The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(57)

“A demon, way out here in the middle of nowhere?” Cybele said dubiously. She returned the ball of black fluff to its mother and siblings. “Don’t demons prefer populated areas? They can’t do much damage without a human host.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said. But what the hell else could it be?

They left the barn. The night was very dark. An access road started behind the barn and ran between two fenced fields. About a quarter mile down this path stood the stone ruin he’d seen from the window, barely visible through a screen of vegetation.

Cybele’s eyes followed his gaze. “Maybe he’s in there.”

“Maybe.”

Their passage down the trail raised the soft bleating of sheep on either side. Though Arthur could see perfectly well in the dark, he knew Cybele couldn’t. He called a handful of hellfire, and was heartened to discover he could contain it in a compact, controlled burn. He released the sparkling globe into the air. It drifted obediently before them.

Cybele grinned. “Nice.”

As magical accomplishments went, it was a small thing. Hardly worth the intense pride Cybele’s praise sparked. But the effort marked the first time he’d truly felt in control of his magic. Maybe there was hope, after all.

The stone ruin turned out to be an abandoned stable. Half the roof beams had collapsed and the rest looked ready to go in the next stiff wind. The place was choked with brambles and saplings. Broken branches and a trail of fresh footsteps led them past a row of stalls. At the end of the passage, a fallen beam and a good deal of crushed roofing blocked their path.

Jack had scraped a path under the debris. Arthur caught Cybele’s quick grimace. She wasn’t fond of enclosed spaces. Evander’s preferred form of punishment for dormants was twenty-four hours locked in the cellar.

“I’ll go in and take a look,” he said. “You wait here.”

“No. I’ll go with you.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur ducked under the beam, widening the path as much as he could as he went through. Cybele sucked in a gulp of air and made a wild lunge through the barrier. He caught her on the other side. He could feel her heart pounding.

“I’m fine,” she said, pushing him away and standing on her own. He caused his hellfire to flare brightly, illuminating the space more evenly. She sent him a grateful glance.

He looked around. They’d entered the stable’s tack room, and it was a mess. Mold climbed the walls. Rotten saddles and other bits of disintegrating leather lay matted together on the floor.

“Ugh.” Cybele hugged her torso. “Mouse droppings.”

Arthur prowled the space, looking for hidden nooks or exits. He found nothing. “If Jack was here earlier, he’s gone now.” He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. Where could he have gotten to?”

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” Cybele said with a sigh. “So what if he thought he heard moaning? He probably imagined it.”

“Maybe. But his grandparents said he barely spoke before. Something caused him to start babbling.”

“The foreign lodger?” Cybele asked. “Do you think the man could have molested Jack?”

“Damn,” Arthur said. “I hope not. But something must have happened recently.”

“Let’s just look for the cave on our own like we planned,” Cybele said. She eyed the gap in the debris through which they’d entered. “Though I’m not thrilled about going through there again, that’s for sure.”

They retraced their path. Once back in the open air, Cybele sank down on an overturned water trough and gulped several deep breaths of clean air.

Arthur laid his hand on her upper back. “You ok?”

“Fine.”

That was bullshit if he’d ever heard it, but she wouldn’t appreciate him calling her on it. She needed a few minutes to regain her composure, though.

“I want to take a look from above,” he said. “Maybe I’ll spot something we’ve missed. Wait for me here?”

She nodded.

He walked a short way down the access road. His neck was stiff. He stretched it, working out the kinks. Then he closed his eyes and spread his arms.

For one long, fluid moment his body was suspended in time and form. The sensation of shifting, previously a spasm of gut-wrenching agony, now felt as natural as a morning stretch. His demon essence, as terrifying and unpredictable as it still was, no longer felt like a foreign thing. It wasn’t, he realized. His Nephil nature was an intrinsic part of his self. His most basic identity.

Heat glowed behind his eyes. Sparks gathered in his hands. Dark opal hues pulsated under his skin. His wings unfolded on a whisper. Energy—fierce, limitless—surged into his muscles.

He took to the sky with his eyes still closed, aware that Cybele was almost certainly tracking his flight. He battled an unholy urge to reverse course and fall on her. To tear off her clothes and plunge into her body.

He wanted her desperately, but for the first time since surprising her at T?’r Cythraul, he felt as though he was the master of his lust. They would make love again, but not just yet. Not while his haphazard skills and the power difference between them threatened her life.

He rounded Merlin’s Hill, his expanded Nephil senses absorbing his surroundings in a way his human self could never have imagined. Subtleties previously ignored were suddenly obvious. His ears detected the rustle of the wind, the bleat of sheep, the hoot of an owl. He knew the scurry of rodents and insects, the pulse of life hidden in the heartwood of every tree. Myriad scents reached his nostrils: wood smoke, exhaust fumes, sheep dung. The earliest flowers of spring.