Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2)

by Christina Phillips

  A guarded expression crossed Octavia’s face. “What about her?”

  So it was true. Belinda’s cover had been blown. Otherwise how would Octavia have known of her? And if the Enclave had told the truth about Belinda’s last mission it stood to reason they’d told the truth about her death, too.

  She struggled to conceal the ridiculous feeling of betrayal that knotted her breast. The Echelon might not be the enemy she’d always believed, but they’d still killed Belinda when her cover became compromised.

  There was nothing more to say. She would just turn her back and return to Azrael. But before she could stop herself the accusation that thundered through her mind tore from her throat.

  “She was only following Sakarbaal’s orders. She didn’t deserve to die for it.”

  Understanding flashed in Octavia’s eyes. “Belinda fell in love with one of our warriors. She wanted to defect. But before Nico had the chance to consider her request, we can only assume that the Enclave’s Elders found out.” She hesitated and dread coiled through Rowan’s heart. “I’m sorry, Rowan. Belinda killed herself.”

  Azrael

  Rowan walked towards him, looking perfectly composed, but something was wrong. What the hell had that fucking dhampir said to her?

  He slung his arm around her shoulders as she paused by his side.

  “Okay?” His voice sounded harsh when all he wanted to do was offer her some comfort. But what comfort could he give? How could she be feeling when she’d just discovered how fundamentally that bastard Sakarbaal had manipulated her genetic identity?

  “I’ll be fine once I’ve decapitated Sakarbaal.” She gave him a brittle smile, her green eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like tears. His grip on her tightened, and he refrained from reminding her there was no way she was ever going near Sakarbaal again.

  “Join the queue,” Nico said, tossing her a look Azrael didn’t care for at all. What right had the vampire to look at her as if they shared a private connection?

  They entered the same room where he’d waited for Nico to save Rowan’s life—was it really only yesterday? Rowan and Nico did share a special connection. The vampire had shared his blood with her.

  “Is he still in London?” After his first meeting with Nico, he’d researched the Enclave of the Phoenix. He’d traced its history to Bulgaria six hundred years ago, but he was damn sure its origins went further back in time than that.

  For more than four hundred years the Enclave had thrived in London, Paris—hell, in every major city in Europe, and a couple of centuries ago it had appeared in New York and New Orleans.

  During the last nine hundred years Azrael had searched the ruined castle in Romania maybe a dozen times. He’d never discovered anything new. Had never heard a whisper of a rumor as to Sakarbaal’s current whereabouts.

  He’d been so fucking blinded by the past, he had never imagined Sakarbaal would embrace technology or sink his claws so deeply into the civilized veneer of human capitalism. While Azrael had kicked over the ancient stones of a long-deserted castle, Sakarbaal had been building his empire in plain view.

  “No.” The blonde vampire—Marguerite—spared him a disdainful glance before standing in front of Rowan and frowning into her face. “He returned to Romania after Rowan disappeared.”

  “Romania? Why? There’s nothing there.” At least, he’d not discovered anything through his research that led back to Romania.

  “That’s the heart of the Enclave,” Rowan said, turning to him. “That’s where the Electors issue their archaic edicts.”

  It didn’t mean Sakarbaal had set up his Council in his former lair. The castle was inhabitable. He’d seen it himself less than a month ago.

  “He rebuilt,” Nico said. “And he doesn’t rely on an inadequate dhampir army to protect his castle.”

  Azrael recalled the strange, wraith-like mist that had obscured the ruins and his gut tightened. The bastard had cloaked his castle with a glamour. And I fell for it.

  He tugged Rowan closer, and the vital warmth of her body had a strangely calming effect. “This time I won’t underestimate him.”

  Not ever again. This time he would succeed. Because now it was personal. She might not have been born if not for Sakarbaal, but she would never be free until he was destroyed. He still intended to free the phoenix. But first he’d ensure to stockpile enough of the medication for Rowan’s personal use. How much would she need?

  “This time,” Nico said, echoing his words with barely concealed contempt, “you won’t have the chance to. I’ll be there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Nate strolled into the room, with the satisfied air of an archangel who’d just been thoroughly laid. “Count me in.”

  He didn’t object to Nate’s company. But the vampire was something else. “Two archangels are more than enough to finish this for good.”

  Nico didn’t respond. At least not verbally. But the curl of his lip conveyed how little he thought of Azrael’s strategy.

  Rowan gave a silent sigh before she pulled away from him and went to pick up a katana on the coffee table. Marguerite had presented it to her when they’d arrived earlier, and Rowan had been clearly thrilled by the return of her sword.

  No wonder she’d taken his katana the other day. It was her weapon of choice.

  “How’s Lily, Meg?” she asked, as she fixed the scabbard at her waist and sheathed the sword. Dressed in black jeans and a jade cable knit sweater and with her hair tumbling over her shoulders she looked an unlikely combination of innocence and aggressor. Deja vu crawled along his spine at the way she stood in the middle of the room. It reminded him of the night they’d met. When he’d thought her so cute and vulnerable—and yet even then she had reminded him of a warrior. It was an inherent element of who she was.

  Marguerite gave a theatrical sigh. “I do not know. When Sakarbaal and his entourage left they took Brad and Lily with them.”

  The names meant nothing to him, but Rowan’s stance altered, so subtly he doubted anyone else was aware of it. But he saw. Not only that but he felt it, an imperceptible shifting in the atmosphere that surrounded her.

  In that moment there wasn’t the slightest doubt in his mind that, at her core, she was a warrior. And while he would never allow her to put herself in danger again, pride burned through him at the knowledge.

  “Lily’s in no state to travel.” Her voice was even but he detected the thread of alarm beneath her words. “Why would Sakarbaal take her to Romania?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find her.”

  “I won’t let her die.” Her fingers curled around the hilt of her katana, but he had the strongest sensation she was unaware of her action. “I didn’t save her once to let her down now.”

  “You won’t let her down. I’ll bring her back safely.”

  Her gaze sharpened on him. “I’m going with you, Azrael. I can bring her back myself.”

  He didn’t want this conversation now, not in front of a couple of vamps and Nate. “We’ll talk about this later.” He needed to return to his villa to arm himself.

  And ensure Rowan was somewhere safe.

  “No.” She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t sound belligerent or outraged. She sounded as though she was having a perfectly reasonable discussion. Didn’t she understand there was nothing to discuss?

  “We’re leaving.” He took a stride towards her and then stopped dead as she raised her hand in a classic gesture to halt.

  “Azrael.” Her voice was gentle. She appeared supremely unaware that they were the center of attention. “Please believe me. I understand your concerns. But I must go to Romania. I have to help save my friend and my—brother.” She hitched in a breath, as if until now she hadn’t thought of Brad as her brother.

  Damn it, he understood her reasoning, too. But that didn’t mean he had any intention of allowing her to go.

  “I need your word that you won’t try and stop me,” she said, shattering his pounding thoughts.
“Otherwise I’ll have to get to Romania some other way—with Nico.”

  Adrenaline flooded through him, without reason, as though he was about to launch into battle. He sucked in a sharp breath, but the shot of oxygen didn’t help, didn’t ease the violent hammer of his heart or the primal danger spiking through his brain.

  It wasn’t rage that she refused to obey his word. If only that was all it was.

  This was worse. So much worse.

  The room contracted, faded, blinding him to everything but Rowan. And within a second she also vanished as his cursed vision sucked him into its relentless vortex.

  Rowan, brandishing her bloodied katana, in a deadly battle with Sakarbaal. Red and gold flames licked around the great stone walls. It was the dungeons of the castle in Romania.

  Sakarbaal plunged his sword through Rowan’s heart and she staggered backwards, crimson staining her jade sweater. For a second she looked directly at him, her green eyes filled with shock and something else. Something he wanted so fucking desperately but something he knew now could never be his.

  He tried to reach her, to save her, but she stumbled back, and the fire claimed her. All he could hear was the roar of the flames, the laugh of the vampire, and the petrified screams of the woman he had failed when she needed him most.

  Chapter 37

  Rowan

  Rowan expected Azrael to disagree with her decision. But he didn’t say anything. Wild terror flashed across his face and raw agony glowed in his eyes, as primal fear pulsed from him in wretched waves. She had the frightening certainly that while his body remained rooted in the present, his soul had vanished to another time and place.

  His unearthly silence rocked her more than any words he could have said. She darted towards him and cupped his jaw between her palms. His skin was oddly clammy, and his harsh breaths scorched her face.

  She was dimly aware of Nate’s voice, demanding to know what the fuck was going on. But Azrael ignored the other archangel and gripped her hips in a punishing embrace.

  She knew he was going to teleport, knew there was nothing she could do to prevent it. But now, unlike a few seconds ago, she was his willing partner.

  They materialized in the living room of his villa, but his grip didn’t loosen. The savage gleam in his eyes didn’t lessen and then he ground out one tortured word.

  “No.”

  His erratic breathing eased, and terror no longer pounded in the air between them. She traced her thumbs in a gentle arc over his autocratic cheekbones and the tension seeped from his rigid muscles.

  He held her as if their lives depended on it.

  “Azrael.” Her voice was soft. She didn’t know what had happened back at Nico’s, but something had. And until she knew what it was, neither she nor Azrael could move on from this moment. “Tell me.”

  He bit out a harsh laugh. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing to discuss. You’re staying here.”

  “You know I have to go.”

  His arms wound around her waist. If she’d been pure human, her bones would’ve shattered. But he didn’t appear to realize, and his burning gaze bore into her, searching for secrets she didn’t know existed.

  “It won’t happen.” His voice was brutal, but she had the strangest conviction that he wasn’t responding to her gentle rebuttal. “It’s not written in stone. Fate can be altered.”

  Unease whispered through her. He sounded as though he was speaking literally. As if he confronted a power she knew nothing about. “Fate?”

  His gaze roved over her face before once again pinning her with a laser sharp look. “You’re safe as long as you stay here. I won’t allow you to die.”

  “I know you won’t.” Her hands slid to his shoulders and she gripped him, trying to force him back to the present. Because although he no longer radiated that bone-grinding fear, he still hadn’t wholly returned to her. “I have no intention of giving Sakarbaal the satisfaction of watching me die.”

  She’d meant to lighten his mood but instead rage whipped across his expression, darkening his eyes. “This isn’t a joke, Rowan.”

  He all but spat the words at her and for the first time fear uncoiled deep in her gut. Not fear of what he might do to her. But an inexplicable fear of this strange intensity that consumed him.

  “Then what is it?” She pressed her palm against his heart. “You can’t know for sure that I’ll die if I come with you to Romania. I could just as easily have an accident here and die. You know it’s true.”

  He bared his teeth and actually growled, and the savage look was back in his eyes. “I saw, Rowan. It’s never happened like this before, but fuck it, this time there’s something I can do about it. This time I will change the future.” He grabbed her arms as if he feared she might vanish if he loosened his grip. “If you stay here then your destiny is irrevocably rewritten. The vision is not infallible.”

  A chill of foreboding inched along her spine. “You had a vision—of my death?”

  “It’s my curse.” He glared at her and she replayed his last tortured words through her mind.

  This time there’s something I can do about it. This time I will change the future.

  The truth came to her in a blinding wave. He’d lost someone he cared about in the past. Someone whose death he’d foreseen and been unable to prevent. And he didn’t want the same thing happening to her.

  It was a bittersweet revelation, and although she shouldn’t care that he’d loved other women in his past the knowledge still stung.

  “Did you tell her of your vision?”

  A frown flicked over his brow, momentarily narrowing his eyes, as though he didn’t have the first idea what she was asking.

  She took a calming breath that didn’t calm her at all. There was a reason for her question, and soon he would see that. “The woman you loved. Did you tell her of your vision, so she was forewarned?”

  “What woman?” The words punched into her mind, but it was the undertow of bafflement in his voice that really stunned her. “I’ve never fallen. There’s never been a… woman I loved.”

  She didn’t miss his hesitation. Or the way his gaze momentarily dropped from hers. And couldn’t help replaying his words like an addictive refrain.

  I’ve never fallen.

  But there wasn’t time to savor those words. Even if they wound around her heart and flooded through her bloodstream. Azrael had never fallen in the past. He might still be unable to voice how he felt about her to her face, but his actions were everything.

  “Then who are you talking about? Whose death did you foresee?” She didn’t know why it was so important for him to tell her, she only knew that it was.

  “It doesn’t matter.” The words were savage. “It was long ago.”

  She crossed her arms and threaded her fingers through his, where he still gripped her biceps. Whatever had happened might have occurred long ago, but the gleam of madness in his eyes proved the memory was still vivid in his mind.

  But it was more than that. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know he was eaten up by guilt by whatever had happened. And the guilt was misplaced. It wasn’t his fault that he had visions of death. And it wasn’t his fault if people died in the manner he’d foreseen.

  He wasn’t responsible. She had to make him see that.

  “It does matter. You can’t take the blame for something that’s beyond your control. Just because you see something doesn’t mean it’s within your power to forewarn.”

  “It was within my power to forewarn.” He ripped his hands from her and swung around but didn’t storm off as she’d half feared. “I should have known—should have done something. But I was blinded by my devotion for her.”

  Pain seared her heart and she molded her body against his back, nestling her cheek against his shoulder. He didn’t push her away, but the coiled tension in his body vibrated like caged lightning.

  She didn’t say anything. Just wrapped her arms around him in a loose embrace. To let him know she was
there. That she would always be there, for as long as he needed her.

  A tortured breath raked through him. “Our goddess created all her archangels with the express wish for us to worship at her feet. In my eyes, she could do no wrong, even though she hated the fact some archangels fell in love with mortals. That some even had children with their mortal beloved.”

  Fragments of myths and legends stirred in her mind.

  “The Nephilim?” Weren’t they cursed? But Azrael spoke of them as if they had been dearly loved.

  “Yes.” His voice was bitter. “Back in those times there was an advanced civilization where we made our home, and archangels lived openly on Earth.” His hand covered hers where they clasped at his waist. A simple gesture yet somehow profound. “The visions began as half-forgotten dreams, but after a decade or so they became more frequent. Until I could no longer dismiss them as nightmares but accept them for what they really were. A prophecy of an apocalyptic future.”

  “But how did you know they were prophetic? Did you often have visions of the future?”

  “I’ve been cursed with only two recurring visions in my life. Until now.”

  Shivers chased over her arms. She’d assumed he often saw glimpses of the future. To know it was so rare made the fact he’d foreseen her own death somehow more significant.

  “What did you see?” Her voice was hushed.

  “Devastation swept across the face of the planet, wiping out most of humanity. For years I believed I was merely seeing the inevitable destruction caused by Earth resetting her celestial clock. The fall of that ancient civilization had been foretold for millennia that this would occur. Long before archangels were created.”

  She’d grown up among those whom humans would consider immortal. But Azrael spoke of mysteries hidden deep in prehistory. Events that had become little more than myths and legends. Yet he had lived through them. The lifespan of the vampires she knew were insignificant compared to how long Azrael had walked the Earth.

  “Even you couldn’t stop something so elemental.” Her voice was gentle, hoping she could make him see he couldn’t possibly be held accountable for such a catastrophic event.