by LJ Swallow
“Not a nice place. Unhappy. Poor. Controlled by others. My parents had no choice but to work for the... government. No progress in life. Sure, we were warm and safe and protected, but our lives were tightly controlled.” She adds another ball to her collection. “I couldn't face that life so I left.”
Dahlia's eyes dull at the memory, and I pause, searching for words. Instead, I roll my foil too and add silver balls to hers on the carpet. “Left to come here?”
“I offered to work for the government of the place I live. I took on this role, and in return for my service, they’ll give me the freedom I want, the one my family don't have.”
“You don't sound very free.”
“No. Not yet.”
“How do you get your freedom?”
“By doing this.” She waves her hand and I struggle to keep up.
“By killing enough demons?”
“Collecting enough souls.”
I’ve no idea how to respond so I keep quiet. Dahlia pushes the silver foil around the floor with a fingernail.
“I just have this one soul to collect, and then I'm free.”
“That's good? Yeah?”
Something in Dahlia’s eyes hides part of the truth, but she smiles and nods. Whenever people nod with an expression like hers, they don't really mean yes. Dahlia quiets. Is that all she’ll tell me? Fair enough, I’m not sure what else I can take, to be honest.
She points at our arrangement of silver spheres on my carpet and laughs. “I'm making a mess of your oh-so-tidy room.”
I ignore the crumbs and dirt between the foil balls. “No, these are beautiful stars in the galaxy of carpet.” I cringe at my stupid statement.
“You're strange, Jack.” Dahlia kisses my nose.
“Says the girl from another planet.”
“No, from the stars.”
There goes the room—lurching again. Although each time it does, the world never seems to right itself again. “The stars?”
“Kind of. Demons and angels, heaven and hell, they're not what you think. And somewhere lost in the middle of a war are people like me.”
Dahlia inhales, and she holds in the breath. Oh crap, she's going to cry.
I rub my nose against her soft cheek. “I don’t care where you’re from, just that you’re here with me.”
Dahlia garbs my face and locks her mouth on mine. The arousal I'm trying to contain from minutes before ignites again as she kisses me. Her insistent lips part mine, and I'm locked in the most amazing world of all—our world. The desk chair slides across the floor where I lean on it, and I move an arm to stop from falling back. Dahlia half falls onto me, and as I fall backwards, she lands on top of me. Warm, human Dahlia trails tickling fingers under my shirt and across my chest. We entwine—tongues, legs, limbs, and I'm drowning in her the way I've always wanted to. When she runs her hand along my stomach, hovering just above my jeans, I'm pretty sure the signals aren't mixed anymore.
DAHLIA
Physically connecting with Jack blows me away, not only because my whole body tingles with the charge flowing between us, but also because my mind blanks everything apart from those sensations. Jack feels good, tastes amazing, and finally he's touching me the way I want. I lie on top of him, and his kisses suck the breath from me. Jack's pressing my head so hard to his I can hardly breathe. But I don't care.
Jack keeps skimming his hands close to my breasts, and he's driving me nuts. I wriggle and place my lips close to his ear. “You can touch me, it's okay.”
“I don't want to push this.”
“You're not.”
When I move my head to look at him, I see my lust reflected in Jack’s darkened eyes. He's flushed, breathing hard, but his hands remain still.
“Jack...” I grab the hand lingering below the edge of my bra, place it on my breast, and lock my mouth on his as I do.
I expect further hesitation, but this is the sign he needs, and his fingers stroke across my breast, palm against my hardening nipple. I push against him, aware of his arousal against my stomach through his jeans. Jack groans my name and turns me over; I land amongst our silver stars. Arms either side of my head, he looks down, hair falling forward. I pull a face at him.
“Sorry...” he says.
“What? Jack. Don't say sorry now.”
“You just gave me a weird look—did I do something wrong?” His voice is low, hoarse.
“No, just kiss me.”
Jack moves forward and kisses my forehead, cheeks, and lips, before pulling back again.
I prop myself onto my elbows. “Okay, did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Please, Jack.” I want the heat of his body against mine again, and I slide my hands under his T-shirt, pulling him. My trembling fingers go to the button on his jeans.
Jack moves back, sits on his heels, and rubs his face, hands shaking. “God, Dahlia, I want you so much. You drive me crazy. But...”
“But?”
Chewing on a nail, Jack studies my face. “But I don't want to spoil things. I don’t want to do anything… wrong.”
How can he? I place a hand on his leg. “You're confusing me.” When you should be kissing me.
“Dahlia, I said I've not had a proper girlfriend.” He huffs. “Physically. Sex.”
Suddenly I understand what he means. “Oh... Well, I also said I'd never had a proper boyfriend, remember?”
“Yeah, but you're a girl.”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
“Not like you can... you, know. Do things wrong.”
I shake my head slowly at his insecurities. “Jack...”
Jack's chest expands as he takes a deep breath and holds it. Eventually he exhales. “And now I have spoilt things.”
Stroking Jack’s fringe from his eyes, I kiss his forehead. “No. You're not comfortable. It's fine.”
“No, it’s bloody crap. You're going to think I don't like you... want to...”
“Whoa, Jack. Come on. This is the first time we've done anything, but kiss. Be nice to yourself.” I sit and shuffle closer, then nudge his arm around me. “You didn't do anything wrong.”
As I rest my head against him, I listen to his rapid heartbeat, as mine thuds with arousal too. But I understand. This is new to him; I'm new to him.
For a few minutes, we hold each other, and in the silence, we don’t need words. Jack drags the blanket from his bed and we move onto it. I curl up against him, and he winds an arm around me.
“I do want you,” he whispers.
“I know.”
Jack holds me, his hot breath in my hair as he pushes his lips against the top of my head. The exhaustion of the night creeps over me; my mind replays demons, shadowy figures, and the glorious feeling of Jack's hands on my body as I drift into our dreams.
14
DAHLIA
How long has he watched me?
The tall guy with intense blue eyes and curling brown hair regards me from across the lawn, and I stop and stare back. Somebody knocks into me, but I’m too transfixed to move. He turns and I continue to stare in disbelief at the back of his head as he strides away. The tall blue-eyed guy moves from the edge of the path and disappears into the people heading towards campus. If this is the figure who’s watched me from the shadows, I’m in more trouble than if he were Alexander. With eyes the colour of cracked sapphire, I don’t need any other clues. I know what he is.
Nephilim.
And where Nephilim are, demons follow.
My understanding of Nephilim is basic. Originally exiled angels who sided with Demon Lords, they recently merged with demons and became hybrid creatures as powerful as the ruling Caelestia who screwed them over. If I tangle with one, I won't come out alive. But the urge to follow him itches inside. This half-demonic angel could be my missing link to Alexander.
The last three weeks, I've slotted together all the information I can find about Alexander, including secrets squeezed from demons before I killed
them. But there're gaps. Big gaps. Unless I find the pieces to fit in the puzzle, I'll never find Alexander. Darius told me to steer clear of Nephilim, and I have no intention of challenging him, but if I follow at a distance, maybe he'll lead me to some more clues I need.
My recent investigations turned up little about Alexander’s whereabouts but have led to the uncomfortable conclusion there's a body of demons operating on campus. After the Phoebe incident, this shouldn't be a surprise. My job as a soul hunter doesn't stretch to mopping up nests of demons, and Darius is only interested in retrieving souls. Human life should be protected, but not at the risk of revealing who we are. I imagine when I dispatch Alexander, then return to Darius, life could become interesting for humans living here.
Especially if Nephilim have joined the party.
I pull out my phone and glance at the screen—there's still time before I'm due to meet Jack.
I tread after the guy, weaving round the loitering students as I attempt to keep him in sight. He definitely knew I’d seen him and walked away as soon as I did. A challenge? Has he sought me out? I know if I'm reckless, this could be dangerous, but he could lead me right to Alexander. A demon as powerful as a Nephilim has to know where he is.
At the edge of campus, the Nephilim heads towards the expanse of park between the university and the nearby suburb. As he jogs across the road, a large double-decker bus passes slowly in front of me. Once my view is no longer obscured, the path opposite is empty, the blue-eyed demon gone. I lean against an empty metal bike rack as I scan the area. A few groups of students head in both directions, but there's no sign of the guy.
I pull a face, but the fact I've lost him isn't so bad. I’ve no weapon with me today. I kick myself for not considering this, for acting on impulse by following him, and resolve to start carrying a weapon every day. Laughable. As if a dagger will do any good against a Nephilim. Following him now is pointless. If the Nephilim is searching for me, I'll see him again soon.
Shrugging my laptop bag onto my shoulder, I turn to retrace my steps and meet Jack. A return to my other world for a few hours, before I target tonight's lucky creature.
What the fuck?
The Nephilim guy stands several feet away, propped against a wall between two buildings. The wall I need to walk past or make it look bloody obvious I'm avoiding him. How did he do that?
Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I straighten my shoulders and walk in his direction. Eyes fixed ahead, I ignore the imposing frame indicating his Nephilim heritage. At over six feet tall with a sculpted form, he has a gym body without having to do any work for it. A couple of girls in front of me aren't subtle, as they stare at his killer physique. Killer yes, but not in the way they think. Strangely, he doesn't give them the second look I’d expect from his predatory nature.
As I draw closer, I weigh up my choices. If I meet his eyes, acknowledge him, he may take my reaction as a challenge. But if I scurry past, a girl a foot shorter than him with downcast eyes, I could become a target anyway. If the Nephilim knows what I am, he'll know I'm not a match for him and that whatever I do will end in pain.
I settle for something in-between and glance at him as I approach. Nephilim eyes. Holy crap. I've heard how magnetic they are but never expected to be sucked in and trapped by them. No wonder humans are infatuated with Nephilim so quickly. Not me; to me his presence screams danger. I tear my eyes away from his and continue walking.
“Dahlia.”
The Nephilim’s one word freezes me in place, interrupting every impulse I have to keep walking. The fact he knows my name chills the day around me. Slowly, I turn to him. He hasn't moved and neither has the steady focus on me. I don't respond.
“Who are you looking for?” he asks. To my surprise, his voice is low and smooth not rasping like many demons.
I regard him but don't speak. When he says no more, I turn to walk away.
“Are you looking for me?” he calls.
I halt again and glance over my shoulder. “No.”
This time I stride away without another word or another pause. I don't know what their senses are like, but I'm praying the Nephilim can't hear my heartbeat as loudly as I can right now.
Three hours later, I face off against a demon, and the mocking look in the creature's eyes shows he senses the unease I brought with me tonight. He's larger than usual; not Nephilim size but bigger then my recent opponents. I weigh him up and despite my appearance, our strength matches. I’ll win.
I found this one lurking in the underpass between campus and the city. The dimly lit tunnel smells of urine; the concrete walls covered in graffiti. Empty beer cans roll around in the breeze blowing through, and one rattles against my feet. He’s a cliché, hiding here. This demon must be new. Or stupid. Or both.
“Seriously? You're hanging out in an underpass?” I laugh at him. “Seen too many horror movies? In the real world, humans don't tend to come through places like this alone at night.”
“I heard about you,” he sneers in a refined accent.
“Yeah? That's nice.”
The guy's brown hair sits neatly above his ears, and his amber eyes puzzle me because the colour is almost human. Demons are changing, morphing away from their yellow eyes—and there’s something else. Usually carefully disguised by long hair, the horns on this demon's head are barely visible beneath his short hair. But the most concerning thing of all—he's expertly dressed to blend in. Every demon I've hunted recently could easily pass as a student and each time I kill one I immediately think of Jack and his friends. How real is the danger on campus?
We face off, circling, weighing up each other’s weaknesses. Each time he lunges, I side step him and grin.
“I have a message from Alexander,” he hisses.
His words stall me, and in my hesitation, he pounces, knocking me against a wall. I gasp the air from my lungs, gagging from his stinking breath.
“Yeah, he wants to meet you.” His mouth twists into a sharp-toothed grin as he holds his arm across my neck.
“That’s nice. I'm looking forward to meeting him.”
I kick out, foot colliding with the demon’s stomach and the creature flies backwards, eyes widening in surprise as he hits the ground, cracking his head on the concrete. This demon evidently hasn't heard enough about me to know how strong I am, or when to back off. He remains prone and I approach, placing my heavy, black boot on his chest.
“Does he want to meet me anywhere in particular? Or will he make a house call?” I force a nonchalance I don't feel into my voice. I need to find Alexander before he finds me.
“He'll get a message to you.” The demon pauses. “Maybe via the humans you hang out with.”
I shift my foot and grind my boot into the creature's throat, the surging heat of battle in my bloodstream replaced by a trickling fear. I arrange my features into an impassive mask—I can't show my panic at his words. The Faith eyes stare up at me as he chokes for breath, unable to taunt me anymore. This one’s definitely new, not strong enough to take me on and win.
Talking to demons isn't something I do, and he's said enough. I slide my dagger from my boot and hold up the glinting metal long enough to indicate my next move for him. There's no fear in his eyes; there's never fear. Black blood spills from the demon as I thrust the blade through his chest and twist the dagger into his heart. Practice makes perfect and he dies quickly and quietly. Some soul hunters make them suffer; I guess my cruel streak is buried deeper.
As the released soul draws safely into the crystal in my palm, the sound of someone clapping echoes down the tunnel. I spin round, dagger still drawn. Alexander could be closer than I thought. Have I been lured here? I'm approximately fifty metres from one end of the underpass, and the other way out is close enough for a demon to catch up before I reach the exit. I blink, focusing on who’s there.
A street light shines on the tunnel entrance, and the Nephilim I saw today rests against the wall at the edge, slowly clapping his hands together.
&
nbsp; “Bravo, little soul hunter.”
I'm not running. But I am leaving.
Pulling to my full height, I stride towards him. “Thanks.”
I attempt to pass, but he rests a hand on my shoulder, and I jolt, betraying my fear to him. He smiles down, and there's no mistaking he's the same guy. But the bright blue eyes don't hold malice or intent to hurt me so I shrug his hand off and step back instead of running.
“Friend of yours?” I ask him.
The Nephilim laughs softly. “No.”
“He's a demon?”
“And?”
“And so are you.”
I know I was told to stay away, but he came to me. I'm not stupid enough to attack him, and I hesitate, hoping he'll let me leave, but at the same time, I’m curious.
“Yeah, I guess. But you know I'm not the same sort of demon as him.” He pokes his tongue into a cheek. “And I'm pretty pissed off you beat me to it.”
“To what?”
“To killing him.”
Frowning at him, my mind scrambles to keep up. “You are Nephilim?”
He grins again. “Correct.”
“And you want to kill a demon?”
“Maybe.”
He's exasperating and confusing me; I want to leave, to see Jack, and return to my illusory human world.
“You're pissing me off quite a bit, actually.” His eyebrows knit into a frown.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. But I don't think I'll hurt you. Yet.”
“Wow, that’s kind of you. Any plans on a date when you will?”
“If you manage to kill Alexander before me, I might. He's mine.”
What do I do? Stand and argue the odds with one of the most powerful races, about who gets first dibs on demons? Or retreat quietly?
And why the hell does he want to kill Alexander anyway?
“If you're not about to kill me, can I go?”
The guy steps to one side. “Sure thing, Dahlia. See you around.”
How does he know my name?
Before I walk away, I inspect his face to imprint him on my mind. I've never come close to a Nephilim before; few from my world have. Brown hair curls across his face, classically beautiful, with a strong jaw and symmetry of features. Guys built like him and exuding his powerful confidence stun girls to giggling messes— I've seen it. In front of me stands an alluring mix of demon, angel, and human, with the body of a god he no doubt uses to seduce his human targets easily.
