by Ella James
But he didn’t. He didn’t say a word.
“I deserve to know.”
Cayne sighed, and she waited. While he examined her. While he glanced out the window. While he sighed again.
Finally, quietly, so his voice barely rose above the hum of the engine, he said, “I didn’t say anything—about anything—because I was…concerned.”
“Concerned?” She hated the hitch in her voice. “About what?”
“How you would react when I told you the…whole truth.”
Julia’s stomach hit her toes. “So what is it?”
“I’m a half-demon.” Cayne’s eyes grabbed hers. “Like Samyaza.”
Chapter Twelve
She’d heard him wrong. Obviously she had. Her trauma had turned into paranoia, which was manifesting itself as a hallucination. Julia looked at Cayne’s now familiar face—the sharp green eyes, those beautiful lips, the shaggy brown hair that hung down almost to his brows.
“I’m sorry but… What?”
His smile was tight. “Nephilim,” he said. “You heard of them?”
“Like fallen angels?”
Cayne was looking intently at the road, which had widened as they neared a rural neighborhood. For a moment, his face seemed blank. Then she saw a flicker of tension near his mouth, but it was quickly snuffed out by a forced calm that matched his toneless voice. “We’re the offspring of a human woman and a male demon.”
“We.”
His gaze slid over hers, like he was trying to communicate without sound.
So it was we. “You and Samyaza…”
“Are not the same.” His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.
“Are you…on his side?” she choked.
“Samyaza’s side?”
She nodded, light-headed.
“Are you asking if I want you dead?”
“I guess.”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Then it’s not such a big deal. I think.”
His eyes widened, and he looked at her with so much disbelief that she laughed. Weakly. “What? It’s not like I thought you were a human.”
And, hey, at least he was part human. Julia had at one point thought he was an angel—a bad, bad angel, but still an angel.
“I was worried,” he said, relief coloring every syllable. “How are you not afraid?”
“Well…it’s you. Believe it or not, you’re not that scary.”
Salt Lake City glowed ahead of them, a million false promises twinkling under a dark mirror. Cayne steered them to it, giving Julia the Teenage Girl’s Guide to Nephilim. The abridged version.
Demons existed. They didn’t “obey some guy with red horns,” but a lot of them were close enough to brimstone and hellfire that it didn’t make much difference.
They existed “elsewhere,” and years ago, they’d gotten in the habit of coming to the physical world. When they did, they took physical form. And the ones that took the form of humans had trouble keeping their pants on.
Demon-human couplings rarely resulted in pregnancy, and even more rarely in a child. If one was carried to term, it was always male.
“You still haven’t said what it has to do with…those people and me.” Julia’s throat felt too full, and her eyes stung. She swallowed and inhaled through her nose. She wasn’t going to go to pieces; she had hardly even cried for Harry and Suzanne. “Why is he doing this?”
Cayne rubbed his face. “That’s what we need to find out. But...”
He let the word linger, and Julia’s stomach made like a yo-yo. “But?” Cayne didn’t say anything, and the yo-yo became a boomerang. “But what?”
“I’ve hunted Samyaza for more than three years now, and that’s not the first killing field I’ve found.”
“Did they all…”
“Yeah. They all had the same mark.”
“H-he’s been hunting us for three years?” It sounded strange, the word “us.” But that’s how it was. These people she’d never met were in the same boat she was.
“Longer, I’m pretty sure.”
The boomerang became a NASCAR race. “Longer?”
“For decades.”
Shit.
“Julia?”
“I think I’m going to be sick again.”
She wasn’t, but it was a close call. Cayne pulled over and she staggered out of the car. She sat on a downtown bench, head between her legs. A breeze turned her sweat cool as Cayne stood guard over her. When she was able, she sat up, just in time to take an unopened can of Coke from a passing stranger. She glanced at Cayne and put it on the ground.
“Cayne. You should have told me this from the beginning. Regardless.”
“I should have,” he said solemnly. “There’s no excuse.”
“Make one up.”
“Do you want that?”
“Yes. I need a reason to not slap you.”
Under the glow of the streetlamp his eyes were yellow. He cast them down. “At first, I didn’t trust you. I thought Samyaza would reveal himself in Memphis. I thought I’d kill him or die trying to. When I realized it wouldn’t be that simple…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
Julia laughed bitterly. Not worry. As if. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I think the people with your mark are getting together. That cabin was a meeting room. I can also tell Samyaza is rushing, even if I don’t know why. It’s causing him to be more aggressive. And to…make mistakes.”
His implication was clear: Julia was a mistake. She should be dead. “Why?” she asked. “Why me? Why people with a birthmark? It seems so arbitrary.”
“As for the why…” Cayne shrugged.
Julia buried her face in her hands. “So what you’re saying is you don’t have any answers.”
Cayne must have sensed her hopelessness. He knelt before her, so his eyes were level with hers, and grabbed her small hands in his big, warm ones.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said as he squeezed her fingers. “I promise.”
The sincerity of his words was written across his beautiful face, underlined in his deep green eyes. Julia wanted to kiss him. But she couldn’t, because just holding his hands was making her heart pound.
She forced herself to release them. “Let’s go.”
In the car, everything in her head congealed into dumb, thick terror. She tried to bat it back. Logic. She needed to be logical. There was an explanation somewhere; she just needed to find it.
She glanced at Cayne. He winked, and despite everything, she felt almost okay. She tried to hold onto the feeling as the lights of downtown shrank behind them.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“To a bar.”
“Um, we’re underage.”
“The people there won’t care.”
“They won’t? Is it a crazy creatures’ bar?”
Cayne’s mouth twisted. “You could say that.”
Julia saw a flash of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and laughed, half ecstatic, half terrified. “You can’t be serious.”
He nodded.
“A Nephilim bar? In Utah?”
“A normal bar,” he corrected. “One owned by a friend. André. He’s a Walker. They live as humans and stay out of politics. Other Nephilim naturally feel less exposed at his place, so they go there a lot.”
“Yeah, but why are we going there?”
“I’m hoping someone will know something about you.”
They were driving through urban neighborhoods, past stout brick homes with small lawns and little gardens that reminded Julia of her old street. A thin film of pale clouds pressed low to the mountains, and she wondered what would pin them in first: the narrowing streets or the sky.
She shut her eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Instead, something else occurred to her. She turned in her seat and looked at Cayne. “Hey, you still haven’t told me: Why are you after Samyaza?”
He fixed his mouth in
to a little pinch, and she got a distinct “closed” vibe from him. A couple of days ago, she might have let it go, but they were friends now. Weren’t they? Friends could prod each other.
“You said you’ve been chasing him for three years, right? So why?”
“Because…he stole something from me.”
She didn’t have time to comprehend his wild-eyed look, or think about the odd dullness of his voice. Something smashed into the van, and Julia screamed. Cayne jerked the wheel left, and they raced toward a row of trees.
Chapter Thirteen
Before Julia knew what was happening, Cayne had ripped her seatbelt in two and pulled her into his arms. She screamed as they burst through the windshield. Their momentum carried them up and away in a blast of glass and metal.
Cayne flipped onto his back when they reached the top of their arch and jerked her body close to his. He landed on his feet like a parkour pro, absorbing most of the shock with a low “oomph.”
She felt his arms around her, hard and warm, and then he was pushing her down, sinking into a crouch, and clutching a wicked crimson knife. Julia’s head spun. She tried to get up, but he jerked her down again.
“Hey!”
“Stay low,” he hissed.
She had an instant to take in their location—the edge of a wide, long lawn surrounding a small, white house on an ordinary-looking residential street—before a shadow flew at them.
Julia yelped as Cayne caught the dark-haired assailant and slung him into a storage shed. Cayne fell on Julia, shielding her as the wall exploded, rocketing fragments of tin into cars and trees.
Julia saw their second attacker, stout and blond, from beneath the crook of Cayne’s elbow.
“Cayne!”
He rolled to his feet and leapt at the blond. Their impact caused a shock wave that lifted Julia’s hair. Cayne came down on top and savagely rammed his blade into his opponent’s chest.
The blond ripped into Cayne’s side with his own red knife. Cayne reared, and the blond bucked up. Cayne forced him back down and began to strangle him.
The darker Nephilim shot out of the rubble, moving so fast Julia thought he was a gust of wind. He kicked Cayne off the blond and moved to strike, but Cayne stabbed him in the chest.
Someone screamed.
Julia’s head jerked to her left. An elderly couple had emerged from the white house. The woman, a plump white-haired grandmother type in a heavy blue nightgown, covered her mouth. Her eyes flew from the mangled car to her damaged shed to the melee in her yard. The man, bald and heavy-set, in boxers and a white undershirt, hefted a shotgun into the crook of his arm. He seemed equally bewildered.
In a flash of inspiration, Julia ran at the old man and pointed at the dark-haired Nephilim. “That one!”
With all her might, she willed the old man to heed her words. The dark-haired Nephilim turned. He raised his dagger, Cayne’s blood dripping down his arm, and a boom ripped the air.
The shot hit the Nephilim in the chest, and he stumbled. That was all the advantage Cayne needed. He grabbed his opponent from behind and flipped him over.
All at once, dozens of neighbors poured from their homes. A man with a goatee had a revolver. “Herbert! What the hell?”
The old man shook his head. He was staring stupidly at the gun in his hand.
“The blond and the one with dark, short hair attacked us,” Julia supplied.
The old man started. “What?”
“They attacked us.”
He nodded shakily. “That darker one…I killed him.”
He probably didn’t, but Julia wasn’t going to explain. Cayne was wailing on the blond once again and the dark-haired one was…staggering to his feet.
The hole in his chest was still spitting up blood. Several of the women screamed. The old man raised his gun again. “Don’t you come one step closer!
“Cayne!”
The bleeding Nephilim leapt for Julia but crumpled in mid-air. He thudded to the ground, Cayne’s knife protruding from his neck.
Cayne quickly pinned the blond Nephilim against a tree trunk. “Tell me why!”
“Y-You should—know why. Traitor.”
Cayne leaned in so his face was inches from his captive’s. “I think you should tell me.”
The blond Nephilim pursed his lips and spat blood in Cayne’s face. He tried one last time to break free, but with a flick of his wrist, Cayne snapped his neck.
A beat of silence followed the crunch of bone, and then a chorus of gasps filled the air. The bystanders stared fearfully at Cayne as he staggered toward Julia.
He was covered in blood; it tangled his hair, stained his busted face, dripped down his arms, and oozed out of his torso. He was moving carefully, like someone hurting, but Julia didn’t move to help him. His savage display had frozen her bones.
“Don’t you dare,” the old man—Herbert—warned as he hefted his shotgun. His arms trembled as he pointed the barrel at Cayne.
“Stop!” Julia cried.
The old man’s wide eyes rolled into his head, and his gun clattered onto the porch. Cayne’s eyes were closed, and he swayed drunkenly.
“Cayne?”
She opened her Sight and saw something that horrified her more than the blood that seemed to cover every inch of him. Bright, silver tendrils stretched from his aura and wrapped themselves around the man, whose own amber light was becoming dimmer by the minute.
“Cayne!” Julia rushed to him and gave him a hard push.
Immediately he released the man, and when he looked at Julia his eyes were fractionally clearer. She wrapped an arm around his waist and steered him to the guy with the goatee.
“Cayne,” she said through clenched teeth, “tell this nice man how much we’d like to borrow his car.”
Chapter Fourteen
Julia cracked the window of the pearly Audi and glanced at Cayne.
He’d manipulated the witnesses’ minds. His pretty little power didn’t fix broken cars or busted buildings, but he’d convinced them to forget his and Julia’s faces. He’d convinced two police cruisers to stop following them, too. And after they ditched goatee man’s Honda, Cayne had even been able to convince someone else to donate their car.
But Julia wasn’t worried about twelve frightened Utahans. Or the cops. Or the Audi-less woman and her son. She was worried about the old guy Cayne had almost taken out.
They’d been idling at the helm of a wooded park for going on six minutes—Julia practicing her patience and Cayne staring out the passenger’s window. An old street lamp bathed his face in brown light, sharpening the lines of his features.
“Well?”
He sighed. “It’s kind of a conditioned response.”
“Conditioned.”
“Trained.”
Julia bit her lip. “I know what ‘conditioned’ means.”
He rubbed tired-looking eyes, and she felt a quick twist of nerves. She could get all sweaty if she thought about the fight the wrong way, so she was trying not to think about it at all. Except the end. Where Cayne had almost killed an old person.
“I know what conditioned means,” she said slowly. “I’m waiting for you to explain how that makes it okay.”
Cayne’s eyes found the windshield. She saw his mouth tighten. He rubbed one hand over his face, wiping the expression away. “I don’t remember anything from before three years ago. I woke up in a logger’s camp in Alberta. I knew my name, and I knew Samyaza’s. I had this image of him sneering. And I knew that he’d taken my memories. But I didn’t know why.”
“Are you serious?”
Cayne nodded. “Within maybe half a minute of waking up, I’d drained the life from one of my rescuers. I didn’t mean to. It was just…automatic.”
Julia clutched the wheel. She didn’t really know what it was she saw when she used her Sight. She called them auras, but for all she knew they could be souls.
No way. He wouldn’t eat souls.
Cayne was
watching her unhappily. “I called it a conditioned behavior because it is. It’s instinct. It helps me heal.” As evidence, Cayne lifted his shirt. Where a jagged gash tore his left side not twenty minutes before, there was now a large, healthy scab. “I locate the closest, easiest source of energy and absorb it. It isn’t something that’s easy to control.”
Cayne traced the bottom of the window with his thumb, silent for a moment. “I’ve got some friends that I would trust to keep you safe.” He glanced at Julia. “We were going to see one—André.”
Julia waited for him to elaborate, but he appeared lost in thought. Stomach sinking, she said, “So?”
“Maybe it would be better if he helped you.”
“Um…are you insane?”
“I can deal with Samyaza on my own.”
“That’s not the point!”
“I know.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I’m thinking of you, too.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know a thing about my past. It—”
“I don’t care.”
Cayne shifted impatiently. “I have Nephilim coming for me. Dozens, probably, just like those back there.”
“And I’ve got the head honcho after me! Maybe you remember what we found this afternoon? A bunch of dead people who have the same birthmark I do?” Julia hardened her tone. “I’m staying with you.”
Cayne opened his mouth, but she talked over him. “Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” Julia took a deep breath and tried to hold on to her courage. “I think other things have changed, too. I…like you, now. As a friend. So I want to stay together.”
He raised his eyebrows, and she added, “But no sucking innocent people’s…auras. Energy. Whatever.”
Cayne shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
“You’re right I am.” Julia crossed her arms. “So…the boss wants to know about what happened after you woke up. In the cabin.”
Cayne rubbed a hand back through his hair, and he was quiet—remembering. Eventually, he said, “Some things came back in pieces. It didn’t take me long to start directing people’s wills. And my body… I left six days after they found me near dead. In six days I’d recovered from broken limbs and ribs, serious blood loss, and I re-grew half of my right hand.” He laughed, dry and low. “I was pretty sure whatever I was, I wasn’t human.
“It was easy to find other Nephilim. I could…sense them. Almost like a smell.” He wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “From there, it was just relearning some of what I’d lost. I found out I was a Hunter about a month after I left the camp. This appeared in the middle of a fight.” His fingers spread, and his wicked-looking crimson dagger materialized in his hand. “It’s my blood. Only Hunters have one.”
