I nod. “It feels like an intuition—which for me is almost always military or supernaturally based. I can sense a shift in the realms, or when something is out of alignment.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, although if it’s something particularly bad or someone I’m bonded with, I can feel nauseous.”
“And it’s always been this way?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Before I became immortal these feelings were more like a nagging in the back of my head. After Camulus altered my destiny, it intensified and became more concrete. I learned to no longer ignore the tug of worry. I act on it, and there’s no doubt in my mind, Morgan and the Guard need our assistance."
We pass through the dark streets and alleys, the residents unaware of the power that strolls the streets. The idea of being immortal means nothing to these humans. The apocalypse and other realms, something of science fiction. I’m a student before a warrior, my brain and innate abilities helping the armies I led to victory. But now I’m army-less. There is no battle here, and all of us feel lost—antsy.
Even the woman walking next to me. She’s aimless as well.
I have no idea how to help her, but for some strange reason I feel an affinity toward her. Which is ridiculous. I don’t know her. She’s strong. But all the same…
I’ve lived a long, never-ending life fighting battles and destroying cities. I’ve taken down armies and betrayed my family, but women?
Women I don’t understand. I was so young when Camulus found me, I’d been focused on the war, not the spoils that come with it. My instincts always dragged me to the next conflict, and then years of slavery wore me down.
My brothers' lust for women is legendary, especially Marshal. They’re bold, masculine, confident. I feel like a shadow in their presence when we’re around females. Yet now, on this fast-paced walk home, Hildi speaks to me. Is it because she finds me unthreatening?
“Thank you for sharing that,” she says as we round the corner. The Nead is up ahead. “It’s quite the gift.”
“Or burden,” I reply without meaning to. She looks at me with concern. I shrug it off. “It just sucks sometimes knowing bad things are coming.”
She nods. “And now? Is something bad coming?”
I exhale. “It isn’t good.”
5
Hildi
The conversation with Rupert buzzes in my head as we approach the well-lit Nead. Davis opens the front door as if expecting us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Is Morgan okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine,” he replies, and directs us toward the library.
It’s an odd place for the anniversary lovers to be, but Morgan sits on the leather loveseat close to the fireplace, her robe cinched around her waist. Damien’s hand is on her shoulder and his jaw tenses. Dylan paces by the door; his hair an untidy sexed-up mess. Clinton stands across the room, his boulder-sized arms crossed over his chest. He guards the expansive windows that lead to the back yard. Sam stands by the fireplace with his hand in his hair and Bunny speaks quietly to the one other person in the room, Professor Christensen.
“Tell me you’re really okay,” I say, taking the seat next to Morgan. She looks flustered, her cheeks red and eyes watery. Her hand rests over her belly protectively.
“The baby is fine. I promise. There have just been other complications…”
Her eyes flick to the door, watching as the Legion enter the room. Dylan shuts the door and nods for everyone to sit. In an authoritative voice, he says, “Professor Christensen just got here about an hour ago with quite an announcement. It seems fair that you should hear about it right away.”
The professor stands and crosses the room, offering me his hand. “Good evening, Ms. Axel.”
“Hello.”
I take in his distinguished gray hair and dark blue suit. Why is he wearing a suit at this time of night? I don’t understand much about his role, but he seems aware of that, immediately explaining, “My relationship with the Guardians is that of historian. Dylan and Morgan are both my protégés. My primary function is to decipher texts, break codes and spells as they relate to our history.” He reaches for a book on the mantle over the fire and holds it up. The cover is red, cracked leather. “This was delivered to my office this week, marked with the symbol of the gods.”
“What gods?” Agis asks.
“The gods that molded and created the guardians. The ones that gave them immortality and the ability to shift. The ones that gave me my job.”
Agis nods as though this is enough. I’m not so sure, but I’m not immortal. I’m from a warrior race that ages very slowly and guides the dead from one realm to the other. I have powers including extreme strength, speed and skill, but like a human, I’m killable.