The Unforgiven (The Watchers)

by Joy Nash

  Raphael watched with dispassionate interest as the man set aside his drink and strode in his direction.

  “Game?” the bald man asked, nodding to an empty chair at one of the tables.

  “No,” Raphael replied. “I’m looking for someone.”

  The man flashed a grin. “I have all kinds. Thin, fat, bigtitted, fat-assed, you name it. And they’ll do anything.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Any-fucking-thing. For the right price, of course.”

  If Raphael had been capable of human emotion, he’d have felt disgust. “I don’t want a woman,” he said. “I’m looking for a man.”

  The pimp didn’t miss a beat. “I can do that, too. It’ll cost you extra, though.”

  “I’m not interested in one of your . . . employees,” Raphael said. “The man I’m looking for is a patron.”

  The pimp’s eyes shuttered. “I don’t give out customer information,” he said. “Bad for business. Unless, of course, you’re willing to pay. Everything’s up for grabs at the right price.”

  Everything came down to money with humans. Money and sex. Raphael didn’t understand it. But then, it wasn’t his duty to understand.

  “Well, what’ll it be?” the devil-man asked. “Pay or play? One of the two, or get the hell out.”

  Raphael was saved the trouble of a response. Michael was, at that moment, staggering down the stairs, hand in hand with a prostitute. In his ripped denims and snug black shirt, Raphael had to admit, no one would guess that his brother was anything but human. His disheveled brown hair and tanned skin completed the illusion.

  At the bottom stair, Michael backed the prostitute against the wall. She submitted to a sloppy, openmouthed kiss before wriggling out of his embrace and strutting away. Michael sagged against the wall where she’d been and passed a hand over his eyes.

  When he removed it, Raphael was standing before him. “You are a disgrace to our kind.”

  Michael grinned. “And you’ve got a stick up your ass, brother.” He shoved off the wall and wove unsteadily past.

  Raphael herded him toward the door. Surprisingly, Michael made no protest. They stepped out into a light rain.

  “The Almighty would not be pleased,” Raphael said.

  “I imagine not,” Michael agreed, straightening. He had no trouble at all navigating a path around the piles of crates and litter. He wasn’t drunk. That would have been impossible.

  Raphael studied him. “I cannot understand your behavior.”

  “Is it necessary that you understand?”

  It wasn’t, of course. Angels didn’t need to understand; they only needed to obey. Curiosity was a human emotion. And yet, Raphael felt moved to delve deeper.

  “You had sex with that human woman.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?” Raphael asked. “You can’t feel it. Or, not more than the merest shadow of it.”

  “No. But she felt it. I gave her an orgasm.”

  “She’s a prostitute. It was an act. She probably felt less than you did.”

  “No,” Michael said. “It was real.”

  But Michael’s eyes flickered downward, and Raphael knew his brother was far from certain.

  Michael halted and faced him. “Don’t you ever wish you could know what humans know? Don’t you ever wish you could feel what humans feel?”

  “No. Never. Human lust is not ours. Righteousness is.”

  “Righteousness is a piss-poor substitute for sex.”

  “True. It’s far more valuable. And it is our duty.”

  Michael resumed walking. “Maybe I’m sick of duty. Maybe I want something more.”

  “There is nothing more,” Raphael said. “We archangels vowed to put our individuality aside after the fall of the Watchers. We rejected the right to inhabit the wholly human flesh the Watchers once possessed. You’re chasing a dangerous illusion, Michael. In the end you’ll return to your duty—there’s nothing else for our kind. Why pretend that there is? Why pretend to be human?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Raphael eyed him. “I don’t.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Raphael hesitated. “Something has . . . happened. I may need your help dealing with it.”

  Michael’s brows rose. “And just what is this . . . something?”

  “An archeologist in Israel has unearthed something very dangerous. Something I thought I destroyed five thousand years ago.”

  They’d reached the end of the alley. Raphael stepped into the spill of a streetlight but his companion remained in the shadows. And yet, Raphael had no trouble seeing Michael’s comprehension as it slowly lit his eyes.

  “Azazel’s amulet,” his brother said. “The Seed of Life.”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean that thing is still . . . active?”

  “Partially,” Raphael admitted.

  Michael’s chin went back. “Partially. What does that mean, exactly?”

  Raphael hesitated. “The amulet is damaged. The bloodstone was split in two, and half is lost, I know not where. I’m not fully sure what the damaged piece is capable of. I do know I don’t want to find out.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “In the possession of Cade Leucetius of Clan Samyaza. I sent Gabriel to order him to destroy it. The message was delivered, but Leucetius refused to obey.”

  “Not surprising. But why even bother sending a message to a Nephilim? You know what they’re like. If you want the thing destroyed, you’re going to have to take it from him and do the job yourself.”

  Raphael hesitated.

  Michael’s brows rose. “You don’t want to,” he said. “You’re afraid of the thing. Oh, that’s rich.”

  “No. Not afraid,” Raphael said. “Fear is a human emotion.” Michael snorted. “And emotions just aren’t your thing, are they? You’re a hypocrite, Rafe, you know that?”

  “I do my duty, as always. Emotions don’t enter into it.”

  “If you say so. Well. All this is very interesting, but I hardly know what it has to do with me.”

  Raphael drew himself up to his full height. “The amulet must be recovered and destroyed. We can’t afford to fail this time. With you at my side, Michael, our victory is much more likely.”

  “Our victory?” Michael’s lips thinned. “I think you’re overreaching a bit there.” He paused. “This call to battle—is it a command from on high?”

  Raphael shifted his shoulders. “No. I . . .” He cleared his throat. “If you must know, I haven’t yet brought the matter to the Almighty’s attention.”

  Michael threw back his head and laughed. “Keeping this little error mum, are you? No wonder! It would cast you in a most unflattering light before the throne.” He shook his head. “And you claim to have no emotion. You do know pride is an emotion, don’t you? And one of the seven deadly sins?”

  Raphael almost felt something akin to irritation. “There’s much more at stake than my pride,” he said. Abruptly, he spread his wings. “Come.”

  Michael shook his head. “No. As long as it’s only you doing the asking, I’ll give myself the pleasure of declining.”

  Raphael stared. “You cannot! Don’t you understand what’s at risk? Nothing less than the survival of the entire human race! You can’t possibly refuse me.”

  Michael took a step backward and slipped farther into the gloomy alley. “Oh, no? Just watch me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Good morning, little sister.”

  “Ezreth.”

  Lilith’s eyes flew to her half brother. Ezreth was not in the habit of seeking her out. She smiled at him uncertainly.

  He stepped closer to the well as she emptied the last bucket of water into her jug. Crimson light limned his head and shoulders.

  “A drink, sister, if you please.”

  Frowning, she lowered the bucket into the well one last time. Pulling it back up, she offered it to him. He took it without thanks. His throat worked as he drank. When he was done, he
threw the vessel aside and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Droplets lingered on his beard.

  “Drawing water for Father?” he asked.

  An innocent enough question. She wasn’t sure why the query left her so uneasy. She lifted her jug to her head and steadied its weight with one hand. “Yes.”

  “You’ve been often in Azazel’s company of late.”

  “Yes,” she said again.

  Her gaze darted past him, to the field beyond where the ewes and lambs grazed on a flush of spring green. The shepherds were far to the north, near the wall of the canyon. The women of the village had gone to the stream with bundles of dirty robes. Father, she knew, was not in his forge, nor in his tent. She and Ezreth were very much alone.

  “You are often with him. In the village. At his forge.” Ezreth moved closer. His aura turned dark, the color of pooling blood. “In his tent.”

  Despite her unease at being alone with him, she couldn’t suppress a rush of satisfaction. She recognized that ugly light in his eyes. He was envious. Of her. A heady thought.

  “I am,” she said. “Father is teaching me the ways of magic.” She lifted her chin. “He says I am the most apt pupil he has ever had.”

  Ezreth’s gaze raked an insolent path down her body. “I can well believe it.”

  She turned wary. “I must go now. Stand aside.”

  He moved still closer instead, his left hand descending to grip her shoulder. He squeezed, hard, his thumb finding the tender hollow at the base of her throat. He pressed there until she couldn’t help but gag.

  He smiled and eased the pressure fractionally. The heavy weight of the water jug on her head prevented her from jerking out of his grasp. His grip on her shoulder tightened; he shook her slightly.

  Instinctively, she raised her free hand to stop the jug from falling. The motion caused her chest to rise. Fire kindled in Ezreth’s eyes. “You have grown womanly, sister.” He reached out and cupped her breast. “So soft.”

  Lilith stood rigid, fear constricting her ribs, her breakfast threatening to rise up her gorge. Ten years her senior, Ezreth was broad and hard with muscle. He was strong in war magic. If he wished, he could take her right here by the well. How could she fight him? Not with her own magic. So far, Father had taught her only gentle arts.

  She summoned her most imperious tone. “Take your hand off me or I will tell Father of your disrespect.”

  “Ah yes.” His tone was taunting, unrepentant. His hands on her shoulder and breast tightened painfully. “Speak to me of our father. Has he had you yet?”

  “You are disgusting.”

  “Why? It is no secret that Father has only one use for a woman.”

  “I am his daughter!”

  Ezreth laughed. “What difference should that make? You have two legs to spread, do you not, a woman’s hot core between them? I do not know why such talk should shock you, sister. The tale is all over the village. All the tribe believes you are Azazel’s newest whore.”

  Heat bled up her neck and into her face. She gripped the jug on her head as if it would keep her upright. “That is Ayalesh and Nivah spreading lies.”

  Ezreth licked his lips. “So you are virgin still?” The dark light returned to his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said thickly, “I will remedy that.”

  His thumb pressed hard on her windpipe. When a painful gasp parted Lilith’s lips, Ezreth’s mouth clamped onto hers, his lips wet and thick, his beard abrasive. His hand roamed her breast, squeezing her nipple.

  The carnal plunge and retreat of his tongue in her mouth gagged Lilith’s cry of outrage. In shock, she submitted to the assault for several long, nauseating moments. Then she became aware that her arms were still raised and gripping the heavy jug on her head. With an abrupt motion, she dipped her chin and jerked her body back. The vessel tumbled from her head. Ezreth yelped as the heavy clay glanced off his skull. The jug landed with a crash on the ground. Water drained between the fragments to soak into the dry, hungry ground.

  “You swine!” Lilith hissed, wrenching out of her brother’s slackened grip. “Look what you forced me to do.”

  “Me?” Ezreth glared, rubbing his head. “This is your doing, not mine.”

  The depth of his arrogance enraged her. “Father will learn of this betrayal, brother. He will banish you to the upper desert. Your sorry carcass will bake in the sun. The buzzards will pick your bones clean.”

  He sneered. “I do not think so. You will not want Azazel to know of your shame. You will not want him to know of your whoring.”

  “I am no whore!”

  “No?” He gave her an ugly smile. “You came alone to the well. You greeted a man. You offered him water.”

  “You are my brother! There is no shame in that.”

  “You also flaunted your body.”

  “I did not.”

  Ezreth’s expression was one of smug amusement. “It makes no difference. You are no longer pure. No longer untouched. If you wish, I will go with you to Father and help you confess all. I will offer to restore your honor by taking you as my concubine.”

  “You have your own women already! You have sons and daughters. You don’t need me.”

  “But perhaps I want you.”

  “I would rather die,” she said fervently, “than be your whore.”

  “I will go to Father alone, then. I will tell him what you’ve done and ask him to forgive you.”

  Panic rose. “You would not.”

  “I would. And he will let me have you once he knows you are no longer innocent.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I hate you.”

  Ezreth laughed. “I do not hate you, sister.”

  “Do not do this,” she begged. “Do not tell Father.”

  “Perhaps I will not. For a boon. What shall it be?” He seemed to consider. “Ah, yes. You will come to my bed freely. You will give me use of your body—I am sure one night will be enough—and I will keep your secret. Or I will go to Father and you will be mine for as long as I wish to keep you.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “You could not be so cruel.”

  He smiled. “I assure you I can. With pleasure.”

  And Lilith knew she was trapped.

  The residue of Ezreth’s kiss lingered on Maddie’s lips as she struggled toward consciousness. She wiped her hand across her mouth, nauseated. The terror, the disgust, the shame . . . it had all been so very real. But it was only a dream. A dream about the Watcher Azazel.

  Hardly surprising. She’d been immersed in the Watcher legend for months. It was only natural the theme should show up in her sleep. She only wished it weren’t so vivid.

  She sat up, becoming aware of her surroundings for the first time. She’d fallen asleep in the jeep; now she lay on a bed she didn’t recognize, in a room she’d never seen. The light was dim, but from the strips of sunlight showing through the cracks in the wooden shutters the night was ended at last.

  It seemed Cade had brought her to a hotel. An exceedingly cheap one. The mattress was uncomfortable. Too hard under her hips. Too soft at her shoulders. She had a vague memory of being lifted from the jeep. Of Cade’s strong arms carrying her up a narrow stairway. She might have drunk something warm. Tea, maybe? She wasn’t sure.

  Crooked strips of yellow light spilled across the frayed bedspread. A sort of haze, lush and yearning, filled the air. It also filled Maddie’s mind. She sensed a whisper of a voice inside her skull, like a long ago lover’s breath.

  She frowned, straining to hear more of the murmured words, but they were unintelligible. A second presence, a disturbingly real ripple of otherness inside her head, blocked them. It made the first voice melt away, and she was left feeling confused and frightened. And warm. Too warm.

  She inhaled a deep breath. It didn’t help. Her chest hurt as it expanded. A furnace had ignited inside her ribs, setting fire to the underside of her skin. The flames spread to every part of her body. Unsettling warmth licked at her hands, her arms, her legs and feet, fl
ashed inside her shoulders and belly. Tongues of flame taunted her breasts, teased between her legs.

  The thin wool blanket was coarse and itchy. She kicked at it but only managed to tangle it more tightly around her legs. With a start, she realized she was naked. Naked and yearning. She moaned, flinging her arms wide. Her head tossed.

  A figure rose from a chair in a shadowed corner. Maddie went still. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone.

  Cade stepped into the dim light as she lay panting. Waiting. Wanting. Needing. He’d said she’d be reduced to begging. If he didn’t touch her soon, she would prove him right.

  He took a step forward. Another dark form rose behind him to take up a position beyond his right shoulder. Eyes riveted on the apparition, Maddie sucked in a breath. But her scream froze in her throat.

  Cade halted, dark brows drawn together. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder. Couldn’t he see the thing? Feel it? The creature was all but breathing down his neck. She could see it more clearly now, and couldn’t rip her eyes from the hideous rotting skin, the gaping, drooling mouth. Flames crackled in the creature’s eyes. Long yellow teeth dripped blood.

  A gnarled limb reached past Cade to grasp at the foot of the bed. Maddie screamed and scrambled backward, crawling up the headboard. She pressed her spine against the plaster wall. The thing surged, drool oozing from one corner of its mouth. And yet Cade did nothing.

  “Cade. Help! Please—”

  She tried to escape. She tried to dive off the side of the bed. She couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She could only wait as it came closer and closer . . .

  And then Cade was there, kneeling over her with hands braced on either side of her head, his broad form blotting out the horror. “Maddie. Caraid. Look at me.”

  “I can’t, I . . . it’s there, behind you. I—”

  “Nothing’s there, love. See?”

  He moved slightly, allowing her a view of the room. It was empty. The creature was gone. And Maddie knew, without a doubt, Cade’s presence had banished it.