by Jayde Brooks
The irony of Eden was what made her irresistible. She took hold of his hand and led him inside, then stretched out on the floor of the tent and pulled him down on top of her.
Eden toyed with a rope of his hair, and looked deep in thought. “I know you’re worried about me,” she whispered, looking into his eyes with her own big brown ones, “about us.”
“No,” he said emphatically, slowly shaking his head. “Not us. We’re solid.”
He believed that. Despite any thoughts he had surrounding Mkombozi, he believed that he and Eden were solidly united and would always be. “I worry about the fact that you feel you need to protect me when it’s supposed to be the other way around. And you should know that. But my love for you is eternal and true, Eden.”
“If they ever hurt you, Prophet,” she said solemnly, “and if I couldn’t stop them, then I wouldn’t want to fight them. I’d let them take me. They know that. And don’t you dare tell me that I have lost faith in you or that I don’t trust you,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It’s me I don’t trust, Prophet. I’m the weak one.”
“Bullshit,” he said, before kissing her passionately.
There was nothing weak about her and there never had been. Her courage was more than four thousand years old, of another world, surpassing anything that this world had to offer.
Eden slid his sweats down low on his hips and spread her thighs, offering herself to him. Of course he couldn’t resist. He could never resist her. Being inside her eased his uncertainty, melted away his doubt, calmed his anxieties. He didn’t want to cum and he didn’t want her to either. They both needed peace, sanctuary, a sacred place to connect and to regroup and to remind each other of who they had always been to each other and who they always would be.
“I would die if lost you,” she whispered in his ear.
“You can’t lose me, Beloved. You should know that.”
His kisses were filled with memories and promises. Could she taste them?
“Yes,” she murmured, as if reading his mind. Had she read it?
Say the words with me, Eden. We say them together or they mean nothing.
She nodded and innocently blinked up at him.
“Sacred blood has been given and received. Our union, unyielding and unbreakable. Together we are more powerful than apart. I accept this blood vow and it shall be now and always.”
He needed to be reminded of these words again. Seeing Mkombozi had shaken something loose in him that had left him unsettled. He’d gone back and forth between believing that it really was her and trying to convince himself that it wasn’t. In either case, he had never exchanged the Blood Oath with Mkombozi. In all the time that the two of them were together, they were never able to achieve the level of connection he’d achieved with Eden.
Perhaps it was because she was human and without him, there was no way she would’ve been able to survive the bonds with the Omen. Mkombozi was an Ancient warrior, and she had been made to bond with the Omen. She never needed him in the way Eden did. But what Eden had to remember was that she still depended on him. And the time would come when she would have no choice but to call upon him and he would have to take his chances against the Omen, all three, when she needed him the most.
Eden thrust her hips and moaned. The warm flow of her juices pooled between the two of them, until all the peace in the world couldn’t hold back the explosive orgasm swelling low in his belly.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said, burying his face in her hair.
“Oh, yes! Yes, Beloved,” she said, squeezing her thighs against him. “Yessss!”
“Eden!”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
There was an endless supply of adrenaline surging through Eden’s limbs. She had no idea how long she and the others had been fighting, but the sea of vamps and their human fan club seemed unending, and the more heads she and the other Ancients crushed, the more showed up to replace them. Molly and the human residents of Morgantown hid strategically in and around cars, inside buildings, and on rooftops, shooting at targets that moved almost too quickly for them to see. Being an expert shot, Molly had an advantage over the most shooters, but even she was struggling to get decent head shots, and even when she did, not even a bullet through the brain was guaranteed to be enough to take down the vamps.
Eden was in her element. Yes, she had the influence of the Omen feeding her instinct and rhythm, but it wasn’t their voices she heard in her head. It was her own.
Duck!
Behind you!
Jump. Spin. Stab. Cut.
Vamps healed quickly if you let them. They could easily bleed out, so their bodies had learned to compensate by scabbing over their wounds almost instantly. That vamp boy that the ancients had tortured to find out about this place was probably damn near put through a meat grinder to get him to talk. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a meat grinder out here, but there were other ways to incapacitate a vamp; taking out kneecaps was Molly’s particular favorite.
Eden maneuvered better than most when she was low to the ground. And she used that to her advantage, taking vamps out at the knees and once they were down, spinning around behind them and driving her kpinga down through the tops of their skulls or up through the neck. The trick was to sever the spinal cord from the brain. She’d told the others this, and all around her, vamp were dropping like flies—headless, or pretty damn close.
Sweat mixed with blood mixed with spit mixed with rage mixed with determination and defiance and not one little green goblin was in sight. If the Omen were present at all, they were sitting back watching her, admiring the dance that she choreographed as she went along, because the threat of them wasn’t in her. She wasn’t afraid of them showing up and snatching her out of her skin. She felt more in control than she had in months and she relished this battle even more than she hated that it had to happen.
The Guardian whipped his long, strong body through the battle waging in the valley just as he had when he fought alongside Mkombozi against Sakarabru’s Brood Army, crushing his opponents as easily as cracking the shell of a nut. But his nature betrayed him. Ever watchful, ever aware, he fought in a circle around Eden, careful to keep too many of the enemy from converging on her at once, just as he had done with Mkombozi.
“Shit!” Van Dureel said, glancing at Mkombozi before racing down to the valley to fight with his kind against Elitests.
The ptkah looked fearless, as if the Elitests were his equal, as if he and his kind had forgotten to be underfoot where they belonged. It was almost a shame to see them die. Almost.
Mkombozi started her own trek down the hillside into the valley, walking at first, then gradually picking up her pace until she was running, running straight toward the impostor and her Omen. And then he would see the truth—that the one he believed to be Mkombozi reborn was nothing more than a puppet created by Khale. The reborn had Mkombozi’s weapon and was wielding it as if she had been born with it. The Omen were within her. It was obvious by the way she moved, her fighting skills far surpassing any human’s or any Ancient’s, including Tukufu’s.
Nothing about the imposter’s style surprised Mkombozi. She anticipated every move as if she were doing it herself. Because of that, she saw counter moves and weakness and opportunity. This one would have to die. It was the only way to release the Omen. And when that happened, Mkombozi knew instinctively that they would find their way to her, recognizing her as their true host. Yes! Mkombozi ran through the fighting, hurdled over the bodies that littered the ground, ducked blows intended for her head. When she reached the imposter she spun around, then stretched out her arm and grabbed a handful of the small human’s hair, jerking her to the ground and onto her back. She dropped a knee into the impostor’s chest, pinning her down. Sound disappeared in a vacuum, and the fighting unfolding around the two of them, blurred into a massive wave of movement.
“I need to look in your eyes, impostor,” Mkombozi said through clenched jaws. Her gaze bored into the reborn’s confused e
yes. She needed to see if there was a hint of a reflection of herself in this pathetic mimic, but she saw nothing. “Tell me. Tell me that you know who I am before I kill you and take back all that belongs to me.”
She drew back her arm, balled her fist, and drove it full force toward the thing’s face.
Who in the hell was this bitch?
Eden caught the cow’s fist less than an inch away from her face and twisted it so hard that the female’s body had no choice but to follow. The pressure of her knee in Eden’s chest eased up just enough for Eden to push it off of her, and to scoot out from underneath this—this—what the fuck was she? A vamp?
Eden quickly rolled to her feet, but stayed in a squatted position, eyeing this chick as she lowered herself into a fighting stance.
She wasn’t human. As much as Eden hated to admit it, the chick was too damned beautiful to be human. She looked otherworldly, like maybe some kind of Fey using glamor or a very vain shifter. The female spoke a strange form of Theian, though. Like, really old Theian. It was almost the same kind of dialect that Eden and Prophet spoke when they made the Blood Oath.
The strange woman spoke again. And this time, Eden was shocked that she understood her.
“Look at you,” she said, narrowing her eyes and nearly snarling. “You have taken everything from me and you have fooled them all. How could they possibly believe Khale’s lie? How could they believe that I could ever be so small, so weak?”
Do you hear it? Eden heard the whispers of the Omen inside her. Do you see?
Were they the ones interpreting for her? Somehow, she knew that they were.
“Who are you?” Eden asked.
Obviously the woman was shocked that, yeah, Eden spoke the language. Eden had straightened up to her full height and stood facing the Ancient.
“I have dreamed you,” Mkombozi said, staring strangely at Eden. “And you feared me.”
“I do not fear you, lady. But I am tired of talking to you.”
This time, Eden attacked first, lunging low and thrusting the kpinga toward the other female’s midsection. Mkombozi spun away and opened up with a kick, landing it hard against the side of Eden’s head, catching her off guard. Eden had to admit, it was a good move. That shit hurt, though. She straightened up again and the two circled each other. Eden abruptly stopped, turned in the opposite direction, and came back with a kick of her own. The Ancient ducked, and then, with her long leg, swept Eden’s feet out from under her, putting her on the ground again. The Ancient was fast, and she quickly ended up on top of Eden again, pinning down the arm that held the kpinga, but Eden landed two quick blows with her free hand against the Ancient’s head, forcing her to roll off.
Eden rose quickly again. Without giving the Ancient a chance to fully regain her balance as she struggled to get to her feet, Eden lowered her head and barreled into her with her shoulder, raising all six feet of her off the ground and driving her down hard on her back. Straddling the woman, Eden raised her weapon high over her head to stab this female in the heart, when the woman reached one of those long arms of hers behind Eden, grabbed her by the hair again, and pulled her head back until the rest of her went back with it.
Somehow Eden twisted away from her, bringing a hard forearm down on the Ancient’s wrist to break her hold. Both women were up on their feet at almost the same time. It was weird. Watching the way the Ancient moved was almost like watching herself. The two mirrored each other. Their fighting styles were almost identical, their strategies the same. For every hold that Mkombozi put on Eden, Eden had a counter, and vice versa. And despite the differences in height and size, the Ancient being taller and larger than Eden, they seemed evenly matched in strength and speed.
For some unknown reason, Eden holstered her kpinga on her back.
“You fight with these Vampyre?” she asked.
“I fight for me. And I fight for what belongs to me. Thief! Impostor!”
“Bitch!” Eden said in English. That heffa was delusional, convinced that Eden had stolen something from her when Eden had never laid eyes on her in her life.
We know her?
She is familiar to us.
Yes.
The Omen’s curiosity had stirred, but Eden was determined not to let them out.
A strange look crossed the Ancient’s face. A look of disbelief. Maybe panic. “They speak,” she murmured
No. She couldn’t possibly be talking about the Omen. Suddenly, as if they were both thinking the same thing, Eden and the Ancient charged each other, and began exchanging blows at close range. This was a good, old-fashioned street fight, nothing but fists. But for every punch thrown, a counter move blocked it, and neither one of them ever actually landed a blow.
The air shifted around them. The change came from behind Eden, a figure, a threat. While she gave her attention to fighting this strange Ancient, a sixth sense sent a tingle up her spine, warning her that an attacker was approaching from behind.
Eden took a risk and turned her head—and looked right into the face of her attacker.
Isis raised her knife overhead to bring it down into Eden’s back and then suddenly stopped as she saw who Eden was fighting.
“M-mkombozi?” she asked, backing away. “Impossible.”
Mkombozi? Is that what she’d called her?
Eden turned slowly. “Mkombozi?” she repeated in disbelief.
No. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be—Mkombozi was dead.
So stunned about what had just happened, so shocked by the idea that the Ancient that she was supposed to have been reincarnated from could be in the same space as her, she didn’t even realize that the Ancient female had found a weapon, a knife. .
“Yes, impostor,” she hissed in Eden’s face. “I am here for what is mine.”
But then, just like that, the Ancient was gone and Eden’s kpinga fell at her feet.
The fighting continued, whirring around her. Ancients stared in horror at Eden, slowly backing away from her, some even running away. Vamps dragged humans away kicking and screaming. Shots rang out through the air.
She belongs to us.
Not this one.
No! This one is ours.
Eden looked for Prophet on the ground. He was gone. Panic began to set in, until she looked up, so high in the sky that the light from the sun nearly blinded her, but she managed to catch sight of his silhouette and that of the Ancient as he released her.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Prophet carried Mkombozi across the sky as the battle on the ground raged on. He didn’t have to see Eden to know that she saw him. Instinct had told him to take one of them. If it was true that this one was Mkombozi, then they couldn’t share the same space. If it was true. But how could it be true? He flew for several miles before—Prophet looked down at her, struggling in his grasp, fighting and kicking, cursing him.
He hadn’t realized how high he’d climbed and without giving it a second thought, he let her go.
She screamed, wide-eyed and reaching for him as he watched her fall, arms and legs flailing, long black tresses whipping across her face. The fall would kill her. But a four-thousand year old promise swelled in his chest. He was her Guardian, her protector. And that oath reminded him that he would die before he let any harm come to her. By his estimates they were four, maybe five miles from the valley where the fighting was taking place, on a mountainous peak near a forest. Prophet scooped down and swept her up in his arms a few thousand feet in the air, landed and gently placed her on the ground.
Mkombozi cursed Prophet and slapped him hard across the chest, but for all her cursing and hitting, that was the one thing that struck him the hardest. He had purposefully released her knowing that the fall would kill her. She was livid and her heart was broken. The pain he saw in her eyes stabbed at his heart.
“You would murder me? After you promised to protect me with your life, Tukufu—you would see to my death at your hands?” She stumbled back, hot and bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. �
��Your oath was a lie, Guardian. It was never real!” she said, emphatically shaking her head. “It never was.”
“That is not true,” he blurted out, ashamed by what he’d almost done. Her eyes, her words convicted him. Prophet’s own vow as her Guardian held him naked over an open flame and roasted his ass. “It was not a lie, Mkombozi,” he said, taking a step toward her.
She backed away from him again. It was his turn to ache. What had he done?
“Mkombozi, I-I did not know—” Know—what? He didn’t know that he had planned on dropping her on her head from miles above the ground? He didn’t know that he’d had every intention of killing her? He didn’t remember that she was his, that he had fallen in love with her the moment he first laid eyes on her in Khale’s arms as an infant?
“Have their lies been so believable, Tukufu?” she asked, swallowing, her eyes still shimmering with tears. “Was it so easy for you to believe that the human could even possibly be me?”
Prophet had lived four millennia accepting that he had lost Mkombozi. A part of him had died with her that day when she defeated the Demon and Khale had cast her Spell of Dissolution, destroying Mkombozi because no one was powerful enough to stop her from destroying all of Theia. He had been crushed in his soul the day he’d lost her, and not one day of the four thousand years that had passed between losing her and finding Eden had he ever dared to forgive himself for failing her.
“I wanted you so badly, Mkombozi,” he said sorrowfully. “Losing you and being left alive to go on without you was a torture unlike any you could imagine.”
“And how do you think it was for me, Tukufu?” Mkombozi lowered her gaze and called on memories that she’d hoped she’d never have to remember. “That kind of isolation, that kind of loneliness was torture. I remember feeling trapped, empty and dark inside. I was a desert,” she said, pointing to her chest. “I was the desert, Tukufu, separated from my Beloved, my life, my world.”
“You should have called me,” he yelled, stepping boldly to her. “I would have fought through dimensions and death to get to you. I tried, Mkombozi!” his voice cracked. “I tried to find you. I searched.”