The Knight: The Original's Trilogy - Book 3

by Cara Crescent

  At least he could enjoy holding his mate. He slid his arm under Kat’s pillow as he spooned his body to hers. His arm brushed against something hard and flat. A book? He pulled it out.

  Her laptop.

  He should put it back. She’d been careful to keep it out of sight since he’d arrived. She’d been adamant that he not try to force his memories.

  The problem was, her way wasn’t working. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t remembered anything that provided any answers. After Trina’s visit today, he was even more on edge. Trina had made it sound as though his time was running out. Something was going to happen soon. Something that would determine his fate.

  What had Trina said? He needed to prove himself sane and convince the coven he was loyal to them.

  How could he do either with no memories? Too many questions plagued him. He needed to know more about himself, of what he was accused of. He wanted to be with Kat, but in order for that to happen, he had to clear his name.

  She must have information about him on this laptop. Something about what he’d done or why he was here. He slipped out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and crept downstairs. At the base of the stairs, he paused. The house was almost unnaturally quiet. He’d come down earlier and turned off the music, but . . . .

  The buzz of Kat’s shield was gone. He went to the door and opened it. There was no shield. Her Magic must have faded out completely. All the more reason to figure out his situation quickly.

  He shut the door and settled himself on the couch, opened the laptop, and powered it on. While the laptop went through its startup, the spiders came alive under his skin. This wasn’t a good time for them to be unprotected. Hell, he didn’t know how to break the news to Kat. Would she know as soon as she woke? Or wouldn’t she realize until she tried to cast?

  The screen lit up, drawing his attention. She was so damn trusting, she hadn’t even used a password to protect her data. A brief search of her computer files turned up a cookbook worth of recipes, pictures of animals she’d nursed to health, and an abundance of documents about healing. Her email was pretty damned vanilla, too. What the hell had she been hiding?

  Since he’d been here, Kat had avoided letting him see either the TV or computer. She never so much as turned on the radio. If he searched his name on the Internet, would something come up?

  Did he want to know? He couldn’t imagine how he’d come to be covered in dried, caked-on blood when he’d first arrived here. Didn’t have any idea why someone would go to the trouble of putting a felo-de-se curse on him.

  Spiders raced under his skin and he considered closing the laptop. Just forgetting the whole thing and enjoy his time with Kat.

  Except he wouldn’t enjoy the time. He’d worry. He’d regret not trying to get answers. He glanced toward the stairs even though the silence in the house implied Kat was still asleep. It was now or never. He toggled the cursor over to the big red G and clicked. A new screen blinked open. The usually colorful Google banner had muted dull tones today and was draped in black. Animated fog surrounded the logo and tiny silver eyes peeked out from various letters. Was it Halloween? The date at the bottom claimed today was November 16th. He hovered the mouse over the logo and a little text box appeared: Mourning the lives taken by Nephilim.

  What the hell?

  He went to CNN. The home page showed a drawing of a young man. Blond curly hair framed big brown eyes and an angular face. “Julian.”

  Impossible. Julian was dead, had been for centuries. That was his own face. He’d nearly forgotten what he looked like, it had been so long since he’d seen himself or his brother. The drawing didn’t show any of his new facial scars but the maniacal glint in his eyes was . . . worrisome.

  He dragged his gaze away from the portrait to read the headline: The Harbinger — $1,000,000,000 For Capture or Information Leading to Capture.

  “Jesus.” That was a shit-ton of zeroes. What the hell had he done? He opened the article.

  Julius Crowley, as the suspect is now known, is wanted for creating Nephilim in collaboration with Revelations Industries. U.S. Intelligence agencies, in cooperation with allied daemons—

  What the fuck? Allied daemons? When the hell did humans discover daemons existed?

  . . . in cooperation with allied daemons, have determined Crowley’s direct collaboration with Revelations Industries. The initial objective of the experimentation appears to be curing the fifteen infected U.S. soldiers of symptoms caused by one of RI’s bio-weapons. Post-treatment, the soldiers transformed into the creatures we now call Nephilim and attacked RI employees, as well as naval personnel stationed on Smyrna Island, where RI’s facilities are located. The director of RI, Dr. Edwin Moss, was found dead at the scene, as were twelve others. All other personnel is assumed to have been transformed. Within hours of the failed experiment, reports of Nephilim came in from Russia, Hungry, Greece, and later that day, in the U.S.

  Allied daemons state they tried to stop Crowley and the Nephilim, arriving early enough to rescue a handful of RI employees and naval personnel, but too late to stop Crowley from leaving the facility with the Nephilim. The resulting global massacres have left many nations crippled. States of emergency were declared in 179 countries and, at this time, the UN is unable to meet the demand for assistance. Initial estimates have deaths and disappearances at 2.4 billion, making this the largest catastrophe in human history.

  He stared hard at the words long after he’d finished reading. His muscles began to ache. He’d frozen in place, his back ramrod straight, his fingers clutched around the wooden arms of the chair. He was poised to fight.

  Had he been worried that he’d murdered someone? That appeared to be a paltry concern. Jesus, he was responsible for the deaths of all those people. That had to be like, what, a third of the global population? He’d changed the lives of everyone—human and daemon.

  No. No, they thought he was responsible. Kat said he’d been set up. So who was it? The Dr. Edwin Moss mentioned in the article? Someone else? And how could someone else do this and set him up to take the blame?

  Actually, doing such a thing wouldn’t be all that hard. He forced himself to relax and sat back in his chair. Leopold, for instance, had all the tools needed to pull off such a venture. As a vampire, he couldn’t be photographed. As a projector talent, he could create a doppelgänger of anyone he wanted. Yes, he could see definite possibilities here.

  But was it true? Why would Leopold set him up? He hadn’t ever been a threat to the Council. Last he remembered he’d been a Guardian, for fuck’s sake.

  Jesus. He had the information. He knew who did this. Why they did this. All he had to do was remember.

  He scrolled down to see if there was more information. Under the drawing was another headline.

  * * *

  Daemons Agree to Alliance.

  Little is known about our new neighbors, the daemons. We know they fit the likeness and bearing of legends and folktales from the beginning of recorded history, indicating they have been here, with us, since the beginning. Their leaders, two females—Gasans Lilith Caldwell and Satrina Lopez, both formerly human—have pledged their armies to fighting off the recent rise of Nephilim.

  * * *

  They’ve also promised to capture and present Julius Crowley, the daemon responsible for creating the Nephilim, to the U.S. government for trial as a sign of their desire for peace. There has been some debate as to whether daemons, in league with Crowley and RI, have caused the problem in order to gain our trust through being our “saviors.” Some suspect that Crowley is no more than a scapegoat for humanity to place the blame on while others fear the daemons will not follow through with their agreement to hand over Crowley for trial and worry what that will mean for future peace.

  * * *

  However, in light of the ineffectiveness of sending in human forces to combat Nephilim, the United Nations is encouraging partnered countries to ally with daemons. Daemons have proven to have a higher success rate in des
troying Nephilim and surviving confrontations, thus limiting the growth of Nephilim swarms.

  * * *

  In exchange for the daemon’s protection, the U.S. government has agreed to provide provisional citizenship to daemons who meet designated criteria. The criteria has not been released to news sources as of yet, causing outrage on both sides.

  * * *

  The government, backed by the U.N., has also created a new governmental agency which will be manned by both humans and daemons for the purpose of enforcing governmental laws and monitoring citizenship among daemons here on Earth. The new agency, the DDC, Department of Daemonic Control, is headed by Scott Mason [human], formerly of the U.S. Navy. This has done little to ease the concerns of those citizens opposed to the alliance.

  * * *

  What a disaster. There was no way this would work. Daemons would become the newest second-class citizens while risking life and limb to protect their oppressors. He could only imagine the frenzy religious organizations must be in. The whole idea was ridiculous. He continued to the next article.

  Outrage Sparks as Curfew Enforced in U.S.

  With reports of Nephilim assaults coming in worldwide, the President of the United States, for the first time ever, has issued a “dusk ’til dawn” curfew in order to protect U.S. citizens. Billions of dollars of revenue have been lost due to the curfew. Loss of life in the U.S. has entered the hundred-thousand mark with almost a million unaccounted for. We can only assume at this time that those missing can now be counted among the Nephilim the daemons have agreed to fight on our behalf.

  * * *

  Homeland Security has pulled all police and emergency personnel from night shift operations as they are unable to effectively combat the Nephilim. Instead, daemon patrols respond to night emergencies and try to reduce the number of Nephilim. While many citizens are against the alliance, Homeland Security says at this time, the daemons are the only hope we have.

  * * *

  Senator Keen [D-WA][human] pointed out, “They [the daemons] don’t have to help us. That they’re offering to is a testament to their spirit of goodwill toward humans.” He went on to say, “I don’t understand why the community is so upset with our alliance. It’s in our best interests. The daemons have been here as long as we have, longer maybe – the fact that we now know about them – why is that a cause for concern?”

  * * *

  If Nephilim attack in your area: Stay indoors, preferably in a residential home. Do not try to shoot them from windows or doorways as you could wound allies.

  * * *

  If you require medical, fire, or police assistance after dark: allied daemons will be sent to your home. You must formally invite them inside. Once their task is finished, they will have to leave and not be able to return without another invitation. They are offered all the same protection as their human counterparts and may use like-force to protect themselves from attack, if necessary.

  * * *

  He laughed. Christ Almighty, they didn’t even have their facts straight. They were giving them directions for how to work with vampires. The rest of daemon kind didn’t require an invitation.

  He leaned forward in his chair and clicked a link labeled Images of Destruction.

  The captions under the first picture claimed it was taken at the RI facility on Smyrna Island. He forced himself to look at the image of a compound surrounded by bodies. The water breaking along the nearby beach was tinted red. A vague sense of familiarity washed over him.

  He’d been there.

  He’d seen this.

  Sitting back in his chair, he closed his eyes and pictured the scene in his mind; the bloody waves lapping onto the shore, the bodies strewn about. The scent of fresh blood mixed with the smoky salt-tinged air washed over him—euphoric recall. Even the guttural animalistic sounds of the Nephilim. The scene came alive in his mind.

  He was surrounded by the creatures. They’d killed the humans in a frenzy of bloodlust. In the distance, a human and a daemon appeared on the shore. He recognized Trina. Trina and . . . Duncan, her mate.

  Julius clung to the memory. He remembered Duncan, though not how he knew him.

  The two ran onto the beach, focused on rescuing the last of the survivors.

  Duncan fought the Nephilim with everything he had, preventing new creatures from transforming and trying to protect the remaining humans from attack. He didn’t notice Julius, no one did.

  He wanted to join the fight. The urge to help, to destroy the abominations itched under his skin. But he didn’t. He stood there and watched. Watched Duncan fight the Nephilim. Watched Trina running up the hill toward where he stood. A smile stretched his lips.

  When she reached him, he hypnotized her. Threatened her.

  He shook his head. He’d been happy to see them. He wanted them to rescue the humans. Hell, he’d wanted to help them but he hadn’t. How could he feel so strongly one thing and then act in a completely opposite manner?

  He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to get as much information as he could from the memory. What had he wanted from Trina? Something important. He’d almost strangled her trying to get her to perform some kind of spell. Had put his hand around her neck and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. He’d have killed her if his hand hadn’t started to burn and turn black. Instead, he released her and had escaped with the Nephilim.

  He’d taken them to . . . Russia. The sky had been dark, but it had been early enough for the streets to be full. The Nephilim had killed or transformed everyone they’d come across. People ran in all directions, screaming.

  And he’d laughed. Fed. Taken the Nephilim to another city when the hunting grew difficult.

  “I’m guilty.” He sagged back into his chair, staring at nothing. Kat was wrong. “I’m guilty of it all.”

  As if he’d opened a floodgate, memories poured into his mind, one after another. Horrific images of death and destruction all at his hands.

  He’d tried to kidnap James’ mate, Lilith, by mesmerizing her. He’d tried to force Trina to perform Magic for him by mesmerizing her. He had tricked Moss into helping him create the Nephilim, then mesmerized him so he could feed off him.

  Kat. She’d said he was innocent. She’d said he’d been set up. Why in God’s name would she lie? Had he mesmerized her, too?

  He was insane. He must be. The memories were real. The articles on the Internet were real. He remembered hurting people, killing them, creating the Nephilim . . . but he’d be damned if he remembered why.

  Why were the thoughts he remembered so at odds with his actions? Had he been mesmerized? He dismissed that idea right off. To the best of his knowledge, he was the last of his kind. Leopold had gone to great lengths to ensure that.

  Leopold. That’s twice his name had come up. Somehow, he was involved in this. The problem was the memories. Even if Leopold had created a doppelgänger of him . . . he wouldn’t have memories of what the doppelgänger had done. That he did, meant he must have done them.

  He’d sacrificed everything to keep the world safe . . . The thought brought him up short. It was that same sure, confident voice that often told him things he couldn’t back up. Things that later proved to be true.

  “What?” he asked himself. “What did I sacrifice?”

  Kat filled his mind. A dark night, lit by fire streaking across the sky. Older than she was now, dressed for a different era, but it was Kat.

  No, it was Katherine the Great. Her tear-streaked face pleaded with him, but he couldn’t hear her words, nor his own. She kissed him and then he’d wrapped his fingers around her neck and . . . .

  He’d strangled her. He’d stared straight into those beautiful green eyes and he’d killed her.

  “No!” He got up and paced. “I wouldn’t have.” He gripped his hair in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. What was wrong with him?

  The image of her dead body, her lifeless eyes staring up at him wouldn’t fade. He could still feel her neck in his hand, resistan
ce and then the release as he crushed her windpipe. The thump of her body falling at his feet. The way his body had shaken as he’d laughed.

  “Goddamn it.” Jesus, he couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t have stood hearing about someone else doing these things, but he did them. It was him.

  The faces of his victims paraded in front of his mind’s eye, one by one. All the people he’d hurt. Tricked. Tortured. He didn’t know how long he paced, regretting every catastrophic minute of his miserable existence but he came to a decision.

  A price had to be paid.

  He’d escaped justice once. When he’d turned himself into the Council after he’d caused Julian’s destruction, they’d drafted him into the Guardians instead of holding him accountable.

  This, though—was unforgivable.

  Now that his memory had returned, he couldn’t close his eyes. He saw them: the faces of his countless victims. Heard their screams. Tasted their blood.

  A price had to be paid. He knew it. Trina knew it. The humans knew it. He chuckled to himself. When Trina had been here she’d promised to give him the benefit of the doubt if he could prove himself sane and innocent . . . but the way she said it . . . she damned well knew he couldn’t. According to the news articles, she’d already promised to hand him over to the humans for trial. She’d only said those things to keep from hurting Kat.

  Kat was the only one floating around on cloud of hope.

  Or was she? She’d done everything in her power to keep him from seeing or hearing anything that might trigger his memory. Maybe her job was to keep him happy and calm until it was time to turn him over.

  No. She was too sweet. Too kind. She wouldn’t ever betray him.

  His gaze fixed on the bedroom door and stayed there as he made his way upstairs. He felt so empty inside he was sure any moment now he’d begin to act like a void, pulling in everything around him to try to fill himself, destroying it all in the process.