by Jayde Brooks
“Please,” came a whisper.
He took a tentative step further into the room, and was startled by the sight of green glowing eyes staring back at him. “I’m back,” she said, shakily. “Let them know.”
It was her. Baby girl, all possessed and shit, sitting up in a chair across the room, with those glowing eyes burning into him like lasers.
He nodded. “I’ll go get them,” he said, backing away, trying not to sound as terrified as he really was.
He hurried from the room and locked the door again. Molly and her Ancients were down the hall in the cafeteria and had been for hours, and they needed to hurry the fuck up and come and get their friend.
Eden was not in that room. Prophet knew it as soon as he stepped inside. The others knew it too, which meant that she was only a part of the threat. Runyon and Drake pressed against him, readying themselves to do whatever they had to. Runyon tried bullying his way past Prophet but the Guardiant held out his arm, stopping him before he got too close to her.
“Don’t you fucking touch her. Don’t you dare, Were.”
“Then you stop her, Prophet. Stop her or I will.”
“If you touch her I swear that I’ll punch a hole through your chest.” Prophet looked at Runyon when he said it.
“I don’t want hurt Eden,” Runyon said. “But she needs to be stopped . . .”
Runyon stepped back and stared at Eden, standing across the room, eyes glowing like green lasers, with an amused smirk on her lips.
The first sign of change from man to creature was in the low growl rumbling in the back of his throat. Prophet squared his shoulders. “You need to back the fuck down,” Prophet warned him.
As a man, Jarrod stood a little over six feet. Prophet watched as the creature in him increased his stature as his girth and the bones in his jawline expanded.
“Oh, God!” Molly cried out, abruptly pushing past Drake. “Jarrod! Don’t!”
“I’m fucking warning you one last time,” Prophet said, his own muscles swelling with the natural adrenaline of a warrior preparing to do battle.
“Stop it!” she demanded, pushing Jarrod hard in the chest.
The alpha Were didn’t even flinch.
His voice deepened as he changed. Coarse brown, silver-tipped hairs sprouted on his arms and face. His snout, for lack of a better word, expanded in length, and his ears stretched into sharp points. He hated being called a dog, but he looked more like one than anything else when he shifted.
He ripped off the tee shirt confining his bulk, and his back and shoulders seemed to explode in size right in front of Prophet’s eyes.
“You need your ass kicked, Guardian.” Without warning, Runyon stretched out a long taloned hand and took a swipe at Prophet, slicing through the material of his shirt into his chest.
“No!” Molly yelled again, fighting to stay between the two of them.
Thankfully, Drake pulled her back.
The Were barreled toward Prophet again, wrapped his powerful arms around the Guardian’s waist before he had a chance to move, lifted him off his feet, turned out into the corridor, and slammed him down hard on the concrete floor. Runyon reared back his head, gaped open his jaws, and proceeded to try and take a chunk out of Prophet’s trapezius, but the Guardian grabbed him by the jaws, forcing the two far enough apart to damn near tear one from the other. The Were yelped and released his hold, allowing Prophet the moment he needed to get back to his feet.
Jarrod stood well over eight feet tall in this form. That growl of his was deafening, his speed impressive, and his talons and teeth as deadly as knives. The Were stalked toward Prophet again, but the Guardian had found his bearings. He used his superior speed against Runyon’s size, crouching low and attempting to sweep the Were’s massive feet out from underneath him, but Runyon’s legs were thick, shorter than his much longer torso, and they rooted him to the floor like a tree.
Runyon raised his paw and brought it down like an anvil, aiming for Prophet’s head, but the Guardian spun away from him and straightened up to his full height. He planted a hard right in the Were’s face, then followed it up with a left. Runyon stumbled back, but the fucker wouldn’t go down. Prophet quickly used the fact that the creature was off balance against him, maneuvering his way behind Runyon. He reached out to him, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and pulled him down hard to the floor.
“You’re going to break his neck!” Molly screamed.
That was the point.
Runyon made some growling, gagging sound that scared the shit out of Molly. She screamed.
“Go. Go now.”
Neither Prophet nor Runyon knew that the Fey, Ahmand, was even in the building or noticed him slipping past the two of them and going into the room where Eden was, pressing a blade tight against the side of his hip and stalking toward Eden.
“What’s he doing?” Molly asked watching the Fey make his way toward Eden.
Runyon clawed at Prophet’s arms, leaving trails of wounds that cut down to the bone, but Prophet ignored the pain and landed a powerful blow across the Were’s jaw. “He’s going to kill her!” Molly shouted.
Both Prophet and the Were turned to Molly in time to see the Fey go into the room with Ecen and raising his weapon over his head. Prophet pushed Runyon violently into the wall, but Runyon recovered quickly and followed Prophet into the room. Both of them stopped, stunned at the sight of Eden looking slightly amused as inch by inch the Fey’s body turned to sand. He screamed in agony, watching himself disintegrate and crumble and fall to the floor in a pile at her feet until nothing was left but his blade.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dust. The Omen watched, fascinated, as the Fey crumbled before their eyes like dust. That’s all any of them were, these powerful and mighty Ancients who had once ruled the glorious Theia, who had once dared to raise their armies against Lord Sakarabru and his mighty and powerful Brood Army raised from Theia’s dead. They were here—now. In this body. In this room. They stared back at the Guardian and the Were as if they were seeing them for the first time. They had seen them both before in battle, when the young one conceded a part of herself to them. But now they had all of her.
“This world and time has made you soft,” the three Omen said with disgust to the Guardian and the Were.
The two of them looked poised to attack, as if they had not seen what she had done to the Fey. Killing it had required nothing more than a thought.
“You need to hear me, Eden. You need to know that I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
“Guardian,” the Omen said, smirking. “Her Beloved. Her champion,” they laughed sarcastically. “We wondered were you where, Guardian. She would not call on you and we wondered. ‘Has he become a coward? Would he let her fight us on her own without his help?’”
It was obvious from his expression that their words cut into his conscience like a sword. But the truth of what was happening transcended his guilt or ego. Eden was gone! The Omen had taken her fully.
“No matter what happens, I’m with you,” he continued passionately.
“The young one is admirable in her courage,” they said, moving slowly toward him. “She is most like her father in her determination. But,” they continued, smiling, “she has her mother’s conniving ways. We do not trust her.”
The human obviously loved him for his beauty. How shallow she was, a simple girl with a crush. What an amusing realization. The Omen could smell the fear permeating from him and the others and see it in their eyes.
“Did you expect that we would wait forever?” the Omen asked, staring into the Guardian’s silver eyes. “Did you not suspect that eventually she would become weak?”
“Khale should have killed her,” the Were said scowling.
“Jarrod!” a young woman with red hair said to him.
“Yes,” they agreed. “Khale should have, but Khale failed. We made sure of that.”
The Omen could kill them all with a single thought. Too easily and withou
t sport. They were disappointed.
“You need to hear me, Eden. You need to know that I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here,” the Guardian persisted.
“She protects you,” they explained, dismissively. “Her Beloved,” they smiled. “She suffers terribly protecting you, Guardian. Her alpha? Hardly.”
“You speak as if Eden is still alive,” he retorted. He lowered his gaze, drew back his shoulders, and planted his feet firmly to the floor.
“You challenge us?” they asked, sarcastically. “Where is she?” he demanded to know. “Where’s Eden?”
“Drowning,” they simply said, shoving aside a wooden table. “Show us what you got, Guardian.” They went at him, fast, arms flailing and wielding the kpinga, slashing it inches from his face. He leaned back and avoided being cut, but was stopped short by the wall. The Omen reared back the weapon and thrust it at his chest. Prophet caught them by the arm before it made contact.
He twisted their arm at the elbow.
“Aaaaah!” they cried out, before finally dropping the weapon.
The snap of bone resonated to the tips of their fingers. Why were they wasting their time with this imbecile when they could have killed him just as easily as they had killed the Fey?
“Let her go,” he demanded.
“You would break your beloved, Guardian? You would kill her to kill us?” they asked, breathless.
Hesitation and doubt filled his eyes.
The Omen backed away from his reach. The Were pushed his way into the small space, but they stopped him in his tracks. Both Ancients struggled to stand, but the Guardian dropped to his knees first, and then the Were did as well.
“You both will die,” they commanded as their thought embraced them all in its grip.
Pain. Yes. Breaking of bones. The Omen could hear them begin to crack. Hearts seized and lungs lost their ability to breathe. The young human’s beloved Guardian weakened and crumbled under their gaze. Yes. He would die and then the human would have nothing else to fight for, nothing to live for.
“Prophet?” It was Eden’s voice calling out to him in agony and confusion. The Omen used the power of thought to fill his chest with blood. They watched awed as he gasped for breath. They wanted her to watch him die. She needed to see that the Omen had finally succeeded in taking her Beloved. This was to be their victory and her final demise.
“Prophet!” her small voice caught the attention of the Omen.
They looked into the faces of the others, wondering if they had heard her call out his name.
“No!” she yelled again. “I said, no!”
It was her. It was the young one fighting to stop them.
“She doesn’t have the strength,” they murmured defiantly, not realizing that the others in the room had heard them.
They felt her, clawing her way back from the depths of where they’d buried her. She wasn’t supposed to—
“It’s too late!” the Omen exclaimed. “You’re weak! Weak!”
“No! She is not,” the Guardian said, forcing himself to stand. “You come back to me, Eden. I’m here and I’m waiting for you. You come to me.”
They could feel her presence rising up inside them. The Were stood too and started to charge them.
“Stay back, Were! You stay the fuck away from her!” the Guardian warned him. “C’mon Eden. I’m here. Right here.”
“We have her,” the Omen protested, backing away from him.
Rising. Growing. Eden was expanding inside them.
“And she still has you,” he said confidently. “Baby,” he said. “You come on back to me, Beloved. I’m right here.” The Guardian was filled with hope that the sound of his voice, the love between them, would somehow find a way to break through whatever hold these Omen had over her.
“He needs to die!” the Omen concluded, trying to focus their collective mental energy on his heart again.
Eden was blocking them.
“Don’t hurt him. Don’t you dare,” she demanded, summoning strength she shouldn’t have had.
“Hurry the fuck up, Prophet!” the Were yelled.
“Come closer and she dies,” the Omen threatened.
“Bullshit,” the Guardian said with confidence, stalking toward them. “Our union, unyielding and unbreakable. Together we are more powerful than apart.” Prophet’s words made Eden’s presence even more powerful, more alarming than ever.
“No, no, no,” the Omen murmured in disbelief. They had been so close, closer than ever before. This could not be.
“Remember that, Eden. I know you’re scared, baby. I know that you think you’re protecting me, but you’re not. They can’t beat us if we’re together. You need me, Eden. I’m here for you, Eden. I’m with you in this, in any and all battles you have to take on. You know that.”
“You are a coward!” they yelled at him. “She would not even call on you to protect her because she did not trust that you could.”
“Eden! Wake up, baby,” he shouted. “Wake the fuck up and come back to me.”
“She is drowning, Guardian. She cannot hear you.”
He needed to believe the lie. If he believed that Eden was gone, dead, then he would concede and give up his own life to find her in the afterlife.
“Eden.” He had backed the Omen against the wall and braced his hands on either side of them to keep them there. “Hear me. Don’t fucking leave me. Don’t you dare leave me. You promised me more time.”
Eden had promised because she was the one who needed more time. Was it over? Had she somehow managed to find her way back again?
“I see you, sweetheart,” he said, emotionally. “I see you, Beloved.”
He saw her? Eden was caught in a nightmare, a dangerous nightmare. She pulled and pushed against forces she couldn’t see. Her lungs burned . . . muscles so weak . . . trembling . . .
“Prophet?” she murmured, uncertain of if he was even real.
“Who else would it be?”
Eden squeezed her eyes shut. Screams. She could hear them screaming, the Omen, cursing. When she opened her eyes, she saw them reaching for her, but—No. No, they could not have her.
Eden squeezed her eyes shut again, and waited, he had to be there. He had to be. Slowly, she opened them again.
Prophet was with her, standing over her. He smiled, tears clouding his eyes. “You came back to me,” he said, staring at her. “I knew you would.”
She nodded and started to cry. Was this real? Was he? It didn’t matter. Maybe she was dead. But it didn’t matter as long as he was here—with her.
“I heard you,” she said tearfully.
“Of course you did.” He forced a smile. “I made sure of it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
More than a dozen Ancients crammed into what used to be a coffee shop, around the corner from the where the unthinkable had just happened.
Ahmand was dead. Isis and the others had been careful to keep their distances from Eden. The Guardian watched them all like hawks and made sure of it. ENIG had taken a huge risk sneaking into Drake’s place and spying on Prophet and the others. He’d slipped in through a window, and had been careful not to leave an obvious trail that the Guardian would’ve noticed. The fact that Prophet had been so worried about Eden, so preoccupied with what was happening to her, was to ENIG’s advantage.
He’d come back to the group and told them that the Reborn was left alone and that she appeared to be in some sort of trance.
“If we’re going to do it, now might be as good a time as any,” ENIG told the group.
Ahmand volunteered to be the one to kill her.
The Fey wasn’t exactly a friend, but he was one of them, and his death had set a very real precedence and served to confirm what they all knew to be true. The Omen were more powerful than the so-called Redeemer. And it wouldn’t be long before all of them ended up like Ahmand.
“I never figured his type for martyrdom,” Torok said, dismally. “Thought his pretty little ass would go out
in some diva shit, clutching pearls and fainting and shit.”
“He knew the risks,” Isis said. We all did. “The Fey was stupid. He should’ve left when he had the chance.”
It was a cruel and emotionless statement, but it was true. Ahmand knew that he would not come out of Drake’s place alive. If the Reborn didn’t kill him, her Guardian certainly would have. From his hiding place, a small closet in that room, ENIG watched the Fey die.
“Prophet should have killed her,” Torok grunted bitterly.
ENIG sighed. “He’s her Guardian. Of course he wasn’t going to kill her.”
“But if what you said was true then it wasn’t her,” Isis added. “Physically yes, but those things had taken her, ENIG. For all intents and purposes, the human was not in that room, and Torok is right. He should’ve killed her. If not him, then the Were. Both were close enough to do it.”
“She’d have melted them like she did the Fey,” one of the others said.
“She tried to kill the Guardian,” ENIG added, “but couldn’t because of Eden. She stopped them from killing him. And then he managed to somehow bring her back, encouraged her to resist the Omen.” He shrugged. “All of a sudden, there she was again. Our Redeemer.”
No one said anything. What could they say? The truth was staring them in the face and many of them had seen it earlier in that human’s office.
“We’re all still here,” Isis offered, staring at each of them. “The Fey was too late, that’s all. Had he gotten there earlier, he could have killed her.”
All eyes were on Isis. As long as she was alive, she would fight this fight. Opportunity was key. Timing was everything.
