My fingers pulled at the lines around my eyes. Nephilim aged slowly. I wondered if I would have that same gift. My snow-white hair had been a source of torment for me in my younger years. When I hit my teens, it turned into a symbol of fierce pride. I was used to the accusation of Witch Hunter, of the dirty looks. It had hardened me, shaped who I was.
Stepping away from the mirror, I massaged my temples, the introspection giving me a headache. Back in my bedroom, I was going over my plan to search for Roman, when my ears picked up a tapping sound against my shutters, too quick for a branch moving in the breeze. I'd re-drawn all the entry hexes around the house, but if someone could break them once, they could do it again.
I swung the shutters open, and jumped in fright at the sight of Roman crouched on a tree branch near the window. He wore a coat that didn’t look warm enough for the cool night air, and an expression that said he’d been on the branch longer than he’d have liked.
He nodded at the inscriptions scribbled in fresh white chalk around the window frame. ‘I can’t enter until you invite me in.’
‘What. The. Fuck.’ My hands reached for him. ‘I invite you in. Now hurry up before you fall.’
Roman hauled himself into my room and stretched his back, while I shut the window. Turning, I crossed my arms, not sure if I wanted to hug him or sink a fist into his guts.
Where have you been?’ My voice was sharp and brittle. ‘Do you know the Order are hunting you? Do you know the trouble you’re in? Pulling a disappearing act like that. And why are you climbing my tree? Ever hear of a front door?’
Roman’s face was impassive as he stared down at me. ‘How did your trip go in the Outlands?’
My angry thoughts stuttered to a halt at the change of conversation. ‘What?’
‘Your trip, with Hallow.’ Roman spoke more slowly. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’
I heard what sounded like jealousy in his tone, and frowned. ‘The collector didn’t have the Aldebaran. He gave me another book, but was a little cryptic about what it was. I'm going to take a look at it later.’ My eyes narrowed. ‘Why didn’t you go back to the Order, like we discussed? Where have you been? I've been searching everywhere for you.’
Roman’s black eyes lowered, as if ashamed. ‘I could not go back.’
‘Why not?’ I demanded.
He looked up, and I saw confusion surface, pain etched in fine lines around his shadowed eyes. ‘You know why.’
‘I don’t know.’ I willed him not to say it, willed him not to say he was on the verge of losing himself to madness.
‘When I was fighting the griorwolf, I felt a rage building inside me.’ His gaze dipped to the ground again. ‘It was like some dark kind of wonder. I felt like it could consume me, and all I could smell was the stench of darkcraft. I couldn’t go to the Order like that, stinking of dark magic.’
I took a step forward, wanting to wrap my arms around him and draw him close. ‘Why didn’t you come and find me earlier?’
‘I wasn’t ready. I needed some space to clear my mind and think.’
‘Kruger came looking for you,’ I told him. ‘He knew about the glen. He said men were waiting to see if you showed there.’
‘I saw them.’ Roman’s dark eyes skipped over my face. ‘There are men watching your house as well. They didn’t see me though. I climbed down from your rooftop. That is a very strange tree you have growing outside your home.’
‘I’m a strange kind of girl, so it suits me fine,’ I said. ‘Do you have a plan?’
Roman rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m not sure. All this time, I thought I had freedom. I realise now that was just a falsehood. The Grigori have always known where I was, and what I was doing. There’s no point in trying to hide things now.’ His voice dropped to a hush. ‘I don’t think I have much time left.’
‘Don’t say that.’ I touched his arms, and his body went stiff, jaw clenching.
‘I never told you the real reason I decided to step down from the Witch Hunter unit,’ he said.
My throat tightened and I dropped my hands. ‘Tell me now, then.’
Roman shook his head. ‘I was finding it difficult to control myself around the fighting. My anger kept getting the better of me, and I started making bad decisions. Then everything around me gradually began to smell different.’ He licked his lips, like it was hard for him to find the right words. ‘Everyone changed. Didn’t matter who it was. Everyone just started smelling the same.’
I swallowed a few times before prompting him. ‘What did you smell?’
Roman rubbed his eyes. ‘Prey.’
Forcing my body to relax, I kept my hands loose by my side. I was sure Roman was safe…but it always paid to be prepared. ‘And what do I smell like to you?’
A slow smile crept across Roman’s face. ‘You smell like my Lora.’
My body relaxed an inch. ‘That’s a fucking relief.’
‘I'm going to the Order from here,’ Roman said firmly. ‘I'm going to turn myself over to the Grigori.’
‘That would be a quick way to get yourself killed, and you know it.’
‘You cannot take the blame for what I did.’
‘Don’t complicate things,’ I said. ‘Everything’s under control.’
‘How?’
‘How what?’
Roman frowned. ‘How is it under control?’
‘Um, see, the Order have kind of charged me with darkcraft.’
Roman’s face paled. ‘When is the trial?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘I want you to tell the truth about what happened. I will go with you.’
‘So they can pronounce you a danger? They’ll put you down like a dog.’
His nostrils flared. ‘I am not afraid to die.’
‘Don’t be a fucking cliché,’ I snapped. ‘You’re trained to deal with death, so yeah, it’s easy. You put your faith in your Grigori, but they’ll throw you out like you’re nothing. I don’t think you’re nothing. I think you’re worth fighting for. Worth protecting. Worth doing what it takes to make things safe.’
Roman’s head snapped back as if I'd struck him. Then he folded his arms, one corner of his mouth twitching up.
‘Or something like that,’ I finished weakly, embarrassed at the emotion I'd unleashed. My words were true, but they were also very raw, grating sharply inside my chest, making my heart ache.
‘Look, I've got a good lawyer. He thinks I'll walk away from this trial with a slap on the wrist. If you go up on the charges, you’ll be dead. Guess which one is the better deal?’
Roman came in close, all humour stripped from his face. His breath washed over me, hot and ragged. ‘Then what? Wait until the inevitable?’
‘There is another option. You could flee to the Outlands.’ I held up a hand to stop any potential protest, seeing disbelief in his eyes. ‘I met another nephilim who lives there. The collector, the one who said he had the Aldebaran. He was nephilim and living a good life.’ Roman’s brow furrowed, and I spoke faster. ‘You told me nephilim are forbidden to travel to the Outlands. I think it’s because the Grigori have no power out there and wouldn’t be able to control you. The nephilim I met fled The Weald when he found himself in the same kind of trouble you’re in.’
‘Are you certain he was nephilim?’ Roman frowned.
‘I have no doubt,’ I replied firmly. ‘He said he began suffering from the nephilim sickness, and recovered well enough in the Outlands.’
Roman stared at me, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. ‘How is it I've never heard of this?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered truthfully. ‘Perhaps the Grigori know and keep it a secret. They do like the illusion of control.’
Roman rubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes gleaming. ‘Or perhaps they simply do not know. Not everyone is a villain, Lora. I need to take this information to the Grigori, so they can investigate these claims. The senseless destruction of good nephilim could end with this knowledge.’
‘
That’s not the move to make now,’ I said. ‘We should check with the nephilim in the Outlands before doing something like that. We get you safe, then we start helping others.’
‘I'm not doing anything until your name is cleared by the Order.’ Roman gave me a tired smile. ‘Is your lawyer good?’
‘He’s got glasses and everything.’
‘I feel like a coward, letting this happen to you.’
‘You’re the bravest guy I know, Roman, but your pride will kill you.’ I blew out a long breath, feeling some of my tension disappear. Roman hadn’t dismissed my idea of smuggling him to the Outlands, so we were getting somewhere. ‘Why don’t you take a bath, and I'll fix you something to eat.’
I left the room before he could argue, or ask for more details. Smuggling him to the Outlands was the only option I could figure for him, but I wanted to make sure he was rested and ready to listen to me.
Running a bath, I poured in scented soap flakes and gave him a fresh towel. Then I slipped down into the kitchen. Relief wasn’t exactly the right word for what I felt now. The tightness around my chest had loosened but my stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering.
I surveyed my icebox with a critical eye. I'd cleaned up the worst of the kitchen mess, but that had included throwing out most of my food. Finally, I found a knob of garlic, some potatoes, onions and a couple of eggs. Chopping the garlic, I fried it in oil, then thinly sliced the potatoes and onions, browning them in the pan while I whisked the eggs into an omelette. Once the dish was nearly cooked, I placed the pan on a wooden cutting board, letting the residual heat finish the job.
Upstairs again, I picked up clothes and hung them in my wardrobe. Then I flipped my mattress and made the bed, figuring that would do for now. Roman appeared in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, clothes slung over one shoulder. His broad chest was damp, with a sprinkling of dark curls. My brain short-circuited, and I roughly pushed aside the desire to lick the beads of water off his chest.
‘My home isn’t normally this messy,’ I explained. ‘I had a disagreement with the Sisters of No Mercy.’
‘They got through your entry hexes?’ Roman sounded surprised.
‘Uh, yeah.’ I sat down on the bed, feeling bone weary. ‘Maybe they got lucky with a breaking spell. Maybe the ley-lines haven’t settled down as much as people had hoped…’
I trailed off as Roman’s stare pinned me in place, full of a tearing hunger. The air drew tight around us, and I found it hard to catch my breath. Roman’s eyes hooded, and I couldn’t think of a single thing more to say under his piercing gaze. He walked towards me until I could smell the sweetness of my rosewater soap from his skin. Then he pulled me to my feet and I placed a hand on his chest, feeling his warmth, his strength. One of his hands snaked around to press against the small of my back, pulling me against him. Desire flooded his eyes, then his lips were against mine, urgent and warm. His hands pulled at my shirt, seeking skin. His touch sent a delicious friction through my body, making me ache for more. Teeth nipped one of my earlobes, and heat bloomed through me.
Abruptly, I was free. Breathing hard, I watched Roman sink down on the bed. The wooden frame protested under his weight as he stretched out. I swallowed and my knees wobbled, as if they wanted to surrender to gravity. My eyes traced the contours of his dark nipples and my mouth ran dry as I imagined putting my mouth to them, sucking and licking, his hands on my thighs as I straddled him.
Roman tilted his head to one side. ‘You aren’t going to make me come and get you, are you?’
I half-heartedly flashed him my dimples, then realised my feet were moving towards him of their own accord. I stretched out beside him, staring at his bare chest, his golden skin. When one of his hands brushed my hurt side, I winced. Roman pushed up my shirt and frowned at the healing bruises and deep scratches.
‘Who did that to you?’ he asked.
‘Got into a fight with a waitress with a shotgun.’ I lifted a shoulder. ‘I've had worse.’
‘And you think I'm brave,’ he murmured, fingers skimming across my bare stomach. He pulled out the charm from under my shirt. ‘You should take this off. Break the spell of concealment and embrace what you are.’
My fingers curled around the charm protectively. ‘No.’
Roman propped himself up on an elbow, a lazy finger trailing down one of my thighs. ‘Sooner or later, you might not have a choice.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I see your hair changing colour. That means your birthright is beginning to assert itself. It would be far better if you embraced the change, rather than letting it take you over.’ He dipped his head, warm lips pressing against mine in a light, lingering kiss. His tongue pushed into my mouth, sparking a fire in my belly, consuming all rational thought. A small noise of surrender came from my throat as Roman gently kissed my throat, murmuring words of devotion. His hands caressed my breasts, gently circling my nipples through the fabric. I tried to stop the moan in my throat from escaping, but urgency throbbed through me and it tore loose from my lips. Being careful of my side, Roman rolled on top of me. He pushed himself between my legs and I gasped as he moved his hand against my inner thighs in a way that made certain promises.
Pushing my shirt up, he trailed kisses on my stomach, occasionally nipping with his teeth. He murmured my name, and I knew then that Roman would go to the Outlands if I asked him to. From the way he whispered my name, I knew he would do anything for me. Even if it meant following me into The Pit and back.
Chapter 26
Sleep evaded me, and after a few hours of listening to Roman’s deep breathing, I eased out from under his heavy arms, unable to rest.
I thought of the rose coloured aura that had surrounded Nicola and Tarn. It was an intoxicating colour, one full of joy and love. Would it last for them? Was love-ever-after a real thing? Seth was a man who understood my darkness, my rough edges, and accepted them. I had loved him, once. But I'd never met anyone like Roman, a man who woke a yearning inside of me, one that asked for love. I had a moment of perfect recall, seeing the image of Roman’s distorted, enraged face in the garden maze. That couldn’t be his destiny. After all, how could I give my heart to someone who was in danger of being lost to madness? And what if the Outlands solution didn’t work?
With the thought that some boring reading might help me doze off, I threw on a cotton dressing gown, grabbed Casper’s history book from the satchel, and crept downstairs.
Stopping by the kitchen to heat up some milk, I settled in the living room with a large, steaming mug and opened the pages. My Latin was very rusty, but I managed to make out most words as I waded through. By the time I was finished, it was sunrise and I'd figured out what dirty secret Casper had been referring to.
The book claimed that when the Grigori had approached celestial beings to make a breeding pact for creating a nephilim army, the angels had refused. In keeping with the Order’s credo of the end justifying the means, the Grigori had turned towards the Unclean Ones. My history lessons had been an age ago, and I had a habit of not listening in class, but I remembered the story of the Unclean Ones well enough: angels who no longer had divine grace, destined to spend eternity trapped somewhere between The Weald and The Pit.
Of course, there was no real proof of what the book claimed. Though, I knew if there were, the Grigori would kill to keep it. I thought of Sariel and, while I wasn’t convinced he was my father, I wondered if he was even an angel as he claimed. My biological mother, Lennara Whitesmith, had relocated from the Outlands to The Weald after a whirlwind love affair with a Runner from Harken. She had displayed an unusual talent with the craft, and Orella had become her mentor. My mother’s love affair hadn’t lasted, but her friendship with Orella had. Then one day, she was gone. Orella and Gideon had searched for her, but she had vanished. Three months later, I was left on the doorstep of Blackgoat Watch, a note from Lennara, begging Gideon and Orella to care for me. Gideon had given me his family name, wh
ich had been some source of protection as I grew up in the rough streets of Applecross, and Orella had taught me spells to protect myself.
My thoughts darkened, and I wondered if my mother had been used by someone, had been convinced to lay with a celestial to produce me.
Sunken in gloomy thoughts, I didn’t notice Roman until he was standing in front of me. I closed the book, and tucked it beside me. This wasn’t something I wanted to share with him, not while everything felt so fragile.
Roman knelt, hands rubbing my legs. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
I tried to shrug off my unease. ‘I'm fine. Do you want some coffee?’
He glanced at the book beside me. ‘What are you reading? Is this the book the nephilim from the Outlands gave you?’
My shoulders tensed, and I had to force my hands to stay still, and not cover the book up. ‘Turned out to be one big history lesson. It’s pretty dry reading.’
I eased out of the chair and walked to the kitchen, pulling Roman with me. He sat at the table and I hunted for my coffee pot.
‘Are you all right?’ Roman asked. ‘You seem upset.’
‘I'm just tired.’ I found the pot in the sink, and in need of a wash. I turned the tap on and waited impatiently for the pipes to stop clanging and start spitting water.
‘Worried about your trial today?’ Roman’s voice was gentle.
Water splashed over my hands and I quickly rinsed the pot, then filled it with water. I forced a smile on my stiff lips. ‘Nah. I told you, I got me a shit hot lawyer.’ I swore when I remembered I was out of coffee. ‘I'm going to throw on some clothes and bring us back some coffee. I'll stop at the bakery as well. The one down the road sells these little fried batter balls, soaked in syrup.’
‘You’d better get quite a few.’ Roman patted his stomach. ‘I already ate that omelette you made last night and I'm still starving.’
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