J. Lynn - Unchained

She nodded. Frankly, she’d seen him worse, but there was a weariness that clung to his skin. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she whispered.

He leaned against the desk, stretching his long legs, appearing to choose his words wisely. “I’m afraid someone is betraying us.”

She gaped. Okay, she knew it was bad. She just hadn’t expected it to be that bad. “What do you mean?”

He pushed away from the desk and went to the large cabinet that took up the entire side of the wall. She followed his movements. Curious, she waited quietly.

“Someone is feeding the Fallen a list of every Nephilim we are aware of. I also think the same person is actively seeking ones we have yet to relocate.” He ran his hand over the wood. “With this knowledge, they will quickly outnumber us by the hundreds. It’s sheer numbers. They take more souls and infect more humans.”

And there were so many souls nowadays. Those who perished unexpectedly were vulnerable to persuasion. Those poor souls clung to any hope of life, even the false hope minions provided them.

They invaded the bodies of the living, truly believing it was a second chance at life. But once their soul mingled with the host, things went downhill fast. The human became a deadhead—the human souls withering away for them both.

“With the Fallen operating behind the scenes, where we can’t reach them, we’re left cleaning up their mess time after time.”

She looked up. “Do you know who it is?”

He faced her. “That’s what’s been keeping me up at night.”

She inclined her head. “Do the Powers That Be know?” That’s what she called the angels and whoever else ran this show.

“They haven’t talked to me in a long time.”

That gave her pause. Nathaniel was the Nephilim’s only connection to the Powers That Be who called the shots from their lofty position. She always imagined them perched on a cloud full of morals and pomp, stringing their golden harps while staring at their beautiful reflections.

Lily didn’t like angels, especially their politics.

They viewed her kind as an abomination that had, unfortunately, become necessary. If they were ever successful in eradicating the Fallen and their legions, the Nephilim would be next on their heavenly hit list.

“Well crap,” she muttered.

Nathaniel chuckled. “Exactly. Don’t mention any of what I’ve shared with you about my suspicions. Only the circle is aware of the issue. I want it to stay that way.”

The circle consisted of the oldest and most skilled Nephilim in each chapter of the Sanctuary. They were in charge of various things such as disciplinary issues, the most secretive of missions, and the occasional social event that required their participation.

In the DC chapter, it was Nathaniel and Luke, Remy, and about nine other Nephilim. Then there was Lily. She was by far the youngest, but the most skilled. She had a habit of reminding them of that.

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Just keep your ear to the ground for me and report anything that seems odd. Now get back to the cop and make sure you brief him on what he is. You will meet resistance, but try to have patience.”

She arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

“Use Remy and Luke for all you need. I trust them. You can also reach out to Rafe.” He flashed a weak smile. “Keep Michael out of the school. I don’t want the young ones to freak him out. You know how they can be.”

Lily smiled at that. The school housed young Nephilim anywhere from five to eighteen. The teenagers were by far the worst, and the youngest ones just hadn’t developed a self-censor system yet. She kind of liked them for that.

Nathaniel smiled fondly at the auburn head that didn’t even reach his chest. “Lily?”

“Yes?”

“Be nice. And, God, please don’t kill him.”

“No promises.”

She left the room and made her way back to level five, deciding she’d gotten off light this time. Her ass had been chewed off far worse than that in the past. Pulling from a seemingly endless supply of energy, she bounded up the stairs.

…

Cory Roberts hurried across the manicured lawn, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the senator’s limousine in its designated spot. It was past midnight, and all he wanted was to be home in bed with his wife.

Tomorrow would be jam-packed with meetings, tedious conference calls, a baby or two to be kissed on the cheek, and the senator’s latest scandal to be dealt with.

He juggled the stack of folders in one arm, barely retaining his limp grasp on his coffee. This was why he was losing sleep. Caffeine at midnight and another dose at the crack of dawn was a wretched combination for his heart.

Middle-aged and already balding, with high blood pressure and a sinking suspicion he was developing an ulcer, Cory had had a shitty day. The wire-frame glasses slipped down his nose. This latest affair would surely be the senator’s undoing. There was no way they could cover this up, and the senator’s bitch of a wife was already booking the early-morning talk shows.

The senator couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, and that dick was going to get them all in the unemployment line. Without this job, Cory would lose everything: the money, the illusion of power, the house his wife loved, and even his wife.

He would give his soul for this whole mess to disappear.

The driver stepped forward, opening the door. Cory spared him a tight smile and slid in. Clutching the folders and coffee to his chest, he glanced across the seat, expecting the senator or, at the very least, his whore of a secretary.

The coffee slipped from his fingers.

Cory loved his wife of ten years—had always loved women. He never questioned his sexuality until that moment. It shattered his world.

The man was painstakingly beautiful. Darkly exquisite in a way that bordered on the odd. His face was perfect, and the blue of his eyes promised bliss. Cory reacted to him in a way only his wife had been able to provoke from him. He struggled for air, unable to escape the man’s scent and the faint smell of sulfur.

The man’s full lips curved into a slight smile, as if he knew his effect. His brilliant gaze flickered over the spilled coffee, then back to Cory. “Hello, Mr. Roberts.”

At the sound of the stranger’s voice, Cory’s head splintered with pain. He wanted to sob and he wanted to run, but he couldn’t move.

“You may call me Asmodeus, and I’m here to do you a favor.”

Cory started to respond, but his heart seized. Files toppled to the floor as he clutched his chest, wide-eyed and wheezing. He stared up at the man, inherently knowing he had brought this sudden pain on.

Asmodeus’s smile grew. “I can make the senator’s scandal go away. You can keep your job, the fancy house on the hill…and your wife.”

Cory gasped as the air in his lungs expelled painfully. “What…are you?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “All you have to do is return the favor to me. There’s someone that…I need.”

Michael felt as if he’d been hit over the head by an NFL linebacker and then walked through the Mojave Desert. He had never been so thirsty in his life.

“Oh, I think he’s waking up.”

He flinched. Those words were exceptionally loud. He had no idea why his head hurt. Finally the fog that had settled over his memories started to clear. There’d been a disturbance call in an alley and an old man. Michael remembered that.

“I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

And he remembered that voice and who it belonged to. His eyes snapped open. He was looking into a pair of startling green eyes. He stared dumbly at the girl perched on a chair beside his bed, wearing this little half smile.