The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(16)

He searched her gaze and gave a tight nod. With a powerful stroke of his charcoal wings, he took to the sky.

Cybele’s breath caught. Arthur—his body, his power, his unwavering loyalty—it was almost too beautiful to bear. The cloud cover had broken. She craned her neck, tracking his shadow against the stars. Her eyes lingered on the sky even after he disappeared.

Neck aching, she looked down at the ground. Alone again, she felt deflated. Enervated. Terrified. Hopeful. Exhausted. Damn. She was one hot mess.

She sank down on a bench, her emotions churning emotions. She’d been so afraid that either the cocaine or the Ordeal would finish Arthur off. She’d been equally frightened that, without a guide, the magic would burn out his brain. Or turn him into someone she didn’t recognize.

He’s fine, she told herself. At least, as fine as he could be given all he’d been through. He was nothing like Luc.

She bit back a sudden rise of nausea. Oh, Luc.

The last few months had transformed her brother into a stranger. A hard, desperate stranger. Cybele couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow responsible for it, at least in part. She and her twin had been close until last year, when Mab had started showing Luc special attention. He’d left Demon’s Hollow to work at Club Tartarus in Houston. He’d assisted Draven when the Columbian runners came ashore. And he’d gone to Mab’s bed. The thought of it, even now, made Cybele’s stomach roll.

Around the same time, Cybele and Arthur had become lovers. In six years, Arthur had never once been permitted to leave Demon’s Hollow. Now, taking advantage of Cybele’s expanding skill with illusion and concealment, they snuck away from the compound at every opportunity. For the first time, Cybele had distanced herself from Luc. If she’d told him what she and Arthur were doing, and he’d told Mab, there would’ve been hell to pay.

She’d felt guilty keeping such a big secret from Luc. If he hadn’t been away from Demon’s Hollow so often, she might not have been able to do it. On the days when he was home, Cybele did everything she could to avoid him.

Maybe, if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in Arthur and their burgeoning physical relationship, things might have gone differently for Luc. She might’ve put more effort into convincing Luc that Mab was only using him. Or Luc might’ve listened to Arthur. He might have gone rogue, rather than enter the Ordeal with Mab as his guide.

Of course, if Luc had gone rogue, he might be dead now. Was death preferable to a life as Mab’s thrall? She didn’t know. She could only hope that if—no, not if, when—Arthur killed Mab, Luc would be set free.

And Arthur would kill Mab. Even though she was only a dormant, Cybele could sense the depth and breadth of his magic. The sheer magnitude of it took her breath away. He was an adept, with no ties to any guide, with the magic of Merlin within reach. All he had to do was claim it.

She’d never seen anything so beautiful, or so frightening, as his shift from human to demon form. Her own magic—and her body—couldn’t help but respond. Oh, how she wanted him. She wanted to open her palm on his chest and absorb the heat of those dark, shifting lights. To sink her fingers into the velvet luxury of his wings. She’d lick his skin, press her nose to his stomach and inhale his musk. His cock would harden against her breasts. She’d open her mouth on his stomach and taste the salt of his sweat. When her senses were filled with him, he’d place his hands on her head, his fingers curling into her hair. He’d urge her down to her knees. And she’d go, willingly.

Damn it all, just thinking about it made her horny as all get out. Abruptly, she stood and paced the garden path. Her entire body was ablaze. Oh, why couldn’t she be in bed with Arthur right now, screwing his brains out?

Her head snapped up. Something was screaming. Cries of pure terror floated toward her on the breeze, from the direction toward which Arthur had flown.

A human cry? It sure sounded like it. But maybe she was wrong. She wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly very aware of the dawn chill.





FOUR


Honestly. Some creatures were just too stupid to live.

Maweth studied the round-cheeked cherub as he flitted back and forth, exploring the confines of the mirror.

“Wow!” The angel bobbed before him, wings whirring. “It’s so much bigger on the inside.”

“Not really.” Maweth lay on the floor, against the curved wall. “You shrunk when you dove in.”

The cherub flew down and landed in front of him. “What kind of place is this, anyway?”

“A mirror,” Maweth replied. After a brief pause, he added, “See this wall? It’s liquid but—” He rapped on it. “It’s solid, too. Quicksilver, mixed up with salt, flame, and blood. It’s made with magic. Alchemy, to be specific.”

“Oh.” The cherub nodded soberly and blinked.

Maweth was momentarily taken aback by the stunning blue sparkle. The little angel had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“I’m Fortunato,” the cherub said after another few seconds. He plopped down on the floor.

“You’re lucky?” Maweth snorted. “Probably not, if you’re in here.”

“No, I mean my name is Fortunato, silly.”

Maweth had never in his long, long existence—never ever, not even once—been called “silly.” It was a novel sensation. He sat up a bit straighter. “Well, then, Lucky—you don’t mind if I call you Lucky, do you? Fortunato is such a mouthful.” At Lucky’s nod, he continued. “Why in the world are you here?”