True, being a council-level vamp had been a rush, but he had to remember all the heartbreak that came with it. His brother, Alejandro, and his boys had all perished. His mom, grandmom, Juanita-all hidden away from him, lest he turn them in a moment of bestial lust. The torture, the blood, the insatiable hunger. He had to stop being sentimental about it. Had to stop romanticizing the past like an old man who'd done a thirty-year prison bid, thinking about the good times and laughs and not about the lack of freedom, shit food, and the destruction of one's personal dignity in the process. He remembered those old drunken fools, and how as kids they would shake their heads and laugh at their stupidity when they'd come back to the corners talking about the joint, and how they ran the yard, as though they'd been down to the Bahamas. Crazy. Had he already become like them?
Maybe the old padre was right. Father Pat was a deep old dude, and had always made him stop and think about choices and consequences. No good was going to come in the long run from the vampire life, he told himself. He had to stay focused and convince himself that this change in circumstances was for the best, that it would be cool, or else he'd go nuts. All he had to do was remember the baby that was clawed from Damali's womb.
Now, he had someone who really depended on him, but he had no income, was dead with no assets, according to the cleanup Berkfield had done before on his behalf, and the chairman had it out for Damali. How was he supposed to be the Neteru's man? How was he supposed to protect her, even if he didn't go seeking revenge? These were the types of things the clerics never dealt with or thought about.
In his human world it was still about resources, and to be turned out with nothing to his name was a position of vulnerability. He hated that predicament worse than death. At least death was sort of final, even if one did come back on the other side. But in the coming back, resources were available, either from the Light or the Darkness, whatever side one happened to find themselves on, of that he was sure. But what was an average guy supposed to do-a dead man walking, with no formally recognized education, no work history, no nothing? Go work at a convenience store for minimum wage and no health benefits? What, after having great cosmic power and the knowledge of the history of the world and all its technology within one's mind... he'd seen too much, experienced too much, and knew too much to ever go back to a normal life.
Even if he hung with the Guardians, they all had special powers, extra juice to their games. It would take him forever to learn martial arts, how to swing a blade, or find an expertise that could be of benefit to them. He wouldn't be running shit on the team; Shabazz was the male leader-position already filled. Mike was the strong man, J.L. the tech whiz, Dan the business ace, Rider the sharpshooter, Jose the master tracker, Marlene was the healer, and his baby girl was all that and then some. He definitely wasn't the religious type who could fit in with Father Pat's boys on the Covenant squad. He wasn't no cop, so he couldn't even roll with Berkfield as a partner. So, what the f**k was he? Assed out.
Carlos refused to glimpse at Damali and struggled not to turn his head to do so. It was so strangely cool between them when he was what he'd been and she was what she was-the vampire and the virgin. Again, he almost laughed to keep from crying.
What the hell was he going to do now? She had only known one man in her life-him-but as a council-level master vampire. His woman had known him at his apex of power, and he'd marked her, rewired her sexual circuitry to only respond to the most acute sensory lock with him. And what did that mean? Truth be told, what could he deliver as a regular guy? He damned sure couldn't take her to the vanishing point again. Carlos closed his eyes. They might as well have driven a stake through his chest. His woman had been turned out by the baddest motherfucker on the planet-him-and he was no longer that. She liked it rough, could take a fang drop in her jugular like a pro, and could still get up and walk on the beach at high noon. So what was a mere male supposed to do when his woman became the baddest mutha on earth without him?
No, it definitely wasn't supposed to go down like this.
Carlos opened his eyes and stared at his hands. To him, they were dead. They contained no special powers. He couldn't transform a room, gather the winds, he'd never be a panther again-not even on a whim to feel the thrill of a hunt. He'd have to use a door with a key. Carlos shuddered at the thought. He couldn't walk through a wall at will or rip out an enemy's heart with a glance. Damn, this was beyond f**ked up. And his woman had a team of martial arts boyz... hell, she could fight like a demon herself, and was poetry in motion. When he really thought about it, she could probably outrun him; she had the Neteru speed and the endurance to match it. He hated to admit it, but she could probably go round for round, pound for pound, and might just be able to kickhis ass... given she knew all that fly kick shit that Shabazz had taught her. And if she'd been made a junkie for vamp bad boys, by his own hand, then sooner or later she'd want what she was missing in him... might go out one night and take a walk on the wild side. He'd never be able to live with that, if she slept with another man, especially another master vampire.
The thought was so unsettling that he jettisoned it from his mind as he stood to go get a bottle of water. Another man? A bad, smooth, fly, Hell fiend that could make her scream his name? Never. His hands were shaking as he retrieved a cold bottle from the jet's kitchen, broke the seal, and guzzled it. Somehombre that could stand in his face, laugh at him, and outright challenge him for Damali, and could beat his ass down so hard he'd die of humiliation before he died from the attack.
Carlos grabbed another bottle of water, threw his head back, and downed it quickly. As he brought his gaze level with the seated teams, he saw that everyone was staring at him. He glanced at the bottle in his hand and then hurled it at the trash chute, missing it, then sulked to his seat and flopped down. Why did they ever bring him back? This was no gift; it was a curse... pure punishment, if ever he'd witnessed it.
Damali quietly watched Carlos from her seat next to Marlene. Her mother-seer only squeezed her hand in acknowledgment of what they both now knew was true. Carlos was human. But what did that mean?
She checked the back of her dress to make sure she hadn't bled through onto the light fabric, and started to stand, but Marlene's grip tightened on her hand.
"Give him some space," Marlene said in a barely audible tone. "Brother is tripping right now, and as a man, has a lot to think about."
Damali stared at Marlene for a moment but didn't argue. "Third eye or common sense?"
"Common sense," Marlene replied in a whisper.
Damali nodded. "I'm just glad he's alive."
Marlene nodded. "But he isn't, and that may take a while. Let Rider or Shabazz talk to him until he finds his place on the team."
Damali settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. "I can't worry about that right now."
Marlene stroked her hair and followed suit, closing her eyes with a weary sigh. "I know. So, don't. Get some rest and steady your nerves. The problem will be there when you wake up."
Damali glimpsed at Marlene and yawned. "But what the-"
"It's drama as old as Adam and Eve," Marlene said in a low, gentle voice without even opening her eyes.
The plane's rapid descent once they reached Brisbane roused everyone from their slumber. Slowly, bleary-eyed passengers sat up straight, stretched, and yawned.
"I'll be glad when we get on the flight to Manila," Shabazz muttered. "Seven hours or so will do us all good."
Rider nodded through a loud yawn. "Yep, just like when we were touring. Sleep in the air, rock 'n' roll on the ground. Whatever, as long as I get some shut-eye during the day."
"You put touring in past tense, man," Big Mike said cautiously. "Any special insight you trying to deliver?"
Rider looked at Mike, dumbfounded. "Did I say it past tense?"
"Yeah,hombre , you did," Jose said, staring at Rider.
The teams looked at Marlene and Father Patrick for confirmation.
"We don't know what's going to happen," Marlene said. "Let's stay positive and not freak ourselves out."