Ahead, tall spires poked out from the mists high above them. Rose boldly ventured forward into the shadow of the building, the mist that swirled at her feet dissipating. Danielle watched the deep violet of her cloak disappear into the dark blanket thrown by the stronghold, then hurried to catch up to her, cooing breathlessly, "I've never been to The Order before." She peered up at the grand door they stood before, black against gray stone walls, and Rose slowly reaching up to knock. "Oh, are they going to help us find Sophie?"
Rose stopped abruptly, her eyes flashing green, and grabbed Danielle's collar, "Listen. You will keep your mouth shut when we are inside. As far as any of them are concerned, you are mute. Do you understand?"
Danielle winced then grunted. Rose bore her eyes into Danielle a minute longer, then dropped her and rapped on the metal. After an agonizing stretch of silence, the massive door cracked opened with a groan into darkness. A single deep, blue eye shone from the shadows.
Rose hesitated in the quiet until the eye’s lid dropped down menacingly, then spoke, "We're here to see Apollyon."
The eye lingered in the shadows then disappeared as the door swung open in its wake. Danielle looked to Rose who took a deep breath and put on her most stoic face before stepping inside.
There was an odd sort of yellowed light to the place as if it were an old, stained photograph. They stood on the foyer, an empty, circular space with multiple archways jutting off of it, everything bleary and dim. The one who had let them in stood at the farthest archway, a woman with a mane of tight blonde curls cascading to her waist. "He's been waiting for you," she spoke in slippery tones and observed them coolly. Standing tall and poised, she glared with one icy, blue eye. The other, however, was wholly white, focusing on nothing and everything all at once, and Danielle shrank back from her when she saw it. With a slight raise in her chin, the woman motioned for them to follow and slipped out of the room.
The two quickly fell in line behind, through the archway and into a large, high ceilinged parlor with crimson wallpaper and gold moulding. The woman's steps echoed on the corridor's marbled floor, filling up the silence of the massive space. She moved swiftly despite the heavy sapphire dress she wore and Rose kept her chin high even as she rushed to keep up.
A small group sat in the corner of the room, scattered lazily about on chairs and ottomans. Dressed in a state of sort of formal dishevelment, they stared blankly at Rose and Danielle, only a few craning their necks to see like a moving oil painting, and watched as the two ascended a staircase behind the blonde woman. The group they fell out of view when they reached the landing.
"Wait here." The woman instructed, entering a door at the end of a short hall and leaving the two alone.
Danielle turned to Rose as if she wanted to say something, but remembered the warning. Instead her eyes darted around furiously, and she appeared to be holding her breath, a shade of red showing on her otherwise dark cheeks. Rose watched her contain herself, on the verge of explosion, then finally sighed, "What is it?"
"I can't believe you didn't tell me we were seeing Apollyon!" she hissed in a loud whisper.
Rose rolled her eyes, "I figured that was understood."
"But Apollyon? A fallen angel?" Danielle's voice cracked.
Rose sighed, "He wasn't exiled from Heaven, so he’s not technically fallen."
"Close enough!" Danielle made a tight fist and covered her mouth, "This guy's like major big leagues, Rose. And are those Elders down there?"
"Yes," Rose ran a hand through her ebony locks and glanced over the railing, "Just stay quiet."
Danielle opened her mouth to retort, but the door creaked, and the blue eye bade them entrance.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by candles in wall sconces. A large desk and empty high-backed chair sat in its middle before an immense arched window covered by black draperies. The blonde woman moved past them and gently sat on the edge of the desk, watching the girls. They tried not to breath, afraid to break the room's silence.
"You are quite correct that I was not exiled from Heaven." Both girls spun at the sound of the deep voice. Beside the door a slender figure stood in the shadows. Dark hair swept down his back to his hips in soft waves. His voice was like silk, "So, no, I am not fallen, contrary to what most believe." He turned and his long tresses swept behind him, "Now, I am wondering why Naomi has sent you to me and not come herself."
He stepped forward, and candlelight fell on his face. Shadows formed in the hollows of his cheeks and on either side of a pointed nose making his already long, thin face stretch even more so, but despite the eerie light, he appeared only melancholy. Eyes, misty green and heavy, passed over them, and Rose felt a twinge of sadness sweep through her, a sort of gnawing in her chest she’d last felt too long ago to remember.
Danielle’s nudge knocked the feeling away, and Rose spoke quietly, bowing her head, "We have the book."
Apollyon's face changed subtly, and he turned to his desk. The one-eyed woman stood and clasped her hands together, grinning, as Apollyon sauntered to the chair and sat, resting his chin in his hand, "That is very good."
Danielle heaved an obvious sigh and Rose glared at her.
“May I?” he extended a listless hand to them.
“Well, uh, we don’t have,” Rose swallowed loudly, “Not with us.”
"Of course not. But, surely, that is not all. Naomi would have come on her own to reap the benefits if that were the long and short of it."
Apollyon's remark made Rose's muscles tighten, perhaps more for the carelessness with which he said it than the actual words, "There is something else. One of our own has become mutinous."
Rose let her words hang in the air, knowing full well that they were not what he was expecting.
The silky voice challenged her, "And?"
"And," Rose paused cursing Naomi in her mind, "The girl has gone astray." She squeezed her eyes tight, waiting for his anger to berate her.
Apollyon's face did not change. He stared off into a dark corner and drummed his fingers on his chin, his silence echoing throughout the room. The woman pursed her lips and her blue eye burned into them, but she stayed silent.
"I see," he shifted in the chair and leaned back, his long plaits falling over his shoulders.
Rose swallowed, “We thought the stone could be of use.”
Apollyon raised an eyebrow at her, “We? Surely, she thought of the stone. What do you think?”
“It’s already in use,” Rose answered quickly, “Not for us to take.”
“Ah, Naomi, you have disappointed me.” Apollyon sat quiet, touching his fingertips together in front of his face. He crossed one leg over the other and pivoted in his chair to either side, “Rose, you are one of his disciples, are you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes. Rose, you and your companion here will bring me the book. I am fairly sure that Naomi will fail in reading it. She must come along as well. In fact, bring the others; I’ll find a use for them. But before, we need to have a bit of a chat, I think. And you, your name?”
Danielle perked up, glancing at Rose for permission to speak. Rose nodded vigorously. “Danielle,” she squeaked out.
“Yes.” At last a playful grin crawled across his face, "There is much work to done, isn’t there, ladies?"
***
Mona stared at the girl reflected back at her in the metallic doors. Ashy blonde hair fell messily around the face and bright amber eyes narrowed as they surveyed the form. She had traded clothing with Sophie before leaving the house and cutting her way back into the Material World, but felt exposed, as though they were too small. She’d placed her entry point to this plane farther away from the apartment so as to avoid attracting attention and had sneaked herself to the building. The process took longer than she’d planned and now, standing silently in the elevator, she finally had a chance to look herself over. She reached up and grabbed her two new breasts, not large but larger than anything she had experienced, and pressed them tow
ard one another. "How does she manage these every day?" she wondered aloud as the elevator bell rang.
Mona stepped between the metal doors into the foyer cautiously. The apartment door loomed before her, beckoning to her, but she hesitated in going to it. Naomi would be just beyond that door, she knew it. Her eyes would flash yellow, fangs and claws bared, and she would pounce on her and rip her throat out. Mona grasped her neck at the thought then reminded herself she wasn’t Mona, the strigori henchwoman. She was the one they all sought, practically untouchable.
With a newfound courage, she pushed the door open, unsurprised as she entered the unlocked apartment. Her heart beat so loudly she couldn't sense any other beings, but the dark room, at least, seemed uninhabited. She never realized how uninviting her previous home had been and how long and eerie the shadows were across the floor until she stared at them through Sophie's human eyes. But she knew the false body would only last for so long and ignored her anxious thoughts.
If the book was anywhere, it would be kept in Naomi’s room. She passed through the sunken living room and to the doorway of the bedchamber. Through Sophie's eyes, her vision was not as sharp, and, though she had never feared the dark, suddenly found it quite unnerving. Something was there, staring back at her from the ebony. Something unknown and frightening. She peered deeper into the darkness, but it eluded her. The human eyes were slow to adjust, but finally did, and the moonlight filtered through a crack in the heavy curtains to create a silvery human outline before her, but only for an instant, and she was left staring at nothingness again.
Shaking off the trick her mind had played, she stepped into the room and walked directly to the foot of the bed by instinct. Kneeling, she lifted the chest's lid and thrust her hand inside. To her surprise, she touched the rough wood on the bottom of the chest. Her heart pounded as she slid her hand back and forth, trying to feel for anything, but found only emptiness.
Something stirred behind her, and she spun and stood, the lid of the chest slamming down. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. Then, suddenly, yellow eyes flashed from the black and Mona jumped backward into the chest with a shriek. She rushed to cover her mouth, surprised at hearing Sophie's voice cry out in place of her own. A figure materialized in the shadows, and Mona squeezed her eyes shut, thinking her fate sealed.
"Sophie?" The voice was low and masculine, practically a purr.
Mona's heart pounded and blood rushed past her ears, forcing her eyes open.
"You came back." A tall man stood before her, cloaked in shadows.
A drop of sweat slid down the back of Mona's neck and she felt it slither between her shoulder blades, cold against the hot prickling of her skin. Her face burned and her stomach twisted. It was reminiscent of the same feeling she always got around him, only this time the feeling nearly took her over.
Michael stepped from the shadows and embraced Mona warmly. She winced, shocked at the intimate touch, too terrified to enjoy it. She let herself be gently squeezed, afraid to move, to even breathe, but then his arms parted from her body, and she let out a tiny moan.
He stared at her in silence and she couldn't think of what to say. The thought of words coming out in her own voice, not Sophie's, terrified her no matter how unreasonable it was.
"Something's different," he finally whispered into the dark.
She stepped back bumping into the bedpost, his words making her stomach flip.
"I don't quite know," he reached out toward her and ran his fingers through her hair slowly, "what it is."
Her breaths became shorter, heartbeat louder.
"Something about the way," he stepped closer to her, taking his free hand and wrapping it around her wrist, the other tangled in her curls. In one quick movement he pulled her close. A shriek caught in her throat. His face hovered just inches above hers, the shadows eerily falling across it, "The way you smell."
Mona's heartbeat was so loud she knew he could hear it. His warm breath fell on her face, and she stared up into his dark eyes. "Perfume?" she ventured.
"Must be." He slipped his fingers to the back of her neck and let them play across her skin, "I thought I'd never see you again."
Mona watched as he looked away and wondered how Sophie fell for his blatant insincerity. His words sounded heartfelt, his tone exact, but, whether it was from her knowledge of their plan or the many years she had known him, she could read the deceit etched into the very structure of his face.
Then, she recognized another look. Hunger. He was so intoxicated by bloodlust that he would never realize she wasn't actually Sophie. He was trying to focus away, to contain himself. It was a look she’d seen on the faces of others in compromising situations, others who had crumbled to the whim, but Michael was different. Wasn’t he? He had had a taste for the girl she was disguised as, and there was no doubt her blood was unique, but he was not a weak man.
His gaze shifted, locking on her neck. Mona became aware of how intensely her pulse beat there, how the taut skin across bright blue veins would throb rhythmically, slowly beckoning to him in the shadows of his hunger. She was no longer Mona, nor was she Sophie. She was his victim.
Mona opened her mouth, hoping to deter what was coming, "Michael?"
The man broke from his trance, for a moment, and smiled, "Sophie, you're in trouble."
Michael’s lips pressed hard against Mona’s. His hand groped at her curls and pulled her into the kiss. Mona’s heart shot into her throat and her eyes flew open. What was happening? Why weren't his fangs bared, sinking into her neck?
Heavy lids covered Michael’s eyes peeking yellow from beneath dense lashes. His hard features, once frightening in the moonlight, now seemed romantic and alluring. Dark hair fell across his face and tickled her nose. He was gorgeous, she thought, and pressed gently back.
His thumb found the pulse on her neck and he shuddered, clumsily biting at her lips with his own. Without thinking, Mona sighed into his mouth, and it only seemed to drive him forward. She’d never seen him act like this over a meal. Was his wild hunger driving him mad? Could it be that she was having such an effect on him that he couldn't control himself?
Then she realized: no. It wasn't her at all. It was Sophie. Sophie’s hair, Sophie’s lips, Sophie’s pulse.
Mona pushed against his chest and broke from the kiss. Knowing it was all too dangerous to be in his arms, she turned away, but he pulled her back.
"What's wrong?" His eyes cried out for her, shining a dim yellow.
Mona shook her head and took deep breaths, resisting the urge to kiss him again, "I have to go."
She tried to shove herself away, but he held tight, "No, Sophie. There's nowhere to go."
She pushed again, then stopped. He really thought she was Sophie. She knew she would have to take a chance, "Where's is the book?"
"What?" The yellow faded from his eyes and they returned to their deep brown.
"The book, Michael, where is it?" She tried to sound stern, to command him with her voice, but it quivered.
"And why are you looking for such a thing?" he purred, the glow returning.
"I," she searched her mind for an answer, "I need it," came out in a reluctant whisper.
He reached up and slid her hair over her shoulder, "No you don't. Not now."
His warm breath fell on her face and her eyes fluttered, entranced by the thought of his lips on hers once again. "I don't?" she mumbled against his face.
"No," he purred, "It’s gone away."
His mouth hovered just above hers and her chest ached, wanting so badly to consume it, but logic broke through, "Where?"
His lips curled up ever so slightly and he tilted his head mischievously, "Far, far away from this place. They would of course be happy to have you back, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Now, you are all mine."
The pain was so intense, she thought she would die from it alone. Memories flooded back to her, a nightmare of blood and slaughter, the feeling of life being sucked away and re
placed with something worse than death. But then, she realized, this time would not be the same as the last. She would not wake in a pool of her own blood and crave that of another. She would not wake at all.
Mona slashed before her, blindly with her human nails, trying to force the talons to come. Michael released her neck and recoiled as she stumbled to the doorway and clung to the frame. Her body twisted and contorted. She gasped for air and doubled over in the pale moonlight, the curls of ashy blonde hair falling away until all that was left was a short, chestnut mop. She coughed, sputtered, and fell to the ground, damning the human body in her mind until she gazed at the hand upon the floor.
Sophie's long, slender fingers were replaced by Mona's much shorter and childlike hands. She traveled up the arm with her eyes and noted that no long, blonde strands were cascading around her shoulders and the t-shirt now fell loosely around her straight figure instead of clinging to a full chest.
Mona gazed up at Michael, the yellow gone from his eyes, replaced with shock. She lifted her hand and touched her neck feeling the warm liquid seeping from her skin. Her eyes found her hand and peered at the crimson stain, then back to Michael, his own mouth covered in the same hue. His bite had broken the spell. She stood slowly, never looking away from him, and backed out into the living room.
"Wait, Mona!" His voice was normal again, the deep rumble now gone, and he rushed to her. She tried to hasten her steps, but felt weak and he was soon upon her.
Her claws ripped into his face, tearing flesh and splattering blood, immediately stopping him. Her strength had returned to her all at once and she felt new and powerful. The blow sent his head to the left; he’d been completely unprepared for it. Mona gasped at herself and stared at her talons. Had she really just spilled the blood of one of her brethren? The blood of Michael?
His gaze steadily returned to hers, but neither bloodlust nor anger filled his eyes. Instead, she saw only pained awe.
"Michael." She reached out with her soiled hand to touch his scarred face, but he shrank back like a beaten animal. Never had she known him to cower. “I’m—” the apology caught in her throat. She touched her hand to the bite on her neck, feeling the sticky wetness pooling there. “You would have done it, wouldn’t you?”
The Nephilim: Book One Page 10
