by Lizzy Ford
“Maybe because you dumped her and Darian off on me and disappeared? You ever think of that, D? You’ve always been bad with woman.”
“Not sure how, when you’ve been nagging me for thousands of years.”
“You’re a shitty god.” Dusty struggled not to smile then released it with a chuckle.
Damian laughed, thrilled to be back with his adopted brother and to see the glow in his face. Dusty, his heartless assassin, had found his mate.
His heart rejoiced at the thought of his own mate carrying his child, but he couldn’t help but to think of his own upbringing. The path of a White God was not an easy one, and he felt for the child who would grow up with war, pain, and a destiny filled with both.
“What happened to Jule?” Dusty asked.
“No idea. Last night he said he was stuck in Ireland. I couldn’t reach him. Things are getting rougher. I’m hoping whatever happened here in Florida didn’t permanently damage our power. The Black God’s vamps haven’t lost theirs,” Damian said. “Darian tell you to come get me?”
“Sofi did. She’s discovered quite a few annoying little powers of her own while you were gone.”
Damian smiled, pleased. He’d known how powerful his little Oracle could be. If he had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t let her leave his side again. And he was going to be a father. His smile turned to another chuckle. As dark as the war was quickly becoming, he had hope in his adopted brothers, his little Oracle, and his child.
* * *
A team of Guardians lined one road on the small country cemetery while a team of vamps lined the opposite road. Two figures stood between the two lines in front of a headstone.
“Your brother-in-law’s the Black God,” Damian said with a snort.
Dusty glanced up at the sky, where the clouds had gone from black to slate. The rain had stopped, and the landscape around the graveyard was dotted with reflective pools. He met the White God’s golden gaze. Damian’s silver-white hair was braided down his back, his thick body causing him to sink two inches into the mud.
“Kinda fucked up.”
“What’s fucked up is the fact none of us can use our power,” Dusty replied. “And Jule’s stuck overseas.”
“Whatever the Watcher did to keep us there is preventing me from going back,” Damian said with a frown. “Hate those little bastards.”
Dusty didn’t say what they both knew, that Darian’s attempt to save the world broke something they didn’t know how to fix. None of the Guardians, save Damian and Darian, had their immortal powers, though the Naturals seemed unaffected. Worse, the vamps and Black God seemed unaffected as well. The battle over humanity was about to get even more brutal.
“What’s worse is they want to use our backyard as their warzone. Thank the gods they picked a fool like Talon,” Damian continued.
Both their gazes returned to the two figures talking quietly in front of their father’s grave.
Poor Jonny. Dusty didn’t think he had an ounce of sympathy in him, but he couldn’t help wishing he could spare Bianca’s brother the hell that came with being the Black God. Jonny’s penance for betraying his sister would last an eternity.
“Shit happens,” Damian stated softly, reading his thoughts. “We got a war to fight and women waiting for us. Darian won’t stop talking about Bianca’s cookies.”
“Darian’s grounded ’til further notice. When he finishes clean-up in Ohio, he’s been instructed to count the stalks of wheat in the field outside Speck’s farmhouse and not return until he’s done,” Dusty growled. “Cookies are absolutely forbidden.”
“Good thing Bianca sent him off this morning with a bag full.”
“Damn women.”
They were quiet, watching the siblings talk. Both were dressed in black, the Black God pale and stoic and Bianca smiling sadly while a stiff breeze whipped her curls around.
Her brother was alive. It was something. That he was the Black God was another issue he and Damian didn’t know what to do with. Jule would remember the last Black God’s transition, but Czerno had been the Black God since long before Damian’s birth.
“We’re going on vacation. I left you a mess to clean up in Ohio,” he said.
“The whole world saw that go down,” Damian said with a sidelong look at him. “You could blame the explosions and shit down here on the hurricane. A little harder in Ohio.”
“Just one massive gas leak,” he said with a shrug. “Shit happens.” He slapped the White God on the arm and moved towards the two figures, holding his arms out to the side of his body to keep the vamps across the cemetery from blasting him.
The Black God turned at his approach. Jonny’s brown eyes, now black, traveled past Dusty to Damian. He gave a nod of greeting, then spun on his heel and strode towards the awaiting vamps.
Dusty gave Bianca a moment. She knelt beside her father’s grave to place flowers, then rose and turned. Her smile lit up his day. Her eyes were watery, and she crossed to him, sinking into his arms. He breathed in her familiar scent, her curls tickling his face.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered.
“Let’s go home, kiri,” he replied.
She took his hand. They walked towards the White God and the Guardians. Dusty felt the Black God’s piercing gaze on him.
Good-bye, Jonny.
War of Gods series
Damian’s Oracle, Book I (October 2011)
Damian’s Assassin, Book II (November 2011)
Damian’s Immortal, Book III (December 2011)
The Grey God, Book IV (May 2012)
Continue reading for exclusive excerpt from “Damian’s Immortal,” book three in the War of Gods series.
Damian’s Immortal
Book III, War of Gods series
Chapter One
Jule lifted his head to the night sky and closed his eyes. Fat raindrops soaked his clothing, chilled him. He’d hitchhiked between towns and walked cross-country, admiring the Irish landscape as he went and cursing the cold, incessant rain of late autumn. Finally, he’d reached the top of a hill overlooking the small, familiar village of Doolin in western Ireland.
The walk calmed his irritation at being powerless for the first time since the Schism. It had been two days since he felt the ripple of power that marked the making of a new Black God. He’d last felt that surge a few hundred thousand years ago, when Czerno had slain his predecessor and claimed the Black God’s mantle. While he recalled little else of his time before the Schism, Jule couldn’t help the nagging feeling he was missing something important about the transition between an old and new god.
He looked over his shoulder again at the dark landscape behind him. The hair on the back of his neck had been standing for the past mile he’d walked, only he wasn’t entirely certain why. The wave of magic short-circuited his Guardian powers and dropped him on the other side of Ireland. His phone was fried, and his only recourse to reach the local Guardians. Instead of helping his brother the White God navigate the transition, he walked the hills of Ireland alone, unable to remember why he’d decided to put only one station of Guardians in Ireland.
“Probably because you never thought you’d have to cross Ireland on foot.” The voice he’d dreaded hearing finally spoke. Jule drew a deep breath and faced the small, grandfatherly man with eyes the color of an Irish meadow. The rain didn’t touch the Watcher, and Jule crossed his arms.
“Didn’t think you were talking to me,” he said.
“Not by my choice.”
“You mind if I get out of the rain before we do this?”
“Rain doesn’t bother a real immortal.” The Watcher said with a trace of triumph in his voice.
The oldest beings in the universe, the Watchers were supposed to observe and were forbidden from interfering in human affairs. At least, they had been until about a year ago, when the White God found the first Oracle since the Schism. Jule understood the importance of her appearance, just as he knew all bets were off once she
was revealed. What he remembered of the Watchers came from the Schism, when they’d openly hunted and killed Naturals – humans with extraordinary gifts – that they felt were threats to them.
“The only thing bothering me is you. Say your piece and get out of here,” Jule replied.
“You were expecting me.”
“Why should that surprise you? I’ve been expecting you for years. The opportunistic bastards that you all are, you’d take advantage of a time like this.”
The Watcher clenched his teeth together, green eyes flaring with light and spinning before he regained his temper. Jule was happy to piss of the little green-eyed troll. The Watchers thought him lesser, because he’d chosen the mortal world over the immortal one.
“Chosen is the wrong word,” the Watcher said. “You were banished.”
“Happily banished.” Jule bated the immortal creature. “You won’t jerk me around like you did Damian.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“It’s a dare, my little friend.”
The Watcher paused again to reign in his composure then spoke in a reluctant tone. “The Grey God has torn the fabric between the mortal and immortal realms. We discovered there is a creature here that can steal the Guardians’ power and use it to rupture the breach. It’s left the Black God in an advantageous position, since all but the White and Grey Gods are powerless.”
“What do I need to do to right this?” Jule asked.
“We’re stitching this tear back together from the immortal realm. We can’t fix it from the mortal realm. We don’t know who can, but we know who can destroy our efforts.”
“Someone here in Ireland,” Jule guessed. “Or you would’ve let me go home.”
“I’d rather someone else take this on, but you’re my only option,” the Watcher said in plain distaste. “Yes, I kept you from returning with Damian to North America. The creature that can prevent us from healing the rupture is near here. She’s called the Magician. We’re not sure what this Magician is, but her powers are … unique and dangerous. She feeds off the powers of Guardians, so we stripped the Guardians of power.”
“Leaving them and the humans vulnerable to the Black God. Great plan, Watcher.”
“We didn’t take this decision lightly! If her powers grow enough, she’ll not only prevent us from stitching up the tear between realms, but she’ll open the doorway between the two worlds. You know well enough what the Others will do in the human realm,” the Watcher said.
“Make the Black God look like Santa Claus,” Jule said with a frown. “So you sapped us to keep her from absorbing our power. What’s this have to do with me?”
“I’m glad you ask,” the Watcher said, his gaze darkening. “I want you to find her and kill her.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Give me back my powers, so I can find her,” Jule said.
“I’m going to give a selective group of Guardians back their power, but you’re not among them.”
“You want me to find a creature with untold powers with my human self? You really think I’ll succeed?”
“I don’t care if you do. She’s hiding from us. We tracked her here and could get no farther. We need her found and distracted until we can enact a better plan,” the Watcher said. “If she kills you, nothing is lost. If you kill her, you save us the trouble of Plan B.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll have you killed.”
Jule laughed loudly. “You really think that’ll work on me?”
“What mortal doesn’t fear death?” the Watcher asked, his brow furrowing.
“This one,” Jule said with a broad smile. “If I succeed, I want my powers back. On the spot. You see, Watcher, I’m not stupid enough to think you really want me to fail. You wouldn’t ask someone you hated, unless you were desperate. Or, unless I’m the only person who can do it.”
The Watcher’s eyes flashed. Jule studied him, guessing his words to be correct by the anger on the Watcher’s face.
“Fine,” the Watcher all but spat the words. “If you succeed, you – and everyone else - will have their powers returned.” He appeared to sulk for a moment then grew thoughtful. “Of course, there’s always another option.”
“And that would be?”
“Returning to the immortal realm with me and regaining your powers.”
Jule frowned. He wasn’t sure how returning to the immortal realm would make a difference. A Watcher was stronger than any Guardian in the mortal realm, except for Damian, and more powerful than any immortal in the immortal realm, except for an Original Being. Whatever this Watcher was planning, it wasn’t good.
“No, thanks,” Jule said. He turned and started walking down the hill.
“You don’t remember the immortal – “
“Nope. We’re done.”
The Watcher lingered for a moment. Jule felt the creature’s presence disappear and dwelled on the odd arrangement. The Watcher had been up front with him about the mission, which meant there was much more than the immortal creature was saying. The little bastards never spoke the absolute truth.
The rain fell harder, and Jule broke into a trot. He hadn’t visited the Guardians’ Irish station in years, mainly because Ireland had no regular vamp population. He continued at his quick pace into the town, glancing over the quaint downtown strip lined with small cars and pubs. He slowed as he reached an intersection and made his way through the town to the outskirts, where small houses lined the street.
He walked until he recognized the Guardian’s station. He felt no wards protecting the station and shivered, wondering how many Guardians would be lost between now and when he could find and kill the Magician. The Guardians were vulnerable against the Black God’s vamps without their powers.
The door opened before he knocked, and the Guardian within looked him over. Jule couldn’t help but feel some relief at the sight of a warm, well-lit interior.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the blond haired Guardian said in a light Irish lilt. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like shit,” Jule said and entered. “Damian call?”
“Yes, ikir called earlier and said you’d be in today. Sean got you some clothes before he went to the pub for his shift.”
“Why is a Guardian working at the pub?” Jule asked.
“We’re bored,” the Guardian said with a shrug. “Sean’s from here, and we got nothin’ to kill.”
“Alrighty,” Jule said. “I take it you know by now you’ve got no Guardian powers?”
“It’s bad, Jule,” the Guardian said, pursing his lips. “Ikir ordered a no-engagement protocol. We’re supposed to lay low and avoid vamps. He said there’s a new Black God. Ikir thinks the new Black God is reorganizing. But once they start attacking … “
“We fight, like always. Just have worse odds,” Jule said, trying not to let his own alarm show. As the leader of the Eastern Hemisphere, he wasn’t about to let his Guardians know he was worried.
“Aye,” the Guardian said. “I have a new phone for you, too.” He closed the front door and went into another room.
Jule looked around the cozy house. He needed to contact Damian, the White God, above all, and share what the Watcher had told him. Damian might have some insight into what was going on, and who the Magician was.
He trotted up the stairs to the second floor of the house and walked into the bathroom, eager for his first hot shower in days.
* * *
Yully Hughes stayed in her room, where her father told her to, not wanting to upset him. His erratic moods had grown more volatile the past couple of days, and she knew better than to draw his attention. She still bore the bruises from upsetting him two days ago.
She sprawled on the rug near the fireplace. The manor house had been built several hundred years ago, and every room but hers was a reflection of her father’s wealth. Her room was plain and basic. She’d hung one picture above the blazing hearth. The rest of th
e walls were bare, the curtains drawn even during daylight, and the heavy wooden furniture solid and worn. After a childhood filled with foster homes, she feared getting too comfortable, even in the home of the man who adopted her ten years ago, when she was twelve. She’d stayed after she turned eighteen, because he was the only one who understood her strange gift.
She opened her hand to reveal its contents, a marble. Absently, she turned it into a frog then a flower then a piece of wood. She tossed it into the fire, marveling at the tiny explosion of pink and green flames.
“Yully,” her father called.
“Come in, Papa,” she said, rolling to face the door.
Her father entered. His features were stoic, his beautiful purple eyes the color of Spring flowers. While he didn’t look anything other than pleasant, she felt his tension in the shimmering air around him.
“How’s my darling?” he asked with his usual indifference.
“I’m fine, Papa. Are you alright?”
“I will be soon, I hope. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Is it what’s been bothering you the past two days?” she asked.
“You felt it.” He let a rare smile cross his face. “Yes, of course you did. Your powers are incredible.”
“It’s about the … uh, thing you told me about, isn’t it?” she said and sat.
“Yes, it is. You remember what I’ve taught you all these years?”
“Some sort of immortal creatures called Guardians are trying to destroy humanity. We are going to fight them,” she recited. “And we’ll start by taking out one of their leaders.”
“For the sake of humanity,” he said. He sat beside her. “I always told you, my daughter, that you were destined for greatness.”
“I know, Papa. I don’t understand all of it, though.” And sometimes, all this weird talk frightens me. This thought she kept to herself.
“You will,” he assured her. “Don’t be afraid, my daughter. I’ve trained you the best I could. You’re powers will soon know no depths, and you’ll be able to unite the realms. Instead of being the reject, you’ll become a princess.”