Crown of Doom and Light

by Jayde Brooks

  “You know, it’s one thing to kill a random vamp here or there, but those things have never been high on our priority list, Molly,” Prophet explained. “Vampyre, to Ancients like the Were and I, were like insects are to your kind. Unless there was a swarm that threatened something of value, we paid little attention to them.”

  “But that was on Theia,” Eden added. “Here they are a threat, Prophet. We need to understand them if we’re going to fight them.”

  “Yeah,” Molly said excitedly, smiling at Eden. “Roaches hide in nooks and crannies. They scavenge for crumbs and whatever.” She thought for a few moments before continuing. “That’s about all I know.”

  “They’re not scavengers here,” Runyon said. “With the numbers of Ancients so low and our positions so scattered, vamps have moved up in ranks. They’re lower than the big guy and I, but higher on the food chain than humans. They’re stronger and faster than humans—not to mention idolized.”

  Prophet sighed. “I’ve hunted demons and dragons, Brood—even Weres,” he said, smirking at Jarrod. “That a warrior of my caliber would be reduced to hunting vermin is humiliating.”

  “The proud Guardian. Ever regal, ever the Elitest,” Runyon said, shaking his head.

  “Can you track them?” Eden asked Prophet. “We can start at the site of the massacre and go from there.”

  Prophet looked at Jarrod. “Between the two of us, we can probably find some clues.”

  “Well?” Molly rubbed her hands together. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find and exterminate some vermin.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mkombozi had no idea how long she’d been sleeping. Days, perhaps. It was dark when she climbed out of bed. The dwelling appeared to be empty as she walked down the corridor to the stairs and made her way down into the main area. The scooth’s humans were there, turning to her. They stopped talking when they saw her.

  “Have any of you found the impostor?” she demanded.

  From their confused expressions, it was obvious that none of them understood her. She’d have been surprised if they had. She had wasted enough time here and the scooth was not here. He was useless, as she suspected he would be. If she wanted to find the peculiar, then she was going to have to do it alone.

  Mkombozi walked out the front door and stood on a platform made of some kind of flat, smooth, gray surface that was cold to the pads of her feet. The air was still heavy, but not unbearably so. The breeze was thick, but it didn’t smother her. A half-moon hung in the dark sky, reflecting off the ripples of the ocean before her. This world was lovely in its own way. Its colors not nearly as vivid as those of Theia, the air not as light and crisp, this world felt small, quaint. She could hardly imagine Theians being satisfied living here.

  She walked slowly down the steps to the small road at their foot, made of the same gray stone. She followed its path out to a wider, darker road, looked one way and then the other and decided to follow it. Signs of life, other than what was in the dwelling, were absent from this place. She walked slowly, looking for evidence of other Theians: A Fey, perhaps even a small Slith, anyone should be able to tell her how to find the impostor, and if not her, the Guardian.

  Mkombozi had no idea how far she’d walked, but an uneasy stillness lingered in the air. Perhaps that’s why it felt so heavy. She listened for voices or movement but heard nothing. If this was the world the Ancients had come to for salvation, then she pitied them. It felt hollow and soulless. Desolate. There was nothing that appealed to her about this world. It was lonely and muted. She wondered how big it was. She worried that she could walk for days and never see another living thing. But she had to focus on finding her Omen and on finding him. Poor Tukufu had been deceived and he’d been deceived for so long and so convincingly that Mkombozi didn’t doubt that it was going to take time and much more convincing to get him to believe that he’d been lied to. His pride would likely be a barrier to his acceptance of the truth, so she would make him feel unashamed for the effects of Khale’s deception. She would have to make him understand that she thought no less of him for the lies he’d fallen prey too, and that she still believed in him and in the power of their love, in the strength of his oath. Somehow, she would find a way to reach him again, and to make him see that she was his true Beloved for all eternity.

  She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and concentrated. “Tukufu,” she murmured softly, willing him to come to her, to feel her presence like he had always been able to do. They didn’t have to be physically together for him to know, instinctively, when she needed him. But now heavy desperation filled her chest. It was not right that she could have come to this place, have made this journey, and not find him. It was unnatural that she could breathe the air that he breathed but he was separated from her. She needed him more than she had ever needed him. She needed him to see that she was here now, that she was in this world with him and that the impostor had tricked him into thinking that she was his beloved Mkombozi.

  Whispers floated on the thick breeze. Whispers in the language of the humans. “She’s got to be bait. A fuckin’ decoy.”

  “She’s gotdamned gorgeous is what she is. Decoy or not, she’d net us one hell of a payday.”

  “Why the fuck is she alone?”

  “She could be a vamp. Look at her. Human women don’t look like that. Not even the best looking ones.”

  “Why the fuck is she alone, I said?”

  “She’s not alone, you dick. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Step to her and you’ll likely get a bullet to your head.”

  “Leave two guys here to cover us. Tell them if they hear a bird tweet to shoot the motherfucker.”

  They approached her from behind. Mkombozi stopped, turned slowly, and stared quizzically at these creatures.

  “Shit, man. Look at those eyes.”

  “Look at everything.”

  “Where you heading, honey?”

  They pointed things at her, dark, made of some sort of metal perhaps. Their voices were deep like those of male creatures. Their skin flaccid and fat, their hair worn low and close to the scalp. Mkombozi tried to surmise if they were some of the humans who belonged to the Vampyre.

  “You out here all by yourself, lovely? Got a man? It’s dangerous out here. Did you just wander off or something?”

  “What if she’s one of those—creatures?”

  “What?”

  “You know? Ancients, I think they call them.”

  “You ever seen an Ancient, Joe?”

  “No, but I heard about them.”

  “Bullshit legends, man. Focus. I think we’ve just hit the jackpot.”

  His eyes raked over her body as if she were a meal. It was an unwarranted act of disrespect, but she suspected that this creature did not understand his offense. The two walked closer to her, tentatively lowering those things that they had been pointing at her. Slowly they circled her, studying her, and she allowed them, reeling in her instincts to become defensive in any way.

  They were no taller than she was, and they smelled terrible. Their eyes were dull and hollow, their garments dirty. It wasn’t long before three more emerged from the brush and surrounded her.

  “Who is she? Has she said anything?”

  “Damn! She’s fine, man.”

  This one had darker skin, like some of the Djinn from her world.

  “We could sell her, but we could enjoy her ourselves first,” he continued.

  “Agreed.”

  “We’d get more for her if we didn’t rough her up. She looks like she’d put up a good fight.” He licked his lips. “We could sell her off for a whole lot more if she’s kept in good condition. Besides,” he said, turning to his brethren, “Pussy’s pussy. We’ve got plenty of that back at the camp. One of those senators or CEOs inside the sanctuary would probably cut off his right arm for this one.”

  “I’m getting hard.”

  “Look at her face.”

  “Does she speak English?”

&
nbsp; “I don’t think so.”

  “Hey, baby girl.”

  The imbecile made the mistake of touching her. She pulled her arm from his grasp, but then all of them started to reach for her.

  Her rage came through then. She grabbed one of them by the throat, and he was gone.

  “What the—” one of them said, blinking wide-eyed at the empty space left behind by the other.

  A broken body fell from the sky. Its head was gone.

  “No! Fuck! Run!” They scrambled like insects.

  One by one, she watched as the creatures were broken and torn, left in bloodied pieces on the ground. Mkombozi crouched low in anticipation of the thing that had killed them coming for her next. But when all of the humans were dead, the scooth appeared in front of her, covered in their blood, licking some of it from the back of his hand.

  “You should not be out here alone,” he said, in Theian. “You do not know where you are going. And it is not safe.”

  “As if I need you to protect me,” she said bitterly. “They were nothing to me.” She stood up and motioned toward the debris on the ground. “You are not my Guardian, scooth!”

  He dared to look her in the eyes. She scowled and grabbed him by the throat, digging her fingers deep into his flesh.

  “I am your guide,” he said struggling to breathe.

  Long, dark tresses soaked in blood covered his face. But those dark eyes of his glistened, reflecting the light coming from the moon. “I am the one who can navigate you through this world.”

  She released him, squared her shoulders, and stepped closer to the disgusting mess that he was. “But you are not my protector,” she reminded him. “I do not need you to fight for me.”

  He swept his hair out of his face. “Noted,” he said, stepping aside to let her pass to go back to the dwelling where he lived.

  What the fuck was he thinking? Van Dureel walked several paces behind her, trying to shake the idea of stopping long enough to put his own foot in his own ass. Of course he hadn’t needed to fight for her. She could have killed every last one of those sorry sonsofbitches with a swipe of her hand. But he hadn’t been thinking. He’d just seen a bunch of human boneheads trying to cash in on whatever it was about her that he thought he could cash in on—eventually—once he figured out what the hell to do with her.

  She said she was Mkombozi, but Mkombozi was supposed to be dead. So maybe she’d come back from the dead. Hell. She was an Ancient Theian. Any damn thing was possible. And what if she was the original Redeemer? What did that make the one in this world? False? An impostor like this one accused her of being? Or was the one walking in front of him, with that lovely ass and those pretty titties, the fake? Maybe she was some kind of demon?

  This one, this Mkombozi, wanted to find her Guardian. Is that why she was looking for the Reborn? He’d heard rumors that the Reborn and the Guardian were a thing. If that were true, then this chick had come back from the dead to get her man back. Seriously? Nah. There had to have been more to it than that.

  “So, do you plan on killing the Reborn?” he eventually asked, deciding that she likely wouldn’t kill him because, for the time being, she needed him. She knew that even if she didn’t want to come out and admit it.

  She glanced dismissively over her shoulder.

  “Because of the Guardian?” he probed, cautiously.

  She stopped. “He is mine,” she turned to him. “He has always been mine and will always be.”

  So she had come back from the dead for this dude.

  “You will help to find him.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I will help you.”

  Van Dureel had only sort of lied. He would help her to look for the Guardian. That didn’t mean he’d actually help her to find him. Shit. The Guardian and his Reborn had been giving Van Dureel’s troops the blues. Running into them wasn’t a priority. But helping to search for him could help buy him some time to think.

  “I hear the Reborn is powerful,” he continued, carefully broaching the subject.

  “Of course she is powerful,” she said, angrily. “She has my Omen.”

  With that, Mkombozi turned and marched her pretty ass back to his house.

  Omen. Yeah. She wanted Omen, too.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The cool thing about being Prophet was that if he wanted to impress a girl, all he had to do was to summon his wings, pick her up in his arms, and whisk her away to some isolated place with spectacular views. The rest was easy.

  “Where are we?” Eden asked, standing on the edge of a cliff and gazing down into a majestic, lush green valley.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  She’d thought that he was taking her home after leaving Runyon’s ranch. They’d get there eventually, but he’d decided to surprise her and take the long way home to Vermont, by way of Appalachians. Eden had this thing about processing. Since the day that the Omen had literally snatched her right out of her skin, she’d been quietly processing and trying to cope with what had happened and what was happening to her—period. But now she needed to come back to him. He needed to look into her eyes and see more than just a blank stare. The fact that she still had a sense of humor was a sign to him that Eden was still in control. And that was a start.

  He walked closer to her, placed his hands on her slender waist, and lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “Does this view take your breath away?” he asked, trying to sound romantic. “The way looking at you takes mine away?”

  Eden leaned back against him. “What is that like, Shakespearean talk or something?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Shakespeare? No. I was going for like—LL Cool J.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Isn’t that who kids listened to before the apocalypse?”

  Eden lowered her head and faced the view again. “Sure. LL Cool J. Yeah. He was so fly.”

  Sarcasm. Her tone was dripping with it. Prophet smiled and suddenly felt every second of his nearly five thousand years.

  “Jay Z?”

  Eden shook her head and chuckled. “Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  “Yeah, but do you love me?”

  She sighed. “More than you can ever possibly fathom, Prophet.” Eden’s sarcasm was gone, replaced by a melancholy, a sadness.

  “Sit with me,” he said, hunkering down and dangling his legs over the edge.

  Eden did. “How about we pitch a tent and spend the rest of our lives right here?” she asked, gazing longingly out over the view.

  “I got no problem with that.” He smiled.

  She was quiet for a long time. “I can’t hold it back forever, Prophet,” she said finally. “Sometimes, I’m okay with that.”

  He wasn’t. He had lost her once. When Khale had used her Spell of Dissolution against Mkombozi to stop her from destroying the universe, Prophet had lost his soul. The image of her disintegrating, fading into small particles until there was nothing left except the echoes of her screams—it still haunted him. When he’d found out from Khale that Mkombozi had been reborn in a young human girl named Eden, he had wanted to kill her. Eden couldn’t have been Mkombozi, and even if she was, then all it meant was that Khale had worked her magic to create some kind of abomination to fix a mistake she’d made long ago. She had toyed with the essence of his beloved Mkombozi, and back then, he was certain that he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  That old ugly memory of the first time he’d met Eden, face to face, suddenly came back to him.

  He grabbed her by the neck from behind, pushed her face into the door, and pressed his hard body against hers until she couldn’t breathe. “Whatever the Shifter told you was a lie,” he growled in her ear. “Whatever you believe yourself to be is a farce! You are nothing! Let me show you!”

  He clamped his fingers deeper into the flesh of her neck, placed one massive hand on top of her head, and started to twist as if he were trying to tear her head from her shoulders.

  Of course, if he’d really
wanted to break her neck or crush her skull back then, he could’ve easily done it. Prophet had had every intention of doing it, but that night, he held back.

  Her presence had mocked him, reminded him of the love he’d lost. She had no business being alive and pretending to be someone she could never be. And he’d been right, in a way. Eden may have had the soul of Mkombozi, but she was her own unique self. That’s who he loved. That’s who he shared the Blood Oath with. He had seen her courage and determination up close and personal each and every time she sealed a bond with one of the Omen. She was every bit the fighter that Mkombozi was, and more.

  “They’ve taken me once, and they won’t stop until they have all of me,” she said dismally. “I don’t know how long I can fight them.”

  “You’ve never had to fight them alone,” he reminded her. “I’ve always been there. I can be there again, sweetheart, but you cannot let them keep me out, Eden. You can’t keep me out.”

  She shook her head. “But it’s different this time,” she insisted.

  “How? How was what happened the other day any different than the other times those things took you and tried to kill you?”

  She didn’t answer and she wouldn’t look at him.

  “You’re losing faith in me,” he said suddenly, without realizing it. “We’re in this together, Eden, and have been from the beginning. If you stop believing in me, then . . .”

  This time she did look at him. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

  He wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t be convinced because Eden wasn’t convinced.

  “You don’t trust that I can stop them.”

  Gotdamnit! Is that truly how she felt?

  “That’s not it,” she said emphatically. “That’s not it, Prophet.”

  “Then tell me,” he demanded, feeling insulted in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

  She turned her face from his, but he put his hand under her chin and made her look at him. “Tell me.”