Chapter 1

            Damali rolled up her jeans legs, absently ran her fingers over the stones in her silver divining necklace as she gripped it tightly in her left hand, then opened the deck doors and walked barefoot out toward the deserted beach.  Even with a lightweight, white tank top on, the early morning sun beat down hot rays on her scalp, face, and shoulders.  She squinted toward the beach and lifted her dread locks up higher in a ponytail scrunchie, searching for Carlos, then let out a hard breath of frustration when she didn’t immediately spot him.

Why did everything on the team always have to be done by committee?  Okay, sure, every man in the house whose wife was pregnant was freaking out, and the Berkfields were having a fit because their daughter, Krissy, and daughter-in-law, Jasmine, were carrying their first grandchildren, but she and Carlos couldn’t just do an energy fold-away this close to the Bermuda Triangle!  Basic quantum physics made that impossible.  The Triangle was magnetically unstable.  J.L. knew that.  Every tactical Guardian on the team should have been able to grasp the implications.  Why they had to argue that fact with the team was beyond her.

It was simple, at least in her mind.  Deviations in the magnetic field around the phenomenon were caused by micro-worm holes, otherwise known as transit-tunnels—the same tunnel system that the team seemed to have forgotten that Cain used to lead a full aqua-demon army out of Nod before. 

Damali blew a stray strand of damp hair up off her forehead, exasperated.  The damned Bermuda Triangle, just like all the other vortexes on the planet, was filled with rips in the cosmic fabric, some only a giga-fraction of an inch—a tear so small that it could be represented by the number one proceeded by something crazy like thirty-three zeros, where unstable mini-black holes of virtual matter and mini-white holes of virtual anti-matter fluxed on a dime in and out of the geometry of space. 

Only Cain was insane enough, and driven enough, to risk bringing his armies through a temporary black hole flux… just like the angels must have jettisoned the team through a quick flicker of white hole opening to get them here.  But neither she nor Carlos was down for chancing that.  Hell no—that’d be like trying to jump into a millisecond turning double-Dutch rope that was changing from black-white-black-white and hoping they could snatch the entire team through on white.  Not.

Pulling a team through that, where one burp in the inter-dimensional vortex could land then God only knew where was not an option.  No wonder Carlos was freaking out.

After a moment of walking to calm down, Damali steadied herself.  The team was panicked, and her gut told her that was why unity was so hard to achieve right now.  Everybody had to chill.  Marj and Berkfield had their parental worries about Krissy and Bobby, as well as their kids’ spouses and unborn grands… just like Marlene and Shabazz were no doubt scared to death for her and Carlos.  Maybe Yonnie and Val, along with Rider and Tara would be the balancers of sanity this time out, she prayed.  Inez and Mike were too freaked out about the whereabouts of little Ayana and Mom Delores, rightfully so, to be of much help.  But Bobby, J.L., Jose, and Dan would probably have a cow once they finally learned she was pregnant, too… which was why she knew Carlos needed to go take a long walk before he’d said something about her state that had been forbidden by the Neteru joint Kings’ and Queens’ Councils.  Why was everything always so hard?

She’d left the team to its collective squabbling about the potential next steps to take without looking back.  They’d still be at it by the time she got back, she was sure.  This was the part of communal living that Carlos couldn’t stand; she knew her husband well.  After the team meeting, that Scorpio was going to need a private, quiet place to get his head together.  Fury waves had been coming off his body so intensely that they were threatening to either fuse the Turkish rug to the hardwood floors around him or start a blaze.  That’s when he simply got up and left the villa.

Yeah, Carlos had to get up, get out, and walk it off.  It was easy to understand.  The dark side had jacked with Carlos Rivera’s cash flow, which represented major disrespect where he came from, and she knew his old street ways were wrestling within him.  That part of him would never fully die.  It would always resonate in his being, no matter what.  Once from the streets always from the streets.  Mess with a brother’s money?  Oh hell to the no.  Damali just shook her head as she searched the beach for him.  Some things were simply embedded in the man’s DNA. 

Armageddon notwithstanding, with a wife and a baby on the way, the dark side was playing to all of her husband’s deepest fears—all of which centered on basic survival.  For Carlos, she knew cash meant flexibility, maneuverability, strength, a back door escape.  If he was liquid, he could flow like the water sign he was and get out of whatever.  But they’d taken that option away and Senor Rivera wasn’t having it.

            By the time she found him, heat had radiated off his aura so hot that it had turned the sand around him to glass.  Actual grains of sand had fused together right under him without burning him and then quickly cooled from the Trade Winds and surf.  It was eerie to see him sitting all alone, yogi style wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, hovering several inches above the beach in heavy meditation, aura glowing white hot silver and him taking in long, deep breaths, practically shaking with rage.  A deep crimson V of sweat marked his shirt as his broad shoulders and back slowly expanded and contracted beneath it.

Stopping for a moment, she wrestled with the decision about how best to approach him.  He needed to know that she was on his side, even if she didn’t agree with the waste of energy being expended on rage.  They had shit to do and had to do it quickly before Mr. Fontaine at the resort began to inquire further.

Caribbean sun beat down on Carlos’s bronze skin making the silver aura around him shimmer until she had to partially shield her eyes with her hand.  Small beads of silver perspiration cast a glow to his damp hair, and his normally ripped, athletic frame had bulked ever so slightly, adding bricks to his abdominal six-pack, chest, and thickly muscled biceps.  He was two seconds from a full vamp battle-bulk, she could tell, and the only thing missing were the saber-tooth length battle fangs.

 Damali sighed quietly and tested the brittle surface of the beach before she stepped onto the smooth, shiny coating, wondering as much about how to restore what had once been pale pink sand to its previous pristine beauty, as she was worried about how to restore Carlos’s peace.  He was creating an ecological disaster while in angry-meditation repose.  What the hell was he gonna do when he finally came out of the trance? 

“You’re levitating,” she said calmly, walking toward him as she murmured a prayer that their conversation be Light-sealed

Carlos opened his eyes, pure silver staring back at her as he unfolded from the yogi position and stood.  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said in a low, furious tone.

“Okay, so they jacked our money—”

“No,” he said evenly, cutting her off.  “What the dark side did was box us in, bleed us out, and make us have to come out of hiding to eat… a daylight exposure move.  Sudden death.  Old school vamp.  Starve ‘em out.”

She nodded, having to give credit where credit was due.  “Yep.  Okay, but we’re still unrecognizable, courtesy the Light.  Last I checked, that side was providing for us, any ole way.  We got here safely, which is more than you can say for a lot of people.  We ate well.  Got cleaned up, rested, and got new clothes—anywhere there’s a church mission we can pull in resources so we’re not raiding stores and gift shops like thieves.  So what makes you think we’re gonna be without for long?  Might not be as fly as we’re used to, but we won’t be completely ass out, and you know it.  This just pisses you off because it’s definitely gonna cramp our style—a lot.”

Carlos looked away from her and folded his arms over his bulked chest.

“Do not let ego get a chokehold on you, brother.  I know you and Yonnie loved having deep pockets… but if the entire planet blows up, how much does that matter?”

When he whirled on her, she knew she’d accidentally pushed the wrong button.

“It’s not about that, D!” he shouted.  “It’s about being able to move, roll smooth without a trace, buy supplies and ammo and the basic cover we need when we need it.  Don’t make this about some old bullshit, Damali.  Not this morning.  Don’t go there.”

“All right, all right, my bad,” she said, holding her hands up in front of her.  “But you have to admit—”

“I don’t have to do jack shit but get this family out of here in one piece.  How am I supposed to do that when they have all my closest land options in a direct route through the Bermuda Triangle?”

“Uriel said to wait fo...

The final story in the cult-favorite series Vampire Huntress Legends

The entire Neteru Guardian team is on the run, having now been labeled as America’s most-wanted terrorists following the gruesome demon battle that felled the Washington Monument and crashed the front doors of the White House. The Anti-Christ is positioned for emergence, the powers of darkness have released the pale horse of the apocalypse, and half the Neteru team is pregnant. Plagues from hell that ravage the country are being cited as stemming from bio-terrorism. The nation is under martial law. The Neterus and their team are underground. If things weren't bad enough the Dark Realm breaks the sixth Biblical seal, which plunges the world into perpetual darkness…and irrevocably into the Armageddon.

THE THIRTEENTH

 “Wow! As usual, Banks blows your mind. This book is exciting from the first page,
as all hell has broken loose in the conclusion to the Vampire Huntress series…Powerful.”
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews (Top Pick!)

"L.A. Banks writes a killer vamp series.”—Sherrilyn Kenyon

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