by C. G. Blaine
Fantastic. Now, she has me feeling bad when she’s the one making my existence more difficult.
“You look fine,” I bite out. “I just wish Kai had told you to throw on a sack so I wouldn’t have to spend the night threatening every asshole who looks at you.”
Her eyes return to me. “Every single one?”
I shrug. “Everyone who isn’t me.”
Because I don’t know when to fucking quit, I add a wink.
She licks her lips to suppress a smile. “I’ll just have to keep you in line myself then.”
With her feelings no longer hurt, I press a hand to the small of her back, guiding her into the crowd. She latches on to my arm and plasters herself to my side to dodge people. It takes no time at all for the first set of bushy eyebrows to rise, the owner’s head following us.
In the center of the room, a chalk outline serves as a ring with a wall of muscle surrounding it to keep anyone from joining in on the fights. We push our way as far forward as we can before the bodies become so compact that I’d have to physically remove them to get us closer. I’m usually right at the front, but Nyx won’t stand a chance up there.
I stand with my arms crossed as they announce the fighters for the first round. Kai’s will come later when the room’s drunk and rowdy. Nyx cranes her neck, trying to find an opening to see the two shirtless guys being escorted toward the center. It’s only the second time I’ve seen her with her hair up, the back of her neck and shoulders bare. I swipe my fingers over the faded tattoo at the base of her neck without thinking—a ring created by a serpent swallowing its own tail. She stills at my touch, and I hang my head so my mouth hovers near her ear.
“Your tattoo,” I say above the shouting.
She turns her head to see me. “It’s the Ouroboros.”
I resist rolling my eyes. “I know.”
Depending on who you ask and in what century, the symbol represents fertility, the life-death cycle, rebirth. The correct meaning, though, is the original one. Immortality.
“But what are the lines?” I trace the ring before following one of the four vertical and wavy marks, inked overtop. It feels familiar—her skin under mine, but also the lines themselves. The spacing and staggered formation. I’ve seen them somewhere I just can’t pinpoint when in the past several thousand years.
Before Nyx can answer, someone shoves in front of her. She shifts into me, and my other hand catches her waist to balance her. More people scramble and cram into the space in the seconds before the fight starts. A swarm of locusts with us in the middle. Her back to my chest, ass against my crotch, our eyes locked. I should let go, except the warmth inside from the light rivals the heat coming from her. Both intoxicating.
Next thing I know, my fingers are sweeping again. This time, they glide over the exposed skin below the hem of her tank, skimming across her stomach. She tenses for a second but then spreads her hand over mine, resting her cheek on my chest. She stares up at me with her lips parted. The shouting turns to white noise as I bring my hand from her neck to her chin. I’m about to dip down when my angel senses tingle.
My head snaps up, the light inside of me sending my attention straight to the man on the far side of the makeshift ring. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms and ankles crossed, leering at me. While he looks like an asshole wearing a suit in a place like this, it’s not the outward appearance I give a shit about. It’s the darkness swimming beneath the surface. Flowing through him like the light does me.
Fucking demon.
After a second, his attention averts to the fight. I resist the urge to drop straight to Kai. The demon doesn’t seem all that interested in me, so there’s no fucking chance I’m pointing a giant neon sign at my charge. Most demons want nothing to do with Nephilim. Not even the upper-level ones, which this douche obviously is with his suit and styled black hair. Abaddon was the exception, and that asshole only tried to snag one for another sad—and failed—attempt at taking me out. For the Demon of Destruction, he’s shit at his job.
I scan the rest of the crowd for any other darkness, only half-aware Nyx is still standing in front of me. I’m not even touching her anymore. Like I said, my dick might act like it’s easily swayed, but strip everything away, and only three things remain. Charge. Light. Home. The fucking mantra of my existence.
“I have to go,” I tell her, not even looking down.
“What? You can’t leave me here.” She tries to grab my arm when I walk away, but I shake her off. “Chaz,” she calls. She says something else, but the fight is starting and her voice blends with the others.
I look straight ahead until I reach the exit, then I check over my shoulder. The demon hasn’t moved an inch, his focus still on the fighters. I relax, confident he’s not after anything that’s mine. Uppers thrive on seedy shit, so I shouldn’t be surprised to finally run into one at a place like this.
I’m about to turn back when a pissed off woman breaks through the horde of dudes. I pretend not to notice her and push out the door. Kai’s still my priority. With all of these humans around, I can’t just drop to get away from her, so she easily catches up.
“Hey,” Nyx says once we reach the stairwell.
“Hi,” I deadpan, but I don’t look at her.
She follows me into the hallway Kai went down earlier. They’ve held fights here a few times, and the fighters hole up in the out-of-commission break room toward the end. Even if he’s not on the Upper’s radar, I want him as far away as possible.
She marches fast to keep up with me. “What happened back there, it was—”
“Nothing happened.” I spin before we reach the only open door in the hallway.
Nyx barely stops short of running into me. Her mouth’s open, undoubtedly ready to argue, but my palms are already glowing by the time they cup her cheeks. She takes a quick intake of air, and I realize she thinks I’m going to kiss her. Not at all my plan. Until she grabs the front of my shirt like she wants me to.
And then I fucking lose my mind.
I step into her, the light cutting off from my hands as my lips crush hers. The moment crashes over me, her pulling at me to get closer and every molecule of me wanting to give her exactly that. But as rapid as the onset of my insanity, I recover from it just as fast.
My mouth leaves hers—her face already warm and a dreamy look in her eyes when they flutter open.
“Nothing happened,” I tell her, my voice calm. “I asked about your tattoo, a guy pushed you into me, and I caught you so you wouldn’t end up on the dirty floor.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
I half-smile. “The crowd was getting rough, so we came down here to find Kai. We didn’t talk or even look at each other.” I pause, letting her mind fill with new memories. “Now, we’re going to get him and leave because you aren’t feeling well.”
“I don’t want to be here,” she says.
“Let’s get out of here then.” I release her, not even waiting for her to come out of the daze to turn around.
Charge. Light. Home.
Not mortal-chick anything.
The room is rowdier tonight. More drunk guys and yelling, and for whatever fucking reason, Nyx insists on being closer to the ring. It feels familiar from the get-go. The hotel, her skirt, how she looks over her shoulder to see me. Dark lashes fan over her molten eyes, my hand on the back of her neck.
“The Ouroboros,” she says.
This time, when she falls back into me, I don’t hesitate to tip her chin up. I graze my lips over hers and then nudge her face to the side, my mouth moving down. My tongue drags over her neck. I taste the salt on her skin, feel her palm sliding up the front of my thigh.
A groan escapes when I rip my mouth away from her. The demon watches from across the room, his red glare staying on me this time. I should get Kai, but Nyx feels exactly like I remembered.
I lower my attention back to her before I turn us around. We push through the men, their gazes raking over her. Once we clear
the crowd, I let her go. She glances over her shoulder to make sure I’m following her to the stairwell. And fuck me, I am.
The cool air hits us when she rushes through the door. By the time it bangs shut, I have her in the shadows under the stairs, pushing her back up the wall.
“Fuck, I want you,” I rasp, my palms on her ass.
Her legs wrap around my waist, and she pulls my mouth to hers. Our tongues are already tangled when our lips collide, teeth clashing right after. She tastes like sin, forbidden. I thrust forward, my erection rubbing against her, and she moans the sweetest fucking sound. She’s not Kai’s—never was. She’s never let him touch her like this. Feel her like this.
Nyx is mine.
My lips stay on hers while I look over at Kai. Blood pools around him on the floor, darkness seeping out of his chest where the demon hit him with a fireball. The shadows swirl around him, and I can’t feel the light anymore. All that’s left is her, overwhelming my senses, pumping through my veins.
Nyx moans, rolling her hips, and I grind against her again.
“You should get that,” she mumbles into my mouth.
It only takes a second for me to figure out what she means, but I’m not finished claiming her yet. One of my hands creeps up her shirt, pushing her bra out of the way. As I cup her breast, her heart races. It matches the faint pounding that keeps trying to interrupt.
“Chaz,” she says. Then, after a few more seconds, “Chazaqiel.”
The sound of my full name makes me pull back to see her. “Sorry, gorgeous. I need to answer the fucking door.”
I wake up in my living room. No Nyx. No concrete steps overhead. The only thing that is the same between the dream and reality is my raging hard-on. I’m still on the couch, where I crashed after a drunk Kai stumbled back to his apartment and passed out.
The knocking grows louder as I rub the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and maneuver through my dark apartment. Dark because it’s two in the goddamn morning.
Skipping the door, I head straight to my kitchen. I flip on a light and pull the blocker bag out of the cupboard, so I can take out a crystal and disengage the heavenly security system.
“It’s open,” I say.
Rosdan blows in. This time, he at least shuts the door. Without a word, I hand him the amulet. Then I crash back down on the couch, because I really prefer my brother not notice my dick through my sweatpants right now.
“How are you here?” I ask.
“I scared the shit out of Mark and then suggested he use the treadmill until I get back.” He studies the amulet, running his fingers along the edge of the gold back casing. “I was helping Alistair with his homework the other day.”
Ros thought it would be a brilliant idea to nanny for his charges. A ten-year-old with a Cass obsession and two-year-old triplets—two boys and a girl.
“He’s working on a report,” he says. “The Sword in the Stone.”
“You tell him it’s all bullshit?”
I get a sideways glance for that.
Little about the stories humans have passed around about the sword is how it really went down. Hell, it wasn’t even in England, like most people think. Some hermit in Italy looked out his window at the right moment and caught an angel all lit up with his wings spread. It was Michael—a complete dick, by the way, who wouldn’t protect a human if his existence depended on it. The guy marked the spot with a sword. Funny thing about an angel drop spot, the light affects the ground. So, the sword stayed, unmovable, until a Nephilim wandered by and yanked it out. Nephilim blood. Never know when it will come in handy.
“I don’t have to remind you whose Nephilim pulled the sword,” Ros says.
Samy.
I don’t say it out loud, but we’ve been playing Finish the Thought long enough that Ros raises his eyebrows like I did.
“He always had a thing for it,” he says. “Even the bullshit version. So, what if…”
I nod. “He made the spell so it can only be cast under certain conditions.”
“One of the last scrolls had a spell I’d never seen before. It looks like he somehow infused our powers into the amulet over the years, and then something to do with intentions. It might be another dead end, but this feels right.”
“Chant away then, brother.”
Ros closes his eyes, his words barely audible as his lips move.
And then the crystal starts to glow.
Nothing more than a quick spark, but more than we’ve ever gotten before.
His eyes fly open, catching the last of the show before the amulet powers down again. He drops to the floor, landing on his back and raising his arms in the air. “Fuck yes. You’re not such hot shit now, are you, Samy?”
“I hate to bring down the taunting party, but the spell didn’t work.”
“Not completely, but it’s a start. From what I can tell, it’s like training it to respond to us. The more we cast with the right intentions, the stronger the power it releases.”
“And what’s the right intention?”
Rosdan climbs off the floor and tosses me the amulet. “No idea. I just tried to channel Samy.”
I catch the chain as Ros drops out of my living room. Only then, he reappears a second later.
“You good?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Cass said you called him for advice about your charge.”
“So?” I stand up and head to the kitchen for a beer.
“No one in their right mind would ask Cass for help with their charge.”
I snort. He’s got me there. When I close the fridge, he’s still staring at me from the archway.
“You figured out the whole wanting-to-bang-your-charge’s-girlfriend problem then?”
“All solved and wrapped up with a bow.” I crack open my can and lean back on the counter.
He smirks and nods. “So, the groaning before you answered and the erection are—”
Before he finishes, I toss the crystal back in the blocker bag, and he involuntarily drops out of my apartment. While I sip my beer, I stare at the amulet in my hand. But instead of thinking about how close we are to unlocking it, I’m picturing Kai in a pool of blood. Thinking about what it felt like not to sense the light from him anymore. Even if it was just in a dream.
The half-assed approach at avoiding Nyx isn’t working. I can’t keep my eyes, hands, or my mind to myself. If I want to steer clear of Cass’s nuclear option, I’ll have to take it up a notch until Kai moves on.
I’ll need to disappear.
Luckily, I’m one of The Fallen. A Watcher. Being invisible is what we fucking do.
“Miss Lamore.”
I ignore the nurse chasing me through the entryway, not in the mood to deal. Not that I ever am, but today is definitely not the day.
“Miss Lamore,” she tries again.
“Sorry, I’m running late.” I don’t slow down to throw out the excuse over my shoulder.
She catches up with me as I descend the porch steps. “We need to discuss the changes to your grandmother’s medications.”
“Not a doctor,” I say, crossing the yard.
I’m almost to my car when she rushes in front of me. I consider going through her but huff out a breath and cross my arms. She beat me fair and square. I’ll give her thirty seconds.
Once she’s convinced I won’t bolt, she tugs at her white cardigan to recompose herself. “Thank you. Now, as you know, the disease has progressed far faster than the doctors…”
And here’s where I tune her out. This is why I visit at night. Her nurses let me come and go without forcing updates, which are pointless anyway. Ninety-eight-year-olds don’t suddenly make miraculous recoveries. Their bodies fail them, their minds, until they stop talking and recognizing you.
I twist around to see the front of the house while she talks about test results and scans. My eyes scale the two-story Victorian I bought when we moved to Colorado a few mon
ths ago. It really is quaint. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere with a tattered porch and a bench swing hanging from chains. A rusted tricycle sits next to the banister at one end. I wonder who left it there. If, when they climbed off after riding up and down the wooden beams, they had any idea they would never get back on.
I doubt it. We rarely recognize those types of moments as they’re happening, only after we realize we’re missing something—or someone. That’s when last times become important. When they’re already gone.
Guessing we’re somewhere around the half-minute mark, I face the nurse straight on. She’s talking about morphine when I hold up my hand to stop her.
“With all due respect,” I say, “I don’t have time. Do what needs to be done to keep her alive. Those were her directives, and it’s what all of you are being paid to do.”
She lifts her arms, only to drop them again in exasperation. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Miss Lamore. There’s nothing more we can do for her.”
“Well”—I crowd her toward the car until she’s forced to sidestep out of the way—“I really don’t have time for this then.”
She shakes her head as I jerk the door open.
“And with all due respect to you,” she says from behind me with no respect at all, “that woman deserves more than a weekly drop-by from someone who can’t show the least bit of compassion when she’s dying.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until the metallic tang touches my tongue and close my eyes. She has no clue what she’s talking about, but it isn’t worth the energy. Let her think I’m cold and uncaring, that the last two words out of her mouth weren’t a vise grip on my heart. I won’t waste time trying to prove otherwise when I can still do something to help her.
Once the door to the farmhouse slams, I breathe deep and exhale slowly, hoping when the air slides out of me, it takes the bullshit with it. I’m still gripping the doorframe when I notice the piece of paper stuck under my wiper blade.
Wind blows the chimes hanging from a tree beside the house, the rest of the yard eerily quiet while I retrieve the note. I climb in the car before reading it. It has a phone number scribbled in the middle. My eyes roll at the familiar handwriting, and I pop open the center console. I grab the cell phone from underneath a pile of napkins and dial the number, irritated and he hasn’t even answered yet.
