7
Knuckles
The screams were deafening as I stumbled through the nearly destroyed streets. Rubble and smoke aligned what used to be sidewalks. Stores were blasted in, the hotel on the end of the street was burning as people scrambled to put out the fire. This is what terrorism had done to this country. To their own people.
The sun was setting as bodies filled the streets, back and forth they ran passed me as they frantically headed home to their families.
Me?
I had no family to run to.
The only family I knew had been annihilated in the blast. I wandered the streets for hours. Lost in the disturbance. That’s when I saw her. Her dark brown eyes staring back at me from beneath a dark scarf that was wrapped around her head. She stood at the end of the road, waiting. I picked up the pace, needing to see her face, and she turned, walking away from me.
The urge to run to her came over me. Why wasn’t she stopping? Why run away from me?
“Hey!” I yelled out to her and she turned and paused for a brief moment before disappearing around another corner.
I ran after her. “Hey, wait!”
My shouts were useless as they got lost in the crowded streets. There were people yelling all around me, another blast as I raced to catch her. To keep her safe.
I saw a glimmer of her scarf trailing along the deteriorated brick walls, and I ran faster, dodging people left and right until I turned that last corner. I fell to my knees as screams filled my head. Women sobbing over the bodies of children and corpses of their men.
I blinked back my own sob and suddenly she was in front of me, her hand reached down, taking mine and holding it tight. The screams quieted as she led me away. My eyes never strayed from her. She was so pretty, so bright.
The next thing I knew we were in my bedroom and she was standing before me. Her veil dropped, and the Dyanara’s face came to view. Her dark hair falling in waves around her bare shoulders. I sat there, staring at her naked curves. My hands yearned to stroke her, caress her, make her mine. I wrapped myself around her waist and tugged her into me. My mouth was eager to taste, to bite, to devour her. I flipped her onto the bed and parted her thighs. A sigh escaped her lips as her hands stroked my face and shoulders. Her kisses filled my senses and her moan echoed around us as I sank a finger inside of her. Small gasps and whimpers silenced the constant screams that filled my head. I wanted her. I needed her. And as I slid my fingers in and out of her, I groaned, keeping myself from penetrating her.
Her body tightened, her hips lifted, and she shone as she screamed my name, startling me awake. I lay there, clenching my eyes tight, not wanting to let go of the dream just yet. I still imagined her there beneath me, her sexy needy moans filling my head. My hand was already sliding up and down the length of my cock. I grunted as I pictured her tits bouncing on top of me. Her pussy, juicy and ready for me to take and use as I pleased. I wanted to ravage her body and ruin her for any other man. Any other man, but me. I rubbed the head of my cock and groaned as I pictured her mouth on it. My hands tangled in her hair as I fucked that pretty innocent look off her face and turned her into my eager little whore.
“Fuck!” I grunted as I swelled up harder.
My cock nearly burst at the mere thought of her. I stroked harder, faster, needing more. She looked up at me then and that’s what did me in. Those deep brown eyes that stared right into my soul. And I gave out a roar as I released myself. My cum shooting out in heavy spurts, making my body jolt in pleasure.
I shuddered, finally returning to reality. When I opened my eyes, the sun was slowly rising and thoughts of her still swirled in my head. She took my nightmares away in just one look. Her eyes brought me back. I’d never experienced that stillness before, that sense of calm. She was safe to me. I barely knew her, yet I felt...safe with her. The thought was foreign to me.
How could a woman ever make me feel safe?
But she did. She was the only one in my life who was able to tear me away from the death and mayhem that I kept hidden deep inside. She suddenly made me believe in the possibility of having something more to live for.
Ridiculous.
I just met the girl.
But as much as I wanted to brush that thought aside and continue on with my morbid existence, I couldn’t. Because deep down inside I knew, she was meant for me.
The eeriness of the Bayou set in as I approached Madame Laveaux’s house. A river house which could only be reached by boat. She was set way back in the Bayou, where the weeping willows and crooked branches of the trees hid the house from view. The only reason I knew where she lived was because I’d accompanied Jameson once or twice. I never entered. I’d just wait in the darkness for him to come out.
As I reached the door, I hesitated. Fear penetrated through me. She had a power that was unexplainable, and I was about to get the full brunt of it.
I knocked softly, twice, as I’d seen Jameson do, and waited. I wasn’t sure if I was praying for her to ignore the knock, or just not be home altogether.
The door suddenly creaked open and she appeared on the other side. “I was wondering when you would show up.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Come, come. You’ll let the bad spirits in.”
I felt a cold wind run at my back and I quickly stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind me. There she stood, wrapped in a black shawl, her eyes fixed on me. “Chevalier la pwisan,” she whispered in Creole.
“What?”
“Is that all you know how to say?” She frowned as she questioned me. “You do not look as powerful as her cards say?”
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
She took a few steps toward me, her gaze fixed on mine. “No. You wouldn’t,” she grimaced, sizing me up.
“She sent me a gift. Give it to me.”
I was surprised that she would mention it. “Uhh, yes. Here you go,” I handed her the gold bracelet and she took it from my grasp. At the same time, she gripped my hand. I tried pulling away, but she was strong, a lot stronger than I expected.
“Madame…”
“Shhhh!” She silenced me as she looked at the palm of my hand. “Ou se youn nan.”
“I’m the one... for what?”
“To save her. Come.” She let go of my hand and waved for me to follow her towards the back.
“Chevalier. Chevalier la pwisan.”
“What does that mean?”
“You are the knight. But you still have to prove your powa’”
I stared at her for a long second, having no clue what she was talking about. “Okaayyy.”
I watched as she shuffled around in her drawers and finally produced a deck of cards. She sat down across from me and began to quietly meditate, saying indiscernible words in Creole as she shuffled the cards.
She set the deck in front of me, indicating for me to part it. When I did, she pulled out three cards. The Chariot. The Knight of Swords. And the Empress.
“See, heeyah,” she tapped the card with the dashing knight on it, his sword lifted as if in battle.
“You are the knight.”
She pointed at the card of the Chariot. “Hmmm…”
“I’ve seen that card before. Jameson says I have no direction.”