Revenge: House of Nephilim

by May Dawson

  “Have you been turned on all this time, watching us fight?” I murmur in her ear.

  “It does make me happy to see you get hit in the face, Julian,” she murmurs, resting her head on my shoulder and giving me a smile.

  “Evil girl,” I growl, and I push her panties away, pressing my fingers against her clit. Her smile as she looks up at me grows wider, her eyes growing heavy lidded. I work my fingers through her slick heat with expert precision, until she bites her lip, as Ever pays slow, loving attention to nuzzling her throat with his kisses. He draws her shirt over her head, kissing his way down her stomach as he kneels.

  I bow my head to kiss her naked shoulders, the curve of her neck. She leans into me and runs one hand up the back of my neck into my hair. My lips meet hers, and as my fingers work steadily against her clit, her breath gives.

  Everett rises and caresses her breasts, then helps her peel her sports bra off. He kisses his way down her chest, and a tremor runs through her body as he kisses the edge of her areola. His gaze flickers up to hers, and they trade small smiles before her head lolls back against my shoulder. I drop kisses in her hair, my hand still working steadily between her thighs, as Everett covers her nipple with his mouth.

  She begins to moan softly as I stroke between her thighs. He circles her nipple with his tongue, then draws it into his mouth, and watching him toy with her pale, shining breasts makes me so hard I almost can’t handle it. Her muscles tense as if she’s on the verge of orgasm and she tries to push us both away, as if the sensation’s become too much, but the two of us just work harder.

  Everett presses a kiss to her nipple, then moves to the other, and her back arches, her hands catching my shoulders. I hold her against me as my lips move to her shoulder again, and I slip my fingers inside her. She gasps as I slide two fingers in, finding her g-spot in her wet channel, my thumb still working steadily against her clit. Her hips jerk against me helplessly as I push her toward orgasm.

  Then she tightens around my fingers, her channel pulsing with the power of her orgasm. Her body trembles against mine as she goes weak-kneed, and I take her weight as she leans back into me.

  “Oh, Ever,” she moans. “Oh, Julian.”

  My name on her lips is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, but Everett’s doesn’t sound bad either, and I smile.

  When she stops trembling with her orgasm, I pick her up against my chest and carry her toward the bed.

  She smiles up at me, her eyes dilated with desire, and my heart stutters in my chest. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

  There have been so many other women, and now I don’t know why.

  There’s never been anyone for me but her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Eden

  THAT NIGHT, I drift off to sleep between Ever and Julian.

  But late that night, I wake up, my heart pounding as if something terrible is about to happen.

  That’s not unusual for me, so while I sit up and listen carefully, I don’t sound the alarm quite yet. Spend years wanted, and years wanted dead, and one starts to expect the worst. I’m so silent that Ever and Julian sleep on, their faces handsome under the moonlight.

  There’s no danger. Just my imagination.

  But my heart is still wild, a sour taste in the back of my mouth. I lie back down and try to relax.

  But I can’t stop thinking about Lincoln and the awful things he said. You weren’t brave enough to fly. My jaw sets. There’s no excuse for what he did; he should’ve waited for me to be ready. He had no right to push me.

  I can’t stop thinking, though, about how sweet it would feel to fly under my own power. If I can.

  After a few minutes, I ease carefully off the foot of the bed and slip across the room, getting dressed. I tiptoe out of the room and ease the door closed behind me.

  I head just out the back of the Nephilim house. I know better than to go far; I could scream and the guys would come running.

  But I want to stand with my feet firm on the earth beneath me.

  Then I want to fly.

  I bite my lip. It’s a struggle to summon my wings when I’ve spent so long keeping them hidden. As a child, they sprang from my back easily, at a thought, or even against my will when I was startled.

  Now, though, what was once natural as breathing takes great effort.

  When my wings finally tear loose, it hurts.

  I let out a gasp that almost sounds like a sob. The wings shadow me, a flicker of white like a ghost over my shoulders, but I don’t dare look at them. I don’t want to see how sad and ruined they look. It’s enough if I can fly on them; Lincoln was right about that. If we can still fly on our twisted wings, then aren’t they beautiful anyway?

  I take a tentative step forward, then I flex my shoulders. My wings beat slowly. The sound of them folding and expanding rustles through the air, and it sparks strange fear in my chest. I’m no child; no one is going to scold me for exposing my wings, even though any Nephilim who saw me would look and disapprove.

  I clench my fists, forcing my wings to beat even though it doesn’t feel natural. Flying looks so easy to Lincoln. Maybe that’s because he’s Bred, or maybe it’s simply a matter of practice.

  I’m concentrating so hard on forcing my wings to continue that slow beat that it’s a surprise to me when I realize my feet are six feet off the ground.

  I let out a sound that might be delight or dismay or both, and I forget to beat my wings. As soon as I start to tumble down, my wings beat reflexively, but it’s too late for them to catch me when I’m barely off the ground. I hit the ground awkwardly and land on my ass, unharmed.

  Where’s that famed Nephilim grace now?

  I pull a face at myself, embarrassed, and scramble to my feet. I try again and again; my shoulders ache as I finally rise a few feet. I let myself fall back to earth, land hard on my feet and take a stumbling step before I catch myself.

  It’s such hard work. I glance around, but there’s no one to see me try and try and fail.

  Lincoln’s obnoxious command runs through my mind. Wings out. My chin rises in irritation, even though he isn’t here. Wings out, chin up, time to fly. When I’m ready.

  This time, when I beat my wings, I rise more steadily into the air, in fits and starts. I get about twelve feet up before my body tilts and my wings lose their airpower. I tumble back to earth, my wings beating frantically and ineffectively, and crash into the dirt. This time, I lay there for a moment stunned, looking up at the brightly lit Nephilim house and the clock tower that stretches into the sky.

  I could give up and go inside the brightly lit house. I raise my hands to run my fingers through my hair; sweat is beaded along my hairline, both from the exertion and from the fear of flying. Then I notice a hair tie around my wrist, so I sit up. I pull my hair up into a bun to get it off my damp neck.

  Sometimes all a girl needs is a messy bun and a little rage to get through her day.

  I stand again and summon all my strength, beating my wings against the night.

  And eventually, when I beat my wings, I soar into the sky.

  Flying on my own is everything I dreamed of. I fly back and forth over campus, giddy and laughing. It feels amazing, the wind in my hair and the control over my body. My power—my very own power—ripples through every muscle.

  Flying is sheer joy.

  I don’t know why I ever let anyone shame me out of this delight.

  When I fly back to the Nephilim house, Lincoln is standing outside, his arms crossed over his chest. At first, I think he’s pissed, but hey, if he wants to fight—so do I.

  I swoop down toward him, try to land gracefully and with dignity, and almost succeed. I stumble and he reaches out to steady me, grabbing my shoulders.

  “Sorry to touch you,” he says, trying to mock me as I catch my balance and he pulls his hands away.

  But he can’t hide the way his face is lit with joy, his golden eyes dancing like the rippling of flames in a campfire.
He’s so happy for me.

  I grin back at him, because the way he reflects my own happiness is Lincoln at his core. Underneath all his sullen, bossy layers, he’s a good person.

  We still need to have a come-to-Jesus meeting, though. I want to get the fight over so we can get to making up, but his gaze fixes on something over my shoulder, and his face changes.

  I whirl to see Michael Kinley storming toward us.

  Lincoln turns to me, leaning close, those magnetic golden eyes so close in my vision that I can’t look away. His eyes are truly mesmerizing. His voice is very soft when he murmurs, “Keep your mouth shut until you go to Julian and Ever. You will not say that you were the one flying.”

  I jerk away from him, pissed off, even though I still can’t stop staring into his eyes. He finally breaks eye contact with me, squeezing my shoulders in his hands before he turns to face Kinley.

  “I saw you flying,” Michael Kinley tells me, his voice warning, as he reaches us. He doesn’t even spare a glance for Lincoln. “You are going to the detention center, Eden Greyson.”

  Terror wraps around my chest. “Flying isn’t against the rules,” I blurt out. “That’s why there are wards above the walls—”

  “It is a house rule,” Michael Kinley snaps. “Other creatures can fly. Not Nephilim. Our wings are not constructed like the angels—it’s too dangerous for students to fly.”

  I shake my head.

  “Since when is that a house rule?” Lincoln demands, then raises his hand. It doesn’t matter right now; Gabriel would defend us, but he’s gone, and I don’t get the vibe that Esther cares much about mercy. Plus, she must be asleep in the faculty residences on the far side of campus.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lincoln adds, his voice low. “I was the one flying.”

  Kinley shakes his head. “Oh, no. Don’t compound trouble with falsehood.”

  “You’re right,” Lincoln tells him. “Her wings aren’t strong enough to fly, just like you said. But I’m Bred—I can fly. I’m the one you saw up in the sky.”

  I know how much he hates being Bred, so it sparks warmth that he just admitted to it in an attempt to protect me along with anger that he claims I’m not strong enough. But more than anything right now, I’m afraid for both of us.

  The thought of that detention center is terrifying to me.

  I open my mouth to say that I was the one flying, to protect Lincoln, but I can’t force the words out.

  I look at Lincoln frantically. That asshole compelled me. Since he’s Bred, he has more power to control minds than Ever or I do—and he’s used it on me.

  And he’s outmaneuvered Kinley by agreeing with him. Kinley has a look of disgust across his face.

  “I see,” Kinley mutters. “Then you need to come with me to my office now, Lincoln. We’ll get the detention center set up for you.”

  Kinley gives me a seething look, and my heart beats faster in terror for what he’ll do to Lincoln. I try again to force something out, but I can’t bring myself to say something.

  Linc turns to me so Kinley can’t see his face, and he winks at me.

  Right before Kinley takes him away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Ever

  I WAKE up from a sound sleep to Eden shaking me awake. The sight of her face jolts me wide awake.

  I scramble up and demand, “What is it?”

  “Kinley took Lincoln to his office,” she says. “He’s going to punish him for flying. He’s taking him to the detention center.”

  Fear thuds into my gut at the thought of one of us going to the detention center now. Kinley might want Eden most of all, but if he can pick us off one-by-one, Eden will be left unguarded.

  Julian gives me a grim look. “Why the hell was Linc flying?”

  Eden chews her lower lip. “It’s my fault. I was trying to fly… he’s covering for me.”

  Julian swears. He’s already rolling off the foot of the bed, going to hunt up his clothes.

  “It’s going to be all right,” I tell Eden, resting my hand on her shoulder, but she yanks away as if any compassion burns her skin. I know that look of self-loathing on her face, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  As I hurriedly throw on clothes, I worry not just about Lincoln, but about what it will do to Eden if he’s hurt.

  “I’m going to the house of the witches,” I tell Eden and Julian. “I’ll meet you at the detention center.”

  “Is that a good idea?” she asks.

  “No,” I say.

  She gets a look on her face, as if she knows I’m doing something stupid for Lincoln. But all she says is, “Be careful.”

  “I’ll try.” I’m already heading out the door.

  I run all the way to the witches’ house. The limbs of the trees along the path above me are twisted, breaking up the moonlight that shines on the school.

  I feel the tug of magic on my skin, and I stop to mutter the words of the spell that Alyssa taught me. The two of us grew to be close friends when I was being ignored by the Nephilim, and she taught me to reach the witches’ house safely… I think she hoped I’d tumble into her bed instead of climbing into her room to talk late at night.

  And I probably would have fallen into her bed, if I hadn’t been still grieving Eden.

  I don’t have to fly to climb the twisting tree outside Alyssa’s window. Then I walk easily along the thick branch that hangs near her bedroom window. She used to leave her window open for me, but it isn’t open tonight. I knock on her bedroom window before I hear murmured voices and laughter inside. Shit, she’s not alone.

  When she throws open the window, I can hear a male voice behind her demand, “What the hell?”

  “Do you ever sleep?” I ask her.

  “Do you?” She’s naked, her hair falling in thick waves over her breasts. “What are you doing here, Ever?”

  “Lincoln was taken to the detention center. Can you help?”

  She smiles at me sadly. “Ever. After our antics the other day, I’m so locked down it’s not even funny. If I set foot out of this house, Malachai will know, and I’ll be headed to the detention center myself.”

  The thought of my friend being hurt twists something inside me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says. “I’m still pretty proud that I managed to make friends with a snobby Nephilim asshole.”

  “It’s amazing,” I admit, and she laughs. “I hope the warlock you’ve got in there with you is being good to you.”

  “There’s more than one,” she says, giving me a slow grin, “and they’re being very, very good.”

  I smile and raise my hand in a wave goodbye before I leap to the ground. The tree branch sways above me with the force, the branches and leaves scraping against the side of the house.

  I run back toward the path and across campus to the detention center. I leave the path and wind through the trees, trying to sneak up on the detention center. I reach the edge of the treeline where I can see the three concrete buildings that make up the detention center, but there’s no one here. Am I too late?

  Suddenly, Eden seems to materialize out of the trees beside me. She was always the most quiet and sure-footed of the five of us. Julian’s right behind her.

  “They haven’t come here yet,” she says, her face worried.

  I nod. “I wasn’t able to get witch help. Alyssa can’t leave the house without being caught.”

  “Big surprise,” Eden mutters.

  She looks miserable, and I know that’s why she’s bristling. She hates that Lincoln is taking her punishment for her. But I’m sick of our Nephilim attitudes that look down on every other paranormal race.

  “Hey,” I say. “She’s my friend. Can you not?”

  “Why do you think anyone genuinely wants to be friends with us? Allies, sure. We kick ass.” She flashes me a tight smile that I don’t return. “But no one wants to be our friend.”

  “Speak for yourse
lf, kiddo,” I shoot back.

  Julian sighs. It’s the faintest exhale, but it still seems to say, here we go.

  “I heard that asshole Marcus stood in the door to a class so some of our fellow students would be late. That’s the kind of thing that makes people not want to be our friends,” Eden points out.

  “Would you stop him?” I ask. “If you saw him fucking with the other students that way?”

  She shrugs.

  “That’s the kind of thing that makes people not want to be our friends too,” I say. “We could stop some of the bullshit around here if we all stood up for what’s right.”

  “Fucking Saint Everett,” Julian says.

  Eden stares at the detention center. Real fear etches itself across her face. I feel the same way. The memory of my two previous trips is alive, like a monster that crawls through my mind.

  “What was it like the first time you were punished in the detention center?” Eden asks.

  “Treading water torture,” I answer. “The water’s just a few inches deeper than you can reach. Alone in the dark, in the water, for twenty-four hours.”

  “That sounds like a nightmare,” she says.

  “It is,” I say. “And I was luckier than most students. Turns out that my wings are good for something after all—I could use them to float.”

  “Wings as floaties,” Julian says. “I like your style.”

  Eden studies the detention center, and the breeze ruffles her long, shimmering golden hair. No matter how dark the night around us, she seems lit from within.

  “What if we burn this place down,” she says slowly.

  “And escape?” I ask.

  Julian raises his eyebrows at me. “Don’t you intend to join the Sent as an agent after this? Once you graduate?”

  “If I graduate,” I say. “Yeah. That’s my plan.”

  She scoffs. “Joining the Sent. They’re barely better than the Lords.”

  I tilt my head to one side, studying her.

  “What?” she demands, her voice irritated.

  “I think we should graduate,” I say, “and then come back and burn this place down. Play by their rules, show we never deserved to be here anyway. Then destroy it. Because this place isn’t right.”