Warm sunlight strokes my cheek in the late hours of the morning, rousing me from sleep. Legion isn’t here, but I still feel his warmth singed into the pillowcase beside me as I run my fingers over the soft silk. My skin is bathed in his scent—masculine and fragrant—like a kindled match. And between my legs, he still lives, still throbs with the same uncontained passion he unleashed on me until my whole body trembled and my voice grew hoarse with my cries. Until light and color exploded within my veins and ignited every nerve ending with glittering dynamite.
I lay back and sink further into the scorching remembrances of the night before. Tasting Legion, relishing in the sounds he made as he surrendered his body to me, letting him take back control and punish me in the most delicious way. God, it was so damn…hot. But it wasn’t just his body that left me full to bursting. It was his words… What he said, and what I said to him in return. I didn’t know I could ever be that vulnerable with anyone. Ever. And now that I’ve bared my body and my soul, maybe I should stop dancing around my desires and come clean. I just don’t know how I can achieve that and still keep him. And I’m not ready to let go of the illusion. Not yet.
My body feels loose and languid, with just a touch of soreness between my legs. I jump in the shower, turning the water up as hot as I can stand and quickly wash and rinse. While I could spend an hour under the steaming spray, there’s something I need to do. And that something has to be done before Legion gets back from his patrol shift. After toweling off and popping my birth control pill (courtesy of Dr. Phenex who hooked me up when I returned to the Se7en house), I hurriedly dress in jeans, a fitted sweater, and boots.
“Going somewhere?” Toyol questions when I hit the living room. He’s situated in front of the TV, an Xbox controller in his hands.
“Meeting my sister for lunch. I won’t be long.” It’s not that far off. Since moving back in, I’ve ensured that Sister is a fixture in my life, and they haven’t denied me that.
“Snowed last night. Roads are probably slick. Need me to take you?”
“Nah, I can handle a little snow,” I shake my head. “I’ve got it.” I pat my handbag, indicating that I won’t be unarmed…just in case, of course.
Toyol frowns. “You sure? I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Tell L for me, ok?”
I turn towards the door before he can grill me with questions. I know it’s only out of concern for me, but there hasn’t been a threat in weeks—not since I returned from Hell. And if they’re going to insist that I’m not a prisoner, I can’t act like one. I need to get on with my life, even find a job. I can’t do that warming Legion’s bed all day and night, as tempting as that sounds.
I take the smaller Jag that I borrowed before. L insisted that it’s for my use whenever I may need it, and refused to take back the keys. Like Toyol suggested, the roads are a little slick, but I arrive at the small, low-key pub without incident. And after parking a block away just as I did the week prior, I take a deep breath, fluff my hair, and school the guilty nervousness from my face.
“Nice of you to show,” Crysis jibes. He sits on a stool on the far end of the empty bar, two untouched mugs of beer in front of him.
“Keep your panties on,” I shoot back, cutting my eyes to the pints. “Little early, don’t ya think?”
The handsome blonde angel-human hybrid shrugs. “Been up all night. It’s late for me. Sit.”
I do as he commands, but not without muttering “bossy fucker” under my breath, knowing he’ll hear it. He chuckles darkly and slides a mug in front of me.
“So what’s up, Eden. Enjoying life as a kept woman?”
“Jealous?” I retort, taking a sip of the foamy brew. “Besides, isn’t that what you wanted?”
Crysis shrugs and takes a gulp of his beer. After a few moments of silence, he stows the snarky asshole act and quietly reports, “Rev is still asking about you.”
I slide the mug to the side and give him my undivided attention. “Asking what about me?”
Another shrug. “If you’re safe… Happy. He really wants to see you again.”
I shake my head, unsure of what to tell him. “I don’t know. Two weeks ago, I was resigned to the fact that I didn’t have a father. And now that I know that I do, and he’s known about me this entire time, I can’t say what type of relationship I can have with him at this point, especially considering my involvement with the Se7en.”
“But you’re staying safe.”
“I am. No reported attacks or attempts on my life. And I’ve been working on controlling my abilities, and channeling my anger.”
Crysis nods, his expression unreadable. “Are you happy?”
At that, an unexpected smile finds its way onto my lips as I recount the last weeks. Falling back into step with the Se7en was easier than I expected. They didn’t make a big show about my leaving and returning, considering I was gone for barely twenty-four hours. And they treated the unspoken relationship Legion and I had as nothing new, as if there had always been something between us. Sure, I noticed the teasing looks the other guys gave him when they thought I wasn’t looking, but that was a normal—if not, human—response. Actually, the weirdest part about it all was that they seemed so normal with my presence. Me, a human girl, once one of the Called, inhabited by the soul of an angel/L’s ex lover, and dragged out of Hell where I was Lucifer’s prized pet. There was absolutely nothing normal about any of that shit.
But it is, sorta. And even though what I’m feeling is absolutely not normal for me and all my baggage, it feels damn good.
“I am,” I answer truthfully.
Crysis doesn’t respond immediately, just continues staring into his frosted glass as if some deeper meaning exists amidst the layer of white foam. I’ve never seen him like this—pensive. Subdued. Granted, other than this meet-up, I’ve only been around him twice—the night we met (and he put a gun to my head), and a week after I went back to stay with the Se7en. I’d seen him in character, playing the role of a nice, normal guy. And I’d seen him as he really is—the cocky, temperamental half angel lieutenant in the Alliance of the Ordained.
It’s no wonder he holds a position of power within his organization. He’s their secret weapon—the best of both worlds. Brute strength, cunning, skill and superhuman powers, courtesy of his angel dad. There’s one thing that Lilith didn’t lie about: Nephilim and Cambion are highly coveted, and very rare. According to Crysis—which is his Nephilim name, while Christian is the name he was given at birth—a human has to be strong of will and body to sustain an angel or demon’s seed, and even then, it’s unlikely that both mother and baby survive. Pregnancies are much shorter because the baby grows at an incredibly rapid pace, making it so the mother cannot seek traditional western medicine. The Alliance is a safe haven for these women, providing health care and housing for the duration of their pregnancies. And since the survival rate for the mothers are slim, they also take in their orphaned children, raising them to be warriors for Christ.
Crysis has been with them since day one. You’d think someone who was literally born and raised in a church would be less of an asshole. Or maybe that’s all an act, too.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He turns and gives me his attention, his dazzling green eyes cool and clear. They look different today—more jade than moss. I wonder if that’s a Nephilim thing as well.
“Yes?” He lifts a questioning brow. How long was I staring at him?
“Um, yeah,” I recover. My voice too low for human ears, I ask, “The angel venom…is it yours?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t produce anything strong enough to be used as a weapon.”
“But you know who can. You know the angel who’s supplying it.” It’s a long shot, but could the same angel who provided the Alliance with their sacred venom be the same who supplied Lucifer?
“Not me personally, no. Believe it or not, I don’t know everything. I know…shocking.”
I roll my eyes, before pressing for more. “Do you think it could maybe be your… your dad?”
At that, Crysis frowns, looking away. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t know if he’s supplying them? Or you don’t know him?”
He turns back to me, his gaze hardened and dark. “Both.”
“You don’t know who fathered you?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I know who he is. He just hasn’t deemed me important enough to acknowledge.” He barks out a sardonic laugh that ends in a snarl. “Puriel, the fire of God.” He takes a hefty swig of beer then snorts, “And deadbeat dad.”
“Damn,” is all I can manage to muster. Guess absentee fathers aren’t just reserved for humans.
“It doesn’t really matter, honestly,” he shrugs. “That’s how they see us—angels and demons. We’re small, insignificant, nothing more than ants in the dirt. They live for billions of years. What’s a human lifetime to them? They’re likely to blink and miss it altogether.”
I ignore the sting of his words, and what they imply for my situation, and urge, “But he has to know you’re alive. I was told that conception is deliberate. He chose to make you. He chose you.”
“Welp,” he says, bringing his glass to his lips. “Maybe he got a good look, and realized he chose wrong.”
I frown. He can’t mean that. But then again, I’ve got my own abandonment issues. Still, the way Phenex described the creation of offspring, it seemed like the act itself was a religious rite, a great privilege and sacrifice to both father and mother. Talking to Crysis, I’m not so sure.
“Ok, that’s it.”
Before Crysis can ask me what the hell I’m talking about, I hop off the stool and skip over to the jukebox stationed a few yards away.
“What are you doing?” he calls out as I’m bent over, eyeing the song selections.
“Getting you out of whatever funk you fell into this morning,” I answer, still facing the panel lit up with lights and buttons. “Any requests?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Got any Drake?”
I whip my head around and cut my eyes at him, causing him to bellow out a hearty laugh. That’s more like it.
“Very funny. You probably dance to Hotline Bling in the shower.”
Crysis hops off the stool and strides over to me, a playful smirk on his lips. “Now, now, Miss Harris. Have you been fantasizing about me in the shower?”
I purse my lips in distaste and resume flipping through the song choices. “You wish, buddy. You and fantasy don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
“Really? So you weren’t staring into my eyes earlier, wondering why they seemed lighter than before?”
“Ugh!” I huff out, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead. “Seriously, the mind reading crap is not only annoying, but just shitty. I don’t pop into your head anytime I feel like it.”
He’s still chuckling when he replies, “Not my fault. Maybe you should work on strengthening your mental shields more instead of planning date nights.”
“Spying on me?” I give him a sidelong glance.
“Just doing my job.” He leans up against the jukebox, resting an elbow over its top. “You looked really nice last night, by the way.”
I flick my expectant gaze up at him and await the punch-line. But it never comes. No insult attached. No sarcastic dig. Crysis just paid me a compliment. And he’s not even rescinding it.
“Um…thanks?”
He gives me a subtle nod before I resume my search. Finally, I spy a halfway decent song and press the button.
“Wait a minute, this is on the radio,” Crysis remarks as the notes of “Don’t Let Me Down” plays. “I thought musical snob, Eden Harris, despised cookie cutter, commercial chart toppers.”
Shuffling backwards, I move towards the small space I assume is designated for dancing, simultaneously swaying to the addictive beat. “What? The Chainsmokers aren’t cookie cutter.”
He follows me over to the dancing area, stopping a few feet in front of me. “Keep telling yourself that, princess. And what the hell are you doing?”
“Dancing,” I reply, rolling my hips from side to side, my hands up in the air like I just don’t care.
“Who lied to you and said you could dance?”
“Huh? I can dance, you hater. Maybe you should remove the giant stick up your ass and prove me wrong, angel boy.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to flex under the fabric of his t-shirt. I never realized how impressive his body really is. I’m not surprised, but…damn.
He watches the hypnotic sway of my hips with rapt amusement, the tease of a smile on his lips. Of course, I don’t expect him to accept the challenge, so when Crysis steps forward into my space—close enough that I can smell freshly fallen snow on his skin and the mix of beer and wintergreen on his breath—I pause.
“What? You wanted me to dance with you. Here I am.” His voice is low…husky…as he gazes down at me through thick, sandy blonde lashes. A lock of golden hair unravels itself from behind his ear and graces his square jaw.
Part of me is screaming for me to back up, and break whatever cruel magic has fallen over us, causing my breath to catch and my cheeks to heat. The other part of me is telling me not to back down, if only to show him that I’m not so easily distracted by the taste of temptation.
When I don’t move an inch, he places his hands on my hips. His stare is so intense, yet there’s something oddly timid in his touch. Like he’s asking for permission, or waiting for me to reject him. My silence gives nothing away.
Seconds slither by of us just standing there, sharing breath, although I’m not sure either of us is breathing until Crysis whispers, “Let me show you.”
My lips part and my mouth dries when I feel his hands mold over the curve of my hips, gaining confidence. I exhale, my eyelids drifting closed.
Then, the earth shifts on its axis.
Not figuratively either. With a deafening crack, the very ground beneath our feet rumbles violently, sending glasses and bottles shattering against the polished wood floor. The lone barkeep runs for cover, while Crysis shields me with his own body. My ears are ringing. Debris rains down on us from the strained, fractured ceiling. Once the thunderous roar dies, giving way to a symphony of sirens and car alarms, and the ground’s trembling ceases, I look around the dust-fogged room, wondering what the hell just happened.
Crysis’s eyes are filled with panic when he roughly grasps my shoulders, turning me to face him. “Get home. Now. Go straight there and don’t stop.”
“Crysis, what just—”
“Listen to me, Eden! You need to get in your car and race straight to the Se7en’s headquarters.” He races to the barstools just feet away, still draped with our coats, and snatches up my belongings, shoving them to my chest. “Go now!”
After practically pushing me out of the pub and onto the street crammed with post-explosion chaos, Crysis turns to me, the fire in his green eyes raging with violence. “I’ll call you. Just…just go now. While you can.” Then he races in the opposite direction, bleeding into the hysteric crowd, before taking a left to cross over to the next street.
The street Sister lives on.
We had agreed to meet at the pub, because it was close enough to my sister’s apartment that I could maintain the lie. I was smart enough to know that there was probably a tracking device on the car, if not on me. And if I were somehow spotted, being at a local watering hole wouldn’t be that far of a stretch.
And now…now my selfish alibi seems like karmic justice.
I start walking, away from where my car is parked. Weaving in and out of screaming, disoriented passersby, I take careful, unhurried steps, in no rush to find what I’m trying desperately to make myself believe.
It’s nothing. Sister is fine. It was probably a car accident or construction blunder. Everything is ok.
But even as I repeat the words to myself, I can’t find it in me to move any faster. Fear has taken me in her cold, boney clutches. Each step forward feels like I’m being sucked into cement quicksand. Still, morbid curiosity keeps pushing me through the panic-stricken hoard. Flashes of red and blue lights whiz by, their sirens a screeching warning: Turn around. Don’t look. There’s nothing to see. Everything’s ok.
But even as I cough and sputter as smoke smears my lungs with soot—even as ash floats down around us like dove gray snow—I fight against every impulse to walk away from the horrors that await me. And I turn the corner.
Those weren’t warnings the sirens were singing.
They were lies.