Daughter of Gods and Shadows (17 page)

“You are mine, forever, Beloved,” he said in his Ancient language.

Eden responded in kind. “I will never leave you, Beloved. I swear.”

 

 

PRIME TIME NETWORK NEWS

We interrupt this program for breaking news …

Russ Bradley had been reporting the news for more than thirty years, but never had a story left him speechless.

Russ, producers, the camera crew all sat there for several minutes watching recorded footage of the horror streaking across skies all around the world, leveling cities, military installations, energy and fuel plants, and corporations.

“The truth is,” he swallowed, and all color had washed from his face, “we don't know what it is,” he said gravely, forcing himself to look into the camera.

He hadn't slept in days. None of them had. Russ rubbed his burning eyes and worked hard to try to compose himself.

“It uh … appears to glide through the air like a … um … a speeding storm cloud. Lightning or … fire.” He shook his head, confused. “It's big.” He nervously cleared his throat. “And fast. Reports have been coming in that it is faster than even military jets can keep up with.”

More distracting images flashed on the screen behind him, but he could see them on one of the viewers behind one of the cameramen. Images of people running and screaming, bodies littering the ground.

“Christian leaders are calling him—it—the Antichrist. The … Angel of Death,” he stroked his hand across disheveled hair. “Thousands have been killed,” he continued. “And thousands more, maybe even tens of thousands have been gathering … coming together in cities and towns around the world, worshipping this … ‘Worshipping'?” He looked confused. The word had actually appeared on his prompter. “Really?”

He had never seen anything like this before in his life. No one had. And he didn't know—he just … if he could've described what the end of the world would look like, it would look a lot like this.

 

DEMON SEED

Fear was universal. No matter the world, the species, or the time. Living things feared that which they did not understand, and Sakarabru was one of a kind. The Demon had not been born. He had no origin, as far as he knew. Sakarabru just … was. For as long as he could form a thought, his nature had been to rule, to conquer, to reign over those he knew to be beneath him. This Earth was no different than Theia.

Not all Ancients who fell to this world the day Theia was destroyed were loyalists to Khale. In addition to his Brood Army, Sakarabru had those, like Kifo, who were steadfast to him. When they found out that the Djinn had lived up to his word and brought the Demon back from the brink of destruction, they came crawling out of the recesses of their lives back to him.

Their numbers had dwindled, but still they were key to establishing a precedence in this new world, which was necessary if these people were to understand that Sakarabru was unlike any other foe they'd ever encountered. These Ancients had blended in with these humans. They lived and worked alongside them and even mated with them and reproduced. Being the strategist that he was, he quickly took advantage of their positions to disrupt the flow of energy in this world by planting that seed of fear until he was strong enough to show them who and what he was—and what he was capable of.

They looked human, these men and women standing before him wearing their military uniforms that labeled them generals, admirals, and soldiers of the human military forces. Others were doctors, businessmen and -women, mothers, fathers, pilots, and even a dog walker. Underneath their facades were Shifters, Djinn mystics, and Vampyres. They came to him now as the Ancient beings that they were, prepared to follow him into whatever battle awaited him.

The other Ancients standing in that room watched on the large visual monitors as images of the Demon speeding through skies like lightning carved out paths of destruction from continent to continent.

“Even in my weakened condition,” he said wearily, leaning back in his chair, “they have never before encountered the likes of me.”

This world was smaller than Theia, but its resources were similar and plentiful. These lands would serve him well.

“They don't know what to do,” one of the Ancients volunteered. This one was what was referred to as a policeman. “They don't know how to fight against you, Lord Sakarabru.”

“The humans are gathering together at summits to discuss defenses and retaliation,” another one volunteered. “They are even talking about the use of nuclear bombs. It's the most powerful weapon that they have.”

“Those nukes would destroy them and this world too,” an admiral stepped up and said. “Weapons like that are always a last resort.”

Sakarabru watched them debate among themselves as to what actions the humans could and would take against him. Sakarabru was not concerned, because he knew that there was nothing they could do to defend themselves against him and his army.

“They have already began building their sanctuaries in all the major cities,” he heard one of them say.

“Sanctuaries?” the Demon asked.

“Compounds to keep people who haven't been infected by the plagues safe from those who have been,” she explained.

“My Brood suffer from no plague, Ancient,” he said, gathering his strength to stand.

“No, Lord Sakarabru, but the humans believe that they do. And they want to isolate themselves from them and kill those that they think have the sickness.”

The Demon pondered this, imagining these people erecting walls and believing that they could keep themselves safe from Sakarabru's army. This would be impossible. “There is no sanctuary that can protect them.”

He had finally become strong enough to call to them, to gather them to him. He had come across a method that would help him to reach out to those who were too far away to make the journey to him. Sakarabru nodded to the one behind the camera, and suddenly his image was flashed on every flat-screen monitor hanging on the walls in this massive auditorium. He was assured that his face would be broadcast across screens like this all at once so that his Brood could finally see him and hear his voice. They needed to know that he was real and that he was here. They needed the kind of order that only Sakarabru could provide them.

“You are not mindless beasts,” he said, turning slowly in the center of the room, relishing the sight of himself on those screens.

The transition back to the living had been long and difficult, and signs of the journey had taken their toll. Sakarabru had been young and handsome before The Fall. He had been strong, with a broad chest and shoulders. Kifo assured him that he would come to be that way again, in time. For now, he looked old, his hair white, his skin weathered. He had managed to gather enough strength to terrify humans, but it had taken his energy to do so, and recovery was slow.

“I am your Lord,” he spoke with authority to no one in particular, and yet he knew that all of those who were meant to hear him hung on his every word. “I am Sakarabru. Come,” he said simply. He knew that they would. They had been conditioned to heed his call and to obey his commands. “Come.”

The Demon crossed the room. The Ancients and the one with the camera followed as he slowly made his way down the winding staircase, across the foyer, and finally out of the main door.

Of course they were waiting. Many fell to their knees at the sight of him. The sounds of crying filled the air; hands reached out to touch him.

“Lord Sakarabru,” he heard them say over and over again.

Not all of them had made this journey to New Orleans, but he knew that wherever they were, they would see him and they would hear him and feel him reaching out to them, commanding them, leading them.

“You are my Brood Army,” he said proudly, nodding his appreciation that the pieces of his life were falling back into place. “And together we will survive. Together we will thrive.”

The humans were nothing to him, less than nothing. Let them bring their weapons and build their fortresses. They would not be able to stop Sakarabru from achieving his goal of domination.

“We love you, Lord Sakarabru!” the Brood cried out to him.

Thoughts of Khale's reborn Redeemer were never far enough away from him. And she was all that was standing between him and his victory.

*   *   *

Khale watched, in horror, the broadcast from her Manhattan apartment. She could hear his name being called outside her window.

“Sakarabru! Lord Sakarabru!”

Martial law had been established in most US cities. In some places, those suspected of having contracted this plague were shot on sight. In other places, Sakarabru's new Brood were more organized and hunted in packs. Barricades were going up in cities, around neighborhoods; schools had been shut down, and air travel had been stopped. Military troops were tasked with trying to keep peace and order where chaos reigned. And all the while, the Demon was growing stronger.

Khale's once-mighty Ancient forces had dwindled down to nearly nothing before The Fall. Those Ancients who were left now, who weren't loyalists to Sakarabru, were few and far between. She had managed to convince the Were Nation to stand with her, and the Mer Nation, but they could fight only if Sakarabru brought his war to their shores. And she'd managed to gather some of the other Shifter Nations together, but most of the Ancients that were here now, were never warriors.

Khale's cell phone buzzed, and she received a cryptic text message from a number she didn't recognize.

“She survived,” was all it said.

She immediately called the number, and her heart jumped when Tukufu answered. The last thing she needed to do was to get her hopes up, but … “What?” she asked shakily.

A long pause passed between them before he finally responded. “She survived the bond, Khale. Eden is alive.”

 

MAGIC MOMENT

Even Kifo couldn't help being overwhelmed by the sight of Sakarabru walking through those doors to salute his army. This moment had been four thousand years in the making. Kifo had devoted his time, energy, his concentration into bringing Sakarabru back. Yes, the Redeemer had defeated him, but not all of him. Khale destroyed her before she could, and all that was left behind of Sakarabru was a molecule, two or more atoms joined together. But through Kifo's magic, he had found it, kept it, and willed it to come together again until it was him, Sakarabru.

Mysticism was not magic, and it offended him anytime someone referred to it as such. It was a science of life, of spirit, and of will. With these things, the Djinn had worked the most horrific miracle this world had ever seen.

“He's beautiful,” she said from behind him.

Kifo never knew when she would come to him, but it was never often enough.

He closed his eyes when she leaned close to him and whispered. “Look at what you did, Kifo.”

Lilith was her name and she was his lover. She came around and sat down next to him on the sofa. This time her hair was gold, the color of the sun, and her eyes were a deep blue. Her full lips were painted red. Lilith's skirt was so tight, it was a wonder that she could sit down at all. Mounds of beautiful breasts spilled from the top of her blouse. She had been his for longer than he could remember, and she had promised that she always would be.

“He is proud of you,” she said softly. Lilith's hand trailed from his shoulder to his chest and finally rested in his lap. “He favors you above all, Kifo.”

Sakarabru had been the most powerful being on Theia, and he would be here as well. Soon the humans would have no choice but to bend their prideful knees and succumb to his rule. It was inevitable and it had all been made possible by Kifo.

She leaned in close to him and grazed her lips against his earlobe, his cheek, and the side of his neck. Lilith was intoxicating. She squeezed his cock until it nearly exploded.

“Not … yet,” she whispered.

She stood up, slid her skirt up just far enough to reach underneath it and pull off her panties. Lilith sank to her knees on the floor at his feet, laid on her back, and spread her thick, delicious thighs, exposing her moist and sweet pink pussy. His mouth watered as he watched her slide her finger in and around the folds of her sex.

“Taste me,” she commanded him. Lilith spread her legs wider. “Stick out your tongue,” she coaxed, “and taste me.”

Kifo stretched out on the floor, flat on his belly, and lapped her up like a thirsty dog drinks water. Her juices flowed down his chin and spilled onto the rug underneath her as she writhed and moaned underneath him.

“I want you,” she eventually told him, grabbing hold of his collar and pulling on him until he hovered over her, wrestled to free himself from his pants, and drove into her with such force that both of them cried out.

Kifo was drunk on her sex! He could never fuck her hard enough, fast enough, or deep enough, and he could never have her enough! He looked down at Lilith, kneading her own breasts until her nipples were hard little pebbles that demanded his attention. Kifo took one in his mouth, and then the other, licking and nibbling on each of them until they looked as if they might burst. But he was the one who burst! Kifo came so hard that he nearly lost consciousness, but even still, it wasn't enough.

He made love to her on the floor, in the shower, and eventually in his bed. Kifo was exhausted, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep when she was there. Lilith lay next to him, sound asleep with the corners of her lovely mouth curled into a slight smile. She disappeared when he closed his eyes, so he'd learned long ago to keep them open for as long as possible to keep her with him for as long as he could.

His thoughts drifted to Sakarabru and how quickly the Demon had changed this world in so short a period of time. Kifo shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't in Sakarabru's nature to be subtle about anything or to be patient long enough to let his body come back fully to itself.