The Rise of Babylon (Harem of Babylon Book 2)

by G. A. Rael

  According to Allison.

  Her head whirled like a carnival ride she hadn't agreed to go on. “How did you know where to find Hermes? I’m linked to him and even I can’t.”

  He started to speak but changed his mind at the last minute. “I called him and he answered. Guess he got tired of the harassment.”

  “Right,” Jordan muttered. So he wasn’t coming clean about everything. Not that she had any room to talk. “Chase, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Alright,” he said calmly. “You know you can tell me anything, darling.”

  Jordan swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Just once she wished he had it in him to be an asshole. “This is hard to explain, because I know we haven’t talked about it much since you found out about Hermes, but I —”

  “You slept with Darren while I was gone?”

  Jordan had never been any good at hiding her shock. The knowing smile on Chase’s face told her nothing had changed. He took a sip of his club soda and seemed a bit too satisfied that he’d guessed correctly, given the context. “How did you —?”

  “Darling, you may be in denial about your role in the grand scheme of things, but I’m not.”

  “You’re not angry?” she asked warily.

  “Why would I be angry with you for doing something we’d already discussed?”

  Jordan swallowed hard. “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t expect it to happen this soon.”

  “To be honest, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

  “How can you be so casual about it?”

  He sighed. “Jordan, my fiancee has four other lovers, one of whom I haven’t even met yet. If I hadn’t made my peace with it by now, my blood pressure would have already killed me. Besides, it’s nothing new. I know you fool around with Hermes.”

  “Not anymore,” Jordan grumbled, her face turning hot. He’d have to actually be around for that. “And it’s different with Darren.”

  Chase winced. “Yes, which is why I’d like not to get into the details, if it’s all the same.”

  “Of course,” she said quickly.

  “While we’re on the subject, have you noticed any new abilities being unlocked?”

  “No,” she said hesitantly. “I haven’t really tried. I mean, there was something, but I don’t think it’s related to Darren.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.

  Jordan still wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that she was talking about this of all things with the man she was going to marry, but if he preferred transparency—at least to a degree—it was the least she could give him. “Samael kissed me the night of the party and I think it started to unlock my telekinesis. It’s not much, and I still can’t fully control it, but…”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “About the kiss?”

  “No, about the telekinesis,” he said, frowning. “That’s not a power to be taken lightly, especially with Hermes gone. You could hurt yourself.”

  “I’m okay,” she promised, knowing she needed to tell him about what happened in the woods. “It’s come in handy, sort of. But I think we have a bigger concern on our hands.”

  “Oh?” he asked warily.

  Jordan took a deep breath and recounted what had happened in the woods, leading up to her calling Darren for help. Chase listened patiently, as always, but by the time she finished, he was impossible to read. He was the primary reason she hoped one of her consorts held the key to telepathy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said for what she was sure wouldn’t be the last time that night. “I should’ve told you before, but I knew you’d just come back early.”

  “You’re damn right I would have,” he said, exhibiting the frustration she’d expected when she told him she’d slept with Darren. Or rather, when he’d guessed correctly. “Demons and werewolves? I’ve half a mind to put you under house arrest.”

  “And that’s the other reason I waited.”

  Chase snorted. “Fair enough. But this is serious, Jordan. You could have died.” He leaned forward, taking her hand. “I know that this is all still new to you, too, and I know it probably feels like you’re being smothered between the four of us, but please. No more secrets. I can handle everything except losing you.”

  Jordan felt both better and worse as she spoke. She laced her fingers with his, nodding. “I promise. No more secrets.” She eyed him cautiously. “For either of us?”

  “Of course,” he said without a trace of hesitation. She wanted so badly to believe that he was telling the truth, and that what had happened with Allison was all some horrible misunderstanding, but her heart told her Darren was telling her the truth. Even if he only knew half of it.

  Chase drove her home and Jordan gently declined his offer to stay over and take care of her, since she seemed “under the weather.” She really only needed space from herself, but liquor and self-loathing would have to suffice. She slept too soundly to realize her phone was ringing.

  Chapter 21

  Darren

  Darren stared down at his phone as the screen splintered under the force of his grip. He let it fall to the floor and put another hole in the drywall. It wasn't a full moon and yet he found himself in a spiral of withdrawal. The hunger was so intense that it threatened to consume him with its gnashing teeth if he didn't find something to sate it.

  In a lapse of judgment, he had reached out to the only person he was even capable of seeing as a person anymore. He didn't blame her for not answering. In sleeping together, he knew they’d probably destroyed whatever chance they had at rebuilding their friendship, and for that he blamed himself.

  Darren grabbed his jacket and stalked out of his building, shuffling past a small group on his beeline out of the town square. Chances were they were old friends of his, people he had seen in one capacity or another every day for most of his life, but at the moment, all he could see was walking meat. Holding his breath was only of minimal benefit.

  He was suddenly overwhelmed with relief that Jordan hadn't answered her phone. He had once been so sure that he could never hurt her. In fact, it was the only thing he was sure of, but he had a deep, winding kind of fear that this hunger knew depths even his love for her couldn't touch.

  He made it as far as the bank before the sound of chatter from up ahead forced him to duck into the alley. His teeth clamped down on his fist as he struggled not to breathe. He was relieved to find that they were still just teeth, dull and flat except for his canines. He wasn't sure what he had expected.

  Once he was sure they had long passed, he let out a ragged breath. It didn't feel as necessary as he would have liked. He pressed his hands against the brick wall and lost himself in the texture, all the thousands of tiny little grains. Maybe if he counted each one, he could calm down enough to trust himself with going back to his lot, getting in his car and driving until he felt like he was far enough away not to be a danger to the people he loved.

  A noise from further down the alley caught his attention and his body whirled around like a clockwork dummy, propelled by unseen cogs and jerky in its movements. He moved forward, both willing himself to stop and pushing himself onward. The fact that he didn't stop, even for a moment, told him which part was dominant.

  It was a man, clearly strung out. Darren recognized him as the guy who was always hanging around the bar, waiting for his girlfriend to get off work and mooching free beer. At least, until she broke up with him.

  Now he knew why.

  Darren didn't know the man's name, but he knew how his life was going to end. He pondered the tragedy and inevitability of it from a distance, like he somehow wasn't the one walking toward him with twitching hands and a demonic snarl.

  The man's glassy eyes turned on Darren and recognition flashed in them for a moment before terror took its place. "Hey Doc, what's wrong?"

  Those were the last words the unknown junkie would ever say. A scream had barely formed in his throat before
Darren snapped his neck with the same swift precision he had used to put countless fatally wounded animals out of their misery. It struck him as odd how much easier a human's neck was to break than a bird's and how much less he felt in that moment.

  Soon, he wasn't able to think at all. The same instinct that had been piloting his conscious mind took over entirely and he was relegated to a passenger inside his own mind, forced to listen to the horrible wet, ravenous sounds as he tore into the dead man’s throat. The blood ignited something within him that Hermes’ “protein shakes” couldn’t rival and the thirst for it became one with the need to consume flesh. He’d done plenty of both by the time he hated himself enough to stumble away further down the alley.

  It could have been minutes later or hours, but at some point, Darren blacked out. When he woke, his head was clear, his vision was sharp and he could hear the heartbeat growing closer with nauseating clarity.

  He wanted the haze back, the fog of unsatisfied addiction. Anything to keep his mind off what he’d done. He looked down at the gore on his hands and tried to wipe them off on his even bloodier clothes. Footsteps drew closer to the alley and there was no hiding the mangle of flesh and bone in front of him, even if he had the inclination.

  At least he was himself again. At least he knew he wouldn't hurt anyone else. He took a shaky breath and waited for the poor soul who was about to happen upon the grisly scene. He hoped it was a cop. If not, turning himself in was going to be more complicated.

  When the first and last person he wanted to see rounded the corner, whatever was left of his heart fell. "Jordan?"

  She stared at him with equal shock. She covered her mouth and somehow stifled her scream as her shock became horror, then disgust. Her skin was as white as Hermes's hair as she ran to him. For a moment, he thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because surely she would be running away and not toward him.

  When her hands came to rest on his shoulders, he realized his eyes were working just fine. It was something else entirely that was broken.

  She was saying something to him, words he could hear clearly but was too disoriented to understand. Then, she was tugging at his sleeves, trying to pull him to his feet. He complied and she took his hand, casting one last grief-stricken glance at the corpse he’d left behind, before she pulled him deeper into the alley. He followed her blindly, like a dog twice the size of its owner, led along merely by the authority of adoration.

  He would follow her anywhere, but she was going in the opposite direction of the police station. He wanted to tell her of her mistake, but the only sound his throat was capable of producing was a dry rasp.

  They reached the end of the alleyway and the rural path that led to Mrs. Herrin's house came into view. As Darren realized where she was taking him, he planted his feet and pulled his hand away.

  "Hurry," she said, casting a panicked look around. "We have to get you cleaned up."

  He shook his head. It was the only form of protest he could muster. She ignored him and put her whole weight into tugging on his hand. It barely registered, but he followed her helplessly out of fear that she was going to dislocate her shoulder again if he didn't.

  The white house was dark and quiet as they made their way up the steps. Darren tried to be as quiet as possible, but evidently he didn't succeed. She pressed a finger to her lips and shushed him before leading him into her apartment.

  He could see in the dark even before she turned the lights on. The place was exactly as he remembered, except for the demon's things scattered about. Darren briefly wondered why she hadn't at least moved them in Hermes’s absence.

  She left him in the middle of her apartment and returned a moment later with a garbage bag in hand. She ripped off his shirt and shoved it into the bag before starting on his belt, shoes and jeans. “We have to burn these,” she muttered, tossing the bag aside as he watched her in confusion.

  "Come on," she said, her tone pitying as she took his hand again and led him into the shower. “Get in.”

  Darren hesitated before stripping off his boxers and reluctantly stepping in. If it hadn’t been such a deeply ingrained habit, he probably would have stood frozen.

  Jordan stripped down to nothing and stepped into the shower with him, which was more humiliating than anything else, given the circumstances. He wanted to tell her that she was letting evidence wash down the drain, that he could handle it himself, that she should be literally anywhere else in the world, but he couldn't. All he could do was growl and his hands were only beginning to thaw out of the stiffness that had nearly paralyzed them until he fed.

  “I have to get the blood off,“ she said in a soothing tone as she swept a soapy cloth over his chest. She took his wrist to lift his hand and grimaced as she began to scrub the blood away. “Everything will be fine.”

  Darren caught her wrist and watched her in frustration and awe. Why she was helping him instead of running from him was beyond his ability to sort out. She had seen him for the monster he was now. Maybe it was pity or maybe she felt responsible, but there was absolutely no possibility in his mind that it could be love. “What are you doing?” It took too much effort to speak and his voice sounded strange. Too rough and too deep.

  Jordan stared at him, as if equally confused by his question. Rather than answer, she turned off the water and offered him a towel. “You need to rest,” she murmured. “You’re not yourself.”

  That was the understatement of a lifetime. He followed her out of the bathroom and over to her bed, surprised when she pulled him down with her. She didn’t stay, but it felt like someone had sucked out whatever life was left in him. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was her staring at him, holding a phone and whispering some terrified plea to whoever it was on the other end.

  The next time Darren opened his eyes, he was staring up at Jordan's ceiling. He knew his because of the plants hanging from hooks drilled into the plaster above. His body felt heavy but strong. A blanket had been draped over his lower half but as far as he could tell, he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

  "Are you sure they won't trace it back to him? What about the forensic evidence?" Jordan's voice was a nervous whisper.

  "This is Cold Creek, dollface, not Vegas. Trust me, no one's gonna think a human left that mess.”

  So Samael was back. And he knew about the murder.

  Good. Now Darren could turn himself in without worrying about who was going to take care of Jordan. He sat up slowly.

  "Hey there, sleepin' beauty."

  "You're awake," Jordan said, rushing to his side. "How are you feeling?"

  "Like a homicidal monster.” His own voice sounded huskier than usual.

  "So, good then," said Samael, crossing his arms.

  “Where have you been?” asked Darren.

  “Demon huntin’. Almost had the spindly bastard, too, until Jordan here sent out the distress call.”

  "Sorry to cut your trip short," he muttered, rubbing his head.

  "It happens. This is more pressing business anyway."

  Darren looked between them. Jordan wouldn't meet his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  "Hello, expert in all things undead here?" Samael scoffed. "Y'all didn't think it might be a good idea to warn me that you'd already fed on human flesh?"

  Darren cringed. "It's not something I'm proud of."

  “Yeah, well, you’re seein’ the first-hand effects of what happens when you feed. I’m surprised you didn’t go Dawn of the Dead on the whole town, quite frankly.”

  “He has to feed,” Jordan protested.

  Samael looked at her in disbelief. “Who told you that?”

  "Hermes," she murmured. "He said it was necessary and he helped him feed the first time. He claimed it was the only way Darren could stay in control.”

  Samael snorted. "I'll bet he did."

  "I don't get it, why would he want to set me off?" asked Darren.

  "Same reason he swiped the Moonstone and is holed up somew
here in Europe right now stalking Satan.”

  "He's building up his arsenal," Jordan said bitterly.

  "Bingo. Our boy here might not be the atomic bomb but he's sure heavy artillery."

  "Do I even want to know who is the atomic bomb?" Darren asked warily.

  Samael grew serious for a moment, turning to look pointedly at Jordan.

  “You guys have a funny definition of powerful,” Jordan said, folding her arms and hunching as if to make herself look smaller. “I can barely roast a marshmallow with my pyrokinesis or levitate a feather.”

  “Levitate?” Darren echoed. “Since when can you do that at all?”

  Jordan chewed her bottom lip and the way she was looking at Darren, he realized he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. “It happened after I kissed Samael, I think.”

  The angel stood by looking like the arrogant prick he was. Darren knew he didn’t have any right to be jealous, but he was all the same. “Oh.”

  “Hence part of the reason I was trying to find Hermes,” said Samael. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s the only one who really knows how Jordan’s power works.”

  “You said he’s looking for the devil?” Darren asked, finally starting to come back to himself.

  Jordan nodded absently. “That’s what Chase said.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with that that demon who attacked you in the woods said?” Darren asked.

  From the way Jordan avoided his gaze and the way the vein stood out in Samael's forehead, Darren could tell she hadn't filled him in on that yet.

  “Let’s just say one of Hermes’s ‘friends’ came to pay him a visit. He’s been recruiting demons to overthrow Lucifer and raised a lot of eyebrows in the process,” she muttered.

  “How the hell did you get away from him?” Samael demanded.

  “A werewolf,” Darren answered. “It saved her and she woke up at Chase’s place.”

  "Son of a bitch," Samael said, leaping to his feet. "You keepin' anything else from me, little lady? Got a money laundering ring I should know about? Lose any fiddling contests to the devil lately?"