Apocalypse the Blossoming
The Power of Twelve Book Two
Miranda Martin
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
Apocalypse the Blossoming © 2019-2020 Miranda Martin
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Originally published as Divine Magic (Fallen Revelations Book Two).
Created with Vellum
Chapter One
I startle awake, the remnants of another nightmare clinging to me. Sweat cools on my skin as I try to orient myself. A smooth stone wall that I don’t recognize is next to me.
Breathe, Aviella. Stay calm.
Slowly, as the dregs of my nightmare pass, awareness returns. Someone’s next to me. It’s Efram. His chest rises and falls steadily. My heart slows, returning to a normal rhythm as I remember where I am—Bunker 2. Except it’s not just Bunker 2. I’m in the underground of the underground Bunker 2. Try saying that one three times fast.
Efram stirs next to me. I’m glad I didn’t wake him up, because he needs the rest. We’ve been waiting for days. The rebels are nice. Friendly. They’re putting themselves at great risk hiding us, but we’re still stuck. We need transportation out of here, and that’s not easy. Unfortunately, I’ve become quite skilled at calling attention to myself. Thanks to my latest exploits, the Dragons who run Bunker 2 are not only aware of my powers, they want me. I can’t imagine it’s for good things.
It doesn’t matter how much my father prepared me for the role I’m playing in the Apocalypse. I’m not ready. Without the support of my protectors, I have no doubt—I wouldn’t have made it this far. Efram stirs next to me, rolling towards me, but he’s still asleep. I study the Necroseer. His ink-black hair has fallen over his face, and it’s perhaps the first time he’s ever looked at peace with sleep hiding the sad, silver-violet of his eyes. He’s kind and intelligent and dedicated. Everything a girl could want in a man. I can’t help my smile or the urge to reach out and touch the several days’ worth of beard growth on his jaw.
Before I can, I sense an energy nearby, and it pulls my attention away. I rise on one elbow and look over Efram’s shoulder. Rafe is in the doorway.
Rafe is a demon, not that you’d know it by looking at him, unless you consider that he’s devilishly handsome. Then yeah, Rafe definitely falls into that category. Heat flushes my cheeks at the sight of his open jacket, shirtless beneath, with intricate tattoos running the length of his sculpted chest up his neck. The tattoos are even on the backs of his hands. Rafe grins and takes a bite out of an apple. The loud, crisp crunch implies so many things to my imagination. His golden eyes promise delights out of this world. I’ve been resisting the desire since we’ve met, no matter how badly my body wants him. Rafe knows it, and being who and what he is, he takes great delight in toying with it.
He nods and motions at me with the apple then walks out of sight. Carefully I slide out the end of the bed, doing my best not to wake Efram. Outside the door, I look around but don’t spot Rafe. I close my eyes and extend my senses. It’s not something I completely understand, and I’m not even sure I can do it, but it seems like it might work. As my awareness expands, I sense traces of his energy, so I follow them and find him leaning against a column.
“You two are getting chummy,” Rafe says, one eyebrow arching.
“Jealous?” I ask, returning the demon’s own grin.
“We all belong to you, Aviella. You’ll do with us what you choose,” he says. He’s a charming joker but there’s an odd seriousness to his words.
I don’t know what to say. Who am I to have collected these men who are so loyal to me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Rafe smiles as the silence between us stretches. He shrugs and starts walking, so I fall into step beside him. He leads the way through a series of small tunnels that wind between some old storage containers the rebels have spruced up to use as rooms.
It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt comfortable, but I know it’s going to fade soon enough. I can feel it in my bones. I feel a lot of things. My gifts are becoming more sensitive. It’s scary. All my life these gifts have been something to fear, to hide, things that set me apart from everyone else. They kept me alone, made me an outcast. Now that I’m with others who are also special, and I’m no longer alone, I’m having to come to terms with them. Before, I considered them bad, now I’m being shown that they can be used for good. That I can make a difference in the world. It feels right. Perhaps all my life and all the hardships were meant to lead to this.
Perhaps, or perhaps I’m just lucky. Lucky to have survived, lucky to have found friends like this, just… lucky.
As we pass by several of the empty rooms, the sound of soft conversation drifts down the tunnel, growing louder as we approach. Rafe leads the way into a converted container. Makeshift couches line the walls, and in the center of the space are several tables with chairs around them, most of which are occupied. At least a dozen people are hanging out. They look up as we enter with friendly smiles and a welcoming energy. One older gentleman, probably in his late fifties, with silver hair and sharp blue eyes rises to his feet. Three other men sit at the table with him holding playing cards.
“Welcome,” the man says. “I’m Peter. Would you care to join us?”
This is probably one of the biggest differences in this rebel underground from every other place I’ve been. They welcome people. They don’t look at you suspiciously or appraise you for what they can get from you.
“What are you playing?” Rafe asks.
“Five card stud,” the man replies.
“Well that’s my game,” the demon purrs, taking a seat at the table.
All of them look at me, so I shrug and take a seat too. I’m not sure about the rules of the game but I figure I can pick them up as I go. Peter sits down and takes up the cards. He does several fancy hand-to-hand shuffles, making it clear he’s got skills. He deals us all in, and I watch.
“Would you like some wine?” Pete
r asks as he deals out the cards.
Rafe looks at me, his eyes dancing with delight. The smile that spreads across his face goes from ear to ear. I kick him under the table, but he barely winces. Jerk. There’s no need to remind me of how I started this entire mess. I glare at him, willing him not to bring up the fact that I’m able to make my own wine.
“I’ll pass, thank you.”
“I’d love some wine,” Rafe says, his eyes locked on mine. “How very friendly of you. Most places where we’ve been, people are not so open and sharing.”
“We’re rebels for a reason,” Peter says. “We want to make the world a better place. Sharing wine is a starting point.”
“An admirable goal,” Rafe acknowledges.
We play through several hands, all of which I lose. It’s fine with me not to win, but I am figuring out the rules of the game. We’re on our sixth hand and it’s down to Peter, Rafe, and me. The pot in the middle has grown quite large. We stare at each other with blank faces while I do my best to ignore what my senses are telling me. It’s almost impossible. I know the other two are bluffing, I feel it.
Oh, what the hell.
“I’ll see your bet,” I say tossing another chip into the pile. “And I’ll raise you, three more chores.”
Money isn’t any good here in the underground rebel society, so they trade chore time. It’s sensible in a good way and makes the game have more value by putting something at stake. Peter squints, the slightest tightening of his eyes, but it tells me everything I need to know. He sighs then lays his cards down.
“Too rich for my blood,” he says.
Rafe and I square off. I know he can sense me as well as I can sense him. It brings us to an impasse, and I’m not sure which one of us is going to be able to out-bluff the other one. He runs his fingers along his cards keeping his face unreadable.
“What’s it going to be?” I ask.
“Well, little bird,” Rafe says. He looks his cards over again and then smiles broader. “I’ll see you.”
He throws his chips into the center. He lays the cards out on the table with a flourish that only he could manage. There’s an elegance to it, as well as a level of cheesiness that Rafe somehow manages to make sexy. I look over his hand and can’t contain my smile.
As I lay my cards out, Rafe’s face collapses because he sees that I’ve won.
“You’re becoming quite good at this,” Rafe says.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, pulling the chips towards me.
The sound of coughing underlies our conversation. It’s loud and sounds painful. It’s been going in the background through the entire game. I’ve done my best to ignore it, but something about it makes my heart ache. Rising to my feet I go to find its source.
“You’re not gonna give us a chance to win anything back?” Peter asks.
“You all can keep your chores,” I say. “I was only playing for fun.”
A round of soft cheers from the players, then the coughing fit sounds again. I turn to follow the noise. Rafe takes his leave, and then he’s beside me. Something about the sound sends a hand deep inside me where it grabs hold and pulls me along. I have to do something, anything to help.
The sound grows louder. It’s high-pitched, pitiful, and obviously coming from a child. I walk through the opening of one of the storage containers, and Nathaniel is there. The warm-skinned angel turns as I enter and looks at me with dark, grim eyes. The sound is coming from behind him and I push past him to the source.
A little girl lies on a cot, hair stuck to her face with sweat. She’s flushed. Tears are running down her face. She looks at me with feverish eyes, shivering. A pale woman sits beside her, wiping a damp cloth across her face. She starts coughing again, doubling over in pain as she does. Strangely, my hands grow warm. The coughing fit passes, and the girl looks at the woman.
“Mommy,” she gasps.
“I know, honey, I know,” her mother says, desperation in her voice.
“We’re here, baby,” a man says from the end of the bed.
I’ve seen him before. He’s one of the leaders of the Rebels. He looks over at me, shaking his head, jaw tight. Another woman emerges from a small side room, carrying a bowl of something. She stops when she sees me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, shaking her head.
“I have to be,” I say.
Strange words. I’m not sure why I said them, but I know they’re true. This is where I need to be, right here, right now. The woman’s eyes widen, her mouth tightens, then opens to argue.
“Nora,” the man says. Tor, his name comes back to me. “Let her be.”
Nora glances at him, frowning, then shrugs. My hands feel like they’re on fire. I flex my fingers and look down at them. A soft glow is coming from them. The little girl looks past her mother at me. Her eyes pull me forward, and I kneel next to her. Moving on an instinct I don’t understand, I place one hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach. A golden, glowing energy pours out, covering her small body.
She shudders and closes her eyes, and then color returns to her face. As my power grabs hold of me, it pours out and into the girl. It’s draining me. I can’t stop it. Throwing my head back I try to pull away, to stop it, but I can’t. The edges of my vision turn gray and the room spins. The golden glow brightens until it’s blinding.
Hands grab me by my shoulders and pull me back, breaking the connection. Waves of faintness pass over me, and I’m sure I’m going to pass out. My knees buckle, but Nathaniel catches me before I hit the ground.
“That’s quite enough,” the angel says.
His hands are warm where they touch me, flowing energy into me and restoring my reserves.
“Are you okay?” Rafe asks, concern in his voice.
“She’ll be fine,” Nathaniel snaps.
“Boys,” I say. I want to say more, to stop them fighting but I’m so freaking tired.
“Mommy?” the little girl says, sitting up in bed.
I look at her and smile. Color has returned to her face, and it’s obvious she feels better. I look at my hands with a sense of wonder. I had no idea I could do something like that. My gift is more multifaceted than I ever imagined. I can heal people? Maybe I can make a difference in the world. There are so many sick people. If I can bring them relief… this really would be a gift.
The man, Tor, walks over, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m indebted to you. I’ll bring you to the crossing point of Wormwood myself when the sweeps die down.”
“Do you have any idea when that will be?” Rafe asks.
“No,” Tor says, frowning. “We’re still hearing patrols overhead as often as not.”
Nathaniel looks at Rafe and then at me. The three of us frown, wanting to hurry up and get out of here. Every day we’re here increases our risk of discovery. It probably would've been a lot easier, okay scratch the probably, if I hadn't attracted the attention of the Dragons. I'll have to own that one. Bad Aviella.
Except I don't know how else I could've saved Nathaniel and Rafe, so I’m not going to apologize for it. Well any more than I already have. One way or another we have to get out of here. Every moment we’re here it’s not only us in danger but everyone around us. It doesn't help that I can feel myself being pulled forward. It’s a calling that tugs at my soul. I'm not where I'm supposed to be.
Sighing, I shake my head and accept the gratitude and offer of help for what it is. It's all we have for now. The rebels are doing everything they can.
"Thank you," I say. "We do appreciate everything you have done for us."
"What you've done here won't be forgotten," Tor says.
I smile, place a hand on his arm, and squeeze.
Having done everything I can, I turn and leave. Trying to find something positive to focus on, I think about my newfound ability to heal. If I can help people like that, then maybe my existence in this desolate world that my generation
has inherited really will mean something.
Chapter Two
Rafe
I shouldn't be jealous but I am. It's more than being competitive with the angel, that's natural and expected. It's the way Nathaniel acts. The angel likes to lord it around like somehow I single-handedly ruined his life.
You’d think with the end of the world and all, he would get over the fact that his adopted father was a human with the same frailties as anyone else. So what if he had a title he didn’t live up to. What parent does, when you think about it?
The angel could be thankful that he had a parent at all. A lot of us, including me, had to scrape by to survive. When you do that, you learn to appreciate the connections you do have with less judgment.
I've had my fill of his high and mighty attitude. The way he looks at Aviella makes my blood boil. Okay, I'll admit it, I am jealous and that’s okay.
It's my turn to cook, so I go to the make-shift kitchen. As luck would have it, Nathaniel is leaning against the doorway. I wonder if he’s waiting for me. He doesn't move as I approach, largely because he's an ass. I turn sideways and press past him.
I dig around for ingredients for something to make. Nathaniel continues glaring, but I pointedly ignore him. There's no reason to get into it. The only thing that would accomplish is upsetting Aviella.
"You can't be serious," Nathaniel says, at last.
Tensing, I suppress my furious reaction. I turn towards the angel slowly, still struggling to keep control of my temper.
Apocalypse the Blossoming (The Power of Twelve Book 2) Page 1
