The Naphil's Kiss (18 page)

Movement across the tableau of a low rise brought her gaze to Josiah. Her beloved stood staring, not at the fight, but at her.

Don't!
she urged him silently.
Don't be part of this. Don't take her side. Walk away, Josiah
!

She returned her attention to Lucien. Josiah was doing nothing, so she ignored him.

Lucien rolled to avoid another slash, this one aimed at his throat. The motion brought him directly to Josiah's side. Lucien rose to his feet, looking his son directly in the face.

“No matter what happens,” he said, “you are my son and I love you.”

Then he screamed as Lilith grabbed him from behind, sinking a handful of claws into one side of his back and whirling him around. A slash of her free hand laid open the angel's belly, and blood sprayed across the sand. She threw him to the ground.

“No!” Annie screamed.

Lilith hissed at and crouched over Lucien, mouth opening wider. Her jaws hyperextending until the lower one rested against her throat, exposing wicked back-curving fangs.

She poised to strike. Annie moved without thought, racing forward at top speed, crouching and slamming into the demon with her shoulder. The force of her momentum was sufficient to knock Lilith off-balance. Quick as a blink, Annie grabbed Lucien in her arms and muttered the words which caused relocation, the only shelter she knew firmly fixed in her mind.

The desert shifted in a rainbow of colors as the demoness pounced onto the exact spot where they had been.

***

The world rematerialized into a decomposing bed in the interior of a decrepit trailer. Making a frantic mental plea to Sarahi, Annie ripped off her mask and pressed the fabric into Lucien's belly, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood and darker fluids. The snowy fabric was instantly drenched.

“Don't die, Lucien,” she begged. “Stay with me.” Even as the words crossed her lips, she knew they were useless. This was not a survivable injury. The poor angel had been all but eviscerated.

Drawing every ounce of strength she possessed, Annie began feeding healing energy into Lucien's wound.
First repair the bowel. The leakage from there could kill on its own.
By the time she had fixed one of the deep gashes, she was exhausted.

“What happened?” The soft voice spoke in her ear. “Oh no!” Sarahi scrambled onto the bed and grasped her husband's hand in hers. “Can you heal him?”

“I tried,” Annie said, panting. “It's beyond me. What do I do, Sarahi?”

But Sarahi was not listening. “Lucien, love. Hang on. Don't die.”

“Let me go, Sarahi,” he croaked in an agonized whisper. “I'm done.”

“No!” she shouted. “Without you, I have no reason to live. I'll never let you go.”

“You have to live, love. You have to keep trying to reach Josiah.”

“Wait…Josiah!” Sarahi lifted tear-stained eyes to Annie's face. “Call Josiah!”

“Wha… what? Why?”

“He can give you energy. Only you. Get him here. He can help you.”

Annie inhaled an unsteady breath. “How do I call him?”

“The same way you just called me. Hurry!”

Lucien coughed. A trickle of blood streamed from the corner of his mouth.

“Josiah!” Annie screamed. Her voice rang across the desert. Every person heard it, and the battle paused momentarily as warriors from both sides wondered what had happened.

Sarahi took up the cry and sent it, straight as an arrow, into her son's unguarded heart.

Chapter 21

Josiah stood on the battlefield, not participating, only watching. What he had seen so far stunned him. He'd grown up around these Nephilim and clerics. He had been raised to be one of them. By all rights he should be fighting alongside them now. But here he was, standing beside a demon. How had his life gotten so far off track?
Because you're as much demon as angel
. His mother… he closed his eyes as the image of the beautiful red-haired woman with a sparkling pink aura danced before him. She'd given him up to save him, and that was love. Not perfect, but real. She'd done the best she could. And Annie. His sweet Annie, who'd defied her only remaining family member to be with him. Annie's love had sustained him his entire life, and he'd used and abandoned her. And his father. His imperfect, stubborn, know-it-all father who'd endured ten years of silent confinement to be certain he was safe, who'd been separated from his beloved for two decades. His father had loved him too.

He'd thrown all that away for this.
For this
. He really must be the demon. Now his father lay wounded, dying somewhere, slain by this woman, this monster he'd chosen to align himself with. He looked at her as she sucked on one long black claw. He shuddered.

Josiah felt sick with grief. Too sick to maintain the shields around his heart which blocked his mother's sweet calls for him to return.

“JOSIAH!” The scream ripped across the desert, and angels and demons alike swiveled, searching for the source. Josiah knew. He knew where it had come from. He knew who was calling him. No one had ever touched him so deeply.

“Josiah,” Lilith said, reaching out to him with claws which still dripped his father's blood. He gave her one last look of deep disgust and vanished.

The desert faded into the interior of an ancient, ratty travel trailer. In front of him, on the remains of the bed, Annie sat. The girl glowed with power as she poured her healing energy into his father, who lay on the tattered mattress, inert and bleeding. His mother clutched his father's hand and wept, begging him to hold on.

She looked up at the sound of his arrival. “Josiah. Oh, thank God. Come on. We need your help!”

He shook his head, not understanding. “What can I do?”

“It's your father,” Annie said, “I can't heal him. I need you.”

“No,” he said. The women blinked at him.

“No?” Annie asked, not believing. “What do you mean, no?”

He shook his head again. “I can't help. I have no gift of healing. What can I do? If I tried, I'd probably just finish him off. And even if I succeeded, I… it wouldn't be any good.”

“What are you saying, son?” Sarahi asked.

“I've done too much. I'm evil now, Mother. Look at me.” He trailed his finger through his own aura, highlighting the muddy, gray color. It had darkened so much.

“Evil?”

He nodded and forced himself to admit the truth. “I'm a murderer. I killed Peter, and I…”

“I know, son,” Sarahi said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I know. But that doesn't mean you can't help. Please.”

“What do you want me to do? I've already told you I don't know how to heal.”

“You don't have to,” she replied. “Annie does. But she doesn't have enough strength. Give her your power, your energy. She needs it.”

“My energy is tainted.”

From the bed, Lucien groaned in agony.

“Josiah,” Annie said, drawing his eyes to her. “I know you have hard things to face. I get it. But do you really think it will make it easier if you let your father die?”

A shaft of sheer agony pierced Josiah. Annie had made it clear that if Josiah didn't act, Lucien's death, like Peter's, would be on his conscience. He reached out to Annie through the bonds of love and desire which had bound them since childhood; strengthened in puberty, and cemented in his bed a few weeks ago. With a wince of sympathy, he fed his muddy, tainted energy into his beloved. The pure white glow of her aura brightened immediately to a blinding brilliance, like a nuclear blast. Her hands shone like captive stars. She laid her fingers on Lucien's wounded belly. The black skin glowed with an internal luminescence. Annie began to mutter under her breath.

“First repair the lacerations to the bowel.” She concentrated. “Good. Now clear contaminants from the belly. No infections.” There was a flare of light so bright, it burned against Josiah's retinas like a flash of ignited magnesium. “Repair the muscles. And last the skin….”

Annie released Josiah's energy. It snapped back to him with the force of a rebounding rubber band. He took several steps backwards and ran into the chipped laminate table.

When his vision cleared, he returned his gaze the scene before him. Annie had risen from the bed and was walking towards him. Her gait was unsteady, as though she were slightly drunk. Beyond her, his mother had cuddled up against his father's side and was pressing her forehead against his cheek. No longer groaning, Lucien had wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They were murmuring unintelligible words to each other. Josiah felt a pang of envy. They were so sweet together, so very connected. He wondered if he would ever be blessed with what they had. His gaze returned to Annie. He wanted that kind of relationship with her, but he didn't deserve it. Despair quickly turned to rage.

“I'm so glad you came,” she said softly. “I'm so glad you returned to us.”

“Who says I've returned?” he demanded belligerently.

“What?” Annie looked at him, confused. It seemed he could do nothing other than confound her. “You can't be serious. That bitch is the one who did this!” She gestured behind her at the bed. “She nearly killed him. You can't be planning to return to her.”

“Well, no,” Josiah admitted. “I won't do that. But it doesn't mean I'm going to fight for the clerics either.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? What have they ever done for me? Annie, you saw what they did. They made my every waking minute miserable. What possible allegiance do I owe them?”

She took another step, close enough to touch him. But she didn't; she only pinned him with those irresistible brown eyes and spoke softly. “You have a point. I won't deny it. The clerics did not do right by you, from my grandfather right down the line to Peter. I would hardly expect you to be loyal to them. But what about to us, Josiah? Look around this room. Everyone here loves you, has always loved you. Don't you owe us your loyalty? If Lilith wins this fight, being disemboweled will be the least we'll face.”

“You, Annie? Why would she go after you?”

“Don't be stupid, Josiah. I was your first lover. Your unlimited energy, the thing she covets so much, belongs to me. Only I can share it, and that fact alone will earn me a terrible death. And there are… other reasons.”

Josiah lowered his gaze, trying to figure out what she meant. He studied the line of her body and was startled to see how bright the glow of her aura was around her belly. He met her eyes again, understanding blossoming.

“I don't deserve you,” he said sadly.

“You don't,” she agreed. “And I intend to make you suffer and grovel for a long time…
after
the battle.”

“I can't believe it. I should take you far away from here. Hide you.”

Annie pulled her gun from her belt and waved it casually in his direction. “Try it,” she challenged.

“You wouldn't shoot me,” he said. He hoped she wouldn't.

“No,” she agreed. “But I'd happily pistol-whip you into the new millennium. Don't give me a reason.”

He nodded. “Tough chick,” he said tenderly.

“Damn straight, boy. Now get your ass out there and help us fight.”

***

Lilith stepped forward to the shifting edge of the battle, where a Naphil and a drone were locked together in a bone-crushing fistfight. She couldn't get a clear shot, so she raked her claws across both of them. The drone immediately decomposed into dust, confirming he had been an old one. The Naphil howled until she cut off his scream by biting out his throat. She spat the mouthful of flesh onto the ground in disgust. He tasted bad. That Lucien, on the other hand, had been awfully yummy. No wonder her faithless daughter had been drawn to him. She strode forward. A succubus stumbled, knocked aside by a heavy blow from a cleric. Lilith slashed her claws, severing the man's spine and leaving him twitching on the ground. Her daughter stared at her in wide-eyed horror.

“You're welcome,” she told the succubus. The girl turned and fled, leaving Lilith shaking her head. What a bunch of weak, useless creatures she'd birthed. Nearly half had defected, taking their drones with them. Between that and the heavy losses they'd suffered, the armies were equally matched. Soon she would have to step in more directly, because she had no intention of losing this fight. Those ridiculous half-angels and their friends would learn the cost of baiting the Queen of Demons.

A strange sight captured her attention. At the edge of the battlefield, near a weathered mesquite tree, an old black man stood, muttering prayers and watching the battle. She stalked over to him, and recognized him from many years past.

“Hello there, Moses,” she said, and was amused when he jumped, eyes huge. “Did you forget me?”

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

“How is your daughter?”

He gulped, taking a deep breath before responding. “She's dead. You know that. Your… firstborn killed her, along with her husband and son.”

“Ah, yes. My dear, loyal Jezebel. She's here, now, on this battlefield. Did you know?”

“I guessed.” He muttered under his breath something which sounded distinctly like, “That bitch.”

“What I've always wondered, Moses, is how you got away from me. I've never had a drone escape. I thought I would be able to keep you.”

He shook his head. “I woke up one day and realized I had a choice. I knew what would happen to me if I stayed. I wanted a better life. Death is preferable to slavery, so I left. That's all.”

“Did you ever miss me?”

He sneered. “You're a disgusting creature. My poor late wife, the mother of my daughter, was a hundred times better than you could ever hope to be.”

Lilith laughed. “Trying to earn yourself a quick death, Moses? Keep dreaming. I plan to enjoy every moment of my revenge when this little skirmish is over.”

With that, she tossed out a net of energy that pinned him against the weathered tree trunk. “There,” she said, tying off the knot. “Now you can't sneak away from me again. Be back later, darling.” She blew him a kiss and stalked back to the fighting.

Until this day, the abdication of Moses Smith had been her greatest, most humiliating, most devastating loss. Worst of all, he had left because he wanted to. He would pay for her humiliation with centuries of agony. She could keep him alive to suffer at her hands indefinitely. Knowing he wouldn't be able to escape, she considered the remaining fighters, trying to decide who to kill next.

A petite, red-haired figure stepped in front of her. “Hello, Mother.”

Lilith raised her eyebrows. “Sarahi? I didn't expect to see you here.”

“You should have expected it. You tried to kill my husband.”

“Tried?” She laughed. “I did kill him. He may not realize it yet, but there's no coming back from a wound like that. I don't blame you for going to him, though. He was delicious.” She licked one of her claws with a long stoke of her forked tongue. Sarahi hissed in fury. Her own pale pink nails lengthened into rigid spikes. Fangs extended past her lips.

“Come on, you useless lump of flesh. Let's get this over with.” Lilith slashed out fast, but Sarahi dodged. Lilith blinked. She was unused to her daughters avoiding her blows. Even a killing blow. “Stop that, you twit. If you fight me, I'll only kill you slower.”

“No,” Sarahi replied coolly, “you cannot have my husband. You cannot have my son. I'll fight for them both.”

Lilith shrugged. “You can fight, but you'll lose.”

She struck out again, cobra fast, and again connected with empty air. “Quit squirming, slut.”

“I'm not the slut here, Mother.” Sarahi slashed with her own claws and managed to open a wound on her mother's arm. Lilith stared at the blood in amazement. No one had attacked her directly in millennia, not until today. That this second attacker was one of her own daughters seemed remarkable… and infuriating. This time, she wouldn't miss. She aimed a powerful blow at the little demoness's throat, and was brought to a shuddering halt as her claws snared against steel. Lucien stood tall and strong, his obsidian body a silhouette against the low afternoon sun as he blocked her.

“You,” she hissed. “I killed you!”

“Apparently not,” Lucien said. “I feel fine. But I do need to have a word with you about my son.”

“Hmm,” Lilith moaned in a parody of ecstasy. “He was goooood. Who would have guessed an angel would be so… skilled.”

There was a painful sting in her leg. While she'd been distracted by the Naphil, Sarahi had attacked again, attempting to hamstring her. She kicked out, sending the little succubus tumbling. Then she turned her attack to Lucien, driving him back with a lightning-quick series of slashes and jabs. He slowly gave ground, step by step, not engaging, just protecting himself from injury.