by M. L. Desir
“Nothing,” he replied, and his voice sounded an octave deeper. “I’m growing is all. Please put me down, Gabriel. You’re not going to be able to hold me for much longer.”
When Gabriel placed Nikolai back on the floor, he noticed that he had indeed grown several inches. His once cherubic limbs and round, sweet face had hardened into more masculine features. He looked about thirteen now. “I’ve decided that I should grow up. That way, I won’t be useless.” He gave a sad sigh. “You must kill Seth who has now accepted Tipereth into him. And you must do it quickly. But first,” he went on, tearing the long sleeves of his shirt off and casting them to the ground, “you will form a bond with me. You will drink my blood and with it gain enough power to destroy him once and for all.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened as Nikolai glowed with an ethereal light, growing taller, and wider in the shoulders. When the light faded away, Nikolai now reached Gabriel’s shoulders, looking no older than twenty with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs firm and muscular. His clothing had vanished, and Gabriel averted his eyes, stepping back from him, frowning. “What are you?”
“Your frock coat, please. You won’t need it.” Nikolai ignored his question and held out a hand.
Gabriel slipped out of his coat, handed it to the newly transformed Nikolai. Once the former boy had covered himself, Gabriel looked at him and glared. “No, I can’t make a bond with you. I will never make a bond with anyone ever again.”
“You don’t have a choice. Do you? Tipereth won’t be patient for much longer, and then we will all die. I wonder if he has already devoured Colin . . .”
He shook his head. “He just wants you. This has nothing to do with me.”
Nikolai smirked, slicing his wrist with one of his long nails. Blood flowed from the wound, and he pressed it to Gabriel’s mouth. “Drink. This is all about you. You know that.”
He pursed his lips together, refusing to drink the boy’s blood and trembling with useless rage. Even though he knew what he had at stake, he wouldn’t drink. Not just the lives of his people, but his own life. Especially if he drank from Nikolai. His lust for blood would grow and grow. Would there be no end to the lies and the drinking of blood? He didn’t intend to live such a life. He would rather die.
A flame of an idea set his mind on fire. “I will drink from you,” Gabriel bargained. “And nothing more. I will not allow you to pierce me. A blood bond is a two way connection, yes?”
Nikolai nodded. “Well, drink then,” he said in the pleasant voice of a mother cajoling her child.
And at once, Gabriel heard Colin’s startled shout coming from outside, spurning him into action.
Gabriel opened his mouth and lapped up the blood. He bit down on Nikolai’s flesh and drank and drank, and allowed invigorating warmth to fill him, spreading its petals of energy throughout every limb of his body. He felt as if he were burning with light.
Nikolai pulled away. “I’ve been terribly foolish,” he said, giving a disapproved wag of his head. “Foolish to think that everyone wants to be saved.” His dark mood disappeared as quickly as it had come. He laughed, and his laughter no longer sounded like the delicate tinkling of bells, but more like the metallic, resonant sound of death knells. “And yet, my heart is filled with joy. Now go and kill him. Rip his heart out. Rip his heart out and eat it.”
“No. I’d rather not.”
“Well, at least kill him then.”
Gabriel hesitated before speaking. “Kill him? A fallen angel?” He swung around, terrified. “That’s impossible.”
Nikolai laughed, and the eerie sound quickened Gabriel’s pulse. “Here’s another riddle for you, dear Gabriel: you have the ability to give life. Why not use it in reverse?”
He glanced over his shoulder to glare at Nikolai. “That isn’t a riddle.”
The youth shrugged. “No, I suppose it is not. It is a hint, though. Now go.”
Gabriel obeyed, not because he had wanted to, but something compelled him to. He wondered who was guarding whom.
* * *
Gabriel returned outside to a disturbing sight: Tipereth holding Colin by the throat. The manner in which his friend’s legs dangled in midair robbed him of hope that he still lived. Tipereth threw Colin aside, and he fell to the cobblestones like a lifeless ragdoll. “So you’re back, human?” The fallen angel glanced about, most certainly expecting Nikolai to come trailing behind, and when he didn’t see him, he shrugged. “But without the Grigori child? A pitiful mistake.” His deep voice roiled with a heavy, impenetrable cold light that Gabriel could almost feel invading him. “A very pitiful mistake.” Tipereth moved toward him in slow, purposeful strides.
Gabriel held his ground, searching inside of himself for that mysterious, nameless power that allowed him to resurrect the dead. Only this time, his intention wasn’t to give life, but rather to take it.
“Out of my way, human,” Tipereth ordered.
“Patience. Patience,” he said, eyeing Colin’s motionless body.
The fallen angel laughed. “Your servant lives. If that is what troubles you . . .”
“For what purpose did you spare his life?”
“None. I do as I wish. Now,” he went on, “step aside.”
Pretending to oblige, Gabriel sidestepped out of the fallen angel’s path, only to catch him by the shoulder. He then slapped the palm of his hand against the being’s massive chest. He closed his eyes and began to draw out the creature’s essence. And as the fallen angel’s energy poured into him, Gabriel expected to feel the fervent heat of a thousand suns. He expected his hands to become blistered and twisted with fire. He expected even his blood to boil out of him.
But none of that happened.
Gabriel’s eyes snapped wide open at the terrible, unexpected sensation.
Instead, his foe’s life energy flowed into him, freezing him, filling him with pulse after pulse of cold, empty light. A consuming light that took and didn’t give. An intense, white light that brightened as the fallen angel’s form began to fade, like chimney smoke along the horizon. Quick as a snake, the fallen angel’s hand caught him by the throat, but Gabriel would not be deterred. He renewed his concentration and continued with the siphoning. Uncontrollably, his body began to shake, and his teeth chattered. His bones ached as the wintry cold afflicted him with merciless bite after bite, numbing him with an unbearable iciness.
When he opened his eyes, the fallen angel had vanished. No, not vanished. Gabriel had absorbed his essence. His soul? No, he didn’t think it likely that fallen angels had souls . . .
The immense, unmerciful chill, like a living and breathing winter, dragged Gabriel to his knees. “What have I done?” he cried aloud, still convulsing. He brought his shaking hands to his face.
Behind him, Colin stirred.
Gabriel looked over his shoulder.
Colin stumbled to his feet, his eyes widened with delight. “What do you mean ‘what have you done?’ You did it! You defeated Beautiful Light!”
But Colin’s response gave him no comfort and didn’t truly answer the question.
* * *
The sound of applause broke the silence as Nikolai sauntered toward him and Colin, clapping his hands together. Nikolai looked up at him with his blue, amber-flecked eyes, smiling. He cocked his head to the side. “Grigori. I am Grigori. You had asked earlier, my Prince.”
“Yes. That I know. But what exactly is that? Another word for fallen angel? Or something far worse?” He doubted there could be anything worse.
Nikolai grinned, and his blue eyes sparkled with delight. In one fluid motion, he went from a round of applause into an elegant bow. “You do love riddles, my Prince, and you’ll have an eternity —perhaps—to solve this one, won’t you?”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the Grigori child. “Yes, I suppose there is that,” he said dryly.
EP
ILOGUE
THE MOON HUNG like a peculiar fruit above the garden. Beneath its pale silver glow, Nathaniel stood beside a tree, and he wasn’t alone.
He gashed his wrist with a knife, then released it from his fingers. His blood swelled up and fell like red rain on the black soil beneath his feet. Amber-red fruit blossomed on the tree. He plucked a piece of fruit from one from the tree’s branches dangling above his head. He took a bite out of it and swallowed.
“That Nikolai,” he said aloud, “is a stubborn, brazen one.”
The leaves of the tree rustled, although no wind stirred it. “He reminds me of you,” said a beautiful and unbearable voice, “when you were child.” A pale, graceful hand snaked its way from the branches and caressed the side of Nathaniel’s face, ruffling his hair.
Nathaniel dipped his head and smiled. “For an ancient being, you certainly have a lot to learn about not making comparisons. No matter. Nikolai needs to learn the grace of silence and modesty so that he doesn’t uncover what we are and what Gabriel and his kind are to us.” He took another bite of the fruit.
“Perhaps,” the voice replied gently, “that’s exactly what Nikolai intends to do. Perhaps he wants Gabriel to know.”
He tossed the fruit aside in a sudden burst of anger. “No! It would be too soon. We need more time. I need more time to entice Gabriel. To persuade him. Nikolai’s impulsive behavior will be our undoing.”
“Don’t you mean your undoing?” Sevien whispered. “It is you, after all, who Gabriel still sees as a fellow human, an innocent bystander, trapped in a conspiracy planned by dark forces.” He laughed. “And you, dear son, don’t want that illusion to come to an end.”
“I don’t know what I want anymore. What happened to Tipereth changes everything.”
“Ah, but I know what Gabriel does not want. Once he finds out what you are and what you’re about, he shall curse you to your face—”
Nathaniel stiffened with rage. “Enough! I grow weary with your lies. Besides, you speak out of fear. Gabriel has trapped Tipereth inside himself–drew in his very soul into himself. You speak out of fear because he can very well do the same to you.”
“Perhaps,” his father replied. He gave Nathaniel’s face one last caress before withdrawing back into the tree. A strong, sudden wind sighed through its heavy branches as his father took flight into the air. The wind continued to stir, blowing the curtain of his golden hair into his face.
Nathaniel covered his face with his hands, but he didn’t cry. He never cried. He did it to hide his eyes from the black sky sprinkled with stars. The stars no longer resembled stars, but white, buzzing insects. He wished they would go away. His head throbbed with the uncertainty of the future.
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