Sin Eaters: Devotion Book One Read Online Free PDF Page B

was—life. Now, he could only trip over how his lives had evolved. Outside of being a protective big brother to Kalika, he was a young thirty-year-old music producer. That was his thing. In all his lives he could channel the emotions, the history of people gone, which helped him define his sound and produce the type of music that always left a positive message in your heart, while making you kick it in the club, if need be.
    His bro’s called him the Poet, the Renaissance man, or Mr. Black Panther, and he was cool with it. He was about his music and his family. Do or die was his motto. Mess with either, and you messing with death. He was an old-school Slayer. Hell, he had come up with many of the tactics of hunting from back in his old lives in the bayous, in Harlem’s roaring twenties streets, and as a ’Nam vet who’d joined the Black Panthers. He was about survival and the hunt, and he knew he was the go-to man about it all.
    Calvin was a lean six eight, hazelnut-hued, football player-built brother with soul-searching emerald-colored eyes. He had to laugh when he thought about his eyes. Them eyes right here messed up many a woman’s sexual walls of protection, had him breaking them down like a train. His eyes marked him as a Mystic, and he was a damn good one at that.
    Despite the fact that he was born and raised in Harlem, it was commonplace for many Immortals, or Disciples as they were called in Society, to still make a second home in the birthplace of their first life, and the same was true for Calvin. He spent many summers in “Nawlins” visiting his grandmother, who in the Nephilim Society would be called a Prophet, a human male or female, gifted with the abilities of a Mystic or just a Seer. Some kept the history of the Nephilim Society; others were just Guides and helpmates to innocents or Vessels.
    These lessons were taught well to him and Kali. The family motto of them all ran deep in their minds. So they learned the rich history of their family and relatives. Kali and he both trained and spoke with their cousin Bishop, or Unc as Calvin always called him, who was like a second father to them both. They met and played with their close-in-age cousins, Sanna, Darren, and Amara, while keeping the Nephilim part of the family tree quiet from his young human cousins for their safety, as was typical in the Nephilim Society. It wasn’t uncommon to have human family out there in this massive world.
    Spending so much time in New Orleans left him with a mixed an accent that blended into a sensual drawl that helped liquefy many females when he sang or spat his rhymes. He had to thank the Lord for that gift; it also helped lure many Cursed females to him, as an expert Slayer should be able to do.
    Calvin pulled off his skull cap and narrowed his eyes, scanning the darkness before him. Observing the quiet downtown city streets of the Lou, he ran an idle hand over his low-cut fade, which had swirling African spiritual protection symbols artfully and carefully cut on one side of his hair in a part. He inhaled sharply and silently sent a prayer chant of protection over his brothers and the guides they intended to keep away from the Cursed. He put his cap back on and rolled out as the light turned green.
    Khamun closed his eyes as he sat outside his Guide’s mother’s house, the cool night air idly flipping his locks. He rolled his shoulders as he heard Calvin pull up, hop off his bike, and quietly get in the backseat of the Escalade as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
    One of the first rules younglings were taught in Society was, silence is golden, and the Attacker, or the Reaper as he preferred to be called by his bro’s, took that rule to heart. It was what fed them, kept them on their toes, and helped him find his prey, oh so well, and tonight wasn’t going to be any different.
    Picking up his cell, he punched three digits and waited. “Lenox, relocate the contractors