Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)(118)

“It costs you nothing.” Enoch had heard the hesitation as well.

Defiance blazed in her once more. “Says the angel holding the sword.”

Brokering a peace between them seemed impossible, but then Enoch did something utterly unexpected. He put away his sword—the angelic blade vanished—and he spread his empty hands and raised his eyebrows in open challenge. “Show me your foot.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jubilee lifted her right foot, and Enoch lowered himself to eye level and studied the mark. The nephilim grasped her ankle, and Jubilee’s whole body stiffened. Her back arched, and her eyes widened. The scream tearing from her throat damn near deafened Fox. He hit his knees as the sound rolled over him. A dazzling array of light exploded through the room, and a force slammed into his chest. When it cleared, Fox found himself on the far side of the room amidst the debris of what had once been a table.

Enoch had slammed through the bedroom door and was climbing carefully to his feet. On the bed, Jubilee lay unconscious. White and silver wings spread out along the bed. Her skin shimmered like so many diamonds, and some distant part of Fox’s mind noted her injuries had vanished.

Breathless, he went to his knees and stared at her. “What the f*ck?”

“That,” his friend said in an uneven tone, “is a damn good question.”

“She’s a nephilim.” How had he not known that?

“No.” Enoch shook his head and paced to his side. “She’s a true angel—and she shouldn’t be here.”

Oh. Fuck.

****

Awareness came back to Jubilee slowly. Everything hurt, and, worse still, her back burned. Pressing her palms flat, she tried to rise, and then a cool hand was on the back of her neck. “Shh, easy.”

Fox. Relief poured through her muscles, and she dropped her face back to the cool coverlet. “What happened?”

“A lot, but, right now, I want you to rest.” He stroked his hand over her hair. The light scrape of his nails against her scalp soothed. A pinch in the center of her upper back had her groaning, however, and she tried to shift. It was as though a great weight pressed in on her.

“Fox, the other guy. You said trust you, and I showed him my foot.” And after that, everything went blurry. Pain blossomed in her mind like one of those great nuclear mushroom clouds she’d seen in the movies. It ripped up through her, and, if her mind had been encased in glass, it would have shattered outward.

Fox’s heartbeat sounded loud, and his breaths came in hard pants though he struggled to keep them regular. Tension wound through all that fabulous strength and his scent. Jubilee drew in a lungful of its chaos. Forest and street, hoof and wheel. He was the harshness of the city and the freshness of the green. A sour note perfumed the raw, masculine beauty of him—the scent of worry.

They can’t kill her now, but they could imprison her.

“Why would they imprison me?” Tired of lying on her stomach, she braced her palms and pushed up. Thankfully her shoulder didn’t even twinge, but the weight on her back eased with a flex, and she heard the snap and jerked her head around to look.

“Stop, Jubilee. Look at me.” The discoloration of worry vanished, and Fox’s tone hardened. He would brook no argument from her, and she obeyed him, not because she had to but because she couldn’t believe her eyes. “That’s a good girl, look at me. We will figure this out.”

“I have wings.” It sounded ludicrous to even whisper the words.

His fierce expression gentled. “I know.”

She wanted to cry. “Please tell me you put LSD in my tea.”

Amusement kindled beneath the sorrow in his gaze. “I wish that I could. Can you stand?”

Uncertain of the answer, she tested her wings, and they flared out wide, and Fox managed to move before one collided with him. Another flex and she managed to find enough balance to rise to her knees. The weight of them seemed to drag her backward, so she leaned forward to try to counter them. It was like racing headlong down a hill while standing perfectly still,yet not as easy. When Fox extended his hands, she slid her palms across his and grasped them eagerly.

With familiar strength, he tugged her upward. She struggled to control her wings, and then she was standing. Her wings stretched to their fullest extent, and she could feel through them. The feathers at the farthest edge of her right wing brushed the wall, and it was cold and repellent. She snapped her wings closed, and they folded against her back.

“I thought you said he couldn’t change me without my permission.” And that any transformation involved blood. She didn’t remember any blood, but, since the idea kind of grossed her out, she was just as happy to skip the memory.

“He didn’t change you,” Fox told her as he led her forward and then turned her to face a mirror. Fox appeared familiar, though he’d traded denim for a pair of loose black pants unbuttoned at the waist. His muscles stood out in stark relief, a study in contrasts between hot skin and sculpted form.

But the woman standing next to him…the only part of her Jubilee recognized was her haircut. She still wore his gray T-shirt, though the back appeared to have been shredded, and the fabric clung to her, draping her like some tunic and struck her mid-thigh.

She’d often avoided the sun and had never tanned easily so the paleness did not surprise her, but the glittery glow of her skin? That had changed. Her eyes seemed brighter, and even her nails had grown, slender and sharp. She’d always been on the painful end of thin, but now her arms had a softer, rounder look to them. And they weren’t the only thing.