With shaking hands I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. It was only nine in the morning, probably too early, but I didn’t care. I texted Ashley to see if they’d made it home safely, then held my breath until she texted back, saying they were fine.
With a ragged exhale, I slid down from the bed and hit my knees, leaning my forehead in my palms. I hated this—this life of being a Nephilim. What would happen the day someone wasn’t okay? When a night of partying with Anna Whitt resulted in tragedy? It was hard to believe I lived a blessed existence in comparison to other children of demons. My father was a “good guy,” but he sure played the role of bad demon to perfection.
Feeling steadier, I rose and went to my dresser, taking out a small black-handled dagger. I faced the thick plywood board I’d rigged against the wall with a painted life-size body on it, now covered in punctures. Patti found the thing gruesome. I began a therapeutic round of throws, using memories from the past half year to fuel me.
My father’s ally, the demon Azael, ironically also the messenger of Lucifer himself, came to me that night six months ago when I’d found out Kaidan Rowe had moved to L.A. Rahab has issued an order for all Neph to be under watch until further notice. Your father is also under investigation. Good luck to you, daughter of Belial.
I hit the palm of the target’s hand with the dagger. My entire junior year had been sucktastic, especially the second half. I went from being an honor roll student to barely squeaking by. It’s funny how knowing you’ll never be able to pursue your dreams can kill your motivation to keep up the GPA. Instead of doing homework, I’d spent my time learning to sling sharp objects. I retrieved the knife and aimed again.
For six months I’d been hounded. I had to constantly remind Patti not to show affection, and it broke my heart. We’d developed a sign for when spirits were around: a scratch to my chin. She’d leave my presence so they couldn’t see her colors. They couldn’t know she cared.
The knife sunk into the target’s elbow with a thud. And so it went around the body.
I hadn’t cried in six months, since that day I stood at Lookout Point. Fear and trauma had taken their toll. I used to hate my tear ducts—thought tears made me weak. I’d taken their cleansing relief for granted, like so many other things.
Thud.
Somewhere in the world my father was busy keeping up his facade as the Duke of Substance Abuse. But he’d still set up lessons for me in self-defense right after the summit. Grueling, hard-core lessons that defied my peaceful instincts.
Thud. In the eye. If only Kaidan could see me now.
I hadn’t spoken with any of the Neph. No word from Kai. In the deep recesses of my soul, worry threatened to reach up and pull me under. He could be dead for all I knew.
Thud.
I had my choice of defense maneuvers I could have studied. My instructors wanted to focus on Judo grappling and hand-to-hand combat since I apparently had the flexibility, strength, and endurance for it. They couldn’t understand my interest in knives, and I wasn’t about to tell them that it made me feel connected to the boy I loved. I wondered what he would think if he saw me aiming for the throat and hitting it dead-on. Would he be proud or appalled? Did he still care? I’d seen through a chink in his emotional armor when he stood at the summit in New York, prepared to fight for my life.
Thud.
Six excruciating months without smelling the sweet, outdoorsy scent that seemed tucked into each memory of him. Six months of living a lie to the outside world.
When the dagger landed in the dummy’s heart, I left it there and sat hard on my bed.
Even with all its terror, the events of the summit had been incredible—heaven sent down angels to spare my life. If they hadn’t shown and intervened when they did, there would have been three additional deaths that night: mine, Kaidan’s, and Kopano’s, who’d also stood to defend me.
I sighed and picked up the phone to call Jay. I owed him an apology for yet another crazy night.
He answered right away. “What’s up, girl?”
“Hey, you,” I said, surprised he didn’t sound upset.
“Feeling okay?” he asked.
“Um . . . yeah, mostly.”
“Dude, it’s kinda freaky that you’re calling, ’cause I was just about to call you.”
“You were?”
“Yep. Can you come over? I want you to hear something.”
He sounded excited. Maybe he was finally getting used to my changes.
“Sure, I’ll be there in about . . . twenty?”
“See ya then.”
When I hung up, Patti peeked into my room.
“It’s safe,” I told her.
She grimaced at the impaled target. A sheen of blue sadness tinged the aura around her torso, but when she turned her face to me a pretty vapor of pale pink surfaced in its place. She crossed her arms.
Patti’s strawberry curls were held back with a clip, although some had escaped and framed her lightly freckled face. As always, a mistlike guardian angel stood just behind her, watching our interactions with calm assurance. The silent observations of humans’ guardian angels were a reassuring staple in my life.
“Good morning,” I said.