Page 2 of The Arbiter

Needless to say, I’m exhausted as I began tying the idiots together with the rope that I usually use to fasten boxes together in the truck. I secure them to the dumpster that sits in the alleyway between the liquor store I buy from and the building next to it. Thankfully, it’s late evening, so the humans will have left most of the stores by now, and this street isn’t heavily populated at night. My liquor guy is pretty much the only one around at this time, and he spends most of his night with his headphones in, blaring eighties rock music.

I lean against the adjacent wall from the men and slide down, sitting myself where I can watch them as the two that are still awake groan in pain. Pulling out my phone, I dial the number to a local office where Rites can be reached to clean up messes involving human exposure to our kind. Should the need arise for them to erase memories, they have that power as well. The Strige can do the memory-erasing thing too, but they don’t care to be involved with humans unless there’s blood. I have two bouncers that are Strige, and they erase the memories of humans as they leave the club if they see something they aren't supposed to.

It’s definitely the Rites hearing about this one, though.

I tap the Bluetooth device in my ear. The line rings twice before a monotone voice answers, “Rite Alan, Office 2036, what can I do for you?” The Rites have thousands of offices across the US, and each has a number for their office building, just to make sure the person calling has the right location.

See what I did there? The ‘right’ location. The ‘Rite’ location? Ha! Iamrelatively funny after losing a bit of blood.

“Hey there. Nocturna, here. I’ve got a situation that’s going to require your assistance. You may need some of your buddies to help.”

The Rite groans on the other end. They may know me a bit more personally than necessary at that office. The Damned that frequent my club are a little wily and tend to kill each other in front of humans more often than I’d like.

He sighs. “What’s happened this time?”

“No need for the tone,” I snap. “It wasn’t me or the Damned this time. I got ambushed by four humans while getting stock for my club. They may be a little worse for wear, but the assholes tried to capture me with a net, which, might I add, was doused in Divine water. The same with their weapons.”

He doesn’t sound convinced. “Are you sure they're humans?”

“Of course, I'm sure! They reek of sweaty socks and misery. Only human men smell that pathetic,” I rant.

Rite Alan huffs with amusement. “Alright. I’ll send a unit out to take care of them.”

“Good. Oh, and if you’re feeling spunky, you should look into how they knew about the weapons. I may not be the most upstanding halfie out there, but I know I didn't do anything to warrant their volatility.”

His response is muffled as he speaks to someone else, then he says to me, “They're on their way.”

Pushing the end call button on my headset, I lean my head back against the brick. The two assholes who had gotten the worst of my retribution continue groaning in pain, while one of the others is yelling curses at me.

“Could you keep it down, please? I’d really like to kill you right now for annoying me, but I’m not your stereotypical Damned who flies off the handle just because you’re insulting my mama. I will, however, rip your guts out for a whole lot less,” I warn.

He must take my threat to heart because his tone turns muffled. The last thing I want to do is show any of them just how badly they hurt me, but I feel my blood still leaking profusely from my stab wound. Ignoring them, I see that the wound is for sure going to need that extra oomph.Stupid blessed blades.And there’s no fucking way that I’m taking from these smelly humans. I’d sooner stab myself with their blade again. I’ll just wait to get some energy from one of the Damned at the club. I hate having to feed without having sex because it means I have to suck the life force literally from the mouth of another being. Besides, if we’re being honest, it’s just not as much fun.Me and my standards.

The blood continues seeping from the wound in my side, and with each minute that passes, my consciousness begins to waver. Just because I’m for the most part immortal doesn’t mean I can’t be killed. I silently sigh in relief as I watch the black Hummer pull up, signaling the arrival of the Rites. They always drive the same flashy, black Hummers with a white decal that has the letter A with filigree around it to make it all fancy. For a mostly male organization, that decal is pretty damn feminine. I’ll never tell them that, though. Rites are anything but feminine.

I slowly push myself up the wall, doing my best not to waver while using the last of my strength, before stepping to the side to give the Rites a full view of the humans. The other one woke up about five minutes ago and has joined his friend in slinging obscenities toward me. I’m ready to have them off my hands, or my temper will get the best of me.

Four Rites step from the Hummer, each wearing the trademark black, sleeveless robe with hood pulled up over their heads. One can’t see it from the outside, but I happen to know what’s underneath those robes. Don’t judge me. They fill out the black muscle shirts and cargo pants nicely. Then, just add that to black, fingerless leather gloves and military-grade combat boots, and there’s a Rite.

Black is my color, but sometimes, it’s a little overkill. Again, not telling them that. The silver chains with the trademark Abel “A” hang around their necks, catching the last of the light in the sky. As they move, those robes swing open, and I get an eyeful of every single ab beneath those skin-tight shirts. I do a drool check really quickly with the back of my hand.

Holy brain fry, Batman! The Divine are beautiful bastards!

Luckily, my blood rewarded me with their beauty. Too bad I act like the Damned more often than not. I prefer their company better too.

Back to the sinfully wrapped packages in front of me, I don't even need to see their faces to know that each one would look like they’ve been chiseled from the finest of stone. Of course, that’s also meant in the way that they’re each emotionally as cold as stone. They never smile, and their voices tend to only have three tones; slight interest, possibly interested, and smite-you-down yelling. In other words, mostly monotone that sounds a lot like the rumbling of a car. The latter is something you don’t want to be on the receiving end of. It comes with the territory of a Rite, I guess.

The only two emotions I’ve ever gotten from them are ire and frustration. The combination happens more than I like since some consider me an abomination because I’m not an all-powerful Arbiter. They aren’t the only ones, though. I get some of the same looks of disdain from the Damned like it’s my fault my parents got down and dirty with each other.

Eww. Don’t think about that while being gifted with the sight of such hotness! I chastise myself.

The biggest of the bunch walks front and center, with the others trailing behind. He strides with an air of dominance and authority that has me quivering in delicious ways. I like my men a bit dominant, but normally, Rites don't do it for me; this one is the exception.

As they get closer, the big one stops within a foot of my space, making me lean back slightly as he towers over my petite, five-foot-five frame. My body begins to tingle a bit as his power radiates around him. It heats my body up in more ways than one. I’m sensitive to the power of other beings when it’s great in strength. It’s like I can feel it in waves when in close proximity. But this guy...he feels different. I could get drunk from his power alone. My body leans back toward him unconsciously, wanting to be closer for reasons I’m not sure of, and I don’t hate it.

I can’t see his face, but I can tell by the tilting of his head that he’s scrutinizing me thoroughly.

I look down and figure out the reason for his apt interest. My white tank is almost completely drenched in blood. It never stood a chance between the now healing blisters on my shoulder from the net and the open wound in my stomach. I place my hand over it, making his head level back, so it seems as if he’s now looking directly at me. I will never figure out how their hoods manage to keep out even the tiniest bit of light.

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