by Ella James
Her body felt heavy as lead and her heart felt even heavier. Every beat was like a punch to the chest.
What had happened to her? She remembered a tall, blond guy with a freckled face, sympathetic as Dizzy’s dark magic lifted and she became aware again inside the plane. She’d seen Dizzy lying, eyes closed, on the bed, and Nathan had stepped into her field of vision.
When he’d stood in front of her, he’d asked the guy—EcKman?—to step out for a minute.
Julia felt nothing when she looked at his face. Not even the urge to hurt him. She shut her eyes and was surprised to find Nathan’s hand caress her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry to everyone. You’ll thank me later.”
Not a chance, dickhead.
Julia’s back hurt, so she tried to subtly shift her weight. Immediately she noticed a heaviness around her wrists and ankles. She was tied down again? Even on the stretcher?
Her stomach clenched with fear as reality hit her hard: She was somewhere unknown, deep underground, being carried to her certain demise, and she had no idea where Cayne was or what had happened to her friends.
Her mind balked. Her stomach clenched. Unfair, she wanted to cry.
Everything had led her here? To this?
She didn’t cry, but she started shaking. It was more like jerking than shivering. Her muscles flinched, like they were protesting their binds, and a noise of awareness passed through the people carrying her, though she was too freaked out to make out any words.
They knew she was awake.
Frantically she grasped for something, anything to help her calm down, and it hit her like a ray of light: The Authority on the ski lift had said that Cayne would be her demise. On its face, it sounded bad, but there was a sunny side. Cayne couldn’t be her demise if she never saw him again.
Julia shut her eyes and vowed that when they found each other, she wouldn’t let some stupid angel’s prediction come to pass. Cayne was hers and she was his, and whatever his past or her present, they would find a way to be together.
The people carrying her stopped, their final footfall echoing against the hard-packed mud. She felt them shifting their grips as they turned sharply left. She watched the modest width of the hall narrow into a doorway, and then she was being carried into a large, square room. Foggy. Wow, the place was foggy white.
She was set on something—some kind of bench, table, or bed. She heard several sets of feet shuffle out of the room, and abruptly, the fog cleared. Flickering torches replaced the darkness, and there, on a stone bench, holding a leather whip, was the most beautiful being Julia had ever beheld. His copper hair shone in the light, framing a wise and noble face. Blue eyes, sensuous mouth, high and lovely cheeks. He smiled, and warmth flowed through her, even as her heart beat way too fast and his hard hands plucked the whip.
His smile was radiant, his hand big and warm as he sank to one knee and clasped one of hers. Those blue eyes, infinitely understanding and hypnotically serene, never left her own. “You must be Julia,” he purred.
She nodded stupidly, and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I,” he told her, “am Methuselah.”
***
Cayne sat on the edge of his cot in the loft at his aunt and uncle’s house, wiping his bloody hands on a cloth he used for bathing. The sight of the lamb's blood made him feel like he had swallowed a midge, and now it was down in his stomach, buzzing around. He didn’t like the greasy feel o’ it or the sharp smell. He hated to kill the wee lamb, but the creature had broken a hind leg, and it was broken in the thickest part a’ the bone and—
What the hell am I doing back in Killin?
Cayne jumped up, tossed the wool towel on the plank floor, and spun around the room. It was smaller than it had appeared a few seconds before, though the smell of the blood and the feel of it on his fingers affected him the way it had when he was a wee lad.
Still, what was he doing here, and where was Julia?
He stepped toward the ladder, determined to find her. But when he reached the cut-out in the floor where he would drop onto the ladder, he bumped into something hard. He stepped back and found himself staring into the dark eyes of his Uncle Kennan.
The man had black hair and a hard, bearded face, but he’d always been kind to Cayne, until that night. Seeing him now made Cayne sweat. He staggered back, and Kennan laughed, and it was the over-loud, over-boisterous laugh that gave him away.
“You’re not my uncle.”
Kennan’s face smiled as he stepped closer to Cayne. “Not who you’re looking for, either.”
With those words, the world around him blotted out. Cayne felt the frigid breeze before his vision returned. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in a light snow, standing outside a familiar cabin.
Dread rolled through him. Not the logical dread of the place, but a desperate pit of sorrow. A heartbeat later, The Adversary stepped through the cabin’s wide, wood door, and behind him… Behind him was Julia.
Cayne had been expecting Kat. At the sight of Julia, his heart thudded wildly, off beat. It was her, but was it really? A part of him knew it wasn’t, and the conviction grew as he watched snowflakes drift across her face. She wore a small smile, and as she stretched one leg out, she stuck her arms out, wobbled a little, and laughed as she turned and stuck her head back in the house. “Could you grab my mittens?”
“Sure.” The voice was gruff, but he recognized the lightness in it: a kind of weightlessness that was both ignorance and bliss.
A second later, his younger self emerged through the door looking like a stud horse, his bulky torso covered in a thick brown jacket. He remembered it had smelled like gardenias from her lotion.
Julia smells like vanilla. It was Kat who smelled like gardenias. Just like it was Kat who I was with when I was really here.
Years ago, his hair had been long, down to his neck and curling out from beneath his gray beanie. His eyes, lighter, brighter, smiled as he grinned. “Think fast.” He chucked the mittens at her, and Julia—not Kat—grabbed them with a silly little grin. He stepped over, snatched them away, and captured her wrists in his right hand.
Julia giggled. “What will you do with me, my captor?”
Cayne watched his younger self drop a kiss onto her hair, put the mittens gently on her hands, and tuck her left hand through his arm. Before they set off walking, he hugged her close, resting his chin on her hair in what he remembered had been a brand-new sense of peace.
They set off on a trail that wound to the village—a thirty minute hike in the snow, and one he and Kat had made every morning just for fun.
The Adversary followed them, an unobserved spectator, and real-time Cayne lagged behind him. That “morning” the devil wore an ankle-length fur coat and the pale skin and black hair of the cabin’s gruff proprietor. Cayne fell into step beside him, clenching his left hand into a fist and hiding a grimace every time he got too close to his fa— He couldn’t think it. Had no reason to believe it.
“This isn’t real.”
The Adversary wiggled black eyebrows. “That depends on how you define reality.”
“I mean real,” Cayne said flatly. “I was in Alberta with Kat, not Julia. She and I didn’t meet until three years after this.”
The Adversary shrugged, and Cayne jerked his eyes back to his younger self and Julia, walking. He knew it wasn’t real. The last time he’d seen Julia, she was an illusion The Adversary had whipped up just to toy with him. That’s what she was this time, too.
Still, his heart pounded when a dark shape appeared in the winter white sky. He saw the moment his younger self felt the Nephilim king’s presence. And he recalled the horror he had felt as he shoved Kat behind him, his own wings bursting out, his blood dagger appearing in his hand.
But it was Julia screaming this time. It was Julia that Samyaza was lifting into the air.
He tossed her high and far, and for a terrifying second, she hovered in the air. Then she tumbled toward their cabi
n. Young Cayne wouldn’t be fast enough, but the Cayne of now was closer, and he dashed after her, The Adversary’s laughter ringing in his ears. He knew it wasn’t real, told himself over and over again it was all an illusion...and yet he flew as fast as he could. The moment he realized he wouldn’t reach her, his lungs lost all their air.
She crashed through the log and mud cabin, and Cayne watched his younger self rip into the rubble. Kat had still been alive when Cayne had pulled her from the ruins.
He turned away. That is not really Julia.
The Adversary was beside him, still clad in the proprietor’s body, but hovering in the sky beside him on deep red wings. Cayne was so angry, he was sweating and shaking. “What’s the point of this!”
The Adversary wagged his finger. “What do you think?”
“How the hell should I know!”
The Adversary rolled his eyes. “Clearly you’re not giving this any thought. I’d hoped my son would be the thinking sort.”
Cayne crushed his arms around The Adversary and dove, speeding them both toward the ground. At the last second Cayne dropped the Demon King and arched up, landing on his feet while The Adversary plowed face first into the snow.
Cayne turned and ran, away from the cabin and The Adversary. He needed to find some kind of door or passage, some exit from this realm, so he could find Julia and—
Pain exploded behind his eyes, knocking him to his knees. He looked up, dazed, and The Adversary stood before him.
“I hope you can see how fruitless that was.”
Panting, Cayne got to his feet, throwing The Adversary’s hand off his arm. On a whim, he slammed the bastard in the jaw. Blood gushed, and The Adversary grinned.
Cayne struck again, but The Adversary blocked him with what seemed a careless shrug. Then he hit back, landing a punch on Cayne’s nose, and the world reeled. Somewhere a few dozen yards away, Cayne heard an awful howling sound, and he knew who was making it.
“You can’t stop this. Her fate is death. Be it here or elsewhere, now or later, she will die, and you will not stop it.”
“I will!” Cayne roared. He jumped to his feet, but The Adversary knocked him down again.
“You won't. Like hers, your path has been set since your birth.”
“I’ll stop it!”
The Adversary shook his head. “Methuselah, for all his pathetic, dullard Earthliness, is powerful, my son, and his Sight is even greater than my own. He is never wrong in what he sees.”
“He is this time.”
“Is that right?”
The snowy forest disappeared, and Cayne found himself in a dark, dank room. At the other end was Julia. A man who was as evil as he was beautiful leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Chapter Five
Julia stared into depthless blue eyes.
“M-Methuselah?” It…couldn’t be. And yet she knew it was. The intense force that had been trapped so painfully inside her head flowed through the room like a current now, and the only thing inside her was fear. She curled over on her side instinctively, drawing her All-Stars to her chest, praying she could disappear.
He looked so…youthful. Not old and feeble like she’d thought. He looked pristine and terrifying.
Now standing, holding his whip, Methuselah peered down his flawless nose at her and spoke in a voice like thunder. “Years cannot touch power like mine. I appear as I wish.”
Freakishly perfect, she thought, like you'd expect from a Celestial.
“Yes.” His lips curled into something like a smile. His muscled arm raised the whip, like a jockey poised to prod a horse, and Julia struggled to swallow.
“Stand,” he said quietly. When she didn’t move, he raised the whip higher. “I want to see you standing.”
Never had she been so terrified as when she pushed herself off the stone bench and wobbled into a crouching position. Methuselah’s eyes were like lasers, stealing her balance. As she found her footing, the inside of her head felt hot and tingly.
He stepped closer, and Julia’s heart fluttered. He rested his hand on her shoulder and she stopped breathing.
This close, he was… She couldn't think. She was shaking. Sweat rolled down the back of her knees, inside her blue jeans. She had the sudden intense compulsion to touch him, to use her fingertips to caress the porcelain skin of his face. She curled her fingers into fists.
She felt so small and bare, so totally alone. Her eyes stung with pooling tears.
“What ails you?” He blinked, seeming to see through her.
She found that she could not be dishonest. The words were tugged out. “I’m…scared.”
She thought how young and yes, afraid, she sounded, but Julia couldn’t make herself sound any other way.
“What else?” Those eagle eyes narrowed, and she sucked in a frantic breath. “I miss my boyfriend.”
Why had she told him that?
His hand, still on her shoulder, pressed down, and he looked at her with…power. That was what it was. He was so secure in his power; she broke into a cold sweat.
“Do you think your boyfriend can protect you from your destiny?” One coppery eyebrow arched; hard fingers squeezed her shoulder until it ached, and Julia felt something inside her chest fold in on itself. It was the pain from the leash, intensified so much she actually worried she might have a stroke.
Methuselah's fingers crawled down her arm, his fingertips pushing so hard a squeak rose in her throat. Just when she thought he would crack her bones, he flicked his wrist, knocking her off-balance. Julia threw out her arms, her hands grabbing at the air, and Methuselah eyed her with an unreadable expression.
She was aware of every breath, of every flicker of every torch lining the walls.
“What do you know about your birth parents?” he asked as he stepped closer, this time putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her back to the bench. The whip still hung in his other hand.
Methuselah sat, and she sat beside him, trembling so badly now her breaths were audible, like in a horror movie. His coppery hair glowed in the torchlight. His blue eyes seemed to glow in his breathtaking face.
Why don’t you touch it?
She heard the voice inside her head, and startled.
A smile bent his face. “Do you want to touch me?”
Julia’s teeth chattered. “I d-don’t have to.”
“But do you want to?”
His hand found hers, and guided her fingertips to his skin. It was warm. Too warm.
His eyelids lowered, and he stared down at her, and Julia felt like she understood him. Understood how things would be.
She nodded, although no one had spoken. Methuselah dropped her hand and stood, turning to face her as she sat on the stone bench.
“Your mother was a student in college. She was studying music. Your father was in school to be a pharmacist. They conceived you after drinking too much at a celebration for a sporting event.” Methuselah blinked at her, the expression shrewd and calculating, like he'd assessed every strand of her DNA and found everyone in her lineage to be lacking. Julia stared at him, unsure what to say. He continued, “When she found out she was pregnant, she wanted an abortion. Your father convinced her to marry him instead, in a courthouse. She wore a pantsuit one size too small and at their reception your parents argued. Your mother spent the night at her sister’s house. Did you know you had an aunt?”
Julia shook her head.
“She didn’t want you when your mother died.”
“What’s her name?” It was a stupid question, but her mouth just spit it out.
“Sarah Jane,” he said, his lip curled like the name disgusted him. “Frazier is her surname.”
Sara Jane. Frazier. Tears streaked down Julia’s cheeks as pain wrapped its arms around her and squeezed.
“W-w-would she get in trouble?” she choked, and Methuselah stared at her. “I mean…was there a reason…that she wanted to…not to have a…baby?”
“She had the gift of Sight. No, she
didn’t know she was my descendant, but she knew she would die young. She did not want to leave a child.”
“H-how did she die?” Julia’s chest was pumping up and down, and she could hear herself sucking air in too hard. Feel the room spinning. But she just couldn’t stop. Her vision was waving in and out, and she knew, she just knew, the next thing he told her was going to be horrible.
“I killed her, Julia.” Methuselah held out his hand, and Julia was compelled to take it. His fingers closed around hers, and she felt warmth between her legs. Her knees gave way and she sank down, accidentally tugging against Methuselah’s hand before he snatched it away. He looked down at her, curling his perfect lips.
When she felt the floor beneath her, his face went from disgusted to furious, and he slapped her hard across the cheek.
“You are nothing.”
Julia reached a weak hand up to cover her throbbing face, weeping as she realized she had…peed herself. She drew her knees to her chest, breathing so hard and fast she knew she was going to pass out.
Chapter Six
The ascent from the entrance of the catacombs to the main level of the pyramid took Nathan almost an hour. It wasn’t like the compound. Here the walls and floor were made of stone or deeper down, packed dirt, and the halls were lit by torches that danced as he moved.
He had to admit, he was glad it took some time to reach the habitable areas, where the other Chosen were. He needed time, to gather his thoughts and prepare himself.
He’d felt…off, since the night the Chosen forces had attacked the rebels' stronghold in St. Moritz. Part of it was that Adam had initiated the attack without giving him any direct warning. He’d felt caught off-guard—like one of the deserters.
But the thing about it that bothered him the most was Julia’s reaction. She was The One, and he’d been certain that, upon hearing the truth, she would be swayed to fulfill her role. Instead she’d balked at him. She’d acted as if he was deranged. Misguided.
