Daughter of Gods and Shadows (15 page)

“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 n
é
e 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 curled 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.

“Mother!” The voice of their son Loe warned them that he would be coming through the door at any moment.

“I told you, they always know,” she said, and smiled.

Moments later, the boy burst through the door. “Cobi's got the only knife, and he won't let me skin my catch.”

Jarrod stared at the boy. “So what are you saying, son?” He struggled to hide his frustration.

The boy shrugged. “I need my own knife.”

Alaine found a nice sharp one in the drawer and started to follow the boy outside. “And I need salt and flour if you want me to cook these hairy creatures for supper,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at Jarrod.

His heart melted when she smiled. His erection, on the other hand …

Seconds after she and Loe left, Natholu walked in. “Damn, brother,” he laughed. “That was quick.”

Jarrod shrugged off his disappointment. “Come on,” he said, ushering his brother out the door. “We have to go and get supplies.”

“Now?”

“Yes now, if you want to eat.”

They hadn't been gone long when Jarrod caught the scent. He and Natholu locked gazes.

“No,” Natholu said, shaking his head slowly. “That can't be … it can't be … real?”

It was different, but both of them knew undeniably exactly what it was. And it was coming from home.

Jarrod's heart pounded like a drum.

“Hurry, brother!” Jarrod started to change as he turned to run. “Hurry!”

“Please let us be wrong,” Jarrod muttered. His family.

The sounds of screams pinned back their ears miles before they got to the colony. And in that instant, the brothers knew that they weren't wrong.

“Run!”

It was Alaine's voice.

The brothers' transformation into Were form was effortless. Both large in stature before their change, they doubled in size after they were transformed, and their nature, more animal than not, took over as they charged and attacked Sakarabru's Brood soldiers. Instinctively, they knew which areas on the Brood bodies were vulnerable: throats, eyes, and chests.

Alaine had told the boys to run, while she stayed behind and fought. Jarrod saw her, battling like a warrior, slashing her butcher knife into the throats of Brood attacking her. She was not a Were creature, so she could not change. Jarrod fought to get to her, but the Brood Army seemed to come from every direction at the same time. It had been a long time since he'd fought. Maybe too long. They were strong. They were Brood. And there were so many of them.

Alaine whipped her knife through the air like a skilled swordsman.

“Mother!” he heard his son Cobi cry out.

“Run, Cobi!” she screamed, catching a Brood from behind and raking the knife deep across its throat.

But Cobi couldn't run. He was being stalked by a Brood not much bigger than him but still stronger. Jarrod's boys were hybrids of both parents. They could only turn at will when they had time to concentrate and focus—when they weren't afraid. He crouched low and raced across the field to Cobi. The small Brood turned in time to see Jarrod's thick and razor-sharp claws slice through the air, slicing through it like a hot knife cuts through butter.

“Papa!” The boy jumped up and ran to his father.

“Where's your brother?” Jarrod growled.

The boy couldn't answer.

“Find him!” he commanded, turning to get to his mate.

He could see her, fighting, slashing, and growling, but the Brood were too many, and he wasn't fast enough. She never saw the one come up behind her and twist her head until her neck snapped. Jarrod watched her body fall lifeless to the ground, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on him.

Jarrod's growl pierced the air like thunder. The Brood would fall. He knew it as soon as he saw the gray Were creature lunging at him, teeth bared, claws extended, and crazed. The beast in the Were raged, leaving reason and logic behind. Jarrod killed everyone who crossed his path without hesitation. He killed with abandon, snatching life out of anything that remotely resembled a Brood until his coat was soaked with their blood.

The small colony managed to kill the Brood that had attacked them. But the Brood had killed many of them too.

Jarrod cradled Alaine in his arms like a small child. His sons were at his side, crying.

“They came because he sent them,” Jarrod said, through his tears and grief. “Sakarabru sent them.” He looked at his brother.

Jarrod looked down from his horse at this small, almost insignificant version of Khale. He had heard the stories about the return of the Demon. And he knew that when the Demon returned, so would the Redeemer. Khale had messed with fate and instinctively he knew that that couldn't have been good.

“So what of your reborn, Khale?” he asked, cautiously. “What of this new Redeemer? Where is she?”

“She is with the Guardian,” Khale told him.

“Is she ready? Has she bonded with the Omens?”

“He will make her ready.”

Yeah, right. “The last one fucked up everything. And you said she was ready. We all ended up here, our world is gone, and the Demon is back. So why should we believe that this one can do what the last one couldn't?”