Nephilim War: Book 2

by Adrienne Kama

  He tightened his hold on her. “Change your mind?” he asked, keeping the question short because talking after his fangs formed was difficult. Lisping always ruined the romance of the moment for him.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He lifted his free hand, ran a finger down her cheek, the beast in him savoring the fear he saw in her eyes, the man wanting more than blood.

  He let one nail graze her chin, putting a shallow rent in her smooth flesh. He’d close the wound when he was done with her, but for now, he’d enjoy himself. As the blood rose to the surface, he bent forward, lowered his face until it was level with hers. Slowly, he ran his tongue over the broken skin, growling when the exquisite fluid reached his tongue. The pleasure of this was nearly too much. He didn’t care that there were other people in the room, didn’t care that Damon, child that he was, had probably made a small slash in the other woman’s throat, drank, and had done with her by now. He didn’t care for anyone or anything save the blood.

  “Delicious,” he said.

  She tried to smile, but only managed to tremble.

  Had she thought he would be beautiful when he fed, that no remnant of the demon within him would show? If she’d thought that, she’d been wrong. There was nothing glamorous about what he was; at least, not from a human perspective. He was a monster. A very hungry, very aroused monster.

  He ran his nail down her throat, careful not to break the skin again until he was ready. He longed to use his teeth, but fought the impulse. Rending flesh with his canines was always a messy business. Unless he was feeding on another vampire, it was better to use his nails. Which he did now, finding a small artery in her throat and rending it open with a slash of his finger. She gasped and he felt her breasts rising and falling against him. Her fear was too exhilarating for him, too perfect, and he would feast on it as he would her blood.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked.

  Kind of late for such a question, but he met her eyes anyway. “If I want it to.”

  “Do you?”

  He threw back his head in answer, spread his lips wide, and let a feral roar of pure hunger explode from him. He felt her stiffen, tasted her fear, but he was beyond caring. Before she could make a move to struggle, he brought his mouth down on her throat. He moved his lips over the gash, sucking until his mouth was filled, then sucking more.

  It was pure ecstasy, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. The sheer joy of the moment was nearly too much for him. He moaned, taking more of the fluid into. He felt her limbs loosen, her body go limp in his arms.

  He knew what this was for her, what the taking of blood was for the victim. He knew at this very moment as her fluid filled him, she was in a near swoon. The blood flowing from the small wound he made would feel hot from the press of his lips and sensitive to the touch. So sensitive, in fact, that the slightest contact would send her into a rapturous haze. He ran his tongue over the gash to test it. She moaned and shuddered.

  He knew every suck, every lick set loose a surge of pleasure. There was no end to that pleasure. It started at her throat, oozed through her body, setting her nipples on fire, and resolved itself deep in her loins only to begin again with each new suck.

  “Yes,” she muttered.

  By now, he was supporting her weight completely. If he let her go, she’d collapse. He sucked harder, drew more of the fluid into his mouth.

  “Alaric.”

  He ignored the voice. Ignored everything save the pliant body in his arms and the life-giving elixir on his tongue.

  “Alaric.” The voice was louder now. More insistent. “Don’t kill her.”

  Could he stop? He could, of course, but did he want to?

  “You’ll kill her if you continue.”

  Alaric growled. It was agony, but slowly he loosened his lips and raised his head. Gilda fell back in a swoon.

  * * * *

  They sat around Nuno ’s desk. The women were long gone, no worse for the wear. As he’d had promised himself, Alaric had sealed Gilda’s rented flesh so no sign of his feasting was left on her. He’d had to do the same for Carol, since Damon was too young yet to heal the torn skin of his victims.

  Alaric sat back in his chair now; legs stretched out before him, and wondered why he still wasn’t sated. Yes, his hunger was gone, but his arousal had increased. He was so full of lust right now, he thought he might explode. But even as he wondered at his present state, he realized he knew the answer. It was Charity. It was Charity with her large brown eyes, long black hair, and honey-brown skin; Charity with her rounded breasts and lush body; Charity, who so reminded him of Smenkhare. That was why he’d been so drawn to her, so immediately attracted to her. It wasn’t her he was responding to, but the memory of Smenkhare, his lost one.

  “Are things really as dire as all that?” Nuno asked after Damon explained the situation to him.

  Alaric refocused on Nuno. He had watched Nuno’s face slowly change as Damon spoke. Even halfway through Damon’s recitation of events, when the lovely Pandora appeared and settled herself on Nuno’s knee, he remained serious.

  “Far worse than we thought,” Damon said.

  “Bloody hell, Damon, to you things are always far worse than we thought.” Nuno mimicked his brother’s grim tone perfectly. “Is it so bad, Alaric, or is my brother playing the melodramaticist as usual?”

  “Melodramaticist isn’t a word, Nuno,” Damon informed his brother in his most cutting voice. “Mayhap if you opened a book every now and again, you’d know that.”

  “Mayhap if you did anything save read books, you’d get laid once in a while. You’ve got to be the most boring vampire ever created. I wonder at Alaric’s ability to tolerate your presence day in and day out. God knows you’ve bored me nearly to death more than once. And that’s saying a lot, since I’m immortal.”

  Alaric forced his face to remain impassive, though he had to work at it. Only Damon and Nuno could squabble when so much was at stake.

  “Nuno,” Pandora chastised in a soft voice. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Not very nice,” Damon mused. “Were there ever three words that describe Nuno better?”

  “Foul-mouthed bastard,” Alaric offered.

  “How about fucking asshole—or is asshole considered one word?”

  “Sorry,” Alaric corrected. “Asshole is one word. Doesn’t count.”

  “All right then, how about pain in the ass. Damn, that’s four words.”

  “Oh, I got one. Full of shit.”

  “Personally, I prefer sexy as hell,” said Pandora.

  Alaric turned toward Damon in time to see him roll his eyes. Again, Alaric smiled, but only for a moment. The sight of Pandora and Nuno caused him a stab of pain. She was a lovely creature. Nowhere near as exquisite as his Smenkhare had been, but pretty in her own way. She seemed as delicate as a bird, sitting atop Nuno’s lap. Alaric had a sudden impulse to move forward and pull Pandora free of him before the brute accidentally crushed her to death. But the impulse quickly passed. Nuno’s affection for the female was obvious. All Alaric had to do was see the way he looked at her to know his old friend had fallen hard.

  Most cutting about Pandora, though, were her lips. Lips so like his Smenkhare’s, he nearly wept just looking at them. How, after all of these years, could he still miss her with such desperation? Would the pain ever cease?

  “Are you two really brothers?” Pandora asked suddenly. “You look alike, but you’re so different. You’re a werewolf, Nuno, and your brother is a vampire…” She let her words trail off and shrugged.

  “Just look at him,” Nuno said, motioning toward Damon in his knit sweater, Italian leather pants, and stylish riding boots. “He looks more like a runway model than a vampire. Could you picture him as a werewolf? He couldn’t bark at the moon if his life depended on it.”

  Again, Damon rolled his eyes. Sighing heavily, he began to speak. “After Nuno was made, he came to me, offered to turn me and that whole bit. I thought it prudent—”
<
br />   “The little shit turned me down. He said he didn’t fancy the idea of turning into a dog three times a month and running around on all fours. Said it was undignified. Imagine that. Here I am offering him immortality, and he hadn’t even the good grace to accept it. Said he’d wait and see what other prospects opened up for him.”

  Alaric watched Pandora’s head dart from one brother to the other. He guessed she was wondering if they were joking with her. She turned to face him, incredulity creasing her forehead and turning her lips down in a frown.

  “Are they for real?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Alaric answered.

  “I don’t see you hopping on the werewolf bandwagon,” Damon accused.

  “It’s a pretty big decision,” she said.

  “Exactly. And as luck would have it, it was one I didn’t have to make. Nuno was so completely horrified at the prospect of an eternity without me that he found this one here,” he motioned toward Alaric, “and begged him to turn me.”

  Pandora looked at Nuno who shrugged. “He’s my brother. What can I say?”

  “So, you made him,” she said to Alaric.

  “And I’ve been stuck with the two of them ever since.”

  She smiled. It was a lovely smile, but Alaric looked away. Again, it wasn’t Pandora he was seeing, but Smenkhare’s face superimposed over Pandora’s. Suddenly, it all was too much. He wanted to retreat, to go to his home and sleep for all eternity.

  “Nuno says you’re the owner of the house he took me to after he…” She seemed to be searching for the right word.

  “Abducted you,” Damon supplied. “Kidnapped you. Took you hostage. I could go on.”

  Her smile brightened. “Brought me around to his way of thinking.” She glanced over her shoulder at Nuno for a moment before setting those eyes on Alaric again. “Those were the most wonderful days…and your house…we thoroughly enjoyed…” She broke off. “Thank you.”

  Alaric smiled and nodded. Reminiscing was nice, but they had to get down to business. Time was an issue here.

  “It’s that bad and worse,” Alaric pronounced.

  “How can you be sure the Nephilim will come after us immortals?” Nuno asked.

  Alaric focused his attention on his old friend. “You can’t be serious, Nuno. You know the legends. You know what they were and what they did to our kind.”

  “Mmm,” he nodded. “What they did. Past tense. We’re stronger now. Not so easy to control. We get stronger with every year.”

  “And what of their strength? What do you think they are now, if we’ve become this strong?”

  Nuno shrugged. “I don’t know, Alaric. All I’m saying is, we have to think about this one. We can’t afford to side up the wrong way. We have a choice in this.”

  “What choice? Become slaves or fight.”

  “What about the First Brood? What do they say?”

  Alaric chuckled. The first vampires and beastmen rarely weighed in on anything that mattered anymore. Those who survived with any remnant of sanity preferred a solitary existence, or at the very least an existence away from their own kind. Figlio was the perfect example of this, with his hidden mansions dotting the globe. As far as Alaric knew, he was one of only three immortals ever allowed to enter Figlio’s private sanctum. And all of the First Brood was like this. Loners.

  “What of Figlio?” Nuno asked.

  Alaric shook his head. “He doesn’t want to be involved. He refuses to acknowledge Raven’s presence or the coming dilemma. Damn it, Nuno, why must we leave our future in the hands of the elders?”

  “And why must the beastmen leave their future in the hands of the vampyr?”

  “I’m not here as a vampire.”

  “But you are vampyr,” Nuno announced. “You’re the great coven leader, friend. You are your kind’s chosen representative. Your coven leaders look to you for guidance, so don’t tell me you’re not coming to me as a vampire. When you speak, you speak the words of your covens. Why shouldn’t I ask about Figlio, our chosen leader?”

  “Your chosen leader? So you’d prefer a leader who refuses to lead over me. Just so you know, Nuno, you’re the first immortal I’ve come to. I didn’t seek the counsel of my kind, but have sought you out.”

  Nuno grunted. “Be that as it may, Alaric, but if you came to me first, it’s only because you want me to ally myself with you. You’ll think that with me at your side, all the beastmen will follow.”

  “And would they?”

  “Most would.”

  “I’ve heard it rumored that beastmen have been seen in the company of ghouls of The Void.”

  Nuno waved his hand in dismissal. “Rumors. No substance in any of those lies. No beastman would ever ally himself with any of The Void…unless he were a rogue. But then, I suppose that applies to vampires as well.”

  Alaric he let the question lie for now. His main concern was getting Nuno on board. “So, what’s your decision?”

  Nuno angled back in his chair, surveying his visitors through narrowed eyes. “Step into my lair, said the vampire to the werewolf,” he finally said.

  “Is a vampire all I am to you now, then? A coven leader?”

  “In this, yes.”

  Alaric glanced around the room, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

  “The Nephilim don’t care who is vampyr and who is beastman,” Damon began. “We’re all as nothing to them. We might as well be human in their eyes. And when they come, as we all know they will, they’ll either destroy us all, or enslave us all.”

  Nuno twirled a strand of Pandora’s hair around his finger. “You don’t understand,” he said. “We’re already slaves. For the last five hundred years, a vampire has sat at the head of The Alliance. For the last five hundred years, it’s been vampires deciding the laws that govern us.”

  “With input from—” Alaric began.

  “But in the end, it’s your choice!”

  Nuno’s sudden anger caught Alaric off guard. Had that anger always been there, just under the surface?

  “So you will cut off your nose to spite your face,” Alaric said.

  “I won’t tell the beastmen to follow blindly like impotent dogs just because you will it, Alaric...the Cruel.” He laughed. “You may be the leader of the Alliance, but you don’t rule me. You may be my greatest friend, but friendship doesn’t enter into this.”

  Alaric shot forward in his seat and slammed his fist onto Nuno’s desk, leaving broken shards of wood in its wake. He barely registered Pandora’s jolt of surprise. “The Nephilim are coming, damn you! And when they cross over, they’ll kill us all. Leave the petty differences behind for once in your lives. Either we stand together, or we’re finished. Do you know what existence was then, do you know what life was like for our kind?” When Nuno didn’t answer, Alaric continued. “Go to Figlio, then, and ask him. Ask any of the First Brood.”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could? Figlio answers to no one. He’s as the wind and the mist. He moves around in such secrecy, even his own kind knows nothing of his whereabouts. Only you, Alaric. Of all the immortals, he only speaks to you. Damn his black soul to hell, he only speaks to you.”

  They stared at each other. Nuno finally rose to his feet and shook his head. “I need time to think, Alaric. You can’t drop this on me and expect me to fall into step behind you without considering all the options.”

  “Surely you’ve known of Azriel’s escape as long as I have.”

  “Yes, but…”He shrugged. “I need time to think.”

  Alaric softened. His next question was brief, but he knew Nuno would get his meaning. “What will it take?”

  Nuno thought, but only for a moment. When he answered, his voice was sure and strong. “Figlio. If Figlio backs you, then I will, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Al-Kenna sat in a private corner of the Ikarius library basement archives, a small desk lamp her only illumination. The last thing she wanted was to be found out, so she had taken grea
t pains in secluding herself. Hours earlier, she had crept into the Warlord’s private chambers and taken the keys to this subterranean storehouse where Father Caleb kept the ancient text. Rolls of papyrus, secret manuscripts, and forgotten histories, all of it painstakingly written in neat, compact script, all of it recording events the earth had forgotten in languages man had never known, all of it things man never knew transpired. Text so ancient, so delicate, she knew if anyone found out she had come here and touched them, she’d be severely punished.

  Thinking of this, she offered a silent prayer to God that Father Caleb wouldn’t suddenly decide to come down here. He’d kill her for sure, or worse, he’d go to the Warlord and tell him of her breach. Surely, the Warlord would view this as a sign of insubordination and never allow her to go to the Alliance. And for him to know she had gone into his very rooms and stolen the keys that made her break-in possible…it didn’t bear thinking of. Instead, she focused her attention on the old books and scrolls scattered around her.

  She’d been reading everything she could get her hands on about the Alliance, the Nephilim, and Alaric. She knew now that while the Nephilim had been on the earth, they not only ruled over man as gods, but forced the beastmen and vampires into submission. Beastmen and vampires were very strong, and she couldn’t imagine any species of creature powerful enough to enslave them.

  “And this is what you want to fight, these Nephilim things?” Jesse stared at her over his book.

  “The Nephilim have to be stopped.”

  Jesse shoved a stray lock of brown hair behind his ear and grimaced. “I’ll never understand you, Al. Here we are, alone in the basement, and all you want to do is read and talk about monsters. I thought you asked me down here ‘cause you wanted to make out.”