by Jayde Brooks
“Mother!” The voice of their son Loe warned them that he would be coming through the door at any moment.
“I told you, they always know,” she said, and smiled.
Moments later, the boy burst through the door. “Cobi’s got the only knife, and he won’t let me skin my catch.”
Jarrod stared at the boy. “So what are you saying, son?” He struggled to hide his frustration.
The boy shrugged. “I need my own knife.”
Alaine found a nice sharp one in the drawer and started to follow the boy outside. “And I need salt and flour if you want me to cook these hairy creatures for supper,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at Jarrod.
His heart melted when she smiled. His erection, on the other hand …
Seconds after she and Loe left, Natholu walked in. “Damn, brother,” he laughed. “That was quick.”
Jarrod shrugged off his disappointment. “Come on,” he said, ushering his brother out the door. “We have to go and get supplies.”
“Now?”
“Yes now, if you want to eat.”
They hadn’t been gone long when Jarrod caught the scent. He and Natholu locked gazes.
“No,” Natholu said, shaking his head slowly. “That can’t be … it can’t be … real?”
It was different, but both of them knew undeniably exactly what it was. And it was coming from home.
Jarrod’s heart pounded like a drum.
“Hurry, brother!” Jarrod started to change as he turned to run. “Hurry!”
“Please let us be wrong,” Jarrod muttered. His family.
The sounds of screams pinned back their ears miles before they got to the colony. And in that instant, the brothers knew that they weren’t wrong.
“Run!”
It was Alaine’s voice.
The brothers’ transformation into Were form was effortless. Both large in stature before their change, they doubled in size after they were transformed, and their nature, more animal than not, took over as they charged and attacked Sakarabru’s Brood soldiers. Instinctively, they knew which areas on the Brood bodies were vulnerable: throats, eyes, and chests.
Alaine had told the boys to run, while she stayed behind and fought. Jarrod saw her, battling like a warrior, slashing her butcher knife into the throats of Brood attacking her. She was not a Were creature, so she could not change. Jarrod fought to get to her, but the Brood Army seemed to come from every direction at the same time. It had been a long time since he’d fought. Maybe too long. They were strong. They were Brood. And there were so many of them.
Alaine whipped her knife through the air like a skilled swordsman.
“Mother!” he heard his son Cobi cry out.
“Run, Cobi!” she screamed, catching a Brood from behind and raking the knife deep across its throat.
But Cobi couldn’t run. He was being stalked by a Brood not much bigger than him but still stronger. Jarrod’s boys were hybrids of both parents. They could only turn at will when they had time to concentrate and focus—when they weren’t afraid. He crouched low and raced across the field to Cobi. The small Brood turned in time to see Jarrod’s thick and razor-sharp claws slice through the air, slicing through it like a hot knife cuts through butter.
“Papa!” The boy jumped up and ran to his father.
“Where’s your brother?” Jarrod growled.
The boy couldn’t answer.
“Find him!” he commanded, turning to get to his mate.
He could see her, fighting, slashing, and growling, but the Brood were too many, and he wasn’t fast enough. She never saw the one come up behind her and twist her head until her neck snapped. Jarrod watched her body fall lifeless to the ground, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on him.
Jarrod’s growl pierced the air like thunder. The Brood would fall. He knew it as soon as he saw the gray Were creature lunging at him, teeth bared, claws extended, and crazed. The beast in the Were raged, leaving reason and logic behind. Jarrod killed everyone who crossed his path without hesitation. He killed with abandon, snatching life out of anything that remotely resembled a Brood until his coat was soaked with their blood.
The small colony managed to kill the Brood that had attacked them. But the Brood had killed many of them too.
Jarrod cradled Alaine in his arms like a small child. His sons were at his side, crying.
“They came because he sent them,” Jarrod said, through his tears and grief. “Sakarabru sent them.” He looked at his brother.
Jarrod looked down from his horse at this small, almost insignificant version of Khale. He had heard the stories about the return of the Demon. And he knew that when the Demon returned, so would the Redeemer. Khale had messed with fate and instinctively he knew that that couldn’t have been good.
“So what of your reborn, Khale?” he asked, cautiously. “What of this new Redeemer? Where is she?”
“She is with the Guardian,” Khale told him.
“Is she ready? Has she bonded with the Omens?”
“He will make her ready.”
Yeah, right. “The last one fucked up everything. And you said she was ready. We all ended up here, our world is gone, and the Demon is back. So why should we believe that this one can do what the last one couldn’t?”
His question, his doubt, had offended her, but Jarrod didn’t give a damn. Khale had no answers. “The Redeemer is our only hope,” she said with resolve. “I expect your cooperation, Were. Or sit back and watch while Sakarabru destroys everything you claim to love about this world. Your choice.” She did her shifting thing and changed back into that bird she was when she showed up, and she took off.
HE PLAYED ONE
He’d walked for nearly eighty years, and when the pain became unbearable, he crawled. Dave Jensen stood at the end of a road leading up a hill. At the end of this road was the one he had been searching for all these many years. And finding her would be his end.
“Finally,” he said tearfully.
It was a word he’d waited too long to say. And hearing it filled him with such relief that he suddenly felt as light as a feather, and if a good stiff breeze were to blow by in that moment, he was sure that it would carry him away.
He stared at the path of that winding road and drew in a deep breath. Never in a million years would he have guessed he’d end up here. His quest had been too grand, his responsibility and purpose too grave to end in such a quiet and insignificant place. But who was he to question her and what she wanted. It looked so peaceful compared to what was happening in the rest of the world. He closed his eyes and listened intensely for the sounds of screaming and guns firing, for men calling out orders over megaphones. He heard none of those things. All he heard was peace and he heard quiet. He smiled in a show of grateful and private gratitude to her, for finally giving him what he had needed since he first found her. Dave raised the bloody stump of his foot and took the first step leading him to the end of this long and arduous journey.
* * *
It was warm for spring, especially for being so far North. The buds on the trees made this place look like something out of a fairy tale, and she truly could live here for the rest of her life and never miss one second of the outside world.
Eden had been going on and on about not being ready to take on the responsibility that she had supposedly been born for. But there was nothing or no one who could’ve ever prepared her for this. This was her world falling apart. Forget the Ancients. They had their world and they lost it. This one was hers.
Eden was no hero or warrior. Her only aspiration in life was to eventually get married and maybe have a kid or two. She’d dreamed of being a manicurist, for crying out loud. Who dreams of being a manicurist?
Khale would be back soon, spewing the same old rhetoric to Eden since she was a toddler. Prophet had a different strategy for getting the message across to her, but it was still the same one. Eden had a choice, yes, and she didn’t. Deep down, she knew that.
“It’s hard at first.”
>
An old man seemed to come out of nowhere and stood in the clearing behind the house with her. He stood there, layered in dirty clothes, his smile revealing gaps where teeth should’ve been.
“Wh-what?” Eden asked, suddenly afraid. “What?”
He stared back at her with tears streaming down his face.
“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he said feebly. He took a step toward her and started to sing, “One for three … Bring me.… Redeem me.” He sobbed and came even closer. “You die the lamb.”
Eden hadn’t even realized that she sang with him.
Touch her.
He stumbled toward her. Eden wanted to run but stood frozen.
“Touching you will end this torture,” he yelled. “Take it.” He grabbed hold of her arm.
A shock wave of pain jolted her whole body as Eden disappeared into the blackness of her screams.
Eden ran, but the sand beneath her feet gave way to prevent any friction she tried to get. She opened her mouth to call for help, but there was no air in this black place. She couldn’t scream because she couldn’t breathe, and it was getting closer.
The harder she fought to get away, the deeper she sank into the sand, burning her skin. Help me! Guardian! She called to him in her thoughts but he wasn’t there. Khale! Eden was alone. She couldn’t do this. No.
One for three … Bring me.… Redeem me. One for three … Bring me.… Redeem me.
Eden’s eyes grew wide with fear. Her lungs burned, fighting for breath. Jagged shards of blackness cut into her flesh, digging deep until they scraped against bone and sliced into her like a thousand hot blades all at once. The pain was too much and it was snatching the life out of her, stealing away her soul, until she was too weak to fight. Eden was without hope. The agony of this moment had stolen what determination she had once had to save her own life.
One for three … Bring me.… Redeem me—I am yours. I am yours. Yessssss.
She closed her eyes. Eden stopped struggling to breathe and submitted to the death that had enveloped her body, mind, and soul. Burning. Burning inside and out. Breaking—snapping to pieces as easily as a twig. She felt herself wither and fade and life left her. This was death. This was … nothing.
We are unfulfilled. We are incomplete. Our Redeemer. Our Sister. Bond with us. Make us one.
I’M YOURS
Khale seemed to appear out of nowhere. “No! Eden! Help her,” she yelled, looking desperately to the Guardian.
The whites of Eden’s eyes turned blood red. The veins in the sides of her neck pulsed and swelled to massive proportions, gorged with blood flooding her body.
The two of them stared at her, knowing that she would not survive this. Eden was no Ancient warrior, just the memory of one. She was nothing more than a weak and scared little girl, being tortured literally to death. Prophet glared at Khale, wondering what in the hell she had been thinking to do this. She’d been wrong for using this human girl. They had all been so very, very wrong.
“I am amazed by your brilliance, Khale,” he said venomously, “that you should be so wise as to resurrect your Beloved into something as fragile as this.”
She stared back defiantly at him. “Watch your tone with me, Guardian,” she threatened.
He laughed. “Or what, Ancient?” He stared at the pitiful young woman lying in his arms, swallowed by unimaginable agony. “She couldn’t do it,” he said to Khale. “You knew she couldn’t.”
Khale started to say something, but of course there were no words for what she knew was the truth. Eden may have been the vessel to hold Mkombozi’s spirit, but her body was very human and incapable of sustaining itself against the torturous bonding process with the first Omen.
“You need to leave,” he said. Her business here was done, and Khale was of no consequence anymore. She was not allowed to bear witness to what happened between Prophet and Eden from this point on, and she knew it. Eden was his responsibility now, and he would be the one to bury her.
“Take care of her, Guardian,” she said weakly, before shifting into bird form and flying away.
He looked down into Eden’s face, frozen in shock and fear, and his heart broke in half for her. “Better care than you did, Shifter.”
The Guardian was prepared to protect Eden at all costs. He was prepared to save her, even from her so-called destiny. Whatever she was suffering was more than she could survive and so much more than her body could bear. He couldn’t let her be taken like this. And he prepared himself to do the only thing he could do.
He had just found her. And now to lose her again … But he couldn’t let her suffer like this.
“Eden.” He whispered her name, put his hand at her throat, and wrapped his fingers around her neck.
He knew her pain. He could feel it as if he were there with her! He could sense her terror.
“Eden, I’m so sorry,” he said softly.
Prophet turned his face from hers and began to squeeze. Suddenly the sky darkened above him and then wrapped around the two of them together. He couldn’t understand it. She’d fallen while there was still daylight. The darkness fell like a blanket covering them. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. He couldn’t even see her, and though he hadn’t summoned them, he could feel his wings spread from his back.
The air grew thin and warm, no—hot. And then he felt Eden grab the hand on her neck and squeeze her fingers around his.
“Eden?” he said, stunned by her actions.
Was she … fighting? Could she hear him? “Eden! Baby, if you can hear me…”
He released his grip on her neck and pulled her tightly to his chest. There was a chance—a small one.… “Eden.” He said her name over and over again in her ear. “Come back, sweetheart. Come back to me.”
All of a sudden she shook, her whole body went rigid, and Eden gasped for air.
She took a breath. Prophet couldn’t believe it—she was breathing.
“Eden,” he said, sweeping locks from her face.
She looked at him. Tears streamed down the sides of her face. Her lips moved, but the words …
“It’s all right,” he said, happier and more shocked than he ever thought possible. “I’m here. It’s all right.”
Fuck. How the hell had she survived that?
“I … heard…” She struggled to speak. Eden swallowed.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s all right.”
“I … heard … you,” she managed to gather enough strength to say.
She was shaking so hard he worried that she might break something.
“I heard … you,” she repeated, sobbing and raising her hand to touch his face.
“You heard me.” He laughed. She was so beautiful. He stared at her as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. “You heard me?”
She nodded. “I heard … you call my name.”
This shit had just gotten real. Until this moment, he thought he knew…, but now he was certain, more certain than he’d ever been about anything in his long life. This Eden Reid was his Beloved. She was the one he thought he’d lost when their world was destroyed, and she was the one he’d spent the last four thousand years waiting for.
He raised her to him, pressed his lips to hers, and savored the flavor of this beautiful young woman.
* * *
Eden was exhausted and needed time alone. He’d run a bath for her and left her in the tub with her thoughts. One thing was certain: she had a hell of a lot to process. She had survived the first bond with the first Omen. The damn thing should’ve killed her, and no one was more surprised than Prophet that it didn’t.
He sat in the living room, staring out of the window, watching the sun set. The Omen had somehow solicited the old man who looked to be almost as old as Prophet to find the Redeemer and bring itself to her. Maybe it grew tired of waiting, or maybe it knew that Eden wouldn’t go looking for it. But whatever the case, and ready or not, the first bond had taken place and Eden was still alive
.
He hadn’t heard her come down the stairs.
“I don’t think I can sleep alone tonight,” she said softly, standing across the room wrapped in a towel.
He held out his hand for her. Eden came to him.
How good it felt to have her here with him. Through the years there had been women, plenty of women, who claimed to love him, need him, and want him. But not one of them had filled the void in him that she’d left behind. That nagging ache of emptiness was gone, and he never wanted to feel it again.
Eden dropped her towel and stood naked before him. He had thought she was too thin, but looking at her now, he couldn’t help taking in the delicate curves of her slender figure and appreciate the perfection of it. Eden’s waist was so small his fingers nearly touched when he held it in his hands. That lovely waist curved nicely down into soft hips and up into round, firm breasts with dark nipples begging to be tasted.
He pulled her down onto his lap and noticed the marking on her upper arm. It was the brand of the Omen. The bond had been made.
She noticed him looking. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said softly.
He smiled. “Good.”
Had she been with a man before? He didn’t want to know. She had never been with him before, and when it was over, she would never want to be with anyone else.
Eden leaned forward and planted hesitant kisses on his lips, staring into his eyes and daring him to even try to close them.
“I had given up,” she quietly explained. “It expected me to.”
It—meaning the Omen.
“It was dark, Prophet. Darker than the regular dark. Suffocating and heavy.”
He’d felt it, too.
He pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her waist as she pressed against his dick, growing thicker by the second.
Eden leaned closer, held a rope of his hair in her hand, brought it to her nose, and inhaled. She closed her eyes. “I heard wings.” And then she opened her eyes. “I heard you flying toward me and then you called my name.”
She pressed her lips together as she contemplated how to continue.
“You were looking for me, and I knew that if you didn’t find me, that you would die, too.”
