But she’d had sex with him. Meaning she had trusted him to take care of her. Alex smiled gently, sincerely. “I’m honored.”
Elizabeth didn’t smile back. Actually, she shook her head and looked away a second, before meeting his gaze again. “With you, I’m more worried that I’ll become the stalker. I just wanted you, inside me, a part of me, for however long we could manage.”
That was even better. Twenty minutes, hell. Alex tugged her hand to his mouth. “I love you.”
“Well, just so you know….” The smile she gave him was a perfect mix of shyly sweet and challengingly wicked. “I have much higher expectations now.”
Felicia was comatose when Silas found her. She’d fallen over, her back to the wall, tears still wet on her face. With an exclamation, he rushed to her side and knelt, automatically reaching for her. But just before that first touch, he froze, his hands hovering in the air. Was she meant to die? In this time, in this place? How would Elizabeth feel when she saw her sister’s body abandoned on the worn floor of a sleazy motel? Would she be able to move forward, past the destruction in Adad’s vision?
Felicia’s thoughts still streamed through her mind, the only sign besides her shallow breathing that she still lived. He’d never been close to such pain, such intense loneliness and despair. Humans felt so deeply, every cut and bruise visible on their heart and mind. He’d passed by them, through them, for centuries, forcing an emotional barrier between himself and the outer world so he barely noticed their inner torment. But like Kalyss, Felicia was different. Alex would care, Elizabeth would care, and the children would be hurt beyond repair. His attachment to them expanded, making Felicia’s suffering more personal, more acute.
Despite the gifts that marked her Nephilim, it was Felicia’s humanity that ruled her. And everything that was human in her called to the human in him, crying her utter hopelessness straight to his heart. How could he do nothing?
But still, he hesitated. Watching her face, listening to her thoughts. So many nightmares flying close to the surface. So many destroyed dreams. Sympathy such as he’d never known enveloped Silas until he held his hands out to Felicia again, ready to do anything, but again, he froze before touching her.
Do not interfere. The greatest law he’d been taught. The one he fought so hard to follow. God had a plan and humans needed to trust it, even when it meant loss and pain. But Felicia’s sadness reached for him. Her mental cries grabbed his heart and wouldn’t let go. Silas hadn’t expected this when he’d come for her. He wanted, needed, to do something, anything. But when would he stop? Had he passed that point already? Who was in charge of his direction? Because he certainly did not believe it was him.
He had a choice to make, and not just the immediate one. But Felicia came first and his honest answer for her was that he couldn’t just lay there and watch her suffer.
Silas palmed her face, directing it toward his until they were nose to nose. He would hold her. Give her a chance for Alex to arrive and save her. It wasn’t everything he could do, but it wasn’t nothing. Silas’s innate glow spread, covering them both in a blanket of light. Smoothing his hand over hair and cheek, he took in her hopelessness, absorbing it so she could absorb some of his hope.
Entering her mind with his, Silas searched for the small spark of light that was her soul. As she’d once huddled in the blackest depths of her mother’s basement, the spark that was Felicia now hid in the darkest corners of her mind. It surrounded her with concrete walls and a cold stone floor. All around him were shadowed images of her memories, good and bad, reenacted in excruciating detail, side by side, with no wails to separate them, to mute the noise or even to hide the worst of her memories. Rape, not once, not twice, but countless times as she traded her body for a drugged illusion of pain-free living. Fights, brutality, tissue-thin semblances of affection exposed for the shams they were because she knew what it was to truly love. And to lose that love.
Felicia had no protection. No way to lock away her nightmares. One fact rang out above all others. Felicia had led a life of crippling pain and torment. He’d entered her mind without any protective barriers, nothing to block his focus, and now the intense visuals he walked past cut into his heart like a million slicing blades.
It was so overwhelmingly loud in her mind. When he found her at last, she was naked and trembling, wrapped around herself, making herself as small as possible. If she couldn’t hide her memories, then she had to hide herself.
Silas looked down at her bruised and scarred soul. “I know it hurts, but they are coming for you. Your sister loves you.”
Felicia shivered, all warmth slowly leaching away from her soul. Death waited, ready to take her as soon as that light diminished. “Dallas won’t look for me, she doesn’t care.”
Silas drew closer, slowly banishing every shadow that surrounded her with his glowing heat and creating an insulating barrier around them both to dull the noise. “Not Dallas. Elizabeth. Elizabeth is coming for you.”
Felicia shook her head, hiding her eyes from him. “Beth Ann hates me. She hates everything I’ve become. She won’t waste her time on me again.”
Silas shook his head. “She loves you. You’ll see.”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late.”
Felicia raised her head and stared at Silas’s long, brown hair and cream-colored robes. Then her gaze traveled to the tall arc of downy white feathers that rose above his head and fell gracefully to his ankles. Silas held his hand out to her. She squinted against the glow around them, but offered her hand in return.
“Are you Jesus?”
He smiled sadly. “No one near so grand. I’m too far from perfection.”
Felicia smiled a little through her tears. “I’m far from perfect, too.”
His brown eyes softened so gently. “Then come, Mistress of the Light. Let us pray for redemption together.”
Slowly, she reached for him, allowing his hand to close around hers. As she stood, her nudity was fully exposed. She huddled, hiding behind her hair. “I must be stoned.”
Silas grinned wryly and pulled her close, helping her stand on trembling legs that threatened to buckle and offering comfort. “No, you don’t need that false strength anymore, you’ll see.”
Lying in the dark hotel room, stretched out on the floor alongside Felicia, Silas continued to pet her hair while holding the image of him helping her in his mind. He allowed her to continue to absorb his light, his strength. He only prayed Elizabeth and Alex arrived before it was gone. Because Silas now knew one thing bone deep. He’d let himself drain completely and perish before he allowed this woman, who’d already suffered so much, to be abandoned again. Interference be damned. He’d made his choice and he would not deviate.
Shelly appeared to be sleeping, her feet dangling over the side of the love seat, the baby balanced on her chest with one hand to hold her secure. She looked the picture of peace, until Draven drew closer. Asleep, it would be easier to whisper in her ear and hope she heard. There would be a likelier chance even that she would listen. Those earrings were the worst sort of gift. Any gift from Maeve was the same.
Draven drew closer to the teenager and could hear her dreams like a movie played in a distant room. The music for suspense. The whispered prayers of a frightened child. A dark room with the camera focused on a black doorway. Bright whitish light pierced the edge of the door, a thin line along the sides, thicker at the bottom. The camera zoomed in on the slow turn of a handle.
Shit. No. Draven knelt at Shelly’s side, one hand covering Shelly’s forehead and pressing at the temples. Able to see and touch Shelly, but not be seen by Geoffrey, though he sat straight and alert, his eyes piercing the softly lit living room as if Draven’s invisible advantage wouldn’t last long.
It didn’t matter, though. Geoffrey could do his best, but Shelly could not be left alone. Her memories, combined with Maeve’s earrings, spelled destruction on an epic scale. There had to be a way to break
the link. Draven cast about the teen’s mind, looking for a way to break the endless loop of memory. No matter what the attempt, though, Draven repeatedly hit a wall of failure.
Pulling back, Draven slowly rose, black cloak billowing to the floor with smoky tendrils flaring out like a low, dark fog. Other checks must be made before returning to this task, hopefully with a better plan. One that would work. Drifting room to room, Draven breathed in, until the air from every silent corner spilled its secrets. From the dining room to the kitchen, down to the cluttered basement and up the stairs to where the rest of the children slept. Geoffrey followed him, sensing the danger that emanated from Draven, but not knowing what to do, how to protect them.
Draven ignored him and examined everything, needing to know if only Shelly was affected by Maeve’s machinations. There was only one plan that came to mind. No doubt it would break Silas’s rules, but Draven was hard-pressed to really care. Yes, the rules were important. Yes, they were in place to be obeyed for the greater good, but there had to be a time when it was okay to break rules.
Like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to aid the poor. Like Jesus harvesting grain on the Sabbath to feed the hungry. Sometimes, one wrong act held more weight than a million days of following the rules.
Satisfied at last, Draven returned to the girl, knelt by her side. The baby turned her head, bright blue eyes looking straight into the depths of Draven’s cowl. With one leather-clad finger, slightly longer than the average human’s, Draven traced Veronica’s gently rounded cheek. The baby twitched, blinked, then her eyes slowly drifted closed. Geoffrey returned to his chair, his posture straight, his vigilance absolute.
He was the protector, the guardian. The kindest thing would be to give him a cause to champion. Draven held one palm up, fingers pointed at Geoffrey. Leaning close, Draven blew and black smoke drifted across the distance until Geoffrey breathed it in. He blinked, relaxed, sinking into the cushioned depths of the chair. Then his eyes closed and his breathing deepened, slowed.
Draven turned to Shelly and the same smoke drifted over her face. She fell deeper into her dreams, but this time she wasn’t alone. She would have Geoffrey. Looking at the silver earrings turning the girl’s ears red, Draven reached for them. It was time to remove them, crush them. They could be replaced with fakes and Shelly would never know.
The moment Draven touched them, electricity burst from Shelly’s ears, knocking Draven several feet back. Then the silver bolt arced through the air, through the smoky cloak, obliterating every hint of fabric until Draven laid still and bare upon the floor.
Shelly huddled under the covers, though the thick blankets did nothing to warm her. The cold that filled her went clear to the bone. “No. Not tonight. Please.”
She whispered the prayer over and over, but it didn’t halt the turning of the handle. It didn’t calm the beating of her heart or the shaking of her limbs. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a steady flood. She was thirteen again, but still too old to cry like this, but it didn’t seem to make an impact. The sobs breaking her chest never lessened.
The door cracked, opening in a silent, slow sweep. The man filling the doorway was built of shadow, seeming all the bigger for the darkness inside him. His boots struck the floor, bringing him closer one step at a time. Behind him, her door shut, taking the light with it until all she could hear was excited breaths and the steady thud of boots closing the distance between them. Until the boots stopped, poised, waiting. Then the sounds doubled. Two large men breathing, struggling, panting until … stillness.
Shelly shrieked, burying her head against the pillows and repeating her prayers, speaking faster and faster. Shelly lay still, afraid to look, afraid to know.
But then a calm voice demanded, “Turn on the light, Shelly.”
She flinched, holding the covers around her even tighter.
Patiently, he called to her again. “It’s okay now, Shelly. Turn on the light.”
“Geoffrey?” Shelly tugged the blanket to her nose and peeked into the blackness of her bedroom.
“Yes.”
Fumbling an arm free, she reached to the lamp beside her bed and touched the base. A low glow filled the room, illuminating two men at the end of her bed.
Geoffrey held her nightmare man, one hand on his chin, the other hand at the back of his head. With one twist, she heard bones break. Like black oil, the shadow pooled at Geoffrey’s feet, then disappeared through the floor.
His gaze steady, Geoffrey stood alone, his strong hands at his sides. “We’ll do this as many times as you need.”
Shelly trembled, her hands fisted on the blankets. She heard the promise in his tone, saw it in his stance, but she still needed the reassurance. “You’ll stop him?”
“Every time,” he vowed.
Shelly thought for a moment, then nodded. Lying back, she pulled the covers to her chin. Quickly, she snaked one arm free to turn off the light, then tucked it back and faced her nightmare. Already she felt better, stronger, just knowing Geoffrey was there with her.
“What do you mean she’s dying?” Elizabeth sat straighter in the bed, Geoffrey’s voice sounding clearly through Alex’s cell phone.
“That’s what he said when he called a minute ago. Felicia is dying and it’s a twin thing. That you’d understand.”
“I do.” The twin-sense between Bobby and Felicia was near-legendary. Even when frustratingly vague, it was always accurate. “Did he say anything else?”
“Not exactly. He mumbled something about her being with the angels.”
Elizabeth gathered her clothes from the bathroom floor and tossed them on the rumpled bed. “But nothing about what’s hurting her?”
“No.”
She sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”
Closing the phone, she closed her eyes, trying to breathe. A warm body settled next to her and a familiar hand rested on the bare skin of her back. “We’ll find her. Don’t worry. Just pull your clothes on and I’ll get ahold of Ron again.”
Opening her eyes to Alex’s concerned, hazel gaze, Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He took the phone and strode from the room, leaving her to dress in privacy.
And worry. Bobby had to be going crazy, stuck behind bars while his other half was “with the angels”. Elizabeth might not approve of all the choices he’d made, but he was still her brother. Just as she cared about her sister, despite how she’d landed in whatever situation she faced tonight. Pulling on her jeans, Elizabeth donned the shirt Alex had laid out for her and did her best to hide the blood-stiffened side of her jeans. She could wash them later. At least they were black denim.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maeve watched Geoffrey through narrowed eyes. He hung up the phone and turned to face her, leaning one hip against the counter. A small, mocking grin stretched his lips. Why didn’t she recognize the being behind that look? She scowled. “You’re not Geoffrey.”
Faux-Geoffrey grinned wider. “Brilliant of you to deduce. Especially after seeing his sleeping body in the next room.”
Maeve snarled, curling her hands so her fingernails formed claws. “Show your true self.”
Faux-Geoffrey paused, as if considering the wisdom of challenging her demand, before straightening from the edge of the counter. Short for a half-breed, he was a giant of a man. He angled his blond head and his blue-grey eyes hardened. Only the unnatural smirk that twisted his lips gave any hint of the person behind the mask.
Black smoke built behind him, framing his shoulders and his face with dark wisps that slowly condensed, becoming solid before swallowing him, absorbing him into the cloaked and cowled form of Silas’s ally. The figure faced Maeve, the black hole where a face should be hinting at terrifying shadows and painful secrets. “Happy now?”
Of course not, but at least this was closer to the truth.
Maeve curled her lip and barely refrained from attacking. “Scared to show your true form? That surprises
me from one such as you.”
Gloved hands crossed one over the other, and the figure taunted. “I sincerely doubt it surprises you, since you know nothing of me. I hope you go insane with curiosity.”
“Do you really believe insanity would make me less of an enemy?”
“No, but you’d be more challenging. Less likely to create clichéd traps like the earrings.”
“Clichéd?” Maeve’s hands fisted. “You fell for it.”
“Yes, pitiful me. I should have suspected such antiquated tactics from a relic like you. I’m surprised I recovered so quickly.”
Despite the anonymity of the cowl, Maeve could sense the smirk on whatever passed for the figure’s mouth. Whatever inhabited that cloak now understood the level to which she’d been weakened, first by the tunnels and then by the scribe. Sharp claws of fear dug into her stomach. Screeching her rage, Maeve raised her fists and charged forward.
Prepared for her attack, the figure raised linked hands, palms out, and a barrier formed. One a weakened Maeve could not penetrate. “You are not welcome here, hell bitch. In His name, be gone.”
Draven smiled beneath the cloak, watching as Maeve bounced off Draven’s personal barrier and was yanked back, like an invisible lasso had tightened around her waist. Before she could stop it, Maeve was sucked away. Even if the price of invoking His name sent Draven straight to hell itself, watching Maeve’s face was worth it.
Draven chuckled, the husky voice drifting throughout the sleeping house just moments before the physical form followed. Those housed within the walls would now be protected from Maeve’s presence.
Elizabeth tried to hold back her fear during the twenty-minute drive to the faded, run-down motel Ron had directed them to. It had been so long since she and Felicia had lived as sisters. Time during which she’d struggled to maintain an emotional distance from her family, if only out of a desperate search for self-preservation. But when they arrived, what would they find? It wouldn’t be good. Felicia was hurt somehow. Either by the drugs or by whatever man had taken her to the motel.
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