The Forbidden (Vampire Huntress Legend 5)

He moaned and it made her pull harder. Her skin was on fire, her body throbbing to the rhythm of each hard suckle, forcing her hips to match until they both shivered.

He cupped the back of her head, holding her against his throat, luxuriating in the feel of her thick tresses. No female had ever scored him, taken his jugular like this. His hands spread over her delicate back, holding her closer, wanting to pull her inside him. The paper she held torched in cold, blue flames. She dropped the amulet to the ground as their minds touched.

"You should be a second," he said on a ragged breath, when she lifted her head. "If it's just you and I left to rebuild, youhave to know certain things."

"Carlos, the numbers-"

"I've got 'em." Ash fell from her unburned hand. He took her hand and kissed the center of it. "You never commit important things to paper. They can be discovered," he said. "His mother didn't have much to leave him after the government did their thing. Besides, I have an account number." He tapped his temple with one finger.

"He wouldn't want you to steal from-"

"What? Other drug dealers, Mafia, the government?" He dragged his fang along the edge of her shoulder and swept it up her throat. "Let me show you how it's done."

His arms encircled her, one palm flattening against her back, the other against the swell of her buttocks. The strike was so swift that it made colors dance beneath her lids. Knowledge, power, and desire filled her, arching her back, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Her cry fractured the night, and instinct clawed its way up and out of her. She bit him so hard they both stumbled backward. It was all building inside her, almost a painful, overwhelming tide. All she had to do was release her resistance and say yes.

"Be mine," he whispered. "Share my strength, fight with me, side by side as a mate."

Conflict tore at her. She couldn't answer him, nor could she pull away.

"Baby, all you have to do is stop fighting the inevitable."

A slow shudder started in the pit of her womb, and it climbed up her abdomen, ripped through her torso, and entered her lungs. He siphoned it up through her veins, into her throat until tears wet her eyes, the shudder becoming his name in her mind as the orgasm crested. "Yolando!"

His knees buckled and he caught her and took them both to the ground. She'd called him by name. The sound of her voice reverberated through him, a dark echo. He held her in a firm grip, her legs wrapped around him, his hand cupped beneath her head, keeping it from touching the ground. Her long, dark hair spilled across the grass and into a section of the white prayer line. Light danced along the strands of her hair, making it glow. Heat rose and warmed his face. But it wasn't comparable to the heat she'd stoked in him.

She began to cry. He could literally feel the depth of love that she had for the man who'd built her this sanctuary. It flowed through her veins, poisoned her tears with the agony of her decision. Her commitment was so deep for this human that he could almost feel it connected to her soul, actually giving her one of those, its pure essence oozing through her skin into his and coating him with a desire beyond raw lust that he'd never known.

The conflict broke through the steel cage of his conscience; as much as he wanted her at the moment, he didn't want her like this. Vampiric instinct compelled him to simply take her throat; willing or not, she had no defense. Everything vampire within him knew that the pleasure he could give her, even while she wept for the human, would be incomparable to anything she'd ever experienced before. But he also knew that she'd never forgive him... eternity was a long time. With Tara he could do forever, as long as she was his in her heart. Right now, she wasn't. She didn't want this to happen, even though her body did.

Yonnie forced himself up, bracing his weight on his arm as he stared down at her. He'd vowed that he'd never violate a woman against her will; he'd seen his own mother raped and destroyed by men as she tried to hold onto her dignity while her pride was stripped naked on a plantation-barn floor.

"Has he been faithful to you?" Yonnie asked her, the frustration making his arm around Tara's waist tremble.Please, baby, I know what he's done to you. Carlos transferred everything in our line to me! Every tear you've cried, I know of, because you're in my line -we share the connection. Talk to me.

When she only sobbed harder, he pulled out of the intoxicating mind lock with her. She had to say it, tell him it was all right to love her like they both needed it now. The words had to come out of her own mouth. No illusions, no games, no trickery involved. He wanted her straight. Her heart his. No forgery to accept at this point. He kissed her temple. "While he's on the road, rolling with the band, moving country to country, has he ever taken another knowing he had you... an incredible, gorgeous woman waiting for him?" He kissed her throat, scored it, and drew his mouth away, pure fury lacerating him as she clutched her misplaced loyalty. "When he was in Brazil, didn't he take another woman to bed who looked like you?"

The desire to violate her and satisfy himself battled with his urge to just drop her on the grass and leave her. This human, the Guardian named Rider, didn't deserve her. How could a man simply walk away from a woman like this? "Why didn't you just turn him? Make him like you, so you could be with him forever, since you can't seem to leave him? I don't understand. Then you allow him to dog you... why? You don't have to exist like this."

His questions only made her cry a new torrent of tears. His voice was hoarse as he nuzzled her temple. "Baby, why do you allow him to do that to you? Hold his ass accountable," Yonnie said, his voice tender but firm. He kissed her temple hard, unable to draw himself away. "I'll take care of you, baby... I'll give you whatever you want, whatever you need. Just be with me."

"He's done so much for me," she whispered. "I can't leave Rider."

Yonnie dropped her and stood.

"Has he?" Yonnie stared at the cabin. "A house is the least you deserved. Has he sacrificed for you, the way you have for him?" He stared at her hard. She sat up, wiped her face, avoiding his gaze.

"But you sacrificed for him." Yonnie waited. "Too much, I think. Even human blood."

"That's different," she said, still not looking at him.

"How? He's even made you close yourself off from real pleasure. Has you living like a nun." Yonnie spat out the remnants of her blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You've even accepted not cuming. He can't take a bite or deliver one to release you-and you died in your damned prime!" He rubbed his palms down his face, so thoroughly outraged at the concept that he could barely stabilize his breathing. "You're emotionally and physically starved," he said, his glare becoming tender as tears ran down her cheeks. "And you make excuses for him because he's human... yet, whenever the urge hits him, he can go for a drink, watch the girls dance the poles, jack off if he has to or take one of them to bed. And you choose to live like that?"

"He's human, and it's different-"

"How? In what way? Don't you have needs? Only his matters because of a cabin? When you met him, you saved his life as much as he saved yours. Fair exchange. Your debt was paid. What do you owe him now, Tara? You think you're not worthy of loving on your own merit alone? Ask yourself: Did he give up his friends, interacting with his own kind, screwing his own kind, anything that makes his life easier to live?"

When she didn't answer him he stared at her until their eyes met. "You gave up everything for him.Everything . After more than twenty years of existing like this, don't you deserve to do more than survive?"

She only swallowed hard and turned her face away from his. Humiliation and defeat caused her shoulders to hunch. Yonnie came to her, knelt, and touched her face. He wanted to claim her. Not as a trophy but as a part of him. He'd never experienced the kind of love she had for this Rider, and if she could ever give a fraction of that to him, his lonely existence would be worth it. Her struggle to remain faithful to a human who hadn't plundered him.

"I envy him," Yonnie whispered. "You tell that bastard that if he ever messes up, you've got someone waiting to give you the world. I can wait. I've got time on my side." Yonnie drew his hand away from her face. "Make sure you also tell him that the only thin thread standing between you and me is your decision, and the fact that my boy Carlos doesn't need dissention in his ranks while he's rebuilding right now."

He stood, turned, and began to walk away.

She scrambled to her feet. A mild current of panic washed through her. "Where are you going?"

He stopped but didn't turn around. He couldn't bear to be alone with her another minute, any more than he had it in him to tell her about the coven brothel that was his destination. It was Halloween, and there were willing witches that he could use to purge her from his mind-for the night, at least. He glanced at Tara over his shoulder.

"I'm going to see what the witches can divine for me," he muttered, walking farther away from her. Why he'd felt it necessary to cover his whereabouts truly disturbed him.

"Where?"

"Don't worry about it."

"But if you get trapped out there, alone," she said quickly, the urgency in her voice making him shudder and know she cared.

"Go in the house!" he yelled, pointing at the front door without looking at her. The sweet sound of her voice was making him crazy. The melody of it laced with concern rippled through him. "Don't argue with me. You've made your decision and I'll take care of me."

She didn't move, and he turned to look at her, eyes blazing solid red.

"I said," he repeated, more gently, "go in the house. I'll be back before dawn."

"Be careful," she murmured, backing into the barrier light.

There was nothing to discuss. The team gathered up the remaining weapons. Carlos took up a position by himself in the rear of the cabin, while others fanned out strategically in seats throughout. That suited him just fine. He needed space to think and to nurse his wounded jaw and pride.

They had been rerouted just before midnight, so their flight never touched down in Dubai as originally planned. He thought about the attack and knew he was missing something. Numbers kept jumping into his mind for some reason. So did locations. Strategy and figuring out connections had always been his strong suit, living or dead. He toyed with the logistics, knowing there was a clue within them, becoming agitated that his loss of additional insight and powers of discernment that he would have had if he were still a vampire, blinded him to the root cause of the attack. Daybreak couldn't come fast enough for him, especially now that they were over land. Once they'd neared the Red Sea, all Hell had broken loose on their thirteen-hour flight. There was a connection; thirteen had to be a bad number; he could feel it in his bones.

He glanced up and saw Rider stand up and noted the time. Four A.M. In an hour they'd touch down. It would be dawn. If they could just get to the ground in Addis Ababa without any more drama, that would be enough for him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to fight.

All of a sudden, he felt a presence standing over him and he opened his eyes.

"Can we talk?" Rider said, looking down at Carlos.

Carlos shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

Rider sat down next to him. "I'm sorry about the jaw."

"It's cool," Carlos said, and stared out the window.

Rider held out his hand to Carlos.

Carlos turned his head, looked at Rider, then at his outstretched hand. After a few long seconds, he accepted the handshake. His pride still stung. A forty-five-year-old guy had flattened him.

"Listen," Rider said carefully, when he went back to talking to Carlos's profile. "We're all a little touchy right now. Everybody's senses are off, except maybe Marlene's. So we may not be making the best decisions." He rubbed his jaw. "I know while you were a vamp, you had to do what you had to do to survive," Rider finally said through a weary sigh.

"Yeah, I did," Carlos muttered. "You have no idea what kinda shit I had to contend with, man. Having people who could watch my back was imperative."

Rider nodded. "Your boy, Yonnie, is cool... he'll honor your marks?"

"Yeah. He's cool, man," Carlos said, looking at Rider for the first time.

He saw real fear in Rider's eyes.

"Look, man," Rider said. "I've done a lot of shit that I'm sure she knows about, and, by rights, she could..." He glanced away, finding that same vacant space on the horizon that Carlos had been staring at. "We've been together a long time, dude, and she means the world to me."

Carlos nodded. "He won't hurt her. I never rolled like that and neither does he."

Rider looked Carlos in the eyes. "That's not what I was worried about, dude."

For a moment, neither man said a word.

"I'm forty-five, and I'm the only one she's even... you know what I'm saying?"

Carlos nodded, this time understanding fully. Wasn't he plagued by the same fear? That Damali might stay with him because she just didn't know what else the world had to offer her yet. The word "yet" burned in his mind.

The older Guardian drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

"If you made him, dude, he's strong," Rider said quietly. "But him being a good guy is what could get under her skin." Rider's voice became distant as he spoke, telling Carlos what haunted his soul in halting sentences. "And he's in my house with my woman who I see maybe once a year." Rider shook his head. "My baby's never taken a throat nick from a master, done a mind lock, or..." His voice trailed off. "I'm human. I'm getting older. I'm not what I used to be when we met."

"She loves you, man. She'll be cool," Carlos said quietly, becoming lost in his own thoughts. His statement was as much for his Guardian brother as it was for himself.

"The two of them together, on the run," Rider said softly. "Relying on each other to survive, under siege. You know what kind of bond that forms." He chuckled sadly and closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat. "Been there. That's how I met her."

Carlos glanced down at his knees. "Yeah."

"But it's even more than that. They're both vampires, first. I'm just a human on the outside looking in."

Carlos rubbed his face with both palms. What else was there to say? That Rider was wrong? That there was nothing to worry about? That Tara wouldn't leave him? He'd been there, too. Teetering on the edge, the not knowing how it would all work out kicking his ass. He had met Damali the same way, while she was on the run so many years ago, and what they had even death couldn't stop.

Compassion filled him. The irony was severe.

Carlos closed his eyes and mind against the painful possibilities. "I know, man. I know."

For what felt like a long time, Carlos and Rider sat quietly side-by-side in the aft section of the plane, unable to sleep, unable to turn the worry off in their minds, exhaustion and defeat a blanket over them.

But the entire team looked up as a nervous crew member crept down the steps, brandishing a large silver cross.

"There's a call from the Vatican for you, Father Patrick," the thin, frightened man said, his blond hair plastered to his scalp as he leaned over the rail and called out.

"The Vatican?" Father Patrick said, standing quickly and hurrying to the steps that led to the conference room. "At this hour?"

"Please, Father," the clerical crewman said, his voice filled with fear. "It's urgent."

All eyes were on the priest as he rushed up the spiral staircase and entered the conference room. A thud followed him, as did the certain click of the door being safely latched behind him by the crew.

Within moments Father Patrick was at the top of the stairs. "Carlos," he said, his voice anxious. "It's for you. Bring Rider."

Both men stood and ran down the wide cabin aisle, the teams tensing for another possible incident.

Carlos entered the conference room and grabbed the phone. Before he put it to his ear, he asked Father Patrick, "Who is it?"

"A woman, but she won't identify herself," Father Patrick said. He glanced at Rider. "I thought that it might be Juanita, but there was something in her voice that troubled me."

Carlos put the phone to his ear. "Yeah. Talk to me."

"Councilman," the unidentified woman said with a rush of relief. "So much has happened. Open a secure lock so I can transfer quickly."

He instantly remembered Tara's voice. It made him aware that he hadn't forgotten everything he'd learned and every imprint he'd carried from his old line. He nearly stared at the phone, but for Rider's sake, didn't. He also didn't repeat the name. "I don't go by that title any longer," he said, hesitating. "And I can't lock with you."

"Tara," Rider whispered, instantly knowing a female vampire was on the line based on Carlos's response and the fact that Father Patrick had said there was a woman on the phone. He also knew it could only be one that he'd trust with Father Patrick's number. "How did she get through Vatican phones? I need to talk to her."

"She didn't," Father Patrick said quickly. "My safe-house number was routed to another safe house that's tracking us, and the Covenant must have put it through using their code to link. Time is short. If she's in L.A., she's ten hours behind us. But once the sun rises here, we will lose the link."

"Are you somewhere safe? It's six P.M. here, but I sense dawn near you... have you fed?" Tara hesitated. Her voice held true concern and honest compassion.

"I'm fine," Carlos said, ignoring all her references to his old way of life. "Where's Yonnie?"

Rider stared at Carlos.

"Safe. Trying to get some answers. I don't have much time, and I can't hold the link much longer. I'm supposed to give you a number. I'm sending it now."

"No," Carlos said, knowing she was trying to send it telepathically. He looked at Father Patrick. "I need to write it down." But the fact that she was now strong enough to send an airborne transmission this far had to mean one thing. Yonnie had elevated her from a fourth-gen to second lieutenant. Elevating a vampire was a very sensual act. Carlos couldn't look at Rider as guilt stabbed at him.

The elder cleric quickly provided the instruments Carlos needed, and he heard Tara's instant gasp. Her horror rattled his skeleton. A councilman needed paper and pen. She swallowed hard, as though crying inside.

"Watch the numbers as you write them. Yonnie did this for you and still stands with you, as do I."

Carlos nodded and jotted down the ten-digit alphanumeric code, then watched several of the numbers reverse and transform on the paper. The nines became sixes. The threes became eights. The sevens melted into fives. He then wrote down the new code, too. The numbers didn't change.

"Ten thousand," she said. "From the account established by Berkfield."

He wrote it down and stared at it.

"That's all they left you."

He stared at the number in disbelief. But then he watched the zeros continually affix themselves behind zeros until a hundred million dollars graced the legal pad.

Carlos let his breath out slowly. He closed his eyes and sat down with a wobbly thud and shoved the paper into the side pocket of his African robe.

"Your family will not forsake you as long as we exist. We love you, and you need resources," she said, her voice filled with panic. "Carlos,it's all gone . The demon wolfen clans overran the L.A. club. Council sweepers have compromised all the lairs. All lower gens have been assassinated. Blood Music had its ownership transferred to council-compromised humans in a hostile takeover on Wall Street, just to keep you from receiving the monies from it. From Yonnie's sensing, all of North America, South America, and your Caribbean lairs and holdings have either been destroyed, transferred to council loyalists, or pillaged by roaming were-demon clans and lower gens from other zones not on the Vampire Council's hit list. But even those have fractured into feudal law. Even the Guardian compound burned to the ground."

Carlos had known that the chairman would go to extreme lengths to blot him and everything he'd built from the face of the earth, but he was still stunned. He was glad he was still sitting down. "Everything, even the Guardian compound?" he asked numbly.

"The compound?" Father Patrick held onto the edge of the table for support.

"What?" Rider said, stepping closer to him.

But Carlos waved him away and listened intently.

"Mr. Councilman, vampires couldn't have acted alone," Tara said, answering Carlos's unspoken question. "Power to breach protection lines had to come from level seven," she said, terror evident in her voice.

Carlos nodded, unable to speak. It had been confirmed. No further guesswork needed. If level seven was on his ass, and could get through compound barriers, then what fucking chance did Damali have out there on her own without even her blade? As soon as he thought it, his mother and grandmother's faces flashed in his mind.

"My mother and-"

"I'm sorry, sir," Tara said, a sob breaking her voice. "We got there only in time to save the girl."

"How?" he said, his voice a low rumble filled with rage.

"A gas line exploded beneath the house."

"Tell me," he said, hot tears stinging his eyes and choking his voice.

"It was fast. Mercifully so, sir."

Carlos nodded and drew in a ragged breath. "Tell Yonnie I said thank you," he whispered. "I'll let you know where to send resource transfers. For this, I need an army."

"Done," she said, the sound of her voice weakening as the gray filter of near-dawn began to peek over the horizon. "We stand ready for your orders."

Carlos reached out to hang up the phone, but Rider grabbed his wrist.

"I need to talk to her."

Carlos thrust the receiver at him and turned away to walk out the door. But a sudden crash against the side of the plane sent the phone sliding across the table, and all men standing to the floor.

"Mayday, Mayday," the captain's voice shouted over the intercom. "We're under attack! Brace for an aerial assault!"

The lights went out, the emergency lights on the floor of the aircraft summarily lit and then went black. The engine sputtered as the plane rocked again. Guardians and Covenant team voices shouted in the cabin mayhem below. Machine-gun fire from the aircraft's turrets echoed within the plane as Rider, Carlos, and Father Patrick struggled to get to their feet and down the spiral steps.

The whoosh of a missile leaving its housing sent the plane into a dangerous list. Battering sounds clamored at the skin of the aircraft generating high-pitched scrabbling screeches like claws going down a blackboard. The sky lit with multiple red and orange target strikes, splattering green and black gook against the windows as the pilots maneuvered the plane into a hard semiroll. The team clung to seats as they were thrown side-to-side, and thrashed to right themselves while futilely grabbing at weapons as the air battle commenced.

Carlos looked on in horror as the swirling black cloud of harpies approached again, passed the bank of side windows, and dove beneath the plane's belly. Their impact slammed into the hull, taking out the landing gear. Their feral grimaces mocked the living inside the plane as their faces pressed to every window, bearing fangs. Smoke was billowing from a fractured wing. Flames had erupted in the other. Something tore at the skin of the plane, opening a vacuum suction through the conference-room wall.

Before anyone could draw a breath, weapons, debris, food carts, and furniture were instantly sucked up through the rip, hurling human-crew bodies into the void as oxygen masks dropped. Guardians linked arms and weighted themselves to teammates and seats that were straining against their anchors, making the Covenant a part of their lifting human chain.

Flashes of light immediately entered the cabin, and suddenly three large entities unfurled massive white wings, staying the suction and sealing the rip with light. The light emanating from them was so bright that the teams could not stare at them. Only Carlos could lift his head to see his reflection in their raised golden shields and glowing, polished broadswords, his eyes blazing silver against the metallic surfaces.

"Fear not," one entity said.

"We guard the dawn," another said.

"An army will be raised," the third said, as the plane began a dangerous spiral to the ground.

The light snapped back, receding like the passing sun and swallowing away the entities that had stepped out of it. But the seal on the aircraft's torn exterior held.

"We're going down!" the captain shouted, his voice laden with hysteria as his words broke up over the intercom and the engines went dead.

DAMALI STOOD and brushed herself off and looked around. The emotional pain of seeing and being separated so abruptly from her parents still lingered, but she had to do what she had to do and just suck it up. She'd fallen against the steps of what seemed to be a beautiful wooden house, but upon further inspection of the multilingual signage, she learned it was the Addis Ababa Museum.

Unsure of which way to go, she tried to get her bearings and organize the jumble of experiences in her battered brain. Museums kept popping up-there was a reason. As soon as she thought it, an inner knowing replied: Old history. Draw power from it. Lilith was old history, too.

Feeling steadier, she began walking away from the building, using her senses to guide her.

Unlike the other structures, nothing in this one particularly called out to her or jettisoned her through its doors. She stopped walking. Her sensory awareness was slowly coming back. The sensation that washed through her created as much joy as recognizing an old friend. It gave her energy, made her want to laugh, and she continued along an unknown street with a satisfied smile on her face. Perhaps something was starting to go right in her life. She could only hope that her team had stayed the course and would be on their way to Ethiopia soon.

A certain confidence filled her, even though her stick was gone. If she could manage to barter using the silver in her ears and whatever gold was tucked in her hair under the fabric wrap to eat and hang out at the local holy shrines, she'd last through a few nights until she could search for her team. Meanwhile, if she could only get to a phone... Then it dawned upon her-none of them had a cell phone on them since they'd been in the battle at Sydney. Very strange.

It was as though all normal means of communication and resources had been cut off. But she took heart in the fact that she knew there had to be a reason. She stopped walking. The gifts and the number thirteen slammed into her brain. Yeah. She rattled the abilities off in her mind like a laundry list, taking none of what she'd originally been given for granted.

Five senses. As a Neteru, she had heightened awareness in all areas, and that had been severely damaged. If it was coming back now, the added bonuses might also. All Neterus had bodies designed to take a blow, plus preternatural endurance. They had the ability to withstand a bite in battle and not turn. Immunity. Visions, extrasensory awareness. Excellent battle tactics, gleaned from the Akashic Records of all generals before them. Ability to be a healer... yes, she remembered how she'd helped Marlene in Brazil. And how could she forget the twelfth gift that had almost been her ruination-the ability to lure master vampires to a state of frenzy from her scent.

The Isis blade was a tool, not a gift, when put in context with all the others. She was clear about that now, and knew the queens wouldn't have taken it away if it were. Not with what she was facing. Although she sure wished she still had it on her, regardless. But what was the thirteenth gift she was supposed to be looking for? If she couldn't figure it out as a more seasoned Neteru, then how was she going to help Carlos find it? She was missing a critical piece of the puzzle.

Damali shrugged away her doubt as she began to aimlessly walk down the streets. She refused to allow the question to lacerate her. She tried to get a sense of time and date. Was it October thirty-first, November first? Going through the purple light left her unsure. But one thing she did know for a fact, all this went down and had started seven days before Carlos's birthday-something she hadn't even entered into the equation until the strange cabbie had approached her in the streets of Philly.

There was a link. Dates, numbers, locations all had meaning. She knew that like she knew her name. So what was the deal with being thrust into Ethiopia? Questions swirled in her mind as she walked, and she took pleasure in what she now could tell was the early morning beginnings of a sprawling, dusty city of vibrant colors coming to life. The air was cool, temperate, for what she'd believed Africa to be. As she continued onward the huge market she'd stumbled upon awed her. She people-watched and enjoyed the early vendors creating a clamor of chaotic activity as she strolled past their stands while they set up for business.

The hubbub of activity was fascinating. Incense and vegetables, meats and jewelry, everything was there that one could imagine. She stopped at several jewelry stands, marveling at how the earrings she wore so resembled what many of the shopkeepers offered. Once again, it gave her pause. The old queens had adorned her to be able to barter in a place without cash. Damali smiled.

A table with a tent and an elaborate array of finely carved walking sticks made her stop and gape. One cane reminded her of Marlene's, and in the row of beautiful ebony woods, she saw a very plain stick gnarled in the same spots as the one she'd lost. She reached out to touch it, and a man came from behind his truck bearing boxes, which made her draw back her hand.

"Tenanastellen. Dehna Neh?" he said with a wide smile that broadened the one on Damali's face.

She shook her head and gave him a shy shrug to try to tell him that she didn't understand a word he'd said. She stared at his dark, long, handsome face, judging him to be near forty. He wore a plain, dingy, khaki pants, woven straw sandals, but a brilliant turquoise African-cut shirt with elaborate satin embroidery of the same hue that added magnificent color accents and intensity to his chiseled features. His shoulders were held back straight, his carriage impeccable, and his head held high and proud, but there was a very accessible warmth about his attitude as he came nearer to her.

"Hello, how are you?" he said, restating his greeting. "You are not from here, I can tell."

Damali chuckled. "No, and thank you so much for speaking to me in English. I wish I knew your language, though."

"To say thank you, in Amharic, it is,amesegenallo ." He offered a slight bow and then rounded the table. "So beautiful and no one to escort you?"

Damali laughed harder and shook her head no. African men were such a trip, persistent. In an oddly sentimental way, although she was not sure why, he reminded her of the African master when he took her hand, swept the back of it with a respectful kiss, and glanced up.

Maybe it was the regal flourish in which he did it, or the ever-present magnetic sexuality that seemed to just ooze from men from the region. There was an "it" factor that they seemed to possess, and she studied him as he looked up and smiled, asking a mischievous question about her availability with his eyes. She wondered if she'd become so accustomed to battling dark forces that she'd lost her ability to see the basic nature within regular people. Given what she'd experienced, the vendor's slight gesture and his resemblance to something she'd just fought should have sent off alarm bells within her. But she knew this man wasn't anything to fear. It was simply his way, and it tickled her no end to realize that the refinement of approaching females hadn't changed in several thousand years.

"It would take many,many years to teach you our languages," he said with pride. "There are as many as the people, and the script of Ge'ez, the one used in the churches, has two hundred and thirty-one letters. But many of us have learned English in school." He gave her a wink and waved his hand before his table of wares. "So, you have seen something here you like?"

Damali nodded and affixed her gaze to his table as she considered what he'd said. She did the math, the language used in churches... with as many peoples as the languages... and he was fluent in hers, thus they could communicate. But he was also letting her know he'd received some formal education, a point of pride. Damali offered his comment a gracious nod that seemed to please him. She also knew why she'd instantly recognized his language to be Amharic. It was used in the old liturgical services. Yeah... Marlene had told her that.

"I noticed you had a plain one on the table," Damali said, her thoughts leap-frogging as she stared down. "Why is this one so plain, when all the others have designs on them?"

He laughed. "It is often the plain that are the most powerful."

Now she looked at him.

He smiled and nodded. "Thank you for returning it."

She didn't move.

He reached into his pocket and made a fist, chuckling as he slowly withdrew it and opened his hand. She stared down at her silver earring as he held it out to her.

"Now, I have returned what you loaned me." He walked away and began unloading items from his small Toyota pickup truck.

Damali was on his heels. "We need to talk, and I have to ask you alot of questions."

He wagged his finger at her. "No, you must ask my father. Did my son not give you his address?"

Instant memory snapped back as Damali shoved her hand into the pocket of her robe. "Yes," she said, pleased. "But how do I find him?"

"He is a long way away, in Askum," the man said. "But I have people who can get us there. This is why I must unload my truck so we can go to the north."

"I'll help you," Damali offered, wanting to hurry and get the show on the road.

"No," he said with a deep chuckle. "Be still, then we will go and eat someinjera, alicha wat , andshiro , withambo . No meat in what we eat now, for we are on a pilgrimage, yes. So look about and learn to have patience. Enjoy this place that is called Thirteen Months of Sunshine."

That number associated with the sun as a country slogan made her simply stare at him.

Carlos managed to drag himself into a seat, as had all the others, bracing for the sure impact. There was no way to survive a crash from this altitude as mountains whirled by; it was futile. They all knew it. Perhaps that's why no one, except the pilots, was screaming. An eerie calm had befallen the cabin. Everyone's head was tucked down to their knees with their seat belts secured. What was the point, though? Oxygen masks dangled, but no one had reached for them to cover their faces. Whatever the entities had done, breathing within the compromised aircraft was possible. The Light had a very strange sense of putting things right. Let them breathe, then let them crash. Carlos wasn't sure if he was more angry or afraid; perhaps it was a mixture of both.

The sound of rapid descent was creating a horrible whine of impending doom. Then a gunshot made Carlos lift his head and simply look out the window. He could see it in his mind just as clear as day. One of the pilots had opted out of the anxiety of watching oneself crash and burn. The other was already dead-skull cracked from being flung against hard metal during the battle. The copilot's brains added to the gore against the windows. Now was a fine time for his inner vision to be coming back. But what had triggered it? Sure death?

Carlos affixed his gaze to the layers of thick white clouds set within a flawless blue sky. The ground was becoming larger, its green carpet and small dots of buildings now becoming recognizable. But peace filled him. It would soon be over. It just hurt him to know that people he'd come to know and love like family were going to perish, all because they'd tried to cheat fate.

He looked at the teams, each man and one woman, bravely bracing themselves for the end. No one cried out, no one screamed. Marlene's low murmur of prayers had blended in with those of the Covenant. Their faith and acceptance of what was to come was truly amazing to him. Humbling, is what it was. Because all along they had been right. There was another side. A dark side and a light side in dimensions he could have never fathomed while he was simply alive. And he wondered where they would all go; if he'd ever meet up with them again. He wondered if the Light would have mercy on them for trying so desperately to spare his lowly soul and smuggle his resurrected body to a safe haven.

"Whatever you do," Carlos murmured, as he stared at the team, "don't blame them, and especially, don't blame her."

Empathy dulled the fear even more. He'd been tortured already, knew what it felt like to be broken, gutted, his insides twisted, skin shredded, bones shattered, body parts amputated, and to be burned alive. But these people were human, had never experienced the twisted knife of pain to that degree. All he could hope for would be that the plane would explode on impact, that his family wouldn't be left half alive, semiconscious, and torn to butchered bits. "Make it fast," he whispered. "That's the least you can do."

His prayer became more urgent as the treetops came into view.

Carlos stared at the bent backs before him as a wing collided with a cliff side and was shorn off. His head slammed into the seat in front of him and bounced off it, nearly snapping his neck-but he refused to cover his head or his face. He'd stared death down before in the dark, and in the brightness of dawn would do no less.

The horrible turbine sound against the wind seemed to become muted as his hands clutched the arms of his seat. Flickers of fast-moving light darted between the aisles and swirled around each of the people he watched. Maybe he had snapped his neck? All the better. Maybe the strike against his head had him seeing stars and had deafened him? Mercy was measured in increments and during moments when time seemed to have slowed down, it was indeed a blessing.

He watched the dancing white lights, dazed and fascinated, despite his pending death. He had to be hallucinating, that was the only rational answer that came to him as he watched the oblique forms become people he knew but should have never known.

Parents had come to their children. Aged spirits touched faces gently, put loving arms around each passenger, and made their peace. He could hear them all at once as well as individually as they hugged their deathborne children to them.

He saw Marlene become encircled first by what seemed to be a tribe of elderly people that he instantly knew were from the Gullah Islands. Why he knew that, he wasn't sure, but he watched her mother and father gently touch her face, tell her she'd done her job, it was good, she had struggled long and it was time to come home. Rider and Father Patrick, Jose... Big Mike-each of them were touched until every Guardian and member of the Covenant was attended by Light beings that placed their silvery orbs around each person, leaving no space between the seats, the windows... like padded clouds they wrapped around them.

Dan wept and held his grandfather's hand. Jose was sobbing and hugging his grandmother to him tightly. Berkfield laid his head in his mother's lap. Father Patrick stroked his wife's hair as his son hugged his back. Monk Lin was encircled by a bastion of Tibetan brothers, and Imam Asula had elders around him that were so old and wise that Carlos could not make out their faces.

A sense of lonely abandonment made him weep. No one had come for him in the last moments, and he simply covered his face with his hands. Had he been so bad that even his own brother... or his mother... or his grandmom wouldn't come to say goodbye? He hadn't been able to say good-bye, that's all he'd wanted, if he couldn't protect them! And where was his father? Where had he ever been? A gentle breeze blew against his face as the plane jolted again.

Carlos looked up as a male hand touched his hair. "Papi?" He couldn't breathe as he saw his father standing tall and strong and whole beside his mother. She looked so young and was smiling; his grandmother was beside them both.

"I was wrong... I'm proud of you and love you," his father said. "You have suffered so much, now come home.Por favor , Carlos... my most troublesome, but favorite, son."

His father embraced him and a sob tore up and out of his throat as the plane hit the ground hard, bounced, and the tail section broke away.

"We love you," Alejandro said, holding his head firm as another devastating smack waffled the plane's underbelly.

Smoke had begun filling the cabin and the stench of gasoline filled the air as the aircraft skipped against the ground like a pebble skeeting across the surface of a pond. Carlos squinted, refusing to allow the thick black plumes to eclipse the faces he'd loved and missed so dearly. Hands touched him, held him, caressed him, his sister, his cousins, his boys, they had all come. "I want to go home," he croaked, clutching his mother's hand so tightly that her silvery essence oozed between his fingers. "I'm so sorry..."

Water lapped at his feet, a hard rocking collision threw his body forward, and something soft braced his neck and spine as the slam lifted him and set him back down hard, jarring his teeth to near chipping. Then everything went silent and black within the cabin.

He could hear people coughing; the aircraft wasn't moving. He heard someone vomit, someone was sobbing. Carlos quickly felt his torso, his neck, and his legs with his hands. He seemed to be in one piece. His seat belt was mysteriously unfastened. He instantly stood, and covered his nose and mouth against the smoke.

It was blinding, but he could somehow see through it. Gasoline fumes made him bend and hurl as he moved forward, ignoring the chunks of vomit that now covered his sandaled feet. They'd made it. Some of them had. He began calling out names as he blindly rushed forward. Then his sight became like laser, cutting through the smoke in a silver wash. He picked Dan up and flung him over his shoulder, then yanked at Big Mike's uninjured arm, shoving at Shabazz and Rider as he went for the door. "We have to get out of here before she explodes!"

Damali looked down at the food with disinterest and tried to summon grace. Her stomach was in jumpy knots. But in order to proceed she'd have to feign patience for her gracious host. Something was so wrong she could barely sit in her seat. She could feel it as her newfound friend prattled on about his homeland.

"You eat it like this," he said, tearing off a piece of the spongy, foam rubber-like bread from the common bowl they shared. "The bread is calledinjera , and you dip it this way to get thealicha wat up and into your mouth." He extended his hand for her to take a small taste, his eyes holding expected excitement.

Damali leaned forward and took in the mildly spiced concoction of vegetables and forced a smile. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the tasty dish, even though she wasn't ready for the Ethiopian way of sharing a communal bowl. The custom was just a tad too familiar for her liking, and not using utensils to share the dish was somewhat disturbing-she had no idea where this man's hands had been, but at least she'd blessed the food first. Besides, for all her powers, she couldn't tell if this was just an Ethiopian patience endurance test, or if this man was stalling because he was subtlety hitting on her.

She took a swig of sparkling bottled water, which she'd learned was calledambo . "This is very good," she said, truly meaning it, but needing to get going more than she needed to eat. However, she was quickly learning that in African culture, if you wanted to get anything done, one had to employ patience-eat with people, break bread, and pass a quiet vibe test-thenyou could handle business.

"But you cannot eat like a bird," the man said laughing. "Have someshin . You must be strong for the journey."

Her nerves were about to snap, but she leaned forward and accepted a taste of the spicy lentil and chickpea mush with a smile. It slowly dawned upon her that the sooner she just ate the dag-gone food without picking at it with resistance in her soul, the quicker they'd be on their way. Damali took a deep breath and sighed, and then tore off a large section of bread to begin scarfing down the communal meal.

"That's more like it," he said, clapping his hands in triumph. "Try themesser -it's black lentils, andye som megeb -that's a medley of vegetable dishes we traditionally serve during fasting."

Damali nodded, mumbling her assent to try whatever, as long as they got going soon. "Tell me about this area, Askum," she said through a gooey mouthful of food. She had to understand what the link was here.

"Ah... Askum..." her guide said. "First, to discuss Askum, we must understand the history of this country."

Damali groaned, but when he gave her a fishy look, she passed the sound off as her enjoyment of the food.

That seemed to mollify him. He perked up, widened his smile, and leaned forward with great pride in his expression.

"Our country is known as the Cradle of Humanity. It all startedhere , they even have the bones of Lucy in the National Museum for proof. But we do not need the bones to tell us what we know," he quipped, sitting up taller in his chair. He glanced around the outdoor cafe and waved his arm toward the diversely colorful moving throng of people that milled about. "We were the only ones, theonly country, that was never colonized."

Just as his long, winding history lesson was about to bore her to tears, she got part of the answer she was searching for.It all started here . In the Cradle of Humanity. The first Eden. Lilith's origin in the garden before she banished herself. And these people had been fighting everything she'd wrought since the beginning of time.