Shaking her head, she pressed her eyes shut and told a half-truth. “I don’t know. But we have to plan as if we won’t.” She opened her eyes and dropped into a chair across from him. “Leave the notebook we prepared, for Kai. Put it somewhere at Forrester where he’ll eventually find it. Depending on how things go, it will either mean nothing to him or it will be essential for tipping him off . . . if something happens to you and he becomes your replacement.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “That’s a real possibility, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “It’s possible, I just don’t how probable.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“We’ll distill the research we have so far down to step-by-step replication instructions, continuing as we finish up. My hunch is, if this falls into Kai’s hands, he may need to create the vaccine fast. Let’s give him as much as we can for him to succeed.”
“Damn it, Sandra.” Tom slapped the table and scowled.
“I’m sorry, Tom. Truly.” A bout of weariness washed over her. She dropped her head in her hands, wanting it all to be different. Panic bubbled up inside her over Isa. As soon as she was alone, she’d check for his energy . . . to see if it had gone dark . . . if he was dead.
Tom laid his hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him get up from the table. “Let’s finish this,” he said, his jaw set with determination.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Before I forget. The minute we’re done, the lab disappears. It gets broken down if you have time, if not . . . There’s a detonator behind The Genetic Codex of Modern Mammals in the library. It’s set for five minutes. Blow the place up.”
His hand dropped away from her shoulder. “You’re talking like I’m going to be the one who makes that decision.”
She looked away, realizing her slip, and sighed. Turning back, she met his gaze. “That’s a higher probability.”
“I see,” he said quietly.
“Promise me you won’t fail,” she said, fighting back the lump in her throat. She gritted her teeth. “They can’t get this from us. They can’t win. Understand?”
His breath hitched at the threshold of her hearing, and he nodded. “I promise.”
“Let me take care of Cal. I’ll be back.” She hoisted herself out of her chair. Bone weary and heartsick, she headed to the library.
Calvin was seated quietly in one of the chairs with his hands folded. It only took a couple of minutes to erase what shouldn’t be remembered and to implant both the short- and long-term tasks she needed him to do.
When she was done, she snapped her fingers to wake him.
He yawned. “You don’t mind if I head home, do you? I’m fried.”
She smiled. “No problem. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Wait . . .” Reaching behind her, she retrieved a sealed envelope from her purse. “Here. You’ll need what’s inside for the post office.” Sandra hadn’t been completely honest with Tom about her plan for Calvin from the beginning. Calvin was their fail-safe—their one remaining link. What lay locked in his head could only be released by one man . . . Dr. Kai Solomon.
“Cool.”
It wasn’t until he was gone that she noticed the envelope in his seat. Her name was written in the same childlike cursive that had been on the DNA package delivered to Tom.
Her pulse quickened. Their secret ally.
She ripped it open and slipped out the note. Her heart lurched as she read the two simple words. A sob ripped free as she clutched the paper to her chest and sank to the floor. “Thank you . . .” she breathed.
She read it again, letting the words sink in.
He lives.
It didn’t matter what happened to her as long as Isa survived.
Her relief ebbed as she looked at the note a third time and wondered when it had been delivered and, more importantly, how the messenger had gotten in and out undetected. Drying her tears, she pushed herself up and headed to the door leading into the small security closet.
She rewound the tape to the approximate time Isa called. Their only visitor was the delivery man from Rosa’s, and he’d been in Tom’s sight the entire time. Pressing the button on the remote, she fast-forwarded the tape to watch the delivery man enter the building.
Her breath caught. As the door was closing, it appeared to jerk slightly forward followed by empty air before shutting. She rewound and watched in slow motion. The jerk was more pronounced this time. She fumbled with the controls and switched to the view of the library at the same approximate time.
He appeared from behind for only a second. A Nephil. Isa’s size with blond hair gathered at his nape, dressed in black but not Guardian issue. Then he was gone, the envelope in plain view on the chair.
How odd. She’d expected their ally to be human. Had her mother sent someone else to watch over them?
Chapter 20
SANDRA
San Francisco, California.
SANDRA GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL HARD, letting it bite into her palms. Anything to keep her eyes open. She wrestled to focus on the stretch of misty road illuminated by her headlights while shadowy figures of parked cars and low industrial buildings sped by in her peripheral vision.
Ten more minutes and her head could rest safely on a pillow, sadly without Isa next to her. Almost three days without him . . . at least he was alive. The police had called this morning. The owners of a bar twenty miles south of San Francisco had reported Isa’s SUV sitting in their parking lot unmoved for a third day in a row. That explained his cryptic text. He hadn’t wanted her to know that he’d broken down and taken a drink. She berated herself for not noticing the toll this had been taking on him, and not being there when he needed her most.
Between his loss and the accelerated schedule she and Tom had implemented, she’d barely slept since his disappearance. The final vaccine was within their grasp. She was sure it was only a matter of days until they finalized the protocol. After that, her obligation to ensure Cara’s life and the future of the Angelorum would be satisfied, and then she would hunt down their Nephil ally and find Isa.
Out of nowhere, a shadow the size of a large dog darted in front of the car. On reflex, Sandra jerked the wheel to the right. The car bucked violently, yanking her hard against the seat belt. Then the car lurched twice, sputtered, and coasted to a stop at the side of the road.
Damn it. Sandra gritted her teeth and smacked the wheel. Her mechanic had begged to buy her “classic” car on several occasions. She should’ve taken him up on his offer.
She rummaged in her purse and found her cell phone. It sprang to life under her touch and displayed the time: 1:30 a.m. Locating a bar within walking distance that stayed open until two, she dialed the nearest cab company for a 1:45 a.m. pickup. The tow truck could wait until morning.
Relieved that she’d kept on the rubber-soled flats she wore in the lab, she stepped out into the cool, damp night and retrieved a rain poncho from the backseat. She slipped it on and tucked her braid under the hood. The coat fell short on her frame but provided enough coverage to keep out the light drizzle that smelled of ozone and pollution.
On her way to the bar, she thought about the one last tweak they needed to make to suppress wing development.
No more than a block away, she suddenly felt a ripple of energy that sparked her senses and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She scanned the deserted street. The energy she sensed grew black and oppressive. Then she knew.
The shadow? Not an animal at all, something much worse.
Panic rose up inside her. This was nothing like the vision she’d seen of her demise . . . something must have changed within the Trinity Stones.
A streetlight winked out, followed by another, then two more. Then all at once, the remaining lights on the surrounding buildings and down the street in front of her flickered and exploded. Shattered glass tinkled as it rained down and hit the pavement.
The silence grew around her, plunging her into total darkness. Her ni
ght vision kicked in and she spotted the black haze of the disembodied demon heading straight toward her. She ran, her gaze darting between the industrial buildings, looking for an escape route.
Without Isa’s angelic weapons to protect her, the demon would be unstoppable. Her only chance was to outrun it and get someplace with people before it could fully manifest.
A quick look over her shoulder revealed the demon gaining on her. She screamed as its energy bored into her head—a hot, searing pain in her skull—ready to take her down. Strength drained from her legs as she sprinted down the dark path between two buildings, hoping for an exit onto an adjoining street. The looming presence triggered a burn in her shoulder blades where her wings used to be.
Taking a hard left, she stumbled into an alley and bounced off a building, ripping her poncho on the jagged brick exterior. Relief surged at the sight of bright lights just a block away . . . people. Ignoring her aching lungs, she propelled her body forward. If she could just make it a little farther . . .
Any spark of hope for escape died at the sound of hooves scraping the pavement as the demon took physical form behind her.
Death can’t be cheated, she thought with bitter resignation.
Her legs gave out as the demon struck with inhuman force.
Pain radiated like a nuclear blast from the center of her back, her hood flying off as she went airborne. The sickening crunch of shattered bones echoed in her ears as her cheek met the wet asphalt. Paralyzed and in agony, she lay with her eyes pinned open as air whistled through her parted lips. Blood, warm and sticky, fanned out in a puddle beneath her ear.
Demon; she and Tom had forgotten to add demon to the list of ways Cara could die.
The red-skinned face lowered to stare in her eyes, drool hanging in strings from razor-sharp teeth. Its breath heated her hair in rank puffs. She knew what came next; it anticipated feeding before destroying her completely.
Invoking the language of angels, Sandra said a silent prayer.
A ring of white light spread between the buildings, engulfing her and blowing back her scaly nemesis. Embryonic warmth surrounded her, filling her with peace and washing away her pain. Inside the glow, a man dressed in a tunic as white as the wings unfurled behind him appeared before her dying eyes. His hypnotic purple gaze captured hers.
She recognized him.
“Who’s going to save him, Jonas?” she asked the angel telepathically. Without her, Tom would surely be next.
The angel’s intense purple eyes held compassion and a soothing pull. “Worry not, Hope,” he said. “The others will finish your fine work.”
Expelling a final breath, she relaxed and the silver cord severed, releasing her soul from her body. The veil of her humanity lifted, and then she understood everything, including the purpose of her unknown Nephil ally.
Floating up and away, she glanced downward at the demon.
Enraged, it stood below, watching her ascent, unaware that she wasn’t what she’d appeared. Consuming her soul would have led to its blazing destruction.
Then her gaze shifted and expanded outward, following the second silver cord tethering her to another. She followed it to Isa where he sat, alive, in his prison cell beneath the earth’s surface.
“Isa?” she whispered on the wind.
His eyes shot open in the dark. “Hope?” She couldn’t be sure exactly what he saw, since she would appear in whatever form meant the most to him. Understanding spread across his face, and tears welled in his pale eyes.
“Isa, find Samuel, and protect Sara,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” he said softly. “Please . . . don’t go.”
“You will.” She sang and blew him a kiss. The pure joy of their love filled her with rapture. “Take heart. I’m forever inside you, my love. We share the same soul.”
Her kiss draped him in loving warmth, and pulled him down until he drifted into a peaceful slumber. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered in his ear as she smoothed back his hair. With that, she severed the silver cord connecting them. They would be reconnected once he passed through Heaven’s gate.
Her soul smiled at the angel. “Take me home, Jonas.”
Tucking her underneath his wing, Jonas returned her into the embracing light of Heaven.
PART 3: AFTERMATH
Chapter 21
SAMUEL
Northern California.
SAMUEL TOUCHED DOWN in the Forrester Research Labs parking lot a few yards from Emanelech, where she stood arguing with a tattooed man wearing a long black leather coat and wielding a blade.
Samuel suppressed the urge to vomit when he recognized the dead man with his throat slashed at their feet. Dr. Tom Peyton’s sightless eyes stared up at him, frozen in surprise. The familiar copper scent of fresh blood assaulted Samuel’s senses as he watched the red pool widen around the dead scientist.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” she snarled at the tattooed man. “What if we still need him?”
He wiped the blade on his leather coat and gnashed his teeth. “Maybe you should’ve mentioned that earlier.”
“Idiot,” she snapped and shoved him. “Get out of my sight before I give you a case of frostbite you’ll never forget. That’s before I suck your soul out of your eye socket!”
Emanelech’s accomplice gave Samuel a malevolent look as he passed and disappeared into the night.
Crushing guilt settled like a massive weight inside Samuel for not seeing this coming. He’d underestimated Emanelech. He never thought she’d make such a bold move in unprotected territory, even under the cover of darkness.
“You’re late,” she growled, picking up Dr. Peyton’s briefcase and taking no heed of the red droplets decorating her face in a macabre pattern. “Get me out of here.”
Thankful for the opportunity to avoid betraying his thoughts, he grabbed her, cloaked, and launched them both into the air with a few powerful flaps of his wings.
A mixture of failure and fury gripped him as he flew Emanelech to Achanelech’s mansion. Luckily, the rough air of high-speed flight made communication impossible. The temptation to just let her go over the Pacific Ocean was powerful. Had he not feared she’d live and make him pay, he would’ve strongly considered it. He hadn’t quite figured out how to kill a demon yet. That would be his next project.
Because of his ignorance, he bore the guilt of knowing he’d been responsible for two deaths. Two deaths he’d been set on preventing. If only . . . He never expected Dr. Wilson’s mate, Isa, to be snared in their Nephil capture scheme. The shock was overwhelming when he caught sight of him behind the bar. His energy had been human, just like Dr. Wilson’s, until that day. He didn’t understand it, other than to assume Isa had some power Samuel was unaware of to mask his Nephilim essence.
Samuel knew with stunning clarity that Isa could have saved his mate had he not been sitting in Achanelech’s prison. In turn, Dr. Peyton would still be alive. Whereas, Samuel had been useless, knowing nothing of the demonic pair’s plans on either occasion until it was too late.
The flaws of acting as a one-sided ally were now clearly apparent. A mistake he’d try not to repeat.
Based on the briefcase Emanelech held, he assumed she thought she’d gotten hold of the Angelorum discovery. He smiled. She was in for another disappointment. This would be as fruitless as the night she had Dr. Wilson’s lab ransacked at Stanford. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong information.
Samuel spotted the twinkling lights of the manse on the cliffs below. He landed at the side entrance, the one Emanelech preferred because it was closest to Achanelech’s office.
He let her go, welcoming the night air to sooth the chilly burn along the inside of his arms from carrying her. The only time he perceived cold was under her touch.
“Come with me,” she snapped.
He followed obediently.
She headed straight for the closed double doors. The usual trepidation crept up his spine whenever his shoes hit the Persian carpe
t leading the way. “You sure you don’t want me to stay out here?” he asked.
She gave him an icy glare and reached for the door. “Don’t be a coward.”
He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . Mistress?”
“Now what?”
He pointed to the blood spatter on her cheek. “Did you want to clean that off first?”
She rubbed her face, looked at the dried blood on her palm, and shrugged. “To hell with it,” she said and opened the door, clutching the briefcase in her hand.
Achanelech glanced up from his paperwork. “Whose blood are you wearing?” he asked and continued writing.
Samuel hung back by the door as she sauntered over to his desk. “Rex got carried away and slashed the good doctor’s throat,” she said nonchalantly, and then asked with more than a little sarcasm, “Think you can muster a tad more enthusiasm for our prize?”
It was a rare day that Samuel witnessed Emanelech not in complete control of a situation. Her agitation and the quiver in her hand belied her state of mind.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Achanelech leaned back and eyed the briefcase skeptically. “Have you looked inside?”
She swung the briefcase onto the desk where it landed with a thunk, and snapped the lock open. “Of course not. Who had time for that?”
He drew his eyebrows together and waved his hand at the case. “And you didn’t think, perhaps, it might be a good idea to verify the contents before killing the scientist?”
“Of course I did! But that tattooed imbecile’s idea of intimidation didn’t leave much margin for error,” she grumbled. “Besides, I heard him on the phone. He distinctly said that he would be making the final drop-off tonight . . . after work. We know the Stanford lab was clean. Can it get much simpler?”
Raising an eyebrow, Achanelech said dryly. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Emanelech cracked open the lid, and Samuel held his breath.
Lab notebooks filled the inside of the briefcase. Achanelech’s sneer turned into a genuine smile as he picked one up and opened it. In an instant, his smile faded as he fanned through the pages.
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