Stricken (The War Scrolls Book 1) (5 page)

“They’re my blade-brothers,” he said, steering her toward the opposite side of the room, “and no, they aren’t coming with us. Abriel is busy, and Dahmiel is recovering.”

“Recovering?” She vaguely remembered Dahmiel hissing in pain when he’d grabbed her at the abandoned house. “How did he get hurt?”

“I stabbed him,” Killian said.

“You what?” Aubrey jerked to a halt, shocked.

Killian turned toward her, an odd expression on his face—half grim frustration, half amusement. “Not on purpose. I aimed for the shifter, but he moved. The knives hit Dom.”

“Oh. Are his injuries severe?”

“The knives were silver.”

“That matters?”

“Yes. Silver burns the Fallen just as badly as it does demons.”

“How?”

“Apparently God didn’t want invincible warriors,” Killian said as if that explained everything. He reached into his sleeve for a moment and pulled out one of the knives tucked away there.

When he held it out to her, Aubrey took it carefully. The knife appeared to be sharp and expensive, but it was only a knife to her. She knew nothing about weapons.

“This is silver?” she asked.

“Yes.” Killian held his hand out for the knife.

Aubrey gave it back to him and then watched as he held his index finger against the tip of the blade before slicing his skin. He didn’t even grimace when the edges of the wound reddened and puckered as if infected. Blood trickled down his hand.

“See?”

Aubrey nodded, feeling faint.

Killian wiped the blade on his thigh before tucking it away. “Knives are better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Killing the infected by hand.”

“Oh.” Aubrey swallowed hard as he popped his finger into his mouth.

When he pulled it out, the cut had stopped bleeding.

Neither she nor Killian spoke for several minutes.

“We can’t risk becoming infected,” Killian said then, his tight expression easing a little. “The virus spreads through any bodily-fluid contact. It corrupts the blood, killing our ability to Heal. Once infected, not even a full-blooded Fallen can heal himself.” He looked at her, wide-eyed and serious. “Weapons are safer.”

Aubrey bobbed her head in sick agreement, though she didn’t understand at all. To her,
La Morte Nera
was a myth. Nothing more than a fairy-tale virus whispered like a ghost story between her father and Aaron. Wrapping her mind around the reality of the deadly virus didn’t come easy for her. She didn’t need to add images of Killian killing the Elioud with his bare hands to the disturbing mix already clamoring for her attention.

She licked her lips, pushing the image away. “How many have been infected?”

“Most of the werewolves and vampires. Over half of the Elioud and Nephilim we’ve been able to track down, and almost a third of the Fallen.”

“My God.
How?
”

“There’s no cure.” Killian sighed, his head bowing as if a great weight rested on his shoulders. “Once you’re infected, that’s that.”

“The virus kills everyone it infects?” Aubrey whispered, feeling physically ill. There were hundreds of people out there like her and Aaron. Thousands of angels and demons. The enormity of the situation horrified her.

“If they’re lucky.”

“And if they aren’t?”

Killian lifted his head until his eyes met hers again. Rage burned in his gaze, twisting his expression into a fierce scowl. “We kill them.”

Aubrey recoiled, stunned by his savagery.

He noticed. “The virus ravages the mind as much as the body, Aubrey. It’s like acid, eating its way through us. The werewolves and vampires are dangerous as it is. They’re half-demon, predators. You saw the Elioud last night, and they’re human. Imagine five, ten thousand demons like that running free around the world.”

She couldn’t imagine it.

God, she didn’t
want
to imagine it.

“It’s like that for all of them? For the Fallen too?” she asked.

“Yes,” Killian said. “None of us have been spared.”

Aubrey’s dad had always said angel blood changed people on a fundamental level. That change was passed on to their children, and to their children’s children, granting some of them abilities no ordinary human possessed. Now it would cost them their lives too.

“I’m Elioud too. Can…” She paused, licked her lips, and then tried again. “Can I become infected?”

Killian nodded.

Aubrey’s heart sank.

“But I don’t have any Talents.”

“It doesn’t matter. Caitria, my mother, believes the Elioud share a specific genetic marker with the Fallen, something passed down through the generations. Sometimes, that gene is dominant, giving Elioud angel-like abilities, Talents. When that happens, the Elioud can shift or read minds. Some have a gift for Persuasion or Precognition. A few can Heal. Other times, like with you, the gene is recessive and no Talents manifest. Either way, you have angel blood, so you’re susceptible to the virus too.” He paused. “Most of the Elioud die quickly,” he said as if trying to offer her some measure of comfort.

“Do my people know what’s happening?”

“The Elioud? Yes, many do.”

“What about the humans?” Those were Aubrey’s people, not the Elioud.

“We’ve tried to keep it contained, to keep it away from the humans, but our worlds intersect at too many points to be sure they don’t know. If any of them are aware of what’s happening to us, they’re not telling anyone,” Killian said.

“What happens when the Elioud don’t die quickly?”

“The Elioud are as much God’s warriors as a full-blooded angel is, Aubrey. He forged a battle cry into our souls. The need to mete out justice is powerful even for the Elioud. When the virus doesn’t kill, it strips away everything but that base instinct…that bloodthirst. The infected hunt and kill indiscriminately, unable to tell right from wrong. Fallen, Elioud, Nephilim, demon…it doesn’t matter how much angelic blood we possess, the virus affects us the same.”

Aubrey’s stomach roiled at the thought of so much senseless death and destruction. She wasn’t like Aaron. She didn’t feel that blood calling to her like he had. It didn’t demand she protect anyone or dispense justice to those who didn’t play nice. She didn’t understand the lure of violence. In fact, she hated violence, and she didn’t want to die just because some ancestor a long time ago had slept with a fallen angel and had a child who then had children of his or her own. How was that fair?

Hell, who was she kidding?

Life wasn’t fair, and God’s mercy was a double-edged sword. He had an endless abundance of patience with humanity and none at all for the angels He’d created to help rule over them. Was it any wonder they had rebelled against the leash He’d bound them to? The allure of freedom had to be overwhelming for the Fallen, humanity like an oasis in the middle of the desert. Why wouldn’t they reach for that release with both hands, no matter the cost?

Aubrey’s eyes widened as a frightening thought occurred. “Can ordinary humans be infected?”

“Not that we’re aware of, but the differences between the Elioud and ordinary humans are small. They amount to little more than genetic abnormalities. If people like you can be infected, there’s no guarantee the virus won’t cross into the mainstream human population. We have to find a cure before that happens,” Killian said as if the eventual mutation of the virus was a foregone conclusion. And maybe it was.

Her dad had known better than anyone how an infection in one population could mutate easily and become as bad as the Bubonic Plague that’d swept through Europe in the Middle Ages, killing millions. At the time, she’d thought her father’s musings were nothing more than supposition and what-ifs, considerations of what the mythical virus might do if it were real. But the virus
was
real.

Had her dad known it then?
Could
he have known it?

She wasn’t sure, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t bode well. If her dad had had any inkling the virus wasn’t a myth, he wouldn’t have simply let it go, would he?

No, he wouldn’t have.

He would have done everything in his power to protect her and Aaron from harm. But whatever her dad knew about
La Morte Nera
was long gone. His knowledge had died with him, burned to ash with everything else in their house. If she told Killian about her dad, what would he do? Drag her back there to face the things she’d run from? Kill her?

Aubrey watched him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the sheer size of him and the bitter expression on his face. Remembering how quickly he’d killed the shifters.

If you value your life, say nothing
,
the little voice in the back of her mind warned.

For once, Aubrey heeded that part of her, following Killian into the garage in complete silence.

Chapter Four

A familiar van sat in one spot in the massive garage. A truck was parked beside it, and two cars, one sporty and a flashy silver, and the other a more sedate and inconspicuous black, were parked behind it. Shovels and torches hung on pegs along the walls. A long bench piled high with sharp weapons was shoved into one corner.

Killian led Aubrey toward the silver car and then held her door open for her. She climbed in and buckled the seat belt in place as he bounded around to the other side. He folded his large frame into the driver’s seat with a grunt. His knees pushed against the dashboard.

“Odd choice for a car,” she said when he turned the key and the ignition purred to life.

“It’s fast.” Killian shrugged and hit the garage door button clipped to the visor before backing out.

Aubrey gasped when she caught sight of the house in the growing morning light. It was a massive plantation, very dramatic-looking, situated on the edge of a dying neighborhood on the east side of Memphis. “Your house is beautiful, Killian.”

“It’s a business, but thank you,” Killian said, guiding the car out into the road.

“You run a business?” Aubrey blinked in confusion. “You don’t live here?”

“We live on the upper floor. The lower floor is a studio of sorts. Before the virus, Abriel, Dahmiel, and I taught some of the younger warriors sent here to train.”

“Are your brothers Nephilim too?”

“No. They’re Fallen.”

“Oh.” Aubrey had never considered that angels might have jobs. The mere thought was foreign, unfamiliar. The Fallen were larger-than-life to her, a biblical group of warriors thousands of years old. They were more frightening to Aubrey than their half-demon children. Perhaps because she understood demons better than she did angels.

The minister of her childhood church had frequently preached about demons. They were the villains in movies and books so often—their motives were no surprise to anyone. But the Fallen…well, the Fallen weren’t as easy to figure out. They lived on the fringes of her reality, separate even when walking among her people. They guarded the world from their own children. Children they killed to protect humanity.

How could any parent do that?

She’d never had time to ask her dad that question. Wasn’t even sure if he’d known the answer. What little he’d known of this world, Aubrey and Aaron’s mother had taught him. Their dad had passed on what he could to Aaron, but whatever they’d known had died with them. And Aubrey had done her best to push all thoughts of this world away. She didn’t want to know about the fallen angels when their world hurt so much, but she didn’t have a choice anymore, did she?

“You’re in school?” Killian asked.

“No.” Aubrey turned away from him. She didn’t want to talk with him about her life. She wanted to go home, crawl into her bed, and forget everything she’d seen in the last twenty-four hours.

“Why not?”

“I start nursing school in the fall,” she said. Would she even be alive then?

“Oh. Do you work?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I work in the playroom with the younger kids at St. Jude’s.”

“That must be hard.”

Aubrey shrugged in response. Her job was difficult, but it was also rewarding. Maybe that’s why she found the thought of
La Morte Nera
so abhorrent. She understood exactly how horrible disease could be.

“Where are we going?” Killian asked when they reached a four-way stop heading back into the hustle and bustle of Memphis.

Aubrey gave him directions and settled back against the seat to stare out the windshield. The Fallen weighed heavily on her mind, too heavily for her to remain quiet. “Can I ask you something?” she asked when she could stand the nagging feeling no longer.

“Yes,” he said, not looking at her.

“If you can heal people, why don’t you?”

“We aren’t allowed,” he said, pulling out onto the road. The engine purred as he hit the gas, sending the car shooting toward the speed limit in a matter of moments.

“Why not?”

“The Fallen remain loyal to Heaven even if Heaven has forgotten the Fallen,” he explained. “Before the Demon Wars, the Fallen healed any human in need. Eventually, they realized Healing left a mark, like a brand binding their souls to Heaven. When Hell found out, massive wars broke out between the Fallen and demons. They nearly destroyed each other. To end the Wars and save themselves, the Fallen made a pact with the demon council. The demonic hordes agreed to leave this world to the Fallen on the condition that the Fallen honor the standing agreement between Heaven and Hell by allowing humans the free will to choose their own path.”

“Then why did the Fallen mate with the demons?”

Killian’s expression darkened as he eased the car through the city streets. The speedometer never wavered more than five miles over the speed limit. “Pride,” he said. “When demons agreed to the pact so quickly, the Fallen were foolish enough to think they’d won some great concession. They failed to remember that demons don’t do anything without reason. The demon hordes left this world as promised, but not before mating with the Fallen. They knew what those unions would bring. The Fallen did not.” Killian’s lip curled upward as if the thought disgusted him.

“The vampires and werewolves.”

“Among others. The ignorance of the Fallen created thousands of corrupted souls, many with a thirst for human life that rivals that of the worst of Lucifer’s legions.”

“Is that why the Fallen kill the demons, then? Because they gave birth to them?” Aubrey asked.

Killian nodded tersely. “Yes. When the Fallen realized their mistake, they knew Heaven would demand they take responsibility, but their numbers were nowhere near great enough to risk another war with Hell. To save themselves and keep from angering Heaven, the Fallen vowed to take charge of their corrupted children, allowing them to live so long as they did not harm a human. To this day, those who violate the order are sentenced to death.”

“And Hell?”

“Has no room for complaint,” he said. “Heaven refuses to accept those corrupted with demon blood, so Hell automatically gains the soul of any of their children sentenced to death for harming a human, exactly as the demon council planned when they convinced the Fallen to mate with them after the Wars.”

“They don’t care when the Fallen execute their children?”

“No.”

“What about the Fallen? Doesn’t it bother them? Not all of their children are evil,” she pointed out. Despite being half-demon, they had souls. Some were decent, kind even.

“The Fallen still suffer for their mistakes, as they should,” Killian said as if that explained everything. “Their pride and selfishness cost the human race countless thousands of lives.”

They rode in silence as she contemplated his explanation. When he drove into her neighborhood ten minutes later, she was no closer to understanding why the fallen angels clung to their self-inflicted punishment when her people had stopped deserving their protection long ago. She gave up trying to make sense of the issue as Killian slowed the car to a crawl, scrutinizing the area.

Aubrey watched him as he peered out the window, seemingly checking every shadow they passed. Eventually, he nodded to himself and pulled into the driveway of the high-rise she pointed out. She hesitated over unbuckling her seat belt. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go in. Her building was more than big enough for an entire group of Elioud to hide behind.

“Is there anything here?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said as he cut off the engine. Pocketing the keys, he pulled out the flare he’d taken from the weapon cabinet. “Take this, and if you see anything, crack it in half. It’s bright and creates a lot of smoke. The infected don’t like that.”

She reached for the flare before hesitating with her hand hovering over the tube. “Is it dangerous?”

“Not to you,” he promised, pressing the weapon into her hand and closing her fingers around it. “It’s an emergency flare, but Dom rigs them to burn and smoke instead of shooting off.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?” Aubrey heard the doubt coloring her tone.

“It’s safe.” He tipped her chin up with a fingertip until her gaze met his. “Stop stalling. You’ll be fine. Just stay behind me, and do what I say when I say to do it.”

She swallowed hard as she stared at him. His eyes were such a contradiction. Both light and dark at once. They radiated goodness, yet danger blazed there too. And he smelled so good.

She felt herself leaning forward, inhaling his scent. Not cologne, but pine, grass, and a summer rainstorm all rolled into one. The scent soothed her, easing aches and sorrows she hadn’t noticed until they suddenly disappeared.

“Killian,” she whispered, lulled to the edge of something vast and bright.

Killian snatched his hand back and leaned away, his gaze hardening. “Don’t.”

Aubrey blinked, his harsh tone hitting her like a slap. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Sorry,” she mumbled, the word thick on her tongue.

He nodded at her apology, his jaw clenched.

Aubrey took a deep breath and grabbed the door handle, not willing to question the painful emotion thrumming through her veins at the cold look on his face. She pushed the door open and then climbed from the car before she had a chance to change her mind.

Killian walked beside her toward the building, completely silent. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, refusing to glance at him as her stomach flipped and her heart raced. Not from fear this time but from something else entirely. Something she didn’t want to examine. She knew better than to get that close to one of the Fallen. As dangerous as they could be, they radiated goodness and light as if it were a drug. One not even the Elioud were immune to.

“Aubrey,” Killian started only to stop short and sigh.

She kept walking.

Larry, their elderly doorman stepped from the guard booth as they approached. Worry etched his wrinkled face when he caught sight of her. “Are you okay, Miss Aubrey?”

“Hi, Larry.” She smiled at the old man, her cheeks burning. She’d forgotten how bad she looked with her clothes covered in dirt and grime. “I had a minor fall at work.”

Larry glanced over at Killian, who hovered at her side like a menacing bodyguard, before turning back to her. “You be careful out there. We wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt again. You know how worked up Mel can get.”

“Thank you, Larry.” Aubrey gave him the approximation of a smile this time before hurrying into the building. The doorman was a sweetheart, protective in a grandfatherly sort of way, but he talked too much.

“I let Zee inside this mornin’.”

Aubrey paused and turned back to him. “Thanks for looking after him last night.”

“No problem, Miss Aubrey.” Larry winked at her.

She and Killian continued into the old building and over to the bank of elevators. “Fourth floor,” she murmured to Killian, who pushed the button and stepped back beside her to wait. “And you didn’t have to glare at him.”

“Mel’s your aunt?” he asked, ignoring her chastisement.

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“On a cruise.”

“She left you here alone?”

Aubrey shot him a cool look at his disapproving tone. “I’m nineteen, not four. I can take care of myself.”

“Of course.”

She rolled her eyes at his conciliatory murmur.

“Who’s Zee?”

“My kitten.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “What did the old man mean about you being hurt?”

“Nothing.” Aubrey avoided his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor while they waited for the elevator. When it dinged, she pushed her way inside as soon as the doors slid open.

Killian followed her in without a word.

The doors closed after a moment, and the elevator lurched into motion.

“How badly did the Nephilim boy injure you?” he asked then.

She looked up from her examination of the floor to find him staring at her in the mirrored wall. “Not bad,” she lied.

Damn Larry for talking.

“Liar,” Killian mouthed, stepping closer to her.

She moved away until her back hit the wall. He paced her, his gaze never leaving her face. When he stood mere inches from her, he stopped.

Her heart rate kicked up a notch.

He leaned toward her, pulling a groan from her lips when he stood so close, his aura kissed hers. He lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“How did the Halfling get to you, Aubrey?” he asked, cupping her cheek with one big hand.

She met his gaze head-on. Bright blue stared into her eyes, stripping away the barriers she’d built to keep her memories from the surface. Oddly, though, they didn’t hurt as usual. The pain was distant, as if Killian stood like a buffer between her and her past.