Wicked Ruin (Se7en Sinners Book 3)

by S. L. Jennings

  They each mumble their thanks, too absorbed with party planning to look up, so I slink away and head for the medical wing. Of course, Sister is fast asleep with Cain knocked out in his recliner beside her. I guess whatever super-secret Se7en business that had pulled him away earlier is over now. Normally, I would question them, demanding I be kept in the loop, but I just don’t know if it’s my place now. They felt an obligation to me, as I was cursed with the Calling with an angel taking up residence in my body. But I’m not anymore. So where does that leave me? Technically, I’m not their problem anymore.

  Feeling like a total slacker after an afternoon of day drinking and burger bingeing with Niko, I decide that I should probably hit the gym. It’s dark and empty, so I have the whole place to myself. I start to flip on a light so I’m not stumbling around blind, but then I wonder…what if I’ve got some freaky night vision? I’m not even sure if that’s possible, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

  Deep breath. Eyes closed. When I reopen them, I try to focus on penetrating the dark, zeroing in on the blurry shadows before me.

  Nothing.

  I try again, channeling light and clarity. I stare into obscurity for what seems like hours, my eyes straining and burning. Something shifts, as if the darkness flutters, but it happens so quickly that I can’t be sure of what I saw.

  Resigning to defeat, I rub my aching eyes and flick on the lights. I have no idea what I’m doing. But there’s no way I’m relying on Crysis for help, not after what went down earlier. So from here on out, I’m on my own with Nephilim training.

  Taking advantage of the privacy, I ditch the earbuds and crank up my workout playlist before hopping on the treadmill. And somehow, a quick cardio warm-up turns into 3.5 miles of full-on sprinting on the highest incline. My mind was so consumed with my spat with Crysis, uncertainty with Legion, and the upcoming party that I didn’t even realize it until glanced down. I’ve never been an athlete, and I damn sure didn’t run from anything or anyone. And to be honest, it feels kinda good to know that my body is capable of more than I could have ever dreamed. For so long, I relied on my secret ability to bend the wills of humans as a defense mechanism. But now…now I can be a force to be reckoned with both mentally and physically.

  I hit the weights and am damn grateful that no one is here. I have no clue what I’m doing, and I’m sure I look like an idiot. Still, even with my muscles screaming for mercy, it seems like nothing is too heavy.

  So…

  Insane endurance, check.

  Super strength, check.

  Crazy mind tapping ability, check.

  Now I’m a little excited about weapons training with Cain, if only to see what else I can do.

  I’ve moved on to the speed bag, music blasting, my body working seamlessly to a smooth rhythm, when I feel it.

  The hair on the backs of my arms stands up straight. There’s a tingling sensation at my nape. The air all around me feels charged with an electrical current.

  I’m not alone in here.

  I frantically scan the room, but it appears to still be empty. That means absolutely nothing though, not when cloaking spells and wards are a legit part of my world. Still, I can’t fight what I can’t see, so I gather my stuff and hurry the hell out of there.

  Just before I hit the hallway, I get a whiff of something familiar that makes me freeze in my tracks. Something I had forced myself to forget.

  Belladonna blooms.

  Sex.

  Blood.

  I race to my room as quickly as I can and lock the door behind me.

  Weapons training kicks off first thing in the morning, and even though I’m still a bit shaken about the night before, I’m pretty pumped to see what Cain has in store for me.

  Fortunately, I don’t have to wait to find out.

  “We’ll start with the basics. Beretta M9, the standard issue military pistol. Sleek, concealable, reliable as fuck. It’s like the Toyota Corolla of firearms.”

  Cain picks up a loaded mag and glides it into the pistol before pulling the slide back with a daunting click, a round securely chambered. It all happens within seconds. His movements are careful, skilled. For a demon that’s known for brute strength and ruggedness, his handling of the weapon is strangely meticulous, if not graceful.

  “Now when you have a slightly bigger job on your hands,” he begins, carefully setting down the M9, “you want a bit more muscle.” He picks up a gun that looks as long as my forearm. “The Desert Eagle. I prefer the .50 AE.”

  Unload. Reload. One in the chamber.

  He picks up another, and I watch with wide fascination at the sheer beauty and splendor of his expertise. Before now, Cain had only seemed frightening and brash. Now, with him explaining the intricate details of each firearm, I see that he is so much more than he allows others to see. He’s smart as hell, passionate, precise. I can see why he’s Legion’s right.

  “Now this is your boy’s favorite toy, for obvious reasons,” he explains, holding up a steel grey handgun and placing it in my hands.

  “My boy?” I absorb the heft of the gun, careful not drop it. It’s freakin’ heavy. Especially for its compact size.

  “Sig Sauer P229 Legion.”

  Just the sound of his name makes my cheeks go hot with the remembrance of the last time his hands were on my body, and the implication that he is mine in any way. I still wear his mark on my neck, lovely little scars of the teeth he sank into my body as he emptied his fire into my womb. I lick my dry lips and set the handgun down.

  “Heard there was some secret Se7en emergency yesterday. What happened?” I question. This may be the only time I get Cain alone. And while he may tell me to fuck off, it’s worth a shot.

  Cain shakes his head, but answers, “L isn’t as…reserved…as he used to be. The half-breed was about to get his throat ripped out after what he said to you. Took us all to calm him down.”

  “Wait…what?” I frown.

  “Don’t act so surprised. Had it not been for Irin’s accord, your Nephilim buddy would have been choking on his own blood the moment he fixed his lips to insult you. You had to have known that shit wouldn’t fly, especially now that he’s…”

  Cain shrugs, his expression grim. He doesn’t have to finish his thought. I can tell even he is struggling with Legion’s rebirth. They’re friends…brothers. And have been for centuries. Maybe I’m not the only one Legion has been distancing himself from.

  “So, is he ok now?” I run my fingers over the cool, polished steel in front of me out of nervous energy.

  “As good as one can expect,” Cain responds. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing Irin’s house is fucking huge.”

  I nod my understanding just as Cain turns to me, a slate grey pistol nestled atop his palm.

  “This pretty thing is for you. Glock 43. Sleek, compact, yet powerful.” He places it in my hand, and I reluctantly grasp it. “Decent grip, so you shouldn’t have any problem handling it. How does it feel?”

  “Good. Comfortable.” It’s the truth too. Out of all the handguns he’s had me hold, this one seems to fit me just right. He knows his stuff.

  I nod along as Cain runs down the specs for the Glock, pretending like I understand what he’s talking about. It’s just surreal to me. And incredibly intimidating.

  “Go ahead and give her a try,” he suggests.

  “Huh?”

  Cain nods to the other end of the room, where a target is suspended from the ceiling. “Shoot it.”

  “Ummmm,” I begin, my eyes darting around the room. “I doubt that’s safe.”

  “Why not? We’re underground. The walls are solid concrete. That’s what this room is for.”

  He’s right. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was more than a little shocked when Cain led me down here. I’d seen the stairwell beside the gym before, but there was no way in hell I was going to willingly explore The Watcher’s dungeon. Fuck that. To my surprise, there weren’t any rabid beasts or sex slaves chained and shackled, bu
t a shooting range with a pretty extensive collection of firearms.

  Cain presents two more gifts: safety goggles and protective earmuffs. “Since you’re a beginner, I’ll let you get away with these. Don’t get used to them though.”

  Grateful, I slip them on then I look to the other end of the room, mentally psyching myself up for the task ahead. This shit is so far out of my comfort zone that my hand is shaking as I raise it to aim.

  “Easy. Deep breaths,” Cain instructs, placing his palm over my hand to help soothe the trembling. “Just aim, inhale, and squeeze the trigger on an exhale. You got this.”

  I close my eyes, channeling my courage. When I open them, I do just as Cain says: aim, inhale, exhale, shoot.

  It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before. A sense of release, of calm, yet an exhilarating thrill trembles through me, rattling my bones. It’s like a gulp of oxygen after being held under water. I’ve heard of shooting being cathartic to some, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect this. A tingling energy simmers at my fingertips, seducing me with the need to squeeze the trigger once more. I fire off another round, then another, watching as bullets slice through the air and burn through the paper target.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Cain grins after I’ve emptied the mag and slipped off the earmuffs.

  “Yeah,” I admit sheepishly. Honestly, it felt more than good. It was intoxicating. Empowering, even.

  He looks toward the target, and to my surprise, I’ve actually managed to hit more than air.

  “Pretty good. Next time, aim for the head. Headshots with silver are the only thing that will take a demon down.”

  I nod, a bit rattled by his statement. Shooting in a controlled environment is one thing, but shooting demons? He’s teaching me how to kill his own kind.

  “And what about angels?”

  Cain busies his hands with reloading the gun, but answers, “Just like demons, there are lesser angels. We suspect that’s who Uriel has managed to sway.” When he looks up, a disturbed line is etched between his brows. “Until now, we’ve never needed a reason to kill them.”

  A dark torment roils within his eyes, and I look away, unable to decipher the root of his confliction. I don’t relish the prospect of killing anyone, especially not an angel. But if the reports are true, this seems like a kill or be killed situation. Surely the Demon of Murder understands that. If anything, I would think he’d be delighted to cut down Uriel’s zealots.

  After a bit more target practice, we head back up to the gym, and all buoyant feelings of victory are quickly admonished as I come face to face with Crysis, looking more solemn and defeated than I’ve ever seen him.

  Fuck. I was not ready for this. And, for his sake, it’s a good thing we left the guns in the basement.

  “Eden, please. Let me explain.”

  I swiftly brush by Crysis, my jaw tight with contempt. Cain steps aside, but I can feel his eyes on me. If what he said about Legion flipping his shit is true, he’s probably preparing to step in before things escalate.

  “Will you just hear me out? I didn’t mean what I said.”

  “So you’re a liar?” I spit back, not even bothering to turn to face him. I head straight for the heavy bag, the urge to punch something so strong that my fists are shaking at my sides.

  “No. But what I said…” He stands on the other side of the bag, holding it in place. Bold move. How easy it would be for my hand to slip accidentally.

  “What you said was fucked up,” I finish, slamming my fist into the hefty sack. I’d like for it to be his face, but a few of the Se7en are here working out, and many of Irin’s servants are milling about in the hallway. I don’t need witnesses. “What you said was exactly what you’ve always thought about me. Nothing but gutter trash that’s too desperate and too pathetic to know when she’s getting played.”

  “I didn’t say that.” He slightly winces as he absorbs the impact of another blow.

  “You didn’t have to. I saw the way you looked at me.” Jab. Punch. Hook. “I felt your disgust.” Jab. Punch. Hook. “You really think I could ever forgive you after that shit?”

  “Well, you forgave him after he took a bite out of you.”

  I pause, standing straight up. The heavy bag swings back and forth between us.

  “Leave,” I demand, my voice low and as cold as ice.

  “No. Not until you—”

  “I said, leave, Crysis. Or Legion’s temper will be the least of your worries.”

  He makes a face, as if the threat amuses him. “What are you going to do, Eden? Throw me out?”

  “Leave. Now!”

  With all the fiery rage within me, I knot my hand into a fist and strike the bag. A burst of blinding light explodes around it, the sheer force of the blow causing Crysis to go flying back into a display of kettlebells several yards away. The heavy bag is nothing more than flecks of ash raining down around me.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  Cain is at Crysis’s side in an instant, hoisting him to his feet. Phenex and Andras race over from their stations to help him.

  No one dares to come near me.

  “What…what was that?” Lilith says from behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know that she’s regarding me with a mix of shock and horror. I can see it so plainly on everyone else’s faces.

  “I…I…” I look down at my hand and flex it, turning it over. I can’t explain what happened any more than they can. “I don’t know.”

  “Eden…” Phenex takes a tentative step toward me, his palms raised. He’s using that voice again, the one that sounds like he’s trying to pacify a wild, vicious animal. And that wild, vicious animal is me. “Are you ok?”

  I nod. “I think so.”

  Another step forward. “You know I would never hurt you.”

  “I know. And I would never hurt you.”

  His eyes flick over my shoulder for just a fraction of a second, and he gives a single, sharp nod. “Good. That’s good.”

  Phenex slowly walks until only six feet separate us. Behind him, Andras and Cain help a dazed Crysis to a bench.

  “Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Physically? Emotionally?”

  I think I shrug. “I don’t know. Confused?”

  “Any pain? Nausea?”

  A shake of my head. “No.”

  “What about when you hit the bag…when your hand was engulfed in flames of light? Did it burn you?”

  “No.”

  “And before that? What were you feeling?”

  I glance over to where Crysis is slumped over on the bench, elbows to his knees and his head down. I feel terrible for what I’ve done, but still, I answer truthfully.

  “Rage.”

  And like always, I feel him before I see him. Before I hear that gravelly baritone. Before I scent the clean sweat and midnight jasmine on his skin.

  “What happened?” The question is a demand, yet no one speaks. Every gaze darts around wildly, as if the answers lie somewhere within the falling ash.

  I turn around and face him, the man who is the source of my carnal weakness and my greatest fears. Legion strides to me without stopping, without any consideration for his own safety, and gently grasps my shoulders. His touch is hot, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.

  “Eden, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

  “No,” I answer truthfully, shaking my head.

  He glares over to where Crysis is still trying to regain the wind that was blasted out of him, and a low growl escapes between his teeth.

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I reach up and squeeze the top of a hand, holding him to me. “I was hitting the heavy bag. I must have…I must have hit it too hard.”

  He looks down at the hand atop his and turns it over in his palm before bringing it between us. The scratch of his callused fingers makes me shiver as he runs them over my knuckles. He doesn’t say a thing, but the look on his face speaks of awe and reverence. And when he brin
gs my hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle, a part of me is filled with relief and unabashed joy. Whatever I managed to do in those moments of uncontained fury did not scare him. No. Just the opposite. I made him proud.

  “Is everything ok?”

  At just the sound of her voice, that same fury begins to trickle back in.

  “Fine,” Legion calls out to Adriel, still holding my hand.

  “Eden is apparently a light wielder,” Phenex adds. I had forgotten he was even here the very moment Legion put his hands on me.

  “That’s impossible.” Skepticism rings loud and clear in Adriel’s voice. I don’t have to see her to know that her beautiful face is pinched in disbelief. “There has never been a Nephilim in history that has been able to wield holy light.”

  “And there has never been a Seraph-made Nephilim,” Phenex counters.

  At that, Adriel goes quiet. It’s Cain who pipes up, leaving Crysis’s side. I’m sure neither one of them were thrilled with that scenario.

  “I saw it. Her entire hand was consumed by it. I doubt she even knew what she was doing.”

  “And it appears that her ability is tied to her emotions. Mainly anger. Rage,” Phenex explains, reciting the single word I gave him when he asked what I was feeling.

  “Makes me wonder just how much of himself Uriel gave to her. He doesn’t seem like the type to share.” Cain snorts a laugh. Legion narrows his eyes in warning but doesn’t dispute his words. He knows about Uriel’s unwillingness to share all too much.

  Phenex steps to my side, his honey gaze first going to Legion, then to me. “I’d like to run some tests, if that’s alright.”

  “Yeah. I guess,” I shrug.

  For the first time since we arrived here, something like excitement erupts in Phenex’s eyes. “If you can wield His holy light, then there may be other things you can do with it.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Phenex,” Legion quietly admonishes.

  “Of course.” An apologetic bow of his head. “Please come see me at your convenience, Eden.”

  He swiftly walks out of the gym, a little extra pep in his step. I have no idea what he meant by “other things,” but if Phenex is optimistic about my newfound ability, then it can’t be all bad.