The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(71)

And smelling almost as bad. Evander, slumped forward over the kitchen table, reeked of whiskey. No wonder. He’d passed out gripping a bottle, and most of its contents had spilled out.

Noise drifted down from the upper levels of the house. The creak of bedsprings from Rand’s bedroom, country music and female laughter from the witches’ quarters. From the dormants’ wing, the tinny melody of video game music.

Zephyr closed the cellar door and turned the lock. Moving with admirable stealth, she slipped the key into the breast pocket of Evander’s shirt. Luc, ignoring the pain, just concentrated on moving. His back was on fire. Every movement was agony. It was a good thing Evander was out cold, because if Luc had needed to cast an illusion over his escape, he couldn’t have pulled it off.

They passed silently through the kitchen and into the front room. Here Hunter sprawled on his back on the couch, one arm flung over his face, his cowboy boots hanging over the armrest. A fine dusting of cocaine coated his beard. He didn’t stir as Luc and Zephyr slipped past.

They crossed the porch and yard, not speaking or stopping until they reached the shelter of a stand of cypress. Once out of sight of the house, Luc steadied himself with one hand on a tree trunk. “Promise me you’ll stay out of their sight after I’m gone, Zephyr. Always. As much as you can.”

She shrugged. “Mab would kill any male who touched me.”

That was true. So few females were born to Nephil and witch mothers. Dormant girls were too important to lose and any male Nephil knew better than to harm one. Still, it didn’t make Luc feel any better about leaving Zephyr. His half-sister was canny for her age, but her age was still only thirteen.

“And anyway,” she added. “I’m good at hiding. Almost as good as Cybele.”

“If Mab finds out about that, there’ll be worse hell to pay.”

“I know.”

“Be careful.”

“I will, Luc. I always am.”

The night was warm, the air alive with the sound of crickets and bullfrogs. Nevertheless, Zephyr rubbed her arms as if cold. Suddenly, she looked very young. “Where will you go?” she whispered.

“Better you don’t know.”

“Will you ever come back?”

He wanted to lie, but that would do no good. Zephyr wouldn’t believe any made-up bullshit anyway. “I doubt it.”

She bit her lip, fighting tears. Like Cybele, though, she was too tough to let them fall. “Good-bye, then.”

She slipped into the darkness. One moment she was there, the next she simply...wasn’t. Cybele had taught her well and Luc was damn glad of it.

His legs gave out only seconds after she’d gone. His knees hit the dirt. He didn’t stay down long. No telling where Mab had gone or when she’d be back. He half-lurched, half-stumbled down the trail. His mouth felt like dirty wool. The forest was a zig-zagging blur. Flying or even shifting was out of the question. Even if he could summon enough strength to call his magic, he wouldn’t do it. If he did, Mab would feel it. She’d be on him like a rat on garbage.

He headed for the old pickup parked by the warehouse. He only just managed to reach it without collapsing face-first in the mud. He wrenched open the door and fell into the driver’s seat. The key was under the mat. He just had to get it into the ignition. But what then? There was nowhere to run. Mab owned him, body and mind. He could hide for a while, but in the end, she’d find him.

There was only one place he could go where she wouldn’t follow. Oblivion.

He slammed the door and jammed in the key. The engine protested. Death. Except for that one desperate attempt during his Ordeal, Luc had done everything he could to avoid it. He’d turned his back on Cybele, on his self-respect, on his dignity. He’d gone after power and ended up a thrall.

His brain burned with the humiliation of what Mab had done to him. He fought the memories: the whip, the fingernails, the teeth, the vipers... His body and mind manipulated and invaded at his mistress’s whim.

Mab. Always Mab. He shifted into gear. His life was shit, and yet on some long-buried level he still couldn’t completely accept that death was the only way out. His mind spun, looking for another path out of the mire. Hunched forward, arms draped over the steering wheel, Luc hit the gas.

***

The ground shook. Golden light filled the cave.

Cybele rolled, hissing with the pain of it. She fought to push her body upright. Dusek’s dirty gold hellfire wrapped her wrists and ankles. Halfway up, she fell over again. Light—brilliant, terrible light—blotted out everything. What the hell was happening?

“Stop. In the name of the Heaven, I adjure you!”

Somehow she managed to jackknife into a sitting position. That voice. It vibrated with splendor. She blinked against the glare, trying to see the speaker amid all the glory. The light was shifting, gathering at a single point, thinning everywhere else. Cybele stared as the mass resolved into a shimmering male form.

Golden sandals encased his feet. Long robes, alight from within, whipped about his legs. Glorious wings with gilt-edged feathers rose above his blond head. His face was almost unbearably beautiful, from his amber eyes to the solid jut of his chin. A bejeweled sword, held aloft in his right hand, blazed like the sun.

Holy shit.

Cybele knew a few things about angels, though she’d never actually seen one. Lesser angels—cherubim and seraphim—were nothing to worry about. Cherubim were childlike creatures, eternally at play. Seraphim didn’t do much besides play harps and sing.