A Kiss of Deception (Worlds of Protheka)

19. Milkor

19

MILKOR

" R eady to do something crazy?"

Meetha's eyes sparkle with mischief, a look I've come to both dread and desire. My demonic form towers over her, all muscle and raw power, yet she holds the true control.

"Do I have a choice?" I growl, the words rumbling deep in my chest.

She sticks out her tongue, playful and infuriating. "Nope!"

With a flick of her wrist, an invisible force tugs at my core. I follow, because what else can I do? The little purna has me bound tighter than any chains.

We step through shimmering air, reality bending around us.

The stench of sweat and cheap perfume assaults my nostrils as we burst through the doors of The Velvet Veil. Meetha's hand grips mine tightly, her eyes wild with excitement. The din of drunken laughter and sultry music washes over us.

"Welcome to mommy dearest's old stomping grounds," Meetha purrs, her lips curling into a wicked grin.

I scan the dimly lit room, taking in the sight of scantily clad women gyrating on stages and in laps. Greasy-haired men leer at them, their meaty hands groping and pawing. The whole scene disgusts me, yet I can't look away.

"Why are we here?" I growl, my demonic form causing several nearby patrons to shrink back in fear.

Meetha's eyes narrow, zeroing in on a man across the room. Without a word, she releases my hand and stalks towards him like a predator. I watch, intrigued, as she weaves through the crowd.

"That's the one," she mutters, her voice barely audible. "The bastard who cheated my Korrine."

"How can you be sure?" I growl, matching her hushed tone.

A wicked smile plays on her lips. "Let's just say I have my ways. Did you know purnas can glimpse fragments of the past? It's how I learned about his daughter, Lila."

I raise an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "Useful trick."

Meetha nods, her eyes never leaving her target. "Oh, it is. And it's about to become very useful indeed."

We pause, observing the scene before us. The man, oblivious to our presence, continues his boisterous laughter and groping.

"So, what's the plan?" I murmur, leaning close to Meetha's ear.

She smirks, her eyes glinting with determination. "First, we make him remember. Then, we make him regret."

With that, she starts moving towards him, each step purposeful and predatory. I follow, my demonic presence causing a ripple of unease through the crowd.

The man she's targeting is tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and expensive clothes. He's laughing boisterously, one meaty hand gripping a mug of ale while the other paws at a dancer's thigh.

As we approach the man, I feel Meetha tense beside me. Her earlier excitement gives way to something darker, more primal. The air around her crackles with suppressed energy, and I can smell the sharp tang of her anger.

For a moment, she hesitates. I see a flicker of doubt in her eyes, a brief internal struggle. Then her gaze hardens, resolve etching itself into every line of her face.

"Ready?" I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.

Meetha takes a deep breath, then nods. "Let's do this."

She taps the man's shoulder. He turns, a lecherous grin spreading across his face as he takes in her lithe form. His mouth opens, no doubt to spew some crude remark.

But before he can utter a word…

Meetha's fist connects. Bone cracks. The man stumbles. All eyes turn to me.

Chaos erupts.

Patrons scatter. Glasses shatter. The music dies.

In the eye of this storm stands Meetha like a vengeful goddess come to the mortal realm. Her chest heaves. Her eyes blaze. The air around her crackles with barely contained power.

I watch, transfixed. This is Meetha in her element - beautiful, terrible, unstoppable.

As the initial shock wears off, a chorus of confused murmurs rises from the crowd. Some patrons edge towards the exits, while others lean in, eager for the unfolding drama.

Meetha towers over her victim, her voice cutting through the din like a knife. "That's for Korrine, you piece of shit."

The man groans, blood trickling from his split lip. Recognition dawns in his eyes, quickly followed by fear. He scrambles backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

I watch as Meetha towers over the cowering man, her eyes flashing with righteous fury. The air crackles with tension, and I can smell the fear radiating off him in waves.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you?" Meetha's voice drips with venom. "Cheating a desperate woman out of her hard-earned coin."

The man's eyes widen, darting around the room as if searching for an escape. But there's nowhere to run.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers.

Meetha lets out a harsh laugh. "Oh, don't play dumb. I know everything. How you forced Korrine to suck your pathetic excuse for a cock just so she could work. And for what? So you could turn around and steal it all back?"

The man's face pales, then flushes with shame and anger.

The pathetic wretch cowers before Meetha, his eyes darting between her and me. Sweat beads on his forehead, mingling with the blood from his split lip. The stench of his fear is intoxicating.

"P-please, I didn't mean... I never..." he stammers, holding up his hands in a feeble attempt to shield himself.

Meetha's lip curls in disgust. "Save your breath, you miserable excuse for a man."

I can't help but admire her fire. The way she commands the room, her power crackling just beneath the surface. It's... arousing. Meetha must sense my thoughts because she shoots me a quick, knowing glance, her eyes dancing with mischief even in the midst of her fury.

The man's gaze locks onto me, his eyes widening as he takes in my demonic form. A whimper escapes his throat.

"W-what are you?" he whispers, trembling.

I bare my teeth in a feral grin, enjoying this more than I anticipated. "Your worst nightmare."

He lets out a strangled sob, falling to his knees before Meetha. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, I'll do anything. I'll pay it back, every coin. Just don't... don't hurt me."

Meetha scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "You think money can fix this? You think you can buy your way out of the pain you caused?"

The man continues to grovel, his words a jumbled mess of pleas and apologies. It's pathetic, really. I've seen demons with more spine.

Meetha's eyes glint with malice as she towers over the sniveling man. Her lips curl into a predatory grin that sends shivers down my spine.

"Oh, don't worry," she purrs, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I'm not here to kill you. Your karma has arrived all on its own."

The man's brow furrows in confusion, his trembling momentarily stilled. I can practically see the gears turning in his pitiful human brain as he tries to decipher her words.

Meetha leans in close, her breath hot against his ear. "How's that pretty little daughter of yours doing? Lila, isn't it?"

The effect is instantaneous. All color drains from the man's face, leaving him ashen and slack-jawed. His eyes widen in horror, darting between Meetha and me as if searching for some sign that this is all a cruel joke.

"W-what?" he chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do you know about Lila?"

I can't help but smirk at his reaction. Whatever Meetha has planned, it's clearly hitting its mark. The fear rolling off him in waves is intoxicating, and I find myself leaning in closer, eager to catch every nuance of his terror.

Meetha straightens up, her eyes never leaving the man's face. "Oh, I know all sorts of things. Like how she just turned sixteen last month. And how she's been sneaking out at night to meet that boy from the blacksmith's shop."

I watch, transfixed, as Meetha's eyes flash with an otherworldly light. The air around her shimmers and warps. A swirling vortex of energy materializes beside her, crackling with power that makes my demonic skin tingle.

Without a word, Meetha steps through the portal, disappearing from view. The man on the floor lets out a strangled cry, reaching out as if to stop her, but his hand passes through empty air.

Seconds stretch into an eternity. The crowd holds its breath, frozen in anticipation. I can hear the rapid heartbeats of the humans around me, smell their fear and confusion.

Then, just as suddenly as she vanished, Meetha reappears. But she's not alone.

Clinging to her arm is a young girl, no more than sixteen. Her wide eyes dart around the room, confusion and fear evident on her delicate features. She's the spitting image of her father, with the same thick, dark hair and high cheekbones.

"Lila!" the man on the floor cries out, his voice cracking with desperation.

The girl's head snaps towards the sound. Her eyes widen in recognition, then narrow in confusion.

"Jarvil?" Lila's voice wavers. "What... what are you doing here? Why are you on the floor?" Her gaze flicks between her father's bloodied face and Meetha's triumphant smirk. Realization dawns, and she shrinks back. "What's going on?"

Meetha's lips curl into a predatory smile as she runs her fingers along the girl's arm. Her touch is light, almost tender, but there's an undercurrent of danger that makes my blood sing.

"Such soft skin," Meetha purrs, her eyes never leaving the man's face. "So young, so… innocent."

I can't tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. The raw fear emanating from both father and daughter is intoxicating, and I find myself moving closer, drawn in by the promise of chaos and pain.

Meetha's hand slides up Lila's arm, across her shoulder, and comes to rest at the base of her throat. The touch is possessive, a clear threat that has the girl’s father trembling.