I wake up alone, but I’m not surprised. If anything, I’m relieved, if only to have a few moments of peace to wrap my head around what went down just hours before.
I told Legion I wanted to talk. Talk. And somehow we did very little of that. Not to mention, I didn’t even get to the bottom of that little rendezvous in the hallway between him and Adriel. However, if last night is any indication of where he and I stand, then I have nothing to worry about.
I think.
I hope.
I stumble out of bed, naked, sore, and shattered. My legs are weak, and I have to hold on to the bedpost to keep from falling over. Shit. What was that? Legion and I have had great sex before. Amazing sex, even. But this was something else. This was next level fucking with a side of sadism. The monster inside him—that terrifyingly beautiful dragon—demanded blood. And while I’ve never been into the BDSM scene, I can’t deny that it was hot as fuck when Legion bit my lip. And probed my ass. And bit my neck.
Speaking of…
I stagger to the bathroom to assess the damage, and low and behold, there’s an angry, purplish bite mark where his teeth claimed me. Honestly, it’s not as bad as I expected it to be considering the sting it caused. I could have sworn he went all True Blood on me, but it looks like he barely broke the skin. Unless…
Unless he did, and I’ve got a bit of that supernatural healing. Still, it’s noticeable as hell, and I can’t very well walk around looking like a fangbanger.
After bathing (very carefully around my tender nether regions), I slip on a pair of workout leggings and a heather grey hoodie, hoping it hides the lust lesion. My hair goes up in a messy top knot, and I shove my feet into a pair of Nike trainers. Sore or not, I have work to do. Uriel and his rogue angels don’t give a damn about my sex hangover.
As per my new routine, I stop in to visit with Sister, who is in high spirits as she watches some ridiculous court TV show with Cain over their shared breakfast of fresh fruit and croissants. Cain nods at me when I enter, yet makes no move to leave. Okaaay.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask my sister, placing a soft peck on the side of her head that isn’t bandaged.
“Good!” she smiles, her big brown eyes twinkling. “I’m feeling better every day. Phenex says they’ll be preparing me for a skin graft soon. However, with all the superhuman technology they have here, they may be able to accelerate the process and skip a few of the more painful steps.”
“It’s still risky, Mare,” Cain interjects. Concern furrows his brow. “This type of stuff hasn’t been tested on humans. It could be dangerous for you.”
Mare? And the way he talks to her—like he’s an integral part of the decision-making—it’s weird. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to their bond, even if it is good for her.
“I know, I know.” She smiles sweetly at him, as if he’s the most handsome man she’s ever laid eyes on and not a disfigured demon assassin. “But I want to get out of this bed. I need to get out of this bed. And you need to get back to saving the world instead of babysitting me.”
Cain shakes his head. “I’m not babysitting you. Buttery pastries and shit television? Are you kidding me? This is a vacation. And the best part is that I get to pass the time with some damn good company.”
Under normal circumstances, this would be the part where I start with the gagging noises. But the way he looks at her, and the way she gazes back at him…I can’t begrudge them that.
I take up the seat on Sister’s other side and join in on the mindless court TV watching, which turns out to be just as crazy as I expect. Some guy with a mouthful of gold teeth, cornrows, and a receding hairline is suing a woman for $40, the cost of a date gone wrong. When the judge asks why the date was so awful, the man asks if he can perform a song he wrote about it, seeing as he’s an up-and-coming rapper at the ripe old age of forty-two. I laugh and shake my head at the sheer ridiculousness and munch on the extra croissant that Sister insisted I eat.
It’s nice. It almost feels normal. I can remember all the times we sat on our old, funky sofa, eating junk food, and watching crap reality shows on our tiny TV. For that thirty minutes to an hour, our lives didn’t seem so bad. Obviously, others had it much worse if they had to prance around like idiots on national television for our entertainment. And now look at us…in a mansion, with state-of-the-art everything, and yet I miss that crappy old apartment. I miss the mundaneness of our lives, and how the scariest thing that lurked in the shadows was a wanna-be gangster or a crackhead desperate enough to try to mug someone for his next fix. Don’t get me wrong—I like that I’ve found my place in this fucked up world and have someone worth fighting for. But I miss…I don’t know…being human.
After the show ends, I say my goodbyes with a promise to drop by later.
“You’ve got me this afternoon,” Cain says before I can clear the room. “Weapons training.”
Oh yeah. That. “Got it,” I nod.
Cain looks about as excited as I feel. Fighting is one thing, but holding a gun? Using a gun? Or even a sword like Toyol uses? I can’t even wrap my head around that.
I don’t see Legion anywhere when I enter the gym, but the rest of the Se7en are present. Each of them is either too occupied with their training to even notice my presence, or they’re still not comfortable with my Nephilim heritage. Whatever. I hop on the treadmill, remembering what Crysis said about cardio. I am out of shape. I wasn’t athletic in school, although I was more tomboy than girly girl. If I could be categorized into a group, I’d say I fit in more with the Stoners. But drugs weren’t really my thing. Yeah, I smoked a little here and there, but it was only to help me drown out the voices in my head and to relieve the crippling guilt. And the pain. I hated to admit it, but being abused and abandoned hurt like a motherfucker. And I had the scars—both physical and emotional—to prove it.
“You’re going to pass out if you don’t hydrate.”
I frown at Crysis and pull my earbuds out. “Huh?” I question, although I heard him perfectly. Another symptom of my newfound pedigree.
“You need to drink water, Eden,” he instructs. “Just because you’re half immortal, doesn’t mean you’re not susceptible to human weakness.”
I hit the Stop button on the treadmill and note the timer. Thirty minutes. The hell? I’ve never jogged that long, let alone run. And I hardly feel winded. Maybe it was Chance the Rapper in my ears or the hit of carbs from the croissant, but somehow, I’ve managed to do five miles while barely breaking a sweat.
Damn.
Crysis gives me a knowing grin. “Your body is adjusting. Keep pushing it. It’ll adapt as long as you will it to.”
“But I didn’t will it to,” I reply, stepping off the treadmill. It’s true. Yesterday, I was actually trying, and I felt like I was the verge of passing out. Today, I just wasn’t thinking about it, too consumed with other shit to notice my pace.
“Maybe not consciously, but this…” He brings a hand up to gently flick my forehead. “…is a lot more powerful than you could ever imagine. The average human uses only a small fraction of their brain. Nephilim are able to tap into a much higher percentage, allowing certain abilities to manifest. Your brain was locked by your father. Pulling Adriel out of you must have undone whatever spell he cloaked you with.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t care how nice Adriel seems to everyone else. I don’t trust her. Just the sound of her name makes me want to hit something.
“Cool story, bro. Now can we get to work?”
Reading my mind, or maybe just seeing the need for me to work on my fighting skills, Crysis leads me to the heavy bag. He positions himself opposite of me and holds it in place.
“Do your worst, half-breed,” he jibes.
I flip him off. “Um, don’t I get some gloves? Or tape at least?”
“Will you have on gloves when you step outside Irin’s gates and have to fight for your life?”
“No.”
“Then you won’t have them on now. Mind over matter, Eden. Your brain is stronger, but so is your body.”
I take a deep breath and let it out through my nose. “Whatever you say, sensei.” Then I punch the heavy canvas sack with all my might.
Pain blasts through my knuckles, through my wrist, and up to my elbow.
“Motherfucker!” I yelp, shaking my arm to stave off the ache.
Crysis is on the verge of a laugh, and if I weren’t already hurting, I’d knock that smirk right off his handsome face. “Good. That’s good. A hit like that would’ve shattered your hand if you were human. Look at it.”
I look down and find that while my fist is a good shade of bright red, it’s still intact. I could’ve sworn I had scraped all the skin off my knuckles.
“See? You’re capable of more than you could ever imagine. Now just get a handle on your pain. Block it out, just like you blocked out the exhaustion while you were running. Don’t think of hitting the heavy bag. Think of crushing an enemy’s skull with your bare hands. That’s not your bones you hear cracking. It’s not you who is feeling that pain. Channel it—the rage, the fear, the resentment. Take it and use it to your advantage.”
Unlucky for Crysis, I have enough rage, fear, and resentment for three lifetimes. Because after a few more hits with me biting down on the pain in my hands, I find my stride. And soon even he can’t hold the bag steady without feeling the impact of my blows. And that skull I’m crushing? It’s not one of an enemy. At least not an enemy to the rest of them. But anyone who threatens my happiness and peace of mind—anyone who thinks they can smile sweetly to my face then turn around and try to take what’s mine, is certainly not my friend.
I don’t even realize I’ve drawn a crowd until Crysis calls for a break. Everyone regards me with expressions of shock and appreciation, nodding at me with esteem, even a few approving smiles. Everyone except for Adriel, who stands in the doorway of the gym, arms crossed over her chest. Her green eyes glow with something I can only describe as steely resolve, and her perfect pout is flattened into a tight line.
Crysis follows my line of vision, then looks back to me. “We’re done for the morning.”
“No.” I break my vengeful stare only to glare at him with determination. “More.”
He shakes his head. “Not like this, Eden. You need to get your shit on straight.”
“My shit is straight,” I snap. “I’m never going to learn if you keep handling me with kid gloves. You said so yourself—I’m stronger than I think. But none of that means jack shit if I don’t know how to fight.”
Crysis looks away and shakes his head again. The Se7en take it as their cue to disperse and resume their own workouts. I guess a spat amongst Nephilim is none of their concern. Honestly, they probably wouldn’t mind if we ripped each other apart.
“Fine. But no more of the heavy bag. You wanna fight someone? Fight me. For real.”
I nod, but I’m inwardly nervous at the thought of going toe to toe with him. Crysis is light years ahead of me in strength and technique. He was raised by the Alliance, so he’s been a soldier his entire life. And now that he’s almost at 100% after being tortured by his own brethren, I’m pretty sure he could kick my ass in two seconds flat. Hell, yesterday he wasn’t even trying, and I saw stars a few times.
Yet, my pride won’t let me back down, and I follow him into the ring. There’s no way I’m punking out with Adriel watching.
Realizing I’m drenched in sweat, I strip off my hoodie so that I’m down to a sports bra and tank top, and approach the middle of the ring, my hands up to guard my face.
“What the fuck is that?” Crysis drops his fists and stands straight up from his fighter’s stance.
I frown. “Huh?”
“Your neck, Eden. What the fuck…is that a bite mark?”
Shit.
I clutch my neck, my eyes darting around frantically, praying no one else noticed. “It’s nothing.”
But if they didn’t notice, they surely heard. “Nothing, my ass!” Crysis shouts. “Are you fucking kidding me? Please tell me you’re not that stupid. You cannot be that hard up for dick that you would let him fucking take a bite out of you.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” I whisper harshly. Hand still shielding my neck, I scurry to where I tossed my hoodie and shove it back on.
“No, I will not. You know…” He snorts, shaking his head. “I knew you were naïve as shit, but I never thought you were so blind that you’d risk your life. Maybe I was wrong about you being mentally stronger. Because all I see is you acting like a brain-dead gutter rat who would rather be beaten by her abusive boyfriend than be alone.”
I nearly flinch at the sting of his words, my face burning hot. “Don’t pretend to know me. You don’t know shit about me, so please spare me the righteous indignation. I’m not the one who’s on the run from their own brothers after being caught for being two-faced.”
“No, you’re just on the run from your own father after he made you then left you with a mother who didn’t want you either.”
And that’s it. That’s the finishing blow to my already fractured heart.
I knew Crysis didn’t like the idea of me with Legion—I get that. But for him to go there? What drives a person to cut someone that deep over a petty grudge? I did nothing to him. If anything, I’m the only reason why he’s here and still breathing, because Niko knows what he means to me. Meant to me. A friend doesn’t purposely try to hurt someone just for the fuck of it, just because he doesn’t like what goes down between two consenting adults. What Legion and I have is none of his fucking business. Better yet, I’m none of his fucking business.
“Fuck. You,” I spit, turning to exit the ring.
“Eden, look…”
“Shut your fucking mouth. Don’t even whisper my fucking name. We’re done.”
I march over and snatch up my iPod and earbuds. I can feel Crysis on my heels.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry, and fuck you.”
I turn towards the only exit, ready to escape this gym and this day. Even through the angry tears burning my eyes, I can clearly see a trail of fiery red hair retreating from the gym.
Adriel heard and saw everything. And that hurts just as much as Crysis’s betrayal.