Of Wings and Wolves (21 page)

A woman wearing a sleek evening gown and an elegant chignon sidled up to them. To Nash’s surprise, she ignored him completely and put her hand on Abram’s arm instead. “I hear that you’re the artist of this gorgeous piece,” she said, gesturing toward the painting with her drink. “Do you do commissions?”

“No,” he said curtly.

“Let me know if you change your mind on that,” she said, tucking a business card in the pocket of his jacket before slinking away again. The sway of her hips made the dress swirl behind her.

“This event could make you rich, Abram,” Nash said as the young man ripped the card out of his pocket, tore it into pieces, and flung it to the floor.

“I don’t want to be rich. I’m an artist. I can’t paint on command.”

“And you can’t buy food on dreams.”

A man who had been standing nearby had apparently heard them speaking, because he faced them with a hungry glint in his eyes. “Did I hear that you’re the one that painted this triptych?” he asked. He had two chins and a round stomach, but the fine cut of his suit deemphasized his weight. “It’s gorgeous. I’d love to buy it for my private collection.”

Another wave of jealousy surged through Nash. “It’s not for sale,” he said sharply.

“What are you doing?” Abram asked when the potential buyer turned away, stung.

“I’m protecting my interests.” All it took was a word, and there was a checkbook and pen in his hand. “How much for it? Any amount. I don’t care.”

“There is no price you could pay me for this that would be enough. I know why you want it, and you can’t have it.”

“Why?” Nash asked. “What have I ever done to you, beyond protecting you from enemy assaults and sheltering you in my home?”

“You’ve lied to my sister. I told you that nobody fucks with my family.” Abram took a deep breath and composed himself. When he spoke again, it was much calmer than before. “I talked with Summer. She said that she knows you’ve been lying to her, and she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Getting shot point-blank in the face by a shotgun couldn’t have shocked Nash more than those words. “What in the seven hells are you talking about?” Nash hissed, glancing around to make sure his assistants weren’t close enough to hear.

“Summer has gone home,” Abram went on. “She’s not coming tonight. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. And if you’re smart, you’ll drop it. Okay?” He stormed away.

Nash grabbed his assistant. “Get the car,” he said sharply. “
Now
.”

seventeen

Nash abandoned the limousine just
outside of city limits. He hadn’t wanted to be spotted flying away from Wildwood, but the road to the Gresham house was long and winding, and he would be much faster taking to the skies.

“But how will you get back?” his driver asked.

“Just leave,” Nash said, removing his jacket and tossing it into the passenger’s seat. He paid all of his employees enough money that they couldn’t argue with him, so the limousine left.

He waited to remove his shirt until the headlights faded into night. Then he opened his wings to the wind and took flight.

Abram had said that Summer knew the truth. What truth? That Nash wanted to escape at any cost? That he cared about her in a way that he had never cared about anyone before? There had to have been some kind of misunderstanding—a mistake that he intended to clear up immediately.

As he soared over the dark forest, he began to sense something amiss. Something that felt a lot like balam nearby.

He flew faster.

The Gresham cottage was harder to locate at night, and he had to spiral over the treetops for a half an hour before spotting the meadow. He dropped into the clearing outside the vine-covered building and pulled his wings tight against his back.

All of the windows were dark. There was no sign that anyone had been at the cottage in days.

He burst through the backdoor to the kitchen. “Summer!” he roared, voice shaking the entire house.

The only response was a clatter of pans as a black cat leaped onto the counter and stumbled on the dishes. What had Summer called that feline? Sir Lumpy? He defied every stereotype that said cats should have been graceful, as well as the ones that said cats were beautiful creatures. His eyes seemed to bug out as he opened his mouth in a croaking meow.

“Where is she?” he asked Sir Lumpy, reaching out a hand. The cat bumped into his fingers and purred. If the cat was still there, Summer couldn’t be far.

A twig snapped in the night outside, and he spun, searching for the origin of the noise. The forest was silent again, but it was the kind of silence that preceded a storm. He could feel eyes on him.

Someone was watching.

“This is a trap,” he whispered to himself, and the words fell flat on the air. A strange energy surrounded him—a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

He wasn’t surprised when the trio of balam emerged from the trees.

They were deceptively cute and childlike, but Nash wasn’t distracted by their wide eyes and innocent features. He knew that sharp teeth were hidden within their mouths, as well as a hunger that was unique to their breed. A hunger for flesh, blood, war. Miserable creatures.

“Where is she?” he asked.

The balam only responded by fanning out and surrounding him. Their deadly intent was clear.

Nash hadn’t had to get in a real fight for years. He dimly recalled engaging some mortals in a fistfight during his time in the Haven due to various unimportant circumstances—bar brawls, disagreements over property, that kind of thing. But such experiences were not common in the idyll of the Haven. Until his conflict with the last gibborim, he hadn’t fought an enemy that presented a real danger since he was forced to leave Earth behind.

Where his memory failed him, his body did not. His blood burned with a lust for violence. “What have you done with Summer?” he demanded, stretching out his wings to their full width to warm the muscles.

The balam spoke in a series of shrieks and whistles. It would have been impossible for a human to understand the language that spewed from their lips, but Nash had no problems interpreting it.
We are going to kill her,
they said.

Anger bubbled out of his throat in a roar, and he lunged for them, fists balled and wings stretched wide.

They clashed, and all Nash knew was the battle.

Summer woke up somewhere familiar,
safe, and warm. She stretched out. Her hands pushed pillows off the bed.

She was in Nash’s bed again, with its
fleur-de-lis
comforter and the multitude of plush pillows. Starlight spilled through the windows, glimmering dimly through the clouds, and a smile spread across Summer’s lips. It felt right to be there. She would have been happy to wake up in that bed every single morning.

But reality crashed over her a moment later, killing the glow and her smile. Summer hadn’t gone to bed with Nash. It wasn’t morning, either. She had been about to go to the gallery and instead found herself trapped by Leliel.

Then what was she doing at the manor?

Summer pushed the sheets off to discover that someone had dressed her in the golden sheath Margaret had picked out, necklace and all.

As soon as her feet touched the floor, the door opened, and Abram stepped inside. “You okay?” he asked.

“Abram? What’s going on? What am I doing here? Where did the angel go?”

“I brought you back,” he said, catching her arms to steady her when she tried to stand. “Don’t worry, Nash’s not around.”

“What do you
mean
, don’t worry? Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Leliel’s taken over the manor.”

Summer’s mouth dropped open as everything fell into place.

Leliel had sprung the trap on her, but it was Abram who greeted her when she was awake. Now the enemy angel was in control of the manor, and Abram was obviously not incarcerated—which could only mean one thing. “You’re working with Leliel? But—don’t you realize what she’s done? She exiled Nash here. She’s been trying to kill us!”

“You’ve got the facts all wrong,” Abram said. “Leliel came to me a few days ago. She told me all about Nash’s plans. She wants to help us.”

“Help us? How?”

Before he could respond, Leliel appeared behind Abram. Even when she looked angry, she was gorgeous, and Summer hated her for it a little bit. “I’d like to have a few words with you, woman to woman,” she said, and then she glanced at Abram. “Preferably alone.”

Abram stepped back, and Summer’s heart dropped all the way to her feet. She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and followed Leliel to the hallway.

The angel was the only woman that Summer had ever seen that was taller than her. In many ways, she resembled Nash—not that they had any similar features or anything. It had more to do with the way that they carried themselves, their dignity, the way that they looked down their nose at the world surrounding them.

Leliel was just as graceful as Nash, too. She seemed to drift rather than walk out the front doors. There was no sign of the cleaning staff or Margaret.

“Where is everyone?” Summer asked.

“We are alone,” Leliel replied, which was no kind of answer at all.

As Leliel continued outside, Summer searched the surrounding hills for any sign of the ever-present guards that had nearly captured her on her first visit. But the most recent smells she could find were hours old, and she couldn’t see anyone on the lawn or beach.

Leliel was right. They were truly alone.

It took a few seconds for Summer to realize that the smoke filling her nostrils wasn’t Leliel’s smell, but an actual fire. And as soon as they moved around to the opposite side of the hill, Summer saw why.

Nash’s garden was on fire.

Flames danced over the orchard, turning the bark black and shriveling the leaves. Smoldering branches lay scattered through the grass near Summer’s feet.

“What have you done?” she asked, her voice barely a rasp.

“This garden was a blasphemous abomination,” Leliel said. “I had to destroy it.”

Summer didn’t even think before reacting. She slapped the angel across the face—hard. It was like trying to slap the garden wall for all that Leliel reacted. Even a shapeshifter wasn’t strong enough to make an angel flinch.

Leliel stroked a finger down her cheek. The skin was pink where Summer had struck. “I’ll forgive you for that one,” she said. “You’re a stupid mortal. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Her voice hardened. “Do it again, and I’ll rip your skull from your spine.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Summer said, her voice trembling.

Leliel seized Summer’s arm and dragged her toward the garden. There was a table just outside the wall, the kind of place that Summer could imagine having a tea party, and it was covered in the snowing ash. The angel forced her to sit.

“I’m not your enemy,” Leliel said. “Your brother understands this, and I hope you will, too. But we don’t have much time. An hour, perhaps two. You must listen to me.” She spread her skirts and sat at the opposite chair. “I’m sure Nashriel has told you nothing of the war, has he?”

Summer remained stubbornly silent.

“There is a being in our world more dangerous than any other.” Leliel swirled her fingertip through the raindrops on the tabletop. It was tinted gray by the falling ash from the orchard. “Not another angel, but ethereal in nature. He was born a man, and he was named Adam. Have you heard of him?”

Summer shook her head.

“Ah. Well, when the world was new, there was only one universe, and three people to inhabit it. One of them was Adam. He was the first human.”

“If he was the first, then who made him?”

Leliel gave an elegant shrug. “Nobody knows. Adam was accompanied by one ethereal creature, and one infernal. He fell in love with the angel. Her name was Eve.”

“Wait,” Summer said, holding up a hand. “If you’re saying that the world started out with three different species, then there would have had to be at least two of each at the start. And that’s not even considering how many pairs you actually need for genetic diversity.”

“Are you so incapable of thinking beyond mundane human terms?” Leliel swept the water off of the table and flicked her fingers to dry them off.

“I’m capable of thinking enough to tell when someone’s trying to force feed bullshit to me.”

“Set aside the limitations of your puny mind for now and accept it. There was one of each. Fact. Adam lamented that his life was mortal where Eve’s was not, and he craved power. Through a series of events, Adam became omnipotent, omnipresent—immortal. He elevated himself above all angels, such as Nashriel and I. And at first, it was good.” Leliel’s delicate eyebrows creased. “Then Eve died.”

“How?”

“Murder. Adam suffered deeply from this. Suffice it to say, he went insane and began destroying the universes one piece at a time. The factions fought—human, angel, and demon. But within each faction was additional division. Angels were split between those loyal to Adam, and those who were not.”

Summer bit her bottom lip. She had a feeling that she knew where this story was going, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

Leliel stood and paced beside the burning garden. Backlit by the fire, she looked like she was glowing. “Driven insane, Adam began to destroy humankind. His own children. And this war raged for many years until angels found a way to contain his fury.”

“How?” Summer asked.

The angel waved away her question. “Loyalists attempted to prevent Adam’s incarceration, even though his freedom would mean the death of humanity. This was the shortest, and bloodiest, period in our history. A civil war.” Leliel focused glowing blue eyes on Summer. “Tell me what side you think Nashriel took.”

“He was with the rebels,” Summer said. “That’s why you locked him away.”

“No, I was with the rebels. Nashriel was a loyalist. One of Adam’s greatest generals, and among those who slaughtered humans.”

No
. It couldn’t be true.

Summer tried to think of a way to argue with Leliel, but nothing came to mind. Nash did seem extremely disdainful of humanity, but she had assumed that it was typical of angels. She never would have dreamed that Nash might have tried to destroy her entire species.