by Jayde Brooks
Half an hour later, Prophet was asleep and Eden lay next to him, studying his handsome face. He would follow her anywhere, in this world or the next. He’d promised and they’d made the Blood Oath before she’d bonded with any of the Omen, ensuring that he would keep that promise. Soon, he’d be forced to keep it.
Eden’s resolve was weakening against the Omen. They knew it. She knew it. And Prophet knew it, though he never mentioned it. But she preferred that he didn’t. In her mind, Eden still considered the Omen as things separate from her, but the gap of separation had started to narrow a while ago. She still had slivers of herself left. Enough to let her true twenty-something self out of the gates to lip sync and get silly with Molly. But Eden was becoming a ghost. Soon, she would disappear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was good to be back on his ranch again, but Runyon had to clean house after being away for so long. His house had been taken over by six human families, and others had brought in RVs, put up tents, and squatted on his twenty thousand acres. The Were wasn’t completely heartless, though. He’d allowed most to stay as long as they agreed to keep away from his house and followed his rules:
Keep his property clean.
No gangs.
No warring.
No stealing.
No trying to kill him or Molly.
Killing anyone else, however, depending on the circumstances, was open for discussion.
Her scent was intoxicating. Runyon lay in bed and held the redhead in his arms and inhaled her until he was drunk off of her. If she noticed, she didn’t mention it.
“Have you ever tried it, though?” Molly asked, batting those big, pretty eyes of hers at him. “In every movie that I’ve ever seen about werewolves . . .”
“I’m not a wolf,” he interrupted.
“I know, but what I’m saying is that in every single one of those movies, the condition was like contagious, Jarrod.”
“It’s not a condition,” he said irritably.
“You know what I mean, baby,” she purred, and kissed his cheek. “There could be some truth behind it, right? Most legends are born of truth, so why couldn’t this one be based on fact?”
It felt good to be mated again. After more than four thousand years, he never believed that it could happen, and certainly not with a human. Molly had always been beautiful to him, but far too young for the alpha Were. She had proven herself to be as fierce a fighter as any Ancient, though, and as passionate a lover as any Were female, but she was full of fanciful ideas that she wasn’t shy about sharing.
“It can’t happen, Red,” he said, sighing. “Stories like that are bullshit lies that humans made up to fuel fairytales. A Were can’t bite a human and turn them into a Were. It’s never happened.”
She’d been harping on this since he’d claimed her and he’d told her time and time again to let it go, but Molly was as stubborn as she was lovely.
“You’re human, Red. Love it, embrace it, and own it.” A growl rumbled low and in the back of her throat as he pulled her closer to him to steal a kiss. “I do.”
At the end of the kiss, Molly did that thing with her lips that made her look so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was to fold her up and put her in his pocket for safekeeping.
“I’ll get old before you, Jarrod,” she sadly reminded him. “Chances are, I’ll die before you.”
It was true. It wasn’t that Ancients didn’t age, but they didn’t age at the rate of humans, and if Molly didn’t die in battle, she’d die of old age in a period of years that would hardly be a blip on the radar for Runyon.
“I say we give it a go,” she continued.
She was only twenty-three. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have time, but what she was asking was not only ridiculous, it was dangerous.
“You want me to take a bite out of you?” he said, cocking a thick brow.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t before, Were,” she said seductively.
“It’s been more like nibbling, Red,” he said, smirking. “But I’ve never broken skin, and I’ve never been in Were form either.”
“I’m not afraid of your Were form, Jarrod. I know that you would never hurt me.”
No, he wouldn’t. Not on purpose. Molly had argued her point, but he’d heard it, and he’d already decided.
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Then you don’t want an eternity with me?”
“Don’t even go there, Red,” he warned. “You know that’s all I want, but I’m not going to risk the time that we do have for wishful thinking, baby.”
“I’m begging you, Jarrod,” she said earnestly, passionately. “Don’t just shoot it down. At least think about it.”
Age and experience were definitely going to have to take the lead on this one. “I have thought about it. And my answer’s no.”
Molly crawled out of bed and stormed naked from the bedroom. Jarrod’s first inclination was to go after her. His second inclination was to let her have a few minutes alone with herself to get some perspective on just how insane her request was. Ultimately, even if there was a way to extend her life, what difference would it make if they were all living on borrowed time anyway? Molly had this fantasy of eternity because she had faith that her best friend Eden could stave off the influence of those Omen forever, but that simply wasn’t true.
The growing threat of the little Redeemer was becoming more apparent by the day, but Molly refused to see it. Even Prophet, the Guardian, couldn’t deny the inevitable. Prophet didn’t talk about it to Runyon, but there was no missing that worried look on the dude’s face when Eden’s brown eyes turned green. With no one to stop her now that Khale was gone, Eden was left to her own devices. She was a ticking bomb waiting to explode, and there was nothing that any of them could do to stop her.
Runyon followed the delicious scent of his mate down to the living room and found Molly curled up on one end of the sofa, twirling red hair between her fingers. Runyon sat down next to her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa behind her.
“Now’s all that matters, Red,” he reminded her. “You know that. There’s no guarantee that any of us will be here tomorrow.”
“You mean because of Eden?” she asked solemnly.
To accuse Eden of being anything less than a goddess to Molly would mean the start of an argument, and he wasn’t in the mood to argue.
“I mean because of the state of the world today. We take our lives into our hands every time we walk out that door, sweetheart. Both of us do. If I had my way, you wouldn’t fight at all. If I had my old-fashioned, misogynistic way, I’d lock you away here and keep you all to myself safe and sound so that nothing and no one could hurt you, but I suspect that you wouldn’t be too keen on that plan.”
He stared at her, hopeful that she might surprise him and say something akin to, Sure, Jarrod. I think that’s a great idea.
She smiled. “I do like the keeping me all to yourself part.” Molly leaned close and kissed him. “But I also like to believe in miracles, and if believing in time that goes beyond the moment is a miracle, then I’m doing it.”
“Have you really paid attention to me when I turn, Red?” he asked.
“Of course I have.”
“When I’m in full Were, I’ve got eight-inch canines, Molly. Does that register to you?”
She blinked those big blue eyes.
“They’re made to kill, to shred, and to destroy,” he explained, driving his point home. “What you’re asking me to do, based solely on a human legend, could kill you.”
“But you would be careful,” she said, softly.
“Aw, baby. I’d so want to be careful, but there’s not a place on you that I could truly sink my teeth into you and not cause serious damage, and I’m not willing to put you at risk like that.”
Molly sighed, her expression indicating that she was at least trying to consider his argument.
“I just . . . I don’t want this to end over something as dumb as time, Ja
rrod,” she said, woefully.
“As long as you stay safe, as long as you keep fighting your ass off—or you let me lock you up in here,” he sort-of joked. “Then we’ll have what we have and we’ll make it special. Shit, Red. Maybe we’ve got six minutes left to live. Maybe we’ve got sixty years. Whatever we’ve got let, I’m just thankful to have you to spend it with.”
“What if I live to be eighty? I won’t be sexy, Jarrod. And you’re certainly not going to want to make love to me.”
“Bullshit.” He frowned. “I’m gonna be chasing your old ass around the dinner table every night. You’re gonna have to hit me over the head with a rolling pin to keep me off of you.”
Molly grimaced. “A what?”
“Some humor is wasted on the young,” he said, sighing and shaking his head.
CHAPTER EIGHT
This place. She’d practically crawled inside it on her hands and knees, leaving a trail of blood in her path, but finally she was safe from the harsh elements on the outside. Her bones pulsed and throbbed. Her head ached. Her skin burned, and she thirsted. It hurt to swallow.
Her new eyes blurred behind tears and burned from too much light. She could make out shapes and some colors but details were difficult. Foreign scents assaulted her, making her sick to her stomach. Sounds echoed through her, reverberating in endless vibrations. One moment she was hot, to the point that she believed her skin was boiling, and the next she was shivering, freezing cold and unable to get warm.
She shouldn’t have come here! It was a mistake, driven by greed for things that were no longer hers. This world tortured her, weighed down on her, and pressed her like stone. Mkombozi struggled for each precious breath that singed her lungs like acid. She had no idea where she was, or if she was safe. If she were attacked, she would not be able to defend herself.
Hopelessness filled her. She was alone in this strange world and for the first time in so very long, she was afraid, terrified of what would happen to her here. The sickness overwhelmed her. She needed . . . help. She needed someone. She needed . . . her beloved.
The tall grasses of Tsnia hid them from the city not far away. Mkombozi explored his long, muscular body like a trail leading to some secret place. Her mother, Khale, would say that she was too young to be with him.
“He is your Guardian, Mkombozi,” she would say over and over again, “but you are not yet ready to take a lover.”
Her mother was wrong, though even he had been reluctant to accept the gift of herself that she’d offered him.
Tukufu’s silver eyes reflected the light from both suns as he cast his gaze away from her naked body. “You should go, Mkombozi,” he said. “It is not time for us to be together. Not like this. You are young.”
She was ten seasons younger than him, but not so young that she could put off being with him for two more celebrations of her birth. Two was such a small and insignificant number. She was old enough to fight in her mother’s army. If she was old enough to offer up her life for her people, then she was surely old enough to make love to her Beloved. He’d sworn himself to her when she was an infant, and he was just a boy. She had loved him her whole life.
Tukufu may have tried to deny her with his eyes, but his body made no secret of his desire. She stepped out of the pile of clothes at her feet and went to where he stood, nearly as tall as the grasses.
“You should leave me if you don’t approve, Guardian,” she said, daring him to turn and walk away.
They had been kissing. He loved kissing her, but he was always careful to stop before things went too far.
“Get dressed,” he demanded. “We will go together. It would be irresponsible of me to leave you here alone.”
He still would not look at her. She knew that it was because she was beautiful, the most beautiful female in the kingdom. Mkombozi had been told that more times than she could count. Tukufu never praised her beauty.
“You are misguided, Mkombozi. Beauty is not all that you are. You should learn to embrace those traits in you that matter most—your courage, intelligence, and cunning. You are a warrior and there are few who can match your fighting skills,” he said proudly. “Those things far outweigh beauty.”
But even as he lectured her, his gaze traced down the lines of her figure. When she spoke, he fixated on the outline of her lips.
She stepped in inches away from him, until the nipples of her bare breasts brushed against his chest. Still he refused to look at her, but his dark skin flushed deeper as he attempted to take a step back. Mkombozi slipped her fingers under the band of his pants and held him in place. He could have fought to get away from her. He would have easily freed himself, if he had wanted to.
With her other hand, she traced a line around the thick, hardened part of him that she had been fascinated by for so very long.
“Mkombozi,” he said sternly, grabbing her by the wrist.
Her Guardian had finally found the courage to look at her, and when he did she made sure that he looked into her eyes. She made sure to hold his gaze prisoner with hers.
“I am tired of waiting, Beloved,” she told him. “My body aches for yours.” It was true. Mkombozi felt physical pain in her yearning for him. Her body rejected her attempts to pleasure herself. But the place between her thighs warmed at the thought of him, moistened whenever he touched her. “I need you in me,” she whispered, reaching up and grabbing him by the back of the neck to pull his face to hers.
She expected him to resist, to pull away or to protest. He didn’t. The passion visible on his handsome features intensified as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist and slowly lowered her down to the ground. For what felt like a hundred heartbeats the two of them just lay there. He eased down into the space between her thighs, balancing on his elbows and hovering over her.
“I will hurt you, Beloved,” he murmured, regretfully. “But when the pain subsides, you will love me even more.”
She nodded. “I am not afraid,” she promised.
He lowered his lips to hers. “You should be,” he whispered before kissing her.
“It’s a woman.”
“No. Not a human woman. Look at her skin.”
“A vamp?”
“I don’t think so. She’s beautiful. Too beautiful to be a vamp or human.”
“Is she—dead?”
“She’s buck-assed naked.”
“I think she’s breathing.”
“Check her.”
“What?”
“Touch her, man.”
“Nah, I . . . we don’t know what she is. She’s gotta be one of those Ancients.”
“Punk ass.”
It wasn’t terror that stilled Mkombozi at this moment. It was the warrior in her. She lay unmoving, listening to the sounds of the foreign words spoken by these two creatures. She could not understand their meanings, but she could decipher tone and inflection. It was the threat that she listened for. A jerk of syllables, an impactful thrust of enunciation that warned her that she was about to be attacked.
But it was not their words that gave away their intention. One of them reached for her.
“Hey, baby girl.”
Was it smiling at her? Mkombozi sat up slowly, and studied this thing intensely. The other one stood back and hungrily licked his lips.
“Damn man. I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”
“What’s your name, darling?”
“We won’t hurt you. Promise.”
The instinct inside her was still strong. Mkombozi relished her quickness and the ease with which she moved now through this air that had once felt like stone. Her lungs no longer burned as she slowly inhaled and exhaled out the air that not long ago had threatened to strangle her. She was so enthralled by how well and how quickly she had healed that their screams failed to register with her at first.
These creatures were not unlike those from her world. Thick, fleshy skin covered bone and blood was red. They broke easily, though. Too easily. They were slow, fat, an
d soft.
“What the fuck?”
The sound of another’s voice caught her attention as the two creatures who’d accosted her writhed on the floor covered in blood and wailing like wounded animals. Mkombozi could hardly believe her eyes. She recoiled at the sight of that disgusting thing staring at her. But unlike these others, he was from her world. A scooth. A pktah! Had he raised his voice to her? Did he dare to address her at all? His kind had learned the dangers of coming too close to hers. In their world, she’d have squashed him under her foot and thought nothing of his crushed corpse as she continued on her journey.
“Where am I?” she demanded, disgusted to waste her words on him at all. “Tell me or I will tear out your spine, Vampyre.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he replied, in Theian. He spoke with arrogance and disrespect.
“How dare you speak to me in such a way,” she threatened, walking toward him.
“This is my house. I rule here, Ancient.”
This scooth rounded his shoulders and lowered his head. He dared to even think that he would fight her? Mkombozi barely had the strength to avoid his fist aimed at her face. He was fast, but still she managed to out maneuver him. He was a fat ptkah. His kind were thin, bone thin, wiry and the color of slate. Just as he turned to try and hit her again, Mkombozi turned, caught his massive fist in her hand, and squeezed, crushing bone.
“Aaagh!” he cried out, suddenly sweeping his thick leg across the floor, taking her feet out from under her, forcing her to release her grip. The ptkah grabbed her by her ankles, pulled her to him, raised his muscular arm high overhead, and brought it down like a hammer toward her chest. Mkombozi twisted free of his grip and rolled over. His blow came crashing into the floor, leaving a crater where she had been. She was quick to her feet and swung her leg through the air, landing her foot on the side of his head and sending him reeling back.
