Seven Seals, Books 1 & 2

by Traci Douglass

  “The university lab keeps it on hand, along with the anti-toxin.”

  He grabbed Irena’s laptop, shoved it inside her tote, and walked to the elevators, Innocent by his side. “Can you get me in there today?”

  “Sure.” Innocent boarded the elevator with him. “I gots a friend, works security over there. He owes me a favor. Mind if I ask what’s you gonna to do with that stuff once you gots it?”

  “Right an old wrong.” The bell dinged and the doors opened. Chago charged down the hall and into his room. Their room. Irena’s perfume clung in the air, driving his urgency higher. If Archon did anything to harm her . . . “How long until we can get in?”

  Innocent dialed his phone and paced to a far corner of the room. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, he hung up and returned. “The school closes at six. My friend say to wait until eight, after the cleaning crew gone. He be there to let us in.”

  “I’ll do this alone, Innocent.” The last thing he needed now was another person to worry about. “This isn’t your fight.”

  “You my friend, Mr. Chago. You help my cause, I help yours.” Innocent plopped down in the room’s only chair, sprawling out with a grin. “Besides, me friend not let you in without me.”

  The next few hours crawled by at an unendurable pace.

  He dug through every bit of information he could find about the black mamba and its lethal poison on the Internet. As far as excruciating deaths went, this viper’s bite certainly fit the bill. The most fast-acting venom of any snake species, the toxins invaded both the nervous and cardiovascular system, causing the victim to experience severe abdominal pain, difficulty breathing and paralysis. Death resulted from suffocation.

  Xander and Luther returned from their meeting with Divinity shortly before he and Innocent departed. They remained tight-lipped about their summons, saying only that Luther would be departing soon on a Seal mission of his own.

  Chago apprised them of Irena’s situation and his plans to obtain the necessary supplies to defeat Archon. “We’re heading to the university now.” He checked his weapons and walked to the door. “Be back soon.”

  “We’ll see what we can discover about Irena’s location.” Xander said as Luther set up shop on the room’s small table. “And get the Rover ready to roll.”

  “Si.” He shoved a new magazine into the handle of his Glock and stashed it in the holster beneath his shirt. “I want to end this tonight.”

  The ride to the University of Kinshasa took about twenty minutes. Chago rechecked his weapons for the umpteenth time and stared at the passing scenery, eager to get this done and find Irena. The look in her eyes as the rebels had taken her—fear, love, and resignation—ate a hole through his heart. He’d seen that same look in Yana’s eyes when she’d died. He never wanted to see it again in this lifetime.

  Regret bubbled like bile in his throat, but he refused to consent to its bitterness. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not when all he’d ever wished for hovered so close and Irena’s life was threatened. Not until the job was done.

  Innocent pulled the van up outside three cement buildings, gray and harsh in the gathering moonlight. Grass grew tall near their perimeter, allowing them enough cover to skirt toward the entrance unseen.

  A thin man in a beige uniform adorned with the school’s trademark red, yellow and blue badge met them at the entrance and unlocked the door. Innocent stayed outside, keeping his friend occupied while Chago slipped inside to snatch the venom.

  Aisles of gray plastic bins filled the room, each filled with crumpled newspaper and marked with a different name: Black Mamba, Puff Adder, Boomslang. The air was alive with constant hissing. He crammed his growing revulsion deep and instead turned his attention to a row of cabinets and refrigerators against the far wall. He shot a glance toward Innocent, who was still deep in conversation with the guard, before moving to the back of the lab.

  The cabinets proved unfruitful, nothing but specimen cups, latex gloves, and empty syringes. He proceeded to the first fridge. Rows of anti-venom lined the shelves in neat groups. The second fridge showed more of the same. At least these people were well protected against something.

  He hit the jackpot in the third fridge. One vial of black mamba venom perched near the back of the second shelf. Chago snagged his prize and secured it in a nearby piece of bubble wrap before stowing it in his pocket. Before leaving, he also grabbed a handful of syringes, some needles of varying sizes, and a box of extra-large latex gloves. No way was he taking a chance of exposure with this crap. Scion could survive a variety of sinister deaths, but never had one tried recovery from poisonous snake venom.

  Innocent knocked discreetly on the glass, warning him to hurry. He tucked his bundle beneath his arm and started toward the door.

  In his haste to exit, he accidently bumped against a rack of bins. Papers rustled inside and from under a hood of newspaper, two cold eyes gleamed back at him. A long tongue darted out, scenting its prey. A brief flash of red flame flicked within the serpent’s eyes. Chago shook his head and looked again. Only cold black eyes remained. Fuck. Now he could add insanity to his list of issues. He shuddered and raced for the exit. Retirement couldn’t come fast enough.

  • • •

  The girl is in custody.

  Archon stared at the text message on the phone before adjusting his tie. He appraised his modified appearance in the mirror and ignored the kick of the flagging human spirit still trapped inside his head. This one had been strong. Most humans gave up the fight after twenty-four hours and surrendered to death. Not so with Drake.

  Without time for a full extraction, the human still roamed his skull like a withered ghost, his ambitions and flagrancies riding Archon hard. He’d given into those desires once already, with the girl. He’d not succumb to them again.

  He smiled at his reflection, showing two rows of even white teeth. His own fangs were hidden away behind a thin layer of flesh, waiting for the time they’d be needed again. The only visible reminder of the transmutation was hidden in the depths of his now brown eyes. A brief flash of yellow skittered across the black pupils, arcing out into the irises. A hint of what lay beneath the façade.

  The bedside clock showed nine pm. Time to meet Turay again. The insurgent leader had showed no sign of noticing the changes in his human partner at their first rendezvous, allowing Archon to orchestrate his events for this evening. If all went well he’d be the ruler of Hades by tomorrow.

  Grabbing a set of keys off the bedside stand, he bustled out of the hotel and into the parking lot, still getting used to the lightness of his new body. Smaller in size and more compact, he had to learn fast to mute his reactions and movements or risk discovery.

  He slid into position behind the wheel of the Mercedes GL 450 and called upon the human’s memories to operate the machine. A millennia in his father’s prisons had denied him the opportunity to toy with most modern conveniences. The engine purred to life and he pulled out into the crush of Kinshasa traffic.

  As he drove past the city limits and into the dark Congo night, a plethora of stars opened up above him. He’d always liked the serene expanses of the universe, the freedom of vastness. His mother used to sing him an ancient lullaby about the heavens. The words escaped him now, buried beneath years of his father’s torment, but the memory of her care remained.

  In the distance, a fire blazed, the only sign of the rebel encampment. Twenty minutes later he ground to a halt at the base of a solitary bluff and climbed out of the vehicle.

  For once, Turay was dressed appropriately for the occasion in standard fatigues as he strode toward Archon with a furious expression.

  “Where da’ fucks you bin?” He looked over Archon’s outfit, his distaste apparent in his sneer. “I bin waitin’ for over an hour.”

  Archon sighed and pushed past him. This man was a means to an end. Nothing more. Once this night was over, he’d take great pleasure in devouring him. “I took the scenic route.”

>   “What you mean you took da scenic route?” Turay grabbed his arm. “Where’s me fuckin’ weapons, Drake?”

  With more effort than he’d imagined necessary, Archon swallowed the instant rush of murderous rage he felt at Turay’s touch. This man had no idea of the violence he courted. Archon clenched his fists, struggling to keep his claws below the surface. After a brief cough to clear his throat of poisonous bile, Archon jerked his head toward the SUV. “In the back.”

  He tossed the insurgent leader the keys and stalked toward the hood of the vehicle. He’d need all his strength for the upcoming evocation ceremony and securing his father in this realm. No point wasting it on Turay.

  The light went on then off inside the vehicle as the back hatch was opened and closed. Turay lit another cigarette and wandered back to lean against the front grill beside Archon. “We gots da girl. She a tasty piece. Wouldn’t mind having a crack at her me-self.”

  “You won’t touch her.” The human trapped inside him wriggled at his statement and desire lit within Archon’s belly at the thought of the Seal’s host. He crushed them beneath his steeled resolve. He’d afforded the human’s rampant lusts too much freedom already. He’d not grant the same allowances again. The Seal’s power was too important to jeopardize. “The girl belongs to me. I alone will deal with her.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  The insurgent leader’s snide tone did little to pacify Archon. Without warning, he grabbed Turay by the throat, his preternatural strength lifting the man high off the ground. The panicked man struggled to free himself, his feet kicking and nails scratching at the fist around his neck.

  Archon stared, allowing his true visage to show through Drake’s features, his eyes glowing saffron-bright in the thick darkness. His voice boomed like thunder against the steep rock walls. “You will do as I bid from this moment forth or you will die.”

  “Fuck!” Turay fought harder. His wide eyes darted wildly. “What the fuck you do to Drake?” His desperate questions soon became terrified sobs as Archon tightened his grip. “Please don’t kill me. Please.”

  “Swear your obedience. Pledge your devotion and serve me.” Archon released the man and watched him crumple at his feet. “Show me your loyalty.”

  “Shit, shit, shit.” Turay’s curses rolled into a continuous mantra of profanity. He rubbed his throat and scrambled to his feet before taking off in a brisk jog toward the edge of the camp.

  “The girl is mine.” Archon yelled at Turay’s retreating back, doubling over. Pain surged through his abdomen and he fought for domination of the human he inhabited. Possession of Drake was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated. Without additional sustenance to reinforce his powers, it was imperative he conserve energy until the end. Alone now, except for the determined phantom still screaming in his head, Archon repeated his statement, more for himself than anyone else. “The Seal is mine.”

  Chapter 20

  Irena awoke in a dim, fly-infested tent, secured to the center pole with her wrists and ankles bound with thick rope. The mark on her lower back hurt like hell and her dry throat felt sandpaper raw.

  The humid daytime had given way to a stickier evening. She listened for any sounds nearby, but was greeted only with the buzz of insects and the swish of elephant grass. Damn. The last thing she remembered was running out to help the police officer then . . . nothing.

  Footsteps approached, pounding hard and fast. Irena scrambled to get her legs beneath her and form as small a target as possible. The tent flap opened and Turay entered.

  He watched her with wary caution. A lit cigarette hung loose from his fleshy lips, the orange tip dangling precariously low over his weak chin. Irena met his direct stare with a blaze of angry indignation.

  Turay perused her from head to toe, his banal expression transforming into a slow, creepy grin. “You look mighty fine, ladybird. Wish we had more time, ‘cause I’d give you a real good kutomba.”

  She had no idea what a kutomba was, but from the way he’d just grabbed his crotch suggestively, chances were she didn’t want to find out. He stepped closer, the blade of his machete glinting in the tent’s meager lantern light. Irena couldn’t suppress her shudder.

  Chago would come for her soon. He would rush to her rescue. Wouldn’t he?

  As if reading her thoughts, Turay crouched in front of her, his gaze fixed on her breasts. “Your boyfriend ain’t coming, birdie. He dead. My men killed him in the desert yesterday. A casualty of war.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Irena pressed backward to avoid any contact with Turay and struggled to buy some time. If he still thought Chago was dead, she wasn’t about to contradict him. “I came here to help you. Whatever Drake promised you, he lied. You can’t trust him.”

  The insurgent leader sat in front of her and took a long drag off his cigarette. His fingers shook slightly as he tapped the ashes away. “You ain’t seen him tonight. He’s . . . not he-self right now.” Irena noticed the dark red marks beneath the deep brown skin of his neck. Turay caught her staring. “Don’t matter. I’s in charge now.”

  “What about the peace negotiations?” Irena changed the subject, refusing to drop her gaze even though his penetrating stare made her feel like she was naked. “That’s why I’m here.”

  He snorted, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. “Ladybird, you here for a lot of reasons.” His gaze lingered on her breasts before dropping lower. “Drake thinks you gots value and I gonna discover why.”

  Despite her intention to stay neutral, Irena couldn’t hide the edge of contempt in her tone. “Value?”

  “Yeah.” He crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and reached for her knee. Irena kicked out at him and pressed hard against the pole. “Me’s a taker, yes I am.”

  “And what if I don’t agree with your taking?”

  “Then you die.”

  Irena thought as much. She’d been around enough tyrants to recognize their special brand of insanity. If she was going to die, she sure as hell wanted to know why and Turay seemed more than willing to offer up answers. “What do you get out of this? Besides your own corner of the Congo?”

  “Me?” He shrugged and peered out the tent flap. “I get me some respect. Too long I been serving others, toiling away until me fingers bled. Lost me family, me home, everything. All serving somebody else’s ideas.” He shook his head. “Now I serve me own ideas now.”

  “You’re just carrying on the tradition.”

  “What tradition?”

  “Violence. Death. Senseless pain. All for a stupid idea that won’t matter in twenty years.”

  Two guards entered and whispered something to Turay. She eyed them as he nodded then stood and exited the tent.

  One of the men stepped forward and gripped her arm, forcing her to stand. The second guard leaned outside and ordered something in Lingala. Cold steel touched her wrists, cutting through the ropes while Irena fidgeted. Her abraded skin itched and her ankles tingled as her circulation returned.

  Her hope remained with Chago. He and his friends looked competent enough to handle anything these motley insurgents might throw their way. According to Innocent, Chago had taken out a whole squad of them all by himself. She almost pitied Turay. Almost.

  The second guard pulled out a phone and spoke in hushed tones she couldn’t decipher. Minutes later, he clicked the phone shut and murmured to his cohort. The other man stepped forward and jerked her toward the exit. “You come with us.”

  As if she had a choice.

  They dragged her from the tent.

  Her steps faltered as she surveyed the crowd assembled on the field ahead. Insurgents and painted Bantu tribesmen intermingled. The sticky night air held an exotic, pungent odor of incense and black smoke curled up from several fires scattered about the grassland. Far off in the distance, other fires burned. Shadows cut across the dim light, suggesting more people lurked in the night.

  The guards led her up a winding trail to the top of the nearby bluff. There, the
y forced her to kneel at the center of flat rock at the summit’s center. Her wrists and ankles were bound again before they departed.

  Birds circled overhead as the chanting below grew louder. Movement rustled behind her. A predator? Her heart stuttered then kicked into overdrive. Irena’s frantic search spotted nothing beneath the full moon’s glow, but the prickle of awareness remained. If this was her time to die, she was ready. Her thoughts turned to Chago, the man she loved, and peace settled over her.

  Without warning, a trio of nearby torches burst to life.

  Brown Italian loafers stepped into her line of vision and her gaze traveled up an expensive tailored suit to meet her killer’s eyes. Familiar eyes, yet not the same.

  The face was Drake’s, but the being inside was different. Harder. Yellow sparks burst from the chocolate brown irises and dread filled her stomach. Turay was right. Drake wasn’t himself tonight.

  “Hello, Irena.”

  The voice was deeper, with an undertone of agony never present in Drake’s clipped tone. Whoever inhabited this body, it definitely wasn’t Drake Benedict. “Who are you?”

  Surprise flickered across the molten gaze before being replaced with cool assessment. “I am the end of all things.”

  The end of all things?

  Before she could question his response, something struck hard at the base of her skull. As Irena collapsed into the rocky soil, her mind held on a wisp of memory—the attack at Innocent’s, the beast that nearly killed Chago, with its mottled hide and the same piercing eyes. The monster and Drake were one.

  Irena struggled to remain conscious, but her body refused to cooperate.

  A hard kick to the stomach sent her into oblivion.

  • • •

  Chago kept a careful leash on his anger while Xander maneuvered the Range Rover toward the bluff, saving his fury for the bastard responsible for Irena’s kidnapping. Archon.