After a run in with Kairo to request a more practical wardrobe and a visit with Sister, I head to the gym to meet up with Crysis.
I’m nervous. I’ve hardly given any thought to what abilities I might hold, and since I know virtually nothing about Uriel, other than the fact that he’s a sociopathic piece of shit, I’m not sure what I’m genetically predisposed to. Shit, if my ability to bend the wills of humans is any indication, what else could I be capable of? And should that power be contained or unleashed upon the world? Self-control has never been my strong suit. Maybe I’m better off not knowing.
But I can’t think like that. Not if I’m to help get my mom back. Not if I’m to survive whatever fresh hell awaits me.
So I’m on the raised platform fashioned like a boxing ring, earbuds in, blasting Kendrick Lamar’s “HUMBLE,” and pretending like I’m not freaked the fuck out about tapping into my dormant Nephilim traits.
Crysis enters the empty space and smiles at me, the gesture too cunning to be encouraging. “Wasn’t sure you’d show.”
“I told you I would,” I reply, a bit perturbed with his skepticism. I pull out the earbuds and put down the borrowed iPod—another request I had for Kairo.
“So you’re cool with this?” he questions, setting down his water bottle on a bench. He slides off the sling that supports his busted arm and climbs onto the platform.
“Cool with what?”
“The whole Nephilim thing. Seemed like you had more of a penchant for doom and gloom.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing’s changed.”
“But hasn’t it?”
Before I can respond, he strikes, launching a right hook for my jaw. Some inner instinct kicks in and I catch his fist in my palm, barely registering the power behind it. I’m so stunned by my body’s swift reaction that I don’t even see his left arm swing out, sending his fist straight into my stomach.
I crumple, catching myself with shaky palms against the ground. “The fuck…” Cough. Gasp. “…was that?”
“Your reflexes are good,” Crysis remarks. “Good but not good enough. Now, get up.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“Maybe later. Get the fuck up, Eden.”
My arms tremble as I struggle to push myself up. Saliva collects in my mouth, the telltale signs of approaching vomit. Deep breaths. I blink away hurt, frustrated tears, refusing to admit weakness.
“Good girl,” Crysis notes, as I climb to my feet without an ounce of grace.
“I’m not a fucking puppy, and I’m not your girl,” I grit, letting his condescension fuel my ire. “Don’t do that shit again.”
“You think your opponent is going to announce when they’ll strike? This isn’t a movie, Eden. No one is delivering long ass monologues before they kill you. You need to be ready.”
“I fucking know that,” I bite back, my voice hoarse from the blow. And I do. I need to be ready to fight. And I’m not talking meet-me-after-school type of fighting. I need to be prepared enough to potentially take on an archangel. An ancient being billions of years older and infinitely stronger than me.
Fuck.
I get my legs up under me again, not 100% stable, but not quite shaking like a leaf, and put my fists up in a defensive stance. Crysis laughs like the asshole loon that he is.
“And that’s supposed to do…what?”
I raise my fists higher, blocking my face. “I’m not about to let you kick my ass all around this gym.”
He drops his hands, completely confident that I couldn’t possibly get the drop on him. “Baby, had I’d been full blood angel, let alone Seraph, your ass would have been kicked five minutes ago. You think they’re battling with brute force?”
“Then why the hell did you hit me?” I shout with all the might my hoarse voice can muster.
“Because quick reflexes are just as important as your other abilities. But since you want to play it that way…”
He lunges towards me quicker than any human could detect, yet somehow, I sidestep him just seconds before his fist collides with my face. Holy fuck. He’s really hell-bent on hurting me. I’m smart enough to know not to let my guard down so I swiftly pivot, so that he’s facing away from me, and shove my foot into his lower back with the intention of catching him off balance. Unluckily for me, he anticipates the move and catches my foot.
“Good,” he remarks before pushing me back with enough force to send me flailing onto my ass. “Now get up and do it again.”
I push myself up, my body protesting with the effort, but make it to my feet. Before I’m even steady, Crysis strikes again with a right cross, but I’m ready. I block the blow and push him back, delivering a swift jab of my own to his chin.
“Good,” he remarks, rubbing his jaw. “But I know you’re planning to attempt a left cross, then a right elbow to my temple. Then while I’m off kilter, you’re going to try to sweep my feet from under me, getting me on the ground. You may be able to block my punches, but you can’t block your mind. So either way, you’re fucked, Eden.”
Shit. He’s right. I slowly lower my fists, watching intently as he does the same.
“So what are you saying?” I pant. “That I’m essentially playing a losing game?”
“I’m saying that you need to stay two—no five—steps ahead. Be just as physically strong as you are mentally. There’s no way you’re evenly matched to a full blood angel, but you have the element of surprise. They don’t know what you can do.”
Hell, I don’t know what I can do, but again, he’s right. That’s the upside to Uriel abandoning my mom after planting his deadly seed. He doesn’t know how his genes have manifested in me.
I nod at Crysis, hands on my hips as I catch my breath. I’m out of shape, and it shows. I can throw hands when I have to—and I’ve had to a lot—but full on combat? I’d collapse in the first five minutes.
Crysis sees it too, and says, “I want you in this gym every morning, doing cardio. Then we’ll do some weight training and work on your fighting skills. After that, we’ll dig into your mental capabilities. And when you’re not in here, I want you in that library, looking up everything you can about Uriel.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I suck my teeth. I know I need work, but there’s no way I’ll be ready in time. We can’t hide out here for too long before the Seraph start sniffing around.
“It’s not gonna be easy; I can promise you that,” he replies, noting my discouraged expression. “But we’ll give it our all, ok? I just need to know that you’re committed to this.”
A nod, and I raise my tight fists in response. “Let’s go again.”
We spar well into the afternoon until Crysis insists we rest and work on flexing my other muscles. I’m grateful—I can barely stand and have taken more blows than I’ve landed. Crysis doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat, yet I’m drenched, winded, and dotted with bruises that are already purplish and angry. I refuse to complain—I hate that I’m limping over to a nearby bench, clutching my side to ease my sore kidney. Crysis claims that I’m stronger than he expected for a beginner, another gift from dear old dad, but I don’t see how when he literally just kicked my ass.
“Drink,” he demands, handing me a water bottle. I do as I’m told, gulping down its entire contents. I unceremoniously swipe the back of my hand over my wet lips and chuck the empty bottle at my feet.
“So what now?”
“Now…creep into my head.”
“You know I can’t. You can block me.”
“That was when you were cloaked. Come on… dig in there and bend my will.”
I take a deep breath and pause for a long blink, conjuring all my concentration. When I release my mental reel, flinging out that invisible hand towards Crysis’s consciousness, I’m momentarily stunned at how easy, how good it feels. Like stretching a sore muscle after an intense workout.
“Good,” Crysis remarks, feeling my influence gently press into him. “Keep going.”
I push a little deeper, but I’m met with resistance. Like he’s pushing back. I shove harder, that unseen hand balling into a fist. Sweat beads at my temple and I grit my teeth. I punch the barrier blocking my path, but it’s like running head first into a brick wall. My ears are ringing and I taste blood in my saliva.
“It’s just like physical combat, Eden. You can’t just walk right in. Fight me.”
With a grunt of frustration, I focus on molding my invisible hand into something more menacing. A spindly claw with four-inch talons? No. Crysis is steel and stone. A sledgehammer. A wrecking ball. Each one is met with a harder, thicker barrier, hardly putting a crack in Crysis’s shield. And every time I collide into it, the throbbing in my skull becomes more intense, the taste of blood more potent.
“Think, Eden!” he barks through clenched teeth. “Stop trying to be something you’re not. Think.”
“I am!” I choke out, blinking through angry tears.
“You’re not. You can’t beat them at their own game. You aren’t stronger than them. You’re not faster than them. What are you?”
Fuck.
I don’t know what I am. I’ve never known. How the hell am I supposed to figure this shit out now, when my skull is on the verge of shattering and my eyes feel like they’re being ripped from their sockets. I can’t hold on, but I refuse to let go. I won’t let failure ruin me. I will make it. I will survive.
I’m a survivor.
I’ve had to hustle, scheme, and fight my way through life. I’ve had to go to the darkest places inside myself to ensure my city did not make me a statistic. I am a product of my environment, and within it are the dirtiest, most predatory creatures on Earth.
I steel myself, clutching the sides of the bench until my knuckles ache, and mold myself into a serpent. A long, black snake with beady, red eyes, thin enough to slip through the fissures of Crysis’s shield. The moment I think of it, I spring into action to avoid revealing my plan before it unfolds. I can feel his awareness on me, and just before he can block, I slip through a crack.
I’m inside his head. Not the staged area he let me penetrate when he was pretending to be Christian, my blind date. But the real Crysis, the Nephilim member of the Alliance who was nearly murdered by his people for daring to fight against tyranny.
It’s dark but warm, almost comforting. Peaceful. I’ve only felt this sensation when Adriel touched me, but this is different. I taste it on my tongue, sweet and refreshing like citrus, replacing the metallic tinge of blood. Its tangy scent fills my nostrils, and I’m reminded of the beach in June. Something brushes up my side, soft, sensual tendrils of velvet, leaving behind the essence of sunshine.
And then I’m pushed out. Not just pushed. Catapulted. Crysis threw me out of his head.
“What was that?” I gasp, reeling back.
Crysis swings his leg over the bench and climbs to his feet. “That’s enough for today.”
“Wait…you touched me in there. How is that even possible?”
“I said that’s enough,” he spits harshly, moving towards the exit. “We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”
I rise to follow after him. “Crysis, can’t we just talk about…”
And that’s when I notice him.
Legion.
He’s standing in the doorway of the gym, his face shaded in shadow and his eyes glowing with molten silver flames. He tracks every step Crysis takes until he brushes past him. Then his gaze falls on me.
For a while, we just stare. Just breathe. Just exist.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low yet there’s an underlying note of concern in his words.
I shake my head slowly, almost afraid to scare him off. “No. I’m fine.”
He enters, his steps measured, as if he’s just as worried about scaring me too. “I went to your room. You weren’t there.”
“Yeah.” I take a shaky step towards him. “I’ve been in the library…researching.” I give a nervous smile. I don’t know why I feel so uneasy around him. Days ago, he was deep inside me while I bucked and begged him for more. Now, I’m afraid to say the wrong thing.
“And you’re training.”
“I need to learn how to fight and harness whatever weird abilities I may have. Now that I’m…ya know…”
“Nephilim,” he answers for me. There’s no malice in his tone, but I can tell the word feels like a cuss on his tongue.
“Yeah. That.” I shrug. “Crysis thinks I could be some type of super Nephilim, since my fath—” I swallow down the word. “Since Uriel is Seraph. I just don’t know anything about him, not that I’d want to. But if I can at least learn how to fight, I could be helpful…in rescuing my mom. And getting the Redeemer back.”
I’m rambling. I literally cringe at my inability to close my damn mouth. Or at least change the subject. Legion has barely said two words to me since I woke up. I can think of about a thousand other things I’d rather we be talking about.
“Is that what you want? To fight with us?” he asks. A few more steps forward.
“Yeah,” I nod. “If it means we’re all safe. Of course, I’d fight with you.” I move until just a couple feet separate us, the closest I’ve been to him in what seems like forever. “I would fight for you.”
He shakes his head, but his silver eyes warm with a familiar emotion. It’s the first sign he’s shown me that part of him—the part that showed me such gentleness and passion—has remained, even with his rebirth. The man I grew to care for so deeply that just the mention of his name would steal my breath is still in there. He’s here with me. Maybe he never left, despite what he feared.
“I would never ask you to do that,” he says. “But if that is what you want—”
“It is. It’s what I want. You all have risked so much for me, and finally, I don’t have to be some helpless damsel. Hell, I don’t want to be. I don’t want to stand on the sidelines while everyone sacrifices. It’s my fault you’re all in this mess.”
“No.” He shakes his head and casts his eyes downward. “It’s my fault. My indiscretions drove Uriel to madness. If I hadn’t deceived him, he would have never entered your world. He would have never courted your mother in a quest for revenge.”
“And I would have never been born,” I add.
I am the product of Uriel’s rage and hurt. A constant reminder of weakness and betrayal. How difficult it must be for him to have to look at me and be forced to relive that part of his life.
He doesn’t say anything to dispute my claim because he knows it’s true. I would have never been conceived had it not been for Legion’s lust. No, not lust. Love. In some fucked up roundabout way, I am a result of Legion’s love.
His love for Adriel.
I know he can sense where my thoughts are headed, because he runs a hand through his dark hair and says, “I just wanted to see how you were adjusting.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I can’t be fine. Not when there’s so much distance between us.
“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more, and I’m internally begging him to. Instead, he nods once and turns on his heel in retreat. Leaving me to stare at his back, missing the way it felt under my fingertips—smooth and hot and hard as stone.
I gather my iPod and what’s left of my pride, and head to my room. As I’m rounding a corner, I get a glimpse of that same chiseled back, so muscular even under his fitted tee. I should stop this being timid shit. This man…a few days ago, I was able to call him mine. Why does that have to change? And if it’s his feelings that have been altered, he should be able to tell me so.
I break into a power walk to catch up but stop dead in my tracks.
He’s not alone.
I dip into an open doorway, my face hot and my palms sweaty, and listen in on their hushed conversation.
“You look tired,” Adriel says, her voice soft. The same voice she used with me.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sleeping? Eating? You know…if you need me, I’m—”
“I said, I’m fine.”
A beat of silence. A rustle of fabric.
“I missed you. Every day for a millennia, I ached with longing.”
“Adriel…”
“I can’t take back what’s been done, but know that nothing has changed. At least not for me.”
Another strained silence.
“I’ve changed.” His voice is so quiet, it’s almost a whisper.
“Not to me…”
“Don’t.”
“Sam—Legion. Can’t you feel this?”
“I said, don’t.” He heaves out a heavy breath. “Look, I have to go.”
“Later?” There’s hope in her voice.
“Yeah, sure.”
I don’t breathe until the sound of his heavy footfalls diminishes down the hallway. Then I let the blood red rage flood in.
I said I would fight for him.
I fucking meant it.