by Susan Illene
The nephilim gave him one of his uncomfortable penetrating gazes. “They’re out training a mile from here.”
“Which direction?”
Eli cleared his throat and shuffled some papers. “I’ve been meaning to ask how your relationship with Cori is going now that you’re expecting a child together.” He lifted his brows. “Have you overcome your…reticence to intimacy?”
Bartol stiffened. This was exactly the subject he’d hoped to avoid with this man because it no doubt fascinated him. As a nephilim who was once known as the greatest immortal lover but who could no longer stand to be in close proximity to anyone, he was no doubt a good case study. Oh, certainly, Cori had broken down Bartol’s barriers enough for him to impregnate her, but her touch was still difficult to bear. He had to control every aspect of their intimate relations while she held herself back and kept her hands to herself. It was difficult for her, but she willingly did it for him. She understood that part of his torture in Purgatory ruined him from ever making love again—at least in the sense of there being give and take between the two partners. He was tainted forevermore and still didn’t understand what she saw in him.
“That’s none of your business,” he growled.
Eli pursed his lips. “I could help you. When Lucas needed assistance from his past traumas, I was able to make a difference so that he could move on from them.”
“He didn’t have a choice. The archangels made Lucas do it if he wanted to protect his mate.” Bartol was prepared for this argument, having played it out in his head in case this meeting ever happened.
Lucas was a fellow nephilim who’d had some father issues during his upbringing that caused him to abhor humans and sensors with a passion. He’d been imprisoned in Purgatory numerous times for killing many among both races. Only once he found a mate, ironically a sensor, did he finally have to face his problems and learn to control his anger. For Melena, he’d do anything and had proven it time and again.
“Perhaps that’s true.” Eli shrugged. “But I did help him, and if you’re going to be a father, you’re going to need help as well.”
“I’m doing just fine on my own.” Bartol started to turn away, determined to find the nerou one way or another. “You can stay out of it.”
“What are you going to do when the baby is born? Will you hold the child? Could you?”
He froze in the doorway. Eli had just targeted his greatest worry, and he often saw the concern on Cori’s face when he chose to sleep next to her—a few feet apart on the bed. Would he be able to hold his own son or daughter? A lump formed in his throat as he honestly didn’t know if he could. Even to touch his mate’s swelling stomach once in a while took all he had not to jerk away.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, hanging his head.
A hint of sympathy entered Eli’s voice. “I could help you work on it.”
Bartol hesitated. He might not want anything to do with the nephilim and his modern ways of thinking that involved talking and expressing his feelings, but didn’t his child deserve a father who would hold them? Could he be so selfish as to stay the way he was now?
“I’ll consider it.” That was the best he could do for now.
The other man nodded. “I hope you do—for the child. I’ll be here anytime you need me.”
Bartol’s feet itched to get out the door. “Where are the nerou?”
“A mile north of here in a clearing in the woods.”
Bartol grunted. “Thank you.”
He exited the building and flashed to the location, seeing it in his mind’s eye before arriving there. It was clear to him now that he knew where to “look.” All fifty students gathered in a circle around twin nephilim standing at the center. While the two men’s physical features were the same, they had their differences. One kept his blond hair short and usually dressed formally while the other let his hair grow to his shoulders and always wore jeans and t-shirts. Their bearings were different as well, matching their different personalities, but each had golden skin and eyes, muscular builds, and arrogant visages. The one with short hair was Lucas—who Eli had helped a couple of years back—and the other was his brother, Micah.
Working his way through the nerou, Bartol broke through the crowd and found a hunched figure kneeling on the ground with glowing red eyes. It was at Lucas’ feet with a silver chain connected between its neck and wrists. This was a demon from the middle ranks of Hell, based on the intensity of malevolence emanating off of him. How had they gotten him here?
“Today we are going to find out if it’s possible for you all to banish a demon with your abilities,” Lucas announced to the nerou.
Bartol frowned. He hadn’t heard anything about this idea, and normally they kept him apprised of the various training activities so he could work it around his schedule with Tormod.
Lucas answered his unspoken question, “Melena sensed him walking around downtown Fairbanks a few hours ago.”
“Here?” So close to home? That was arrogant, considering it was a supernatural haven with powerful individuals living in the area. Even Hell’s minions had to be aware of that and wary of running into them.
Lucas’ visage turned grim. “I’m afraid so.”
Bartol had heard a report from the archangel Remiel that they hadn’t banished or killed all the demons a few months ago in Europe as they’d hoped, but he hadn’t known any of the stragglers had made it into America yet, much less a remote area like Alaska. This did not bode well. He had a sudden need to flash to Fairbanks and protect his pregnant mate.
“I must go,” Bartol said, nodding at Tormod where he stood at the outer edges of the crowd. The young man would understand if he missed his lesson for the day. The woman Bartol loved could be in danger, and he needed to check on her.
“Stay.” This came from Micah. “Melena is already sweeping the city, and she’s sent Patrick to keep an eye on your mate.”
Patrick was another sensor, but he was mortal and lacked experience in fighting.
“I can look out for my mate myself,” Bartol said, clenching his fists.
Micah spoke in a calming tone, “You’re needed here. If the nerou can’t banish the demon, you’ll have to take care of him. We knew you’d be along shortly or we would have requested your presence sooner.”
Most nephilim couldn’t do much more than fight the denizens of Hell. Bartol was an exception to the rule because he’d inherited his archangel father’s abilities, who’d been made for the purpose of killing demons long ago when there was a war between Heaven and Hell—before a treaty came into place.
“Have your mate take care of it,” Bartol said. Melena was a sensor, and just a small amount of her blood administered to the demon could send him back to where he came from. That was one of her race’s gifts, and one they hoped might have passed to the nerou since they all had sensor blood.
“She is busy.”
Bartol was losing patience. “Get Emily, Patrick, or anyone else.”
He really didn’t care who.
“It would take them too long to get here.” Because sensors were immune to magic, they couldn’t be flashed to other destinations quickly. Their current location was almost an hour from Fairbanks.
“Your mate is safe,” Micah said, the more diplomatic of the twins despite appearing like a punk rocker. He did actually play in a band, so the look fit.
Bartol used his flashing vision to check on his mate and saw nothing amiss. She was staring at something—perhaps the television based on the angle—with a disturbed expression on her face, but she appeared healthy and whole. The scene faded, the magic power only able to hold a few seconds.
He took a deep breath, telling himself he couldn’t rush to his mate every time there was a hint of danger. She’d take offense, and he’d never hear the end of it. “This better not take long.”
Lucas nodded, then turned his gaze to a nerou at the front of the circle. He was a stout fellow with short, black hair and sky-blue eyes. Bartol had s
een him a few times and not once had the man smiled. There was something very serious and disciplined about his personality.
“Ivan, you will be the one to do this.” Lucas held out a dagger. “Cut your palm and feed your blood to the demon.”
While the nerou wielded the blade, Micah took the demon by its shaggy hair and lifted it to its feet. The minion from Hell had possessed the body of a lean man in his mid-twenties. There was no fear in its red gaze, only fury and the promise of retribution. They’d gagged him so that he couldn’t do more than throw muffled curses, and the chains kept him from flailing too much.
Lucas waited until Ivan had filled his palm with blood before pulling the rag from the demon’s mouth. The creature spit and threw out such vile expletives that several nerou blushed. Bartol had quite a range of sexual experiences, but he was certain the ones described were not anatomically possible for a man, woman, or beast.
“Silence!” Lucas boxed him in the ear.
The demon wailed as his head swung to the side with such force it would have killed a human. Ivan used that opportunity to press his bloody palm into his target’s mouth. Everyone watched with bated breath. A moment later, the demon slumped. Micah kept his hold tight but allowed the body to sink to the ground. The creature’s eyes were still open with a hint of red.
“He’s still in there.” Ivan poked his dagger into the demon’s arm. “But it seems he can’t move.”
They’d had no way of knowing how the attempt would go, but it wasn’t quite what Bartol had expected. They waited a few minutes. First, the demon blinked, and then its fingers began to twitch. By the ten minute mark, his feet were kicking across the ground.
“Should I give him more blood?” Ivan asked.
“No,” Lucas replied. “I doubt it will make any difference. If you could kill or banish him, it would have worked already.”
Bartol felt the itch to kill the demon the longer he stood near it. That was part of his nature because of his abilities, though he’d gotten much better at handling it after his experience in London. “Have you questioned it yet?”
Lucas nodded. “It was the first thing we did, but like most of their kind, he didn’t have much of anything useful to say.”
“Very well.”
Bartol slowly walked toward the demon while Lucas and Micah held it down by both arms. Bartol pressed his hand to the creature’s chest, searching for the essence inside. He could feel it churning there, dark and malevolent. The demon cursed at him and tried to jerk away. It was strong but not strong enough to get away.
Bartol pulled on the essence, letting it flow into him through his palm. His stomach turned at first, the evilness of it making him ill, but then he felt the intoxicating power as it filled him completely. If he kept that for himself, he’d become something different—something dangerous. It was possibly what happened with Tormod and what had changed him. Bartol had to resist the urge. Instead, he looked up at the blue sky and let the essence flow out of his body, disintegrating into inert particles in the air. A moment of regret hit him at letting it go, but he tamped down those feelings. He was meant to destroy demons, not take their powers for himself. The few times he’d held on for too long, he’d become insane and dangerous.
“It’s done,” he said, stepping back.
The demon presence was gone, and all that was left was a human carcass. Bartol couldn’t have saved the man who’d once been in there. He’d been possessed too long and his body too ill-used, so he’d probably died and his soul had moved on days or weeks ago. The only chance of saving humans from possession came in the first couple of days—if they were lucky.
Lucas and Micah lowered the body to the ground and instructed one of the nerou to wrap it in a tarp. They intended to return the corpse to his family as soon as possible.
“Is there anything else?” Bartol asked.
“No.” Lucas shook his head. “You may go.”
Chapter 3
Bartol
He found Cori cleaning up her booth. She must have just finished with a customer, as all her equipment was still laid out, and there were ink splatters on her work tray. For a moment, Bartol stood in the doorway watching his mate and marveling at her changing body. It seemed she grew larger with each passing day, but not in a terrible way. Her new curves only made her more beautiful to him.
At a distance, he could truly appreciate her form and how it was producing life—a life they’d created together. It was only when they were close that he began to fear her and the intimacy between them. How would he feel about their child? Would he be a good father to his daughter or son?
“You can stop staring and help, you know,” Cori said, turning to look at him.
She had her shoulder-length black hair pulled into a ponytail with just a few wisps free to frame her face. Her fair skin seemed paler than normal, and there were dark circles under her eyes, which worried him. She was working too hard and not resting enough.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
She smiled, her hazel eyes lighting up. “Take this spray bottle and some napkins. You can wipe down the seat.”
He did as Cori asked while she went to work cleaning her tattoo machine. “How was your day?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing, considering you weren’t supposed to meet me here this soon.” She paused to rub her lower back. “Shouldn’t you be working with Tormod right now?”
Bartol ignored her question. “You work too much. Sit down and I will take care of this.”
“I own and run a business.” She gave him a pointed look. “I can never work too much, and I have to make sure this is done the right way.”
“If I had my way, you’d be confined to your house.”
Cori rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that.”
“But the baby…”
“Is fine,” she interrupted. “Paula says the pregnancy is progressing as expected.”
“You haven’t seen her since last week. That could always change.”
Bartol hadn’t lived for nearly two millennia without noticing a thing or two about women. In the later stages of pregnancy, they tired more quickly and had to rest. Cori was carrying a child with angel blood in its veins that would tax her body even harder than a mortal one, especially with the shorter gestation period.
Cori set her freshly sanitized tattoo instruments aside on the counter. “I have another doctor appointment in a few days. You can come with me and see for yourself that the baby is doing alright.”
He’d gone with her once before when he first found out she was pregnant. The vampire doctor, Paula, had done what she called an ultrasound so he could see the baby. Bartol had marveled at the moving child on the screen at first, but then he thought of how it would grow and evolve. One day, it would leave the safety of its mother’s womb, and he’d have to protect it. A thousand other thoughts had raced through his head about the huge responsibility that would come with a child. The next thing he knew, he’d panicked and flashed halfway across the state. Hours passed before he’d had the courage to return and seek out Cori. She had been angry with him at first, but then she’d become sweet and understanding. The woman was doing her best to be patient with him.
He couldn’t even explain his reaction logically since he was happy with the idea of becoming a father. For nephilim, most accepted that it would never happen since they were cursed not to have children. It was only with a sensor that they could procreate because that race was immune to curses. Cori technically wasn’t a full sensor, but she’d had enough of Melena’s blood that it apparently allowed her to get pregnant by him.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” he said, shuddering at the panic he’d endured last time.
She turned her head, attempting to hide the disappointment he caught lurking in her gaze. “Of course. Only if you’re comfortable with going.”
He desperately needed to change the subject. “How are you doing with the new tattoo design for vampires?”
/> “The last test didn’t go so well,” she said in a weary voice, heading for the sink to wash her hands. “The vampire burned up.”
“You experimented on someone who would have been executed anyway, correct?” he asked. Cori had developed a special ability since ingesting Melena’s blood that allowed her to infuse certain immunities into tattoos if she put a lot of concentration into it. At first, she hadn’t done it on purpose, but she’d practiced to have more control.
Her back was stiff as she pumped soap onto her hands. “Yeah, but that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”
Months ago, she’d discovered she could create tattoos that prevented demons from possessing human bodies or keep them from being compelled by vampires. She’d given the tattoos to both supernaturals and human agents during the outbreak last year to protect them during a battle with Hell’s minions. The special design had worked very well, protecting everyone. She’d also discovered she could give tattoos that allowed werewolves to shift during the day, whereas before they could only change into a wolf at night.
The next test was to craft something that could allow a vampire to walk in the daylight. Nothing she’d come up with so far had been successful, but Bartol knew of her conducting only two experiments, including the latest. They had to use vampires who deserved to die anyway since it only took one touch of the sun for them to burn.
Derrick, the supernatural leader of Fairbanks, was very controlling about which people Cori gave her special tattoos. The leading sups needed to be able to compel most of the nearby population in case of incidents they wanted to cover up. Also, they couldn’t afford for just any werewolf to run around in their animal form during the day, and the same went for vampires walking in the sunlight. It taxed his mate to do them as well. With her pregnancy wearing her down more lately, she wasn’t doing as many as before. The vampire experiment was an exception.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, understanding it must have been frustrating for her to fail again in such a gruesome way. They had allies who would love to walk in the daylight, and it would make them more useful when the days were long in Alaska. “I’m certain you will succeed and make it work soon.”