Chapter Three

The ring of steel echoed around the training room as Broderick and Anthony’s swords clashed, the bright, overhead LED lights glinting off the edges.

Rick’s son retreated and laughed. He slid his sword into his cane and circled the room like a gentleman on a stroll through Hyde Park. Comical, considering his black workout sweats and tank top, those narrow lavender spectacles perched on his thin nose.

Anthony peered over the rim of his spectacles and narrowed his ice-blue eyes. “A little out of practice from rotting in a crypt, old man?”

His son dodged the blade by arching his torso. The blood Anthony consumed prior to their sparring session had enhanced his Vamsyrian-human abilities. Despite his son’s complaints about feeding, it enabled him to match Rick’s immortal speed.

Anthony partially yanked his sword out of his sheath, holding the ebony cane in his left hand, and blocked Broderick’s hefty broadsword inches from his head.

Broderick dropped his arms. “Dammit, Tony! Dinnae use that move on a sword like mine.” Rick paced, his knees weak. He dragged his hand down the frustration tensing his face. “Your blade could’ve snapped and I could have cleaved your head in two if I wasn’t holdin’ back.”

“Not a chance.” The young whelp confidently re-sheathed his blade and put the tip of his cane on the wooden floor between his shoulder-width stance. “I’ve had some improvements done.”

Broderick cocked a suspicious brow. “What kind of improvements. It doesn’t look any thicker than the last time I saw it.”

Broderick snatched it out of the air with his left hand and sheathed his own sword at his hip with his right. Extracting the blade, he studied the edge. Not a single nick marred the metal from Rick’s broadsword. He tilted it under the overhead light to illuminate the subtle swirling of metals.

“Elemental magic.” Anthony ambled toward Rick. “I had an earth mage reinforce the Wootz metal with properties of tungsten and add silver to the mix.”

“Isn’t tungsten too brittle to forge, despite its strength? And silver would just weaken the metal even more.”

Anthony grinned. “The blade wasn’t re-forged. Tungsten in its pure form is incredibly strong, and that’s what the mage used to manipulate the metals, merging the tungsten, Damascus steel and silver on a magical level.”

Broderick whistled long and low. “Impressive.” He handed the cane to his son. “Then let’s giv’ it a go, shall we?”

Anthony backed across the room in a dance of slashes and swings, meeting each blow. Relentlessly pounding, Rick kept him on the defensive. Twirling and bending at the waist, Anthony side stepped and slapped Rick’s rump with his blade.

The edge split his spandex workout shorts and sliced his left cheek. Broderick hissed. Blood oozed from the cut, which quickly healed. Good thing he wore the Lunar Eclipse ring. It made him immune to silver and thus didn’t leave any scars.

Rick squinched his eyes. “I’m being easy on ye since I haven’t had the chance to pummel ye in so long, but I can step it up for ye if yer game.”

Not waiting for an answer, Broderick advanced. Tucking his left arm against his chest, he came after his son with another frenzy of strokes, slashes and arcs.

Anthony successfully blocked and parried, dodging each of Rick’s blows. Blades clashed. Metal sang a staccato tune as the two men waltzed across the hardwood floor at immortal speed.

Anthony panted, but humor still glinted in his smile. “I thought you said you were going to step it up!” He dropped to a crouch and swept his leg in a wide arc.

Rick grunted as he barely hopped over Anthony’s ankles in time. “Ha! Nice try.” Broderick resumed his attack and refused to relent until his son finally surrendered.

“All right!” Anthony held up his hand. “I yield! You’re not an old fart, after all.” His normally tousled brown hair was plastered to his face with sweat.

Broderick laughed and slapped his son on the back. “I’m proud of ye. Ye’ve not only stayed sharp, ye’ve improved. I worry less about ye when I know ye can take care of yerself against one of my kind.” Rick shoved Anthony toward the door. “Now get yer stinking arse in to the shower.”

“Me?” Anthony scoffed and put his sword aside. “I can barely catch my breath with the stench rolling off you. You smell like a wildebeest in heat.”

They exchanged a couple of teasing jabs to each other’s ribs before trotting down to the second level of their townhouse and separating into their bedrooms.

Broderick frowned as he stripped and glanced out the window at the dark evening sky. Anthony had woken him from the crypt three days ago, saying Malloren Rune was to meet them at their townhouse the next day. So far, the prophetess was a no-show. Where the fuck is she?

He stepped into the shower of his ensuite bathroom and set the water to scalding. Rick closed his eyes and lost himself under the soothing stream, trying to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders.

Any time Malloren Rune came around, he grew anxious. In the four-hundred and eighty-plus years he’d known her, the prophetess hardly ever brought good news and was continually full of secrets. He’d given up hope she would ever be straight with him, no matter what they’d been through together. The woman had always teetered between friend and foe. Eventually, Broderick had come to admit she was neither. She was the chess master and he was the pawn. “Your move, Mal.”

He poured shower gel onto the bath sponge and massaged it to a lather before scrubbing his body. Despite his apprehension in seeing the prophetess, a certain element of anticipation fluttered in his belly. If Malloren did have a way around this mess, that meant he would be seeing his soul mate again.

He stepped under the water to rinse. Her sapphire gaze pierced his heart as it always did when he closed his eyes. Her full lips beckoned him. Just the mere thought of her being in his arms surged his cock to life. He cupped his balls and stroked his aching shaft. The only saving grace he’d had while rotting in a tomb for six years was the absence of yearning to be with his fated half. He’d been blissfully unconscious and unaffected by the call of her soul. But now that he was awake, the familiar burning scorched his heart. The distance from her was worse than he’d experienced in centuries.

He was upon the last milestone of the prophecy. The last life into which his Blossom would be incarnated. Would this be the last of this damned curse? Would they finally be together forever?

Whatever hope he harbored in his heart faded. Reuniting with Davina was always bittersweet. He would have all the memories of her previous lives and she would only have fleeting and partial dreams of their marriages and love. For her, she learned to love him anew with each incarnation. For him, he was alone in the memories he could only share through stories or a blood exchange.

And there was no guarantee they were going to be together after all this. She may die a mortal once more while he continued living without her. Would she know him in the next life after the prophecy was over? Would she even be reincarnated once her soul had fulfilled its purpose?

He had no idea what redemption meant for Vamsyrians. He pressed his palm against the tiled wall and rested his forehead on his hand. Please. Let this be the end for her. To give her some peace. Her soul doesn’t deserve this endless turmoil.

Broderick grunted his disappointment. “No more than she deserves me, or this cursed existence.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Rick finished rinsing, his erection now effectively wilted, and toweled off.

“What? By whom?” Broderick stomped to his dresser and began tossing clothes onto the bed.

“Don’t know yet.” Anthony leaned his thin frame against the jamb. “Matthew has been trying to reach us all evening on our phones.”

Broderick grumbled as he hopped into a pair of jeans. They’d silenced their phones so they could spar without interruption. He shoved his feet into his black engineer boots, then pulled a dark-green Polo shirt over his head.

“All right, lad. I’m right behind ye.” Grabbing a band, Rick secured his auburn hair in a ponytail at his nape and followed his son downstairs to the ground floor.

They stomped across the foyer to the parlor, where Matthew Witherspoon sat on the couch with his laptop in front of him on the coffee table. Broderick paused and resisted the urge to laugh.

Hipster was what Anthony had told him was the latest cultural trend in fashion and attitude, and Matthew was a member of this phenomenon. Quite frankly, he looked like a clash between the Victorian Era and the Greasers from the 1950s, with his bushy beard and slicked-back hair, black skinny trousers, a blue plaid shirt, and black suspenders with a red bowtie.

Matthew tapped a few more keys and glanced up. “Good evening, Rick. I’m sorry about coming to the house so late.”

“Don’t worry about it, lad. Give me an update.” Broderick crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a Scotch. He held the bottle up to Anthony, who shook his head.

“Well, just before six o’clock this morning, a large amount of data began streaming out of the network and caused a red flag. I.T. shut it down immediately and there doesn’t seem to be any damage or planted viruses, but we’re still looking. The lack of maliciousness, however, is why we didn’t notice the hack right away. Seems a spider-type program was crawling through our drives, looking for very specific information. It was there several hours before they funneled the data from our system.”

Broderick’s hand stopped mid-way to delivering a sip of whisky to his mouth. “How specific?”

Matthew inhaled as if gathering strength. “We had a tough time figuring that out, which is why we didn’t contact you sooner. The program was looking for any reference to the name Davina. It was encrypted in the code and we only just recently cracked it.”

Rick frowned and carried his glass to Matthew’s side. “I can’t imagine they’d find anything since her name isn’t associated with the company.”

Anthony cursed under his breath. “No, I haven’t told him yet.” He strode toward the bar and poured himself a Scotch, after all.

“Told me what?” Downing his drink, Rick snatched the decanter from Anthony’s hand and refilled his glass.

“Do you remember that GQ Magazine interview you did right before you went into hiding?” Anthony sipped the amber liquid.

“Well, a bit of fan club formed because you had a slip of the tongue.” His son winced.

“An unconscious one, apparently.” Matthew smoothed his hand over his beard. “You mentioned Davina’s name after they asked about your marital status and said something about her being your soul mate.”

“Son of a bitch.” Broderick’s grip tightened around his glass. “I told them to strike that from the record.”

“They did. It didn’t make the final article, but someone leaked it.” Tony adjusted his lavender glasses and his curly brown hair flared as he plopped to a cushioned chair. “The news of this Davina spread like wildfire over the tabloids before we could squelch it, as well as some fabricated stories about how I was slighted and never forgave you for implying my mother wasn’t your true love. The stories said the reason you went into hiding and handed the company over to me was to make up for your sins over the falling out we had.”

Broderick muttered a curse. He could imagine the flack Tony must have received from the coverage. They’d released to the press years ago that Tony’s mother had died when he was young. A little manipulation of the public birth records had allowed them to stick to the truth as close as possible and just fudge the dates. Of course, no one knew Christabelle and Davina were one in the same on a soul-level.

“God’s blood, lad.” Again, Broderick suffered the pang of regret in going underground. “I shouldn’t have gone into that bloody crypt. I should’ve been there for ye durin’ all that.”

“Oh, the press had a field day.” Matthew shrank under Broderick’s glare. “Sorry.”

Rick gulped his Scotch. “So, what in blazes does this have to do with the hack?”

Anthony swirled the whisky in the bottom of his glass. “Because of the sensationalism, women came out of the woodwork, claiming their name was Davina and they were your long-lost love.”

“Are ye fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Broderick shook his head and refilled his glass.

“I wish I was.” Anthony cast Rick a sympathetic frown. “We were flooded with letters and emails, threatening to tell all if they weren’t paid for their silence. Once the word got out about these attempts at blackmail, all manner of mental cases swarmed the offices to claim they were pregnant or whatever hair-brained scheme they could invent. We increased security and had to file several police reports over some of the trespassing. So, in keeping accurate security records and video footage in case we had to take anyone to court...”

“Fuck.” Broderick closed his eyes. “That’s why there are tons of references to her in the company files.”

“Right,” Matthew confirmed. “However, once the spider seemed to find what it was looking for, it started downloading data. Any videos marked with Davina’s name were streamed as well as any connected files to those videos.”

“But none of those people are my Davina.” Broderick peered over Matthew’s shoulder to watch his fingers fly across keyboard. “What did they hope to find? Even I don’t know who she is, and she’s never known who she was to me in her prior lives.”

Anthony sat forward, elbows balanced on his knees. “There’s one case I looked into personally because it was the most peculiar out of all of them. I mean, we had women trying to get into the compound. Older ones claiming they were Davina’s mother and hoping to get in on their daughter marrying the most eligible billionaire bachelor since royalty.”

“But this American woman,” Anthony continued, “by the name of Amie Ferris. She had to be escorted off the property several times and caused quite a scene.”

“Sounds like that wasn’t much different than the other cases.” Rick sipped his drink.

“It’s what she was saying that had me look a little deeper into her background.” Anthony stood and joined Rick behind the couch. “Matthew, do you have the footage?”

“One step ahead of you.” Their assistant tapped the touchpad to open the video. “That’s Amie Ferris at the desk.”

Broderick recognized the front lobby of the Edinburgh office of MacDougal & Son Shipping Company in the black-and-white surveillance feed. The security guard was chatting with an attractive woman, maybe mid-forties and long dark hair. Though the conversation seemed to start out peaceful enough, it soon escalated. The guard picked up the phone and shook his head while Ferris became more and more agitated.

Two additional security guards came into frame and tried to deal with her politely, asking her to vacate the building. But Amie Ferris pounded her fists on the reception counter and gazed into the video camera as if trying to speak to whomever was watching.

Broderick read his name on her lips, repeated twice as if calling out to him. He leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Is there sound? What’s she sayin’?”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not one of those vultures who is trying to get into Broderick’s bank account. Just tell him who I am.”

A male voice overlapped hers. “Madam, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave or you’ll be arrested.”

“Broderick. It’s Amice. Broderick! Davina is waiting for you! Qu’attendez-vous, mon fils? Venez à Davina! Elle t’attend!”

“Stop there.” Broderick gripped the back of the upholstered couch so hard, the carved wood cracked and Matthew started with a gasp. “Sorry, lad.” He pointed to the screen. “Did you hear that?”

“Play it again, Matt.” Broderick narrowed his eyes and repeated the phrase. “What are you waiting for, my son? Please come to Davina. She is waiting for you.” He raked his fingers over his scalp. “How does this woman know about Amice? And the fact that she speaks French, it’s just too coincidental.” Broderick turned and paced. “When did this happen?”

“A little over two years after you went underground.” Anthony sighed. “Listen, I originally blew off this Amie Ferris because she seemed like all the other crackpots claiming to be the next Mrs. MacDougal or pushing their daughters at the dynasty. But because she mentioned the name Amice and spoke in French, I spent some time on her case. Per the public records, she does, indeed, have a daughter named Davina, and it doesn’t look like her birth records were changed or updated with a legal name change. The connections were just too neat, regardless of how Davina has never taken on that actual name in any of her lifetimes.”

“What happened to her?” None of this sat well with Broderick, and his stomach churned. “What if this is somehow Amice reincarnated?”

“I suppose that’s possible, though it doesn’t really answer how she’s conscious of her past life. I really think someone just did their homework.” Anthony returned to the cushioned chair. “What if they found some unsuspecting victim named Davina and brainwashed or compelled this Amie Ferris into doing all this? It just seemed like someone was trying to lure you out of hiding.”

“Ye think Angus might have done this?” Broderick stopped and faced his son. “The only way someone would know the name Amice or my relationship with her would be if they had a long history with me.”

Broderick jerked his chin up to find the prophetess standing at the entrance to the parlor.

“Malloren Rune, my lord.” Their butler, Warren, bowed at the waist before excusing himself.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Broderick tightened his grip and his glass shattered.

Malloren yelped and her hand flew to her breast. Eyes wide, she inhaled as if to compose herself. “Hello to you, too.” She nodded toward the other two men. “Anthony. Mr. Witherspoon.”

“Would ye please ask Nancy to clean this up?” He waved at the shards and spirits on the wood floor. “I’m afraid my temper got the best of me and I’ve broken another glass.”

“Don’t you look at me like that.” She defiantly lifted her chin and marched into the room, away from the judgmental butler. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“I’ll just take my laptop into the office while you two catch up.” Matthew hurriedly gathered his things, but Malloren held up her palm to stop him.

“You’ll want to stay here for this, Mr. Witherspoon.” She leveled her eyes at Broderick. “My inside source at the Pentagon says the Illuminati are the ones behind the hack at your company.”

“Shit.” Matthew’s fingers skipped over his keyboard at the same rate popcorn exploded in the microwave.

A skinny middle-aged woman scampered into the room, a maid’s uniform dripping on her twig-like frame and armed with a dustpan, broom and rag.

“Of course, milord.” The maid shot the prophetess another piercing gaze before kneeling to clean up the mess.

Malloren threw her hands up in surrender. “What do you tell your staff about me that I am so despised?”

Warren re-entered with a tea cart, wheeled it to Malloren’s side and retreated.

Nancy blushed. “My pleasure, milord.” She curtsied before scampering out of the room.

“I suppose it’s safe to assume the Illuminati know I’m back.” Broderick sat on the end of the couch opposite Matthew. “Their timing is too perfect.”

“Obviously.” Malloren busied herself with preparing a cup of tea. “Seems they found some video footage of the woman you just mentioned—Amie Ferris.”

“Dammit.” Broderick rubbed the frustration pounding in his temples. “But what if they’re mistaken? We don’t know this woman is who she says she is. Davina has never been fully conscious of me, who I am, or our lives together. Those bastards could be after two completely innocent women who are chasing some get-rich-quick scheme.”

Anthony’s eyebrows rose. “Or those women could be part of a trap to lure you out of hiding. Don’t forget that’s an option.”

“Either way, if this is not my Davina, some unsuspecting people are going to end up caught in the middle of a mess.” Broderick rose and resumed pacing.

“And you.” Rick pointed an accusatory finger at Malloren. “Ye never answered my question. Where the hell have ye been?”

She seated herself on the upholstered baroque loveseat and sipped her tea. “If I recall, your question was much more colorful than that.”

“Gathering information and trying to collect the coins. My apologies for being a little late. But if I’ve arrived at a bad time, I can always come back.” She hid behind her teacup.

“Bad time?” Broderick sputtered. “Arriving unexpectedly or a few hours late is a bad time. Two days late is fucking inexcusable. We’ve been waitin’ for this earth-shatterin’ information ye have about how to divert this damn prophecy and you were a no-show.”

She blanched. “You said Tuesday.” Mal glared at Matthew. “Or did you change the time and forget to tell me, Mr. Witherspoon?”

The executive assistant cast Malloren a scathing glance, but resumed pecking away at his keyboard.

Malloren remained wide-eyed for several moments before her cheeks bloomed scarlet.

To the casual observer, the prophetess was just enjoying her little English habit, oblivious to the turmoil in the room. But Rick knew better. Teatime was Malloren’s way of hiding her nervousness...and it wasn’t working.

The bottom of the cup clattered against the saucer. She set the tea down, laced her hands tightly in her lap and leveled her gaze at Rick.

Still playing that game, eh? Broderick downed his glass and slammed it on the bar. “So, is there a way we can go ’round this damned prophecy without me havin’ to...give up or even kill Davina? Or is this another one of yer games?”

Malloren pursed her lips. “Rick...I never said you had to kill her. I told you—”

In two strides, Rick towered over her. “You said, ‘The Protector must sacrifice the Chosen One to the Penitent so that they may embrace their eternal destiny together.’ I’m the Protector, right? Ye said so yourself. Davina is the Chosen One. Fuckin’ Angus is the Penitent. Unless sacrifice means something different where you come from, I dinnae see how I could have misinterpreted the sixth sign. Not to mention that this embracing of their eternal destiny together hints at Davina ending up with Angus and no’ me. Givin’ ’er up to him—in life or death—would be a huge sacrifice on my part. Sorry if I made this all about me.”

He stomped to the bar and poured himself another Scotch. Fuck, he wished the alcohol had some effect on him more than a momentary buzz. He couldn’t drink the stuff fast enough to ease his heartache.

Malloren yanked her purse from the floor beside her chair. “First of all...” She dug through her bag. “Milestone number one said, ‘The first sign will be the sacrifice of a troubled heart. This sacrifice will spawn the forgiveness needed to release this heart trapped by guilt and heal.’ That proves sacrifice doesn’t necessarily mean someone has to die.”

“No, but if ye recall, even Evangeline thought sacrifice meant death because she plunged a bloody dagger in to her heart.” Broderick nodded for emphasis.

Malloren produced a folded piece of paper and held it aloft. “We have bigger problems on our hands. The Illuminati found the original prophecy.”

God has foreseen that by the conflict of two Vamsyrian Brothers will the path toward redemption be known. Their family wars will propel them to make the choice of immortality, bonding them by blood not only through their lineage, but also their transformation. Through the Chosen One, the brothers will unite and the Protector and the Penitent will find peace. When this conflict ends by the effort of their own hands, the wrath of God will be delivered. The Chosen One, transformed unwillingly, is the Deliverer of God’s wrath and the cursed will once again choose life or death through this vessel.

“God’s blood,” he rasped, the slanted curves of Malloren’s handwriting screaming at him from the parchment. “She has to be transformed?”

Malloren offered Broderick a sympathetic frown. “It’s the only way, Rick. How else will she be a match for the Vamsyrians? It even makes sense that she would be an unwilling participant. If she chooses, then she’s turning her back on God, like the rest of us. If she’s unwilling, she becomes the martyr and His champion.”

“A warrior for God.” Rick recalled Malloren’s words the night he met the prophetess, almost five-hundred years ago.

Broderick crumpled the paper in his fist. “For the love of all that is decent in this world, please don’t tell me this sacrifice means I need to be the one to change her.”

“No, I don’t think so.” The prophetess counted on her fingers. “First of all, although she must indeed be transformed, based on the instant attraction you two have whenever you meet, the transformation would most definitely be willing. With that being said, you absolutely cannot be the one to change her.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” However, the trepidation twisting Malloren’s mouth caused Broderick’s stomach to seize. He narrowed his eyes and tossed the wad of paper back at her. “Mal...”

She let the document bounce on the floor and tugged on another finger. “Secondly, I believe the sacrifice mentioned in the sixth sign is the actual allowing of the transformation to happen.” She stole a quick sip of tea, closing her eyes as if to prepare for impact. “In fact, the fifth sign said the Penitent had a destiny. So, point three, I fear Angus is the one who must perform the deed.”

A red hue colored Broderick’s vision, and he marched to the bar. “Over my dead body.” With a stranglehold on the decanter—envisioning Malloren’s neck in his hand—he poured and downed three mouthfuls of whisky before filling the glass to the rim.

He reveled in the burn down his gullet before he set the glass on the bar. Bracing his hands on the marble top, Rick hung his head between his shoulders.

Dread joined the alcohol in his belly and churned. “Let us ignore the monumental task of me...allowing...” The word gritted between his teeth and lingered with bitter resentment on his tongue. “Angus to transform her.” He raised his head and gulped another mouthful of spirits. “It still means she’ll go through an unwillin’ transformation.”

Malloren nodded. “I know, but it might be necessary to finally see this through.”

“There’s something else.” She dropped her head back and sighed. “During the Illuminati’s expedition to the Middle East, they brought back three Egyptian relics from one of the old treasure vaults.”

“Like the one where you found the Solar Eclipse ring.” She yanked her purse from the floor and offered Rick another piece of paper. “As I was about to say before, one of those relics helped them locate Davina.”

Broderick’s blood ran cold. Turning from the bar, he snatched the paper from her fingertips.

It was a printed picture of three Egyptian-style artifacts: two familiar-looking eyes—Egyptian icons most anyone would recognize—and a thin golden staff with an ankh and head of a stork-like bird at the end. He scanned the scribblings in the margins—which detailed not only what each artifact did, but what the Illuminati intended to use them for—and stumbled to sit on one of the bar stools.

Malloren nodded. “They’ve been tested. Amie Ferris is in Beverly Hills and the Illuminati said the Eye of Ra pointed them to Beverly Hills. Rick, since the Illuminati know the Deliverer is going to be Davina and—”

“They’re going to come at her like a freight train.” Broderick cursed under his breath. “We need to reach her before the Illuminati do. And this time I’m making sure she’s safe...once and for all, even if I have to kill the whole damn Illuminati and Jesse Amir with my bare hands.”

“What do you mean safe?” Malloren clinked her teacup into the saucer on the table, her gaze severe. “Are you still running from all this?”

“Good God, Broderick.” Malloren shot to her feet and slammed her fists onto her hips. “You have got to stop fighting your destiny. Only when you finally embrace it—”

“Says the master manipulator who has done everything in her power to ensure the prophecy will be fulfilled.” Broderick strode forward and loomed over the prophetess, seizing her shoulders in his grip. “This is about you and Cordelia, and I still don’t know what yer connection to her is. Care to finally share that information?”

Although Malloren’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears, she remained silent.

Matthew finally stopped typing. “Broderick, I have an address and some recent activities regarding Amie and Davina Ferris. I’ve emailed you and Anthony the information. You’re headed to LAX. I’ve just finished booking your hotel reservations. Teddy is prepping the company plane.”

“Yer gettin’ a raise, Matt.” Broderick pulled his iPhone from his pocket and brought the screen to life. A swipe and a few more taps, and he pressed the device to his ear.

“Good to hear you, too. Listen, do ye have friends in the States ye trust for security? I need someone watched, but with extreme discretion. I don’t want them to know they’re bein’ protected.”

“I’ll look into it, sir. I can make some calls, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Do what ye can and let me know if ye have problems. I’ll have Matthew contact ye with the details. I’d like to have somethin’ in place within twenty-four hours, if ye can manage it.”

Broderick grunted. “It better. I haven’t talked to ye in years and I’m puttin’ an unreasonable request in yer lap.”

“Just get me a bottle of that expensive whisky you like and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll throw in a half-case if ye can get an eye on her in less than twelve hours.”

Broderick ended the call with a chuckle and shoved the phone into his back pocket. As his eyes fell on Malloren, his black mood resurfaced. He headed toward the parlor door. “Meet us at my hanger, Mal.”

“I have other errands to run before we leave the country.” Malloren gathered her purse, avoiding eye contact as usual whenever she had something to hide. “I shan’t be more than a few days behind you both.”

He ascended the stairs to his bedroom, jerked the trunk from the top of his wardrobe and dropped it onto the bed. With a flip of the lid, he turned toward his chest of drawers and tossed clothes into the luggage. The more he thought about what Davina would have to go through—again and probably even worse than in her other lives—the more agitated he became. He slammed drawers and closet doors while blindly grabbing garments. The sooner he could get her out of danger, the better.

Anthony appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Isn’t this what the prophecy has been about? Getting to this point?”

Broderick focused on packing. “This damned prophecy has done nothin’ but put yer mother through centuries of torture. And now God wants to use her to destroy all Vamsyrians. Or at least the ones who won’t choose redemption. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“But she’s the Chosen One.” Anthony shrugged. “Maybe she was chosen for a reason.”

Broderick slammed the trunk closed and squeezed his eyes against the guilt constricting his heart. “Yer sayin’ she was chosen because of her strong spirit.”

“Well, that could be true, but I’m saying she may be able to handle more than you think she can.” Rick’s son strolled to his side and laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. His naïve ice-blue eyes over his lavender spectacles belied his one-hundred-and-twenty-eight years. “Or maybe she has somehow been prepared for this by the lives she’s lived.”

“But she’s ignorant of those past lives, Tony. She carries none of the wisdom so many years could afford her. God is askin’ Davina to face people who are centuries beyond her comprehension. There are Vamsyrians out there older than I am. Even if she did have recollection of her lives with me, those people would still have the advantage over her.” Broderick shook his head and hauled the trunk from the bed.

Broderick’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “The only thing I can do. Keep tryin’ to protect her. God only knows how, though.” He growled and glared upward at the author of his woes. “God only knows, and when this is over, I’m gonna find a way to royally kick his arse. Maybe I can get the Norse wolves to petition for Thor’s help.”

As he stomped out the back door to the garage, he vowed under his breath, “I’m comin’, Blossom.”

“Yes,” the Prophetess answered. “But I have something to do before I meet you there. I should only be a day or so behind you and Broderick.”

Ammon returned Mikhail’s grin. The phone on the dashboard—cloned to Malloren Rune’s—had given them the ability to eavesdrop on her conversation.

“I understand.” Cordelia paused. “Be careful. You disappeared for almost two days and now you’re telling me you thought you met with Jesse yesterday instead of Monday. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” One of them sighed—the prophetess, Ammon assumed—and Rune said, “We’ll talk about it later. And listen, I need you and Peter to contact the others. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Mikhail nodded and tapped his smartphone to navigate to the speed-dial list. “Niece, actually, but she raised Cordelia...or so the Prince learned during his little romp with the prophetess this week.”

He tapped the speaker and set the phone back on the dashboard, Jesse’s name and number animated as the call went through.

“They’re headed to Los Angeles, Your Highness.” Mikhail pulled up the GPS tracker app. “Based on her heading, though, it seems the prophetess is going in the opposite direction. She said she would be a day behind Cordelia and Broderick, running some errands. Do you want us to follow her?”

“No. You forget...I’ve had my little tracking spell on her since the 1880s. Go by my townhouse and pick up the materials we need for the ritual. I have my own little errands to run.”

Ammon leaned forward. “Your Highness, the prophetess also told Peter and Cordelia to contact the others. She said they were going to need all the help they could get. I’m not sure who she meant, though.”

The Prince was silent so long, Ammon thought the call had dropped. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The time has finally arrived, gentlemen. Be prepared...you’re about to be the right-hand men to the Ruler of the World.”

Mikhail smiled and picked up the phone. “Have a safe trip, Your Highness. We’ll see you in Los Angeles.” He ended the call.

“Why do you continue to kiss his ass?” Ammon swallowed the disgust rising in his throat.

“To keep up appearances, of course.” Mikhail caressed the scars on Ammon’s face.

“But I do. Every time you touch them, I’m reminded of those endless years he tortured me for doing his shit, which didn’t turn out as he planned.” Ammon shook his head. “I’m tired of hovering at the edge of survival.”

“I know.” He sighed and said more softly, “I know. But I’m not sure our situation will get any better once he’s taken the throne and made the world his buffet. I’ve tried to avoid dwelling, but the closer we get to this day, the heavier this burden of regret weighs upon my shoulders.” He dropped his head against the headrest. “I’m wondering if perhaps death would have been a better solution instead of running. Look at what happened to Rasheed...and Jesse didn’t give two shits about him.”

Mikhail put his hand over Ammon’s. “We’ll get through this. We’ll do what’s necessary and when the Prince has taken his place, we can just ease back into—”

“Mikhail!” Ammon cast a sideways glare at his lover. “You’re either living in denial or you’re naïve...and I don’t believe the latter for a moment.” He started the Ferrari and sped away from their parking spot in front of their townhome in London. “Once the Prince becomes King, we’re obsolete. There will be no easing back into anything except our graves.”