I take a big, burning gulp nonetheless.
“Did you really summon him by mistake?” Isir inquires.
“Yep, I was trying to make chicken soup, turns out I was reading a spell,” I confess, taking another sip.
Isir smiles. “Never drink and do magic.”
I chuckle. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“How’s the head?”
I sigh. “Ready for round two.”
* * *
I fail miserably again. Isir compliments me on having resisted for a bit longer and orders me to work on sensing the natural barrier that keeps her out and strengthening it. By the time I leave the club through a private entrance, I’m hungry. My head throbs and I’m slightly dizzy. Isir gave me another double shot of rum before sending me off, but it’s not as effective as usual. Most supernaturals have an incredibly fast metabolism and burn liquor in no time. She had explained and assured me that I will become immune to normal booze before long.
Oh, joy.
“So, it went well,” Bryce says as he catches sight of me. He opens the door of the limo.
I scowl. Chilly wind ruffles my hair, night has fallen.
“Very funny,” I grumble, practically crawling to the leather seat. I wince with the sound of the door closing.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Bryce says when he settles on the driver’s seat. “You are conscious and walking on your own after having a mental battle with one of the most powerful succubi alive.”
I blink stupidly, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying. “I’m strong and stuff,” I mutter with sarcasm.
Bryce shoots me a smile through the rearview mirror. “Of course you are. Traffic is hell right now, you should take a nap.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Are the seats sanitized? I don’t even want to imagine how many women have been here.”
Bryce laughs. “None aside from you and Isir since I bought the limo for Nox, and yes, we had it cleaned.”
My head is too wooly to analyze what he’s saying. So I groan and lay down, vaguely noticing Bryce has organized all my gear in the other seat. I close my eyes and darkness claims me at once.
NOX
The limousine enters the near dark parking lot. Bryce parks it in the usual spot with clock-like precision. The echo of Dinah’s pain reaches me even from several yards away.
I’m moving before the thought is fully formed. Bryce startles as he sees me standing right next to the driver’s door.
“Have you been waiting in the shadows like a creeper?” he teases.
I arch a brow and he simply grins. He’s always been unaffected by my unearthly aura of power that sends other supernaturals running for the hills. And not just because his kind is powerful enough to fight mine at a near equal level, but because there isn’t much that frightens him.
“Unlock the door,” I request.
He unlocks the passenger door and I open it, taking in the sight of the near-comatose Nephilim. Dinah’s curled up on her side, golden hair a mess around her pale face. She’s breathing deep and her head pulses with throbbing pain.
“What the hell happened to her?” I ask, unable to keep the anger from my voice.
Bryce gets out of the car and stands beside me. “She had a mental battle with Isir, and apparently even though she has a lot to learn, her mind is rather strong. Which, if memory serves, is both a blessing and a curse if Isir is trying to invade one’s mind.”
I half nod to him, he’s right. Isir must have been careful. I know she was, but there’s no denying the brutal force that is required to breach the mind of a supernatural, and even worse, a Nephilim.
“I’ll take her upstairs,” Bryce says.
My hand is flying out to stop him before I can resist the bizarre impulse. Bryce arches a questioning brow, but his eyes are alight with amusement.
“I’ll do it,” I say, bending and lifting Dinah’s prone body off the seat, carefully.
Her orange-chamomile-sunlight scent overpowers the sharp smell of the rum. Still, I feel like scolding Isir for giving her too much booze. What if she ends up summoning another demon by mistake? It isn’t such a far-fetched concern, knowing how crazy Dinah is.
I keep my grip light, not wanting to disturb her to wakefulness. Dinah lets out a soft sound of contentment, her nose falling against the crook of my neck. I swallow as her heat pours inside me, her power core is growing steadily enough for her to feel warm instead of cold as before.
Bryce walks ahead and opens the elevator, he’s trying not to smirk and failing. I decide to ignore him as the doors close, resenting the small part of me that’s uncomfortable with being in closed spaces.
Dinah sighs and her lips brush my neck. A jolt of awareness crawls down my spine. I blink and look down at her, catching sight of her wild curls and slightly flushed face.
“Chicken soup,” she murmurs in her sleep.
Bryce laughs. “Do I smell a new nickname?”
I narrow my eyes. “Only if you wish to spend a little vacation in Hell.”
His eyes sparkle with mischievousness, I don’t need to read his mind to know he’s pondering it.
I arch a brow, and he chuckles, opening the elevator and the door to the penthouse. Dinah murmurs something else that’s completely unintelligible as I walk towards the bedroom.
Bryce opens the door for us, and I’m welcomed by the aromatic scent that clings to the sheets, Dinah’s scent. She’s only been here for a few days and her aura has affected the feel of the room. Instead of cold and empty, it feels warm and welcoming.
The bed is an utter disaster, however. I use a small amount of magic to make it a tad more decent and lay Dinah down, placing her head on a pillow. She holds on to me reflexively and I freeze, wondering if she’ll wake up. Her face is just inches away from mine, I hold my breath.
One heartbeat, two. She lets go and curls on her side.
I straighten, not sure what to do next.
“She still has her shoes on,” Bryce comments from somewhere behind me.
I hesitate, but then untie her tennis shoes and place the fluffy white blanket on top of her. Dinah reaches for a pillow, hugs it tightly, and murmurs something else, breathing deeply.
Something dangerously close to affection curls inside my chest.
I frown and leave the room, heading for the kitchen. Why the kitchen? Hell if I know. I pay no mind to Bryce following me until he sits on one of the stools by the island and smirks.
“What?”
He shrugs. “You could have just portalled directly to the bedroom, instead of enduring those long minutes inside the elevator.”
I don’t respond, opening the fridge and rummaging for two bottles of coke. He’s right, and I’m not sure why I did it.
Bryce looks even more amused by the time I set both bottles on the island.
I shrug one shoulder. “Dinah gets nauseated every time we portal.”
There, that’s a solid reason.
Bryce nods with mock seriousness and takes a gulp of the coke. “How very considerate of you.”
“Do you suggest I purposely upset her? Isir would have my head.”
Isir has become attached to Dinah in record time for her standards. She’s usually far more reluctant to let someone remotely near, but it’s as if all her defenses have crumbled with Dinah.
“Oh, she would absolutely murder you, yes,” Bryce agrees with relish.
I arch a brow. “Are you quite done behaving like a gossipy teenager?”
Bryce’s gaze turns serious. “That depends, are you quite done behaving like a grumpy arsehole when Dinah’s awake but cradling her in your arms whenever she’s unconscious?”
I fight down the flare of irritation, finding it harder than usual. Bryce has never been quite so direct with me, not after—
I cut the dangerous line of thinking, knowing that letting out the dark aura that signals my anger will possibly alert or upset Dinah. And isn’t that precisely the issue?
I snort.
“I think you’ve been spending far too much time with Isir, I know what you’re implying and you’re very wrong.”
Bryce stands, his own temperament about to flare. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I all but growl.
Bryce shrugs, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling his drink. The picture of nonchalance. “Very well, goodnight, your Highness.”
I hate it when he uses my title, especially in that tone, and he knows it.
Bryce stalks out, and I feel tempted to leave as well, but Isir still has things to do and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Dinah alone despite the near-indestructible wards surrounding the building.
I make my way to the balcony, breathing in the cool air and taking in the sight of the Park, letting my mind settle. I can’t, won’t allow myself to get too close to Dinah. It would end in disaster not just for her, but for me and even Isir.
What will happen when Dinah meets her own kind? What if she decides to turn against us and use what she knows about us? It is by far not the first time I’ve wondered, but it seems to become a more real possibility the more I ponder it. If such a thing happens, and I have to choose between saving Isir and destroying Dinah…
I swallow, shaking my head. I know what the right decision would be; I know what I’d do, but I don’t want it. This is why not allowing her to get too close is important. It is a complicated balance, teaching her everything she’ll need to be able to survive in a world rife with danger for her kind and from her kind, while simultaneously making sure she doesn’t use what we teach her against us.
Too much trust will be needed to teach her how to fight properly, to arm her against Kazzian, and the ones that siphoned her power.
I’m not sure I have the ability to place such an amount of trust in a Nephilim. It backfired with catastrophic consequences the last time.
But Dinah’s not like—she simply doesn’t fit with the cunning and manipulative type, not that I can tell, and I usually can.
And that instinct—that feeling will have to do for now.
CHAPTER 9
DINAH
“Up.”
I recognize that voice at once and groan aloud.
“No.”
I hold on tighter to what I think is a pillow and refuse to open my eyes. My head doesn’t throb anymore, which is a good sign, but the bed is warm and I don’t want to move.
Cool breath fans against my cheek, my heart spikes at once with Nox’s scent—mint, smoke, cedar, something else I can’t name. “If you don’t get out of bed, I’ll drag you to the shower.”
I grumble and open my eyes, feeling the room tilt slightly as I stand too fast. “The hell is the matter with you? Why can’t you even let me sleep at night?” I demand, crossing my arms.
Nox stands a foot away from me, wearing all black as usual. I try to not notice how the T-shirt does a poor job at concealing his biceps, try not to admire his broad shoulders, and imagine the rest.
I fail miserably.
His amethyst eyes are zeroed in on me with their usual intensity, and my stomach performs a little flip.
Dammit. Why must he be so… so delicious?
He arches a dark brow, and my cheeks burn.
“You’ve slept for almost twelve hours, the sun will be up in no time,” Nox says, tone flat. “Change into something appropriate for training, be ready in five minutes.”
He turns and stalks to the exit of my room with an elegance I’ll never possess.
“Sleep Nazi,” I mumble.
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Four and a half minutes.”
I make a childish face as he closes the door.
Grumbling, I make my way to the bathroom; I’m still wearing the same clothes from the day before, but I’m not wearing shoes. Bryce must’ve carried me upstairs and settled me into bed. A small spark of apprehension rises with that thought, but I fight it down. Bryce did nothing wrong, I was out cold and he is not a pervert; I know he’s not.
I brush my teeth fiercely, hating the remnant taste of the rum, and wash my face. Sighing, I reluctantly look in the mirror. My hair is a mess but I don’t look hungover, in fact, my reflection looks almost… healthy.
Weird.
I rush to put on some leggings and running shoes, not bothering to change out of my shirt and T-shirt. My stomach rumbles loudly when the scent of eggs reaches my nose. I’m out of the room and making my way to the kitchen in no time, almost skidding to a stop as I see Nox pouring an obscene amount of scrambled eggs onto a plate.
He lifts his eyes and meets mine. “It took you seven minutes, I suppose we can call that progress.”
I barely restrain myself from making rude or childish gestures.
He points at the plate. “You have five minutes to eat.”
“You have a special relationship with five, don’t you?” I quip, but sit on one of the stools and load a forkful to my mouth.
Nox says nothing, opting to go to the fridge and pour some orange juice for me.
The eggs are perfect, fluffy, and warm. “Thanks,” I grumble.
“Three minutes,” he says.
“There’s something wrong with your internal clock, or should I say infernal clock?” I say with my mouth half full.
Nox arches an unimpressed brow. I grin at him, surprised I can even think straight at stupid AM, and wondering if there isn’t something wrong with me. I’m certain normal people don’t poke fun at demons.
He walks towards the glass doors and goes out to the balcony. I hurry, devouring the Gaston-Esque plateful of eggs and downing the sweet juice.
Nox is looking towards the impressive sight of the city and the park, face devoid of emotion. I imitate him, doubting I could ever get used to such a view. After a minute, he turns to me and stretches a hand. I sigh and take it, gasping as pleasant energy runs up my arm, my eyes widening at the flash of amethyst that surrounds him. His aura is impressive and beautiful, like him; streaked with silver and the faintest threads of black, but mainly bright amethyst, waving like rippling water.
“Can you see auras without physical contact?” he asks, obviously noting my reaction.
“No, and I don’t think I can see them all the time,” I confess. “I can’t see Isir’s.”
“You aren’t looking hard enough.”
We’re swirling in purple light and cool wind before I can ask, and it’s all I can do not to puke all over him. Breakfast before puffing, baaaad idea. I hold on to his biceps as a reflex; he has a steadying hand on my waist.
When the swirl clears, I take in our surroundings. We’re in a vast space with tall ceilings, concrete walls, and floors covered in training mats. Weights and exercise machines to the right near the wall. The other three walls are lined with all sorts of weapons, from basic eskrima batons to halberds and swords.
“Uh oh,” I mutter.
I’m about to get my ass handed to me.
“Do you have any training in weaponry?” Nox asks.
I gulp and look at him, he’s standing two feet away from me, face clear of any emotion, arms behind his back.
“Erm, some basic self-defense,” I admit, feeling the familiar pang in my stomach as I remember the reason why I took defense classes.
He nods. “Good. Attack me.”
I blink.
“Come on, I know you’ve thought about it,” he goads.
I snort. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Attack me,” he commands.
Oh well, if he asks so nicely.
I sigh, pretending boredom, and then leap forward, right fist flying towards his perfect nose. He doesn’t bother blocking me, simply steps away enough to make me connect with empty air, the force I’d put behind the attack almost making me fall on my face.
“Again,” Nox commands.
I take a fighting stance, legs apart, fists up, feeling stupid. What’s the point?
I do my best to connect any blow, knee to the groin, palm on his nose, fist
on his solar plexus, all to no avail. He blocks me every time, and I can tell he’s not even using half his strength. His countering blows hurt, but just barely, and seeing how incredibly useless I am helps me ignore the ache.
After a few minutes I give up, I’m breathing hard but not from exhaustion, just frustration.
“What’s the point?” I ask, anger leaking to my voice. “It’s useless, I’m useless, too weak.”
Nox’s brow furrows slightly. “We’ve only just begun, and you are not weak.”
I purse my lips disbelievingly. Nox makes a beckoning movement with his right hand and a weight comes flying towards him and then me. I throw my arms up as a reflex and hold on to the metal bar, reading myself to fall on my ass or break my back. None of that happens.
I can feel the heaviness of the weight, feel the strain in my muscles from my legs to my core and arms, but I can take it. It’s a four plate weight.
I’m holding almost a quarter of a ton.
With my arms stretched to the front.
Still numb with disbelief, I set the weight down.
“It’s just the beginning,” Nox says. “Once your body heals from the damage of the quartz device and your power grows, you will be about forty times stronger, maybe more.”
I tremble slightly, feeling every muscle warm and the remnants of the rush of adrenaline.
“Are you-are you mental?! What if I hadn’t been able to hold that monstrosity?!” I screech, loud enough to surprise myself.
Nox arches a brow. “Then I would have grabbed it before you could hurt yourself, but I knew there was no need.”
I blink, my grumpy demon warden believes in my skills more than I do.
“Now, I want one-hundred reps,” Nox says, pointing at the weight.
I scowl at him, biting my tongue not to say something stupid and comply. Nox stands in front of me and watches me carefully. My brow is covered in a thin layer of sweat after twenty reps. My thighs begin to burn by thirty and I can feel myself shake by forty. I growl through my teeth, feeling my resilience waver, my arms too weak to hold the weight.
Nox catches the bar with one hand right when it slips from my hands, setting it carefully on the floor. “Not bad at all.”
Demon Warden: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy (The Cursed and the Fallen 1) Page 9