by Meg Collett
“When I don’t want to kill you,” Camille said, not having to even consider it.
“I feel the same way. So if it makes us happy—or at least as happy as we can be—why does it matter?”
“They could come after you.” The words were spoken quietly, softly, as if she was genuinely scared for him.
“I fought with angels,” Clark said. “I’m not afraid of a few humans.”
“I won’t let them. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”
“You won’t. Everything will be okay,” he said quietly.
She came to him then, moving up his legs and lying herself across his chest so that she straddled his legs with hers. When she was an inch from his lips, she drew back, frowning. “You kissed her tonight. I smell her on your breath.”
“Are you saying I need a mint?”
“You kissed her, Clark.”
Camille started to get off him, but Clark held her hips in place. She was strong enough to pull away, but she let him hold her down. “I didn’t mean to.” Clark shook his head when Camille opened her mouth to argue. “I know it’s not an excuse. I know it doesn’t make it right, but I don’t understand anything anymore. Nothing feels like it should. In some weird way, her being here makes me feel like Sophia is still alive.”
“But she’s gone, Clark. Maya isn’t Sophia. They don’t even look that much alike. You’re just choosing to see the similarities.”
Clark stared up at the angel, the rise and fall of his breath moving her body ever so slightly where she sat on top of him. Tonight was the first night he’d ever seen her vulnerability. It made her feel more real to him. “I know,” he said quietly.
“I know about the other Descendants and Nephilim you bed when I’m not here,” Camille said, her voice low in the darkness of the room. “But she’s different.”
“I know,” he repeated.
“Not her anymore, okay? I can bear the others, but not her.” She shifted above Clark’s hips, her hand bracing on his flat stomach. With the other, she loosened her hair, letting it fall golden around her shoulders. Her wings were tucked tightly against her back, but they still cast a luminescent glow around her. It was the only light in the room.
“Okay,” Clark said. “No more Descendants or Nephilim. Just you.”
“You promise?” Camille asked. She sounded slightly breathless. This was all she had wanted from him, Clark realized.
“I promise.”
Camille leaned forward, rocking herself against him until he was hard. “Clark,” she breathed, running her hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as she went. She tugged it over his head and twisted it around his hands, effectively tying them together. Clark watched as she leaned back, pulling her tight shirt over her head. Her skin glowed white and pale enough to see the glimmer of gold circulating in her veins. Her breasts were perfectly round, her nipples puckered against the chill of the room.
“I want you,” she whispered, continuing to rock against him until he groaned. “I don’t care what they say.”
She eased her body up his chest, skimming her breasts over his skin. She kissed him then, claiming his mouth with hers. She bit down hard on his bottom lip, going right to the point of unbearable pain. Before she let go, she licked the indention her teeth had made to ease the tortured flesh. She reached between them to free him from the tightening confines of his jeans.
Quickly, she slipped her own pants off so that she was exposed and open above him. They came together quickly then. Clark hissed, the breath escaping between his gritted teeth. Camille leaned her head back and worked herself on him. When she looked back down at him, her green eyes blazed with intensity. Her gaze seared into him, and he knew what she was going to say even as she opened her mouth to say it.
He saw that the words were right there on her breath, but somehow she bit them back, her gaze slipping over his shoulder.
The pang of sadness in his chest surprised him.
Chapter Eight
They found the next body in the morning.
It was Wyatt, a young Descendant that Clark had never met personally. He worked as a guard on the outer edges of town; it was an unwanted duty meant to break in the younger Descendants. He’d been an easy target out there by himself. Wyatt’s unruly red hair flopped over his unblinking eyes, little strands shifting in the breeze. He too was pinned down. A huge sword ran through his chest, the blood fresh enough to drip onto the grass.
At the point where the blade jutted out of Wyatt’s chest, there was a burnt black feather skewered into his skin, the soot mingling with his blood.
Clark had to look away, his eyes on the greenhouses like he was searching for something. But really, he was trying not to faint again. The scar along his chest burned fiercely in recognition. Clark knew that sword; he’d likely never forget it.
Not too long ago, the very same sword had been through his own chest. He’d stepped in front of a Watcher to protect Michaela and nearly died. That’s the last time he’d ever been chivalrous, Clark thought ruefully. He rubbed the spot on his skin where the blade point had pierced him.
Beside him, Zarachiel appeared, holding two coffee thermoses. “Here,” he said, offering one to Clark.
“Thanks.” Clark took a grateful sip, letting the heat scorch his throat to distract him from the burn in his chest.
They stood a little ways away from where Bailey and Liam examined the body. A crowd had gathered farther behind Clark and Zarachiel. The Nephilim were oddly absent.
“Have they figured out it’s a Watcher’s sword?” Zarachiel asked, purposefully muffling the words against the lid of his thermos.
“No. Shouldn’t take too long though.”
“You think it’s the same one?”
“I’m not lucky enough for it to be a different one.”
“That’s not going to look good.” Zarachiel glanced over at Clark with a truly worried expression.
“It’s not like I kept the damned thing for a souvenir.”
“But the only other people there that night were Nephilim. Who else would’ve had the sword?”
“I can think of one angel,” Clark answered with a snort. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was obvious Lucifer was after him, but this cat-and-mouse game was getting old.
“Do you think they can tie it to you?” Zarachiel asked.
“Possibly. It would be a stretch though. Not many people know about the stabbing.”
“It’ll be bad if they figure it out.”
“I didn’t even know the kid. I definitely didn’t have a reason to kill him.”
“Just in case, we need to dig around a bit more on Lucifer. Talk to Gabriel. Maybe he knows something.”
“How can we—”
Screams filled the air. Something exploded, rattling the ground beneath Clark’s feet. He spun around, looking to the sky. Smoke billowed in a column of dense black from the east wing. Nephilim flooded out the front door, coughing and crying. Some fell to the ground, gasping. Others carried out bodies of those too injured to walk. They all had ash smudged across their faces and skin. Even from where he stood, Clark could see angry red burns on some of the more unfortunate.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered as the Descendants around him rushed to the door, helping the Nephilim. Clark wasn’t surprised to see the half-angels cringe away from the Descendants’ helping hands. Some even screamed. Mostly their expressions were ones of fear and rage. Then the yelling started.
“Maybe we should just sneak away,” Clark said.
“That’s not funny.” As if he didn’t trust Clark, Zarachiel took his elbow and towed him toward the crowd, where the Nephilim faced off against the Descendants.
“What happened?” Liam questioned Ezekiel. The Keeper looked stern and commanding in front of the Nephil, but Ezekiel stood his ground, his bulging face going purple. The Nephilim gathered in a tight swarm behind him, clearly indicating who they’d chosen to be a spokesperson for them. Clark scan
ned the crowd for Maya, but he couldn’t find her. Nephilim met his gaze with accusation heavy in their eyes.
“You know exactly what happened!” Ezekiel shouted. People quieted around them. Wyatt’s body was momentarily forgotten in favor of the latest catastrophe.
“Somebody burned the french toast?” Clark offered, sidling up next to Liam. He shrugged when Ezekiel stared at him in shock. “Guess not then.”
“We were locked inside the east wing! Every door and window was barred! Then someone,” Ezekiel said the word in a way that clearly stated he knew exactly who that ‘someone’ was, “set the wing on fire! We nearly burned to death.”
Clark took a sip of coffee. Liam seemed too stunned to speak for a second before he turned and started shouting to the Descendants to organize a fire brigade. They would go through a lot of their water supply to put out the fire. None of the Nephilim offered to help the Descendants, who hurried back inside, armed with water buckets.
“Well,” Clark said, since no one else was speaking, “we were all out here. With another dead body.”
“Maybe you set the fire on purpose to give everyone an alibi,” Dylan said to Ezekiel as he stepped forward into the semicircle of angry men. Clark groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. Things really couldn’t get any worse.
“Excuse me?” Ezekiel spat the words, his eyes crazed when he turned to the younger Descendant. “Why would we need an alibi? We were nearly killed!”
“A Descendant was killed!”
“At this point, I think the more of you all dead, the better!”
Dylan howled in outrage, fists clenching and ready to swing. He rushed toward the Nephil, who looked just as ready to brawl. Liam jumped in between them, but it was clear he was only going to be a casualty of idiot men. With a flick of his finger, Clark popped off the lid to his thermos and dumped the still-scalding coffee down Dylan’s shirt, effectively stopping him for a moment.
Clark angled in front of Ezekiel with Zarachiel at his back as Dylan screamed in pain. Just then, Camille appeared, landing between them with a blast of wind and a rattle of the earth. Her face was tight, her wings spread out fully. Everyone took a step back then, completely intimidated by her.
“Was anyone seriously hurt?” he asked, drawing everyone’s attention.
Ezekiel turned to Clark, his lips curling like he’d smelled something foul. “Thankfully, no. But then, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re standing out here, safe and sound.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I think you’re behind all this.” He swept his arms wide, encompassing the fire and body.
“If I had set that fire, I would’ve made sure to lock your door extra tight.”
Ezekiel’s nostrils flared, his face turning splotchy with oxygen deprivation as he choked on his rage. His eyebrows twitched like caterpillars above his murky eyes. “You don’t deserve to lead us! We won’t tolerate this, nor will we support the Descendants’ cause anymore!”
“Now, Ezekiel—” Liam started, having turned back to the conversation when he was certain the other Descendants had the fire under control.
“No! He’s a bastard of our race, impure and unworthy to rule!”
“Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“I can’t believe we ever thought you could lead us,” Ezekiel said, hissing the words so that spit sprayed out of his mouth that Clark had to dodge. “I’m taking these people, and I’m leaving here.”
Clearly this was news to some of the other Nephilim. They shifted about, glancing at one another. But some of the older Nephilim nodded along with Ezekiel. It was enough that Clark actually started to worry. Ezekiel had done fast and thorough work turning some of the Nephilim against him. And Ezekiel would need only a few of the older leaders to follow him. The Nephilim would never split up; they couldn’t. Survival was always their first priority. If Ezekiel could get a few to go with him, the others would follow.
“You can’t,” Clark said. “It’s too dangerous right now.”
“It’s dangerous here, which is why we’re leaving.”
“But it’s more dangerous out there!”
“Clark…” Liam warned.
“Why?” The challenge was evident in Ezekiel’s voice. From over his shoulder, Maya appeared, hovering at the edge of the Nephilim crowd. Clark met her eyes briefly, already knowing what he had to do. He couldn’t let Sophia’s sister get hurt because of some arrogant asshole. Even if it made him look crazy, he had to protect Maya. It’s what Sophia would’ve wanted.
“Because Lucifer is alive, and he’s out there. He’s the one killing these people. I’m willing to bet he also set the east wing on fire and locked you all inside. We have to stay here and prepare for his attack because it’s coming. You can count your ugly ass on it.”
“Oh, God,” Liam muttered to Clark. “You’ve done it now.”
“You’re insane,” Ezekiel said, turning to the others behind him. “He’s insane!”
Those who looked hesitant before now seemed to shift across the line as they regarded Clark with raised brows. He rolled his eyes at them all. “Don’t you think I would know if he was alive? I killed him!” Clark paused at his own words, wrinkling up his nose in consideration. “Kind of.”
“You say you killed him,” Ezekiel said, his voice disturbingly calm, as if Clark had played right into his hands. “And we believed you. We followed you because of it and your magic. You had delivered us from evil; you would keep us safe. But now you tell us he isn’t dead? That you, in fact, didn’t kill him?” The Nephil looked around, his expression utterly innocent. “I think that’s even more reason to leave, don’t you all?” There were murmurs of approval from everyone around him. “If Lucifer is here, we are leaving. It’s too dangerous to be around you.”
“Ezekiel,” Maya said, stepping forward. Her voice shook ever so slightly. “Do you think that’s a good idea? These people can protect us.”
The Nephil turned on Maya, glaring down at her like she was the roach that had dared scurry across his shoe. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s one of us found dead in a field.”
“But—”
He reached down and grabbed her slender arm, his hand wrapping completely around her bicep. He shook her whole body, wrenched her shoulder in its socket. When she cried out, Clark had enough.
“Let her go,” he growled, the ink on his arms itching. The power surged through his body, and he knew he was ready to use it. The fickle magic was ready for him. If he needed something, it would provide the words to him.
“You don’t—”
“Let her go, or so help me, I will fry you where you stand.”
“Is that what you said to Jenna?”
Clark ignored the jab, focusing on the huddled group of Nephilim instead. “I’m still leader of the Nephilim until I’ve been rightfully overturned. No one is leaving.” Clark turned to Ezekiel, his eyes trailed down to the Nephil’s grip on Maya. “And you two will not be wed. It’s gross and creepy, and you should find someone your own age.”
Ezekiel let go of Maya, but he was ready to fight. Taking the opportunity, Zarachiel went to Maya, pulling her casually to the side and out of harm’s way. Clark took a deep breath, ready to use his magic, when Liam spoke.
“This is enough! Everyone to quarters now! Don’t come out of your rooms until you’ve heard from me personally! There will be no more of this. If anyone is found outside of their apartments, it will be an immediate imprisonment for one week with no meals. And I mean that.”
Clark understood now why his father had chosen Liam. Not only was he a good leader, but he didn’t take any shit. After a moment’s consideration, everyone—Descendants and Nephilim alike—hurried away, convinced by Liam’s tone that he really meant to half-starve them if they disobeyed. The Keeper himself was shaking with fury, his fiery gaze turned to Ezekiel, who sti
ll hovered by the group, his eyes flickering between Maya and Clark.
“You slept with her, didn’t you?” Ezekiel accused, his beard twitching, yellow teeth flashing. “I saw you in the east wing late last night. You were leaving her room!”
“Ezekiel!” Liam snapped. “For God’s sake, get to your room now. We’ll discuss this later.” Clark opened his mouth to tell Ezekiel what else he could do to himself when he got to his room, but Liam interrupted him too. “I’ll deal with you later, Clark. Now go!”
“Dude—” Clark started, but Zarachiel grabbed his arm and towed him away with Maya rushing after them. Camille followed a few steps behind, her eyes watching Ezekiel carefully. Inside the compound, the halls were empty. There was a faint scent of smoke in the air, but it seemed the fire had been easily contained, like it had been meant to scare, not damage. Or to set Clark up to fall before the Nephilim. Now Clark wondered if it had been Ezekiel who’d set the blaze and not Lucifer after all.
“This is completely crazy,” Clark muttered as they hurried along.
“Thank you,” Maya said. She was slightly breathless as they climbed the steep flight of stairs. “Thank you so much for calling off the marriage.”
“Yeah, well, you might not be thanking me later. I don’t know how much authority I have any more.”
“Still, it means a lot.”
“Stop,” Zarachiel said.
“What?” Clark asked, looking over at the angel, but Zarachiel was looking at the door to Clark’s apartment farther down the hall. Following his gaze, Clark saw that the door was ajar. A cold chill swept over his body. “Shit.”
Without thinking, Clark took off down the hall at a full sprint. But his speed didn’t match the angels’, even Zarachiel’s. He was right behind Clark in a second, pushing through the door first, with Camille shouldering her way past Clark too. Everyone except Maya burst into the room, eyes wild and searching. The living room was empty, but Clark heard the whip of wind coming through an open window. Camille was already halfway to the bedroom when Clark ran after her.
Inside, the first thing he saw was Sophia’s bonnet lying on the bed. Something twisted up inside his heart, like a wet rag being wrung out, but he didn’t pay it attention for long. A window was indeed open, and in it sat a demon.