by C. G. Blaine
I stretch my fingers, letting out a stream of light. Hannah’s anxiety is running as high as mine. But I guess getting lanced with a fireball and seeing the darkness leech out of your skin has that effect on mortals. At least now I know the light can destroy it and heal any wounds it leaves her. A fact they could have included in the fucking Nephilim owner’s manual rather than forcing me to use my girlfriend as a guinea pig.
She’s the first one out of the room, every part of her relaxing when she sees me. I keep some kind of contact with her until her next class. I can’t not touch her. Not after last night.
The vicious torment of waiting and watching resumes with her next class and the next. By the end of the day, we’re both so stressed that she doesn’t even ask to stop at the dorms before going to the apartment. The door shuts behind us, and the tension releases from my body. She’s here, where nothing can hurt her. I can breathe.
It starts over again the next day, only a phone call from Chaz makes it all the worse.
Four demons cornered one of his charges while he was skydiving with the other. With the adrenaline pumping in Kai, he almost missed it, arriving as one teleported with Avery. He caught up with them before they went through the portal. Epic battle unfolded. He saved her. But barely.
Samy’s next. A text two days later. Three in an elevator. We agree not to try to reschedule our little reunion until shit calms down. It sucks because, when everything goes to hell, he’s the one I want with me more than anyone.
Except for Hannah.
I don’t even question why Rosdan is calling two days later. The demons’ pattern isn’t exactly subtle.
A shrill whine comes through the speaker. I pull the phone away from my ear until it stops, and Rosdan finally says, “Demons.”
Hannah’s on the couch between my legs, leaning back against my chest while she works on her paper. I ease her forward and crawl out from behind her. “How many?”
“Three.” He’s out of breath. “We were at the fucking park, Cass. Nannies everywhere.”
I switch to the Angelic language, not wanting to scare Hannah. “Everyone all right?”
“I had to wipe a few memories, and Alistair fell, skinned up his knee.” He sounds more distraught with the ouchie than the rest. Chaz was right about him being a good mommy.
I already know the answer but ask anyway, “All Lowers?”
“Yeah. But there was something off about the whole thing.”
“What do you mean?” I sit back down on the couch, moving my hand to Hannah’s leg.
She gives me a wicked smile, light entering my chest along with it.
I almost forget I’m on the phone until Rosdan says, “I have a new theory about the reasons for the attacks.” He pauses. “You’re going to think I’m crazy for even suggesting it.”
“Probably, but tell me anyway.”
“They went straight after Alistair, bypassing the three baby Nephilim completely.”
“So?” I ask.
“So, if they want to kill one of my charges, what does it matter which one? And if it turns out all of this is for some ritual and they need blood, a baby would be easier to manage than a ten-year-old. It was like they needed him specifically for some reason.”
“Make your point, Armaros.”
Ros takes a deep breath. “What if they want a Nephilim to read from the Book of the Speech from God?”
“No.” I shake my head, refusing to even entertain the idea for a second. “Nephilim knowing the language of creation is an urban legend. Nobody’s spoken it since the last reboot on Earth. Hell, we were there, Ros. We read directly from the Book of the Speech from God, and I can barely remember any of it.”
“Yeah, like I said, crazy.” He pauses a beat. “You any closer on enchanting that ring you were working on?”
I glance at Hannah, but even if she could hear, she wouldn’t understand him. “I think if I tweak it just a little more, I’ll be ready to chant.”
He sighs, relieved. “Thank God, man. I already have blocking spells on the house, Mark’s car, his office, and his work’s gym. He doesn’t go many other places, but not having to panic when he does will be nice for once.”
I don’t envy him or Chaz and their multiple charges. Handling the attacks on Hannah is more than enough for me.
“I’ll let you know when it’s done,” I say.
My phone lands on the coffee table, and I crawl up Hannah, sliding her laptop to the floor. Her legs open for me, and I go straight for her chest. She lets out a sexy, breathy sound. “So, what’s the language of creation?”
I plan on ignoring her until I fully process what she asked. Then I go cold, slowly looking up at her.
“What did you just say?”
“This language I’m supposed to know. The language of creation. What is it?”
She skims her hands under my shirt, but I pull them away. Did I accidentally switch back to English without realizing it? It’s the only explanation, unless…
“You can understand me?” I ask in the Angelic language.
She nods. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because only other angels should.”
I’m on my feet, digging through her bag on the floor for a pen and paper. Rosdan can’t be right. He just can’t. We all thought the rumors about the Nephilim and the language of creation were as true as the “fact” that they eat humans. But if Hannah inherently knows the language of the angels, it might be real.
Fuck. For so many reasons, fuck.
I drop onto the floor between the couch and coffee table, pulling her down with me.
“Cass, what’s going on?” She leans over, watching me as I draw symbols on the paper.
“The BOSG was written in the language of creation. We used it to create everything on Earth.” I set the notebook on the coffee table in front of her. “Read that.”
Her eyes linger on mine. A hint of light precedes them lowering to the page. And then she fucking starts reading it—a language no mortal has ever spoken. The symbols on the paper begin glowing, the ink releasing the white dust I haven’t seen in over four thousand years. It lifts from the page, and Hannah gasps, clinging to my arm. The dust swirls around and dances in the air in front of us until it begins to take shape. Just the outline at first, but soon the rest weaves together, forming the intricate design of a butterfly’s wing.
“Holy fuck,” Hannah whispers, her nails digging into my skin, her light pulsing through me.
“Holy fuck is right.” My hand waves through the dust, and it all falls back onto the table. I push off the floor, leaving her staring at what was almost a butterfly. I rub the back of my neck and pace.
If this means what I think it means, we’re so far beyond fucked.
There are only two uses for the Book of the Speech from God. Hannah just demonstrated the first—creation. The other’s exactly what you would expect.
The story of Noah was completely made up, his ark and animals two by two. The only things saved back then were removed and then returned to Earth later.
Because when you read from the second half of the BOSG, nothing and no one on Earth survives.
Unless you’re immortal.
Hannah stands in the middle of the living room. “What does this mean?”
I stop and look at her. “It means I need to go see Ros.”
I’m waiting in living room number two of Rosdan’s charge’s house when a small person with a brown mop on his head walks down the stairs.
“Alistair, this is my brother Cass.”
The kid pauses at the end of the couch and gives me a once-over, sitting down. “You two don’t look alike.”
“Adopted.” I toss the notebook with the symbols drawn in it on the cushions between us. “What does that say?”
He checks with Rosdan, pushing up the glasses sliding down his nose.
Rosdan nods at him. “Just try to read it.”
Alistair look
s at the paper, focused as his eyes examine the symbols. Then, just like Hannah, he begins flawlessly speaking the language of creation. Alistair sits back, mouth wide open while watching the divine light shine from the page, rising up and beginning the act of creating a butterfly. The anxiety seeps from Rosdan, and he steps closer, putting a protective hand on Alistair’s shoulder.
“Did I do that?” the boy asks, staring up at him.
This time, I wait, desperate for the light to fizzle out or the butterfly to lose form. But soon a blue-and-black butterfly flaps its wings for the first time, coming to life. Brought into existence by a ten-year-old boy less than a minute ago.
Rosdan and I exchange a look. He kneels next to Alistair, carefully holding his face in his hands. “Ali, you won’t remember reading anything or seeing the butterfly form. Okay?”
An innocent smile appears, and he nods. “Okay, Ros.”
Rosdan playfully roughs up the kid’s hair as he stands, but his face stays grim.
Once Alistair’s eyes refocus, they go straight to the butterfly fluttering around the room. “Hey, Ros, look.”
Rosdan turns, acting surprised. “How’d that guy get in here?”
Alistair’s already on his feet, running toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the net from the garage.”
He disappears, and Rosdan collapses on the cushions where he was sitting. His head falls back, and he lets out a deep sigh. “We’re so fucked, Kasdaye. The fucking BOSG?”
I check on Hannah with the crystal ball. She’s at the kitchen counter, typing away on her paper. Maybe this is where her interest in linguistics stems from. Her ability to pick up languages with little effort must come from the dormant Nephilim powers.
“It’s still only a theory.” I drag my attention away from the globe. “We have no real reason to believe them attacking the boy instead of the babies and Nephilim being able to read from the book are connected.”
“Right.” Rosdan stares at the ceiling, his knee bouncing. “And even if the demons did figure this out and somehow got their hands on the book, they love Earth. What would they gain from undoing creation?”
“Nothing. At this point, all of this is more than likely a coincidence.” I watch Hannah a little longer and add, “And until we have a reason to believe otherwise, we’re keeping this between us.”
That brings Ros’s head back up, a look of concern on his face. “Cass, Chaz and Samy deserve to know. All of our eternities are on the line here. And we need to tell Lydia, so—”
“No.” I shake my head, not willing to bend on this. “Remember the last time the Nephilim became a complication? They won’t hesitate to finish off the entire race if they become a problem again.”
It’s why I never mentioned the demon attacks to Lydia in the first place—the possibility of them deeming the Nephilim a risk to God’s plan and destroying them. I can’t lose Hannah. No matter how selfish that makes me, I don’t care. I’ll sacrifice every fucking one of us if it means protecting her.
Rosdan glances over as Alistair rushes back in with a butterfly net and a giant grin on his face. He gets to his feet, heading straight to the butterfly on the wall, just out of reach of the boy’s swinging net. He reaches up and gently cups it in his hands to bring it to Alistair’s level. They peek at it and then go release it outside.
There’s a deep understanding in Rosdan’s eyes when he comes back. The connection he feels with his charges may not be the same as the one I share with Hannah, but it’s real and unwavering.
He nods, watching the kid dash up the stairs. “It stays between us.”
By the time I’m ready to drop back to the apartment, Hannah’s finished working on her paper. She’s still at the kitchen counter, laptop open while she watches a horror movie. The opening credits are still flashing on the screen when the fridge kicks on, and she jumps. I drop in behind her and startle her again, wrapping my arms around her. She sighs and sinks back into me. I press my nose to her neck. My eyes close, and I forget where I am. Surrounded by Hannah and flowers. It feels like I’m finally home.
“Stay here,” I whisper against her skin.
“Tonight?” she asks.
I breathe her in and breathe out, “Forever.”
The word comes out of nowhere, but I’ve never meant one more. I hate the thought of her not being with me, of losing this feeling when she’s gone. Even for a second. Because Hannah Kelley is stubborn as hell, annoying as shit, and sexy as fuck. All at once. All the time.
She’s everything.
And fuck if I’m not devastatingly in love with her
It takes Cass over a week after his visit with Rosdan to finish the spell. He immerses himself in it. Barely sleeping or eating. At first, he takes breaks, so he can watch me during classes, but that stops after my last final. A few days later, when I wake up, he’s finally figured out the missing piece that will leave him and his powers exempt. I ask what it is, and he smirks.
“You’ll find out.”
Those are the last words he speaks. To me anyway.
That night, I come out from my shower, and he’s stretched out on the bed, arm over his face, his lips moving. He’s been chanting for twelve hours straight. I crawl under the blankets and cuddle in beside him. He slips his arm around me, and with my head on his chest, I feel the words vibrating. It’s relaxing at this point. His hushed voice repeating the same rhythmic syllables over and over again.
I’m almost asleep when his lips press against my temple. They go straight back to chanting, then kiss me again during the pause he takes between each incantation. He grasps my chin, tilting my face up. His lips brush mine on the break and stay there through the verse, so he can kiss me before the next one.
Mouth still on mine, Cass nudges me over onto my back. He braces himself on his forearm, one hand staying by my head, fist clenched around something he’s been holding ever since he started chanting. The other slips under my tank top. His mouth moves farther down, speaking the words against my neck.
I glide my hands over the muscles of his back, his skin warming faster as he trails his fingers back and forth along the top of my panties. He rubs his erection against my hip, up and down. It sends a surge of heat through me, and I need him inside me. While I shove down his sweatpants, his voice grows huskier. He impatiently tugs at my shorts and underwear with one hand until I slide them the rest of the way off my legs. He positions himself between my thighs. Before he pushes inside of me, Cass stops. I try to pull him the rest of the way, but he won’t budge, dark eyes staring down at me. Feeling him barely touch me, I whimper—so close to what I want that it’s almost painful. I’m a second away from begging when, on the offbeat of his cadence, he thrusts forward.
I gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head. His shut for a second, and then he drives into me again. He’s rough, fucking me to the rhythm of his chanting. The words come faster and faster with every moan, the thrusts harder and deeper. My nails scrape over the blazing skin of his arms. It doesn’t take long, and my entire body’s lighting up beneath his. Cass’s breath is heavy in my ear, his voice gravelly and low. I feel it in every part of me. He forces out the words through clenched teeth and buries into me one last time as deep as he can. His muscles jerk, and he stills.
He drops his forehead onto mine, hot enough that it stings. He only stays for a second. My body is still coming down from an incredible high when he pulls out and leaves me on the bed.
“Where are you going?”
Lips still moving, he gives me a satisfied grin and swipes his phone from the nightstand on his way to the bathroom. Not long after the shower turns on, I get a text.
I needed to infuse enough of my light with the spell to make me exempt. That should have done it.
I sigh, reading the message. Leave it to Cass to find a way to incorporate sex into a spell.
Even though he’s not in the room anymore, I can still hear the words. Over and over again.
The mat
tress dips, and my eyes flutter open. Cass sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at me like I’m the stars.
“Hi,” he says.
His gaze continues tracing my face while I smile at him. “You’re finished chanting?”
“I am. And if this spell didn’t work, you’re just going to have to die because I’m never chanting again.”
“Sounds fair.” I shift up on the mattress, and he leans over, propping himself on his elbow beside me. “Now can I see what’s in your hand?”
One side of his mouth turns up, and there’s that dimple. “I needed to enchant something you can wear all the time. Nothing gaudy or easily broken.” He holds his closed fist in front of me. “I thought you might want it to be this.”
After a second, his hand opens. I draw in a ragged breath at the sight of something I thought I would never see again. In the center of his palm lies my mother’s wedding ring. Swallowing hard, I slowly reach for it. Afraid it will disappear if I move too fast. But then I touch it, and it’s real. It’s here. A white gold band with an inscription on the inside.
“Where did you find it?” My voice shakes.
“At the crash site, along with Brice’s.” His expression is soft, the gentleness he rarely shows peeking through. “I meant to drop them in the Colorado house for you to find. When you sold it, I tossed them in with a few other artifacts and forgot about them.”
My focus returns to the ring still held between my thumb and finger. “Mom was paranoid after she watched some documentary that probably had no basis in reality. She insisted they wear them on chains around their necks whenever they traveled. Dad went along with it, claiming it was cheaper than therapy for her delusions…” I smile and look at him. “You already know all of this.”
