‘I’ve got to go,’ I told Crowhurst. ‘I have that meeting tonight I told you about.’
His face darkened. ‘I should go with you.’
‘I don’t need a babysitter, thanks,’ I said. ‘And I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.’
Crowhurst made a disgusted sound. ‘Meeting up with your ex-Regulator lover boy isn’t more important than sticking around to keep Blackgoat running.’
‘I’ll only be gone the night. And it’s not just to see Roman. There’s an important sit-down happening and I was asked to attend.’
‘What kind of important sit-down?’ Crowhurst asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
I threw my hands up. ‘Just relax, will you? I told you, I’ll be back here tomorrow morning, bright and early to look for this freaking cat.’
‘Fine. But if you’re not here, I’m coming to get you.’
‘I can take care of myself.’ I stood and grabbed my cane. ‘I’m not kidding. And this job you mentioned? By all means, look into it. I’m desperate enough to try anything.’
A sly look slid over Crowhurst’s face. ‘I won’t forget you said that.’
Chapter 2
I hired a car from the Merry Widow Rental Yard just outside the city walls. The cars had been towed here from the Outlands and their motors replaced with clockwork engines, and while they could run just as fast as modern cars, it was almost a week’s wait for a Weald repair truck if you broke down in the Outlands.
I paid my fare at the boom gates the bear-men used to guard the connective tissue between The Weald and the Outlands and drove on in peace and quiet, country fields passing me by. When I finally passed over the border of The Weald, the sensation was like a veil fluttering through my mind, a small pull on my thoughts. Soon I was travelling down a winding, tree-lined road, and the moon was in a different position in the sky. The radio crackled to life and a heavy metal song started up.
The winding dirt turned into a paved road and soon trucks whizzed by at high speed, shaking my little car. A full moon hung low in the sky and the dashboard clock told me I had an hour to get to my destination of Darling Point, East Sydney.
I checked the map I’d been given by Casper, after I had got lost last time trying to find his new digs. Casper was the first nephilim I’d met in the Outlands. He had been introduced to me by Seth Hallow, a former lover and total scumbag. Through our common love of movies, Casper and I had become friends.
Satisfied I was on the right path, I cranked up the metal song and tried to ignore my nerves about the meeting tonight. If I was honest though, my nervousness was about seeing Roman again. Things between us had been…complicated. I had feelings for him and if I was honest, they scared me. I’d had lovers in the past, but they’d never been serious. Just someone to pass the time with.
Then, of course, there had been Seth. Sex with him had been mind-blowing, though the way he disappeared from my life for months on end had sometimes driven me insane. I’d always swear off him, but then he’d turn up again and my body always ended up betraying me, craving him like a drug. Now, after Seth had proven himself to be a man with too many names and faces for my comfort, I’d found Roman. A good, strong, honest man. Well, nephilim. Half-man, half-angel and all shades of sexy. He’d confessed his love to me, which felt like a shiny, bright offering that I didn’t deserve.
Last year, we’d both been at the mercy of a bloodthirsty merchant and alchemy enthusiast, who’d injected Roman with a mixture of my blood and a powerful elixir to see what would happen. But instead of turning Roman into a monster, he’d becoming something else; a mutation occurred to his body that shocked everyone, including me. Despite this change, my feelings held strong for him, but I worried that I wasn’t the kind of woman he needed by his side. Roman’s moral compass was steadfast and pure, while I suspected mine had a defect.
Situated on a large, secluded plot in the eastern suburbs, the sprawling, two-story home Casper had purchased was set back from the main road on a secure gated drive. I had visited a bunch of times after Roman had recovered from the onset of the berserker rage some nephilim suffered, and each time more exiled nephilim had turned up, drawn by the tale of Roman, the nephilim with wings the colour of snow.
I was buzzed through the gates and parked next to a ragged line of dirty Harleys. Casper greeted me at the door, a tub of popcorn tucked under one arm. He was a huge nephilim, with bleached hair and a pitch-black beard. He wore a tight white t-shirt and leather pants, a thick wallet chain looping around to his back pocket.
‘You’re late,’ he said in a good-natured tone.
‘Nice to see you, too.’
Casper eyed my outfit. ‘What’s under the coat? I hope it’s something nice.’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘This is a fancy place we’re going to.’
I glanced down to my leather boots. ‘The shoes are vintage.’
Casper grunted. ‘Thought they looked ancient.’
‘Ha, ha. How I’ve missed your charm.’ I grabbed a handful of popcorn. ‘Where exactly is this big meeting tonight?’
‘Like I said, somewhere fancy.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Little more information, please?’
Casper tossed some popcorn into his mouth and chewed, forehead wrinkling. ‘A nightclub Gorath owns, south of the city. Will take about forty minutes to get there.’
‘And you still think this is a good idea to go to this meeting?’ I asked.
‘Wasn’t me who asked for the cosy sit-down with Gorath.’
‘Are you saying it was Roman who arranged to meet Captain Crazypants?’ I asked. ‘I thought Gorath approached us.’
When I’d first met Casper, Gorath had interrupted our meeting by using magic to possess two innocent bystanders, who then attacked us. The fight had cost them their lives, a waitress her sanity, and Casper one of his favourite hang-outs. After we’d escaped, Casper had confirmed what I’d always feared: that someone with even an ounce of power was determined to bring about the prophecy of the Dreadwitch and the Howling King. This was a prophecy written in a grimoire called The Key of Aldebaran, predicting a battle between two magical creatures over the souls of man. The rest of the book contained chaos-magic spells that only the blood of a female nephilim could unlock. And that’s what I just happened to be, causing people to assume I was this Dreadwitch.
Until recently, I’d worn a charm that had cloaked my nephilim nature. The charm’s magics had turned my hair white and promoted odd happenings around me, such as my spells not working right and the ash tree at the front of my house growing monstrously large. After the charm broke, my nephilim nature had started to assert itself, with dark roots showing in my hair, refusing to budge no matter how much bleach I used. Eventually, I expected my hair would fully darken fully and my eyes turn jet-black like all nephilims. A bit of an adjustment, but I guessed I could cope.
Casper shook his head. ‘Captain Crazypants himself extended the invitation, with shiny promises of safe passage and everything. If Gorath wants peace, then I guess Roman wants to listen. We can’t keep bickering over territory like we’ve been doing. Having the nephilim divided out here is no good for anyone. It makes us weak. If anyone can unite us, it will be Roman.’
I licked popcorn salt from my fingers. ‘You know it’s a trap, right?’
‘That was my first thought. Gorath’s a mean enough bastard to try it. I’ve been butting heads with him for nearly twenty years.’ Casper hesitated. ‘But Roman thinks differently, so we’re going.’
Sighing, I followed him into a lounge where a dozen nephilim were watching an old Bill Murray movie. Beyond the lounge was a break-out room with a pool table and more nephilim playing a game, talking softly among themselves. All refugees from The Weald, these nephilim were running from one sin or another. Some had fled after feeling the berserker rages descend, knowing madness was inevitable. By all accounts, the madness was confined to The Weald, and most nephilim recovered out here, beyond The Weald�
�s hidden walls. Casper himself had been in the Outlands for over seventy years, running mercenary teams and setting up a global network of safehouses and a tight-knit nephilim community.
‘Roman’s upstairs,’ Casper said, settling down on the lounge. ‘We’re going soon, so don’t get too comfortable.’
‘Right.’ I left the lounge and took the stairs to the second floor, my cane clicking on the marble. At the end of a corridor, the master bedroom door was closed. I rapped with my knuckles and waited until a muffled voice invited me in.
The room inside was large, with thick carpeting and soft drapes. A king-size bed sat at the far end in shades of walnut and cherry. Roman stood barefoot in front of an open window. He wore only dark jeans, with a black shirt laid out on the rumpled bed. The wings that flowed from his back were a downy white and spread from his shoulders in lines of power and beauty. The sight of them stole my breath and I followed the long end feathers that brushed the floor as he turned to greet me. His once short hair now fell to his shoulders and across his high cheekbones, obscuring the tattoos that marked the side of all nephilim faces: a prayer to the Grigori god, transcribed in angelic text. His eyes were polished obsidian, pinpricked with white pupils, and when they turned my way a shiver snaked up my spine.
‘Lora.’ The hard lines of his face gentled.
‘Need help?’ I gestured towards the shirt on the bed, noting the back had been carefully cut and sewn into sections, with bindings to secure the pieces together around the base of his wings.
Roman smiled, looking grateful. ‘Thanks.’
I leaned my cane against the bed and took the shirt to him. ‘How have you been?’ I asked, helping him into the shirt. His wings shifted against me like a brush of silk, and goosebumps dimpled my skin. We’d made love once, but that had been a long time ago, before his transformation. Roman had never approached me again in that way and I didn’t feel it was right to try to make a move on him, not when everything felt so fragile. In the last six months though, his confidence had grown and the nephilim had flocked to him, obeying his instructions without hesitation. It was the kind of power I hoped Roman could keep a handle on.
‘I’ve been well.’ He turned, fingers deftly doing up his buttons. ‘I heard you lost your contract with the Order.’
I retreated a step and my hands snuck into my armpits, an old insecure gesture from childhood I’d never been able to shake. I almost had to sit on my hands when I played poker.
‘I wasn’t a good fit,’ I said.
‘I heard Grigori Fowler himself kicked you out.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘It is?’
I nodded. ‘He was the only priest who didn’t treat me like dirt. I was unjustly accused of many things and given my marching orders.’
‘And who started the fire in the sacred library?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said airily. ‘Could be someone had tried to sneak a quick smoke in the room of the Eight Books of Forbidden Magic.’
Roman arched an eyebrow. ‘And you wouldn’t know anything about that?’
I pulled my hands out of my armpits and flapped them about, agitated. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss was about. The fire got put out. So some books got scorched. Big deal.’
‘And how are you coping with Gideon away?’
‘Brilliantly,’ I said. ‘Living the dream. I don’t know what Gideon complains about all the time.’
‘Really.’
Roman’s lips twitched again and I decided now was probably a good time to change the subject. ‘What do you think about the meeting tonight?’ I asked. ‘How do you think it will go down?’
Roman methodically folded up his sleeves. ‘Gorath has been cautious this last year. Laying low. I think my presence has taken him by surprise.’
He sat down on the bed to put on his boots, wings stretching out behind him with a ruffling sound. I tried not to stare. It wasn’t like I’d never met an angel before. One in particular had been infecting my dreams since I was a little girl. He called himself Sariel and had wings the colour of soot. He had claimed to be my father and said I owed him my fealty.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
Fortunately, after our last confrontation I’d managed to control my dreams and he hadn’t appeared since.
‘What does Gorath want?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe he wants to declare a truce.’ He finished tying his boots and stood, dark eyes meeting mine. ‘The fact is, nephilim are born, bound and broken in battle for the Grigori. We will always find ourselves locked in conflict, aligning ourselves in bloodshed, it is our nature. And when there is nothing else to hunt, or fight, we will turn on ourselves. So we can’t be free, really free, until we end this and make peace with each other. And after that, perhaps, the Order itself.’
‘You know that’s not going to happen,’ I said.
‘Have a little faith, Lora.’
I gave a small sigh. ‘I’d rather be realistic. You know Gorath is not only nephilim. He has griorwolf blood in his veins.’
‘I am aware of this fact.’
‘And you realise he believes in the prophecy of the Dreadwitch and the Howling King? I imagine that’s because he thinks he’s the destined Howling King, which I’m guessing is supposed to be some hairy guy with a God complex who likes to yodel a lot.’
‘Casper did warn me he believed in the prophecy of the Dreadwitch,’ Roman said. ‘But I’ve also heard that Gorath got married six months ago.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Let’s just say, apparently his marriage has given him a new perspective on life.’
‘I find that hard to believe. People don’t change.’
Roman took a step towards me and my blood fired up, mouth going dry. I swallowed, determine not to retreat. If Roman wanted to invade my personal space, he could go right ahead, I’d act like it didn’t get me hot and bothered. I just didn’t want him to start something he couldn’t finish, since I knew Casper would be banging on the door soon, telling us it was time to leave.
‘You know that’s not true, Lora,’ Roman said quietly. ‘I believe in Gorath’s sincerity in wanting to talk of peace. After all, prophecies are the playthings of priests and madmen. Not soldiers like him.’
‘Fine. I’ll just ask Captain Crazypants when I see him, shall I?’
‘Promise me you won’t call him that to his face, Lora.’
‘I promise, I promise.’
Roman’s eyes hooded as he ran a finger down the front of my coat. ‘What are you wearing under this?’
‘Eh? Why do you care?’ A jittery sensation spread inside me, and my fingers itched to run through Roman’s dark hair.
He pulled my hands out from my armpits and I frowned, not even realising they’d tucked themselves back there. ‘From what I hear, the club where we’re going tonight is a…speciality place,’ he said.
‘Like, an oyster bar?’ I asked, distracted by the way his hands curled around mine, entwining my fingers. The contact was electric, short-circuiting my brain, and I couldn’t think. ‘Roman.’ His name was a rush on my lips and my anxiety spiked. My home was back at Blackgoat Watch. Starting any kind of relationship again with Roman would be problematic in the extreme. But I didn’t want the door between us to shut for good; I wasn’t sure I could recover from something like that. The longest relationship I’d ever had was with Seth and I’d gotten used to its sporadic nature. He’d come and gone as he pleased and I tried very hard not to grow too attached. It was what I was good for; seasonal love. But what Roman offered…I worried it was the real deal and that scared me more than I could say.
A knock sounded on the closed door and Roman straightened.
‘Yes?’
‘Time to go.’ Casper’s voice was muffled. ‘Everyone’s ready.’
Roman’s dark eyes dropped to mine. ‘Are you ready for this?’
‘I’m ready for anything.’ I tried to sound like I mea
nt it.
Chapter 3
Gorath’s nightclub was located on a street with no name and no street lights, forty minutes outside of Sydney. Roman and I travelled there in the back of a Bentley with white leather seats, Casper driving up front. Roman wore a long coat that had been designed to hide his wings, which folded close against his back. I wasn’t game enough to ask if it hurt to sit on them, especially when he didn’t look too comfortable. I wondered how he was going to keep them still for the meeting.
A glance over my shoulder showed me we were being tailed by one of Casper’s speciality vans, the one with a mini-gun that popped out the top, firing a zillion bullets a minute. I’d never seen it in action but I had to admit it sounded damned impressive. I didn’t bother asking if the back-up was necessary. I’d been in enough bad spots to appreciate the handiness of a nice Gatling gun.
When we arrived, Casper got out and opened the door for us. I slid out, Roman close behind. The facade of the nightclub was a gothic red and black, sitting between a tattoo shop and an all-night cafe with a flashing neon sign advertising coffee. Casper murmured something into his sleeve and tailed us as we entered the building. A reception room greeted us, in accents of glossy leather and lush velvet. Candles studded every surface, posing what I thought was a pretty fucking bad fire risk. A woman with nipple clamps and little else greeted us from behind a reception desk.
‘Welcome. Can I take your coats?’ Her voice is a throaty purr, like she’s promising all sorts of things, if only you’d remove those clamps for her.
‘I’ll keep mine,’ Roman said, while Casper just ignored her.
I handed over my own coat, my nipples giving a sympathetic ache. When Casper had said the meeting was at a speciality club, I’d thought it would involve a secret handshake. Instead, I guessed it was going to be all PVC and butt plugs.
Glancing down at my outfit – black trousers and a tight top that showed plenty of cleavage – I felt overdressed. And yes, it was a ploy to tease Roman. Never hurt to remind him of what he was missing. My sturdy leather work-belt clashed a little with the outfit, but there was no way I was coming without it. With casting salt tucked in its pouches, the bulky belt was the tool of my trade and I’d even been learning some mean darkcraft spells from Orella. That was before she had become so tired that Gideon decided on an extended holiday away from Harken’s drizzly weather. Orella’s family name was Warbreeder and she had been a vicious battle elf in her day. While I’d been playing dutiful student this last year, I’d also been listening to her stories about the conflicts she’d been involved in. The rich, full life she had behind her had been as much a revelation as the knowledge that I could actually cast powerful spells, something that hadn’t been possible when I’d been wearing the charm that cloaked my true identity as nephilim. Of course, that didn’t stop me from bringing extra accessories. Magic sure was useful, but nothing said business like a lead shot to the guts. To this effect, my spring-loaded rig was strapped under one sleeve and my duelling cane hid its sword, edges honed razor sharp.
Chaos Broken Page 2
