Scion's Awakening (Seven Seals Series Book 3)

by Traci Douglass

  Scion’s Awakening

  Seven Seals Series Book Three

  Traci Douglass

  Copyright © 2018 by Traci Douglass

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781980825890

  SpinTale Publishing

  PO Box 85033

  Fort Wayne, IN 46885-0033

  USA

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Traci Douglass

  Also by Traci Douglass

  Sneak Peek of Scion’s Redemption

  1

  Danger was near.

  Wyck watched the auburn-haired woman walk straight toward a male coming the opposite direction through the moonlit plaza in front of the lab. He held his position inside the vortex, high above them in the cool air.

  The woman passed under the intermittent street lamps lining the sidewalk, the orange glow not strong enough to cut through the darkness beyond a small circle of illumination. Atlanta stretched out in all directions, the yellow halo over the city drowning out the stars.

  Wyck swooped lower, wanting to get a closer look at the scene below and needing to be near in case the man wasn’t a man at all. If any Nephilim attacked the woman, he would intervene. Until then, he would watch.

  The steady rush of wind chilled his skin. Winter was giving way to Spring here on the earthly plane, but it wasn’t gone yet. He still hadn’t found the reason behind the half-breeds’ conspiracy. The heavenly realms were restless to know why an archangel named Ruman had turned traitor, assisting the Nephilim in the disposal of over one hundred human bodies, and attacking a Scion to kill the Seal host he protected.

  That Scion warrior, Chago, had fought back and won. Ruman was dead. Now, his only leads were the Nephilim themselves.

  The woman neared the approaching stranger. Wyck’s hand went to the hilt of the blade at his waist beneath his black leather jacket. He might be the Scion brotherhood’s resident scholar and techie, but he could still fight and kill with the best of them.

  A scream sliced through the night. Wyck dived down to find the woman under attack, then halted mid-air as she drew her own blade from beneath her white lab coat and fought back.

  Divinity help him, she was breathtaking.

  He could only stare as she battled her opponent, the Nephilim’s white skin pale as bone in the moonlight. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her form tall and slender. She landed a perfect roundhouse kick to her opponent’s head and Wyck cringed. That had to hurt, considering the pumps she wore. The woman was good.

  She kept her opponent off balance with a combination of lunges and swipes of her knife. The blade gleamed, flashes of white and silver defining its deadly path.

  Wyck traveled lower, mesmerized by her abilities. She was his Seal’s host, his sworn duty to protect. But he knew her history, all the self-defense and martial arts training courses she’d taken to fend off the bullies who’d used to torture her in school, and pride sparked within his chest. She handled her weapon with ease, her skills nearly a match to his own. Confidence and strength radiated from her and despite his Scion duties, Wyck couldn’t bring himself to intervene. Not yet. He was enjoying this too much.

  The Nephilim snarled, his flat gray eyes glowing in the darkness. The woman didn’t hesitate at the sight of the man’s unearthly appearance. If anything, she put more effort into the fight, now that the half-breed had revealed himself. Which only confirmed his worst suspicions.

  She wasn’t a stranger to these creatures.

  Perhaps she wasn’t surprised by the Nephilim’s attack because she was in league with them. That possibility had been discussed amongst his Scion brethren. Wyck hadn’t wanted to believe such a thing of his Seal’s host, but he couldn’t deny now that it was a possibility.

  The Nephilim launched himself at the woman again, looking more corpse-like by the second. She blocked each of his blows, but the half-breed forced her backward, putting her off balance. She rallied, kicking him in the shin then going for his chest. He caught her ankle and turned, hurling her along the pavement. She tumbled, losing her blade, and stopped a few feet away. Her long red hair covered her face as she struggled to stand.

  Cold fury curled through Wyck’s veins. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. He swept down, weapon drawn, and blocked the half-breed’s attack. The Nephilim hissed, and leapt backward, placing some distance between them.

  With a deep breath, Wyck shielded the woman behind him and used his preternatural senses to check on her. She wasn’t badly injured, though the coppery tang of her blood filled the air, along with a string of dark curses. Otherwise, she seemed fine. He would tend to her once he’d dealt with the threat.

  “Get out of my way, you idiot,” the woman said just as the Nephilim charged them.

  Wyck turned, confused, only to find her reaching beneath her lab coat to pull out another blade. Next thing he knew, she raced past him again.

  Resilient, resourceful, but foolish.

  Unless she wanted to get herself killed.

  The Nephilim lashed out, slamming his right hand into the side of her head. She went flying, skidding across the dewy grass to land in a motionless heap.

  Grasping his dagger, Wyck shot toward the half-breed, so fast his opponent had no time to react. His blade plunged through the Nephilim’s gut before he could move away. He twisted the weapon, his gaze locked with the half-breed. “Tell me what the others are planning,”

  Fear and defiance flickered his opponent’s eyes. Nephilim were immortal, same as the Scion, so he didn’t fear death. He would heal soon enough, unless Wyck took extra precautions. And he would, if the half-breed didn’t give him the information. “Tell me, and you live. Don’t, and I’ll banish you to Hell to face Lucifer instead.”

  The Nephilim’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but a strange cold rushed upward. Soon, a column of darkness swirled around them, engulfing them both. The ground glowed with intense heat and Wyck was flung outward as the column expanded. He tumbled head over heels through the air, barely managing to stop his descent.

  He raced back toward the half-breed but was too late. Bright light flashed, and the Nephilim vanished, leaving nothing but a charred circle of scorched earth behind and the sickening stench of brimstone on the night air.

  Wyck cursed under his breath and thunder rolled through the black sky.

  Sheathing his dagger, Wyck walked to the burnt patch of ground. Crouching, he touched the warm dirt and pavement then sighed. Someone did this to keep the Nephilim from talking, but who? Not Lucifer. In truth, that threat had been empty. The Infernal One took no interest the half-breeds. Lucifer could care less if one was banished to Hell to face the consequences. If anything, he’d probably congratulate the Nephilim for doing something to annoy the Scion.

  A groan snapped him from his thoughts.

  The woman.

  She tried to stand but had difficulty. Her long auburn hair hung in messy strands, obscuring her face. She mumbled to herself and the smell of her blood was stronger now. The woman touched her arm,
flinched, then collapsed again. Wyck knelt beside her. He brushed the hair from her face, the moonlight turning her pale skin milky. Bruises formed near her delicate jaw and her lab coat was streaked with dirt and ripped. Three long gashes sliced through the while material covering her right arm where the Nephilim had cut her.

  Wyck slid his arm under her back for support and carefully lifted her off the wet grass. She moaned, stilling against him. He stared at her, captivated as much by her pale beauty as he’d been by her fighting skills.

  He was her sworn Scion protector, created for the sole purpose of guarding the third Seal of the Apocalypse and its mortal host. Pestilence was woven into her very DNA. If she died, a plague of famine would be unleashed on the world unlike anything humanity had ever seen, yet, he didn’t even know her name.

  A new mortal host emerged each generation and after an eternity of observation from his heavenly quarters, it was easier to keep distance from those he guarded, both physically and emotionally. Knowing her name would make things all too personal.

  She twisted, knocking him off balance and sending them both tumbling to the ground. He winced as she sprawled atop him, her slight curves pressing against his stomach, groin and chest.

  “Who the hell are you?” Her green eyes narrowed, angry. She licked her pink lips and trembled, slipping sideways. He caught her to stop her fall. She brushed his hand away and fixed him with a deadly glare. “Get off me. Don’t interfere.”

  Her eyes closed and she wavered, jaw clenched.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood from the slashes on your arm,” Wyck kept his tone quiet, not wanting to startle her. “I can heal them for you.”

  She glanced down at her right arm then pressed her blade to his throat. Her hands shook, the cool metal grazing his skin. She blinked hard then shook her head, as if trying to clear it. She’d pass out if he didn’t staunch the bleeding.

  “Don’t need your help.” She pushed off him and stumble-crawled across the grass to the pavement, mumbling about an experiment.

  Wyck stood and cocked his head to one side, watching her. Regardless of what she said, she needed his help. Blood loss for mortals could be fatal. Perhaps he should let her pass out, then he could heal her wounds in peace and get on with his search for evidence of the Nephilims’ conspiracy.

  She stopped and weaved, then collapsed again.

  Wyck was beside her in an instant. He collected her weapon, then lifted her into his arms once more. Honestly, it didn’t matter if she aided the Nephilim or not, it was his heavenly eternal duty to protect her, no matter the cost.

  The fact she was beautiful had nothing to do with it.

  Wyck sighed. Yep. Danger was definitely near now, in more ways than one.

  He was her Scion, her divine guardian. He should not have any feelings for her.

  Things were safer that way.

  He was torn between depositing her outside the nearest ER for them to deal with and taking her back to his place to heal her wounds himself and get some much-needed answers. The Scion in him said to leave her. She would only complicate matters.

  The man in him couldn’t leave her behind.

  Wyck cradled her to his chest and summoned another vortex.

  He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Each time he closed his eyes he felt her Seal’s power calling to him. She needed his help and he would give it. Simple as that. If Divinity ever questioned his motives, he would say it was in service to the Seal he guarded, a natural part of his Scion oath.

  He’d leave out the part about being attracted to her.

  Things went smoothly until she woke during the trip to his flat near the Ponce City Markets. Wyck kept his gaze on the skyline of Atlanta in the distance, maneuvering inside the vortex and monitoring the area for any signs of another impending attack. He’d cloaked their appearance, but the Nephilim could still sense his Scion powers and track them. The clear sky above twinkled with the constant flash of planes circling to land at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. They were too high to interfere with his vortex. He couldn’t fly at that altitude when carrying mortal cargo. The air was too cold and thin. He glanced down to meet her eyes, sparkling with emerald fury and confusion.

  “Feeling better?” Wyck looked away again, afraid to maintain eye contact for fear she start fighting him.

  “I’d be a lot better if you put me down.” She pushed against his chest and he almost lost his grip. She slipped and looked down, squeaking and burying her face in his chest. He felt the terror pounded through her veins. “We’re flying!”

  He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

  Wyck adjusted his arms around her then directed them nearer to the ground. They levelled off above the rooftops.

  “Keep going, all the way down.” She clutched the leather of his jacket in her hands, as if she could force him to land.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not safe and you’re in no state to fend off another attack. I’ll tend to you once we’re secure at home.”

  “The only secure place is my lab,” she grumbled.

  They flew over a high building and she twisted out of his hold.

  Cursing, Wyck zoomed after her. Thunder rolled through the night sky. Luckily, she landed on the roof of the building, tumbling across the gravel. She barely made it to her feet before falling to her knees near the edge of the rooftop.

  “Where do you intend to run?” He landed and caught her arm, afraid she would fall. She looked back at him over her shoulder, eyes wide and her lips parted. Unexpected desire tugged at his gut. He pulled her back against him and cradled her close to his chest. “You’re in no shape to run.”

  “I felt better.” She frowned down at the toes of her pumps. “Then I felt terrible.”

  “My presence soothes you. The moment you move away from my touch, the effects of your blood loss return. I don’t intend to harm you.”

  She swallowed. Her knees wobbled, and she slid her hands around his neck for support. Wyck shivered as her fingers tangled in the blonde curls at his nape. Her warm breath fanned his skin and another wave of awareness rippled through him. He felt lost, unable to focus on anything but the feel of her against him and the anticipation of more to come.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Wyck.”

  “Like a candle?” She traced her hands down his biceps and his muscles trembled beneath her touch. Warmth raced through every inch of him. “Light of the world. Now, let me go!”

  The head-butt caught him unawares and Wyck stumbled, losing his hold on her. She took off running again and he swiped his hand under his bloody nose and scowled. She would falter soon enough. His Scion instincts sensed her flagging energy reserves. He hadn’t lied about his presence alleviating the effects of her injuries. He tracked the flash of her white lab coat in the night and gave her a minute before she became compliant once more.

  The woman didn’t even last that long. She was halfway across the rooftop when she tripped and fell flat. This time, she didn’t get back up, just lay there, panting.

  Wyck stood beside her and she grabbed his ankle, looking up at him through the hair covering her face. He crouched and she grabbed his jeans-covered knee.

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer.” She closed her eyes. “Not feeling well.”

  Wyck carefully lifted her once more. She went limp now, fatigue pulsing off her in waves. Her attempt to escape him had only made things worse. She shivered, her eyes fluttering open.

  “My name... is Quinn. Dr. Quinn Strickland.” She leaned her cheek against his shoulder.

  A strong, beautiful name for a strong, beautiful woman.

  They took flight again, heading for his loft and pondering the strange events that had brought them together at last. He’d watched her since birth but never imagined they’d meet in person. All it took was one conspiracy, one Nephilim attack, and she’d turned his world upside, rocked its axis.

  The only thing he was sure of now was danger was near for bot
h of them.

  2

  Quinn shivered as Wyck carried her through the brightly lit foyer of a warehouse-style apartment building. She peered at the people milling about, but no one even glanced at them. Which meant either this was a high-end place that didn’t ask questions, or they couldn’t see the tall, muscled warrior carrying around an injured scientist like some warped fairy tale prince. She suspected it was the later, since the man who’d come to her aid didn’t look like a billionaire.

  He’d paused outside the entrance and waggled his fingers. She guessed now he’d been cloaking their appearance. He glanced down at her, one tawny brow raised, and she looked away fast, embarrassed and afraid. He’d been right. Running away from him had been foolish and had only quickened her blood loss. Now she was on the verge of passing out.

  Wyck’s expression grew impatient as they boarded the elevator. The car jostled and he tightened his grip on her. Panic squeezed her chest, her breath growing shaky. She buried her face against his chest to drive it away.

  “Not much longer.” His deep voice rumbled beneath her ear. “Hold on.”

  His eyes met hers, flecks of gold shifting in his light green irises. Nothing about this night seemed real, least of all him. She’d this strange sense he was not of this world, like the creature who’d attacked her. But this warrior was something else entirely from those pale creeps who were trying to take over her lab and use her research for their own selfish gains.

  Concern marked his handsome face. The elevator dinged and he gave her a relieved smile as the door slid open again.

  “Stay with me,” he said. She nodded, her mind fuzzy.

  He carried her down a lit corridor then propped her against his hip with one arm while struggling to open the door to his apartment. She twined her hands around his neck, her fingers slipping though his soft hair. He shuddered, and once more she was amazed by how much his reactions affected her. Whatever this man was, he was no saint. She’d seen flicker of passion in his gaze, lust too.