The Nephilim_An Urban Fantasy Romance

by Elise Marion

  Alice went pliant against him, her breath racing as he continued plying the ring with the fingers of one hand while lowering the other to get a handful of her firm ass. He pulled her tight against him, pressing the hard ridge of his erection against her belly. Closing his eyes, he attempted to lose himself in the moment—in pleasure instead of pain.

  He kissed her neck, working his way toward her ear and giving the lobe a little nip. She raised her hands to his chest, applying just enough pressure that he knew she was trying to push him away.

  “Micah—”

  His mouth pressed against hers, stifling speech. He dominated the kiss with a fury that couldn’t be contained, sucking at her mouth, nibbling on the lower lip—all the things he knew could turn her into a puddle at his feet.

  She wasn’t Addison, and as drunk as he was, he remained aware of that. But she was soft, she was warm, and she was female. Best of all, he knew what to do to make her want him, to wrap him in those sinewy legs and make him forget.

  “Please,” he pleaded. “Just this once … I’ll make it good for you … you know I will.”

  Tearing her lips away from his, she shoved at his chest, a sound like a growl tearing from her throat. “No!”

  He stumbled back, barely avoiding crashing into the desk holding her computer. “Alice—”

  Advancing on him, she reached out with a swiftness that left him dizzy and slapped him. Hard. He winced at the pain radiating across his face, causing his eye to water. As small as Alice was, she was stronger than any woman he knew … except, of course, for the one woman he’d been trying to forget. She did it again, harder this time, and when he managed to regain his balance and meet her gaze, he found tears brimming in her eyes.

  Goddamn it. He was a bastard.

  “You hurt me,” she whispered, her voice low and rough. “And I’m such an idiot that I almost let you make me forget that.”

  Reaching up to rub his aching jaw, he sighed. “I don’t wanna hurt you again … I just … I need …”

  “What you need is to get your shit together!” she snapped. “It’s no wonder she chose him over you. Look at you!”

  Lowering his head, he let the truth of her words wash over him. “I tried, but it wasn’t good enough. I’m never good enough.”

  For a long while, Alice said nothing. She simply stood there, staring at him with her piercing blue eyes. The tears she’d been holding back had disappeared, and the hardened expression she wore like armor slipped away.

  With a sigh, she came forward and rested a hand on his arm.

  “Look, you can be a shitty person when you want to be, but you can also be a good one. If you want bad things to stop happening to you, then go out there and claim something good for yourself.”

  “Like what?” he scoffed. “What else is there?”

  “Whatever the hell you want!” she retorted. “Anything you can find. Stop drinking and whoring around, and do something with your life! Or else, you’re going to keep not being good enough.”

  Was it really that simple? Yes, he’d known for quite some time that drinking himself into a stupor every day and burying himself in every willing woman to cross his path wasn’t going to work forever. For a short time, Addison had made him want to leave those things behind. Now, without her, he’d felt he had no reason to abstain.

  He had told her he wasn’t angry that she’d chosen Jack over him, and he’d meant it. Had known all along she would. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt—that he wasn’t in agony at the thought of Jack lying in bed with her right now, which was where he wanted to be.

  “I love her,” he whispered.

  With a sigh, Alice ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “I know.”

  “How do I stop lovin’ her?”

  “Not by barging in here and trying to use me as a substitute,” she retorted, eyebrows raised.

  “Damn it,” he grumbled. “That was a dick move, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “But you’re a dick, so …”

  He glanced up and found her smirking at him, her shoulders quivering with contained laughter.

  Micah chuckled. “I deserved that.”

  “And you deserved your tires slashed,” she replied.

  The laughter died away, and suddenly, another sensation gnawed at his gut. Guilt. He had known when he cut Alice off without a word all those months ago that it had wounded her. Selfish bastard that he was, he had forced himself not to care. She’d seen him vulnerable in a way no one else had, and it had scared it … angered him. He couldn’t let her get too close, so he’d shoved her away. It was what he’d always done to women who got too close, because if he let himself care about them, they could hurt him. And not on purpose in the typical sense—but by leaving him, or dying, or choosing someone else.

  “Alice, I’m—”

  “Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up one hand to silence him. “Don’t apologize to me when you’re too drunk to remember it, or because you feel guilty. I want you to do it when you’re sober, and clearheaded.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “Now go sleep it off,” she said, firmly, giving him a push toward the door. “Tomorrow’s kind of a big day for Addison and her siblings, and we promised them we’d pitch in.”

  Nodding again, he stumbled toward the living room. Plopping down onto the couch, he barely managed to remove his boots before he fell back against the cushions, his head spinning dizzily.

  Today had been exhausting, and not just because of the fight with Abaddon. Being near Jack and Addison—seeing them happy together—it was harder than he’d expected it to be. He’d told her he would be all right, but at this point, he couldn’t see how. He felt as if someone had driven a knife through his chest and left it there, the throb echoing to every corner of his body.

  Not good enough…

  The words replayed themselves in his head on a loop. Of course, Addison would never tell him he wasn’t good enough for her. In fact, she’d all but told him the opposite. Yet, he still couldn’t make himself believe it. He was a drunk, a womanizer, and at times, a plain mean person. For so long, he’d rested on excuses—his father walking out on him, his mother dying, then his sister. For a while, it had been good enough, to be bitter and angry because of all the shit life had done to him. But he was tired, and he was lonely.

  He wanted just what Alice had described—something good for himself. Yet, he couldn’t have good things until he became a good enough person. It was just that simple. He hadn’t deserved Addison—hadn’t done a thing to earn her. The pain of that would serve as a reminder, he decided, of what a man stood to lose when he couldn’t rise to the occasion.

  As he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to shut down into rest, Micah resolved that not another good thing would slip through his fingers. If it killed him, he was going to figure out how to become worthy.

  Butch Thorton was almost exactly as Addison remembered. Her grandfather’s friend was a short, stocky man who wore overalls six days a week—only trading them in for khakis on Sundays for church. The worn work boots on his feet seemed to be the same ones she remembered from her childhood—tapping rhythmically against the floorboards of her grandparents’ front porch while he sat with her Paw-Paw playing checkers.

  Standing with her at the top of the long, tree-lined lane leading to Monroe House’s front steps, he removed a bandana from his back pocket and mopped at the sweat glistening on his brow.

  “It’s good to see you, Addie,” he said, a smile making creases at the corners of his eyes. “How long has it been?”

  Falling in step beside him as he began leading her down the dirt path, she wrinkled her brow. “Since Nana’s funeral, I think.”

  He sighed, slipping the bandana back into his pocket. “I should have come around more after that … called you and your ma more often.”

  Shaking her head, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. After I left home, I didn’t really look back. And Mama
… well, she wouldn’t have taken your calls.”

  Butch didn’t seem hurt by the admission. He understood as well as anyone with a connection to the Monroe family what Elizabeth’s problems had been.

  “It made us all guilty, keeping secrets from you,” he continued as they neared the front of the house. “But Reniel insisted, and we all knew what was at stake.”

  Sighing, she paused at the top of the lane, turning to face him. “I’m not mad at you, or Nana. You guys did what you had to do. I’m grateful that you took care of the house for us.”

  “I would have done it for the family, but once that Oracle came and told me what it would someday be used for, I made it my personal mission to get it ready,” he replied.

  She furrowed her brow. “Oracle?”

  He nodded. “Black lady from New York. Vivian something-or-other. Came to visit me right after your Paw-Paw died and told me you’d come to me someday and have a need for the house. It needed to be ready, she said. So, I spent the past few years upgrading the appliances, keeping the grounds in shape, making repairs where needed, replacing the storm shutters … that kind of stuff.”

  A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Vivian Bennett was Jack’s great-grandmother and a powerful Oracle. If her visions had predicted this, then Addison knew she was doing the right thing.

  “What do you say I gave you the grand tour?” he asked.

  Nodding, she followed him as he continued to the right, leading her across the estate’s grounds instead of inside the house.

  “Sounds great,” she replied.

  “I’ll show you the outside first, then we’ll go in the house,” he said. “Save the best stuff for last.”

  Addison followed Butch on a long walk around the property, down paths that led through the trees to the greenhouse and a wooden building that served as both a garage and workhouse. Farther out were several wooden cabins, which Butch paused in the midst of and gestured to.

  “These buildings were meant to be slave quarters,” he told her. “But the Monroes didn’t keep slaves.”

  Turning in a circle, she eyed the cabins with curiosity. “A plantation in the South that didn’t keep slaves? Seems like a stretch.”

  Butch laughed. “So you’d think. Come inside and I’ll show you what they were really meant for.”

  He led her into the closest cabin, opening the rough door and ushering her inside. The dirty windows let in very little light, so he left the door hanging open. A small hearth rested in a corner of the room, empty of wood or ash. Rough wooden cots lined the room—four in all, with a matching table and two chairs resting in the corner. The room wasn’t very big, but four people could easily share it if they kept their belongings from overtaking the space.

  “Look here,” Butch said, calling her attention to the hearth, which he had knelt in front of.

  She joined him in front of the little fireplace, kneeling and squinting to make out the markings he pointed to. Etched into the old wood, she found the symbol of the Guardians. It was crude, likely made with the edge of some sort of knife, but she’d know that mark anywhere.

  Butch smiled when she glanced up at him with a slack jaw and wide eyes. “This place served as a haven for our kind for hundreds of years … especially those who couldn’t make their way freely through society.”

  Reaching out, she traced the grooves in the wood, inclining her head as she paused on the edge of the cross. “You mean—”

  “Immigrants, runaway slaves, the poor,” he confirmed. “The Guardians has always been a diverse order … even when the world wasn’t quite fallin’ in line with the idea of classes and races mixing. If they needed shelter, they came here. Monroe House had workers, not slaves … paid laborers, the most of whom were Guardians who needed a place to live. They worked to earn their keep, and did what they could for the cause of Heaven.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she flattened her hand over the Guardian’s mark. “That’s amazing.”

  Butch rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a legacy … your legacy. Now you get to carry it forward.”

  Swiping at her wet cheek, she came to her feet. Taking one last look around the little cabin, she followed Butch back outside.

  A legacy. A week ago, she’d have thought of her family legacy as one of poverty, addiction, and broken promises. Hell, even her mother’s time as a Guardian had been short and painful, ended when she’d failed to uphold her vows.

  Now, there was an entire history she’d been made aware of—an inheritance to be proud of.

  Butch continued the tour, taking her through a garden that had long ago become overgrown, and a manmade pond shaded by massive trees. It was a picturesque place, beautiful and tranquil. The sort of place she had only been able to dream of before today.

  Then, he took her inside the house, and warm tranquility gave way to antique elegance. Her mouth went dry from hanging open in awe as he led her through parlors with wood-paneled walls, damask furniture on clawed feet, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Her head spun at the thought that all of this could belong to her—multiple dining rooms, a library, sun rooms, twenty-one bedrooms all decorated in different colors, twelve bathrooms.

  “Until last night, all the furniture was covered with sheets,” Butch told her. “But I wanted you to see everything, so I spent all morning uncovering it, airing out the rooms, changing out the linens. It’s ready for occupancy.”

  Pausing in a hallway outside of what Butch referred to as the ‘master suite’, Addison turned to gaze at him.

  “This is unbelievable,” she whispered.

  “It’s a beautiful property,” he replied. “But you haven’t seen the best part yet.”

  Pushing the door open, he led her inside. Flipping a light switch, he flooded the room with light. Stepping over the threshold, Addison sucked in a gasp.

  A raised platform held a massive, four-poster bed draped in heavy curtains. Large pieces of matching furniture took up part of the room, while the other side of the chamber sprawled in an elegant sitting area. The wallpaper was etched in red roses, and sheer, white curtains let in the light of the sun. One set of those curtains framed a pair of French doors, which led out onto a balcony facing the front of the house.

  “As the lady of the house, maybe you’ll take the room for yourself,” he ventured, giving her a little smile. “It suits you.”

  Running a hand along the edge of a mahogany table holding an empty vase, she shrugged. “It’s so big. I’ve never had so much space to myself. My mama’s trailer could fit inside this room.”

  Butch didn’t respond, seeming to realize she’d simply been thinking out loud.

  Striding toward the French doors, Addison threw them open and stepped outside. The long balcony stretched the entire length of the front of the house, two other bedroom doors leading out onto it. Old rocking chairs sat here and there, while pots that had been meant to hold plants interspersed them.

  The sound of motors and the rising dust in the distance drew her toward the wrought iron railing, framed by the massive white pillars stretching from the ground level to the top floor.

  “They’re here,” Butch declared, coming to stand beside her and staring out at the row of vehicles coming down the front path.

  “That’s barely half of them,” she murmured, counting the cars as they came, spotting Micah’s truck at the forefront. “A lot of them don’t have a way to get around. We’ll need to make a few trips to get them all.”

  Butch nodded. “I’ve got a van you can use if you want. Anything to help.”

  “Thank you, for letting us all come now, even though the deed hasn’t been signed yet. Abaddon destroyed their den, and they had no place else to go.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he argued. “Deed be damned … this is Monroe house. It’s always been yours, and I don’t need a deed to turn it over to you.”

  Turning to face her, he put a set of keys into her hand. Addison closed her fingers around them, something resounding deep wi
thin her at the touch of the cool metal. Ownership. Pride. Optimism.

  One of her worries had been eased, and a lifelong wish had come true. The Nephilim would now have a place to live … and she had a home of her own. A real home in a beautiful place that seemed to have fallen out of the sky and right into her lap. Tilting her face up to the sun, she let herself enjoy the moment, waiting for her houseguests to finish arriving.

  Butch remained at her side as the row of cars came to a stop on the lane, the long procession stretching back about a mile. She stayed on the balcony, content to watch as they all exited their various vehicles and began the walk up toward the front of the house.

  She spotted Jack and Micah exiting the truck with Drew in tow. Behind them came Derek and Alice, followed by Harley and most of the people from her den. The bed of Micah’s truck had been filled with various people’s belongings, likely his, Jack’s, Drew’s, Derek’s, and Alice’s. As part of her team, they’d taken her up on her offer of living at Monroe House until their mission had been complete. If the looks on their faces as they took in the house were any indication, they weren’t too annoyed with the change.

  Spotting her up in the balcony, Jack smiled at her and lifted his good hand to wave. His injured hand rested in a sling close to his body. He still insisted that he didn’t need to be healed, but the second Reniel came back, Addison intended to go to him about finding Jack a healer.

  Once everyone had gathered at the front of the house, she spoke, calling out so that her voice carried down to them.

  “Hey guys, welcome to Monroe House!”

  She was greeted with waves, cheers, and even a few whistles.

  “I’ve been told that this house used to be a refuge for the Guardians,” she continued. “A haven for them to come to escape attack and persecution. I don’t have a family anymore. All the Monroes have died off, and I’m the only one left. When I first found out that I’d inherited this house, I wasn’t sure I could accept it without a family to share it with. But now, it’s your place, too. Our place. A haven for the children of Eligos. I don’t care if we’re connected by what’s supposed to be the bad side of us. You’re my siblings. We are family, and families stick together. So, I guess there’s really only one thing left to say … Welcome home.”