2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 (20 page)

Ethan’s hold on me tightened and refused to let me go.

“Ethan,” I said, as calmly as I could. “What are you doing?”

Ethan held firm. We definitely had Asheroth’s interest now. He prowled closer. I could see the facets of his diamond-white eyes, the perfect lines of his blood red lips. I saw the exact moment his face changed, when sanity fled. It was when the wind changed directions, swirling around us in a sudden gust, tangling our scents. Asheroth stopped, inches from me, his face contorted with rage. The tendons of his smooth stone skin stood out like ropes knotted with tension. “What did you do, E’than’i’el?” he thundered. “Why does she carry the scent of the Dark Realms?”

Dark Realms? Me? But I hadn’t gone…

“Belial sent someone for her today,” he said. I admired the way his voice didn’t waver once. “And the night before. Supposedly he can’t manifest within Whitfield. We need to know if this is true.”

Asheroth said nothing, only continued to stare at the two of us as if trying to remember who we were.

Logan was suddenly at my other side. “Ethan,” he hissed. “He won’t hurt her. You know that. Let her go now.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Ethan said, almost calmly. I struggled wildly against him now. “If this is true,” he continued carefully, maintaining eye contact with Asheroth, “then you must give her sanctuary. You must. You named yourself her Guardian.”

“Please, Asheroth,” I heard myself say. “It’s ok, Ethan didn’t do anything, really, just calm down.” But Asheroth just looked at me, his nostrils flaring. By the time twin voids of darkness unfurled on his back, I was beyond panicked. “Ethan, you have to let me go this minute.” Shadows flared to life in my palms, raced up and down my arms; I swear I felt them wrapping around my neck and even my belly. “Something’s wrong with him. More than usual.”

I thought, at the time, that Ethan was trying to protect me. I didn’t realize that I was the shield keeping Asheroth from killing him.

I had almost wiggled entirely out of Ethan’s jacket when Asheroth really lost it. I remember thinking if I could slip out of the jacket, I could loosen Ethan’s hold on me. Instead, as it slipped down my shoulders, Asheroth went perfectly still. As still and brilliant as carved crystal, I wondered briefly how any creature could shine in the dark. Too late, I realized how I must look. I was struggling and restrained and wearing torn, ruined clothing. The Dark Nephilim’s diamond eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at my bare stomach and ruined shirt.

Then, with an inhuman growl, he shoved me flat on my stomach. For the second time that day, I listened with my face against the ground to the sound of breaking glass.

Chapter Twenty:

This Delicate Madness

I felt smooth wood across my bare stomach. My hands registered splinters as I levered myself up. Some very tiny part of my mind that hadn’t gone into shock marveled at the incredible beauty behind me, at the starlit cliff-rimmed river reflected in the towering windows right before they shattered into millions of tiny pieces when Asheroth threw Ethan through them.

My bare stomach reminded me that I’d left the jacket behind when I’d wiggled out Ethan’s arms. As I rolled over into a crouch, I realized it might be the only chance he had of surviving Asheroth’s wrath.

He lay on the carpet on his side, curled in on himself, its black leather pulled up over his head and spread out over his upper body. It was the exact twin of Asheroth’s own jacket, except for the color. The modern version of Nephilim battle armor, I knew from first hand experience it would withstand any kind of direct assault. It was why Ethan had given it to me, before he’d become mortal. Even after, he’d refused to take it back. I watched, frozen, as Asheroth pummeled him in a blind fury, sickly grateful I’d slipped out of it before the mad Nephilim threw me to the ground.

It still wasn’t going to keep Ethan from dying if I didn’t do something.

“Stop it!” I launched myself into the fight. Glass crunched beneath my heel as I stepped through the shattered window. Once before I’d been a spectator to something like this, helpless and ignorant of my heritage. But as I watched the blur of blood red leather and the dark abysses that acted as wings, I reached for the darkness I carried inside me.

Ethan was mortal. Asheroth would kill him.

I was mortal, too, but I wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I did the only thing I could think of: as my entire body shivered with Shadows, I launched myself at the mad Nephilim’s back.

I was no match for him in strength, but I surprised him enough that he checked his attack for just a moment. I wrapped my Shadow-blackened arms around his solid stone neck and held on as tightly as I could. Never before had I channeled so much dark energy. I had no idea where it was coming from, and the idea that I had that much darkness inside me, even if I could channel it into a weapon, scared the hell out of me. Ethan took advantage of the break to roll sideways, crunching glass as he went. I watched him try to stagger to his feet. He was hurt. Badly. Something snapped inside me, some fragile barrier holding back my own madness.

“He didn’t do anything,” I hissed. My entire body felt cold and electric. “Think, you crazy bastard. He’s mortal. How could he take me to the Dark Realms?”

Asheroth had me by the waist, in that instant way they move, and it was as if the rest of the world fell away to just the two of us. His eyes danced like cheap Christmas lights, and I remembered the last time he held me like this, the last time he had me alone. Except I wasn’t the same frightened girl anymore.

“A human,” he hissed, and I saw a new thing behind the madness. I saw pain that walked hand in hand with fear, as it had for who knew how many centuries. “Why? Why him? He’ll hurt you, and you’ll die, and there will be nothing left of you but faint echoes in the flesh of those who come after.” He shook me violently. I refused to look away or cry out; I held his gaze and held onto him, Shadows breaking across us both in waves now, until I couldn’t tell who held who.

“Look at me. Look at
me
, Caspia, the artist who works in a coffee shop and has a brother named Logan.” His grip on my arms was getting tighter and tighter. The Shadows were growing stronger, too, as if his madness called to them, made them greedy. My entire body shook with cold and fear. “You don’t love me, and I don’t love you,” I tried again.

Oh, so not the right thing to say.

He slammed me against the glass-spangled carpet, his furious white face so beautiful and terrible over mine. “The Dark Realms cannot have you either,” he half-purred, half-hissed. He straddled me, pulling my forearms up in mid-air. “You carry their energy all over you. They will come for you, take you to the Darkest Realms where none but the lost and the damned can go…”

“That’s enough.” I don’t what I found more horrifying: Asheroth’s nightmare tirade, or watching Ethan trying to pry him off me. Watching as Asheroth gave Ethan a brief sideways glance and hit him across the chest with his forearm, sending him staggering. I heard bones crack.

And then, as quickly as the space between breaths, Asheroth was gone. I could breathe again, and see, and Ethan lay on his side several feet away. He wasn’t moving, but he was breathing, and I started to go to him. But he saw me coming and shook his head, pointing behind me instead.

Where my brother held Asheroth pinned in a headlock.

Panicked, I scrambled to my feet, ready to throw myself at Asheroth when he turned on Logan. Which would be happening any second, because there was no way my brother could hold him. It was a miracle he’d been able to pull him off me at all. I thought of stories I’d heard about bursts of adrenaline that gave people moments of almost superhuman strength.

It couldn’t last for more than a few moments. It never did, in the stories. I had to reach them before it wore off and Asheroth tried to kill Logan, too. He didn’t have Nephilim battle armor to protect him.

“Cas, wait.” Ethan called to me before I had taken two steps towards them. He had rolled over so that he propped himself up on one side. His was very pale and held one arm tightly against his chest. The other gripped me around the ankle.

Logan still had Asheroth in a headlock. Maybe I was hallucinating. I kept my eyes glued on the two of them as I ran my fingers over my scalp. Nope, no nasty bleeding head wounds or obvious bumps.

“But Asheroth… any second he’ll shake off Logan’s hold,” I hissed, confused and infuriated by Ethan’s iron grip on my ankle. Did he want my brother dead?

Asheroth didn’t slip Logan’s headlock; he was thrown from it, through the broken window. He hit the veranda several feet from my brother, twisting in midair like an angry cat to catch his balance. He landed solidly, already tensed and ready to spring. 

I watched with equal parts amazement and horror as the two of them circled each other like feral animals. They moved parallel and sideways, never taking their eyes off each other. With dark hair and similar builds, they could have been brothers.

I must have cried out when I stumbled backwards because I broke Asheroth’s concentration. He whipped his head around, startled, perhaps to check and see if I was all right, perhaps for strange reasons known only to himself. Whatever the reason, I set events in motion with my one pathetic cry, events that echo across worlds even still. If I hadn’t cried out, maybe I wouldn’t have caught Asheroth’s attention and given Logan the opening he needed. Maybe Logan would never have discovered the things he could do. And if he didn’t know, then neither would I. The ‘ifs’ were endless. They still are.

My brother sprang at Asheroth like a demented thing. His strength and speed were not human. He made sounds low in the back of his throat, threatening sounds my human voice couldn’t reproduce if I wanted to. I’d seen his hands do many things, from pushing me on the swings to holding mine at our parent’s double funeral, but nothing was as shocking as watching them close around the mad Nephilim’s throat.

Nothing, that is, except watching as his familiar brown eyes deepened into black ringed with crimson fire that radiated out from his pupils like flames.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. Only then did I realize I had literally been holding my breath. “He’s… changed.” I felt warmth and leather at my back. Trembling from shock or pain, Ethan leaned against me. He just shook his head wordlessly. “What happened? Do you know?” I brushed dark hair back from Ethan’s forehead. His skin was cold and damp to the touch. Shock setting in, I thought.

“Just like when you…” he hissed sharply when I touched his right shoulder. Ethan’s lips were a thin white line as he spoke. “Like that day in the orchard.” Another sharp gasp as I tried to lift his arm off his chest. Sweat beaded thickly across his forehead. “Your first Shadows. Because you thought Logan was in danger. Remember?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what was happening between my brother and the mad Nephilim. They moved too fast; I caught only the occasional glimpse of blood-red leather and darkness. I hated it that Logan wasn’t wearing armor, but I didn’t hear any terrible cries of pain either. “So because I was in danger, you think Logan suddenly discovered some kind of buried gift?” I whispered to Ethan, straining to see.

Ethan shook his head very slightly. “Not buried.” He spoke every word like it was being pulled from him. “Come back to life. When he died.”

“You mean…” I trailed off as they came to a stop, immediately circling again. Heavy twin voids of darkness loomed at Asheroth’s back but Logan didn’t seem intimidated. Unlike most people, I could see the darkness at the Nephilim’s back for what it was: a kind of abyss, or portal, into a place I didn’t want to think about, let alone go. Most people processed the dimensions of Light and Dark that Nephilim carried as actual wings. My Nephilim blood gave me the ability to see beyond all that. Now that Logan was demonstrating active gifts, I wondered what he saw when he looked at mad, lost Asheroth.

Whatever it was, it didn’t frighten him. Logan stood his ground.

Asheroth moved faster than thought; the darkness at his back let him literally sidestep space and time. He reappeared directly behind my brother, so quickly I didn’t even have time to scream out a warning. I don’t know if Asheroth would have hurt him or was just playing with him at this point. Logan was a descendent of his long-dead human love, too, and Asheroth had sworn to protect all of her bloodline. Logan either didn’t know that or didn’t care, because the second he sensed Asheroth behind him, he spun to face him with hands crackling with Light. Logan held palms full of layered light that crackled like golden sparklers at the edges. It was beautiful, just like Ethan’s wings had once been.

Oh no, I thought. Not him. Not now. Not when the forces of darkness wanted to kidnap and kill us. “Back to life,” I managed to croak, remembering the second and last time I’d channeled Light, straight from Ethan and into Logan, restarting his heart.

It made a twisted kind of sense. Maybe I did have Light in me once. I’d just given it all to Logan as part of the price for his life. And Ethan, surrendering his immortality, surrendered some of his immortal abilities too?

Logan laid his Light enwrapped hands, palms out, on Asheroth’s chest. The entire time I’d known him, I’d never once seen the mad Nephilim shocked into silence, but he was now. He stared at Logan as if at a stranger as a single pulse from my brother’s hands knocked him several feet backward in the grass. He didn’t get up.

My brother stood motionless, staring at his hands. I couldn’t see his face. A delicate trembling had started in my shoulders and was making its way across the rest of my body. Ethan pulled me to him with one arm. “It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s going to be ok.”

I didn’t believe him but I turned to him anyway. Unlike everyone else in the starlit meadow, he was someone I could actually help.

I carefully worked on the buttons of his shirt. By the time I had the first four undone, I had to bite my lips together to keep from crying out. His chest was a nasty, bruised mess. Broken blood vessels bloomed crimson just below the surface. He caught my fingers in his own. “It’s ok,” he said. “I know it’s bad. I know better than anyone what Asheroth is capable of.”