Damian's Immortal (War of Gods 3) Read online

  Damian’s Immortal

  War of Gods, Book III

  By Lizzy Ford

  http://www.guerrillawordfare.com/

  Edited by Christine LePorte

  http://www.christineleporte.com/

  Cover art and design by Dafeenah

  http://www.indiedesignz.com/

  * * * * *

  Includes exclusive excerpt from

  Coexist: Keegan’s Chronicles

  by

  Julia Crane

  www.juliacraneauthor.com/

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments:

  Thank you, Lourdes Caamaño, for choosing the name of Jule’s mate: Yully Hughes.

  Take care in Afghanistan!

  My heartfelt appreciation to:

  Martha Schlegel

  Gabby Warner

  Shauna Rush

  Sheila Johnson

  Kelly Rubidoux

  Carol Milne

  Angela

  Katie Bleil

  Margarita Devora

  Lourdes Caamaño

  For your generous support of the Damian’s Immortal project.

  You all made Damian’s Immortal possible, and I (and my thousands of readers!) thank you!

  * * * * *

  Damian’s Immortal copyright December 2011 by Lizzy Ford

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art and design copyright 2011 by Dafeenah

  Coexist excerpt copyright June 2011 by Julia Crane, used with permission

  * * * * *

  You can follow the GW team and Julia on Twitter:

  @LizzyFord2010

  @cleporte

  @dafeenajameel

  @JuliaCrane2

  Twitter hashtags:

  #guerrillawriter, #fantasy, #romance, #paranormalromance, #eclective, #smashwords, #ebooks

  Chapter One

  Jule lifted his head to the night sky and closed his eyes. Fat raindrops soaked his clothing and left him chilled. He’d hitchhiked between towns and walked cross-country, admiring the Irish landscape as he went and cursing the cold, incessant rain of late autumn. Finally, he’d reached the top of a hill overlooking a small, familiar village that glowed with warmth.

  The walk calmed his irritation at being powerless for the first time since the Schism. It had been two days since he felt the ripple of power that marked the making of a new Black God. He’d last felt that surge a few hundred thousand years ago, when Czerno had slain his predecessor and claimed the Black God’s mantle. While he recalled little else of his time before the Schism, Jule couldn’t help the nagging feeling he was missing something important about the transition between an old and new god.

  He looked over his shoulder again at the dark landscape behind him. The hair on the back of his neck had been standing for the past mile he’d walked, only he wasn’t entirely certain why. The wave of magic had short-circuited his Guardian powers and dropped him on the other side of Ireland. His phone was fried, and his only recourse was to reach the local Guardians. Instead of helping his brother the White God navigate the transition, he walked the hills of Ireland alone, unable to remember why he’d decided to put only one station of Guardians in Ireland.

  “Probably because you never thought you’d have to cross Ireland on foot.” The voice he’d dreaded hearing finally spoke. Jule drew a deep breath and faced the small, grandfatherly man with eyes the color of an Irish meadow. The rain didn’t touch the Watcher, and Jule crossed his arms.

  “Didn’t think you were talking to me,” he said.

  “Not by my choice.”

  “You mind if I get out of the rain before we do this?”

  “Rain doesn’t bother a real immortal,” the Watcher said with a trace of triumph in his voice.

  The oldest beings in the universe, the Watchers were supposed to observe and were forbidden from interfering in human affairs. At least, they had been until about a year ago, when the White God found the first Oracle since the Schism. Jule understood the importance of her appearance, just as he knew all bets were off once she was revealed. What he remembered of the Watchers came from the Schism, when they’d openly hunted and killed Naturals-- humans with extraordinary gifts-- that they felt were threats to them.

  “The only thing bothering me is you. Say your piece and get out of here,” Jule replied.

  “You were expecting me.”

  “Why should that surprise you? I’ve been expecting you for years. The opportunistic bastards that you all are, you’d take advantage of a time like this.”

  The Watcher clenched his teeth, green eyes flaring with light and spinning before he regained his temper. Jule was happy to piss off the little green-eyed troll. The Watchers thought him lesser, because he’d chosen the mortal world over the immortal one.

  “Chosen is the wrong word,” the Watcher said. “You were banished.”

  “Happily banished.” Jule baited the immortal creature. “You won’t jerk me around like you did Damian.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “It’s a dare, my little friend.”

  The Watcher paused again to rein in his composure and then spoke in a reluctant tone. “The Grey God has torn the fabric between the mortal and immortal realms. We discovered there is a creature here that can steal the Guardians’ power and use it to rupture the breach. It’s left the Black God in an advantageous position, since all but the White and Grey Gods are powerless.”

  “What do I need to do to right this?” Jule asked.

  “We’re stitching this tear back together from the immortal realm. We can’t fix it from the mortal realm. We don’t know who can, but we know who can destroy our efforts.”

  “Someone here in Ireland,” Jule guessed. “Or you would’ve let me go home.”

  “I’d rather someone else take this on, but you’re my only option,” the Watcher said in plain distaste. “Yes, I kept you from returning with Damian to North America. The creature that can prevent us from healing the rupture is near here. She’s called the Magician. We’re not sure what this Magician is, but her powers are … unique and dangerous. She feeds off the powers of Guardians, so we stripped the Guardians of power.”

  “Leaving them and the humans vulnerable to the Black God. Great plan, Watcher.”

  “We didn’t take this decision lightly! If her powers grow enough, she’ll not only prevent us from stitching up the tear between realms, but she’ll open the doorway between the two worlds. You know well enough what the Others will do in the human realm,” the Watcher said.

  “Make the Black God look like Santa Claus,” Jule said with a frown. “So you sapped us to keep her from absorbing our power. What’s this have to do with me?”

  “I’m glad you ask,” the Watcher said, his gaze darkening. “I want you to find her and kill her.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Give me back my powers, so I can find her,” Jule said.

  “I’m going to give a select group of Guardians back their power, but you’re not among them.”

  “You want me to find a creature with untold powers with my human self? You really think I’ll succeed?”

  “You better. She’s hiding from us somewhere nearby. We tracked her here and could get no farther. We need her found and distracted until we can enact a better plan,” the Watcher said. “If she kills you, nothing is lost. If you kill her, you save us the trouble of Plan B.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll have you killed.”

  Jule laughed loudly. “You really think that’ll work on me?”

  “What mortal doesn’t fear death?” the Watcher asked, his brow furrowing.

  “This one,” Jule said w
ith a broad smile. “If I succeed, I want my powers back. On the spot. You see, Watcher, I’m not stupid enough to think you really want me to fail. You wouldn’t ask someone you hated unless you were desperate. Or, unless I’m the only person who can do it.”

  The Watcher’s eyes flashed. Jule studied him, guessing his words to be correct by the anger on the Watcher’s face.

  “Fine.” The Watcher all but spat the words. “If you succeed, you-- and everyone else-- will have their powers returned.” He appeared to sulk for a moment then grew thoughtful. “Of course, there’s always another option.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Returning to the immortal realm with me and regaining your powers.”

  Jule frowned. He wasn’t sure how returning to the immortal realm would make a difference. A Watcher was stronger than any Guardian in the mortal realm, except for Damian, and more powerful than any immortal in the immortal realm, except for an Original Being. Whatever this Watcher was planning, it wasn’t good.

  “No, thanks,” Jule said. He turned and started walking down the hill.

  “You don’t remember the immortal-- ”

  “Nope. We’re done.”

  The Watcher lingered for a moment. Jule felt the creature’s presence disappear and dwelled on the odd arrangement. The Watcher had been up front with him about the mission, which meant there was much more than the immortal creature was saying. The little bastards never spoke the absolute truth.

  The rain fell harder, and Jule broke into a trot. He hadn’t visited the Guardians’ Irish station in years, mainly because Ireland had no regular vamp population. He continued at his quick pace into the town, glancing over the quaint downtown strip lined with small cars and pubs. He slowed as he reached an intersection and made his way through the town to the outskirts, where small houses lined the street.

  He walked until he recognized the Guardians’ station, a single story house nestled between two similar houses and marked by a star and an arrow – the White God’s symbols – in the corner of one window. He felt no wards protecting the station and shivered, wondering how many Guardians would be lost between now and when he could find and kill the Magician. Without their powers, the Guardians were vulnerable against the Black God’s vamps.

  The door opened before he knocked, and the Guardian within looked him over. Jule couldn’t help but feel some relief at the sight of a warm, well-lit interior.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” the blond-haired Guardian said in a light Irish lilt. “You look like shit.”

  “Feel like shit,” Jule said and entered. “Damian call?”

  “Yes, ikir called earlier and said you’d be in today. Sean got you some clothes before he went to the pub for his shift.”

  “Why is a Guardian working at the pub?” Jule asked.

  “We’re bored,” the Guardian said with a shrug. “Sean’s from here, and we got nothin’ to kill.”

  “All righty,” Jule said. “I take it you know by now you’ve got no Guardian powers?”

  “It’s bad, Jule,” the Guardian said, pursing his lips. “Ikir ordered a no-engagement protocol. We’re supposed to lay low and avoid vamps. He said there’s a new Black God. Ikir thinks the new Black God is reorganizing. But once they start attacking …”

  “We fight, like always. Just have worse odds,” Jule said, trying not to let his own alarm show. As the leader of the Eastern Hemisphere, he wasn’t about to let his Guardians know he was worried.

  “Aye,” the Guardian said. “I have a new phone for you, too.” He closed the front door and went into another room.

  Jule looked around the cozy house. He needed to contact Damian, the White God, above all, and share what the Watcher had told him. Damian might have some insight into what was going on, and who the Magician was.

  He trotted up the stairs to the second floor of the house and walked into the bathroom, eager for his first hot shower in days.

  * * *

  Yully Hughes stayed in her room, where her father told her to, not wanting to upset him. His erratic moods had grown more volatile the past couple of days, and she knew better than to draw his attention. She still bore the bruises from upsetting him two days ago.

  She sprawled on the rug near the fireplace. The manor house had been built several hundred years ago, and every room but hers was a reflection of her father’s wealth. Her room was plain and basic. She’d hung one picture above the blazing hearth. The rest of the walls were bare, the curtains drawn even during daylight, and the heavy wooden furniture solid and worn. After a childhood filled with foster homes, she feared getting too comfortable, even in the home of the man who adopted her twelve years ago, when she was ten. She’d stayed after she turned eighteen, because he was the only one who understood her strange gift.

  She opened her hand to reveal its contents, a marble. Absently, she turned it into a frog then a flower then a piece of wood. She tossed it into the fire, marveling at the tiny explosion of pink and green flames.

  “Yully,” her father called.

  “Come in, Papa,” she said, rolling to face the door.

  Her father entered. His features were stoic, his beautiful purple eyes the color of spring flowers. While he didn’t look anything other than pleasant, she felt his tension in the shimmering air around him.

  “How’s my darling?” he asked with his usual indifference.

  “I’m fine, Papa. Are you all right?”

  “I will be soon, I hope. I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Is it what’s been bothering you the past two days?” she asked.

  “You felt it.” He let a rare smile cross his face. “Yes, of course you did. Your powers are incredible.”

  “It’s about the … uh, thing you told me about, isn’t it?” she said, sitting up.

  “Yes, it is. You remember what I’ve taught you all these years?”

  “Some sort of immortal creatures called Guardians are trying to destroy humanity. We are going to fight them,” she recited. “And we’ll start by taking out one of their leaders.”

  “For the sake of humanity,” he said. He sat beside her. “I always told you, my daughter, that you were destined for greatness.”

  “I know, Papa. I don’t understand all of it, though.” And sometimes, all this weird talk frightens me. This thought she kept to herself.

  “You will,” he assured her. “Don’t be afraid, my daughter. I’ve trained you the best I could. Your powers will soon know no depths, and you’ll be able to unite the realms. Instead of being the reject, you’ll become a princess.”

  When she was younger, she’d loved it when he told her this. At her age, the words sounded strange. She didn’t believe she’d turn into a princess any more than she believed she wanted anything to do with killing anyone.

  “First, I need his secrets, then we’ll kill him,” her father said.

  “Will he have many secrets?” she asked, perplexed. “And why do we need them?”

  “In time, my dear. I need you to run to Doolin with me in half an hour. The Guardian has arrived. We will set up our plan to capture him.”

  “What? He has?” She started to fidget. “But I thought … I thought he wouldn’t come for a while.”

  “It’s been a while,” her adoptive father said with a small laugh. “It’s been ten years since I first told you this.”

  “I know … I guess … I hoped …”

  “Your dear old father was crazy?” he asked with a glint in his eyes that made her cringe. “Don’t worry, my love. You will soon see for yourself, and you will understand everything. Get ready to go.” He rose and gave her a kiss on the forehead and then left her in the safety of her room.

  I trained you the best I could. Bitterness crept through her as she dwelled on his words. He’d never tried to raise her as a true daughter. Train had been the perfect word. He’d drilled her in how to use and control her gift. She’d learned self-defense by the age of eleven and how to shoot a gun when
she was twelve. He’d said it was for a good cause-- to save humanity-- but she’d long since thought there was something strange about his wild stories of Guardians and Gods. If not for her unusual power, and his cold magic, she would’ve considered him crazy.

  “Are you ready, my daughter?” he called through the thick wooden door. “We’ll be driving in the rain. Oh, and bring your things. We may stay there a night or two.”

  “Just a minute, Papa,” she answered. Yully rose and crossed to her wardrobe. She pulled out waterproof ankle boots and her thick, lamb’s wool-lined coat then quickly gathered her toiletries and packed an overnight bag.

  Her father awaited her in the foyer. He had no bag and no coat, and she scanned the foyer.

  “Forgive me, daughter, but I can’t go with you,” he said and glanced at his watch. “You go on ahead. I’ll drive out tomorrow.”

  “Father, I’d rather-- ”

  “No,” he said sharply. “You’ll go now.”

  She flinched, but he didn’t hit her this time. The strange note was in his voice again. Instead of speaking, she kissed him on the cheek and hurried out the door, where her car had already been pulled in front of the manor. She darted through the cold rain into the warm car and tossed her things in back. Her father stood in the doorway of the house, framed against the light of the foyer.

  Shivering, she couldn’t help thinking something was very wrong. She drove the winding roads from her father’s manor through County Clare and south towards the Cliffs of Moher to Doolin, one of her favorite day trips. The sun set too early on the autumn day, and she finished the trip to Doolin in darkness. She went to the main strip, where the pubs were not yet busy in the early evening.

  “Your father called, Yully! I saved your seat!” the bartender called as she entered. “Nice seein’ ya in town again.”