Page 3 of The Arbiter

“You’re hurt. Why are you not healing?” His deep voice is as smooth as whiskey and sends electricity up my spine. By the Creator, I would love to have him recite the alphabet to me just to keep him talking.

“Yeah. I told the Rite on the phone they used blessed weapons. Except the dumbass who’s drooling on the guy to his left. He had a stake.” I add in an eye roll to that one. “I don’t know how they knew how to hurt me, but they were trying to capture me, not kill me. Then again, one actually stabbed me, so my calculations on that may not be valid.” I give myself a pat on the back for my voice not wavering while telling him that. It was hard enough not whimpering from the pleasure of his closeness.Go me!

He grunts before grabbing my wrist with the speed of a snake. I jump in surprise, both from the heat of his touch and the fact that he just snagged my hand off my stomach before I could blink. His other hand hovers over my wound as close as it can without actually touching me.

Completely confused as to what he’s doing, I sputter in shock, “W-what…are you…”

I can’t even get the sentence out before his hand closes the space between it and my stomach, palming the spot gently. Brilliant, white light comes from beneath his hand, and my stomach sizzles and smokes beneath it. Hissing through my teeth, I can do nothing but watch. It hurts too much for me to comprehend that he’s actually healing me. Rites never heal the Damned.Ever. The only time this special gift makes an appearance is if it’s needed on a human during cleanup.

The light dies, and he pulls his hand away. I lift the hem of my shirt to see that my skin has knit shut, and only a faint scar line is left. I fucking hate blessed weapons for this reason as well. They always leave a scar when they heal.Ifthey heal.

I stare up to where I assume his eyes would be, completely dumbfounded by this act of kindness. He nods his head and walks around me. The two other Rites who have stayed silent this whole time follow behind without a glance in my direction. I just stand there with my mouth open and eyes wide like an idiot as they pick up the humans and walk them back to the Hummer.

The one with the grudge against my mother spits on me as he’s dragged by. It’s too bad that he’s being carted by the Rite who healed me. I hold in my snicker as the Rite drops the man. With his hands tied behind his back, the human’s head thumps against the ground hard.

“Oops,” the Rite says in that monotone voice, though I hear just a fraction of sarcasm within it.

That’s the second time he’s shocked me tonight.A Rite with a sense of humor; who knew?

After the last human is put in the back, the mysterious Rite stops by the passenger door and turns in my direction. “They will be questioned about their knowledge of your kind. ‘Til we meet again, Nocturna.”

The use of my name snaps me out of my dazed state. It sounds so damn good hearing it roll off his tongue.

“Wait! What’s your name?” I ask, trying to contain my desire to know.

He cocks his head to the side before replying, “Larkan.” With that, he opens the door and slides into the Hummer.

“Thank you,” I mutter as they drive away.

I am so completely shocked and confused by the way he made me feel and what he’s done for me. It was probably just the kinship with my Divine half that had him using that power on me, but in the back of my mind, I hope it was for a different reason.

Who the Divinity is this Larkan?

And why is it now a necessity for me to know more?

The drive back to the club is quick since the entire time I can’t get Larkan out of my head. I’ve never had that reaction to a powerful Rite before, but he did things to me that are unexplainable.

As I pull up to the club, I smile, seeing that the parking lot is already almost completely full.

My club is the only one that caters to both the Damned and Rites. It’s a sanctuary of sorts where the Damned can fulfill their desires of energy feeding without worry. The Order has sanctioned it since my employees keep close watch on the Damned who feed, and the humans’ memories are always wiped clean of anything they see that’s out of the ordinary. Energy is practically given freely by the humans in their states of inebriation. It isn’t illegal or harmful to them, so I’d say my club does quite a few favors.

My number one rule is no killing, and I hold that rule with an iron fist. Any of the Rites who happen to be there will deal with the matter, but they aren’t necessarily needed here. I can handle most of the Damned on my own. Having been blessed as a half-breed, I have that extra kick of power over them. So, technically speaking, it’s not like they could go against me even if they wanted to.

I fell in love with this place as soon as I laid my eyes on it ages ago. It used to be a beautiful church back in its prime, but when I found it, it had been abandoned for years. At first, I’d wondered why it sat abandoned for so long, but I guess no one wanted an old church with a creepy cemetery out back. I thanked my lucky stars that the breathtaking stained-glass windows were all still intact, but the cross at the top and the bell were both the first things to go.

The irony that it was a church was not lost on me when I, a partial Damned, bought and renovated it.

The structure is made of aged, gray stone that has moss and ivy growing up all sides of it. It looks especially eerie to me on chilly, foggy nights like tonight. Which is practically how almost every night is during the early fall.

The first floor of the Apothecary is the main area of the club; booths take up the entire right side, each seat made of black leather with violet, velvet cushions. The bar takes up the left side and is made of black, translucent glass. Violet and blue spotlights shine down in all directions. The floor is dark cherry hardwood and has a dance space in the middle that’s raised up higher than the rest of the floor. It doubles as a stage for when we put on the burlesque shows that I love dancing in.

The second floor is the area for my more important guests since the richest and oldest of the Damned and Rites sometimes prefer the quieter areas. It isn’t a full floor, but a balcony that’s got one-way glass as the barrier instead of a rail, so I can watch all of my patrons from above without them seeing. A spiral staircase leads up to it and is accessible through a door in the far back, right corner. There’s always someone there guarding it to make sure that no one goes up that isn’t supposed to. From the second floor, there’s another set of stairs that leads outside to the back of the club as a discreet entrance or exit for special guests that don’t want to be seen. A phone call must be made for them to come in through that door, as it locks from the inside.

The third floor had been an attic, which had access to the bell tower before the church closed. It’s massive and takes up the entire expanse of the building. It has long since been converted into my loft apartment. Thankfully, I had my own fire escape stairway installed from the side of the building. It wouldn’t be a good idea to be seen by humans with this much blood coating my body, so it has its uses.

I drive my dark, cherry pearl Silverado up to the side entrance that connects behind the bar and storage room then honk the horn. While I wait on the door to open, I run my hands along the oxblood red-colored seats. This truck is my baby; I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more, except maybe the club.

Two of my biggest employees come out as I hop down from the truck, both Damned. Cedric is a Strige and Felix a Lupin, or werewolf if you confer with human lore. One of the biggest missteps that human myths make about both species is the fact that neither can change a human. The Damned are, in the best of terms, demons. So, it’s not like a virus that can be contracted. It’s a curse and nothing more.

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