The Nephilim_An Urban Fantasy Romance
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Book Three: The Nephilim
Elise Marion
The Nephilim
Elise Marion
Copyright 2017 by Elise Marion
Edited by Zee Monodee
Cover Art by Najla Qamber Designs (www.najlaqamberdesigns.com)
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Micah’s Ragin’ Cajun Slang Dictionary
Prologue: The Veteran
Chapter One: Broken Brotherhood
Chapter Two: Ménage à Trois
Chapter Three: Offspring
Chapter Four: Reflections
Chapter Five: Conflict
Chapter Six: Alternate Reality
Chapter Seven: The Den
Chapter Eight: The Arena
Chapter Nine: The Purge
Chapter Ten: Numb
Chapter Eleven: Girl Talk
Chapter Twelve: Ride
Chapter Thirteen: Chopsticks and Guardianships
Chapter Fourteen: Inheritance
Chapter Fifteen: Seek, Kill, Destroy
Chapter Sixteen: Homecoming
Chapter Seventeen: Love in the Darkness
Chapter Eighteen: Beginnings and Endings
Chapter Nineteen: Reset Button
Epilogue: The Best Thing I Never Had
Alternate Chapter
Operation Underworld
About the Author
Micah’s Ragin’ Cajun Slang Dictionary
Podna – friend, or partner
Neg – term of endearment for another person (male).
Cher/cherie – “darling”, “sweetie”, or “honey”
Mamere – grandmother
Papere - grandfather
Boudin- sausage made with cooked rice, pork, onions, green peppers, and seasonings
Merde - Shit
Files putain - son of bitch
Mal pris – tough situation
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Prologue: The Veteran
Jackson Bennett, Sr. awakened with a start, his eyes flying open without provocation. In fact, as he found himself greeted by the pitch-black darkness of the middle of the night, he could see no reason for the disturbance in his sleep. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark, rising to sit up, hands braced against the mattress.
He glanced down and to his right, where his wife slept soundly beside him. One hand beneath her cheek, lips parted, her breathing even and deep. The covers had fallen down to her waist, baring long stretches of soft, porcelain skin.
He pulled the sheet up over her shoulder before leaving the bed, knowing he couldn’t possibly find rest now that he’d come awake so suddenly, and for no apparent reason. He reached for the pajama bottoms he’d discarded on the floor close by and pulled them on.
The light sheen of sweat that had broken out over his forehead and chest had him forgoing the shirt that had rested beside them. The temperature had been comfortable when he and Sarah had turned in for the night, and now it felt downright oppressive, leaving his skin moist and his mouth dry.
Padding out into the hall, he flicked on the light. Glancing through the open door of his daughter’s room, he found her sleeping as soundly as his wife. Nearing her thirteenth birthday, she should have outgrown the stuffed panda he’d won for her at a carnival years ago. Yet, it lay in the crook of her arm, peeking up at him with dark, unseeing eyes. The sight warmed his heart with the knowledge that she was still daddy’s little girl.
Farther down the hall, his son Jack’s door lay closed, the space beyond it unoccupied. Jack had been out of the house for years now, but Sarah insisted on keeping it just as he’d left it.
Bounding downstairs, he went into the kitchen and rifled through a few drawers before finding a flashlight. Tucking it in his back pocket, he made his way back up, then continued to the second flight of steps leading to the roof.
Once there, he located the breaker box, retrieved the flashlight, and flipped it on. He studied the breakers, noting each one was set to its proper position. He pried the one for the air conditioning unit free, ensuring the fuse wasn’t blown. Once finished, he replaced the fuse, closed the box, and re-entered the house to inspect the thermostat.
Frowning at the temperature dial, Jackson realized the air conditioner was set to a cool seventy-four degrees. He reached out and played with the controls, listening for the telltale ‘click’ when he switched the system off, then on again. Glancing at the vent over his head, he reached up one long arm to feel for a flow of air. Sure enough, a steady stream of cool air kissed his fingertips, yet seemed stifled by the thick heat clogging the atmosphere. A solid force of something that kept the air from circulating as it should.
Everything appeared to be in working order, which could only mean one thing.
The cause of the heat wasn’t natural.
Rushing down to the first floor, he had to be certain that his suspicion proved true. If so, the source of this heat needed to be dealt with, and fast.
He paused on the line where the kitchen tiles met the living room rug and frowned, his sharp gaze darting to the living room window. The green drapes and white sheer panel between them billowed inward, teased by a soft summer breeze. The window hung open. A window he had ensured was closed, as he did every night before turning in.
As a war veteran, some habits of his could not be broken, despite him having been a civilian for almost two decades. One of those continued to be safety checks to ensure all was in order before his head hit the pillow. He found sleep impossible unless he’d checked every door and window.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as goose bumps prickled along his skin, and the unmistakable shiver of a premonition ran down his spine. Someone was in the house, and the son of a bitch had come in stealthily. No actual breaking of the window to enter, which meant this person had to be a pro.
Rushing toward the hall closet, he opened the door as swiftly and silently as he could, finding one of the two gun safes in the townhouse. The other sat in the bedside nightstand, containing Sarah’s pistol. This one was his. It slid open with a quiet click once registering his fingerprint, and he removed both his weapons—one for physical enemies, the other for spiritual.
He shoved his Glock into the waistband of his pants at the back and palmed his golden Desert Eagle. Made from gold blessed by an angel, it would come in handy if any supernatural beings lurked in the house. Finding his flashlight again, he flicked it on, clenching it in his left fist. Crossing that hand over his right, he tilted it palm down, so that the flashlight shone in the same direction as the barrel.
Pulling on his supernatural ability to control time, he slowed everything around him so he could take his time clearing the house. To the naked eye, he would appear no more than a blur, sweeping through the place like a gust of wind. In his own space, where time moved to suit his needs, he crept forward on silent, bare feet, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to spring. He swiveled left, pointing both the pistol and the flashlight into the small half-bathroom, finding it empty. He then swiveled right, ensuring the kitchen remained clear.
Turning toward the staircase, he shined the light up, ascending one foot at a time, forcing his breathing to slow and quiet down.
When his foot hit the second-story landing, he heard it.
The sound of footsteps moving way too fast. A rush of air like a whisper, the hint of a foreign presence. Something was in the house, and like him, it wasn’t bound by the laws of time.
Jackson’s jaw clenched as the sound guided him to his daughter’s room.
Apparently, the creature wanted to die tonight.
Shining his light through Cassandra’s open door, he allowed himself to slow and for time to resume around him as usual.
Peering up at him from where she lay against her pillow, Cassandra sobbed.
“Daddy…”
“It’s okay, Cassie,” he murmured, though he didn’t spare her a glance.
He had eyes only for the man seated beside her on the bed, holding a gun to her temple.
While the sight caused fear to constrict his throat, he wouldn’t let it show. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the asshole wielding the weapon. Remaining calm in this situation would save his daughter’s life—as opposed to rushing in guns blazing, which would surely cause her death.
The kid couldn’t be older than eighteen, with a shock of red hair and a face full of piercings. His dark eyes weren’t normal—the black irises completely overwhelming the whites.
Not a kid … a demon. His skin heated, jaw clenching as he narrowed his eyes at the creature that had invaded his home. A demon hadn’t been that bold in years—most of the ones that ran in New York knew better than to fuck with him.
“Where’s the boy?” the demon rasped, grabbing a handful of Cassandra’s hair and giving it a rough yank.
To her credit, she didn’t so much as whimper.
Jackson scowled. “No boys in this house, only one man … me. You got a problem here, you talk to me. She’s just a little girl … let her go.”
Sneering down at Cassandra, the redhead shook his head. “She’s a Guardian just like you and her mother. She’s not some ordinary kid.”
He shook his head, forcing down the lump in his throat. “She hasn’t manifested abilities yet. She’s harmless.”
“Where the fuck is the boy? Give me the boy, and I won’t put a bullet in her head!”
Jackson held his hands up, pointing the barrel of the gun upward, realizing what ‘boy’ he referred to. “Okay, look. I’m putting my hands up. See? The boy you’re referring to lives across the street. If you go over there, you’re going to get the shit kicked out of you. His father is a beast of a man who used to be a fallen Angel. You really want to go barking up that tree?”
The demon faltered, seeming unsure. Unusual for one of their kind. Swagger and bravado, he was used to. This guy just seemed like a scared kid doing something stupid. Good. If he were already off-balance, Jackson could steer him away from Cassandra more easily.
“I can help you,” he continued when the demon didn’t reply. “If I take you over there, we can handle this calmly and rationally. You can tell us what you want with the boy, and we can figure things out. No one has to get hurt.”
“I don’t care if anyone gets hurt,” the demon growled.
Jackson’s voice dropped to a low growl. “You shoot my daughter, and I won’t care, either. All bets are off, and you’re going to have to empty that clip to stop me. By the way you’re holding that gun, I doubt you’ve ever fired one. I’ll tear you apart before you squeeze off a second shot. Now … what’s it going to be?”
To his surprise, the demon relented, rising to his feet, though he kept his weapon trained on Cassandra.
“The Naphil boy.”
Jack shrugged. “If you want me to take you to him, you’re going to have to stop pointing that thing at my daughter. And do it quickly, because I’m fast running out of patience with you.”
“Put yours down first,” the demon commanded, nodding with his chin toward the weapon Jackson still held.
Moving slowly, he laid the weapon down, secure in the knowledge that he had other means of getting rid of the demon. The force of the light humming through his veins was always just one thought away. He could draw on it faster than he could any physical weapon. Once the golden gun lay on the floor, he kicked it away until it skittered under the bed.
Relief caused his shoulders to sag and his jaw to relax when the demon lowered his gun, too, training it on the floor.
“Cass, you good?”
She sniffled, but he detected her nod from the corner of his eye. “Yeah … I’m okay.”
“Good,” he replied, calming his tone for her benefit. “We’re almost done here.”
The demon rounded the bed toward him, and Jackson backed away, luring him into the hall. Once they were clear of his daughter’s room, all bets were off. He was going to beat the shit out of this monster, then obliterate him back to Hell where he’d come from.
A growl sounded behind him, and before he knew what was happening, something grabbed him. The creature pinning his arms to his sides possessed superhuman strength … another demon.
Rearing backward, he slammed his attacker against the wall, knocking photo frames off their nails and undoubtedly leaving a hole. The weight on his shoulders eased, and he drove one elbow back, forcing even more distance between them. Before the thing could react, Jackson turned and tackled it, his teeth clacking together and his bones rattling as they went tumbling down the stairs together.
“Daddy!”
He could hear Cassandra’s cries and running footsteps, and he prayed that if Sarah came, she brought her Guardian weapon. Against a demon, the Glock at his back would be useless.
He gained the upper hand, rolling on top of the figure shrouded in black, wrestling just long enough to gather the strength to call on his inner light.
The sound of a trigger squeeze and resulting burst of light from Sarah’s golden weapon flashed upstairs, telling him the other intruder had been dealt with.
Gritting his teeth, he groaned as he took a powerful right hook to the jaw—surprised it didn’t break completely. The demon beneath him squealed like a stuck pig when the tattoo on Jackson’s chest began to glow, the light emanating from him in a bright flash. It grew and swelled, bursting outward from him like a firework, and in a second brilliant flash, the demon was gone.
He staggered to his feet, body aching from his fall down the steps, jaw throbbing. Certain he had bruised a few ribs, he winced, clutching his left side. Every breath felt as if he inhaled molten fire.
Meanwhile, the upper level of the house had gone eerily silent.
“Sarah? What’s going on up there?”
“I’ve got things under control,” she replied, her voice floating down the stairs. “But when you get a moment, you need to see this.”
“Coming as fast as I can manage,” he murmured, gripping the banister and struggling up the stairs. “That thing almost broke my jaw, and I might have a bruised rib or two.”
He reached the top of the stairs once again, a sharp gasp causing him to groan in pain at the sight of what awaited him.
Sarah and Cassandra stood over the prone form of the redhead sprawled at their feet, unconscious, his chest still slowly rising and falling. His wife had hastily donned his T-shirt, which barely covered her thighs. She clutched her golden Desert Eagle, a match for his, white smoke still curling from the trigger. Cassandra held a cheerleading trophy between both hands, which shook in violent, jerky motions. In fact, her entire body trembled like a leaf in the wind.
Scowling, he glanced down at the redhead, whose head had been laid open—by the trophy, no doubt. Blood trickled from the wound and back into his hair.
Red blood, not black.
“Wait … he’s not a demon?”
Sarah shook her head. “I fired two beams at him, back to back. Both hit him, but he wasn’t dispatched. He was coming at me when Cassandra came out of her room with that trophy.”
Chest swelling with pride, he reached for his daughter, drawing her against his uninjured side.
“That’s my baby girl,” he murmured before kissing the top of her head. “Way to think on your feet.”
/> Cassandra didn’t reply, but she clung to him, her breath coming in short gasps. He felt bad that she’d finally experienced her first scare at the tender age of twelve. Her brother, Jack, had been fourteen. But such was the life of a Guardian. She would recover, and as soon as she manifested her own Guardian ability, would become better at protecting herself.
Unfortunately, a normal childhood could no longer be possible. Things were heating up in the spiritual realm, the war between Heaven and Hell reaching a boiling point.
“I knew something was off,” he mused, staring down at what he realized now was just a punk kid. “Look at him … he can’t be older than eighteen. Whoever he came here with was either a demon or demon-possessed. The light took him out without a problem.”
“What did he want?” Sarah asked, her expression of confusion mirroring his.
“Elian,” he replied. “He got the address wrong, apparently. But, I don’t get it. The kid’s eyes turned black like a demon’s and he asked for ‘the boy.’ But the light didn’t take him out?”
Sarah gasped, eyes widening. “That’s because he’s not a demon … he’s not possessed. He’s a Naphil.”
Jackson nodded. “Now, that makes sense. It explains the black eyes and the reason he didn’t succumb to the light. He hasn’t chosen a side. But he must be working for them if he …”
He trailed off as realization dawned, causing his heart to gallop in his chest. Sarah came toward him, reaching out to cup his face. Her gentle touch soothed the pain in his jaw.
“What, Jackson? What is it?”
He met her gaze, and discerned her fear at his solemn expression. They’d been married for eighteen years, and in that time, it seemed their two minds had become one. She realized the pattern of his thoughts before he even spoke.
“The war between Eligos and Lucifer,” she whispered. “It’s beginning.”
Jackson nodded. “I’m afraid so. It would seem Eligos is already recruiting for his side. Apparently, Elian was on their list of potential soldiers.”
She glanced down at the boy lying unconscious at their feet. “What do we do?’