behind him in a tunnel of sound waves and light. He wasn’t done. They were not done. His fiancée lay crumbled and in critical danger. Bright red blood drained from her stomach wound. The man who took the brunt of it lay beside her, lifeless, as something like screeching shrieks, which he identified in the back of his mind, came from Kyo.

Something had snapped within his lethal mind causing him to deliberately roll his broad shoulders. The Reaper instantly came alive and his amber irises flickered in the moonlight before darkening to coal black. With every breath he took, his metallic silver ebon wings rose up and down in his fury. His locks lifted from his muscular shoulders. His muscles tightened and constricted to the point where his veins seemed ready to burst. This couldn’t be happening.

A snarl flashed across his handsomely defined features and his incisors dropped to deathly lengths, marking him ready for the hunt. This was his fault. With his fists clenched to the point of his nails almost cutting into his palms, a sonic current surrounded him. The wave of energy covered him in a cloak and he disappeared, using a transition spell, which landed him near where his enemy had fallen beside the building. Nostrils flaring, he inhaled deeply, instantly catching their scent like a rabid dog.

She should have stayed in the compound as he tried to make her. She should have listened! Before she had come into this life, his soul mate, Sanna, the woman in his arms, was just an extraordinary female human. Sanna had been attempting to make a name for herself as a chef and restaurateur in the St. Louis, Missouri area with her best friend. Life was good for her, as he recalled. It was his duty to watch her, to protect her as all Guardian Angels did. However, that changed with the onset of her returning migraines and her first face-to-face meeting with a demon sent out to harm her.

After that, his role changed. He ignored the rules of his people, the Nephilim Society, by breaking his code of never interacting with humans in the flesh. It wasn’t hard to do for him, because the day he was assigned Sanna’s case, he had fallen in love with her vibrant soul. It was only later, once her life became threatened, that he learned she was not just an ordinary human, but also one that carried Nephilim DNA. This was when things changed.

He and his team of protectors, Nephilim and Immortal humans who had come together to work in Society to protect innocents from the Dark, came to Sanna’s aid. As special beings, they could blend into the human population without anyone knowing if they were angels or other worldly entities. This was how he, her cousins Calvin and Kali, and his cousin Marco and Lenox, were all able to surround her in protection after the demon attacks became worse. To human’s eyes, even demons appeared human, only if they were possessing a corrupted human, which to Sanna’s eyes at that time any demon attacked, they appeared human, until they shifted to reveal the monsters they were. This introduced Sanna and her best friend Kyo to his world: a world where if a person was not a full-blooded angel, then that person may be ostracized, while being used. His world was full of hypocrites who believed that the only role of an angel was to protect and ignore the human condition. By breaking those bigot codes, he and his team, his close comrades discovered generations of hidden secrets. They learned that not only was Sanna half Nephilim but that Kyo was a Gargoyle.

It was revealed that Sanna was also a powerful force called the Oracle. Through her, they found an old book of Nephilim codes, laws, lost biblical truths, and journal entries labeled a devotion book, which had other lost companion books. In the book, he discovered that he was no ordinary Guardian Angel. That the fangs he bore, were no genetic anomaly placed on them from generations prior of the first Fallen Angels lying with humans.

No, he was a creation meant to hunt down demons and feast on the souls they craved to make dark through their demonic blood. He was a Reaper, from a line of Sin Eaters meant to destroy the Cursed. Both women in his care were special. It was their destiny to make the Nephilim Society, mainly the Council, realize that they were dying in the war against Light and Dark, and all because of their prejudices and staunch beliefs. Their ignorance was aiding the Cursed.

The Cursed were dark Nephilim who made his people almost extinct on earth all on the orders of their evil King, his daughter the Dark Lady and her Dark Gargoyle pet, the Medusa. They were a part of a kingdom of demonic entities who hunted, ravished, and possessed their prey. With just a touch or bite, they tainted, to kill and pillage any human they wanted and destroy any angels they could find. Those key things continued the ancient battle between the Cursed and the Light. This with the attack against the Oracle and his family was why he now was in full Reaper mode.

His prey’s spicy feminine scent had him propel himself in the air. At the same time, he wiped blood from his face with his cocoa-tatted forearm. The blood fresh from his battle smeared into his mouth making him lick his plump lips with the taste of both his cousin’s and her demon Protector’s dark marker. He flattened his tongue to the roof of his mouth then slowly curled it, moving it around to savor it like wine. This allowed him to implant their tracker into his body. Air quickly became his friend. It caressed him as a familiar lover would which allowed him to leap up and surge through the darkness. Darkness caused his sight to switch into night vision, helping in his hunt to locate the Dark Lady’s pumping pulse easier.

He saw that both she and her Dark Gargoyle stumbled through back alleys trying to make it back to their headquarters. Their escape was not about to go down tonight. He let out a low growl. He knew they heard him, which made this ever more satisfying for him. Retribution was only his and he could taste their anger at losing the battle before it turned into sour fear. This was a fear he was familiar with. See for him, this was the true, purest form of fear, fear not created and owned by the Dark.

The Dark was known to feed on fear from humans and they never feared anything themselves except their Dark Lord. But this was a dread new to them and the Reaper laughed knowing this was perplexing for them. The terror they were experiencing was based in the knowledge and rooted in the reality that he could snuff them out and lay them at the feet of their Dark Lord for their failure, all before showing them what true divine punishment was. Mortal fear was what it was, a flaw in their eyes with mixing with humans. This was that irritating fear that maybe they had made the wrong choice in accepting the Dark and the Reaper loved it. You reap what you sow meant oh so much when dealing with him. However now he knew that his cousin was coming to that realization.

Unbeknownst to Khamun, this was the reason why his line was wiped out long ago: his power was a threat. The true Dark Lord himself had to be careful in how he killed the Most High’s most revered weapons. If he killed off too many, he threatened to destroy the delicate good-versus-evil balance and ending his reign in hell. There were rules to this game and the Reaper was slowly learning that. He had to check how he killed his enemy. If he allowed his spirit to truly fall by killing his prey out of darkness and not light, then his birthright was over.

The sound of a slight scraping of metal caused him to take in his surroundings. A miniscule glint in the dark had his instant attention. They were near. Hurriedly he flew in the sky to drop upon a rooftop’s edge to watch his prey. The Dark Lady stood below holding her side while resting her shoulder against a brick wall. Her long mahogany dark hair was matted to her ruddy sepia face. Her back heaved up and down. Her downcast face let him know that she was watching her pet pale and sway from loss of blood.

Khamun quietly stared into the darkness. He could swear that he saw sparks of light, only known with his kind, surrounding the pair in spurts, mainly around the Dark Gargoyle. Interesting. There was some change in that one. He could taste it in her blood. Something airy and sweet mixing in the typically pungent acidic taste of their Cursed kind. There was something about it that forced him to store that awareness to memory, but for now he couldn’t care less. They took from him and now their putrid husks of a heart were slated to be his.

With a quick shift upward to stand again, the Reaper paced back and forth on the rooftop’s ledge, listening to the pair argue with each other. He observed as the Dark Lady slapped her Protector, and then laughed in crazed delight while she gestured with her hands. That bitch is clearly crazy. She limped around the tight alleyway, circling her protector, yelling about her faults in the battle. The woman was berating her about her lost arm, telling her that she was useless as a Protector. The scene was comical to him. Like a dramatic screenplay or something on reality TV. He watched his crazed cousin turn back around and kiss her Protector on the mouth, her tongue snaking out to part her bloody lips. Battle lust could amplify a lot, but this crap was insane. He had to spit in disgust over the disrespect the Dark Lady put on the Medusa.

A part of him felt conflicted. That holy part of him that knew that if she were an innocent he would fight for her behalf, but this was the Medusa. She was a beast known for her incredulous tracking skills and a renowned kidnapper and murderer of innocents and Nephilims alike. She was indiscriminative in her pursuits and ruthless. Any pain she felt or disrespect she felt, he was sure that the Medusa enjoyed it too, in her own sick way. Therefore, he watched them and narrowed his eyes.

He would be just as indiscriminative and divinely ruthless in his pursuit of the pair. A quiet reprieve made him chuckle deeply while his locks flew around his stern and handsome features. Eyes glowed like amber jewels sitting in the sun. The sun itself represented the gold ring circling his iris, which pulsed with his power. He licked his lush lips and ran a khemetic-angelic tattooed inked hand over his crisp-cut goatee that only lined his jaw. The Reaper swore he saw, as quickly as a wink, the Medusa’s hatred for her Mistress. He swore he saw a razor’s edge of Light flicker behind her irises. Ready to slice the other in pieces, but as quickly as he observed it, was as quick as it had disappeared.

Again, that was something stored to the dome. He really didn’t care what he just witnessed because he also saw that sick love and devotion for her Mistress at the same time. He remembered the satisfying look in that bitch’s eyes before she sliced at his beloved. And for that, an eye for an eye was, yet again, his right. So he quietly watched. His wings rested against his back; his blades slid from his gloved hands. The darkness and the kiss of the moon acted as his invisible cloak, shielding him from their view before he dropped behind the bickering women. The sound of his Timbs hitting wet puddle-lined pavement was his entrance. Its echo had the women turn his way in a hiss. Their wide-eyed shock amused him as he dropped his invisible shield. The moment they turned to run, the rush of the hunt had his blood rising causing him to sprint after them to their dismay.

A husky laugh projected out from him. They pushed a garbage bin his way. It scraped against the asphalt of the alleyway leaving a caulk outline against its surface. Rushing him as if it were a living body or a team of linebackers, he jumped over it. He lifted in the air then landed behind the gliding bin with ease. Sweat sprinkled his brow. Both women, his prey, ran faster, having heard him and sensed him behind them. Their blood dripped wherever they moved and he traced it as if it were a neon paint trail. The blood sung to him and made him thirst, made him crave.

He knew they only ran because they were severely weakened. It wasn’t rocket science that the closer they got to their home, the more support they could have in protecting themselves. This was why he leaped over them and made them run in another direction. Not because he assumed he couldn’t handle their army on his own, but because he wanted to hunt and this was fun for him.

“Hey. Hey! Yeah, we are not done, cousin, and you know it!” the Reaper taunted in a boast to let them know he was still stalking them.

Not knowing where he was, he could see that they were clueless and that they were off track. He noticed that they took to another alleyway in the streets of Chicago. They climbed over fences and threw poison-tipped daggers while shooting off rounds his way. The need to survive caused one to make erratic choices and the wasting of ammunition was one of them, in his opinion; but again, whatever worked for his advantage was a plus for him. He dropped low like that of a panther in order to scan his surroundings then lunge forward in a run.

“I smell you both and I am so hungry; let me get a taste,” he cajoled with a toying smirk. He then briefly rubbed his hands together in taunt. Thumb pressed against his nose, he flicked it in cocky amusement then propelled his body into the wind again. His dark wings innately expanded into the night, almost swallowing the alley before dropping down in front of the two stunned women. His locks fell over his handsome face, accenting the danger lurking beneath the surface of what he was. Muddled tension filled his surroundings and he enjoyed it. He used it to his advantage, connecting to the very air around them, manipulating it to become thicker, so that it became harder for his prey to breathe while his eyes shined in the moonlight.

“You and your kind have taken from us for the last time. The balance has been broken for eons and for coming after what you had no right to try to take from me. You and your bitch are mine. Fair exchange is no robbery, so say your prayers.”

He watched the reality of who and what he was resonate within their eyes, before it quickly was replaced by cold malice and pride. As he stepped forward, they stepped back.

Now this was interesting to him; it caused the Reaper in him to maliciously give a fang-dropping grin. He saw the one called the Medusa hold her bloody, dripping stump. She clearly was in pain. Sweat dripped down her face. Her pupils were dilated. Her breathing erratic in between the reptilian clicking of her tongue. However, through it all, her instinct to fight was right there on the surface of her being. Her nails lengthened and, as if on cue, the smell of pungent poison saturated the darkness.

“Now I wonder where that part of you went, baby? Come give me your other arm, I’ll cauterize it for you.” In a manner of seconds, he was in her face, reaching out for her.

Her poison-filled nails swiped at him and her blade-heeled foot sent him sliding backward. Her legs moved as twin windmills while she struck out with one hand. Droplets of her blood kissed the pavement. It came out so fast that he noticed that she had to step back to gain her energy. He gave a throaty laugh again then ducked from a blow to his head by the Dark Lady.

Both women moved in sync to help each other. One was behind him. The other in the front of him. Their hisses and grunts made him think of the Williams sisters playing tennis while they swiped, kicked, and punched at him. Pipes burst from their places bolted on the side of random buildings. Their metal shafts flew at him, seeking to impale him.

Slick move, cousin. A brush of the Medusa’s nails cutting across his chest, seeking out flesh she could not get to made him turn. He moved up and down, ducking and deflecting while he heard his cousin give a gleeful laugh and clap of her hands in joy, watching.

“Dios, diablo. Gosh, devil, it looks as if we have you in a bind, primo cousin. Escucha! Listen, your precious Oracle looked as beautiful as a living doll when she lay dead by my hands. I wanted to take her precious body then and there and make her mine; you know, eat her plum and tongue screw her until I cum, but you interrupted that, primo.” The Dark Lady brazenly sulked using her fingers and tongue to illustrate what she wanted to do. Her voice turned into a sickening whine, sauntering toward him.

Her silky hair curved around her body as if it were a curtain to enhance her deep-set curves and ample attributes. A jewel-covered hand with its stiletto-shaped nails seductively ran over her sweat and blood-covered bare bronze stomach. She licked her ruby-dusted lips, her own steel-colored eyes glinting in the moonlight. “And now I want my fair exchange.”

She swung toward him. Her asp ring seemingly came alive then tried to bite at him. A blow from her razor-sharp nails gashed at the side of his face. The sting of it caused him to curse with the taste of his own blood.

He wiped at his cheek and sidestepped each of her weakening moves. Sometimes she’d make contact against him, causing him aching blows. Other times, her hits came in exhausted blows. He knew she was battle worn so he decided to hurry this up with a punch to her solar plexus. The blow made her pitch a black charge that cut across his side before it disappeared. He glanced down in astonishment and slight amusement at his torn shirt. Blood spilled in a thin trail over his toasted-nutmeg skin.

Both foes stood panting waiting for the other to move. The Reaper’s eyes focused on a gye nyame symbol necklace that suddenly appeared resting against his cousin’s heart before fading away. He had no idea why that appeared to him as it did, but he slowly flashed a knowing smile. He was very familiar with that necklace. He wondered if she remembered that her brother still wore his, too.

An opening of a side door caused music to spill in the alley. The atmosphere filled with static, making both women pant faster for air then quickly clutch their chests at the same time. Pain centered in their torsos and a deep jerk resonated around their hearts. The Dark Lady glanced at the Medusa and she glanced at her mistress. Both women clearly understood that they were now staring their deaths in the face. That survival to eliminate a man they had underestimated was now on the back burner.

“Try something different to use as a play against my mental next time, cousin,” the Reaper coolly replied. He clutched both fists at his sides then reached deep within his spirit. What he collected from within himself was then casted outward at both women. As if time had slowed down, he sent both women flying into a brick wall in front them. Pulsing lights spilled into the dark alley, the drifting singsong voice of Azealia Banks rhyming about the “212” drew his attention. A public domain, he needed to be careful.

The Reaper stepped over strewn bricks and debris with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. Both women lay unconscious against a booth in the building. Bricks, debris, and dust covered them. As he made his descent into what seemed to be a club, clueless humans, random Nephilim civilians, and Cursed entities danced while the music pumped. The Reaper made note of the many humans and Nephilim who were not of the fighting castes as was evident by their auras and insignias glowing on various parts of their flesh.

Back in his past, he had once wished he were just a civilian Nephilim, one whose only concern was the general Society meetings and keeping an eye out for mundane vices. Not hunting down hardcore sinners or demons, as he was doing now. But, that was then and this was now. He accepted what he was born to do now and right now. Music made him bob to the beat and pull out his sword. Everything would be done on the low but to a soundtrack, he could dig.

While he scanned the club, a deep voice interrupted his musings behind him, to tell him that whoever it was had his flank covered. Dr. Eammon Toure stepped from the cloud of soot. The elder stepped over crumbled bricks with a gun in his left hand and his right clapped on the Reaper’s broad shoulder. That look in the man’s eyes matched his own. Wrongs were about to be settled tonight and both men moved as one. They separated to flank a set of stairways that led to the waking women. The music seemed to feed the Reaper by giving him energy. That signature vibe let him know his boy Calvin was there, fusing the music into his team and innocents within the club. Much respect, filtered through his mind.

The Reaper lifted his blade, ready to battle. He rammed it down onto the Dark Lady hitting nothing but the club floor. Bullshit! He let out a roar of frustration. Had he been totally blinded by his rage, he would not have noticed his target’s unconscious form sliding across the floor by an invisible rope. A tether, which ended up connected to the now–red haired Winter, the Dark Lady’s personal Witch. She stood with a sad expression in her gaze that let him know she was sorry. However, for good measure, he guessed, she thought by sending the urgently psychic plead over the music, “You can’t!” would help matters.

Pillars and equipment began to shake. He was furious and that was an understatement. The Reaper was over the games. A blast of power flew toward the Dark Lady and Winter. He saw the shock in Winter’s eyes and then the feel of a boot slamming into his temple, knocking him to the floor. Pain echoed through him. Then the quick flash of a female’s shadow passed by his peripheral. He knew who it was before she opened her mouth. His own nails scraped at the dance floor under his chest. He glared upward at the Medusa.

“Touch my mistress and you die. You understand?” the Medusa snarled.

Spitting out blood, the Reaper, astonished, bobbed his head, and then pushed up on both hands. Chick has to be out of her damn mind. All he could do was study her from the side of his face, ready to battle. “Yes. I understand. Touch your mistress, then you die.”

Swift with purpose, he tiger-clutched the Medusa’s chest and dropped her to her knees in astonishment. The sound of her scream in terror made him laugh. A flicker of calm scurried over her . . .