Daughter of Gods and Shadows

by Jayde Brooks

  “Mkombozi was an Ancient warrior, Khale. She was born to fight. She was born strong and she was one of your generals. So, if she fell victim to the power of these things, what’s to stop it from happening to me?”

  Khale stared into the warm brown pools of Eden’s eyes and saw this young woman struggling to be brave, still struggling to grasp this huge responsibility that had been put on her, and her heart ached for her.

  “You, Eden,” she said, softly. “You can stop it.”

  “How, Khale? If she couldn’t then…”

  “I can’t tell you how, anymore than I could tell her. There is something in you, inside you, that is more powerful than you can know, Eden. When you survived that first bond, I knew it. Yes, Mkombozi was an Ancient. She was a warrior and a general, but it was never a question of whether or not she’d survive the bonds. I questioned yours.”

  “Thanks, Khale,” she said sarcastically.

  “It wasn’t meant as an insult. You’re human. Your body can only take so much, Eden, but you fought through it, you lived, and I have never been more proud than when I heard that my human girl from Brooklyn”—Khale smiled—“had survived the impossible. Do you understand what that means?”

  Eden shook her head.

  “It means that maybe, just maybe, you are even more powerful and more of a warrior than Mkombozi. And she was fierce.” She laughed, warmly.

  There it was. Khale saw it, even if only for a moment, but Eden couldn’t hide it no matter how much she’d wanted to—that glimmer of pride, of hope. It was just a spark, and a small one, but it was there. And for now, it would do.

  AND SHE WAS

  She was cute, the little Redeemer—savior or destroyer of the galaxy, or whatever. Jarrod didn’t expect to see anybody out here this time of night, least of all her. He surveyed the area, looking for the Guardian, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “Some Guardian,” he muttered under his breath.

  Eden sat at the end of the pier dangling her feet off the edge. For a moment, Jarrod had the wicked thought of some Mer creature suddenly coming up and grabbing hold of her ankles, scaring the shit out of her. But they knew better, just like Jarrod knew better. If this Eden was who Khale said she was, then far be it from him to try to sneak up on her.

  He coughed just to let her know that he was coming up from behind her. Jarrod had not chosen a side in the Theian wars, but a side had been chosen for him when Sakarabru wiped out his colony and killed his mate, Alaine. He’d joined forces with Khale for a chance to make the fucker pay, but the Redeemer, Mkombozi, had gotten to him first.

  He sat down on the pier on the other side of Eden’s cowboy boots.

  “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked, staring into the black inkwell of water at her feet.

  “Shouldn’t you?” Eden responded apprehensively.

  He was like the other Ancients, leery of Eden and what she was becoming. And she was leery of all of them. There was a determination in her expression, a bold but subtle challenge in her eyes that almost dared him to make just one wrong move. Jarrod was a Were and he knew this look well. What he didn’t know was if her courage was because of the bond she’d made with the Omen or if it was just a good old healthy dose of human self-preservation.

  “So, is it commonplace for that Guardian of yours to just let you go wandering around in the middle of the night without him?”

  She shook her head. “No. Fortunately, he’s a sound sleeper.” She actually smiled. “I needed time to myself.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  She paused and then shook her head. “No. You don’t have to.”

  Eden wasn’t too tall, but the shapely legs that dangled off the edge of that pier were rather attractive, as legs go. She wore cutoff jean shorts, a black tank top, and an overcoat that looked a lot like the one the Guardian wore. Dradlocks were pulled up into some kind of knot and twisted on top of her head. In theory, it should’ve looked stupid, but on her, it worked. He couldn’t believe that he even knew this word, but it came to mind and shocked the shit out of him: “delicate.” And she had some beautiful tits. He could tell that even hidden inside that jacket, because he was a man obsessed with boobs.

  “It’s only a matter of time before he senses you’re gone and comes looking for you.”

  Small talk wasn’t his thing, but hell, it was the effort that counted in his book. She wasn’t one of them, but thanks to Khale and her bag of tricks, she’d been dragged into some shit that had to have been mind-blowing. Jarrod couldn’t help it. He felt sorry for her.

  “Eventually, I’m sure he will,” she said, not bothering to even look at him.

  This was Khale’s reborn Redeemer. She was young, and she sat there looking exactly as she should, like a young woman who had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Shit! He could curse the Shifter out for this one. Khale could’ve found somebody else, like a sumo wrestler or a linebacker. Why in the world did she pick this one?

  “How old are you?” he asked without thinking.

  This time she did look at him. “Twenty-four.”

  And she looked all of twenty-four. She was a fuckin’ kid! Damn! If he thought he could get away with kicking Khale’s ass for this, he would.

  Jarrod could feel her staring at him now. “What?”

  “So, you’re a werewolf?”

  “I’m a Were. Humans came up with this notion of a werewolf.”

  “Based on your kind?” she probed.

  He nodded. “They put their own spin on it, of course,” he said casually.

  “Like?”

  “Like that whole myth about us taking chunks out of people,” he explained, frowning. “That’s pretty damn disgusting.”

  She laughed. “Have you ever tried eating people?”

  “Nah. Took a bite out of a chick back in the seventies. Just ’cause I was curious, you understand. Took weeks for me to get that taste out of my mouth.”

  She surprised him and smiled. “What about silver bullets?”

  He shrugged. “They hurt.”

  This time she laughed. “But they don’t kill you?”

  He looked at her like she’d just asked him to pull a snake out of his ass.

  “I’m just asking,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “I mean, I only know what I see on television. I just figured that since you’re here, I might as well get it from the source.”

  “Humans were afraid of us,” he started to explain. “They hunted us, and a lot of Weres died early on.” Those memories were painful and surprisingly vivid to Jarrod. “We learned to be more discreet, and they learned to empower themselves by making up the rules to their legends and myths. They made it up in their minds that we could only change during the full moon; it gave them a sense of peace and superiority, I guess. Same thing with the bullets. It made them feel more in control.”

  She mulled over what he had said before asking the question: “But why’d you let them? You were, or are, obviously capable of overpowering the humans. And I’m sure you scared the hell out of them. You could’ve killed them in retaliation for them attacking you. Why didn’t you?”

  Jarrod smiled. “It’s not our nature, Eden. The Were are a proud and close-knit nation. Just because we’re capable of being monsters doesn’t mean we are. This was their world. We were strangers and lucky to be alive. Our role, the role of all Ancients, has always been to respect the people here and to live quietly among them, if we can. We found ways to do that and, until recently, we were happy.”

  He sounded like a fuckin’ Hallmark card. Jarrod swallowed the bile that had come up from his stomach, because spitting would’ve been rude.

  “It’s peaceful out here,” she eventually said. “Almost as if the rest of the world hasn’t gone to shit at all.”

  But that’s exactly what was happening to it. Jarrod looked at her.

  “It’s going to suck to have to leave.…” Her voice trailed off.

  Jarrod was on the outside looking
in with these other Ancients. Khale only needed him to fight, and the Guardian just glared at him. He had sort of accidentally found out that Eden was the reborn, and he had some idea that maybe she had bonded with the first Omen, but he couldn’t be sure. So he figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Did you find the first Omen?”

  She looked at him. “It found me.”

  Okay, so he was an Ancient and that sounded crazy even to him. He could only imagine what it must’ve done to her. “Uh … damn.”

  Eden nodded. “Damn is right.”

  “So the bond was made?”

  “Yep,” she said, swinging her feet back and forth.

  “How do you feel about that?” On the surface, it was a dumb question, but Jarrod had his reasons for asking.

  Eden gave it some thought before answering. “I wanted to be a manicurist,” she said suddenly. “I wanted to get my license, set up shop somewhere, and maybe even open up my own nail salon.” She looked at him. “But now I’m bonded with an Omen, and my mind is stuck in a room with a Demon’s. I’m scared to death that too much is being expected of me, and even more afraid that I’ll actually live up to this shit, or worse, be an overachiever and kill every-damn-body. But other than that”—she shrugged—“I feel pretty good.”

  Jarrod, like most Ancients, didn’t look forward to the return of the Redeemer because that would mean that the Demon was back. But also, like most Ancients, one was just as bad and just as dangerous as the other. Khale and the Guardian were the only two beings in the universe who romanticized the Redeemer. The rest of them were terrified of her, and of what she had done and could do. She was powerful enough to destroy Sakarabru, yes. But Mkombozi had done so much more than that, and having her reborn again as their savior was scary as hell.

  The Ancients had put up a good fight on Theia. They had come together, sworn their loyalty to Khale, and fought against Sakarabru, wiping out as many of his Brood solders as he had of theirs. But the Demon had proved to be too much for all of them, even Khale. And it wasn’t until the Redeemer came into the fullness of the power of the Omens that any of them had ever even seen Sakarabru vulnerable.

  Eden could very well kill the Demon the same as Mkombozi. And she could just as well kill everybody on the planet in the process, but the way Jarrod saw it, it was pretty much on its way to being dead anyway.

  That moment was on him now to say what needed to be said. Damn! He’d hoped he could get by without ever telling anybody, but she had just made that impossible.

  “Do you know where to find the next Omen?” he asked, irritated with himself more than he’d been in a long time.

  She shook her head. “Khale thinks that the first one will eventually lead me to it.”

  Well, hell! The first one had led her to him, so maybe there was something to this prophecy shit after all.

  “I think I know how to find it,” he said, regretting every painful word of that statement.

  She looked at him.

  “But,” he quickly added, “I want you to think on it, sleep on it first,” he warned her. She had been pulled into this mess, but prophecy or no prophecy, she did have a choice as far as he was concerned. And he wasn’t about to take that away from her. “You think about this, Eden. How far are you willing to go? How far do you want to go?”

  “Eden.”

  The Guardian appeared out of nowhere behind the two of them.

  “It’s up to you,” Jarrod added.

  “Eden!” Prophet said more urgently.

  Jarrod quickly stood up and held out his hand to help her up. He pulled her close to him. “If you want to find it, let me know. If not, then we’ll forget I ever said anything. It’s up to you.” He let go of her hand.

  Prophet held out his hand to her. “Let’s go.”

  She looked back at Jarrod with uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Your choice,” he said to her. “Not anyone else’s.”

  Of course the big dude glared at him with those creepy in glow-in-the-dark eyes of his. But Jarrod stood by his word. Ultimately, it was up to her how this thing played out.

  She deserved at least that.

  BROWN-EYED GIRL

  Prophet didn’t know how many Ancients were staying here in Khale’s beach house, but he knew that he didn’t trust any of them alone with Eden. Khale hadn’t said it, and she never had to. The Redeemer didn’t have the fan club in other Ancients that she had in Prophet and the Shifter. The other Ancients were afraid of her, and they resented everything she represented. Mkombozi had not only destroyed their world, but she had, in essence, destroyed their lives. The threat of her coming back, in any form, was terrifying enough to make all of the Ancients dangerous, and her vulnerable.

  She’d dozed off after Prophet had brought her back to the room, but it was a restless sleep. She didn’t talk about it, but he knew that the nightmares were getting worse. He also knew that whatever she and that Were had spoken about needed to be discussed. Prophet sat out on the balcony overlooking the inlet waiting for her to wake up. He’d pressed her last night about what she and the Were had talked about, but Eden insisted on being tired and needing to sleep. It was the secrets that came between him and Mkombozi. Prophet was not going to allow them to come between him and Eden.

  Eden moaned, sat up in bed, and locked onto him sitting on the balcony. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly noon,” he said.

  She stretched. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” Eden tossed back the sheets. “I’ve gotta pee.”

  He watched her stumble toward the bathroom. “Pee, and then come out here, please.”

  Eden stalled with taking an exorbitant amount of time to wash her hands and then of course brush her teeth. But Prophet had waited four thousand years for this woman. Another five or ten minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” she said, coming out onto the balcony.

  He took hold of her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. Eden kissed the side of his face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “All things considered.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you okay?”

  “Well, since you asked … not really.” He looked into her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you and the Were talked about last night?”

  Eden smiled mischievously. “Are you jealous?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at him like she expected for him to say more, but as far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to say.

  “Just about … what Argos had told us,” she lied.

  “Are you really going to do this, Eden?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not the enemy.”

  “I know. I never said that.…”

  “Then why treat me like I am?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “We talked about you being open with me.”

  “I am,” she argued.

  Prophet leaned back, stared up at the sky, and sighed his frustration. How could he do what he needed to do if she refused to do her part, which was to keep him aware of any and everything going on with her?

  “He knows where to find the next Omen,” she finally confessed. “He told me that I had to make a choice as to whether or not I wanted him to tell me where it is.”

  He sat up. Of course Prophet wouldn’t trust that fool as far as he could throw him. “You believe him?”

  She thought about it. “Why would he lie?”

  Hell. He’d like to set her up. To lead her into a trap of some kind. Shit. “How would he know something like that, Eden?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “He just said he knew. How am I supposed to know how he knows?”

  The shit didn’t make sense. No one knew where the Omens were, so how was it that this Jarrod Runyon had come by that information, and why hadn’t he said anything last night with everyone present? Why had he waited to tell her when the two of them were alone? There were just too many questi
ons that led nowhere.

  “You don’t believe him?”

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “He has no reason to lie about something like that, Prophet.”

  “None that we know of,” Prophet countered. If the Were was telling the truth, then he should have no problem telling it to Prophet. “Wait here.”

  Prophet followed the sounds of voices coming from the kitchen on the lower level. Runyon was sitting at the table, finishing breakfast.

  “Outside,” Prophet commanded him.

  The Were took his sweet-ass time, but eventually he showed up and held out a cup of coffee to Prophet.

  “It’s good,” he offered.

  Prophet knocked it out of his hand. “What the fuck did you tell her last night?”

  Jarrod wasn’t as tall as Prophet. He had the typical thick Were build, especially across the shoulders and in the legs. The wolf shone through, even in his non-Were form.

  “Oh, we talked about a lot of things, Guardian,” he said flippantly. “Did you know that she had planned to open up a nail salon before all this mess happened?”

  Prophet was not going to be baited by this fool. “You told her that you knew where to find the next Omen,” he said calmly.

  All humor left the Were’s face. “Is that what she told you?”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Khale interjected, coming out of the house.

  Prophet waited for the Were to volunteer the information, but Runyon all of a sudden became mute.

  “Your Were friend here told Eden that he knew where to find the next Omen.”

  Khale looked stunned. “Is that true, Jarrod?”

  Jarrod raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know for certain, Khale.”

  “Then what do you know?” Prophet challenged.

  Runyon glared back at him. “Does this look like fuckin’ Theia to you, Guardian? You talk to me like you got some goddamned sense, with respect and not like some fake-ass deity sitting up on a throne like you used to back in the good old days.” The Were took a threatening step closer to Prophet. “I don’t give a damn about you.” He looked at Khale. “About any of you.” Runyon turned his attention back to Prophet. “But Eden on the other hand is stuck having to clean up the mess we started, and I got an issue with that.”