Undone by a Broken Angel

7.) Hunger

“The righteousness of the upright delivers them, but the treacherous are taken captive by their lust.”

-Proverbs 11:6

David:

Sand shifts beneath his sandals and the sun beats down on his robed figure.  He thanks that these people invented the turban to keep the hot rays from burning his skin.  However, it’s not the sun that worries David at the moment.  He eyes the storm, watching it move quickly towards the small village he’s been staying in.  At the edge of the gathering of tents, he wonders if they’ll withstand the wind and sand that will fight to flatten them.  He moves to take cover, but his mind is torn on where.  He could go back to the hospitable tent he has taken up a sleeping mat in- the tent that guests are welcomed in, but he has a mind to go to the medical tent.

He came here specifically to learn more about the physical way of healing the body.  He’s mastered the spiritual way, but there have been instances when he was so exhausted he had been useless.  It hadn’t been his fault.  The number of wounded were too great for him and the few remaining medics to handle, but that doesn’t mean that the memories of their deaths don’t haunt him, even if it was almost two decades ago.

He decides on the medic tent.  By the time his footsteps steer him in the correct direction, he notices the locals noticing the storm and they gather their belongings to bunker down for a few hours.  Sandstorms can be unpredictable at best and it’s impossible to judge how long one will last.  He tucks into the tent and notices the two usual patients.  One is a small boy and no one seems to know what’s ailing him.  David himself has never encountered his condition before, but it seems to be genetic.  After interviewing his family, they were able to learn that an uncle had the same ailments as a child and passed away before he turned twenty.  The boy wakes up once in a while begging for water, but no amount of water seems to quench his thirst.  He urinates more than he drinks, which is curious, and David is immensely puzzled by his symptoms.  The other is a middle aged man.  David knows exactly what happened to him and the memory of his arrival is still fresh in his mind.

It was in the middle of the night and he had been awoken by a scream and the next thing he knows, a small family tumbles through the colorful curtains of the tent in a fit of hysterics.  They carried their father in and tried to explain the events that led to his unconscious state.  David knew what happened immediately and took off into the knight in search of the creature.

He could sense it, sort of, in the darkness.  It is a strange sensation when a reaper was near, as though his body is attuned to the evil that rolls off them.  His hairs stood on end as he tried to locate it.  His sword sung as the night air rushed around the blades and then the reaper advanced on him, screeching it’s unnatural voice.  “What have we here?” it said.  “What is a falcone doing here in the middle of the desert...alone?”

He could ask it the same, but it had obviously been drawn to the human in some way to want his soul so badly.  Why travel thousands of miles into the desert for one soul?  Unless, it had sniffed David out and ate the man’s soul to draw him out into the darkness.

That’s okay, David could handle one reaper.  And he did.  It rushed him, it screeched into the silent knight with fury.  David’s blade met the reaper’s, and they danced around in the sand for a few moments before he was able to throw it off balance and drive the tip of his sword into the creature’s shoulder.  It howled in pain, and the fury was evident in it’s red eyes.  Without restraint, it swung it’s sword at David, who blocked them easily.  Then, without hesitation, he sliced the blade in the side the reaper had exposed with a wide swing.  It was silent in death and David was happy it was over.  One less reaper to worry about.

The man has laid there on his mat for over two weeks and the other physicians fuss over him day and night to try and pull him out of his vegetative state, but David knows his fate is sealed- he’ll never wake.  His soul was stolen.

As the sandstorm picks up, the other medics trickle in.  David has gotten to know them well this past month.  He came to the middle east to learn their medical practices since they know more than the rest of the world on how to cure ailments and heal wounds.  He’s seen them cure the blind by removing film from their irises, he’s seen them pull poison out of the blood stream placed there by snakes and scorpions, and he’s seen them open up chests to remove problem-some organs.  He’s learned that bleeding isn’t a bad thing, though it could lead to death if the loss of blood is too great.  Growing up he was taught that blood is dirty and only belonged inside the body.  Here they bleed people to remove poison and infection.

David notices them shift their weight nervously.  This could be a long storm and therefore a long night.  They have food and water, surgery can go on for hours, so food is stocked in an airtight chest near the desks.  He doesn’t worry about food now.

Something else worries him.

And it’s not a reaper.

It’s a girl, a dancer, who tumbles into the tent out of breath and completely out of place.  She doesn’t look wounded or ill, in fact, she looks perfect.  David knows exactly where she does belong and he wonders why she’s here and not at the harem.  She looks distressed, but relieved to find shelter from the raging storm outside.  She shakes sand out of her clothing and her hair, the grains of sand scattering on the rugs.  She has tumbling dark hair, he notices, her eyes are rimmed with black makeup, and she has an hourglass shape.  Her skirts hang from her hip bones elegantly, a beaded belt keeping it in place.  Her bra has matching beads and exposes not only her midsection, but also the tops and middle of her breasts- they look perfectly round.  He wishes he could see her face, but like every other prostitute in this region, they hide their faces with a loose fabric that ties behind their head.

David makes an audible gulp.

He’s never been attracted to a human before- until now.  He wasn’t even sure of the feeling since he’s never encountered it before, but judging by his dry mouth, sweaty palms, and the heat that started to bloom below his waist, its the only logical conclusion.

One of the physicians objects to her arrival and tries to push her back out into the storm, but she becomes hysterical and the other medics stop him, saying that she won’t be a problem if he doesn’t allow her to.  They are of the opinion that she purposely came here to wait out the storm in hopes that their boredom would lead to an easy buck.

David needs her to stay.  No, leave.  Yes, leaving would be better for him.

He cannot entertain the idea of being near the woman.  He’s a falcone and therefore lives by higher standards.  They are clear-cut commandments and he’s never strayed from them.  Not once, and he doesn't intend to today.

He sits on a cushion as far from her as he can, hoping she stays where she is.  He can’t see her through the desk he’s positioned behind and that’s a good thing.

The storm rages outside and the cloud cover darkens the room enough to warrant the need to light their oil lamps.  The physicians monitor their two patients as the time passes, but David reads through medical scrolls in an attempt to keep his mind off the prostitute.

After a long while, the medics decide to break out some food and they portion it out equally.  The woman takes it thankfully, and David can see her smile from behind her face covering.  He wonders what her face looks like and if her smile is as nice as he imagines it to be.

“Would you like me to dance?” he hears her ask.  He leans over to see her on her feet and he raises an eyebrow in question.  What is she up to?  “As a thank you for the hospitality.”

They all expected this to occur.  Of course she would take her chance to bring attention to her body in order to get them all riled up.  They don’t agree at first, but once their food is consumed and the boredom grows to be unbearable, she starts to dance and no one objects.

Davis shifts uncomfortably in his cushion, suddenly feeling hot all over.

She doesn’t ask for music or a rhythm of any kind.  She makes a beat of her own with her hips.  As they sway, her midsection stays completely still.  It reminds him of a snake, how it can move it’s long body one section at a time, one muscle at a time.  She shimmies her shoulders and her breasts shake from side to side and it leaves him winded.  The other men also like the dance move.  She walks, or floats- he’s not sure- forward and he can see her feet poke out from under her skirts.  They’re bare, but jeweled with chains and gems.

He’s never seen a woman’s ankle before.

He’s blown away by her movements and he especially likes when she drops her hips- one side, then the other.  He’s mesmerized so thoroughly that he doesn’t notice his breathing accelerate.  He does notice a growing need that he’s never known he had- or he didn’t know was there all along.  He didn’t know that there was such a need!

Before his thoughts can get too out of hand, he forces his eyes back on the scroll he had been reading.

“Do I not please you?” the woman asks.

David looks up to see what i***t she had been speaking to and sheepishly realizes that she had been referring to him.

“You- you do,” he tells her earnestly.

She gives him a knowing smile.  “Could you like my dancing too much?”  She turns her back on him and shimmies her hips up and down while holding the rest of her body still.  His eyes gravitate to her derriere and he flushes yet again.

He’s been embarrassed one too many times.  He was teased as a child and didn’t take to the feeling then, now he hates it ten times as much.  Anger is not a stranger to him.  He feels it when he thinks of the way his mother was slaughtered or the way his father never returned from a simple recovery mission.  He felt it when his brother was infected and feels it whenever he thinks of or sees his face.  In fact, when he’s not healing someone or fighting to save their life, anger is his constant companion.

He juts his chin out at her.  “You may be nice to look at, but I’d never sully my body with a filthy w***e,” he snarls.

Her rhythm falters with his hurtful words, but she doesn’t stop dancing.  In fact, it seems as though her performance shifts to single him out.  She noticed the movements he likes, the parts of her body he enjoys, the curves he prefers.  Why would she focus her attention on him?  To what end?  Was he part of a game, a challenge she wants to triumph over?

She makes her way over to him and in her eyes he could see the mischief, the seduction that is layered in them.  Had he been an ordinary man, a human man with ordinary tastes, he would have broken.  He can imagine how it would have gone: he would have reached out to grab her waist, pull her in to bury his face in her bare stomach.  She would continue her swaying, but she would wrap her arms around his shoulders to encourage him.  Perhaps she would slowly sit in his lap and his face would slide up to her breasts where he would breath in her musky scent.  He could imagine entwining his fingers into her thick, long hair, and yank it back to expose her long neck.  Here, he would place his mouth and agonize her with his tongue, a genuine moan escaping from her lips.  That would encourage him more.

The storm rages outside.

His imagination runs rampant, the others in the room completely forgotten.  Had he known this hunger was inside him, he would have been more earnest in his search for any surviving woman of his kind.  He vaguely remembers the Queen.  Her name had been Katrina, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen- the pure bloods always were the most beautiful.  Of course, he was only sixteen, maybe seventeen, at the time and he rarely had a moment to spare to really get to know her.  But she took shelter in his home, the McKinley bunker, while she carried her child.  He never knew why, surely they would have been safer in Eden, but the Queen was never questioned as she always made things work out in the end.

He was away when the princess was born and was rarely home the year they stayed in his childhood home.  The Queen was killed shortly after and her daughter was never found.  Finding her is a waste of time, in his opinion, for there’s no way a one year old could have escaped the reapers, and yet, David yearns for a woman of his own kind now that he knows his body craves one.  He wonders how the other men can handle it.  He wonders how Abe can handle it; surely his struggle is worse than everyone’s combined.

The wind dies down then, and David starts to feel less trapped.  He sends a silent thank you to heaven.  Maybe it’s time for him to move on.  He could go to Asia- he hears they have all sorts of knowledge of the body.

The other men seem to notice too, their groans of disappointment reach his ears.

The woman’s mouth twists in frustration- she had been hoping for an easy buck after all.  She spun to look at him with disappointment filling her expression.  Could it be?  Could she have favored him out of all the men in this tent?

He never thought about his looks before- never had a reason to.  Even as a young man, his head was filled with learning the finer art of healing wounds and controlling his spirit.

The wind finally stops howling, so he moves the tent curtains a bit to peak outside and sees complete calm.  Sand dunes have shifted in the wind and tents are partially buried.  He hopes no one got caught in it.

Perhaps he should stay for a few hours in case anyone needs treatment.

“Will you come visit me?” the woman asks him, touching his shoulder.  He spins around so she doesn't lean on his back to find the wings nestled there.  His eyes are wide with shock- no woman has touched him before, but he can feel it, the desire for him in the tender touch she gives him.

“No,” he says with a hard voice.

He thinks she pouts under her mask, but he’ll never know for sure.  She lays a hand on his taught stomach and runs it up to his chest.  “Please,” she purrs.

“Off me, woman,” he snaps even though all he wants to do is lean into her touch and feel what her skin feels like against his cheek.

And then he hears a familiar sound  he hasn’t heard for a while now.  He usually doesn’t hear much from the others- but they check up on each other once in a while, just to make sure reapers haven’t done them in.  Nathaniel calls them home to Eden for falcone traditional holidays on occasion, but the letters are always purely business, never personal.

When the raven lands on a post just outside the tent, he shoves the woman aside to retrieve the letter in its talons.  Abe always uses ravens, he thinks they’re appropriate for his condition.  Ravens are an omen of death, and Abe has the same opinion of himself.  He doesn't see what the others see: strength, love, and loyalty.

David removes the rolled up note, the silky black ribbon flowing in the hot breeze.  He unties it, allowing the parchment to unravel.

I found her.  Meet back home.

It was settled then.  He’d have to leave after all.  He’d regret leaving the prostitute, but it was for the best- he shouldn’t toe that line.

He would be upset about it.  Really.  But the note fills him with hope.  I found her,  it said.

His hunger will be satisfied after all.  After seventeen years, he’ll finally lay eyes on a falcone woman and no doubt will she be his soon.