Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2)

by Christina Phillips

  Something cool pressed against her throat, a familiar pressure hissed through her skin and amber acid sizzled through her depleted arteries. Meg had given her what she so desperately needed. Liquid fire flooded through her mind, jolting her back to full awareness. Memories clarified, the suffocating fog receded, and her body embraced the cursed drug that not only curbed her vampiric cravings but allowed her to keep her fragile façade of humanity.

  “Sakarbaal’s methods?” Scorn scorched Meg’s voice. “I told you Rowan is not one of his whores. She fell at the first test and even if she hadn’t, I would have ensured she failed his final criteria.”

  Finally, her eyelids flickered opened. Above her, glaring at each other, stood Meg and a tall, lean vampire. The iron bands crushing her chest eased, and the fog in her brain faded with every passing second.

  Meg wasn’t behaving like she’d betrayed Rowan’s secret to Sakarbaal. So who had told him about her meetings with Azrael?

  “Meg.” Her throat ached with the effort of articulating, and her voice sounded weak and insignificant. But both vampires instantly stared down at her, as though she had suddenly grown a magnificent pair of iridescent wings. Is Azrael still waiting for me? “What are you doing here?”

  Meg sank onto the bed and clasped her hand, apparently oblivious to the dried blood and filth that clung to her like a second, foul skin. “How are you feeling, cheri?” Concern filled her beautiful blue eyes. “I feared the demon had murdered you when they brought back your car. Sakarbaal left London, and no one else at the Enclave truly knows what is going on.” She paused and gave the vampire on the other side of the bed a swift glance. “That is why I approached the Strigoi for information, with an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  Chapter 27

  Rowan

  “The Strigoi?” Rowan attempted to push herself upright, but it was too much of an effort. Instead she stared at the unknown vampire and a strange sensation of familiarity rippled through her.

  The members of the Enclave and the Echelon had been enemies for centuries. The Elector High Council of the Enclave might despise dhampirs but at least they allowed them to live. It was common knowledge the Echelon elite wanted them all dead.

  They had been taught their history as children, but it was a history taught by vampires of the Enclave. There was no corroborative evidence in human libraries, no way to double check online resources. Unlike her friend Belinda she had never been given a Strigoi target and as far as she knew hadn’t, until now, even met one.

  I’m sick of the lies Brad had told her. And so was she. But as the searing withdrawal symptoms receded and her numbed instincts sharpened an absolute certainty gripped her.

  She had encountered this vampire before.

  Yet she couldn’t detect his presence in the way she could detect any other vampire. It was only a faint, elusive glimmer, as if he was on the very peripheral of her psychic vision and if she turned too swiftly, he would vanish without trace.

  Vanish without trace. Memories collided and in that moment she knew, without doubt, why he was so oddly familiar.

  “You were standing across the road from Estella’s when I left with Azrael,” Rowan said. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It simply was.

  His expression didn’t alter. “I suspected you’d become aware of me. But I had the information I needed.”

  Information he’d used against Azrael. She recalled the disjointed segments of conversation she’d overheard when Azrael had brought her here, the repressed violence simmering beneath every word the vampire spoke. She could detect none of that violence in him now, but that didn’t mean anything. Not when she could barely detect he even was a vampire.

  “How could you disappear like that?” Rowan asked. It shouldn’t be possible. Even though she might not be able to defeat an ancient in combat, she should still have been able to track his movements.

  He didn’t answer right away. She had the oddest conviction her question had told him something that until now he’d merely suspected.

  “We share the blood of Sakarbaal.” Distaste colored his words, and she wanted to take issue with his statement because she didn’t share Sakarbaal’s blood. She had taken such a small amount from the vampire it couldn’t possibly count. Even if his blood instantly healed my injuries and showed me ancient memories. She shoved those thoughts aside. In any case, that had happened after the incident at Estella’s.

  But clearly the vampire hadn’t finished. “He Made me over two thousand years ago, and as far as I’m aware, I am the last of the few he took for his own. As for you,” he paused, apparently considering whether to continue or not. A butterfly touch of foreboding whispered along the back of her neck. I don’t want to know. “As his biological daughter it seems you’re unable to track your own bloodline.”

  I’m not Sakarbaal’s biological daughter.

  The denial screamed through her mind, and her abused stomach knotted in distress. It was horrible enough knowing that her father had raped her mother and left her for dead. But for that vampire to be Sakarbaal, the vampire whose ancient order had rescued her mother and then nurtured the offspring, was horrifying.

  When she’d hacked the medical records, the similarities between the victims of vampiric rape had haunted her. She might not want to believe the vampire’s accusation, but deep inside a sick acceptance stirred. Another twisted thread scraped through her heart. If Sakarbaal was her father wasn’t it also possible he had sired all the dhampirs the Enclave had rescued over the last fifty years?

  “Sakarbaal is not Rowan’s father.” Meg sounded horrified. At least not everyone within the Enclave was party to the disgusting origins of its dhampirs.

  “None of the victims were random, Meg.” Despite the overpowering need to close her eyes and drift into blissful sleep, she didn’t take her gaze from the Strigoi. The vampire who had been Made by Sakarbaal. “They were chosen by Sakarbaal. Why else were they all AB Negative? That’s my blood type, too. And Brad’s.” She tore her gaze from the hypnotic eyes of the vampire and looked at Meg’s shocked face. “It’s the blood type of every victim and dhampir they gave birth to over the last fifty years.” And those innocent embryos whose blood hadn’t ticked the right box had been disposed of. “What’s the betting it’s also Sakarbaal’s original blood type as well?”

  “I do not believe it.” Meg’s voice shook. “The Enclave gives sanctuary to dhampirs. The vampires responsible for the rapes are feral—uncivilized. Why would Sakarbaal resort to such barbarity?”

  “Sakarbaal,” the Strigoi said, “will do anything in order to achieve his goal.”

  “What is his goal?” Meg sounded like the aristocrat she had once been.

  “I have my suspicions. The dhampir medication you gave us should reveal some answers very soon.”

  The vampire’s words pierced the fog of exhaustion that threatened to take her under and she shot Meg a probing look. “That was the offer they couldn’t refuse? You gave them amber acid in exchange for information… on me?”

  “The Strigoi are arrogant and proud, but also powerful. Plus, one of their ancients resides here in London. If anyone could help find out what had happened to you, Rowan, Nico could. But naturally, an incentive to assist was required.”

  “An incentive might not have been required,” the vampire—Nico?—said. “But it will be interesting to see how Sakarbaal has refined his methods after a thousand years.”

  “His methods?” Had Sakarbaal sired dhampirs in this revolting manner a thousand years ago? Taken them in under the pretext of sanctuary?

  Got them hooked on a primitive version of amber acid?

  Were they the dhampirs of nine hundred years ago, whom Azrael had slain without mercy?

  Nico regarded her, as if she was an interesting insect he had captured and intended to vivisect. She refused to drop her gaze, despite how desperately hard it was to keep her eyes open. Somehow, she knew Nico would interpret that as a sign of weakness, and a
ny respect he might harbor for her would vanish.

  A Strigoi respect a dhampir? What was she thinking? Yet still she held his unblinking gaze.

  His unspoken challenge.

  He gave an almost imperceptible smile, as though he knew her thoughts and they amused him. “Your amber acid, whatever it truly is, is certainly remarkable. It’s hard to imagine that moments ago you were close to death.”

  My name is Rowan Moreton, and I am an addict. But what exactly was she addicted to? Could the Strigoi really unearth the hidden truths of amber acid? Or was it merely what they had all been told it was—a sanitized medicated substitute for fresh blood? Not just because as a dhampir she was incapable of mastering her primal urges, but because her corrupted immune system couldn’t cope with the real thing?

  She’d discovered to her cost that at least that wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t stomach raw animal blood and she hadn’t even been able to tolerate Azrael’s blood. And if she couldn’t process the blood of an archangel, what were the chances her body could accept a mere human’s?

  How she hoped there was more to the amber acid than they had all been told.

  Nico moved closer. “But if you want to regain your strength instantly, then you require my blood.”

  She recoiled, but it wasn’t the thought of taking the Strigoi’s blood that caused the panicky flutter in her gut. It was the primitive, desperate urge to take what he offered. Because his blood was of Sakarbaal, her sire, and his blood wouldn’t poison her.

  Tendrils of fatigue slid through her veins and wrapped around her mind. Reminding her that, despite the fact she was no longer at the mercy of the amber acid’s brutal withdrawal symptoms, she was still far from full health. It would take her body at least a couple of days to recover. A couple of days while she felt like shit and would be unable to do anything more vigorous than converse from her bed. It would be so easy to acquiesce to Nico’s… command.

  “No.” Her body screamed in protest, but she wouldn’t be a slave to her primal urges. Not when now, unlike the last few days, she was in control of her base instincts. “I won’t let you use me to hold any form of power over Azrael.”

  For a fleeting second, she saw admiration glow in the ancient vampire’s eyes. As though her refusal had somehow elevated her status. The fact she was a dhampir didn’t appear to register in his appraisal at all.

  Had all she’d learned of the Strigoi Echelon’s universal loathing of dhampirs been nothing but an elaborate lie?

  “Then accept my blood as a gift.” His voice was persuasive, a smoky promise. “I care nothing for the archangel, but you,” he paused, to allow his words to fully penetrate her exhausted brain. “You I would have understand.”

  She had no idea what he meant, and she didn’t much care. Only one thing mattered. “If I take your blood the only one beholden to you will be me. Azrael owes you nothing.”

  Nico offered her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Agreed.” He sank his fangs into his wrist and despite herself she watched, mesmerized, as his crimson blood filled her vision. He raised his head and pressed his wrist against her parched lips. “Drink, Rowan, and discover the bonds that connect us together.”

  She closed her eyes and sucked down the luscious fluid, uncaring of how her frail human sensibilities trembled in despair. Already she could feel the strength flowing through her, but as she drank deeper Nico opened his mind to hers and his memories flooded through.

  Unease crawled over her flesh, but she couldn’t let go, couldn’t push his arm away. All she could do was take what he offered, his blood and his memory intertwined.

  Nico, on his knees before the castle in the aftermath of the slaughter, the ravaged grounds soaked with the blood of the slain. Grief and fury, even now, after all these centuries, raging through him, tainting everything he touched, as he clasped a fallen young dhampir in his arms, her eyes the same molten gold as Nico’s. The greatest betrayal.

  And she understood.

  Chapter 28

  Azrael

  What the fuck was the vampire doing to her? Azrael glowered at the door and only just fought back the primal instinct to storm through this cursed place until he found her. It burned his gut that Nico, that fucking arrogant bastard, could heal Rowan while he, an archangel, could not.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Nate’s violent hiss slashed through the fraught silence. “It’s only sex, Az. You can get that anywhere. Go screw a few mortal females and get this one out of your system before she destroys you.”

  Would Nico’s blood flowing through Rowan’s veins be enough to eliminate whatever Sakarbaal had done to ensure she was so irresistible? When he next saw her would this unnatural ache in his chest ease? Would he look at her and feel nothing but mild compassion for her plight?

  “She won’t destroy me.” He didn’t deign to look at the other archangel. “Whatever she’s done, she is as much a victim of Sakarbaal as the phoenix he captured a thousand years ago.”

  Nate swore in the language of the ancients. Clearly, he didn’t feel the same way. “She looks like shit and she’s still leading you by the cock. Nic had better find a way to scrub her clean before he brings her back.”

  Azrael gritted his teeth. The only reason he was so concerned for her welfare was because she had been genetically engineered specifically for that purpose.

  How Sakarbaal had managed it he couldn’t begin to imagine. But as a weapon it was phenomenal. How many others had fallen, unaware, beneath its insidious power?

  The door opened and Rowan entered the room. She was still covered in filth and grime. Her hair was tangled but her eyes were focused, filled with keen intelligence, and her skin was no longer a deathly pallor.

  He had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

  “Azrael.” Her voice was husky but otherwise just as he remembered. He remained rooted to the spot, unable to respond, because what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say, would only confirm, irrevocably, that her unholy hold over him hadn’t diminished at all.

  “Back as promised,” Nico said, following her into the room. “As good as new.”

  “Nico.” Rowan didn’t raise her voice, didn’t take her gaze from him, but Nico shrugged and leaned against the architrave as though she had given him an obscure warning. “Thank you for saving my life, Azrael. I would have died out there in the forest if you hadn’t found me.”

  He glared at her, and hoped it disguised the way he wanted to drag her into his arms and take her back to his villa. He was still in her thrall, but he’d be damned if he’d let everyone know it.

  “It wasn’t Azrael who saved your sorry ass.” Contempt dripped from every word Nate uttered. “It was Nico. Save your false gratitude for those who earned it.”

  Her gaze didn’t waver from him. Gods, her eyes were beautiful. He could almost believe she hadn’t the first inkling of the evil that lurked in the darkest crevices of creation.

  “I accepted Nico’s offer of blood in order to regain my strength more quickly. But it wasn’t his blood that saved my life.” The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips and with a jolt he realized she wasn’t nearly as calm as she appeared. “The truth is—I’ve been on medication since the moment I was born. I suppose you could say I’m addicted to it and that’s why I nearly died. Because I can’t live without my drugs.”

  She was a drug addict? Was it some kind of preternatural pheromone? Was that the secret to her fatal allure?

  The full force of her confession slammed through him. If the drug was the reason why he couldn’t let her go, it was also the reason she was still alive. For him to be free of her, she would have to die.

  “What is the drug?”

  “I don’t know.” Distress threaded through her confession but was that just another facet of her façade? “All dhampirs take it as a substitute food source. We can’t tolerate untreated blood.” She glanced at an oddly familiar blonde woman by her side. “But there’s more to it than that. There’s got to be
.”

  “The Strigoi will discover what we need to know.” The blonde spoke with a French accent and he recalled that she’d been with Rowan at the club the night they’d first met. “Their scientists are not hampered by centuries of Sakarbaal’s edicts.”

  He dragged his gaze from Rowan and looked at Nico. The vampire’s blood polluted Rowan’s veins now, but he hadn’t saved her life. Yet Azrael was in his debt. “When will you have the results?”

  Nico shrugged one shoulder in an attitude of nonchalance that irritated the shit out of him. “Tomorrow night.”

  He returned his attention to Rowan. “You will return with me. I’ve questions that you will answer.”

  “Rowan will go nowhere with you.” The blonde vampire sounded outraged and stepped in front of Rowan like that would protect her. “She nearly died when you abducted her before.”

  “It’s all right, Meg,” Rowan said, moving so that the vampire no longer stood between them. “Azrael deserves some answers.” She looked at him. “And so do I.”

  She deserved answers? From him?

  “Come here.” Damned if he would go to her. It was bad enough he couldn’t simply teleport back to his villa but for appearances sake he had to allow Nate to take them back.

  She walked towards him, and he waited until she was right in front of him. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and jerked her roughly against him.

  “Nate.” It wasn’t a question and although he could feel the impotent fury rolling from the other archangel like an open furnace to hell, all Nate did was grip his biceps and get them out of there.

  Rowan had been in his bathroom for almost an hour, and Azrael prowled the length of his bedroom trying without success to ignore the seductive, feminine fragrance that drifted beneath the bathroom door.

  After they’d arrived Nate hadn’t said a word, and after one condemning look had left them to it. Azrael had retrieved Rowan’s bag and his katana from the forest and then she’d disappeared to clean up.