“Hell? No, rather victory,” Rahab said. “And vengeance.”
Cautiously, Kas moved farther into the lab. He’d seen a lot of weird crap over the centuries, but this room poked at a place inside him reserved for nightmares. His eyes narrowed on the Renegade. “You gonna clarify or cackle like a madman?”
The angel’s eyes shimmered, but his voice was calm. “When you penetrate another mind, what do you see?”
Kas shrugged and moved between two of the tables, leaning over a few of the test tubes to study them.
“You pick out words, thoughts with a layer of emotion attached, right?” Rahab sighed when Kas didn’t answer. “Must you always be so difficult?”
“Must you always be an asshole?” he mocked.
The angel grunted and crossed his arms.
Evil Daddy wanted conversation. The Renegades had observed the Bound Ones for a long time, so telling his sire obvious information wasn’t an issue. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Rahab strode past him to a chrome-and-glass refrigeration unit and then removed a red tray that cushioned a single syringe.
“Imagine, Kasdeja, if your abilities were sharpened. Without the binding, could you easily tap the full potential of your rare gift? A mind transformed into a kind of high-definition viewer versus capturing fragments of unreliable AM radio waves.”
The lab door opened. Mariel went rigid as the three super-sized bodyguards from dinner filled the narrow doorway. He didn’t miss the wary expression she struggled to hold back, but her stiffness, darting eyes, and pinched lips telegraphed her unease.
Kas returned his attention to the petri dishes. Fiddling with the containers kept his hands busy and covered the tremors her expression caused him. He wasn’t sure why she was frightened, but she clearly hadn’t expected the visitors.
Rahab smiled and gestured for her to sit near one of the lab tables. He picked up the blue liquid–filled syringe and raised the vial to read the content volume. “Now, Kasdeja, if you will permit me.”
Permit him what? Kas drew back, hands clenched. “If you think you’re stabbing that shit in my arm, you’re seriously delusional, old man.”
“Do you wish to sample freedom? That is what the vial contains. Freedom, if only for a brief time.”
Kas glimpsed at Mariel. “No injections.”
“You do not trust me.”
“No shit.”
The Renegade paused, his eyes calculating and cautious. Then he faced Mariel. “I find it difficult to believe he is truly aware of all we can provide him.” His steely gaze returned to Kas, and he sighed then said, “Inside this syringe are chemicals and a small amount of Grace, extracted from me, your sire. Although the process is not yet complete, what we have uncovered will momentarily boost your abilities, resembling the effect the final compound will have on the binding.”
His sire’s explanation didn’t mean a damned thing. He wouldn’t allow the enemy to shoot poison into his arm, especially now that he knew it involved Rahab’s blood. He’d rather drink acid. Maybe gouge out his own eyes…
“Is my presence necessary as a witness?” Mariel asked.
“Your ability makes it impossible to read your thoughts.” Rahab’s voice was deceptively tranquil. “A perfect test subject for my son, after he has accepted this one-time offer.”
The color drained from her face. Kas couldn’t help the curiosity rising inside him. His eyes drifted to the syringe then back to the wingless angel.
“First, you wanna shoot your blood-laced science project in me. Now, you expect this woman to turn lab rat.” He glowered at his sire. “No.”
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself, but perhaps I can make my intentions clearer,” Rahab said.
Kas gritted his teeth against his instinctual desire to kill every Renegade—minus the beautiful, but obviously misguided, Mariel—in the lab.
“Mastema, our farsighted leader, is only interested in results,” his sire explained. “You will submit, or we withdraw our offer. Perhaps one of the other half-breeds would be more reasonable.”
Rahab left out the most obvious, and immediate, outcome of refusal.
Dammit. If Kas told his sire to stick that needle in his own eye, he had a ten-to-ninety shot of surviving another five minutes against the bone crushers at the door.
Rahab moved closer.
“What’s it supposed to do?” Kas eased his hands closer to the daggers at his thighs. “Are we talking a psychedelic trip, LSD style?”
He risked a peek at Mariel and regretted it. Her eyes focused on him with overwhelming desperation. Her gaze dipped to his hands then back to his face. She had to know what he planned. Her head made the smallest movement. No? Yep. She was telling him no.
“What is your decision?” Rahab strolled to Kas’s side of the table.
Knots formed in his gut. She was worried about him? Or was she worried about her boss?
Move, or get stuck with the needle? Either way, the risk was huge—and he was pretty certain he didn’t have a choice at all.
…
Mariel’s heart banged as if the organ tried to escape.
The Nephilim watched her.
Lord, help me. Help him.
If Rahab was sincere, that syringe contained a substance capable of giving Kas the power to punch through her Grace. Her mission would end the moment he learned the truth. He’d tell his sire, who would either kill her outright or send her before Mastema. The thought of the Renegade leader quivered her stomach.
She’d read the intent in Kas’s eyes. Why would he contemplate attacking? Four angels, not including herself, would kill him before he gripped his first dagger. His muscles tensed to strike and seal his fate, but he held her gaze and extended his right arm. Thick veins marked the surface and traveled from his bicep to his wrist. The needle pierced his arm, near the bend at his elbow, but he didn’t flinch.
Her mission, over. Her life, over. Mariel refused to look away.
She would never regain her wings.
“Summon your Grace.”
A moment passed before she realized Rahab spoke to her. When she looked at Kas again, her power roared to life and pooled behind her eyes.
“Good. Now you, Kasdeja,” the Renegade said. “Attempt to read her thoughts.”
Kas’s eyes shimmered with his angelic gift. Instantly her mind clouded. The strangest sensation cocooned her brain. It could have been a light breeze, yet it was substantial enough she sensed its presence.
She pushed more of her Grace forward, expecting to cloak her mind, but her power flowed through her and cloaked everything except her thoughts.
Renegades. Mission not over. Directorate. They will kill you. Do not, please. My only chance. They are dead. My fault. Must make amends. No, Kas! Beautiful once, like a cloud. Sacrificed my wings. Spy. Only chance. Please, stop. Please.
Abruptly the pressure shut off. She pitched sideways and would have slammed her head into the steel table had Kas not scooped her into his arms. Air rattled in her chest.
“What’s wrong with her?” he yelled.
“Fascinating reaction.” Rahab’s reply seemed to echo from a distance.
Nothing in her body worked. Her legs and arms were wiggly, her chest pumped like a racehorse, her vision faded in and out of focus, and worst of all, she felt tears drip down her face.
“What did you see?” Rahab. Uncaring, unsympathetic, and unconcerned.
Kas half turned to face his sire, and his grip tightened around her waist. “Way to show a sliver of decency for your own damned people, you emotionless prick.” Mariel’s legs were scooped from under her. “I’m returning her to her house.”
“Kasdeja.” Rahab’s voice hardened in the sharp quiet of the room. “What did you see in her thoughts?”
A growl rumbled in the Nephilim’s chest, directly into her ear. He spun, fanning air through her short hair.
“I saw pictures. Clear, vivid scenes of people and places.”
Sh
e squirmed, but Kas tightened his hold.
“Tell me,” Rahab said with an eager rise in his tone.
“She sees the dead. A team of angels. One female and four males.”
Oh, Creator. He’d seen Pharia, Forfax, Xaphan, Hamaliel, and Bagnae. She pressed her head into his chest, no longer caring if the tears soaked his shirt.
“The Directorate…” Kas began.
Her heartbeat screeched to a stop.
“They blamed her and maimed her. Her hatred of the angel board is as deep as my own.”
“Indeed.” Rahab let the word linger.
Sweat dampened her collarbone. Any second, his son would tell everything he’d seen.
“Whatever’s in that syringe made pictures out of what’s usually words,” Kas said with a hint of awe. “Is that it? The way to remove the binding?”
Why was he holding back information? He should have seen everything.
“As I told you, Kasdeja, this was a simple formula,” Rahab said, tapping the empty syringe. “Undoing the binding requires a similar method and other details you will know soon enough.”
A tremor passed through the assassin. He was close to his greatest wish and yet so far away. The Renegades wouldn’t give up their secrets easily.
“The effect of the drug will wear off,” Rahab said. “For now, you see with true insight. You can learn to channel the drug’s effect to see into the minds of our enemies. All their plans. All their allies. All their spies. Nothing would be hidden. Nothing would be spared.”
“Whatever you say,” Kas answered.
The Renegade’s cold laughter shocked her. “No, my son. I feel you probing inside my head. I prepared for our reunion long ago.”
“Fuck,” the Nephilim mumbled.
“You would have disappointed me had you not tried.” Another low chuckle. “We are much alike.”
“I need to split.”
“There is one stipulation.”
Mariel and Kas groaned in unison. Of course, there was a catch. The half angel rooted to the spot, and she craned her neck to see his sire.
“While I am pleased with you thus far, Mastema remains wary. He does not trust you.”
“Thought you had the executive a-hole’s ear, Pops. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.”
She gaped up at the cocky, death-wish-seeking half angel.
“Our leader desires proof of your commitment to our cause,” Rahab said, ignoring the remark.
“What proof?”
“Mastema commands that you kill an angel and deliver the body to us.”
Chapter Eighteen
“What?” Kas ramped down his Grace, but the drug made him hypersensitive. The caged lightbulbs hurt his eyes. The bubbling liquids mimicked the sensations on his skin. Mariel’s scent had him in a noose, but he concentrated on not crushing her.
“You will kill an angel,” his sire repeated. “After the task is completed, Mastema’s concerns will be laid to rest.”
Screw Mastema. The Renegade leader wanted him to execute a fucking angel?
“No problem,” Kas said, walking toward the three goons standing in the doorway. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Got a name?”
Rahab smirked.
No answers there, but at least they hadn’t targeted Tanis. “Consider it done.”
The guards moved aside, and he exited without trouble.
Down the long tunnel, Mariel stayed motionless in his arms. They needed to talk. The moment the drug rammed his system, he’d nearly shattered her static shield. Kas had never meant to hurt her, but he couldn’t control his power. Had that been his gift unbound, or his sire’s blood? If he used the drug again, what would be the price? His exhilaration turned into a shudder.
He’d slipped past the first layer of her thoughts and seen pictures along with the text-like pattern he knew. The shock made him fumble around her head like a rookie. Then he’d settled and focused.
The Directorate had blazed, framed in reddish-yellow hues. Each board member lit up like a torch, but the head angel, Azriel, burned brightest. Points for her—he hated that one more than the rest of the Directorate combined, too. She’d thought of failing them. Before he could narrow in, her thoughts had scrambled.
The next image had had the full impact of fear. Mariel didn’t want to fail in her mission, and she was certain he’d be killed, but he wasn’t sure by whom. Faces of Renegades and the Directorate became a carousel, fueled by her fear. Fear of…
Spy. That had popped up along with the faces of several angels—the team Mariel had lost.
“I can walk now,” she said.
They’d made it through the tunnel, out of the basement, and were crossing the backyard. Kas stopped and lowered her. The slide of her against his super-charged body flooded sensation from his hair to his toenails. He stepped back and pinched his nose.
“Come inside,” she said. “I do not know what was in the syringe, but you appear to need a drink. I know I do.”
He followed, watching her hips sway. He tried not to think of the toned muscles he’d memorized from holding her. Tried not to picture her wrapped around him under different circumstances. Tried not to react to the need to lower her to the soft grass.
That last thought hardened his cock.
Not. Now. Kas pushed aside his yearning. The syringe cocktail played with his hormones, cranking up his attraction for the scarred angel. She made it up the front steps and into her house, but her legs wobbled, close to collapse.
He rushed forward and lightly gripped her hips. Feverish, glassy eyes stared back at him, dull and blank. “You look sick.” He passed his hand over her cheek. “You’re burning up.”
Aches surfaced across his body as if he’d spent four hours in the gym. His sire had probably poisoned her through him. “Sit. I’ll get water.”
She plopped onto the sofa then slid onto her side. His head throbbed, but he rummaged through the kitchen until he found a cup and filled it with water. Carefully, he returned to Mariel.
“Drink this.” He placed the cup into her hand, but she couldn’t grasp it. “Sit up.”
She did what she could to help, and together, they placed the edge of the cup to her lips.
“What’re you feeling?”
“Exhausted,” she said through chattering teeth. “Thirsty. Nauseous.”
“Me, too, minus the nausea. The shot contained Rahab’s black-hearted blood and some other shit.”
She huffed and swiped perspiration from her brow. “Fevers do not strike angels.”
“I’m half human.”
“That might explain our reactions,” she said, nodding. “Blood contains Grace. Maybe mixing his and yours repels.”
“Oh, that son of a bitch repels me plenty.” Kas watched her squirm and rub her stomach.
“I am unwell.”
She stumbled to her feet, but he held her close. Careful not to squish her, they made it to the bathroom, where he settled her against the sink.
“The basin is behind you. Use it.”
She only leaned forward and steadied her breathing. Kas rubbed her lower back, all the while cursing himself for hurting her. Still, the drug hadn’t spared him much. The heaviness in his limbs could make him sleep for a month.
A half hour later, they emerged from the bathroom. Mariel had splashed her face with water and drunk another two glasses, then he helped her down a hallway to what could only be her bedroom.
Inside, Mariel gestured to the bed. He led her to the high mattress, but she sank to the floor in front of the low footboard, crossed her legs in a meditation pose, and closed her eyes.
Kas studied his surroundings. Her neat and sparsely decorated bedroom gave off a peaceful vibe. Not frilly like the rest of the cottage, but neutral. Mariel didn’t have keepsakes on the dresser or even a TV. No dog-eared novels. No landline phone. The room was utilitarian. A single window had been cracked open, and the fresh, earthy night air billowed the opaque cream curtains.
He peer
ed at her relaxed expression and then at the length of her neck. On her bed rested a blue Los Angeles Angels tank top, which made his lips twitch, and gray jogging pants.
The time spent in the bathroom had been enough to focus on Rahab’s last order. Kill an angel. He wished he’d misheard. To snuff an angel would seal his fate with the Directorate and bring unthinkable risk to his brothers. He’d created this Mission: Impossible on his own, but seeing it through had hit a wall, and he was out of options.
“Can we have a convo here?” He sat on the floor across from Mariel. The six-drawer dresser was sturdy and rough against his back.
She opened her eyes and held her posture straight. “There are no recording devices. Not after I removed the three previous attempts by my hosts.”
Good to know. “Do you have reliable sources in Heaven?”
“Why do you ask?” she asked in a cool tone.
“Rahab said proving my loyalty meant killing an angel.”
Mariel’s glare could flay skin. “Will you do it? I am sure your father would be pleased.”
The blunt edge in her voice prodded his temper. “When I was in your head, I saw your team, alive and then dead. Must have been devastating.”
Redness streaked up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Embarrassment or guilt? Did it really matter? Her friends were dead. He sympathized.
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
The pretty angel was mad. Kas allowed time for a dramatic pause to build up. “Spy.”
She tensed, even as the crimson drained from her complexion. He glimpsed the flutter of her chest and noted her widened eyes.
“I’ll let that one hang there a minute,” Kas said. “What I took from the experience, apart from a bad reaction to the drug, is you have secrets.” His head tilted, and he studied her. “Secrets big enough that it makes me believe I can trust you.”
“Trust me? Trust me—with what?”
“My life.”
…
Mariel was hyper aware. In a rational part of her fragile universe, she’d been served a shock. Not from Kas’s casual remarks about the images he’d seen, but from a single word: “trust.”
His eyes betrayed tension inside him, as if any moment he’d spring from the floor. She untangled her legs and stood.
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