Daughter of Gods and Shadows (22 page)

“If she is the Redeemer,” a skinny, sun-deprived dude, who called himself a vampire, told him, “then she'll have a Guardian.”

“What's a Guardian?” Paul asked.

The scrawny, frail little dude smiled. “A big mean motherfucker with wings. Guardians guard, man. The legend goes that the reborn is the reincarnation of the first Redeemer. And the Redeemer had a Guardian. So this reborn must have one, too.”

“Where do I find this Guardian?”

Skinny man shrugged his bony shoulders. “I don't run in those circles, dude. They don't give me the 411, but you might wanna check with some other Ancients.”

Ancients. That's what they called themselves as a whole.

“Shifters would know. Some of the Mer creatures would know, if you don't mind getting wet.” He grinned. But Paul minded getting wet.

“There's a colony not too far from here of Weres.”

Paul looked confused.

“Werewolves,” he clarified. “They tend to be selective about loyalty and shit. They might be feeling generous and tell you what you need to know.”

They weren't.

This shit wasn't like in the movies. As soon as Paul stepped out of his car, they began to surround him and transform, almost as if they knew what he was. There was no full moon, and they didn't change into dogs or even wolves like he'd seen in movies. These were some big-ass men, who turned into even bigger-assed mutants, that stood upright and taller than him with arms that damn near dragged the ground, six-inch-long fangs, elongated faces that sort of looked like snouts, and fucking muscles bulging out of places where no living thing should have muscles.

Paul never saw the one come up behind him and sink his teeth into Paul's deltoid. He did see the one barreling toward him, lowering his massive shoulder and driving it into Paul's solar plexus with such force that Paul fell backward and on top of the one behind him, crushing the damn thing's chest. It yelped like a dog.

Paul rolled off the one underneath him, grabbed the one on top of him underneath his arms, planted his feet, and raised himself up on the tips of his toes, using all of his strength to flip that sonofabitch overhead. He turned right into another one, who met Paul's chin with what looked like a hand with long thick talons at the end of it. Paul's head jerked back so hard when he fell backward that he thought his neck had been broken.

The Weres were powerful. They were fast, but they attacked like pack animals. Half a dozen of them stalked around him while he lay there, waiting for him to make an aggressive move. In his previous life, Paul had been a fighter. He'd been a champion, all six feet four, 270 pounds of him. Since this change, he stood closer to six eight, six nine, and weighed more than 300 pounds. He was outnumbered, but the damn things weren't the tacticians that Paul was.

He looked for the biggest one and found him. Paul would start with that fucker right there. As the big Were passed by Paul's outstretched arm, Paul grabbed him by the heel and pulled it out from under him. In the blink of an eye, he was sitting on the bastard's chest, holding his bottom jaw in one hand and his upper jaw in another. It clawed and swiped at Paul. They were all over his back, biting into his thighs and arms, but the sound of jawbone breaking startled every last one of them long enough for him to drive his elbow hard into the skull of another. Paul reached behind him to the one driving those fangs through the muscles in his shoulder, and dug his fingers viciously into the eyes, until it let him go and fell over yelping and howling. Paul forced himself to his feet, walked over to the blind Were, and drove the heel of his boot into its throat to shut it up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one run off and disappear into the woods. One remained, limping away from Paul as he stalked toward it, and gradually shifting back into a human-looking form. He was young, no more than twenty, twenty-five. Paul could've snapped his little ass like a twig, but he needed him.

Paul hurt all over, but he wasn't even out of breath. The scent of his own blood was sour, foul, like something spoiled. The boy put up his hands in surrender.

“Where is the Guardian?” Paul blurted out, still coming at the boy.

He looked up at Paul and shook his head. “What?”

The little bitch had taken a bite out of Paul at some point. He was sure of it, and looking at him now, it took everything inside him not to break his scrawny little neck. “The Guardian!” he yelled. “Where's the fuckin' Guardian!”

“I don't know,” the boy cried, and fell helplessly to his knees. “I don't…”

Paul stopped and stood over him and then reached down, grabbed a handful of dark curly hair, and pulled the kid up until he dangled a foot off the ground.

“The reborn has a Guardian,” he spat in the boy's face. “Where do I find this Guardian?”

The boy couldn't tell him anything except where he could go to find someone else who could. The Were boy had pointed Paul in the direction of “that way” before Paul punched his fist through his chest.
That way
ended up being north, less than ten miles from where he'd found these dudes on a back road that led him to a clearing where an old trailer sat on cinder blocks. Paul didn't bother to knock. Vincent Larimer had pretended to be a teacher throughout the centuries. A learned man, he shined a whole new light on the term “Ancient History,” even filling Paul in on the legend of this reborn. Unlike the Vamp or the Were boy, it was obvious to Paul that this Vincent was an elitist, trembling behind his desk, wearing a tailored button-down shirt, cuff links, designer jeans, and old, weathered Air Jordans.

“I'm looking for the Guardian,” Paul said without the courtesy of a formal introduction.

“W-what?”

Paul decided that there was no need to repeat himself. Eventually, Larimer figured that stalling was wasted on Chapman.

“H-he lives in Vermont,” he finally volunteered.

Again, Paul waited for this pissant to finally realize that he needed to narrow the scope a little.

Vincent swallowed. “I'd have to show you.”

Paul took one step toward the Ancient, and the fool wet his pants.

*   *   *

The next night, Chapman pulled up into the circular driveway of the house Larimer had led him to. Paul kicked in the front door and dragged Vincent Larimer in behind him by the collar and dropped his pathetic body on the hardwood floors. The place was dark. He cautiously searched each room, finding signs that the place had been recently inhabited. There were dishes in the sink and food still fresh in the refrigerator. He stepped over Vincent, still lying there and moaning on the floor, and went upstairs. The bed in the master bedroom was unmade, and on it lay a small tank top. Paul picked it up, raised it to his nose, and inhaled. He didn't need anyone to tell him that she had worn this. And now he had her scent committed to memory and finding her would be a piece of cake.

 

SERPENTINE FIRE

Prophet stuck to the back roads as he drove, but even the smaller towns hadn't been spared the devastation caused by the Demon. Most of them were abandoned, or at least they looked that way on the surface. They'd been shot at twice, and on several occasions, people would scurry from their hiding places like roaches, rushing toward the car, begging for them to stop and help them.

“Prophet,” Eden whispered, staring at a family carrying children chasing behind them on foot.

“We can't stop, Eden,” he told her. “It's not safe.”

It was one thing to see it on the news, but to actually be a part of a world that had changed so much in so short a time, like this, was overwhelming. Prophet drove like he knew exactly where they needed to go. The weight of despair and of the part Eden was supposed to play in all of this was draining, and all she wanted to do was to close her eyes, and each time she did, her thoughts drifted back to the same dark place.

The fire was still burning. Eden sat on the cold floor with her knees drawn to her chest, fixated on that flame, as it seemed to dance at the sound of his voice. The Demon could hardly take his eyes off of it long enough to even notice that she was still there. She couldn't get out. If Eden could have left this place, she would have, but the door she'd come in through was nowhere to be found.

Eden didn't want to move. She didn't want to draw attention to herself out of fear that it would provoke him. Her eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness. She studied him and his fire, watching everything from the way he moved to the way it responded to him. It was lonely here and quiet except for the sound of his occasional sigh.

“You watch me too closely,” he said, slowly turning his head toward her. “Too intently.”

The sound of his voice caused her to tremble, but Eden pulled herself into an even tighter ball and tried to make herself as small as possible.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, standing up slowly. The hood still fell over half of his face and kept it hidden from her. “What do you hope to see?”

Eden buried her face in her knees and shook her head. Stay away! she wanted to scream but didn't dare to say a word. Eden could hear his footsteps crossing the room and coming closer and closer to her, and in her panic, she pushed herself up off the floor and stood trembling.

He walked slow circles around her, staring down on top of her, the weight of his gaze trying to push her to her knees, but Eden refused to give in to the pressure. If she sat or knelt, then she would be nothing more than a bug to him. He would squash her under his foot. Eden squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself awake from this nightmare.

“What is your name?” The heat of his breath rained down on her.

She pressed her lips together to keep her words from escaping. She couldn't tell him! He couldn't know who she was, because if he did …

He stopped in front of her. Eden felt his hand under her chin, and her whole body tightened. She clenched her fists, and curled her toes. The sensation of his touch sent shockwaves through her body. He raised her chin.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She didn't want to look. She didn't want to open her eyes.

“Look—at—me.”

It was like he had power over her eyelids, and all of a sudden Eden couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes and looked up at his shadowed face and piercing emerald-green eyes burning into her.

“What is your name?”

The word swelled on her tongue until she had no choice but to answer him. Eden opened her mouth to tell him her name, but something else came out of it instead. It was her voice, but it wasn't.

“I see you, Demon. Peeeeee-cuuuu-leeeeee-aaaaaarrrrr!”

Eden opened her eyes. Prophet was driving along just as he had been before she'd drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

They were in Jersey, or maybe Delaware now. She couldn't tell, but it was late when he pulled his SUV up in a lot filled with other cars parked on the sand surrounding a beach house on stilts and facing the water.

He came over to her side and held the door open for her. “You all right?” he asked, closing the door and kissing the top of her head.

She nodded. Anxiety churned like butter in her stomach, but she worked hard not to let him see her sweat. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing here, it was another step in this journey of hers to wherever the hell she was going. Eden wasn't ready to know, so she made up her mind not to ask any questions. He held her hand and led her to the entrance.

“None of us can deny him any longer. Sakarabru is back, and he has pulled us into a war, just as he did before our world fell.”

Khale stood in the center of the room, surrounded by Ancients of every different species that Theia had to offer, more than Eden had ever seen at any one time in any one place.

She still insisted on keeping that small-girl-bug-eyed-glasses-nerd thing going, though. Khale stopped when she saw Eden step out from behind Prophet. Every eye in the room shifted to Eden.

Khale looked at Eden and sighed. Her features softened, and she looked genuinely glad to see her. “Please…” She motioned for the two of them to sit down.

“Take a seat, love,” Prophet whispered. “I'll stand here.”

Eden found her way to a place on the sofa. Other Ancients made room for her, but it was pretty obvious that they weren't as happy to see her as Khale was.

“He is as determined to rule here as he was to rule Theia,” Khale continued. “The humans have no idea how to combat a foe like Sakarabru.”

“And we don't have the numbers anymore, Khale,” someone shouted. “He is pulling resources for his army from the seven billion humans of this world. We can't compete with that.”

“We can fight a different kind of war, Aelia,” Khale argued. “What we lack in numbers we can make up for in our strategy and cunning. We have fate on our side.”

“You mean her?”

A tall shapely raven-haired woman stood up. She was so beautiful that Eden's chin dropped just looking at her.

“Isis, please,” Khale protested

Isis?
The
Isis?

“You know how we feel about this, Khale. Prophecy or no prophecy, we're not all willing to put our fate in her hands again. She nearly destroyed all of us.”

“I didn't destroy you,” Eden murmured under her breath, shocked that this gorgeous woman would accuse her of being responsible for what happened to their world. No one heard her.

“It's not for any of us to decide, Isis,” Khale argued. “It's fate and that means it's done.”

“What is? The Demon? Us? This world? Or all of the above?” Isis shot back.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the back of the room.