I stopped in my tracks. “And why would that be?” I wheeled around on a heel. My guys jumped out of my way. “Did you bring him here to spare your precious Earth? To drop him on our doorstep and force us to play your little game?”
Alok’s face shuttered, his shoulders edged up towards his slightly pointed ears that poked from under the veil of his blue hair.
“And yet you have the audacity to come here and say that it is our problem?” I asked, my voice low and gravelly.
The Wardens backed up a slow step. Alok raised his hands in the air like he was trying to pet a terrified animal before it attacked him.
“Your portals were closed. Had been closed for a century. There’s no way the Beast could have infiltrated your walls. You were safe,” Alok said. His voice had started low, plaintive. It ended in a sneer that made his beautiful face flash with what looked like a skeleton’s head overlaying his features.
“And, what? I should be apologizing to you? Begging you to let me take this burden off your hands? Who the fuck do you think you are?” I felt the magic building in my belly. A fire that pushed against my skin. With my mind’s eye, I saw that it was an orb of black, gold, and silver all laced in the fiery thread of my magic.
The wind on the roof picked up enough that it tossed my too black hair around my face. Pulled at my clothes like a greedy lover. “I owe you nothing. We owe you nothing. You have done nothing to earn our favor or our trust. Nor even a smidgen of our respect.”
Alok’s scary Demon’s Night mask of a face washed away under the pallid cream of his shocked expression. “Godd—”
“Do. Not. Call. Me. That.” I glared at him, one hand raised in the air, fingers open and stretched to the sky.
“But Go—”
“Fucking idiot,” I heard Asher say as I clenched my hand into a fist.
As my fingers curled into my palm, a streak of lighting bit into the cement of the roof, right at Alok’s feet. A single twirl of smoke rose up from between the tips of his shoes.
“You summon lightning but deny your godhood?” Alok asked, his voice whisper-thin.
“I don’t deny my magic; I deny the title you try to foist upon me. I will not be categorized and stuffed into a box to make your life easier.”
A man, much taller than Alok, stepped out of the rank and file of the Wardens. Black hair tinged with blue that absorbed the light around it hung around his face, brushed his shoulders. Eyes the color of ancient gold coins smirked at me as he moved. The body of a disciplined warrior, he glided over the roof. If I hadn’t been watching him, I doubt I would have known he was there.
Some of the ink decorating his arms reminded me of Kord’s tattoos. But while Kord’s ink was embedded in his skin, this man’s brands seemed to be part of his skin. They waved and flexed with the movement of his body, never staying in one place. Almost as if his skin was a live, sentient creature that simply shared a form with the man inside it.
This warrior walked until he stood right in front of me. He was so close that if I had inhaled deeply, our chests would have brushed.
Growls from my men rose behind me.
“Your mates have nothing to fear from me. Nor do your Guardians. Do not let the thoughts of small minds cause you to lose control, sister. None of them are worth it.”
“Sister?” I asked.
He nodded. “Uncle Hellion says hello.”
“Fucking Hellion,” Xander said out loud, disgust lacing his tone.
Chapter 3 – Saint
“And you would be?” I asked, stepping forward. I raised my hand in welcome to this man. At least Ten nor I wanted to beat the shit out of this one. The other one…he should be glad Kiema had slapped him back. I’d have just slapped him off the roof.
“You can call me Oliver,” he said as he reached out and shook my hand. “I am pleased that my sister has such strong men in her corner. Ones that do not squelch her spirit, but stand by in case she needs their strength. You honor her with your control, even as it causes you grief.”
I chuckled. “Either that or I never get to have sex with her again. I have to weigh the battles I’m willing to engage in. Oliver, nice to meet you. I’m Saint.”
Kiema elbowed me in the belly.
The rest of the guys introduced themselves. I looked at the group of Wardens standing back as Oliver was greeted like an old friend or family.
Alok, especially, looked like he was about to throw a temper tantrum. His arms were crossed over his chest, his foot tapping quietly on the cement. As another of my brothers stepped up and greeted Oliver, Alok blew out a breath that ruffled the hair framing his face.
Once all the introductions were done, Oliver was standing in front of Kiema once again. “Anda does not wish you to be sad at her passing. She wants you to complete your promise, but not at the expense of your, or any of your people’s, life.”
Kiema gulped and shuffled back into my chest. “She’s gone. How can you talk to her?”
“I hold the Power of Afterlife. I can see and speak to those who have passed on. I can also bring some souls back from the dead.”
“Then how did you get the name Oliver?” Asher asked. “Sounds a little…mundane for a god.”
Oliver turned, a smile on his face. “My full name is Illi Andinn Duado.”
“Oliver it is,” Asher said.
He held up a hand as Kiema opened her mouth. “I can do many things, sister. But bringing back the souls of goddesses is not in that category. I am truly sorry.”
“So, you’re a Prime descendant, too?” Ransom asked.
Oliver nodded. “Yes. My creator transferred her power to me so that she may go on to her further reward.”
“But you’ve been on Earth this whole time?” Kord asked. I could hear the thousands of questions pushing at the man’s voice.
Oliver turned to the last of Kiema’s mates. “Yes. Most of the Directs are on Earth. It is much more hospitable to magic.” He closed his eyes, seemed to search for something inside himself. “But there is something here that is creating a vacuum. Something is pulling magic to this world.” He looked down at Kiema. “And if my theories are correct, that something is you, little sister.”
Kord’s whole face erupted into pure undiluted joy. “I knew it! The prophecy of Amaranthanak is coming, isn’t it?”
Oliver looked a little startled as he studied Kord. “How do you know of this?”
Like a little boy in a candy store, Kord almost danced on his feet as he struggled to stand still and act like he was over the age of seven. “I’m the historian for the Sova and Markvordor legends.”
Oliver studied Kord a little more closely. He narrowed his brilliant golden eyes and inspected every inch of the other man. “You are a shifter, yes?”
“What?!” Kiema said with a squeak. “What the fuck, Kord?”
Kord glared at Oliver. “I hadn’t quite gotten around to telling everyone that. And she hasn’t healed me, so there’s nothing to say for sure, yet.”
“I’ve touched you though. I didn’t get sucked into your magical plane. I didn’t see anything of your magic.” Her nose wrinkled as she looked like she was thinking about it.