Unchained

Michael slid a glance at Lily. There was a bored look about her as she stared at the wall. “So if I load a gun with those kinds of bullets, it will kill a minion or a Fallen?”



“Shoot a minion in the heart or a deadhead in the head, you will take them out,” answered Rafe. “But a Fallen will not go down with just a bullet, no matter how powerful it is. That is why you cannot solely rely on a gun. Eventually you will face a Fallen, and no gun or amount of special bullets will save your ass.”



Remy snickered. “If you use a semiautomatic assault rifle and shoot them enough in the head, I’m sure that will do the trick.”



Lily winced. “Ew…”



“Yeah, good luck getting a Fallen to stand still and let you shoot them multiple times. That is likely to happen,” added Rafe.



Remy continued to smile good-naturedly. “You gotta shoot fast, my brother.”



“The Fallen aren’t just going to stand there and let you shoot them,” Lily elaborated. “Their reflexes are quicker than ours. By the time it takes you to pull out your gun they’ve already snapped your neck. They’re extremely fast and strong. It takes nothing for them to rip your head off your shoulders.”



Oh shit.



“Anyway, back to the important training.” Rafe brushed past Remy.



Lily went back to her spot on the mat. “Their strength isn’t the only thing you have to worry about. Some of them have retained their angelic powers. Remember Baal?”



He nodded. How could he forget? Not like he saw a guy burn metal and skin with a single touch every day.



She held up her arm and quickly removed the white gauze. The skin of her upper arm was soft and smooth, but as his gaze fell upon her forearm he tried not to show any reaction. He seriously hoped he didn’t.



The skin was a bright cherry red, and it stretched around her forearm. It looked like a birthmark now instead of the blistering burn he’d last seen. She flipped over her arm, and he could clearly make out the impression of fingers. “Jesus.”



“Baal obviously has an affinity for fire. His touch can burn anything. I imagine he brought down entire cities in his heyday.” She shrugged. “Hurts like a bitch, I’ll tell you that much.”



He swallowed and looked away. It didn’t seem right she was fighting a creature who could do something like that to her. “Can all of them do that?”



“No,” she said. “Only the oldest ones seem to have retained some of their powers. We know a few can bring death with a single touch, while others can still heal.” She saw the expression on his face. “You don’t want to know how we found out who did what.”



“Is there anything else I should know about these things?” he asked.



“All of them have the ability to influence humans. It’s a compulsion even we can feel. We aren’t as susceptible to it though.” She picked up her coffee, staring down at it. “All it takes is a whisper or a single word from them. The compulsion is that powerful. I guess angels used to use their ability as sources of inspiration. Not so much anymore.”



His first response was to dismiss what she had just told him, but then he remembered the stuff he had seen. Each time he heard something crazier than the last, it became a little easier to accept. Slowly but surely, he was becoming immersed in this world.



He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.



Michael didn’t have much time to dwell on that. Rafe called him over and began his training with a hellish warm-up that included burpees, suicide springs, and a ridiculous amount of squats.



Then he got his ass handed to him on a silver platter.



Not once and not twice, but over a dozen or so times—and all before lunch. Rafe had started off with grappling, and Michael felt like he had been blindsided into a street brawl. Between the painful takedowns and throws, he didn’t even want to know what Rafe had planned for him after lunch.



Unfortunately, he found out all too quickly. He learned how to correctly do a clinch hold and set up for a takedown or throw. Lily helped, if laughing every time Rafe twisted out of Michael’s clinch could be considered helping. Then came the submission holds. Oh boy, they were fucking great. Getting choked wasn’t something Michael looked forward to, especially when he had an arm the size of a tree trunk pinned against his throat.



By the time the first day of training was over, Michael wondered what he’d agreed to. Every bone in his body hurt, every muscle ached, and he was pretty sure he suffered a mild concussion or two. Then he got up the next day and started it all over.



Again and again, his body and stamina were pushed to the limits. From grappling to jujitsu, Michael had the crap beat out of him day after day. There was improvement, but nothing he could really be proud of.



Other Nephilim helped during the first week of his training. They weren’t any easier on him. Then there was Luke, who usually showed up to give Lily a hard time, but he would eventually turn his attention to Michael. That was when the real pain began.



At the end of each day, he spent time with Remy in the weapons room. He liked it in there. Not because he wasn’t getting the snot kicked out of him, but because Remy really was a genius when it came to weapons. Michael was in awe of him.



Lily stayed with him throughout the training but never engaged him in battle. When she helped Rafe go through techniques, she usually gained the upper hand. She was a fierce little thing.



He wasn’t sure if it was the hits he took to his noggin, but each day he thought Lily grew to respect him a little more. Her taunting lessened, and her general coolness toward him shifted to a warmer tolerance. He just hoped this training wasn’t in vain, and that the first time he faced a minion, he didn’t end up being sliced and diced, as Lily put it.



…



The graying senator tipped the glass of chardonnay, the cool liquid swirling in the crystal flute. He bore the look of power and prestige, a natural-born leader with unlimited potential. Inside, he was quaking.



The filet mignon sat untouched on his plate, the chair across from him empty.



Senator Robert Sharpe hated to wait. His lack of self-control was what got him in this situation in the first place. He came from a blue-blood family, raised in the world of politics and groomed to be more than just a senator. His father—God, rest his soul—would roll over in his grave if he knew that his son’s chances at the presidency could have been lost the moment he slipped his dick into his pretty redheaded secretary.



When Cory had brought the oddly beautiful man to him, it had only taken one touch from the fallen angel, and Sharpe had learned everything about the Fallen and the Nephilim. Everything except what was going to be expected of him.



Sharpe felt the air stir around him, his attention turned back to the chair across from him. The devil had arrived.



Dressed in a suit just as expensive as the one the senator wore, the man exuded supremacy and malevolence. Still, the man before him was as beautiful as he was cold. Sharpe pushed down the ugly tendril of fear with a sip of wine. “You’ve cost me an aide.”



Asmodeus smiled. “I could cost you much more than that.”



Senator Sharpe set the wineglass down, his hand trembling slightly. Truer words had never been spoken. “So…my problem has been taken care of?”



He waved his hand. “It is as if it never happened.”



The senator breathed a sigh of relief, but the reprieve quickly vanished when he realized the thing across from him wanted something in return, and he was yet to know what he could do for a…fallen angel. “What is the price?” he asked, never one to beat around the bush.



Asmodeus leaned back in the chair, smiling in that cold way. “My request is fairly simple, and I’m confident you will be successful. I don’t think you want to end up like poor Cory.”



He swallowed heavily at the reminder. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but he would never end up like Cory. He was stronger, smarter than his aide. “No. I won’t be like him.”



“Good. It warms my heart to hear you say that.” Asmodeus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve recently acquired a large stretch of land in Hillsboro, nestled deep in the wine country. The previous owner vacated the property unexpectedly.”



He didn’t want to know what happened to the previous owner.



Asmodeus snapped his fingers, and a man stepped out of the shadows, carrying a rolled parchment. “I wish to build a compound on my land.” Asmodeus unrolled the parchment, revealing building plans for an enormous structure. “I do not need any funding, but I do need a public face for it.”



The senator began to sweat under his costly suit. “I don’t see how I could be of assistance. My time is full…”



“Your time is my time now.” Asmodeus idly plucked a piece of lint off his shoulder. “Cory’s demise was just five words whispered to him. Did you know that? I imagine you didn’t.” The senator didn’t respond. “Construction will begin within the next week or so. You will tell the press and all your little politician friends that you are building a school for underprivileged youths.”



Sharpe loosened the collar around his throat. “And what will I tell them when they question why there are no children in this school?”



“What a silly worry.” He grasped the man’s hand. The contact was enough to send the senator into a near panic, considering what happened the last time he was touched by the fallen angel. Other than the hot-and-cold feeling, nothing else occurred. “Indeed there will be children. Many of them. And all of them are special.”



Then Asmodeus was gone, moving too fast for the senator to follow. He was left alone in the restaurant, alone with the deal he had made. What was a fallen angel planning with children? Special children? Nausea rolled through him. What have I done?



But it was too late for second guesses or redemption. One scandal too many had put the senator in the position to lose his seat and his reputation. Out of desperation, he had thought he had made a deal with an angel—and instead, he had sold his soul to the devil.



…



After spending the week watching Rafe and numerous Nephilim wipe the floor with Michael’s face, Lily was starting to feel kind of bad for the dude. She really believed he deserved a break, at least over the weekend.



Man, he was a trooper though. It had been a long time since she had seen someone take a beating like he had and get back up. She was hesitant to say it, but he was going to make one kick-ass hunter once effectively trained.



Being with Michael during training killed two birds with one stone. Many of the Nephilim were interested in him, and most of them floated through the training room at some point. Some lingered longer than others, and those were the ones Lily showed interest in.



She knew there was a traitor among them intent on betraying the Sanctuary. That Nephilim would have to be interested in Michael, especially since he was feeding the Fallen names of those who appeared in the Book, and Michael’s name never appeared. She bet that threw the asswipe into a shit storm.



But none of the Nephilim screamed traitor. Maybe she just didn’t want to see it in someone she knew.