Exalted (4 page)

They
knew she was awake.

Frantically
she grasped for something, anything to help her calm down, and it hit her like
a ray of light: The Authority on the ski lift had said that Cayne would be her
demise. On its face, it sounded bad, but there was a sunny side. Cayne couldn’t
be her demise if she never saw him again.

Julia
shut her eyes and vowed that when they found each other, she wouldn’t let some
stupid angel’s prediction come to pass. Cayne was hers and she was his, and
whatever his past or her present, they would find a way to be together.

The
people carrying her stopped, their final footfall echoing against the
hard-packed mud. She felt them shifting their grips as they turned sharply
left. She watched the modest width of the hall narrow into a doorway, and then
she was being carried into a large, square room. Foggy. Wow, the place was
foggy white.

She
was set on something—some kind of bench, table, or bed. She heard several sets
of feet shuffle out of the room, and abruptly, the fog cleared. Flickering
torches replaced the darkness, and there, on a stone bench, holding a leather
whip, was the most beautiful being Julia had ever beheld. His copper hair shone
in the light, framing a wise and noble face. Blue eyes, sensuous mouth, high
and lovely cheeks. He smiled, and warmth flowed through her, even as her heart
beat way too fast and his hard hands plucked the whip.

His
smile was radiant, his hand big and warm as he sank to one knee and clasped one
of hers. Those blue eyes, infinitely understanding and hypnotically serene,
never left her own. “You must be Julia,” he purred.

She
nodded stupidly, and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I,” he told her, “am
Methuselah.”

***

Cayne sat on the edge of his cot in the loft at his aunt
and uncle’s house, wiping his bloody hands on a cloth he used for bathing. The
sight of the lamb's blood made him feel like he had swallowed a midge, and now
it was down in his stomach, buzzing around. He didn’t like the greasy feel o’
it or the sharp smell. He hated to kill the wee lamb, but the creature had
broken a hind leg, and it was broken in the thickest part a’ the bone and—

What the hell am I
doing back in Killin?

Cayne jumped up, tossed the wool towel on the plank floor,
and spun around the room. It was smaller than it had appeared a few seconds
before, though the smell of the blood and the feel of it on his fingers
affected him the way it had when he was a wee lad.

Still, what was he doing here, and where was Julia?

He stepped toward the ladder, determined to find her. But
when he reached the cut-out in the floor where he would drop onto the ladder,
he bumped into something hard. He stepped back and found himself staring into
the dark eyes of his Uncle Kennan.

The man had black hair and a hard, bearded face, but he’d
always been kind to Cayne, until
that
night. Seeing him now made Cayne sweat. He staggered back, and Kennan laughed,
and it was the over-loud, over-boisterous laugh that gave him away.

“You’re not my uncle.”

Kennan’s face smiled as he stepped closer to Cayne. “Not
who you’re looking for, either.”

With those words, the world around him blotted out. Cayne
felt the frigid breeze before his vision returned. As his eyes adjusted, he
realized he was in a light snow, standing outside a familiar cabin.

Dread rolled through him. Not the logical dread of the
place, but a desperate pit of sorrow. A heartbeat later, The Adversary stepped
through the cabin’s wide, wood door, and behind him… Behind him was Julia.

Cayne had been expecting Kat. At the sight of Julia, his
heart thudded wildly, off beat. It was her, but was it really? A part of him
knew it wasn’t, and the conviction grew as he watched snowflakes drift across
her face. She wore a small smile, and as she stretched one leg out, she stuck
her arms out, wobbled a little, and laughed as she turned and stuck her head
back in the house. “Could you grab my mittens?”

“Sure.” The voice was gruff, but he recognized the
lightness in it: a kind of weightlessness that was both ignorance and bliss.

A second later, his younger self emerged through the door
looking like a stud horse, his bulky torso covered in a thick brown jacket. He
remembered it had smelled like gardenias from her lotion.

Julia smells like
vanilla. It was Kat who smelled like gardenias. Just like it was Kat who I was
with when I was really here.

Years ago, his hair had been long, down to his neck and
curling out from beneath his gray beanie. His eyes, lighter, brighter, smiled
as he grinned. “Think fast.” He chucked the mittens at her, and Julia—
not
Kat
—grabbed them with a silly little grin. He stepped over, snatched them away,
and captured her wrists in his right hand.

Julia giggled. “What will you do with me, my captor?”

Cayne watched his younger self drop a kiss onto her hair,
put the mittens gently on her hands, and tuck her left hand through his arm.
Before they set off walking, he hugged her close, resting his chin on her hair
in what he remembered had been a brand-new sense of peace.

They set off on a trail that wound to the village—a thirty
minute hike in the snow, and one he and Kat had made every morning just for fun.

The Adversary followed them, an unobserved spectator, and
real-time Cayne lagged behind him. That “morning” the devil wore an
ankle-length fur coat and the pale skin and black hair of the cabin’s gruff
proprietor. Cayne fell into step beside him, clenching his left hand into a
fist and hiding a grimace every time he got too close to his fa— He couldn’t
think it. Had no reason to believe it.

“This isn’t real.”

The Adversary wiggled black eyebrows. “That depends on how
you define reality.”

“I mean real,” Cayne said flatly. “I was in Alberta with
Kat, not Julia. She and I didn’t meet until three years after this.”

The Adversary shrugged, and Cayne jerked his eyes back to
his younger self and Julia, walking. He knew it wasn’t real. The last time he’d
seen Julia, she was an illusion The Adversary had whipped up just to toy with
him. That’s what she was this time, too.

Still, his heart pounded when a dark shape appeared in the
winter white sky. He saw the moment his younger self felt the Nephilim king’s
presence. And he recalled the horror he had felt as he shoved Kat behind him,
his own wings bursting out, his blood dagger appearing in his hand.
 

But it was Julia screaming this time. It was Julia that
Samyaza was lifting into the air.

He tossed her high and far, and for a terrifying second,
she hovered in the air. Then she tumbled toward their cabin. Young Cayne
wouldn’t be fast enough, but the Cayne of now was closer, and he dashed after
her, The Adversary’s laughter ringing in his ears. He knew it wasn’t real, told
himself over and over again it was all an illusion...and yet he flew as fast as
he could. The moment he realized he wouldn’t reach her, his lungs lost all
their air.

She crashed through the log and mud cabin, and Cayne
watched his younger self rip into the rubble. Kat had still been alive when
Cayne had pulled her from the ruins.

He turned away.
That
is not really Julia.

The Adversary was beside him, still clad in the
proprietor’s body, but hovering in the sky beside him on deep red wings. Cayne
was so angry, he was sweating and shaking. “What’s the point of this!”

The Adversary wagged his finger. “What do you think?”

“How the hell should I know!”

The Adversary rolled his eyes. “Clearly you’re not giving
this any thought. I’d hoped my son would be the thinking sort.”

Cayne crushed his arms around The Adversary and dove,
speeding them both toward the ground. At the last second Cayne dropped the
Demon King and arched up, landing on his feet while The Adversary plowed face
first into the snow.

Cayne turned and ran, away from the cabin and The
Adversary. He needed to find some kind of door or passage, some exit from this
realm, so he could find Julia and—

Pain exploded behind his eyes, knocking him to his knees.
He looked up, dazed, and The Adversary stood before him.

“I hope you can see how fruitless that was.”

Panting, Cayne got to his feet, throwing The Adversary’s
hand off his arm. On a whim, he slammed the bastard in the jaw. Blood gushed,
and The Adversary grinned.

Cayne struck again, but The Adversary blocked him with what
seemed a careless shrug. Then he hit back, landing a punch on Cayne’s nose, and
the world reeled. Somewhere a few dozen yards away, Cayne heard an awful
howling sound, and he knew who was making it.

“You can’t stop this. Her fate is death. Be it here or
elsewhere, now or later, she will die, and you
will not stop it
.”

“I will!” Cayne roared. He jumped to his feet, but The
Adversary knocked him down again.

“You won't. Like hers, your path has been set since your
birth.”

“I’ll stop it!”

The Adversary shook his head. “Methuselah, for all his
pathetic, dullard
E
arth
liness,
is powerful, my son, and his Sight is even greater than my own. He is never
wrong in what he sees.”

“He is this time.”

“Is that right?”

The snowy forest disappeared, and Cayne found himself in a
dark, dank room. At the other end was Julia. A man who was as evil as he was
beautiful leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Chapter Five

Julia
stared into depthless blue eyes.

“M-Meth
uselah
?” It…couldn’t be. And yet she
knew it was. The intense force that had been trapped so painfully inside her
head flowed through the room like a current now, and the only thing inside her
was fear. She curled over on her side instinctively, drawing her All-Stars to
her chest, praying she could disappear.

He
looked so…youthful. Not old and feeble like she’d thought. He looked pristine
and terrifying.

Now
standing, holding his whip, Methuselah peered down his flawless nose at her and
spoke in a voice like thunder. “Years cannot touch power like mine. I appear as
I wish.”

Freakishly perfect
, she thought,
like
you'd expect from a Celestial.

“Yes.”
His lips curled into something like a smile. His muscled arm raised the whip,
like a jockey poised to prod a horse, and Julia struggled to swallow.

“Stand,”
he said quietly. When she didn’t move, he raised the whip higher. “I want to
see you standing.”

Never
had she been so terrified as when she pushed herself off the stone bench and
wobbled into a crouching position. Methuselah’s eyes were like lasers, stealing
her balance. As she found her footing, the inside of her head felt hot and
tingly.

He
stepped closer, and Julia’s heart fluttered. He rested his hand on her shoulder
and she stopped breathing.

This
close, he was… She couldn't think. She was shaking. Sweat rolled down the back
of her knees, inside her blue jeans. She had the sudden intense compulsion to
touch him, to use her fingertips to caress the porcelain skin of his face. She
curled her fingers into fists.

She
felt so small and bare, so totally alone. Her eyes stung with pooling tears.

“What
ails you?” He blinked, seeming to see through her.

She
found that she could not be dishonest. The words were tugged out. “I’m…scared.”

 
She thought how young and yes, afraid, she
sounded, but Julia couldn’t make herself sound any other way.

“What
else?” Those eagle eyes narrowed, and she sucked in a frantic breath. “I miss
my boyfriend.”

Why had she told him that?

His
hand, still on her shoulder, pressed down, and he looked at her with…power.
That was what it was. He was so secure in his power; she broke into a cold
sweat.
 

“Do
you think your boyfriend can protect you from your destiny?” One coppery
eyebrow arched; hard fingers squeezed her shoulder until it ached, and Julia
felt something inside her chest fold in on itself. It was the pain from the
leash, intensified so much she actually worried she might have a stroke.

Methuselah's
fingers crawled down her arm, his fingertips pushing so hard a squeak rose in
her throat. Just when she thought he would crack her bones, he flicked his
wrist, knocking her off-balance. Julia threw out her arms, her hands grabbing
at the air, and Methuselah eyed her with an unreadable expression.

She
was aware of every breath, of every flicker of every torch lining the walls.

“What
do you know about your birth parents?” he asked as he stepped closer, this time
putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her back to the bench. The whip
still hung in his other hand.

Methuselah
sat, and she sat beside him, trembling so badly now her breaths were audible,
like in a horror movie. His coppery hair glowed in the torchlight. His blue
eyes seemed to glow in his breathtaking face.

Why don’t you touch it?

She
heard the voice inside her head, and startled.

A
smile bent his face. “Do you want to touch me?”

Julia’s
teeth chattered. “I d-don’t have to.”

“But
do you want to?”

His
hand found hers, and guided her fingertips to his skin. It was warm. Too warm.

His
eyelids lowered, and he stared down at her, and Julia felt like she understood
him. Understood how things would be.

She
nodded, although no one had spoken. Methuselah dropped her hand and stood,
turning to face her as she sat on the stone bench.

“Your
mother was a student in college. She was studying music. Your father was in school
to be a pharmacist. They conceived you after drinking too much at a celebration
for a sporting event.” Methuselah blinked at her, the expression shrewd and
calculating, like he'd assessed every strand of her DNA and found everyone in
her lineage to be lacking. Julia stared at him, unsure what to say. He
continued, “When she found out she was pregnant, she wanted an abortion. Your
father convinced her to marry him instead, in a courthouse. She wore a pantsuit
one size too small and at their reception your parents argued. Your mother
spent the night at her sister’s house. Did you know you had an aunt?”