by May Dawson
I sigh and head down the row before one of my guys can come in here after me.
I’m already at the doorway when I hear them laugh at something Gabriel has just said. I glance over my shoulder. He’s smiling at whatever he’s just said, but his eyes lock on mine over their shoulders. There’s heat and desire in those eyes, so intense it makes the smile fixed on his face for them a lie.
I almost stumble on my way out of class.
Ever grips my shoulder, then tugs me into his side to get me out of the way of passing students. He turns his lips into my hair to murmur, “Where’s that famed Nephilim grace?”
“You can be a jerk or you can snuggle me to your side,” I tell him, pushing him away gently, “but you’re going to have to choose one.”
He shrugs. “It’s just strange to see you off-balance.”
“Off-balance? I think not.”
“Strange?” Julian rests his forearm on Ever’s shoulder, and Ever tenses. “I’d say delightful.”
I head into Julian’s room with him to change into my shorts, t-shirt and sneakers. As the two of us are changing with our backs to each other—why, I don’t know, when we’ve already been naked together—I say, “Thank you for having your mom get me clothes. That was thoughtful.”
“That’s my middle name. Thoughtful.”
“You wish. I know your middle name is Clarence.” I grin. “I like your mom’s style.”
“Hmph,” he grumbles.
I sit cross-legged on his carpet to jerk out a knot in my laces. Julian’s sketches and paintings cover the wall in layers. “I bet the pictures get you laid, huh?”
“Historically, yes,” he says.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “Now?”
His lips purse to one side, but he doesn’t say anything.
I look back to the pictures. He hasn’t sketched any girls, or rather, knowing how Julian used to operate, he’s sketched them, fucked them, and sent them off with a souvenir. I shake my head as I slide myself across the floor to study them.
“Don’t,” Julian groans as I peel up the corner of one, curious about what lies beneath. I’ve caught a glimpse of bright colors, and most of his pictures hanging on the most recent layer are charcoals or ink-and-pencil sketches.
But I catch a glimpse of a faintly stubborn chin, of lips colored bright pink and an electric background. Watercolors. There aren’t any of them on the wall, and when I peel up the black-and-white sketch of the campus above it, I find a picture of me. He painted me from memory, with bright colors from my golden hair to my eyes.
Julian sighs. “Must you?”
“I must.” I rise to my knees, carefully taking down the top layer of monochrome sketches to reveal another picture of me outside at night, with the moon haloing my hair. “You painted me like an angel.”
“You are an angel.”
“Just half an angel,” I say, and think of my wings, of the fight with Lincoln. “And a broken one, at that.”
For a few long seconds, there’s silence. Then he comes and sinks to sit cross-legged next to me.
“Just?” He peels another picture away, revealing another painting of me. I’m lying on my side in this one, my cheek propped on my hand; it’s close up on my face, a forced perspective, and I’m laughing. It reminds me of all the chats we had, talking late into the night, on the couches in the safe house. “I wish you’d told me you were just anything before I painted all these.”
“All these?” I urge him on.
He runs his fingers through his hair, bowing my head, then glances at me sideways. It’s a sexy expression, and I know in that moment that I’ll never forget the way he’s looking at me right now.
“I hid all my paintings of you,” he says. He stands and starts to pull down the top layer, pulling off the pen-and-ink sketches to reveal the glowing colors underneath. They aren’t all of me, but there’s a dozen that are.
There are other pictures that are of us. There are several sketches of Elliot. There’s one of Elliot with his arm slung over my shoulders and a smirk on his face, and I’m giving him a look. That one makes me laugh. It’s the perfect representation of Elliot and me. Then suddenly, my eyes are hot.
“It’s an awful lot of incriminating evidence,” Julian mutters.
I hate for anyone to see me cry, and Julian doesn’t acknowledge the tears, but he rests his arm lightly across my shoulders.
“I love them.” I wipe away the tears that came to my eyes, but the desire to cry is already faded. But still—how long has it been since the last time I cried? It feels healing to just miss Elliot.
I run my fingertips over the space beneath a drawing of the five of us, color added sparingly. It’s almost a set of caricatures, drawn comic-book style, as if we’re a band of superheroes. “You drew all of us.”
“I missed all of us.” Julian’s voice is threaded with pain. “And I handled it all… so fucking badly.”
I face him, although it’s hard to tear my eyes away from the hidden wall of color he’s just revealed. “What Lincoln said earlier…about how you didn’t care when Ever went to the detention center…”
“I cared,” Julian says abruptly. “But I didn’t know how to show I cared.” His face changes, then he admits, “No, that’s a lie. I knew it, and I was too much of a prick to talk to Ever.”
He looks miserable. “Lincoln hated him, and I just went along with him. What kind of man does that?”
He stares into the distance. The way he hates himself in this moment breaks my heart. He’s made mistakes and he has to try to make them better, but don’t we all?
When I close the distance between us, he gives me a startled look, as if he didn’t expect that I’d still want him.
“We might have blue blood running in our veins, but at our core, we’re human,” I remind him.
Nephilim are obsessed with being something better, but I don’t think we’re better than anyone else. I just want to be better than I was last year. Hell, I want to be better than I was last week.
“I know you don’t pay attention in class, but if you recall…we’re all knit together from flaws and redemption, from dust and starlight. You’re meant to be flawed. And then you’re meant to try to be better. Just like everyone else. Your mistakes don’t mean you aren’t full of starlight.”
He just stares at me, as if he’s trying to decide if he believes me or not.
Then abruptly, he hugs me so hard that he lifts me off the floor, my toes leaving the ground. I squeeze him back.
“You should talk to Ever,” I whisper.
“I know.” He sets me down, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “Whether he can leave it in the past or not… thank you, Edie.”
I haven’t heard that nickname since Elliot. I thought I’d never heard it again, and that I would never want to hear it again.
But I press my ear against Julian’s thundering heartbeat, his arms wrapped tight around me, and I’m glad to once again be someone’s Edie.
CHAPTER FORTY
Esther looks away from the lines of students beginning to assemble as the four of us make our way through the yard and toward the woods.
“Get over here,” she calls to us, and reluctantly, the four of us meet her. She glances over me skeptically, then looks to Lincoln. “Is she catching up?”
He nods, his face guarded. Gabriel told her that he was leaving; it was the only way to make sure the four of us could stay together during our afternoon hand-to-hand training session.
She looks me over. “Another day, I intend to see just how much she’s caught up.”
I just adore being spoken of, instead of to.
“I can’t wait,” I say. “Are you just going to watch? Or are you and I going to fight?”
She looks at me sharply as I give her my most innocent smile.
“I’ve put together a training plan that I can show you tonight,” Lincoln offers, before he grabs my upper arm and drags me away from her.
As soon as we’r
e out of earshot, I jerk my arm away. I know he’s just trying to save me from Esther’s wrath; I’m not really mad at him. But he hasn’t earned back the privilege of touching me, and he better recognize that.
He gives me a hurt, frustrated look, but he hasn’t even apologized yet. I am not here for his hurt feelings.
The four of us make our way down the trail to the training yard, which is quiet now. It’s a toss-up as to what’s most dangerous right now: we need to stay in public places, but we also don’t want anyone to realize just how dangerous I am. We don’t want to feed into that crazy story going around the Nephilim house that I killed nineteen Lords of Havoc.
Sometimes it seems like a crazy story to me now, honestly, and I lived it. The hellhounds chasing me. The desperate fights. The rooms shattered around me as I stood, breathing hard, with blood dripping from my fingertips.
I’ve heard that hate is a terrifying thing. But maybe love is a terrifying thing. I was driven to wipe everyone from this world who erased my Elliot.
“You work with her,” Lincoln mutters to Julian. “Let’s spar.”
Julian’s brows arch in surprise. That pairing leaves Lincoln with Ever.
Julian shrugs, but even as the two of us circle each other, I can’t help being distracted by Lincoln and Ever.
Everett moves into a fighting stance. Lincoln doesn’t hesitate; he closes in on Everett with reckless fury. Ever dodges his blows, sure footed, looking for his opening. Lincoln is impossibly fast, and he slams his fist into Ever’s face. The force of the blow knocks Ever across the clearing and he lands hard on his shoulders.
Lincoln bounds toward him, and I’m worried what he’s going to do, but Ever flips up onto his feet, kicking Lincoln in the chest. Lincoln almost manages to get control of Ever’s ankle, but Ever jumps in the air and kicks him with the other leg. Lincoln stumbles back a step, and Ever lands gracefully, but Lincoln is already closing up on him again.
I look back at Julian, my eyes wide. He pulls a face, then throws a quick combination of punches my way. I block each blow, then try to throw him. He drops instead, his leg kicking out to knock my feet out from under me. I flip over him, then turn back, kicking him in the chest. He locks his arm across my foot and falls back, yanking me down to the ground. The two of us wrestle for control on the ground, each of us trying to pin the other, but I can’t stop glancing at Lincoln and Ever.
Ever’s face is calm with concentration; Lincoln’s is tight with fury. Lincoln unleashes a furious volley of blows that Ever blocks and dodges—amazingly—and then Ever gets in a punch that snaps Lincoln’s head back. Lincoln is a flash as he goes after Ever; he knocks Ever halfway across the clearing. Ever rolls over and over across the grass as Lincoln stalks toward him, but Ever manages to get to his feet before Lincoln reaches him.
Julian pins me, but I don’t even care right now. He’s stopped too, watching them both.
Lincoln must feel our gaze, because he snaps, “Are you two going to stop flirting and do some work?”
Julian releases my wrist so he can tap his finger against his jaw. “Sure. Eden and I are the ones irresponsibly exploring our emotions right now.”
Lincoln spreads his arms in exasperation. “I can’t work out with Eden right now—she won’t even let me touch her.”
“The last time you touched me, you dropped me.” My voice comes out steely. Julian scrambles off me, offers me a hand up and I let him pull me to my feet.
Ever runs his hand through his sweat-damp hair. He’s breathing hard, but then, so is Lincoln.
“Because you weren’t being brave enough to face your own power,” Lincoln says tartly. “Did you fall or did you fly, Eden?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say crisply. I point to Ever, but my gaze fixed on Lincoln. “Speaking of. Are you brave enough to face why you’re such a dick to Ever?”
Ever raises his hands. “Yeah, no. Don’t tag me in, Eden. Linc and I will deal with our feud on our own.”
Lincoln gives him a blank look, as if he doesn’t know why Ever is even talking to him. “We don’t have a feud.”
He doesn’t say it, but it’s implied: Ever doesn’t matter to him enough for there to be a feud.
For a few long seconds, Lincoln and I just stare at each other.
“Actually,” Everett says, folding his arms over his chest. “I take that back. I’m sorry, Eden. That was a great question.”
Julian’s brows arch. I can read his expression: here we go.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Lincoln tells Ever. “I don’t hate you. If I’m a dick as accused, it’s just because I don’t think about you.”
For a few long seconds, silence hangs in the air.
Then Ever says, “You realize everyone here sees through your shit, right? You’re surrounded by people who are just as big of dicks as you are—”
“I think the dick metaphor has gone a little far.” I hold up my hands, but no one is listening to me.
I know these guys love their dicks—and you know what, sometimes so do I—but I don’t want to be compared to one. I pretend otherwise, but even the best dick still looks ridiculous.
Ever forges on. “—so we know all the tricks. You can lie to us, but none of us are going to buy it.”
“Whatever.” Lincoln says. “Training session is over for the day.”
He starts to head back toward the house, then he comes to an abrupt stop, his arms crossed over his chest. He has to wait for us.
As one silent unit, the four of us move toward the house. Everyone’s bruised and sweaty, but we’ve got nothing to show for it.
“Can I show you guys something?” Julian asks suddenly. There’s a cocky recklessness in his face, something bright in his eyes.
“It’s not a dick, is it?” Ever asks.
“Why does everyone assume that?” Julian demands.
A few minutes later, he leads us into his room. He’s hung the charcoal and pen-and-ink drawings up above the watercolors and pastels again, as if he’s trying to hide his heart itself.
“It’s not just one dick,” Julian says, taking a few down. “It was five.”
He steps to one side, revealing a picture of Julian, Ever, Lincoln, Elliot and me, all with our arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. We never posed like that in real life. The older Lords would have mocked us mercilessly.
“I’ve missed all of us,” Julian says bluntly. He looks at Ever. “You were always a good friend, and I turned my back on you.”
“Christ,” Lincoln mutters. “Why don’t you two hug and make up?”
Lincoln storms toward the door.
“Stay close,” Ever calls, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking Lincoln or looking out for him. Or both.
Linc slams the door in response.
It’s just the three of us now.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Julian
“WHEN I CAME HERE, I wanted everyone to know I was done with the Lords,” I say slowly. It’s hard for me to apologize. Angels don’t do sorry.
“I get it,” Ever says. “It’s all right, man.”
He’s trying to save me from having to apologize.
But here’s the thing: the angels are assholes. So are most Nephilim. I don’t want to be like them.
Even if it’s hard being anything else.
“It’s not. I shouldn’t have turned my back on you,” I say. “If you were still a Lord, then Linc and I should have beaten it out of you.”
Ever can’t help but smile. “I’m not sure you can change anyone’s mind that way.”
“Worth a shot,” I say.
“You had good reason not to want to be my friend,” he says, with an easy smile that lets me off the hook. “Still do, really.”
“Because you’re a jerk? Come on, I hang out with Lincoln…” I remind him.
“You were trying to leave the Lords behind you, and you thought I was one of them,” Ever adds. “I could’ve handled that better. I could’ve talked to yo
u.”
“So we’re a pair of miserable jerks who can’t communicate.” I shrug. I can’t put the sense of relief that floods my chest into words, and I’m not going to try.
I missed us. Even though there will always be an Elliot-sized hole in the world, the four of us left behind can make something new.
Maybe even something bigger and more complicated than friendship.
“Lucky me,” Eden says lightly, right before she catches my wrist and reels me toward her. “I get you miserable jerks for my very own.”
As soon as I’ve got my arms wrapped around her, and my already half-hard dick press against her stomach—which just seems to make her smile—she cocks a finger at Ever, gesturing him in.
“Time to make up, boys,” she says lightly.
“And we do that by… what… pleasuring you?” I tease her.
“Mm. If you can.” She tosses her head, her eyes full of challenge.
Well. Game on.
Ever moves toward her without hesitation. He grips her waist, his lips meeting hers fiercely, and she twines her arms around his neck, bobbing up onto her toes. The two of them trade fierce kisses, and part of me is tempted to drop my hold on her and walk away. The two of them kiss each other like they’re burning up and the only thing that can save them is tongue-kissing.
But as if Eden can read my tension, she reaches back and grabs me through my jeans, holding me tight so I can’t escape.
Two can play at that game. My hand sweeps down her taut abs, which contract under my touch, and delve down her waistband. When my fingers caress her mound, even though her underwear, she inhales. For a girl as cold and controlled as she is, that’s enough to bring the faintest smile to my lips.
But I want more than a breath from her. I want to make her come so hard that she leans against me, that she calls my name.
Hell, I wouldn’t mind if she called Ever’s too, for that matter.
As I toy with her, I can feel dampness seep through her panties, and it makes me smile.
