by Jayde Brooks
Paul stood up and stepped over Ed’s body on his way to the bathroom, in desperate need of a shower. Days later, Paul had ended up here, summoned.
Sakarabru was pleased with this one. Yes, there was apprehension and uncertainty in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. There was loyalty and dependence so blind that it would never question and never waiver.
“When you hear my voice, you will know it. When I call to you, you will come. You will not hesitate. You will not question. I am all that is all. I am everything to you, and only I can heal you and take away your pain.”
He stepped back and examined his Brood once more.
“Go, Paul Chapman,” he commanded. “Find her, this new Redeemer, and end her.”
REELIN’ IN THE YEARS
The scent of bacon woke her up. Eden followed it to the kitchen, where the Guardian Prophet was standing over the stove, cooking. He had his shirt off; his jeans hung low on his waist. Looking at him, Eden guessed that he stood at least six feet five, maybe even six seven or eight, and he was covered in tattoos, a tangled mass of faces, trees, and wild animals. But even under all that ink she could see his huge shoulder blades and two very dark lines, almost black, folds of skin that separated slightly, depending on how he moved.
Prophet’s long locks hung slightly below his hips and were blunt at the ends, like they’d been cut. He was the most unusual looking and breathtakingly beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on, like a piece of artwork that somebody made up, that couldn’t possibly be real. If he looked like this, and he loved Mkombozi at first sight, then she could only imagine how beautiful Mkombozi must’ve been. The Mkombozi in her dreams, her nightmares, was a hollow shell of the real Redeemer. Eden came to that conclusion just by looking at him.
“Afternoon,” he said, turning to her and taking a sip of coffee.
Prophet had prepared two plates and sat them both on the counter.
“Afternoon?” she said, confused, taking in his presentation. “But that’s breakfast.”
He’d prepared what looked to be a couple of packages of bacon and at least a dozen eggs.
“Yeah, it’s uh … really all I know how to make,” he shrugged. “And coffee. I make a mean cup of coffee.” He smiled and raised his cup in a toast.
She made her way over to the counter and sat down. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Long enough to eat all that, I’m sure,” he said, motioning toward the food.
Okay, so she was hungry. Eden took a bite of the bacon and moaned audibly. She was starving.
He smiled his appreciation. “Coffee?”
She nodded and shoved some eggs into her mouth. “Yes, please.”
Damn! Either this was the best-tasting bacon and eggs she’d ever had in her life or she’d been asleep for weeks and was famished!
After passing her a cup of coffee, he stood there looking mighty pleased with himself.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked with her mouth full.
“I ate already.”
“Whose plate is this?” Eden pointed to the plate next to her.
He smiled.
She was on her second cup of coffee by the time they went out onto the deck. The view was so beautiful. The house sat in a clearing surrounded by trees as far as you could see in every direction.
“Where are we exactly?” she finally had the presence of mind to ask.
“Vermont.”
Vermont. If she’d known that Vermont was as peaceful and surreal as this, she’d have left Brooklyn a long time ago. This place, Prophet’s home, was in a bubble, protected and separated from the rest of the world. There was no traffic, no people, no noise, nothing. She hadn’t even noticed a television in the house.
“I could stay here forever,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“It’s tempting,” he eventually responded. “But you could go a little stir-crazy in a place like this for too long.”
“Not me,” she responded. “I’ve dreamed of living in a place like this my whole life. Someplace quiet and secluded. Someplace safe. It’s beautiful here.”
Prophet was working hard to be patient. He didn’t have to say it for her to know it. He knew that she was afraid, and he knew that Eden was content to deny that the real world ever existed. She appreciated him for not rushing her. No wonder Mkombozi loved him.
“Was she hot?” She looked at him.
“Who?”
Eden rolled her eyes. “Mkombozi. Was she sexy?”
Of course she was. He was hot, so it only stood to reason that she had to have been sexy.
He was too much of a gentlemen to actually come out and say it, but Eden could see the answer in that sparkle in his eyes and in that half smile he worked hard to hide.
“I knew it.” She laughed.
She had a ton of questions. Rose and Khale had told her so many things as she was growing up, but even still, there were things she wanted to know, things that had nothing to do with Omens or destinies or demons.
“Are you a Shifter?”
“Me? Nah.” He frowned. “I’m a Guardian.”
“Guardian’s aren’t Shifters?”
He shook his head. “Guardians are Guardians.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
Eventually he realized that she was waiting. “We are our own race,” he continued.
“But you all have wings?”
“Yes. We all do.”
“Do you all guard?” It sounded dumb, but how else was she supposed to say it?
“From a very young age a Guardian is tasked to choose the one he will swear his oath to.”
“Does it have to be a woman?” she asked.
“For me, yes. Women are my preference.”
Oh, thank heaven for that. “And so you swear this oath to protect this one that you choose?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “The oath is eternal, and we don’t choose lightly. It’s a soul thing, something deeper than a simple choice. A Guardian sees the one that is meant for him, and it’s almost as if the choice is made for him.”
“Was Mkombozi a Shifter?”
“No.”
“But Khale is her mother, and she’s a Shifter. See, that’s what I don’t understand. If her mother is a Shifter, then why wouldn’t she be one?” Eden thought for a moment. “What was her father?”
He shrugged. “No one knows.”
Eden was shocked. “Shut the pump Dior!”
Of course she was confused. “The great Khale née Khale had a kid out of wedlock?”
“She wasn’t mated to him.”
“Well, well, well,” she said, smugly. “Does she at least know who her baby daddy is?”
He laughed. “Mkombozi was no Shifter. She was the Redeemer.”
“Yeah, but, I mean, what powers did she have? Like, you fly, Khale can shape-shift. What did Mkombozi do?”
“She was strong, fast, a telepath, and a good strategist and general.”
“A warrior, Khale said.”
“When she needed to be, but not always. Khale saw what she wanted to see in Mkombozi. I saw everything else.”
The sly look she gave him nearly made him blush, if that was even possible.
“She wasn’t always the warrior, Eden. She didn’t necessarily embrace her fate.”
That’s not the story Eden had heard about Mkombozi. According to Khale and even Rose, Mkombozi wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, and she pretty much chased those Omens down until she found every last one of them.
“She was afraid.”
He thought he was being slick. “Don’t even try it, Prophet,” she said.
“Try what?”
“Try to make me think that she went through what I’m going through about all of this. Mkombozi was a badass. Eden isn’t.”
He picked up a stone and threw it into the forest. “I don’t know. You looked pretty badass the other day when I found you on that bus.”
“That was adrenaline and
a fierce commitment to not get eaten.”
“Still badass.”
“Do you miss Theia?” she said, changing the subject.
It was a dumb question, but Rose seldom talked about how she felt about her world. Eden had grown up believing that it was a war-torn mess, with everybody fighting and dying.
“What was it like for you before The Fall?”
He sat quietly for a few minutes before answering her. “The lesser Ancients worshipped us.”
“Lesser Ancients?”
“Not all of us are Shifters or Pixies or Weres,” he explained. “Most Ancients look like humans.”
“Like MyRose,” she concluded, realizing that she’d never seen Rose look any other way besides the way she looked.
“We don’t age like humans. We age much more slowly.”
“But you do get old?”
“Yes.”
“And so these lesser Ancients worshipped Guardians?”
“Guardians, Shifters … They looked to us as gods. We lived like gods and we bought into our own hype.”
“But you don’t think that’s what you are or were?”
Prophet was thoughtful again. “In this world, Eden, I have been a god, a slave, a soldier. I have had wives, and now once again, because of you, I am a Guardian. We are who we choose to be.”
His words cut into her. “But, according to the prophecy, I have no choice.”
He surprised her and laughed. “Prophecy. Ancients are so damn dramatic.”
“But that’s what I was told, Prophet. I was told that I am who I am because of some Theian prophecy.”
“Fine, then it’s a prophecy,” he said irritably.
“Well, what would you call it?”
“A Seer told Khale about the future,” he began to explain. “Larcerta is her name, and she is one of six Seers, all trolls. Very unattractive, and I’m not the only one who thinks that, but she’s influential.”
“I know of the Seers.”
“Larcerta told Khale of a possible future, not a definitive one.”
“But you heard Khale. My future, according to her, is set. It will happen the way I was taught and I have no choice in it.”
“Khale is driving the train,” he said sarcastically. “This so-called prophecy or destiny will go where she wants it to go. Until someone else takes over.”
“So none of this has to happen? That the damn Demon didn’t have to come to my world and fuck it all up? And that I don’t have to bond with any Omens or die saving the planet?”
“No.”
She couldn’t help it. She punched him. Prophet grabbed his arm and spun around, grimacing as if he were in some real pain.
“Oh God!” She stepped back. “Did I hurt you?”
“What I’m saying is that, yes, Larcerta saw all of these things and that they are happening the way she said that they would.”
“Then Khale was right! I don’t have a choice.”
“Larcerta can’t see your choice, Eden,” he told her. “You could stay here in this house for the rest of your life, however long that may be, and never face the destiny that has been told belongs to you. You could do that.”
Eden stood up and began pacing back and forth. “I could do that?” She looked at him.
“You could. If you want to stay here, then stay here. But if you do—if that’s the choice you make—understand that it is your choice but that it will come with consequences.”
She stopped and just stared back into those silver eyes churning like a storm was raging in them.
“You can choose not to do this, and the world will take care of itself, Eden.”
That happy and contented feeling she’d briefly basked in quickly faded. Even without a television or the Internet, Eden could almost feel the change in this world taking place in the air. This house in Vermont may very well have been heaven on earth, but hell was surging all around it, and it would only be a matter of time before it actually showed up here.
“You do have a choice,” he said again.
She smiled at the sincerity with which he said it, but if she had any kind of conscience whatsoever, then no. No, she didn’t.
SMOKESTACK LIGHTNIN’
Jarrod Runyon and his kind were never on Khale’s side. Not on Theia and not here and now in this world. Her side chose him, when the Demon’s Brood Army killed his pack in the Valley of Halo before The Fall of Theia.
In the Were Nation, Jarrod Runyon was Alpha, but no outsider would know that by looking at him. He had always preferred to live simply. Jarrod had founded this small town in rural Kentucky hundreds of years ago, but to humans, he was the great-great-great—maybe even one more great—grandson of the original founder of Halo, Kentucky. It was a lie that perpetuated with time, and one that he’d grown quite fond of.
The Great Shifter, Mother General of the Ancient forces, Khale née Khale, looked about as out of place as she felt on his ranch. She’d flown into this place like some sort of hawk, only to land and shift into the form of a young human woman with glasses bigger than her head, standing two feet away from a mound of bull dung.
“Watch your step, Khale,” he said, snidely.
She looked down at the mess around her in disgust.
“You sure you don’t wanna change into a cow or something?” He laughed. “You’ll fit right in.”
“We need to talk, Were.”
Were. Humans called them werewolves, and had filled in the missing blanks of what they actually were to create their own version of the legend. Some of his favorites included: “Werewolves can only change into their wolf form when the moon is full.” Another one: “You can only kill a werewolf with a silver bullet.” And his all-time favorite: “Any human bitten by a werewolf will change into a wolf at the next full moon.”
His kind had no interest in taking a bite out of any nasty-ass humans. But whatever. Their stories made for pretty decent entertainment if nothing else.
If Khale expected him to climb down from his horse, she was going to be disappointed. He had no love for Khale or any other Ancient that fathomed themselves gods. The truth was that when Theia fell, so did the Ancients, along with their fancy titles and stations in life.
“So talk,” he said, in the southern accent he’d adopted as his own. It was an earthy drawl, one that the common man embraced, and it came from the heart.
“The Demon is back,” she said, visibly flustered as she swatted at a fly.
Jarrod had seen the news. He knew what was happening in cities all around the world, and he felt sorry for the humans, he truly did. All in all, most of them were decent people and none of them deserved what was happening to them.
“Yeah, I know,” he said, shaking his head.
“We have to come together, Jarrod. Sakarabru will destroy this world rebuilding his army and then he will come for all of us. No Ancient will be safe. No one spared.”
Jarrod looked out across the vast acreage of his ranch and remembered the first time he’d come face-to-face with Sakarabru’s army. He’d had a family on Theia. He’d had a wife and children. That damn Brood Army took them from him. What choice did he have after that, except to fight on the side of the Shifter?
From the look on her face, Jarrod and the boys could tell that she was not nearly as happy about the rewards of their hunt as they all thought she’d be.
Alaine looked at each one of them, and then back to the half dozen dead creatures laying on her kitchen table.
“Did you just put those dead, vile things on my clean table?”
“The boys caught them on their own,” Jarrod said proudly, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that somehow she’d be less inclined to get upset if she knew that.
Alaine stared back at him like he’d just told her that he was a Guardian.
He nudged Cobi, the oldest.
“Yes. Loe and I caught them all by ourselves.” He swallowed.
Alaine’s angry gaze drifted from one boy to the other. A bitter smile cu
rled the corner of her lips. “Then you and Loe can take them out back where they belong.”
“I’ll carry them!” Loe grabbed the end of the rope that the animals were tied to, dragged them off the table, ran straight for the door, and bumped into Jarrod’s brother, Natholu.
“What is this?”
The boy held up the animals. “Cobi and I hunted them and caught them on our own,” he announced proudly.
“And you and Cobi can skin them, too,” Alaine shouted. “With your father’s help,” she said, glaring at Jarrod.
“We can eat them tonight for dinner,” Natholu said, licking his lips.
“You weren’t invited to dinner, brother,” Jarrod said.
“Since when has that ever stopped him from showing up?” Alaine quipped.
“It never has before, Natholu.” He smiled.
Alaine laughed, shook her head, and turned back around to finish peeling the vegetables she had on the counter. Jarrod nudged his brother in the side with an elbow.
“What?” Natholu asked, sounding as dumb as he looked.
Jarrod nodded his head in the direction of the door, signaling that he needed his brother to leave.
“Oh,” Natholu said, finally figuring out what his brother meant. “Yes, so … uh … I’ll see you tonight at dinner, Alaine.”
Jarrod came over to his mate, placed a hand on the counter on either side of her, and sniffed a trail down the side of her neck. He loved the way she smelled. It had been sealed into his mind, his heart. It had traveled the winds to him, and he’d followed it until he’d found her. She was made for him.
“Those boys will be busy for a couple of hours,” he muttered, and then kissed her neck.
She laughed. “They’ll know. They always know.”
“Then let’s take a walk.” Jarrod took the knife from his mate’s hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “It’s better outside, anyway.”
She moaned and turned her face to press against his. “You know I’d love that.”
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.
“I know.” He kissed her neck again.