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

by Christina Phillips

  He turned in her arms, and the despair in his eyes squeezed her heart.

  “No, I couldn’t have stopped it.” His voice was hollow. “We knew it was coming which is why it took me so long to realize I was seeing more in those visions than the decimation of humankind.”

  “What more did you see?” But in her heart, she’d already guessed. The Nephilim had died, too.

  “It was an accepted fact among archangels that when the time came, we’d save our beloveds and our Nephilim. There was another planet in this solar system then, Nibiru, the place of our creation. They’d be safe there. They would survive.”

  But they hadn’t survived. His gaze was fierce, compelling her to ask the question locked in her throat. She didn’t want to make him relive the agony of that time. But it seemed he had never left. She swallowed and pushed out the words. “What happened?”

  “Our goddess appeared in my later visions.” His lips flattened and eyes went scarily glassy. “The glory of her love for her archangels glowed throughout the scenes of fire and flood. She embraced us, as she always did, and the devastation on Earth was left behind.”

  He closed his eyes, and she could only imagine what he saw in his mind’s eye. Silence echoed between them until he finally looked at her once again. “I took her presence to mean she’d accepted the Nephilim. All I felt from her in those visions was benevolence. I misinterpreted them because I didn’t go deep enough. If I had, I would have seen what my visions were really trying to tell me. That she planned to use the apocalypse to wipe out the Nephilim.”

  “You couldn’t have known that.” Desperate, she searched for elusive words that would make him see the truth. “Hindsight doesn’t mean you missed something.”

  His smile was beautiful, and so sad she wanted to weep.

  “The signs were always there. They weren’t hidden. I chose not to see because it would have meant everything I cherished about our goddess… was false.”

  “But…” For a second she floundered. How could she make him see it wasn’t his fault? His goddess was the only one responsible for her own actions. Just the way Sakarbaal was. “You weren’t the one who killed them, Azrael.”

  “I spent years searching the archaic ruins of long dead cultures, trying to piece together forgotten knowledge. I hoped to find the answer as to why I was haunted by those images of death. Although we’d planned for their safety, there had to be a reason why I was being shown an alternate future. I could have warned the others. I should’ve warned them that I’d had visions of the Nephilim dying. If I had, we wouldn’t have responded when she called us home to Nibiru. But I didn’t, and none of us imagined it was a trap. She immobilized us, in the one place where she could wield such power over all of us at once—the place of our creation. And we could do nothing while the Nephilim were destroyed.”

  Azrael

  He’d never spoken of those visions before. Because who could he tell? A fellow archangel? How would that make anything right?

  But when she’d asked, it had all come pounding through his brain, as if he’d experienced the vision and horrific aftermath just days ago, instead of eleven thousand years. When he’d opened that wound, Rowan was a salve, listening to his confession, and not condemning him for his sin.

  But now she would see how futile it was to tempt fate. If she went to Romania, she would die. If she stayed here, she would live.

  There were no maybes.

  “I should have done something, Rowan. Instead I believed in the word of our goddess and because of me the Nephilim died.” So many times those words had haunted him. But he’d never spoken them aloud.

  “Azrael.” Her voice was soft, persuasive, and sank into his mind and soul like a soothing balm. Now she understood. Now she would no longer fight him on this, because there was nothing to fight. He would give no quarter. “My precious archangel.”

  His heart jerked at her endearment. He’d been called many things over millennia, by countless women, but nothing had ever pierced him as deeply as those whispered words from Rowan.

  He cradled her face between his hands. She gave the impression of being so fragile, so easily broken. And although he would never allow her to face danger again, he also knew the truth.

  She wasn’t as vulnerable as she looked. Her delicate human veneer hid a core of vampiric steel. And he would have her no other way.

  “I won’t pretend to understand how you feel about what happened,” she said, still in that soft, mesmeric voice. Gods, if only he could stay here forever with her in his arms. Why was that too much to ask? “But how could anything have changed, if you’d told the other archangels of your vision?”

  Jagged splinters of reality cracked his hypnotic trance. How could she even ask that?

  “It would have changed everything. We could have transported the Nephilim before our goddess called us home. We could have saved them.” Hadn’t she understood anything he’d told her?

  “Do you believe your goddess would have allowed that?”

  His instant response that his goddess could have fucked herself choked in his throat. Because for the first time he considered that. Doubt crawled through his mind.

  No, she never would have allowed it.

  For centuries their goddess had existed in blissful ignorance of the existence of the Nephilim. Had been oblivious to the fact that some of her archangels had not only fallen irrevocably in love with humans but waited for their beloved to be reborn life after life.

  But when she’d discovered the truth, her wrath had been mighty. She had bided her time for the inevitable destruction on Earth to align with her plans, but if that hadn’t worked would she have discarded her single-minded determination to eradicate the Nephilim from the annals of history?

  His hands fisted, and Rowan’s hair tangled around his fingers. “At the very least,” he ground out between his teeth, “it would have given us all a fighting chance.”

  She didn’t answer. But she didn’t have to. He stared into her oh-so-deceptively-innocent eyes. How had he ever imagined she was anything but a warrior born and bred?

  A warrior who used words to cut to the heart of the issue, as easily as she used her katana.

  Maybe, if he had understood the full impact of that vision eleven thousand years ago and shared it with his fellow archangels, they could have saved the Nephilim. Or maybe the harsh reality was that the Nephilim had never been destined to survive.

  Where had all these maybes come from?

  The stark truth was he would never know. But for the first time he accepted that his misinterpretation wasn’t—had never been—the only factor that had decided the fate of the Nephilim. He might just as well blame himself for the loss of the ancient civilization that had taught archangels so much in their youth. Or shoulder responsibility for the near extinction of humankind that had occurred as a result of the Earth’s upheaval.

  Something deep in his heart unfurled. As if by sharing the great error he had made, had somehow allowed him to gain perspective.

  Rowan didn’t say a word. He tightened his grip on her hair, but she didn’t gasp in pain. But then, she wouldn’t.

  “This time there was no mistake.” His voice was little more than a growl.

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. She knew damn well he was referring to the vision he’d had at Nico’s.

  “What you saw might not be literal.” Her words were still gentle, still soothing and if he didn’t know better, he’d imagine she was about to capitulate to his every demand. “Maybe it was a vision of how things could be—not how they will be. You said yourself it’s not written in stone.”

  Sakarbaal had plunged his sword through Rowan’s heart. How much more literal did she want to get?

  “And you told me Fate couldn’t be cheated.” Fine, so she hadn’t said that in so many words. But that had been her intent. And damn her, he’d seen her point. To the degree where he could now face those events of the past without acidic guilt searing his soul.
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  Yes, he would always regret. The guilt would never entirely die. But finally, by spilling his guts, he’d been able to look at what had happened and see it through unprejudiced eyes.

  Rowan’s eyes.

  But did she seriously believe, for even a second, he would take her to the place where he’d foreseen her murder?

  “Maybe not,” she conceded, and for one misguided moment he thought he’d won. “But you’ve given me foreknowledge. Knowing of your vision I can make an informed choice of staying here or going to Romania. Maybe Fate can’t be cheated. But maybe sometimes it can be… manipulated. Why not? Look at me. I’m living proof sometimes things can be changed in ways you can’t imagine.”

  He didn’t need to ask her whether, with foreknowledge, she’d changed her mind. She was as determined to go to Romania now as she had been back at Nico’s.

  She couldn’t leave this planet without his help. He could leave her here and there was nothing she could do about it. And when he returned, would she ever again look at him the way she was now?

  Would she ever again confide in him, take him in her arms, tell him he was her precious archangel?

  Dread seeped through his veins, but it was mixed with a wild sense of pride. Pride that Rowan, despite everything, was still determined to face her vampire lord—her father—to exact justice.

  It wouldn’t come to that. He’d protect her from Sakarbaal in Romania whether she knew it or not. Still gripping her hair, he looked into her eyes and saw his own… mortality.

  He wasn’t a mortal, and in all his long life he’d never come close to falling. But she was his vulnerability and he was inextricably bound to her, his warrior dhampir.

  His nemesis.

  Chapter 38

  Azrael

  The castle loomed in front of Azrael as he and Rowan, and Nate with Nico, teleported into Romania. But as they breached the forest, the eerie fog that had clouded his mind the last time he’d come here evaporated, and the castle sure as hell wasn’t an abandoned ruin.

  The half dozen or so luxurious sports cars parked on the castle forecourt scraped along his nerves. They were a discordant visual reminder that the vampire he had long ago hunted was far from the primitive bloodsucker he recalled.

  The grounds were well tended. The castle façade well maintained. No pitiful dhampirs lurched from the shadows to prevent their progress and the midday sun penetrated weak rays through the cloud-laden sky.

  “Let me guess.” Rowan trailed her fingers over the bonnet of a Porsche. “Romanian dhampirs aren’t kept in chains or used as blood slaves for the Elector High Council.”

  He wasn’t sure whether she was asking a question or stating a fact.

  “More mind games,” Nico said. Tolerating daylight was apparently one of the advantages of being an Ancient One.

  Rowan thinned her lips. And Azrael knew the fact she’d been taken in by yet another lie merely fueled her determination to exact retribution.

  The great arched timber doors, with their huge iron hinges, swung open. Azrael slid his fingers over the hilt of his katana as two figures, dressed for the frigid weather, strolled towards them.

  Their approach wasn’t inherently aggressive and that alone was enough to raise his hackles. Where was the preternatural security? All he’d seen was cameras and traps. Sure, they were top of the range and no mortal could hope to get anywhere near the gates without triggering a dozen alarms. But even if they’d been enhanced by vampiric technology, he’d still been expecting some kind of army to greet their arrival.

  Not two… he double checked their auras. They were human.

  “Someone’s not expecting us.” Nate’s caustic remark hung in the frosty air. “I’ll take the one on the right.”

  Before he could tell Nate he wanted info from them, the one on the right dropped to the snow crusted ground in response to Nate’s mental blast. With a muttered curse, he felled the second human before she could draw a breath. Rowan stepped over the prone body without a second glance and strode towards the open doors.

  He was by her side before she crossed the threshold. He might have conceded to her wish to accompany them, but he’d be damned if he’d let her enter the enemy’s lair before he’d checked it out.

  The dank decay of the Dark Ages was gone. Intricate Persian rugs covered the flagstone floor and elegant antique furniture and artwork graced the interior. All hiding the bloody past. This display of wealth and opulence grated.

  Almost as much as the arrogance that led Sakarbaal to imagine that here, in the heart of his web, he was safe from immortal interference.

  Then again, aside from Azrael, why would any immortal want to confront him? He shot Nico a calculating glance. In all the centuries that had passed, why hadn’t the vampire confronted Sakarbaal before now? He’d obviously been keeping track of Sakarbaal’s movements.

  But before they’d left London, Nico hadn’t even argued when Azrael had informed him that Sakarbaal was his.

  From nowhere, a dozen young warriors appeared. All brandished gleaming weapons and protective gear. All possessed black hair and a striking beauty. Dhampirs. And if everything the Strigoi had said was true—they were also Rowan’s half-siblings.

  Her katana was drawn but then her eyes widened, and grip slackened, as if she’d just realized she had to fight her own blood to the death. There was silence and then one of the advancing dhampirs stalked forward, blade extended, then spun around and decapitated the warrior next to him.

  A rogue?

  A roar rang up and the clang of drawn weapons filled the air, but the rogue dhampir ignored it, marching forward and dragging Rowan aside. She gripped his free hand.

  He strained to hear their conversation above the clash of swords.

  “Christ, Rowan. I thought you were dead,” the male said. Brad? “I don’t know what they’ve done to Lily. I’d just gone to check on her when I saw you out of the window. I thought I was hallucinating.”

  As they spoke, two warriors hurled towards them. Azrael whipped out a dagger, slung it in Rowan’s direction. It embedded deep through the brain of a dhampir and she decapitated the other warrior without a second’s hesitation.

  “Is she okay?” Rowan asked. “Can you keep her safe until—?”

  “No,” Brad said. He chanced another glance at them. Brad looked sick and he knew it had nothing to do with the carnage unfolding around him. “She’s not. You need to help her.”

  Azrael caught the desperate glance she threw his way and jerked his head. Go. In his peripheral vision he watched her and Brad race up the curved staircase and relief spiked at the knowledge she was no longer in the midst of the battle.

  Nico materialized by his side from a swirling black fog. “The Electors have joined the fun.” There was grim satisfaction in his voice. “Nate and I will keep them busy. You go and finish this with Sakarbaal.”

  He knew how Nico loathed Sakarbaal. Why would he willingly relinquish the chance of destroying the vampire lord himself? Nico bared his fangs, as if he could read the question in Azrael’s mind.

  “I can’t destroy him.” The words were bitter. “He Made me, and the bond is unbreakable. Why else do you think I haven’t hunted him down and slaughtered him for the bastard he is?”

  Empathy for the vampire stirred. It must have wrenched his heart to have admitted that. “I’ll get him.”

  Rowan

  Rowan followed Brad into a chamber that, despite the worn stone floors, possessed cutting edge medical equipment. A couple of humans were unconscious on the floor and a makeshift timber stake, in the center of a pile of ash, told its own story.

  “As soon as I saw you, I got rid of them.” Brad indicated the fallen with a jerk of his head. “She’s through here.”

  She stepped into the adjoining chamber and terror gripped her heart. Lily was propped up on a bed, sweaty, pale and barely conscious. Blood stained the sheets and Rowan gripped Brad’s arm.

  “Is she—the baby—”

 
“I don’t fucking know.” He tossed her a wild look. “I only glanced in here after I knocked the others out. Then I came for you.”

  She sheathed her katana and forced her feet to move. She’d rather face an Ancient One in combat than what she feared awaited her in Lily’s bed.

  “Keep a look out, Brad.” Her voice was hoarse. She reached the end of the bed and her heart slammed against her ribs in a panicky tattoo.

  Lily’s baby, silent and unmoving, lay on the bloodied sheets, still attached to its umbilical cord.

  She had no idea what she was supposed to do, but instinct took over. “It’s me, Lily,” she said, forcing a light tone in her voice. “Rowan.” She grabbed a roll of sterilized thread and with shaky fingers tied off the cord before cutting it with her dagger. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

  Lily made no reply, and still the blood drained from her body.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Brad. He’d positioned himself at the door and was alternating between looking out into the corridor and looking back at Lily. He caught her glance and she saw the same horror reflected in his eyes.

  She broke her stupefied trance and dragged open drawers, rifling through the contents. She found a pile of soft blankets, and hurriedly wrapped the chilled baby. Was she doing this right?

  “Lily.” She couldn’t help the tinge of hysteria in her voice as she bent over Lily’s deathly face. “Look. Here’s your daughter.” She wedged the bundle between Lily’s chest and arm. “I’m going to heal you, Lily. Just hold on. Please hold on.” As she spoke, she pulled her amethyst bracelet from her wrist and tugged the necklace over the top of her coat. They were all she had to assist with her weak powers of healing, and deep in her heart she knew they weren’t enough.

  But she had to try.

  “Rowan.” The whisper was hoarse as Lily’s eyelashes flickered open. Rowan froze and anguished hope surged. “You have to stop this. Stop it for… ever.”