Echo Prophecy

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “I’m not talking to the press,” I told Dominic vehemently.

  Josh had signaled for Sandra, Vali, and five of my largest bodyguards to meet me in the aisle. After quick words, Sandra hustled away, corralling several dozen more Nejeret bodyguards with her.

  “Nobody wants to talk to the press,” Dominic said, guiding me toward the aisle. “But they want to talk to you. We’ll get you through the crowd as quickly as possible. The car’s already waiting.”

  Sadly, I nodded, and then I turned to my waiting family.

  “Oh sweetie, we’re so sorry that—that cretin is getting away with—with what he did to you,” my Mom said between sobs. I gave her a hug, unable to tell her that Nejeret justice would take over since the human version had failed, and Nejeret justice was far harsher.

  “It’s okay, Mom, I’m just glad it’s over,” I told her, and I meant it. Reliving the awful experience in the At was one thing, but recounting every detail, repeatedly, before a packed courtroom was another entirely. Besides, I was tired of all of the character-bashing and victim-blame.

  My father wrapped his arms around us both. “Someday, Lelee, that little shit will pay for what he did.”

  I really didn’t like the note of promise in his voice. “I know, Dad, someday he will pay. Just don’t do anything stupid …” … like personally getting revenge on your daughter’s attempted rapist.

  “Meswett,” Dominic whispered, loud enough for me to hear, but too quiet for my parents’ human ears to pick up. It was time to go.

  “I’m really sorry Mom, Dad”—I peeked over their shoulders to offer a tight smile to Jenny and Grandma Suse—“but I absolutely have to get back to work. I’m lucky the director didn’t kick me off the team for taking so much time with the trial,” I said, squeezing them one last time.

  “I’m proud of you for taking this so well, sweetie,” my mom said tearfully. “You’ve had such a rough few months …” She was referring not only to her revelation about my parentage, but also to what Seattle police had deemed a “freak gang show-down” that had taken place in my apartment while I’d been out—I definitely didn’t feel the need to correct that mistaken assumption—and, of course, the trial.

  I pulled away, my motions hesitant. I really did miss my family. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay,” I promised.

  “Of course, sweetie,” my mom said, closely followed by my father’s “We love you, Lex.”

  Turning away, I willed myself not to cry. As Dominic sprang to my side and six bodyguards encircled us, I wondered for the thousandth time how odd my entourage must’ve looked to my parents. How were they justifying the scene in their minds? They hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me. Perhaps they thought the excavation director was a paranoid billionaire concerned with losing his ancient languages specialist? Or maybe they thought he was simply a billionaire who had become enamored with their little girl?

  “Lex! I’m sorry, Lex!” Cara shouted from outside my cocoon of muscle. “Lex? Please say you’ll forgive me!”

  I ignored her and continued out of the courtroom, across a wide, marble hallway to the elevators, and down to the waiting throng of reporters. Stupid Set …

  To my immense relief, Sandra and dozens of Nejeret guards had managed to create a pathway from the courthouse door to my waiting car. I wouldn’t have to speak into single microphone about the injustice of the verdict. I wouldn’t have to listen politely as a reporter badgered me into an emotional reaction or shocking revelation. I wanted to crow with delight or possibly kiss the small woman. She was a tactical genius and a killer chess player—I’d yet to beat her, and we played almost every evening. It was my favorite part of Meswett training—learning how to think strategically via chess.

  Dominic opened the black sedan’s rear door, helped me into the backseat, and then took his own place in the front passenger seat. Neffe was already sitting in the backseat, grinning knowingly.

  “Neffe, you know that’s not the appropriate reaction to losing a trial, right?” I asked her suspiciously. The more I’d gotten to know her, the more I’d grown to appreciate her oddities … and she had many of them.

  She raised a single, arched eyebrow and said, “He’s back. He’s waiting for you at the compound.”

  Relief flooded my body, and I finally felt like I could breathe. “It’s about time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Hello & Goodbye

  The two-hour trip back to the Heru compound on Bainbridge Island had been torturous, as was the walk through the house and up the stairs to my suite, where I knew Marcus awaited me. Dominic was by my side as usual, while Neffe kept pace on my left. Vali led our silent procession, and Sandra brought up the rear. Even with all the people around me, I felt completely alone.

  Vali pushed through the door to my sitting room, and I waited the usual thirty seconds for the all-clear, a four-toned whistle. It put a serious dent in my day when I had to wait for my guards to search and approve every room I intended to enter. I missed being a nobody. I missed being able to relax, drink wine, eat cheese and popcorn, and watch comic book movies with Cara and Annie. Not like that’ll ever happen again, I thought bitterly.

  Vali whistled. I took a deep breath, then another, and walked through the doorway.

  Marcus stood at the center window on the opposite side of the room, looking down on the immaculately manicured grounds. He was a king surveying his realm, a god observing his creation. At the sight of him in his impeccable charcoal suit, my chest exploded with joy. He clashed with the sitting room’s warm decor—soft greens, oranges, and creams accented the oak furniture and papered the walls. I loved my rooms, felt comfortable in them, and Marcus didn’t seem to belong. I didn’t like that.

  “Leave us,” he ordered quietly.

  Vali looked to me, and at my nod, ushered everyone back out to the hallway … everyone except Dominic, who refused to leave.

  Dominic had become extremely attached to me, as I’d become to him. His constant presence soothed me when little else would ease my perpetual heartache. He would tell me stories of his early childhood in the Loire Valley, of his many exciting adventures across Europe over the centuries, and what it was like to watch the world change around him while he remained, more or less, the same.

  I touched his arm, saying, “Dom, I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me.”

  Dominic peered down at me with sad eyes. “He already has,” he said softly, though the glare he shot Marcus was diamond-hard.

  Marcus watched Dominic leave, irritation tightening the skin around his eyes. “You two seem to have become quite close,” he observed.

  I marched between a pale-green sofa and a glass-topped coffee table straight toward Marcus and slapped his perfect face as hard as I could. “Ow!” I howled immediately after, shaking my stinging palm.

  He didn’t even have the decency to pretend it had hurt.

  “You are such an asshole, Heru!” I screeched, hitting him in the chest with my open hands. “And an idiot!” I hit him again. “And a coward!” Again. “And a—”

  He reached up and caught my wrists in an iron grip. “I’ve been called many things, Little Ivanov, but never a coward. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that name.”

  “What name?” I spat. His hold on me was unbreakable. No matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t pull my wrists free.

  “Heru,” he said with disgust.

  That caught me off guard, and I stopped struggling. “But it’s your name. You made that very clear the last time I saw you.” I didn’t tell him that, to me, he would always be Marcus.

  His tiger eyes flashed with anger. “I told you once before that I preferred for you to call me Marcus. That preference has not changed.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What? So everyone else can call you by your real name, but I get stuck with your most recent pseudonym?”

  His grip tightened, and he raked his eyes over my face, shoulders, and chest. The anger lighting his gaze transformed i
nto heat of another kind—desire. I didn’t know what he found so exciting, dressed as I was in a cream silk blouse and tailored black blazer. “I have no desire for everyone else to see me as I would have you see me.”

  “And that would be as what?” I fumed.

  He answered without hesitation. “The first thing you think of upon waking and the last upon falling asleep. The man you call out to in times of unbearable pain and desperate pleasure, and the man who will do anything to keep you alive,” he professed, his black-rimmed gold eyes burning through my anger.

  “Oh,” I said softly.

  “I tried for two months, but I … I had to return,” he said, sounding desperate. Marcus was evidently unused to being ruled by emotion. How had I sauntered into his world and ripped apart his rigid control and unfailing logic? What made me so special? I honestly didn’t understand why I had such an effect on him. But, I was glad I did.

  “Heru will set his heart on her,” I said quietly, quoting Nuin’s prophecy.

  Marcus released me, bowing his head and turning away to face the window once more. “So they told you. I made them swear not to. Who disobeyed me?”

  “Does it really matter … if they did it for me? The person responsible is sworn to me now, not just you,” I reminded him, hoping to spare Neffe whatever punishment her father might want to dole out.

  Grudgingly, Marcus said, “Fine. It is done.”

  I hesitated, then spoke, picking my words carefully. “I understand why you left, Marcus, I really do. It was a clever idea. Idiotic, but clever.”

  “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice rough. He continued to stare out the window.

  “Just that I understand why you did it … why you tried to work around Nuin’s prophecy. But you need to understand something.” I glared at the back of his head. “You hurt me!” At my words, or maybe at the harsh anger laced through them, he bowed his head lower. “The way you spoke to me in front of the others,” I continued, “and then you left and I … it felt like you took a part of me with you … an essential part.”

  Without warning, he turned and knelt before me.

  I said nothing, unable to form any sounds when faced with such a proud man kneeling at my feet. I desperately wanted to touch him, and I had to consciously stop my hands from reaching out.

  Holding my gaze with eyes blazing like golden suns, Marcus spoke. “I live to serve, Meswett. My life is yours, Meswett, may you live forever.”

  I inhaled sharply. I’d heard those words dozens of times from all my guards and had accepted every offering, but hearing them from Marcus disgusted me.

  Falling to my knees, I stared at him—his eyes were liquid, molten, and challenging. “I do not accept your service or your life, Nejeret. I refuse to be the Meswett to you.”

  He gazed at me, an unfathomable mixture of emotions altering his expression—widening his eyes, tensing his jaw, parting his lips. Heat and desire burned in his eyes, and I thought he might ravish me right then and there. I wanted him to. I wanted an excuse to experience every carnal thing he’d learned in his thousands of years, and beyond that, to be as close to him as possible, both physically and emotionally. Desperately, I wanted him to take the decision out of my hands. But Marcus was a master of control and desire … and anticipation.

  He rose and moved away so quickly that I almost fell forward. When I regained my balance, he was once again staring out the window.

  Holding my head high, I stood but didn’t approach him. “Why return now?” I asked. Why did losing the trial bring you back to me?

  Fists clenching, he explained, “That little piece of shit had his hands all over you … he had his tongue shoved in your mouth, his hand up your skirt. I can’t stand the idea of him getting near you again. Just knowing he has those memories, that he can recall the feel of your most intimate parts at will, makes me want to rip out his throat.” He paused, then added, “Which I may still do.”

  I approached him cautiously, hoping to avoid triggering the rage that boiled just beneath his surface. Gently touching his shoulder, I swallowed my pride and said, “Marcus … I’m glad you’re back.”

  Marcus sighed, regaining his control. “As am I.”

  I let my hand slip down his arm and rest in the crook of his elbow. “Come on, there’s a huge banquet downstairs to celebrate the end of the trial. I think they’re all just happy we don’t have to go out in public en masse for a while. We really do draw the attention of the humans … they must think we’re a pack of day-walking vampires or something …”

  Shaking his head, Marcus almost smiled. “Yes, I’ll come down to your little feast. I have news to share with everyone. Besides”—he gazed down at me in a way that made me want to melt into his arms—“I’ll use any excuse to touch you for a few more minutes.” He was studying me intently. “You’ve changed,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice.

  “Not where it matters,” I told him softly, earning a faint smile.

  Arms linked, we made our way downstairs, acquiring Vali and two more bodyguards along the way. When we entered the dining hall—what could easily have been classified as the most tasteful of ballrooms—the Nejerets filling it slowly fell into an eerie hush.

  Marcus gazed around the room, his expression haughty. He was Heru, the falcon god, patriarch of one of the most powerful Nejeret familial lines. When he entered any room he commanded the attention of everyone present, and like a celestial body, his gravitational pull required everyone to remain aware of him hours later. Over a hundred pairs of Nejeret eyes were locked on him, riveted.

  Releasing his arm, I stepped back a few paces.

  “My family and friends, I greet you! And I thank you from the bottom of my heart”—he touched his right hand to his chest—“for taking such good care of the Meswett in my absence. I assure you, it is my intention to never leave her side again.”

  Echoing the emotion in my chest, an enthusiastic cheer roared throughout the room for a few moments. They all knew the prophecy, and they knew what it meant for Marcus to make such a claim.

  “I have news to share with all of you. My time away was split between Kemet and Firenze,” he stated, earning hushed speculation from nearly everyone. That he’d spent time in Kemet, the ancient name for Egypt, indicated he’d been doing something related to the upcoming excavation. Firenze—Florence, Italy—I’d recently learned, was the auspicious location of Ivan’s headquarters and therefore the international center for his familial line—for my ancestral line. Was Marcus visiting Ivan?

  “I met with many officials in our ancient homeland,” Marcus continued, “and am pleased to announce that the excavation has been moved up. We will depart on the twenty-second of March.”

  I glanced at Dominic and Neffe just in time to see them exchange a look of shared angst and frustration. Everything, from the field school participants to the housing and travel arrangements, was set up for a departure date roughly two months later than the one just announced. Marcus, who didn’t care to dirty himself with such menial tasks, would no doubt leave the tireless job of logistical rearrangement to Dominic and Neffe. They were going to be a joy to work with for the next week.

  “My second piece of news,” Marcus said to the quieting crowd, “regards this most recent unpleasantness. The six remaining members of the Council of Seven have met to pass sentence on the Set-cult member, Mike Hernandez. As you can all imagine, Ivan was quite distraught about the human’s actions toward the Meswett, his great-granddaughter. He felt the human justice system would likely fail our most important sister in her time of need. In anticipation of their failure, we found him guilty and sentenced him—”

  “The tyranny of the Council and their false prophecy will end with the Meswett’s death!” a man shouted from the back of the room.

  Gasps erupted throughout the cavernous space as men and women turned to search the back of the dining hall for the speaker.

  Marcus’s body slammed into mine, knocking me to the marble floor,
just as three explosive cracks sounded in quick succession. I lay on my back, something warm and wet spreading across my torso. Is it blood? Am I bleeding? Marcus’s ashen face was inches from mine, his black pupils constricting until his eyes were more golden than I’d ever seen them.

  “I’ve got him!” a woman shouted in the erupting cacophony. She sounded distant and hollow, like she was speaking through a tin can phone.

  “Will you accept … my life now, Little Ivanov?” Marcus rasped through bloodstained lips. “I give it … to you … gladly.” He rested his head on my shoulder and fell still.

  “No!” I shrieked. “NO! I won’t accept it! I don’t want it! NO! Take it back!” I shouted, repeating variations of the same words over and over again. Why didn’t I tell him how I felt? Why am I so stubborn? I’m always so stupidly stubborn!

  Is he dying? Is he dead? NO!

  Hands were on me, gentle and firm, and four pairs of concerned eyes stared down at me from familiar faces … alive faces. But none of them was the right face. Why wasn’t Marcus looking at me the way they were? Why wasn’t he looking at me at all? Why was he just lying on top of me, unmoving?

  Dominic asked me something, but his words didn’t make any sense. They were meaningless … everything was meaningless without him. Why isn’t he moving?

  At my blank stare, Dominic growled, “Was she hit? Neffe! Did any bullets hit her?!”

  “I don’t know! There’s so much blood … I think it’s all from my father. We need to move him,” she replied. “Now!”

  Marcus’s body was rolled off mine and Neffe’s precise hands began examining every inch of my body. I stared at Marcus’s blood-smeared face, at his vacant eyes, while Neffe searched me for bullet holes that weren’t there. She was focusing on the wrong body—she needed to be working on him—a realization that snapped me out of my shock.

  I pushed her hands away. “I’m fine! Help him! HELP HIM! If he dies … If he dies …”