Seal of Surrender (20 page)

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.”

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, they 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.

They turned off-road and veered across the open grassland. In the distance, fires glowed beneath the moonlight and highlighted the rough base of the small bluff. Soon, Xander cut the headlights and they bumped along through the African night as quietly as possible. The closer they got, the louder the chants and the tribal drums.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The collective roar made Chago's stomach churn.

Despite the large number of assembled, no one noticed their arrival. Xander parked on the far side of the bluff and the three Scion warriors skirted the edge of the rocks for a better view.

Across the plain, Chago sighted Innocent's militia fires. He'd taught them as much as he could in their short time together. Now their training would be put to the test as they enacted the plan he and Innocent concocted to sack the insurgents.

At Xander's signal, he and Luther scaled the far rock face, away from the crowd's prying eyes. Three-quarters of the way up, he dropped to his hands and knees on a flat path and shimmied to the crest of the summit to assess their position.

Large torches flared around a flat rock at the center like a twisted luau. The pungent odor of sulfur carried on the slight breeze, lending a familiar smack of Hades to the proceedings. White blonde hair spilled over the side of the central stone and his chest constricted, severing his oxygen supply. His Irena.

Drake Benedict towered over her prone form. As if on cue, he glanced in Chago's direction. Yellow flared behind the flat brown eyes. Archon. He should have known the bastard would transform and Drake made the perfect victim. Karma was a bitch.

Luther slid into the space beside him. “What's happening?”

“Archon has Irena. And we're in luck. At the moment he's human.”

Chago grabbed one of the two syringe packets in his pocket and tore it open before affixing a needle to the top. Time to administer some death. The vial he'd swiped should allow for two doses, in case the first one wasn't sufficient. Archon wouldn't give him a third opportunity.

He tipped the glass container up and drew out half the contents before recapping the needle. Another quick glance showed Archon still stood guard over Irena. Watching. Waiting. Chago seized the opportunity. “Let's do this.”

Luther nodded and darted behind a large boulder several yards away.

With the vemon secured firmly between his teeth, Chago used both hands to scale a small outcropping nearby. Surprise was the essence of any solid attack and he planned to dive bomb his enemy. Soundless, he crawled to the edge and peered over this side.