For seventeen years Atticus had been raised and trained in the compound of the Order of Abel—just one of the many sacred and hidden cloisters of modern day knights known as Paladins. Descendants of the ancient warriors who'd slew the evils of the world since the fall of Sodom.
Atticus and his prophetic brother, Rourn, birthed on the same day under the Geminus sign and on a night where the Sun, Mercury and Earth lined up in a supposed rare cosmic occurrence. They were the Twin warriors prophesied to be the only beings capable of defeating a supernatural Beast from beyond the extra-dimensional stars, prophesied to come within Atticus' and Rourn's mortal lifetime.
For an ancient Order of modern day knights purporting to be the protectors of the modern world, the Elders and High Templars liked too much to trust in the ravings of divine seers long dead and buried in forgotten catacombs.
So until that unlikely star-born Beast appeared on Earth, Atticus was going to seize any opportunity he could find to enjoy the beauties life had to offer. And at seventeen, raised in a cloister of strict discipline where every day's motto was See no evil. Hear no evil. Do no evil, he still could not curb hormonal desires.
And Venora was the most desirable girl he'd ever met.
He entered the barn but the ruckus he heard earlier had already ceased. Silence prevailed save for the occasional neighing of a fidgety mare. He tapped on the stall doors as he passed.
When he reached the weathered wooden ladder extending into the loft, he announced, "I'm coming for you, Nora."
Slowly, he climbed.
Nothing but stacks of golden hay, five bales high, two dozen across. Cobwebs clung to the rafters. Strands of old straw and poofs of gray dust balls were caught in the webs. A small leather-bound journal lay on a solitary bale of hay closest to the loft's window.
Many Paladins, men and women, kept journals as it was encouraged by the Elders. Once upon a time Atticus had kept one, but he'd lost interest long ago. Writing about emotions and his intellectual interests gave him no thrill.
But Venora gave him a thrill. He crept toward the journal. Curiosity stirred like mystic spices inside a gypsy's brew.
He couldn't read Nora's journal. Or could he?
His hand reached out.
A yell echoed from behind. He spun.
Venora swung from a rope. Her slender legs wrapped around his waist like double serpents. As she released the rope, he attempted to escape her grapple. A dainty foot hooked his left knee. He fell forward as she scurried away.
Venora, a self-taught assassin, never missed an opportunity to prove herself worthy of such a title. Standing a few feet away, her stance wide, she brushed her hands together, as if finishing a lengthy chore. "A Twin is defeated. Defeated by a maiden no less."
Atticus sprung to his feet. He lunged for her. She flipped backwards, landing on the top of a haystack. From between the bales she recovered a wooden training sword.
Feisty she-devil! Atticus had no fear of a girl, sword or no sword.
Placing the sword between her teeth, Venora leapt to the rafter boards and, like a monkey, hand-over-hand scaled over him before dropping herself in front of the loft window directly behind him. The sword immediately returned to her hand. Atticus no longer saw a playful young maiden, but a fatalistic predator. Venora knew what he was seeing because she licked her lips before hurling her sword.
Atticus ducked. The sword sped overhead.
"I have you now," he said.
Venora smirked.
A small force tapped his spine. Atticus whirled to witness the wooden sword floating in mid-air, wavering like a taunting finger, before it fell to the hay-strewn floor.
Venora wasn't just a self-trained assassin. She possessed a spark of the arcane. Indeed, one day she'd make a formidable foe. And perhaps an even more formidable wife for some unfortunate man.
She sat onto the haystack, her legs draped over the side, heels kicking at the dried needles. "I want to leave the compound."
Atticus climbed and sat beside her. His gaze moved over her smooth, tan skin where only strips of crisscrossed leather covered her breasts and nether regions.
"I'm sure many of us do," Atticus said.
"I want to someday be a member of the Circle of the Ark so that I can see the sea. Instead of miles and miles of desert sand there will be miles and miles of refreshing water...out on the exotic briny like the dashing pirates of yore!"
Smiling, he gave a quick peck to her sweaty cheek. "Perhaps you will get the chance someday. But isn't piracy a sinful thing?"
"Only if you're a bad pirate," she said. "I'll be the Robin Hood of the seven seas."
"Then perhaps that would be all right," Atticus said.
Venora sprawled on her back across the hay and stared dreamily up at the dark wooden rafters. Beads of sweat full of temptation rolled away from her bare shoulder and arms. "The Order of Grey Griffins in Romania train women Paladins to be lethal assassins. Their women wear the shadows like second skins; they can strike a man dead in a flash of smoke without ever being detected."
"There are duties for you here. Things you could be doing now to better serve our Order."
"I do not have any desire to be a wet nurse or a pastry chef. I have skills like you and Rourn. Someday, soon I hope, to be valued by the Paladins for more than my aptness at working dough." She squirmed a bit and turned toward him. "And aren't you one to speak about better serving the Order. Shouldn't you be spending every waking moment training for the arrival of the Beast?"
Atticus chuckled. "You and I both know that the prophecy is only lore."
"I don't know any such thing," Venora replied. "What if it shall come to be and you are not prepared?"
Atticus turned to his side, their faces breaths apart. "It is not as though it will happen anytime soon. And even if it did occur, I am prepared as adequately as Rourn to deal with the foul little Beast."
"I pray to God that you know yourself as well as you believe so. And believe me when I say that the Order of Abel oppresses my desires. One day soon, Atticus, I will break the cage and soar away from here. Soar far, far away." She spread her arms like a valiant hawk.
An ache twisted in Atticus' gut. The compound without Nora? "But I intend to come to you one night and wisp you to the chapel where I will make you my wife. We'll get drunk on brandy and make love beneath the desert sky." Winking, he elbowed her. "You will give your maidenhood to that of a mighty, powerful and deadly Twin warrior." Atticus jumped to his feet. He struck a pose, flexing his arm muscles.
Venora laughed, the sound bringing a smile to his face and a twitch to his erect manhood. He sat back down. "You will be revered as royalty. Will you stay then?"
Venora scowled. "Has the Order stopped teaching the art of chivalry? You're a barbaric man, Atticus." She got to her feet, stretching her arms above. "But alas, I cannot promise you my hand in marriage since I aim to leave soon."
Venora's dreams sometimes frightened him. She could not accept her lot as a woman who was expected to do womanly tasks. She needed a warrior like him to tame that wild spirit and seal her wicked tongue with a righteous kiss.
"Your dreams reach farther than the coyote's howl," he said. "But someday I know you will desire my husbandry."
The smile she cast was forced. "In my heart of hearts I know that someday you shall come to understand my dreams."
Atticus stood and headed for the ladder. "I have to return to my post."
Venora stepped toward him. Her lips formed into that trademark smirk that could charm a vulture into eating figs. "If you don't believe the Beast will show itself then come with me when I leave." She wrapped her arms around him. Her naked lips touched his.
Was Elder Cai's brandy this sweet and intoxicating?
He firmly pushed her to arm's length. "Calm yourself, Nora. We cannot allow our carnal wants to cloud our judgments. We must continue to court as we are now, until I turn of proper age to wed you in holy matrimony."
Though he spoke the words like a true gentleman who had mastered the elusive art of chivalry, he secretly wanted nothing more than to bed her right there in the haystack. To see the light of dusk bathe over her naked flesh would have been sheer bliss.
Venora turned and fetched her training sword from the straw-covered wooden floor. "I do not belong here. This world needs me somewhere else that is not New Mexico—that is not the Order of Abel."
The explicit sorrow in her tone brought a shiver to Atticus. "Venora, please." He crossed the loft and reached for her bare shoulder. But she darted away and with one swift motion leaped through the aperture.
"Blasted maiden!" One of these days she would be his undoing.
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