Revenge: House of Nephilim

by May Dawson

  I pull away, looking across the dark, jagged path through the tunnels. “Which way do you think we should go?”

  There’s that frantic baying again. Close.

  “Whatever way they aren’t,” she says without hesitation, and she grabs my hand and yanks me with her. The two of us run through the tunnels.

  The hellhounds thunder along behind us, and I can hear the big black stalactites break behind us as they bound into them in their fury. The hounds have scented us and they’re on the hunt. There’s no stopping them now.

  We reach a narrow passage, and Eden turns, drawing her sword. “This is a good place to take a stand. They can only come through one at a time.”

  “They’re innocent,” I warn her. “There has to be another way.”

  “They’re trying to eat us,” she says. “No one’s innocent in my book when they’re trying to eat me.”

  I give her a look, surprised by her answer. After a beat, she curses as she sheathes her sword.

  “Help me block the path,” I demand.

  “This is so stupid,” she tells me. “You are stupid good.”

  But nonetheless, she throws her shoulder into helping me roll a large stone into the path of the hounds.

  Then she points to a stalactite nearby. It’s wider than she is. “What about that?”

  We manage to knock the stalactite loose, directing its path to block the narrow entrance through the tunnels. Then we frantically roll up other rocks and pile them into the cracks.

  As the hounds slam into the stone wall, Eden backs into my chest. I can feel her fear, even though she’s calm and controlled. My arms close around her automatically.

  Our barrier holds.

  “Not bad, Bright,” she admits.

  She turns into my arms. “Kiss me for luck,” she demands softly. “you’re already doomed to this awful journey for kissing me, and you never did. You might as well kiss me once.”

  “Who said I want to kiss you?” I say, but there’s a strand of wayward shimmering hair knocked loose, her face glimmering with sweat from that frantic work in the heat, and my fingers can’t resist the draw to tuck it back behind her ear.

  “You do,” she says, refusing to take the bait. “When you look at me. I see the way you look at me, Bright.”

  “I’m not your teacher anymore,” I tell her. “You can call me Gabriel.”

  When she smiles, it doesn’t matter where we are. Joy surges in my heart.

  “Well, Gabriel?” she says, her voice teasing.

  I run a finger under her chin and tilt her mouth up to mine.

  The sound of the hell hounds baying fades as I press my lips to hers. Her eyes are shining, those luminous green eyes so full of life.

  She kisses me back, her hands running up my chest to my shoulders. The light touch of her hands sends electricity racing through my body.

  She pulls away, reluctantly. “Finally. I didn’t think you liked me, from the way you glowered at me all the time.”

  I scoff at that. “I glowered at you in my official role, because you, Ms. Greyson, are an incredible pain in the ass.”

  “Rude,” she says.

  “But you do have your good points,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “For instance,” I say, “I’ve known since the day I met you that you’re unstoppable. Incredible. There’s no one I’d rather have on my side in Hell.”

  “You need someone to balance out your stupid-good,” she shoots back, but she still smiles at the compliment.

  The two of us head even deeper into Hell, side-by-side.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  EDEN

  When I hear voices up ahead, I tense. And then I hear Lincoln’s low growl of a voice.

  “It could be a trap,” I say, because the way my heart leaps at the sound of their voices screams trap to me. Their presence could be some sort of illusion.

  Gabriel nods, but the two of us move steadily down the tunnel. We find Julian, Ever and Lincoln there.

  “Is it really you?” I ask.

  Julian raises his eyebrows. “Could you be a more suspicious person, Eden Greyson?”

  Yeah, I think it’s really them.

  Despite the barb, Julian hugs me tight, and the feeling of his hard arms pressed around me tells me that he was afraid for me. I plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

  Lincoln gives me a hard look—oh, he’s still mad about the deception by the hellfire bridge—and I pat his cheek as I pass by, heading along the trail. “It was for your own good, Linc.”

  “Never going to get over that, are you?” he growls.

  I glance over my shoulder at him. “You might not have noticed, but I tend to hold a bit of a grudge.”

  We continue along. It feels like we’ve stopped descending and we’re moving across flat territory, and I think maybe we’ll be headed up toward the surface soon.

  Soon, but not yet.

  We leave the narrow tunnels and have to walk through what seems like a vast kingdom stretching to either side under the earth—although, as Gabriel explains, we aren’t actually under the earth. The gates are a portal to hell.

  We can’t go back through the tunnel, and yet when we reach the end, we’ll stumble out those same gates.

  The fields we’re in feel like a garden vibrant with roses and tulips, and then we come to the first caged, broken human beings. There are humans hung like scarecrows watching over the gardens, but the crows peck at them, unafraid. Enormous bird cages hang from chains that stretch up to the far distant ceiling, which is so high that I lose sight of the chains. There are people—ragged, desperate people—who call out to us from the cages, sobbing for help.

  I give Gabriel a stricken look.

  “We can’t help them,” he whispers, resting his hand on my shoulder. “They would never let us take any of them out of here, Eden.”

  I know we can’t. And yet, my heart aches. Maybe I’m stupid-good like Gabriel after all.

  And then we find Richmond.

  He’s chained spread-eagled to a long, flat rock. A pair of enormous Hell’s hawks peck at his guts, which are open, gleaming red. Even Lincoln makes a choked sound of disgust at the sight, like he’s almost puked.

  I draw my sword.

  “Eden,” Ever warns me. He’s trying to protect me from my desire for revenge.

  But I already got my revenge. Richmond is chained up in Hell, and I’m not—not yet, at least.

  I wink at Ever. “Trust me,” I mouth.

  “You make that very difficult,” he mutters, but he does. He lets me go.

  When I slay both the hawks, Richmond begins to heal almost immediately, like the Nephilim he is, even here.

  He stops screaming and takes several deep breaths, his chest fluttering above the closing wounds.

  “Thank you,” he mutters, but his eyes are still closed.

  “Hello, Richmond.”

  He tries to sit up at the sound of my voice, struggling against his bonds. I pull a bottle of water from my backpack and hold it to his lips, and he glances at me suspiciously until I tilt the bottle against his lips. He drinks desperately, greedily. I should pull it away and preserve more water for my own journey. But for some reason, I let the water flow as he frantically gulps.

  He stares at me, his eyes lost. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you know.” I shrug. “Trying to be my best self. Some people read self-help books, some people go therapy, some of us go on a walk-about through hell.”

  His gaze finds my men behind me, and then his head slumps against the rock. “I thought you would kill them too.”

  “Thought about it.” I brace my foot on one of the rocks nearby. He’s healed now, and I rest my elbow on my knee. “Richmond. Tell me what happened that day… that day with Elliot.”

  “Do we have time for this?” Lincoln asks Gabriel quietly.

  Gabriel nods. “I believe this is the journey we’re on for a reason.”

  “Fortune Cookie,” I remi
nd him, but my gaze is still on Richmond.

  Richmond groans, then he begins to tell the story. I imagine how it would have played out as he describes it, and my memories slowly return.

  I kissed Ever goodbye that morning. I remember his warm arm wrapping around my waist, the heat in his kisses. Julian asked if he could get some smooches too. Lincoln and Elliot rolled their eyes.

  Then Ever, Julian, and Lincoln drove off.

  “We’ve got work to do at the warehouse,” Richmond told us. He’d been acting so normal.

  Then when we reached the warehouse, when we were there with all the other Lords, Michael Kinley had walked in.

  I’d had no idea who he was at first.

  Not until he accused Elliot and I of being Sent agents.

  I’d thought it was ridiculous. I had looked around at these Lords I considered my friends, my family. Elliot was already trying to edge us both toward the door, but it was too late. There was no escape.

  He’d looked at me with fear in those brilliant blue eyes. He’d mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  And they’d strung both Elliot and I up.

  Tortured us.

  “Tell them the truth, Elliot…” I begged them.

  But it was the truth.

  “Love you, Edie,” he murmured. “Always and forever.”

  His wounds shouldn’t be enough to kill a Nephilim. That’s what I told myself, even when his head fell slack.

  The Lords cut him down, and he’d fallen to the floor, as if his body were boneless. His eyes had been unseeing as they stared toward the concrete. Blue blood had poured from his mouth.

  I should have known he was dead, and yet I’d kept waiting for him to get up, for him to be making some play to save us…

  But I was alone. Alone in that room with the rest of the Lords.

  Alone forever, I thought.

  I surface from my own memories, shaking.

  “It was Michael,” I murmur. “He’s the last Lord on my list. I was right… I’m not done yet.”

  “Eden,” Gabriel warns me.

  “It’s time to find our way up top,” I say.

  The desire for vengeance curls through my body, driving away the last of the fear, the copper taste of my blood that lingers in my throat after what I’ve just seen.

  “Bye, Richmond,” I tell him. “I might see you around.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The gates seem to be closed in front of us.

  It makes my heart race, but when we push them open, they swing open easily. Although the twisted branches overhead make the green space dim, I still blink as my eyes adjust to the light. It seems bizarre to leave behind the hellhounds, Richmond on the rocks, and to step back into the real world.

  The five of us stumble out.

  “Congratulations on your safe return,” one of the angels says. “Please draw your swords.”

  Lincoln draws his sword, and as he does, flames curl across the blade.

  The angel smiles. “We are proud of you, Lincoln Holmes. Welcome back into the world.”

  Lincoln nods curtly, but there’s tension written in his tall, powerful frame as he sheathes his sword. He takes his place behind the angel and watches us.

  The angel’s gaze sweeps to Ever. He draws his sword in one smooth, polished gesture and as each inch of steel is revealed, flames ignite across the blade.

  “As we expected,” the angel says. “You have never faltered, Everett Kane.”

  “That might be an overstatement,” Ever says, breaking some of the solemnity of the moment.

  Lincoln makes a get-over here gesture as the angel’s smile flickers, and Ever joins him. Lincoln rests his hand on Ever’s shoulder, just for a second, a brotherly gesture that warms my heart.

  The angel looks at Julian. Julian visibly exhales, before he draws his sword, then stares at the long steely blade. He pulls a face, and my heart freezes in my chest.

  Then a few wisps of smoke rise around the blade, followed by a tiny flame swirling around the tip.

  The angel sighs. “Julian. Welcome back into the world.”

  “I’m a work in progress,” Julian admits. He winks at me and takes his place with the others.

  “Gabriel Bright, you entered Hell willingly as a test of your innocence. And are you innocent?”

  Less so now than when he went in…

  Gabriel draws his sword, and it ignites, fire beating across my face since he stands next to me. He’s so beautiful, with the sword in his hand and the flames brightening his face.

  “As we expected,” the angel says, his voice approving. “And you, Eden Greyson—”

  I reach to grab the hilt of my sword, my feelings a roil but my heart confident. I’ve left a lot of blood splattered behind me, but I’ve made the right choices when it matters. I’ve shown mercy—not because I was trying to manipulate the system, but because there’s no malice in my heart for the dead or for the living.

  Michael Kinley steps into the clearing.

  Well. I have malice for one living person.

  Michael Kinley smiles at me. “Well, Eden, how was your trip?”

  The angel glances at him. “You are not supposed to be here, Michael.”

  “I’m the Nephilim head of house,” he says. “It’s my duty to be at the completion ceremony.”

  “Your accusation against Gabriel Bright was proven baseless during his trial in the pit,” the angel says.

  Michael shrugs. “Those students lied. I’ll deal with it—if there are any survivors from that crew.”

  “You killed my brother.” My voice comes out quiet, but not soft.

  Every face in the clearing turns to me.

  “Bad news, Michael,” I tell him. We have an audience, but I can’t look away from him. His expression is arrogant, amused by my accusation, and fury washes over me. “I regained my memories in Hell. I know you were the Lords of Havoc’s spy in the Sent. I know you came to the Lords and told them that Elliot was a Sent agent. I know you stood by and watched while my brother was beaten to death.”

  Michael shakes his head. “All lies.” He still seems confident, smiling.

  My hand tightens on the hilt of my sword. The desire to kill him is a rush through my muscles. I can almost feel the power in my arm, the sword biting into his neck, cutting his head from his shoulders. I can picture his head rolling away with that damned smile.

  “Eden,” Ever warns, moving to intercept me, but the angel stops him with a hand. Ever freezes, but he doesn’t stop talking. “Remember that Elliot isn’t waiting for you back in Hell, Eden. I just know he’ll wait for you all your life. Until it’s your time to go. That’s not any time soon, Eden.”

  I stare at Michael, wanting to tear him apart. Literally.

  “Eden.” It’s Gabriel, his voice soft. “It’s worth waiting for justice.”

  “Someone else’s ‘justice’ has always been too slow for me,” I say. My fingers twitch around the hilt, which is cold against my palm. That faint flicker of fear that I won’t be able to summon flames grows. I’m still so full of hate and anger and grief. An endless grief that makes death seem tender in comparison.

  Lincoln just says, very softly, “Please.”

  I shake my head, trying not to listen to him. Even here, in front of the angels, Lincoln might be arrogant enough to try to compel me.

  Michael is still smiling.

  “Eden,” Julian says, and there’s a raw note in his voice. “Come on. I’ll never be… anything…without you. We need you. Edie, please.”

  The desperation in his voice makes my chest squeeze. He’s better than he realizes. I want him to know that. If I survive, maybe I’ll be able to help him believe that, just like these men helped me imagine another life for myself too.

  I just want to be someone’s Edie again. That’s what I thought when Julian slipped and called me Edie the first time. But is that what I want?

  The path in front of me if I let Michael Kinley live seems impossible. When he looks at
me with that smile on his face I could swear I’m suspended from the rafters in that warehouse again, my shoulders aching, my toes barely brushing the ground, agony flaring through every limb.

  I might die very soon anyway, if I’m not righteous enough for my sword to ignite. I could take Kinley out first.

  But that would hurt my men.

  I tear my hand off the hilt of my sword, my teeth gritted, and pull myself up straight. I look to the angel, forcing myself to look away from Kinley.

  “May I make a statement to the Sent?” I ask. “In the pursuit of justice for Elliot Greyson. If I’m not worthy after that then… then it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  But I’ll try to trust there is such a thing as justice.

  I know those four men standing across the clearing from me would all try for justice, even if I die.

  “Very well,” the angel says.

  I tell everyone what Michael Kinley did to Elliot, and to me. Michael tries to interrupt.

  “You’ll have your chance,” the angel warns him. Then he turns back to me. “Very well, Eden. You’ve been heard.”

  The words hang in the air, and tension twists in my chest.

  “Now draw your sword,” the angel tells me.

  I draw out a steely blade. I have no expectations. I don’t know if I’m more good than bad; I don’t know who I am anymore.

  A pair of Sent agents, a man and a woman, walk down the path. They draw all eyes to them. One of the angels leans over and murmurs to them, and they move steadily toward Michael.

  “It’s all lies,” Michael says. Now he looks frightened. “It’s just a trick.”

  Before anyone can respond, he tries to drive his sword through my body.

  I parry, my sword ringing against his. He turns abruptly, getting inside my reach. He punches me in the face with his left hand, and I drop under the arc of his sword as he swings it, almost driving his sword into my chest.

  I drop to the ground, catching myself with my hands behind me, and kick out at him as hard as I can.

  He stumbles back a step, then drives his sword down at me. I roll to one side, dodging his attack, and as I jump to my feet, I whirl the sword in an arc, aiming for his neck.

  Michael’s head flies off his shoulder and across the clearing.