Mack (King #4)(27)

I sat on the cream-colored silk couch next to the fire, dripping with blood. Hell no. I didn’t care about the couch. All I could hear were the screams of my victims and the voice in my head telling me to do it again.

“What have you done to me, Draco?” I growled in agony.

“Shut your mouth, brother. Let me think.”

I stood up, ready to make him my next victim. “Why did you bring me back?” I couldn’t believe what I’d done. The absolute horror of it all. Nevertheless, those brief moments of peace I’d experienced after taking each life had felt like a small piece of sanity. Heaven. Calm. Bliss.

“Must you ask?” He casually tugged on the sleeve of his white blousy shirt. The people of these times dressed so oddly, the men in velvety tunics gathered at the waist and the women in their giant skirts. These were not the free-flowing gowns of my time.

“It was wrong, Draco. Wrong when I took your head. Wrong when I died. Wrong when you brought me back to life.” Though I knew he’d resurrected me for purely selfish reasons, so no, I didn’t have to ask why he’d done it. Nevertheless, “Nothing good will ever come of you or me.”

“I said be quiet,” he barked.

“Or what? You’ll slay me?”

He shook his head and began mumbling. “Never. We are twins, one soul divided into two bodies.”

It was what he believed at the time. Later, we’d evolve. Though we were connected, we were two different souls, two different bodies, one original set of DNA. But science was just as much a mystery to us back then as it was to anyone.

“I’m sending you to find the Artifact,” he said. “You’ll pick up the trail where you last saw it and see where it leads you.”

For all I knew, the Artifact was back in Greece. My guards had shown up right before I’d died, and I’d asked them to take it to Mia.

“How do you propose I get back to…to…the place I died?” Memories of óolal flashed through my mind. I couldn’t quite make sense of them.

“I have given money to a Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar, a Spaniard who has been charged with establishing a settlement on an island called Caobana, not too far from where you perished. You will sail with him.”

“He works for you?” I asked.

My brother smiled. “They work for gold, which I have plenty of. Therefore, everyone works for me. You will tell him you are there to oversee my investment and help locate objects for my collection.”

And so the next day, I set out on horseback to Spain to deliver the letter and travel on this ship to the New World. Four and a half months later, I had arrived to the place once occupied by óolal’s people, only to find a jungle abandoned long ago. Any traces had been consumed by vegetation. But I didn’t give a shit. Those few months, traveling in this world that was so changed yet so similar to the one I’d left behind, made me feel like a kid in a candy store. Killing was my candy, and there were plenty of people deserving of it. I killed thieves on the road to Spain who’d tried to take my horse. I killed a drunk group of men who were beating a woman outside of a brothel near the port. I killed several men who’d tried to overthrow the ship. It was when I learned how my darkness and willingness to kill could serve another purpose. I was a man who couldn’t die. I didn’t know fear. I was consumed with a need to shed blood. Every time I obeyed that need, it felt like a drug. Then guilt would kick in, and then I’d kill again for relief. Nevertheless, I believed I’d found my calling.

When we reached Caobana, now known as Cuba, it felt like my own personal heaven. The indigenous population was in need of some taming, and I was in need of some killing.

We hadn’t been there more than five days when Diego started gathering men to fight an uprising.

Of course, he asked me to lead. “You’re an animal, Callias. And a fine warrior. You will clear the way for our settlement. Show these heathens no mercy.”

The next morning, armed with swords, myself and a group of men invaded a small village about one mile south of the port. I remember bursting into the first hut, the blood pumping through my veins, calling for my sweet, sweet drug. But when my eyes met those of the young woman kneeling in the corner, wearing only the traditional loincloth, shielding two small children, I froze. My eyes saw óolal. It was only for a moment, but it was real. And if I’d had any doubts, they were dispelled by the sweet smell of her permeating the small dwelling.

“It can’t be,” I said.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with shock. I didn’t speak her language, but when that familiar voice filled the air, I fell to my knees, my sword dropping with me. Her presence was ten times more potent than any kill I’d ever made.

I don’t know how long we stayed there staring at each other—confused, elated, horrified, and happy—but the screams outside woke me.

“I have to get you out of here.” I held out my hand, and she took it, urging the two children to follow.

I looked outside to scout for the rest of the men, who were off inside the other dwellings, killing.

“Come. Hurry!” I said.

They followed me along the outer perimeter of the hut and into the jungle. Meanwhile my head pounded and spun. Could this really be her?

If not for the noise in my head, I probably would’ve heard the footsteps coming up behind us. When I turned to see why óolal and the children had stopped following, it was too late.