Pure Requiem Page 4

  Slowly, I let my form change into that of Binu, the looks of the young human male I often take. The appearance I imagine for someone of privilege, erudition and refinement, the opposite of the maniacal, disgusting Creature.

  Then, faster and faster, I cycle through the countless forms I’ve taken across the endless millennia of my existence, until I’m heaving with exhaustion, my skin clammy, cold sweat dripping down my chin.

  Fuck! I can’t do this. I no longer know what my true form is. I’ve lost myself long ago.

  I’ve taken forms that have dark hair and blue-green eyes, but I know that none of them are the real me. At the same time, I don’t know any more what I really look like.

  I’m the Creature. I’m a thing. An ugly, rotten, filthy, depraved, monstrous thing!

  How can I possibly be theirs? Tal and Ishtar’s? Inanna’s brother? It doesn’t make sense! It’s a fucking LIE!

  Because if I’m truly theirs, why have they forsaken me all this time? Why did they leave me to be hurt and abused? Do I deserve it? Do they think I deserve it? What’s wrong with me?

  Please! Gods! Dark and Pure Goddesses, you fucking, lying, evil bitches! Tell me what I did wrong!

  Tell me—why am I so wrong?!

  WHY!

  (This may be where I finally passed out in a messed up heap on the bathroom floor).

  *** *** *** ***

  The sand-papery rasp of a warm tongue against my face makes me stir to wakefulness.

  I slowly open one eye, and then the other. The furry face of the most adorable (gigantic) kitten in the world comes into focus.

  She blinks those bright violet eyes at me through a fringe of thick lashes and twitches her whiskers.

  “How did you get in here, you sneaky little feline?” I mumble with barely a voice, my throat rough from the recent unmanly fits of railing and blubbering.

  Bet the mighty General would never show such weakness. Just goes to show I’m not a man. Not in the ways that count.

  “I got Val to let us in,” my favorite person in the universe chirps loudly beside me. “I hope you don’t mind. We were worried by the commotion in your apartment. Are you okay?”

  No, I’m not okay, but thanks for asking, Benjamin.

  What I say out loud is, “I’m just peachy keen.”

  The kitten goes back to licking my face, then my throat, then my hands, wherever she can reach. She rubs her thickly furred body all along me, still sprawled in a discombobulated heap on the tiled floor, and vibrates like a small motor, purring loudly.

  My breath hitches as I realize who she is.

  Not that I believe the Pure Ones, but just for the sake of argument. If I follow the logic presented to me, this spotted leopard kitten is a version of Ishtar’s animal form. I’ve seen the gigantic White Beast when she pounded Medusa into the ground, but I’ve never seen the kitten version until the Pure Ones brought me here.

  I’d suspected before…but now I know. This is Ishtar Anshar.

  My mother.

  I don’t comment on the fact that I know. I don’t want to dissect the mess in my mind, and I don’t want her to transform into her humanoid form because that may be too much for my crazy—crazier—self to handle just now.

  So I pretend she’s just a normal kitty, and I’m just a normal boy.

  Well, man.

  Whatever.

  I just want to enjoy the moment with my kitty and my son.

  “You don’t look that great,” Benjamin says bluntly, disturbingly honest.

  “You don’t smell so great either.” He wrinkles his nose and scrunches his brow.

  “Maybe you should take a shower and change your clothes. I brought a wagon of food with me. We can have it together. It’s dinner time. Mom and Dad said I can eat with you.”

  Mom and Dad…

  Inanna and Gabriel. My sister and her Mate.

  None of them knows about my relationship with Benjamin. Gabriel used to be married to Olivia, Benjamin’s birth mother. A human woman I somehow miraculously impregnated during a night I’d rather not remember. Yet another blue ribbon to add to my wall of shame.

  Olivia died of cancer, leaving Benjamin in Gabriel and Inanna’s care. Strangers meeting the family for the first time would never know that the boy with buttery golden curls isn’t their biological son. Olivia was blonde too, with sparkling blue eyes before they dimmed from her inner sickness. Because Inanna also has blonde hair and blue eyes, people automatically assume Benjamin is hers.

  He’s not.

  He’s mine.

  Not that I plan to claim him. Even a monster like me draws the line at taking an innocent child from loving parents. Adding unnecessary chaos and confusion into his life.

  But in my heart, in my blackened, shriveled soul, he’ll always be mine.

  The other things I learned yesterday…I don’t know what to do with that knowledge yet. I don’t know if I believe it. But I know without a doubt who Benjamin is to me. I’ve known from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  “We’ll wait for you in the living room,” Benjamin offers, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Do you mind if I turn on the TV? There’s a special edition of National Geographic at seven o’clock about the Pallid Cuckoo of Australia.”

  There he goes with his obsession with cuckoos again. I suppose I aided and abetted this unhealthy fixation with the grim fairytales I’ve been telling him. He’s determined to prove to me how cuckoos are actually beautiful and love-worthy, how the ugliest of them all is destined to mate with a magical golden phoenix of all things.

  One can never account for a boy’s wayward imagination.

  I shoo Benjamin and the kitten out of my bathroom and shut the door. Wiping my mind as best I can, I go through the motions of cleaning and dressing myself.

  Sometime later, I exit the bathroom in my borrowed silk pajamas, leaving my hair to dry by air, a long, tangled mess sticking damply to my back and shoulders through the thin fabric.

  “What’s for dinn—”

  Benjamin’s loud hoot, accompanied by rounded eyes and an enthusiastic bounce on the living room couch, cuts me off.

  “You’re finally you! No more mirages overlaid on top! I can finally see you! This is so cool!”

  What? What does he—

  Before I can complete my thought, the kitten launches her furry body like a cannon ball at my chest, and I reflexively throw out my arms to catch her. Immediately, she laps my face with that raspy tongue, so enthusiastically you’d think I’m made out of catnip.

  When my brain finally catches up, I pluck her off of me and hastily run back into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

  I stare at the reflection in the mirror open-mouthed.

  Is that…Is that what I really look like? Is that the real me?

  I’ve always known I’m tall. Six and a half feet to be precise. But my height makes me feel ungainly, like a beanstalk, given how bone-thin I am. So my disguises are always shorter, unless there’s a specific person I have to pretend to be for one of Medusa’s jobs.

  Over the past few weeks at the Shield, I’ve been eating better. Occasionally, I even have an appetite, instead of perfunctorily chewing and swallowing the food. Perhaps the Pure blood—Tal’s blood—that I’m infused with makes me stronger as well.

  I’m still extremely lean, to the point that my stomach is concave beneath my shirt, every rib delineated, and my pajama pants would have fallen to my ankles if not for the jutting bones of my hips holding them up like hangers. But I no longer look and feel like a cadaver.

  I turn around and check out my ass.

  Huh. I guess I’m genetically blessed with a big, fat ass. Despite the beef jerky imitation that describes the rest of me (except the obscenely plump meat hanging between my legs), my backside doesn’t appear to have gone on the same diet.

  What I focus most on is my face. It’s…It’s not that ugly, actually. I mean, maybe I’m euphemizing things in my mind to make myself feel better, or maybe it’s the
whispering knowledge of who my parents are supposed to be, but…

  I can honestly, objectively say I’m not quite the ogre I always feared I am. In terms of looks, anyway.

  My long, almost blue-black hair, tangles in knots halfway down my back, unruly waves already forming as they dry. Out of habit, I think—it’s been too long since I’ve chopped it off. And then immediately, that thought is followed by—but it’s Ishtar’s hair.

  That is, not her hair exactly, since it’s on my head, but I guess I get my hair from her. That’s what Benjamin said. And if I get my hair from her, then it seems too precious to hack haphazardly off.

  My eyes dart around the long marble counter that runs along the length of the mirror. Maybe I can find a comb or a brush. I don’t think I’ve ever brushed my hair in my entire life. I’ve never had to. But if this is really my mother’s gift to me, these riotous black waves, maybe I should start taking better care of it.

  I continue to critically consider my face in the mirror.

  It’s all sharpness and angles, devoid of any stubble. I’m hairless all over (except the top of my head, of course, and the short curls around my groin), and my jaw is no different. My skeletal thinness doesn’t help, making my cheekbones jab out like jagged glass, the sides of my face hollowed out to reveal the bones of my jawline.

  Shit. I really should eat more. And now that I’m slowly starting to get into the habit of eating regular meals, small bites at a time, my belly rumbles in hunger, loudly agreeing with my assessment.

  My nose is a thin, long blade in the middle of my face, incredibly straight despite the number of times it’s been broken. I guess I have my immortal healing abilities to thank. It’s not perfect, if I’m honest. The tip is just a tad too long, drawing one’s attention to the full, wide mouth below.

  Huh. I have pretty lips. There’s no other word for it. Who woulda thought?

  The lower lip is rather pillowy-looking, slightly fuller than the upper lip. But only slightly. Both are downright carnal. Sinful. If the man in the mirror wasn’t me, I’d be tempted to kiss him.

  I mean, dayaam! That fucking mouth is divine!

  My tongue darts out to lick across them, making them shine with saliva, plumped with blood flow. They’re the softest looking part of my body. Such a shame that they’ve never been kissed…

  Have they?

  A fragment of a ghost of a memory buzzes through my mind, but I smack it down like an annoying fly.

  Finally, I look into my eyes. Tal’s eyes. Or what they must have looked like when he was still whole, before my Mistress got her claws into him.

  This is definitely my favorite feature of all. My eyes are kaleidoscopic prisms of turquoise that turn blue or green or a mix of both depending on the angle of light, and I suspect my mood. I’m not exaggerating; you should see for yourself.

  They’re…beautiful.

  Hypnotizing. Mesmerizing.

  My heart suddenly twists painfully in my chest. Did Tal used to have these eyes before they turned cloudy and opaque with blindness? No wonder Ishtar fell in love with him. He didn’t say so when he told me their story, focusing only on his point of view. But she simply must have. How could anyone see this male and not love him?

  And so I conclude: I’m not ugly at all.

  At least on the outside.

  I smooth some waves away from my face and try to pat down the knots on my head before exiting the bathroom with my head held high. In appearance, I have nothing to be ashamed about. No one will run screaming from the room at the sight of the real me.

  I hope.

  Benjamin beams at me when he sees me approach. I see quite a large variety of dishes set out on the kitchen counter, steaming from having been recently heated. Three place settings are arranged at a right angle along the edge of the stone plank.

  Wait.

  Three?

  My eyes widen as they ping-pong around the apartment, searching for the third attendee to this elegant, yet casual dinner affair.

  “Hullo, binu,” Ishtar says softly, calling me the fake human name I’ve given myself, which is also the Akkadian word for “son.” Given that I am not wearing any of my disguises, I know she’s using the noun instead of the pronoun.

  My Adam’s Apple bobs in my throat on a ragged swallow as I stare unblinkingly at the most beautiful woman in the world.

  My mother.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she murmurs. “M-may I join you for dinner?”

  I can’t find my voice to answer her, and my body has frozen entirely.

  Thankfully, Benjamin jumps in and declares, “Of course, Mama Bear! Binu and I can’t eat this all by ourselves.”

  Then, he looks a little uncertainly at me.

  “Umm…Do you still want us to call you Binu? Would you prefer a different name? What’s your real name anyway? I don’t think you ever said.”

  I continue to stare at Ishtar, my eyes silently asking what I cannot.

  Did she ever name me? What is my name?

  Her face blanches at the unspoken question, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering down.

  They are wet with tears.

  My heart twists in my chest again at the sight of my mother’s tears. I can’t stand it. I’d cut off my own arm to stop it.

  “My name is Erebu,” I croak, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

  “You can call me Ere.”

  Chapter Four: Under My Scars

  *TAL*

  I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows that take up two adjacent walls of the living space Ishtar and I share in the Shield. Even though I cannot see, I can still feel the gentle warmth of light and the soothing coolness of night.

  As I understand it, Sophia repurposed what was supposed to be her throne room or atrium into a private apartment for my Mate and me. She claimed that, firstly, she didn’t need the ostentation of a formal gathering place; she could simply use one of the many common areas or “conference rooms.”

  And secondly, that she wanted me to breathe in the light and soak in the darkness. To feed all of my other senses to compensate for the one I lack. In addition, there are private spiral stairs within our apartment that lead to a secluded rooftop garden. Ishtar assures me that it is beautiful by sight, and I know for a fact that it smells and feels beautiful as well.

  I am humbled by the care and consideration the Royal Zodiac has given me and my Mate. They truly have become our extended family, not just comrades in arms. Even so, I fear I do not always adequately express my appreciation and gratitude. I am not talkative by nature, and the last four millennia of captivity and isolation have taken their toll.

  That, and the torture.

  I will never be “normal.” Even if all of my physical scars miraculously disappeared, it is the twisted, jagged, fractured mess beneath that will never heal. Not in a few months, years, or another four millennia. I know this definitively.

  But that does not mean I won’t live. I will do so as a different male. Just because I’m broken, it does not mean I’m not strong. I am stronger because of my brokenness, like metal melted, reshaped and hammered in the forge. I will become stronger still with my Mate and our family at our side.

  I breathe deeply as the sun sets and the freshness of night blankets this bustling, restless city.

  It feels better to be alive, though not yet “good.”

  After eating a light supper, clearing the dishes and spending some time listening to one of the audio books Sophia set up for me on the “iPad,” I head to the rainforest shower and strip down to the skin.

  Though I know I am standing in front of a wall of mirrors, I cannot see my reflection. I do not know what I look like, and I avoid touching my body to feel it out because the bumps and indentations of my scars remind me of how I got them.

  That said, I have no issues cutting into my own flesh. When pain accompanies touch rather than gentleness, I accept the contact better. I still crave it at times, because it’s what I’ve lived with for
almost the entirety of my existence. But I have not self-harmed since coming to the Shield. Since Ishtar and I…reunited in the ways of Mates.

  I pass my hand roughly over my short hair, like metallic wires rather than the silk of healthy hair, cut close to the scalp.

  I used to have long, bright gold hair. Ishtar compared it to rays of sunlight. She liked to braid it, sift through it, wind it around her fingers and pull on it to bring my face closer to hers…for a kiss. To taste my smile, or to share her own with me. To nuzzle my jaw and throat and breathe in my scent… There were too few opportunities for these small pleasures, for we had very little time together before we were forced apart.

  I remember and treasure each and every moment.

  The first present she gave me, in fact, was a turquoise ribbon for my hair that matched the color of my eyes. But the joy of that gift came with the torment of her enslavement of me, as decreed by her mother, the Dark Queen Ashlu. As a consequence of winning the Challenge against Anunit, her sister, now Medusa, our collective nemesis.

  She still has that ribbon after all this time. She saved it, despite everything. Now, she wears it as a necklace in her Dark One form, and as a collar in her animal form. She never takes it off. Recently, Inanna took her to the jewelry shop and strengthened the frayed threads with silver and gold.

  I wish I could give her such thoughtful gifts. But I do not have the currency of these contemporary times. Well, truthfully, I do not have currency of any time. I am “penniless” as modern humans would say. I can only create woodwork with my hands, using the materials and tools Ishtar provides me.

  And I can fight. I can still protect those I love to my last breath.

  Beyond that, I do not know why Ishtar continues to choose me. She can have any male she wants. More demonstrative, engaging, stronger, richer, just more than me in every way.

  Except that no one in this entire universe, past, present or future, loves her more than I.

  I rub my jaw tentatively. My face is the only part of my body that does not bear scars. Except the repeated blinding of my eyes until the effect became permanent despite my Pure One healing abilities, Medusa refrained from cutting into my face.