Crown of Doom and Light

by Jayde Brooks

  As the weapon hurled through the air toward Eden, Prophet called on his wings again, and ran toward Eden as fast as he could.

  “And promises rest, Beloved/Peace beyond peace/My Beloved. Redeemer.”

  As Eden finished the incantation Prophet swept her up into the air, less than a second before the weapon found its mark.

  Eden gasped. He shot straight up like a bullet, and Mkombozi’s angry curses faded into the explosion on the ground below them. A giant plume of fire rose up to meet them. Prophet had nothing left in him, but still he found a way to go just a bit higher—just high enough. Flames licked his heels. A giant mushroom of smoke enveloped them.

  Sometimes, the end sounds like nothing at all. To fully grasp the magnitude of the power Eden had held inside her left him utterly terrified. She had been filled with monsters, horrifying and twisted shadows of Sakarabru’s darkest traits, lethal and condensed inside her. How had she contained it all? How had she survived for as long as she had?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Two months later . . .

  “Somehow, saying ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem to be enough to make up for turning your house into a Roman candle.”

  “Our house,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “You turned our house into a Roman Candle.”

  Eden had managed to gather enough ingredients to make him a cake. Instead of chicken eggs, though, she’d used six small bluebird eggs, and hoped that they had the same effect. She did feel bad for those bluebird parents, though. The chocolate frosting was watery, but it tasted good.

  “A cake is a much better way to apologize for destroying my house,” he said, staring grimly at her creation.

  “Our house,” she corrected him.

  He looked up at her. Eden smiled. He reached for her hand and pulled her over onto his lap. “Our house.”

  Kissing had become one of those coveted things that demanded patience and absolute attention to detail. It was more of a ritual now, beginning with a courtesy meeting of the lips, a sigh to show appreciation for having this moment to relish, and ending with a thoughtful, probing tongue, a celebration of second chances and renewed love, dedication, and promise. At least, that’s how she’d come to describe kissing Prophet these days. He probably hadn’t given it nearly as much thought.

  “This place is nice, though,” she said, trying to make him feel better.

  The world was filled with squatters now, and the two of them had stumbled upon a nice little house in the Appalachians that was actually quite lovely. Isolation was everything for the two of them. The most dangerous threat to this world had officially been destroyed, but the rest of the world moved on with humans rebuilding and vamps still trying to be the terrorists that the alpha had aspired for them to be. But as more and more humans were moving out of sanctuaries, society was growing stronger, and without an alpha to lead them, vamps in the region were gradually going back to living on the down-low and learning to be content again with underground groupies with fetishes for them. The world would never go back to being what it had been, but for now Eden and Prophet had chosen to separate themselves from the struggle while Eden recovered the pieces of her soul that had been shredded by the Omen.

  “Is that cake?”

  Eden jumped, startled by the sound of Andromeda’s voice.

  “Shit, Seer,” Eden muttered.

  Andromeda hungrily eyed the chocolate cake, but if she expected to be offered a piece, she was sure to get her feelings hurt.

  “What do you want, Andromeda?” Prophet asked irritably.

  She looked at him and grinned so broadly that it looked as if it hurt. “To commend you on a game well played, Guardian.”

  “Thank you,” he said, dryly. “Goodbye.”

  “I’ll bet you got side-effects?” she asked, nodding at Eden. “Still hearing voices?”

  Eden sat down on his lap. “You did not just ask me that.”

  “I did. And?”

  Eden didn’t answer.

  “What about powers? Split any heads open with your mind lately?” Andromeda squinted as she studied Eden.

  “Not lately, but I could try it now and see what happens,” she said threateningly to the Seer.

  “What I still don’t understand is—” She sat down without being invited to. “—How you managed to keep this plan of yours a secret.” She looked at Eden as if she’d noticed her for the first time. “Oh,” she said, raising her brows in surprise. “Maybe this is not a good time to have this discussion.”

  “I don’t trust you, Andromeda,” he said abruptly. “I never did.”

  “That part I understand. The part I don’t understand is how you were able to keep me from seeing this version of the future? You led me to believe that you had chosen Mkombozi. Before that, I saw no choice at all. For you to hide it from me, you would have had to keep the secret even from yourself. Unless you truly had no idea which Redeemer you would choose.”

  “I knew that I would choose the Redeemer,” he said casually.

  “But which one?”

  “The true one.”

  “What had you convinced that this one is true?”

  “They were both true, Andromeda.”

  She raised a brow in curiosity. “That’s impossible, Guardian. The two could not coexist. Only one Redeemer is true. The other is empty.”

  “Says you,” he said, with a slight smile.

  “What do you mean?” Eden asked, as surprised as Andromeda by his response. “Of course only one of us is true,” she said defensively. “Me. I’m the true one.”

  Prophet seemed to ignore her.

  “They could coexist,” he said calmly. “And they did.”

  Eden shook her head.

  “Not possible,” Andromeda argued. “There’s one soul, Mkombozi’s soul, and she,” she said, pointing at Eden, “has it.”

  “Damn straight,” Eden agreed.

  “I answered to the call of my Beloved, Andromeda.” This time, he did look at Eden. “Both of them. I would not have answered to the call of an empty vessel.”

  Eden and Andromeda stared at each other, trying to make sense of what he was telling them.

  “My choice had always been made. You couldn’t see it, because you believed that only one was true. I knew that that both were.”

  “How could that be?” Eden asked, staring stunned at him.

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you chose this one?” Andromeda asked.

  “You chose me?” Eden asked smiling.

  “Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “Why?” Eden asked.

  There was no winning or losing for Prophet. Either Eden or Mkombozi was his Beloved. No matter which one he’d chosen, he’d have been with the one he’d sworn his oath to. But there were two important differences between them and those were the reasons he’d chosen Eden.

  “The Redeemer was born to kill the Demon,” he explained. “Mkombozi did manage to bond with the Omen, but she never truly ever killed Sakarabru. You killed him, not once but twice. The first time, after you bonded with the third Omen, and the second time, when you gave the Omen back to Mkombozi.” He looked at Andromeda. “That’s what your prophecy says. Right? That the Redeemer is destined to kill the Demon?”

  “It’s not my prophecy,” Andromeda said, irritably. “How many times do I have to say that?”

  “The other deciding factor,” he began after giving it some thought before sharing it, “was the Blood Oath,” he said, simply. “Mkombozi and I never shared that oath, and we never would. He stared deep into Eden’s eyes. “That oath is everything, Eden. It means more to me than you could possibly understand. I loved her more than my own life. I love you more than that.”

  Of course she kissed him, and held him, and loved him even more than she thought was possible. A few minutes later, they realized that Andromeda was gone, and a slice of cake was missing.

  Keep reading for two bonus stories

  by Jayde Brooks!<
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  KHALE AND A DEMON

  There was only one, and no one knew how he came to be made. Sakarabru was a Demon, and the only Demon ever spoken of in myth and legend was a destroyer, a world destroyer. Khale ne Khale, the Great Dragon, was young, but she ruled all of Theia with the brilliance and devotion of a Shifter much older and wiser. And ever since she had heard of this Demon, she had made it her duty to study him.

  “He’s always alone,” she said, from the branch of a tree she sat perched upon in the form of a small blue and white bird.

  The young Demon rehearsed war games in an open field, rolling on the grass and jabbing a stick into the air, pretending that it was a sword. Golden ropes of hair whipped around him like tentacles.

  “Of course he is alone,” Andromeda, the Seer of the Ages, snapped, standing on the ground below Khale. “He is a Demon. Who would trust a Demon enough to befriend one?”

  But he didn’t look untrustworthy. He didn’t look like a threat at all, really. As she watched him, Khale began to wonder if Andromeda hadn’t gone a little crazy with her talk of this prophecy surrounding the Demon boy. Most Theians considered the Seer delusional, and on several occasions, Khale had thought so herself, but Andromeda was her counselor in matters that most would never understand.

  “He is beautiful,” the Shifter said, without realizing it.

  Sakarabru was tranquil to watch, his movements fluid and seamless, and every now and again the vivid green of his eyes would flash like a gem in the light of the sun.

  “Yes,” Andromeda said introspectively. “Evil can be.”

  “You should leave, Andromeda.”

  “I will not! You need me, Khale.”

  “I do not need you to watch, Seer,” Khale said, glaring down at her.

  Andromeda huffed. “Fine. But remember my warning, Shifter. The evil of Sakarabru has yet to come into the light, but it burns like fire beneath the surface of his beautiful self. It is his ultimate nature.”

  How many times had Andromeda warned her of the Demon’s true nature? Enough for Khale to commit it not only to memory but also to heart. She waited for the Seer to disappear before fluttering down from the branch to the ground and shifting back into her natural form.

  Sakarabru opened his eyes one morning and all of a sudden, he was. In his travels, he had heard some Theians use the term “born” to indicate the beginning of new life, but there was nothing new about him. At least there was nothing new in his mind, his heart, or his soul. His body was young, yes, but inside him ran a river of a knowing so long and so deep that he considered it ancient. He felt entitled to a thing he couldn’t name. And every single moment since he’d first awakened, he set his mind on one thing, and that was to conquer—to rule.

  A conqueror must be ready to take what he wants. And so every waking moment of Sakarabru’s life was spent studying the art of war. His mind constantly locked on the imagery of battle strategy, and studying his enemies—anticipating every thought, every move, and every fear that might pulse through their veins or flash in their minds. The sound of his sword whipping through the air, at speeds so fast it could hardly be seen with the naked eye, pleased him. The visions he held of thrusting his weapon deep into the heart of his enemies, or better yet, through their skulls, filled him with enough pride to burst open his chest.

  He was a lone soldier, a general with no one to command but himself, but he knew that in time the soldiers would come—drawn to his power, fearful of it, and devoted to his rule because everything in his path would ultimately fall.

  He was so lost in his vision, in his practice, that he never heard her approach him until it was nearly too late. He felt the change in the air and spun around on the balls of his feet, forgetting that his enemy on this day was imaginary. The end of his sword-stick was a kiss away from piercing her throat.

  She didn’t flinch, but he did. Beautiful eyes the color of violets stared into his. Translucent blue skin reflected in the light of the sun. And every curve, full and soft, held him unexpectedly mesmerized. Before he had realized what had happened, the female had snatched his pretend weapon and pressed it against his head in the space between his eyes.

  “Distraction will get you killed,” she warned, the corners of her mouth curling into a slight smile.

  Her flippancy angered him. Sakarabru took the stick from her hand and threw it across the field.

  “Consider yourself fortunate that you were able to distract me at all, Shifter.”

  A literal stream ran down her back, filled with living creatures, traipsing the course up and down her spine. She was a peculiar thing to see, and yet too beautiful to turn away from.

  “I am Khale ne Khale.” She announced it as if he should bow.

  Her arrogance amused him. Of course that name resonated with him. She was, after all, the ruler of the very ground they were standing on. “It is my honor to finally meet you, Dragon,” he smiled, “but forgive me for wondering why the great ruler of Theia would pay me, a lowly Demon, a personal visit?”

  The intensity of her gaze threatened something inside him.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her gaze trailing up and down the length of him. “And who made you?”

  Khale tracked a slow circle around him. Sakarabru resisted the urge to move. Allow her the pleasure of this view.

  “I just am,” he said.

  She stopped in front of him again. This time, it was his turn to commit her body to memory. Her round breasts pressed lightly against the sheer film of fabric she wore. Erect nipples teased him. He had had many women in his short life, but none made his mouth water the way she did now.

  “What is your purpose, Demon?”

  He cocked a brow, and laughed. “My purpose? My purpose is to rule, Khale.”

  Her features softened. Now she was the one who was amused. “As if that were possible.”

  “It has to be. There is no other reason for my existence.”

  “Nor mine,” she softly retorted.

  He sighed. “Then it seems we are at a crossroads.”

  “Not me,” she said with assurance. “You are at a crossroads, Demon. I know my place.”

  The regal nature, the confidence, of this Shifter aroused him. The earthy scent of her compelled him to take a step closer, until he towered over her, inches away.

  “You came here to tell me that?”

  Khale stood her ground and looked up at him. Smiling, she began to shift in her form until she was the one looking down on him. “I absolutely did.”

  Sakarabru stood eye to eye with a nipple, and it took every ounce of restraint he had not to take it into his mouth.

  Days later, Khale lay draped across her bed like luxurious fabric, seemingly uninterested in the message Andromeda was trying to convey. This Shifter was so caught up in her own beauty that she was blind to her impending doom—a future that Andromeda had witnessed and was still witnessing even now, as it unfolded simultaneously with this current time.

  “Only a Demon can kill a demon, Khale,” Andromeda reminded her, yet again.

  The Shifter’s indifference was infuriating, but Andromeda held her peace. “I have witnessed the devastation that Sakarabru will inflict on this world. Hordes of Theians will suffer and die at his feet, and others will become slaves to his will until there is nothing left.”

  “I believe you, Seer,” Khale finally said.

  “Then why do you just lay here? Why do you sit like a lazy frog on a log and do nothing?”

  Khale slowly turned her gaze to Andromeda. “You may know the nature of his evil,” she said, “but I know the nature of his desire.”

  It was true that Andromeda bore witness to most things, but not all. Apparently she hadn’t seen some things unfold in this theater of seduction as orchestrated by the young ruler.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, suspiciously.

  Khale unfolded her long legs and tapped the floor with the tips of her toes. “Sakarabru is no fool. He is suspicious of everyone and
everything. He’s manipulative and he’s guarded. He is more comfortable taking what he wants instead of accepting what is offered to him.”

  Andromeda rolled her eyes in frustration. “This is not a game, Khale.”

  “That’s exactly what it is, Andromeda,” she said. “Sakarabru won’t be satisfied until he has me, but only if he can take me, forcibly. The more I resist him, the more he wants me. It’s the oldest of games, as old as time, between the male and the female.”

  The Seer huffed her frustration. “It’s ridiculous!”

  “But in the end, we both get what we want. He gets me, and I get my Demon.”

  It was said that Khale was wise beyond her years. Andromeda didn’t care for the young Shifter, but she had inherited a great burden—a burden that would ultimately cost all of them their very lives.

  “So you wait for him?”

  Khale smiled. “I beckon him, Andromeda, using the power of temptation and his own desire against him. He thinks of nothing else but fucking me,” she said proudly.

  “And what do you think of, Khale?” Andromeda asked, suspicious.

  The Shifter pondered for a beat before finally responding. “I think that some sacrifices are necessary. And in this case, eagerly anticipated.” She laughed.

  The soothing Falethian waters began to heal his wounds almost immediately. Before he could become a general, Sakarabru had to first learn to be a soldier, and in doing so, he was forced to swallow the bitter taste of defeat. The Dirty trained him, Shifters and Were creatures who had turned their backs on Khale’s rule long ago. Because they would not swear allegiance to her, she banished them to the swamps of Lanti.

  Sakarabru had no idea if somehow the Dirty had conjured him or if one of them had actually bore him, but he opened his eyes one day and he was here, in this world.

  “You will rule us. It is your destiny, Demon. It is your nature.”

  Gaping and bloody wounds tracked down his broad back. Arrows had pierced clean through his thighs and calves, but the waters eased his torment and gave him strength. He would fight again in the morning.