Crown of Doom and Light

by Jayde Brooks

  “You need to go,” Runyon said to Drake. Close the door at the top of the stairs,” he instructed him. “Lock it and don’t open it again until you hear my voice.”

  Drake slowly nodded, and did as he was told.

  Runyon quietly pushed open the door and stood inside the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness almost immediately. A warning hung in the air. The beast in him automatically began to react and a slow shift began in him, starting on the inside, a tingling in his gut, the slowing of his heartbeat and the lengthening of his bones. They would be more afraid of him than he was of them, but fear was a compelling thing. And he knew that the two of them likely wanted out of this room. He was the only thing keeping them from it.

  His heightened sense of smell caught their scent. They reeked, smelling almost like rotting flesh. The racing sounds of their hearts resonated with him, first separately but then gradually syncing up until two became one. They were plotting, planning, strategizing against him, trying to come up with a way to save themselves.

  He turned in a slow circle, searching for them in the darkness, but they were hidden, and damn well too. Runyon positioned himself firmly in front of the door, determined not to let them escape. The irony of this situation couldn’t be missed. The great alpha of the Were nation, the strongest and oldest of them all, locked in a basement hunting fucking cockroaches. But he’d seen up close and personal what these things could do.

  By the time he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye it was too late. One of those bastards flew past his face and sliced his cheek with razor-sharp claws. The other took advantage of the distraction and swiped him across his back. The shit stung!

  “So is that it?” he said, unmoved. “You’re gonna to scratch me to death?”

  They came at him again, first one and then the other, swiping claws across his flesh, deep enough to draw blood but not enough to do any real damage. These were newly made vamps. They probably still hadn’t figured out how to use those new fangled bodies of theirs. He was mildly annoyed at best, until one of those bastards jumped onto his back and sank fangs into his shoulder, infuriating him. How dare that disgusting little bitch even think of taking a chunk out of him? He reached behind him but wasn’t fast enough, and it got away from him. The other one was dumb enough to wrap itself around the front of him with the same intention. It was the female. Before she could sink her teeth into him, though, he grabbed her by the jawbone and squeezed until he felt it shatter in his hand.

  She screamed and he dropped her in a heap onto the floor. She tried scurrying away, but Runyon bought his massive foot down on top of her skull before she could. The other vamp hissed behind him, and Runyon could feel the air move as he approached. The Were turned in time to spread his talons and drive them through the chest of the male, piercing bone and cartilage until he could actually feel the vamp’s heart beating in his hand. Red eyes locked onto Runyon’s golden ones, and the Were squeezed until the beating stopped, but the damn thing wasn’t dead until the Were grabbed him by the head and squeezed until he felt skull give way, cracking in his palm like wood.

  Drake asked no questions as he walked Runyon to the door.

  “Burn the bodies,” Runyon said unemotionally as he left.

  “Is Molly going to be all right?” Drake called out behind him.

  “No.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Elitest blood. Van Dureel had never tasted it before, but after sampling the nectar that was Mkombozi he knew that he was ruined. Human blood, tainted with sugar, cholesterol, and fat, paled in comparison to the flavor of hers, and he now realized that he’d been feeding on sludge instead of caviar. What a damn shame.

  “We shall go back to the Manhattan and speak to the Theians,” she basically commanded him after their little encounter in the kitchen.

  Too bad she was racist. Van Dureel’s lovemaking could’ve put that Guardian of hers to shame.

  The last time they were in “the Manhattan,” that big, stinky Berserker had tried to kill him. Hopefully, the dude was over being pissed about the eye thing. But just in case, Van Dureel had arranged for reinforcements. A thousand drones would be waiting in the wings if things got testy with the Elitests. His kind had proven that they could go head-to-head with them and fare pretty damn well. As long as that head-banger wasn’t around, a thousand drones could surely clear a path for him to haul ass away from a few hundred Elitests if he needed to.

  Van Dureel slowly headed northeast on West Broadway. He’d never cared much for the city. It had been too congested, too much of a rat race for his taste. He preferred beaches to concrete. The Demon sure had done a number on the city, though. He’d pretty much leveled most of the taller buildings. Bricks, mortar, I-beams, all kinds of shit still littered the area, with most of it at least pushed to the sides of the streets to allow for traffic.

  Humans were slowly moving back, and they had to be a special breed of human, crazy or just really crazy. But they were getting their balls back, which was good. The Demon had chased them into the sanctuaries where they thought they were safe, not knowing that if he really wanted to get inside one of those compounds, all he’d have to do was flick a finger and the walls would come tumbling down.

  “Stop,” Mkombozi said when they’d reached a building just past Canal Street on West Broadway called the SoHo something-or-other. The rest of the signage was missing, and so was the top half of the building.

  “What are we stopping here for?” Van Dureel asked, climbing out of the vehicle along with her.

  She stood in front of the building and stared, peering at each of the windows. He looked too, and saw movement. Moments later, a very small Theian came to the door. She was the size of maybe a five-or six-year-old human child, but she had boobs and wore high heels and lipstick. Big blue eyes—too big and too blue—met his, rolled, and then locked onto Mkombozi. The small one’s expression quickly changed from disdain to disbelief.

  “It can’t be you,” she muttered, those big eyes of hers widening to the point that they were starting to creep him out. “How is it possible?”

  Of course, Mkombozi didn’t understand her. “Speak Theian,” she demanded.

  The little one looked terrified. “I—I don’t remember . . .”

  “She does not remember how,” Van Dureel chimed in.

  The disappointment on Mkombozi’s face shamed the small creature until she lowered her gaze and bit down on her bottom lip. She was sort of cute like that.

  “She needs to take us to someone who can,” Mkombozi said to Van Dureel, who translated on her behalf.

  The place must’ve been a hotel before it was destroyed. They followed the creature into a large, ornate lobby, past what had likely been the check-in desk, and down a long corridor to a stairwell. They walked up three flights before finally reaching their destination. The whole time, the little one kept glancing back over her shoulder at Mkombozi. Van Dureel kept to a safe distance behind them both.

  “Please wait,” the creature said humbly before opening the door. But the little bitch didn’t hesitate to cast a nasty little glare at Van Dureel before closing the door behind her.

  “What is she?” he asked Mkombozi when the door had shut.

  She turned to him with a half smile. “She is a Pixie Beast. Have you never seen one?”

  He shook his head. “She does not look like a beast.”

  “We used them to gnaw the hands and feet off our enemies while they slept,” she explained.

  “Without waking them?” he asked, astonished.

  She shrugged. “Yes. But they never revealed their secrets to us.”

  Moments later, the foot-eating scoundrel returned. She held open the door, letting Mkombozi walk through, but stopped him.

  “No!” she said, raising a small hand. “Not you.”

  Mkombozi turned to her and stared down her nose at the Pixie monster. All of a sudden, she had a change of heart.

  “It is you,” a tall, dark, and sexy Anci
ent said, bolting to her feet as soon as Mkombozi walked into the room. “I saw you,” she said excitedly. “I saw you fighting—” she stopped short. “No one believed me. But I knew.”

  She glanced behind Mkombozi at Van Dureel and started to pull a knife from the holster on her thigh.

  “No,” Mkombozi quickly said, stepping between the two of them. “He is with me.”

  The amazon frowned. “A ptkah? What are you doing with him?”

  She said it in Theian.

  “He has helped me since I have been here,” Mkombozi explained.

  “But—how is it that you are here, Mkombozi?”

  Van Dureel caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. “You are not spirit,” said a voice.

  Van Dureel could hardly believe his eyes. A Phantom came out of the corner. He’d heard about them, but he’d never come across one before. Most vamps didn’t even believe that they existed. This one was tall and lean, his hair cut short.

  “I am not,” Mkombozi replied.

  “But you were dead,” said the Phantom, stunned. “Killed by Khale.”

  Mkombozi raised her chin in defiance. “I am here now. That is all that matters. What are your names?”

  “I am Isis,” the female said. “You were my general in the world war against Sakarabru. I was leader of the Fourth Infantry.”

  “And I am ENIG, one of the spies stationed in the eastern region.”

  ENIG motioned for Mkombozi to sit down. The three Ancients sat, and none of them gave a damn about the poor ptkah left standing.

  “How long have you been here, General?” Isis asked, staring at Mkombozi like she was some kind of pop star.

  Mkombozi looked to Van Dureel.

  “A few weeks,” he muttered.

  “He is the enemy,” ENIG said, leaning forward. “We are fighting a war against his kind.”

  “I know of your war,” she told him. “But he is not my enemy and it is not my war.”

  Now whose turn was it to look smug? Van Dureel gloated like he’d just been handed the Oscar.

  “Why are you here?” Isis asked reluctantly. “Not that we are not pleased, General, but, forgive us. We are confused by your presence.”

  “I have come to reclaim what belongs to me,” Mkombozi said, sounding as regal as a queen. “Khale has filled your heads with lies. She was never truthful, not even to me.”

  The beauty and the ghost looked at each other. “What lies?” Isis asked.

  “She has told you that I have been reborn.” She spoke carefully, studying both of them for a reaction. “I ask you, how can I sit here with you now, if I am supposed to be someone else?”

  Neither of them knew what to say to that.

  “The Reborn is false. She is an impostor,” Mkombozi continued. “She pretends to be me and has staked claim to all that is mine.”

  “You mean the Guardian?” ENIG concluded.

  “Yes.” Mkombozi nodded gracefully. “I mean the Guardian.”

  Isis suddenly looked doubtful. “Forgive me, General, but how is it possible that the reborn is an impostor? I am not sure if you know, but she has bonded with the Omen. I have been told that that would not be possible for anyone but the true Redeemer.”

  Mkombozi was starting to look a little pissed. “My mother knew many spells, Isis. She used one of those spells to destroy me. What is to say that she did not use others to make this impostor appear to be me, even to the Omen?”

  Again, Isis and ENIG looked at each other.

  “You are here to reclaim the Guardian and the Omen?” Isis asked carefully.

  “And my identity. There are many who believe that she is me and they must know the truth.”

  “But she is bonded with the Omen,” ENIG offered. “How could you possibly reclaim them? Aren’t they a part of her?”

  “They are,” Mkombozi said. “There is but one way to separate her from them.”

  “She must die,” Isis said.

  Mkombozi looked at her. “Before they take her fully, she must die. If they take her then it is too late. You understand.”

  She was spinning the hell out of this shit for their benefit. She was making herself a savior. She was the hero.

  “She will kill us all if they take her,” Isis said.

  “I need to find the Guardian,” Mkombozi continued coolly. “If I find him, then I will find her. Can you help me?”

  ENIG was about to say something when Isis stopped him.

  “We may know how to find him. But we will need time.”

  “There is not much time left,” Mkombozi said somberly. “She is growing weaker against them. I need to find her quickly.”

  “We understand,” ENIG said. “We can offer you lodging for the night.” He glanced at Van Dureel. “And you as well. We will know with certainty by morning where to find the Guardian.”

  Mkombozi offered a pensive smile. “By morning. That will suffice.”

  What the hell was going on here? Van Dureel didn’t trust any one of these Elitests as far as he could throw them, Mkombozi included. But what choice did he have but to wait and see how all this shit played out?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “She is not spirit,” ENIG said, standing at the window behind Isis and looking out at the city.

  The sun was starting to set and they had promised Mkombozi information on Prophet’s whereabouts by morning.

  “Then what is she?” Isis had reservations and understandably so.

  ENIG sighed. “I have no idea. She looks like Mkombozi, sounds like her . . . But how could she return from the dead?”

  “The Demon returned from the dead. Eden has technically come back several times. The question on my mind is why? Why now?”

  “Love?”

  He was such a romantic, a trait she found both appealing and appalling. Isis wasn’t your romantic type of girl. ENIG insisted on bringing it to the table before they made love.

  “After four thousand years, now she’s driven by love?”

  “The Omen, then,” he concluded.

  “Of course the Omen.”

  “She could lose them forever if Eden succumbs to them.”

  “Exactly. But we’re here because Mkombozi bonded with those things and couldn’t handle it.”

  “Eden can?”

  “Eden has.”

  “For now.”

  Both of them stood silently, working through the scenarios in their minds.

  Isis shared her thoughts first. “Killing Eden before the Omen take her is the logical thing to do.”

  “Correct.”

  “If we wait, if they take total control of her and she can’t fight her way back, do you really think that they’d destroy this world the way they did ours?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” ENIG asked. “I mean, that’s what they do.”

  “Is it? Is it necessary for them to do that?”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “What if they just take control of her and don’t destroy Earth?”

  “If they take control, Isis, she will in effect be the Demon.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, deep in thought. “That’s exactly what she’d be.”

  “What good could come from Mkombozi bonding with the Omen?” he asked.

  She slowly shook her head. “No good can come from anyone bonding with those things.”

  “So, what are you thinking?”

  Isis turned to him. ENIG was four inches taller than she was. He was thin, but muscular, handsome, and the best lover she had ever had. She trusted him above all others.

  “I’m thinking that they both should die.”

  He nodded. “I’m thinking you’re right. So, do we give her Prophet’s address?”

  “We have to,” Isis replied. “They need to be together. Mkombozi needs to believe that she can get her Omen back. It’s the Omen that makes them both weak. . But Mkombozi’s desire for them has somehow compelled her to come back from the dead. And Eden is an anomaly. There’s
no way she should still be alive.”

  “If together, the two can be a distraction to each other, even perhaps to the Omen.”

  “Yes. But we will need help, ENIG. You and I can’t do this alone.”

  “No, you can’t.” The Vampyre appeared in the room.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” Isis asked angrily.

  “She trusts me,” Van Dureel said, ignoring her question. “More than either of you.”

  Isis and ENIG exchanged glances.

  “But we don’t trust you, ptkah,” Isis said.

  “Isis,” ENIG replied sternly. “Let’s listen to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s right. Because she does trust him.”

  “And because I have a pretty good gig going on here in this life,” Van Dureel said.

  “You steal humans and feed them or sell them as slaves,” Isis retorted.

  “Not all humans,” he quickly countered. “Just the stragglers.”

  He said it as if he should be applauded for it. When he saw her disgust, he quickly withdrew that cocky demeanor of his.

  “I don’t want the world to end,” he finally admitted. “Good or bad, I have built a life here for me and my drones and I don’t want to lose that.”

  “You take life from others,” Isis argued. “You have no right to do that.”

  “Perhaps. But that’s neither here nor there,” he shot back. “We can all hash out our differences later, but we won’t be able to hash shit out if none of us is here. Your Redeemer is going around smashing vamp heads, while my Redeemer could very well hurl this world into the sun if she gets her pretty little hands on those Omen.” His eyes glanced quickly between the two. “Sounds to me like we all have a reason for wanting them both dead.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” ENIG asked sarcastically.

  “Only she doesn’t need to know that I’m the enemy,” Van Dureel concluded. “Cool? She’ll have my balls if she does and not in the way I’d like.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Molly was up with the sun, kneeling on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet dry-heaving so hard she feared she’d puke up an organ. Her hand throbbed. Her head pounded. Nothing, not even water, would stay down. One minute she was hot, and the next she was freezing. It was like having the flu, an endless flu that only got worse instead of better. It had taken everything in her to try and put on a brave face, but tears streamed down her cheeks, giving way to her fear and frustration.