by D B Nielsen
‘God knows I’ve tried to resist temptation,’ he said, his voice unintentionally seductive.
‘I was here in the bedroom,’ I stated in my own defence, ‘I wasn’t trying to tempt you.’
He laughed soundlessly and without humour. ‘You’re here in my bedroom and that’s not a temptation?’
I was silent as he reached out, trailing his fingers lightly down one lock of my hair and entwining it round his forefinger.
‘I had hoped for a more appropriate time for this. Please believe me when I tell you that I have tried my best to wait for you to grow up. But I don’t think I have the willpower left to keep fighting, especially knowing that we both have our duty to deliver the Seed safely back to its origin and the game’s already begun.’ There was a furious desperation in St. John’s expression, the golden flecks more pronounced than ever before. ‘Sage...’
My name on his lips seemed to both torment and tantalise – almost as if he wished to expel it from his soul and worship it simultaneously.
‘St. John, I–’
He laid a finger against my lips silencing me.
‘Sage, I need to explain this to you and it’s complicated. I think I began several days ago,’ he whispered, his eyes boring into mine. ‘I have been alone for millennia, for longer than I can remember. I am Nephilim and for the Nephilim there is only one – one soul mate, one love – in all the centuries we spend on earth. It has always been this way.’
I stood frozen as his breath fanned my face and hair, so close I could have leaned into him if I chose to. But his words spoken so low, hauntingly, kept me still. Adrenaline sang through my body and everything else dimmed in comparison to the man now standing in front of me.
‘When I first saw you – even before I knew for certain that you were Professor Woods’ daughter – I recognised you. You were standing there looking at the cuneiform tablet in the British Museum and it hit me like a body blow; I knew you. You’re so young, Sage – younger than I thought you would be when I finally found you. But I knew. I knew it even then.’ He paused, his throat working with some undefinable emotion. ‘I have spent my time on this earth searching for two things only – the Seed which is my duty, and the one who is my destiny. You are the one, Sage. I have waited lifetimes for you. There has only ever been you. There will only ever be you ... for me. Now, at least, you know why I find you so irresistible.’
Through his speech, my heart was pounding wildly, soaring. I’d begun to tremble at the force of his words. My voice was barely audible as I murmured, ‘You’re the only one for me too. I know you think I’m young but I know my own mind. I know what I want. St. John, you’re all that I want. I love you.’
I heard the catch in his breath. And then he was leaning forward as he placed his forehead against my own, staring deeply into my eyes. His finger, still against my lips, traced an outline.
‘You should tell me to stop, Sage,’ he said. ‘Tell me to go.’
But when I remained silent, his lips whispered across my temple, sending thousands of tiny sparks running along my spine. I was sure he could feel me tremble.
‘If you want me to stop, tell me now, Sage,’ he murmured against my cheek. ‘I only have so much willpower left.’
‘You think too much. Stop thinking, St. John.’
‘You make it difficult for me to think.’ His lips were now planting hot, breathless kisses along my jawline. ‘I need to be rational. You’re too much of a temptation.’
‘You’re not the Big Bad Wolf and I’m not Little Red Riding Hood,’ I said, accepting his burning kisses.
‘Sage.’ He moaned. ‘Sage, tell me to stop. Do it now because I can’t take any more.’
But all there was, now and forever, was St. John. Only him.
‘Or now.’ His lips were hungrily working at my throat as I tipped my head back. But I couldn’t speak even if I had wanted to – all I could do was feel.
‘Or–’
But I reached up and grabbed a fistful of St. John’s golden curls in my hand and brought his mouth down on mine. And now he was devouring my mouth hungrily like a man starved for far too long. And my heart was beating a mantra, St. John. St. John. St. John.
And I didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.
My fingers knotted in the front of his shirt as his arms clamped around my waist and, suddenly, we were lying on the bed, oblivious to the tissue paper and clothing and jewellery that fell off its edge in our passionate tussle. After waiting for so long to gain some idea of his feelings, his words had now unleashed a whirlwind of emotions and I didn’t want him to go slow, didn’t want him to be gentle – I just wanted him.
I felt the burning of his body through our clothes and tugged at his shirt, drawing it up from his waistband and somehow popping the buttons open. My fingers explored the contours of his chest and back. Smooth hot skin over hard lean muscle. Thin, fine scars that were part of his history, part of his quest, a map of his lifetime on earth as a Nephilim.
‘Sage,’ he said, his voice slurred against my collarbone, his hands roaming over my body as I let him consume me.
I moaned as he said my name.
‘Sage,’ he said again, his tone one of surrender, ‘how can I protect you if I can’t even protect you from myself?’
And then I was pushing him away from me, struggling to regain control.
His eyes looked glazed. Hurt. Bewildered. And I could barely look at him without wanting to blend into him as I said, ‘Why do you always think you have to protect me? You don’t always have to protect me. We’re meant to be partners in this relationship. Equals.’ I felt like I was repeating the words of Jane Eyre. ‘I can protect myself. And I can protect you too, if necessary. I’m not completely incapable. And I’m not a child either. I’m the Wise One. I am supposed to guide you.’
‘Sage,’ St. John repeated, this time with a slight smile at my fierceness, his fingers tracing my cheek; his touch gentle and feather-light.
And then I remembered everything. Everything he’d said. Everything he’d done.
‘I know that to you I must seem incredibly immature and young. I mean, you’re three thousand-years-old, for heaven’s sake! But I’m tired of you treating me like a child. If we were in a normal relationship, maybe you wouldn’t be so age-prejudiced. I’m not some silly, giggling teenager. And I’m not stupid – I know you’re keeping secrets from me. When you saved me last night and, again, in the cathedral, you had wings, St. John. You have wings. I didn’t imagine it. I know. But I also know that you seemed ashamed of that part of you,’ I said in a low voice.
His face went still, but he remained silent, slowly withdrawing his hand.
I jumped up from the bed, looking down at him. ‘Even now you’re afraid of being honest with me. Even now you won’t show me your true form.’
His lips parted in surprise or anger – I wasn’t sure which – but before he could say a word, I continued, ‘You still think that you have to protect me from who – what – you really are! I love you – you – but until you can accept that, this–’ I waved my hand at the bed, ‘this is not going to happen.’
The desire turning his eyes an emerald green with the gold so pronounced that they blended together seamlessly, shattered into thousands of pieces in that moment. He drew himself up from the bed to his impressive height. As he did so, I was able to see his taut chest and back ... and gasped.
‘What is that? Who did that to you?’ I demanded, horrified.
His back was laced with a spider web of criss-crossed fine white lines. Hundreds of them marred the perfection of his golden skin.
St. John’s hands jerkily reached for his shirt as he put it haphazardly back on. ‘They’re scars made by a seraph blade, wounds given to me by the Grigori and by humans in the name of righteousness – God-fearing men who wanted to do God’s work and rid the earth of abominations like myself.’ His voice was bitter, his lip curled back in a sneer of contempt.
I reached out to him then but
he shrugged me off, withdrawing from my pity and from my love. He hid his naked vulnerability well, but I could feel the tension and sense the hurt and pain emanating from him.
‘Don’t say that!’ I demanded hotly, ‘Don’t you ever say that! You are not an abomination!’
He looked surprised at my passionate outburst but then a cynicism entered his eyes. I hated the look there and feared that I’d lost him. I studied his masculine perfection in the warm light of the bedroom, waiting for my breath to return to normal.
But all I really wanted to do right now was cry.
He turned away from me and, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets, walked to the window to gaze upon the twilight outside.
‘You are not an abomination,’ I repeated softly. ‘But it doesn’t matter to me what you are or what you think you are because I’d still love you. The problem is that it matters to you.’
He was silent, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me. The expression on his face, reflected in the window, was bleak and cold.
When he finally spoke, his tone was as hard and as unyielding as his face. ‘I was born in my true form. Unnatural. An abomination. Not completely human. My mother died shortly after my birth. The birth of a Nephilim is never easy – it’s our size and our wings, you see.’ He paused briefly, taking a breath and continued to stare out at the gathering night, ‘It was a blessing that she died in childbirth as she would have been stoned to death anyway for giving birth to a Nephilim. They tried to kill me then. But the Nephilim can only die from a seraph blade much like the angels who fathered them. So I was abandoned by the roadside. I don’t know how long I remained there but eventually I was found by the Anakim and taken to Anak, the oldest and wisest of the Nephilim.’
He had all but forgotten my presence. I didn’t dare interrupt him for fear that he would remember that I was still standing behind him, listening with bated breath to every word he uttered.
‘Three thousand four hundred years is a long time to be alone. Human life is so brief – like the flicker of a candle. Yet, aware of their mortality, humans embrace life. Create memories. Bear children. Revel in their freedom. You cannot know how we Nephilim envy you.’
Silent tears ran down my face as he recounted his bitter tale; memories of the hell that earth had become for him in his immortality.
‘But to humans we are something to be feared, hunted and killed. Perhaps it is because of the Grigori who were corrupt. In their fallen state they enslaved human beings, subjugating them, making them craft weapons and cosmetics and other things that led to greed and lust and hate. Perhaps it is because of the Rephaim and Emim who continue to prey upon human lives. Whatever the case, my brothers and I have been tracked down and slowly eradicated. I have fought evil my entire life. I have watched as my brothers have fallen, sacrificing themselves so that I might continue to live – it is my duty as the Keeper of the Seed. But there are not many of us left to continue this fight. And the Grigori, the Rephaim and Emim grow stronger while we Anakim grow weaker.’
His hands bunched into fists and his voice burned with regret.
‘It would have been better if we Nephilim had never been born. All of us. The earth belongs to the children of men. We don’t belong here. Don’t you see, Sage?’
‘No, I don’t see. If there is a God, he created you too, St. John. You can’t be so arrogant to suppose you have all the answers and can understand the ways of God. Don’t you, of all people, believe in “a divinity that shapes our ends”, and in God’s providence?’ I tried very hard to choke back a sob but failed.
His head whipped around and I could feel his eyes on my face.
‘Are you crying?’ He sounded appalled, striding across the room to face me.
Reaching hesitantly, as if he might frighten me, he slowly used the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears from my eyes. I found I couldn’t bear the emotional distance between us any longer and threw myself into his arms.
‘Sage, it’s all right. I know I might be cynical and bitter, but if you can have faith in me, I can have faith in myself. Hush now, Shh, Shh.’ He held me in his warm embrace, comforting me like a child.
I shook my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
‘No, it’s not all right,’ I protested.
‘Trust me,’ he said softly.
‘But I do trust you,’ I whispered and gave him a sad smile, ‘It’s you who needs to trust me. And to do that, I need you to be more open with me. You’re not alone anymore, St. John. We’re in this thing together.’
St. John stepped back from me then and subjected me to intense scrutiny, his expression unreadable. Then, as if making up his mind, he gently brushed back the hair from my face in a gesture of infinite tenderness.
‘How soon do you think you might need to get ready?’ He said each word slowly, carefully.
‘Ready for what?’ I asked him. My voice was at least composed, even if the rest of me was a mess.
‘For what might turn out to be a very long trip,’ he replied cryptically.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked. Motioning to my dress, I continued, ‘I mean, what’s the appropriate attire for where we’re going?’
St. John smiled; his expression suddenly wolfish. ‘We’re going to Rome, within sight of Vatican City. And as much as I would love to have you meet my father in that dress, you may find it slightly chilly out there.’
‘Your father? You mean your real father?’ I asked in awe.
The brightness of St. John’s jade green eyes returned. ‘Yes, Sage, I mean my real father. Elijah. You’re right – I can’t continue to shelter you from what you have to face. I can only be there to assist you. We are equals. But don’t expect me not to want to continue to protect you; it’s my duty.’ He paused, searching my face. ‘We must visit Elijah. My trip to Rome was unfruitful; my father is aware of the awakening of the Seed and the discovery of the Wise One. How he knows, I’m not exactly certain, but one thing is for sure, my father has knowledge that you will need to learn if we are to return the Seed to its origin, and he refuses to give up this knowledge to anyone but the Wise One.’
I threw my arms around him, kissing him soundly on the lips.
He met my gaze, his eyes surprisingly gentle. ‘What was that for?’
‘You do need me. And you do trust me,’ I breathed, delighted. Tears clouded my eyes again – this time filled with happiness.
He laughed; the sound deep and rich. For the first time, however, it also sounded carefree.
‘Trust you. Need you. Will die for you,’ he said, ‘And if you stay in that dress any longer I might prove that last part to you.’
I followed his gaze and blushed hotly. I’d briefly forgotten exactly how much cleavage was on show.
‘You keep reminding me of exactly how human I am,’ he said in a low, seductive growl.
I quickly looped the end of the dress as it trailed on the floor around my arm and, giving him a shy smile as I collected my clothes, rushed into the bathroom to change.
Ten minutes later I was once again standing at the entranceway to St. John’s apartment but now excitement and trepidation were making my heart trip over as St. John helped me on with my coat.
‘We have just enough time to catch the overnight train from Paris Bercy to Rome – it leaves at seven,’ St. John stated, picking up a black duffle bag placed near the front door, ‘I’ve booked us a first class cabin. Don’t worry, I packed some of your things while you were in the bathroom – anything else you need we can buy at the train terminal or in Rome.’
I looked at him in surprise, feeling slightly foolish.
Catching my eye, St. John smiled. ‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You thought I was going to spread my angel wings and fly us there.’
I looked at him sheepishly, admitting, ‘Something like that.’
St. John threw back his head and laughed; the sound resonating against the walls of his apartment.
‘Sage Woods, you are–’
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‘Don’t say it!’ I warned ominously.
‘–delightful.’ He finished with a wink.
A little while later we were escorted to our first class cabin and the steward welcomed us with complimentary drinks. Sipping on an orange juice as I watched the station recede into the distance, a delirium of shapes losing distinction, I realised that I’d skipped lunch that afternoon. Again. My stomach growled in angry abandonment and I looked guiltily up at St. John, slightly embarrassed by the reminder.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked and I nodded in response. ‘Didn’t Gabriel remember to feed you?’
Shaking my head, I replied, ‘He made me breakfast but I found when we went out that he’s more of a shopaholic than I am! I think I was offered a coffee at one of the boutiques we visited but that was about it.’
‘Was that before or after you met Anouk?’ he asked innocently.
My face drained of colour. ‘He promised. He promised he wouldn’t tell you.’
‘Bah, Sage!’ St. John crossed to where I sat, ‘Gabriel didn’t say anything – the gossip grapevine is excellent in Paris amongst the ex-girlfriend network.’
If anything his words made me go paler still and he must have realised I was about to pass out as he put an arm around my shoulder to support me.
‘Not me, you goose!’ he teased, shaking his head, ‘Gabriel. He’s left a string of broken hearts throughout the world – and they think sailors are bad!’
‘Anouk is his ex-girlfriend then?’ I asked, recovering quickly at St. John’s assurances.
‘One of many,’ he affirmed. Then, raising an eyebrow, asked, ‘Now can you tell me why Gabriel is buying you expensive gifts?’
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. He wasn’t acting possessive, was he? The next words from his mouth confirmed my suspicions.
‘I don’t like the thought of Gabriel buying you gifts, especially expensive ones.’
I sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll pay him back.’
‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll pay him back.’
‘No!’ I protested, ‘If I can’t pay him back, I’ll return the items to the store. I wasn’t quite sure about whether I liked the dress anyway.’
