Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

A nephilim servant in a rose-colored kilt entered the room and lit the incense brazier. As he tucked a lock of hair the color of sunripened wheat behind one ear, Lilith was able to put a name to him—Vel, another of the Morningstar’s half-blood and never-ending brood. The myrrh’s smoky scent mingled with the fragrance of the white-blossomed jasmine climbing the room’s north wall.

After a glance at his father for any other instructions, Vel padded from the room.

“You must’ve spoken to Gabriel,” Star said, ambling away from the window. “Since he’s the only one I told about this meeting.”

“I went to see the Chaos Seat,” Lilith said, deciding to tell the same story she’d told Gabriel. She had no doubt he and Star would compare notes. “I wanted to remind myself of everything we’ve lost because of Lucien.”

Star arched one white eyebrow. “Lucien?”

“Samael,” she clarified. Before she could say another word or draw in another breath, a faint song curled through her mind, dark and beautiful and haunting. The song faded like a half-heard whisper, like the last dregs of sleep, then disappeared. Lilith’s pulse raced.

Anhrefncathl .

One look into the Morningstar’s wide blue eyes told her he’d heard it too, but the furrow between his brows told her he wasn’t certain. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Chaos song. Faint, but…” He searched her eyes. “I didn’t imagine it.”

“I heard nothing,” Lilith said, keeping her voice even. “Are you sure?”

She crossed to the window and looked outside to see if anyone else had heard and was now winging with joy into the predawn sky. The graying skies were empty. She breathed a little easier. Perhaps no one else had heard because they still slept.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’d wager my wings that our so-called Lucien knows exactly where this Maker is.”

Lilith swiveled to face Star. “Why do you think Lucien knows?”

“He was living in the mortal world, my love. The creawdwr ’s song would’ve plucked at his essence like fingers upon harp strings. Drawn him. And Samael or Lucien or whatever he wishes to call himself would’ve answered.”

“If you did hear a creawdwr, then we need to claim him or her before Gabriel does,” Lilith said. “And, if Lucien has hidden this Maker like you believe, you’ll need my help to discover where.”

Star regarded her for a long moment through his silver lashes, his handsome face thoughtful. “You betrayed his name. Why would he want anything to do with you?”

“He owes me,” Lilith said, her hands gripping the tiled windowsill behind her. “He’s even admitted as much. If I arranged for his escape, he might trust me enough—”

“To lead you to the creawdwr, ” Star mused. “Perhaps…”

he sent, eyes alight.

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“Of course,” Star murmured. “But first the throne.”

“Whatever you desire, beloved,” Lilith said. She marveled at how her voice managed to sound so tender when her heart felt so cold.

THE CLINK OF CHAINS drew Lilith’s gaze up from her cup of wine and its pomegranate-red depths. Escorted by a fluttering-winged chalkydri, Lucien walked into the room, wrists manacled, wings banded.

Lilith’s former cydymaith stood proud, his black hair spilling to his waist, shoulders back and head high, a cool smile on his lips as if he’d just strolled in from a dawn flight, hoping for refreshment.

But his pale face and bloodless lips revealed the lie. His vitality ebbed with Gehenna’s, his fate now blood-bound to the land.

A pang of regret nicked Lilith’s calm. She took a sip of wine, tasted the tang of limes beneath the pomegranates and grapes. For Hekate, she told herself. For Gehenna .

“Welcome, brother,” the Morningstar said. He reclined on a velvet and gold-brocaded couch beside Lilith’s. “It seems you found something that fit.”

“I did,” Lucien said. “Although it wasn’t necessary.”

“Or even desired?” Star said with a smile.

The clothing Star had provided Lucien in place of his tattered trousers fit him with breathtaking perfection, in Lilith’s opinion—the silver-belted black kilt flowed from his hips to just above his knees, and silver-edged sandals protected his feet.

The past slipped past her guard and winged into her mind: He catches her in the air and gathers her against him—chest to chest—heated skin and the rush of wings, counter-tempo. He tears her gown from her body .

Lilith pulled her gaze from Lucien and shoved the memory away. Everything between them had died with Yahweh.

“Leave,” Star said, flipping a hand at the chalkydri .

In a buzzing burr of wings, the chalkydri obeyed.

“Please, brother, seat yourself. Eat.” The Morningstar gestured at the low table laden with fruit—oranges, limes, pomegranates—breads and chilled pitchers of wine, and encircled by couches.

Lucien sat with grace despite the manacles and banded wings, but he didn’t relax. He kept his back straight, his muscles taut and ready. Lilith noticed he held a length of the manacles’s chain between his hands.

As if he planned to strangle his way to freedom.

He’s my son .

Maybe that was exactly what he’d do if given half a chance. Her amusement at the thought vanished. Drawing in a breath of jasmine-and-myrrh scented air, she centered herself, and pushed the image of the burning Chaos Seat out of her mind.

“Is this little get-together your idea,” Lucien said, “or are you merely doing Gabriel’s bidding, like a good little lapdog?”

“Gabriel knows, naturally,” Star said, ignoring the dig, his voice smooth as sun-warmed silk. “But he’ll only know what I wish him to know.”

“The Seat-Warmer, as you named him, is busy planning the quickest way to conquer the mortal world,” Lilith said.

“Once Gehenna no longer exists,” Lucien murmured. “And me with it.” He leaned forward on the couch, chains clinking, and grabbed an orange and a hunk of bread.

“That doesn’t need to happen,” Star said. Pale peach dawn light shimmered on his star-bright tresses. “Not if there’s a creawdwr to heal the land, and you.”

“There is no creawdwr ,” Lucien said.

“Really?” Star asked. “I sent Loki to the mortal world to search for one.”

Lilith kept her face and mind still. She’d mentioned nothing about discovering Loki trapped in stone, forced to play crypt-guard in New Orleans.

Lucien peeled the orange and said nothing.

Star sighed. “Perhaps you saw him?”

“I saw him,” Lucien said. “He annoyed me, so I chained him to the earth.” He ate an orange slice, his face thoughtful. “I imagine he’ll remain that way until I return to free him.”

Star arched one white eyebrow. “That would explain his silence. As I said, I sent him because I believe there’s a creawdwr hidden in the mortal world.”

“Why would you believe that?” Lucien asked.

“A few times as I dreamed,” Star said, voice low, “I caught the fading edge of an anhrefncathl . A wild and beautiful song.”

“Perhaps it belonged only to your dreams,” Lucien said. “If a creawdwr walked the mortal world, I would’ve known.”