by Jayde Brooks
The beast wallowed in his own piss and weakness and the Demon desperately needed a shower.
* * *
“I should wash your back.” Lilith appeared as if by magic in the shower behind Sakarabru.
The succubus had always been there for him, in whatever way he needed her. And she’d waited here for his return, all these many years later. She and Kifo had been loyal to him, unwavering and unquestioning.
He sighed as she slathered soap over his back, down his arms and legs, across his buttocks. Naturally, she paid special attention to his balls and cock. Lilith was an impossible habit for any creature to break once he or she had had a sample of her. She was the nectar where he was the thorn. She was the prize at the end of a long and agonizing journey. Lilith could be whatever an individual wished her to be. To Sakarabru, she was Khale née Khale in her natural and perfect state.
Her flawless sky blue skin reflected the light beautifully. A long flowing stream ran down her back, and she had round hips that lengthened into strong toned legs. Her eyes! He could never tire of gazing into her beautiful eyes, the color of violet, wide and bright. They had caught him and held him captive. Khale parted her lips slightly, raised them to his, and swept her delicious tongue against his. Ample breasts offered erect, ripe nipples primed for suckling. Sakarabru dropped to his knees and took one in his mouth and then the other.
He parted her soft thighs with his hand and eased his long finger into the delectable folds of her most precious self. Khale raised one leg and draped it over his shoulder. Sakarabru lowered his head and drove his tongue deep into the recesses of her flicking it against her thickening clit.
“Yesssss,” she hissed. “Oh … yessss!”
He fucked her with his tongue, the way he’d remembered she’d loved it. But he would not let her come. Sakarabru pushed her back against the wall, stood up, reached around her thighs, and raised her off the ground, then lowered her on his throbbing shaft.
Khale cried out. Her violet eyes bore into his as she thrust her hips against him, pounding him with the same force that he pushed into her. He was going to explode inside her! He was going to hurt her in the most fantastic way! He was going to own her, make her his, and dare any male to even try to enter her after he’d finished with her. Khale would want no other! She would need no other. And she would only ever crave him with the same passion that he craved her.
She cried out and bucked wildly against him. Sakarabru grunted deep in the back of his throat, closed his eyes, and flexed from his shoulders to his feet, as he released himself inside her. She was his. Khale née Khale would always be his.
* * *
It would all be over soon and there would be nothing standing in the way of him and the domination of this world. He glanced back at Lilith sleeping in his bed, still disguised as Khale. She was a tool with which he could live out a fantasy, a memory, or maybe even his own version of a prophecy. He might kill all of the other Ancients, but not her, not willingly. Khale had been the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and his love for her had been true. But she’d used him to create the abomination that was Mkombozi, and now this reborn.
He couldn’t help smiling in his admiration of her. She had been as cunning and as conniving as a Demon, and yet she had managed to pass herself off as one of them—one of the Ancients. Maybe in her heart, that’s what she had hoped she was, but deep down, she hated him because he recognized herself in him.
Kifo could be convincing. He was a good liar. He had even lied to Sakarabru by saying that he’d seduced Andromeda, tricked and captured her. The Seer could not be captured. She could only surrender, and for whatever reason, she had surrendered to Kifo. And he had gone along with it. Maybe Andromeda was the one setting the trap. She was certainly cunning. Sakarabru had peeled her like fruit and found nothing that would cause him concern. How many times had he taken the Seer apart in the past? And how many of those times had she stolen from him and used her prize to create her Omens? Had she stolen from him tonight?
It was a mangled mess of “what-ifs” tangled in his mind. Sakarabru was tired, and maybe he was overthinking things. He had always been suspicious of everyone around him, but it had saved his life on many occasions. It was exhausting being so solitary, but necessary. But if he ever did discover that Kifo had betrayed him, the Djinn would pay dearly for that betrayal at the end of Sakarabru’s most brutal and sadistic wrath. And as for Andromeda, he was through playing her games. She’d survived and escaped him so many times before. He’d like to see her escape after he took her head.
“Sakarabru,” Khale moaned seductively.
A beautiful hardened nipple pressed invitingly against the bedsheet.
“Yes, my love,” he responded.
“Come to bed,” she begged. “I’m getting cold.”
Tomorrow he would kill a seer and a reborn. Tonight he would fuck Khale until she begged for him to stop.
FIGHT THE POWER
Eden had grown more sullen and moody with each passing day. And of course the Guardian was never far from her side, watching over her as if he were waiting for something to happen. They were no closer to finding the third Omen now than they had been three days ago, when Eden and Prophet had come back to lower Manhattan.
“Eden, concentrate,” Khale gently coaxed her. “The first two Omens should lead you to the last one. That’s how it worked before. The first two led Mkombozi to the final one. The Omens need to be complete. They need each other.”
Eden pressed her lips together in frustration; they were well beyond the point of coddling her. Khale studied her, wondering if she weren’t somehow blocking any messages that the other two Omens might send to her out of spite to get back at Khale for what she’d done to her at the house of the Seer twins. But surely she wouldn’t be so petty. Eden had come so far, and she had to understand the gravity of this situation, especially now.
“Maybe you aren’t recognizing what they’re telling you,” Khale continued. “Do you see a place in your mind that seems random? Is there a word that keeps repeating to you, or a song? Anything?”
“Nothing,” she said resentfully. “I’m getting nothing, Khale.”
“Try harder,” Khale urged.
“I don’t have time for this,” Jarrod said irritably, getting up to leave. “I’ve got my own kind to check up on, Shifter,” he said, gathering his things to leave. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
“Since you’re so into fates and prophesies, Khale, maybe you should take this as a sign,” Isis said indifferently. “The fact that Eden doesn’t know might mean that this isn’t meant to be.”
“We’re not alone,” Aelia said suddenly, sitting up straight in her wheelchair. “Someone’s here.”
Prophet sensed it too and immediately stood up and prepared himself for whatever might materialize in that room.
“Show yourself,” Khale commanded.
In one corner of the room, Kifo gradually revealed himself. They all knew him. He was the chief mystic to Sakarabru, and he had been the one to build this new army. Prophet lunged at him and immediately took to shoving his elbow into Kifo’s neck and slamming him back against the wall. Isis pulled out a Colt .45 and pointed it at his head. Out of water, Aelia was pretty much useless.
Khale approached him. “Sakarabru’s taken to sending spies, I see.”
Kifo tried shoving the Guardian’s arm from across his throat, but of course it wouldn’t budge. So he did what came naturally. Kifo disappeared and then reappeared on the other side of the room.
“Fuckin’ Djinn,” Prophet muttered.
He adjusted his shirt and tie. “I’m not a spy,” he retorted.
“Yeah. You’ll understand if we don’t believe you,” Isis said sarcastically.
“What else would you be doing here if not spying, Djinn?” Khale probed.
Kifo looked at each one of them around the room, until his gaze finally landed and lingered on her. No one had to tell him who she was. Kifo
was looking at the reborn. Andromeda had told him that the reborn had survived the bonds with the first two Omens. Being this close to her now, he could feel the familiar essence of Sakarabru emanating from her aura. Kifo could see the Demon’s dark nature reflecting back at him in her eyes.
“It’s you I came to talk to, Khale,” he said finally, forcing his attention back to the Shifter.
She stared back at him suspiciously. “Me? Why?”
“Alone,” he insisted.
Khale hesitated for a few moments, considering his request. Kifo was obviously here on Sakarabru’s orders. She needed to hear what he had to say. “Leave us,” she told everyone.
The two of them waited until everyone in the room left. As Eden passed by him, she gazed up at him with a familiar scowl in her eyes, so reminiscent of Sakarabru.
Khale had tried to reason with Kifo weeks ago, and he’d chosen to ignore her. Now, of course, she was fascinated and curious to know what he had to say to her.
“Talk,” she said simply.
The proud and obedient Kifo almost seemed to melt before her eyes. He stiffly walked away from her and stood looking at the crowd gathered outside of the window. “They’d have torn me to shreds had they seen me walking among them,” he said absently.
“Deservedly so.”
“You told me that Sakarabru had tortured me.”
Khale watched him closely. The Djinn was a master mystic, and with a wave of his hand or the murmur of a word he could cast a spell on her, making her susceptible to whatever trap he was trying to set for her.
“You accused me of lying, if I remember correctly,” she said.
He turned to her. “You were the enemy, Khale. What did you expect me to say?”
“Were? I am the enemy, Kifo,” she reminded him.
Unexpected vulnerability appeared in his expression. “Sakarabru is the enemy of us all.”
She stared suspiciously at him. “Why did you really come here, Djinn?”
“Have you found the third Omen?” he asked, pulling back his shoulders.
Khale couldn’t help finding his question funny. “As if I’d tell you. Go, Kifo.” She motioned toward the door. “You are wasting my time.”
“I know where the third Omen is,” he volunteered.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Kifo had just said a mouthful, but the problem was, it was either a lie or a trap or both. Khale was exhausted. She’d spent the last few days trying to coax the location of the Omen from Eden, and she hadn’t slept for staying up all night long worrying about what their next move would be.
“Really, Kifo,” she said wearily. “You can’t possibly think that you can come in here and drop a bomb like that on me and expect me to take the bait. Do you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Khale shook her head in disbelief and walked over to the sofa and sat down. “Go,” she demanded, waving her hand toward the door.
“You should hear what I have to say.”
“Just … get out of here, Kifo, before—”
“You told me that he tortured me,” he said quietly.
“I told you the truth and you dismissed it.”
He looked thoughtful all of a sudden, and vulnerable. Kifo hesitantly took a seat in the Queen Anne chair across from Khale.
“I didn’t believe it because I … didn’t remember it,” he admitted.
She watched carefully as he gradually unfolded his lie. She was beginning to admire his acting skills. Kifo was quite impressive. The Djinn was the enemy, and the enemy had to die, but for a moment she had conceded that fact. Kifo was a victim of Sakarabru. As much of a victim as she had been, as much of a victim as the human Brood Army had been.
Kifo took a deep breath. “I was so young, Khale,” he said, introspectively. “Equivalent to a human boy of fifteen, maybe sixteen.”
She had heard that Sakarabru had found a young Djinn, a master mystic, and had held him captive for longer than anyone. The child had survived ten of Earth’s years in Sakarabru’s torture room. Kifo didn’t seem to know it, but when Sakarabru had found him, he was closer to a boy of six.
Kale watched him shrink under the heavy weight of sadness and discovery. “It’s hard sometimes, but I try not to linger on the details,” he offered. “They come to me, though, more and more in little packets, mostly when I’m sleeping,” he admitted.
“Why are you telling me this, Kifo?” she asked suspiciously.
“The Djinn masters who took care of me were spiritual beings, peaceful and accepting. I have dishonored their memories by things I’ve done. I’ve committed terrible acts of cruelty believing that what I was doing was right.” He looked meaningfully back at her. “I’ve destroyed an entire race of people, Khale. Because of me, this world will never be the same, and I can’t forgive myself for that. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
She wanted to believe him. Hell, Khale needed to believe him, because right now, if he truly did know where the third Omen was, he was the closest thing they had to salvation. But again, Kifo was the enemy and he had been for a very long time. Sakarabru had taken that little Djinn and molded him into exactly what he’d wanted him to be. It had taken so much pain and darkness. She wanted to believe that Kifo had changed, but trusting him would be foolish.
“Did Sakarabru send you?” she asked, point-blank.
He nodded. “Yes. He did. But he believes that it was his idea. He believes that he sent me here to set a trap for the reborn.”
“He believes it?” she asked cautiously. “So what’s the truth?”
He took a deep breath. “Andromeda sent me,” he confessed. “And she said that you probably wouldn’t believe me.”
“I don’t. Why would she send you?”
He shrugged. “You’d have to ask her. But she told me your secret, Khale.”
Khale sat up straight in her chair. “What secret, Djinn?”
“She told me the reason that Mkombozi was chosen as the Redeemer. She told me why Mkombozi was the only Ancient capable of bonding with the Omens,” he explained cautiously.
Sakarabru could’ve told him this. The Djinn was as much of a liar as the Demon ever was.
Kifo seemed to read her mind. “I would never speak of this to anyone, Khale.”
The dragon in her began to stir awake. The Djinn’s eyes grew wide at the subtle transformation he saw in her eyes. Kifo would not live to see the outside of this house.
“What if I am telling the truth, Khale?” he said quickly. “What if I am truly repentant for my transgressions and Andromeda really did send me here with this message? Are you really willing to risk the salvation of this world and the opportunity to destroy Sakarabru once and for all over what I have told you?”
“He sent you here to set this trap.”
“He has Andromeda, Khale,” he said, choking up. It seemed too authentic to be faked. “He wanted me to convince you to bring the reborn to Yankee Stadium tomorrow and to tell you that I had seen Andromeda hide it there. But that’s a lie. Andromeda is the third Omen. He has her in New Orleans. And if the reborn is going to claim it and bond with it, she’ll need to get to the Seer.”
It was far too elaborate and well thought out to be a lie, and Kifo had either put on an Oscar-worthy performance or he was telling the truth. Either way, Khale had to be prepared for both. And she had to decide what to do next. Eden would have to decide. Ultimately, Eden was going to have to rise to to occasion of her destiny and make that final bond. If Kifo was lying, she pitied him.
RIVER DEEP, MOUNTAIN HIGH
Eden paced nervously back and forth in one of the bedrooms upstairs. “This is weird,” she kept muttering to herself, wringing her hands together. “I know him, but I don’t know him,” she said out loud.
She had never seen that dude before, but there was something eerily familiar about him. “How can I know him?” She was talking to herself more than she was to Prophet. She had a sense of déjà vu with the guy who had appeared out of thin air
in Khale’s living room, but Eden couldn’t make the connection in her mind. Then it dawned on her that the feelings reeling inside her weren’t hers. They were Sakarabru’s.
Eden stopped pacing and headed for the door. “I need to talk to him.”
Prophet got up to come with her, but she didn’t want that. “No.”
“What?”
She didn’t need him hovering over her all the time. Eden didn’t want him shadowing her every move. Prophet was smothering her. She understood that it was his job to be her Guardian and to look after her, but lately she was starting to think she couldn’t even take a piss without him standing close enough to wipe her ass. It was an unexpectedly ugly thought. Eden just needed some space.
“I’ll just be downstairs,” she said, attempting to ease the tension.
She closed the door behind her when she left.
Kifo. Khale had called him Kifo. They both froze when they saw Eden coming down the stairs.
“Eden, you should be resting,” Khale said, but Eden ignored her and walked over to this Kifo and stood directly in front of him.
He had dark beautiful skin and was clean shaven. The irises of his eyes weren’t brown. They were black. She didn’t trust him. He seemed to tense in her presence. Kifo was afraid of her.
“Why did you really come here?” Eden challenged.
He noticeably swallowed and worked doubly hard to maintain his solid and polished composure. The illusion of dignity was important to him because he’d lost it long ago.
“I came to tell Khale that I know where the last Omen is,” he admitted.
The thought came to her about Kifo. He’d been hurt before so badly, and he’d suffered so long, until she wondered if he’d actually enjoyed it. Did he savor his suffering and relish these moments the way that she … These weren’t her memories. They were residual memories of the first Omen, of Sakarabru.
“Why should I believe you?” Eden sneered. The longer he was in her presence, the angrier she was becoming.
Kifo seemed to sense this rage swelling inside her, and he took a step back. Eden immediately filled in the space he’d tried to put between the two of them. She was the dominant, the one he answered to, the one he owed his allegiance to. Kifo had no choice but to be obedient.
