The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(61)

“Like you?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Get me in.”

Gabriel uttered an exasperated huff. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? You are a threat to humanity. There is no way I’m going to help you enter your ancestor’s cave.”

“No? We’ll see about—” Arthur broke off as, across the field to the south, the old stable lit up like a beacon. “Holy crap. What’s that?”

The angel’s pale complexion went whiter than white. “Why...that’s impossible, that’s what it is. The cave’s second entrance is inside that old stable.” His silver eyes showed something like panic. “Someone has breached the seal.”

An icy chill spread through Arthur’s veins. Holy fucking hell. Cybele. He was in the air, diving for the stable, before he even drew his next breath.

Gabriel flew close behind, muttering under his breath. “Loopholes. Blasted, wretched, perishing loopholes!”

***

Luc woke to his skull bouncing down a flight of stairs. When his head finally smacked the concrete floor, Rand released his hold on Luc’s ankles and kicked his body toward the center of the cellar. Luc rolled once, coming to rest on his stomach. He pressed his forehead to the floor. His thrallstone burned like a hot poker thrust through his throat. Pain filled his head so completely, there was no room left for any thought of resistance. There’d be no point to it, anyway.

Rand bent to manacle Luc’s wrists behind his back. He locked a cuff around one ankle and secured it to an iron ring embedded in the floor. “Cybele was a fool, tryin’ to escape,” he said. “Mab’ll find her, faster than fast. And then she’ll give her to me.” He leaned close, hissing into Luc’s ear. “I’ll enjoy fucking your sister. I’ll turn her into a pathetic thrall, like her twin brother. What do you think of that?”

Luc pressed his lips together.

“Answer me.”

He closed his eyes.

“Answer me, thrall.” Rand’s boot connected with Luc’s ribs.

“You’re...as much a thrall as...I am,” Luc gasped. “At least...I have...some pride.”

“That’ll be gone, soon enough,” Rand snarled. His fist slammed into Luc’s ear. Luc nearly fainted from the explosion of pain. He tried to roll away. A hand covered the back of his head, stopping his momentum and grinding his nose and mouth into some unspeakable muck on the floor. Luc choked and flailed.

Just as his consciousness faded, Rand jerked him upright. Luc gulped air, and then gagged on the stale beer breath. He opened his eyes. Rand’s snarling smile was barely an inch away.

“You don’t fucking disrespect me, you hear?”

Luc spat in his face.

Rand roared. From that moment on, Luc was aware of nothing but pain. Punches, kicks, lashes of fire. He rolled. Rand dragged him back. Luc wasn’t entirely helpless. Even shackled, even with his magic muted by the thrall collar, he managed a few solid kicks and a couple of hellfire blasts.

But it was a losing battle, one Luc was insane to fight. Groveling would have been easier. Not to mention smarter. Fuck that. The sight of Rand limping up the cellar stair, spewing curses, was a pleasure worth hurting for.

The door slammed. Luc, his cheek pressed against cool concrete, closed his eyes.

***

Gabriel held an honored position as Holy Messenger of the Earthly and Celestial Realms. He’d been praised in myriad prayers and songs. His most notable communication by far had been one delivered in Nazareth a couple thousand years ago. The event had caused his lofty self to be featured prominently in more works of art than he cared to count.

In short, Gabriel was the subject of endless human adulation. One could logically assume that he enjoyed his profession. This, however, was not the case.

His job, sadly, was not all it was cracked up to be. Sure, he held an exalted title, but he was, in truth, little more than Raphael’s errand boy. Certainly, if he had his druthers, he’d never find himself accompanying a disgusting Nephil into a damp and smelly ruin.

Since his druthers were unfortunately nowhere to be found, he let out a long-suffering sigh and followed his charge into the breach. Arthur sprinted through the stable’s sagging doorway and dashed past a row of empty stalls. Gabriel picked his way through more slowly, careful to keep the soles of his shoes a few inches above the grubby floor. He didn’t care to look too closely, but he suspected a large part of the muck on the stone paving consisted of animal dung.

A fine mess this assignment was turning out to be. Keep an eye on the Nephil, Raphael had ordered. Don’t let him do anything rash, he’d said. Well. Easier said than done, Gabriel thought sourly. Nephilim were the opposite of prudent.

A brilliant light shone from beneath a fallen beam at the end of the passageway. Arthur barely paused before diving under the heavy timber and its associated pile of ruined roofing. Gabriel, grimacing, used his walking stick to lift a section of rot. With a delicate shudder, he faded into spirit form and melted through mold, slime, and a rat’s nest. His scalp crawled with revulsion. The things he did for Raphael.

On the other side of the obstruction, he found Arthur standing as if frozen, staring down at what looked like a cluster of braided twigs, lying on the ground amid a small puddle of blood. A few steps beyond, more blood formed a trail of droplets, leading to a pool of celestial light. Gabriel drew up short, not quite able to believe his eyes. Oh, holy...shining clouds above. This was not good. Not good at all.