Nephilim Falling (Trenton Investigations)

by Felicia Beasley

  “Hello, Mr. Zane,” I replied, matching his strained good cheer. “Nice to, uh, meet you.”

  There wasn’t a way to make this less awkward. Lucas made no move to help either of us out, either. He probably enjoyed it. I mean, he had to suffer through both Damian and Wes. At least his dad wasn’t staring at me like he was figuring out the best way to hide a body.

  “Please call me Robert. Mr. Zane is too formal.”

  And Robert was too familiar. Things were moving too fast. I needed to slow everything down for a moment, but I couldn’t figure out how.

  Lucas was a whirlwind, twisting my life into something unrecognizable. The trouble is whirlwinds are fleeting. All they leave behind is wreckage.

  “Do you like spaghetti?” Robert asked, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

  “Do penguins like the cold?”

  He smiled. This time it didn’t look like someone was pulling his strings. “Luc, show our guest to the dining room.”

  I followed Lucas into the formal dining room. Three of the eight seats were already set up with dinnerware and glasses. Glasses plural. One for water, one for wine. This wasn’t the stuff you used every day. This is what you break out when you plan to entertain visiting dignitaries.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Lucas pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. What a gentleman. Then again he owed me big.

  “I don’t bring girls home often. He’s kinda making a big deal about it.”

  “Aren’t you some kind of Casanova?”

  He laughed. “That’s what I want you to think.”

  “Does he know what I am?” I whispered. I didn’t think his father would be all that thrilled his son was dating a half-demon. We have a bit of an undeserved reputation.

  Well, some of it is undeserved.

  “Dad’s a great cook. It might not be Olive Garden, but—”

  “What happened to being gluten free?” I interrupted.

  He gave me a sheepish smile. “I don’t like Italian food.”

  “What did they ever do to you?” I stood up, dusting off my hands. ”Well then, this isn’t going to work out.”

  He stood, too.

  “Sit back down,” he said with all the authority of a kitten

  “I’m sorry. You’re cute and all, but I can’t date someone with such terrible taste in food.”

  “If I can overlook the fact that you think Star Wars is superior to Star Trek, then you can get over my food aversions.”

  I shook my head. “We’re just too different, love. Better to part now, before—”

  He shut me up with his lips.

  “Opposites attract,” he whispered after finally pulling away.

  Truer words had never been spoken.

  I sat back down before I gave into the temptation of more kissy time. Wouldn’t want his dad to walk in on that.

  ”If you’re so anti-pasta, why did your dad make spaghetti?”

  ”I asked him to. Have to make up for our last date.”

  “Our last date? You mean the one where you were with my best friend and not me?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, that one. Seems like spaghetti isn’t going to be enough. Can you forgive me, anyways?”

  “Depends. What do you have planned for desert?”

  Robert popped around the archway carrying two steaming platefuls of noodles and sauce. He placed one in front of me and the other in front of the empty chair.

  “What are you going to eat?” I asked Lucas.

  He shrugged.

  “I’ll be back with the rest,” Robert said. “Don’t wait for me. Dig in.”

  “Need help?” Lucas asked.

  “I got it, son. Thanks.”

  He sounded frazzled and like he could use help but was too prideful to accept. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  I inhaled the tantalizing aroma of garlic, basil, and fire roasted tomato. “How can you hate spaghetti?”

  He grinned. “I don’t like pizza either.”

  “What are you? A freaking alien?” I picked up my fork, ready to devour every last bit. “Who doesn’t like pizza? It’s the perfect food.”

  “For a heart attack, maybe.”

  I stopped myself from shoveling the tantalizing food into my mouth. He may have told me it was okay, but Damian raised me with manners. Despite Lucas’ assurances that it was no big deal if his dad didn’t like me, I still wanted to make a good impression.

  Luckily I didn’t have to wait long. Which is good. My willpower is not that strong.

  Robert came back carrying a serving bowl overflowing with Caesar salad in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other. A bottle of wine was tucked under his arm.

  Lucas sprung from his seat and helped his dad before the rest of our food ended up on the floor.

  Once unburdened, Robert twisted the cap off the wine and began to pour it in my glass.

  “I’m not sure my brother will approve,” I said, feeling like the world’s biggest killjoy.

  “It’s non-alcoholic, don’t worry.”

  I felt stupid. What father would serve his under-age son and lady friend alcohol? I picked up the full glass, tipped my head back, and drained it. Robert refilled my cup without me asking.

  Lucas pulled the entire salad in front of him and dug in.

  “Is that all for you?” I had wanted some of that.

  “You asked what I was eating?” He moved his hand with a flourish Vanna White would’ve been jealous of. “Voila.”

  “Good to know Caesar salad isn’t too Italian for you.”

  I waited until Robert sat down and started his food before twirling noodles on my fork.

  The spices hit my tongue, and I moaned. “This is better than Olive Garden.”

  He chuckled. “Thank you.”

  No one said anything else while we ate. I focused on the food, trying to think of something charming or funny to say. My mind drew a blank. Maybe I should be thinking of an excuse so I could dip out before desert. I tried to avoid subjecting myself to awkward situations.

  And this counted as awkward.

  “So,” Robert said once his plate was clean and his glasses empty. “Lucas tells me you’re a nephilim as well.”

  I shot a quick look at Lucas. Had he now? I guess telling your dad that the girl you wanted to date had demon blood in her veins was too hard. He might not approve. For all he had said, it looked like Lucas did want his dad’s approval.

  My gut felt burdened with lead. I kept my mouth shut. Didn’t want to make a scene.

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “And your parents?”

  “Gone. My brother raised me.”

  “He’s a nephilim, too?”

  Anxiety crawled up my spine like the million mile march of ants. What was this? Guantanamo Bay?

  “Does it matter?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

  Robert blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Dad is in charge of keeping track of all the nephilim in the state.”

  “Forced registration?” That sounded dangerously close to what the sentinels did. “Why?”

  “Nothing like that. I have a network set up so if anyone gets in trouble, I can find a way to get them out of it.”

  “Like an underground railroad for angel spawn?” I asked.

  He flinched. “I wouldn’t call it that, but you get the idea.”

  I turned to Lucas with a smirk on my face. “So you do all know each other.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Dad’s the only one who knows everything.”

  I found it weird that a bunch of nephilim, some of the most paranoid people ever, although with good reason, would trust a human with that kind of information.

  “That’s not smart. What if something happens to him or he’s compromised?”

  Robert looked offended. “Lucas has access if something happens to me.”

  I noticed he didn’
t say anything about the compromised part.

  “Did you know a Terrance Smith?” I asked before I could think twice.

  Robert went pale. “Why do you ask?”

  I debated internally if I should get him involved. I decided it was worth the risk if he could help prevent another killing. By the time I was done with the heavily edited tale, Robert had looked a bit green.

  “I won’t deny that something has to be done, but I don’t want Lucas anywhere near this.”

  Too late for that.

  “Of course not. My brother is a PI. He was hired by Terrance’s parents when he disappeared. He’s the one doing all the dangerous work.”

  “You swear Lucas won’t be involved?”

  I nodded.

  He sighed. “All right. I’ll put together what I have and share it with your brother.”

  Finally, we were making progress.

  And Damian thought he didn’t need me.

  Chapter 21

  “So I’m a nephilim, huh?” I asked as I sat down on the edge of Lucas’ unmade bed.

  Movie posters covered the walls, everything from the original Star Wars to Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill. I’m pretty sure I spied some action figures peeking out from under the bookcase. A bookcase that needed a few more books.

  Lucas kicked some dirty clothes toward the heap already in the corner. ”Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

  I ran my hand across the crumpled sheets, wondering when the last time they’d been washed.

  He grinned, noticing my unspoken criticism. “What’s the point making a bed if you’re just going to mess it up again later?”

  “Appearances?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t care what people think.”

  “Then why did you hide what I really am?”

  He sighed and sat down next to me. His knee brushing mine. The simple touch, probably unintentional, made my gut clench and my brain go to mush.

  He put his finger under my chin and turned my head, forcing me to get lost in his blue-gray eyes. “I didn’t want him to judge without getting to know you first. His, well our, experience with your kind is limited to rumor and hearsay.”

  I nodded, unable to come up with an argument while the smell of citrus overwhelmed me. I wasn’t sure if it was just the cologne he used, or if his natural scent made him smell like a more pleasant floor cleaner.

  He was too close, too there, and I didn’t like the effect it had on me. I stood and meandered over to the bookcase, curious as to what kinds of books a teenage nephilim enjoyed to read.

  It came as little surprise that every one of them was some movie-tie in. I estimated more than half were simply Star Trek novels.

  “You need to broaden your horizons,” I said.

  “My comics are in the closet to keep them safe.”

  “I think they’re safe. I’m pretty sure if someone broke into your house, they’d take one look at your room and slowly back out.”

  He snickered as my eyes found a photo stuck between two books. I pulled it out. A couple holding the hand of a toddler beamed at me in the frozen moment. My throat constricted. A happy, whole family.

  Lucas snatched the picture from my hand, his body tense.

  I backed away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

  “It’s okay.”

  I expected anger at my nosiness. Instead, yearning laced his voice. Still clutching the photo in his hand, he used the other to grab mine and lead me back to the bed.

  I didn’t ask who they were or who the toddler was. I didn’t need to.

  His eyes had a glassy shine. He never let go of my hand. “They’re my parents.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it.” I didn’t know what else to say. What do you say to someone in a moment like this? Sorry? Sucks your parents are gone? At least you have your health?

  He put down the picture and looked at me. “I don’t talk about it. Never have. After…” He cleared his throat. “Dad put me in therapy, but I never talked there either.”

  I had gotten a close enough look at the picture to know that the man in it wasn’t Robert. I wanted to ask questions, dig further, but I couldn’t. Not everything was about me.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “My mother was a nephilim, and my dad was an angel. The only thing more forbidden for an angel than being with a human was to be with a half-breed. They didn’t care.”

  I don’t remember much. I was seven, and I guess the mind protects itself and everything. I was in bed, but there was shouting and banging from the living room. I went to look and…”

  His voice broke. Wrapping my arms around his shoulder, I pulled him close. He stopped fighting against the pained memory. The muted choked off sobs broke my heart.

  “He was already bleeding,” Lucas said, his head still resting against my chest. “Standing in front of my mother, shielding her from that monster. But he couldn’t. It cut him down.”

  I stroked his hair as he clung to me. A part of me wanted to make him stop. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want him to go through the pain of reliving this, either. But maybe he needed it. To let it out. Maybe then he could start to heal.

  “At least my father died fast. It, it was going to take its time with my mother. Maybe if I’d done something, something more than stand there, watching, maybe she wouldn’t have gone through so much pain.”

  “You were seven. What could you have done?”

  “It noticed me eventually. Maybe I made a noise or something. Probably. I’ll never forget its face. The hatred directed at me. I could feel it.”

  My mother didn’t let it get me. She used her magic to hurt it, hurt it bad enough it ran. She saved me, but I couldn’t save her. It was too late. Robert took me in, adopted me, hid me. Part of the nephilim connection. Without him, the sentinels would have gotten me.”

  “How do you not hate me?” I asked. “Hate what I am?”

  He looked up confused. “Why would I?”

  “How can you stand to be around anyone with demon blood after what happened?”

  Understanding dawned on his face. “A demon didn’t kill my parents.”

  I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Then what did?”

  “An angel.”

  You know when there is one piece of the puzzle missing and you search everywhere for it? Then finally you find it, click it into place, and for a split second, the feeling of joy at the accomplishment infuses your body? That is until you look down and see the horrifying picture you just completed.

  It was a riddle older than dirt. What hated a nephilim more than a sentinel?

  Lucas must have understood where my thoughts had led.

  “Yeah, it crossed my mind, too.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He looked down, and I felt like a bitch.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  All I wanted to do was take just a little bit of the pain away however I could.

  I pulled him back toward me, wanting to make up for the harsh words.

  He nuzzled against my neck, hot breath and wet cheeks tickling the sensitive skin. I shivered.

  He looked up at me, concern in his eyes. “Are you cold?”

  I was pretty much the opposite of cold. Cupping his face in my hands, I lowered my head and pressed my lips against his.

  Heat suffused my body as his mouth eagerly responded. Hands gripped my waist. He lifted me into his lap. I straddled his waist, pressing my body into his as if the contact was all that was keeping me alive.

  Warm fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, tracing circles in the small of my back. He ran his tongue against the seam of my lips, begging access. Lips parted as the ache between my legs intensified. He moaned as I rubbed against his hardening dick.

  He flipped me onto my back amidst the tangled sheets. He pinned my wrists above my head and trailed wet kisses down my neck with an occasional nip to keep me on my toes. Not that I could feel my toes at the moment, all the
blood had rushed to my core.

  In the back of my mind where logic still existed, I worried his dad would walk in on our forbidden tryst, prematurely ending bliss. I needed his mouth back on mine to soften the sounds of my desire. Didn’t need to attract attention.

  His hands let go of my wrists. They smoothed down my sides before lifting the bottom of my shirt exposing my stomach. My gut clenched, insecurity rearing its ugly head. What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if I disgusted him?

  Thoughts fled as he sprinkled kisses across my abdomen. Two seconds later my shirt joined the rest of the dirty laundry on the floor. His lips roamed over the tops of my breasts as he inched the fabric of my bra down to expose stiff nipples. Mouth encircled the sensitive buds, his tongue swirling before sucking hard.

  My cheeks burned, a mixture of embarrassment and ecstasy rushing to my head. No amount of self-pleasure came close to this.

  My hands tangled in his thick hair as he continued to lavish attention on both breasts. I wanted to touch him. Explore the taut muscles of his body with fingers and tongue. Bring him to the brink of oblivion as he was doing to me.

  I didn’t, though. The fear my inexperience would ruin the moment kept me frozen.

  I was his, his prisoner, captive to overwhelming sensations I didn’t want to fight.

  His fingers dipped below the waistband of my pants. They stroked the wet fabric of my underwear, the only thing between his exploration and my treasure. He rubbed small circles with expert precision, bringing me to the peak right before the roller coaster raced down the track.

  I bit my lip to keep from crying out. His mouth devoured mine, smothering the cries I couldn’t keep contained. Dopamine infused my head, a higher high than I’d ever experienced before.

  It wasn’t enough. My body needed more. Not content until his pleasure surpassed mine.

  What can I say? I’m an overachiever.

  My hands fumbled with the button on his pants, unable to perform the easiest of tasks. He tried to help, but I pushed his hand away. If he couldn’t handle my awkward attempts, he wasn’t the guy for me.

  He chuckled against my lips. A chuckle that morphed suddenly into a moan as I finally bested that damn button, slipping my hand inside and around his thickness.