by Jayde Brooks
“I did not know how to be found, Tukufu! I did not know where I was and I did not even remember your name, nor I could remember my own. Everything that I had been was stripped from me and all that was left was a husk, a shell of myself, brittle, hopeless.”
Khale was a liar. Prophet had known that his whole life. He had always felt that she was not to be trusted, not even by her own daughter, but Mkombozi worshipped her mother until the very end. Rumor had it that Khale had seduced the Demon Sakarabru, making him believe that their union had been his idea, when in fact she’d stolen from him. She’d stolen his seed to create the only being in the universe capable of killing him.
She’d lied to Mkombozi, keeping the secret from her that Sakarabru was her father and encouraging her to bond with the Omen, which contained all the power she needed to destroy him. But she’d never let on to anyone that Mkombozi would have to die too. She’d known from the beginning that once the bonds were made with the Omen and the Demon was dead, the Redeemer needed to die too. It had taken Eden to figure that out, and Eden had turned her own spell against her.
Eden. The two of them could not coexist. If Mkombozi’s essence had been reborn in Eden, then Eden was Mkombozi and this female—this beautiful Ancient—
“Khale told me that you were reborn,” he carefully began to explain. “Your essence was saved and placed in a human infant’s body.”
“Hers?” she asked defiantly. Mkombozi waited for him to say something, but Prophet was speechless. “How can anyone do such a thing, Tukufu?”
“She said it was spell,” he muttered, starting to feel like a foolish child. “How could you be here? How could you come back from death, Mkombozi?”
“I do not know!” she shouted.
“You have to know. You know how it is possible that you came here to this world. No one else could know but you.”
“Desire bought me back,” she snapped.
“It took four thousand years for your desire to awaken?” he asked angrily.
“It took four thousand years for anything inside me to awaken, Guardian,” she retorted. “I was dead inside. I had nothing. I knew nothing. I wanted nothing, loved nothing, needed nothing!”
“Until?”
“Until I did!” She stared at him as if the answer surprised her too. “It started as a small flicker,” she began to explain, recalling the moment as she relived it. “Hope. Barely a whisper. Desire. Barely a flame, but it was something,” she glared at him. “It was enough to awaken me, to fuel my memories and my needs. And it hurt,” she said, shaking her head. “It hurt so badly inside me and outside, but I didn’t care, because pain was life, Guardian. Pain was something when in all that time I had nothing. I was nothing.”
“Desire for what, Mkombozi?” He stepped closer to her, put his hand underneath her chin, and raised her eyes to meet his. “What did you desire so badly that it bought it you to this place? To this time?”
She jerked away from his touch. “You.”
He studied her intensely. That was one part of her truth. “And what else?”
“You know what else,” she said defiantly. “I have told you.”
“Yes,” he said introspectively. “It was the need for the Omen that had awakened your desire.”
She had come back for the Omen. Prophet, reluctantly concluded, that he was an afterthought.
“There is nothing like them, Tukufu. The power from them surging through your veins is like that of a thousand suns. Ask your reborn. She will tell you. She will not let them go willingly. She keeps them close on purpose, because she is afraid of what she will be without them.”
“She’s not like you.”
“But you said that she is me,” she countered. “If you believe that, then understand that I know her heart. Do not dare look betrayed, Tukufu. We are both guilty of betrayal.”
He couldn’t deny it anymore. Not with the truth standing here staring him in the face. This was Mkombozi, which meant that Eden was a lie. But how could she be? After everything that the two of them had been through together, the battles and bonds with the Omen the Blood Oath. If she was a lie then all of those things were part of that lie and he had been pulled into and played like violin.
“Why?” he asked. “Why would Khale lie to me about the reborn? What would she have to gain by making me believe that the human was you?”
“Your loyalty to me, Tukufu,” she reasoned. “That is what she would gain. Perhaps she knew how weak these humans were. I have learned it for myself. They break like twigs and tear like paper. Somehow she managed to find one who she believed might have stood a chance bonding with the Omen, but the human could not do it alone. She would need help, and I believe that Khale trusted that if you thought she was me that you would stop at nothing to see to it that she survived making those bonds. And you did. She would have died without you. The first one would have killed her. I know this because it nearly killed me.”
Everything that she was saying was starting to sink in. Prophet couldn’t fully commit to what she was telling him but he couldn’t dismiss it either, because it was possible. Khale was cunning and she would have thought this thing through thoroughly in order to make sure that her precious prophecy played out to completion this time. She had destroyed Mkombozi before she had fully vanquished the Demon, which was how he was able to come back. But Eden had incinerated him. There was nothing left after she’d finished with him, and Khale had no more use for the human.
Mkombozi walked over to him and stopped. She was so close. “Does it matter what brought me here, Tukufu?” she murmured, her full lips ripe for kissing. “You have longed for me all this time and I am here, Beloved.” Mkombozi raised her hand to the back of his neck and lifted herself up on her toes. “We are together when it should be impossible. But our love is eternal, transcending time and space. Can you not see that? Can you not bring yourself to believe it? Look past the lie, Tukufu, and see me. See your Beloved.”
He caught and held his breath at the initial brush of her lips against his, and then he exhaled, pulled her tight against him, and dipped his tongue into her mouth, finding hers. Mkombozi swayed in his arms, moaned, and melted against him. He kissed her slowly, probing her, exploring and seeking to rekindle every moment he’d ever shared with her. Finally, when it ended, he stared deeply into her eyes, knowing what needed to be done.
“You want your Omen?”
“And you,” she whispered passionately. “I have missed you, Beloved.”
“Then we must rectify this.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “You understand the deception? You finally see through the lie?”
“I feel foolish, but yes. I see. This will not be easy, but I know what must be done.”
“No. She and I are evenly matched. I cannot defeat her.”
“Not alone.”
Prophet took Mkombozi to a black SUV parked a few miles from the sight of the fighting and left her there, promising to find her when the time was right. He needed to get back to Eden. He needed to get back to the fighting.
“How much time?” she asked suspiciously. “I will not wait forever.”
“I would not ask you to. We have to do this soon. She is losing to them and once she does, there is no taking them from her.”
Mkombozi nodded. “Understood. How much time, Tukufu?” she pushed again.
He shrugged. “Two days, maybe three?”
“In two days I come for her.”
He sighed deeply, but didn’t protest. “Understood.”
Prophet left Mkombozi behind. Vamps had been tending to her and she had assured him that she would be fine with them. He’d been gone too long and he had to find Eden.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Kill a few vamps,” they said. “Bust open their heads,” they said. Nobody said anything about having to catch ’em first.
In his Were form against vamps, Jarrod and his brothers might as well have been bulls in combat boots trying to run in mud. Trying to catch on
e of those slippery motherfuckers was damn near impossible. Not only were they faster than shit, they were fuckin’ gymnasts, flipping and jumping and twirling like they were competing in the gotdamn Olympics. And even on the few occasions that he did manage to get his paws on one, they felt like they were covered in oil or something and would just slither out of his grasp like snakes.
Not one of them was dumb, though. Not one of them had balls big enough to go up against him and his brothers, toe to toe, blow for blow. They knew they’d lose a standup fight against a Were, so they went after the lesser shifters and some smaller Fey. The fact that these cockroaches had the nerve to put their nasty little mitts on any Elitest, as vamps called the superior Theians, shocked every Ancient out there, which was probably why they were getting their asses handed to them. They pretty much expected the dirty vamps to curl up and scurry into the corners like good little vermin, but that wasn’t happening.
Meanwhile, those brave West Virginians were being collected and dragged away in droves in some kind of systematic strategy set up by the vamp. Some were used to fight or to distract Elitests while the other vamps abducted humans. Jarrod couldn’t believe that he was the only one who seemed to have figured this out. Where was the Guardian? Shit. Wasn’t he supposed to be the smart one?
Runyon soon got tired of chasing something he couldn’t catch, so he decided to plant himself somewhere and lash out with those powerful arms of his, hoping to make contact with vamps who were forced to pass him to get to a group of humans huddled behind him.
Of course, the humans screamed when he came close.
“I’m here to help you,” he growled.
If they knew what was best for them, they’d keep their asses put.
He blinked, and one vamp made the mistake of trying to slip past him, grabbing hold of a woman by the ankle. Runyon sliced through that bastard’s skull with monstrous talons, leaving it looking like an onion chopped and ready for sautéing. As soon as he turned around, another one came flipping overhead like a Flying Wallenda. Runyon timed it just right and caught her by her head. He jerked her out of the air down onto the ground and pressed down on her until he felt that impressive crunch under his palm.
“Get over here!” he growled to the humans who were running toward him. “Hurry!”
Runyon sounded more animal than human, and he certainly looked it, but he’d earned their trust and more of them kept coming, crouching down behind him and holding onto each other.
All of a sudden, the alpha Were was off his feet, sailing through the air with all the wind knocked out of his lungs. Runyon slammed hard on his back across a fire hydrant. He hadn’t seen the bastard who’d hit him, but he smelled him. He rolled off that thing to his feet, choked on some air, and managed to straighten his stance—only to be barreled into again and pushed back fifty feet before digging his heels into the ground, wrapping his arms around the vamp burying his shoulder into Runyon’s ribcage, and lifting that bastard off the ground, raising him overhead, and preparing to piledrive him into the ground. But the vamp flipped over Runyon’s head, landed on his feet, and planted the heel of his shoe into the Were’s lower back.
Runyon stumbled forward, then caught his balance and spun around, but the creature was gone. He turned quickly in the other direction, and was met with a fist flying through the air at just the right height to meet his head. Runyon stood over eight feet tall as a Were, but this dude’s blow landed solidly in his jaw, nearly knocking his head off. But Jarrod countered with a backhand that caught the vamp off guard because he didn’t move fast enough. This time, he sailed through the air on momentum created by Runyon, and slammed hard against the brick wall of a daycare center.
Now Runyon got a good look at the bastard for the first time. He was huge. He was an alpha. The vamp shook off some bricks, rose slowly to his feet, and straightened his back. That sonofabitch had to be close to six-and-a-half feet tall. Runyon guessed that he must’ve weighed close to three hundred pounds, all solid muscle. Black eyes bored into Runyon’s as the vamp pulled his long hair together and tied it up to keep it from getting in the way. The ptkah was raging, his fangs elongated, hands curled like hooks ready to take a chunk out of Runyon.
Jarrod had had no idea that these things could get so big. And this one wasn’t afraid of the Were.
Van Dureel couldn’t remember a time when he was this pissed off. This Were had crushed his children like insects and taken pleasure in doing it. He was their father, their king, their leader. He had honed in on this one because he had set a trap for the young ones, enticing them to come close and then casually murdering them, as if this was some kind of game.
“Who the fuck are you, pktah?” the Were asked in a low growl as he slowly approached Van Dureel.
“None of your gotdamn business, Were,” he shot back.
“No tricks,” Runyon demanded. “No fancy somersaults. You bring your big ass to me like a warrior. Not a coward.”
“You got it.”
The Were lowered his head, bowed his shoulders, crouched low, and charged at the vamp. Van Dureel charged back and the two collided in a bear hug embrace, with the Were leaping into the air and lifting Van Dureel up off his feet, twisting and slamming the vamp down onto the ground.
“Aaaagh!” Van Dureel cried out, as the beast sank his teeth into the vamp’s shoulder.
Van Dureel punched the Were on the side of the head repeatedly until Jarrod finally had no choice but to release his bite and spat. The Were raised up and was met with a vicious head butt from the vamp, right in that big-ass snout of his.
He yelped and rolled off the vamp. Van Dureel was on him in an instant, pounding on him with his fists in the head and chest. He thought the Were was nearly unconscious when all of a sudden he grabbed one of the vamp’s fists and started crushing the bones. The vamp picked up a brick with his other hand and brought it down hard on the Were’s face, forcing him to release his hold.
The two of them lay writhing in the grass when Van Dureel heard it. A strange, bone-crushing sound, crackling in the distance. And screams, not from humans, but from his own kind.
“Run!” he heard one of his drones yell.
He pushed up on his knees with his good hand, and then managed to get to his feet. The Were had rolled over onto his side and was on his way to getting up as well.
“Jarrod? Oh, God! Jarrod!”
Van Dureel turned to see a redheaded female kneeling over the Were.
“Get the fuck outta here, Molly!” he growled, pushing her away. “Go!”
Van Dureel stared strangely at her. He’d heard that it could happen. Most humans died first. But this one was turning.
“She’s killing us!” one of his drones said, rushing to him. “We need to go, Van Dureel! We need to—”
There wasn’t much to the attacker. She was young, a black girl with long locs, covered in blood and carrying some strange weapon. As Van Dureel watched, she turned in a slow circle. Every few seconds she would stop and look at a drone and it would cry out, clutch its head, and drop dead, just like that.
“The impostor,” he whispered, knowing instinctively that she was the one Mkombozi had been searching for.
Without raising her weapon she killed with a look. He found himself backing away before she made her way to him. He hadn’t even noticed that the Were was on his feet and coming toward him, but the girl, the redhead, got in between them.
“Jarrod, no,” she demanded, trying to keep him back. “Don’t. You’re hurt.”
The determination in the beast’s eyes spoke volumes. He wanted Van Dureel’s head for himself.
“Jarrod!”
“Get out of the way, Molly!” he said, pushing her away.
Did he know that his little redhead was about to become a ptkah? Van Dureel found the thought amusing. But he didn’t have the time to stand around trading barbs with the beast.
“Take care, little sister,” he said, smirking. “I’ll likely see you soon.”
&nb
sp; The Were charged at him, but Van Dureel was gone before he’d taken his second step.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Eden?” Prophet asked, landing softly on the ground ten feet in front of her.
He wasn’t sure. Eden could see in his expression that he wasn’t sure if she was the one standing before him or if the Omen had taken her. Eden almost wasn’t sure herself.
Humans were silly. Most of them had run away; hiding from the fighting, from these strange creatures called Ancients, and from their abductors, who had managed to steal many of them. Others stood around staring at the carnage littering the ground, shaking their heads in disbelief, but not fear. Still others huddled together inside buildings and cars, crying and hysterical because despite everything they had been through in the last year, deaths of loved ones, attacks by the carnivorous Brood, they still couldn’t accept that monsters were real.
Prophet saw the vamps with their heads split open. He turned his head slightly to the side but kept his eyes on her.
“Eden? Is it you?”
Eden waited and listened for the sounds of voices that didn’t belong to her. The Omen liked to talk and to taunt but now, for whatever reason, they were silent.
“There were so many of them,” she muttered, looking out at the bodies of the vamps, mixed with humans and Ancients. “We were outnumbered and—and we couldn’t kill them fast enough, you couldn’t catch them. Not easily.”
She didn’t notice how close he was getting to her. “Eden? I can’t tell, sweetheart. I can’t tell if it’s you—or not.”
The air pressed between them, bringing her focus back to him. Prophet towered over her, and stared concerned into her eyes as they met his.
She had killed some of those vamps with her hands, with her kpinga, but not all.
“It needed to be done,” she whispered. “There were too many. Too many.”