by E. A. Copen
I scrubbed harder.
Josiah’s constant badgering didn’t help. He’d thrust that man into the apartment and run off to buy more cigarettes, retreating as if he’d just tossed a leg of lamb into a feral lion’s cage. Feed on him, he’d demanded. Drain away his life, his free will, everything that makes him human. Rape the poor bastard’s mind and never mind that his body wants you, that he doesn’t know what you are and won’t until it’s too late.
The plastic handle of the scrub brush snapped in my hand. I threw it against the wall with a growl and decided to wash my hair instead. When was the last time I’d done that? Had I done it at all since coming back? Maybe. Mostly, I’d been trying to stay drunk so I had an excuse not to talk to Josiah. The man was infuriating. Why the fuck was he still around anyway? Acting like he had some right to protect me. I didn’t need his protection, not with the number of bodies I’d left in my wake. My father—
I choked off the thought before it completed. Fuck my father, and fuck Josiah if he thought he could tell me what to do. I was going to get better, and I was going to make it just so I could prove I didn’t need them.
Stewing in the bathtub wasn’t going to get me there. I stood and reached for the towel hanging on the hook only to cringe and pull my hand back once I touched it. Gross. When was the last time that thing was washed? I glanced down into the milky water swirling down the drain. When was the last time I was washed?
Without drying off, I stepped out of the tub and wiped the mirror clean to look at myself. Once, I’d been beautiful, able to bed anyone I wanted with a casual glance and a crooked finger. Now, with my butchered hair, gaunt face, and dead, sunken eyes, it was a wonder even the tiny spark of magic that remained in me could get me a glance. The face in the mirror wasn’t Khaleda Morningstar. She was dead. Died the day Lucifer turned her out and decided she should learn a lesson. That woman, whoever she’d been, was weak and spoiled, dependent entirely on the idiot men around her for everything she had. She lived and died for her failed chance at revenge.
One of my obsidian knives peeked out from behind the toothbrush holder where I’d left it just in case. I grabbed it and yanked a strand of my hair straight away from my head before sawing through it. That belonged to her, too. All that beautiful hair that she’d been so proud of. All the bruises, the heartache, the dead brother, the dead mother.
I cut them away with the knife and let them fall with the hair into the sink.
Something crashed through the apartment outside, and I spun toward the door, knife raised. Whatever it was hadn’t come from the door. Maybe Josiah had just fallen over something. Glass shattered followed by more splintering wood and the bark of gunfire. Muffled, one-two precision shots. Small caliber with a silencer. A handgun in the hands of a pro killer with a single purpose in mind: eliminate the target.
The sounds of a struggle were coming from the living room. If I could get through the bathroom door without making any noise, they’d never see me coming.
I gripped the doorknob and turned it, quickly, quietly. Pulling up on the door as I swung it open lessened the weight on the hinges and let it open silently. Broken glass and splinters from the broken door littered the hallway to my left from where I’d thrown the glass at Josiah, but the path to the right was clear. I swung into the hallway, the familiar weight of the blade in front of me at a relaxed distance.
Adrenaline surged, and everything came into focus as soon as I saw the scene. There were two of them. The closest had his back to me. He was on the floor, his hands around Josiah’s skinny neck. The other stood in the doorway to the bedroom, armed with a Sig Sauer with a silencer and telescopic sight attached. Both wore black tactical armor, complete with helmets. Weak points would be joints, neck, face, groin. Modern plate armor: good for stopping bullets but not so good for enchanted obsidian blades.
The information flashed through my brain in the time it took me to cross the room and bury the blade in the first man’s thick neck, right where it met his shoulder. His hands went slack around Josiah’s neck as dark, arterial blood spurted. Not dead, but he’d be unconscious inside fifteen seconds and dead inside two minutes. First threat neutralized.
I grabbed him by the back of his Kevlar vest and jerked him up, pulling his body tight against mine to catch the first three shots from the second intruder. Tap, tap, tap. Two to the chest and one to the head like a good soldier. My human shield’s face exploded as the third shot hit, sending chunks of brain and shattered teeth to the floor. With a growl, I shoved the dead weight forward and let the body crash into the gunman. In the narrow doorway, he had nowhere to go but back a step, and to move effectively, he had to lower his weapon.
I got my opening and ran for it, leaping over the still bleeding body of the first man to drive my knife at the face of the second. He tried to get the gun up in time, but I was faster than he’d ever be. His plastic face mask took the brunt of the impact of the blade, but I’d never meant to cut him. All I needed was an inch of skin. The idiot tried to position his gun again, but it was no use. I had him.
I wrapped my fingers around his exposed throat, met his eyes, and let the magic do the rest.
His muscles tensed, body growing rigid, pupils dilating. Pulse fluttered under my fingers, racing to catch some fleeting feeling his mind had convinced him was real. A breath and I was inside his mind, slithering around in his memory, tongue lashing out to taste a life that wasn’t mine. Emotion beaded on the surface of his being, an unshakable, unwavering faith laced with the sweet realization that I was there, inside of him, penetrating to where I wasn’t supposed to be.
He struggled, but not for long. They never did.
Beneath me, his body shuddered, surrendering, becoming food to feed the Hunger. Images flashed through my brain at breakneck speed, too fast to absorb at the moment even if I had wanted to. I didn’t. The only thing that mattered was finishing, sating the Hunger for another few seconds so it would die inside. It whipped out of me, a living thing, ripping, tearing, chewing on the poor unsuspecting human.
No. Need him alive. Need answers.
The gun fell from his fingers as I exhaled and pulled back. The Hunger rebelled, demanding more. We were incomplete. We needed more of him, more power, more satisfaction. It was strong, stronger than it had ever been. Everything I had went to taming the beast in my body, pushing it back into its cage until, with another shuddering breath through pursed lips, it quieted.
“Fuck me,” Josiah ground out in a deeper than normal voice behind me. “What a way to go.”
I looked down at the quivering mound of flesh that had once been a man under me. Deep brown eyes stared into nothing, unfocused. His mouth moved, forming incomprehensible words with no sound. Perspiration coated his face, soaked his body as he gasped in breaths like a man drowning. Everything that he had been was gone, inside me now. I’d killed everything that mattered. Guilt stabbed at my heart.
Not that Josiah understood or cared. I could feel desire pulsing from him like a living thing. Watching me destroy this man, this living creature, it had turned him on.
Heat flooded my face along with inexplicable anger as I stood. “He’s not dead.”
“Too bad. That’s one you want to kill.”
“Who are they?” I grabbed an oversized shirt from the floor and pulled it on without turning to face him. Blood dripped onto the collar from my nose. I wiped it away and tried to swallow the angry nausea and dizziness. Feeding wasn’t supposed to make me feel feverish and sick. “The armor is meant to look like law enforcement. SWAT probably, except SWAT doesn’t use silencers and move in teams of two.”
Josiah’s answer was a grunt.
I tugged the shirt down, wishing he’d stop looking at me like that. With hunger in his eyes. Go smoke, you idiot. You don’t want me to fuck you, not unless you want to wind up like the drooling meatball on the floor.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Manus Dei. God’s Hand.”
“Is that supposed to mean
something to me?”
“Means that trick was probably the closest he’s gotten to getting lucky in a long time. Most are ex-Special Forces. Navy SEALS. Former KGB. British SAS. Handpicked for special duty directly under the command of an arm of the Vatican that doesn’t officially exist, supplied by shadow governments. About half of them are willing hosts to angels. The other half are murderous zealots.” He stepped over the dead one to squat beside the murmuring man.
I crossed my arms. “Holy warriors? What do they want with me?”
“Is he coherent?”
I pressed my lips together and turned away, closing my eyes. A memory played in my brain, projected by the piece of him I’d taken. In it, he knelt before a man clothed in white, hands folded as if in prayer. Raw power radiated from the man in front of him, creating a sense of…reverence. Loyalty. Dedication. This soldier would die to protect the faith if God demanded it.
I swallowed. “He’ll come down from it in a minute, but he’ll never be himself again. If you want to interrogate him, we can.”
Josiah sighed and stood. “I’ll get some rope, then.”
“You won’t need it. He belongs to me now.”
There it was, the appraising look laced with fear. I told you I was dangerous.
I avoided looking straight at him because I was still remembering this other man’s life, feeling his faith, his fears, his hope for a better world. Unclean. That word was attached in his memory to me. He was right. “Just take him out to the living room. Let me get dressed.”
Josiah dragged the man out of the bedroom and came back to close the door. Pointless gesture. He’d already seen me naked more than once now. That wasn’t what bothered me. It was those stupid, small, almost gentlemanly gestures like closing the door or bringing me a chocolate bar. He would do something so selfless and then turn around and try to pay a stranger to sleep with me. It was as if he was saying, “Go get laid and you’ll feel better.” Typical male pig attitude, as if sex were the cure for all the bullshit in the world.
The thought made me so furious, I ripped the first pair of underwear I tried to put on. With a sigh, I tossed them aside and put on another pair. Dressed in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and gray sweats—the least sexy thing I could think of—I ventured out of the bedroom to face the two men.
Josiah hid behind the counter in the kitchen, leaning over it with his cigarettes and a glass of water. He’d supplied the other man with water too, but he left it untouched. He wouldn’t drink unless I told him to now. At the sight of me, the soldier leaned forward, anticipation plastered on his face.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. I didn’t need to know. Father had never liked it when I asked for names. He wanted me to call them something demeaning. Slave, dog, bitch, anything that would further strip them of what little humanity remained. But Father was dead. I was in charge now, and I could do things my way.
“Private Victis Deramo,” he answered in Latin. “I apologize. I don’t use English much anymore. I can do German or Italian if it is easier.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Josiah. “How’s your Latin?”
He shrugged. “Better than my German.”
“Latin is fine,” I said to Victis. “Are there any more of your people in the building?”
“No, mistress.”
I hesitated. No, ‘mistress’ wasn’t the right translation for that form. Teacher. What the hell did he mean by that?
“Are any more coming?” Josiah asked in perfect Latin.
Victis didn’t answer.
Josiah swore, and I smirked. Serves him right for trying to take over my interrogation. I repeated the question for Victis.
“If I don’t report in before dawn, yes,” he said. “There are two cohorts in the city with orders to hunt the Nephilim.”
Nephilim? I thought all of them were dead. Legend had it that a group of angels had once descended to Earth and stupidly fell in love with human women. They taught humans forbidden knowledge and went on to have bastard children with them. When God found out, he sent a whole legion of loyal angels to murder their offending brethren along with their women and children only to wash away the slaughter with the Great Flood. Nephilim were supposed to be giants, the half-human, half-angel offspring of those unions thousands of years ago.
“They won’t hurt you, Teacher,” Victis offered. “I’ll protect you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Victis.” I turned my back on him and faced Josiah. The red ring around his neck was darkening into a bruise. “Nephilim? Do they mean you?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not like I put it on my business cards. Josiah Quinn: Nephilim and master of the dark arts. What kind of idiot would I be?”
I crossed my arms. “You could’ve told me, especially that there might be people after you.”
“I could’ve. But you didn’t ask. You were too busy drinking yourself silly and telling me to fuck off.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Victis. “Victis, you’re a member of this God’s Hand group?”
He straightened. “I am a legionnaire of the fifth degree.”
“God’s Hand is a bunch of militant loonies,” Josiah clarified in English. “Zealot dogs without a proper leash. You should kill him, and we should go.”
I ignored him. “How did you find us?”
Victis nodded to Josiah. “Mr. Monahan is a known associate of his. Monahan’s employees have been under surveillance since we received an anonymous tip that Mr. Quinn was in the U.S. We assumed the two of them would meet while he was Stateside.”
“Are you shittin’ me? I haven’t talked to Danny in twenty fuckin’ years! Known associate!”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling at his irritation. The more g’s he dropped and the deeper he delved into his slang, the more upset Josiah was. He was probably telling the truth, but there was no reason to let Victis on to that. “So you tracked him here. How?”
“He met with one of Mr. Monahan’s freelancers this afternoon in Brownsville. The sniper team deployed, but couldn’t get a clear shot. Lucius and I were to eradicate him here and make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
“Why?” Josiah’s tone was icy. “I’ve not done anything to you lot. If anything, I’ve scored more points for your side by helping kick the Devil’s arse.”
My breath caught, but I let it go. I couldn’t let him see that it upset me. Josiah would use it against me. “Answer him.”
Victis shook his head. “I don’t question why. The Hand points. I shoot.”
Josiah swore under his breath.
“Thank you, Victis.” There were no more questions that he could answer.
I felt it, the wall in his mind. He didn’t question his superiors because a good soldier didn’t need to know why. He only needed to know how. My father had tried to turn me into that kind of soldier. Go seduce this man. Kill this woman. Seduce then kill. Get close to this one and learn his weaknesses. Report them back to me. Like a dog, I’d obeyed, though I hated it. I’d said I’d never let anyone use me like that again, yet here I was, using Victis. Killing him would be kind.
His eyes lit up when I reached to touch him, the same excitement of a puppy on seeing his master.
Josiah grabbed my arm before I could brush a hand against Victis’ cheek and end it. He must’ve moved so quietly I didn’t hear him. “What’re you doing?”
Victis jumped to his feet, a fire burning in his eyes. His coiled muscle and fierce expression screamed there would be violence if I didn’t tell him to back down.
“Victis?” I kept my voice even, calm, even though my heart was pounding in my ears. Too much contact too soon after feeding the Hunger. It had woken at Josiah’s touch and threatened to surface again. The Hunger knew he was different, a power we had never tasted. It whispered to me, promising this one would sustain us for more than a day. Reach out. Take him. Make him ours.
“Yes, Teacher?”
I squashed the Hunger. “Go into the bedroom a
nd cover your ears. I don’t want you to hear us.”
He hesitated, but he couldn’t disobey. Victis left the living room, stepped over his dead co-worker, and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
As soon as he’d had enough time to do as he was told, I pulled my arm away from Josiah. “You said it yourself. He needs to die.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Josiah gestured to the closed bedroom door with his chin. “You heard him. If he doesn’t report back, they’ll send others. God’s Hand isn’t going to leave us alone just because they failed. They have endless resources. They will hunt us down no matter where we go.”
“There is no us. God’s Hand is your problem.”
“And a fucked-up soul is yours.” He jabbed a finger into my chest. “If you want my help putting yourself back together, then you’re as much in the shit as I am.”
“What do you want me to do, Josiah? Send him back? He’s helpless. He can’t function without me, and I’ve got no use for a slave whose only interest is in pleasing me!”
“But you do need a shield and someone who can fight. I’m no good for it. Magic, I can do. I can put up a good front, but in a gunfight, I’m worthless.”
“I can defend myself.” I gestured to the dead man whose blood was soaking into the carpet.
He crossed his arms. “When you’re asleep? And what about if you decide on a little snack? My guess is, you’re vulnerable when you feed. When you were feeding on both Harmony and Victis, I could’ve slit your throat. You need someone to watch your back, and I can’t do it all the time. Not to mention this Victis fella knows the ins and outs of God’s Hand and has access to surveillance teams and equipment that will prove useful.”
I threw my hands up. “How does any of this help me get the lost pieces of my soul back?”
“I don’t know yet,” Josiah said, shaking his head. “But if you kill him, you’re killing something that could potentially help us down the road.”