Daughter of Gods and Shadows (28 page)

The sound of the Demon's laughter came to her.
“She is your enemy, Redeemer. She is your prize.”

Eden planted her feet, drew back her arm, and landed a fist that sent her opponent sailing through the air. This female was the warrior in him, his rage. But she lacked reason. She lacked control and intuition. She lacked the strength of Sakarabru's mind.

The female landed on her feet and came running back to Eden again. Eden stood there, watching the chaos that was the second Omen. The first Omen could control her. Maybe.

Eden lowered her head, drew back her arm, and curled her hand into a fist, planting it hard into the jaw of the female, caving it in and forcing her to drop to her knees at Eden's feet.

The first Omen was the mind, the very soul of the Demon, and this one needed the mind to control it. It was time, finally, to claim what was hers.

Eden spun around, raised her leg, and landed with a kick to the side of the Omen's head. As her body disintegrated, Eden stepped back, raised her arms, inhaled, and waited.

 

SAVE THE NIGHT

Prophet had long since drowned out the incessant giggling of the two Seers in the living room, getting high on sugar and drunk on rum. Runyon's attempts to somehow calm or comfort Prophet had fallen on deaf ears as the Guardian gradually shut out the rest of the world and cleared his head to hear only the sound of her voice. Eden lay on a bed in a small back room of the house, and for all intents and purposes, she was dead.

Prophet knelt on the floor beside her with his head bowed, his eyes closed, and waited. If even a hint of her was still there then he would go to her, he would get her and bring her back from whatever hell she was in, even if it took him another four thousand years to find her again.

Khale would pay for this. He raised his head and stared into Eden's beautiful face. Had he ever told her that he thought she was beautiful? No. He couldn't remember ever saying it, but he believed it. She was her own kind of beauty, effortless and timeless. There was vulnerability in her eyes, but also a determination that showed just how strong she could be when she put her mind to it.

She had a subtle, quiet attraction about her that was stunning when you stopped and paid attention, and over time Eden would mature into a breathtaking and regal older woman. He'd hoped he'd have a chance to watch it happen. Prophet had waited four thousand years to find her, and she had been worth every single one of them.

He needed to stretch his legs and stood up and walked over to the window. The sky was clear tonight and gave no indication of the madness taking place in this world. What if she didn't wake up? If she didn't, then this life would have no more use for him, and he doubted that Khale had put another plan in place to rebirth another Redeemer. And even if she did, what difference would it make? He had waited for this one. And this one was the only one who mattered.

“We've got company,” Jarrod said, bursting into the room.

Prophet glanced down into the overgrown brush behind the house and saw movement.

“I think they're Brood,” Jarrod added.

Prophet stood there, rigid and unreactive.

“You coming?”

Why should he? This battle would be one of many that they would all ultimately lose. The Demon had taken this world. Fighting for it now seemed fuckin' pointless.

“Guess I'm on my own then,” the Were said, frustrated, before leaving.

There had to be dozens of them down there, judging from the activity Prophet could see from the upstairs window. He turned to look at Eden. The growl of the Were invited him to a fight. They'd come looking for her. And they'd found her but too late. He wouldn't let them desecrate her remains. No. Even in death, the Demon still could not have her.

Prophet crashed through the glass, leaping from the window, and landed on his feet as he hit the ground.

*   *   *

Paul wasn't interested in the Were or even the Guardian. She was inside. She was the reason that he was here. He waited in the darkness, watching from a distance as the Brood went at the Ancients, but these two were behemoths compared to the smaller and inexperienced Brood. The Were was much larger than those he'd fought a few days ago. Even without asking the question, Paul could see that he was an Alpha.

The Guardian came from behind the house, cracking heads and breaking backs as he circled to where the Brood attacked the Were. If nothing else, the Brood at least had numbers on their side. But none of them were as big or as strong as Paul. They had their purpose though, as he had his, but he needed them to create the distraction. While the Guardian and Were were occupied, he snaked his way through the trees to get to the back of the house.

Paul forced open the door that had been dead-bolted and went inside. The first room was a kitchen, small and outdated. He walked through to a dining room and then into the living room. Two strange-looking creatures sat crossed-legged on the floor, looking up at him. They were fuckin' ugly as all get out, with what looked like chocolate smeared around their mouths. One of them turned up a bottle of what looked to be whiskey, like a seasoned alcoholic, and then swiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“She's dead upstairs,” the one on the left said.

“But you already know that,” the other one finished.

He expected them to scream or to come at him with maybe some weird ninja skills, but they just wallowed in the debris of empty wrappers surrounding them and continued eating as if he didn't even matter. Paul stepped over them, glanced out of the window to see that the two Ancients were still occupied, and then ascended the stairs.

Paul pushed open three doors before he found her. He walked over to the bed and looked down at this woman—small, brown, her shirt covered in what looked like blood, and then he looked around the room as if maybe there would be someone else in there. She couldn't have been what had Lord Sakarabru all up in arms. He leaned down close to her and put his ear to her mouth to see if she was even breathing. She wasn't.

“He's upstairs with her,” he heard one of those girls—or whatever—say to someone.

Then he heard the pounding of somebody running up those stairs. Paul had a choice to make. Get the girl and go, or kick some ass, then get the girl and go? He grabbed the reborn's lifeless body, tossed her over his shoulder, and burst through the shattered glass window of the bedroom. As soon as he landed, he heard her take a breath and twisted her small body from his grasp.

He hadn't seen the weapon when he'd grabbed her. She was fast. Too damn fast. The reborn stayed low to the ground, using her size to her advantage. She spun like a top, turning from right to left, swinging that damned thing into his calves and thighs, stabbing him over and over again until his legs began to feel like tenderized meat.

Chapman was suddenly grabbed from behind, around his neck. A knee pushed into his spine, forcing his belly outward. She sliced him across the middle. Chapman reached over his head, grabbed a handful of dreadlocks, and twisted the head of the Guardian until his body had no choice but to follow and flip over his shoulder, nearly landing on top of and crushing the girl. But she slid between Chapman's legs before she was crushed, and from behind, drove one of the blades of that damn weapon deep into his side.

The Guardian was up too quickly. Fuckin' giant black wings came out of nowhere! He grabbed Chapman by the collar of his coat, and the next thing the Brood knew, he was airborne. He fought, pounding on the fists of the Guardian as hard as he could, but the motherfucker was determined. Paul had no idea how high they had flown or how far they'd gone, but the last thing he remembered thinking before the Guardian let go was
It's gonna fucking hurt when I hit the ground!

*   *   *

Prophet didn't hang around to see him land. Eden called to him.

“Guardiaaaaaaannn!” she screamed over and over again hysterically.

He flew faster than he'd ever flown in his life, landed, and stared at her as if he were looking at a ghost.

The Were looked scared shitless. Eden, covered in blood, stood in the middle of the yard trembling and holding what looked like a
kpinga,
an Ancient blade once used for ceremonies on Theia. She seemed to notice it for the first time and then she looked for him.

“It was hers,” she said, wide-eyed and breathless. “I fought her. She made me fight her—the Omen—the second Omen!”

“You bonded?” Prophet asked apprehensively.

Eden nodded. “It's mine now,” she said, referring to the weapon and then she thought for a moment. “She's mine, Prophet. The second Omen is mine now.” Confusion filled her eyes as she ran to him and jumped into his arms. Prophet held on to her so tightly he thought he'd break her, and then he saw it: a new symbol had been branded onto her other arm; a large circle with a small starburst inside it. Eden had made and survived the second bond.

“It's all right, baby,” he murmured and kissed her shoulder. “I'm here. I'm right here.”

“Get me out of here,” she commanded him. “Please! Get me away from here!”

 

THE TERROR OF KNOWING

He woke up to her touch, as always. Lilith stood naked at the foot of the bed and then began to slither up to Kifo, lying on his back and facing the ceiling.

“I've missed you, Kifo,” she purred. Lilith steadied herself over him and then pressed her lips to his. The sweeping flavor of her tongue still excited him. Everything about Lilith would always excite him. She rested the weight of her beautiful curves on top of him. “I've stayed away too long,” she whispered, sliding her hand down to his erection and wrapping her long slender fingers around it. He wanted so badly to be in her mouth.

She seemed to read his mind and smiled. “You've been distant, Kifo,” she said softly. “I can usually sense when you need me, but…” She shrugged her soft shoulders. “You know that I am here for you whenever you need me. You know that I am never far away. Don't you?”

Wisps of white bangs flirted with her beautiful blue eyes, which shone like crystals, even in the dark.

“I know, Lilith,” he said, still wishing she'd take him in her lovely mouth.

Lilith planted sweet kisses on his chest and flicked her tongue around his nipples.

She raised her face to him and pouted. “Then you should also know how I hate being away from you for too long.”

“Really?” he asked. “Why's that?”

For the briefest of moments, she looked unprepared. But Lilith recovered quickly. “Because I love you,” she said, all too naturally. “Don't be silly, Kifo,” she added.

Lilith was a spy. She was Sakarabru's whorish little spy who kept tabs on all of the major players in the Demon's game to make sure that none of them slipped and fell out of this torturous spell that they were all under. The Demon had done terrible things to his body but even worse things to his mind, things that still held Kifo under his power. Kifo had done things to others all for the promise of Lilith's love and Sakarabru's acceptance.

Kifo smiled and guided the slut's face down to where he wanted her the most. “I love you too.”

*   *   *

So much of his own life had been disrupted by the return of Sakarabru. Kifo's favorite dry cleaner and tailor had shut down shop, and now he had nowhere to get his suits cleaned. His favorite Creole restaurant was gone, and the jazz club he'd frequented at least once a week was gone now, too. He roamed through the empty streets of New Orleans, unseen, disgusted by what his beloved city had become.

Kifo stood looking through the window of the place where he used to buy his ties. A woman's reflection appeared behind him. Naturally, she couldn't see him, or …

She smiled at him. The woman wore a bright yellow hat with a wide brim, dark cat-eye sunglasses, reminiscent of the kind that women wore in the fifties, and a white dress covered in small yellow flowers, belted at the waist and flaring out at her knees. A small white purse looped over her dainty arm, her delicate hands covered by a pair of white gloves. On her feet she wore a white pair of pointed-toe stilettos.

“You finally understand,” she said kindly to him, nodding her head approvingly.

“Understand?” he asked, still amazed by the fact that she could actually see him.

The woman reached out and touched his hand lightly with her fingertips. “My heart breaks for what he did to you,” she said, her voice cracking.

Kifo carefully pulled his hand away and studied her suspiciously. “Andromeda?”

Andromeda was a legend, a myth. Even if she were real, Andromeda was not this woman. She couldn't have been. This woman was pretty and sensible. She wasn't the blubbering mess he'd heard that Andromeda was, cursed by too many visions conflicting and crashing into each other.

“You do something to me.” She shrugged and chuckled. “I can't explain it, Kifo, but it is such a lovely feeling. You calm my storm, and for that I am grateful.”

Was she really the Seer of the Ages? She could see him in his invisible form; not even Ancients could see the Djinn when he didn't want to be seen.

“What do you want?” he asked, still not convinced that she was who she said she was.

“To see the prophecy fulfilled,” she admitted simply. “What do
you
want?”

He couldn't put his finger on it, but she did something to him, too—calmed his storm, maybe. But there was something about her that he found comfortable and comforting.

“To no longer be a slave to the Demon,” he admitted out loud, and the sound of saying it shocked him.

She nodded approvingly. “That I do understand,” she said warmly.

It was said that Andromeda could be in more than one place at a time. And that at any given moment, she could be living in the past, present, or future. “May fifth, 2014.” He said the day's date out loud. “That's today, Andromeda. That's where I am today. Where are you?”