She opened her mouth to say “Then don’t,” but his look silenced her.
“For millennia beyond reckoning, a war has been waged between heaven and hell. A quiet, deadly war for the affections and faith of mankind.”
Yeah, the crusades weren’t that quiet. Nor were the witch trials. And she’d yet to meet the television evangelist who could keep his mouth shut while calling on the righteous to stand up. Her skepticism must have shown because Fox chuckled, and the distinctly masculine sound sent a pulse of need to warm her all over.
“Yes, I suppose it doesn’t look that quiet from the outside, but heaven’s gates remained closed, as do hell’s. Those demons that walk among us have been here for centuries or were spawned here. As were the nephilim. You see, these abandoned souls know that, in a true war, humanity will be exterminated, and they will find themselves cast out. Heaven doesn’t want them, and hell can’t stand them. So, like man, they will fall.
“As it happens, two of the most unlikely forged a unique friendship. The child of an angel and the child of a demon. They are like brothers despite their differences. Between them, they concocted a plan and made a pact. Together, they and others like them would work to maintain a balance and avert the plans of heaven or hell should one or the other seem to gain an advantage.”
A tight smile formed on Fox’s mouth. “As long as the two sides remain at an impasse, the apocalypse cannot happen because the war machines will not be freed. Over time, however, these two were joined by others and by another host of unlikely allies, humans. But there was an inherent danger when humans aided them. Because humans are especially vulnerable to the influence of demons and angels alike. Determined to see their pact through, the two friends sought the counsel of a third even more unusual source—the witches. You see, witches are both human and not human because they are gifted with the sight to see beyond and to affect the forces of nature itself. You don’t need the whole history of their creation, but the witch they went to understood their concern and advised of one way in which they could be certain the humans who sided with them were always loyal and could not be swayed to bind them by blood and turn them.”
As stories went, this was a good one, but she was frozen in place, listening to the danger threading sinuously between the words.
“To be blood-bonded to a nephilim or a demon is to be turned and to become something more than human. With the witch’s magic aiding the transformation, we become shifters. As shifters, we’re the Watchers. We hold the line, and we maintain the balance. So that we can keep true to our oath, no human is ever allowed to know of us. If one discovers our identity, our purpose, he or she is given a choice between being turned or death.”
Jubilee blinked. Her life was in his hands. That’s what he’d said. Because she’d seen him kill those two men. The one man’s face had been ripped and torn. He’d snapped the second man’s neck with one hand. Impossible, her mind protested, but she’d seen it. Impossible as it might seem, she knew it had happened. Fox continued speaking, but his words bled together in a great hum of noise in her ears. She knew he believed; she saw it in his eyes and his manner.
But what was he saying?
“So, the choice, my dearest Jubilee, must be yours. No one can be forced. The magic of the bond will not allow it.” He waited, and she kept staring at him. She opened her mouth three times to speak and then shut it abruptly.
It was insane. All of it, utterly insane. He held up the key with two fingers and pressed it to her lips. The charming gesture did little to alleviate her concern for his mental health.
“Jubilee?”
“I say it’s a good thing you’re pretty. Because you’re bat-crap crazy,” she said. It was the best she could manage. “I’m not going to tell anyone about those men. You saved my life, and that’s enough for me. I didn’t need the fairy tale.” With trembling hands, she put the teacup aside. “I want to go home now.”
His expression tightened, and darkness shuttered his eyes. She didn’t have to know him well to read the anger in the compressed line of his lips.
“Did you not hear a word I said?”
“I heard you, and you’re nuts.” She shoved the blanket back and swung her legs out of the bed. It was long past time to go, and, even if the peculiar faith her gut had in him hadn’t wavered one iota through his mad story, she had to question whether her instincts were firing on all cylinders.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No. I don’t. There are no such things as shifters, much less angels and demons and a war and—”
The world exploded in a shower of sparkles, and all the oxygen seemed to whoosh out of the room and then back again. Where Fox had been sitting, now a red fox stood. The animal was huge and beautiful.
“Oh. My. God.”
“God is not the entity you should invoke,” a new voice declared, and it was so cold and unfeeling the frost of it chilled her to the marrow of her bones. The fox whirled, and a growl rumbled from his throat as he took a position between her and the ice-blond figure glaring at them. “I warned you, Fox.”
Oh. This must be what shit hitting the fan looks like.
Chapter Four
Cursing Enoch and himself in the same breath, Fox faced off against the nephilim. In no way was he prepared for this battle with his oldest friend.
I warned you. Enoch repeated, the power of his voice crashing into Fox’s mind.
It hasn’t been two days. You granted me the time to deal with this. Though he longed to check on Jubilee, Fox didn’t dare take his gaze off Enoch. The nephilim was one of, if not the most powerful of the Watchers.
The same way you and Kincaid brought Sage into the circle, and, through the three of you, the Watchers were born.
Maybe it had been too long since Enoch had tasted the sweet hint of change.
Ignoring him, Enoch switched his attention to Jubilee. His muscles bunching together, Fox prepared to leap. He could at least buy her the time to escape. The little vixen had been spry enough to make it downstairs before. She had good survival instincts. Enoch swept forward, and Fox struck. The nephilim flung him away, and Fox slammed into the closet doors. The wood buckled and splintered. Undeterred, he rebounded and charged the nephilim again.
Instead of casting him away, Enoch seized him by his throat. Fox shifted back to his human form. Wrapping his powerful arms around Enoch’s, he twisted and managed to flip the nephilim. It was Enoch’s turn to go flying.
Landing on his feet, the nephilim spun, and a sword appeared in his hands. Everything about his demeanor altered. The shift was subtle, but there was no mistaking the power emanating from the being. A flash of silver filled the air behind Enoch as the wings he often hid appeared, and his eyes blazed blue.
“Enough, Fox. You will stand down.” The order reverberated through the blood bond and echoed against Fox's soul. He fought the need to go to his knees and bow his head. The blood bond meant that battle between him and Enoch should be anathema. The thought crystallized through him. He shouldn’t have been able to hit Enoch in the first place.
“No.” Fox wasn’t sure who was more shocked by his denial, himself or the nephilim. “You cannot hurt her.” Not would not, will not, or any variation on that, but cannot. Fox refused to give this ground; he’d served Enoch for two centuries, battled by his side, and bled for him. He’d sacrificed everything for the man who’d plucked him from the refuse of his miserable life as a small boy, raised him as his own, and then, on his twenty-fifth human birthday, given him the choice to join them in their war.
Fox had never looked away from that honor, that privilege. Until now. Until her. The full force of Enoch’s will crashed into Fox’s, and the muscles along Fox’s back began to pull and scream in protest as he fought to keep his legs steady. He would not bow.
“Hey, Jackass.” Jubilee’s voice cut through the din like a clarion trumpet, and a crash sounded as a teacup shattered against Enoch’s chest. The dark liquid soaked into his silk shirt and
began to spread like a rust stain. “Back off.”
“Sit down and be silent.” Command thrummed through Enoch’s order, but another item flew across the room—the teapot this time—and the nephilim had to deflect the fine china with his sword.
An expression akin to shock transformed Enoch’s hard face as more items followed the first, and Fox experienced the strangest sensation of amusement. Apparently he wasn’t the only one Jubilee refused to listen to. The crash of his lamp, severed in two, slamming into the wall jolted him from his reverie, however. Shifting to get between Jubilee and the nephilim, he held up his hand.
“Jubilee, he’s not going to kill me.”
“He has a great big freaking sword and wings,” Jubilee retorted, and then her hand came to rest against Fox’s back. The light caress of her palm against his skin eased the fist of anxiety around his heart. But it was the silver platter she held in her free hand that impressed him. She was ready to defend him.
“Be silent,” Enoch repeated. The crushing weight of his presence surrounded them, but, no matter how great the force, the vise on Fox did not quite close.
“I said no, dickweed. Are you deaf?” Outrage sparked in Jubilee’s voice, and the smile Fox had fought broke free. His Jubilee was a fighter, but how could she resist Enoch? Her struggle against Fox’s compulsion he could almost understand. Fox borrowed those gifts through the blood bond. But Enoch was a nephilim. A human’s will was nothing to him.
Enoch took a step toward them, and Fox caught the platter before Jubilee could fling it.
“What is she, Fox?” The righteous fury in Enoch’s expression dimmed. “I cannot read her, and that is impossible.”
Trusting his friend’s curiosity to keep his sword arm in check, Fox glanced sideways at the feisty woman who captivated him.
“I don’t know. She smells human.” Her dainty size, however, disguised an implacable will. “She fought against the compulsion to sleep.” And it hadn’t kept her asleep for all that long. Frankly, she should still be sleeping. The injuries which seemed so grave earlier had already improved despite the very little he had done for her.
Oh fuck. The mark.
“What mark?” Enoch echoed the thought, and Fox tried to block the image of it, but it was too late. The nephilim withdrew a step and stared at Jubilee. “That’s impossible.”
“This whole nightmare is impossible.” She dug her fingers into Fox’s back. The scrape of her nails made him grateful that, despite her doubts, she trusted him. She might not even realize it, but she’d tried to defend him and stayed at his back so he could defend her and she’d reached for him.
That faith, however, didn’t prepare him for Enoch’s next words. “Fox, step aside. I give you my word I will not kill her. Not yet.”
Relying on that trust, Fox shifted sideways and lowered the silver platter with a push of his hand. Jubilee gave him a stunned look. “He’s got a sword, and you believe him?”
“I trust him,” he told her. “Trust me.” The betrayal in her eyes cut him, but he ran his knuckles down her uninjured cheek. “Jubilee, Enoch does not give his word lightly. He will not kill you. But you have a mark on your foot.”
“It’s a scar. I stepped on something as a baby.” So she knew what it was. Impatience creased her face, and she retreated from him with clenched fists. “This is insane.”
“Perhaps,” Enoch said. Though he still held his sword, the tip pointed toward the floor. Flexing his wings once, he pulled them in tight, and they retreated from view. The aggression in his posture subsided. It was a gift of the nephilim. They didn’t have to appear as the fierce warriors they were. Extending his free hand, Enoch curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture. “Come here, Jubilee.”
Mutiny solidified in her manner, and she folded her arms. “No.”
Wanting to avert trouble, Fox touched her arm lightly, and she flinched away another step.
“Trust me,” he urged her again, suppressing his aggravation at her withdrawal from him.
“I do trust you,” she said. “But something about him…” She gestured with her chin toward Enoch. “Everything in me says get away from him.”
“Really? How does it say that?” Enoch peered at her. “A voice inside you? Or a gut feeling?”
Jubilee shifted her attention, and Fox fought the curl of anger at the loss of her focus. She needed to answer Enoch, and that meant looking at him. “Instincts. I trust those. They’re always right about people and places. I trust Fox. I know he won’t hurt me, and it makes no logical sense. Not when you consider the crazy story he just told me or that fact that he killed those men and can turn into an animal.” A dazed look came into her eyes, and she shook her head.
“So your instincts tell you that I am not to be trusted?” Enoch’s neutral expression betrayed nothing and made a mockery of his soothing tone.
She didn’t seem to believe the nephilim either. “Does it matter?”
Instead of dismissing her question, Enoch seemed to give it consideration. “I believe it matters a great deal. May I see the mark on your foot?”
The politeness of the inquiry surprised Fox, and he threw the nephilim a questioning look.
“This is ridiculous.” But the protest in her tone faltered. She was considering the request.
“It costs you nothing.” Enoch had heard the hesitation as well.
Defiance blazed in her once more. “Says the angel holding the sword.”
Brokering a peace between them seemed impossible, but then Enoch did something utterly unexpected. He put away his sword—the angelic blade vanished—and he spread his empty hands and raised his eyebrows in open challenge. “Show me your foot.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jubilee lifted her right foot, and Enoch lowered himself to eye level and studied the mark. The nephilim grasped her ankle, and Jubilee’s whole body stiffened. Her back arched, and her eyes widened. The scream tearing from her throat damn near deafened Fox. He hit his knees as the sound rolled over him. A dazzling array of light exploded through the room, and a force slammed into his chest. When it cleared, Fox found himself on the far side of the room amidst the debris of what had once been a table.
Enoch had slammed through the bedroom door and was climbing carefully to his feet. On the bed, Jubilee lay unconscious. White and silver wings spread out along the bed. Her skin shimmered like so many diamonds, and some distant part of Fox’s mind noted her injuries had vanished.
Breathless, he went to his knees and stared at her. “What the fuck?”
“That,” his friend said in an uneven tone, “is a damn good question.”
“She’s a nephilim.” How had he not known that?
“No.” Enoch shook his head and paced to his side. “She’s a true angel—and she shouldn’t be here.”
Oh. Fuck.
****
Awareness came back to Jubilee slowly. Everything hurt, and, worse still, her back burned. Pressing her palms flat, she tried to rise, and then a cool hand was on the back of her neck. “Shh, easy.”
Fox. Relief poured through her muscles, and she dropped her face back to the cool coverlet. “What happened?”
“A lot, but, right now, I want you to rest.” He stroked his hand over her hair. The light scrape of his nails against her scalp soothed. A pinch in the center of her upper back had her groaning, however, and she tried to shift. It was as though a great weight pressed in on her.
“Fox, the other guy. You said trust you, and I showed him my foot.” And after that, everything went blurry. Pain blossomed in her mind like one of those great nuclear mushroom clouds she’d seen in the movies. It ripped up through her, and, if her mind had been encased in glass, it would have shattered outward.
Fox’s heartbeat sounded loud, and his breaths came in hard pants though he struggled to keep them regular. Tension wound through all that fabulous strength and his scent. Jubilee drew in a lungful of its chaos. Forest and street, hoof and wheel. He was the harshness of the city and the
freshness of the green. A sour note perfumed the raw, masculine beauty of him—the scent of worry.
They can’t kill her now, but they could imprison her.
“Why would they imprison me?” Tired of lying on her stomach, she braced her palms and pushed up. Thankfully her shoulder didn’t even twinge, but the weight on her back eased with a flex, and she heard the snap and jerked her head around to look.
“Stop, Jubilee. Look at me.” The discoloration of worry vanished, and Fox’s tone hardened. He would brook no argument from her, and she obeyed him, not because she had to but because she couldn’t believe her eyes. “That’s a good girl, look at me. We will figure this out.”
“I have wings.” It sounded ludicrous to even whisper the words.
His fierce expression gentled. “I know.”
She wanted to cry. “Please tell me you put LSD in my tea.”
Amusement kindled beneath the sorrow in his gaze. “I wish that I could. Can you stand?”
Uncertain of the answer, she tested her wings, and they flared out wide, and Fox managed to move before one collided with him. Another flex and she managed to find enough balance to rise to her knees. The weight of them seemed to drag her backward, so she leaned forward to try to counter them. It was like racing headlong down a hill while standing perfectly still,yet not as easy. When Fox extended his hands, she slid her palms across his and grasped them eagerly.
With familiar strength, he tugged her upward. She struggled to control her wings, and then she was standing. Her wings stretched to their fullest extent, and she could feel through them. The feathers at the farthest edge of her right wing brushed the wall, and it was cold and repellent. She snapped her wings closed, and they folded against her back.
“I thought you said he couldn’t change me without my permission.” And that any transformation involved blood. She didn’t remember any blood, but, since the idea kind of grossed her out, she was just as happy to skip the memory.
“He didn’t change you,” Fox told her as he led her forward and then turned her to face a mirror. Fox appeared familiar, though he’d traded denim for a pair of loose black pants unbuttoned at the waist. His muscles stood out in stark relief, a study in contrasts between hot skin and sculpted form.
Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology) Page 36