The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Nephilim War: Book One
Copyright ã 2004 Adrienne Kama
ISBN: 1-55410-086-0
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
www.Extasybooks.com
Dedication:
For Bruce, the love of my life. You make every day a treasure. For Amy, for always being there to read my work. Your input and support over the years has been priceless. And to Jenny, for calling me a writer.
Chapter One
Raven paced. His steps sounded a frantic beat against the white tiles. He knew they’d be a clear indicator to his interrogator of his mental state, but he didn’t care. The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up. Too much time had passed and he had suffered too much to let this summons go to waste. So much was at stake; his sanity, his happiness, his very existence hung in the balance. How could he possibly sit quietly while so much was set against him?
He dragged his fingers through his hair, knowing it was far too wild and bedraggled for his current surroundings. What he didn’t know was why he had been sent for. Whatever the reason, he would use the opportunity to finally free himself.
“You’ll find your wait more pleasant if you relax, Raven. Sit. Enjoy the music. I find there’s nothing a good song can’t remedy.” The receptionist stared up at him, tapping one silver clog to the beat and bobbing her head back and forth. Her tiny glasses were perched precariously at the edge of her nose and her voice was a perverse mix of Ethel Merman and Grandma Moses. “Oh, I just love Wagner. He’s my guilty pleasure. Ride of the Valkyries is my favorite of all his compositions.”
He glanced again at the tiny sentry behind the desk. “So the music artist was a rebel,” he said to her. Raven could respect a rebel. Someone who strayed from the norm. An individual like he was. Though if things went his way today, his days of individuality were history. “What did he do?”
“If you weren’t German, he didn’t much like you. He was a little too patriotic, and as it would turn out, he became a major inspiration for Adolph Hitler.”
Now that was a name Raven recognized and loathed. He paused to listen to the impassioned strains of the song. The melodic refrain dropped to a somber melody and teased. Slowly, exquisitely it built, gradually becoming louder. The notes fell faster, until finally it rose again in triumphant exultation. It was quite a masterful composition. It made him feel like finding an old Viking ship, hiring some Vikings, and riding out to pillage and rape. “Sounds like a battle song?”
“I guess it does.”
“Raven.”
He turned to face the man filling the open doorway. He looked precisely as Raven remembered, tall, with close-cropped black hair. His cherubic mouth and rounded cheeks had always made him look serene, but today that serenity was marred by the deep creases around his eyes.
It was like stepping back in time. “Michael.”
“Please,” Michael said, waving Raven in, “Time is of the essence.”
Raven sat opposite Michael, who had settled himself behind an imposing hulk of a desk, and waited. He decided to let Michael speak before he threw himself on his mercy. He might as well maintain the last dregs of his dignity as long as he could.
“I trust your journey here was comfortable.”
Raven folded his hands in his lap. “I have no complaints in that regard.”
“I will be to the point, Raven. Azriel has escaped.”
“What?” He nearly slipped off his seat. “What do you mean he escaped?”
“I don’t know how he did it. I know a group of anthropologists and archaeologists were digging near the site a few weeks ago. I just can’t see how it happened. He was bound beneath the earth in the desert of Dudael. Escape in any manner should have been impossible.”
“I know well the skill of your binding men.” Raven lifted his wrists to display the healing red welts marring his skin. “And I know the difficulties inherent in existing far below the earth in a place so old even time has forgotten it. If you have brought me here to heap new accusations on me—“ He swallowed the next words and forced his fists into his lap. This was his one chance at freedom. He didn’t want to be sent back. Arguing with Michael would be the quickest way to see his plans ruined. “I don’t know how he escaped. Among the rest of the Watchers, our captivity continues.”
“I didn’t bring you here to accuse you. I know you didn’t have anything to do with the escape. I brought you here because I need your help.”
Loud, raucous laughter echoed off the cream-white walls of the office. Raven couldn’t help himself. “You come to me for help.” He threw his head back and laughed again. “How very rich of you, old friend. You want me to come to your aid when you refused to lift a finger to come to mine.”
“You made your own choices, Raven.”
“You want me to round the rogue up and take him back to Dudael with me. You forget, his prison was kept a secret from us. I wouldn’t know where within Dudael to take him. I suppose I could take him to be bound with us, but Azriel always thought he was above us.”
“Things are more serious than you think, Raven. The future of man—“
“And what do I care of the future of man, our Father’s chosen few? Why do you care what happens to man? They’ve never done anything for you. They don’t think of you until they need something.” He rose from his seat and paced. He had been ready to throw himself on Michael’s mercy. He would have done anything to free himself from his unfair imprisonment, but he would not lower himself so far as to become a patron of men.
“Hear me out. Are you so ready to return to your pit and your chains?”
“I am not playing the patsy for men. Or for you. What, do you propose I help them so you can pat me on the head then send me back to Dudael?”
“Hear me out. Please.”
It was the please that got him. The one word told Raven more than anything else Michael could have said. Against his better judgment, Raven settled back into the chair.
Michael rose and went to the water cooler. He poured a cup of water for himself and one for Raven. Returning, he handed Raven a cup and settled himself on the corner of his desk. “Azriel flies with the wind. If he succeeds with his plans, a war unlike any you have ever seen will rage. Unlike the first war that ripped the heavens into two warring factions. All manner of creatures will walk the earth. Already creatures of The Void have come out of hiding. If Azriel has his way, all manner of evil will reign. Blood will flow like water, and fire will reign down from the heavens. Life as we know it will come to an end, and the future of good will hang in the balance.”
“Haven’t lost your touch for the melodramatic, I see. Anyway, I’ve read the book. Hell, I watched John write the book. Fire and brimstone and all the rest
of it.”
“This isn’t revelation, Raven, and it’s not Armageddon. As you know, that book has been written, the end decided. What faces us now is the unknown. If Azriel succeeds, anything is possible. Do you understand? Anything.”
“Even if such a thing were to happen, why should I care? It would mean my freedom.”
Michael set his cup beside him and bent to stare Raven in the eye. “Come on, Raven, I know you. I know you wouldn’t want this any more than I would.”
Raven turned from Michael and got to his feet again, pacing. “If it meant my freedom, I wouldn’t care. You don’t know what it’s been like for me. Millennia after millennia pass, and I remain bound in that pit. You cannot know what it’s like, you in your lofty office breathing fresh air. I have the stench of foul bodies as my air, and the heat of the earth around me. I have my own desires to keep me company and no woman to ever fill them. This human body I left the heavens to have has become a prison for me. Lust, Michael, and want and need, that is what I’ve become. I want my freedom. If Azriel’s little act of treason sets me free, I won’t stop it. No matter the cost.”
“Raven.”
He stopped pacing to face Michael. “What Michael?”
“Help us and you shall have your freedom. You have my word.”
Raven stared, unconvinced. “And what does the other say?”
“It was on His word that I sent for you.”
Raven collapsed into his chair. “But why me? Why not you?”
“You know nobody in heaven can interfere.”
“And men? Why can’t they help their own?”
“Raven, no man can stand up to the power of Azriel. You know that. And he must be destroyed.”
There was the laughter again. Raven couldn’t help himself. “Do you forget the rules so easily? I can’t kill Azriel. An angel cannot kill another, fallen or not.”
“Of course you can’t kill Azriel. Nevertheless, he must be stopped.”
“You have your nerve.”
“We’ve tried to contact him ourselves. He refuses to answer our calls. We’ve sent many to seek him out, to convince him of the ramifications of what he’s doing.”
“Oh, I see.” Raven folded his arms over his chest and glared. “Now you want me to step in.”
“Raven, please. You have to understand.”
“If Azriel hadn’t escaped, you would have left me in Dudael to rot. What else is there for me to understand?”
Michael rose and met Raven’s stare. When he spoke, his voice was steel. “Understand that three decades ago, a Nephilim male journeyed from the Nephilim realm of Hir na Gog to the earthly plain.”
“What do I care of the Nephilim?” he asked with a shrug.
“They can’t survive on earth, but this one was alive long enough to copulate with a human female and fill her with his seed. Thirty years ago, that infant was born.”
Raven sunk further into his chair as the ramifications became clear. He didn’t want to think about this. He wanted to be angry. He had a right to be angry. “I don’t care, Michael.”
“Tell me you understand.”
“The offspring is a danger. Damn you, I understand. What I don’t understand is how you in your great wisdom allowed this to happen.”
“I don’t know,” Michael declared, showing emotion for the first time. “The Nephilim aren’t human, Raven, so don’t look at me that way. Since their exile, we have no reign over them. Why should we keep tabs on the Nephilim?”
“Because they are a threat. For the love of God, Michael, there was a time when all of the Eastern Lands worshipped them as gods. When vampires and beastmen served them as slaves. You don’t think they resent their fall from grace and their defeat at the hands of the Shilesian warriors? They’re too damned powerful for you not to keep tabs on, and they’ve had a long time to think about their defeat and plan their revenge. Believe me, Michael, I know.” Raven eased forward on the chair and stared, dumbfounded, as realization dawned. “Azriel is looking for the infant, isn’t he?”
“As we speak, Azriel seeks her out. If he finds her, Raven... I want you to find her first and tell her who she is.”
“She has no idea?”
Michael lifted the water to his mouth and took a slow swallow. As he did, the calm returned to his face. “Today is her wedding day. She’s a data entry clerk at her local bank.” He paused. “She’s quite good. Types about ninety words per minute.”
“The future rests in the hands of a hack? And you want me to tell her who she is? It’s up to me to prepare her to stand against Azriel? Oh, you don’t ask much of me, do you?”
“There is one more small detail.”
“Dare I ask?”
Michael smiled benevolently. “You cannot consort with her, Raven, she’s half Nephilim. If you have sex with her, you know what will happen. Such a thing would be too dangerous. Instead, I want you to bring her and the beastman Figlio together.”
“But why on earth would Figlio listen to me? You know the fissure that exists between us. You know what I did to turn him against me all those years ago. Then you were there, pulling me away from him before I had a chance to set things to rights. Then there was the flood. She died in the flood, and he cursed me that day, Michael. Even beneath the earth, I could hear him cursing me for her death. You expect that I can convince him to get involved in this. You have gone mad.”
“There’s only you. Only you can be trusted, and only you are strong enough to hold Azriel at bay. Time grows short, Raven, you must make your decision.” When Raven didn’t respond, Michael went on. “You must rescue the girl, Charity, from Azriel and take her to Prague where Alaric the vampire lives in the winter months. Send Alaric to find Figlio. Figlio trusts Alaric as he trusts no other. Alaric will convince Figlio to come out of hiding, and the girl, Charity, will see to it that he stays. She’s just the type Figlio will like. With Figlio and Alaric comes the might of The Alliance. In the event of war, we’ll need them. Do these things, and all is forgiven. You will be welcomed back home with open arms. It is a promise from Him.”
If Michael was to be believed—which obviously was the case, since lying was an art beyond any angel—Raven was being offered an opportunity to free himself from his millennia of bondage. It was what he had been prepared to beg for, now freedom was being offered to him. He could have his freedom without the threat of the chaos that Azriel hoped to bring to hand, and he would be welcomed home. Until his summons on this very day he had never, not once during all his millennia of imprisonment, allowed himself to even consider such a thing could ever happen. “When do I go?”
Chapter Two
Charity gazed at her reflection and grimaced. She’d always thought her wedding day would be different, a Disney extravaganza starring her in an ornate, full-skirted wedding gown with a veil that dragged fifteen feet behind her. The gown would be old-fashioned; creamy-white and perfect. Instead, she teetered around in a tight, mermaid-styled gown that made her feel more like one of the Spice Girls than a bride. Troy hadn’t liked any of the dresses she wanted to wear. He thought that a more inspiring dress would make for a better wedding night.
She’d also wanted to wear her hair up in a fancy French twist, but Troy insisted she wear it down. She felt like Chaka Khan. The look worked on Chaka, but not on her. She looked horrible. Her hair had been curled to within an inch of its life. The long, dark strands were twisted into Shirley Temple-style ringlets that covered her head and ran down her back. The worst, though, had to be all the damned hairspray. God help Troy if he tried to run his fingers through her hair. He was likely to lose a hand. Nothing was getting through it today.
“You look beautiful.”
She penguin-turned, teetering from side to side and saw her mother standing in the doorway, pressing a well-worn tissue around her eyes to mop up the tears.
“Do you really think I’m doing the right thing?”
“Oh baby, of course. A surgeon. Imagine my baby marrying a doctor. You
can leave that awful job of yours and give me some grandchildren. Oh, God! Imagine the beautiful babies you and Troy will have.”
“But I don’t know if I’m ready to settle down and play mommy. I don’t know, Mom, I always thought I was made for something…else. Something…” she let the sentence trail off as she began misting herself with a fragrance her mother had picked out especially for today.
In truth, she didn’t know what she had thought, but it wasn’t this. Her heart longed for adventure, sang out for her to live, but her brain told her she’d better be sensible. She didn’t want to end up like her mother, abandoned with a baby when she was practically a baby herself, left to scrimp out a meager existence and pray to God that she could make her daughter’s life better than her own. As she set the perfume bottle on the vanity and scanned the counter for anything she may have forgotten, she reminded herself that her mother had sacrificed so much for her. She wanted this marriage far more than Charity did.
“Don’t be silly, baby,” her mother said. “Don’t look for something that doesn’t exist. If you do, you’ll end up alone and bitter.” Her lips compressed into a grimace. “Don’t throw away your only chance at happiness on a dream.”
“I know you’re right. It’s just hard for me.”
Charity turned from the mirror to face her mother, who beamed.
“You’re lovely,” she said.
Charity forced a smile to her lips. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Listen.” Charity watched her mother exit the room, then dart back inside with a handsome man beside her. Her mom was grinning like a bandit, and Charity knew why. “They’re playing your song.”
“My gosh, Joanne, she’s the spitting image of you twenty years ago,” the man said to her mother. To Charity he asked, “Ready, sweet thing?”
The man who stood beside her mother could have been the perfect mirror of Joanne. Same honey-brown skin, same wide brown eyes, same full lips. For that matter, Charity guessed that one day in the future, she would be the mirror of her mother as well.
The Nephilim War: Book One Page 1
