Nephilim War: Book 2

by Adrienne Kama

  She sat up and gaped.

  Her mind went completely blank for a moment and she struggled to remember where she was. She’d been in a cave. She’d fallen asleep in Azriel’s arms. She’d awakened in…she didn’t know where she was.

  She was in a sunlit room whose walls seemed to have been formed from bamboo. Expansive, glassless windows greeted her on every side and a gentle breeze flittered in through the windows, setting the sheer drapes astir.

  Beyond the windows, she saw high trees and lush foliage. The sweet scent of wildflowers filled her senses, even as she caught the distinctive scent of river water on the air. Somewhere beyond the room was water. She could even hear the rush of a fall. The room itself was simple, nearly plain. A low table was set beside the bed. Two crystal wine glasses sat atop it, and a bottle of white wine chilled in ice. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, but the vision remained.

  Sheer white curtains fluttered in the breeze, giving the tableau the feel of a gauzy painting. Matching white sheets were on the bed she now lay on; they were soft and silken beneath her. On the far wall opposite the bed she saw a wide, door-sized opening. The door, however, was missing, but she could see out beyond the opening and realized this room she was in had to be thirty feet off the ground. It was situated over water. She could make out a sandy beach next to the water and a thick forest beyond.

  She gazed around the room in awe. It was like paradise.

  She stiffened when she heard the creak of wood at the entrance. When she turned to see what had made the sound, she saw Azriel standing at the foot of the bed, leering at her.

  Before she could open her mouth to speak, he fell on her, pinning her to the mattress with his weight. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth and struggled against it. The kiss was forceful, almost bruising, and not at all what she had experienced with Raven. She tried to pull away from him.

  “Let me go!” she said.

  He leaned up on his elbows, caging her within his arms, and smiled. “You can’t escape,” he said. As he spoke, the features of his face changed, melted. His full lips thinned, his skin blanched, his eyes went from cobalt blue to green, and his white hair turned strawberry blond. It was one of the most horrific things she’d ever seen. In seconds, Azriel had become Myrddin, or at least Azriel’s face had morphed into Myrddin’s.

  She bit her lower lip hard to keep from screaming. He was trying to scare her. Clearing her throat and meeting his gaze, she asked, “Where am I?”

  “Don’t you recognize it?” he said in Myrddin’s voice. He smiled and lowered himself so they were lying chest to chest. “Would you prefer me like this?” he asked, and again the illusion of melting happened. This time his skin darkened, his hair turned black, and his green eyes darkened to ebony.

  Charity twisted away from him. “You’re a monster.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like me this way?” he asked in Raven’s voice. He ran his tongue over her lower lip and an erotic tremor ran through her body. But she fought it down.

  “And don’t you like this paradise I made for you?” he asked. “Eden with a few extra touches. I thought you’d like it. Thought you’d like to spend some time with your Raven in paradise.”

  “Change back, Azriel.”

  “I rather like Raven’s face. No, I think I’ll stay this way.”

  She forced herself to look at him. It was Raven’s face she saw, Raven’s beauty, and even a facsimile of Raven’s kindness was visible in the eyes. The imitation was nearly perfect. Had it not been for the maniacal grin Azriel wore, the replica would have been exact.

  A memory of Azriel using his tricks to remove Aliceanna’s mouth flashed in her mind. Raven had called it a parlor trick.

  She set her features and met his gaze. He seemed altogether too pleased with himself. “Parlor tricks,” she said.

  Azriel jerked back as though struck. For a moment, he seemed only able to stare, wide-eyed and disbelieving. His shock that his games weren’t having the desired effect made the illusion falter. He leapt from the bed and punched a wall. The entire room shook from the impact. All the while, his face shifted from Azriel to Raven and back again. As soon as he kicked one of the bedposts, the flickering faces suddenly stopped. When he came to stand over her, he was Azriel again. And he didn’t look pleased.

  “I thought I’d keep you company while I waited,” he huffed. “Figured you’d be lonely. But you can sit here by yourself for as long as it takes and suffer.”

  She didn’t move. The wrong words, the wrong movement could push him completely over the edge. So she stared up at him, hoping desperately her face didn’t reflect the terror she felt.

  Azriel bore down on her. His fury was so great that globules of saliva flew from his mouth and splattered her face. Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

  “You ungrateful bitch! If I didn’t need you, Charity, if keeping you lucent and healthy wasn’t a concern, I’d take you from this paradise and send you straight to the pits of Hell. And I’d leave you there to suffer until I was ready to retrieve you.”

  Her teeth were clenched so tight, her jaw ached. Still, she didn’t move. She figured this was what it was like to be frozen with fear.

  “When this is done, Charity, I’m going to…”

  But he never finished the sentence.

  He turned away from her and trod to the doorway. He didn’t look back, didn’t say another word. He leapt from the room and disappeared from view.

  Charity fell back on the bed and fought down the tide of tears that threatened to spill.

  Chapter Nine

  Father Caleb moved down the hall like a phantom. The wavering lights made him appear to flicker out in one spot and reappear five feet ahead. His speed was a reminder to Al-Kenna that Father Caleb had once been an Ikari warrior. Time hadn’t slowed him, nor had lack of practice. Before Gerald could move away from her, Father Caleb had Gerald by the arm and jerked him away so fast, Gerald lost his footing. He would have fallen had Father Caleb not held him firm.

  He slung Gerald into the opposite wall hard enough for Al-Kenna to hear the impact. Gerald seemed stunned, staring at the holy man as if Father Caleb were a ghost.

  “I said, enough,” Father Caleb repeated. “What on earth are you thinking, Gerald?”

  Gerald didn’t reply. He stared, doing his best impersonation of a fish with bulging eyes and gaping mouth.

  “Are you okay, Al-Kenna?”

  Al-Kenna turned her attention from Gerald to Father Caleb. His bushy brows were furrowed, but though he was frowning, the look of concern on his face was unmistakable. “Yes. I’m fine,” she said.

  “Gerald’s drunk again.” Jesse came to stand beside Father Caleb, his pretty features twisted in anger. “Should I get the Warlord?”

  “No!” Gerald said, suddenly coming to life at the mention of his father. “I mean, why bother him?”

  “Because his son is an idiot and a bully,” Al-Kenna replied.

  “I’m not drunk. I only had some ale with dinner. Where were you during dinner, Al-Kenna? I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “My whereabouts are none of your concern.”

  “Because you were down here. Fucking. Isn’t that right?”

  “Get up to the Great Hall, Gerald, and try to sober up.” It was clear from Father Caleb’s tone he wasn’t making a suggestion. “The Warlord is waiting for you. Personally, I don’t care what you do, as long as you do it somewhere else.”

  “The meeting?” Al-Kenna asked. “Let me go. I should be there, too.”

  Father Caleb glared at her. “You’re staying put. Gerald, you go. Now.”

  Al-Kenna watched Gerald’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, searching Father Caleb’s face for any sign of give. “And what of the Warlord, Father Caleb?” he asked.

  “Leave now and I won’t tell him of this latest performance.”

  “But Father,” Jesse complained, “did you see what he was doing to Al-Kenna?”
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  “Al-Kenna can defend herself,” Father Caleb said. “Now go, Gerald. And if I ever see you man-handling Al-Kenna again, I’ll personally see to it you’re castrated.”

  “Yes, Father,” Gerald said. “Thank you, Father.”

  Gerald bowed low, then exited on the double.

  “Go too, Jesse,” Father Caleb said. His voice had softened, but the fact remained that he wasn’t making a request. “Your presence is also required in the Great Hall.”

  “Really?” Jesse asked, hopefully. “Me? But I’m no warrior or guardian.”

  “Every Ikari male has been summoned. Go now. I’ll follow you shortly.”

  Jesse bowed and turned to leave.

  “Thanks, Jesse,” Al-Kenna called to him.

  Jesse gave Al-Kenna a frown. “We have to talk, Al,” he said, then left the same way Gerald had.

  Alone with Father Caleb, with the Warlord’s stolen key burning a hole through her pocket, Al-Kenna felt a sudden urge to go after Jesse. Obviously, Father Caleb wanted time alone with her. This couldn’t be good. “The Warlord?” she asked quietly.

  “Hmm,” he said, frowning at her. “I wonder if all of the Warlord’s children are so adept at keeping secrets from him. What were you up to down here with young Jesse? I hope you haven’t forgotten your vow of chastity. If you ever hope the Warlord to allow you to become a warrior—”

  “For crying out loud, we weren’t having sex. Is that all everyone thinks I think about? I know every warrior—save the Warlord, of course—is chaste. You and the Warlord have drilled chastity into me.”

  “Then, why were you down here?”

  She searched her mind for a likely excuse.

  She was more than a little offended, though, that it hadn’t occurred to Father Caleb she’d come down here to snoop in the archives. Had she been a lone male, that would have been the first thing she was accused of. But since she was a female, her reasons had to be lust-driven. And to think she’d been terrified of being found down here. The injustices of being born female made her furious. “I wanted to get into the archives,” she said simply.

  “You know such a thing is forbidden. What do you think the Warlord would do if I told him of this?”

  She shrugged, knowing full well he wouldn’t bother the Warlord with this.

  Father Caleb glowered a moment longer, then he gave her a winning smile. “No harm done, though.” He took a step back and ruffled her hair. The movement set a fresh wave of rage coursing through her. Would he ever stop treating her like a child? She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. “Go on to your room, Al-Kenna. I won’t tell your father about Jesse. Just be sure you don’t do it again.”

  “But what of the meeting in the Great Hall? Why can’t I go? I’d be very quiet.”

  “You know you can’t.”

  “But I don’t understand why. I’m immortal, just like the warriors. I have more right than Gerald and Jesse to be there. If something is happening, I should know about it. I’ll be the first to raise my sword in defense—”

  “To your room. It’s a direct order from the Warlord. If I see you outside of your room tonight, I’ll tell the Warlord about you and Jesse.”

  “But we didn’t do anything,” she started to say, but he cut her off again.

  “I’ll see you at morning mass.” He jerked a finger in the direction of the stairs.

  Grudgingly, feeling near to boiling over with anger, she started forward.

  To be excluded and sent to her room as though she were an errant child instead of being allowed to take part in what was obviously a meeting of great import was unfair. She was as strong as any Ikari male, and a far better fighter than most. Her place was in the Great Hall tonight, not in her bedroom.

  As she made her way up the stairs, she cursed herself for being born female.

  Chapter Ten

  Alaric was exhausted. He and Damon had arrived at the airport less than an hour ago. Raven and two Ikari warriors had been waiting for them. They were quickly ushered into an idling SUV—black, of course—and taken to the Ikari compound. Inside, Raven led them directly to the Great Hall where a horde of men were already seated and awaiting their arrival. Now, as he stared out at the faces of the men before him, their voices raised in anger, he wondered what he’d been thinking to agree to come here.

  Long tables had been positioned end to end in ten rows that spanned the entire length of the hall. Two massive stone fireplaces sat like bookends on either side of the room, and both blazed with fire. Dozens of simple chandeliers hung overhead, but the light they produced was soft. A wide banner emblazoned with the Ikarius crest spanned the wall across from him. Alaric knew it was the largest Ikari compound in existence, but seeing it with his own eyes was shocking. There had to be close to a thousand men here…and every one of those men was embroiled in a heated argument.

  Beside Alaric and to his right was Raven. Galen, the Warlord, was sitting at the end of the table on Raven’s other side. Damon, who was never far from Alaric these days, was seated to his left beside a man the Ikari called Father Caleb. At the end of the table was Quinn. The three men, Galen, Caleb, and Quinn, were Ikari elders. They made up The Council.

  Galen leaned forward and spoke in a loud voice. “We cannot doubt the creatures of The Void will soon be free. Nor can we forget the power of Azriel. We have to be ready for attack.”

  A man on the far side of the room leapt to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at Alaric. “And what of the Nephilim female? Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance? That would have solved all our problems.”

  Gerald, a mouthy Ikari who had long been getting on Alaric’s nerves, hopped on this. “It’s what I would have done…had I been there.”

  “And the moment you tried to move against her,” Raven said, “I would have struck you down.”

  “How very fortunate for this Charity wench to be in possession of such powerful protectors.”

  “Oh, shut up, Gerald,” someone else said. “You’re missing the point. It’s madness to allow immortals to come here. They’re our enemies.”

  “I’ve already told you,” Raven said. “Azriel is methodical. He means to destroy Ikarius. To do that, he’ll come here, to the Warlord. Right now your best allies are the immortals. They have as much at stake as you.”

  Gerald shook his head. “What of the other Ikari? We should summon aid from among our own. Let us call to Tibet, to Italy, to any of the other remaining compounds. They’ll come if you command them, Warlord.”

  “What would you have them do, Gerald, leave their women and children unguarded and come here en masse?” Galen asked. “They have to be ready to defend themselves. If things don’t go well here...”

  “I don’t trust these…these vampires.” Gerald thrust a hand in Alaric’s direction. “They’re up to something.”

  Another man got to his feet. “We’ve been taught our whole lives not to trust them, now you’d have us put our lives in their hands?”

  “We have Raven’s word that by signing this pact, there will be peace among us,” Father Caleb said. “And the word of Alaric, the leader of the Alliance. What other assurances do you need?”

  “How can we be sure Azriel’s coming here?” someone asked.

  Alaric had a sudden urge to descend from the council table and strangle the speaker. Instead, he leaned forward in his seat and began to speak. His voice was cold steel and the room immediately went silent. “You know because Raven has told you it’s so. He’s fallen, but he’s an angel. Lying is beyond him.”

  “I think the Warlord is right,” a dark-haired man in the back of the room said. “What Raven said makes sense. With us out of the way, Azriel and the Nephilim will be free to attack the immortals. We should accept whatever aid Alaric and the Alliance are willing to give.”

  “A horde of immortals within the walls of the compound. It’s crazy talk,” Gerald said.

  Alaric wondered how long this would go on. Since drinking from the eternal
fount, headaches were something he never had to contend with. But he could swear right now the throbbing he felt in his temples was one monster of a headache.

  This was ridiculous. Nothing would be decided this night, at least not with two of the feared immortals sitting in their midst. Alaric shoved back from the table and got to his feet. Instantly, a murmur went through the room.

  “I’ve had enough,” he said. “I’ve given you our offer of assistance. Accept or decline, at this point I don’t care what you do.”

  Damon scurried to his feet as well, muttering under his breath. The two Ikari warriors who’d been assigned as their guards came to stand at the foot of the table.

  “You’re right,” Galen said, coming to his feet as well. “You must be tired. John, Omar, please show our guests to their quarters.”

  Alaric shook his head. “I’m not sleepy. I’m too annoyed to sleep.”

  Galen nodded. “Very well, then. Show our guests to the library. We have an extensive collection.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Al-Kenna sat on her bed with the heavy alpaca coverlet pulled over her legs. She had set a fire in the hearth after she settled in her bedroom and it was blazing nicely now. There was something about a warm fire that soothed her as nothing else could, save the Seer. Right now, she needed soothing.

  It had taken her a while to feel comfortable handling the book, but she had forced herself. She needed to know Alaric’s story, to see what made him tick, and so had spent the last few hours reading about him. Now, she had the book resting on her lap, its pages open to a painting of Alaric the Cruel she was studiously trying to avoid looking at. Though she hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at the picture again, she hadn’t been able to take her mind off him. As she trod the stairs, changed into her nightclothes, even as she’d said her evening prayers, all her thoughts were of Alaric. Alaric, who’d been the star of her dreams of late. It was Alaric who would decide whether or not to trust Ikarius. It was Alaric who held the reins of the Alliance, and thus was the most powerful immortal presently walking the earth. It was Alaric to whom she would go if the Warlord allowed it. He had to allow it. She’d convince him of that.