The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

  The End of Days

  The Light Trilogy

  Book Three

  A Novel by AE Watson

  The YA Side of Tara Brown

  Copyright 2016 Tara Brown

  http://TaraBrown22.blogspot.com

  Amazon Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted. This book is a work of fiction; any similarities are coincidental. All characters in this fictional story are created entirely by the crazed mind of the author and are not based on any human. Any similarities are by chance and not intentional.

  Cover Art by Mae I Design

  Edited by Andrea Burns

  Other books by Tara Brown writing as AE Watson and Erin Leigh

  The Crimson Cove Mysteries

  If At First

  Second Nature

  The Born Trilogy

  Born

  Born to Fight

  Reborn

  The Light Series

  The Light of the World

  The Four Horsemen

  The End of Days

  Imaginations

  Imaginations

  Duplicities

  The Blood Trail Chronicles

  Vengeance

  Vanquished

  My Side

  The Long Way Home

  First Kiss

  Sunder

  In the Fading Light

  For Love or Money

  White Girl Problems

  The Seventh Day

  Seven devils.

  An army of angels.

  Thousands of witches.

  Two men.

  One heart.

  One savior.

  One Antichrist.

  One ending.

  The end of days.

  Chapter One

  The cool whisper on my cheek stirs me. I blink and jerk back, startled by the old woman staring me in the eyes.

  She’s familiar.

  I’ve seen her before, maybe not standing in my room looking down on me like she is now, but from somewhere else—a dream maybe—unless this is a dream.

  But can I dream and wonder if it’s a dream or do the dead always let me know it’s a dream? I don't remember.

  Either way, I don't know where she’s from, but she reminds me of something or someone.

  Unfortunately, that recognition doesn't take away the alarming feeling of being watched by her. Her dark eyes dart to Wyatt sleeping next to me as she lifts a gnarled finger to her lips, resting it on the wicked grin. I suspect any second now she’s going to produce an apple that I am meant to eat, and I will fall asleep forever.

  Real sleep too. The kind where you wake and stretch and you’re refreshed.

  God, if only I could sleep like that. The exhausted feeling overwhelming me confirms this is in fact real and I am not dreaming.

  The old woman is real.

  She is really in my room.

  I don't know how that could be possible, unless she’s a fire witch, but I haven’t seen her before. I wouldn't have forgotten this face. She looks just like the evil queen from Snow White.

  “Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes as she slow-blinks the way Mona always does, like I’m being annoying. “I don't have any apples, child,” she whispers, saying “child” just like the evil queen but more like she’s mocking me. “So stop calling me the evil queen.”

  Oh crap, she can read my thoughts.

  “Of course I can read your thoughts, you imbecile. The magic is in me now.”

  My brow furrows, but I don't say anything. I hum and focus on not thinking.

  She rolls her old eyes at me. “It’s me, Mona. You idiot. What do you think, you’re dreaming? You can’t dream.” She sounds like Mona, I’ll give her that.

  I swallow hard, desperately searching for even a single trace of resemblance between the hideous old woman and my beautiful friend.

  “Stop thinking I’m ugly. I’m only able to be here for a second, and I had to disguise myself. I needed to tell you something. It’s plaguing me. Do you remember the way you felt when you met Wyatt, like you already knew him, right from the moment your eyes met?”

  I nod once, scared that I might not actually be dreaming.

  “Focus on that, Rayne. There’s something in everything, hints everywhere. There have been clues scattered across time. I think it all starts there—you and Wyatt. Two sides of the same coin. You already knew each other, even when you met. That’s part of the two sides of the same coin. That's what I keep hearing in the woods.” She whispers it in her creepy old-lady voice.

  I blink and then she’s gone.

  The word “woods” lingers somehow, repeating like an echo. But she has disappeared, leaving nothing but a slight rustle in the air around me.

  “Mona?” I whisper but she doesn't answer back.

  Confused, I lie back on the bed and look over at Wyatt, wondering if I was somehow awake and yet dreaming.

  But I know that's impossible.

  My sisters, the dead, have not come for me in weeks. Which means I have been awake for weeks. I doubt insomnia is improving my mental stability. Mine was already fairly questionable. Pondering it leads my mind to the possibility that Mona was a hallucination. That is a possibility. I am that crazy right now from lack of sleep.

  Sighing, I glance at Wyatt’s bare back facing me. He’s sleeping softly, breathing regularly. I run my fingertips up his back, grateful the whip marks that once spelled out my name are gone. Seeing him that way was horrible. I felt responsible. I still do.

  My fingers roam his lush dark hair. I can’t stop myself from touching him. It’s magnetic—we’re magnetic.

  Every bit of me wants to ravish him. Every bit but the part that whispers I’ll have to eat if we have sex. Since we pulled the daggers from our chests it hurts him when I eat. The ability to sense each other is gone too. I’m scared we’ll be right back where we were when we met.

  His touch doesn't hurt me, but my feeding is enough to nearly kill him. The whole thing blows.

  He exhales and rolls over, smiling when he sees me. His dark-blue eyes sparkle. They always do. I love that about him. “Hey.” His morning breath is the only aspect about him that's not angelic. I don't love that.

  “Morning.” I lift the covers up to my face, assuming I too have something in my mouth resembling the smell of that time he shit his pants.

  He scowls and lifts the covers over his perfect lips. “What are we doing?”

  “You have bad breath so I’m assuming I do as well, and I’m trying to spare you the horrors I’m enduring.”

  “Oh really?” He laughs and pulls down the covers, breathing his hellfire all over my face. “What? What do you mean? Is it bad?” He says everything like a breathy phone sex worker. “I’m sorry, I can’t smell it.”

  “Dude!” I gag and shove him off, trying not to look. “Stop! I swear to God, stop! I think your insides are rotting. Or it’s that steak you ate last night. I told you it was questionable. Willow says meat—”

  “Whatever. The whiskey cured it in my stomach.” He pulls back and grins, making it all better—from a distance. “So, should I brush before we do it or what?”

  “No.” I cock an eyebrow. “We can’t do it. Willow has given her royal decree. We’ll hunt the Antichrist first, kill him, and then we talk about the sexy time.”

  “You were groping me in my sleep. I know you want it.”

  “
It’s not about want.” I shake my head.

  “So you do want it, but you’re going to fight it?” He makes a face and swings his bare legs off the bed, standing and looking back. “Then stop staring at my butt.”

  “Make me.” I laugh, shaking my head. My eyes boldly drag their gaze down his muscular back onto the taut butt cheeks. He’s perfection. He’s like food, only he’s not at all. He’s the opposite of food. He’s poison. Sexy, dirty, naughty poison.

  He winks and struts, completely naked, to the bathroom. I flop back and exhale, wishing there was a way around the whole sex draining me thing. It’s a vicious cycle. I drain by having sex with him and then have to eat and nearly kill him with that.

  It’s not really worth it. Not for him. Deep down there’s a subtle whisper saying it’s worth it for me. I like the sex and the eating. It’s a selfish place I shut down. Willow would be disappointed in me for even thinking it.

  Hearing the shower and deciding not to test the desires burning within me, I get up and leave the creepy dark room we’re in. It’s safer in the hallway of the old inn that the fire witches have let us stay at.

  They’ve glamoured the outside of the mansion to be a rundown shack to any onlookers but inside it’s massive and beautiful, just dark as hell. They only paint in five colors: Black. Blood red. Deep purple. Dark brown. Navy. That's it. Everything is a variation of one of those colors. Also the colors they wear almost all the time. Black is a real staple for them.

  My eyes glow, scaring me as I walk past an old Gothic mirror and see my reflection.

  The girl in the mirror gives me pause. She’s pale and her dark hair is limp. She looks frail. She can’t possibly be my reflection. I reach forward and touch the glass, certain it’s Mona disguising herself again, but it’s cold and the girl is me.

  My body shudders from the weakness of starvation.

  “You all right?” One of the fire witches is standing on the stairs, staring at me.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You look like hell.” She looks disapprovingly at my yoga pants and tee shirt. “Good to see you dressed for breakfast and brushed your hair,” she snarks and stalks up the rest of the stairs, brushing past me.

  Not all the fire witches like us. By us, I mean me. They like Wyatt and Constantine just fine. In fact, they all drool all over them whilst whispering the horrid things they might do, instead of the sexy things they want to do. Because where they love the guys in my life, they also hate them. And there is nothing fire witches love like they do skirting the rules of what is actually dark magic. Torturing an evil vampire and witch slayer like Wyatt could be seen as good, in the right light. Even though they dabble in ancient dark magic, torturing bloodsuckers and Van Helsings is easily acceptable within the light magic parameters.

  I imagine the one feature keeping them alive and healthy is that both men are handsome, ridiculously so.

  Constantine is a hot dish of sin and betrayal.

  Wyatt is a warm piece of vengeful hatred.

  Neither likes the witches, but they stay here for me.

  The witches have all taken my side in this for the first time ever—for some of them it’s begrudgingly, but at least they want Lucifer gone from the earth more than they want to kill me or my friends. The closing of the garden for good had something to do with them all joining me. Well, except for the air witches. They wanted the garden for themselves. I keep fearing that the garden being closed will make them fight with Lucifer instead of me.

  When I get to the kitchen Constantine is there, giving me a look. “You didn't sleep again?” His dark eyes narrow. They see more than anyone’s should.

  “No. I don't know why. I thought I was, but then I thought I was dreaming and then I wasn't. I was awake. It was—” I pause, seeing the completely confused face he’s giving me and shake my head. “It’s nothing.” I remember it all so I know I wasn't sleeping. I haven’t slept. I might never again. And as much as I want to tell him about the weird morning I’ve had, I don't know if I should say anything about Mona. She snuck here to see me and spoke in a whisper and vanished immediately after for a reason.

  I just don't know what that reason is.

  “Doesn't look like nothing.” He steps closer, offering me something to eat. I can see a look on his lips that suggests he wishes to feed me. The way he stares and smells and sounds with his Romanian accent, it’s all so very alluring and tasty. And he does have the best of the best inside him. Every one of his sins is like a slice of chocolate cake. Being near him makes me drool. He’s old and filled with so much wickedness, even I couldn't suck him dry.

  But feeding from him still makes Wyatt sick when I do, so I shake my head and step back. “No thanks. I think I’ll save myself for something really nasty.”

  “You’re hungry. Don't let it get the best of you.” His eyes flicker about the room. “We don't want you revoking our warm welcome here with a bloodbath of dead witches.” He grins wickedly. “Not again.”

  “It’s cool. Seriously.” I roll my eyes and step back once more, giving us some space. I don't want Wyatt to come downstairs and see us like this, so close to one another. My feelings for Wyatt are strong, but there will always be something between Constantine and me. His freeing me of the mind charms he and the witches put on me, has taken away the forced feelings I had for him. But they can’t take away the real feelings. At many points in the lives I have lived, I have loved the man in front of me. The girl I am now could easily love him with his dark hair, dark eyes, and I seem to be comfortable looking past his dark soul. There’s something troubling about him that calls to me. I think it always has. Even if he did trick me into loving him many times, my feelings were real. A corner of my heart belongs to him. His unconditional devotion makes it hard to kill that part off.

  “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He widens his grin, flashing his vampire fangs, and nods. “You won’t find nastier than me, Ellie.” He winks and saunters off.

  “Rayne,” I correct him, hating the way he calls me Ellie, a name I had once upon a time when I was a different girl.

  When I think of all my lives, the one where I lived as Ellie was my happiest. I had parents who loved me and were oblivious to the fact that they were raising a sin eater. I had friends and money and a lavish lifestyle. I was happy and life was simple. When I discovered I was a sin eater, I had Constantine who protected me and trained me and helped me eat, free of guilt.

  If I could have lived that way forever I would have been happy.

  But that was not my fate. Not then and not now.

  God doesn't care if I am happy.

  He just wants me to be his servant. He wants his people saved and his planet fixed, and he wants his savior born. All we know is the savior will be born from me. I am the lamb. I am the one who is to be sacrificed to save the world, and I will bring the lamb to God.

  I just have to kill the Antichrist and give birth to the savior first.

  Not complicated at all.

  A fire witch with black hair and thick dark eye makeup gives me a grin. “You’re weak and the end is coming. Whether your eating makes the Van Helsing sick or not, doesn't matter. You need to be healthy. If you want something nasty to eat, come with me.” She flashes a smug look and turns, walking from the kitchen.

  “I shouldn't. I can hold out longer without eating.”

  “No, Rayne, you can’t. I can see that about you. You’re very close to just eating whatever is nearest to you. How would you feel if you killed one of us?” Her nose wrinkles as she says it.

  “Okay,” I concede. “Let me go change.”

  “No. You’ll see him and change your mind, not your clothes. Come now.” She knows me well enough. I don't mind her. She’s nicer to me than most of them. We’ve talked a few times in the weeks since we got here.

  “Fine.” I look down at my pajamas and decide to risk it. It’s not that cold out there. It’s close to winter and the weather is crap, but I’ve been through wo
rse. Like swimming the Atlantic in the winter with the nixie dragging me about. That was cold.

  I follow the girl outside. Her name has slipped my mind. I’m running possible names for Gothic girl through my head when she turns the corner and walks up the driveway. We pass through the glamour spell on the house, giving me a shiver.

  The noise hits then.

  It's the sound of a dying city.

  Salem is on its knees, the same as everywhere else. The end of days has started. Buildings have been burned and some have crumbled from the explosions. The sky is always gray and dark. The winds come and go, eroding the broken buildings and the landscape faster than I think is possible.

  It’s not the way I imagined the world would look at the end of days. I thought there would be lava rivers, fiery mountains, and demons flying above. But mostly it’s desolation.

  A rapturing did come.

  The good, the pious, and the innocent were taken for the most part. What remains is evil. The balance has tipped so hard to the bad in humanity that the earth is rotting with us. And rapidly.

  Along the path to my breakfast we see broken-down cars, half-burned homes, and bare feet or other body parts peeking out at us from around the corner of a building where they died. We are surrounded by every kind of destruction. The overcast sky is annoying, but the rain that smells like piss is what gets me the most. The air reminds me of a smelter, corrupted by chemicals and hate.

  I hate it here now.

  I hate being on the earth and being part of its ruin.

  I hate even more that I don't sense its redemption any time soon.

  The green of the trees and grass is faded. Everything is faded. Colors don't seem to be what they once were. Except blood, it’s redder than I recall it being.

  I don't think there is any fixing this.

  We crunch along, alone on the desolate street, stepping over debris and ash.

  “So do you think Lucifer is going to make the Antichrist now, and we have to wait for this kid to age and come into his power, or is this kid already born?” I ask to avoid the silence that is smothering us and the thoughts from overflowing my brain.