Kindred of the Fallen

by Isis Rushdan

  She met Cyrus’s gaze and wanted to run into his arms, but her legs wouldn’t move, weighted down by the gravity of the close call with death. He ascended slowly and flew toward her. The pageantry of him in flight held her mesmerized.

  His wings lifted him to a higher plane of grace, making him more sublime, if that were even possible. As he landed beside her, his energy poured into hers, lightening her body and soothing her spirit. He cupped her face. “Are you hurt?”

  I’m alive and you’re touching me. I could fly without wings right now if you wanted. “I’m okay.”

  Abbadon lingered beside the dead body. The other two warriors crowded in front of them, slivers of the midnight sky bathed in moonlight, and adorned with wings. But her beautiful Cyrus was a dazzling warrior with wings for crown jewels.

  Blood streamed down the thigh of one warrior. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Do you need a doctor?” The question sounded strange saying it to a blue angel.

  Cyrus smiled and stroked her hair. “Micah will be fine. Carin, the healer who’s with the rest of our team, will tend to him later.”

  “Why aren’t you blue like the others?” she wondered aloud.

  “Cyrus has always been strong, but never shifted,” Abbadon said from behind her.

  She jumped at his proximity. She never saw him move or felt his presence so close.

  “I think it’s because he’s evolved to the next level,” Abbadon continued. “Those who are”—a sharp look from Cyrus interrupted him—“special, like him and you, have always exceeded the capabilities of the current generation.”

  “Can I touch?” she asked, glancing at his wings.

  Cyrus turned so his wings faced her. They were the color of sun-soaked sand, the same as his skin. His silky smooth feathers had a faint glimmer. They looked like a natural extension of his body. He extended his wings fully and flexed in a way that made her think of a peacock spreading his tail into a fan.

  Her breath caught in her throat at his impressive wingspan, easily eight or ten feet.

  “It seems weird you didn’t change colors,” she said.

  Cyrus cocked his head to the side. “I’m surprised you find cobalt-blue skin normal.”

  She shrugged. “I guess it’s because Abbadon was always that color in my dreams.”

  “You dreamt about Abbadon?” Jealousy flickered in Cyrus’s eyes as he stared at her.

  “I didn’t know it was him until now because he always looked like this.” She pointed to his blue skin.

  “How many times did you dream about me?” Abbadon asked.

  Forty-one. “I don’t remember.” She averted her eyes. The sensation of death, pumping liquid ice through her veins flickered over her, and she shivered.

  Abbadon’s wings rose up in a jerk. Cyrus clenched his jaw, veins bulging from his neck, and his wings flicked out with a pop. The other two warriors inched away.

  Within seconds, Abbadon shifted back to his normal appearance, wings retracted and deep blue faded. He gave a subtle nod of his head to Cyrus, some unspoken message passing between them, then turned to Serenity. “What did I do in your dreams?”

  “Not much. You tried to help me find my way in the darkness. You were my guide.” But it didn’t make a difference, death won in the end.

  “Abbadon, see to the body and begin clean-up,” Cyrus ordered.

  Abbadon spoke in a language she didn’t recognize, then he bowed his head and withdrew. Cyrus’s wings settled back down.

  One of the other warriors cleared his throat. Sapphire and wings receded, leaving the broad-chested one with smooth, chestnut brown skin, and the tall, lean one an amber complexion that highlighted a baby face.

  “Cyrus,” said the warrior with a thicker build. “Grant us the honor of telling us your kabashem’s name so we may pay our proper respects.” He spoke in a commanding voice.

  Honor? Pay proper respect? What an odd way of speaking. “How do they know? I thought you wanted to keep it quiet.”

  Cyrus sheathed his sword. “A part of us lies dormant until it’s activated by the energy we share with our kabashem. I have my wings because of you.”

  Her fingertips and stomach tingled with energy. She peered into his intense eyes, trying to reconcile how she’d generated that wave of energy to keep the monster away.

  “And I suspect you’ve never projected an energy wave before,” Cyrus said.

  “No, never.” The memory of her father materializing on the subway surfaced, but she bit her lip. So much to ask and share, but she wanted to discuss the strange occurrences in private. “How does it feel to finally have wings?”

  “Like having an extra set of arms I was always meant to have, and now my body is complete. But with you at my side, my soul is also made whole.”

  His outpour of emotion left her awestruck and speechless. He spoke candidly of his feelings with the flare of a poet in front of the others as easily as he had stripped before her unprepared eyes.

  He rested his hand on the small of her back, his fingers grazing her buttocks, and pulled her close. “Brothers, this is my kabashem, Serenity.”

  Both warriors knelt. The burly one took her hand and kissed it. “Lady Serenity, Great Consort of Cyrus, I am Spero, son of Nicasio.”

  The other one kissed her hand next. “Lady Serenity, Great Consort of Cyrus, I am Micah, son of Hebron.”

  She stood frozen, uncertain how to respond. No one had ever knelt in front of her. Maybe she should explain she wasn’t his consort. The thought stabbed her mind and stung her heart as if it were a lie, a violation of nature, leaving her unnerved.

  “Spero and Micah, please rise,” Cyrus said affectionately.

  “We have long awaited this day, to kneel before a Blessed couple,” Spero said in his baritone voice. “The reunification of the Fallen is upon us. Glory be! May you put an end to our suffering and the dark days of Isfet. We shall safeguard you with our lives. May the almighty Creator have you in his keeping.”

  She shot a perplexed stare at Cyrus. “What on earth is he talking about?”

  Chapter Nine

  Calculating how much to disclose, Cyrus drew in his wings as easily as contracting a muscle. Serenity had been thrust headlong into his world. Great care was still required. “Kindred have a complicated history. I promised to answer all your questions and I will. Let’s go back to the house, get you something to eat and we’ll talk. You must be hungry after using so much energy.”

  “I felt queasy earlier, but now I’m starving.”

  “The more energy you use, the more you’ll need to refuel.”

  “What do you want us to do with him?” Spero asked, indicating Krevitch, who watched from the car.

  “He’s seen far more than he should have,” Cyrus said.

  “Will he go to the authorities?” Serenity asked.

  “I doubt it. We go through a vigorous vetting process to select the right humans as servants and pay them handsomely for their discretion.” He turned to Spero. “If he’s ever questioned by someone from another House, they’ll know I’ve found my kabashem.”

  He couldn’t take such a risk. They’d be hunted and forced to go to House Herut, if they could make it there alive. He’d sacrifice anything for the welfare of his people, but he dreaded the thought of returning home almost as much as the prospect of dying.

  “Have his memory of this wiped clean,” Cyrus said.

  With a nod, Micah went to the car. He ripped the door off and hauled Krevitch out.

  “Erase his memory?” Serenity gripped Cyrus’s forearm. “How?”

  He glanced at his mate, reminded once again of how little she knew. “Only the most powerful empaths have the ability.”

  “Lerato has the dark veil,” Spero said. “Early stages, but it’s affecting his power. The last person he tried to wipe clean didn’t go too well. Ended up turning the poor fellow’s mind to mush. We’ll have to send for someone from House Herut to do it. It may take a few days.”

  “Ple
ase don’t,” cried Krevitch. “I’ve been a faithful servant, loyal to the end. My family has served House Herut for centuries.”

  “You might say things under duress that no one else can know,” Cyrus explained.

  Serenity stared at him in horror. “You can’t.”

  “I have to.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” she said and turned to Krevitch. “Please place your hands on mine.” He hesitated. “I want to help you if I can.”

  Krevitch put his hands on her palms.

  What was she doing? Charged bolts snaked through their merged stream, slithering throughout him, like worms under his skin. After a few seconds, she dropped her hands and the queer sensation stopped.

  “If you order him never to speak a word of what he saw today, he won’t tell anyone,” she said, as if stating an undisputable fact. “He’ll take it to his grave.”

  “You don’t know that,” Cyrus said.

  “I do. I read his soul. I wanted to see his true nature, what motivates him. This time I saw more. It’s hard to explain. Trust me. There’s no need to turn his mind to mush.”

  “Are you so certain you’re willing to risk our lives?”

  Her eyebrows scrunched together. “I don’t know what he could say that would jeopardize our lives, but I’m certain. He won’t tell.”

  Cyrus stared at Krevitch. “You are never to speak of what happened today, about me, or her,” he instructed in Russian. “You’ll be given the typical severance of a loyal factotum, enough to provide a comfortable life. We’ll send you somewhere warm, far from here.”

  Turning his face to the sky with a relieved expression, Krevitch closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I’m going back to the manor with Serenity,” Cyrus said to Spero. “Have Ptolemy swing by with the other helicopter to pick you up once you’re done here.” He hesitated, deliberating, then continued speaking in the old tongue of their people so Serenity and Krevitch couldn’t understand. “Have him wiped clean. I can’t afford the risk.”

  Spero bowed as they headed for the chopper.

  “How were you able to kill the warrior with a sword?” she asked. “You said the skin is more resilient and you weren’t cut when that mercenary slashed your arm.”

  “The mercs used steel. Our swords are made of barenpetium. It’s stronger than steel, and it can be made sharper than a scalpel.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s the strongest and lightest metal we’ve found in a few meteorite craters.”

  “Is there anything else that can cut your skin?”

  The wind caught a lock of her hair and draped it across her cheek. He whisked it down, tucking the chocolate strands behind her ear, wanting nothing to obstruct the sight of her face.

  “An obsidian blade, but it’s so fragile we’re unable to train with it or use it for practical purposes.”

  Cyrus helped Serenity into the helicopter and started the engine. Need, raw and urgent, flared inside of him. He ached to touch her, to taste her.

  “I can’t believe you were going to have his mind erased,” she said, removing the armored vest. “What could he possibly know to hurt us? And the way Spero and Micah knelt in front of me like I was some—”

  He captured her mouth with his, slipping his tongue past her lips. He fisted his hand in her hair, desperate for more than he could take in the uncomfortable confines of the chopper.

  Home. There was only one way to get the satisfaction his body demanded. He had to get her home and to his bed. He released her and his fingers curled, wanting to draw her close again.

  Pain—torturous pain—slashed through him. Home.

  As the helicopter cut through the air, Serenity looked straight ahead. The sun hung low on the horizon, the sky aglow in burnished orange.

  Cyrus called the manor and spoke to the housekeeper, Mrs. Carter, about dinner. The details of his conversation faded amidst the chaos of her thoughts.

  When he’d kissed her earlier, his touch brought a disconcerting mix of joyous calm and gut-wrenching confusion. Today her entire world had turned topsy-turvy. She stared at her hands, flipping them over. They looked the same as they had yesterday, but she didn’t feel quite the same. She was more alive, more herself than ever before.

  I’m not human.

  She wanted to reject the idea, but couldn’t. Her life finally made sense, she made sense. But this new world of sapphire angels, energy waves and mind-erasing didn’t make any sense at all.

  Questions tangled to a jumble. All of it opposed the reality she understood.

  Cyrus landed on the helipad adjacent to the back of the house. He shut off the engine and the blades slowed to a stop. Desire pulsed in their energy stream. The feeling invaded like an intruder. She ran her thumb over her engagement ring, thinking of Evan.

  With a smile, Cyrus leaned in, but she drew back, groping for the door handle. More kissing could lead to something she’d regret. More importantly, she wouldn’t get answers.

  She threw the door open and hopped out of the helicopter. “We’re going to eat and talk, right?”

  He recoiled, brow furrowed. Then he nodded slowly and got out, slamming the door.

  The sharp tension bubbling in their joined stream grated, but she couldn’t allow her resolve to be fractured.

  She crossed the front of the helicopter and he extended his hand. Biting her lip, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, avoiding eye contact. He let out a huff and led the way to the house, glancing at her every few steps. She walked beside him, keeping at least an arm’s length of space between them to prevent accidental touching, or a spontaneous make-out session that would have her spreading her legs, crooning for more.

  If she was going to get any answers, she couldn’t let him touch her.

  In the courtyard, he held the door to the house open for her. “Are you all right?”

  The real question she guessed he wanted to ask rang clearly through his frustrated tone. Why was she avoiding physical contact? She decided to pass on the embarrassment of telling him that his touch was the sweetest distraction she’d ever known, erasing all cares and concerns for anything else, including the questions stacking up in her mind. “I’m fine.”

  He guided her through the dining room past a round hand-carved table big enough for eight and into the conservatory where a table had been set up with linen and silverware. With a shaky smile, he pulled out her chair and waited until she sat.

  The conservatory would offer a spectacular view of the property in the daylight.

  He removed his weapons and set them on the floor.

  A woman in her sixties wheeled a cart into the room. She wore glasses and had a bun the color of burnt umber streaked white. The older woman’s aura, muted colors blending to striated gray, glared in contrast to the sunbeam framing Cyrus. She was human.

  “Serenity, this is our beloved Mrs. Carter,” he said, shoulders relaxing, tone lightening. “We’d starve without her.”

  The older woman poured two glasses of white wine. “That’s not true. Abbadon would cook until you found a replacement for me.”

  “You know you’re irreplaceable,” he said. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  “It’s about time Cyrus brought a lady to the house for me to cook for.” She gave Cyrus a motherly smile and rested a gentle hand on Serenity’s shoulder.

  A bolt of awareness and comprehension illuminated in her mind, the way it had over the years whenever she met someone; a ruffle in her energy stream tickled her chest and ribs. She and Mrs. Carter would get along splendidly. Yet her internal barometer didn’t work on the others. Maybe she could only read humans.

  Mrs. Carter broke into the puffy, golden tower of a mouthwatering soufflé with a spoon, put piping hot mounds of seafood on two plates, and added a serving of salad on the side. She set a bucket of ice with the wine bottle next to Cyrus. “Cassian took the dogs with him into the city, so no need to worry about letting them outside. Don’t forget, I won�
��t be back until Wednesday, but there are meals in the fridge.” With a smile, she left.

  “She seems very sweet,” Serenity said.

  “She truly is irreplaceable, practically family. Her kids live on the West Coast and her husband died a few years back. I think we fill a void for her.”

  Serenity tasted the soufflé. Creamy and scrumptious, it was the ultimate comfort food. “This is fantastic.”

  He grinned. “I thought you might like it.”

  The crisp, light flavor of the wine complemented the richness of the meal. She was indubitably happy, weightless as a feather, but questions gnawed at her. “If we’re not human, then what are we?”

  “Something else. Something more.”

  “How have Kindred, I mean, how have we managed to live without humans finding out about us?”

  “We’re meticulous about embedding ourselves in all layers of society and cleaning up or hiding anything that could expose us.”

  “Like crazed Kindred on a rampage?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  “But those mercenaries know about us.”

  “When we come across them, we do our best to bag them and wipe them clean. The Council of Herut wants us to preserve human life whenever possible. They haven’t tried to expose us and we haven’t revealed to the authorities any of the illicit activities that would destroy Gallacom Industries.”

  She sipped the chilled wine. “Tell me about the ancients we’re descended from.”

  “I guess I should start with Nefertiti.”

  “One of the queens of Ancient Egypt?”

  He nibbled his food. “Nefertiti discovered the ancients. Human form, neither male nor female. Superior intelligence and abilities no human had.” He spoke as if he were recounting a bedtime story he’d heard many times. “At some point, she learned there were thirteen of them.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “They described their existence in terms of millennia and were all that had remained after the others had been washed away before the Creator started anew.”